On the previous night he'd seen her last-minute touches to the day's festivities: Crisply pressed tablecloths, dozens of loaves of bread, along with numerous jars of beets and pickles.
Today—even today—she'd shed unabashed tears over his loss, his sadness; she'd tutored the other women sewing a quilt; and she'd thought to prepare an evening meal at the same time she took care of David so MaryRuth could enjoy herself.
Everyone wanted a piece of Thea. Even him. What would she have left for herself when all of them were finished?
She deserved more. She deserved more than a life of servitude, and Booker meant to see to it that her own needs were no longer neglected.
Booker stepped close and dropped a kiss along the fragrant hairline near her temple. He took David from her arms. "The dancing's about to start. Would you like to dance?"
"I'd love to dance," she answered.
"Then you shall." He led her from the house, his mind made up.
He could give her pleasure. He knew that, but she didn't. Whatever happened in that respect would have to be what she wanted. He would not use her for his own pleasure.
bookmark:Chapter 10
Chapter 10
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Exhausted, on edge and embarrassed beyond anything she'd ever known, Thea waved to the group of young people who'd escorted them home, banging pans and singing and shouting playful encouragement to Booker.
Red Horse and Lucas had come home earlier to tend to chores, and Red Horse explained that Lucas would spend the night in the barn with him.
Denzel had carried a sleeping Zoe to his springboard, and MaryRuth promised to bring her home first thing in the morning.
Booker closed the front door, and the sound echoed through the foyer and up the stairs. Outside the clamor of their neighbors disappeared into the warm summer night.
Alone. They were completely alone.
Thea placed her wilted bouquet of violets on the small table in the foyer while he lit a lamp. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked.
He shook his head and ran a hand through his midnight hair, endearingly mussing it. "I ate and drank enough today to sink a barge."
"Oh?" she said, frowning. "Do you need a spoon of extract of peppermint to settle your stomach?"
He took her wrists as though that would silence her, and his gaze danced over her hair and eyes. "No, I'm fine."
His hands were warm against her skin. She wondered if he could detect the slight tremble that coursed through her body at his touch. What now? What should she do now? Go up to his room perhaps. Or wait for his lead. Oh, she hoped she wouldn't die of embarrassment or—her heart skipped a much-needed beat—or pleasure.
"Thea, we have to talk. "The lantern cast a solemn shadow across his features, leaving one side in ominous darkness.
"All right."
He took her hand and the lantern and led her toward the stairs.
Thea's heartbeat sounded like an anvil ringing in her ears.
"I did a lot of thinking today," he said, reaching the staircase. "As much as it hurts me, I have to say something."
"About what, Booker?"
"About you and me. About us."
"What is it?" In confusion, she followed him upstairs and down the hallway. The shadows the lantern cast stretched and shrunk along the walls like ghosts playing hide-and-seek.
Booker stepped into the room he'd given her and lit the lamp on her wall. "I'm leaving the sleeping arrangements up to you."
Speechless, she stared at him—at her husband. He'd been thinking about the sleeping arrangements. Madeline had been right. He could have had any girl in the county.
"You can sleep in here, or you can come to my room."
Thea doesn't have the first idea of how to behave with a man—how to treat him—how to please him.
He'd known a lot of beautiful women... and she was just an old maid with a considerable inheritance. You know he just married her for Papa's land.
"I'll accept any decision you make."
You should see him with that little girl... he would do anything for that child. Booker loved Zoe enough to do anything for her—even marry Thea. Even sleep with her, if that's what she insisted on.
She backed up and steadied herself with a hand against the doorway. Yes, she'd most assuredly done a lot of unpleasant things in her twenty-nine years, but she'd be hanged before she'd beg a man to let her come to his bed.
"Please understand," he said softly.
Oh, she understood. She hadn't lived her whole life as Too-Tall Thea not to understand that a man didn't find her attractive. "I understand," she assured him.
She edged a step toward the door.
"I can live with whatever you want," he said.
Sure, he would live. People didn't die of disgust. But she'd spare him the confirmation of that fact. She took the doorknob in her hand.
"Thea, I want you to be happy," he said, and stepped to the doorway.
Slowly, she swung the door on its hinges until he moved into the hall. "It's okay," she replied.
Just before she closed the groom out in the hallway, his wide-eyed expression registered on her consciousness. Was that surprise? Relief?
Thea stared in the mirror over the washstand. Reaching up, she tugged the sprig of baby's breath from her hair and threw it on the floor. "Fool. Idiot," she said to her detestable reflection. Did you really think he wanted you? Did you really imagine this was anything more than a convenient arrangement to give Zoe a mother?
Outraged, she trembled with the helpless fury of having something precious and special torn from her grasp. Quick-sprung anger burned until it consumed itself. Despair washed over her in a momentous wave so grim and crushing, she sank to her knees on the hard floor. She dropped her forehead against the wood stand and flattened both palms on the cabinet doors.
She was too old. Too unattractive. The same old story back to haunt her.
He was the man she'd dreamed of. She'd been so foolishly naive. He'd been so relentlessly convincing. She'd wanted a husband for herself. He'd wanted a mother for Zoe.
Booker's rejection stole the life from her soul. Hope withered and cracked and left her sullenly despondent. Thea cupped a sob in her hand and staggered to her feet.
The satin dress hadn't been made to get into or out of by herself. By pointing her elbows at the ceiling, she managed to undo six inches of buttons at the neck, then reaching behind, unfastened another six inches up from the waist. Thea stared over her shoulder in the mirror. The middle twelve inches of tiny buttons might as well have been twelve miles for all she could reach them. Perspiration trickled down her spine and dotted her forehead.
Reaching behind her neck once again and gathering the fitted fabric upward, she managed a few more. Panting, she sat on the bed's edge and cursed Booker. She should march right down that hall and demand he get her out of this dress.
She didn't, however. After working upward from the bottom and loosening a few more until she thought her shoulders would pop from their sockets, she yanked and sent the last buttons flying. Smoothing out the wrinkles, she hung the garment on a hanger in the wardrobe and blew out the lamp.
Dressed in her chemise and drawers, Thea peeled back the coverlet, crawled between the crisp sheets and stared at the ceiling.
Old maid. Too-Tall Thea.
She twisted to her side and pulled her knees up to her chest. Discouragement settled in her breast like the grippe. Misery hovered in the hot night air. All the self-condemnation in the world wouldn't change the fact that she'd placed her trust and expectations on the dark-eyed major. No matter how much she cursed her own folly, she'd married him.
Thea didn't know any other way than to deal with what life dealt. Make the best of it and go on.
She had Zoe, after all. That been her primary concern. Of course it had. All these other fanciful pipe dreams had developed after the fact.
She was now Zoe's mother. No one and nothing could change that. And after
all, what more did she really need?
* * *
Booker, sitting on the cowhide trunk at the foot of his bed, leaned forward and thrust his fingers into his scalp, painfully.
He'd muddled it good, this time; he’d known by the look on her face. He'd wanted her to be happy. He'd wanted it to be her decision. There must have been something else he could have said.
He wanted to run back down the hall, kick the door in and take her as swiftly and shamelessly as his body demanded. She would let him, too. Oh, yes, she'd let him.
But of course, he couldn't. He wouldn't. He tugged on his hair until the pain brought tears to his eyes. He dropped his hands and sat up, his posture slumped, dejected.
Maybe she'd come to his room. A vague spasm of hope flickered. He'd made it perfectly clear it was what he'd wanted, while trying to convince her it was all right if she didn't want a physical relationship yet. He would respect her decision—and he would live with it.
After all, using Zoe as the bait, he'd practically blackmailed her into marrying him. But he'd wanted her. How he'd wanted her.
Booker stood and shrugged out of his white shirt, tossing the wrinkled garment on the trunk. A hot breeze wafted through the open window, and he stood before the opening, staring out at the land he owned and the dam he'd built. The footings for the mill, too, were there in the moonlight. His dreams were coming together, the dreams he'd planned so long and patiently to see come to life.
Booker turned back to the room. He'd ordered that bed specially built from a wood crafter near a logging camp in Virginia. The massive trunk at its foot he'd bought from a family traveling west on a wagon train.
He yanked off his boots and sat on the chair near the fireplace. The bearskin he curled his toes into had been a gift from Red Horse's father, given to him for saving his son's life. Explaining that Red Horse had returned the favor many times over had done little good.
Booker leaned back in the overstuffed chair and closed his eyes. He'd planned everything else so well. The wife part had been vague. But one didn't just choose family during his travels and store them until the time was convenient.
He'd imagined visiting Julia, Robert and Zoe. They should have had another little one by now. Zoe was something he hadn't planned for, and the responsibility of providing a good life for her gave all the rest of this meaning. He would have to cling to that thought.
He hadn't planned on Thea, either. The women of his experience were all self-seeking, conniving little balls of fluff who either wanted him because an officer was a good catch or because they were seeking mindless romps while their husbands were afield.
Thea wanted him for neither of those reasons. Booker opened his eyes and stared at the closed door. Thea didn't want him for anything, if his empty bed was any proof.
She wasn't coming. She'd made her decision.
Slowly, regret in every joint and muscle, Booker removed his trousers, peeled back the coverlet and lay on his cavernous bed. Something else had sneaked up on him, caught him unaware and left him heart-stricken. He hadn't realized an emotion could overwhelm, could plumb the depths of his soul and make him animated and joyous one moment, then leave his spirits drooping and heartstrings lacerated the next.
He hadn't planned on loving Thea.
* * *
She awoke sometime before dawn, after what seemed like only minutes of sleep. Avoiding her puffy-eyed reflection in the mirror, she slipped down to the kitchen and carried warm water back to her room and bathed. Once dressed, she tidied her room, pausing reflectively over the wedding quilt.
She must focus on Zoe and Lucas, her primary concerns, and forget her foolish, girlish fantasies.
She'd gathered eggs, and the bread dough stood rising when she carried up warm water for Booker to wash and shave. She tapped lightly on the door and left the pitcher on the floor, Reaching the stairs, she heard his door open and close.
Later, Thea turned evenly browned slices of bacon over in the skillet, and sensed him behind her. She concentrated on the meat, loathe to turn and let him see her face.
"Morning," he said in a rough, sleep-tinged voice.
"Good morning."
The back door opened and closed and she heard his wash water splatter on the ground.
He poured himself coffee from the pot on the stove and a chair scraped the floor. Cracking eggs into another skillet, she thought he'd seated himself, and jumped at his touch on her arm. "Shall I go collect Lucas and Red Horse?"
"Yes. Everything's almost ready."
"Thanks for the water."
She'd always carried warm water to her parents and sisters in the morning. No one had actually thanked her before. "You're welcome."
By the time he returned with Red Horse and Lucas, she had the table set and the steaming food waiting on their plates.
"Ma'am," Lucas said and slipped into his seat.
Red Horse, too, greeted her. "We dig today?" he asked Booker.
Booker nodded.
"What're we diggin'?" Lucas asked around a bite of biscuit. He licked honey from his lower lip.
"A pit to set the turbine in," Booker answered. "The turbine'll get here next week, and we still have to dig the trench."
"What for?" Lucas cast a fascinated gaze on Booker.
"For the flume," the man replied.
"The what?" Lucas asked.
Booker grinned. He and Red Horse exchanged a look that said they were used to the boy's questions. "A long trough we'll build out of wood to carry the water from the headgate, where we control the flow of water to the penstock."
Lucas chewed a strip of bacon thoughtfully. "I think I know. You changed the way the water flows so you could control it with that headgate thing. It runs down the flume and hits the turbine, and the turbine turns the—the other thing."
"Drive shaft," Red Horse supplied.
Lucas went on. "The drive shaft turns the stone wheels inside that grind the wheat."
"You've got it." Booker reached to ruffle his hair, and Lucas ducked skittishly. The stricken look that Booker quickly hid shot right to Thea's heart.
"How deep does this pit have to be, anyhow?" Lucas asked, obviously unfazed.
"We chose the location because the land already dips in that spot. We want at least a twelve-foot head to generate the most power."
Lucas turned to Thea. "The head is how far down the water falls to hit the turbine," he said in an instructional tone.
Thea formed an O with her lips and nodded her head. Finally, she met Booker's gaze. He would be a wonderful father. Lucas already idolized him.
Obviously, he was a wonderful friend. Red Horse had chosen to follow him back to the frontier and work side by side with him on this venture.
She thought she read a twinge of wistfulness in his dark eyes. Regret, perhaps. He would probably be a wonderful husband, too. Given the right woman. A woman he could love.
Last night she'd been angry—hurt angry. Today she was exhausted. Resigned.
Thea lowered her gaze to her plate. She had her own house now... and children to take care of. Last winter she would never have dared to dream her life could have changed this much. She refused to sit around sullen and self-punishing when she had so many things to be grateful for and glad about. She'd been too rash, too foolish. He couldn’t really have made her feel that good.
Booker Hayes had asked her to marry him. He wanted her here taking care of the house and the children. That had been the whole point, of course. Her whimsical dreams had simply tricked her heart into seeing something that wasn't there. He needed her domestic skills and she intended to provide them. That was the deal.
And she never went back on her word.
* * *
"It's here!" Lucas shouted in the kitchen door. "The turbine's here!"
Thea dried her hands on her apron and left it on the table, gathering up Zoe.
"How far away?" Thea called to Lucas's back. She tied bonnets on herself and the little girl.
&nbs
p; "They're not to the mill yet," he shouted back. "An' it'll be a while. You want I should get you a horse?"
"No, thank you, Lucas. Zoe and I will walk."
Lucas stumbled on his own feet and turned back toward them, losing his battered hat. He retrieved it and pulled the brim down over his forehead. "I'll walk with you, then. Case Zoe gets tired, an' you need help carryin' her."
Thea smiled down fondly at his tanned face. "You're becoming quite the gentleman, you are."
Lucas stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked importantly beside Zoe. "The train brought the turbine all the way from Springfield, Ohio. Got here this mornin'. The men have been wrestlin' it from the flatcar ever since. Wait'll you see it!"
The going was slow because of Zoe's limp and the uneven ground. Thea could practically see impatience burst Lucas's shirt buttons, but he restrained himself to their pace.
By the time they passed the mill site with its cavernous pit awaiting the turbine, the late July sun had Thea's bodice clinging to her chest. She tried loosening the waist for circulation. Crossing the wide bridge Booker had recently built across the creek, she watched the inviting water bubbling along its new banks.
Staying in the center, she cautiously led Zoe across. "Lucas, why doesn't this bridge have any sides?"
"So they can get wide loads across, o' course."
"Of course."
"There! There! See 'em?" Lucas couldn't wait any longer. He burst ahead, his long legs rapidly eating up the ground.
Ahead, a dozen men stripped to the waist, bodies glistening in the sun, followed the flatbed wagon carrying the unwieldy iron waterwheel. It looked more like a fat wheel lying flat. It had raised spokes, which were actually rotating vanes, with an iron axle-looking thing sticking upward from the center.
Booker and Red Horse led the team of oxen that pulled the heavy iron load, surveying the land, adjusting the direction so as not to encounter uneven spots and tip the wagon.
Thea watched the approaching party in awe. Certainly no one in these parts had seen anything like it. She'd heard her father say that wooden waterwheels were built on location. She took a silent head count, recognizing local farmers and their sons as well as Denzel and Preacher Newland, and wondered how much it was costing Booker to pay all of these men.
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