“You might bring us a meal out in the field at noon. We’ll be too busy to take the time to come back to the house.” Matt, clean-shaven now and seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents that only a brief time ago had quivered between them, walked into the kitchen, wiping soap from his face with a linen towel. Caroline tried not to see the black whorls of hair that covered his chest, nor the bronzed rippling muscles of his shoulders and arms as he reached for his shirt, which hung over the back of a chair, and shrugged into it. Despite the man’s many shortcomings, she had to admit that physically he was glorious-looking. At an earlier time and under different circumstances, the sight of him without his shirt might have dazzled her. As it was, she afforded him no more than a single leery glance as she began to dish up the porridge, and tried, by ignoring it, to quell the discomfort that his half-dressed presence caused her.
“Whatever it is, it smells good.” This admission, made in an almost grudging tone, came from Thomas. She had already learned that he was a dedicated trencherman, and as he donned his shirt she glanced at him. His torso was lean and muscular, nearly hairless as might be expected with his fair coloring, but it had not the same effect on her as had Matt’s more massive build. Nor, as he too emerged from the keeping room, did Robert, whose chest was sprinkled with auburn hair. They were attractive, these Mathieson males, she had to admit, but only Matt had the looks to stop a woman’s breath.
If she were the kind of woman, that is, to have her breath stopped by such things. Which, Caroline assured herself as she stirred the porridge with more force than was necessary, she emphatically was not!
“I’m hungry.” This announcement came from David, who entered along with John. Both boys stopped just inside the door to watch Caroline uncertainly. From the way they, and Thomas and Robert as well, behaved in her presence, Caroline felt herself to be some kind of alien creature. Had they had so little experience of women that they actually considered females dangerous? Matt and Daniel, who were older, were far less wary of her, although neither of them could be termed effusive in their welcome.
“The meal’s ready as soon as your uncle gets back with the milk.” She tried a tentative smile on the boys. Really, it was a shame for their father and uncles to raise them in an atmosphere so distrustful of women. Although surely they must retain some soft memories of their mother.
“I want to eat now!”
“Be patient, Davey. And polite,” Matt said, frowning his son into silence.
“Will she leave today?” It was a whine.
“I told you that your Aunt Caroline will be staying here.”
“I don’t want her to! I want her to go!”
“Silence!” His patience at an end, Matt roared the order. David was quelled, although his lower lip jutted ominously.
Heaping porridge into bowls, Caroline sighed inwardly. It would take some time to win David’s friendship, it was clear.
“Have you learned your lesson for the day?” Matt, his tone gentled, asked his younger son. Davey, still mutinous, nodded.
“Let’s hear it.” Matt sat down at the table, his eyes on his son.
“In Adam’s fall, we sinned all.” There was more, but Caroline was too preoccupied to hear it. Watching the little boy reciting to the father of whom he was a near miniature, she felt a pang somewhere in the region of her heart. Whether they wanted her or not, these children were her nephews, the last blood kin she had left in the world. She would do her best by them.
Today each wore a badly wrinkled shirt of blue-and-white speckled homespun with what appeared, from rips and stains that seemed identical, to be the same breeches they’d worn the previous day. David’s stockings had been torn and most inexpertly mended; John’s had not been mended at all, so that a glimpse of skinny shin was evident whenever he moved. Both boys had wet hair that had been slicked with a comb, and both had clean faces. Other than that, they looked sorely in need of care. Since the task was now hers, she meant to do her utmost to remedy the lack. The first item on her day’s agenda would be the washing and mending of their clothes.
Daniel entered with the milk and butter, Caroline set bowls of steaming porridge on the table, and the menfolk fell to with a will. Five minutes later they were done and the boys were on their way out the door.
“What’s this?” Caroline had started to clear the table when she found on it a small wooden slab with a piece of precious paper attached. The surface of the contraption was covered with a sheet of transparent horn. The alphabet was inscribed on the top of the slab, with the Lord’s Prayer on the bottom.
“Davey, you forgot your hornbook!” shouted Robert. He snatched the thing from Caroline and then was out the door after his nephews, waving the wooden slab by its stout handle. The door stood open behind him; the rising sun touched the keeping room and the kitchen beyond it with a warm light.
“We’ll be in the south field,” Matt said to Caroline, as he, Daniel, and Thomas prepared to depart. “ ’Tis not so far that you need fear to come alone. Walk along the stream and you can’t miss us. If you encounter a problem, shout and we’ll hear you. Cold meat, bread, a few apples, and some ale will do us till dinner.”
“Yes, master,” Caroline responded tartly, her hands loaded down with emptied bowls that she was removing from the table. Her head full of the improvements she would make to the boys’ wardrobes, she had completely forgotten the other seemingly endless tasks that awaited her. Matt’s bland assumption that she had nothing better to do than interrupt her work in the middle of the day to carry a meal to him and his brothers was maddening. Besides the time she needed to put order into the boys’ garments, there were windows to wash, bedrooms to be turned out, furniture and floors to scrub and polish, other clothes to wash, press, and mend, and countless additional jobs to be done. Today she would be on her own, and there was so much work waiting that she was tired already from just thinking about it. But Matt acted as if his request was perfectly reasonable. Which, Caroline supposed, to one who had nothing to do with the meal’s preparation, delivery, and cleanup, it was.
“If you have some objection, pray state it baldly. I’ve no time or patience to waste on female megrims.”
“Megrims!” Caroline dropped the bowls into the bucket with a clatter and turned to face him, fists on hips. “I’ll have you know that I suffer from no megrims, sir! ’Tis your lack of consideration that pricks my temper!”
“Oh, I see. It’s too much to expect you to carry a cold meal out to us in the middle of the day, is it? In that case, we’ll return to the house for something hot.”
They locked eyes. Annoyed, Caroline had to admit that he had her there. Carrying a meal out to them would be a deal of trouble, but the alternative would involve even more work. She had longed for a home and family with an intensity that had been almost physical for at least the last four years. Now that she had what she had wished for, she should be thankful, not cross. But Matt’s attitude made her want to heave something at his head.
“No, I’ll bring the meal out,” she said through her teeth.
Matt shrugged. “As you will.”
Then without so much as a victorious glimmer he followed Robert and Thomas out the door, leaving Caroline alone to sizzle. For a moment after they left she was tempted to kick the table leg to vent her spleen, but the realization that the only likely outcome of that would be to hurt her toes dissuaded her. Really, the Mathieson males were aggravating, and Matt was the most aggravating one of all!
With no one to be affected by her anger, nursing it was useless. So Caroline gave it up, scraped the pot clean to find enough porridge for herself, poured Millicent a saucer of milk, and sat down at the cleared table to make her own meal. Taking care of a houseful of men and boys was going to be a daunting task. It was clear that it would require working her fingers to the bone from dawn to midnight, day after day, with scant reward. But still—’twas good to have a home. Not since her mother died had she known such stability, and the lack made it all the swe
eter now that she had found it again. To know with certainty that there would be food on the table for each meal, that she would lay her head in the same spot for countless nights to come, that there was no one or nothing to menace her, brought with it a relief so profound that she could only savor it. Accustoming herself to the vagaries of so many males might require some effort, but it could be done. She would just have to give both herself and her graceless new relatives time to adjust to the situation. The trick would be to hang on to her temper in the meantime.
Several hours later she was wrapping fresh-baked bread in a cloth and placing it in the bucket atop the sliced remains of an end of cured ham she had found in the smokehouse. Four grown men would eat a considerable amount, and she had already had an unhappy experience with this group’s appetite. Frowning thoughtfully, she wrapped another loaf of bread and put it into the bucket, then added several apples and a good supply of green onions. To feed them adequately, it was plain that she would be forever cooking. Caroline rolled her eyes as she looked at the two loaves of bread that remained on the table. Four loaves baked that morning, and already, with one meal, half were gone. Well, she would just have to set more dough to rise when she returned.
Hefting the bucket in one hand and the jug of ale in the other, Caroline started out the door. The air was cold, the sunlight bright as it had been the previous day. Ordinarily she would have put on a bonnet to protect her skin from the sun, but she did not feel like going back upstairs to unearth one from her trunks. She had finally found time to brush her hair, and she wore it as she usually did, in a simple knob at her nape. Her dress already bore a number of spots from the scrubbing she had done, but at least it was now fastened correctly. It was the plainest gown she possessed, but it was still far too fine for such menial labor as she had been doing. The fitted bodice of heavy pink cotton was edged with swaths of white muslin around its wide oval neckline, and the white muslin sleeves of her chemise were visible to the elbow. The overskirt, which was fashionably looped up in back, was of the same pink cotton as the bodice, while the linen underskirt was maroon and white-striped. It had once been an elegant dress, commissioned at the same time as the rest of her wardrobe. All her gowns had been designed to attract attention as well as play up her unusual beauty. Her father had taken a great deal of pleasure in escorting her about whatever town they had happened to find themselves in, making sure that she was well seen by day in order to lure opponents to his table at night. But her weight loss had rendered it too large, and it showed signs of wear about the hem. The high-heeled shoes that went with it she had left off in favor of more practical flat ones of light brown leather. As a result, the hem trailed even more than it might have; fortunately she had at last had a chance to get at her pins and had fastened up the underskirt just enough to free her feet. Certainly no one could take exception to the small amount of ankle that her makeshift remedy displayed. Besides, who would there be to see?
The brisk wind raised chill bumps along her arms, and Caroline spent a useless moment regretting the loss of her cloak. She had no other; before the coming of winter she must procure some cloth and make one. Or perhaps some of Elizabeth’s garments remained that she could make use of. Caroline felt a momentary pang for the loss of the sister she had barely known. Then she dismissed the emotion; never again, she reminded herself, would she look to the past.
As she walked along, she cast sideways glances at the forest that seemed far more menacing now that she was alone. Follow the stream, Matt had said. Well, she would, so long as that stream cut through cleared ground. Not for anything did she mean to venture alone into the woods. The Mathiesons could starve first!
Fortunately, the stream stayed in the open. Caroline hurried, trying not to start nervously at every unfamiliar sound. Her shoulders ached as the bucket and jug grew heavier with each step. The countryside was vast, the trees tall as mountains. Everything in this new world seemed bigger than its English counterpart! As she thought about that, Caroline pictured the well-muscled height of the Mathiesons and added silently, even the men.
Something moved in the forest. Something large, which seemed to be traveling parallel to her path. She caught the merest glimpse of it from the corner of her eye. Her head pivoted to her left, her eyes searching the leafy undergrowth. But now that she was looking at it directly, not a twig stirred.
Still, the movement had not come from her imagination. She was sure of that.
The weight of the bucket and jug ceased to bother her as she quickened her step. Constant quick glances at the forest yielded the same results: nothing. Yet she could not rid herself of the notion that someone, or something, was watching her.
The stream led over a grassy knob. Caroline vowed that if she did not see the men from its top, she was heading back to the house. But the hideous thought occurred, would she be any safer then? Whatever was following her—if indeed something was—would in all likelihood turn around when she did.
Fear built inside her as she hurried up the knob. Her palms grew slippery with it even as her throat went dry. Gaining the top of the knob, she looked back over her shoulder—and found to her horror that something had, indeed, been watching her. Or, rather, someone.
A savage, naked except for a cloth swathing his loins and a few stripes of bright paint, stood beneath the overhanging trees. His skin was a deep clay color, his hair hung black and lank to his shoulders, and his face was as harsh as a hunting hawk’s. He was watching her intently, and even as Caroline registered his presence he began to move toward her, his swift stride graceful.
Caroline gaped, willing the apparition to be no more than a figment of her imagination. When he didn’t vanish, but instead kept coming toward her, she started to back away. The bucket slipped unnoticed from her hand and rolled clanking down the way she had come, spilling its contents as it went. The jug dropped too, with a heavy thud. It landed on its side in the tall grass, but, being stoppered, held on to its contents.
“Unnhh!” The man glared at her, gesturing fiercely —and that was enough for Caroline. She raised both hands in fists to her mouth and screamed.
Behind her she heard a volley of shouts, and realized with devout thankfulness that the Mathiesons were somewhere close at hand. The savage heard too, and stopped as if undecided. Caroline screamed again, and turned to run. Even as she did so Raleigh hurtled past her, barking ferociously and flying toward the savage. The man took one look at the huge dog, turned on his heel, and fled.
“What the devil?” Despite his limp, it was Matt who reached her first. Whether he had been the closest or whether her obvious terror had spurred him to superhuman effort she had no idea. All she knew as she threw herself against his chest was that he was solid and safe and known and there, and that in her fright she needed him. She clung, gasping, unable to force out words, her face pressed into the hard warmth of his chest, her fingers wrapped in the soft linen of his shirt. Against her breasts she could feel the unyielding strength of him; her thighs pressed against the iron muscles of his legs. Her nostrils were filled with the scent of man—and then his arms, which had wrapped around her, instinctively, she thought, dropped. His hands came up to close over her elbows and thrust her back from him. The gesture was unnecessary. As soon as Caroline realized where her fright had put her, she was pulling away. A blush suffused her cheeks. Even as she colored up, her gaze met his.
For just a moment, as they looked at each other, the memory of the morning hung between them. Caroline’s eyes widened at what she again thought she read in his. They were bright blue, blazing blue in the hard darkness of his face, restless eyes, wanting—and then, before she could be sure, or even respond with a shudder of distaste, they changed. Even as Robert and Thomas and Daniel thundered up beside them, the heat went out of the blue depths. They grew shuttered, cold, and distant, leaving Caroline to wonder if she had mistaken the brief flare of masculine awareness. Had she only imagined, out of her own oversensitivity to such matters, the hunger she thought she s
aw in his eyes?
“What happened?” Daniel demanded, panting. Matt’s hands released their grip on her elbows. Still shaken and unsure, Caroline pulled her eyes away from Matt’s to look at his brother.
“It was a savage,” she answered in an unsteady voice, pointing back toward where the man had stood. “He came out of the woods over there.”
“All that fuss over an Indian?” Robert said in a scathing tone. Caroline’s gaze slewed around to him, but before she could speak Thomas forestalled her with a shout.
“Our food!” he yelped, pointing back down the knob toward where only the apples and onions remained of her carefully prepared luncheon. Raleigh, an expression of what looked like utter delight on his face, was wolfing down a loaf of bread. Even as the men bellowed in unison, the dog gulped down that loaf and grabbed the second, shaking it free of its cloth.
“Drop it! Drop it, you mangy beast!”
All four men started running down the knob in instinctive response. Raleigh, sensing that his prize was about to be stolen, raced into the woods with the loaf in his mouth and Robert and Thomas in shouting pursuit. Matt and Daniel, already perceiving their mission’s uselessness, had left off the chase a quarter of the way and halfway down the knob, respectively. Feeling somehow guilty—-although how anything that had happened could be laid at her door she didn’t know—Caroline watched as Matt, without so much as a glance at her, began to gather up the scattered apples and onions. The meat had apparently gone the way of the bread.
This Side of Heaven Page 8