Faith ignored her sister's lifted, right brow, and shook her head with disgust. "You're shameless."
Hope laughed. "I'm not the one with an indiscretion visible for the world to see."
"I have not been indiscreet."
"Clearly."
Faith held her hand to her throat. "These marks are from my husband, not a liaison."
"That is sad news to hear." Hope turned and rested her back against the fence. She propped her elbows on the rail near her ribs. "I think you would have had a more enjoyable time with, well, anyone other than Hank."
Faith wasn't sure if she was uncomfortable because of Hope's insight into an intimate situation, or because she didn't want to make Hope aware of her fantasy involving Aidan. Either way, the conversation had gone past appropriate limits of polite conversation.
"Besides," Faith said, trying to justify her thoughts of unfaithfulness. "Ken's family moved away from the ridge years ago. An encounter with him would be impossible."
Hope tipped her head forward, looking like a judge staring down his nose at a guilty client. "You haven't heard? Of course you haven't. I doubt your devoted husband would allow any news, especially one so delicious, to penetrate your ears." She stood in front of Faith and stepped closer. "There is a rumor on the ridge that Ken Watson is moving back to his parents' home." She grabbed Faith's hands and practically squealed. "And he's all grown up."
Faith's heart dropped to her feet, and she thought back to the days of her childhood infatuation. Ken had been a lanky youth nearing manhood when he told her that his parents were returning to Georgia to help with his grandparents' failing health. He had promised to return to her when he was of age, and they would be married. Like any young girl in love, she had believed him and had agreed to wait for his return. This hope was what had sustained her in keeping Hank away from their door.
Following her parents' funeral Hank had spoken with Faith. He would allow the girls to continue living on his property, but there were conditions that had to be met. He had offered marriage, but Faith had refused. His only other solution enslaved the girls as sharecroppers. This arrangement had worked well for three and a half years. But during that time, Ken had not returned to the ridge as he had promised, and the girls' home had burned to the ground by a lightning strike six months ago. Hank refused to rebuild the site unless Faith accepted his marriage proposal.
What would Ken think of her now? She was married to another man. She closed her eyes and tried to squeeze the painful thought from her mind. Perhaps he had married someone else while living in Georgia and was only returning to the ridge because of his family's holdings. That thought only added to her pain. She swallowed, trying to lubricate the tightness in her throat.
"I'm sure he and his wife will be very comfortable there," Faith said. She didn't need more of Hope's comments about how she had dug a grave from which she would never escape.
"Did I mention a wife?" Hope asked. She crossed her arms and tapped her long, bony fingers against her sleeve. "I have to wonder, Faith. You have been married, how long is it now?"
"Four months," Faith answered, knowing full well that Hope knew the answer to that question. She and Hank had married as soon as the burned house had been rebuilt. It was unlikely that any of the girls would forget that date.
"If Ken had been here a month prior to your nuptials, would you have been so agreeable to Mr. Rhodes' terms?"
Faith raised her chin and stared into her sister's eyes with deadly clarity. "Are you saying that I would not have looked after all of us? That I would have abandoned the three of you for selfish reasons?"
Hope's eyes narrowed the way they did when she was annoyed with the person she spoke with. "Not at all," she said. "I'm stating it plainly. If there had been someone who was younger and better looking than that horse-faced, drudge of a man you married, would you have been as self-sacrificing as you were four months ago?"
Faith took a step back, staggered by her sister's accusation. While she hadn't come right out and called her a martyr, she had implied that she would have reacted differently if Ken had still been in her life at the time. Faith stared at her sister, open mouthed, not sure of her answer. She would like to think that she and Ken would have been able to provide for all of them, but the truth was, Ken might not have been able to extend as generous an offer as what Hank had done. She blinked in wonder. Could she have married a man to provide for her family while a man she loved looked on?
Composing herself, she stepped toward the house, pausing next to Hope. "We'll never know, now will we?" She continued moving forward and asked over her shoulder. "Are Honor and Grace inside?"
"They are," Hope answered. "Faith," she called from behind her. "We are grateful for a place to stay, but don't ever feel as though our every breath is contingent on your sacrifice. The three of us will be gone from this place within a matter of years, and you will still be shackled to a man who is incapable of providing you with the happiness you will come to crave."
Faith forced her body to continue moving, Hope's haunting words echoing in her ears. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn't help but wonder if her sister had stated the obvious or if she had merely cursed her.
Chapter 6
Faith carried the carrot bread into the house and laid it on the table. Her conversation with Hope had been as lifting as the dense loaf in front of her. The cloth around it fell open, exposing a golden crust dotted with orange vegetable chunks. Grace had served her a thick slice of the treat while she had been at her sisters' home. Washed down with a glass of buttermilk, she was sure it tasted delicious. Grace excelled with her kitchen skills. But today, Faith had barely tasted one morsel. Hopefully she had been able to give a good semblance of interest to the conversation and appreciation of the hospitality.
She cast a sideways glance out the window. The barn door hung open the way it had when she left earlier today. Not caring if the tobacco was hung or not, she pulled a chair away from the table and plopped down on the seat. It didn't matter how tidily she completed the task, Hank would undoubtedly ridicule her method of securing the leaves to the rafters. For once, she would earn his scolding.
Faith braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her palms. She thought about the thing's Hope had told her. Ken was moving back to his parents' home. Her stomach churned. Its distaste coincided with her feeling of dejection. Why couldn't Ken have returned home sooner? She waited for the carrot loaf sitting in front of her to answer her silent question. The vegetable was as unresponsive as she had been when learning the news.
She shifted her gaze to the left and leered over at the kettle hanging on the hook. Cold ashes lay beneath it. She would need to start a fire if she planned to cook. She sneered, not having ambition or desire to strike a flint, much less prepare an entire meal.
It was hard to rationalize her melancholy state when a marriage to Ken was highly unlikely to have ever occurred, regardless of how appealing his physical appearance was. Before his family moved from the ridge, Ken had shared with her his grand ideas for his future. He dreamed of working in print shops and publishing houses. The ridge was filled with farmers. Other than a weather forecast, there wasn't enough interest among the local residents to support either of his ambitions. Ken would need to go to cities like Boston or Philadelphia to achieve his goals.
Faith had no desire to leave the ridge. This was her home, and her dreams were minimal. She preferred to live on a small farm where she and her husband would work together. She flicked a glance to the window and thought about Hank's interpretation of working together. He barked orders, inspected her work, and doled out punishment when she didn't meet his expectations. His interest in her consisted of nothing more than an extra pair of calloused hands.
It was easy to understand why he chose her over her sisters. According to Hank, Honor was too bookish. He would never tolerate a woman who challenged everything he said. Grace was too young, although he conceded that she would make someone a good wi
fe one day. And Hope had too much of a temper for any man to tame. He neither had the patience nor the stamina to temperance Hope, and although he would never admit to it, he didn't have the intelligence needed to motivate Honor.
Faith had become his wife by default. She could be controlled through the concern she had for her family's well being and care. He exploited the fact that she would do whatever was needed in order to keep them safe. Sadly ironic, Hank was a lonely man in need of someone who demanded no emotional care. She shook her head at the thought, and shrugged. To Hank, a wife was apparently cheaper than paid field hands.
The door behind her pushed open, and Hank stormed into the room. A warm breeze blew across the living area, bringing with it the suffocating smell of dirt and sweat. He offered no greeting, but pulled his hat from his head and slapped it against his thigh. Stomping his feet, dust and dried mud fell to the normally tidy floor. Faith jumped, pulling away from the commotion.
"I brought in another cartload of tobacco leaves," he said, and moved to the fireplace. He propped his foot on the hearth and stared over at her. "I don't know why. You haven't put up the ones I brought in earlier." He bent at the waist and peered into the cast iron kettle. "There's nothing prepared?"
Sighing, Faith leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "No," she answered.
His boots bit into the wood floor as he took two steps. Stopping next to her, he snatched up the bread. Chunks of the loaf crumbled between his curled fingers and plummeted to the table. The doughy bits bounced onto her lap.
Faith lifted her gaze, peering up at him from under drawn brows. His temper was primed and loaded. What could he do to her that would threaten her? Apparently her gesture to protect her sisters wasn't necessary. Although they had a place to live, Hope and Honor would be able to care for themselves and Grace. What exactly they would do, she wasn't sure, but both women were more than resourceful and old enough to earn an income.
"What have you done all day?" he snapped, reminding her of how dismal her future was in comparison to that of her sisters'. "How could it take all day to make this small loaf?"
"I didn't make it. Grace did," she answered.
"Grace," he repeated. Darkness seemed to cloud over the well lit room.
Her sister's name hissed through his teeth, and Faith cringed. She glanced over at him. She knew this tone all too well. Slow and torturous, her punishment would linger. There was nothing she could do to prevent it or expedite it.
He squatted next to her and leaned in close. His moist breath warmed her cheek. Picking up the cloth, he swung the cradled bread in front of her face. Faith turned away from him and tried to stand. He grabbed her by the elbow and shook her arm, slamming her shoulder into her chin until she focused on the crumbs.
He stood and yanked her to her feet. Numbness filled the lower half of her arm. She was certain he would wrench her limb from her torso. What he would do with the bloody appendage, she wasn't sure. But from the way he shoved her to the front door, he had a suitable punishment in store for her inattention to her chores.
Faith's head and shoulder pounded into the wall. She drew her arm up to block the door from hitting her face. "What are you doing?" she asked from behind her open hand. Her wrist snapped as he pulled her after him.
"Putting and end to your lies."
****
Faith struggled to maintain her footing behind Hank. He climbed the hill at the back of their house with wide, open strides, setting a pace that was impossible for her to match. She moved her legs twice as fast as his, hoping to remain upright. From the speed in which he walked, he would most likely drag her to his destination rather than slow his steps.
Briars and thorns tore at her dress, cutting the fabric like small daggers slicing through summer fruit. Blood soaked through the material, and a crisscross pattern lined her sleeves. She yanked her captured arm, trying to break away from his tight grip. Instead of releasing her like she wanted, he repositioned his hand in a tighter hold and jerked her along after him.
The toe of her shoe caught under an exposed branch, and she pitched forward. Crying out as she fell to the ground, Hank dragged her for several feet over the rough terrain, his hold unyielding. He refused to stop but did slow his pace long enough for her to regain her footing.
There was no mistaking where he led. She had made the same trek earlier this morning. The uneven ground leveled to a flat plateau, and a hawk soared above them in the clearing. Hank paused. Ignoring the raptor, he looked from the right side of the property and then to the left. Faith wasn't sure if he decided where to take her or if he looked for the old woman. With the possible chance that the crone would be home, Faith screamed as Hank dragged her across the yard. The woman's scraggly face appeared in the window, but she made no move toward the door. Faith stared over her shoulder as she stumbled behind Hank.
Her heartbeat simultaneously sped up and sank in her chest. The cliff edge drew nearer and her ideas ran short. How could anyone listen to a woman scream in terror and not respond? Faith didn't expect an aged woman to wrestle with Hank, but she could at least shout at him and give him a good chase back down the hill. A well placed broom handle could slow him down. Faith screamed again, hoping the old woman merely needed a little encouragement to come to her aid.
Apparently Hank wanted Faith's demise to be accepted in a quieter manner. He spun around and faced her. Hatred blazed in his eyes. The black scowl on his features darkened, and the back of his hand hurled up and across her cheek. Faith staggered sideways, the breath knocked from her lungs. Her cheek burned as hot as his temper. He made no apologies, but dragged her past the pasture toward the cliff.
Faith twisted her hand, trying to work her wrist free. She had expected a volatile life with Hank. Bruises had adorned various parts of her body since her wedding night. She looked once more behind her, hoping the old woman had experienced a change of heart. No one seemed interested in helping her escape an inevitable end. She clawed at Hank's fingers. With any luck, she would cause him as much pain as he planned for her.
She dug her heels into the ground, pulled back, and swung her arm. She would not be tossed over the side of a cliff without fighting back. Aiming for his head, her hand swung wild, striking a hard object on her thigh instead of his skin. Her eyes widened as she remembered the knife she had placed in her pocket earlier this morning. The cliff edge was less than a pasture-length away. She doubted he planned to scare her into submission. He would not only end her lies, but would end her life. Her weapon was her only option. She had to free it from its hiding place. Stalling for time, she tried to reason with him.
"Hank, don't do this," she begged. She pulled at the fabric near her waistband, grasping for her pocket. She wiggled her free hand downward into the opening. Hank yanked her forward, and her hand slipped free of her skirt, and away from her weapon.
"Don't do what?" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the open field. "Stop your deceptions. I provided a place for you and your sisters when you had no one to take you in. All I asked in return for my generosity was for you to help me make this farm a success."
"At what cost?" she shouted at him. Her fingers slipped around the wooden handle, and she took a firm hold on her last chance for freedom.
"You ungrateful witch." He grabbed her by the hair on her head and shoved her toward the cliff's edge.
Tufts of grass ended in a jagged line, dropping away from the face of the earth. She pushed back against him. Her feet braced against any rock or dry patch of ground she encountered. A dust screen floated in front of her, hovering above the abyss. She kicked her feet, shooting pebbles and dirt clumps into the veiled partition. The solid pieces of soil and gravel arced briefly and then fell out of sight. No sound accompanied their landing.
She adjusted the handle of her knife. Not bothering to pull it free of the fabric, she swung her weapon backward, not stopping until the blade sank deeply into something, anything, solid.
Hank's breath gasp
ed in her ear and he slumped forward, his added weight tossing her off center. Drenched in a cold sweat, she shifted her body and tried to break away from him. Inches separated her from solid ground and a long fall. He had one last chance to redeem his heinous intent. A raspy grunt sounded behind her. Instead of Hank pulling her to safety as she hoped he would do, a heavy weight lodged in the middle of her back.
She fell forward and her stomach rose in her throat. Air rushed up to her and soared past in a horrifying whoosh. Flailing her arms, she searched for something solid to grab hold off. The ground rose up faster than she expected. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the end of her life. A man's voice whispered in her ear.
"Aidan," she whispered and followed where he led.
Chapter 7
"Don't move, Faith." A deep voice called to her, calming her instantly.
Her body ached, and she struggled to draw breath. Her head, although throbbing, was no longer being slammed into a hard object. Someone touched her body, but she was not solidly pinned in place. She shifted her hips to verify her freedom.
"Oh, good," the familiar voice said. "You can move. Still, rest a little longer before you try to sit up."
Obeying his command, she eased her eyes open and looked out through cracked eyelids. A dark haired man bent over her. Shirtless, suspenders rode over his sweaty shoulders. His hair fell in front of his face, hiding his features. Seeming to know what he looked for, he ran his hands over her limbs, squeezing lightly. He released her, sat back on his haunches, and turned his face toward the sky. Smiling, he looked over at her.
"You scared the life from me when you fell." His brown eyes were filled with concern. He seemed to wait to see if she had a pain he had overlooked.
Fell? She turned her head from side to side, searching for the reason for her fall. Hank had to be nearby. He would undoubtedly not be happy that she had survived the plunge from the top of the cliff. He probably made his way down the hillside now. He would surely finish what he had started as soon as he convinced this man that he would care for her.
Faithfully Yours (The Forever Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1) Page 4