“It was truly a savage,” Caroline said, succumbing to the absurd urge to justify herself as Matt, arms full of reclaimed apples and onions, climbed up the knob again and stopped beside her, looking down into her upturned face.
“The Indians hereabouts are friendly, as a general rule. We even trade with them from time to time. Likely he wanted something, and your screams scared him off.” Matt’s expression was completely unreadable, but Caroline felt guiltier than ever. She also felt foolish, both for her panic over the savage (though it hadn’t seemed at all foolish at the time) and her feeling that Matt had experienced a bout of intense masculine interest in her person. He was as cool and remote as ever now, and she was sure that what she thought she had seen and recognized in him had been as much in her head as in his eyes.
“At least the ale didn’t suffer.” Daniel, ever cheerful, had picked up the jug and was hefting it aloft as he joined them.
“Wonderful. We’ll dine on apples and onions and ale,” Robert said sourly as he, too, reclaimed the top of the knob with Thomas, who bore the now-empty bucket in his hand.
“Because she was afeared of an Indian.” Thomas’s voice dripped scorn.
“Because your ill-behaved dog ate the food intended for you, rather!” Caroline rounded on Thomas, arms akimbo.
“You can’t put the blame on Raleigh when ’twas you who dropped the bucket in the first place!”
“Oh, can’t I just? That beast may think himself fortunate if he does not end up in my stewpot!”
“Harm him, and …”
“Enough!” Matt roared, and Caroline winced at the sheer volume of the sound. But it silenced Thomas and the rest of them. “Apples and ale will do us until supper. We’ve passed many a day with less. Though ’twould be nice if you would keep in mind that we’ve had little in our stomachs today when you prepare the evening meal.”
This last, directed to Caroline, was a not too subtle reminder of the previous night’s shortcomings.
“Oh, I’ll prepare enough for the King’s entire army this time, you may be sure!”
“Cromwell’s, rather.” At that Matt smiled at her. It was a mere curve of his lips sparked by amusement, but her eyes widened at the sheer dazzling handsomeness it gave to his face. Roundhead or not, maddening or not, man or not, he was a gorgeous specimen. Had her heart not been permanently armored against men, it might be in grave danger from such as him.
“I’ll leave you to your meal, then,” she muttered, dragging her gaze away from him with an effort.
“Such as it is,” Thomas sniffed, even as Caroline started back down the hill.
“Caroline!” Daniel stopped her. She looked over her shoulder at him inquiringly. “If you’re afraid to walk home alone, I’ll be glad to accompany you.”
From the expressions on his brothers’ faces as they turned as one to stare at him, such an offer was going to earn Daniel a good deal of ridicule. The memory of the savage surfaced to scare Caroline a little, but Matt had said that he was harmless and she trusted Matt. Besides, she would be boiled in oil before she would admit to fear again before the unfeeling lot of them!
“Thank you for your kind offer, but I’m not afraid,” she said rather more shortly than the occasion warranted, and started off again.
“Caroline!” She had not gone half a dozen paces when she was stopped once more, this time by Matt.
“What now?” Turning, she frowned at him, surprised to see that he was coming down the knob toward her. Surely he was not going to be so chivalrous as to walk her home? Strange how her pulse quickened at the thought.
Her brows lifted at him as he stopped in front of her.
“Now that you have treated us all to a rare display of your bare ankles …” His voice was low, meant for her ears alone, and there was an undertone of anger to it that raised her hackles even before his words penetrated. “You might consider spending the afternoon in fashioning yourself some more seemly gowns. The one you wore when you arrived was almost equally as revealing of your bosom.”
As the sense of what he was saying sank in, Caroline’s spine stiffened and her eyes flashed with indignation. “The other gown was too large, and I merely pinned the hem up on this one so that I could walk unencumbered!”
“Be that as it may”—he was unsmiling still—“here in Connecticut Colony we are accustomed to seeing our womenfolk more modestly dressed.”
Then, before Caroline could give voice to any of the many outraged replies that popped into her head, he turned on his heel and strode away to rejoin his brothers, who were already disappearing over the knob.
11
That evening, after supper, their little group was, on the surface at least, pleasantly domestic in appearance. While Caroline scoured trenchers and cleaned the kitchen, fully aware of how ridiculous it was to take such satisfaction in so homely a task but enjoying it nonetheless, the boys sat at the table doing their homework by candlelight. John worked on what seemed to be a vast number of sums, while Davey labored mightily to write the alphabet. Daniel mended harnesses and Thomas sharpened blades. Robert had retrieved the treetrunk-size chunk of wood that had graced the front room on Caroline’s arrival, which she had promptly ordered Daniel to carry off to the barn. Now Robert was carving what he said would be a chair out of it, although it presently bore little resemblance to one, to Caroline’s thinking. Matt was outside, doing chores. He had taken himself off immediately after the meal was finished, and Caroline had not seen him since. She had spoken not a word to him since that last exchange on the hill, nor had he spoken to her. And she still wore the dress that provoked his ire. The whole time she dished up the meal, she silently flaunted it like a badge of independence. But if Matt even noticed, he said nary a word. Having geared herself for battle, Caroline felt almost disappointed.
Now, as she sprinkled fresh sand on the floor, Caroline watched Davey. He had his lower lip caught firmly between his teeth as he strove to scratch out the letters in a fair hand. Beside him an overturned mug contained his newest possession, a small pond frog. Every few seconds he swept back the ragged edges of his bangs, as they hung down over his eyes and threatened to obscure his vision. She had already spent the afternoon in washing, mending, and ironing his and John’s clothes and was looking forward to viewing their much-improved appearance when they left for school on the morrow. The only thing lacking, she decided, was a haircut. She was bound and determined to remedy the lack.
“Whew!” Davey said at last, shoving the bench back in an exuberant gesture of release.
“You made me make a blot!” John glowered at his brother from across the table.
“All done?” Caroline asked brightly, having already assembled scissors, chair, and comb. Not unexpectedly, Davey didn’t favor her with a reply, but the way he skipped away from the table to join Daniel by the fire gave Caroline her answer.
“Good,” she continued, just as if the child had spoken. “Now we have time to trim your hair before you go to bed. And John’s too, of course.”
Both boys’ heads swiveled toward her as if pulled by invisible strings.
“What?” John asked, mouth agape, while Davey, spying the waiting scissors and chair, reacted more vehemently.
“Don’t want no haircut!” He scowled at her and sidled strategically behind Daniel even as she beckoned to him.
“You’ll look so handsome with your hair cut so as to show off your face. And you’ll be able to see a whole lot better,” Caroline coaxed, edging toward him with the stealthy movements a hunter might have used toward a rabbit.
“No!”
“Now, Davey …” said Daniel quietly.
“What’s the matter?” asked Robert, poking his head in the door from the front room, where he’d been working.
“ ’Twould be best if you just left the boy alone.” Thomas, openly hostile, had come to join Robert in the doorway. Davey, sensing which uncle would prove his best ally, moved away from Daniel to edge around the perimeter of the room
toward Thomas.
“Thorn, you’re not helping matters,” Daniel chided.
“I don’t suppose the boy has to get his hair cut if he doesn’t want to,” Thomas returned.
Caroline, gritting her teeth, willed her expression to remain pleasant.
“Davey, surely you’re not afraid of a little thing like getting your hair cut! Why, it won’t hurt a bit!” she said.
Davey gained Thomas’s side and clung to his leg like a limpet.
“Don’t let her touch me, Uncle Thorn! I hate her!”
“David Mathieson!” Matt appeared in the keeping room door, shrugging out of his coat and bringing a whiff of cold night air with him. His eyes fastened warningly on his younger son. “You will be polite to your Aunt Caroline, do you hear me?”
“But, Pa, she wants to cut my hair!” Davey wailed, and abandoned Thomas to hurtle toward his father. He wrapped his arms around Matt’s leg just as he had Thomas’s. Matt put his hand on the child’s head, smoothing Davey’s hair off his forehead as the boy looked pleadingly up at him,
“Mine too!” John put in hurriedly.
“It looks to me like you both could use haircuts,” Matt said.
“Pa!” The boys responded in identical tones of betrayal.
“In fact, I fancy we all could.” Matt looked across the room at Caroline. “Including me. Think you’re up to taking on so many?”
“Why—certainly.” If she was faintly taken aback at the idea of performing so intimate a task for Matt—and, of course, his brothers—she had enough presence of mind not to let it show.
“Good, then. Who’ll be first?”
“Let’s draw straws!” said John, sounding suddenly enthusiastic.
“Good thinking.” Matt went into the keeping room, where he pulled straws from the broom kept there and emerged with six of them sticking out of his fist. “Short one’s first. John?”
John drew a straw.
“Davey?”
“But I don’t want my hair cut, Pa!”
“Davey!”
Davey drew a straw.
“Rob?”
Robert drew a straw.
“Dan?”
Daniel drew a straw.
“Thom?”
“Wait a minute! I don’t think I want my hair cut, either!”
Matt fixed him with a look. Thomas drew a straw.
“So where’s the short one?” John demanded, frowning. Everyone held up his straw.
“Pa has it!” Davey exclaimed with delight, and it was true. Matt had been left with the short straw. He looked at it for a moment, appeared slightly nonplussed, then glanced over to where Caroline stood watching him. If she felt a trifle nervous, she was determined not to let it show.
“Sit down, then,” she said as casually as possible, indicating the chair she had set out. “And we’ll get it done. And it won’t hurt a bit, either.”
“You relieve my mind.” If there was an edge of dryness to that, Caroline took it in good part. Indeed, the prospect of having Matt at her mercy, even for so small a matter as the cutting of his hair, made her spirits rise enormously. Just let him say one unpleasant thing to her while she had the scissors in her hand, and he would leave the chair as bald as an egg.
Matt must have read her mind. Even as he seated himself, and suffered her to secure a cloth around his neck to catch the cut hairs, he pinned glinting blue eyes on her.
“One lock falls amiss, and I’ll see your hair shorn before morning,” he threatened under his breath.
“Don’t you trust me?” Caroline asked just as softly and snapped the scissors together in a way that might have passed as teasing.
Then all five remaining Mathiesons gathered round, open fascination in their eyes as they prepared to watch the shearing of the first, and most fearsome, sheep. Of necessity, all covert exchanges between Caroline and Matt ceased.
Picking up the comb, she walked around behind him. For a moment she hesitated, studying the wealth of thick black hair. His shoulders and back dwarfed the narrow-back chair, his long legs were stretched out in front of him, and his arms were crossed almost menacingly over his chest. His jaw was set, his eyes stared straight ahead. Above the pinned cloth, his neck was bronzed and strong-looking. Staring at the vulnerable nape, where a myriad of blue-black curls nestled in almost feminine beauty, Caroline felt a queer little stirring deep inside her. For no more than an instant, the impulse came to her to run her finger along that bared, vulnerable neck. The image this conjured up made her stiffen. She almost dropped the comb and turned away. Then, supremely conscious of her interested audience, she took a firm grip on her emotions, along with a deep breath, and ran the comb through Matt’s hair.
Each curl and wave sprang immediately back into place, leaving no mark of the comb’s passing. Over his forehead and around his ears and neck were the spots that needed trimming. Abandoning the comb, which was doing no good at all, Caroline cautiously ran her fingers through the curly mass. His scalp felt warm beneath her touch. The strands of his hair were cool and crisp as she drew them away from his head.
Snip. She trimmed the ends so that they were just longer than his right ear. Snip. She did the same for his left. Then she stood behind him again, trying to pretend that he was no older, no more threatening to her peace of mind, than Davey. She threaded her fingers through the curls at his nape. Still she could not quite control the unsteadiness of her hands as she stretched the hair away from his scalp.
Strangely she felt no repulsion. Whether it was because she knew he was no threat to her, with or without their interested audience, or because she so thoroughly controlled the situation, she didn’t know. But he seemed to sense that something in her attitude toward him had changed as she cut his hair. When she came around to stand in front of him and trim the locks that fell over his forehead, he looked up to meet her eyes with a speculative look in his own.
“You next, Davey,” he said, breaking the spell along with their eye contact as his gaze found his son, who was watching wide-eyed along with the rest. Even before she had finished, Matt was rising from the chair, pulling the cloth from his shoulders and installing Davey where he had sat. Although Matt still had a few locks that needed trimming, Caroline made no protest. What had occurred—and had not occurred—inside her body when she had touched Matt needed some thinking on. What she did not need was to go on touching him.
With her mind on Matt, she smoothed her hands over Davey’s silky hair without thought, only to be rewarded by having him jerk his head away from her touch. The look he gave her over his shoulder was black with loathing and quickly recalled Caroline to herself. In a very businesslike fashion she cut his hair, trying not to feel hurt as he held himself stiffly erect beneath her ministrations. The instant she finished he jumped up with a sigh of relief and retreated to the opposite end of the room. Clearly winning the child over was not going to be easy. If anything, he seemed to dislike her more now than he had when she first arrived.
Robert was next, and she made short work of him and the others. In half an hour all were done, and Matt was ordering the boys off to bed. Sleepy-eyed but still resentful, Davey at first defied his father, refusing to budge from the corner where he was comfortably curled up. Fists on hips, Matt eyed his recalcitrant son, and Caroline winced as she considered the form his wrath might take. For a moment the two stared at each other while the issue trembled in the balance. Then Matt’s face abruptly softened. He swooped down on the boy, catching him up with his hands beneath the child’s armpits and tossing him high in the air before catching him again. Giggling as he wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and his legs around his waist, Davey made no further protest as he was borne off toward the stairs. John, trailing them, was smiling, and Caroline smiled too. The sheer coziness of the scene touched her heart. Watching them go, she admired her own handiwork on the three eye-catchingly similar heads of black hair, and to her surprise she felt a totally unexpected tingle of pride in the sheer handsomeness of the
man and his sons. Hastily she attributed the feeling to nothing more than satisfaction in a job well done and then shied away from examining her emotions altogether.
Caroline tidied the kitchen one last time, put more dough out to rise, and went upstairs herself. As no one had told her otherwise, she supposed she would once again be sleeping in Matt’s bed.
But not alone. Caroline made that discovery as she climbed between the sheets in the dark. Her toes touched something—and it moved! Something alive was under there! Something cold and faintly damp and … surely it wasn’t a snake!
Caroline was out of that bed before the thought was half-formed. Instinct alone held back a scream—along with, perhaps, the memory of how scornfully her screams had been received earlier in the day. Shuddering, she struck flint to steel and lighted the bedside candle. Turning back to the bed, prepared to jump out of the way as fast as could be if whatever was under there warranted it, she flung back the bedcoverings.
From the very end of the bed, where her feet had been, a frog jumped to the center of the mattress.
For a moment Caroline stared at it. Frogs held no particular horrors for her—but how on earth had such a thing gotten into her bed? She remembered Davey and his newly captured pet.
Rivet! The frog croaked and jumped again, this time landing at the very edge of the mattress. One more leap and it would be on the floor.
Catching up the pitcher that stood on the bedside table, Caroline used it to scoop up the frog. The pitcher would keep it safely imprisoned for the night—and in the morning she knew just what she would do with it.
This Side of Heaven Page 9