When Dr. Stuart brought her the pudding topped with melted butter, she had hardened her heart to any thought she needed a man in her life.
She took the offered bowl and said, “Thank you. This smells delicious.” She only let her regard touch him briefly before she concentrated on eating the treat.
“Tomorrow I will let you do the work while I instruct you.”
Her husband’s instruction on how to please him resounded in her mind. Icy tentacles wrapped about her, squeezing. “Tomorrow? I need to leave by then.”
“I will not hear of it. Your head still hurts and you became dizzy a little while ago. You are weak. How are you going to care for Faith and put food on the table? Your maid is as inept as you are.”
Clasping the bowl so tightly her hands hurt, Rachel lifted her chin and stabbed him with her gaze. “I shall manage. I have no choice.”
“How?”
She gritted her teeth. “Somehow.” She could not imagine the farm being so bad that a little work on her part would not take care of it. She had seen the farmhands on her family estate and was not afraid of work. She had to make this succeed.
“I would never forgive myself if I let you leave and something happened to you or Faith.”
“I am not your responsibility.”
“Yes, you are. You became my responsibility when I found you on the road.”
“No!” Anger quivered through her. She would take care of herself and her child.
His eyes narrowed, his arms rigid at his sides. “This does not have to be a contest of wills.”
Faith stirred, but her eyes remained closed. “Then do not make it one,” Rachel said in a lowered tone.
“Why can you not accept my help?”
For a moment she thought she heard hurt in his voice, but when she looked at him, she met a totally neutral expression. “Why can you not accept my answer?”
“Because I know what Dalton Farm looks like. Because I know how hard it would be for a man, let alone a woman with a baby. Because I know that you gave birth just yesterday and were in an accident too.”
“I am not helpless. I know there will be some work involved.” She fought to erect a barrier of polite formality between them.
“Some work? You have no idea, Rachel.”
His use of her given name wiped all her intentions away. The very situation they were in made a mockery of her denying the connection between them. He had possibly saved her life and that of her daughter’s.
He towered over her, his hands balled at his sides, his expression no longer bland but full of frustrated anger. Then suddenly it evened out. “How are you going to get to the farm?”
“I’m going to…” She remembered the broken cart; she remembered her horse running away.
“To what? Walk?” He folded his arms over his chest. “How are you going to get your trunks there?”
She bit her lower lip, set the bowl in her lap, and clenched her hands. “Perhaps you could give me a ride.” The words tasted like bile on her tongue. She hated having to ask any more of him.
He mumbled under his breath something she could not hear. Flexing his hands, he glared at her. “The only help I’m going to give you is the use of my home. At least until you are well enough to be on your own.”
“You cannot force me to stay against my will.”
“I’m not. You can leave at any time, but I will not contribute to putting you in danger.”
“I have to learn to do for myself.”
“Fine, when you are physically up to it.”
Impotency washed through her. She chewed the inside of her cheek. Her hands shook with exasperation. After the last time Tom had taken his pleasure out on her, she had vowed no one would force her to do anything she did not want to do. “You promise you will take me to Dalton Farm when I am better, not one day later?”
“Yes, I will see you settled.” Relief eased the tension etched into his face.
“Then I shall stay.” As if I really have a choice.
“Good. Rest. Your lessons begin tomorrow morning bright and early.”
Nathan stormed outside, welcoming the coolness of the pine-scented air in the woods. That woman is impossible. There is no way she can run the farm with only herself and her maid.
Visions of all the things that could happen to her berated his thoughts. In town there had been talk of a gang of unsavory men hiding out in the forest north of Charleston. Although they were west, that was still too close. Her farm edged the swampy land near the river. What would she do if she encountered an alligator? In the spring the beasts became more active.
He picked up his ax and positioned a log on the stump to be split. Putting all his energy into it, he struck the piece of wood again and again. One blow after another, until he had a pile of logs for the fireplace. How was she going to chop wood for the fire?
Finally, sweat drenching him, he sat on the stump, his ax resting on the ground near his booted feet. He needed to solicit his sister’s help to persuade Rachel that Dalton Farm was no place for her. If he could not convince Rachel to return to Charleston tomorrow after he showed her a few things she would need to be able to do, he would contact Sarah.
He walked down to the stream that flowed a few hundred feet from his cabin and splashed cold water on his face and neck. Then he headed back up the slope, hoping he could maintain his patience long enough to get the point across to Rachel. She did not belong here. He did not want to be responsible for another human being.
As he approached the cabin, Faith’s cries reverberated through the air. He smiled. She was a hungry baby. He recalled when he brought the beautiful little girl into the world. The excitement and awe he experienced shadowed momentarily the last few years of the war, toiling to save lives. But in the end he had taken a life. He had never before been faced with the decision to kill or be killed. Now the English soldier’s face haunted his sleep. He couldn’t have been older than eighteen.
Very definitely, both Rachel and Faith needed to go home to England.
Four
Looking out the window the next morning, Rachel noticed the bright sunlight bathing the leaves of the trees that surrounded the cabin. It streamed through the glass and warmed the bedchamber. The day promised to be beautiful. And, no doubt, frustrating. As she prepared to go into the main room, the idea of her first cooking lesson tightened her stomach into a knot. Her maid closed the trunk lid behind her and Rachel turned toward her.
“Maddy, when you wash our muddy dresses, also do any clothes that Dr. Stuart needs cleaned.”
“Yes ma’am. He has already set a tub outside for me and built a fire to heat water.” Maddy left the bedchamber with her arms full of dirty clothing from their travels.
From the bedchamber doorway, Rachel spied Nathan standing by the large fireplace, stoking the fire with a poker. He stared into the flames, a faraway look on his face. Sadness lined his features. Her heart twisted at the sight of him, so alone. Again she felt an affinity with him, as though they were kindred souls.
He pivoted toward her, wiping his expression blank. “Are you ready?”
With a last glance at Faith sleeping on the bed, Rachel stepped into the main room. “The real question is, are you ready?”
He chuckled. “I thought I would teach you to bake bread first. How is Faith? I heard her earlier.”
“As did probably everyone else for miles around. She has a nice set of lungs. She is sleeping for the time being.”
He crossed the main room to the kitchen area. “The brick oven should be hot enough by the time we have the first batch of dough ready to bake. I will also show you how to make a cake. We will have it tonight in celebration.”
“Celebration?”
“Yes. Faith’s birth and your first day of lessons. I fancy sweets, so it does not take much for me to celebrate.”
The expression on his face earlier made her doubt that last sentence. At one time perhaps it was true, but the man she saw by the fire was troubled.
Grieving for his father? His mother, thousands of miles away? Or the lost relationship with his grandfather? She really knew very little about him. More questions tumbled through her mind. Had he been married before? Did he lose a friend in the war? Why was he all alone out here? Why was he not practicing medicine in Charleston?
When Dr. Stuart cleared his throat, her face flushed at the directions her thoughts had taken her.
“Are you confessing to a weakness?” she asked, desperate to quiet the barrage of queries concerning him. Too dangerous to know.
“Only to a sweet tooth.”
“We could make the cake first then the bread.”
He shook his head. “Work first, pleasure second.”
The somber look that entered his eyes reinforced the sense she had that he’d had little fun in his life of late. “You are indeed a hard taskmaster. What do I have to do first?” She grinned, wanting to bring an answering smile to his mouth.
“You will need to gather the ingredients.” He gave her an apron. “Here, put this on to protect your gown.”
“Are you saying I will be a messy cook?”
He smiled, a twinkle sparkling his eyes like light captured in a blue sapphire. “Prove me wrong.”
“That is a challenge I shall take up.”
She slipped the apron over her head and started to tie it behind her when Nathan brushed her fingers away and secured the garment for her. Her pulse reacted to his nearness, inches from her back. A constriction in her chest prevented her from taking deep breaths.
She quickly stepped away, inhaling. “Where is your apron?”
“This is not my first time. Besides, I borrowed only one from my sister’s cook.”
“Your sister? Is that where you went earlier? Back to Charleston?”
“No, this cabin is near their plantation, Liberty Hall. Sarah and her husband also have a house in Charleston. They travel back and forth between the two homes. Your farm is on the other side of their land, along the river. I didn’t see my sister this morning. She’s still in Charleston.”
Rachel had more questions, but Nathan pointed to a sack and said, “You will need flour.”
By the time the bread was made, Rachel understood the need for an apron—at least for herself. She was not sure if more flour was on her or in the bowl. With Nathan dogging her every step, often correcting her, she did manage to put together some dough for baking bread.
Rachel inspected what she had mixed together. “This does not look very big for several loaves of bread. Perhaps one, but not two. Are you sure you told me everything?”
“The dough has to rise first then we bake it.” He moved to stand next to her at the table. “Here, let me show you how to knead it. Then we will place it by the fire to rise.”
Nathan put his large hands into the dough and began to press and fold it. Looking at his fingers working the mixture, she could imagine them doing the same to her taut shoulder muscles, easing the stress and ache from them. Also the knot at her nape where her spine throbbed with tension. Her eyes slid closed.
“Rachel, is everything all right?”
His deep gravelly voice intruded on her daydream and yanked her back to the present. She swallowed and tried to smile, wishing for once her cheeks did not flame with her embarrassment. Her mother had always told her it was easy to read her feelings on her face. She hoped Nathan—she had given up calling him Dr. Stuart halfway through her baking lesson—could not.
He veiled his expression. “ ’Tis your turn.” He stepped to the side to allow her to stand in front of the bowl.
“This is a lot of work for two loaves of bread,” she mumbled and touched the dough with the tips of her fingers. She pressed down, and her hands sank into the gooey mixture. The strange sticky substance clung to her skin. She wrinkled her nose and brought her hands up, globs hanging from them.
“Do it again and again.”
She followed his instruction, submerging her fingers back into the dough. This time she tried putting more strength behind the effort.
After a few minutes of observing Rachel, Nathan chuckled and moved behind her. “At this rate, we will starve.” His arms came around her, his hands covering hers in the bowl. “Here, let me show you what I mean by kneading.”
With him guiding her, she smashed and squeezed the dough over and over. Caged by his embrace, Rachel tried to calm her heartbeat, but it had a mind of its own. Surrounded by Nathan—or so it seemed—she hardly knew what she was doing. His scent of the outdoors toyed with her senses, shoving away the aromas coming from the bread mixture and focusing her awareness on the man inches behind her. The feel of his body as it bumped against hers lured her. She wanted to lean back against him—an impulse that had nothing to do with being tired.
Abruptly he stopped, whisked the bowl off the table, and took it to the fire. “That should do it.”
All she saw were the strong, tall lines of his back. Her legs went weak, as though her energy had drained from her instantly. Oh my! Resisting the urge to fan herself, she wiped her hands clean on a cloth then sat on the stool lest she collapse. She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself and leaned into it for support.
He turned from the fire, his expression unreadable. “Now for the cake.”
“What do I do?” she managed to ask in a whisper—a weak one at that.
“Nothing. You are going to sit and watch this time.”
She struggled to her feet and prayed she did not sink to the floor. Determined not to let this man get to her, she stood straight even though her hands locked about the table’s edge. “Chicken. Afraid of what I shall do?”
When Faith’s cries pierced the air with her urgency, he said, “You had better see what your daughter wants.”
We both know what that is. Rachel shuffled toward the bedchamber, barely able to pick up her feet. “This does not mean you don’t have to answer my question. Don’t do anything until I come back.”
“Yes ma’am,” she heard him mimic Maddy. A tinge of laughter followed his statement.
After changing Faith’s nappy, Rachel scooped up her child and returned to the main room. “I know this is surprising, but she is hungry. I shall be back in a while,” she said over the cries of her daughter, “to make that cake. I need to learn to cook. Not watch you.” Especially that. It sent her thoughts in a direction they did not need to go.
“You can sit in here by the fire. I have a few chores I can do before we make the cake.”
He pulled a chair in front of the fireplace then snatched up a bucket and headed for the door. Rachel patted Faith on the back and whispered soothing words that she doubted her daughter could hear over her renewed wails. The moment she was alone, Rachel sank down onto the seat and unbuttoned the front of her gown. Faith quieted immediately when she started nursing.
Rachel leaned back and relaxed, a sigh escaping her lips. Cooking is hard work. Now that she had stopped she could acknowledge that kneading, stirring, and beating were exhausting. No doubt that was why Nathan wanted to bake the cake. She was discovering that Nathan was very perceptive, something Tom had never been.
For a short time she forgot about her circumstances and relished the peace of the moment. The aroma of burning wood laced the air and mingled with the scent of the different ingredients she had used. The warmth of the fire chased away any chill in the cabin. The emotional satisfaction of holding her baby in her arms fulfilled her as nothing before had. The knowledge that she, Faith, and Maddy were safe for the time being left a contented glow deep inside. The Lord had sent her a protector, Nathan, when it seemed all had been lost. Her plight could have ended differently if he had not come along.
But as much as I owe him, gratitude is all I can give him.
“Nathan.” The door opened, and a beautiful woman with a bonnet that did not hide her blond curls sailed into the cabin, coming to a halt when she spied Rachel by the fire. The young woman’s jaw dropped for a brief moment before she snapped her mouth closed then
asked, “Who are you?”
Rachel’s surprise matched the lady’s. She quickly turned away and adjusted her dress, thankful that Faith was all but through nursing. Pushing to her feet, Rachel faced the woman, who was dressed in a rose muslin morning gown with a brown spencer. The lady’s mouth pinched with puzzlement. Tension seized Rachel, the momentary peace she had experienced shattered. “Who are you?” she countered.
The tall lady came farther into the main room. “I’m Nathan’s sister, Sarah McNeal. And you?” One eyebrow rose, reminding Rachel of Nathan.
She could just imagine what was going through the woman’s mind. Rachel hugged her daughter to her. “I am Rachel Gordon. I had an accident with my cart two days ago, and your brother rescued my maid and me then helped deliver my baby.”
“He did?” Sarah clapped her hands, a smile appearing, along with two dimples in her cheeks. “That is wonderful. If he delivered your baby, that means he has reconsidered his decision.”
What decision?
Sarah crossed the room to peek at Faith. “She’s beautiful. Are you from around here?”
Rachel relaxed the taut set of her shoulders. “No…yes.” She laughed. “I mean, I have newly arrived in Charleston and was heading to my plantation.” Her face heated. “My farm, when I had the accident.”
“So that cart in the ditch is yours?”
“Yes.”
“Where is your husband?”
Rachel met Sarah’s direct gaze. “Dead.”
“When? How?” Sarah’s eyes brightened when they latched onto Faith. “May I hold your daughter? I hope I have a little girl.”
Rachel nodded while she tried to decide how much to tell this woman. She placed Faith in Sarah’s arms. “He died on the ship from England. I have only been here a few days.”
From This Day Forward Page 4