Tennessee Waltz

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  Retrieving the book from her tiny desk, Sarah handed it to Mairi. "The place where I stopped is marked with the bookmark."

  "Thanks!" Mairi scurried back to the bed and sat down on the edge with a plop.

  "Let me hang the lantern a little closer so you can see better, Mairi."

  As she moved the lantern to hang on a hook directly over the bed, Bobbie stirred, but he only turned to his other side.

  "You might want to bring back an oilcloth for Bobbie to lie on, Miss Sarah," Mairi said in a frank voice. "He don't have accidents much, but every once in a while he'll wet the bed."

  "I'll remember, Mairi. And you children remember that you've promised to be good now. If anything happens, Pris or Mairi can run over and get me. All right?"

  "We'uns will be good," Pris said again.

  Mairi opened the book and the children completely lost interest in Sarah. The twins plopped on their stomachs on the floor and crossed their legs, propping their chins on their palms. Pris sat down beside Mairi, and they all waited for her first words.

  It must 'a' been close on to one o'clock when we got below the island at last, and the raft did seem to go mighty slow, Mairi read. Jute and Luke both sighed with pleasure as Sarah went out the door.

  She wished she had the resiliency of the children and the ability to lose herself in a good read, but her own worry heightened with each step toward the store. Baby Sarah began whimpering and nuzzling at her, and Sarah felt her heart squeeze. How wonderful it would be to have a child of her own nuzzle her like that one day. Right now she needed to get the child to its rightful mother, however, so she could eat.

  Chapter 18

  Sarah hurried her steps until she was almost running by the time she got inside the store. At the top of the stairwell, she didn't bother to knock on the door before she went into the living area. Dan was sitting outside the bedroom Sarah had come to know was Sissy and Robert's, and Wyn stood beside his father. He glanced up as she came in.

  Just then, Sarah heard a loud cry of pain. She clutched Baby Sarah tighter when the baby reacted with a wail of its own.

  "Leery's here," Wyn told her as she approached. He had to raise his voice somewhat to be heard over the baby. "What's wrong with Baby Sarah?"

  "She's hungry," Sarah explained. "Oh, Wyn, I hate to bother Sissy, but Jute said there aren't any bottles available for Baby Sarah. So Sissy will have to feed her."

  "Good." When Sarah looked at him in surprise, he continued, "We've been trying to get her out of that bedroom so Leery can work on Robert without worrying about Sissy passing out. She's in almost as much pain with her worry over Robert as Robert is from his burns. The baby will distract her."

  He went in the bedroom and emerged in a few seconds with Sissy. With a moan of part motherly concern and part misery, Sissy reached for her baby. As soon as Sarah handed her over, Sissy cuddled her close and walked over to the rocking chair by the fireplace. She shifted the chair with one hand, then sat down with her back to the rest of the room. Sarah's cries, which had lessened the moment she was put into her mother's arms, died into stillness, replaced by the faint sounds of her suckling her mother's breast.

  Sarah took this opportunity to ask about Robert.

  "It's bad," Wyn told her without cushioning his words. "Leery doesn't think he'll die, but he'll be disfigured for the rest of his life. And if infection sets into the burns, he still might not pull through."

  "My God. How Sissy must be suffering."

  "Yes, she is."

  "What's Leery using to treat him? Is there anything I can do?"

  He answered her second question first. "Taking care of the children is the biggest help you can offer right now. How are they?"

  "Mairi's reading to them. But I need to get right back."

  "I'll let you know if Leery needs anything from you. Right now she's sent Cabbage out to her cabin to get another container of comfy salve. She said she'd forgotten that the one in her satchel was almost empty after she treated a child who tripped and landed with his hand in the fireplace last month."

  Sarah's stomach churned, but she managed to control herself. Right now everyone's attention needed to be focused on Robert, not her if she swooned.

  "How horrible," she said faintly. "Should I wait for Baby Sarah?"

  "I'll bring her back over in a while," Wyn offered. "And I'll walk you home."

  Mandy stuck her head out the bedroom door, glancing around until she saw Sissy over by the fireplace. "Wyn," she said quietly when she was sure Sissy was out of hearing distance. "Can you come in here? Carrie and I will probably need help to hold Robert down while Leery treats his face."

  Wyn's mouth tightened, a whiteness appearing at the edges of his lips. But he gave a firm nod and went into the room, closing the door firmly behind him. Sarah moved over to stand beside Dan, and they both kept their eyes trained on the door, forgetting for the moment about Sissy. The scream tore through the door, though, and Sarah whirled toward the fireplace.

  Sissy was bent over, and the chair was wobbling back and forth frantically.

  "Go to her, please," Dan requested.

  Sarah complied, hurrying over to kneel beside the rocking chair and slipping her arm around Sissy's shoulders. Baby Sarah began to whimper again, and Sarah cupped Sissy's other cheek, turning her to face her.

  "It's going to be all right," she promised. "What they're doing has to be done, despite the pain."

  "Goddamn that moonshine!" Sissy whispered harshly, her curse shocking Sarah into senselessness. "If this were about another woman, I could fight it. But it's Robert's damned pride and the market for that devil's brew that keeps him makin' and sellin' it."

  All at once she appeared to realize who she was talking to. Fear replaced the anguish in her eyes, and she grabbed Sarah's arm.

  "Please!" she begged. "Please forget I said that. Oh, Sarah, you don't understand what could happen if you told someone about this."

  "I think I do," Sarah said quietly. "And please don't worry. I realize the authorities would probably arrest Robert for making illegal whiskey and not paying the governmental tax on it before he sells it. I wouldn't want your husband taken away from you for that — not when he makes such a wonderful tasting whiskey."

  Sissy gave her a tentative smile. "You've tasted Robert's whiskey?"

  The answering smile on Sarah's face felt rather dreamy to her, especially since she recalled exactly what else had happened that night she'd tasted what Jute called moonshine. "The night Baby Sarah was born," was the only explanation she gave Sissy.

  "They say it's very good." Sissy sniffed back a sob. "But Robert doesn't drink it himself."

  Another horrible scream came from the bedroom, and Sissy dissolved into wrenching sobs and shaking shoulders. When Baby Sarah let out a wail, Sissy sat straight and tried to control herself.

  "I . . . can you take Baby Sarah back to your cabin for a little while?" Sissy asked. "Please, Sarah? I can come get her in a little bit."

  "Of course I will. And Wyn already said he'd come after her." Sarah took the baby from Sissy's arms and stood. "But maybe you should come with me, too, just until they get done in the bedroom."

  Wyn spoke from behind her. "Leery's done and, thankfully, Robert's passed out again. It'll be all right if Sissy wants to go back in and sit with him, although he probably won't wake up for a while. We gave him a pretty healthy dose of whiskey to help knock him out."

  Sissy was halfway across the room before Wyn finished speaking. Sarah held the baby close, marveling at the power of the love she sensed Sissy bore for Robert. It made her feel rather cheap and shamed to have settled for a money bargained relationship with Stephen, instead of holding out for true love. At the same time, she had a deep and abiding yearning inside, touched with a tiny bit of jealousy. She had searched for true love for years, though, and it had evaded her. Few men wanted a gawky wallflower for a wife, no matter how much money came with her.

  "I'll walk you to your cabin," Wyn said.<
br />
  His voice and his closeness made her realize she'd been fighting the desire to lean on him ever since she had heard that first scream this evening. Although it wasn't her husband or even a man she loved lying there fighting for his life, the tension, pain and raw emotions hanging in the air had left her wrung out. It would be so nice to have Wyn's strong arms around her for a moment — to steal some of his strength.

  Mandy came out of the bedroom and put an arm around Dan's shoulder. She leaned down and whispered something in his ear, and Dan kissed her cheek.

  Dan and Mandy. Sissy and Robert. For some reason those names spoken in pairs in her mind sounded much better than Sarah and Stephen. Sarah and Wyn sounds perfect.

  She took hold of her thoughts and told Wyn, "Mairi said I should bring back an oilcloth for Bobbie to sleep on. Being so young, I doubt he wakes up before morning now."

  "There's one downstairs on a shelf. We'll pick it up on the way by. I'll be bringing Bobbie back over here later, but I would like to leave the children with you for a while longer."

  "That's fine. Really. If they don't mind sleeping on pallets on the floor, they could even spend the night."

  "I might let them do that." Placing a hand to her back, he steered her to the door. "Except for Bobbie, of course. Sissy will want both her young'uns near for comfort."

  "I understand."

  Wyn stopped beside a closet near the stairwell door and opened it. He took out an armful of blankets, then nodded for Sarah to go on down the stairs. In the store, he added an oilcloth to his stack, and they headed for the cabin.

  Outside, the night air carried a touch of chill, but she would think it always did in the mountains, even in the summertime. At this altitude, she didn't imagine there were many truly hot days. She recalled the humid stickiness of August in New York, with the sun beating down on all the bricks and stone, reflecting back to make a woman wish whoever had invented petticoats had never been born. Surely it must have been a male inventor. She also remembered that no matter how hard she would beg her father, he would never permit her to go to the Catskills with one of the families that invited her during the hot weather. Soon the invitations had dwindled to none.

  The baby had fallen asleep on her shoulder, her breath a barely discernible feather on Sarah's neck, and the broad-shouldered man beside her seemed made to walk there. Total dark had fallen by now, with a rising moon in the distance only a hint of radiance on the horizon. The walk from the store to the cabin had never seemed so short. But the need to check on the children negated her prolonging it.

  Her lips curved as soon as they entered the cabin. The twins were sprawled on the floor, identical snores coming from their mouths. Pris had cuddled up to Bobbie, and Mairi laid on her back with the book lying open faced on her chest.

  "The sleep of the innocents," she murmured to Wyn.

  "Yeah," he quietly returned. "Unless you're tired and ready to rest yourself, how about I shift them around and let them sleep for a while?"

  "I'm way too wide awake to sleep yet."

  Wyn nodded and went about rearranging the children. He placed the pile of blankets on a corner of the bed, then laid the oilcloth down and put a blanket over it. After lifting Bobbie onto it, he scooted Pris over to lay beside the little boy. Mairi followed, after he handed Sarah the book.

  She turned from laying the book on her desk to see Wyn lifting the twins onto a pallet of blankets on the floor. He puzzled her when he walked over and pulled open her bottom bureau drawer. But she saw immediately what his idea was when he took the petticoats out and tossed them over a chair by the table, then lined the drawer with the last blanket. Reaching for Baby Sarah, he laid her in the drawer.

  After moving the lantern over to another hook, so the light wouldn't wake the children, Wyn whispered, "Let's go out and sit on the step."

  Agreeable, she led the way. She kept the step swept, but it wouldn't have mattered if he'd asked her to sit down in a mud pile with him. She wanted to be with him — needed his presence beside her for a little longer. The maelstrom of emotions from the evening swirled in discord yet, and for once it was terribly nice to have a man beside her — even one telling her what to do. But it dawned on her that Wyn hadn't actually ordered her around. Instead, he'd suggested things to which she'd agreed. What a difference an attitude like that made in not giving rise to the resentment she had swallowed for so many years.

  Perhaps, she thought as she sat on the top step, it would have been as comforting to have a woman friend beside her — one who would share her confidences and soothe her troubled emotions — something else she'd never had. Somehow, though, she didn't think so. And somehow, she knew the comfort would have been lacking if it weren't this special man sitting down beside her. Mandy and Sissy had already learned that beautiful secret of love, although Sissy was experiencing the painful side of the secret right now.

  Love? The word climbed out of her subconscious and invaded her entire mind. She couldn't be falling in love with Wyn. They were complete opposites! But something told her she was entirely too late to attempt any rational judgments on whether or not she would actually fall in love with Wyn MacIntyre. The fall had become a tumble, then a wild downhill slide, and she'd already reached the bottom of the hill. She already loved him.

  Wyn intertwined his fingers with hers and raised her hand to his mouth. He gently kissed the back of it before laying both their hands on his knee and cupping his other hand over hers. The desire to break his hold was nonexistent.

  "You all right now?" he asked.

  "Better," she admitted. "Poor Sissy."

  "Robert's the one you should be worried about. Sissy will love that man whatever happens, but Robert's going to have a big adjustment to make after he first sees himself in the mirror."

  Her shoulders heaved and she nodded her head. "I know what it's like to not care for your looks. And I suppose Robert will feel worse even, because he'll think what happened was partly his own fault. The guilt won't be easy to come to terms with."

  "I wish you'd quit talking like that!"

  "Like what?" She frowned into the night. "I don't feel guilty over my plainness. My father . . ."

  "Your father should have been shot — or covered with honey and staked naked to a red anthill and left for the ants to eat!"

  "Wyn!"

  He ignored her astonishment at his crassness. "Tell me this, Sarah. Why do you think yourself plain?"

  Thinking she had long ago come to terms with this exact thing, Sarah stifled a stab of surprise at her reluctance now to talk about it to Wyn. She recalled Kyle's pleasant observation — pleasant to her, anyway — that she'd changed. However, she'd had to consider Kyle's background as a gentleman along with deciding how much credence to give his words. Like other men from his former station, he'd been weaned on how to sweet talk the fair sex.

  "Like I started to say, my father made sure I fostered no delusions about my looks. One day I even found him in our portrait gallery with my sixteenth birthday portrait propped below my great-aunt Hagatha's portrait. The word in the Channing family was that every time a woman found herself with child, she prayed very hard not to have a daughter who was a throwback to ugly Hagatha. I guess my mother's prayers went unanswered."

  Wyn made a sound of disgust. "So you let your father convince you that you inherited your aunt's lack of beauty. From what you've told me about that son of a . . ." He clamped his mouth shut, then shrugged as though he'd decided to finish what he'd started to say. "That son of a bitch, he probably set the entire scene up, knowing you would see him making that comparison."

  "He . . . did call me into the gallery," she said hesitantly. "Oh, but he wasn't the only reason, Wyn. Why, I can't tell you how many balls I was labeled the wallflower at. I would much rather have stayed home and read, but Father always made me attend. He said it was the only way the men would know I intended to wed some day, and that he'd be willing to bestow a large dowry on me to make up for my plainness. If I'd stayed hom
e, everyone would have thought I'd accepted that I'd live my life as an old maid. And I did so want to have children some day. Marriage is a necessary part of that, as I'm sure you'll agree."

  "Your father was a bastard!" Wyn snarled.

  "Yes, I agree with you there. But he was also right. The men avoided me, except for the ones who were deeply in debt. To my father's credit, even he supported me in turning down some of them. It did get too much for a while, so I took my maid Rachelle with me and toured Europe for a couple years. That's when I decided I really needed to get married and have a family, because I was very lonely during that time."

  Dropping his chin to his chest, Wyn sat for a long moment without saying anything else. The lantern inside the cabin window cast a glow out into the velvet darkness where they sat, with a ring of light high above her left shoulder on the second floor of the store much brighter. She smiled wryly as the melodramatic thought went through her mind that the light in the living quarters above the store was holding back death for Robert.

  The schoolhouse cut off her view of the boardinghouse across the way, but she'd noticed when they came back to the cabin that Mandy hadn't been home yet. No lights glowed in her windows, and she supposed the books were still strewn around the library room. After school tomorrow, she would see where her energies could best be used — either helping Mandy with the books, or leaving that to Dan while she did what she could to assist Sissy with her children and husband.

  Far up on the mountain, she heard an animal scream. Wyn's head came up.

  "Mountain cat," he growled.

  "Mandy told me that Dan thought that's what spooked the horses the day of the accident."

  "Yeah."

  He tightened his fingers around hers. When he spoke again, she knew he didn't want to discuss the day his mother had been killed, but she didn't much care for his return to their former subject.