Patricia Rice

by Wayward Angel

  That seemed a halfway reasonable solution. Pace rose abruptly in the middle of one of his mother's complaints and started for the door.

  He found Dora in the henhouse. She had washed her hands and covered herself with one of her blasted aprons. She carried a basket to gather the eggs in, but she'd only found a couple. For the first time since his arrival, Pace felt a wry sense of relief. If she started throwing things at him, she wouldn't have much ammunition.

  "There's a preacher over in the county seat who will marry us, no questions asked. Can you travel that far?"

  She looked up at him then, her fine blue eyes regarding him gravely. Pace wanted to wiggle with discomfort like a schoolboy caught chewing gum, but he managed to retain some sense of decorum. He would have liked to have done better than proposing in a henhouse, but now that he'd made the decision, he felt a sense of urgency to have it done with. He didn't know much about having babies, but this one looked as if it could pop out any minute.

  "Thou needn't make such a sacrifice," Dora answered dryly. "Everyone assumes the child is David's."

  He hadn't thought she would refuse him. Pace stared at her in confusion. She serenely returned to her egg-gathering as if that ended the subject. Anger began to take the place of wisdom. "The child is mine. I have the right to claim him."

  She glanced up at him, as if in surprise to find him still there. To her credit, she merely replied, "I will not deny thee that right."

  "Then you will allow me to give him my name," he said in satisfaction.

  She shrugged as she straightened to look at him again. "Thou mayest call him anything thou wishes."

  Pace gritted his teeth in frustration. "Legally. I want him to have my name legally. That means we must wed."

  She was back to regarding him as if he were some strange species of animal. "That is foolish. Thou doth not wish to marry me. Josie is a widow now. It would be best for all if thou marries her and settles down. This place needs a man's hand."

  Pace slammed his fist against the wooden wall, shaking the flimsy building and sending the hens flapping and squawking in riotous cacophony across the floor. Dora dodged the panicked birds and eased toward the door, an uneasy expression he'd never seen on her face.

  Annoyed at her look of fear, Pace grabbed Dora's arm and hauled her into the sunshine. "To hell with Josie. To hell with the damned land. That's my child, and I mean to claim it. If you can't travel, I'll fetch the preacher. Just get yourself gussied up and ready. I'm not having that babe born a bastard."

  Finally, she seemed to take him seriously. She quit struggling against his hold, but her expression remained cold and wary. "Thou canst not mean that," she said. "Thou hath a future that cannot include me. I cannot be a politician's wife. I doubt that I can be a lawyer's wife. Thou liveth in a different world. Thou mayest claim the child if it means so much to thee. I never wished to keep him from thee. Thou mayest adopt him, as Papa John adopted me. There is no need for us to marry and ruin thy career."

  An overwhelming urge to weep swept over him. Pace turned his eyes up to the approaching gray clouds and fought against the bitter tears of despair stinging them, not knowing where they came from. Fighting the bleakness seeping through him at her words, he returned his gaze to Dora, forcing a blank expression, hiding the tearing agony of knowing even his guardian angel didn't want him.

  He released her arm and shoved the awful bonnet from her hair. Silver curls gleamed in the sunlight. Blindly grasping for a last thread of salvation, Pace took a deep breath and answered without inflection, "I have no career. The voters would rather hang a Union man than see one in office. I can't see that changing anytime soon. I can put out a shingle and write wills and deeds, but the people around here aren't likely to forgive my politics. We'll probably starve on what I can make if I stay here. You're better off staying with Josie and my mother while I look for a place elsewhere. I would feel better if you carried my name under those circumstances. You are the innocent party. I don't want you exposed to scorn on my account. You have as much right to the name of Nicholls as Josie and my mother."

  Pace could feel her studying him in that otherworldly way of hers. Sometimes, it made him feel like God looked directly through her eyes. It made him nervous and uncomfortable, for good reason. At the same time, Pace felt as if her judgment would see all sides, would see what he could not. He expected her to be fair, not human. It was an irrational expectation, he knew, but Dora hadn't failed him yet.

  Her forehead wrinkled in consternation as she took his words and processed them through whatever knowledge and information she possessed that might change or contradict his declarations. Pace could almost literally see when she recognized that his predictions were not self-pity, that there was a decided modicum of truth in what he said. She glanced up at him with eyes filled with worry.

  "Where would thee go?"

  That wasn't the question he had expected. Sighing with frustration, running his hand through his already disheveled hair, Pace glanced nervously at Dora's distended belly again. He could swear he saw it shift as the child within moved, and he had the sudden urge to hold his hands against her to steady the movement.

  He resisted the urge, but his sense of immediacy escalated. That child was getting ready to be born, and he wanted no mistake about his ownership. His honor demanded it. He refused to acknowledge the possessive instincts flooding him. He just meant to do what was right.

  "That doesn't matter now. What matters is getting you to the preacher as soon as possible. We can discuss details later. Can you travel or not?"

  Pace doubted that Dora weighed even a hundred pounds on her own. The child must add another twenty pounds of excess burden. He didn't know how she carried it. Still, she seemed like a weightless bird poised for flight while she contemplated his question.

  "I have no wish to marry," she stated flatly. "I have no desire to be a man's possession."

  Pace stared at her blankly, not comprehending her argument. She might give birth at any minute. He could literally see his child moving within her womb. He would throw her over his shoulder and haul her off to the preacher if she didn't cease this unreasonableness. Perhaps it had something to do with her pregnancy. He shook his lawyer's mind into action and tried desperately for rationality.

  "You are already mine," he stated as flatly as she had. "You think I would allow another man to touch you now? As long as you are here, within my reach, that won't change. And you have already promised you won't deny me the child. So unless you leave the child and go, you cannot escape me. You are my wife in all but name, Dora. The legal words will make no difference to what is already between us."

  He saw the flash of fear in her eyes, the frozen look of a captured deer. That one brief glimpse nearly tore him in two before it disappeared, and he read the calm acceptance of his logic.

  He closed his eyes and gave a sigh of relief, ignoring his own burgeoning doubts when she finally replied.

  "I can travel. We needs must take the cart. The carriage horses are gone."

  He swore a curse that made her flinch. When she picked up her egg basket and turned back to the house, Pace caught her arm in apology.

  "I'm sorry. I've been around other men too long. Gallant has been trained to the traces. I'll hook him up to the curricle. It has some springs, at least. I don't want you jostled too much."

  She looked surprised at his nervousness. "I am not an eggshell. I will not break so easily. Didst thou wish for me to press thy clothes before we go?"

  No, he wanted the damned servants to do it, but he understood now that there weren't any. No voices singsonged through the quarters. No laughter drifted from the kitchen. No one called from the upstairs windows to idlers lingering below. The unplowed field took on new meaning. Pace clenched his jaw against a dozen questions and shook his head.

  "I'll find something in my room. Wear something pretty, and leave that apron behind. A person only gets married once. We might as well try to do it right."

&
nbsp; As if what they did was right, Pace thought later as he helped Dora into the curricle. He'd finally taken enough time to calculate that she was eight months gone with child. They would be married in a strange church, by an unknown preacher, without any friends or family around them. It certainly wasn't the wedding he had expected, but he couldn't provide better under the circumstances.

  Dora wore a lacy cap to cover her curls instead of the concealing bonnet. Pace conceded this improvement and the probable necessity of keeping the March wind from blowing her hair to a frazzle. She had changed into a clean gown, one slightly less worn than the other, which warned him it was her best gown. Considering how difficult it must be for her to find something that fit, he admitted she probably couldn't do better. He couldn't even do much about it. He'd raided his father's small store of coins and found it too limited for wasting on new clothes.

  When he took the seat beside her, she unfolded her fist and wordlessly handed him the gold ring he had given her. Pace glanced from Dora's expressionless face to the ring, then tucked it into his coat pocket. The ring had been as close to a promise as he had ever made. Now he was carrying out that promise. He would find some way to take care of her. He just didn't know how yet.

  They didn't talk much on the ride over. Despite the distant clouds the sun continued shining, but the wind was brisk and cool. Dora shivered inside her cloak, and Pace cursed his inability to even protect her from the weather. He really didn't want to know what Dora thought, and he appreciated her silence. She had probably hoped to marry in her own church, in whatever odd manner her religion accepted. He already realized they would not accept him, but she hadn't said a word about it.

  The only words that came to his own mind were apologies, and they were fairly useless at this point. Even though Dora had been willing, he had taken her to his bed without any thought of the consequences. He was experienced. She hadn't been. Hell, she probably hadn't even known what could happen to her. This whole affair was entirely his responsibility.

  He shunned the thought of the shame she had endured these last months on his account, what she would have continued enduring if someone hadn't poured him onto the train going home. Now he knew what her letter must have contained. Apologies wouldn't begin to cover his actions.

  On an ordinary work day, the county seat harbored only a few horses at the hitching post and a farm wagon half-loaded with supplies in front of the mercantile. Horse piles steamed on the macadam roadway as Pace steered his gelding to a place near the front of the courthouse. Dora clenched her hands as she stared up at the imposing brick structure, but Pace ignored her nervousness.

  "I thought we were going to the preacher," she whispered as he reached to help her out of the carriage.

  "I'll not have anyone questioning the legality of our marriage. I'll get a license first. Then we'll go and get the proper words said over our heads."

  "I don't want to go in there," she murmured, pulling back from him. "The preacher is enough for me."

  He didn't understand this reluctance any more than he had her earlier refusal, and he didn't have patience with it. "It's just a formality, Dora. We can go to the preacher first, if you prefer. But I still want the marriage recorded at the courthouse."

  "Could you do it without me?"

  He was so accustomed to her "thees" and "thous" that he always noticed when she didn't use them. She didn't use them when she was truly upset about something and trying to hide it.

  "All right, let's go to the preacher first. He'll give us a paper to sign, and I can come back here later and file it. Will that be all right?"

  She nodded without looking at him. He didn't have the time or patience for getting to the bottom of this little mystery. He walked her down the street toward the tree-lined residential area behind the courthouse square.

  Conscious of her burden, Pace watched as Dora moved with careful grace instead of the awkward waddle of other women in her condition. By the time they reached the modest cottage of the preacher, he almost wished he had some way of carrying her burden for her. At the same time, he realized that in a few months, he would be able to carry the burden. The thought terrified him.

  They were married in the preacher's tiny front room, with his wife and daughter as witnesses. Sunlight slipped through a crack in the heavy draperies, illuminating Dora's silver curls and translucent complexion. She looked more an angel than ever, if he didn't look at the rest of her. Pace discovered some difficulty in not looking at the rest of her. The small breasts he had once suckled had swollen to twice their usual size, and he was curious to see them bared. He would have that right shortly.

  The thought made him randier than hell. He had a wife well along with child, who probably hated his guts, but he was suddenly wondering how soon he could get her into bed. He was a bastard, through and through.

  Pace slipped the gold band onto Dora's finger, repeated his vows without hearing them, and bent to brush a light kiss against his new wife's dry lips. The occasion certainly held nothing of the solemn or sacramental. He wasn't even surprised when the preacher presented him with the certificate to sign, and he could see the man had conveniently used 1864 instead of 1865 in the date. He was grateful he’d put some of his father's coins in his pockets. The man undoubtedly expected a sizable gratuity.

  Dora didn't notice the discrepancy. Knowing her penchant for truthfulness, Pace offered up a prayer of gratitude. His major concern had been the child's legitimacy, but the nicety of pretending they had married first would be appreciated in the days and years to come. The truth would fade with time.

  He made a decent contribution to the preacher's nest egg and helped Dora back outside. They were married. She was his wife. Pace glanced down at her placid face with incredulity. He hadn't been home twenty-four hours, and he already wore the chains of a wife and child. How much lower could he sink?

  Dora glanced up at him then, her all-seeing eyes looking right through him. He waited for her condemnation, but she merely gave him one of her small smiles, and murmured, "I thank thee, Pace. I believe I could learn to love a man like thee."

  He felt as if she had knocked the ground out from under him.

  Chapter 22

  The hour of marriage ends the female reign!

  And we give all we have to buy a chain;

  Hire men to be our lords, who were our slaves;

  And bribe our lovers to be perjured knaves.

  ~ John Crown, English Friar

  Dora didn't know why she said those words. Pace's stricken expression made her wish she could take them back. But they'd been said, as they must if she were honest. She knew better than to engage in dangerous emotions, but Pace had released them once. He could easily do so again. They could go on without her ever uttering the words again. Her burgeoning feelings for Pace had very little to do with the terrifying realities of marriage and probably a great deal to do with her relief that she no longer carried this burden alone.

  She took Pace's arm, the one he always held a little bit crooked, and started back down the path to the courthouse square. "There are not many men who know what is right. There are even fewer who will act on it. Thou hast always been one of those noble few."

  His expression eased as he took her words for gratitude. "I just did what any other man would have done in my place. I'm not a complete ass, Dora. I regret that you've had to suffer for my sins, but we'll put that behind us now. I'd rather not talk of it again."

  She gave him a quick, shy smile. "I did not think that what we did made babies, Pace, or I might not have done it. The fault was as much mine as thine. I was willing to accept that."

  "Dammit, Dora." He glared down at her. "I told you I didn't want to hear any more about it. I already feel lower than a snake's belly without your rubbing it in."

  He was determined to punish himself. Well, let him. She had other things on her mind, like the sheriff back at the courthouse. She really didn't want him to know that she was just now marrying Pace. What would happen
if the sheriff demanded his deed back? Or hadn't Pace received her letter?

  She had difficulty broaching the subject. Pace had fallen into one of his black studies and barely knew she existed. When they reached the curricle, he helped her in without speaking. When she called his name, he just waved her away and hurried up the courthouse steps with their marriage certificate. She sat in the curricle, clasping her hands together, whether in nervousness or prayer she couldn't say.

  He wasn't frowning any more than usual when he came back out again. Dora took that as a good sign, but when he asked if she'd like lunch at a restaurant, she shook her head no. She wanted to be as far away from here as possible, before the inevitable happened.

  She just wasn't used to lying. She tried formulating the words to ask about the deed, but Pace kept interrupting her thought processes.

  "Where are Josie and Amy?"

  "They've been ill. Josie wanted out of the house as soon as Amy could travel. They're spending a few days with her parents." Dora bit her lip while thinking of a way to change the subject, but Pace followed his own train of thought.

  "Why aren't the fields plowed? Don't we have anyone left?"

  "Just Solly. He can't do everything. There's some of the women in the quarters, but they have small children, and they can't plow."

  "What about hiring someone? Won't Josie do it?"

  Dora shrugged. "Who would we hire? The president says the slaves are free. Kentucky says they're not. The laws haven't changed while thee were gone. A free black man cannot legally live in Kentucky. And there isn't a white man in the state who will do slave work. I would do it myself, but I cannot now. If this continues much longer, we'll all starve."

  Pace cursed under his breath. "Why doesn't Josie sell the damned place, then? That should give the lot of you something to live on for a while."