Free A Light in the Wilderness by Jane Kirkpatrick Page B

something happen to you, you say whoever ask whatever property you have, you leave to me. And to your sons and daughters, if we have any . . .” She looked away then. They’d never discussed children.
    He plucked at his beard. “That I could do.”
    “And you would put that onto paper, that I could keep? And sign it, with your name?”
    “I could do that.” He was removing the bow at the back of her hair, sending his fingers down the sides of her cheek.
    He didn’t say he would sign such an agreement, but Letitia feared to push him too far at that moment, when they were just beginning and she’d done nothing for him yet.
    “Then we agree. Together we plan for Oregon. You and me.”
    He moved closer to her, ran his thumbs over the medallion of braid in the center of her forehead while his wide hand held her chin steady. “I like the way you braided this little piece. It’s like a tributary finding its own way out of the river of your hair.” His hand was on the back of her head now, his palm warm. She could smell the coconut-honey mixture smoothing her hair. “’Spect the larder cot isn’t needed anymore, wouldn’t you say, Mrs. Carson? That is, if you’d care to share my bed.”
    “I would.” She liked being asked. And when he tugged at herribbons and led her toward his chest, his mouth bending to cover hers . . . she let him lead her forward.

    She lay awake with the August moon shimmering as on a lake but through thin curtains. Davey snored beside her, contented, as was she. Who would have thought she might find joy in this cleaving together. She would discover more about this man she knew, but for now she could rest on his words of promise, like the vows they’d spoken. She had even said she’d obey him, but he had later assured her that he did not think of her as a slave needing obedience but as a wife wishing to please her husband just as he hoped to please her. This promise was respectful, new.
    She tried not to wake him. She would gather new straw for this bed as they had both rolled into the impression his body had made through the years, sinking like a hammock in the middle. Straw stems broke down over time. She’d find the bed key and tighten the ropes as well. Now there were two of them and this bed needed adjustin’ . She smiled. Like every other part of her life, she supposed, now that she had a husband.
    He had surprised her with his tender loving. They whispered of where they’d come from, sent fleeting words of memories they cherished and dreams that might help them soar. Davey talked to her, told how he hated the patrolling and found discomfort with the men who didn’t. She shared her greatest losses, her sons, and he assured her between soft kisses and his thumb stroking her cheeks that this would never happen under his watch. And with those intimacies of the heart shared, their bodies had folded together like the wings of a great bird wrapping itself around its young.
    In the days that followed, she cooked outside during the hot month, and over meals they ate on the plank table carried out onto the porch, giving them an evening breeze. Davey told more tales of his trapping and trading times, mixed with some brief memories of his father and a sweet mother and his brother named Smith herarely saw. Letitia talked of her midwifing, how grateful she was when she heard the cry of life. She gave him efforts of her cheese-making, asking his opinion. She didn’t tell him of the longing that she might still like a child of her own, born to a free woman.
    Summer turned itself into the colors of fall, and Letitia dried vegetables and fruits, saving seeds, planning now for the trip they’d make next spring. Davey looked over his stock, choosing the seven steers he’d train to the yoke. He had thirteen loose head they’d drive west. In the cold months he planned to butcher beef and the hogs, which they’d smoke to preserve. He’d cure tobacco for trade. Davey tapped a pipe now and then