“I should have come to ya; I should have. But my dad, he was needing me. He was the one that found me at the bottom of the cliff, half dead.
Her beautiful Irish-brown eyes with a hint of a tear beseeched him. The Christmas ball, the dance, the Glenn. One conscionable act had led to this consequence. With a tear in her eye and a prayer on her lips, she bid him safe passage. Had she forgotten that night? That memory had kept him alive. Would this be the end of it now?
“Reynolds shot me and left me for dead.” With every word, he stepped closer. With every look she cast his way, hope coursed through his veins like water dropping into his parched heart. There was still a wee bit there for him. A bit of a flame, and that was all he needed.
“Maggie, my bonny lass… In that dress, you look like the princess I see in my dreams. I thank you kindly for wearin’ it.”
“You sent this?” Her pearl-white arms traveled the length of satin. “However could you have afforded this?” Her eyes shone glassy bright in the firelight.
His heart beat irrationally in his chest, like it wanted to escape into hers. “Oh, I’ve missed you.” He took her into his arms. She melted into his strength. Someday the words he longed to hear on her lips would come.
Gently, he kissed her soft draping curls pouring like a waterfall, they were, on her bare kissable shoulders. She turned her face away. Her profile etched in the glow of firelight, he would not forget, not in a million years—no matter if destiny should separate them this night.
Maggie’s tears glistened like dew drops on pink cheeks and wet her red lips. Ben gently wiped each tear away with his thumb. Her pain-filled eyes questioned his. “What happened that night?”
Ben put a finger to her lips. “What matters is that we are together. I would have come for you, if I had known about your dear mother. I want always to be there for you.”
“There is nothing you could have done. Reynolds is still on the loose, and I fear that Father might be trying to find him.”
Ben led her to a settee near the fire, sitting her down; he sat next to her, taking her gloved hands, feeling the warmth of them. “’Tis a man’s right to mourn for his wife and to seek out her killer.”
“Father blames me for Mother’s death.”
Her soul cried to his and he prayed for the right words to say. “He only puts the blame on your shoulders because he cannot face the fact that it is his. He hired Reynolds, and then was blinded by that man’s deceit. Your father will come to this truth. You’ll see. He’s too much of a man not to be seein’ the truth and admittin’ it. Just give him a wee bit more time.” Ben turned her, cupping her face. “’Tis not our job to question the almighty hand of God. He determines when we shall leave this earth for the life that awaits us beyond the sunrise.”
“Father must have kept your letters from me.” She rested her head on his chest.
“’Tis a father’s privilege; I hold no malice toward him, but forgive him,” He reveled in their closeness, her soft head near his. “Who am I to be courtin’ a princess? A ragged Irishman without a shilling to his name is all I am. ’Tis the good Lord who saw fit to give me more.” He kissed her hair, drinking in the silkiness and inhaling the scent of roses.
“I know the likes of your father, proud and fiercely protective. He will come around with our prayers. You’ll see.”
A soft knock on the door and Aunt Louise entered. She stood in the light of the hallway, her slender profile and hooped skirts filling the archway like the fairy queen in the books his mother read to him when he was a child.
“Maggie, I am praising God for his mercy that your Ben is alive. Now come, eat and enjoy the festivities.”
Ben offered Maggie his arm. This moment felt more like a fairy tale than reality. He needed some encouragement to believe he wasn’t dreaming. “Indeed, I have a wager with Mr. McCullen that I can eat him under the table.”
Maggie lifted her face toward the chandeliers twinkling with candlelight above them. The polished wood floors and tall banisters gleamed with the deep richness of fine mahogany. Chippendale chairs with Queen Anne cabriole legs adorned the room’s tall arched walls. At one end of the room a large stone hearth blazed a cheery fire. A settee with ball-and-claw feet nestled within a nearby alcove, spreading an invitation of a semi-private interlude to the couples. At the opposite side of the room, the members of the band busily tuned their instruments.
As if mesmerized, Ben and she walked toward the tall french windows, the curtains blowing in the promising summer breezes. Dogwood blossoms lay glistening and white before the setting sun. Crab trees burst with riotous pink blooms and the grass rolled like a carpet of aqua blue on the fervent hills.
“As far as the eye can see,” muttered Ben, giving her hand a squeeze and nodding toward the double french doors that displayed a tantalizing peek of the wide covered veranda just a few steps away. “Let’s go outside while the musicians are tuning their instruments.”
“But I promised Will the first dance.”
Will had ridden hard to get here and had arrived shortly after supper. He’d been so kind, so hardworking, she had agreed out of duty. She felt she should be with him now.
“’Tis a little more time I am asking.”
Surely she could spare few moments more alone with Ben. They had so much to catch up on. “All right, but I must hurry back to the ballroom.” They slipped onto the veranda that overlooked the spacious lawns.
“The last rays of the setting sunlight are as bright as my mother’s eyes.” Ben chuckled, clearly pleased with the day’s accomplishments.
If not for his mountain of curly hair, she would not have recognized him. He’d filled out well. He’d allow his sideburns to grow down the side of his face, drawing attention to his solid broad chin. He appeared taller than she remembered, definitely more muscular than six months previous, most likely due to working his land. His broad muscular shoulders, bulky in his tuxedo that tapered down to a small waist, made him look as if he’d been born into nobility, not the peasantry of his heritage. His profile displayed a broad forehead, high cheekbones and square jaw, an uncompromising face. Many young women at the ball tonight turned his way when he walked by.
Golden beams of sunlight glowed across the darkening horizon illuminating the trees in a dozen pastels. The smoke from the hickory logs of the barbecue pits that had brought them their tantalizing meals earlier of roasted pork and mutton, floated on the breeze. The noise behind them of clapping hands and her uncle’s strong voice rising like an eagle’s cry reminded them that they were not alone.
Uncle Blake stepped up on the small stage where the band sat. “Any time you’re ready, Jake.”
Jake smiled, set down his glass of punch, and walked to the center of the stage where a table waited with his violin. He picked it up, cradling it like a father would his child, his gifted fingers guiding the bow skillfully. The musicians hurried to his side. Jake’s voice rose just loud enough above the magical notes of his violin. “Gather your ladies fair. The ball is about to begin.”
Fifty pairs of men and women swayed and dipped to the eloquent tempo of the music.
“Oh, there’s Will,” Maggie said.
Will had seen her in the same instant. The room had gotten so crowded it took him a few minutes to make it to her side. She moistened her lips, recalling the strained conversation after dinner, Ben on one side of her and Will on the other. It was a blessing to have at least the meal without the two battling their brawn about like two stallions. She turned, flipping open her fan, cooling her flustered face.
“Ben, I promised Will I’d dance the first dance with him. I, I just don’t know what we’d do at Spirit Wind without him.”
“I see.” Ben chuckled. “What does a ghost expect, coming back so suddenly? I’ll busy myself with one of the other ladies, if you don’t mind.”
Will eyed Ben for a moment, then popped out his chest like a champion Thoroughbred, sweeping his glance to Maggie.
Ben watched
Will maneuver gracefully around the dance floor with Maggie, her quick agile feet keeping in perfect step to Will’s. That’s a good thing for her. She’ll need quick foot work to not get trampled on with my big feet. So, he had been replaced by this Will. Did he suppose that a beautiful woman like Maggie wouldn’t attract another stud?
“Ladies and gentlemen, get yourselves ready for a good old-fashioned reel.”
A reel? That just might be more like what he was used to back in Ireland. A few of the ladies eyed him with interest. He rubbed his hands together and stepped forward.
Before long beads of perspiration broke out on the most carefully powdered foreheads. Soon all doors leading to the gardens were flung open, and still the dancers begged for more. Ben found his rhythm and twirled a lass around who had a waist as tiny as a water glass and skirts that billowed around his legs like a sail on a clipper ship. The lass proved to be a cheerful counterpart to his governing feet, and they laughed at each other as they flew about the room.
Then Will danced by with Maggie pivoting gracefully, her pink gown swaying to Will’s careful guidance and her eyes adoringly staring into his. Ben felt a twang of jealousy. Aw, ’twas fickleness at its best and me spending a month’s wages on that dress only to have another man twirling her about the room. Well, ’tis high time he gave her a twirl, but how with that ape of a Will claiming her every dance?
The musicians took a break. He looked to see where Maggie was. Will was leading her to the punch table. Crooking his elbow, he gave his dance partner a wink. “Would you care for some refreshments?”
The lass opened her fan, covering her face, her long lashes batting like a butterfly caught in a storm. “Something in your eye, lass?”
“Oh.” She tapped the cuff of his coat. “I just adore your accent. You are simply too charming.” She hooked her arm in his and he led her to the punch bowl. Cozying up to him she halted him, reaching up on tiptoes. “My name is Amy.” She tore up her dance card. “There. I want to dance with you all evening.”
Just then he caught Maggie’s eyes viewing the act. He laughed. “Amy is it? A beautiful name, to be sure.”
Maggie pretended she hadn’t noticed Amy’s arm wrapped around Ben’s. Amy noticed. She gave Ben’s arm an extra hug, looked at Maggie, and smirked. She cringed at the tinkle of Amy’s voice. Blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes that darted from one man to another like a honeybee looking for nectar, that was Amy Jackson. However, tonight Amy’s eyes were fixed on Ben’s. Her pale blue watered-silk ball dress with festoons and lace complemented her eyes and complexion. Where did she get that dress? From Paris?
Ben noticed her staring at Amy and him. She bit down on her bottom lip and looked away. Had her jeering thoughts shown up on her face? It was hard to tell what Ben was thinking. Oh, how embarrassing. When Ben’s lips weren’t creased upwards and his eyes not smiling, he was a different person. He loathed snobbery. She recalled that first day in the swamp. Swarthy, with his tossed curls and his eyes as bold and black as a—
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Blake said, standing tall and lean. Aunt Louise stood next to him, adorned in a black satin with puffed sleeves and a princess lace collar, looking like a queen arrayed for her king. “Grab the ladies of your heart and prepare for a challenge of skill and endurance on the dance floor.”
Ben took Maggie into his arms. Someone mouthed her name, she didn’t know who. Ben’s eyes mesmerized her. Grabbing her around the waist, he guided her into the array of dancers.
Hips and hoops layered with silks and dripping with laced petticoats, swayed to the music. Her heart pulsated to his strong moves. Dipping and swaying, they made their circle around the room to the tempo of the waltz. Step, turn, step, turn, like the rhythm of the waves, he drew her to his side.
The soft enchanting notes of the waltz mellowed away and the lovely “Sweet Evelina” began. “Way down in the meadow where the lily first blows, … She’s as fair as a rose, like a lamb she is meek, …” She took a deep breath. When the minstral bands came through their town, she listened with a quickened heartbeat, singing along with the lyrics. “Dear Evelina, sweet Evelina, My love for thee shall never, never, die.” The song reminded her of Father and Mother and the love they had shared. “My love for thee shall, never, never, die…” Father sang that to Mother. Her parents had been so happy together. Could she hope for such a love?
“Maggie,” Ben whispered. “Are you enjoyin’ yourself?”
“I… are you?”
His white teeth gleamed and he broke into a loud merry laugh, his bold eyes raking over her. He turned her into another pirouette, his eyes fixed on her face, a glint of amusement within their black depths as if he knew of her attraction for him. “If you would be preferrin’ Will’s company, it matters not to me.”
“It doesn’t?” She willed her arm not to tighten uncontrollably around his. She wanted to shake some sense into him. Didn’t he know how her heart burned for him? She needed him more than a flower needed the sun to grow or the rain to quench its thirst. But he’d never know, not unless he whispered the words she longed to hear. No, I’ll not be the first to declare my love. She raised her chin just as Jake’s strings began the lovely “Lorena.”
“The years creep slowly by, Lorena,” Jake sang mournfully as they danced about the ballroom. “The snow is on the grass again, The sun’s low down the sky, Lorena, The frost gleams where the flow’rs have been.”
“I believe it matters to you,” Ben muttered between clenched teeth. “I know it matters to me.”
Couples left the dance floor. Men took out their handkerchiefs, ladies their fans, cooling their heated faces.
“Are you sure you are able to continue dancing?”
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of quitting. Amy looked longingly at him. Maggie turned her head. Nor would she give Amy a chance with her Irishman again. “Lead on you… you, you, black pirate you.”
His long legs ate up the dance floor, her face fanned by the breezes made in his wake. Her silk dress flew about their forms in a sunset of rose, white lace, and deep velvet-black ribbons. Only a few dancers were left, Lorena’s enticing sonnet weaving about their forms. “A hundred months, ’twas flow’ry May, When up the hilly slope we climbed, To watch the dying of the day…” Was she destined for Lorena’s fate?
Her billowing silk, ribbons, and lace dipped and swayed in perfect rhythm to the soft, sweet words. “We loved each other then, Lorena, More than we ever dared to tell…” She closed her eyes, bearing the truth of poor Lorena’s fate. “And what we might have been…”
Ben bent her backwards, lowering his face to hers. She waited for his lips, hot and moist and exciting, to mingle with hers. He pulled her up, his dark eyes snapping with elation like a pirate who’d just run off with the prize. He broke into a loud, merry laugh. “I think you be preferrin’ me over any other buck here. Why don’t you admit it?”
“Oh!” She slapped his cheek and the noise echoed in the lapse between instruments and laughter. She lifted her skirts and ran through the open doors into the gardens.
The night winds felt cool on her perspiring face. The words of “Lorena” followed her fleeing skirts. “But then, ’tis past—the years are gone…” How embarrassing! Everyone had seen her display of affection for that worthless Irishman. She blended her voice with Jake’s, singing, “I’ll say to them, ‘lost years, sleep on!’”
She strolled beneath the shadows of the maples. Glancing over her shoulder fearing Will, or worse, Ben, would come after her. She needed to be alone.
How could I have ever thought I cared for him? He deceived me into loving him. I never want to see him again.
A soft footstep, then another. It came from a nearby tree. “Who’s there?”
Reynolds’ pale face, his goatee looking silver by the moon’s glow, appeared in front of her.
She turned to run. Something hit her from behind. She opened her mouth to scream. His dirty hand grabbed her like a vise, pinching her mouth
closed, then he forced her to the ground. His knee pressed against the small of her back. He wrapped a cloth around her mouth, then pulled her to him and snarled. “At last.” His words spit vile in her face. She turned. He forced her to look at him and pushed her toward his horse tied to nearby tree. “Get up there.”
He got up behind her. Her hoop skirts rose like a misplaced bell on the neck of his large Thoroughbred. He reached over her and gathered the reins, nuzzling her curls at the same time. “I saw your father two days ago in Springfield. He was there clapping and cheering when Lincoln got the nomination for the Republican presidential candidate. He’s on his way here. But I beat him to you.” He sniffed her neck, groaned, and ran his hand underneath her petticoats. “You’re so fetching tonight—”
She elbowed him hard in his stomach, pulled the rag from her mouth, and screamed.
“Why I ought to—”
“Whip me like you did my mother and then shoot me? I’ll die before I allow you to lay your filthy hands on me.” Maggie elbowed him again in the gut.
“Why, you—”
The horse neighed, prancing about and shaking his head against the tightened reins. She struggled to loosen herself from his grip. Someone jumped on Reynolds’ back. The horse reared, and Maggie slipped down into a pile of dead leaves in a heap of silk and petticoats.
“Are you alright, Maggie?” Will said. “Anything broke?”
Maggie swiped her rump. “Just my pride.”
“What should I do with him?”Ben hauled Reynolds up by the nape of his collar.
“I’ll take him.” Her father rode up on his big Thoroughbred.
“Father!”
He jumped off his horse and swept her into his embrace, kissing her on both cheeks. “I can’t believe I lost track of that polecat.”
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