by Karen Kirst
“You see, I’m the reason Caroline fled the party in such a heightened state of emotion. She rode out against your wishes because she was embarrassed. Our families have been friends for many years. She’s long nursed an infatuation for me. I’m certain Louise put it in her head that she and I would make a match.” His clear, gray gaze held Duncan’s. “On my honor, I didn’t give her false hope. I’ve been honest from the beginning that I was only interested in friendship. You know how stubborn Caroline can be.”
The tender feelings evoked by their embrace evaporated. He felt sick. Thinking back to that night, he recalled how she’d burst from the house and whipped into the stables, so upset she’d ignored his warnings. She hadn’t been thinking clearly, that much was obvious. And it had been due to dashed hopes?
Had she lied about her feelings for Theo to avoid angering him? After all, what woman would admit to her new husband that she harbored feelings for another man?
“That night in the parlor, she pressed the issue,” Theo continued. “She wanted a commitment that I was unwilling to give. Needless to say, she wasn’t happy. Some of the guests overheard. That’s why she was in the state she was in.”
“I see.” He stared at a point in the distance, his mouth felt full of sawdust.
“I wanted you to know that she doesn’t carry the entire blame for your unfortunate circumstances.”
Duncan couldn’t think straight. He kept picturing her in her fancy gown atop Rain, drenched and miserable. Because of Theo.
He must’ve gotten everything backward. It wasn’t Theo who had unrequited feelings.
Remembering his manners, he stuck out his hand. “I bid you safe travels, Mr. Marsh.”
“I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
Duncan watched him mount and ride down the lane toward town, his eagerness to return to Caroline gone.
Chapter Fourteen
Hope was a fragile thing. Caroline was afraid to nurture the feeling inside her, but she’d experienced this sort of contentment so seldom that she couldn’t resist. After setting out the dishes and spoons, along with the platter of corn bread Duncan had helped her make that morning before church, she hurried to splash the residual tears from her face and check that her hair was neat and the pin straight. In the cracked mirror’s reflection, she realized her eyes, though a tad red, were brighter than usual.
Turning to Duncan for comfort had been a huge risk for her. Her mother wasn’t a sentimental woman and hadn’t reacted well to Caroline’s expressions of sadness. She’d become conditioned to keeping her feelings hidden. But witnessing her breakdown hadn’t offended Duncan. He’d offered sympathy and understanding and a haven she would’ve liked to linger in far longer than she had.
He’d been so sweet and attentive. And then he’d kissed her! On the cheek, granted, but it still counted. The look in his brilliant blue eyes said he cared that she was unhappy, which meant he might possibly care about her.
Her stomach rumbled. She looked at the mantel clock. He’d been gone thirty minutes. Going to the window, she felt relief at the sight of his commanding figure striding past the trees.
She waited for him beside the table, eager to see what he had planned for the afternoon. Jane and Tom usually took their kids to the local fishing spot and spent hours exploring the stream banks and tossing a ball around. Jessica and her husband, Grant, rode into nearby Maryville and passed the time playing their instruments with fellow musicians. She liked the idea of starting a tradition with him.
When he entered, his expression no longer bore patience and concern. His jaw was tight and grooves bracketed his mouth. His enigmatic gaze roved over her and the table’s contents.
“I wish you hadn’t waited.” He strode to the corner and picked up his fishing pole.
Confusion arrowed through her. “I told you I would.”
“I’m not hungry. I’ve got a bit of a headache.” Pole in hand, he strode to the kitchen and drank from the water dipper.
Caroline wasn’t sure what was happening. He wouldn’t look at her. His voice had that cold detachment she recognized from before their wedding. It sent shivers of foreboding along her skin.
“Perhaps you’d feel better after you ate something,” she ventured.
He circled around the opposite side of the table and snagged a triangle of corn bread. “I’m going fishing for a few hours.”
“That sounds nice.”
The hint of hope in her voice must’ve registered because he finally looked at her a second time, his gaze penetrating...looking for what? “I’ll be back in time to rustle up dinner.”
And then he was gone, no explanation for what had changed.
She spent the afternoon sewing curtains and fretting over the situation. His mood hadn’t improved by the time he returned with three hefty fish. The atmosphere during supper was fraught with tension, and afterward he spent the bulk of the evening in the barn. Still nursing hope, she attributed it to his headache. But the next day, his distant manner continued. By the time Friday rolled around, Caroline couldn’t deny the truth—she was the cause.
He must’ve mulled over everything that had passed between them and decided she wasn’t worthy of his compassion. Angry at herself for believing this marriage had a chance of becoming more than a stilted merger between strangers, she left the cabin midmorning with the intention of confronting him. No more guessing. No more sulking silences. She was going to insist he admit the truth.
Entering the stable yard, she was on the lookout for him when Sylvia ceased her sweeping and intercepted her.
“Miss Caroline,” she called from the veranda. “I have something for you.”
Caroline’s mouth went dry as she approached the stairs. “What is it, Sylvia?”
Reaching into her apron pocket, she pulled out an envelope. “You’ve had another letter. I discovered it about an hour ago.”
She accepted the envelope with trembling fingers. Her name was written across the front in the characteristic bold script. “It was slipped under the front door?”
Her brows pulled together in concern. “Yes, miss. The same as the others.”
“You didn’t see who delivered it?”
“I’m afraid not.” She paused. “Can I help in some way?”
Caroline braved a smile. Sylvia had sensed something was amiss, and that would not do. “No, thank you.”
Her confrontation with Duncan would have to wait. Returning to the cabin, she carried the missive to her makeshift bedroom and, sinking on the bed, ripped it open. The thin parchment looked like the others, only this time the demanded amount was twice what it had been before. The paper fluttered to the floor. She had little more than twenty-four hours, and without Duncan’s signature, there was no way for her to access the money. Even if she were to ask his consent, he’d want to know why. She couldn’t confide the truth. Her family’s reputation meant nothing to him. And as for their financial status, he cared even less.
She’d mailed three masks to Charleston, but she hadn’t heard whether or not they’d sold. There simply hadn’t been enough time.
There was no other recourse but to explain the situation and ask for an extension. She hoped the blackguard’s common sense outweighed his greed.
* * *
Gray smoke billowed out of the cabin’s open door. Alarm punched him square in the chest.
“Caroline!”
Duncan sprinted through the yard, his heart hammering against his rib cage as he imagined her unconscious on the floor. Lord, please let her be all right. His boots thundered on the porch. Inside, he sucked in the acrid smoke and commenced choking. No flames were visible. As he moved closer to the kitchen, the air cleared, allowing him to see her. She was unhurt.
Relief crashed over him, soured by the weight of disillusionment he’d been carrying a
round all week.
“What happened?” he demanded between coughs.
As she fanned the air with a towel, her frown turned into a scowl. “I scorched our meal.”
After opening the windows, he returned to the stove and eyed the still-smoking lumps in the skillet. “What was that?”
“Pork from the smokehouse.”
She passed a weary hand over her damp forehead, and he saw that one of her fingers was wrapped in cloth strips. He reached for her hand. He’d gone out of his way to avoid physical contact since their embrace. The renewed connection made him want to dismiss Theo’s claims.
“Did you burn yourself?”
“It’s a small cut, that’s all.” She tugged free.
“You have to be careful, Caroline. There are hundreds of ways to get hurt on a farm. Even a small cut can be dangerous if infection sets in. Be sure to keep that clean and dry.”
Her eyes flashing fire, she crossed her arms. “Don’t pretend to care, Duncan. Admit it. You’d be pleased as punch to be rid of me.”
His jaw sagged.
“What? Have I shocked you by speaking the truth?” she retorted. “You can’t stand to be in the same room with me! You hardly look at me. You make up excuses to spend evenings in the barn.”
“That’s no’ true,” he denied halfheartedly, calling himself a fool. She wasn’t clueless. Of course she’d figure out something wasn’t right. He should’ve been honest with her instead of giving his wounded pride free rein.
A light breeze swept through the windows, carrying some of the smoke out. Her apron was streaked with soot. The woman he’d met on Independence Day wouldn’t have deigned to attempt to cook lunch for him. She was changing in subtle ways, and he doubted she even noticed.
“Let’s go outside and talk. The stench is overpowering in here.”
With reluctance, she folded the towel and set it aside. In the shade of the porch overhang, he gripped the post and leveled his gaze at her.
“I spoke with Theo before he left,” he said. “He’s under the impression he’s partly responsible for our marriage.”
Duncan watched her reaction closely. Her brow furrowed and wariness clouded her gaze.
“Is that so?”
“He said the reason you were desperate to get away from the party was because he made his lack of interest plain.”
A harsh, disbelieving laugh escaped her. Scorn curled her lip, and Duncan instantly realized his error. This wasn’t the look of a woman suffering from unrequited love. He’d bungled things again. Would he never learn?
“And you took him at his word? A stranger who baited you by kissing your bride when you wouldn’t?” Fresh hurt gave her a wounded look about her eyes. She was upset and angry, and rightly so. “You don’t know me well, but you know me better than you know Theo. You could’ve asked me about it. Instead, you chose to believe the worst.”
He released the post and took a single step forward. “Caroline, I’m—”
“Sorry. I know.” Her bitter, little-girl-lost tone gutted him. “Lunch is ruined. If I were you, I’d ask Cook for a plate. Or go to the Plum.”
She made to enter the cabin. He intercepted her.
“I dinnae deserve an answer, but I’ll ask anyway. What really happened between you and him?”
Caroline’s gaze delved into his for long, uncomfortable moments. “He suggested I agree to a meaningless dalliance.”
Duncan’s gut clenched with shame. “I should’ve questioned his motives.”
“Yes, you should have.”
“What did he say exactly?”
“Nothing worth repeating.”
She averted her gaze, but not before he glimpsed pain mixed with a heavy dose of self-doubt. The anger he’d felt the past few days turned inward. After that scene at the church, she’d needed him, and he’d failed her. One fact he couldn’t dispute? He was relieved that she didn’t have feelings for the Charleston businessman.
“I also should’ve come to you right away and talked this out. I was overwrought by the thought of my wife in love with another man.” It pained him to admit the truth. “I was so jealous I couldn’t think straight.”
“Y-You were?”
“He has a history with you that I know nothing about. I let my imagination take me places I shouldn’t have.”
“Our families are connected by business. Our fathers are friends. Theo has been in my life for many years, both in Charleston and here. I wouldn’t classify us as friends, however. There’s something about him that I simply don’t trust.”
“This is a mistake I willnae be repeating. You have my word. Let me make it up to you,” he urged. “Give me fifteen minutes to clean the mess and assemble a cold lunch.”
After some hesitation, she nodded. “All right.”
He felt like doing a jig. Instead, he directed her to the rocking chair and then went to work. Before long, they were heading to the pond. Caroline carried the basket of food and he carried a metal pail and gigging pole. Fat clouds floated in an azure sky. The late-July heat was offset by the occasional breeze.
Threading her hair off her forehead, she slanted him a glance. “What’s that pitchfork thing?”
“This? It’s a gigging pole. We’re going to use it to gig for frogs.”
She stopped and stared at him. “Why would we want to do that?”
“Haven’t you ever tasted fried frog legs?”
“This is your idea of making up for this past week of boyish behavior?” She planted her free hand on her hip. “You’re going to teach me to thrust those prongs into a slimy, slippery frog?”
“It’s a valuable life skill, I assure you.” He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face, he was so relieved to be talking to her again. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“Our ideas of what constitutes valuable life skills are not the same. And no, I haven’t had them. Nor do I wish to.”
“How do you know you don’t like frog legs if you’ve never tried them?”
Her nose wrinkled. “Now you sound like Jane when she’s trying to convince her kids to eat collard greens.”
“Be adventurous.” He tilted his head in the direction of the pond. “Try something new.”
Rolling her eyes, she flounced ahead. He began to whistle a jaunty Scottish tune.
The pond was deserted. Smoothing out the quilt beneath the shade of a massive oak tree, he said, “Next time we’ll gig at night. It’s easier to see them because the light shines on their eyes.”
She sank onto her knees and started unpacking the snacks. “Next time? You’re awfully confident, Duncan McKenna. I’m not sure if that’s due to arrogance or naive optimism.”
“A wee bit of both, I suppose.”
Her reticence lingering, she merely shook her head and popped a bite-sized tomato in her mouth. Appreciation hummed in her throat. “There’s nothing like a sun-warmed tomato fresh from the vine.”
Leaning over, he took one for himself. “Agreed. And just think, you picked them yourself.”
She shot him a dry look. “They would taste the same if you’d picked them.”
“Aye, I suppose they would.”
They ate in silence, the whisper of the leaves overhead mingling with the repetitive warbles of the birds.
“How did your meeting go with Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Plumley?”
She looked surprised. “We compiled a list of items the Murrays could use. Between the three of us, we’ve been able to gather everything on the list, with a few extras thrown in.”
While Duncan had avoided being alone with his wife, he’d kept tabs of her whereabouts. She’d met with the ladies in her parents’ home Tuesday morning, and every day since she’d been knocking on doors eliciting donations.
“When will
you deliver everything?”
“Anthony is going to help me load the wagon in the morning.”
“Are you going alone?”
“I’m sure Anthony will accompany me if you can spare him.”
“I’ll go. There’s no one around to require my assistance. I have to patch up the fence in the far paddock, but I can get that done before nine, if that’s agreeable. Besides, I’d like to see the benevolence society in action.”
She shrugged. “It that’s what you want.”
“You’ve pitched in around the farm. It’s my turn to help you.”
“You’re a patient teacher.” Pink suffused her skin. “Did you not consider becoming one? Like your brother?”
“No. I prefer being outside where I can feel the sun on my face and the rain on my skin. I like planting a seed and watching it flourish. I like working with horses.”
“You’ve taken excellent care of Rain, and I thank you for that.”
Caroline had been to see her horse every day since the accident. They were both pleased with her recovery.
Shucking off his boots and socks, he rolled his pant legs to just below his knees. Then he stood and extended his hand. “Time for your next lesson.”
She wiped the crumbs from her lap and allowed him to assist her.
Snatching up the pole, he told her, “I’ll do the first one. Then it’s your turn.”
Caroline wore a dubious expression. She watched from the bank as he ventured into the shallow water. The cool mud squishing between his toes felt good. As he’d done since he was a boy, he scoured the lake edge for his prey, pole uplifted and muscles primed to spring. He caught one on the first try.
If he thought that would impress his wife, he was wrong. And when he informed her she needed to lose her boots and stockings and tie up her skirt hem, she balked.
“There’s no one around to see,” he reasoned, aware that others’ opinions mattered to her.
“Look at yourself.” She waggled her fingers at the mud streaking his calves. “You’re a mess.”
“It’s not difficult to wash off. What’s the matter? You afraid you cannae catch as many as me?”