“Well, I’d heard just the other day that the banker, Mr. Schooner, called in the note on the Ashbys’ plantation. It seems Hank has been pilfering the family funds and can’t afford to pay the taxes.”
Peter’s heart skipped, his hopes lifted. “Is the rumor true?”
The sheriff shrugged. “Don’t know. Like I said, I’ll check it out.” He took off his hat and swiped his hand through his hair. “You take it easy now, you hear?
“Yeah, there’s nothing else for me to do.”
Hampton turned toward the door and opened it. “I’ll keep in touch.”
“Thanks for everything.”
When the door closed, Peter gritted his teeth, cursing under his breath. Hank being an Ashby made things much more complicated, and the news of Belle Grove’s note being called couldn’t come at a better time, yet what could he do about it? No matter, he had to get his money back.
He stopped his thoughts and growled. The Ashbys needed money to keep their home. Peter had his life savings stolen by the very insect who lived there. Hank had probably stolen his money to pay the taxes.
Peter hit his fist into the door.
The plantation and the money will be mine soon. This I swear or I’ll eat my dusty old hat.
And if it took going to talk to Hank Ashby himself, Peter would do it.
CECILIA STOOD IN FRONT of her full-length mirror and arranged the wig piece, clipping it to the back of her head. As the mistress of Belle Grove, she couldn’t be seen with short hair, and this particular piece made it appear as if she had her long mane swept up in a stylish bun. To add the finishing touches, she wrapped black netting around the wig.
As she dropped her hands, her gaze fell to her russet colored cotton print dress. She smoothed her hand over the snug fitting bodice and vertical tucks on either side of the needle-woven button closures running down the front. She turned sideways and fluffed the bustle. Although not one of her fancier dresses, this would suit perfectly for being out in the yard and fields today.
She released a deep sigh. If only she could find a way to pay the few servants they had left. Every available hand was needed if they were to harvest the sugarcane and make a profit.
Brushing her fingers over her cheeks, she glanced back at the mirror and sighed. She’d didn’t have the sallow pallor the sickly mistress should have since she’d spent enough time in the sun as the doctor. She’d have to think up a great excuse for her sudden wellness.
It’d been two weeks since she told most of the town Doctor Copeland had to go back to Virginia to settle family matters. Thankfully, not one person asked what had to be settled. She couldn’t start working in the fields right away, so she made enough appearances outside for others to notice her out and about.
As she descended the stairs, her one-inch heels clicked on the wooden floor, echoing in the empty house. Sorrow clenched in her gut. This house used to sing with merriment when her parents were alive. They had barbeques every weekend, and friends and family from afar would come and join in the entertainment.
The last four years had changed her and Hank. Back then, he’d been a different person. Shoot, she’d been different, too, just starting out practicing medicine in secret. Now, most of the extended family had died or moved away, and the neighbors had stopped coming over. She couldn’t blame them.
Yet, it was because of her parents’ deaths she’d decided to try her hand at doctoring. Of course, she had to disguise herself as a man to accomplish this since the town had driven out the last female doctor. Cecilia would change their minds eventually. More than anything, she loved being a doctor. Helping people completed her, fulfilled her.
She frowned. It also made her lonely. One of these days people would come to accept her as a woman doctor. Until then, she had to keep her identity hidden.
She stopped on the bottom step and listened. Two weeks had passed since she’d talked to Hank, and she’d assumed he had left since he wasn’t in the house. Perhaps he slept off his inebriated state in some dark alley.
An unexpected knock rattled the front door. She jumped, bringing her hand to her chest as if to control the erratic beating. She swallowed hard. Her role as mistress started now.
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and walked to the door on unsteady legs, cursing her fear. She opened the door, and her heart stalled.
What’s he doing here?
She forced herself to smile. “Good morning, Sheriff Hampton. To what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise?”
His eyes widened, and he quickly doffed his hat. “Good day, Miss Ashby. I hadn’t planned on you answering the door.” His gaze swept over her attire, the corner of his mouth lifting a little higher.
“You’re looking well. May I hope you’re feeling better?”
She nodded. “I’m gaining my strength little by little, thanks to the miracle cures of Doctor Copeland.”
“Good, good.” His hands clasped his hat against his stomach. “Would your brother happen to be in this morning? I’ve been trying to talk to him for a couple of weeks now, but he’s been a hard man to catch.”
Her rapid heartbeat threatened to lift the material of her dress right off her chest. He’s here to arrest Hank.
She breathed slower, trying to control her rapid pulse, then feigned a concerned frown and shook her head. “A week or so ago Hank informed me he would be out of town for a while.”
The sheriff’s forehead creased. “Did he tell you when he’d return?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you where he went?”
“He just said out of town.”
“He didn’t happen to tell you why, did he?”
“No, although I had assumed it was to find men to help harvest our fields.” She folded her arms over her bosom. “Sheriff, what’s going on? Is Hank causing problems again?”
He scratched his chin and chuckled, although it sounded forced. “I just need to ask him some questions. Appears there was some trouble behind Deborah’s Delights two weeks ago. I’d like to see if Hank knows anything about it.”
She gasped, hoping it sounded genuinely horrified. “Why, Sheriff, is it something terrible?”
He waved his hand through the air. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, Miss Ashby.”
“When Hank returns, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”
“I’d appreciate it. Good day, Miss Ashby.” He set his hat back on his head and turned. “You take care now.”
She clung to the door, watching until he strode to his horse, mounted, and turned her way. Forcing a smile, she waved. He acknowledged her with a nod, touched the brim of his hat, kicked the animal into a trot, and rode off.
Either the sheriff didn’t want her to worry because of her gender, or he really didn’t think Hank had stabbed Mr. Grayson. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to turn her brother in just to find out.
Hank said he didn’t stab Mr. Grayson, and although she had a hard time believing it, she must trust him. After all, he was her only family left around these parts. With him locked in jail, they’d lose their plantation for certain. Of course, with his gambling habit, they might lose it anyway.
She sighed and stepped out onto the front steps. The sun glared at her from between the willow trees, and with her hand, she shielded her eyes against the gleam.
“Pssst.”
She blinked and shook her head. What was that?
“Pssst, Cecilia, behind you—in the house.”
She swung and narrowed her eyes, searching for her brother. He stood behind the door, peeking around the solid carved wood.
“Is he gone?” he asked.
She planted her hands on her hips and scowled. “Yes.”
He motioned with his head. “Come here. I don’t want to have a conversation with you where others might see.”
She huffed and marched in the house, slamming the door behind her then followed him into the parlor. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d left town.”
He closed the door then leaned against it. “I had left town, but I wandered around, not knowing where to go—so I came back to hide out here. At least I know I’ll find food.”
“Good grief, Hank, if you had a brain...” Her forehead throbbed, and she rubbed the sudden hammering.
“Well, do you know someplace else I could go and still eat?”
She sighed and dropped her hand. “How about staying with Aunt Beatrice?”
“That old hag?” His eyebrows drew together. “Why would I want to go there?”
“Because she’s half blind and half deaf, so she wouldn’t see your pathetic face nor hear your bellyaching. But the added bonus is that she lives in Virginia.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So that’s far enough away from Sheriff Hampton that you won’t get arrested and hanged for a crime you don’t think you committed.”
He glared at her. “It’s obvious you still think I stabbed Mr. Grayson.”
She clenched her hands at her side. “All I know is you stole his money, and right now, that makes you a criminal. Until we can find some way to pay him back, you need to stay hidden, which means you have to leave town.”
His mouth dropped into a frown, and he covered his face.
She rolled her eyes and stepped to him, touching his arm. “I’m trying to protect you until we can find out what really happened that night. You say you didn’t stab Mr. Grayson, but the sheriff is looking for that person. I’m certain he also believes that person stole Mr. Grayson’s money.”
He nodded and dropped his hands. “You’re right. You’re always right.” He let out a sigh. “I’ll leave town tonight and go visit Aunt Beatrice.”
“Until then, you’d better go back up to your room and stay.” She softly patted his face. “You don’t want to be seen by anyone—not even the servants.”
His gaze skimmed over her dress, and he smiled. “It’s good to talk to you as my sister again.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek then turned, opened the parlor door, and bolted up the stairs.
Heaving a sigh, she walked down the hallway to the side door. When she stepped outside and peered into the cane field, panic tightened her heart. How could she harvest with only a few servants? And how on earth could she pay them?
She groaned and rubbed her forehead.
Everything looked hopeless, and all she could do was pray for a miracle.
The clip-clop of horse’s hooves drew her attention to the long drive, but the sun’s glare hid the rider’s identity. She squinted and stepped off the porch toward her visitor. When a man’s shape came into view, curiosity lodged in her head.
She hadn’t seen Mr. Sterling for a few months. Of course, it’d been that long since she played her original role as the Belle Grove’s mistress. Before her parents had died, he’d spent a lot of time with her family.
The closer he came, the flowers in his hands became noticeable. He wore clean clothes, a fancy hat, and he displayed a warm smile.
She bit her lower lip to keep from grinning. It looked like Mr. Sterling was coming to court her again. She stayed rooted in her spot until he neared.
He tipped his hat and grinned. “Good day, Miss Ashby.”
“Good day, Mr. Sterling.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I came unannounced.” He climbed off his horse, his new boots crunching on the gravel.
“Not at all.”
“I ran into the sheriff a few minutes ago on my way here, and he said how healthy you looked.” He ran his gaze over her body. “And I’m delighted to see he wasn’t mistaken.”
“I must admit, I have been feeling better lately.”
He stepped to her and presented her with the flowers. “When I saw these lovely daisies, I, um...thought of you.”
She bit her cheek to keep from laughing. “Why, thank you, Mr. Sterling.” Accepting the bouquet, she lifted it to her nose and sniffed.
He doffed his hat and stepped nearer. Four years ago, she’d thought him to be the most handsome man she’d ever met. Curly blond hair swirled around his neck and ears, and he sported a mustache like most of the men did. Unfortunately, the years had added wrinkles around his eyes, given him a flaccid stomach, and receded his hairline.
Of course, she couldn’t help but compare him to Peter—to the man who’d introduced her to desire and infatuation. Her heart fluttered in remembrance, and she silently cursed her weakness. Thankfully, she’d heard that Peter had left town.
Mr. Sterling touched her shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind me being so bold, but there’s another reason I came.”
She stepped out of his reach, narrowed her eyes, and stiffened her back. Who does he think he is? Just because he owned the neighboring plantation and she allowed him to call on her now and again, it didn’t give him the right to touch her with so much familiarity.
“I confess, I heard a rumor about Belle Grove’s taxes not being paid, and I want to offer my help.”
She lifted her chin. “Thank you for your concern, but my brother and I have everything under control.”
“Miss Ashby...Cecilia.” He stepped closer again and stroked her cheek. “You don’t have to pretend to be strong for me. We’ve known each other too long.”
“Mr. Sterling, please.” She pushed his hand away. “I appreciate your kindness, but truly, Belle Grove is under no threat.”
“But I’d heard you still owe taxes.”
“We do, but they’ll be paid soon enough.”
He took her hand. His thumb stroked her knuckles. “I want to help.”
“Mr. Sterling, please—” She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip tightened.
“Cecilia, I’ve come to make an offer I hope you don’t refuse.”
She met his stare and tightened her lips, waiting for his next words.
“We’ve known each other for many years now, and I’ve grown quite fond of you. I think it will be in your best interest, and the interest of Belle Grove, if you become my wife.”
Chapter Six
He cannot be serious.
Unfortunately, the steely gray eyes Mr. Sterling leveled on her proved his sincerity. If he had asked her three years ago, Cecilia might have thought about it. Now things were too complicated to consider.
She tugged her hand out of his grip and took a step back. “Mr. Sterling—”
“Call me Heath.”
She scowled. “Mr. Sterling, I really don’t think I’m ready for marriage. I’m still recovering from my illness.”
“I could take care of you.” He traced the rim of his hat several times with his finger.
She held her breath for a moment. Time had changed a lot of things, especially her feelings toward him. She couldn’t pinpoint why her heart didn’t pitter-patter like it used to, but now wasn’t the time to analyze it.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll fare just fine.” She turned from him, heading toward the house.
“Cecilia, would you at least think about it? I would hate to see your family’s plantation in the hands of carpetbaggers.”
She froze, her hand resting on the doorknob. Fragments of her heart shattered piece by piece, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning with despair aloud. Tears threatened to fill her eyes, but she blinked them back.
He was right. How could she get out of this mess? If, by some chance, she found the thousand dollars to pay the bank, what about next year and the year after? Would Hank also gamble away that money?
She glanced over her shoulder. Heath Sterling stood with one foot on the bottom step, his hand on the rail. He frowned while his eyes pleaded. It’d be easy to brush him aside if he’d acted self-assured about all this, but his genuine expression made her catch her breath.
Cecilia would only marry a man who’d approve of her doctoring. Heath certainly wouldn’t. He was the kind who believed the woman’s place should be by her husband, having a baby every year. A woman who didn’t have a mind at all.
“Mr. Sterling, I promise I’
ll think about it.” She gave him her best smile under the circumstances. “Good day.”
She hurried inside the house and closed the door, pressing her back against the wall. Tears she’d kept hidden while in his presence flowed down her cheeks. Her family had owned Belle Grove for seven years. She couldn’t lose it now. It was her only connection to her parents. The only place she could call home. Not even the doctor’s office in town could create the same warmth and joyous feelings she’d experienced here in this house.
Did she have to marry Heath Sterling to save it? She squeezed her eyes shut. She hoped not.
Pushing away from the wall, she squared her shoulders. If she had to harvest that blasted sugarcane field by herself, she’d do it.
She threw open the door and marched outside. Thankfully, she could not see Mr. Sterling any longer. Lifting her skirt to her ankles, she hurried up the path to the cane fields.
Off in the distance, the sky rumbled. Thick gray clouds had turned the air humid, reminding her how foul the weather could be, but she pushed on. A little rain didn’t frighten her. It might even feel refreshing on a day like today.
An old gospel tune she’d learned as a child rang through the air. Men’s voices. She smiled and hummed along.
She quickened her step toward the singing until she detected her servant’s bass as he led the medley. Samuel and four others cut the stalks and laid them on a wide bed of boards drawn by a horse.
Waving her hand, she tried drawing their attention. When the large black man spotted her, his singing stopped, and his eyes widened.
“Why, Miz Celia, what ya doin’ out of the house?”
She smiled. “I’m feeling better today, and I thought I’d see how the harvest is coming.”
“Waal, it don’ look good, Miz Celia. As ya ‘no, most of the help has lef’, and there’s only a few of us to do the job.” He shook his head. “I’m ‘fraid ya won’ git a decent amount harvested this time.”
She gritted her teeth. She had to prove him wrong. Pulling her dress up to her ankles, she lifted her leg over the chopped stalks and proceeded toward him. “Then I want you to show me what to do so I can help. We need this harvest. Belle Grove needs it now more than ever.”
Touching Heaven Page 7