Rubbing his hands together, he seemed to ponder the question. Then he met my eyes again. There was no mistaking it, not in moonlight or sunshine: he was very handsome and not the least bit affected. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.
He interrupted my vanity with a question. "Can I take a look?"
Honestly, I should have told him no. My little mourning Zora protested, and I knew Birdie wouldn't be happy to have had him near her home at all. But I was hungry and lonely ... and perhaps the slightest bit fascinated.
So I said yes.
***
With long strides, Emerson marked the boundary of Aunt Birdie's garden. He said nothing but occasionally made a small sound. Thoughtful, like a doctor giving examination to a broken arm. Thomas sometimes hummed like that—
I buried the thought. It made my throat tight, and I simply didn't want to taste bittersweet on my tongue at that moment. Putting Louella on her feet, I gave her a pat to send her to play.
Instead, she decided to shadow Emerson. Aping his steps, she lifted her foot so high, I thought she might fall backwards, but no. She marched after him, a little goose who still hadn't had her breakfast.
"It could use more water," he began.
I tried not to groan. Leaning against the house, the yoke taunted me, its buckets sitting empty as an indictment. "All right."
Finally, Emerson crouched at the row of corn. Sunlight caught in his hair, casting threads of bronze through the dark gold mess of it. "The tomatoes would be happier if the corn weren't casting shadows on them."
Rubbing the heat from my cheek, I nodded, as if I understood the first thing about a vegetable's pleasure. "My mother's garden is laid out the same way."
"North facing?" He asked. And I realized it was an explanation. Unlike Mama's, Birdie's garden took shade from the house in the morning and apparently shade from the corn in the afternoon.
So I said, "Too late to change that now."
He nodded. Then he turned to Louella, who'd crouched beside him in the same posture. "Can you keep a secret?"
"Oh yessss."
"And do you believe in magic?"
Her mouth a little O, Louella was too excited to speak. Instead, she nodded, her curls bobbing merrily.
Emerson raised his eyes to mine, asking the same question with a look. And it was strange, our gazes connecting like that. A tremor passed beneath my feet, and I realized with a shock, I had felt it before. When he'd come upon me in the dark. And again, just before I'd answered the door.
It was him.
My magic reacted in his proximity. Suddenly, all the water I had struggled to seek the day before rose easily, silver lines that shone like dew, spread out all around us. When my eyes met his, he simply raised his brows. Waiting yet for an answer, though I felt certain that he knew.
Thus, finding my voice, I said, "I continue to marvel at your flair for the dramatic, Mr. Birch."
"Marvel away," he told me. Then he rubbed his fingers in the loose earth before him. Wriggling them beneath the soil, he took a long, deep breath.
The wind shifted, but did nothing to ward off my sudden chill. I'd seen that same smoothing of a face before, felt that same eerie calm of connection in Amelia as I'd watched her make prophecies.
But this time, instead of a scrap of writing or just a spoken word, there were wonders to be seen. Little, curled leaves stretched, the plants before me shivering, waking—growing. Delicate yellow blossoms burst forth on the tomatoes; the corn suddenly realized its ambition and climbed toward the sky.
"Magic," Louella whispered.
And if she saw it too, then it was real. It was all real. My knees weakened, and my heart took the queerest turn. Not until this summer past had my life been anything but ordinary. Spoiled, but ordinary. And now...
"Now," Emerson said, breaking the spell. He brushed his hands off and stood, as if most farmers simply willed their crops to grow. "They need more water. Four times a day, every day."
"I'll make sure they get it." Shaking myself to my senses, I crooked a finger at Louella. But I wouldn't hold my curiosity. Without guile, without shyness, I asked Emerson, "How did you learn to do this?"
He nodded, following Louella back to me. "You first."
My throat closed. What could I possibly say that wouldn't sound entirely mad? And yet, had he not just coaxed an entire garden to life? Had he not bared his gift to me, in exactly the way I had? The only difference was that I hadn't realized what I was doing until it was done.
So I softened, imploring, "Please, Mr. Birch."
And it seemed he understood me. Voice lowered, as if confiding, he bowed his head toward mine.
"On accident. Pa went off to work the railroad and left us with nothing a whole summer. Said I was the man of the house and I had to look after things, so I did. I made the garden grow." He shrugged, his eyes darting to look past me. "My ma said I had a green thumb, but it's a whole lot more than that, I'd say."
"Quite an understatement." Laughter slipped out of me in strange relief. He'd needed the earth to move for him, and it had. Just as I'd needed the water to show itself. I couldn't help but wonder what Amelia had needed, to bring her visions from the fires.
I brushed that thought aside and made myself smile again. Looking up at Emerson, I said, "But it does make sense to bring such a gift to the land rush."
A slight darkness crossed his brow. "That was the idea, anyhow. Didn't work out like I expected."
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said." Banishing his darkness with his own smile, he turned the conversation on me."All right. Now, how about you? You always been a springsweet?"
The word spilled on my skin, clean and clear. I rolled it in my thoughts, longed to roll it on my tongue. Should I have thought to call myself anything, it would have been a dowser. Or a water witch. Somehow, his name for it made it seem rather more enchanted.
Picking Louella up, I said, "Well, you see—I'd been rescued by a cad in the middle of the night, and I wanted to put him in his place with a grand show. To my surprise, it worked—and he was entirely impressed with me. All but called me his goddess."
Feigning ignorance, he fought back a smile. "When was that? It'd have to be before we met."
Refusing to dignify that with a reply, I started for the front of the house. "You really should go before Birdie gets back. She's already overdue."
I felt him following me, my senses stirring with awareness. It was nothing supernatural; no, it was something far more usual. He amused me; I liked his company.
Just to prove his charming, prickly difference, he brushed past then turned to walk backwards before me. "Now who's forgetting their manners?"
"Please," Louella chirped. Of course, she had no idea why. She'd simply learned that if someone prompted her about manners, she was missing one of the important sweetening words.
Holding her close, my darling anchor, I said, "Thank you, Mr. Birch. For everything. We've been hungry, to be honest. Your gifts are much appreciated."
Softening, Emerson stepped up on his buckboard and tipped his hat to me. "It's a pleasure, Miss Stewart." Then he tipped it to Louella. "Good day, Miss Neal."
"Gooday," Louella replied brightly.
Though he took the reins in his hands, Emerson hesitated. And then he looked to me. His eyes weren't golden, not as I'd thought. They were like skies and summer wheat—shades of blue and green and gold woven together. And his gaze direct seemed to mark my skin. "Hope I see you again."
I couldn't find my voice, and he gave me no chance to deny him. With a crack of leather, Epona was off, the buckboard trailing dust like smoke. Raising Louella's hand, I helped her wave goodbye, and soon Emerson was nothing more than a faint shadow on the horizon.
And for the sparest moment, I wished him back.
***
At last, Birdie opened the front door, popping her head in and singing, "Who wants a cinnamon?"
I leapt up, excitement and relief setting m
e free. My aunt was well, and home again. And her face seemed brighter than it had before, her eyes dancing and her smile wide.
Throwing herself into her mother's arms, Louella opened her mouth and spilled out two entire days in a confused jumble. "We went wading, and eggs, and SO much water, but the plate is broke and Zora says we can get a new one, I'm sorry, and..."
Birdie wrapped Louella up in her arms and her skirts. She dropped a kiss on her brow and her nose, murmuring motherly things to her that I couldn't quite make out. They needed no real translation; she was glad to be home and to see her babe again.
"Where have you been?" I asked, pressing against the ache in my chest.
Birdie looked to me, her smile turning im pish. "I'll tell you all about it just as soon as you help me carry in the groceries."
"Yes, of course," I said. I rubbed her arm as I went by, just a touch to tell her I was glad she'd returned. I wanted to be a child and demand an answer immediately. But I didn't have to, for when I stepped into the yard, there stood Theo.
He leaned against a brand-new phaeton—parked just far enough away that I'd missed the chiming of its brass fittings from inside the soddy.
I knew it to be brand-new because the rims of its wheels shone with scarlet varnish, and the dust had barely hazed the black footboard. It matched him exactly: his dark hair and the red pansy pinned in his buttonhole.
"Mr. de la Croix," I murmured.
"Miss Stewart," he replied. And then he turned to lift a wooden box from the phaeton's floor. Carrying it toward me, he tried to coax a smile from me. "There's a pretty color in your cheeks today."
Turning inwardly, I put my attention on the groceries, instead of his face. "You're very kind. Especially to bring my aunt home all this way. This would have been quite a burden to carry."
"After the trouble in town, I couldn't bear to let her come all this way unescorted."
So I had been right to worry; afraid for good reason, it seemed! I dropped the packet of sugar I was inspecting and asked, "What trouble?"
Theo tried to soothe me with a smile. "It's only a bit of unpleasantness that's done; would you dwell on it?"
Singed by a flare of heat, I drew myself up. Though quite a bit shorter than Theo, I could still meet his eye by deliberation. I didn't care to be handled as if I were a child.
I'd kept the truth from Louella for good reason—I'd known nothing for certain and there was little point in upsetting a babe. Nevertheless, Theo had no right to keep the truth from me. "I assure you, Mr. de la Croix, once you tell me, I shan't."
To his credit, he realized he'd erred. Putting the box on the ground, he rose to put a hand on my shoulder and lean in confidentially. "The post office was robbed yesterday noon. Fortunately, Mrs. Neal had collected her packages before the fact. Unfortunately, after the fact, the marshal wanted everyone to stay indoors until he could conduct his investigation."
My belly stirred, a nervous flutter. "Was anyone hurt?"
"No, though I understand quite a few mailbags suffered mortal wounds," Theo said, then straightened to stand a more respectable distance from me. He gazed at me from beneath his dark lashes, though, the faintest touch of flirtatiousness in his expression. "It was invigorating, to tell the truth. Nothing so exciting ever happened in Baltimore."
It was not his fault he said exactly the wrong thing to me. And I tried very hard to keep that in mind. I supposed that to someone who'd never suffered it, gunfire in the street might be very invigorating indeed.
Trying to rein my temper, I snatched the groceries up and said, "Well, it was good of you to see Birdie home."
"You know it was to see you," he said, a plaintive note following me as I turned to go inside.
Closing my eyes, I stood there and waited for some kind of peace to come over me. Then I turned to face him. "Mr. de la Croix, what I did at the Sugarcane Ball was inexcusable, and I apologize most profusely..."
Theo held up a hand to stay me. "If you would, please, just let me plead my case. I've watched you for months, Miss Stewart. There are only so many drinks a man can have with cold stone before he is labeled, quite understandably, a fop. I did not go to Westminster for Mr. Poe; I went for you."
It was such a strange and ardent confession that, I admit, I felt nothing at all in that moment but confusion. Perhaps I should have apologized again and made my leave, but my tongue always had run ahead of me. "You do understand I wasn't there to make rubbings and collect flowers."
Pressing a hand to his chest, Theo approached me again. He was porcelain sincerity, his composure as artfully broken as Miss Austen could have ever done it. "I am so very sorry for the loss of your Mr. Rea."
"Thank you," I said stiffly.
He went on. "Please know, Miss Stewart, I didn't follow you to the ball, I was there anyway. When I saw you come in, I thought, well, I had assumed-—"
"That my mourning was over."
"Precisely." Now he cured his posture, perhaps uncomfortable in how bare he'd laid himself. Glancing away, he cleared his throat, then finally met me again. "I tell you again, with every sentiment in me, that my intentions toward you are honorable."
There was a reason, I suppose, that in Baltimore we did so much courting by notes and cards and chaperoned dances. It was hard to speak directly, to risk your feelings or to spare others theirs. The knot in my throat only tightened. "It's no defect of yours, Mr. de la Croix, but I can't imagine that I will ever love anyone again."
"I wouldn't ask you to," he said. "But do you suppose you could grow to like me?"
I didn't answer, and I suppose preferring to take silence as possibility, Theo climbed into his phaeton. Selfishly, I was glad that I would see him go, but Birdie hurried into the yard before he could.
"Don't go," she said, dropping a hand on my shoulder. "I owe you a dinner at the very least."
Taking up the black leather reins, which had been stained to match the horse and the phaeton, Theo tipped his head toward her. "It's late yet, and I have to finish studying for my certificate. But I do thank you for the invitation."
Birdie nodded. "Why don't you come back tomorrow? You could take Zora for a ride."
Theo's attention drifted toward me, and I burned. It was awful to be caught this way, to have no graceful way to decline. And to make it worse, Birdie dug her fingers into my shoulder a bit, waiting for a response.
"It is a handsome buggy," I said. It was the best I could manage, both polite and noncommittal.
With a smile, Theo said, "Yes, I should like that," and only then did Birdie set me free.
***
Whipping a bit of sugar and flour into a bowl of cornmeal, Birdie shook all over. It was far more effort than she needed expend to make a simple batter, and it was obvious from the hard plane of her brow that she was cross.
I was likewise irritated at her meddling, so it was for the best. She would torment her batter, and I would mind the stew—made with the last of our roasted chicken.
Picking through Emerson's vegetables, I chose the turnip to peel next. I didn't care for them, and if chopped small enough, they'd only taste of stew, which suited me. I was halfway through skinning the awful, biting thing when I realized Birdie had stopped stirring.
"What's that?" she asked.
She waved a battered spoon in my direction. And before I could say a word, Louella offered from the floor, "Mr. Birch's turnips."
"Oh," Birdie said, her tone thoroughly sugared for the baby's sake, the message quite sharp for mine. "They're Mr. Birch's turnips? Did they knock on the door?"
Louella laughed, rolling onto her back. "Silly mama!"
Still paring the turnips, I steadied myself to interject. I kept my tone quite still, weighing each word before I spoke. "He brought them when he returned my scarf."
The cracking of Birdie's façade was coming. She put her bowl aside and pulled Louella to her feet. Birdie sent her outside to count the corn, a useless task that I wasn't sure she could complete. But it did get her ou
t of the soddy before her mother lost her temper.
"Didn't I tell you-—"
"I didn't invite him," I said, quick to my own defense. "He came of his own accord."
Birdie snatched her wooden spoon up again, and for an irrational moment, I thought she might strike me with it. But instead, she attacked her batter, dropping thick dollops of it into sizzling grease. "You don't seem to understand the gravity of your situation, little miss."
"What? What situation? I'm here, aren't I? Don't I mind the baby? Don't I do everything you ask of me?"
"Not everything, obviously."
I choked on the unfairness of it. Tossing the turnip into my pot, I reached for another prize from Emerson's bundle, a fine, fat potato to slice before Birdie's very eyes. "I thanked him, and he left. And it would have been just the same if you'd been here."
"Bad enough the boy's a sooner." Another round of batter hit the grease with a wheeze. "Bad enough he snatched up good land that he's already got growing! Bad enough he does all his trading in Jubilee just to rile those fatheaded fools in West Glory! We don't need borrowed trouble, Zora Pauline. Times are hard enough for the Neals, thank you."
My frustration overflowed. "I don't know what any of that means!"
Putting the bowl down hard, Birdie turned to me. "It means you're another mouth I have to feed because you went wild back home. The least you could do is make that easy on me."
The insinuation felt like oil running down my spine, leaving me slick and filthy. Mustering as much dignity as I could, I refused to let her believe me ashamed. "Haven't I? We're having fresh tomatoes, and stew that's more than boiled bean water tonight because I dowsed a well for Mr. Birch."
Birdie halted. "Excuse me?"
"I dowsed a well for him; he paid me in green goods!"
"You did no such thing."
Throwing my hands out, I demanded, "Why would I make something like that up? After what happened last summer, why would I ever claim something like that if it weren't true?"
The air cooled; Birdie deflated. She said nothing for a long moment, turning the corn cakes over in their grease. Something stirred across her face, a light or a thought, one that touched her brow just so. One that set her eyes to flickering as she stared at our supper.
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