“If you want to be childish, then I can’t stop you. There will always be a place for you here, if you should ever decide to come back.”
“I won’t.”
“Godspeed, then. Be careful.” And always remember that I love you no matter how much you hurt me.
He left without a backward glance.
Hannah stood at the study window, watching Benjamin shake hands with Davey before boarding the stagecoach.
“You did the right thing,” Samuel said, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close. “Turning the mill over to Ben would have been disastrous.”
Hannah nestled against him and tried to keep from crying.
“In my mind I know that to be true, but in my mother’s heart…”
414
www.samhainpublishing.com
The Vow
“He’s a grown man, Hannah, and he’s been acting worse than a two-year-old. He had no right to blackmail you. Besides, he chose to go. He could have stayed.”
“Still, I feel as though I’m sending him to his death.”
“No, you’ve made a man of him in ways that matter.” He turned her around to face him. “Hannah, you have a responsibility to your workers, too. With someone as inexperienced as Ben running the company, what would their futures be?”
She sighed. “You’re right.”
“And you know he wouldn’t take your advice if you tried to help him.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t. He’d be just as bullheaded as his father and want to do things his way whether they were right or not.”
Samuel traced the curve of her jaw with his finger. “Now that you’re a widow, and your children—with the exception of Lizzie—no longer need you, will you finally marry me?”
“Yes, Samuel Shaw, I’ll finally marry you.”
Her eyes filled with tears, but this time they were tears of joy.
www.samhainpublishing.com
415
Epilogue
They had dubbed Coldwater “Silk Town”.
I never dreamed I’d live to see it, Hannah thought, leaning heavily on her silver-headed cane and surveying her kingdom from the top of Mulberry Hill.
She never thought she’d live to see the turn of the century, either, but here she was, an old lady of seventy-eight getting ready to attend the wedding of Lizzie’s youngest daughter on June 7, 1900.
Her eyes misted over with pride as she counted eleven long red brick buildings housing Shaw Silks. These days they didn’t make thread or ribbon but elaborate silk jacquards and velvets that surpassed any in the world. Not only did Shaw Silks have a sales office in New York City, but also in Chicago, to keep up with all their orders.
Hannah walked slowly across the crest of Mulberry Hill. Passersby tipped their hats and nodded respectfully at the familiar figure always dressed in pale blue Shaw silk, with her serene wrinkled face and snow-white hair always arranged in a chignon at the nape of her neck.
She stopped to talk to several of the workers’ children who were playing in the front yard of the house their parents owned thanks to low mortgages funded by their employer. Throughout the years, when many factory owners throughout New England were exploiting their workers for their own gain, Hannah held fast to her belief that workers should be well paid and treated decently, even if it kept their employer from becoming too rich. As a result, though the workers came The Vow
from Ireland, England, Scandinavia, and Poland now, generation after generation went to work for Shaw Silks.
Feeling too tired too quickly, Hannah said goodbye to the children and made her way back to Mulberry Hill. Now five mansions surrounded by great oaks lined its crest, two of them designed by the famous architect Stanford White, a close friend of Davey, who was now president of the company his father founded. Benjamin, who had survived the Civil War intact to become the family’s lawyer, lived in one of them with his wife and four of his six children.
James had given up the Bickford farm and moved into one of the mansions when his beloved Georgia died of tuberculosis. He had never fixed another loom again and died in his sleep a year ago, clutching a faded lock of his wife’s ginger hair.
All of his ten children were scattered across the United States as if they found the close Shaw family ties their parents’ treasured unbearably stifling.
Hannah stopped at the main house and looked down toward the homestead.
She watched as a man came out and sauntered off toward the mill, his carriage and stride so familiar to her. For a moment she thought it was Samuel coming for her at long last, and her heart sang with happiness. Then she realized that it couldn’t be, her beloved husband had died in her arms of a heart attack fifteen years ago.
“But it won’t be long now, my love,” she said to herself. “Be patient.”
“Aunt Hannah?”
She turned her tired old bones slowly to see Lizzie coming toward her, the morning sun glistening on her thick, chestnut hair, and for a moment Hannah sensed Cecelia’s presence so profoundly, it took her breath away. Years ago, when Hannah had finally told Lizzie the truth of her parentage, she feared the girl would feel so betrayed that she would leave the Shaw fold for good. But she didn’t, to Hannah’s everlasting joy.
www.samhainpublishing.com
417
Lindsay Chase
Lizzie drew Hannah’s thin, freckled arm through her own and held it securely. “My Hannah Elisabeth is getting ready to leave for the church. She wanted to make sure you came with us.”
“Humph. I don’t know if I trust the groom’s newfangled motorcar. A horse and carriage were good enough for me.”
Was it her imagination, or was she beginning to sound as cantankerous as Mrs. Hardy?
Hannah looked back toward the homestead. The man was gone.
Soon she would be gone, too, but Shaw Silks would remain.
Hannah had succeeded and made a fortune. Now everyone in Coldwater said, “What else could you expect of Reiver Shaw’s wife?”
418
www.samhainpublishing.com
About the Author
At the encouragement of her fifth grade teacher, Lindsay Chase started writing when she was twelve years old, and has never stopped making things up, usually romantic stories about unconventional women and the compelling men who love them.
She lives in Connecticut with her own hero, her husband Michael, and one very spoiled cat. She’s delighted that her three historicals, The Oath, The Vow and Honor are being released as part of Samhain’s Retro Romance program and will have the opportunity to reach new readers.
Look for these titles by Lindsay Chase
Now Available:
The Oath
Coming Soon:
Honor
Desire, dreams…and a choice that could spell danger.
The Oath
© 2012 Lindsay Chase
Catherine Stone let nothing stop her from following her dream through medical school and into her own practice. Not her disapproving family nor society’s strict rules concerning a woman’s proper place.
The man who picks her up off the ice rink in Central Park is everything she despises: an arrogant, insufferable, wealthy robber baron. But there’s something about Damon Delancy that gets under her skin in a curiously delicious way.
They don’t call Damon the “Wolf of Wall Street” for nothing. He’s accustomed to getting what he wants, and he’s determined to wear down Catherine’s resistance with relentless wooing. He also wants to make her see that her progressive ideas about a woman’s choice in childbearing are not only scandalous, but could put her in danger.
When one of Catherine’s female colleagues is found murdered, Damon is compelled to put his foot down to keep the woman he loves safe. But Catherine won’t be kept in a gilded cage, even if it means having to choose between the women she serves and the desires of her own heart.
Warning: Contains two strong, determined, passionate lovers who are destined to butt heads…and hear
ts.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Oath: As the warm weather arrived, Catherine found herself occasionally recalling that cold winter day she had slipped on the ice and had come face to face with Damon Delancy. She dismissed such thoughts as pointless daydreaming, for she
doubted she would ever see him again. After all, she wasn’t one of the exalted who dwelt among the sun, moon and stars.
This fine May morning, her existence was far from celestial. She had just come from stitching knife wounds, treating a burn and telling a new mother that her baby was going to die, so she was not in the best of moods when she started to cross Bleecker Street.
As she looked to her left for an opening in the traffic, several small boys caught her eye because they had the look of deviltry about them as they put their heads together in a huddle. Catherine scowled, wondering what mischief they were contemplating.
Suddenly one of the boys drew his arm back and threw with all his might.
His target was evident when a large black horse walking down the street started, then exploded, screaming in terror before bolting as though shot from a cannon.
Catherine watched in horror as the startled rider tried to rein in his witless mount while weaving among other riders, carriages and lumbering wagons.
Without warning, a water wagon made an abrupt right-hand turn, blocking the runaway’s path. For one heart-stopping second, it looked as though the frenzied horse was gathering himself to try to jump the wagon, but at the last minute, the animal swerved, veering sharply to the left.
His rider must have been anticipating such a move, for he managed to stay in the saddle as his horse swerved. But when the animal stumbled, the man went flying through the air and landed hard.
Clutching her medical bag, Catherine picked up her skirts and ran toward the hapless man now lying so still in the middle of the street.
Chaos reigned. Curious pedestrians surged forward while carriages and hansoms swerved to avoid the man. No one dared to stop the horse as he regained his footing and charged down the street, sending people scattering like
autumn leaves as his empty stirrups beat against his ribs, goading him to run even faster.
“Please let me through!” Catherine cried as she tried to fight her way through the crowd. “I’m a doctor.”
They parted for her, but not without startled looks and murmured comments.
By the time Catherine fought her way through, the fallen rider was sitting up, propped against a burly man kneeling on one knee beside him. His left arm hung uselessly at his side and his dark head was bowed, indicating that he had probably fainted.
“I’m a doctor,” Catherine said, setting down her medical bag and kneeling in the street.
She ignored the incredulous mutterings going on around her and reached out to gently lift the man’s head so she could examine him for signs of concussion or fractured skull. At her touch, the man stirred. When he raised his head of his own volition, Catherine found herself looking into the cold gray eyes of Damon Delancy.
She stared for what seemed like an eternity, unable to speak.
He winced. “Who in the hell are you? And where is my horse?”
So he didn’t remember her from their brief meeting in Central Park.
Irrational disappointment stung her as her hands fell away.
“I am Dr. Catherine Stone. And I suspect your horse is halfway to the Statue of Liberty by now.”
A mocking smile tightened his mouth. “A lady doctor… Just my luck.”
The burly man supporting him chuckled.
“You are lucky that I happened by,” Catherine replied coldly, turning his head to see if he was bleeding from the ears, “because I’ll have you know that I’m a damn fine doctor, Mr.—?”
“Delancy. Damon Delancy.” If he expected her to recognize his illustrious name, he didn’t show it.
“Count yourself lucky, Mr. Delancy. You don’t have a fractured skull.” But he did have a scrape along his cheek.
“Thickheaded one, ain’t he?” the burly man said.
Catherine touched Damon Delancy’s left shoulder gently, and when he flinched, swore and shot her a murderous look, she added, “But I suspect you have broken or fractured your collarbone.”
“All I know is that it hurts like hell, and I don’t appreciate having it poked and prodded.”
Catherine bristled, but bit back the retort forming on the tip of her tongue.
Suddenly someone from the crowd shouted, “Hey, lady! You’re blocking traffic. Call an ambulance and get him outta here.”
“Well, Mr. Delancy,” Catherine said, “we can either have the police call an ambulance to take you to the nearest hospital, or—”
“No hospitals.”
Catherine didn’t blame him. Hospitals were for the poor or the seriously ill.
“Very well. My office is just around the corner. But if you don’t wish a ‘lady doctor’ to treat you, I can put you in a cab and send you to your own physician.”
“You’ll do. I don’t expect you’ll kill me.”
Right at that moment, Catherine could have cheerfully done just that, but she reminded herself that he was a man in pain who wasn’t responsible for his actions.
She rose and said to the burly man, “Would you be able to help him to my office?”
The man nodded and helped Delancy to his feet, where he turned white and swayed for a moment.
“Will you be able to walk?” Catherine asked.
He nodded as he grasped his left arm beneath the elbow to keep every step from jarring it.
The three of them started for Catherine’s office.
By the time they arrived, Damon Delancy looked on the verge of collapse. He was as white as arsenic powder and the skin around his mouth had a greenish tinge. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and streaked his taut, lean cheeks.
Molly answered the door and hurried ahead to ready the surgery. Since Sybilla was nowhere to be seen, Catherine assumed she was in her own surgery down the hall with a patient.
Catherine didn’t relax until her patient was sitting on the examining table.
She was just about to thank the burly man for his help and send him on his way when Damon Delancy offered him his card and the opportunity to return the favor for helping him.
Once the burly man left, Catherine took command. “We’ll have to take off your coat and shirt if I’m to examine you.”
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “And have you examined many men, Dr. Stone?”
Catherine gave him a cool, level look. “Hundreds, Mr. Delancy. Nay, thousands. I assure you that I’m quite beyond letting the sight of an unclothed man fluster me. But I rather doubt that you’ve ever been examined by a woman doctor.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, just think of me as you would your mother, healing some childhood scrape.”
“That,” he said, his eyes darting over her in quick appraisal, “is out of the question.”
Catherine felt her cheeks grow warm at the rough intimacy in his voice, and she took refuge in anger. “Mr. Delancy, you try my patience. If you don’t wish me to examine you, I’ll call an ambulance and have you taken to the hospital.
What’s it to be?”
He sighed in surrender and began unbuttoning his riding jacket, but when he tried to shrug out of it, the pain stopped him cold. He swore as his hand fell away.
“Let me.” Catherine managed to get his right arm out of the sleeve. “I’ll be as gentle as I can, but if I hurt you, please tell me.”
“If you hurt me, you’ll know it,” he growled.
Somehow, she managed to ease the left sleeve off his injured arm with only a short gasp and shudder on Damon Delancy’s part. As Catherine folded the smooth worsted riding jacket and set it aside, she noticed it was expensive and impeccably tailored.
“Now the shirt,” she said.
When the shirt came off, Catherine tried to examine him with a critical, profess
ional eye and failed. His torso was as perfectly sculpted as the classical Greek statues Ruth had strewn around the Cleveland house to impress visitors, and much to Catherine’s chagrin, she was not immune to the sensuous, masculine power of rippling muscle.
She forced her wandering gaze back to his injured shoulder and noticed the pale, thick scar on his upper arm. “Knife wound?”
His eyes widened briefly in surprise. “Bullet.”
“The doctor who treated you didn’t stitch it, did he?”
“There wasn’t time.”
“That’s unfortunate. That scar would be less noticeable if he had.”
“It doesn’t matter to me what it looks like. Not many people see it.”
Catherine wondered if the woman in sable was a member of the privileged ones who had.
“I’m sorry for digressing.” Catherine turned her attention to his shoulder and made her diagnosis. “You have a fractured clavicle. When you fell, did you hit the ground with your palm?”
He nodded.
“Well, I’m going to have to set the bone, then put your arm in a splint to position it so it will heal correctly. I’m warning you that it will be quite painful.”
“I’ve endured worse.”
“I can give you morphine for the pain.”
“No!” he snapped. “I’ve seen what morphine addiction can do to a man.”
Catherine stiffened. “I wouldn’t give you enough to addict you, merely ease your pain.”
“Thank you, but I’d rather not.”
“Suit yourself.”
Catherine went to work to set the fractured bone so that it would heal properly, without deformity. She realized her patient was in great pain, for he turned as gray as potted paste and his jaw clenched, but Catherine couldn’t do slipshod work just to spare him. Above all, she was a doctor.
The Vow Page 39