“Come on, Jen. Let’s go look out back,” Shay said hastily. “You coming along?” he asked the preacher.
“Yes, certainly. There’s a back door. Shall we walk on through?”
Behind the shed was an open field, where the fragrance of fresh cut hay gave mute evidence of men working. “Does Jonah have people living here?” Shay asked the preacher.
“Last I knew, there were a couple of families left. The womenfolk bring food to Jonah and the men work the fields with him.” One hand lifted to shield his eyes from the sun, and the preacher pointed to the far end of the hayfield. “Look under those trees. There’s a stream back there, I believe. I think someone’s out there.”
Two men rose from the ground as Shay scanned the area, and one of them bent over for a moment, his arm outstretched. A third figure sat up and then rose to stand beside the first two.
“Looks like Jonah to me, with the two men who stayed on here,” George Potter said firmly. “They must have been taking a nap. It’s a good idea when the sun gets overhead. Your father’s not a young man anymore, ma’am.”
The three men watched as Shay set out across the field, Jenny and the preacher at his heels. “Jonah?” George called out, waving his hand. “Somebody’s here to see you.”
“Is that you, George?” The smallest of the three, a white man with snowy hair, stepped forward, then made his way toward them.
Jenny stopped short, and Shay looked back. Tears ran freely and one hand covered her mouth. Her face contorted as she watched the approach of her father, and Shay turned back to grasp her arm, walking beside her.
“Mattie? Mattie, is that you?” From fifty feet away, Jonah’s voice seemed frail, yet his pace gained momentum as he neared.
“No, Papa. It’s Jenny.” Leaving Shay behind, she hurried to her father, then stopped short as he shook his head.
“Of course, you can’t be Mattie, can you?” One trembling hand reached to touch her hair, his fingers tangling in the waves that hung loosely. “Is it really Jenny?” And then he slumped to the ground.
Shay was at his side in seconds, lifting Jonah’s head to his knee, brushing back the white hair that hung overlong, touching his shoulders. “Has he been ill?” he asked the preacher, who’d hastened to his side.
“No, he’s been pretty strong right along. Just sometimes his mind wanders a little.” He leaned closer. “Jonah, can you hear me?” He looked up at Shay then, smiling sadly. “He won’t talk to anyone, you know. Just stays here and works and keeps body and soul together. Never been the same since Miss Mattie died.”
“Doc Gibson tried to see him a couple of times when he was over this way,” Jenny said quietly. “I sent him letters, but he said Papa tore them up and wouldn’t read them.”
“Why didn’t you come yourself?” Shay asked, knowing the cruelty of the words, yet curious to know Jenny’s motives. For a woman so dedicated to her home and family, the neglect of her parent seemed cruel.
“He didn’t want to see me. He wouldn’t see anybody, Doc Gibson said. And I suppose I was hurt that he hadn’t come to me. I didn’t even know that Mama died until months afterward.” She closed her eyes. “You weren’t here, Shay. You can’t imagine how it was, trying to scrape together enough to eat, once the Yankees moved on. It took all day, every day, just to take care of ourselves and the animals. And then, when I sent letters and never heard back, I just gave up.”
“Old Jonah didn’t even come out of those two rooms he lives in for the first little while after Mattie died,” George said. “Folks around here didn’t know him well. No one seemed to know where’d he even come from.”
“He was Jonah Harrison,” Jenny whispered. “Of the New Orleans Harrisons.”
Shay leaned over the man, providing shade from the hot sun. “I think we need to take him to the house. Or at least out of the sun.”
The other two men approached, and one of them held out a canteen. “There’s water in here,” he said. “Mr. Jonah’s been feeling poorly today. The heat’s gettin’ to him.”
Shay uncapped the flask and wet his handkerchief, wiping the older man’s face, then lifted his head to pour a few drops of water against his lips. Jonah stirred, his eyelids fluttering, then opened his mouth to drink. Shay accommodated him, allowing several swallows before he brought Jonah’s head higher.
“Papa?” Jenny called to him, and he squinted his eyes, seeking her face.
“I didn’t want you here, Jenny. I don’t like you seeing the place this way,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t bring myself to leave your mama here.”
“Why didn’t you write to me?” she asked, kneeling beside him.
He shook his head, a hopeless gesture. “You’re better off without me.”
“That’s no way to talk,” Shay told him harshly. “Your daughter needs you. Do you even know that you have a grandson?”
His nod was brief. “Doc Gibson told me.”
Shay lifted Jonah to his feet, his arm supporting the smaller man. “Let’s get you into the shade,” he said.
“I’ll take him, sir. My name’s Henry,” said one of the workers. He motioned to the man beside him. “This here’s Clay. We work the land with Mr. Jonah.” His husky arms lifted Jonah with no visible effort, then carried him, halting beneath a tree to lower the old man, easing him to lean against the wide trunk.
He looked up at Jenny, who was fast behind him. “You gonna stay on here with your pa?”
Jenny shook her head. “No, but if he’ll come home with me, I’ll take him today.”
Henry looked dubious. “He’s pretty set in his ways. My woman can’t hardly get him to take a bath these days. He just works and sleeps, don’t even eat much.”
“Shay?” Jenny looked up at him. “Can you make him come home with us?”
“Not unless he gets cleaned up first,” Shay said bluntly. He turned to Henry. “Does he have any clean clothes?”
“You can direct your questions to me, young man,” Jonah said tartly, sitting up straighter. “Don’t be talking over my head.”
“Your daughter wants you to live with her and the boy, sir,” Shay said, pleased to hear the first signs of vitality from the man.
“I’m doing fine where I am,” Jonah told him.
“Well, she’s not,” Shay answered. “She needs her father, and the boy needs a grandfather.”
Jenny opened her mouth and Shay sent her a telling glance. She subsided, allowing him to continue.
“I’m marrying your girl today, Jonah, if the preacher here will do the honors. You gonna clean up for the ceremony?”
George Potter stood straighter, a smile wreathing his face. “That sounds like a grand way to celebrate this reunion, Jonah. You can give the bride away.”
“After he has a bath,” Shay said firmly. And then offered a hand to Jenny’s father. “Will you honor us, sir?”
“Give me a drink of that water,” Jonah said grumpily. “And you, Henry, go tell Martha I need something clean to wear.”
“I can do that, Mr. Jonah,” the big man said with a laugh. “She’ll be happy to oblige. She’s got your clothes all washed up, just waitin’ for you to use.”
It took a horse trough full of water and a vast amount of determination on Shay’s part to complete the task, but Jonah appeared at the front of the ruined house an hour later, where Jenny sat with George Potter in the shade. His clothing rumpled, but clean and neatly mended, Jonah climbed the steps to the veranda and stood before his daughter. From within the hallway, Crowder barked once, then nudged past the open door to sit at Jonah’s side.
Jonah put his hand on the dog’s head. “I won’t come with you today, Jenny. But I’ll think about it, long and hard. Your fella here is pretty persuasive. He seems to think you need me around.” His eyes were clear now, his manner courteous.
“You look…” Jenny halted, as if lost for words. “This is the way I remember you, Papa. With Crowder at your side.”
“Well, some days I do better
than others, daughter. Me and Crowder are both gettin’ on in years.”
And the years had not dealt with him kindly, Shay thought.
“This is a good day for you, Jonah,” George told him. “A very good day. You need to stand up here by your girl and watch her get married to this fine man.”
Shay nudged Jonah closer to Jenny, then stood at her right side. “We’re ready, preacher, anytime you are.” It took an effort to keep his elation from showing. Things had almost taken a bad turn, but it seemed the man was lucid and aware of the events about to take place now. All in all, it couldn’t have turned out better if he’d had a hand in planning things, instead of having to sort through circumstances the way he had.
“Are you sure you want to marry this man, Jenny?” the Reverend Potter asked, apparently willing to perform the ceremony with only his Bible in hand. “I’m sure I can remember the words, even without my book of sacraments available.”
Jenny looked up at Shay. “He’ll have to be willing to give his full name, won’t he, Reverend?” Her eyes held doubt, and Shay bristled momentarily. Caught, was what he was. She’d put off digging at him, after Eli’s visit, and now he’d have to tell her, in plain words, what she wanted to know, or lie in the face of a man of God.
“Of course, I’ll need it to fill out the marriage certificate. You’ll have to come by the church in town to get it when we’ve finished here, though.”
“We surely do need that piece of paper,” Shay told him, thinking of Isabelle’s scornful glance, should he try to convince her of the marriage without proof.
“I think we’re ready then.” George opened his Bible and read verses from the first few pages, about a man and woman being one flesh, words that rang a bell in Shay’s memory. Then the pages turned until the preacher found the passage he sought, closer to the back of the book. His voice became more melodious, his phrasing almost musical as he spoke of a mystical union, ordained by God. Shay shifted from one foot to the other, more than ready for the essential parts of this ceremony, as George read on about faith, hope and charity. And then it was time.
“Your name, young man?”
Shay cleared his throat. “Shay Devereaux,” he answered, refusing to look down at Jenny as he spoke.
“And you are Jenny…” He paused. “Not Harrison any longer, is it?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m Jenny Pennington.”
“Ah, yes. Your father told me you’re a widow.” His voice lifted, developed a lilt unlikely for a man his age, Shay thought. “Well, no longer, ma’am. Not if you agree to marry this gentleman.”
His hand reached out to them both. “Place your hands in mine, if you please, and repeat after me.”
Jenny’s slender fingers lay across the minister’s narrow palm, and Shay placed his hand atop hers. As if in a dream, he heard Jenny repeat words he’d thought never to hear in reference to himself, listened as she promised to love him, honor him and stay with him forever. And then he was asked to repeat those same vows.
He’d try, he promised himself silently. He’d do his level best, for Jenny’s benefit. Hell, for Jenny, he’d lay down and die. Now, if he could only manage to be a decent husband and honor the promises he was making. He’d shied from promises over the past years, but not this time. And he couldn’t even tell himself it was because of Carl that he did this.
This was for himself.
“…pronounce you husband and wife. You can kiss your bride, Mr. Devereaux.”
Shay bent his head, releasing his hold on Jenny’s hand and turning her to face him, his palms against her waist. Her lips were warm, trembling just a bit, but the kiss she offered was sweet. He’d have lingered a bit, but for the men watching. Later, he promised her silently, aware of desire’s hovering presence within himself.
“Congratulations, young man,” the preacher said heartily. “And you, too, Jonah. You’ve got yourself a new son-in-law. Maybe you ought to think again about tagging along with them today.”
Jonah shook his head, looking across the veranda to where tall oak trees lined the neglected approach to his house. “No, not now. Maybe later on.”
Henry stood at the edge of the veranda. “We’ll keep an eye on your pa, Miss Jenny. Maybe he’ll be better now, since you’ve been here.”
“Please think about coming to us, Papa,” Jenny pleaded quietly, turning from Shay to touch her father’s arm. She looked into his eyes and Jonah nodded, then for the first time reached for her, his embrace almost reluctant.
“I’ll ponder on it,” he said, and Shay recognized that they would have to be content with that.
“We’ll need to be moving on,” he told Jenny. “We’ll follow the Reverend to town to get the certificate from him.”
Jenny looked at him beseechingly. “Can we share our dinner with them first?”
He’d forgotten the basket of food Isabelle had readied for them, and at Jenny’s words, he nodded. Retrieving it from the buggy, he returned to sit on the edge of the veranda with the men and Jenny, watching with pleasure as she doled out the bread and sliced ham Isabelle had sent along. Half of a pound cake completed the simple meal, and Shay blessed Isabelle for her generous hand.
“Haven’t had such good ham in a long while,” Jonah said, wiping his mouth with his clean handkerchief.
“There’ll be more where that came from. Noah hung two hams in the smokehouse from the hog we butchered,” Shay said. “It was about empty, but we’ll be raising hogs for ourselves next year. We could use an extra hand to help, Jonah.”
“We will?” Jenny asked, latching on to his first statement. “And we’re going to get a sow and raise our own?”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Shay told her, delighted with her response. “Our cotton looks good. We can afford to get a couple of pigs to breed, besides another one to butcher, if we want to. We’ll have to think about getting a boar, maybe, now that I think about it.”
Jenny’s cheeks flushed at his remark and she cast him a quelling glance. “We’ll talk about it later, Mr. Devereaux.” It was a pointed reminder that they had more than one item to discuss, and Shay began to realize that the ride back home might hold some uncomfortable moments on his part.
There was no point in putting it off longer. The sun was well on its way down the western sky as he loaded Jenny aboard the buggy and stowed the basket beneath the seat. “Wave at your father, and don’t cry, you hear?” he told her sternly. “I don’t want him to think you’re not looking forward to traveling home with me.”
She looked past him, dutifully waving at Jonah and Henry. “I won’t cry. I’m bright enough to know I might never see him again, but for now, it’s all right.” Jonah’s form had shrunk, it seemed, and he leaned against a pillar, Henry tall beside him. “He’s not quite right in his mind, is he?” Jenny asked, and then answered her own question. “It’s like something in him died along with Mama, don’t you think? He was with us there for a while, but now, it’s like he’s retreated again.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, sweetheart,” Shay agreed. “There’s a spark missing, and I’m not sure anybody can do anything about it.” He cracked the reins over the mare’s back, setting her into a faster pace. “Don’t give up, Jen. He may change his mind. But we can’t do it for him. You did what was right, coming here and mending the breach. Now it’s up to him.”
The stop at the parsonage was short, and Jenny rolled the certificate carefully, lest it wrinkle. She was quiet, weary from the long day, yet anticipation for the night ahead filled her mind. They halted in a small town, where only a general store told of any degree of prosperity, and Shay stopped for a few minutes to water the mare at a trough in front of the building. A woman inside the store watched him through the window, her eyes fearful, and Jenny wondered if he’d faced such lack of welcome in other places.
So used to his appearance, she seldom took note of his scarred cheek, but now her heart ached for the man who would carry the blemish for the rest of his life. Who
would, one day, face his parents with the marks of his past apparent. He’d been a handsome youth. No, she corrected herself, he was still handsome, just tainted by the cruelty of a man somewhere who’d marred his perfect features.
Shay climbed back into the buggy and she reached to place her hand on his knee. He looked up quickly, surprise lighting his gaze, and she could not resist sliding closer, as though she must label him as her own, should the woman still be watching as they left.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me before?” she asked. “You spoke of Roan, and you said he was your brother, but then you dithered when I asked you about your name. You said your mother had not named you Shay. So I thought you didn’t want to lay claim to the family name, or else you were traveling under a different name.”
“My brother fought for the North under that name,” he said bitterly. “I think I hate him for it. I haven’t claimed the name of Devereaux since…well, for a long time.”
“You claimed it today,” she reminded him gently.
“In order to marry you.”
“Was it so great a sacrifice, then?” Her heart was saddened as she thought of family. He’d made a special effort to reunite her with her father, yet his own beginnings were pushed aside, with hatred marring his memories and with no intention of finding his family again.
His look was sharp, his eyes darkening with desire as he wrapped a long arm around her shoulders. Bending his head, he caught her mouth with his, and his kiss was possessive, deep and fervent. As if he must claim her, erase any thought of reluctance on his part, he imprinted her with his passion, and she was caught up against him, yielding to his touch.
He lifted his head and his eyes were hooded, his mouth damp. “I’m Shay Devereaux, sweetheart, your husband. And believe me, it will be no sacrifice on my part to make this whole thing official when we get home. That certificate is goin’ over the headboard and you’re goin’ between the sheets.”
He bent to her once more, offering a kiss that was softer, gentler, yet no less potent, and then he turned away, adjusting his hat and snapping the reins. “Now, behave yourself till we get home,” he muttered. “No more squeezing my knee, or we may not make it back without stopping along the way somewhere.”
The Seduction of Shay Devereaux Page 12