I shrugged. “Fine. He’s calling an inspector to look at the house for me.”
Luke slipped out from behind Dee and walked over to me. “I have to get going. I have another house I need to get to, but I’m glad I saw you again before I left.”
My breath caught. “Um, yeah. You, too.” We stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment. I chewed my lower lip. My brain refused to provide any additional words.
His face lit up. “Oh! I’d like to invite you to church in the morning.”
I opened my mouth to decline, but Dee didn’t give me the chance. “Of course. We’ll be there. I’m quite sure she’ll enjoy it.”
I was quite certain I wouldn’t, but I was too flustered to argue. Besides, I had a feeling Dee would insist until I gave in. Might as well save myself the breath.
“Sure.” I managed a weak smile.
Luke grinned, waved goodbye to us, and disappeared down the hallway. I looked at Dee. She smiled. I sighed and shook my head. “I’m going to go up to my room for little bit and see if I can get some writing done.”
“Okay. Enjoy your time, and just help yourself to the sandwich fixings in the fridge when you get hungry. Supper will be at six. Do you like chicken and dumplings?”
I’d never had it. “Yeah. Sounds good. See you then.” I hurried out before she could say anything else.
In the safety of my room, instead of my computer I dug the old diary out of my suitcase. I gently rubbed my finger across the soft leather cover and plopped across the bed, snuggling into the soft pillows.
I opened to where I’d left off and began to read.
April 27, 1862
Charles gave me the look that told me I’d been caught. “So, is there something you’d like to tell me?”
I chewed my lip and thought about my response. Suddenly, he laughed and pulled me into an embrace. I breathed in his scent, a sweet mixture of pine and soap. “I already heard all about how my wife strode up to a slave driver in the middle of town, bargained like a man, and left with a hot-headed slave woman,” he said against the top of my head.
I pushed back from him. “You’re not angry with me?”
He shook his head. “Surprised, yes. Angry, no. I’ve been telling you to get yourself a helper. I should have known you would do it differently than any other lady.”
He smiled at me, running the rough pad of his thumb over my jaw. “But, that’s just one of the many things I love about you.” He kissed me on the forehead and left for his daily rounds after giving me a mild warning that Ruth may have been stolen. I’m sorry to admit it, but when he asked if I knew where she’d come from, I lied to him. Perhaps it is because I fear he will send her away.
I stared after him when he left. Sometimes I wonder how I managed such good fortune. My father truly chose a wonderful man for me, and I know he cares. I can see it in his eyes, feel it in his gentle caresses.
I called upon Ruth to help me into a riding habit and returned to the library to wait for Charles to return. I chose a new volume from the shelf, a novel from a man by the name of Victor Hugo, and settled down to read, not sure how I would like a book whose title spoke of misery. I’d read to through the second chapter when Charles returned.
“Are you ready, my dear?”
He looked rather dashing, standing there with his wind-tossed hair and bright expression. A small smile tugged at my lips, but I remembered my place as lady and kept my features composed. I told him I’d sent Ruth to fetch a traveling meal for us in order to keep the conversation on the mundane and not allow myself to comment on his appearance. We found her just as we stepped onto the back porch. She carried the provisions in one arm and was making a pitiful attempt at puckering her lips and producing a tune before she noticed our presence. She straightened herself and came forward, offering an awkward curtsy.
Heavens, I feared Charles would think her too unrefined and send her to the fields. I hurried with an introduction before he could do any such thing. “Mr. Harper, this is Ruth.” I scrambled for the words that would ease the tension. “She’s.… new at house duties.”
No one spoke. Feeling flustered, I found myself acting as my mother and waving my arm about. “But, she is a fast learner,” I said, already defending her and yet not quite certain why. “I am confident she will do very well.”
I glanced at Charles, unable to read his reaction. He simply welcomed her to Ironwood, and relief flooded me. I hurried forward to take the basket from Ruth, dismissing her before Charles could take too much notice of her.
Charles looked at me for a moment and my stomached tightened with nerves. I’d acted too boldly, buying a maid.
“I believe you did well. The girl seems bright and willing,” he finally said.
I let out a breath I’d not been aware had lodged in my chest. “Yes, I feel she will do well. We get along nicely.”
Charles seemed satisfied with my response, and we continued on to the stables. I gathered my skirts, and Charles helped me into the saddle. I’d always felt comfortable atop a horse, the one place I felt I had mastered a skill and carried myself with confidence.
“It still amazes me a lady can ride with both legs on one side of her horse,” Charles said, breaking into my thoughts. If only he knew I’d straddled my mare bareback on more than one occasion. But, that would remain a secret Snowflake and I alone shared.
His hand slid up my calf, and I drew in a sharp breath. The warmth of the unexpected touch sent heat rushing to my cheeks, and I looked down into laughing eyes. He asked if my saddle was still properly adjusted, though I suspected he did it only to maintain his brazen hold on my leg. I could not suppress my amusement at his antics, though I tried.
Charles led us through the fields and down the road, then stopped suddenly at the edge of the forest, turning his horse to enter. I pulled Snowflake to a halt. Why would he wish to venture into the brush? He stopped and turned to me.
“Are you coming, dear?”
I studied him. “Why are we going into the woods?”
“Because it is where I wish to picnic.”
Nervous fingers kneaded my insides. My husband had yet to give me a reason not to trust him, but I could see no good reason he would wish to take me so far away from everyone. I tried to push away my fear and give him the opportunity to explain his intentions, but when I inquired as to why he would wish to picnic within the forest, the only response he gave was that there was a nice spot within.
I wrestled with the fear that stood opposed to my logic. Charles waited patiently until the look of genuine confusion on his face caused me to relent and urge Snowflake forward. I’m glad now that I chose to follow him, because the woods opened onto a gloriously beautiful meadow dancing with wildflowers and filled with birdsong.
He seemed pleased with my reaction, and we enjoyed a nice meal. Charles presented me with a lovely box for my jewelry, which I shall treasure always. It even produces its own music! Our conversation turned to the war, and Charles assured me Ironwood’s trade would continue. He seemed reluctant to talk of these plights, so I left him to his thoughts.
Finally, though, I once again allowed my tongue to produce trouble for me and asked him if he would leave to fight.
He lifted his eyebrow. “Would you miss me?”
What a strange question. Did he doubt that I would? Regret settled on me, and I wondered if I’d been too cold. Surely he knew I cared for him. “I do not wish for you to be in harm’s way.”
“That is not what I asked.”
My heart fluttered. What did he ask of me? There was an undertone in his voice, something that spoke of desire. I dropped my gaze, unsure to do with the feelings that welled within me. “Yes, husband. I do believe I would miss you.”
Before I knew what was happening, I was in his arms and surrendering to his embrace. His lips covered mine, and for a moment I allowed myself to get carried away. I did not stop him when he deepened the kiss or when he slid the pins from my hair. I let him run his finge
rs through my hair and allowed myself to enjoy the feeling.
Suddenly, his fingers found the back of my dress, and when he began to unfasten it, awareness slammed into my chest. I leapt from his arms, my breath rapid. What did he mean to do, out in the open? Did he not know such things were not done? Is this what he had brought me away for?
No, a lady could not do such things. But, as I reminded him that such things were improper, that boyish look of confusion once again settled on his features. Did he not know what he asked? I could not.
He wrapped me in his arms and told me he would never ask anything of me that frightened me.
“Truly?” I asked, looking into his eyes for any hint of deception. I found nothing but concern.
“Truly, my love. This I vow.”
Oh, little book, how I wish I could understand what happens in my heart. Should I trust the word he gives? He is, after all, a man. And I have yet to determine if any man can be fully trusted.
I stood in the driveway, looking up at Ironwood on a beautiful, sunny day, the kind of day they always have on TV shows where there isn’t a cloud in the sky and the leaves on the trees are so bright green it almost isn’t natural. The air around me remained perfectly still, and everything was completely silent. No birds twittered; no squirrels scampered. Only the soft, repetitive crunch of rocks under my shoes broke the silence.
I stepped onto the porch, wondering if someone had come by and cleaned up. The paint no longer peeled around the door, and the area had been swept clean. Had Buford sent someone over to tidy the place before the inspection? Shrugging it off, I dug around in my pocket for the key to the front door. I lifted it to the lock and stopped, a frown drawing in my brows. No way my key would fit in there. Another of Buford’s improvements? I studied the lock. It looked antique, with a large, heavy mechanism that would require a much bigger key, one I didn’t have. Hoping Buford hadn’t intentionally locked me out, I tried the knob. The door swung open, and I stepped inside.
The wood floors were polished, and though the same massive bookcases flanked the front door, gone were the knickknacks and odds and ends I’d seen previously. The shelves were filled with books and several old-looking pistols. I studied them a moment, wondering who’d changed out the items.
A soft, musical sound drifted down from the upstairs landing. Almost like… someone singing. Curious, I stepped on the staircase, straining my neck to see the second floor. I couldn’t see anyone, so I followed the sound.
Things were definitely different on this level than they’d been when I’d last left the house. A wide rug ran the length of the hallway, flanked by floral-print furniture. I followed it toward the singing, which flowed from the room at the end of the hall. Maybe Buford hired a designer. The singing grew louder as I approached.
I leaned toward the closed door and listened. The melodic sound wasn’t the radio. Someone was in there. I didn’t recognize the tune, and I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew it was a woman’s voice. I turned the doorknob.
The singing stopped.
I opened the door to find the room empty. Weird. A large bed with four posts stood against the wall to my right. I looked under the white ruffled edging. No one hid underneath.
A white pitcher and basin stood against the opposite wall, next to a screen and large armoire. Curious, I opened the armoire door to find fluffy dresses hung neatly inside – more Civil War clothes like the ones in the trunk, but these had to be replicas. They looked new. I closed the armoire, feeling a strange sensation crawling up my spine. I stood quietly, listening.
Over the sound of my own shallow breathing, I heard singing again from somewhere down the hallway. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I tried to ignore the increasing unease in the pit of my stomach.
I poked my head into the hallway. Silence. I tiptoed down the hall, unsure if I was trying to sneak up on something or escape from it. I glanced up the stairway to the third floor. The door was shut, but I could hear people talking. Whispering.
My mouth went dry.
I dashed down the stairs and out the front door, not stopping until I reached sunshine. When I was safely on the front lawn, I turned to look at the house. A dark-haired woman gazed down at me from the second-story window, her palm pressed against the glass.
I gasped.
My eyes flew open. Bright morning sunlight spilled across my bedspread. I was still at Dee’s. I took a calming breath, willing my heart to slow down. Nothing but a dream, no doubt brought on by falling asleep thinking about the woman who’d written the diary.
The blaring alarm shattered my thoughts, and I pounded the top of the clock until the offensive noise finally ceased. Eight AM. I sighed. Dee had said I could sleep in on Sunday. Apparently, she and I differed on the exact definition of the term.
Since Dee intended on dragging me to church, I might as well eat breakfast first and then get ready. Maybe I wouldn’t run into Luke this morning before I’d had a chance to shower.
Downstairs, I found Dee standing over the stove, frying bacon.
“Good morning, dear.” Her chipper voice filled the room and managed to lift my pensive mood.
“Good morning, Dee. What can I help you with?”
She brushed her hands on her yellow apron and pointed to the fridge. “There’re some fresh strawberries in there, if you want to take the caps off them. They’ll go nicely with the pancakes.”
“Sure,” I said, grabbing the small container from the fridge. The strawberries were plump and red. Already starting to know my way around the kitchen, I grabbed a paring knife, cored and halved the strawberries, and piled them into a small white bowl.
“What’s that tune you’re humming?”
“Huh?” I turned to Dee. I didn’t realize I’d been humming anything.
She laughed. “You were humming something. It sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it.”
“Oh. I didn’t even know I was doing it. Sorry.”
“Don’t need to apologize to me, hun. There’s nothing wrong with humming on a beautiful morning.”
We took the plates of pancakes and bacon over to the small kitchen table and sat down. Dee cut a chunk of butter and put it on her stack of cakes, drowning it in syrup. I inwardly shrugged and did the same. A little bit of butter wasn’t going to kill me.
Dee bowed her head, and now knowing the custom, I did the same. “Dear Lord, we thank you for this beautiful day. We thank you for the food you have given and the good company. We ask your hand to be on us as we travel to your house. Be with the pastor, Lord. You know he’s going to need it this morning. Give him the words to say that will speak to our hearts, Lord. Open up those hidden places, and let your light shine on them. Let us see all you have for us to see today. In the blessed name of Jesus, amen.”
I stared at Dee, not even bothering to echo her closing word. This woman had no filter when it came to meal prayers. I wondered what she prayed about when she was alone. I suddenly started to worry God was actually listening to her. I didn’t want any of my hidden places revealed. Was there some sort of anti-prayer to cancel her request? Somehow I doubted it. Dee was on much better terms with God.
She smiled.
I smiled back, then shoved my mouth full of pancakes. They were heavenly, almost making me forget the awkwardness and providing a change of subject. “Dee, these are awesome.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Thank you. I make them from scratch. The secret is the maple extract.”
“Well, they sure are good.” We ate in silence, and the pancakes were nearly gone before Dee spoke again.
“I just know you’re going to love church this morning. I’m so glad you said you’d go.”
There’s no convincing me Dee’s not a mind-reader, since at that exact moment I’d been trying to figure out the best excuse to avoid doing that very thing. Now, what was I going to say? She had me stuck. The sweet look on her face left no room for argument.
“Yeah, sure. Looking forward to it.”
It sounded lame, even to me. Dee just smiled that all-knowing smile of hers and started clearing our plates.
“I’ll meet you back down here in forty-five minutes. We need to leave by nine-thirty.”
“I thought church meets at eleven.”
“It does. Sunday school meets at ten.”
I sighed. Suckered into not just one, but two hours of church. “All right.”
Dressed in a plain black skirt, black pumps, and a blue blouse, and thankful I’d decided to pack a nice outfit just in case, I found myself sitting in Dee’s car on the way to church and once again wondering how exactly I’d gotten myself into this particular situation. She pulled into a packed lot next to a very quaint white chapel. It looked like something from a storybook wedding. White wooden siding climbed to a towering steeple reaching into the blue skyline. Oakville was larger than I’d first assumed. A few turns had revealed several buildings beyond the small central area where Buford’s office stood.
I followed Dee around to the back of the church and down a short series of covered walkways into what appeared to be a much newer building. Inside the two double doors, a long hallway with small classrooms on either side led us deeper into the church. We walked past a closed door that said “pastor” and entered a room on the right.
I don’t do well with new people. I just don’t. Years of new faces every few months did nothing to cure me of it, either. My stomach knotted as a bunch of older ladies all turned in their black plastic chairs to look at us.
“Hello, everyone!” Dee beamed. “This is Miss Emily. She’s staying with me for a while.”
A chorus of hellos and a wave of cheery smiles greeted me. “Hello,” I mumbled, sliding into a seat in the back row. Dee settled next to me. The heavyset woman in front of us turned to talk, her eyes full of questions. Thankfully, the teacher walked in before she could voice any of them, though I figured I’d only gained a short-lived victory. For now, though, she turned her attention forward.
“Good morning, ladies,” the teacher said from the front of the room. She paused a moment to look over her small class. “It’s good to see you all here, as well as some new faces.”
Heir of Hope: Return to Ironwood Plantation (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 2) Page 7