The Barefoot Bride

by Paisley, Rebecca

  "Stingy buzzard, huh?"

  "He has the most valuable art collection around, but he refuses to let anyone look at it." Saxon pointed to two upstairs windows in the mansion. "That room is always lit at night. It's where he has his paintings, and he sits in there for hours staring at his art."

  "Why don't he want nobody to see it?"

  "I guess it gives him malicious pleasure to know all those masterpieces are for his eyes only. He tells people all about them, but when he's asked to share them he laughs and refuses."

  Chickadee stared at Ruford's lighted windows until they disappeared from view. A rumpus over paintings of landscapes, people, fruit, and maybe animals. Weren't real people, animals, fruits and scenery a sight prettier to see?

  Strange people, these Boston folk.

  *

  Chickadee pulled Desdemona along, forcing the mute girl to quicken her pace. For over a week they'd taken long walks together, and during those brisk treks she refused to let Desdemona balk. She devoted constant, neverending attention to Desdemona, and her efforts were finally beginning to show results.

  "Come on, Desi, you can walk faster'n that. I'm aimin' to figger outten jist how big this Blackwell estate is, and we ain't gwine git nowhars iffen you don't git a move on!" She sniffed at the air as they headed toward the wooded area behind the mansion. "Winter ain't too fur away. Ain't gwine be long afore this here place'll be white with snow. You ever been a-sleddin'? You-uns even got sleds?"

  Desdemona didn't answer, but she perked up at the mention of sledding.

  Chickadee stopped and adjusted Desdemona's cloak. "Don't reckon nobody never takes you a-sleddin', do they, sweet thang? Well, don't you worry none. I'll take you. Hell, I'll even make you the God-burnin'est best sled you ever laid eyes on. All's we need is a good tree and some sharp tools. Reckon you could hep me find them thangs?"

  To Chickadee's great delight, Desdemona nodded vigorously and pointed to the forest. And then Chickadee's delight turned into a burst of laughter.

  Desdemona was smiling. Spreading from ear to ear, it was her first smile in years.

  "Well looky thar!" Chickadee exclaimed. "A smile! I jist knowed you could do it!" She hugged Desdemona tightly.

  From the drawing room window of the mansion, Eugenia Preston watched the two girls scamper into the woods. "My, my. I'm sorry I didn't arrive before your new granddaughter-in-law went for her walk, Araminta. I would like to meet the girl who makes Desdemona smile."

  Araminta clutched her onyx brooch. "Smile?"

  Eugenia turned from the window. "Smile. Desdemona just smiled over something Saxon's new wife said to her."

  Araminta attempted to look pleased but failed.

  "You must be overjoyed your granddaughter is showing such signs of improvement," Eugenia said slyly. "A smile isn't much, but it is surely the beginning. Desdemona is not insane at all, is she?" She regarded Araminta carefully.

  "Insane?" Araminta's color heightened. "Why, whoever said she was?"

  Eugenia raised a slate-gray brow. "How pleased you must be with Saxon's bride. She seems to be a most unusual girl from what little I've seen of her, but in only a short while, she's succeeded in doing what no one else has been able to do. She's broken through Desdemona's reserve, and for that, I'm sure you must be overwhelmingly grateful."

  "Grateful," Araminta muttered. The preparations for Desdemona's departure to the asylum had been completed, and the brainless chit was to have left in the morning! But now Eugenia Preston herself had noticed the subtle changes Chickadee had wrought in Desdemona—one ridiculous smile... Now there was no way on earth Araminta could send her to the asylum.

  How was she going to force Saxon to get rid of Chickadee now? Araminta's blood pelting through her scrawny veins. A curse on that redheaded heathen! A curse that would banish the mountain girl from the face of the earth!

  A curse that would not be long coming, if Araminty had her way...

  Chapter 13

  As Saxon stepped down the staircase, he dwelled on the memory of the shy smile Desdemona had given him earlier that morning. She'd smiled every day for the past week. Those timid grins were thrilling things to see, and they were also proof Araminta could no longer threaten him with the asylum. With that worry gone, there was little with which she could torment him.

  And because she'd lost the means she had to force him to stay with Blackwell Enterprises, he'd decided to stay with the company of which he was so proud. It was just as he suspected it would be. Remaining with Blackwell Enterprises because he chose to do so made all the difference. Life was looking up. Everything was almost perfect.

  Almost. There was still that shivery, somewhat exhilarating emotion he experienced whenever he thought of Chickadee. It bothered him no end that she could make him feel that way without his consent.

  He pondered the years during which Araminta had control over him, power over everything except his emotions. His private feelings and the fact they were his alone had been his sole comfort as he'd grown to manhood.

  And now, just when he'd wrested so much back from Araminta, Chickadee had somehow taken command of the only things that were truly his: his emotions. Dammit! Would his life ever be entirely his own?

  Chickadee. He slowed as he thought of her. He could still feel the warmth of her kiss as she bid him goodbye just minutes ago. He could even still smell the spicy scent of the sassafrass tea she brewed in the fireplace of their bedroom.

  He was going to miss her. No matter how angry it made him to admit that, it was nevertheless true. He was going to miss her, because soon she'd be gone.

  His detectives had located Barton Winslow in New York. Saxon hadn't begun the man's ruination yet, but he knew exactly how he'd do it. He had yet to tell Chickadee the news, but knew it wasn't fair to keep it from her.

  He reached the bottom of the staircase and gripped the railing tightly. After he told her about her father, how long would it be before she left? Would she stay to see the man's downfall, or would she leave immediately, trusting Saxon to keep his end of the bargain?

  Irritated anew over his strange attachment to her, he muttered a curse and stalked to the front door. With a quick glance at the upper landing of the staircase, he silently wished Chickadee good luck.

  She was attending the ladies' sewing circle today. It was a good place for her to start joining society. It would be just a quiet, simple affair, and he couldn't imagine she'd be able to cause any chaos there. After all, she wouldn't be taking Khan, and she'd leave her rifle at home. What could happen?

  "Saxon, I refuse to take that girl to the sewing meeting," Araminta snapped as she rushed into the foyer.

  "Sorry, Grandmother. If you don't take Keely everyone will want to know why she's not there. And if you lie and make up some excuse, I will reveal your dishonesty at the first opportunity. I want her to make some friends. Can't you understand that?"

  Araminta rubbed her arms to warm herself against the chill her cold anger brought her. "I will not take her."

  "She's been invited. I ran into Mrs. Rush yesterday in town. You know how fast news spreads. Apparently every female in Boston has heard of my marriage, and all are anxious to meet Keely. And since I cannot be with her today, I'm counting on you to make sure things go well for her."

  Araminta's eyelids fluttered like the transparent wings of a fly.

  Saxon tapped his hat against his thigh, thoroughly enjoying Araminta's dismay. "You see. Grandmother, Keely and I were with Wesley Melville several weeks ago. When I saw Mrs. Rush yesterday, she informed me she'd heard about my marriage from Mrs. Douglas. Mrs. Douglas learned about it from Mrs. Eliot, who got it straight from Mrs. Bancroft, who got wind of it directly from Mrs. Melville. Mrs. Rush promised to do her utmost to see that Keely is introduced to all the proper people. Hence, the invitation for her to join the ladies' sewing circle. Which, if I'm not mistaken, meets at one o'clock today at the Rush estate. And you, dear Grandmother, will take her. Now, with your leave, I go to my off
ice."

  She caught him by his sleeve. "You know perfectly well they want to meet her because of the rumors that are undoubtedly flying about. They cannot resist—"

  "Grandmother, what a terrible way to speak of your own friends! And as for the rumors, do as I do—ignore them." He reached out and patted her shoulder before heading out the door.

  "But she has nothing to wear!"

  Saxon turned slowly, his eyebrow raised. "Her clothes arrived yesterday. She'll be dressed beautifully. So you see? You've nothing at all to worry about."

  *

  "I heard she actually took a few shots at Wesley Melville," Sarah Bancroft proclaimed, nodding in assurance that her words were the truth not mere gossip.

  "Told him she'd strip naked for him too," Evelyn Douglas whispered, her cheeks reddening. "You know, I always knew Saxon wasn't right for my Emily. Granted, he's a handsome scamp and will be as rich as Croesus one day, but to have him as a son-in-law! Well, the proof of his true character is that girl he married. Gracious me! I'm so glad I always took care to keep Emily well out of his way."

  Hester Eliot smirked. "Evelyn dear, you'd have stripped poor Emily naked if you thought it might have made Saxon take a second glance at her, and you know it. It's common knowledge you've wanted that match ever since Emily sprouted breasts."

  Evelyn gasped. "Why Hester Eliot! I never—"

  "I wonder what Saxon would see in her?" Millicent Ashbury interrupted. "From what I've heard about her, she's the crudest person ever to set foot in our fair city. Why, even her name is outlandish. Imagine being named Chicken!"

  "Excuse me, but I don't think her name is Chicken," Bunny Hamilton said quietly, reaching up to push a brown curl off her plump cheek. "I believe I heard it to be Chickadee."

  The cluster of women turned to look at the overweight girl. "Bunny, what difference does it make, for heaven's sake?" Eleanor Peabody spat. "Chickadee is as ridiculous as Chicken."

  "But no one can possibly judge her without even meeting her," Bunny pointed out timidly. "Surely the things you have heard about her are nothing more than overblown gossip. I'm sure she's a lovely, genteel girl."

  The discussion was interrupted by a commotion in the hallway.

  "No you cain't have my cape, you thievin' buzzard! Don't they pay you enough here so's you can buy yore own dang capes?"

  "But I only thought to hang it up for you," the butler rushed to explain to the mountain girl who'd just arrived.

  "Oh." Chickadee unfastened the front of the silken garment and handed it to him.

  "And may I take that for you also?" he asked, gesturing toward the leather satchel she held.

  "No, I'm gwine need it."

  The butler frowned. "But it's a saddlebag."

  "Onliest thang I could find to put my sewin' in."

  Eyes wide, the women watched the scene at the doorway. Araminta entered and shuffled to a vacant chair, leaving Chickadee under the archway of the door.

  "Araminta," Millicent said, still staring at the person in the doorway, "is that her?"

  Araminta yanked her needlepoint out of her bag and threw Chickadee a scathing look. "Yes, and before she even sets foot into this room, allow me to apologize for whatever she says or does. I can promise you all that before this assembly is over, each of you will understand how horribly humiliated I am by Saxon's marriage."

  "Does she always talk like that?" Eleanor asked.

  "It gets worse with every word she utters," Araminta said. "I did not want to bring her here, but Saxon—"

  "Well, isn't anyone going to invite her into the room?" Bunny asked.

  "Yes, Thelma," Sarah said. "You're the hostess."

  Thelma Rush fiddled with her ruby ring. "But... Perhaps I made a mistake in inviting her. I only thought to do Saxon a favor by—"

  "You're a very poor liar, Thelma." Hester chided. "You heard the rumors about her, and you couldn't wait to see if they were true. You're always the one who has all the latest gossip. The rest of us—"

  "Hester, that's not true," Thelma gasped. "I—"

  "It is so true, Thelma," Evelyn exclaimed. "The proof is that you invited her!"

  Thelma flushed scarlet. "But I had no idea she would be... like that!"

  "What is she like?" Bunny heaved out of her chair. "How can we know until we acquaint ourselves with her?"

  "Oh Bunny, do sit down," Millicent commanded. "Heaven knows none of us can see around you."

  Bunny hung her head for an instant before she turned and waddled across the large room toward the doorway where Chickadee still stood. Chickadee watched her coming and knew instantly that Bunny certainly enjoyed food. But Chickadee looked beyond the rolls of plumpness on the girl's face and saw Bunny's smile. It was an honest-to-goodness real smile, the only one given her since she'd arrived.

  "Hello," Bunny greeted her. "My name is Bunny Hamilton. It's such a pleasure to meet the girl who finally caught that handsome Saxon Blackwell. My sincerest congratulations on your marriage, Chickadee."

  Chickadee shook Bunny's hand firmly. "Bunny? Uh, Bunny ain't no nickname fer somethin' else, is it? I mean, yore real name ain't Rabbit, is it?"

  For a moment, Bunny looked confused. "Rabbit?" she repeated and then laughed. "Oh no! My real name is Hortense, but I hate that name. When my parents died and I came here to live with my relatives, and my aunt nicknamed me Bunny. That's what I've come to prefer to be called."

  "Well, God-proud to meet you Bunny. I was a-wonderin' if thur was anybody here who was gwine welcome me in. Ole Araminty jist left me a-standin' here, and I didn't know what I was s'posed to do. She's pained over a-brangin' me today, y'know. 'Course, I don't keer nary a jag she's so ill. The iller she is, the tickleder I git."

  Bunny held her hand over her mouth and giggled.

  "Yes, well, come with me, and I'll make all the introductions. You'll have to forgive Mrs. Rush for not doing it. She's... uh, she's not herself today."

  Chickadee took a moment to smooth down her salmon-colored silk dress, and then followed Bunny. She smiled at each woman to whom she was introduced, but not one lady returned her gesture of friendliness. Shrugging her shoulders, she sat down beside Bunny and opened the old leather bag. Every pair of eyes in the room was on her. Oblivious to the rude stares, she took many frayed squares of cloth from the satchel, making a pile of them on her lap.

  "I ain't much fer sewin', but Saxon says you-uns do a lavish of it here in Boston. And what with the warm welcome you-uns give me, the leastest I can do is try and do thangs the way you-uns do 'em."

  Not one woman deigned to answer, and because they were staring so intently at Chickadee, not one woman had noticed Eugenia Preston's quiet arrival.

  She had nearly stepped into the room to demand an explanation for such rudeness when she realized who Chickadee was. With a finger to her lips, she asked for silence from the butler and then stood behind the door to peek through the crack. She knew spying was rude, but if the delightful tales she'd heard about the mountain girl and Wesley Melville were true—and she believed they were—she suspected the overbearing matrons in the room were about to suffer a similar fate. It was entertainment she simply couldn't resist waiting to see.

  "Whatever it is you're making will certainly be vivid and pleasing to the eye," Bunny said, picking up one of Chickadee's bright squares of cloth. "You've such pretty colors here."

  "Me and Saxon went through ever' closet in the house a-huntin' out ole clothes and other kinds o' cloth. Spended near all night a-rippin' 'em inter these here squares."

  "She is most likely making a gown, knowing her taste," Araminta remarked coldly, her smile as icy as her voice.

  The other ladies twittered with laughter.

  Bunny glared at each of them. "If she is indeed making a dress, it will be a beautiful one. With her coloring, the hues of her fabrics will be quite pretty on her."

  "Nice o' you to say, Bunny, but it ain't gwine be no dress. It's gwine be—"

  "I'm sure none of us care
," Araminta broke in. She tried to concentrate on her needlepoint, but her fingers shook as she thought of the things that would be said about her in the days to come. Even now, each lady in the room was absorbing everything that went on and would soon shout it out to all of Boston. Her fine, untarnished name would be stained irreparably.

  Oh, how she relished the thought of punishing Saxon for doing this to her.

  "Yes, well... who has news to share with us?" Bunny asked, realizing a change of subject was vitally needed.

  With effort, the women tore their eyes from Chickadee and settled back in their chairs. After all, there would be plenty of time to gossip about the rustic later on.

  "There is a certain Mary Lindlock I'd like to discuss," Hester said. "She's new to Boston, and while she's a pleasant enough woman, I'm sure we'd all like to know more about her before we accept her into our circle."

  "Far be it from me to pass judgment," Sarah said, and threw Chickadee a well-aimed sneer, "but I must say I'm not at all certain Mary could ever be one of us. Why, do you know I actually heard her arguing over the price of a necklace the other day in Cromwell's jewelry store?"

  "You don't mean it!" Eleanor responded. "Well, that is all the proof we need, ladies. Bickering over jewelry is simply not acceptable. It's—"

  "Maybe that Cromwell feller was a-tryin' to cheat her," Chickadee ventured. "I met him when Saxon tuk me thar, and I ain't a-tellin' no lie when I say he was a mite shifty-eyed. I tole Saxon—"

  "No one asked for your opinion," Araminta said. "Samuel Cromwell is a respected businessman, and we have all patronized his store for years. You'd do well to keep quiet when it comes to matters you know nothing about."

  "I'm sure Chickadee meant no disrespect, Mrs. Blackwell." Bunny tried to soothe the angry woman. "She—"

  "And as for you, Bunny Hamilton," Araminta hissed, "your opinion is of no value either. I will speak to your Aunt Sue and Uncle Van and inform them of the impertinence you have shown your elders here today. Your cousin, Cynthia, told me herself she is exasperated with you, and from your actions today, I can certainly understand her feelings."