Mary

by Raine Cantrell

  “She needed constant reassurance. Did I like supper? The coffee? Her bread? Was I really sure I didn’t mind that she bartered a few loaves for material to make kitchen curtains? It wasn’t that she told me things as much as what I pieced together. My cousin didn’t believe she had any worth at all, not as a woman—” Her voice broke as she swallowed a sob. She turned aside. Raking this up for Rafe had raked up her own past, and she had to fight to keep memories at bay.

  Rafe touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I swear I didn’t ask to hurt her or you.”

  “Lord,” she said, with a sob caught in her throat and a bitter laugh following, “save me from men and their good intentions. He made her life a living hell, and when he died, Harry left her nothing. Mary came here—”

  “She told me he’d taken the money from the sale of her father’s property.”

  “He stole everything from her. Mary was the one who wanted a home and a dozen children, a man to love and herself the beloved. So simple a dream. Harry fooled everyone.”

  Sarah looked at Rafe, but he was nothing more than a shadow within the shadows.

  So simple a dream, she had said. Wasn’t it the same one he had shared with Valerie? Sarah was wrong, though he wouldn’t admit it to her. He had begged Val for one more year to work his claim and amass enough gold so she’d never want for anything again. But Val wouldn’t give him the time. And he’d often wondered, after she left with Beth, if she had ever loved him at all.

  “I’ve satisfied your—”

  “A little,” he said, cutting her off. “Mary is the only one who has the right, if she will, to tell it all.”

  Sarah straightened. “You just remember what she said to you, Rafe. Love had nothing to do with it. Love doesn’t mean the same thing to men as it does to women. When women love and marry men who turn out to be bastards, their love keeps hope alive that the men will change. There’s always tomorrow. But changes don’t come.

  “Men, to flip the coin, cut their losses and move on. Love to them is just a word used as means to an end.” She started to walk away from him, but his soft, sincere utterance stopped her for a few seconds.

  “You’re wrong. Men can love with hope, too.”

  She didn’t answer him. She didn’t believe him.

  Mary lay awake long after Beth had fallen asleep. Rafe was the only one who had not come upstairs to bed.

  She thought about the things that Rafe had told her. His wife hadn’t really wanted Beth. Every womanly sense flared in outrage. How could a woman not want a child?

  And she, who longed for a child, remained with aching heart and empty arms.

  She warned herself not to dwell on such thoughts. Life had enough pain to drag one’s spirits down. If one allowed it.

  Pain had ruined too much of her life already. She refused to let it spread and darken her hours again.

  But the day had been a series of shocks for her. The vicious fight, the shocking delight of Rafe’s reckless spending, her own abandoned response to his kiss. Oh, more than a mere kiss.

  Fear and forbidden longing had melded in that moment when she lost herself in his kiss. Did passion truly have a taste all its own? Was there a scent to yearning? Surely she was wrong to think that potent mingling of strong emotions, darkness and passion lingered on her tongue?

  But if that was true, why did thought evoke those minutes when her every sense had been fully aroused?

  “Don’t,” she whispered. But the warm sound of his approval replayed in her mind. Vulnerable now, Mary couldn’t stop remembering the shocking intrusion of her past that forced her to understand once more how thin was her protective armor.

  She shied from thinking about it and turned to the scene after supper when she’d been alone in the pantry with Sarah. She had mockingly grumbled about the smallness of the pantry and its inability to hold Rafe’s generously given half share of the foodstuffs he’d purchased. To find enough room was a housewife’s bane and blessing.

  And then Sarah’s confession of the debt Rafe claimed he owed to her, and his promise to make it good.

  A shock in and of itself. But then Sarah had admitted that she had kept this deliberately from her, for fear of coloring Mary’s perception of Rafe.

  As if anything could.

  Nothing would come of her growing feelings for him. Not only was he leaving, but she could never allow any man to have a say in her life again.

  She rolled onto her side, and smoothed one hand over Beth’s head. She listened to the quiet of the night and the child’s breathing. Here was a blessing to think about, a child who was healing. All too soon, Mary’s eyelids grew heavy. She couldn’t mark the exact moment when she fell asleep.

  Or the moment the dream began.

  Her fierce struggles. The overwhelming need. She had to reach the child to stop the frightened cries. Helpless. The bonds that held her back. The cry was louder, more urgent in summoning her aid.

  Only the cries weren’t in her mind. They were real.

  “Beth!” She held the child’s shuddering body within the shelter of her arms. “Hush, baby. I’m here with you.” Mary hugged her, and repeated that she wasn’t alone. It was long minutes before the child seemed fully awake and the shaking subsided.

  “Sweetie, can you tell me what frightened you?”

  Beth sniffed and rubbed her eyes. She nestled closer to Mary. “The ghoulies came.”

  “Ah, very frightening indeed.” What monster had scared her with such talk? The question went begging for an answer. She had to calm Beth. She could feel the child’s fright, understand it with aching clarity. It was not so different from her own terrors.

  Beth whimpered. Mary rocked her and brushed the tangled hair back from her face. “It’s a bad dream, little one, and bad dreams go away. Let me light the candle—”

  But Mary’s move to turn had Beth clamping her arm around her neck. “Don’t…leave me.”

  “I won’t leave you.” What terrible happening haunted the child’s sleep? Should she question her? It wasn’t her right to pry. But the trembling was not lessened.

  “Honey, can you tell me why these ghoulies came? We could find a magic to make them go away.”

  Beth was silent, but for an occasional sob, for so long that Mary didn’t think she would answer her.

  Then she said, “Mave said they come at night. To eat little girls who ask for too much. They like to hide in the dark.”

  “Then we need the candle lit. The light will help us to chase them away. Come, turn with me so we still hold each other tight.”

  Mary managed to scoot up a bit, so that she was almost sitting. Beth lay on top of her. It was awkward at best to try and strike the match, but two tries and the candle was lit.

  Beth squeezed her eyes closed and, no matter how Mary coaxed, refused to open them.

  Careful of Beth’s wounded arm, Mary pulled the quilt up to the child’s shoulders, making sure it was snug about her.

  “Are you warm enough? That’s important, Beth. First the light, then feeling safe and warm. I’ll keep my arms around you, too.”

  “Muffy’s scared, too.”

  “We’ll tuck her under the covers, then. She can hide while you and I try to find the right magic to get rid of these ghoulies. After all, we know how brave you are, but Muffy isn’t as old as you. She needs you to protect her.”

  “Like a mama?”

  “Yes, sweet, like a mama.” The pressure of Beth’s arm around her neck said as much as the look on her face. Trust. A wondrous gift from anyone, more special coming from this child.

  “Do you have ghoulies, Mary?”

  “Everyone is afraid of something, Beth. Even me.”

  “And Papa?”

  “We’ll have to ask him.” Mary tilted her head to the side, her eyes awash with tears. Beth stared back at her. Her gray eyes, so like her father’s, were impossibly expressive, and too wise for a child of six.

  “Do you want to tell me what you asked for?”


  “It’s a secret. I told God. And Muffy.”

  “Ah, a secret. Then you mustn’t tell. Now, we can find some magic words, so if these monsters come again, you can chase them.”

  “Magic words?”

  “Yes, my sweet. First we say the words, then, why, we hunt up the magic…er…” Mary struggled to recall what was in her wardrobe. “A cane. That’s it. My papa’s magic cane. We’ll hunt the ghoulies out of shadows and from under the bed. That’s where they’re hiding?”

  Beth sucked her thumb, eyes solemn, as she nodded.

  “Now you say this. ‘The Lord loves me, Papa loves me, and Mary does, too.’ And we mustn’t forget Sarah and Catherine.

  “Ah, yes, and the mommy tabby with all her kittens. Catherine’s chickens and Papa’s horses. All the birds. Oh, and Muffy, too. She loves you almost as much as your papa does.”

  “I loved Mama lots. She went away. I wished and wished she wouldn’t go. She said having me wasn’t enough. She…she needed more…more love.”

  “Oh, little one.” Mary rocked her from side to side, begging for the wisdom to ease the child’s troubled mind.

  “Mave said the ghoulies always know when you wish too much.” Beth lifted her head, her eyes reaching deep into Mary’s, that steady gaze disquieting.

  “Mave was wrong, Beth. Love isn’t what makes people go away. No one can have too much love. And your wishes had nothing to do with your mama going away. You weren’t punished for that. Sometimes the Lord needs more angels to help him. He knows your papa needs you more than anyone.”

  Mary felt herself drowning in deep waters. If Beth truly believed she had placed her mother in jeopardy and caused her death, what could she do to help her?

  “Beth, shall we tell your father about this? He’s a brave man. He loves you so much, sweetie. Your papa would slay all the ghoulies and monsters in the world to keep you safe.”

  “Can’t tell. He’ll be sad again. He…he cried,” she whispered. “I told him Mama said he didn’t want me.”

  “But you know that isn’t true, Beth.”

  “I know. Will you sing to me?”

  Mary hummed a lullaby. Little by little she felt Beth’s body relax against hers, the child’s breathing even. She never knew what made her look toward the open doorway. It wasn’t a noise.

  But Rafe stood there, and when she would have spoken to him, he pressed a finger to his lips.

  This was one time Mary was glad she couldn’t see his face, couldn’t look into his eyes. She was filled with enough anger and sadness of her own at what Beth had told her. She couldn’t deal with Rafe’s emotions, too.

  But she wanted to. Lord, how she wanted to go to him.

  Rafe lost track of how long he stood watching Mary and fighting his need to gather her and Beth into his arms. He knew that, given time and enough love, he could slay all Beth’s dragons. But Mary’s…

  He would carry the picture she made, bathed in candlelight, framed by a cloud of red-gold fire he would gladly singe his hands on just to touch. The pale, luminous sheen of skin, cream against the pristine white of her nightgown. Her lips reddened where she had bitten them, and her eyes, a brighter green brimming with emotion.

  He added the missing pieces left unsaid by Mary and later by Sarah. He thought of what she had given Beth and wished, as he rarely did, for time to slip back. An hour was all he wanted with Mary’s husband. One segment of time to beat an understanding into the man of what a truly worthless wife was.

  It wasn’t a woman like Mary.

  There was an abundance of love within the woman holding his daughter. There was passion there, too. More than he had thought to find.

  But he had to struggle with an idea that formed—to struggle for the trust involved. An issue that went beyond the confidences he had shared with Mary, and was a hundred times more important. Beth stood at its heart.

  And he couldn’t trust his own. He’d been wrong once.

  Beth had suffered with him. He would never knowingly put his daughter or himself through that agony again.

  He had another consideration to weigh, and one that was equally important to him. Mary’s pride.

  Money had proved to be a touchy issue between them. She would get her feathers ruffled if he dared offer her a gift of money.

  The woman presented all sorts of problems for him. A week before he had to leave, he had told her.

  Given the challenge Mary presented, he could surely move one of her mountains. Maybe two.

  Rafe lingered for a last look at Mary. And he knew she was a woman worth attempting a mountain for.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rafe lingered over his coffee at the kitchen table. A splash of sunshine warmed his back. Beth was still sleeping, and while he had to go back into town, he wanted to see her first.

  Mary, lovely to watch, was putting the last of their breakfast dishes away after refusing his offer to help. Just as she had turned aside his attempt to thank her for what she had done with Beth last night.

  Yesterday he had seen the barrier set in place between them. Through supper she had remained distant, even when the other women pressed her to describe materials and styles chosen for new gowns. He’d never known a woman who wasn’t thrilled to shop for new clothes. But he was learning that Mary wasn’t like other women he’d known.

  This morning Mary had shored up the barrier into a solid wall. He was readjusting his first planned foray to scout the obstacles in his path when Catherine joined them.

  “Done. Hall, stairs and front foyer swept,” she announced while putting the broom in the pantry. “And see, Mary,” she said, waving the feather duster in the air, “I did use it in the parlor this time.”

  Mary, with hands on hips, surveyed the few dust smudges on Catherine’s white apron.

  “Ah, mum, don’t be looking at me so. Am I not dusty enough to be believed? Ye can’t be knowing how you strike terror in my heart with that fierce gaze that picks a speck of lint from the carpet.” Catherine posed with feathers tickling her chin. She sneezed, then made a deep curtsy to Mary. “Now, mum, will ye be wantin’ more from this poor hardworkin’ lass this fine an’ glorious morn?”

  “There’s a good lass,” Mary returned, stifling her need to laugh. “If you’re in a mood to clean—”

  “Never!” Catherine declared, pressing the feather duster to her heart and flinging her arm to her forehead. “Woe to me, for ye’s a cruel woman.”

  Mary couldn’t contain her laughter, and between fresh bursts she claimed that Catherine would never change.

  Catherine agreed and laughed harder. They both glanced at Rafe. His puzzled expression sent gales of laughter to fill the kitchen.

  “Will one of you share the joke with me?”

  Mary recovered first. “It’s the cleaning,” she began.

  “Aye, the infernal cleaning,” Catherine added.

  “None of us like spending the entire morning doing it, but we all like a clean house. Catherine tends to skimp where she can get away with it.”

  “And, to my sorrow, I caused Mary embarrassment when the ladies’ sewing circle met here. Do you know there are women who poke their gloved fingers on moldings and mantels to discover how well you clean?”

  “It’s not been my experience…” Rafe started to say.

  “Well, it’s been mine. I’m careful not to neglect my chores since then.” She looked at Mary. “Did you ask him?”

  “Ask me what?”

  “Catherine wants to take Beth to see the kittens in the barn. She found a mousehole for the mother cat to explore in the tack room. That should keep her out of the hayloft long enough for Beth to play with the little ones.”

  Rafe was aware that while Mary spoke she had moved closer to his side. The deep breath he drew to steady his reaction to her nearness had the opposite effect. Her scent made him lose track of the conversation.

  “Rafe, this is just what Beth needs.” Mary placed her hand on his shoulder, unaware of the havoc
she caused him, because she was dealing with her own unsettled feeling. A tingling heat raced from her hand to spread through her body. For Beth she had to convince him to say yes.

  “You do understand it is important to her?”

  “Her?” He was ready to blindly agree to whatever Mary wanted for Beth, and yet, at the same time, he wanted to keep her close to him.

  “Please let her pick out a kitten for her own. They are almost ready to be weaned. The kitten would not only be a comfort to her, but will teach her responsibility, too. You said your home is isolated, and with winter coming, Beth must have things to occupy her. And she’s such a loving child. She would adore having a kitten of her own.”

  “A kitten?” He struggled to display some reluctance, knowing he was torturing himself.

  “She can have her choice of five,” Catherine said. “I picked out a darling marmalade male for myself. She can have more than one. Two or three. Cats like the company of other cats. Well, some do.”

  “And I know we have a basket around here that she could use to carry the kitten. It wouldn’t be a burden to you, Rafe.”

  Mary’s hand pressed against his shoulder. He wanted to cover it with his own, but not with Catherine watching. “I’d be condemned for meanness if I tried to stand against such earnest pleas. How can a man refuse when you’re right?”

  When Beth woke up, Rafe insisted on taking care of her by himself. Mary gave him a salve that would help Beth’s wound heal and keep the skin soft, along with clean strips of linen. She felt hurt, as if he were already forcing the parting to come.

  She swore it was hurt and not resentment she felt when she went to work in her garden. She had no right to be resentful. She should be happy to have her daily routine back. But for once the peace she found in weeding around her plants, in the enticing scents released into the air, failed her. Rafe was Beth’s father, her only parent, and he loved her. She was a friend at best, and at worst someone to be quickly forgotten.

  Work was what she needed to occupy her. And Mary attacked the weeds that had sprung up after the rain.