She smiled sheepishly as if he had caught her thinking forbidden thoughts.
“‘Provincial’ was the word she often used. She may have been born on a farm, but she preferred the liveliness and variety of city life, and I must confess, so do I.”
Reiver knew that in Boston Hannah had lived in a fine, large house with an army of servants to cater to her every whim. Here, she was no better than a servant herself. He suspected she endured her altered circumstances by building a wall between herself and the town her mother had hated.
“And what about you, Mr. Shaw?” she asked. “Have you always lived here?”
He nodded. “My two brothers and I were born here and will no doubt die here.”
“I’ve heard that one of your brothers is an artist.”
“That’s Samuel, my middle brother.”
“Is he very good?”
“I suppose he is, but then I’ve always thought drawing and painting pictures was no occupation for a twenty-five-year-old man. But he often has money when the rest of us don’t, so I can’t criticize what he does, now, can I?”
Hannah smiled at that.
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Reiver added, “My youngest brother, James, likes to build things and take them apart to see how they work. I’m sure he’ll be a great inventor someday.”
“Perhaps he’ll invent machines for your silk mill.”
Reiver’s brows rose in surprise. So the reserved Miss Whitby hadn’t totally removed herself from the goings-on in provincial Coldwater. “Perhaps he will.”
The moment he turned the wagon down the drive leading to the Bickfords’
house, he felt Hannah stiffen. By the time they halted before the old gambrel-style farmhouse built just after the Revolutionary War, Hannah’s face had become a blank, expressionless mask, all the life and warmth drained out of it.
There, sitting beneath the cool shade of a stately oak tree, was Ezra Bickford, sipping apple cider that was undoubtedly as cold as the day was hot.
He was a short man in his early forties, and so gaunt that Reiver wondered if he starved himself just to save a few pennies; he also wondered if Bickford wore such old, well-mended clothes so he wouldn’t have to spend the money on new ones.
“Afternoon, Shaw,” Bickford said, his small dark eyes on Hannah. Even when he spoke, he doled out words by the teaspoon.
“Bickford.” Reiver jumped down and rounded the front of the wagon to help Hannah down.
He grasped her around the narrow waist, waited while she balanced her hands on his shoulders, then swung her down. The moment Hannah’s feet touched the ground, her uncle set down his tankard and came sauntering over.
“Why’d you bring the girl home?” Bickford asked in his soft, rasping voice.
“She almost fainted in the field,” Reiver replied, treading carefully so as not to antagonize Bickford. “If she stayed there another minute, she’d die of heat prostration. You wouldn’t want her death on your hands, would you?”
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Bickford hesitated for a moment as if calculating how much money he’d lose if that happened. “’Course not.” He looked at Hannah and nodded toward the house. “Tell Naomi I said you could have some water and rest.” He didn’t say for how long.
“Thank you, Uncle Ezra,” Hannah said politely, but not subserviently. She turned to Reiver. “And thank you for your assistance, Mr. Shaw. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“And it was a pleasure meeting you, Hannah,” he replied with a smile. “Be sure to stay out of the sun.”
She smiled fleetingly and left.
Bickford watched her disappear into the house, then turned to Reiver. “Don’t know what I’m going to do with that girl. Too weak for farm work. Just like my sister.”
“Some women are more delicate than others,” Reiver said. “Your niece looks like she belongs in a ballroom, not a tobacco field.”
Bickford’s face registered no emotion. “The girl’s got to earn her keep. Like the rest of us. Can’t have her lazing around. Like her mother used to.”
Reiver thought he detected a note of jealousy and resentment in the other man’s flat tone, but he made no comment, just ran his hand down Nellie’s glossy bay rump and said casually, “Have you thought any more about selling me the Racebrook land?”
“Thought about it.”
“And?”
“Haven’t decided.”
Old bastard, Reiver thought. He’ll keep me dangling for another six months. But all he said was, “You know where to find me when you do.”
Bickford nodded, his dark eyes revealing nothing.
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Because he knew Bickford was too miserly to offer him refreshment, Reiver decided to leave. He climbed into his wagon, gathered the reins, and wished the man a good day before urging Nellie into a trot and heading back home.
“Don’t tarry now, girl! The men are waiting for their dinner.”
At her aunt’s harsh command, Hannah grabbed the steaming bowl of buttered summer squash in her left hand and balanced the platter of roast pork along her right forearm, praying the tinware wouldn’t burn her fingers and go crashing to the floor. All she wanted was to get through another evening meal without mishap. She flew out of the kitchen, her Aunt Naomi following with the breadbasket.
In the small dining room just off the kitchen, Uncle Ezra sat like some wizened potentate at the head of the long plain trestle table, his small suspicious eyes watching Hannah’s every move as if just waiting for her to make a mistake.
Zeb and Zeke sat together on one side and Nate on the other, next to Hannah. He made sure he always sat next to Hannah.
“It’s about time,” Nate said, scowling.
“She sure is slow, ain’t she?” Zeb said.
Zeke added, “We’ll have to teach her to move faster, right, Zeb?” He poked his brother in the ribs and Zeb whinnied at some private joke.
Unlike their mother, who was as small and sturdy as her husband, the Fisher boys were tall, hulking young men, with identical sly gray eyes always looking to take advantage, and black, unkempt hair as straight as an Indian’s. Hannah had dubbed the trio “Naomi’s gargoyles” because of their fearsome, stonelike faces.
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She ignored them and set down the dishes gingerly, looking to Aunt Naomi for permission to sit. Her aunt sat down herself at the foot of the table, then nodded curtly for Hannah to take her seat. Once Hannah sat down, Uncle Ezra said grace and the boys dug in, hairy arms reaching and greedy forks spearing as if this were their last meal. Not once did their mother admonish them to mind their manners.
Hannah’s stomach growled. She watched everyone else help themselves, and only when they piled their plates high did she dare take what was left, and there was precious little. After all, Aunt Naomi had told her, the men worked hard and should be given first choice at mealtimes, whereas women should eat abstemiously so they wouldn’t get fat.
Aunt Naomi regarded her with resentful, rain-gray eyes. “Just look at her wolfing down her food. I thought you said you were sick.”
“I was, Aunt Naomi,” Hannah replied, keeping her eyes on her plate. “It was so hot in the field, I almost fainted.”
“Aw, a little heat never hurt nobody,” Zeb said.
Hannah felt the toe of Nate’s boot lift her skirts and stroke the side of her foot. She managed to kick him away without the others suspecting what was going on, then glared at him.
He only leered back. “Hannah doesn’t know what real heat is,” he said, his taunting gray eyes dropping down to her breasts and lingering there.
Hannah’s cheeks reddened, and she turned her attention back to her food before her aunt decided she was too sick to eat and divided her me
ager portion among the boys.
“She’s just lazy, right, Ezra?” Naomi looked across the table at her husband.
“You’re too hard on her,” Ezra said. “The girl isn’t used to living on a farm.
Got to make allowances.”
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Hannah looked up in surprise. This was the first time she had ever heard her uncle defend her. It must have taken aback her aunt, too, for Naomi stared at him in shock. She recovered herself quickly enough.
“She’s had six months to get used to it, but she’s always ailing or she moves too slow.”
Hannah said nothing, just ate and took her mind away to that secret place where they could never reach her. She knew her detached air irritated Aunt Naomi and her potato-brained boys more than any fiery outburst.
“You listening to me, girl?” Aunt Naomi snapped, reaching over to tweak Hannah’s arm.
Hannah winced. “I always listen to you.”
“No, she’s not,” Nate said, slipping his hand beneath the table so he could squeeze Hannah’s knee. “She’s got her head in the clouds again.”
She didn’t even flinch because she had been expecting his usual daily assault, but she was ready for him this time. Her hand shot beneath the table and she clawed at his vulnerable wrist with her fingernails.
Nate yelped in surprise and almost jumped out of his Windsor chair.
“What’s the matter with you?” Ezra asked.
“Perhaps a bee stung him,” Hannah offered, keeping her eyes demurely lowered while she gloated over her small triumph.
Nate glared at her, his sullen expression promising retribution. “Something bit me.”
Aunt Naomi pursed her thin lips. “You’ve got to mend your slothful ways, girl, and mend them fast. Sloth is one of the seven deadly sins.”
“I try my best,” Hannah said.
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“You’ll try harder, if you know what’s good for you. Your uncle and I took you in out of the goodness of our hearts, like the Bible tells us to, even though you’re a burden. But we expect you to do your share.”
I do more than my share! Hannah wanted to shout, but she held her tongue.
Aunt Naomi’s eyes narrowed coldly. “And I don’t want you spreading lies about us to the neighbors.”
Hannah stared at her as if she had gone daft. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about Reiver Shaw.”
“I didn’t tell him anything. I barely spoke to the man.”
“See that you don’t, or you’ll be sorry.”
We mustn’t let the neighbors know how we mistreat our kin, Hannah thought as she cleaned her plate.
The rest of the meal passed uneventfully, though Hannah could feel Nate’s narrowed, watchful eyes boring into her, like a snake just waiting to strike.
Hannah flung open the window in the cramped attic room that had become her refuge, hoping to coax a breeze out of the still summer night. She sat there for a moment, ignoring her own bone weariness, to appreciate the beauty of the hazy full moon hanging high in the star-strewn sky, and the silence.
She savored every precious second of silence because it was so rare these days. No Aunt Naomi nagging. No Nate and his brothers taunting. Just silence.
Hannah rose and pulled away the thin batiste night shift where it stuck in patches to her damp body, then padded silently on bare feet to her hard, narrow bed, where she collapsed against the cool sheets. She was so exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
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Moments—hours?—later, something tugged at her consciousness, screaming for her to wake. Rising from the depths of sleep, she sensed danger.
She felt something heavy kneading her breast, squeezing her nipple through the night shift’s thin fabric, arousing an unfamiliar feeling of heat deep inside.
Then she smelled the sour, acrid odor of a rutting pig, and her eyes flew open to find Nate sitting on the side of her bed.
For a moment Hannah was paralyzed by fear. All she could do was stare helplessly at his face, faintly illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the window. Lust gleamed in the depths of his eyes. He licked his lips as he grasped her other breast.
“You like this, don’t you, Hannah?” he whispered, squeezing her harder.
“Let’s get this off you”—he reached for the hem of her shift—“and old Nate’ll make you feel real good.”
Hannah felt the trapped animal’s surge of strength burst through every muscle and bone. She pushed his hand away and rolled across the bed before he could stop her, landing on her feet on the other side and quickly scrambling out of his reach.
“Get out of here before I scream this house down!” Her hammering heart felt as though it would burst out of her chest.
Nate chuckled softly as he rose and loomed before her, only the bed separating them. The dark hair matting his massive bare chest made him look more like a hairy beast than a man, for he wore only his trousers. “I wouldn’t do that, if I was you,” he whispered. “’Cause Ezra gave me leave to be here.”
“You’re lying! Even he wouldn’t—”
Nate lunged, reaching for Hannah across the narrow width of the bed, and she screamed, the terrified sound abrading and affronting the silence. She felt his
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clutching fingers miss her by inches as they swiped by, and her eyes darted around the attic, desperately seeking anything she could use as a weapon.
“That was real stupid,” Nate growled.
Hannah’s frightened gaze fell on the heavy pewter candlestick sitting on her nightstand, and she reached for it, her arm outstretched. Without warning, Nate sprung as lithely as a cat for a man his size, diving headfirst across the bed before Hannah could blink. When his feet touched the floor on the other side, he rose and made another grab for her.
Hannah felt a band of steel wrap itself around her waist and pull her away from the candlestick just as her fingers were about to close around it. She screamed again and clawed at his arm.
“Nate doesn’t like being scratched.” He grabbed Hannah’s long braid and pulled. Hard.
The searing fire spreading along her scalp made her gasp and her eyes water as Nate pulled her body against his and forced her head back against his naked shoulder. She could feel his arousal insistent against her hip, smell the sickening sweat in her nostrils, clinging to her cheek where it pressed against his neck.
“Let me go!” She pushed ineffectually at his arm, not daring to scratch him again for fear he’d pull her hair out by the roots.
“You promise to be quiet?”
“Yes.” She’d promise anything to stop the pain. Anything.
But when he flung her down on the bed and loomed above her, his clumsy hands fumbling with his trousers, terror got the better of her and she screamed.
“Damn you! I told you to be quiet!” To emphasize his point, he drew back his arm and drove his fist into her ribs.
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Hannah gasped at the numbing pain that robbed her of breath. Instinctively she curled herself into a tight ball, hugging her knees to her chest to protect herself.
Sobbing, she closed her eyes and waited for Nate to hit her again, and worse.
But the blow never came.
The attic door swung open with a soft creak. There, standing in his nightshirt and holding a candle aloft, was Uncle Ezra with Aunt Naomi peering over his shoulder.
“What’s going on here?” Ezra’s small dark eyes looked enormous by the flickering candlelight. “Heard screamin’.”
Trembling and sobbing, Hannah sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed
, her arms still wrapped protectively around her aching ribs. “Nate tried to force himself on me,” she said, her voice rising with hysteria. “When I tried to fight him, he—he—”
“She’s lying!” Nate bellowed. “She invited me. Then she got scared and changed her mind. She started screaming and punching me.”
“He’s the one who’s lying!” Hannah jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain.
“Don’t believe him, Uncle Ezra! Nate tried to force me. He hit me. He—”
“Quiet down, both of you,” Ezra said, giving them a quelling look.
Hannah stood there trembling, the back of one hand pressed to her mouth to stifle her shuddering sobs.
Ezra looked at Nate. “That true?”
“’Course not! She’s just trying to get me in trouble. It’s like I said. She invited me, then changed her mind.” Nate cast a look of appeal to his mother. “You believe me, don’t you, Ma?”
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“You’re my boy. Of course I do.” Aunt Naomi stepped around her husband and glared at Hannah. “If my boy says that’s what happened, then that’s what happened. The girl’s been trouble ever since she came to live with us, Ezra.”
Hannah felt her tightly wound self-control finally unravel. “Why should I invite Nate or any of your sons to my room? I think they’re all stupid and uncouth.” She curled her lip contemptuously. “I’d rather sleep with hogs.”
Hannah knew that she would live to regret her imprudent words, but the satisfaction of seeing Naomi’s gaunt cheeks turn beet red burned hot and fierce in her heart.
Naomi whirled on her husband and sputtered, “Are you going to let her talk to me that way?”
“Be still,” Ezra rasped, his inscrutable eyes still on Hannah. “Want to hear the girl’s side of it.”
Hannah took a deep breath. “As I said, I didn’t invite Nate to my room. I was sleeping and awoke to find him sitting on the side of my bed”—she blushed—
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