The Moon and the Stars

by Constance O'Banyon

  “Mary said I was to come see you.”

  The boy’s blue eyes sparkled with defiance as Wade motioned him forward. His sun-yellow hair hung in his face, and he shoved it aside, his lower lip trembling. Jonathan was small for his age, and the headmaster of the school had said he took a lot of bullying from the other boys. Wade suspected that was the reason he had run away.

  “Sit down.”

  The boy slumped into a chair, watching Wade pace back and forth before him. “You have broken the rules again. This time I am not sure I can convince Mr. Davenport to take you back again.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t want to go back.”

  “Jonathan, I have planned for your future, and I will not stand for disobedience from you. This term is almost over, so I may be able to convince Mr. Davenport to let you start fresh when the new term begins in a little over a month.”

  “I want to stay with you. Why can’t I go to school in New Orleans like other boys?” The child turned his face into the leather sofa to hide his tears. “You don’t want me here—that’s why you always send me away.”

  “That is not true.” Wade took a deep breath. “I will always want what is best for you. I thought you knew that.”

  The boy jumped to his feet, standing stiffly before the man he loved like a father. “I don’t know that! I just think you don’t want me here!”

  Wade was losing his patience. “You ran away from the academy because the boys tease you. There will always be someone who will want to tear you down. You must look an adversary in the eye and meet him on your terms, not his.” He suddenly became quiet, his mind racing backward in time to when a similar scene had played out in this very room. Only before, he had been the child and Anton had said the words he’d just uttered. Anton had been angry with him for not wanting to work at the warehouse. That day was branded in his mind forever.

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me,” the boy said, his head sliding downward.

  Wade’s tone was a little kinder as he remembered feeling the same anger Jonathan must be feeling. “Go to your room and reflect on what I have said, and I am sure the meaning will become clear. We will speak more about this tomorrow.”

  The boy stomped out of the room and up the stairs.

  Wade let out his breath and opened the double doors that led to the garden. He stared into the distance, wondering how many more lives he could destroy with his good intentions.

  There was only one sure way he could protect Caroline. He had to see that she stayed with him. He would eventually have to convince her that his plan was the best way to defeat Brace Duncan. She would fight him on this—but it was a fight he must not allow her to win.

  Caroline could not resist going down the gallery stairs and walking out into the beautiful garden. She strolled down a shady lane that took her past a sweetsmelling honeysuckle vine clinging to a brick well house. She stopped short of the stables and took another lane that led her to a garden with brilliant red and pink roses. The smell was so sweet she dropped down onto a marble bench, overwhelmed by a bout of homesickness.

  She hardly ever thought of her mother, because she had been only a small child when she died. But she always associated her mother with the scent of roses. Her mother’s skin and hair had always smelled of the sachet she had made from the petals of her own garden.

  Caroline leaned back against the hard bench and allowed memories to sweep through her mind and take her back home to a time of childhood when she had not known a care in the world. She missed her father. But she still didn’t dare write to him.

  Her musing was interrupted when a young boy bound out from behind the hedges and looked at her suspiciously.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  Her brow knitted in puzzlement until she realized who the boy must be. He was smaller than she had expected, and his eyes were so blue it was almost startling. His hair was blond, and his features were fine. “You are Jonathan, aren’t you?”

  He was guarded as he stepped closer to her. “How did you know?”

  “Dolly told me.”

  His face broke into a grin, showing a missing tooth. “I like Miss Dolly. Is she here with you?”

  “No, she isn’t. But I like her, too.” He was wearing blue trousers with a plain white shirt, and she suspected it might be his school uniform. “I was told that you were away at school.”

  He looked behind him as if he expected someone to overhear. “I’m supposed to be, but I ran away.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t like school. I want to stay with Wade, but he won’t let me. Don’t you think that’s mean?”

  “Well, I don’t really know.” In her opinion, the boy was very young to be sent away from home. “I suppose your father has his reasons for wanting you to be in school.”

  “Wade isn’t my father. I don’t have one.”

  She could see the tears gathering in his eyes, and it made her sad. “Would you like to sit by me?”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, edging closer to her.

  She moved her skirt so he would have room. “Tell me about the things you like to do.” she said, trying to distract him.

  He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, and her instinct was to put her arm around him and give him comfort. But she knew that would be the wrong thing to do. He was like a small wounded bird, ready to take flight if anyone got too close to him.

  “I like to read. And I like to draw, but I’m not very good at either.”

  “You are young to be a reader. You must be very smart if you can read at all.”

  “Can you?”

  “Yes. I can.”

  “I sometimes go into Wade’s study and look at all the books. I don’t touch them, though. Mary said Wade might not like it if I did that.”

  “Perhaps we could ask him if we might look for a book you would like.”

  He sat down and scooted closer to her. “Would you like to read me a book? I don’t know the real big words, so I don’t always understand what I’m reading.”

  Her heart melted at the earnestness in his eyes. “Jonathan, I would be happy to read to you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Caroline had been living under Wade’s roof for three weeks, although in that time she had not seen much of him. He was usually working at one of his warehouses or going up the river on one of his barges. She had met him once on the stairs, and he had politely inquired about her health, and once in the garden when he was giving a workman instructions. He had given her permission to use his library to find Jonathan a book. She had chosen James Fenimore Cooper’s The Last of the Mohicans, thinking Jonathan would like the adventure—she could always skip over the gory parts and he would never know.

  Sometimes Caroline took her meals in her room, and at other times she would eat with Jonathan. She was growing stronger and more restless with each passing day. It was time for her and Wade to have a serious talk about her leaving.

  As for Jonathan, he was simply bubbling with praise for his newfound friend, Caroline. The Webber brothers, Frank and Elliot, whom Wade had posted around the house as guards, reported to him that Mrs. Duncan walked in the garden every day and that she spent most of her time there with Jonathan.

  This morning, Wade was having breakfast with the boy, who had not stopped talking since he came to the table.

  “Wade, don’t you think Caroline is as pretty as my mommy was?”

  “I did not know your mother, so I cannot say.”

  “And you didn’t know my papa, either?”

  “I have told you before, I never knew either of them, Jonathan. Do you not remember when I found you and brought you here?”

  Jonathan dug his fork into a slice of ham and held it up for inspection before he took a bite. “I remember being cold and hungry until you brought me here. I don’t know much else.” He paused and frowned. “I remember always getting lost in this house when I first came here. I don’t do that anymore.”

  “You were
very young then, so you cannot be expected to remember much. I did make inquiries right after I brought you here, trying to find your parents, but no one knew who you were. If you would like me to, I will begin a new search for your mother and father.”

  Jonathan shook his head, his eyes big and round. “No, don’t do that. If you found them, they might want to take me away from you. I want to stay here with you and Mary.” His eyes grew even rounder. “Don’t let anyone take me away.”

  “We will let the matter of your parents rest for now. In the future, you may change your mind and we can start a search then.” His thoughts turned inward, to the emptiness of his own past, when he had wondered who had given birth to him, and if his mother and father ever thought of him or wondered where he was. “Some people never know their parents, Jonathan. And that is all right.”

  “I would like it if you were my father and Caroline was my mommy. Why can’t it be like that?”

  “Do not talk with your mouth full,” Wade rebuked the boy. “I am not going to think about what they let you get by with at that academy.”

  “I’m not ever going back there! If you take me back there, I’ll just run away again. They don’t like me there, and I don’t like them, either.”

  Wade threw his napkin down on the table and stood. “You will do as you are told. How can a child know what is best?”

  He walked out of the dining room, leaving Jonathan to stare after him. The boy took another bite of ham and shoved his plate away. He didn’t like it when Wade was mad at him. When he grew up, he wanted be just like him. Why couldn’t Wade see that and just let him stay home?

  Caroline was hesitant to approach Wade in his study. It appeared to her that he had been avoiding her since he had brought her to his house, but she needed to talk to him, and today was as good as any day. She rapped lightly on the door, nervously smoothing her hair into place.

  “Come in.”

  She slowly, almost hesitantly, opened the door and went inside. When Wade saw her, he came around the desk, took her hand, and carefully seated her on the leather couch.

  “I understand you have all but recovered your strength. I can see there is more color in your cheeks.”

  She wondered if the color he saw had anything to do with the flush she felt working its way up her face. He wore black trousers and knee-length boots. The sleeves of his blue shirt were rolled up to his elbows in a casual manner. At the moment he seemed more like a stranger than the man who had nursed her back to health in the railroad car.

  “I’m very well, and that is the real reason I want to speak to you. Are you busy at the moment?”

  He leaned against his desk and folded his arms, giving her his full attention. “Not at all. Actually, I have been expecting you to ask for me.”

  She pressed an imaginary wrinkle out of her gown with the palm of her hand. “I don’t know quite how to think of my position in your house.”

  His brow knitted. “What do you mean?”

  “When you first took me, I was your prisoner and in handcuffs. Here, I am treated like an honored guest. It is a bit confusing.”

  He liked the way the sunlight made of her hair a halo. She was beginning to put on some of the weight she’d lost when she was ill. It made his chest tight to think of ever putting handcuffs on her delicate wrists. “Do not upset yourself—I no longer consider you my prisoner. And as for your position here, consider yourself a welcome guest.”

  Her gaze sought his. “Then I am free to leave anytime I want to?”

  “Non!” His answer came hard and swift, and when he saw the uncertainty in her eyes, he softened his tone. “What I meant to say is that you are not well enough to travel at this time.”

  “But I am. I must get to Charleston as soon as possible—there is no time to waste. I need to see my father so I can ease his mind about my being safe. When I tell him everything, which I should have done rather than running away, he will know how to help me fight Brace.”

  Now was his chance to tell her about her father’s death. “Your father . . .” His courage failed him, and he stared just above her head, unwilling to look into her eyes. He could not pile more grief on her delicate shoulders—she already bore enough. “Your father would not want you to travel until you are completely healed. Let us seek the doctor’s advice in that matter.”

  She nervously gripped and ungripped her hands until she realized what she was doing; then she laced her fingers tightly together. Wade had started out being her enemy, but she now considered him one of the finest men she had ever known. “Am I right in thinking you no longer believe that I killed my husband?”

  “I know with certainty that you are innocent of the crime. What I need to find out from you is what happened the day he died. You can trust me with the truth. I am willing to help you all I can.”

  She stared down at her hands as relief washed over her in waves. “It’s not a matter of trusting you, Wade. What happened that day is a family matter, and it has nothing to do with you.” She turned her gaze on him and said with conviction, “I must go home and see that justice is done for Michael’s sake. I wish now that I had stayed and fought for him and his good name.” She shook her head and lowered it. “It was my first duty as his wife, and I failed him.”

  Wade pushed himself away from the desk and went to stand at the French doors with his back to her. “You will need my help more than you know before this is all over. Whether you like it or not, your troubles have become mine. I invited myself into your life, and I cannot seem to find my way out until you are free of Brace Duncan.”

  As he stood there, his head slightly bowed, he seemed such a solitary figure to Caroline. He had everything a man could want in wealth and possessions, and yet she knew in her heart that he was dying inside. “If you would just advance me passage money, I will take care of Brace myself. This is not your fight. I free you of any obligations you feel on my behalf.”

  His lips twisted sardonically. “I will never be free of you.”

  He sounded dispassionate as he turned back to her, but she saw anguish in his eyes before he glanced away from her. She wondered why he should involve himself in her troubles. Sudden panic and devastation swept over her. He was not going to let her leave. “You were never my prisoner, Wade—I was yours.”

  He stepped closer to her. “There are many different forms of prison—some are thrust upon a person, others we wall into ourselves.”

  He sat down beside her, not touching her, but near enough that she could see his nostrils flare. She did not know what had brought on the intensity that radiated from him. And she didn’t know what to say. “If you would lend me the money I need to get home, I will send it right back to you.”

  “Where would you get money?”

  “I told you that the money was hidden away so Brace would never find it—the morning I married Michael, I watched him hide it beneath loose bricks in the family crypt.”

  “I see.” And he did. That explained why she had been forced to become a seamstress to make a living. “I don’t want your husband’s gold, but I am going to help you, Caroline.” He rolled down his sleeves and fastened the cuffs. “Give me the details of your husband’s death, beginning with when you decided to marry him and ending with the day he died.”

  Her lips trembled. “I don’t like to think about that day. It was so awful, you can’t even imagine.”

  “Non. I do not suppose I can.” His hand suddenly covered hers, and she pulled away.

  “Why would you want to help me?”

  Now that he was closer to her, he saw the circles under her eyes that were so dark they almost looked like bruises. “Because I owe it to you.”

  “You owe me nothing but my freedom.”

  “I can see you are becoming upset. If you would rather, we can talk about this another day. But I will want you to tell me all about Michael’s death as soon as you are able.”

  She tried to gather her thoughts, but he was so close to her she could not think
clearly. “I would like to tell you what happened to Michael, but I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Start at the beginning,” he suggested.

  “As I have explained to you before, I had known Michael for most of my life—long before his father married Brace’s mother. He was my best friend. I will always feel his loss within my heart.”

  The next question was difficult for him to ask, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the truth. “And you loved Michael for all the years you knew him?”

  “Yes.” She stood up and started pacing. “He needed me. He was the brother I never had. I always . . .” She paused, thinking about what she had just said, then quickly corrected herself. “Not like a brother at all, but the man I wanted to marry.”

  “You wanted to be his candle in the darkness,” Wade said, watching her face closely.

  “Yes . . . no.” She looked at him with pleading eyes. “You have to understand, Michael didn’t have anyone but me. I couldn’t turn my back on him as so many others had.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “I’m not sure anyone would. I can’t tell you how often Michael stood between me and hurt. He was always there for me—but in the end, I let him down. You can’t know what that feels like. I always wonder if I could have done anything differently to save his life.”

  She was becoming frantic in her pacing, and two different doctors had warned him to keep her calm. As much as he wanted to know the truth, now was not the time to press her further about her past. “Perhaps you would consider being the candle in my darkness.”

  “I . . . what?”

  He stood and walked to her but did not touch her. “It is very simple. I am asking you to marry me.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  She was astounded, speechless, and thought she must have misunderstood. For once, she could not even find her voice, so she merely stared at him as if he had lost all reason.

  “I know how you feel about me,” he said, taking her arm and turning her to face him. “If you will just hear me out before you say anything, I will attempt to explain my reasons for asking you to be my wife.”