Bandit's Hope

by Marcia Gruver

  Tiller’s comforting warmth slid behind Mariah, his hand on the small of her back. "You all right?"

  She shook her head. "Not yet."

  Raising her trembling chin, she faced the circle of mourners. "I want to thank you all for coming to say farewell to my father. And while you’re here"—she forced herself to look up—"I want to apologize for the terrible thing I’ve done. I pray you can forgive me." She couldn’t make out every word from the mumbling, shuffling group, but she felt the healing balm of their acceptance.

  Tiller gripped her hand. "While we have your attention, I’d like to make another announcement."

  He raised his brows at Uncle Joe who nodded. Mariah clutched his arm to stop him, but his loving smile eased her heart.

  "Mariah Bell has consented to be my wife," he said. "We’ll be married right away, before we leave for North Carolina."

  The wide eyes of the Pearl River clan swung to Uncle Joe.

  He squared his shoulders. "It’s a good match," he boomed in a loud voice, forever settling the question.

  Nudging elbows and broad smiles followed, especially from Tiller’s family. Only Chris and Justin Jones cast dark, brooding scowls at Tiller.

  Tiller bowed his head respectfully. "Given the circumstances, we’ll have a quiet ceremony with just the family as witnesses. I know you’ll understand." His voice grew louder. "But after a respectable amount of time, I promise to throw a rousing good party to celebrate."

  Amid a curious mix of warm condolences and sincere congratulations, the mourners filed away to their conveyances and scattered.

  Mariah leaned her head against Tiller’s chest. "Are you certain the time was right to announce our wedding?"

  He shrugged. "Looked like the only chance since tomorrow you’ll be my bride."

  Tobias, the last to leave, paused to give Miss Vee’s shoulder an awkward pat. "Miss Viola, if there’s anything I can do to ease your grief, you let me know."

  Still kneeling at Father’s grave, she reached to squeeze his hand.

  "Well, I’ll be pickled," Uncle Joe whispered, his eyes twinkling. "Did you see that?"

  Mariah shook her head. "See what?"

  "Tobias is sweet on Viola."

  Mariah shushed him with a finger to her lips. "For pity’s sake, keep your voice down. Are you certain?"

  He raised one brow. "As sure as I’m standing here. I saw it all over his face."

  Watching Tobias shuffle across the yard, his shoulders bowed, Mariah recalled how he always grew flushed and tongue-tied in Miss Vee’s presence. Was it possible Tobias had pined for Miss Vee while she carried a torch for Father?

  Mariah smiled at the thought. She prayed Miss Vee’s heart would quickly mend and she’d finally see poor Tobias. It comforted her to hope her friend wouldn’t wind up all alone.

  Turning to help Miss Vee off the ground, Mariah patted her puffy, sagging cheek. "Let me take you home."

  She nodded. "I’m ready."

  Mariah wrapped an arm around her waist. "I’ll make you a pot of your special tea."

  She smiled weakly. "I’d like that."

  At the wagon, Tiller gave Miss Vee a boost up while Mariah climbed in the other side. Wrapping a shawl around her, Mariah pulled it snug while she searched her pale face. "Perhaps it would be best if we postponed the wedding."

  Miss Vee’s head snapped around. "You’ll do no such thing. Why would you even consider it?"

  Mariah raised one shoulder. "It doesn’t feel quite right. You know … so soon after."

  Miss Vee’s trembling fingers locked on Mariah’s chin, and her darting eyes roamed her face. "Haven’t you learned anything by watching my plight?" She gave Mariah a gentle shake. "Every second is precious, dear. Don’t waste a single breath." She released Mariah and slid on her gloves. "Take us home, Joe Brashears. A pot of chamomile tea is sounding better by the minute."

  FORTY-SIX

  Mariah pinned the last dark curl atop her head then slid her brush in her vanity drawer. Turning her face to the side, she smiled. If she squinted, the strong chin, straight nose, and almond eyes were her mother, gazing back proudly from the glass.

  Today Mariah would fulfill her promise. Under the protection of Tiller’s name, no one would try to lay claim to her land. In the freedom of his love and care, she’d be able to run the inn exactly as she saw fit. She gave her image a saucy grin. "As long as my husband approves."

  Standing, she appraised her gown of black satin with its applied beading, chenille tassels, and needle lace. In the dress, she would marry the man she loved and still respect her father’s memory. It pleased her to honor the two most important men in her life on the same day.

  Satisfied with her appearance, she slid on her mother’s delicate wedding slippers, set aside for this day, and crossed the hall to her father’s room. The familiar smells rushed at her. Instead of allowing grief to take her breath, she inhaled deeply, drawing comfort from his presence in the room. "Chi hollo li, Aki," she whispered, the love she swore an ache in her chest. "Very, very much."

  The beaded necklace her mother had left her, last seen dangling from Uncle Joe’s angry fist, hung from a corner of the mirror. Lifting it with shaky fingers, Mariah slipped it over her head and patted the jasper stone at her chest. "I love you, too, Mother. I wish you and Father were here today. I know you would be happy for me."

  There would be many more times in Mariah’s life when she’d miss her parents’ presence. Birthdays, anniversaries, the births of her children. She squeezed her eyes tight against the tears. A bride shouldn’t cry on her wedding day.

  "Mariah? Where are you?"

  She ducked her head out the door. "In here, Miss Vee."

  Standing with her head poked into Mariah’s room, she spun and gasped. "There you are. You’re a vision, honey. Joe’s back with the minister." She laughed. "And Tiller’s pacing holes in the parlor rug."

  Stepping over the threshold of Father’s room, Miss Vee’s breath caught. "It’s the first time I’ve been in here. You can still feel his presence, can’t you?" Gazing around sadly, she wrapped her arm about Mariah’s waist. "I wish he could be here to give you away."

  Mariah smiled and leaned her head on Miss Vee’s shoulder. "I was just telling him the same thing."

  Miss Vee pushed her to arm’s length. "We’ll lay aside our grief and all regret for now. John Coffee wouldn’t have it any other way."

  Wiping her eyes, Mariah beamed. "To quote Otis, ‘This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.’"

  "Amen!" Miss Vee grinned. "But I’m pretty sure Otis borrowed that from somewhere."

  They stood together for a few more minutes, Mariah gazing at the painful reminders of her parents. Would it always be hard to come inside this room?

  As if she’d read her mind, Miss Vee walked to the bed and ran her hand along the quilt. "If you don’t mind, I’m going to pack away their belongings while you’re gone." She glanced over her shoulder. "And move yours and Tiller’s in here." She smiled weakly. "After all, you’re the lord and mistress of the inn now."

  The idea surprised Mariah, yet in a way pleased her. She felt her parents would approve. "Won’t that be hard for you so soon? I can always tend to it when I return."

  Miss Vee waved her off. "I can manage. I’ll have this room so spruced up you won’t recognize it." She glanced up. "And don’t fret. I’ll take great care with their things."

  On the way to the stairs, Mariah caught her arm. "Are you sure you’ll be all right until we return from North Carolina?"

  Miss Vee swatted the air. "Don’t be silly. You’ll only be gone for a few weeks, and I can run this inn in my sleep. Besides, I still have Dicey and Rainy, if they don’t kill each other first." She made a face. "And if they can ever be on time."

  Mariah laughed. "Now you’re spinning miracles."

  Downstairs, Uncle Joe waited in the parlor with the minister of Grace Church. Immediately after Father’s memorial service, Uncle Joe
had ridden to Canton to fetch him.

  Otis stood beside Tiller and seemed to be holding him up.

  Uncle Joe had invited Tobias. Mariah was stunned to see Christopher and Justin standing stiff as posts at his side.

  The most pleasant surprise was the dark-haired man chatting with Tiller’s family. Spotting Mariah, he broke free of the group and approached her. "You’re a lovely bride, Miss Bell."

  "Thank you, Nathan." She held out her hand. "I’m so happy to see you’re all right."

  He rubbed the back of his head. "I’m too hardheaded to let an iron skillet keep me from Tiller’s wedding." His gaze fell. "That is, if you don’t mind."

  "Of course not. Tiller told me how close the two of you are."

  He winced, his eyes filled with regret. "I haven’t been a very good friend, but I plan to change. Starting with asking your forgiveness."

  Mariah drew a cleansing breath and gripped his hand. "It’s been a season for seeking mercy. How could I offer you less than I’ve received?"

  He ducked his head. "I don’t deserve it, but I’m grateful. Thank you for tolerating my presence at your wedding."

  She patted his arm. "I’m happy you’re here. Will you be riding to North Carolina with us?"

  He grinned. "My brother and Tiller won’t have it any other way."

  "I’m glad," she said. "We’ll have a chance to get acquainted. Now, will you excuse me?"

  He nodded and Mariah slipped past.

  Christopher lowered his gaze as she approached.

  Justin turned his head.

  Mariah reached for their hands. "I’m so glad you came."

  In a sulk, Justin pursed his lips. "Don’t be. Our father made us."

  Chris nudged him.

  Hiding her smile, Mariah squeezed their fingers. "Please be happy for me, boys. It would mean so much."

  Justin glared. "Why would you choose the nahullo over one of us?"

  She crossed her fingers behind her back. "Dear Justin, how could I ever decide between you? The problem gave me many sleepless nights. I found the only possible solution in giving both of you up. Don’t you see? It was the only way."

  The boys shared a startled glance.

  "Of course." Chris smoothed her hair. "Poor Lotus Blossom."

  Justin puffed his chest. "Still, it’s a shame you were forced to settle."

  "Mariah?"

  She turned at the sound of Tiller’s voice, so handsome with his fresh-shaved cheeks and wet-combed hair he took her breath. "Yes?"

  "It’s time to start." His grin held no trace of the rogue she first met. "If you’re still agreeable."

  She smiled and wiggled her fingers. "I’ll be right along."

  Uncle Joe caught her hand as she passed. "I’ll be leaving right after the ceremony, niece."

  She made a face. "So soon?"

  Glowing with happiness for her, he patted her face. "What need has a new bride of a cantankerous old uncle underfoot?"

  She leaned into his chest. "Won’t you at least wait until morning?"

  "No, sabitek. I travel best at night." He wrapped a tendril of hair behind her ear. "Besides, you leave soon for North Carolina with your husband, and I’m long overdue at home."

  "Mariah?" Tiller stood behind her, worry crowding his brows. "Have you changed your mind?"

  Turning, she latched onto his hand. "After all I’ve been through to snare the proper husband?"

  "Then you’d best get a move on. You know our policy here at Bell’s Inn"—he glanced at the parlor clock, about to strike the hour—"if you’re not standing before the minister promptly at six, you stand a fair chance of going without."

  Tiller awoke to find Mariah staring down at him. Propped on one arm, she’d been watching him sleep by the moonbeam filtering through her bedroom window.

  With her dark hair loose and flowing and the soft white fabric of her nightdress draped over one shoulder, she looked like an angel.

  Tiller pushed up on his elbows and blinked at her. "Honey? What are you doing?"

  She smiled sweetly. "Counting my blessings."

  "At this hour?" He squinted. "Can’t we count them in the morning?"

  Mariah threw back the covers and crawled out of bed. "I’m glad you’re awake." She held out her hand. "Get dressed and come with me."

  Grinning, he allowed her to pull him to his feet. "Where are we going?" he asked, knowing it didn’t matter. He’d follow her anywhere.

  She held her finger to her lips. "You’ll see."

  He slid into his trousers while she slipped behind a screen, emerging in a buckskin dress he’d never seen before. Stunned, he stared at his wildly beautiful wife.

  She caught his hand when he reached for his shirt. "You won’t need it."

  Ducking into the hallway, they tiptoed to the kitchen stairs. At the bottom, she skipped the last step and whispered for him to do the same.

  They crept out the back door and across the yard to the barn. Catching their scent, Sheki nickered softly before they ever opened the door. Mariah ran to throw her arms around the paint, nuzzling his neck.

  Tiller caught up and hugged her from behind. "Do you think you’ll ever love me as much?"

  She turned into his embrace. "Maybe. Someday." Laughing, she opened the stall and bridled the horse. Leading him next to the rail, she climbed on his back and motioned for Tiller to join her.

  "Without a saddle?"

  "You won’t need it."

  He chuckled. "What else won’t I need tonight?" Swinging up behind her, he grimaced. "Hopefully I won’t need a doctor."

  She giggled. "Just tighten your knees and hold on to me."

  They trotted into the moonlit yard and veered toward the Pearl. Sheki seemed to need no direction. They’d taken this ride before.

  Down a sandy slope, they leveled out on a long stretch of the riverbank. Reaching behind her, Mariah tightened his arms snugly around her waist. "Are you ready?"

  He pressed his cheek to hers. "For what?"

  "Hold on," she said then leaned toward Sheki’s ear. "Kil-ia!"

  The pony bolted. Mariah clung to his mane and Tiller clung to her.

  They soared past the shimmering water, the wind rushing in their ears. Emotion swelled in Tiller’s chest, and prickly hairs stood up on his neck. His heart broke inside him like a hammer on a clay pot, spilling tears down his cheeks and beauty inside his soul.

  Anchored tighter to a person than he’d ever been in his life, Tiller McRae had never felt so free.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Every bruised muscle and strained sinew crying for relief, Joe urged the nag down the road that led to his lane and his little house at the end. He’d driven himself hard to cut time from his trip, stopping only when he had to and riding half asleep in the saddle.

  He felt as old as the crescent moon overhead. So old that the idea of chasing a feisty young son didn’t seem quite as appealing as it had at the start of his journey.

  He couldn’t help but wonder again why fate had played its trick on him and Myrtle. Though they neared the age for bouncing grandchildren on their knees, their firstborn would soon be nursing at her breast and teething on Joe’s thumbs.

  A sudden thought threatened to choke him. Suppose little George became the first of many? Would their quiet little cabin swarm with crawling babes? Groaning, he pushed the exhausting thought out of his mind.

  As selfish as the desire might be, he longed to reach his wife’s nimble, comforting hands so she could soothe him back together. Joe held no manly delusions. Myrtle’s courage and strength far surpassed his. She would be glad to see him, but Joe needed her.

  He turned down his lane, sighing with pleasure at the sight of lights burning in the windows. She wouldn’t be expecting him, but it wouldn’t take her long to prepare him something to eat. Myrtle could make an old boot taste like a Sunday roast.

  The front door eased open, and she peered out, steadying the barrel of his shotgun.

  His heart squeezed at the sight o
f fear on her face. Still a few yards out, he whistled.

  Setting aside the gun, she burst out the door and sailed over the porch, wearing nothing but one of his nightshirts.

  Laughing, he lowered his stiff, aching body to the ground.

  Myrtle flew at him, all tangled hair and white cotton, the feel of her in his arms welcome and familiar despite his sore muscles.

  Familiar except for one thing.

  Joe held her away and ran his hand over the bump that stood between them.

  Crying, clinging to his neck, she fought to press close again.

  "Look at you," he cried, his strength renewed and silly fears forgotten. "You’ve done a fine job of growing our son."

  Laughing through tears, she placed a gentle hand over his. "A son is it? You sound quite sure of yourself." She glanced behind him. "Where is Mariah?"

  He sighed. "You’ll have to manage without her. Mariah is where she belongs."

  Myrtle cocked her brow but didn’t speak.

  Joe pulled his pack off the horse and slung it over his shoulder. "I’m tired and hungry. Feed me well and let me rest, and I’ll tell you the legend of the buzzard that journeyed far from home to steal fire."

  She nudged him with her shoulder. "You foolish man, I’ve heard that story many times."

  He pulled her close to kiss her forehead. "But my tale has a happy ending. The buzzard makes it home with all his feathers—and learns the fire was there all along."

  Smiling, Myrtle tucked her hand in his and led him toward the house. "I’m glad you’re hungry. I made rabbit stew." She reached the porch first and grinned over her shoulder. "The fat old thing is a little tough from all your chasing him, but he still tastes good."

  Joe stilled with one foot on the bottom step. "Woman, tell me you didn’t."

  With a gleeful laugh, she scurried inside.

  Pausing, Joe patted the doorpost. The sun would rise to find him under the same roof with Myrtle and George. It felt good to be home.

  Tiller strolled out of the Fayetteville haberdashery decked in finery from head to foot. He doffed his bowler hat at Mariah, and she covered her mouth and laughed.