Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | Falling for the Teacher

Falling for the Teacher
Dorothy Clark
Though she once fled from Pinewood, Sadie Spencer can’t stay away when her ailing grandparents need her. But she never expected to come face to face with the brother of the man who caused her to leave town.Sadie doesn’t care how honest or kind Cole Aylward may seem—she isn’t about to let him continue managing her family’s business. Cole has worked hard to prove he’s nothing like his brother. All he wants is to try to make up for the hurt Payne caused her family. But slowly Sadie’s quiet determination and bravery helps him face his own fears. Can Cole convince her he’s a man worthy of the trust she longs to give?


Love Is Never Where You Expect.…
Though she once fled from Pinewood, Sadie Spencer can’t stay away when her ailing grandparents need her. But she never expected to come face-to-face with the brother of the man who caused her to leave town. Sadie doesn’t care how honest or kind Cole Aylward may seem—she isn’t about to let him continue managing her family’s business.
Cole has worked hard to prove he’s nothing like his brother. All he wants is to try to make up for the hurt Payne caused her family. But slowly Sadie’s quiet determination and bravery helps him face his own fears. Can Cole convince her he’s a man worthy of the trust she longs to give?
“I want no wages.”
Cole’s voice was gruff, the words more brusque than he’d intended, but she’d touched a sore spot.
“I don’t understand.” A tiny vertical frown line formed between Sadie’s delicately arched brows. “It’s only fair. I’m certain Poppa would insist.”
He shook his head. “My compensation is in making up for the pain my brother caused. I wish I could change what he did, Sadie, but I cannot. This is all I can do.” He took hold of the ledgers, careful not to touch her hands, and turned to leave before he said more than he ought.
“Cole…”
“Yes?” He looked back at her. There were tears in her eyes. They might as well have been knives the way they pierced his heart.
“It’s not your fault.” She blinked her eyes and smiled, but her lips trembled. “Thank you for your kindness.”
Her throat worked, her hand rubbed her arm, and everything in him wanted to hold her, to comfort her.…
DOROTHY CLARK
Critically acclaimed, award-winning author Dorothy Clark lives in rural New York, in a home she designed and helped her husband build (she swings a mean hammer!) with the able assistance of their three children. When she is not writing, she and her husband enjoy traveling throughout the United States, doing research and gaining inspiration for future books. Dorothy believes in God, love, family and happy endings, which explains why she feels so at home writing stories for Love Inspired Books. Dorothy enjoys hearing from her readers and may be contacted at dorothyjclark@hotmail.com.
Falling for the Teacher
Dorothy Clark

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The fear of man bringeth a snare:
but whoso putteth his trust in the Lord shall be safe.
—Proverbs 29:25
This book is dedicated with admiration and appreciation to the assistant editors, the art department and all the others at Love Inspired Historical who diligently work to make my books the best they can be. Thank you, all.
A special thank-you to Sam. I’ve run out of words, but not out of gratitude for your faithfulness, humor and friendship.
“Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established.”
Your Word is truth. Thank You, Jesus.
To You be the glory.
Contents
Chapter One (#u8a637529-4794-57c0-a166-167714d60286)
Chapter Two (#ud483110a-b948-55a9-9bd0-a95d9663b90e)
Chapter Three (#u40312a86-d80f-5262-ae48-aab349eb9632)
Chapter Four (#u79e6cb5e-d3a6-5477-91cf-c7bce9f087e4)
Chapter Five (#uad9006b5-a6de-5c87-971f-412c05e96c78)
Chapter Six (#u52e9a232-70ef-5ae3-af55-2f9909cc8bc0)
Chapter Seven (#u82952f2f-32f3-51e1-b7e5-f0d55d3d233d)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
June 1841
Pinewood Village, New York
Pinewood. Sadie crowded back into the corner and tugged her bonnet forward as her hired carriage rolled through the village. The news of her return would spread like a brush fire if she was recognized. Sadie Spencer is back. Sadie Spencer is home.
Her stomach quivered. In two weeks it would be four years since the incident. Memories surged. She closed her mind to the bad ones—or tried to. Perhaps returning to Pinewood would exorcise them—and the fear. How she wished she could live without that fear! Please, Almighty God, grant that it might be so. She took a breath to calm her stomach and pulled the small purse dangling from her wrist into her trembling hands.
The driver’s polite touch of his hat brim sent her pushing deeper into the corner where she would not be seen by two women standing at the edge of the road waiting to cross. A wagon passed by loaded with baled shingles and traveling in the other direction. She released her pent-up breath and lifted her head.
The horse’s hoofs clattered against planks and the carriage lurched as the wheels climbed onto the wood. Stony Creek Bridge. A smile trembled on her lips. How many hours had she, Callie, Willa and Ellen spent in the cool shadow beneath its span trying to best Daniel at skipping stones on the water?
The carriage rocked off the bridge, swaying left onto Brook Street. A snap of the reins urged the horse to greater speed and her smile died. It wouldn’t be long now.
Her chest tightened with longing to be back behind the brick walls of the young ladies’ seminary in Rochester. She’d not been outside those walls since she’d fled there four years before, and if not for her grandparents’ need, she would be in that safe haven still. She would never have willingly returned to Pinewood. Never.
The carriage tilted, slowed as the horse started up the incline outside of the village. She slipped back to the center of the seat and caught her breath at the sight of the forested hills on either side of the dirt road. Only one more turn to make when they reached the top of the hill.
She dug her fingernails into her palms, struggling against a surge of dread. When she’d received Callie’s letter, she’d told herself it would be all right, that she would care for Nanna and Poppa in the safety of the Sheffield House, but that was not to be. Her grandparents had left Sophia’s hotel and returned home to Butternut Hill.
She had to go back there.
Oh, Lord, give me strength.
* * *
“Your grandfolks are in the garden. I’ll take these up to your room.” The housekeeper picked up her bags and looked at her. “It’s good you’re home, Miss Sadie.”
The underlying sadness in Gertrude’s voice constricted her throat, making speech impossible. She nodded, removed her bonnet and walked down the entrance hall and into the dining room. The window framed her grandparents seated on the wooden garden bench, the stockade fence and the wooded path beyond. Love swelled her heart, blocking out the fear. She pushed open the door, ran across the porch and rushed down the steps. “Nanna! Poppa!” Their gray heads turned her direction. They stared. Her feet took wings.
“Sadie!”
She leaned down and hugged her grandmother, reveling in the feel of the soft arms holding her close, the small pudgy hands patting her, offering comfort as she sobbed out the long years of loneliness against the shoulder that had so often been washed by her tears as a child.
“Oh, Sadie...Sadie...Sadie...” Her grandmother patted her back, her shoulder, touched her cheek, smoothed her hair. “Hush, sweeting, hush. It’s all right. Everything is all right.”
Tears and laughter bubbled into her throat at the old-fashioned, familiar endearment. It was all right. Her grandmother knew her. After reading Callie’s and Willa’s letters, she’d been so afraid.... She straightened and wiped the tears from her face. “Oh, Nanna, I have missed you so.”
She kissed her grandmother’s soft, moist cheek and turned toward the silent man staring at her from the bench. “And you, Poppa.” She kissed his cheek at the edge of his gray beard, felt his arm slip around her in a hard hug. One arm.
“Wel...come...home, Sa...die.”
The words were hesitant, slightly slurred. Tears clogged her throat again. She sank to her knees in front of her grandfather and took hold of his hands. His left hand gripped back; the right moved slightly, stilled. Her chest tightened. “I made arrangements to come home as soon as I heard of your illness, Poppa.” Remorse flowed on a torrent of tears. She laid her cheek against their clasped hands. “I’m so sorry I was not with you when you needed me.”
“Daniel should have brought you home.”
Daniel? She jerked up her head.
Her grandmother huffed and patted her shoulder. “What’s more, he shouldn’t have taken you off prowling through the woods in the first place. I worry when you go off with your friends, Sadie.”
Her heart twisted at the absent look in her grandmother’s eyes. Her grandfather’s hand squeezed hers. She glanced at him, read the message of protective concern in his eyes and gave a slight nod. “I’m sorry, Nanna.” She rose and brushed the dust from her skirt to gain a moment to control the sorrow flooding her heart. Callie and Willa were right—her grandmother was ill in her mind. “I won’t go off again.”
Boots thudded on the hard-beaten path behind her—the path that trailed through the woods to her grandfather’s sawmill. Her heart stopped, her lungs seized at the remembered sound. She whirled, stared at the tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in logger garb who stepped from the shadows under the trees and strode toward her, just like before. The early evening light receded, the earth swayed.
The man rushed forward, reached for her.
* * *
“Put her there on the settee! I’ll fetch water.”
Cole frowned and watched Rachel Townsend hurrying toward the kitchen. Would she return, or forget what she was doing? He looked down at the slender young woman draped across his arms, and his breath shortened. He had no doubt things would change now that she’d returned. And not for the better. Not for him.
He leaned down, laid Sadie Spencer on the settee, lifted her limp arm and placed it across her body.
A small, breathy moan escaped her. Her eyelids fluttered then stilled, the long lashes forming dark smudges against her pale skin. He glanced at the small pearl buttons fastening the high collar of her brown dress and his fingers twitched to undo them to make it easier for her to breathe, but given the past, that action could be misconstrued. He stood frozen, staring at the fine-boned, patrician features of the woman his brother had attacked. She looked so...fragile. And the terror in her eyes when she’d turned and seen him...
The brutal savagery of Payne’s deed struck him anew. He sucked in air, clenched his hands at his sides. He’d spent the past four years working to live down the shame of Payne’s act, to prove that he himself was decent and honorable, and the people of Pinewood were finally beginning to trust and befriend him. And now Sadie Spencer had come home.
He gazed down at Manning Townsend’s granddaughter lying so still and pale against the blue silk of the settee. Odd that such a beautiful young woman would be dangerous for him, but Sadie Spencer could undo all of his hard work simply by her return. Her presence in Pinewood was bound to stir people’s memories, to bring back the anger and distrust that had faced him when he’d come to Pinewood to find Payne and tell him of their parents’ deaths.
He stiffened, breathed hard against the pressure in his chest and rubbed the tense muscles in the back of his neck. He hadn’t suspected the violence and depravity that ran in his brother’s veins until that day—had been sickened when he’d learned what Payne had done. Now, his brother’s actions seemed more real. And if seeing Sadie Spencer made him feel that way...
He huffed out a breath and pushed away the memory of the terror in her eyes when she saw him. Sorry as he was for her, he couldn’t let her destroy all the goodwill he had so painstakingly cultivated and ruin the new life and business he’d built here. He’d have to convince her—
“What are you doing? Get away from my granddaughter!”
He jerked his head around. Rachel Townsend stood in the doorway, a scowl in the place of her normal pleasant expression, her hands gripping a wet cloth.
“I said get away from my granddaughter!” She rushed toward him, her lips pressed into a tight line, her small, free hand waving through the air.
Was her anger because of the confusion that was occurring more often? Or was her reaction to his being there beside her granddaughter nothing to do with her slipping grasp on the present? Was the condemnation toward him for Payne’s heinous act already returning?
He clenched his jaw, stepped away from the settee and headed outside to get Manning.
* * *
The trembling woke her. Bile pushed at her throat. She’d had the nightmare again. Sadie drew in a slow, deep breath to control the nausea and opened her eyes.
“Feeling better, sweeting?” Her grandmother frowned down at her. “What happened, Sadie? Why did you swoon like that? Are you ill?”
She blinked, took another breath. Her head cleared. She was home. “No, Nanna, I’m not ill. It must have been the...excitement of coming home.” Something cold slid across her temple. She lifted her hand, removed the wet cloth and pushed to a sitting position, still quivering. The nightmare had never before come while she was awake. It must have been returning to Butternut Hill that—
The sound of boot heels thudding against the wood floor jolted her upright. She turned toward the doorway, stared at her nightmare in the flesh.
“It’s...all right, Sa...die.”
She glanced at her grandfather being carried in the man’s arms, looked back up at that bearded face, shuddered.
“I’m Cole Aylward, not...my brother.” He strode across the room toward them.
Payne Aylward’s brother? She backed up, bumped against the settee and grasped the high, curved arm.
“Give me the cloth, Sadie. You’re getting everything wet.”
She looked down at the dripping cloth, eased her grip on it and handed it to her grandmother—bit down on her lower lip to keep from calling her back as she started from the room.
“Thank...you.”
She darted her gaze back to the man lowering her grandfather into his favored chair, brushed a wet tendril of hair back off her forehead and tried to make some sort of sense of everything. “May I ask what you are doing here, Mr. Aylward?” I should think this home is the last place you would want to be. She pressed her lips together to keep from turning the thought into speech.
“Manning’s not yet able to get around by himself. I drop by throughout the day to see if he needs anything.”
She stared at his broad shoulders, his powerful arms and hands. “You come every day?” Her voice quavered and she took a breath to steady it, squared her shoulders at his answering nod.
“Then I’m certain you’ll be pleased that will no longer be necessary. As I’m here to care for my grandfather now, there’ll be no need for us to impinge on your...kindness...further.”
Her courage failed when he straightened and turned to face her. She hid her shaking hands in the folds of her long skirt and stiffened her spine.
“And are you going to carry Manning to his bed when it’s time for him to retire? And carry him to the table in the morning when he rises? Or out to the garden so he can enjoy the sun and fresh air?”
His tone was conversational, but there was an underlying steeliness in Cole Aylward’s voice that caught at her throat and stole her breath. She stared at him, stunned by the questions he so calmly presented—questions that emphasized how ill-prepared she was for the changed situation in her home. She clenched her hidden hands and lifted her chin. “I shall hire someone.”
“No! Want...Cole...”
“Thank you, Manning.” Cole Aylward rested his large hand on her grandfather’s shoulder, then fixed his gaze on her. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness of my time, Miss Spencer, but there’s no need for you to go to that trouble or expense. Neighbors look out for one another, and—”
“Neighbors?”
“Yes.” A frown creased his forehead. “I thought your grandmother or...someone...would have written to tell you I took over Pay—my brother’s cabin and have built a shingle mill on the property.”
He lived in Payne’s cabin? So near... A chill skittered down her spine. Her pulse fluttered. She slipped her hand up to cover the base of her throat.
“Are you all right?” He started toward her.
She jerked back and he froze.
Her grandmother bustled into the room, her long skirts swishing back and forth with the sway of her ample hips, and beamed a smile at them. “Gertrude is ready to serve supper. Please bring Manning to the table, Cole.” Her smile widened, deepening the wrinkles in her aged face. “You’ll be joining us, of course. I had Gertrude set a place for you. We’re having roasted beef and potatoes.”
No! Don’t invite him! She stared at her grandmother in stunned silence. Had she forgotten what had happened? Her stomach roiled. She pressed her hand against it, drew air into her lungs to protest.
“Not tonight, Mrs. Townsend. Thank you kindly for the invitation, but I don’t wish to intrude upon your granddaughter’s homecoming. Next time, perhaps.”
Next time? So he was going to ignore her wishes.
“I’ll just carry Manning in and then come back a bit later to take him in to his bed.”
At least he was leaving for now. Good. She would have time to convince her grandfather it would be better to hire someone to help him. Her pulse steadied.
“Nonsense! I’ll not hear of it.” Her grandmother gave a small, dismissive wave with her pudgy hand. “You’re so kind to Father, the least we can do is offer our hospitality in return.”
Oh, Nanna, don’t—Father? Tears stung her eyes. She bowed her head and stared down at the leaf pattern woven into the blue silk of the settee as her grandmother chatted on about their daughter and her husband also joining them for supper. The tears overflowed. She drew a slow breath and exhaled softly. Her mother and father had died when she was three years old, and her mother had been her grandparents’ only child.
“Are you coming, Sadie?”
She lifted her head and curved her lips in the best smile she could summon. “Yes, Nanna, I’m coming. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any of Gertrude’s roast beef.” She released her grip on the settee and started for the dining room, trying to ignore the despair that gripped her at her grandmother’s illness and to smother the unease that filled her at the thought of Cole Aylward sitting at their table sharing their meal.
Chapter Two
Sadie cut a bite off her piece of roast beef and pushed it around her plate in a pretense of eating. She couldn’t swallow food. Her stomach was knotted and her throat so constricted it ached.
“Good...trip, Sa...die?”
She looked to the end of the table, smiled even as her heart broke yet again at the sight of her grandfather’s right arm hanging useless at his side. “It was long and wearying, but uneventful, Poppa.” She looked into his brown eyes, warm with love and concern, and forced a touch of humor into her voice. “None of the stages overturned—though it often seemed as though they might.”
“Careless dri...vers?”
Oh, how it hurt to watch him struggle to talk. She shook her head and cleared her throat, widened her smile. “I think it was that they were more concerned with keeping to their schedules than with their passengers’ comfort.”
“Thankfully Philby is never careless.”
She glanced at her grandmother. “Who is—” Her grandfather’s fork clanged against his plate. She looked back, saw the warning in his eyes, the quick shake of his head and swallowed the rest of the question.
“This beef is excellent, Mrs. Townsend.” Cole Aylward’s deep voice filled the uncomfortable silence. “And these honeyed carrots are delicious. You certainly know how to set a good table.”
“Thank you, Cole. You’re very kind.” Her grandmother smiled, then looked her way and frowned. “You’re not eating, Sadie. Is the beef not to your liking?”
“It’s very good, Nanna. It’s only that I’m...weary from my journey.”
“Rochester is a long distance.” She watched Cole’s knife slice through the meat on his plate as casually as his voice cleaved the air over the table between them. “I understand you are a teacher in a seminary there, Miss Spencer. Do you enjoy your position?”
“I did.”
His hands stilled. He looked up, focused his attention on her. So did her grandfather and grandmother. Her heart sank. She’d hoped to wait until she was alone with her grandparents to announce her news, but that wasn’t possible now. She folded her hands in her lap and took a breath. “I’ve resigned my position.”
“Oh, Sadie, I’m so glad!” Her grandmother clasped her hands, beamed a smile at her.
“Sa...die...”
There was sadness in her grandfather’s voice. She looked into his eyes and knew he’d guessed she’d left the seminary because of his illness. She shook her head and smiled. “I know what you’re thinking, Poppa—but you’re wrong. I wanted to come home. I’ve missed Pinewood, my friends and both of you most of all. Your illness merely gave me the impetus to leave now.”
“So you are staying, not merely visiting?”
Cole Aylward sounded...what? Concerned? Why should that be? She wished she had the courage to look into his eyes and read what was written there. She drew her shoulders back, lifted her chin and fastened her gaze on his black beard. “Yes. I’m staying.”
* * *
He looked so frail, her strong Poppa being carried off to bed like a child. Sadie gripped the hooped rail of the chair she stood behind and fought to hold on to control. The unexpected encounter with Cole Aylward and the hard truths that had confronted her one after another since her arrival had brought her close to breaking down. Reading about her grandparents’ infirmities in a letter was one thing—witnessing them herself was another.
Her grandfather was helpless, his right leg and arm useless, his speech impaired. And her grandmother, her dear, sweet Nanna—
No! She yanked her mind from that path, her emotions too battered to manage it. She clenched her hands tighter, pressed the chair rail into her palms and soft finger pads to curb the need to throw herself into her grandmother’s arms and cry away all the hurt and fear threatening to overwhelm her. She had to be the strong one now. Dear God, please help me to be what they need me to be.
She dragged her gaze from her grandmother, who was hurrying out the parlor door to turn back the bed brought down from upstairs to what was the morning room. “Sleep well, Poppa. I’ll see you in the morning.” The quiver in her voice didn’t match the smile she forced to her lips.
“Good...night, Sa...die.” His stammering response almost undid her. She looked at Cole Aylward and took refuge in her confusion. Why was he spending his time helping her grandfather? Given what had happened, it made no sense—even if he was their closest neighbor. Was he cruel like his brother? She’d seen no sign of it tonight, but that meant nothing. Payne Aylward had hidden his cruelty from everyone—until it was too late.
A shudder shook her. She released her hold on the back of the chair, followed Cole from the parlor and stood in the entrance hall until he had entered the morning room, then lifted her hems and hurried up the stairs to the landing. She didn’t want to be down there when he came out of that room alone. She could reach her bedroom and lock him out from here should he come after her.
Such strength in his arms. Like his brother.
Shivers coursed through her, stole her strength. She leaned against the wall, stared at the candle sconce across from her and waited for the memory to pass. She’d given up hoping it would go away.
“...in the morning.”
Cole. She held her breath and listened to the sound of his footfalls in the downstairs hallway. The door to the morning room closed. She gathered her courage and moved to grasp the top of the banister to lend strength to her shaking knees. “May I have a word with you, Mr. Aylward?”
He paused, turned and looked up at her. “In the sitting room?”
“This is fine.”
The dim light outlined his tall form at the bottom of the stairs. “I am not my brother, Miss Spencer. You’ve nothing to fear from me.”
How easily he discerned her thoughts. She tightened her grip on the banister and braced herself against the memories, the quivering that took her. “We will not speak of that, Mr. Aylward. I only wanted to express my appreciation for the care you have given my grandfather. And to tell you, again, that I intend to free you from that...service, as soon as possible.”
“You are going to hire someone to care for Manning?”
“I am going to hire someone to help with the physical labor involved. I will care for Poppa.”
“I see.” Lamplight flickered over the knit hat he pulled from his pocket. “I misjudged you, Miss Spencer. I didn’t think you were the sort of woman who would condemn a man who has done no wrong, nor go against her grandfather’s wishes.” His head dipped in a small bow and he stepped back from the stairs. “I will be here in the morning...and for as long as Manning wishes my help. Good evening.” He tugged his hat on his head and strode down the hall toward the dining room. The back door opened and closed.
How dare he make her the guilty one! She caught up her hems and ran to her bedroom, crossed to the window and watched Cole Aylward striding down the garden path toward the woods, the rising moon casting silver epaulets on his broad shoulders. Memories drove her from the window before he neared the trees and the entrance to the wooded path that led to her grandfather’s sawmill.
* * *
Cole glanced right and left, aware as never before of how the trees encroached upon the path, of their thick trunks and looming branches. He slowed his steps at the curve where it had happened, took a breath against the sudden clench of his stomach. He’d walked this path at least a hundred times, but now he’d seen her. That made it all different.
The sylvan depths drew his gaze, halted his steps. How easy it would be to steal silent and unseen from trunk to trunk in order to overtake someone walking along the path. Is that how Payne had done it?
He raised his arm and scrubbed his hand across his eyes, trying to rid himself of the image of the fear on Sadie’s face as she’d stood on the stairs looking down at him. Payne had caused that fear. Payne, who had been so pleasant and funny and kind. What had changed in his brother that he could do that to someone?
His gut churned. Bile surged into his throat. He fisted his hands and continued down the path toward Manning Townsend’s sawmill. If only he’d been here when the attack took place. Perhaps he could have prevented it somehow or at least found out what had caused Payne to do such a thing. He knew his brother’s habits, had hunted and fished with him. He could have tracked him down, talked him into staying and facing justice, helped him atone somehow. But Payne had already disappeared when he’d come to Pinewood to tell him their mother and father were dead, and Payne’s trail had been obliterated by the angry men of Pinewood who were searching the hills for him.
Cole climbed the steps to the sawmill deck and stepped under the shingled roof, walked by the silent saws and entered the attached office. He stepped behind the partition he’d built, jammed his hat onto one of the pegs he’d driven into the wall, shucked his shirt and hung it on another peg, then sat on the wood edge of his cot and tugged off his boots.
The horror and disgust, regret and guilt that had weighed so heavily on him when he’d learned of Payne’s actions had returned full force when he’d looked into Sadie Spencer’s eyes and now sat like a rock in his stomach—though why it should he didn’t understand. He’d stayed in Pinewood and tried to find Payne to bring him back to face justice in spite of the disgust and distrust of the irate villagers who’d watched his every move with suspicion. He’d trudged countless times to the outcropping of rock where the men said they’d lost all trace of Payne’s trail to see if he could find something they had missed. It wasn’t for lack of trying that he’d failed. He had no reason to feel guilty. But the way she’d looked at him...
He yanked off his socks, flung them over his boot tops, rose and snatched the soap and a towel from the make-do washstand. The rough puncheons scraped against his bare feet as he marched to the end of the sawmill deck, dropped the towel and dove into the deep pool formed by the stone dam. The shock of the icy mountain-stream water drove all thought from his mind.
He soaped his hair, threw the soap up onto the deck, did a surface dive and swam upstream underwater to let the current from the overflow carry the soap film away.
If only it could carry away his troubled thoughts that had resurfaced. He kicked his trouser-clad legs, dug hard and deep with his arms and circled around the pond until his shoulders and arms screamed for mercy and his lungs burned for air. What sort of depravity coursed through his brother’s veins that he could look at a woman as delicately beautiful, as quiet and refined as Sadie Spencer and then—
He arched and dove deep, swam to the center of the gently rippling water, flipped over onto his back and stared up at the stars, bright against the dark sky. Peaceful evening sounds filled the night as the water lapped over his chest, but the fear he’d been carrying around for four years wouldn’t leave. Wash me clean, Lord, wash me clean. Don’t let that violence and depravity be in me.
Bats darted and swooped overhead in erratic patterns as they snatched insects from the air. An owl hooted. Another answered. Something rustled through the brush and grasses on the bank. Something big.
A she-bear and her two cubs ambled toward the water. Last year’s cubs, by the size of them. He moved his arms beneath the surface to stay afloat but stationary without causing a ripple and hoped the cubs weren’t in the mood for a swim. Mama Bear reared up on her hind legs and stared out over the pond, snuffled.
His moonlight swim was over.
He drew in air, sank out of sight beneath the water and stroked hard for the deck ladder, leaving the bears behind. If only he could outdistance the fears that plagued him.
* * *
She strolled along the path, humming softly, the basket of berries she’d picked swinging at her side.
Payne Aylward stepped out of the woods onto the path ahead, his tall, broad-shouldered frame large in the sunlight filtering through the leafy treetops. The glitter in his dark gray eyes frightened her. She stopped.
He smiled, his teeth white against his black beard. “I been watching you, Sadie.” He stepped forward, reached for her.
* * *
Sadie bolted upright gasping for air, her heart pounding, her body quaking. Moonlight flowed in the windows, bathed the objects in the dark room in silvery radiance. She stared at the blanket chest at the foot of her bed, the dark blue-and-white cross and crown woven coverlet that had warmed her every night of her childhood. “It’s all right. It was the nightmare. You’re safe.”
Her whisper trembled on the warm night air. She clutched the fallen sheet, slipped beneath it and curled into a tight ball. She wanted so desperately to believe that was true, but how could she? Cole Aylward was here. Cole Aylward. Payne’s brother.
A shudder shook her. She tugged the sheet tighter around her neck and roamed her gaze over the familiar objects in the room to hold at bay the face that hovered at the edge of her fear.
Chapter Three
Sadie left her grandmother in the kitchen discussing the day’s meals with Gertrude, carried the stack of washed dishes to the butler’s pantry, put them in their proper place on the shelves and continued through to the dining room. Her stomach was settling—not that she’d been able to do more than choke down a few bites of breakfast. But the knots from having Cole Aylward seated at the table were slowly coming undone.
To come downstairs after the sleepless hours haunted by the nightmare made more powerful by her return and to see him there...she paused and pressed her hands to her stomach as the knots twisted tight again. Cole’s likeness to his brother unnerved her. And try as she would, she could not ignore his presence—the man dominated a room. She would be thankful when he was gone, though it was clear after last night that he would defy her request. It had to be her grandfather who told him to leave. She would have to find a reason.
She lifted the lamps off the mantel in the dining room and carried them back to the table beneath the window in the butler’s pantry. She’d learned long ago that plunging into work the morning after having the nightmare was the best way to bury her fears. Being in control of something drove away the feeling of helplessness—and this morning that helpless feeling was overwhelming. And not only from the nightmare.
It pained her to see her grandfather’s efforts to cope with his infirmities and know there was nothing she could do to make him better. She removed the lamps’ glass chimneys, wiped them with a soft cloth, then turned up the wicks and picked up the silver trimmers. And Nanna...
“I’ve been studying on—” The scrape of a chair against the porch floor drowned out the rest of the words.
Cole. She’d thought he’d gone. She leaned toward the window and peered to her left. Her grandfather sat in a rocker on the porch and Cole Aylward stood leaning against the railing. She drew back lest he see her and took a breath to calm the pounding of her heart the mere sight of the man provoked.
“...best sit here on the porch. That sky doesn’t look too promising, and it smells like rain.”
Her pulse skipped. If they talked on the porch, perhaps she could discover why Cole was being so helpful and—
“What are you doing, sweeting?”
She started, jerked the trimmer handles together and snipped off too much of the wick on the first lamp. “I’m cleaning the lamps from the dining room mantel, Nanna.” She tossed the charred piece of wick into the small trash bucket on the table, adjusted the wick and replaced the cleaned globe, straining to hear the conversation taking place outside. Her grandfather’s halting words were difficult to understand, and Cole Aylward’s deep voice was hard to hear, but she dared not open the window lest they become aware that she was eavesdropping.
“What holds your interest?” Her grandmother frowned and moved into the pantry.
“Nothing, Nanna.” She quickly cleaned and trimmed the second lamp and stepped away from the table. “I’m finished.”
“What cost...buy...one?”
Buy what? She tilted her head toward the window.
“I’ll help you carry the lamps, Sadie.” Her grandmother bustled to her side, lifted one of the lamps in her small, pudgy hands and moved toward the doorway to the dining room. “Come along.”
She snatched up the other lamp and followed, wishing she could have waited to hear what her grandfather was considering buying. What had Cole Aylward suggested? What was he after?
Her grandmother set the lamp on the fireplace, turned it just so, stepped back and looked up at her. “I’m so glad you’ve returned.”
The smile brightening her nanna’s dear face brought a surge of guilt. She should have come home years ago. Willa and Callie had both written of how much her grandmother missed her, of the sadness in her eyes when she spoke of her. Yet she had let her cowardice keep her away. How selfish she was. Well, no more. She was home now and she would make it up to her grandmother. She set the lamp she held on the other end of the mantel, then tugged the bodice of her gown down into place at her waist.
“Turn it so that the knob is on the right, Ivy.”
Ivy? She caught her breath and turned.
Her grandmother looked up at her, a mild rebuke in her eyes. “I’m not scolding, Ivy. But I should think that after all these years in our service you could remember that little detail.”
Nanna didn’t know her. Something awful took her by the throat, squeezed life from her heart.
“Well, gracious! There’s no reason for tears, Ivy. I said I wasn’t cross with you.” Her grandmother reached out and patted her hand. “Now wipe the tears from your eyes and come along. We’ve the lamps in Mama and Papa’s room to tend to.”
* * *
“It’s something to think about, Manning.” Cole yanked his gaze from the dining room window—for the third time. Or, to be more accurate, from the slender, shapely young woman he could see through the glass.
“Cost...ly.”
He frowned, braced himself with his extended left leg, shifted his weight onto his right hip and rested his thigh along the railing. “Yes. But no one else in the area has a clapboard machine. I think it will pay for itself with the first few loads we ship downriver.”
The fading brown eyes took on a speculative gleam. Manning swept his hand through the air. “Big mar...ket.”
The show of enthusiasm brought a smile to his lips. It seemed he might have found a way to get the afflicted man excited and involved in his businesses again. “Very big. I’ve been doing some letter writing. There’s no other supplier of machine-milled clapboard from Olville to Buffalo. And none I could find a trace of from here to Pittsburgh.”
He twisted front and leaned forward. “You’d be the first, Manning. The other timber companies will still be riving clapboard by hand, and you know shaving them clean is a slow process. They wouldn’t be able to compete with your time or price.”
He stared down at his hands dangling in the open space between his legs. Big hands. Strong and powerful from felling trees and making shakes and clapboard. Payne had big, powerful hands, too. He glanced back up at the window and watched Sadie turn from placing a lamp on the fireplace mantel. So lithe and graceful. So unable to defend herself.
Stop it! He clenched his jaw so hard the muscle along the bone twitched. He couldn’t throw away four years of effort and hard work because he felt guilty for something that was not his doing.
Lightning flashed white brilliance through the air. Thunder rumbled a warning of things to come. The approaching storm seemed an ominous omen. He pushed off the railing, looked up at the darkened sky and turned to Manning. “I’d best take you inside before the storm hits.”
“No.” Manning’s face worked; his eyes flashed as brilliant as had the lightning. His good hand fisted on his knee. “Stay here. Like...storms.”
“All right. If it gets too bad, I’ll come back and take you in.” He turned toward the steps at another flash of lightning. “You think about the clapboard machine, and we’ll discuss it more tonight.”
Raindrops angled down from the black clouds rolling in, splatted in a halfhearted warning on the wooden steps, made dark wet splotches on the slate stones of the garden path. “Looks like this is going to be a soaker.” He stole another look at the window. Sadie was not in sight. Disappointment pricked him. He frowned, tugged the collar of his shirt up to cover the back of his neck, trotted down the steps and set off down the path.
* * *
Lightning flashed through the room. Thunder rumbled. Sadie replaced the glass chimney on the lamp she’d lit, glanced at her grandmother serenely dusting the serving table for the third time and started for the door. “I’ll see if Mr. Aylward is still here to bring—”
“Sadie.” She halted, startled by the ring of authority in her grandmother’s voice. “Cole Aylward is our good friend. You are to call him by his given name, as you do Daniel. Do you understand?”
Did she mean it? Or was she lost in her own world? She searched her grandmother’s eyes for that opaque look she was beginning to recognize and nodded. “Yes, of course, Nanna, if that is what you wish.”
“It is. Cole doesn’t take you off on dangerous adventures the way Daniel does. Now, you’d best hold the door for Cole. He’ll be bringing Manning inside.”
She nodded, swallowed back tears at the way her grandmother slipped in and out of the present, wished with her whole heart she could help her. Lightning flashed again. She opened the porch door, then stared agape. “He’s gone.”
Irritation flared. She stepped out onto the porch, heard the soft splat of raindrops, felt the freshness of a quickening breeze on her face and hands. How would she get her grandfather inside? She cast a sidelong glance at him, worrying over the problem. Perhaps the rockers would slide...
Her grandfather chuckled. His eyes twinkled with humor, crinkled at the corners. Her own mouth pulled up into a grin, tugged there by the chortling sound that accompanied so many of her happy childhood memories.
“Can’t...do it. Too...heavy...for you.”
Her amusement fled. “Don’t worry, Poppa. I’ll get you inside someway.” She cast an angry glance toward the garden path and stepped toward him. “Mr. Ayl—” she glanced at her grandmother standing in the doorway “—Cole never should have left you out—”
“Stay here!”
She stopped and stared at her grandfather, taken aback by his sharp tone. He reached out his good hand and took hold of hers.
“Not...child.” His face worked; his hand squeezed hers. “Told Cole...leave me. Like...storms.”
Not child. How humiliating for a proud, independent man like her grandfather to have to accept the care, the control of others. She swallowed hard and pushed back a tendril of hair the wind had plucked free of the thick coil of hair at her crown. “I’m sorry, Poppa. I should have asked your wishes.”
“You keep Poppa company, Sadie. I’ve work to do. Don’t go off the porch now.” Her grandmother smiled and stepped back into the dining room.
She stared at the closed door, aching with the need to have her grandmother and grandfather well, to have everything the way it was. “I remember, now that you’ve mentioned it, how much you like storms, Poppa. It used to frighten me when you would stand out here on the porch with the lightning flashing and the thunder crashing.” She turned from the door and forced a smile onto her face. “I was usually huddled up on the settee with Nanna.”
He tugged her closer, laid his cheek against her hand. “I...miss her...too.”
“Oh, Poppa...” She sank to her knees, placed her head against his knee and snagged her lip with her teeth to keep from crying. “Is there nothing Dr. Palmer can do to help Nanna get better? Can’t he give her some sort of medicine, or—” Her throat constricted, closed off the flow of words.
Her grandfather shook his head, his mouth working. “Some...thing in her...mind shuts...off...now and then. Doc can’t...stop it. Sorry, Sa...die.” He rested his big, work-worn hand on her hair, and she closed her eyes and imaged him whole and well and for a moment her world righted itself.
The wind gusted, snatching at her skirts. A door banged. Banged again. Her grandfather tensed. She looked up.
“Stable...door.” A frown knit his gray brows together. “Wind break...it.”
“I’ll go close it, Poppa.” She rose and shook out her long skirts.
“Lightning...”
She pushed out a small laugh and shook her head. “I’m not afraid of thunderstorms anymore.” It isn’t nature that hurts you, it’s men. “I’ll be right back.” She lifted her hems and ran down the steps, veered left onto the path that led to the stable. The wind blew her skirts against her legs. Raindrops spattered on her hair and shoulders, chilled her bowed neck.
She grabbed hold of the stable door with both hands and tugged with all of her strength to pull it closed against the rising force of the wind. It moved after a momentary lull, and she planted her feet and backed toward the gaping stable doorway, hauling the big, heavy door with her.
Lightning snapped, sizzling to the earth in a yellow streak. Sulfur stung her nose. Thunder clapped and the rain came—a wild, stinging deluge driven by the wind that snatched the door from her grasp. “Oh!” She ducked her head and jumped inside.
Raindrops drummed on the shakes overhead. The wind whistled across the open doorway and banged the door back against the building again. She stared in dismay at the heavy fall of water pouring off the roof to splash against the ground and tried to work up enough courage to go out and try again to drag that heavy door closed. And then it didn’t matter.
A large figure loomed in the opening, then pulled the door closed, shutting out the splashing curtain of water. Lightning flashed through the windows in a watery shimmer, shone on the rain-slick rubber jacket and glittered on the wet, black beard and dark gray eyes of Cole Aylward.
Chapter Four
Ice spilled down her spine, flowed into her arms and legs and froze her in place. Sadie stared at Cole Aylward, saw the image that haunted her nights. His black beard bobbed and his lips moved, but no words penetrated the glacial wall of fear.
“Did you hear me, Miss Spencer? Your poppa sent me to bring you to the house.”
His raised voice crumbled the ice, broke through her numbed senses. Poppa? How dare he use her pet name for her grandfather! A quaking took her, so strong, so furious in intensity her long skirts shook. “Don’t you call him that!”
“Look, Miss Spencer—” He took a step toward her. A towering shadow in the dim light.
She gasped and jerked back, her spurt of defiance dead.
He jolted to a halt and a heavy breath escaped him.
Light flashed on something in his hand. She caught a glimpse of a knob on the object he held before he turned and leaned it against the wall, shrugged out of his rubber jacket and tossed it on top of a nearby feed chest.
No, Almighty God, no! Not again. Her heart thudded. She stared at his hands, raised hers to cover her arms where his brother’s hard fingers had dug into her flesh as he threw her to the ground. Memory froze her lungs. A prickly warmth flooded her body, and the room swam in a slow, sickening circle, the edges turning dark, closing in.
Lightning snapped, startled her from the encroaching darkness. Thunder shook the building and rattled the windowpanes. She shook her head to clear away the fuzziness, forced strength into her quivering legs and edged backward, not daring to take her gaze off Cole.
“I came back because the storm worsened and I wanted to get Manning inside before he got soaked by the driving rain. He sent me after you—told me to tell you your poppa had sent me so you wouldn’t be frightened. That was his word, not mine.”
Did he think her a fool? If that were true, why would he remove his rain jacket? She needed a weapon. Something. Anything! She stretched her right hand backward, groped through the space behind her.
“Obviously, that didn’t work.” He turned toward her, lifted his hands.
She whirled to run, spotted a hay fork and snatched it from its place in the corner then spun back, the wooden tines extended toward him. Rain beat on the roof. Lightning flickered, and thunder rumbled. The horse in the stall behind her snorted and pawed at the floor.
Tension quivered on the air. Cole stared at her, silent and still, slowly tugged his shirt collar up around his neck and lowered his hands. “I’ve told you, I am not my brother, Miss Spencer. I abhor what he did to you. But I am at a loss as to how to convince you of that. Perhaps time is the only answer.” His voice, deep and quiet, blended with the drumming overhead. He turned, gestured toward his rain jacket. “That should keep you dry. Please hurry back to the house. Your grandmother is worried about you.”
She watched, wary and disbelieving, as he shoved open the door, ducked his head and stepped out into the gray deluge. What was he doing? She stared at the door, waited. It remained closed. The heavy thudding of her heart eased. Her racing pulse slowed. She dropped the hay rake, moved forward on shaky legs and stared down at the object he’d left behind. A furled umbrella with a brass knob in the form of a drake’s head.
Your grandfather sent me after you.
Was it true? She picked up her grandfather’s umbrella, held it against her chest and sagged back against the wall. Why would her grandfather do such a thing when he knew what had happened to her? Why would he send Cole Aylward, of all people, to come after her when she was alone and defenseless? Had her grandfather’s reason, also, been affected by his seizure? Or was Cole lying?
She closed her eyes, fought the clinging fog of weariness and fear. What could she do? She was helpless against Cole Aylward’s strength and unequal to an Aylward’s cunning ways. She tightened her grip on the umbrella and wrapped her arms around herself in a futile effort to stop the inward quivering, the outward shivering. “Heavenly Father, You know I’m not strong enough or brave enough to fight him. I can’t do this. Give me strength and courage and wisdom, I pray.”
Her choked, whispered plea was swallowed by the sound of the rain that pounded on the shakes overhead and slapped against the outside of the wall behind her. She opened her eyes and stared down at the rainwater that seeped under the door and trickled across the thick puncheons into the dark interior, trying to understand, to grasp what Cole was after. He had to have a reason for the care he was giving her grandfather. Was it money? Payne had stolen the money from her grandfather’s desk at the mill before he had—
A shudder passed through her. She shoved the memory away and thought about the conversation she’d overheard. Cole wanted her grandfather to buy something. It had to be Poppa’s money he wanted. That would explain why he was working to gain her grandfather’s trust—or knowledge of where he kept his money.
Her face tightened. The thought of her grandfather being duped because of his weakened state brought strength. She shoved away from the wall, partially opened the umbrella and waited for another lull in the wind, then slipped outside and slammed the door closed again, leaving Cole’s raincoat lying on the chest. She would rather be soaked to the bone than touch a garment that belonged to him.
* * *
The stable door banged.
At last. Cole pressed back into the darkness against the wall and watched Sadie run for the house, the umbrella she held bucking and flapping in the buffeting wind, the pouring rain soaking into her dress, turning the fabric black in the dim, stormy light.
No rain jacket. He needn’t have bothered leaving it for her. He should have simply left her the umbrella and gone home. He scowled and drew back as she gained the porch. There was no need; she didn’t even glance toward the end where he stood, merely hurried inside.
He pulled his wet collar tight against the back of his neck, crossed the porch and trotted down the steps. The wind plastered his wet pants to his legs, blew his shirt flat against his chest and fluttered and slapped the sides of it against his ribs. Rain soaked through the fabric and chilled his skin. He shivered and sprinted to the stable, water splashing from beneath his boots.
The wind wrestled him for the door. He forced it open, stepped through and eased it closed, then stood just inside to catch his breath. The smells of grain, hay and dust mingled on the moist air he drew in. A cold drop of water slid down his neck. He snatched his hat from his head, twisted the knit fabric and watched the water flow off his knuckles and splash on the floor.
The horse sniffed, extended its neck over the stall door and whickered.
“Later, girl. It’s not time for your feed.” White light flickered through the windows, gleaming on the garment draped across the feed chest. His jaw clenched. For a frightened, fragile-appearing woman, Sadie Spencer had a strong defiant streak.
He looked down at his hands twisting the knitted cap, eased their grip, tugged the hat back on his head and lifted his raincoat off the chest, his fingers digging into the rubber cloth. His mother had also been defiant and strong—in her own way. And that defiance had cost her her life at his father’s hands. Would Sadie have died by Payne’s hands if that logger hadn’t heard her scream and come running to her aid?
His stomach clenched at a sudden roll of nausea. The look of stark terror on Sadie’s face when he’d stepped through the door and turned toward her was chilling. And the anger of injured innocence, of a person who has had her sense of peace and security torn from her, lurked in the depths of her brown eyes. It was heartrending. How could he ever hope to make that up to her?
A lightning bolt crackled through the rain. Thunder clapped. He stared down at the rubber fabric dangling from his clenched hands and wished it were Payne in his grip.
* * *
They should be asleep by now. Sadie took a firm hold on the oil lamp and walked to the top of the stairs, listened but heard no sound. She thrust the lamp behind her, leaned around the corner and peeked over the railing. The trimmed lamp on the center table spread dim light through the empty entrance hall. The way was clear.
She gripped the railing and eased down the four steps to the landing, turned and started down the longer flight, glanced to her left. The morning-room door was closed, her grandfather’s snoring coming muted through its wood panels. Good. She could check the money box without interruption or explanation.
The soft tap of her slippers blended with the whispered brush of her dressing-gown hem against the polished oak steps as she descended. A loud snort from the morning room froze her at the bottom of the staircase. She held her breath, waited until the snoring resumed, then hurried across the hall into the library. The light from the lamp fell in a golden circle onto the braided rag rug her grandmother had made as a bride. A lump formed in her throat, swelled as she lifted her gaze. This was her favorite room. Poppa’s room.
She sniffed the air, smiled at the remembered blend of candle wax, wood smoke and leather, with a hint of bayberry cologne. Her gaze went to the window where she and Willa and Callie and Daniel had crouched beside the lilac bush and watched her grandfather take the flat box from the desk drawer, count money he pulled from his pocket, write something on a small piece of paper, put it all in the box and then return the box to the drawer. She had made the others promise, then and there, that they would never tell anyone about Poppa’s money box, especially Ellen, who could never keep a secret.
The light flickered over the settle where she’d curled up on the cushion and looked at books while Poppa worked, then settled to a steady burn as she placed the lamp on the game table where she’d learned to play checkers.
She thrust her childhood memories away and crossed to the tall bookshelf desk that sat between the two windows on the front wall and opened the drawer that held the flat wooden box. She brushed her fingers over the smooth, waxed top, then flipped it open. Empty.
Her breath caught. Her grandfather always kept his money in the box. Did he know it was gone? Or had Cole found the box and taken the money on the sly?
She put the box back in the drawer and looked up at the bookshelves behind the glass-fronted doors, stared at a gaping space. Her grandfather’s green leather bookkeeping ledgers were gone as well. They were always— Nanna. Had her grandmother misplaced them while cleaning? Nanna would never take the ledgers from Poppa’s desk if she were thinking straight, but in her confused moments...
That horrible feeling of loss struck her anew. Heartsick, she looked behind the desk’s drop-down slant front and in the drawer again. No ledgers. A quick scan of the books on the shelves in the alcoves on either side of the stone fireplace showed no green leather bindings among them.
Where else could the books be? She lifted the hinged seat on the settle and searched through the box it covered. Two old pillows, a quilt, a dented flask, a pair of worn boots and her torn rag doll. She lowered the lid, straightened, wrapped her arms about herself and slowly rubbed her upper left arm as she gazed about. There was no place left to search. Suspicion wormed its way into her thoughts and took root. Her hand stilled. He had them. Cole must have slipped into the room and taken the ledgers along with the money. There was no one to prevent him from doing what he would.
Until now.
She whirled and strode to the table, picked up the lamp and carried it across the entrance hall into the sitting room. She would tell her grandfather what she had discovered and her suspicions, but first she must be certain that what she suspected was true. Her grandmother could have misplaced the books and even the money.
Her grandfather’s occasional snore was the only sound that disturbed the silence as she searched every cupboard and drawer for the books then moved on to the dining room and butler’s pantry. The lamp chased away the darkness, lit every nook and cranny she hunted through. The ledgers were nowhere to be found. Her suspicion solidified into certainty. Cole had the books—but why? She could not go to her grandfather until she knew the answer to that question. Cole had so ingratiated himself into her grandparents’ affections, she wasn’t sure her grandfather would believe her without proof.
Fatigue dragged at her. She climbed the stairs, her steps firmed by determination. She might have been helpless to stop his brother’s attack on her—and she did not come close to matching Cole’s physical strength—but God had given her a good mind, and she had taken her turn at tending the books at the ladies’ seminary. She would be her grandfather’s eyes, and she would find out what scheme Cole was about. But first she had to find those business ledgers.
She entered her bedroom, set the oil lamp in its place and untied the fastening on her dressing gown. She would watch Cole’s every move, and when she had discovered what he was about and why, she would tell her grandfather, and he would order Cole from his home. They would be safe then. She would be safe then.
Memories pressed upon her. She glanced at her bed and gave up the idea of retiring. Her agitated state would surely bring the nightmare.
The dimmed lamplight reflected off the raindrops falling against the window. She opened the sash and stood listening to the now-gentle rain pattering on the porch roof and on the plants in her grandmother’s garden below. Where would Cole have taken the ledgers? The most likely place was his shingle mill at Payne’s cabin.
A chill coursed through her that had nothing to do with the cool breeze riffling the curtains and fluttering the edges of her dressing gown. She looked through the darkness toward the trees that sheltered the path leading to the sawmill and wrapped her arms about herself. Payne’s cabin was a short distance beyond the sawmill. How would she ever find the courage to walk that path?
So many questions with no answers. She left the window, too exhausted by her confrontation with Cole in the stable and her worries over her grandparents to resist the lure of her bed any longer. The soft sound of the rain dancing on the porch roof calmed her nerves and lulled her to a place of peace. Her eyelids slid closed. She struggled to open them, then sighed and yielded to her weariness. It would be all right. It wasn’t Payne Aylward’s face she saw against the darkness. It was Cole’s raincoat on top of the grain chest in the stable.
It had been a...thoughtful...gesture.... All that...rain...
Chapter Five
A horse’s hoofs thumped on the carriage way, and buggy wheels crunched over the gravel. Her stomach flopped. Sadie frowned and covered the teapot with a towel to keep it hot. She wasn’t ready to face callers. Perhaps Nanna would go to the door.
She stepped to the window, open in the hope of catching a breeze, pushed aside the curtain and looked toward the stable. A tall, handsomely dressed man was lifting a woman down from a black phaeton. She skimmed her gaze over the woman’s attractive green gown and caught her breath at the sight of a thick roll of chestnut hair gleaming red in the sunlight beneath a green hat. Willa.
Joy swelled. She whirled away from the window, rushed out the kitchen door. “Willa!” Tears clogged her throat, spilled from her eyes as she raced down the length of the porch.
“Sadie?” Willa stopped dead in her tracks, then lifted her hems and clattered up the steps like they had as children.
She stretched out her arms and was enveloped in a mutual hug, danced around in circles with Willa, laughing and crying, their voices blending as they choked out words. “It’s so good to see you!”
“I’ve missed you so!”
“It’s been so long!”
“So terribly long!”
A throat cleared. “Excuse me, ladies. But if you will let me pass, I will attend to my business inside while you continue your reunion.” There was amused patience in the deep, resonant male voice.
She blinked away her tears and looked over Willa’s shoulder straight into a pair of smiling brown eyes.
“Welcome home, Miss Spencer. I’m the forgotten man—Matthew Calvert, Willa’s husband, at your service.” A lopsided grin slanted across his lips. “At least I will be if I can come up on the porch.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I—”
“He’s only teasing, Sadie.” Willa’s hand gripped her arm and tugged her aside. “I keep telling him it’s very unprofessional behavior for a pastor.”
“And I keep explaining that we all have our little foibles.”
She listened to Matthew Calvert’s laughter, watched the warm, loving look Willa and her husband exchanged and something stirred deep inside. Envy? Ridiculous. She wanted no part of any man, let alone marriage. The very thought of it made her ill. She stepped toward the dining-room door. “Forgive my lapse of manners, Reverend Calvert. Please come in.”
He moved to her side and smiled down at her. “There’s no need for the formal address, Miss Spencer. I am Matthew to Willa’s friends.”
She caught the hopeful look in Willa’s eyes and smiled but couldn’t bring herself to offer him her hand. She grabbed the doorknob as an excuse to withhold it. “I’m Sadie—to Willa’s husband.”
She tried to make it amusing, but acknowledgment of her limited acceptance flickered in his brown eyes, followed by a look of compassion that made her throat constrict. He knew. Willa had told him. A flush of shame prickled her skin.
“Sadie it is. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go pay my call on your grandparents while you ladies visit.”
“They’re in the sitting room. I’ll show you—”
“No need, Sadie. I know the way. And Willa will never forgive me if I steal one minute of your time.” He grinned and walked into the house.
She closed the door on his retreating figure. If only it were as easy to shut out the past.
“I’m sorry, Sadie. I know I promised to never speak of what happened, but I had to tell Matthew.” Willa placed a hand on her arm, held her gaze. “He wondered why you didn’t come home to visit with your grandmother being ill. And when your grandfather had his seizure...well...I didn’t know if you would come. And I couldn’t let Matthew think it was because you were uncaring.”
But now he would always look at her with the knowledge of Payne Aylward’s attack in his mind—the same as everyone else in Pinewood. She pushed aside the shame, smiled and squeezed Willa’s hand. “You always were protective of me.”
Relief flashed in her friend’s blue-green eyes. “Well, I am older than you.” A smile curved her lips at their old childhood contention.
“By three months.” She gave Willa another quick hug. “It isn’t age, my friend, it’s a matter of courage. I was woefully lacking in that attribute as a child, and I still am. Now—” She linked their arms and started for the kitchen door. “I’ve just made tea, in spite of the heat. Let’s bring it out here on the porch and visit. You can tell me all about becoming a wife and the mother of two young children at the same time. I can see now how Matthew won your heart. What you wrote me about his grin is true—it really is disarming.”
* * *
The cravat at his throat was a misery in the heat, and his Sunday suit wasn’t much better. Cole shifted in the saddle and shot a quick glance up at the sun. He’d rip the cravat off right now if—
Was that a scream?
He frowned and urged Cloud into a trot around the bend. Dust swirled in the air, gritty against his perspiring face. He squinted his eyes and spotted a buggy jouncing and jolting side to side on the road ahead, dirt spewing from beneath its wobbling wheels. The Conklins?
Women’s shouts and screams mingled with the thunder of the horse’s hoofs.
A runaway.
He started forward, then stopped. He’d never overtake them on the straight road. He eyed the distance to the incline where the road made a sharp bend at the top, judged the angle required to get in front of the careening buggy, and reined Cloud into the field. “Let’s go, boy!” He kicked him into a run, watching the buggy. If they entered that curve before he reached them...
The gelding raced through the tall grasses, gathered itself and jumped a small creek, pounded along the beaten path that led from the water to a copse of trees that bordered the low hill and the Gardner farm. A quick glance at the dangerously swaying buggy showed they’d gained ground and would beat the buggy to the hill.
Trees broke across his vision. He jerked his gaze to the narrow path ahead, leaned low to avoid overhanging branches and urged Cloud on, picturing the area in his head. The stock path trailed left away from the road, but there was a break in the trees... There! He reined Cloud right, heard pounding hoofs and glanced over his shoulder. Frothy sweat covered the heaving chest of the panicked horse running toward them, flew from its driving haunches. Close.
“Come on boy!” He kicked his heels, and Cloud leaped forward, thundering onto the road a short distance in front of the wild-eyed runaway, his muscles bunching and stretching to maintain his small lead. “Steady, boy, steady.”
He risked another glance over his shoulder and glimpsed the two Conklin women in a tumbled heap in the driver’s corner of the seat, no reins in sight. “Put on the brake!” One of the women lunged for the brake lever. He turned back, leaned forward as they started up the grade. Please, Lord, let this work!
Cloud raced on beneath his urging. He tilted his head toward his shoulder, listened to the thundering hoofs behind him and risked turning for another look when their pounding rhythm slowed. Their lead had increased. It was working! The applied brake and the slope of the hill were proving too much for the tiring horse.
“Ease up, boy.” He slowed Cloud and reined him to the left. The runaway caught up and ran with them neck and neck. He leaned down, grabbed for the cheek strap of the horse’s bridle, missed and tried again. The leather strap tugged against his fingers. He tightened his grip, the muscles of his arm and shoulder fighting the force of the horse’s thrusting head. “Easy, girl. Easy...”
He settled deeper in the saddle, tugged harder—the mare’s head turned, its gait faltered. He held the straining head facing him and reined in Cloud, forcing the mare to slow her wild run. They entered the sharp bend at a trot, the buggy swaying wildly but remaining upright. “Whoa, girl. It’s all right. Everything is all right.” He kept his voice low, talked the horse calm as he slowed Cloud to a walk, then stopped.
“Good girl.” Cole tightened his grip on the cheek strap and slipped from the saddle, willing his hands and voice to stay steady as he reached to where the reins passed through the terrets on the harness saddle and grabbed hold. That had been close! Too close. He loosed his grip on the cheek strap and stroked the mare’s quivering, sweat-covered neck. The bay dropped its head and barreled air into its heaving chest.
He turned, playing the dangling reins through his firm grip as he stepped to the buggy. Enid and Chloe Conklin were untangling themselves from the corner of the seat. “Are you ladies all right?”
“Seems so.” Enid’s voice shook. She tugged her hat to rights and looked down at him, her face pale, her eyes wide with shock. “Thank you, Mr. Aylward. You saved us from a sure accident.” She grabbed the dashboard and scooted over on the seat, giving Chloe room. “Fool mare! I don’t know what spooked her like that.”
“It was a fox, Mother. I saw it run across the road.” Chloe pushed herself to a sitting position, twisted her bodice into place and gave him a shaky smile. “I’m so thankful you happened along, Mr. Aylward. I lost the reins when I grabbed hold of the dashboard to keep from being thrown out of the buggy.”
“I’m glad to have been able to help.” He glanced at her trembling hands, turned and fastened the reins to a sturdy branch. “I’ll look the buggy over, make sure nothing’s broken.” He tugged his handkerchief from his pocket, wiped the sweat and grit from his face, then stepped to the driver’s side and checked the wheels and hubs. The undercarriage looked fine. A rustle of fabric drew his attention. He glanced over his shoulder and watched Chloe climb from the buggy and turn toward the horses.
“You’d best move slow and speak quiet, Miss Conklin. That mare could be spooked easy right now.”
She turned and smiled. “It’s your horse I’m going to pet, Mr. Aylward. He has a brave, staunch heart—like his owner. He deserves our thanks. As do you.” Pink flowed into her cheeks. Her smile warmed. “I’ll be careful.”
He nodded and turned back to finish his inspection, man enough to dwell on the meaning of that blush and feel a little set up by it. His ego had taken quite a beating since Sadie Spencer had returned.
“Of all the days for Henry to have to stay home from church! I hope that foal he was waiting to help birth proves out steadier than this new mare.” Enid Conklin peered out of the buggy toward him. “Everything all right?”
“So far.” He walked to the back of the buggy, peered beneath, then moved on to check the other wheels and finally the traces. “I don’t see any sign of damage, Mrs. Conklin, but you’d best have Henry give things a closer look when you get home.”
“I’ll do that. And he can get rid of this fidgety mare, too.” A scowl pulled Enid Conklin’s brows together. “I don’t aim to have another ride like this one again.”
“Can’t say I blame you.” He loosed the reins from the branch and handed them up to the older woman, who had taken the driver’s seat.
“I thank you for reminding us to pull on the brake, young man. I forgot all about it in the struggle to keep from being thrown out, but I should have remembered. Henry won’t be pleased about that. I’m not.”
“I’m sure Henry will be so pleased you and Miss Conklin are safe, he won’t give it a thought.”
“Perhaps.” She smiled down at him. “I’d like to thank you proper, Mr. Aylward, and I’m sure Henry will, too. Would you come for dinner?”
“What a lovely idea, Mother.”
Chloe stepped up beside him, leading Cloud. The warmth, the interest in her eyes was balm for the fear in Sadie Spencer’s eyes whenever he came near her, but Sadie might be the wiser of the two. She was certainly the one that drew him. He held back a frown.
“I hope you are able to join us, Mr. Aylward. It would give you and your horse a chance to cool off before you ride on home. Our house stays fairly cool, even during a day as hot as this one.” Chloe smiled and held out her hand toward him.
He took Cloud’s reins, careful not to let his hand touch hers. He’d been very cautious about even a casual, accidental touch of a young woman these past four years. “I’m afraid not. I have to get to the Townsends’ place. Manning is waiting for me.” He shifted his gaze to Enid. “I thank you for the kind invitation, Mrs. Conklin.” He mounted, feeling boorish for not helping Chloe into the buggy, but she was too friendly to encourage. “I’ll ride along with you until the turnoff to make sure everything is all right. Let’s go, boy.”
Cloud moved out in front of the buggy, and he held him at a walk, giving the Conklins’ new mare no chance to break into a run. He was already late and wanted no more trouble. Manning would be wondering where he was. Manning. He huffed out a breath. It wasn’t the image of the elderly man’s gray-bearded face that had been filling his head all during church.
He looked down and brushed at the dust on his suit, scowled at the small, jagged tear in the right sleeve. He’d hoped when Sadie saw him in his Sunday clothes it would help set him apart from Payne in her eyes. That she’d at least entertain consideration of him as an upstanding, churchgoing man and look at him with respect instead of disgust and fear. There was little hope of that now.
He lifted a hand in farewell as he passed the turnoff to the Conklin farm and urged Cloud into an easy lope.
* * *
“Joshua and Sally sound absolutely delightful, Willa. How fortunate they are to have you for their mother.” Sadie rose and reached for the teapot to hide the sorrow and regret that surely showed on her face. She would never be a mother. Payne Aylward had destroyed that dream.
“And Matthew for their father.” Willa smiled and held out her empty cup. “It took a while before they stopped calling him Uncle and me Miss Wright, but we are Mama and Papa to them now. God has made us into a true family. I never knew such love was possible.”
There was a warm contentment in Willa’s voice. A yearning to know such happiness swept through Sadie. She frowned at the foolish hope, poured Willa more tea, then refilled her own cup. She would gladly settle for freedom from fear, and peace of mind. “I’m truly happy for you, Willa.” Honey dribbled from the spoon she held over the top of her tea. “And for Callie as well. Is she as happy as she writes in her letters?”
“Oh my, yes.” Willa lifted one of Gertrude’s ginger cookies onto her plate. “Ezra adores her. But then, with her beauty and sweetness, what man wouldn’t? Except for my Matthew.”
There was that sound of contentment again. Sadie lowered her spoon and made figure eights, swirling the honey through the dark liquid in her cup, acutely aware of how much her cowardice had cost her. There were so many things she could never get back. “Has she truly grown that beautiful?”
“Gracious, yes! Wait until you see her. She and Ezra are in New York City at present. There was some sort of business deal that required his presence.” Willa laughed and gave a small shake of her head. “God’s ways never cease to amaze me, Sadie. Callie fled here from Buffalo to escape the rich men vying for her hand and wound up married to a man wealthier than all of them.”
“Yes, she wrote me of that. And Ellen wrote that she is enjoying her position as the beauty of the social set in Buffalo, now that Callie has married.” She held back a frown and took a sip of her hot, sweetened tea. Such pleasure was beyond her imagining. She’d spent the past four years hiding from men behind the seminary’s brick walls.
“I’ve tried to explain to Ellen that mutual love and trust are important in a marriage, but she brushes such things aside. She cares only that the man she marries can provide the fancy lifestyle she craves.”
Time to change the subject. She had no desire to talk about the various aspects of marriage. “How is Daniel?”
Willa set down her cup and looked at her. “Daniel is fine...as I wrote you in my last letter. My mother and her husband are fine. Ellen’s parents are fine. Sophia is fine. Her new restaurant in the hotel is doing very well and she is prospering. The new bank Ezra built and the freight-hauling business he started have brought new prosperity to Pinewood. There have been no major accidents or illnesses and no deaths since my last letter. I believe that covers the town and its residents. There’s no one else for you to hide behind, Sadie.”
She stiffened and brushed back a lock of hair sticking to her moist forehead. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are. But it won’t work. We’re going to talk about you.” Willa’s voice was soft but firm. “If Matthew hadn’t come to call on your grandparents today, I wouldn’t even have known you were here. Why didn’t you write me you were coming home? Or send word that you’d arrived?”
“There wasn’t time to write.” She put down her cup and met Willa’s questioning gaze. “When I read Callie’s letter telling me about Poppa’s seizure, I went straight to the headmistress and resigned my position, then I packed my bags and hired a cabriolet to take me to the station so I could catch the next stage to Buffalo.”
“You’re not returning to the seminary?” There was a hesitant joy in Willa’s voice.
“No. My place is here, caring for Nanna and Poppa.” She rose, stepped to the railing and looked out at her grandmother’s garden. “I confess I’d hoped I could stay and care for them in the safety of Sophia’s hotel. When I learned they’d come home, I—It was...difficult...to come back here.” She leaned over the railing and plucked a rose from the climbing bush, sniffed its sweet fragrance. “Nonetheless, I should have done so when you first wrote me of your concerns over Nanna’s confusion. Instead, I told myself her lapses of memory were nothing serious because I was too much of a coward to come home and face...everything.”
The legs of Willa’s chair scraped the floor and her footsteps neared. “You are not a coward, Sadie. Any woman would flee after—”
“Not you, Willa. You stayed and faced the humiliation when Thomas left town. And Callie stood against her parents and those men who thought they could buy her for a wife.”
“Oh, Sadie, you ascribe me virtue and courage I do not possess. I thought of leaving Pinewood when Thomas deserted me, but I couldn’t leave Mama, so I hid behind a lie. And Callie fled from her unpleasant situation at home. We’re no different than you.” Willa grasped her arm and tugged her around to face her. “God delivered us from our troubles and fears and blessed us with love and happiness. And though our problems did not compare to yours—to what happened to you—He is able to do the same for you, Sadie. And I know He will. Trust Him.”
She drew her arm away so Willa would not feel the shudder passing through her at the thought of married life. “I’m happy for you and Callie, Willa, but I do not want a husband. I do not want any man but Poppa to even touch me, now or ever! All I ask of God is the wisdom and strength to stay and care for Nanna and Poppa in spite of my fear.”
Chapter Six
“I’m sorry I’m late, Manning. I hope you weren’t uncomfortable.” Cole held his gaze steady on the elderly man, resisting the urge to look to where Sadie sat reading. There was no need. He could well imagine what she thought of him standing there all sweaty in his dusty, torn suit—not that her opinion of him could get any lower. Still, he’d hoped to improve that situation today. “I came straight here from church—despite my appearance.” He almost snorted at the feeble attempt to justify himself to her. He was giving far too much weight to Sadie’s power to—
“Reverend Calvert came to call. He helped Grandfather.”
Sadie’s cool, polite tone, the inference in her words, sent a rod of steel down his spine. She might as well have called him a liar. He drew a breath, then let it go when Manning tugged at his torn sleeve.
“What...hap...pened?”
“Why do you bother to ask, Manning? Daniel is an adventurer. He’s always unkempt.”
Daniel. He looked to where Rachel Townsend sat working her needlepoint, noted her opaque, unfocused expression, and his chest tightened in a way that was becoming all too familiar. He’d begun helping the Townsends as a way of atoning in a small measure for the hurt Payne had caused them, but the elderly couple had taken up residence in his heart—they’d become the grandparents he’d never had. He made her a small bow. “Please forgive my appearance, Mrs. Townsend. I did not mean to call in this disheveled state. It was unavoidable.”
She stared at him a moment, then bowed her head to her work. “At least you’ve manners enough to apologize.”
“Cole...” Manning gave another tug on his sleeve, pointed to the rip. “Tell...me.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Sadie’s head lift and turn slightly their way. The better to hear and sort through his words for another reason to distrust him, no doubt. The day wasn’t going at all as he’d hoped. He held back a scowl and focused his attention on Manning.
“Henry Conklin bought a new mare. Turns out she’s a nervous one. On the way home from church, a fox ran in front of her and she spooked. Unfortunately, Henry had stayed home and Chloe and Enid were alone in the buggy. In all the jolting, Chloe lost the reins.”
“Runa...way?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my! Are they all right?” Rachel lowered her work and stared at him, her eyes now clear and focused. Sadie’s were narrowed and suspicious. He supposed he should be grateful she hadn’t fled the room at his appearing, as was her wont.
“They were a little shaken, but they’re fine. I spotted their careening buggy and was able to cut through the field and that copse of trees that borders the Gardner place to get ahead of them.”
“Bottom of...hill?”
He looked back at Manning and nodded. “You figured it right.”
Manning chuckled, his face creased into a smile. “Smart. Hill would...slow...horse.”
The approval felt good. He’d never managed to gain that from his father. “That and the brake. The women had forgotten it in the excitement, but Enid managed to pull it on when I yelled to them. It worked. I was able to drop back and get hold of the bridle.”
Manning’s smile turned to a frown. “Danger...ous.”
He couldn’t deny the charge. He glanced down at the angry red streaks crossing his fingers and palm, felt again the power of the mare’s thrusting head straining his arm and shoulder. “But necessary. If they’d gone into that sharp bend at the top of the hill at a run, they’d have overturned.”
“Still risky...hero...ic.”
He glanced toward Sadie, sure she would be irritated by that description. She was looking at his bruised hand. He folded his swollen fingers against his palm and moved his hand back out of her sight. “Hardly. I simply happened along at the right time and the right place. I never could have caught them if it weren’t for the hill.”
“Nonetheless, you saved them, Cole. And, from the looks of you, it was quite a task.” Rachel set her needlepoint aside, rose from the settee and bustled over to him. “Give me your coat. I’ll give it a good brushing and mend that tear for you.”
He glanced down at the three-cornered rip in his sleeve. “A branch must have caught it when I rode through the trees, but you don’t have to—”
“Do not argue with me, young man.” A mock scowl knit Rachel’s fine gray brows together. She held out her hand.
Warmth filled his chest. It had been four years since anyone had fussed over him. He slipped his arm out of a sleeve and wished he had the right to lean down and kiss her soft, wrinkled cheek.
“You’re busy with your needlepoint, Nanna, and I’m only entertaining myself reading. Why don’t I brush and mend the coat?”
His mouth didn’t exactly gape, but only because he caught himself in time. He froze with his coat half-off and shot a look at Sadie. She’d moved to the settee and was staring at Rachel’s needlepoint. He glanced down. There was a hodgepodge of large, red stitches scattered over the beautifully worked, unfinished piece. So that was it. She was protecting her grandmother. From what? His disapproval? Anger? She thought him so cruel that he would berate an ill woman?
He jerked his gaze up to Sadie’s face and his spurt of anger died. The sadness in her brown eyes tugged at his heart harder than Rachel was tugging on his arm. He looked down.
“Your coat.” She raised her arms, grasped the collar and slid it off his shoulder.
He couldn’t refuse her. He pulled his arm out of the sleeve. “You’re most kind, Mrs. Townsend. Thank you.”
“I’ll mend the coat, Nanna.” Sadie hurried over. He glanced at her taut face, wished she would look at him so he could let her know that it was all right, that he understood.
“Nonsense.” Rachel draped the coat over her arm and took hold of his hand, turned it palm up. “Come with me to the kitchen, Cole, your hand needs tending.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You come, too, Sadie. You can see to Cole’s hand while I brush his coat.”
Sadie’s face drained of color and panic flashed in her eyes. Did the thought of touching him do that to her? He clenched his jaw and gently withdrew his hand from Rachel’s grasp. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Mrs. Townsend. I need to go home and get cleaned up. And Cloud had a hard run in this heat—I want to get him fed and turned out to pasture. I’ll get my coat when I return this evening.” He dipped his head in farewell and strode from the room.
* * *
The dishes were finished at last. Sadie looked at her puckered fingers and swallowed the lump in her throat. Twice Nanna had taken the dishes she’d washed and rinsed, dried them and put them right back in the dishpan. She hadn’t known how to stop her without hurting her feelings or confusing her more. If Poppa hadn’t called for help, they’d be doing dishes still. How did Gertrude manage? Why couldn’t she?
The helpless feeling in her chest swelled. What happened to Nanna? What made her forget what she had done so that she did it over and over again? Why did her grandmother’s mind slip from the present to the past and back again? She wanted so much to help her, but how did you help a woman who forgot you? Who confused the child she had raised from a toddler with others?
She removed her apron, scooped some rose-scented oatmeal-and-beeswax cream from the small crock on the shelf over the washstand and rubbed it into her hands. If only she could tell when her grandmother was going to slip into the past, she might be able to prepare herself and do something to stop it...if one could.
The ache in her heart grew. She smoothed back her hair and scanned the kitchen to be sure all had been put to rights for Gertrude’s return in the morning, then dimmed the lamp and walked out into the hall. If Nanna had remembered about Cole’s suit coat and repaired that tear...
She sighed and grasped hold of the thought of Cole. She wished he would simply go away, but at least he was a distraction from her concern over her grandmother, the anger she felt toward him a welcome respite from the lost, hollow feeling that had settled in her heart since she’d come home.
Twilight showed outside the entrance hall window, and she hurried her steps. Cole would soon return to carry her grandfather to bed. Why had he not come for supper? It had been odd not having him sitting at the table sharing their meal. Though she was thankful. It was only that she had become used to him sitting across from her.
There was something too...accepting about his relationship with her grandparents. They treated him as they would a son. And what was truly disturbing was that she was responsible. If she had been here where she belonged when her grandfather had his seizure, none of this would have happened. Cole would not have set foot in this house. And he certainly would not be caring for her grandfather. Although, to be honest, he did an excellent job of it.
She stopped outside the sitting-room door, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and stepped into the room. Oh, Nanna... Tears filmed her eyes, blurring the large stitches of crimson yarn her grandmother was using to sew the two sides of Cole’s sleeve together.
“Sa...die...”
“Yes, Poppa?” She looked at her grandfather sitting helpless in his chair and clamped her lips together to hold back a cry of anger and frustration at her inability to help these two people she loved so dearly.
“Checkers. Bring...table.”
Her heart sank. She didn’t want to disappoint him, but she had no time to play a game of checkers now. She had to somehow get Cole’s coat from Nanna and remove those stitches before he returned. She blinked her eyes and cleared her throat. “Poppa, I—”
He shook his head. “I play...Rachel.” His gaze darted to Cole’s coat in his wife’s hands then came back to lock on hers, his message clear.
She read the love and care for her grandmother in his brown eyes, and the awful loneliness inside her eased. He might be limited physically, but he was still her poppa—and he had just given her the answer to her dilemma. She curved her lips into a trembling smile. “A perfectly lovely idea, Poppa. I’ll be right back.”
She hurried across the entrance hall to the library, lifted the small game table from its place in the corner and carried it back to set in front of his chair.
He reached for her hand, pulled her close and placed his mouth by her ear. “Distract...doesn’t hurt...her.”
The warm breath of his whisper tickled her cheek. She swallowed hard and gave him a quick hug. “Thank you, Poppa. I didn’t know what to do. I’ll remember.” She straightened and stepped back.
He pulled the drawer in the table open and began placing the red and black wood disks on the inlaid game board. Memories of him teaching her to play the game caught at her throat. A deep breath steadied her and she moved a Windsor chair into place on the other side.
“Rachel. Come...play.”
Her grandmother glanced up and shook her head. “Sadie will play with you, Manning. I’m mending Cole’s coat.”
“No. Want...you to...play.”
Her grandfather waved her away. She stepped to the chair she’d occupied earlier and picked up her book.
“Let you...go...first.”
Her grandmother laughed, laid Cole’s coat on the settee, walked over to the game table and seated herself. “That is so very gallant of you, Manning. But we both know it will make no difference. You always win.”
She watched her grandmother reach to slide a checker forward and moved quietly toward the settee. Her grandfather lifted his head and looked at her. She made sewing motions and pointed in the direction of the back porch. Grabbing Cole’s coat with the threaded needle stuck in its sleeve, she snatched a skein of black embroidery wool and a pair of scissors from her grandmother’s basket and hurried out the door.
* * *
Cole stopped and stared through the tree trunks at the glowing lamp on the Townsends’ porch. His pulse jumped at recognition of the slender figure seated in its circle of light.
He frowned at the unwanted reaction, lifted his lamp high to give Sadie ample warning of his coming and walked out of the woods and up the garden path, stopping at the bottom of the steps. “Good evening.”
She nodded, then glanced toward the kitchen door beside her, no doubt wishing she could flee his presence. Why didn’t she? For that matter, as fearful as she was, why was she sitting outside at night? He climbed the steps, set his lamp on the railing and leaned his shoulder against the post as a signal that he would come no closer. “It’s a hot night.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him but avoided meeting his gaze, as always. The tension, the wariness in her reached him from halfway down the porch. Clearly she wanted him to leave. His obstinacy rose. “Being so still with no breeze brings out the fireflies.”
“I hadn’t noticed. I’m busy.”
A pointed hint. But for some reason she wasn’t running away from him, and he intended to take advantage of it. Perhaps some time spent talking together would prove to her she had nothing to fear. “I used to run around and catch fireflies when I was a kid. I tried to see how many I could capture in one night. I guess everyone—” Something fluttered at the corner of his vision. A bat flew under the porch roof and swooped toward the lamplight on the table.
Sadie squealed and jerked to her feet. Her chair crashed over and something clanked against the floor.
He leaped forward and waved his arms through the air, driving the bat toward the railing. It swooped low between the porch posts and disappeared into the night. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips at the sight of Sadie pressed back against the house wall with a blanket over her head and shoulders. “You can come out, now. The bat is gone.”
“Are you sure? I hate bats!”
His smile widened to a grin at her muffled words. “I’m sure.” He set her chair aright and scooped up the objects that had fallen when she jumped up—a pair of scissors and a spool of black wool thread. She’d been sewing. He straightened and looked her way, eyed what he’d thought was a blanket now dangling from her hands. “That’s my coat. What—”
“I’m mending it.” She freed a hand and smoothed back her hair, straightened her collar.
He was rather sorry she did. She looked less self-contained and standoffish mussed up like that. Pretty, too, with her cheeks flushed and— He frowned, laid the scissors and yarn on the table. “That’s kind of you, but not necessary, Sadie. It’s not your fault it needs to be repaired.”
“I’m afraid it is.” She held the torn sleeve forward for his inspection. “Nanna sewed the sleeve together.”
He looked at the large red stitches puckering the wool of his sleeve, then lifted his gaze to her face. “And you thought it necessary to fix the sleeve before I saw it?” How little she thought of him. And without cause. He took a breath to calm the anger tightening his gut. “I’ve grown to know your grandmother quite well in these past few weeks, Sadie. She’s a wonderful woman. If she...mistakenly sewed my sleeve together, it doesn’t matter.”
“It would to Nanna...if she knew.”
There was a glitter of moisture in her eyes. He looked into their brown depths and suddenly understood why she hadn’t run inside when he appeared. “That’s why you’re working here on the porch in this heat, isn’t it? So she won’t realize what she’s done.”
She lifted her chin. “I’ll have your coat finished by the time you’re ready to go home.”
There’d be no changing her mind, judging from her protective tone. “As you wish. You can lay the coat on the railing by my lamp when you’re done. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go tend to Manning’s needs.” He turned and walked toward the other door.
“Cole...”
He looked back her way.
“I do thank you for your kindness to my grandmother and for the help you give my grandfather...no matter what your reasons.”
He could have done without that reminder of her distrust. Would he always walk in the shadow of Payne’s dark deed?
Chapter Seven
He was kind to her grandparents—she couldn’t deny that. She simply wanted to know why. Sadie fanned her face with her hand and stepped closer to the window as Cole strode down the garden path toward the woods, his mended suit coat a dark shadow over his arm, his lamp lighting his way. Both Poppa and Nanna thought highly of him. It was clear they trusted him. They seemed to have forgotten that his brother had also been pleasant and helpful until—
She jerked her gaze from Cole’s broad shoulders, his strong, powerful arms moving in rhythm with his long strides. She hadn’t forgotten. She wished she could. But the memories, the nightmare never stopped, and coming home had made them more powerful than ever. There were so many reminders—chief among them Cole, so like Payne with his dark eyes and black beard. Every time she looked at him she remembered.
The yellow glow of his lamp swept forward, passed over the garden bench where he carried her grandfather to enjoy the morning sun every day, moved across the ground and slid over her grandmother’s small, wood wheelbarrow sitting by the corner of the fence. Cold gripped her. Shivers coursed down her spine. She wrapped her arms about herself and absently rubbed her upper left arm, her gaze frozen on the small, painted cart. If Poppa hadn’t sent that logger to fix the split handle, no one would have heard her scream over the noise of the saws....
She whirled from the window, tried to order her thoughts, but the unwanted memories flashed, one after another, into her head—Nanna asking her to pick berries for a pie...the smell of the warm blackberry patch...the sun-dappled path...Payne stepping out from behind the trees...
“No!” The protest burst from her constricted throat. She grabbed her skirts and ran from her bedroom, rushed down the stairs, across the entrance hall into the library and sagged against the door, shaking and gasping for breath. She drew in air, replacing the remembered scents of Payne’s sweat, forest loam and the crushed blackberries beneath her as she fought him with the scents of wood smoke, leather and candle wax and a hint of bayberry—the smell of safety.
She closed her eyes and thought about Nanna teaching her how to cook and sew and do needlepoint, of Poppa teaching her to read and showing her how to play checkers and drive the buggy, of how wonderful life had been before her world had been torn apart.
Her ragged breaths evened and her pulse slowed. The quaking eased to an inner trembling. She opened her eyes and looked around the moonlit room, drinking in the sight of all that was dear and familiar. The settle with its hooked-rug pad and worn pillow. Poppa’s chair by the hearth with the flat stone and hammer he used to crack open butternuts and hickory nuts close by. His desk.
The peace she sought fled. She stared at the gaping space on the desk’s bookshelves where the green leather business ledgers should be and shoved away from the door. Payne Aylward had stolen her grandfather’s money and robbed her of her dreams. She would not allow his brother to harm her grandparents.
But would he? Cole was so gentle with her grandmother and so thoughtful of her grandfather. And he had brought her the umbrella and left her his raincoat during the storm. And he’d saved her from the bat. Those were not the actions of a cruel man. Still...
Her breath shortened and she wrapped her arms about herself and rubbed her arm, thinking back to those moments on the porch. How foolish she’d been to blind herself in Cole’s presence by throwing his suit coat over her head, but she’d been so afraid of the bat she’d forgotten to be frightened of Cole. Yet once again, he had not seized the opportunity to—
Oh, what she was thinking? Perhaps Cole was not cruel like Payne, but that did not mean he wasn’t as dishonest. She mustn’t allow herself to be swayed from her purpose by his acts of kindness. There had to be a reason why he was spending his time doing these things for Nanna and Poppa, and it was up to her to discover what it was. She was certain it had something to do with the books, else why would they be missing?

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/dorothy-clark/falling-for-the-teacher/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.