Chapter Four

      Zoe. Zoe. Zoe. The name spun like a fiery litany in Caitlin’s head, sharp and painful, keen as the blade of a sword cutting through her sensibility, releasing those wretched twin failings of hers, anger and pride.

      Don’t think about it, she told herself fiercely. She stood in the center of the cabin, shivering, alone with the empty bunks, and fought to put one coherent thought in front of the other.

      She was being too intense again. Overreacting.

      Zoe. Zoe. The name kept ringing in Caitlin’s mind, an interior thunder drowning out the rational words she kept trying to think of, to cling to.

      For a little while, she thought Samuel would come back to her. That he would smile, and she would run into his arms, and angry constraint between them would dissolve.

      But he did not.

      A deep shudder ran through her body, and she knew she should have kept her mouth shut Why was she so cursed with vinegar on her tongue? Because she felt indignant and resentful about a woman she had never seen, that was no perverse reason to attack Samuel.

      Caitlin glanced down at the narrow gold band on her finger, and her mouth set in a contrite curve. Poor Samuel. The linkage of his name with this mysterious Zoe had obviously caught him off guard, and his wife had driven him away with her petulance and sharp words.

      It was just that the shock had staggered her to the core and scattered her sensibilities. And now, in the aftermath, she was embarrassed by the viciousness of her attack, ashamed for the way she had spoken to him. The destructive power of words was as deadly as a gun, she mused.

      She clasped the crucifix that hung about her neck and promised that she would do penance for her faults the first chance she had. A week of celibacy should do it, she thought with a revival of humor.

      Caitlin let out a little giggle at this absurdity. In the intoxication of her rage, she’d forgotten that, in his youth, Samuel had often been the prodigious clown. He would become embroiled in any foolish scrape, so that his father had dared not contemplate which tales were true and which were false.

      Unexpectedly, a vivid memory of Samuel came to Caitlin…. It had been the feast of Saint Francis of Assisi. The blessing of the animals.

      Poppies red against the white altar cloth, sunlight fanning through the stained-glass windows, reflections of gold and delicate rainbow hues spilling like treasure on the gray stone floor, worn over the centuries to the sheen of polished pewter. It was stuffy and airless in the church, and Caitlin wished they would open the door.

      Heads were raised during the singing of the hymns and bowed during the blessing. The ceremony seemed to go on forever, with every parishioner bringing along some creature to be prayed over. It was so boring, until Samuel let the doctor’s white mice out of their cage right in the middle of the church service.

      Later, when all the fuss was over, he excused himself, saying he’d thought it’d liven things up. Caitlin grinned. It sure did.

      Farmer Johnson’s wife fainted away right there and then, and silly Margaret Reade climbed onto a pew and held her petticoats up so high that all the boys could see her drawers. Samuel and the other boys crawled round under the pews, ostensibly trying to catch the terrified mice, while getting a great lesson in what women wore under those voluminous skirts.

      Later, saintly Caitryn stoutly agreed that Samuel deserved a medal for liberating the poor dumb animals. At the time, she cowered in the aisle with the other girls, gasping in horror, as if a great wickedness had been committed. It was foolish Caitlin who was caught standing with the open cage clutched between her hands and a guilty expression on her face.

      Caitlin could picture Samuel plainly the moment he realized the enormity of his stunt, and somehow the memory of it now made her smile. He’d been parchment-white, his freckles bright as threepenny pieces on his face. But with an unflinching, reckless, scornful courage, he’d taken the empty cage from her, taking full blame for his actions.

      “That was very stupid, Cat. My old man won’t like it one bit. I reckon he’ll just about raise the roof!”

      Caitlin had stood in great anger against the wall. “Don’t speak to me, Samuel Jardine!” She had found it difficult to speak, knowing he would be beaten for his actions. “There’s nothing I want to say to you!”

      She found a bright side to this unfortunate recollection. People did not change. Samuel was as honest now as he had been then. Would he have sent for her after all these years if he had another woman? Of course not!

      A sly thought intruded, instinctive and unbidden. But what was the basis of these allegations? Truth? Fabrication? Both? Neither? she asked herself angrily.

      In what manner had Samuel contributed to the sordid gossip? Surely the rumor could not be all fabrication?

      Part of Caitlin was appalled at these pernicious thoughts. It was irrational. She knew it. But knowing didn’t stop the aggravation seething inside her. Somehow it seemed disloyal to Samuel to even consider such wicked notions.

      Well, then, don’t think about such things! she berated herself.

      Common sense reasserted itself. She reached down, picked up the candleholder from where it lay in silent reproach by the door and returned it to the narrow shelf. There was no point in wasting energy in worrying over false accusations. Work was always a panacea.

      She untied the ribbons beneath her chin, pulled the dainty bonnet from her head, and tossed the frivolous confection onto her brass-studded trunk. Pulling up her sleeves, she set about making the tiny compartment comfortable.

      Try as she might, while she folded linen industriously, her mind was elsewhere. How many times, as a young woman, had she dreamed her dreams and wondered what would happen if they came true? To be touched, to touch Samuel, to savor the textures of his hair and skin…

      Caitlin shivered deep inside herself. She glanced at the narrow bunks, one above the other. Surely they could never, never be shared? That could not possibly be, she thought. Could what she had been told about the marriage act happen here? The thought sent a tiny thrill of excitement down her spine.

      And what of Samuel? The brown, piercing eyes, as hot as the flame burning in the altar lamp—ah! Had she not looked into their depths and there read love