by Susan Wiggs
Blue looked stunned at first. Then he ducked away from her, but not before she’d detected a twinkle in his eye and the beginnings of a smile.
They ate in companionable silence for a time. Eliza fell deep into thought about the strange turn her life had taken, and what it meant, and what was in store for her.
“Can we meet the animals from the island?” Belinda asked, setting her rumpled napkin on the table. “The ones that talk to you?”
“Of course.”
“Hurrah!” Belinda jumped up.
“Dishes first.”
“Huh?” asked Belinda.
“We have to clean our dishes,” Eliza explained.
“But Willa and Nancy always do the dishes.”
“Willa and Nancy didn’t dirty them. We did.”
Belinda beamed, thinking this was a new game. “Oh!”
Eliza got a tray from the sideboard. As she was stacking the dishes, she saw with a start that Blue’s plate was not empty.
He had carefully and thoroughly picked out every bit of ham.
Hot and thirsty, Eliza flopped down on the grass under one of Albion’s huge, twisted live oaks. She uncorked the cider jug and took a long drink, then passed it to Blue. “Share with your sister,” she said, mopping her brow. “You children will wear me to a frazzle,” she added, leaning on her elbows and looking up at the canopy of leaves. She had almost said “You’ll be the death of me,” but she couldn’t be careless with phrases like that, not under the circumstances. “You’ve given me no rest all day.”
“You said we could play with the animals,” Belinda pointed out.
“Yes, I did. We milked Claribel, and we fed melon rinds to the chickens, and made a bed for Miranda in the barn loft—”
Caliban came bounding up and dropped a well-chewed stick at her feet. The huge dog’s tongue lolled out one side of his mouth, and his sides fanned like a bellows with excitement. He was the children’s favorite so far, because he was such a clown.
“Look,” Belinda exclaimed, “Caliban still wants to play.”
“He always wants to play,” Eliza said with mock exasperation. She flung the stick halfheartedly. It spun high above the lush green lawn. While the big dog bounded after it, Eliza drank more cider. Nancy had given them a big jug to take on their outing.
“Why is he called Caliban?” Belinda asked.
“Because he’s so big, and he’s not very pretty. Caliban is the name of a monster in a play called The Tempest.”
“Is he a very bad monster?” The little girl watched the dog take off after a dragonfly.
“He was naughty sometimes, but in the end he was sorry. My father used to tell me he was a lost soul.”
Blue tucked his knees up to his chest, making a ledge for his chin. He took an idle sip of the cider and stared across the lawn at the riding arena, where Hunter and Noah were putting the stallion through his paces. The Irish Thoroughbred held a special fascination for Blue. She had noticed that right off.
“Where is your father now?” Belinda asked.
Eliza should have seen the question coming. “He’s up among the stars,” she said.
“What?”
Belinda was a literal thinker, Eliza realized. She must remember that. “He died,” she said. Two simple words. So inadequate to express the loss she had endured.
“My mother died too,” Belinda said.
“I know.”
“Do you think she’s up among the stars too, Miss Eliza?”
“Oh, yes. You must miss her very much.” She tried to discern some reaction from Blue, but he merely kept his chin planted on his knees and stared straight ahead.
Belinda drank some of the cider, wiping her chin carelessly with the hem of her frock. “Everything was different when Mama was alive.”
“I’d like to hear all about her sometime,” Eliza said.
“Papa doesn’t like us to talk about her.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, every time I ask him something about Mama, he gets terrifically gruff and thirsty.”
Eliza did not press the child to say more. She was getting a strangely accurate view of this sad, damaged family. Her instinct to heal ran strong with these children. Stronger even than her instinct to save the stallion when she thought Hunter Calhoun was going to shoot it. This urge to connect and protect was powerful, and it sprang from a place inside her that she hadn’t even known existed.
She wondered if this was the same urge that fueled a mare’s fierce protectiveness of a newborn foal, or the dramatic performance of the piping plover that would lie in the sand and pretend to be wounded to distract a predator from her young.
Eliza wanted to touch Blue, to hold him close, but she restrained herself. The same mare that wouldn’t let a foal leave her side would later drive a yearling from the herd, only allowing it to return if it came back on the mare’s terms. She had no idea how things worked between a woman and child, but she decided to follow her instincts in this.
“Let’s go look at the stallion,” she said, getting to her feet and dusting off her dress.
Blue and Belinda scampered along beside her as she crossed the broad meadow to the mile oval.
“Papa made this,” Belinda explained as they walked together, Caliban bounding off far ahead of them. “He and Noah spent weeks and weeks. They got so dirty.”
If the house had an empty, neglected air, the riding facilities had a feeling of abundance. The quarters that housed Noah and two grooms were neat, the hedges trimmed around the front door. The barn was clean and well supplied with cedar shavings, hay, grain and alfalfa. The round pen and new arena had been stoutly built. There was a small building with a high roof which she recognized as a starting gate. She had never seen one, but a drawing in the Rarey text and in her father’s fireside descriptions of the Derby races back in England gave her a clear picture of the narrow chute.
At the side of the oval, they climbed to a wooden viewing platform. Noah was mounted on the stallion, and Hunter stood watching with a flag tucked under one arm.
“Hello,” Eliza called, waving to them.
The horse pricked his ears and pawed at the ground, but settled at a low word from Noah. Eliza was pleased to see the rapport between horse and rider. She was far more interested in Hunter, though. Unlike Noah, he did not look happy to see her and the children. She had not forgotten his cruel remark to her this morning, but she didn’t want the children to see her anger and hurt.
“I see you’ve got him under saddle,” she said.
“He’s a beauty,” Noah said, pressing the stallion to a smart canter. “What do you think of that, eh, Blue?” He passed by the platform with a special smile for Blue. The younger boy smiled back and held closer to the rail, enraptured as Noah rode by. Caliban ran partway along the track, then broke free, veering off to dig in the sandy fringes of the marsh.
Hunter joined them, hoisting himself up to the platform. He looked flushed and triumphant. “I do believe we have our racehorse back,” he said.
“You’re a fine jockey, Noah,” Eliza remarked.
“The best in Virginia,” Hunter said, pretending she had spoken to him. “Noah used to hire out to other horse owners, but he won’t have to do that anymore if the race and the yearling sale are successful this summer.”
Noah beamed with pride. Then he tucked up his legs, and the stallion bolted forward in a flat-out gallop. Noah tightened the reins and fought to hold him in, but Finn clamped the bit in his teeth and yanked control away from his rider. Noah could do nothing but stay high in the stirrups, elbows low on the pumping neck as they careened around the turn of the oval and flew along the backstretch with a speed and grace that made Eliza’s chest ache.
“Noah’s going to have to get him under control, get him to quit stealing the bit,” Hunter murmured, but a taut, cautious joy softened his comment.
Belinda clapped her hands. “He’s the fastest horse in Virginia, Papa. Maybe in the whole wide world.
” She flung her arms around his upper thigh and rested her cheek against him. “I’m glad you went on that fool’s errand,” she declared.
Blue ducked his head. Eliza was certain she’d seen him smile.
“Who said I was on a fool’s errand?” Hunter demanded.
“Grandfather Beaumont.”
“Such a surprise.” He ruffled her yellow hair. “Speaking of Grandfather Beaumont, why aren’t you two at lessons today?”
Still clinging to his leg, she leaned back and tilted her head to look up at him. “It’s Saturday. We never have lessons on Saturday. And tomorrow is Grandfather Beaumont’s picnic. Absolutely everyone will be there. Aunt Delaney and Uncle Ernest and Francine and her new baby, and all the cousins too.” She smiled blissfully. “No lessons, and a picnic. You’ll come, won’t you, Papa?”
His smile faded and he freed himself from her grasp. “I don’t know, sweetheart—”
“Papa, please. You must. You completely must.”
Eliza held her breath, watching him prepare to rattle off his excuses. She could just hear them now—too much work to do here, horse buyers coming from out of town, two mares about to foal…He was so easy to read when it came to his children.
She wondered about the true cause of his reluctance. She’d heard enough to understand that his late wife’s family did not approve of his enterprise or the way he was raising the children. Was it that, or had she been correct earlier in accusing him of avoiding his own children?
“Pleeease,” Belinda said.
Even Hunter couldn’t seem to resist the appeal in her blue eyes. He patted Belinda on the head. “I suppose I will, then.”
“And Miss Eliza too?”
He froze, clearly unprepared for the question. He regarded Eliza with an impersonal stare for a moment, then said, “Why not? Since she’s your governess, she’ll surely want to come along.”
“Hurrah!” Belinda tugged at her brother’s hand. “Come on, Blue. Let’s see what Caliban dug up. I bet it’s buried treasure.”
Eliza peeled off her smile the moment the children were gone.
Hunter planted his fists on his hips and glared right back at her.
“You had no call to say what you did this morning,” she said.
“Nor did you.”
“I was criticizing your manner with the children. You attacked my upbringing. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes. I can’t change what’s past. But you can change. You can be a better father to Belinda and Blue—”
“Damn it, woman, I told you. I am a good father to them.”
“You don’t let them talk about their mother.”
“I don’t forbid it, but they shouldn’t dwell on tragedy.”
“They’re so young, Hunter. They need to know what their mother was like. They need for you to tell them.”
“I don’t have anything to tell my children about their mother that they don’t already know.”
They both fell silent, watching Noah exercise the horse. Its hooves struck the surface of the track in a heartbeat rhythm. Together with the waves on the distant shore and the wind in the trees, it made a strange music, punctuated now and then by Belinda’s laughter or a bark from Caliban.
Hunter’s big hands gripped the rail of the reviewing stand. “Look, Eliza. Maybe you had it easier than I thought out on that island for all those years.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He laughed humorlessly. “Come to the picnic tomorrow, and you’ll see.”
Nineteen
At noon the next day, Hunter waited in the foyer for Eliza to come down. The house was fragrant with the smell of Willa’s biscuits, which would be their contribution to the Beaumonts’ picnic.
Blue and Belinda waited out front with the buggy. Though Bonterre lay only a mile down the road, Hunter wanted to drive. There were still some things his pride would not permit, and arriving at his in-laws on foot was one of them. He had only one cart horse, an elderly and cantankerous Morgan mare. He couldn’t afford better. Every possible resource was for the Thoroughbreds.
Blue and Belinda wore their Sunday clothes. They shone like newly minted coins, the very sight of them bringing a smile to his lips.
He caught himself thinking about Eliza’s accusation earlier. Was it true? Did he deliberately avoid his children and look for excuses not to be with them? She had been vehement in her meddlesome insistence that he spend more time with them, that he speak to them of Lacey. The idea was preposterous. Didn’t Eliza see that?
No, she didn’t see anything but his children—two broken-winged birds she felt duty-bound to heal. She didn’t know them. Didn’t understand.
Upstairs, a door opened and shut, and Eliza came down the staircase on the right. His stomach lurched when he saw her. She looked both terrible and beautiful. She had clearly taken pains with her appearance. Her hair, freshly washed, gleamed brightly, and her brown homespun dress was clean. But she was barefoot, her clothes old and threadbare.
The eager expression on her face told him she had no clue about the reception she would get from the company at Bonterre.
“I’m ready,” she said with a big smile. “Where are the children?”
Hunter didn’t take his eyes off her. “Willa!” he yelled, loud enough to make Eliza jump.
The cook came hurrying in. “You need something?”
He still didn’t look away. “Take Miss Eliza upstairs and find her something to wear,” he commanded.
Eliza’s eyes widened as if she had stepped on a tack. “I am wearing something.”
“People in these parts dress up for picnics.” He spread his arms and turned in a circle, showing off his tailored blue frock coat and the emerald silk waistcoat beneath. “See?”
“I see a man with the pride of a peacock,” she snapped. “No, wait. That would insult the peacock.”
Willa gave a low whistle. “Girl, you look like a field han—oh.” She eyed Hunter guiltily. “I reckon I can find something.” She met Eliza halfway on the stairs. “Come on, girl. Let’s get you fixed up.”
Eliza turned and aimed a look of loathing at Hunter, prompting him to call out, “And Willa, don’t forget the shoes.”
At the first landing, they turned right, heading for the suite of rooms that had been Lacey’s domain when she had lived at Albion as his wife. How long ago that had been. Another lifetime.
He could still picture those rooms, though he had not opened the door to them since the day Lacey had taken the children and left.
“I married a tobacco planter,” she had said tearfully when he had announced his plan to turn Albion into a horse farm. “I am a planter’s wife. I simply don’t know how to be anything else.”
“We’ll work together on this, Lacey. It’ll be our own family enterprise. It’ll be good, you’ll see.”
How naive and simple he had been back then. How full of hopes and dreams.
His plea to Lacey had simply insulted her. “I am taking the children to live at Bonterre,” she announced. “When you come to your senses and decide to be a planter again, I shall consider forgiving you.”
She had taken crate after crate of her gowns and petticoats with her, but had left much behind—the older stuff that had fallen out of fashion. He knew this because he allowed Willa and Nancy to help themselves to whatever they wanted from Lacey’s rooms. He reckoned he was the only man in Virginia whose servants wore silk gowns from the Maison de Lumière in Paris.
Without even realizing he had taken out his flask, Hunter unscrewed the cap and took a swig.
“Ain’t going to help you none to show up tipsy,” Nancy scolded, coming into the foyer with her shuffling gait.
Resigned, Hunter put away the flask. “Woman, how do you do that?”
“No trick to it. I hear you pacing like a caged wildcat and I know you going to be wanting the whiskey. Why ain’t you left yet? Them biscuits’ll get cold.”
“Willa is putting
a new frock on Eliza. And shoes.” He shook his head. “Christ, I should’ve let her show up at the picnic barefoot and in rags.”
“Folks at Bonterre’d eat her alive and suck the marrow out of her bones.”
“It would serve her right.” He brought his fist down on the newel post. “I didn’t expect her to want to stay.”
“Then you shouldn’t have dragged her off that island.”
Hunter gently touched Nancy’s shoulder. “I had to, honey. It wasn’t safe there anymore.”
“And you think it’s safe here, for a girl like that?”
“Like what?” He scowled. “She’s just a tad ignorant, that’s all.”
Nancy stiffened, and he could feel her probing attention as if she were looking at him. “That’s all?” Her clouded eyes were still curiously alert, her face compassionate. “I see.”
“She’s supposed to be in Norfolk waiting for a ship to California.”
“What’s California?”
“It’s a huge place far in the west, across a distance as wide as the Atlantic. To sail there, you have to sail southward, nearly to the bottom of the world where the sun never shines and the ice never thaws.”
“And this girl don’t want to do that.”
“She does,” he said. “She told me—”
“So let her go.”
I can’t. I’m not ready yet. He took a deep breath and wondered if he could get away with a sip from his flask. “I need her to stay until I remarry,” he told Nancy.
“Ha. Who you going to marry?”
“I guess I can find a wife now that Albion’s out of debt.”
“It ain’t Albion I’m worried about, boy. It’s you.”
“I’m fine,” Hunter insisted. But of all the people in the world, Nancy was the one he was least able to deceive. “Honey, I’m doing the right thing with Eliza. The children took to her. They need her. No call to send her away tomorrow.”
Nancy snorted. “She doesn’t want you to do that any more than you want to.” She reached up and cupped his cheek the way she had been doing since he was a baby. “Girl’s just been driven out of the only home she ever knew. You let her bide a while here. I expect she’ll be ready for a change by and by.”