The Vow

by Lindsay Chase

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because after the gala was over, when we were undressing for bed, he acted strangely and said some very odd things.”

  He frowned. “Odd in what way?”

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  “First he told me that you had been attentive to Patience Broome, and watched me carefully to gauge my reaction. Then he went on and on about your being such a ladies’ man.” She paused as if something quite startling had suddenly occurred to her. “My clever husband…all along he was goading me, trying to make me jealous, to make me doubt you.”

  “And did he?”

  “By the time he was through, I wanted to tear out every blond hair on Patience Broome’s head.”

  The vehemence in Hannah’s voice made Samuel’s laugh die in his chest. He coughed. “The thought of being fought for is very flattering, but there’s no need.”

  Hannah folded her arms. “And—and there’s something else. When we…went to bed, Reiver made me…” She shrugged helplessly and said in an embarrassed rush, “I could tell that he was just waiting for me to refuse him, and if I did, something terrible would happen.”

  Pain and rage darkened Samuel’s eyes. “I could kill him for that.”

  “You mustn’t say that. I am still his wife. He was within his rights as my husband.”

  Samuel stroked her cheek. “I ask you to endure too much for me.”

  “I do it gladly.” Her eyes drifted to the door as if she could see disaster lurking just beyond it, and she shivered. “But I am so afraid.”

  He took her cold, stiff hands in his and rubbed the warmth back into them.

  “Then we’ll just have to banish those fears, won’t we.”

  But this time he couldn’t. Up in the studio, while she and Samuel coupled fiercely, Hannah half listened for the telltale creak of a downstairs door opening and surreptitious footsteps on the stairs. Afterward, she didn’t linger, but rose and dressed quickly, fleeing from her bewildered lover like a thief in the night.

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  Hannah stood before one of the tall, narrow windows in James’s machine shop and watched Samuel take Abigail over to Titan for their afternoon ride.

  When the chestnut lowered his massive head to investigate this small human, the child didn’t recoil in terror as she had the first time Samuel introduced her to his horse. Now Abigail patted Titan’s nose and smiled.

  James stopped sawing and came over to Hannah’s side. “When’s my brother due back?”

  “Sometime this week,” Hannah replied, her eyes never leaving Samuel as he picked up Abigail and set her carefully on the saddle’s pommel.

  “I wonder if he had much success in Washington.”

  “I expect we’ll learn the answer to that when he returns.” Hannah hadn’t received so much as a note from her husband in the week and a half since he’d been gone.

  Samuel swung into the saddle behind Abigail. With the reins in his left hand and his right arm secure around his little niece’s waist, he urged Titan into a slow, sedate walk. Hannah could see her daughter’s wide grin from across the yard.

  She shook her head. “I wish Reiver were as patient with her.”

  Shame colored James’s gaunt cheeks. “I wish I could say something in my brother’s defense, Hannah, but I can’t. I understand machines better than I do Reiver.”

  “She repulses him. You can see the revulsion on his face every time he looks at her.” She watched the normally spirited horse walk at a turtle’s pace through the yard as if it carried a cache of crystal. “If she were perfect, I know he’d love her as much as he loves the boys, but that’s small consolation.”

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  James was spared replying when Mary Geer came running into the room.

  “Mr. James, my loom just broke down again. That’s the third time this week.”

  “Be right there, Mary.” He excused himself, picked up his toolbox, and left.

  Hannah followed, walking out in the yard to wait for Samuel and Abigail to return. Moments later Titan came clopping into view, his two riders beaming.

  “Mama!” Abigail said when Samuel reined in his horse. “Abby run.”

  Hannah reached up for her. “You did? Mama is so proud of you.”

  Samuel grinned and swung down from the saddle, his dark hair tousled and cheeks flushed from their exhilarating run. “You should be. I cantered Titan, and Abigail wasn’t frightened at all, were you?”

  He shook his head, and when she imitated him, Samuel said, “Did you see that, Hannah? She said no. Abigail said no!”

  Hannah knelt down and hugged her daughter, tears stinging her eyes. If only her husband could delight in his daughter’s small triumphs the way her lover did…

  The sound of someone calling “Mama!” distracted Hannah for a moment, and she looked to see her two sons running toward them, Benjamin leading the way.

  They went up to Titan and petted him, Davey standing on tiptoes to reach as high as Benjamin.

  “How was school today?” Samuel asked.

  Benjamin glanced at his brother. “I was good, but Davey had to sit in the corner.”

  “David Shaw!” Hannah scowled at him. “Why did Mr. Ellis have to punish you?”

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  “It wasn’t my fault,” Davey muttered. “Henry Lake kept poking me in the arm, and when I hit him back, Mr. Ellis put me in the corner. It wasn’t fair, Mama. Henry started it.”

  Poor, wronged Davey, always the victim. “See that it doesn’t happen again, or you’ll answer to your father.”

  Benjamin said, “Can we take Abigail and go play now?”

  “Yes, just don’t let her out of your sight.”

  “We won’t.” Benjamin took Abigail’s hand in his and led his docile sister off.

  When he saw that his brother hung back, he turned. “Are you coming?”

  Davey hesitated as if debating whether to forgive his older brother, then capitulated and went running after them.

  Hannah stroked Titan’s glossy neck absently and watched her three children march off, Abigail between her two protectors.

  She shook her head. “Benjamin does so love to best Davey every chance he gets.”

  “Just like his father with me and James,” Samuel said.

  “But once he does it, he wants to be friends with Davey again.”

  Samuel took the reins and led his horse off. “He may enjoy tormenting Davey, but he’s always so gentle and patient with Abigail.”

  Hannah walked with him. “That’s why I trust them with her. I know they’d never let anything happen to my precious little girl.”

  An hour later Hannah was peeling potatoes in the kitchen with Mrs. Hardy when the door slammed and Benjamin catapulted into the room, his eyes terrified and chest heaving.

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  “Mama, Mama!” he sobbed. “We—we’ve lost Abigail. We can’t f-find her anywhere.”

  “Settle down.” Hannah calmly wiped her hands in her apron and grasped her distraught son’s shoulders to steady him. “Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

  Benjamin gulped air. “W-we found a rabbit hole, so D-Davey and I tried to make the rabbit come out, and the next time I looked up, Abigail was gone!”

  Mrs. Hardy shook her silver head. “Aw, the poor mite just wandered off somewhere, or maybe she’s hiding in the barn. She likes the dark and quiet.”

  The boy turned to her, tears streaming down his face. “But that’s the first place we looked, Mrs. Hardy, and she’s not there.”

  Hannah fought back the mind-numbing panic. “Hush, Benjamin, don’t cry.

  I’m going to tell Uncle Samuel and Uncle James, an
d we’re all going to look for Abigail. I’m sure we’ll find her safe and sound.” She managed a brave, reassuring smile and tousled his hair. “You’ll see.”

  She prayed that she was right.

  Half an hour later her optimism vanished.

  “Abigail?” Hannah stood in the homestead’s parlor and called out her daughter’s name over and over. “Where are you? Please don’t hide from Mama.”

  Only the silence answered.

  With a growing sense of dread, Hannah systematically went through every room, searching behind chairs, under beds, and inside chests—anywhere a small child could possibly crawl in and hide. Nothing.

  “Abigail, where are you?” she muttered to herself after she had searched the house from top to bottom to no avail. She was out the parlor door and halfway down the path when she saw the others headed her way.

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  They’ve found her, she thought, feeling light-headed with relief. They’ve called off the search because they’ve found her.

  Hannah gathered her skirts and ran. Abigail Shaw, don’t you dare cause your poor mother such worry ever again.

  One look at the collection of grim, stunned faces stopped her. James and several of the weeping mill girls who had been leading the procession stepped aside, parting the way for Samuel.

  Abigail was cradled in his arms, her head lolling back and her eyes closed as if she were sleeping.

  Hannah reached out and touched her daughter’s cheek. Why did it feel so wet and cold? Why was Samuel crying? “Wake up, sweetheart. You’re safe now.

  Mama’s here.”

  Samuel said, “She fell into Racebrook.” His voice broke on a sob. “We were too late to save her.”

  Hannah shook Abigail’s shoulder. “Open your eyes, sweetheart. Smile for Mama.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  Hannah screamed and screamed until the merciful blackness silenced her.

  “Where in God’s name is Reiver?”

  Hannah, dressed from head to toe in deepest black bombazine mourning for her only daughter, stood before the small casket in the parlor and dabbed at her red, raw eyes with her crumpled handkerchief.

  Samuel, also dressed in unrelieved black, stood at her elbow. “We can’t find him. I telegraphed his Washington hotel this morning and was told that he had checked out several days ago.”

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  “Then he must be somewhere in New York City,” Hannah said, looking down at Abigail’s serene face. “He said he might go there after he left Washington.”

  “Did he mention where he’d be staying?”

  “No.” With an exclamation of frustration, Hannah turned. “Damn him, Samuel! His daughter is—is dead and he’s nowhere to be found!”

  Samuel placed a comforting hand on her arm. He suspected that Hannah’s anger with her absent husband was all that was sustaining her in her grief.

  Hannah sniffed. “We’ve delayed the funeral for as long as we can. We’ll just have to hold it without him. Not that Reiver will miss attending it,” she added bitterly. “He never loved Abigail.”

  Samuel couldn’t refute her because he knew she spoke the truth.

  He said, “How are the boys? I know Ben is devastated by what happened.

  He blames himself for not watching his sister more carefully.”

  Hannah’s drawn, white face softened. “I told him that it wasn’t his fault, that I didn’t blame him or Davey for what happened.” She sighed and rubbed her aching forehead. “I did at first, you know, when I was half-insane with grief. But I don’t now.”

  “You’ve always been fair.”

  Hannah took a deep breath. “Will you try to locate Reiver once more? Would you send telegrams to some New York City hotels on the chance that he’s staying in one of them?”

  “I’ll do my best to find him.”

  The moment Reiver returned home three days later and saw the black wreath on the front door, his heart constricted in his chest.

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  Who had died? Benjamin? One of his brothers? Hannah?

  Dropping his bags in the drive, he ran the rest of the way, bounding up the steps and flying through the front door like a hurricane. Listless swathes of black crepe framed the foyer’s mirror, and both the faded, cloying scent of flowers and an unnatural quiet hung on the air.

  “Hannah?” he bellowed, too terrified to respect the silence. “Mrs. Hardy?

  Anyone, damn it!”

  Movement on the stairs caught his eye, and he looked up to find Hannah standing on the landing. Her white, grief-stricken face appeared calm and composed, but her wild blue eyes smoldered.

  He strode across the foyer and stood at the foot of the stairs. “Why is there a funeral wreath on the front door?”

  She gathered her long black skirts in her right hand and walked stiffly down the stairs, brushing past him. “Obviously because someone in the family has died.”

  “Jesus Christ, Hannah!”

  “Abigail,” she replied, her voice measured and controlled “Not Benjamin, or Davey. Just Abigail.”

  Reiver bowed his head in shameful relief that it hadn’t been one of his sons.

  “How?”

  Hannah folded her hands primly in front of her. “She drowned in Racebrook. The funeral was yesterday. We tried to find you in both Washington and New York, but we couldn’t.” She took a deep breath. “Considering the way you felt about your daughter, perhaps that was for the best.”

  Reiver’s head shot up. “That’s not fair. I never wanted her to die. She was still my daughter.”

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  Hannah stood there in stony silence, refusing to look at him. Finally she said,

  “Where were you?”

  “In New York City, looking into opening a sales office for Shaw Silks.”

  “And were you successful in Washington?”

  “No, but this is hardly the time to discuss it.”

  She nodded wearily. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going upstairs to lie down.”

  He caught her arm to detain her. “I’m sorry about Abigail, and that I wasn’t here.”

  “You needn’t be. Samuel, James, and Mrs. Hardy were a great source of comfort.”

  His hand fell away. Hannah trudged back up the stairs as if she were a tired old woman.

  Reiver walked into his study, locked the door, and poured himself a generous glass of apple brandy. He savored it slowly, searching his heart for sorrow that just wasn’t there.

  He went to the window and looked up at the cloudless, hot blue sky. The brandy’s heady kick brought to mind what had happened to him in New York City the day before yesterday.

  That day he had no trouble finding the fashionable Washington Square house he sought, one built of red brick with steep, break-your-neck steps and a doorway trimmed in white. He hesitated only for a second before ringing the bell. When a butler answered, Reiver handed him the note he had composed in his hotel room just an hour before, then got into his hired carriage and ordered the driver to wait at the end of the street.

  He waited. And waited.

  Just when Reiver was about to admit defeat and signal the driver to move on, the carriage door swung open.

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  He leaned forward and extended his hand. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

  Cecelia gave him her hand, and he noticed that her fingers were trembling as much as his. “I shouldn’t have.”

  “Then why did you?”

  He hadn’t seen her in so long. When he thought of what he ached to do to her to make up for lost time, he felt as though he would explode.

  She seated herself across from him and settled her
wide skirts gracefully around her in a rustle of stiff crinoline. “When I read your note and realized that you were right outside…” She shrugged helplessly. “You always were my weakness, Reiver Shaw.”

  He closed the carriage door and told the driver to drive anywhere, then he sat back and let his starving eyes feast on Cecelia.

  “You’re still as beautiful as ever,” he said, staring at the chestnut richness of her hair, her soft brown eyes, her petite figure with its tiny waist.

  “And you’re just as brash and devilish as I remember.” She smoothed her skirt with a nervous gesture. “Has Shaw Silks become the biggest silk mill in America yet?”

  “I didn’t come here to discuss Shaw Silks.”

  She raised her brows. “That doesn’t sound like the Reiver Shaw I used to know.”

  “You’ve changed as well. I don’t remember you being so sad.”

  “You are mistaken.” Cecelia’s smile was forced. “Amos is ever the generous, attentive husband, and the Good Lord has even blessed me with another child—

  a daughter.”

  He thought of Abigail. “She should be mine.”

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  Cecelia made a move to rise. “This is madness. I promised myself that I would resist you. I never should have come.”

  He placed his hand on her arm. “You came because you’re unhappy.”

  “Why do you keep saying that? I am quite the happiest woman on Earth.”

  “Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

  She balled her hands into exasperated fists. “I am quite content.”

  “Cecelia, if you truly were, you wouldn’t be sitting here, your eyes begging me to take you.”

  He couldn’t tell who moved first. Perhaps they both did. Suddenly Cecelia’s arms were entwined about his neck and he was stroking her breast while his tongue plundered her willing mouth that tasted as heady as apple brandy.