Quincy's Woman by Gem Sivad

Author:Gem Sivad
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

Chapter Seven

July 15, 1866. Sometimes my husband surprises me greatly. I have continued to be out of sorts with him and have withheld my affections to demonstrate my ire.

At our morning meal, Ambrose reminded me, “We’ve been married a month,

today.” He took me in his arms and playfully nipped my ear, trying to make me forget my grievances. Though my heart raced at his touch and my body heated against his, I

feigned indifference.

He released me and left me to my melancholic brooding, but found reason to visit

the ranch house frequently through the day, always with an attempt at appeasement.

That afternoon, he coaxed me to a secret interlude with the ploy of showing me a nest of kittens.

“Lucy, come to the barn with me, I want to show you something.” Ambrose seemed

very pleased with whatever he had planned. I turned up my nose and settled

determinedly on the couch, pretending interest in my book.

“It’s too hot to come outside, Ambrose. I am afraid I must decline.” I was almost

disappointed when he gave up so easily. I found that sustaining my anger was difficult as well as fruitless if I gave in to his affections. Instead, I forced myself to ignore him just as he pretended to be oblivious to my mood.

Shortly I heard him banging pans and shifting crockery in the kitchen. I could not

resist the lure as my curiosity was piqued. Ambrose stood by the sink, studying first one pan, than another.

“What are you up to, Husband?” I asked him.

“I need something to carry ice in.” His expression was guileless but the word ice

immediately held my attention.

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Quincy’s Woman

“Ice?” I inquired.

“From the icehouse—I need to carry some to the barn for a project I’ve started.”

I decided to visit the barn in the hopes of obtaining some of the frozen delight. I

refused to ask Ambrose to bring some to the house. Had he been so inclined, he would already have done so. Nothing could induce me into the icehouse. I had visited it once and found its low ceiling and dark interior repugnant. Even for the lovely cool

temptation that resided there, I couldn’t force my feet to enter. But ice in the barn was another matter.

I accompanied Ambrose and waited outside while he filled two deep pans with the

frozen water and carried them to the interior of the barn. I could feel perspiration trickling down my back, even though the barn was considerably cooler than the outside air.

I held the mare steady while he doctored her swollen leg, putting a cold compress

around the large pastern. Ambrose murmured endearments to the animal, soothing her

as he worked. “She’ll throw good colts,” he said with satisfaction. He pointed out the conformation that made her such a fine range mount. I rubbed the mare’s nose and

agreed.

“You like horses, don’t you?” He wrapped the mare’s leg and patted her with

affection.

“Yes, Papa and I both looked forward to equine breeding.” It pleased me to see

Ambrose look slightly shocked at my comment. He too often treated me as a

featherbrain. Papa

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