Mary let her hand rest in his as she gathered her skirts and climbed from the folds of the buggy. “Nothing so heroic, Mr. Adams. She looked exhausted after walking to town. I talked her into staying for a late lunch and resting a while. Otherwise she would have been home before the rain started.”
He watched Mary carefully, not knowing if she accepted his invitation because she wanted to be with the others, or because she was afraid of remaining in the dark with him. He could feel her hand tremble even through the leather of his glove.
Cooper paused at the first step. “Do you think you could call me Cooper? Mr. Adams seems too formal.” He wished she’d raise her eyes to meet his. He felt like he was talking to the part in her hair.
“All right.” She didn’t offer to let him call her Mary.
He held the door for her and a moment later the kitchen chair. It seemed to him that she was being very careful not to accidentally touch him. She didn’t look at him as she drank her coffee and ate a slice of Emma’s buttermilk pie. He tried not to stare at her, or to act as if he cared one way or the other about her, but even when he talked to the others, he was aware of her every move.
There was something about Mary Woodburn. Not attraction, he told himself, but something. She was as plain as ever in a black dress with no hint of lace or frills. Her hair was pulled so tightly against her head it could have been painted on. If he shouted, she’d probably jump and run like a deer.
Her brother wasn’t much more of a talker. Except for mentioning, when Emma related their trials by stage, that the stage line had left one of his bags in Sherman, Woodburn didn’t say a word.
Cooper found himself wondering how Winnie and the Woodburns had made it through the ride out. Knowing his sister, their shyness would make her nervous and whenever Winnie was nervous she chattered on and on. He could almost see Woodburn pushing the horses faster and faster as they moved away from town.
Winnie’s explanation about how she had to go to town to get a can of varnish for her rocker didn’t make much sense. If she’d mentioned it to Cooper or Duly, the bunkhouse cook, he would have told her there was a gallon of varnish along with paint in the work shed.
Johanna, as always, was the perfect hostess, inquiring about the Woodburns’ health and offering to pray that this ride in the damp air brought them no harm. Emma, for once, lost her tongue, but Cooper held no faith that it might be a permanent condition.
To Cooper’s surprise, Winnie asked Woodburn to take a look at her chair and offer his advice on restoring it. He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin and stood as if suddenly on an important mission.
Emma and Johanna followed, frowning as Winnie directed Woodburn to her bedroom and the rocker. Just before they reached the door Cooper heard Emma whisper, “Right into her bedroom. Can you believe it? I’ll have to talk to her about this.”
Cooper looked back at Mary, wondering what she thought of his two older sisters. She’d said Winnie was a treasure; who knows, maybe she liked the other two as well. He wanted to tell her they really were not so bad once you got to know them, but he wasn’t sure he believed that himself.
He had to say something. He couldn’t just stare at the poor creature pushing the crust of her pie around on her plate until the others returned. “Would you like more?” he finally managed to get out, thinking that of course she wouldn’t like more, she had not finished half of what she’d been served.
“No, thank you.”
“More coffee?”
“No.”
That was it. There was nothing else to offer and he had no idea of what to say. He thought of volunteering one of his sisters-after all, he had an abundance-but he didn’t know if she would get the joke. He knew nothing about this woman and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. She looked to be in her midtwenties and he had heard she liked to read.
Her hand shook slightly as she raised her cup then clanked it against the saucer when she lowered the china back in place.
“Mary.” He waited for her to look at him.
Slowly, her stormy blue eyes met his. They appeared more blue than gray tonight, but no less frightened than before.
He said the first thing that came to mind. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I swear I mean you no harm.”
She didn’t have to say a word. He knew she didn’t believe him. He racked his brain trying to think of why she would be so scared. He couldn’t remember speaking directly to her before yesterday. The few times he had been in the store it had always been her brother, not her, who waited on him.
“Is it because I fought for the South?” Maybe something had happened in the war that still haunted her.
Mary shook her head.
“Is it because I’m a man? Are you afraid of men in general?”
Again her head moved with the same answer.
Folding his arms across his chest, Cooper leaned back in the chair trying to understand her. Silence thickened between them. Voices drifted from Winnie’s bedroom, but Cooper couldn’t make out what any of them were saying. So, he guessed they probably couldn’t hear Mary and his conversation either. Assuming they were having one, of course.
Her silence wouldn’t have bothered him if he’d just thought her shy. He’d often found shy folks good company. The air didn’t always have to be charged with words. But Mary wasn’t just timid. There was something else. She was truly frightened.
With a thud, he rocked the chair into place and stood. “I want to show you something,” he said, then wished he had moved slower. “Don’t be alarmed. I’m just going to my desk.”
Moving briskly, he pulled open the bottom drawer and grabbed a book, then forced himself to walk back to her slowly. “During the war I tried to always carry a book in my pack. Sometimes I’d read it ten times before another came in the mail. More than once I traded with someone else doing the same.”
He laid a tattered copy of Great Expectations beside her plate. “I could never trade off this one, though. It saved my life.” He leaned lower, wishing she would look at him. “See the bullet hole. Went clean through the cover, but lucky for me it didn’t make it into my back.”
Mary’s finger traced over the pit mark in the upper corner of the book.
“I never told my sisters about the shot. Didn’t want to worry them.” His hand rested a few inches away from hers, but he made no effort to touch her. Somehow by sharing his secret, he had offered his friendship. Now it was up to her.
“Have you read Dickens’s book?”
“No,” she answered. “But I’d like to.”
He’d found the key, he thought. A bridge over the fear.
“I could loan you this book, but you have to promise to bring it back. It’s kind of my good luck piece. No matter how hard things get around here, I can always pull this book out and remember how close I came to not making it back home.”
She raised her head. A smile touched the corners of her mouth. “Thanks. I’d like to read it. I promise I’ll be careful.”
She didn’t look so plain when she smiled, he thought. She might never be his friend, but at least she wouldn’t cringe the next time she saw him.
Cooper heard his sisters returning. He sat back down in his chair and noticed Mary slip the book into her pocket. The book was obviously something neither of them planned to share with anyone else.
Chapter Six
WINNIE THANKED WOODBURN one last time from the porch. Her round head, topped with an equally round bun, bobbed up and down as she rattled on about the day. The Yankee, on the other hand, stood straight and tall as if at attention. Neither of them seemed to notice the wind whipping around them, but Mary huddled into her shawl and hurried toward the far side of the buggy.
Cooper hesitated a few seconds before offering to help Mary into the carriage. When she placed her hand in his this time, without his gloves, he felt the gentle warmth of her touch.