Ivy swirled a blouse in the swift-moving water. “Naw. He’s got his sights set on you now.”
“We’re just friends, Ivy.” Linnea attempted to douse the pleasure Ivy’s declaration brought. Over the past week of traveling with the McQuaids, Linnea had done her best to treat Flynn like a friend just as she said she would.
She made a point of walking alongside him for a few miles of traveling each day when he gave his horse a break from riding. While she’d gotten to know him a little bit, he wasn’t overly talkative, and she gleaned most of her information about Flynn and the McQuaid family from Ivy.
Like now, as they laundered their clothing while waiting for Clay’s call for supper, Ivy had started talking about Flynn’s former love interest again, telling Linnea about the time Helen had come over to do Flynn’s laundry.
“Helen sure did have her heart set on having Flynn.” Ivy swatted at a pesky biting fly. At times the insects were incessant in their biting, causing all sorts of misery for everyone. “I reckon from the moment Helen was born, she decided she’d marry Flynn.”
Linnea finished wringing the water from her chemise and draped it over the horsetail, where it would hopefully dry by morning when they broke camp. Several other women from another caravan were in the process of doing the same chore a short distance away.
The river crossing a couple hours ago had been dangerous and difficult, especially getting all the cattle across. With the day nearly spent, Flynn made the decision to make camp for the evening. Dylan and Ivy and Jericho had caught fish for their supper, and now the scent of the frying fish wafted toward them, making Linnea’s stomach grumble.
She tried to ignore the hunger pangs that had been gaining in intensity with each passing day—from all the physical activity and fresh air, no doubt. “If Helen was so intent on marrying him, then why didn’t they go through with it?”
“He was aiming to propose, leastways I heard him talking to Ma about it once. But then after Ma died, I reckon he was too torn up.”
“That would make sense, although I’m not sure why that would cause him to cancel his nuptials altogether.”
“Helen was still trying mighty hard to get him to marry her right up until the day we left.”
“Maybe he’ll invite her west once he’s settled.”
Ivy grinned. “Not if he marries you first.”
“You’re silly.” Linnea ducked her head to avoid the inevitable pull to stare at Flynn and admire the fine specimen of manhood he made.
“No matter what he says, he ain’t gonna be able to hold off gettin’ married for too long, not after the way I saw him smooching Helen in the haymow last summer.”
A strange curiosity piqued Linnea. What would it be like to kiss Flynn?
As quickly as the question came, shame followed just as rapidly. How could she even think about such a thing? It was entirely disloyal to Asa.
She plunged a pair of socks into the water and scrubbed them with a bar of Castile soap, the acrid scent of lye rising into the air and making her nostrils itch.
“He was kissing Helen like there was no tomorrow.” Ivy giggled.
With Flynn’s adamant statement about not being interested in having a woman, Linnea was surprised he’d been so involved with Helen. Had she broken his heart?
“He was mortified I saw him.” Ivy twisted the wet garment in the water, playing with it more than cleaning it. “Later, when he came to talk to me, I never saw a face as red as his. Told me he’d behaved badly and didn’t want me carrying on with any boys the way he’d been carrying on with Helen.”
“I agree with Flynn. Carrying on, as you say, truly is meant for the bounds of marriage.” As soon as the words were out, somehow they sounded glib, even insignificant, for explaining the importance of honoring the marriage bed.
Ivy shrugged, shifting her attention to the herd resting in the shade of the cottonwoods, where Dylan and Jericho were picking burs off the cattle that had wandered into the spiny cocklebur, Xanthium spinosum, after the crossing.
At sixteen, Dylan was turning into a fine-looking young man with Flynn’s light brown hair and greenish blue eyes. His long, spindly legs and ankles poked out from frayed hems on his trousers. Like Ivy, he often went barefoot—likely to avoid his boots that were worn away at his big toes.
Linnea had learned Jericho was also sixteen and was traveling with Nash, his older brother, to the gold mines of Colorado. The brothers had signed on to help drive the cattle in exchange for transport west.
As far as Linnea could tell, Nash worked hard and got along well enough with Flynn. With the way Nash kept his eye on Jericho, Linnea sensed he was as much a father to Jericho as Flynn was to his siblings.
Whatever the case, Jericho seemed to have an easy friendship with Dylan and Ivy. He was mature and responsible and every bit as handsome as Dylan. Once in a while, Linnea noticed Ivy blushing around the hired cowhand, and sensed the girl was starting to grow up.
She reached up and gently stroked Ivy’s tangled hair. “If you’d like, I can teach you how to style your hair.”
Ivy tore her attention away from Jericho.
“You have such thick, dark hair. It could use some taming.” Not that she wanted Ivy to start attracting the attention of Jericho or any other man. No doubt, she would be able to do that all on her own in a few years. She had beautiful features and would turn into a very pretty woman.
Even so, Ivy could use a little guidance. Especially since it hadn’t taken Linnea long to realize the girl was a tomboy through and through. She supposed living in a household of four brothers was bound to influence a girl into acting more like a man.
Ivy raised dripping fingers to her hair and tugged on a strand. “Sometimes I wish I could just cut it all off and wear it short. But then other times . . .” She glanced again at Jericho, then sighed.
“I don’t mind showing you a trick or two I’ve learned over the years at keeping my hair from being too bothersome.”
Ivy hesitated. “I’ve seen the way the men look at you, like you’re some kind of goddess.”
Linnea chuckled and finished scrubbing her socks. “Our goal in taking care of our hair and bodies isn’t so we can impress men. We do it because we want to fulfill the potential God gave us.”
“I could never be like you.”
“And you don’t have to be. You just have to be the truest form of you.”
Although Linnea had sometimes lamented her mother’s nontraditional parenting style, she was grateful her mother had always encouraged her to be comfortable and confident in who she was. At least she’d had a mother, unlike Ivy, who had no one she could turn to for womanly advice or conversation.
Ivy sat up on her knees. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“You can help me with my hair.”
Linnea squeezed Ivy’s arm. “I promise you’ll like it.”
One of Ivy’s eyebrows quirked up.
Linnea stood and wiped her hands on her skirt. “I’ll go get my lavender soap, and we’ll start by washing it.”
“Wash it? Do we have to?”
“Yes.” Linnea started back toward the camp through the long, rough horsetail, her skirt swishing against the dark green hollow stems. The tiny ridges along the length contained rough silica that gave the plant its name and rasped almost musically.