His desire was gone, and he wanted to laugh at the irony of it. Even if he wanted to punish her, he doubted he could do it. “I am going to relieve myself,” he said, and strode into the darkness.
When he returned, she was covered with a blanket and lying on her side, her eyes closed.
His voice awoke her the next morning. She blinked awake and groaned. The ground, she thought inconsequentially, was not the same as a bed. She gritted her teeth and got to her feet. It was cold, the sun just breaking through the heavy foliage overhead.
“Collect firewood.”
She said nothing, and did as he bid. Her muscles eased somewhat with the task. She was beginning to feel human again. How, she wondered, could people live like this day after day?
Delaney watched her moving about, at first stiffly, then more easily. She was as strong-willed and stubborn as a mule. When she returned to the camp, her arms loaded with small branches and twigs, he gave his full attention to making the coffee.
He laughed aloud suddenly, startling Chauncey, the horses, and the birds overhead. He realized he was trying to break her, for whatever reason. He laughed more deeply. If she broke, what would it prove?
“May I share your jest?”
“No,” he said. “Build the fire as I showed you. I’m going to pack up the horses.”
The coffee was black, bitter, and tasted better than any Chauncey had ever drunk. She gulped it down, burning her tongue. She sighed, shook out her tin cup, and rose.
“I’m ready,” she said.
He grunted, not looking up at her.
She studied his averted face a moment, smiling unwillingly at the growth of beard on his cheeks. His hair was tousled, his white shirt no longer clean. She thought he had never looked so handsome.
“I’m going to the creek to wash my face,” she said.
He nodded. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”
“Do you know, Del,” she said thoughtfully, her hands on her hips, “if you don’t make up your mind what you want, you will surely die of perversity.”
“Five minutes,” he repeated, for want of anything better to say. Damn her, but she was right, and he knew it.
Five minutes later, Chauncey eyed Dolores with misgiving. “Well, my dear,” she said as she stroked her mare’s silky nose, “there is no hope for it, is there? If you can keep going, so can I!”
The river wound away from them, snaking its way between narrow bluffs. Delany turned inland. The trees were so thick that the sun slashed through in narrow slivers of light. The silence would have been comforting had there been any conversation between them.
She wanted to ask him about the different kinds of trees she was seeing, but his face was closed. And the birds! So many of them, and she couldn’t identify a single one. She saw deer, rabbits, squirrels, even a fox. They seemed to regard her with some disdain. She was, she supposed, a trespasser in their kingdom.
The day dragged on. Chauncey could feel her muscles cramping and wished she could slip her blanket under her bottom. Tomorrow, she thought, no matter Delaney’s sarcastic, mocking comments, she would do it.
Delaney stopped in late afternoon, and Chauncey was momentarily surprised to see that there was another small creek near.
“You’ve come this way before, haven’t you?”
The sound of her own voice after so many hours of silence startled her.
“Yes,” he said.
He didn’t find fault with her fire and she didn’t eye with too much revulsion the plump wild partridge he’d shot. She was careful to turn the partridge continually on the spit, and the result was mouth-watering.
“Either this is the best food in the entire world or I’m starving,” she said.
“You’re desperate,” he said. After a moment he added, “I’ve always found that food cooked outdoors tastes better. Maybe it’s the clean air or the added taste from the open fire.”
“Goodness!” she exclaimed, eyeing him in astonishment. “So many words! And all spoken at one time!”
“You know, dear wife,” he said, “I find my natural good humor disappearing in your charming company. May I suggest that you try keeping your sharp tongue behind your teeth?”