Chapter Eighteen
Instead of going to the mill the next day, Amelia stayed home and prepared a small plot in the backyard for a vegetable garden. Afterward, she straightened the house, feeling as if she were cleaning someone else’s home instead of her own. No matter which room she dusted, or which chair she sat in, she felt like a nervous guest.
Desperate for the familiar warmth of her parents’ house, and her mother’s arms, Amelia headed outside. It took half an hour to have one of the men at the depot rig a phaeton for her use, but as soon as she was seated, Amelia headed toward Shumla Road.
The silent darkness of her parents’ home shocked her, but when she saw her mother sitting in the cavelike parlor, gazing out of anguish-filled eyes, Amelia panicked. “Mama, you need to open the drapes and let in some sunshine.”
“I have a headache and it feels better with them closed.”
It was a heartache her mother was suffering, but Amelia didn’t blame her mother for wanting to shut out the world. She felt like doing the same thing. Still, it broke Amelia’s heart to see her mother filled with grief and hurting so deeply that she couldn’t bear the sunshine.
Amelia groped for a way to breathe life back into her mother, and knew that normal conversation wouldn’t do it. “I think Kyle’s sorry he married me,” she said, and was immediately rewarded with her mother’s full attention.
“If that young man has done anything to hurt you—”
“He hasn’t, Mama.” Amelia hid a smile of satisfaction and sat beside her mother. “It’s just that I don’t feel at home in our house,” she said truthfully. “I think my unease makes Kyle uncomfortable, too. But everything in the house belongs to him. I feel like a guest who has overstayed her welcome.”
Her mother’s eyebrows lifted and she stared at Amelia. “Has he told you that?”
“Of course not, Mama. I just feel that way.” Amelia sighed and smoothed her skirt over her thighs. “Did you have this trouble learning to live with Papa?”
“No. Neither of us owned a stick of furniture so whatever we borrowed or acquired always felt like it belonged to both of us. It took us years to fill our old house, and by that time we had started to build this one. Everything we’ve had or done has always been together.”
“Well, how could I feel like that when Kyle has already furnished the house with beautiful things?”
“Add a few of your own favorite pieces to what he already has.”
“I don’t have any furniture, Mama. Everything in my apartment belonged to the school, and it was awful anyhow.”
“You have those beautiful pillows on your bed that you embroidered.”
“What difference will a couple of pillows make?” Amelia asked, feeling more disheartened by the minute. It was going to take more than pillows and furniture to make a loving home with Kyle.
“Don’t look so sad, honey. It takes time to make a home together.”
“I don’t have time, Mama.”
Her mother patted her hand. “You have the rest of your life.”
“Will you help me?” Amelia clutched her mother’s hand. “Please. Come home with me and show me how to make a good home for my husband.”
Before her mother could protest, Amelia stood up and tugged her toward the stairs. An hour later they were rearranging the furniture in Amelia’s new home and adding articles from Amelia’s life that brought her a sense of comfort.
“Put these on your couch.” Her mother tossed the two embroidered pillows to Amelia. “This afghan will look beautiful on the back of your rocking chair,” she said, draping it over the oak spindle back.
“I hope Kyle won’t mind me moving that out of the corner,” Amelia said, wondering if she’d gone too far by dragging the big rocker into the grouping of parlor furniture. It had looked so unappreciated stuck in the corner, as if Kyle had purposely tried to shove it out of sight.
“You’ll need it to rock the baby.”
“Mama! I haven’t even been married a week.”
“I know, but you and that handsome young man of yours will be having children before you know it. This chair is right where it belongs, and if Kyle tells you differently, you send him up to talk to me.”
Despite the embarrassing conversation, her mother’s spunk gave Amelia hope that she would eventually pull herself out of her depression.
After they finished transforming the house, they took a break for tea, then Amelia took her mother home. Amelia hadn’t been back in her own house for more than twenty minutes before Kyle walked in the door.
He stopped dead, his shocked gaze taking in the changes that Amelia and her mother had wrought in his absence.
Suddenly the cozy arrangement of furniture and the feminine look of her pretty pillows and oval rug seemed intrusive for a large man used to space.
“I can change it back if you hate it.”
Instead of answering, he continued to note the changes, the vase of flowers on the coffee table, the shiny oak coat tree beside the door, the picture of her father hanging prominently on the parlor wall.
“I’ll just move this back now,” she said, dragging the rocker toward the corner. “I’ll move the rest after supper.”
“No!”
Amelia jerked upright at his snapped command, dreading the outrage she would see in his eyes. But instead of anger, his expression was filled with apology.
“I should have asked if you wanted to change things.” He shrugged, his expression sheepish. “Do you need help moving anything else?”
“Only if you want to move everything back where it was.”
“This is fine.”
“You’re sure?”
He nodded.
“It’ll only take a few minutes—”
“It’s fine, Amelia. Leave it.”
He took off his boots, and they ate supper in the awkward silence that Amelia despised but was growing used to. Only tonight she didn’t know if it was Kyle’s normal inability to converse about the daily details of life or if he was upset that she’d taken over his home.
“I’m heating water for a bath if you want one after supper.”
He sighed and laid his fork on the edge of his plate. “Thanks, but I have to take my shift in the warehouse at the depot tonight. You go ahead and enjoy the water.” He pushed away from the table. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Relief swept through Amelia when Kyle headed for the parlor and put on his boots. She couldn’t bear another night of his disappointment when they crawled into bed together and lay stiff and silent beside each other.
But by the fifth night of Kyle’s leaving the house after supper, claiming it was his turn to keep watch in the warehouse at the depot, Amelia grew suspicious. Kyle and his brothers had decided to dry the deck beams for the Hale contract in the same warehouse they used for drying their railroad beams, but Amelia wondered if Kyle was using it as an excuse to seek intimate satisfaction elsewhere.
At four o’clock in the morning, she pushed open the door to the long wood building and stepped inside, gasping as the heat hit her in the face. Several feet away a huge cast-iron stove hummed and crackled. Farther back in the rectangular room a lantern burned low and illuminated the lone occupant.
To her relief, her husband sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair sound asleep. He leaned back against a pile of deck beams, his chin resting on his chest. His feet were planted on the floor on either side of the raised front chair legs, his muscled arms locked across his chest, lifting and falling with each long breath he took.
Despite her relief at finding him alone, shame filled her for letting her insecurity lead her to wild conclusions. She should have known Kyle wouldn’t lie to her. Everything he did was about honor. He’d married her because of his ingrained sense of honor. Now, his honor was keeping him from forcing her to consummate their marriage even though she knew he was aching to do so.
Compassion filled her when she looked at her exhausted husband hunched in the chair. He should be ho
me sleeping in his own comfortable bed. Amelia debated whether to wake him, knowing Kyle probably wouldn’t go home even if she suggested it. He would just start his day an hour earlier. Deciding he needed his rest regardless of how poor or uncomfortable it was, Amelia caught the latch and pulled the door around, but the rusty hinges groaned and vibrated the thick planks.
She glanced back at Kyle just as the chair legs hit the floor with a hard thud. He vaulted to his feet, eyes wild and confused. “What’s wrong?” he asked, as if he expected the building to fall in on him any second.
“Nothing. I’m sorry I woke you.”
He dragged out his pocket watch and squinted at it near the lantern, then glanced back at her. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
Well, she might as well try to send him home. “I came to relieve you until your crew gets here. I can feed the stove for an hour or so while you go home to bed.”
He snorted. “You can’t stay here alone.”
“I was alone at home.”
“There’s a lock on our door. There isn’t one here.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to stay and guard me.” She moved toward the stove, unwilling to go back to her empty house. She had spent enough lonely hours in her apartment to last her a lifetime. “I’ll watch the fire while you sleep.”
Kyle scrubbed his palms over his face then stared at her as she opened the heavy stove door. When she reached for a piece of firewood, he stepped forward and caught her wrist. “Leave it.” He pushed the door closed and pulled her toward the chair he’d just vacated. “Sit down and tell me why you’re not home in bed.”
“I don’t want to sit if you’re going to tower over me like an angry parent.”
He grabbed the ends of two stacked beams and inched them away from the pile far enough to form a seat. He sat down with an irritated sigh. “All right. What’s wrong?”
She reached to hoist her skirt and realized she was wearing the britches he despised. “Are you really here because you have to be?” she asked, perching on the edge of the chair. “Or do you just want to get away from me?”
“Both,” he said, in his usual brusque manner.
Her chest constricted, but she forced herself not to look away from him. “You hate me for forcing our marriage, don’t you?”
Instead of responding immediately, he studied her with his dark, perceptive eyes, his expression unfathomable. “You didn’t force me into anything, Amelia. The repercussions of that meeting are a result of my own stupidity, not your manipulation.”
“Then you don’t hate me?”
“No.” He didn’t look away or roll his eyes or snort or do anything else to express the irritation she suspected he was feeling. He just sat and looked at her, his face dark with whiskers, his eyes red with fatigue. “Why are you afraid of me?” he asked quietly.
A rock of foreboding lodged in her stomach and she didn’t know how to answer.
“I do intend to consummate our marriage, Amelia.”
“I know,” she said, but they weren’t ready yet. They’d had almost no time together to develop a friendship or a caring relationship. Kyle’s reaction to her lack of virginity would be the same now as it would have been on their wedding night.
“I’d like you to answer my question.”
She wasn’t afraid of Kyle, but it was the only excuse that would buy them more time. “You feel like a stranger to me,” she said. “I don’t know any more about you today than I knew a week ago.”
Lantern light highlighted beads of moisture on his forehead and accentuated the shadows around his eyes. “What do you want to know?”
A million questions flashed through her mind, but one repeated itself and begged for her attention until it was the only thought she had. “Have you ever felt vulnerable?” she asked. “Even once? I know men probably don’t experience fear, but—”
“Yes.” His gaze locked with hers. “I’ve felt insecure and powerless before.”
His face was so close, his look so intense, Amelia felt her stomach lift in anticipation. “When?” she whispered, torn between wanting him to answer and wanting him to kiss her.
He eased back and sighed. “When my father died.” He’d answered in his straightforward manner, but the pain was evident in his eyes despite his ability to keep it out of his voice.
Amelia inhaled wood-scented air, but it didn’t ease the sudden thickness in her throat. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry. My papa was everything to me. I’m sure you felt the same about your own father.”
Kyle braced his elbows on his knees, a habit of his that she was growing fond of. “My father had been ill a long time. I knew he wouldn’t live to become an old man, but the morning he didn’t wake up for church was a hard shock.” Kyle stared at the floor. “He just went to sleep and never woke up. I had no idea the end was so close.”
Hal Grayson had contracted a disease as a young boy that had slowly crippled him, but several years before his death, he’d been a tall, handsome man who walked with a cane and flashed a gorgeous smile that he’d passed on to his four sons.
“I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories,” Amelia said, knowing it was a difficult topic for both of them.
“I was lucky to have the depot to manage. It kept me from dwelling on losing my father.” His eyes met hers. “I guess it makes sense now why you want to spend time at your father’s mill.”
“I love being there. I want to be your partner, Kyle.”
His lips tilted and he snorted.
“I’m serious. I promise to stay away from the saw, but there’s a hundred other things I can do to help.”
“I don’t mind you coming by occasionally to clean the office. I can actually find the files I’m looking for now.”
“I am not interested in becoming the mill maid, Kyle.”
Amelia shot to her feet. “Don’t even think it. My brain would shrivel to the size of a raisin within a week. I need to be learning something, or teaching, or doing anything that will stimulate my mind.”
She started to pace, but Kyle caught her hand and stopped her. “I’m willing to teach whatever you want to learn.”
Stunned by his boldness, Amelia could only stare into his handsome face. The fire in his eyes told her he wasn’t talking about the mill. He was offering to be her instructor in the art of intimacy. If he only knew that Amelia didn’t need his instruction. Just looking at him made her want to pull his clothes off and devour him. She thought about sinking onto his lap and kissing him, but considered where it would lead and knew she had to get away from him before she was foolish enough to answer the craving in her body. She’d made that mistake once and it had nearly ruined her future. She wasn’t going to fall into bed with her husband and mess up her last chance at love.
“I’m serious about helping at the mill,” she said, tugging her hand free.
“All right, Amelia. I’ll allow your help in the office. But that’s it. You can look through your father’s records and files and see if you notice any strange paperwork or odd spending patterns.” He lowered his hand to his thigh. “I’m too busy helping the crew to do it myself.”
Unsure whether to trust him, Amelia studied his face, but he seemed sincere. “You’ll have to tell me what I’m looking for.”
“I’m stuck here until five o’clock and you don’t seem in a hurry to go back home.”
Amelia ignored his hint to return to the house. She was just as curious as Kyle was to know where her father’s money had been going. “Why do you think something bad was going on with Papa?”
“Experience. The whole situation at the mill doesn’t make sense. I’ve learned not to take anything at face value. That’s why I want you to look through his files.”
Amelia sat on her own chair, eager to learn more about her husband, but aware that she was heading into dangerous territory. The affair between Evelyn and Radford had broken Kyle’s trust and shaded his thinking with cynicism. Eventually her own secret would reinforce
his cynical outlook on life.
Kyle stretched his arms overhead and yawned, then he propped his fists on his knees. “You ought to go home and sleep another hour or two. I’ll pick you up later when I go to the mill.”
“You have a bad habit of bossing people, you know.”
“I know.”
His honesty made her smile. “Does anyone ever disobey your orders?”
“My mother. The last time I made the mistake of giving her an order, she smacked me across the head with her newspaper and told me it was her damned house and that I was her son not her boss.” Kyle snorted. “I haven’t mistaken my mother for a mill hand since.”
“You’re lucky she only hit you with her paper and not a rolling pin.”
“She saved that for Boyd.”
Knowing Boyd’s propensity for hell-raising, Amelia had no trouble understanding why Nancy Grayson might need to use her rolling pin to control her wild son. Their house must have been filled with life, noise, and laughter. What a wonderful way to live. “It must have been fun growing up with brothers,” Amelia said, her voice wistful. “I’ll bet you got into tons of trouble.”
“You can’t even imagine.”
Though his expression didn’t change, the smile in his voice intrigued her. “What was the worst thing you boys did?”
As if he were recalling some fond incident in his past, Kyle’s lips quirked. “We had a horse-turd fight in the barn.”
“You did not!”
“We did. The four of us were supposed to get the barn cleaned before my aunt and uncle arrived from Buffalo. Boyd was mad that he had to shovel stalls instead of going swimming in the gorge with his friends so he slung a shovelful of dried crap across the barn. Radford told him to knock it off, and I slapped him on the head on my way to the next stall. When I bent over to grab the handles of the wheelbarrow, Boyd dumped a whole load of dung across my back. I returned the favor and all hell broke loose. Next thing we knew, all four of us were winging dried turds at each other. That’s when my father pulled in with my aunt and uncle.”
“Your parents must have been furious!” Amelia said, laughter bubbling from her throat.
The Longing Page 14