The Vow
Page 20
Hannah opened her eyes to find Reiver looking down at her with an unexpected air of concern.
Gradually her senses awoke and she realized that she was lying on the parlor sofa with several pillows beneath her head and a cold cloth draped across her forehead.
“You fainted,” he said. He knelt beside her, lifted her head, and held a glass to her lips, tending her as impersonally as a physician. “Drink this. It will make you feel better.”
Hannah took several sips of apple brandy, choked as it seared her throat, and coughed.
Reiver stood. “You needn’t look for Samuel. He’s gone back to the homestead.”
Hannah closed her eyes, trying to seek the snow’s comforting oblivion once again, but Reiver’s hand on her shoulder, shaking her, kept the snow outside.
“Do you feel strong enough to talk?” he asked. He sounded calmer now.
“We have much to discuss.”
Hannah took a deep breath and sat up. When the world stopped spinning, she faced her husband and wished desperately that Samuel were sitting beside her, giving her strength. Then she wouldn’t feel so awkward and alone.
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Reiver sat in the chair across from her and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How long has this been going on?”
“Since after Amos Tuttle shot you.” She clasped her hands tightly. “I was suffering the humiliation of having everyone in Coldwater know that my husband had been keeping company with another man’s wife.” Her voice grew stronger and sharper as her strength returned. “Then I had to struggle with your refusal to love your own daughter no matter how hard I tried to bring you closer.
Samuel was always so kind and understanding, and—and before either of us realized what was happening—” She shrugged helplessly.
“For more than two years you and my brother have been lovers in my own house?”
“Not here. In the homestead. It was perfect for our…trysts. No one was ever around. No one ever suspected.”
A muscle twitched in Reiver’s jaw. “There will be no more trysts at the homestead or anywhere else before Samuel leaves, do you understand me?”
“You needn’t worry.”
Reiver raked his fingers through his hair and stared at the floor. “I know that I share the blame for what happened.”
Surprised by his admission, Hannah rose and went to the fireplace to warm her cold hands. “We’re all at fault.” She looked at him. “Why won’t you let me and the boys go away with Samuel? You and I don’t love each other. You married me for my uncle’s land, not because you loved me. What is the point of our staying together?”
“I’m not keeping you here, Hannah. You’re free to go with Samuel, if you wish. But my sons will stay here with me.”
“You know I couldn’t leave them.”
He rose. “Then it seems you’ve made the choice to stay.”
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“Won’t you let Samuel stay? This is his home, too.”
“No, Hannah. My brother betrayed a sacred trust. And if I allowed him to stay, who knows what would happen between the two of you again?”
“Nothing! I give you my word.”
He shook his head sadly. “I can’t take that chance.”
“People will wonder why Samuel is leaving Coldwater. Do you want another scandal?”
“There won’t be one. The curious will be told that he has wanderlust.”
“But James will surely wonder. Do you plan to tell him about Samuel and me?”
“Of course not. I do have my pride.”
She went over to a window and looked out at the snow. Her soul felt as bleak and empty as the shifting white landscape. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“I usually do. That’s why I’m so successful.” He turned and left her staring at the snow.
Once in his study, Reiver put his feet up on his desk and leaned his chair back on two legs, balancing precariously. Hannah had surprised him. He never would have expected such wanton behavior from the mother of his children.
Though he wouldn’t admit it, her infidelity had hurt his pride as much as Amos Tuttle’s bullet had injured his body.
Reiver rose and went to the window, watching the snow drift against the house. He rubbed the stiffness out of the back of his neck, trying to shake the unsettling feeling that even after nine years of marriage, he didn’t really know his wife at all.
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“Where will you go?”
Hannah stood in the doorway of Samuel’s bedchamber, watching him pack several clean, folded shirts in the large brass-bound trunk standing in the middle of the room.
“I’ve decided to go to California,” he replied, “with the rest of the dreamers and fools.”
“Samuel, no!” She stepped into the room, forgetting her promise to Reiver.
“Go to Europe. At least there are museums there, and other artists. And you’ll be safe. California is so—so uncivilized.”
He winced because it still hurt to talk and grasped her hands tightly. “Don’t you see? I can’t go to Europe because you and I were supposed to go there together. Without you there, I’d miss you even more.”
Tears stung Hannah’s eyes. “Then why not go to Boston? Or New York?”
“Because I’d still be too close to you.” He dropped her hands and took a step back. “I hope the other end of the country will be far enough, but somehow I doubt it.”
She went over to his bed, where piles of neatly folded clothes awaited packing, and ran her hand down one of the shirts. “Will you prospect for gold?”
“I don’t know yet. But I do intend to make plenty of sketches and record the life out there. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll sell engravings to the newspapers back east.”
She turned to face him. “Reiver will change his mind, you’ll see. One day he’ll want you to come home.”
Samuel’s smile died. “Don’t delude yourself. My brother is a stubborn and unforgiving man. When he said he never wanted to see my face again, he meant for as long as he lives.”
“But you’re his brother.”
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“I also betrayed him.”
Hannah sighed. “I’m surprised he hasn’t cast me out along with you.”
“And sully the good name of Shaw once again? No, despite his claims to the contrary, Reiver cares what other people think of him. Our father was the object of ridicule because he was the town drunk. Do you think Reiver wants to be known as town cuckold? Not after what happened when Tuttle shot him.”
Samuel added his hairbrushes to the trunk. “I also think he’s feeling hypocritical about Cecelia.”
“In what way?”
“Well, he’s been unfaithful to you, so he can hardly spurn you for being unfaithful to him, now can he?”
“I didn’t become your lover to get back at Reiver.”
“I know that,” he said softly, “but Reiver thinks otherwise.”
Hannah just shook her head. “Has James guessed why you’re leaving?”
“No. I told him I’ve developed a yearning to see the world, and he’s accepted it. My innocent brother tends to believe what people tell him.”
Hannah grasped the bedpost. “I’d hate to have him think ill of me.”
Samuel stopped packing and looked at her. “No one who knows you could possibly think ill of you.”
Her lip quivered as she fought back tears. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
He closed, the distance between them in three strides and swept her into his arms, crushing her to him. She didn’t care who might walk in on them. She wound her arms around his neck, letting her body commit the feel of every muscle and bone of him to memory, storing up enough to last her a
lifetime.
When she opened her mouth for his kiss, she surrendered to the rising passion, even though she knew it could never come to fruition.
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“I love you, Samuel,” she whispered through her tears. She took his beloved face in her hands and looked into his eyes, their merriment replaced by a profound sadness that broke her heart.
“And I do love you, Hannah Shaw.”
“Then take me with you.”
He shook his head sadly. “As much as I want to, I know you won’t go.”
“You’re right. I could never live without my children.” She drew away and covered her trembling mouth with one hand. “But how am I going to live without you?”
“Day by day, as will I. Your strength will help you.”
“Will you at least write to me? Let me know how you are?”
“I don’t think that would be wise. I’ll write to Benjamin instead. Surely my brother won’t have any objection to that.”
“Surely not.” With superhuman effort, Hannah pulled herself together. “I—I should go now. If Reiver finds me here, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“Wait. There’s something I want to give you.” He went over to his chest of drawers, took out a piece of paper, and handed it to her.
It was a sketch of Abigail.
“I made it just before she—”
“It’s beautiful. She’s laughing, just as I’ll always remember her.”
She ran from the room without so much as a backward glance.
Three days later Hannah saw Samuel for the last time when family and servants gathered in the parlor to bid him farewell and wish him luck in the California goldfields. She tried to draw on that strength he had always claimed she possessed, but inside, she was nothing but an arid wasteland.
When it came her turn to say goodbye, she pressed her cheek to Samuel’s, then hurried from the parlor.
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Davey said, “Papa, why is Mama crying?”
“She’s just sad because Uncle Samuel is leaving,” Reiver replied.
Never to see him again.
One cold morning in December, three weeks after Samuel’s departure, Hannah thought she felt him beside her, solid and warm, but when she awakened alone and shivering, she realized she had only imagined her lover curled against her.
She closed her eyes and fought down the bitter disappointment before flinging back the covers and rising.
Without warning, her insides clenched and waves of nausea sent her running for the basin. When she finished retching, she laughed for the first time in weeks.
She was going to have a baby.
Samuel’s child. Or Reiver’s.
No, she had always used her sponge and vinegar when sleeping with Reiver, so it had to be Samuel’s. She smiled. He had left her with part of himself after all.
Brushing her hair and dressing, she felt her despondent mood lifting. When she went downstairs to the warm, fragrant kitchen, where Mrs. Hardy and Millicent were chatting like squirrels and preparing breakfast, her benevolent mood even extended to Reiver sitting at the table and finishing a stack of griddle cakes.
He looked at her warily, for she had been decidedly cold to him ever since he banished Samuel. “Good morning,” she said brightly. “Mrs. Hardy, is there enough hot water for tea?”
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The housekeeper bobbed her silver head. “I’ve just made a fresh pot, but once that’s gone, it’s every man for himself.”
Hannah poured herself a cup and sat down across from her husband, who now looked frankly puzzled.
“You look happy this morning.”
“I am.” She sipped her tea, gazed out the frost-covered window, and watched the rising sun spread its fire across the shadowed blue crust of snow.
“May I ask why?”
She shrugged. “No particular reason.”
Mrs. Hardy ladled batter onto the griddle, where it sizzled and steamed, filling the kitchen with its enticing aroma. “I miss that Samuel. But I guess we’ll have to get along without him and face the future.”
Reiver’s blue eyes held Hannah’s. “Is that why you’re happy this morning?
You’re facing the future?”
“Yes.” I’m creating a new life that will be part of me and part of Samuel.
“It’s for the best,” Reiver said quietly.
Yes, Hannah thought, you’ll forget Samuel as if he never existed. But I will never forget him.
Reiver drained his cup, rose, and went to give Hannah a kiss on the cheek, but she ducked her head at the last minute and his lips brushed her hair. She wasn’t quite ready to forgive him.
Anger flared in his eyes, then disappeared. “I’m going to open the mill,” he said, and left.
Later that morning, after most of her household tasks were done, Hannah bundled herself up and went down to the homestead. James now lived there alone, but she was hoping to find some lingering trace of Samuel, so she went upstairs to his studio.
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When she walked through the door, she stopped in shock. The room had been picked as clean as a turkey carcass. His worktable, which had been strewn with sketches and engraving tools, was gone. Pristine stretched canvases were no longer propped haphazardly against the wall. The old settee where they had first made love had disappeared, doubtlessly sold to one of the grateful mill girls for a pittance.
All traces of Samuel had been eradicated as if he had never existed.
Tears sprang to Hannah’s eyes. “How I do hate you, Reiver Shaw!”
And then she smelled it, a mere whisper of turpentine, a remembrance of Samuel that nothing, not even Reiver, could destroy. Memories flooded through Hannah’s mind as sharply etched as one of Samuel’s engravings, and she laughed.
But her triumph was short-lived.
She was on her way back to the main house, picking her way carefully up the path the men had cleared through the snow, when a sharp, searing pain cramped her insides, stopping her cold.
Her baby!
Hannah staggered forward as another grinding pain sent her gasping. Then she felt the rush of her child’s lifeblood leaving her body, and she screamed in denial. She managed to stagger a few steps closer to the house before collapsing, leaving a trail like red roses in the snow.
Hannah awakened to the keening of her own heart. A few hours. She had only a few hours to love it.
“The doctor says you’ll be fine.”
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She turned and found Reiver sitting beside her bed, his brow furrowed and his face grave.
“Fine?” Her laugh sounded half-mad to her own ears.
Reiver stared down at his tightly folded hands. “Was the baby mine or Samuel’s?”
“I hope it was Samuel’s.”
“But you’re not sure.”
“No,” she uttered through clenched teeth.
Satisfied, he rose. “The doctor says you must rest now.” When he reached the door, he turned. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry, Hannah.”
“Then bring Samuel back to me.”
“Rest now. We’ll talk later, when you’re stronger.”
He waited two weeks before telling her that she had lost far more than Samuel’s child.
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Chapter Eleven
He couldn’t put it off any longer.
Reiver found Hannah in the warm kitchen, assiduously rolling out the top crust for a dried-apple pie, her smooth hair hidden beneath a neat white cap.
He hesitated in the doorway. “You shouldn’t be working so hard. You should rest.”
She touched her forehe
ad with the back of one hand, leaving a smudge of flour, then returned to her rolling without so much as a glance at her husband. “I can’t afford to loll around in bed all day. I have work to do.”
Work kept her from missing Samuel so much. Work soothed the heartache.
Work kept her sane.
“Let someone else do it.” He walked over to the table so she couldn’t ignore him. “Hannah, you’re killing yourself. You’re as white as quicklime.”
She dragged the rolling pin across the dough, tearing it. “I’ve lost a baby.
How do you expect me to look?”
“Would you come into the study for a moment?” he said. “There’s something I have to tell you.” And how he dreaded it.
Her mouth hardened into an exasperated slash. “Can’t you see that I’m in the middle of my baking?”
Be patient with her. “Your baking can wait,” he said gently. “What I have to tell you is more important.”
Eyes flashing, Hannah yanked off her apron and wiped her hands. Then she preceded Reiver into his study.
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She turned around. “What is it you have to tell me?”
“You’d better sit down.”
“Reiver, I—”
“Damn it, Hannah, sit down!”
She sank into the nearest chair.
Reiver leaned against his desk and gripped the edge. “I don’t know any other way to tell you this, except straight out.” He took a deep breath. “The doctor said you can’t have any more children.”
What little blood there was left in her cheeks drained away, leaving her as white as sun-bleached bones, her eyes wide and glazed with shock. Her jaw worked, but no words passed her lips.
Reiver knelt before her chair and grasped her cold hands. “I’m so sorry.”
She stared at him as if he were a stranger speaking a foreign language. “I don’t understand.”
He touched her cheek. “You can’t have any more children.”
“No!” Hannah knocked his hand away and bolted from her chair. “It’s not true! It can’t be!” Dazed, she took several steps toward the door. She couldn’t endure it, losing Samuel’s child only to be told she could never have another.