Page 13 of Westbound Awakening

Mae met the woman's eyes evenly. "No John does not hit me. He'd never lay a hand on me. Thank you for your concern, but we really were accosted." She waved away the woman's apology. "I asked because I planned to recommend your home to my -- my mother when she travels to visit me."

"Oh dear, that would be lovely. If she comes through here, I'd love to meet her."

John descended the stairs, his eyes immediately seeking her. "Good morning." With wet hair brushed away from his face and a clean shirt, he looked refreshed and unfortunately as handsome as ever.

Both women responded and Mrs. Clearwater hustled to the stove to fetch his breakfast.

"There isn't a stagecoach stop along this road," Mae told him keeping her eyes on her coffee cup and her voice to a whisper.

"I will get you to Texas Mae," he replied in a low tone. "It's going to be fine, I will ensure nothing else will happen between us to make this trip harder than it needs to be."

She hoped so. Because it was already proving to be an ordeal.

7

With a deep sigh, Mae watched as John returned from behind some trees. It had been two days since they'd left the Clearwater's house, and she had to acknowledge the overnight stay there helped her rest up considerably. They'd maintained a cordial existence between them with no talk of the kiss. A sort of interesting mutual understanding kept the hours together from turning awkward. Yes, as long as they stayed a safe distance away, they could co-exist without incident. Admittedly her mind revisited the kiss on occasion. However, she was able to rein her thoughts under control while in John's presence.

Mae shifted closer to the campfire and poked at a piece of wood pushing it toward the flames. Without looking, she sensed John settling onto the log next to her. They'd avoided any conversation about anything personal. Actually, they'd barely spoken more than necessary, so his question startled her.

"Why are you really going to see your father?"

Because Miss Lady insisted, would have kept at her until she'd run out of excuses for not going. "I suppose it's more curiosity than anything else. Miss Lady seems to think he owes me an explanation for never having anything to do with me. Plus he's very ill. It may be my last opportunity to speak with him." She also wanted to hear his reasons for not seeking her out.

"But you don't agree he owes you?" he urged her to continue.

"No." She shrugged keeping her eyes on the rising flares. "I can understand his decision to not marry my mother and stay in Virginia."

"Because she was a prostitute?"

"No, it was not the reason. My mother was not a prostitute when she became pregnant with me. It was out of necessity to raise me and support us that she turned our home into what it is today. She not only had to find a way to provide for me after her father died, but also for Miss Lady and Lucinda, who was also just a babe." Not wanting him to know how much his assumptions affected her, she kept her voice even. "My father had his reasons nonetheless, and I'm not sure I care to know what they are."

"I understand," John replied, his gray eyes searching her face. "Do you remember him?"

Why did he want to continue this conversation? "Barely. He came to see me when I was between three and four. He brought me a doll and gave mother some money for me. I suppose he came to see if I resembled him, to ensure I was truly his daughter." She decided to trudge on so his questions would hopefully end. "Mother said he was shocked at how much I favored him. Yet when she begged him to take me and raise me away from the life she'd carved out, once again he refused her. Said he had a wife and was starting a new life, had no room for a child born out of wedlock. So he left and never contacted me again. Until now."

Emotions she could not discern flickered in his eyes, his brow knit he studied the flames for a few minutes. "So then it was just your mother and you? What happened to her? Where is she now?"

More questions and this time she pondered whether to reply or not. Her mother, she rarely allowed herself to think about the woman and her tragic life. "My mother grew more sad, melancholy after my father's last visit. I believe he was the love of her life, as she never allowed another person to get close to her."

"Not even you." John stated, his eyes never leaving her face. "She left you?"

With a bitter chuckle, she replied. "No, not even me, kept me at an arms distance. And no she did not leave, not physically anyway. She became addicted to opium, a way to escape I suppose. She threw herself into making money, working and hiring more girls. Although she had lovers, she never permitted a man to lay with her for more than one night. She had no repeat customers. Soon her addiction to the drug took its toll, and she rarely left her bedroom. She died when I was thirteen, in her room. Miss Lady raised me after."

John reached for her, and she braced for it. Since the night at the Clearwater's, how she'd ached for his arms to surround her and the warmth of his body to sooth her. As if shocked by what he was about to do, he pulled back and stood instead. He looked away toward the horizon away from her. "Why did you choose to continue in the business?"

Ah, the reason for his withdrawal. This time the familiar pang of being judged stung. She'd be damned before he'd know it. She forced her words to come out matter-of-factly and shrugged once again. "I didn't know anything else. As my relatives in Northern Virginia disowned my mother, I had no family, other than a colored woman, her daughter. My life was the thriving brothel. Perhaps I could have taken the money we'd saved and moved away. Nonetheless, I figured sooner or later, unless I moved across the country, someone would recognize or remember me. The inevitable will happen. I made my choice and continued the life my mother carved out for me. I've come to the conclusion and accepted not to aspire to a normal life."

"I suppose not."

His simple statement pierced deeper than she expected and Mae stood. "I'm going to clean up. It's getting near sundown." She stumbled toward the tree line, tears stinging her eyes. The truth always hurt, its bite relentless and searing. John would never see her as anything other than a prostitute. It was not just his judgment, but his reaction, which made her clench her jaw in frustration. What the heck was the matter with her? It wasn't like her to be so sensitive. The sooner this damn trip was over, the better off she'd be.

The coolness of the water was refreshing, and Mae lingered, walking along the shoreline. Why did she sometimes dream of a different life? It made no sense to allow herself the illusion of an impossible outcome. This time away from her home and the familiar was beginning to affect her in a way, which was not good. Vulnerability was a dangerous thing for her.

Returning toward the campsite, the sound of horses brought her out of her musings, and she peered around a tree to see John walking toward a newly arrived couple perched high on a wagon. A man and woman who looked to be in their thirties. The man climbed down and extended his hand, and the men shook. The woman, a brunette wearing a bonnet that obstructed her face, looked on as the man motioned to her with his hand.

Mae remained at a distance, not sure she was in the mood to deal with strangers. The men talked for a few minutes, seeming to come to some sort of agreement when they shook hands again.

Her back straight, Mae forced a neutral look when John turned toward where she stood and waved her over. Her stomach pitched at the matching expectant expressions on the couple's face. What agreement had John just made? Would she travel with them to Texas so he could leave her?