“I’ll marry you.” His grip tightened as he lifted her to her toes. “Look at me. Look at what you’re getting, Jenny. I’m a man with blood on his hands and no love to give you. I left my soul in Elmira, buried in the mud of that damnable prison camp. And if I can’t stick it out, if the demons find me here, I’ll probably move on anyway. Is that what you want?”
She lifted her head, tilting her chin upward, the better to see his face. Harsh lines drew his mouth downward, emphasizing the scar, pulling at the corner of his eye. He might have frightened another woman, had she not known the essence of the man living behind that ruined face. But to Jenny, he was all that was beautiful in her world, where hope had become a lost commodity.
“I’ll take whatever you give me,” she told him. ‘For as long as you stay. And if you leave—” she swallowed and smiled, aware that her lips trembled, but unwilling to make him regret his offer “—if you leave, I’ll let you go.”
“Where can we find a preacher?” he asked. “I won’t wait longer than tomorrow.”
Chapter Seven
And yet, waiting was on the agenda. Noah set off the next morning for Doc Gibson’s place, and Shay, reluctantly, recognized that he and Jenny could not leave before the issue of Zora and her family had been resolved. He spent the noontime hours, when the sun was high overhead, working in the barn, hammering and sawing with Marshall close at hand.
Jenny’s curiosity pried her from the garden once, but she was waved away from the open barn door by Shay’s uplifted hand, and Marshall’s giggles followed her as she headed back for the weeding that must be done. Isabelle sat on the porch, shelling peas, offering idle conversation, and Jenny worked the hoe with impatient movements, her mind alive with memories.
Shay had said he would not wait, and she sensed he’d withdrawn from her today in order to keep his mind from their loosely formed plans. His gaze dark, he’d left the kitchen without so much as touching her hand. So easily he could turn his hand to something else. Shame swallowed her aggravation as she heard the laughter coming from the barn, where he worked now, spending precious hours with her son. Marshall’s voice rose in excitement as he called to her from the open doorway.
“It’s almost done, Mama. And you’ll be so-o-o surprised.” He drew out the word at great length, then retreated into the cool, dim interior.
Jenny lifted a hand to her brow, where perspiration ran into her eyebrows, burning her eyes with its salty flow. “It’s too hot out there, Jen,” Isabelle called from the porch. “Come set a while.”
Jenny rose, brushing the garden soil from her apron. “I’m dry, right to the bone,” she said, walking to where water sloshed over the sides of the watering trough. Bending low, she splashed her face, then used her sleeves to wipe the water from her cheeks. The dress would dry in no time and in the meanwhile the damp fabric felt cool against her skin. She reached for the tin cup that rested atop the pump and levered the handle twice, watching as cold water gushed forth from deep in the ground.
The cup caught the flow, running over onto her hand, and she lifted the metal vessel to her mouth, relishing the cool drink. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of Shay, silent and motionless, framed in the doorway of the barn. He drew her like a magnet and she shifted to meet his gaze, watching his lips part and his nostrils flare, as if he could catch her scent, even from this distance.
Deliberately, she lifted the cup, tilting her head back as she drained it, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. From beneath shuttered lashes, she sought him out, but the doorway was empty, and her lips formed a secret smile. She reached for the handle, pumping again to fill the cup anew. She carried it to the porch for Isabelle, then settled beside her.
Caleb’s lanky form rounded the corner of the barn, and Jenny heard Shay call for him. Quickly, Caleb followed the summons, and within moments the three male figures made their way through the doorway into the sunlight. Carrying a wooden framework, with a five-foot-long seat within its upright structure between them, the two men walked toward the live oak trees at the side of the house.
“They made a swing,” Isabelle said, a note of astonishment in her voice. “Right in the middle of tendin’ crops, Mr. Shay made that boy of yours a swing.”
Even as they halted beneath a sturdy tree, Noah came into sight, and headed his mule in their direction. He held a gunnysack in his hand, waving it high in the air. “I got what you wanted on my way back through town, Mr. Shay.”
Shay bent to Marshall and the boy ran to Noah, reaching for the burlap bag. He flashed a grin at Jenny and turned back to where the men waited beneath the tree.
“They’re gonna hang that swing, I’ll bet you,” Isabelle said. “There’s rope in that sack.” Her prediction was proved valid when Shay emptied the burlap and a length of golden rope fell to the ground. “I got to get these peas on to cook for dinner,” Isabelle said, rising and casting a longing glance at the men. “Those men will be hungry before you know it.”
“I’ll come with you,” Jenny said. “They’re having a good time, aren’t they?” Her words were wistful, and for a moment she lagged behind, but her conscience prodded her and she followed Isabelle.
They ate dinner on the porch, Joseph sitting on the step with Marshall, Jenny and Isabelle bringing plates out the door to the men who occupied the chairs. Tender ears of corn and fresh peas were the mainstay of the meal, with thick slices of side pork fried until the fat was rendered from it. Caleb took two pie tins with him and went to find Zora, who’d spent the morning sewing curtains for their cabin.
Noah ate steadily, then answered Shay’s queries, relating the news from Doc Gibson’s place. “Old Eli’s about as ornery as they come, stubborn as the day is long,” Noah told them. “But Zora’s mama just shook her head. She says her man’s just frazzled with tryin’ to do the field work, and missin’ his girl.” Noah leaned back in his chair. “I guess I can see where he’d be up to his neck, tryin’ to do the work of two men. Doc Gibson’s a hard man to please.”
“Would Eli think about bringing his family and coming back here?” Jenny asked.
Noah looked at her sharply. “After he acted so hateful? You’d even think about lettin’ him come back?”
Jenny’s mind filled with the memory of Eli’s savage demeanor and she hesitated. “Maybe. We’d have to talk about it. I guess I’m just thinking mostly about Zora and her mama.”
Chores took precedence over trying out the swing properly, and Marshall curled up on the seat in the shade while Shay went to the cotton field with the other men. Jenny watched from the house, aware that the boy had gone to sleep beneath the big oak tree. “He’s so pleased, isn’t he?”
“I reckon so,” Isabelle answered. “It wouldn’t hurt you to go on out there with him for a while.”
“He’s asleep,” Jenny told her. And then she lingered at the window. “Maybe I’ll just sit beside him for a while.” The sun was hot, but beneath the oak tree a breeze blew and the shade welcomed her. She slipped Marshall’s head from the seat and lowered herself carefully, trying not to waken him.
His eyes opened and he smiled sleepily at her. “Are you gonna swing with me, Mama?” And then he was asleep again, a lazy slumber catching him up in its depths. Jenny pushed at the ground with her toes, then lifted her foot, allowing the swing to glide as it would. Her hand touched the seat beside her, where Shay’s hands had used a plane to shape the board, and then sanded the rough finish to smooth it.
Leaning her head back against the rope, she looked upward to where the branches were thick and the narrow leaves spread a shelter from the sun. Marshall stirred and her fingers threaded his hair, soothing him. His sigh was replete with the pleasure of his day as he nestled his face against her dress.
Shay had made it so. His sharing of time and talent with Marshall, building the swing…she enumerated anew the difference Shay’s presence made in their lives. And now he’d vowed to stay, to marry her. She hugged the knowledge to herself. Perha
ps not today or the next, as he’d planned, but soon. Maybe…maybe even tomorrow.
“We’ll go to see your father in the morning,” Shay told her after supper. “I’ve thought about it all day, Jen.” His hand reached to touch hers, and his fingers traced the narrow width of her palm. “I’m trying hard not to be selfish here,” he said quietly. “What I want and what we need to do seem like two different things right now.” He met her gaze and the flare of desire was between them, as if it required only a touch, a breath or the whisper of her name to bring him to the edge of passion.
Reluctantly, he released her hand and walked from the house.
Her bed held little comfort as she thought of Shay’s words, and what the morning would bring. The man who’d been her beloved father was a recluse now, and his unspoken denial of her existence over the past few years stung, no matter how she tried to put aside the memory of unanswered letters. And Shay was willing to forgo admission to her bed for at least another day, in order to set things to rights with her father.
He and Isabelle were united on this one thing at least, and between them, they made the arrangements for the visit. Marshall would stay at home, Shay determining that should things not go well, it would be painful for the child to meet his grandparent in the midst of conflict. And Jenny could only wish the night hours away, so that the morning would come quickly.
She was awakened by sounds in the kitchen, and her gaze flew to the window. The sun was up, already high in the eastern sky, and she dressed quickly, arriving in the kitchen with breakfast already in progress.
“You didn’t wake me,” she said accusingly. “I never oversleep.” Even to her own ears, her words were petulant, and she caught a quick glimpse of Shay’s grin as he rose to pour coffee for her from the big pot. “Are you fixing my plate, too?” she asked, out of sorts for some unknown reason.
He nodded. “I can do that.” And to her amazement, he took the empty plate from before her to fill it at the stove. Bringing it to her, he bent low to place it on the table, and his whisper was soft against her ear. “Tomorrow for sure, sweetheart.”
She turned her head quickly, and his mouth brushed her cheek. It was enough. For now, it was enough.
Shay’s hands at her waist lifted her into the buggy seat, and Jenny looked over his shoulder for a fleeting second to smile at Marshall, standing on the porch. The basket sat at her feet, a quilt covering it, with a jug of water added at the last minute. Marshall, close by Isabelle’s side, waved sadly as they left, and Jenny felt a moment’s guilt at leaving him behind.
And yet it was an adventure she wanted to share only with Shay. It seemed almost clandestine, this journey they set out upon. Just a man and woman, driving from home, with no duties to dodge, no chores to evade in order to be alone. Just the sunlight, the blue sky, birds taking flight before them, their songs trailing behind in melodies she seldom took time to hear. She touched Shay’s hand, and he glanced down at her, his mouth curving as if he caught the mood she’d allowed to permeate her whole being.
They drove quickly through the nearby town, and Jenny gave quiet instructions as they passed through several small communities, journeying beside fields of corn and cotton. Cabins dotted the countryside, and burned-out structures gave silent witness to the scars of warfare.
“I hate seeing this,” she told Shay. “It was easier not knowing, I think.”
“Maybe, but this is the way it is, Jen. Life’s different than it used to be. People have had to make changes to survive.”
“I don’t have to like it though,” she said stubbornly. “I guess we were fortunate, weren’t we?”
“If you say so,” Shay answered, his thoughts dark as he considered what Jenny had sacrificed to hold what she owned.
Her final instructions to him turned the buggy down a shaded avenue. It was neglected, the narrow tracks almost covered by weeds and grass. Overhanging trees, with moss dripping from their branches provided welcome shade to the travelers as the buggy rolled past.
Jenny fidgeted, becoming increasingly tense, and Shay took her hand. “No matter what happens,” he said quietly, “you’ll know you made the first move to make things right.” She nodded distractedly, sitting on the edge of the seat, leaning forward as they rounded the final bend in the lane.
The charred framework of a house was before them, only a part of it remaining unharmed by fire. “It seemed bigger when I was a child,” Jenny whispered.
“Probably was bigger,” Shay said. “Most of it’s been burned down, sweetheart.”
She lifted her head, shaking it mournfully as she viewed the ruins of her childhood home. “It makes my heart ache, just looking at it. This was my folks’ home place.” Her hand dug deeply into her pocket, searching for her handkerchief.
“It’s not just the house, Shay. Look beyond the chimney, where the barns used to be, and the chicken coops and the springhouse. There’s hardly anything left.”
“I can see chickens scratching around out past the out-house,” he said. “Maybe they lay eggs enough for what your father needs. But it looks like there’s only half of the barn left. Hard to say. If the roof’s still good, it might be usable.”
“I’m glad my mama can’t see this.” Jenny slid from the buggy seat and picked her way through the weeds to where broken steps led to the front veranda. “Do you suppose my father is really here?”
Shay followed her, grasping her elbow as she climbed awkwardly onto the wide porch. “Open the door, Jen. We’ll take a look.”
Amazingly enough, the door swung wide, its hinges in working order, and Shay stepped past her to peer inside. A hallway met his gaze, two open doorways to his left, the other side boarded up with a slapdash assortment of planks and pieces of wood. From one room a low snarl promised the presence of a dog, and Shay halted.
Jenny pushed past him. “That must be Crowder. Pa’s had him for years, since I was a girl.” Her voice was eager as she spoke the dog’s name, calling him with a coaxing lilt that Shay thought would have turned any intelligent creature to mush. It seemed Crowder was no exception. A brown-spotted hound, he bounded from the dim interior, only to grovel at Jenny’s feet, whining piteously.
She bent low to pet him, whispering his name and speaking softly. “Where’s my papa, Crowder? Is he in here?” The dog’s tail beat a tattoo against the door frame, and his head tilted back, eyes closed. A mournful howl was the dog’s immediate response, and Jenny pushed him aside to enter the room.
“Papa?” Jenny moved carefully past a large sofa, around an overstuffed chair and toward a second sofa, barely visible on the opposite wall.
Shay followed her through the doorway. Heavy draperies were drawn over the two windows in the far wall, and he picked his way through an assortment of furniture to reach them. A cloud of dust flew as he tugged one tapestry drape aside and he sneezed, shaking his head at the accumulation of cobwebs crisscrossing the glass panes.
“Papa?” Jenny called again, and then turned in a slow circle. A sob caught in her throat. “Oh, Shay. How can he live here like this?”
“Maybe he’s living in the barn.” And that might be an improvement, Shay decided.
From the front door, the dog barked sharply. “Sounds like someone’s coming in,” Shay said. “Let’s take a look.”
Jenny followed him back into the dimly lit corridor. On the veranda stood a tall gentleman, looking uneasily through the open doorway. “Is Mr. Harrison at home?”
“We just arrived ourselves,” Shay said, tugging Jenny to his side. “This is his daughter, sir. We’ll come outside and talk, if you don’t mind.”
On closer inspection, Shay decided the gentleman had about worn the bejabbers out of his black suit, but threadbare or not, it was neatly pressed, and the shirt beneath it snowy white. “I came to visit with Jonah,” the gentleman said politely. “He doesn’t get out to church anymore, so I try to pay him a call every so often. Is he at home?”
Shay fought to control a grin. If this wasn’
t about as neat a package as he’d ever been offered. It looked like heaven had smiled on this trek, and delivered a preacher up, right to the front door of Jonah Harrison’s house.
“We were about to go out and take a look around,” Jenny said. “I don’t think I remember you, sir.”
The gentleman offered his hand to Shay. “I’ve only been at the church in town since the conflict was over. My name is George Potter.” He nodded to Jenny. “I remember your mama. You favor her a bit.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was choked, and Shay hastened to speak.
“You’re welcome to come along,” he said, unwilling to allow the preacher out of his sight. “In fact, you might have come to the right place at the right time today.”
The elderly man removed his hat, holding it against his chest. “I’ll certainly be available if I’m needed here.” He looked from Shay to Jenny, then back again. “Are either of you in need of comfort, perhaps? Has something happened to Jonah?”
“He’s not in the house. We were just heading out back to look around.” Shay shortened his steps as they set out, one hand on Jenny’s back, the other by his side, and for a moment he wished for the security of his gun at hand.
Together, they walked toward the shed. It was a ramshackle building, leaning to one side, looking as if it had been constructed from various bits and pieces of other structures. The wide door hung open and Shay stepped inside. Tools hung from the wall, along with a bridle. Beneath them a well-worn saddle was tipped on end. Two stalls sat empty, but the straw showed evidence of manure droppings.
“He’s still got animals,” Shay said. “There’s another dog by the back wall. Maybe some pups, too. Looks like he’d do better to live out here. It’s in better shape than the house.”
“I don’t remember this building,” Jenny told him. She stood in the doorway, her shoulders slumped, her face mournful. “Everything’s gone, Shay. The barns, the people, the house. No wonder my father—” She caught her breath, plainly on the verge of tears.
The Seduction of Shay Devereaux Page 11