His-Yankee-Bride--Rose-Gordon Page 4

  “Aren't you going to tell me yours?”

  “John. Like the saint.”

  “A state and a saint, we're quite a match, wouldn't you say?”

  He didn't look quite as amused as she was. “I must be getting back to work now.”

  She sobered. “Do you not have but a minute to talk?”

  “No. I have to have this wood delivered to Mr. Sawyer before the hour if I want to get paid,” he explained, lifting his arms full of wood to emphasize his point.

  Carolina's face burned with shame. Being born to a family of wealth, she'd never wanted for monetary things. He'd said yesterday his brother was a land baron. But, she knew from watching the struggles of other planters in the region that just because you have land, doesn't mean the whole family prospers from it. “Of course.”

  He made a move to walk past her.

  Carolina bit her lip. This was her last chance, for if she didn't say something now, she might not get a chance again. She reached out and placed a staying hand on his hard, muscled shoulder. “Wait, would you care to join my family for supper tonight?”

  “Absolutely not,” Mother's shrill voice trilled, sending shivers up Carolina's spine. How had she found Carolina? “Remove your hand from this filthy vagabond at once!”

  Slowly Carolina removed her gloved hand from his strong shoulder and dropped it to her side, fisting it into a tight ball to keep from making a scene by pulling her mother's hand away from where she was holding Bethel by the ear. Swallowing uncomfortably, she met John's clear blue eyes once more and saw a calm in them she hadn't noticed before.

  He glanced to her mother and then turned his impassive face back to meet Carolina's eyes one final time before walking away to the little wagon nearby.

  “What is wrong with you, Lina?” Mother demanded in a low, sharp tone. “What is it about that—that—rogue that fascinates you so? He's dirty, poor, and English. Decidedly not worthy of you.”

  Carolina bit her tongue so not to remind her mother that she, too, was of English descent. But it would do no good. Ever since the Revolution, it was as if their heritage had been forgotten in favor of just being considered American—free from English rule.

  Mother's exaggerated, yet typical, sigh pulled Carolina from her thoughts. “Well, Lina, you have just received your wish.”

  “My wish?” she echoed, climbing into the back of the buggy her family used around the city.

  Mother waited for Dalton to set the horses to pace before she spoke again. “Your behavior is unbecoming and deplorable for a young lady of your station. Several times you've expressed your wish not to marry any of the gentlemen you've met here so far, and I do believe once word gets out that you've been throwing yourself at that no-good vagrant you'll not have to worry about gentlemen callers again.”

  Carolina pursed her lips. Just as well. As long as that particular no-good vagrant wished to marry her, she saw no problem with her mother's complaint.

  ***

  John dropped his armful of heavy logs into the back of the wagon then dusted his hands off on his trousers. What were the odds he'd have run into her again? Of course, nothing had changed. He still wanted a meek, quiet wife, and she was just as forward in the daylight as she'd been at the ball last night. He shook his head and readjusted his left suspender strap then stalked back inside to grab another heavy load of logs.

  The house where he was to deliver the logs was only a mile away—on a normal day. But just to make certain he didn't cross paths with his breathtaking stalker and her vulturous mother, he steered the horses in the opposite direction they'd taken to leave.

  The soft, familiar sound of horse hooves on the ground filled the air, serving as a pleasant reminder of how close he was to returning to England. After today, he'd have enough money to return home to his family.

  From the corner of his eye, a lady with large hoops under her skirt struggling to exit a carriage caught his attention, and he whipped his head to the side to make sure it wasn’t that intolerable chit who had a habit of appearing when he least expected it. He shook his head to clear her from his thoughts. A wife like her would only lead to a life of misery as her carefree—or perhaps careless—attitude and impulsiveness would quite possibly lead to her husband's ruin.

  “Whoa,” he called to the horses, pulling back on the reins. Whistling, he jumped from the wagon and unloaded the wood for Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer before riding back to the mill.

  “You're a stubborn man, Banks,” Mr. Morrison, the foreman of the mill, called to John as he steered the horses toward the back of the main building. “But it's what I admire about you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” John said quietly as he dismounted the wagon and then moved to unhook the horses. The Sawyers were the last delivery of the day which meant it was up to him to put the wagon away and take care of the horses for the night.

  Morrison sighed. “If you're ever in need of a job, you'll always have one here.”

  “Thank you,” John murmured. He'd have to find himself desperate indeed to accept a job here. As it was, working here the past three weeks to earn enough to fund his travel back home had been quite enough. Of course, if it had truly been that bad, he could have swallowed his pride and accepted money from his brother. But he didn't want to do that. He might not have had a problem doing just that before he'd come across the ocean. But seeing how everyone here worked for his own wage, he'd decided to step out from his brother's protection and support himself. Getting that first handful of coins as payment for work he'd done, only spurred him to harden his resolve and refuse to accept his brother's generosity.

  “Do you plan to return to England?” Morrison asked, presumably just to make conversation.

  John removed the bridle from the second horse and nodded once. “Yes. It's time.”

  “You can't mean to tell me that no pretty young lasses have caught your eye in the weeks you've been here.”

  An image of the hoyden he'd seen earlier flashed in his mind. “None that I'd like to marry,” he said, unable to meet the other man's eyes.

  A slow smile spread across Morrison's lips, and he cocked his head to the side in interest. When John didn't say anything else, the older man pursed his lips and made an unusual face. “Very well,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He withdrew a handful of coins, picked out a few of the larger ones, and then dropped them into the gaping pocket in the front of John's shirt. “There's yer pay.”

  ~Chapter Five~

  Three Days Later

  Carolina swung open the door to the traveling coach, heedless to whom or what might be standing right outside. Her mother was driving her to insanity! For the past three days, Mother had spoken of little else except how Carolina was making a display of herself and a mockery of her family.

  Then it came.

  Last night, a letter from Father came. The note, only four words in length, had turned Mother into a lunatic—raging in hysteria that Carolina's loose behavior had found its way back to Lowland Cross, thus the reason for the note that read: Come home at once!

  But even as harsh and unyielding as Father had been when she was a child in need of punishment, his displeasure toward her would be a welcome escape from her mother's madness.

  “I shall take a walk around the street,” Mother chirped, brushing out her thick skirt.

  Carolina nodded slowly as a wave of sadness washed over her. “Must you?”

  “Yes. This is your behavior to answer for, not mine.”

  Carolina didn't give a thousand cakes of indigo about that. Her conversation with Father would probably be far more enjoyable than what was to come of Mother's walk down the street, which was comprised of the crudely built log cabins near the edge of the plantation where the field hands and other skilled workers slept. Mother had no respect for anyone's privacy and would randomly walk around their quarters, reprimanding them for things out of place, or worse, ordering them punished if something was broken or missing. A lead weight settled in Carolina's chest. On
more than one occasion, she'd tried to talk her mother into being less severe, but it did no good. Mother felt taking charge this way helped to remind them who their master was.

  Following the war that turned her father into an invalid and claimed the life of her older brother, it was left to Mother to run the plantation. And that meant she could treat her “hands” any way she wanted. The taste in Carolina's mouth turned bitter. Nobody deserved to be treated the way her mother treated them.

  “Go on,” Mother said with a stiff shooing motion.

  Fighting the urge to run to the street as fast as her slippers could carry her and warn whoever she could of Mother's impending visit, Carolina took Bethel by the hand and dragged her heavy feet in the direction of the house.

  “It's good to be home,” Carolina mused as they walked inside.

  “It sho' is, chile,” Bethel agreed, running her open palms down the white apron she wore over her black dress. “I's jus goes sees what's needin' ta be done in da kit'en.”

  “You be sure to do that, Bethel,” Carolina's father said with a hint of a smile.

  “Yessa.” Bethel bobbed a quick nod toward Father then hurried off.

  “'Tis good to see you, Lina,” Father wheezed as he slowly rolled his invalid's chair into the entryway.

  Despite her distaste for her nickname, she offered him a smile. He was the only person who could call her that without making her cringe. Carolina bent forward and threw her arms around him. “I've missed you.”

  “I'm sure you have,” he whispered, patting her back with his one remaining arm. “That long alone with your mother and I'd be in need of saving, too.”

  A slow smile took her lips. “You have no idea.” She wet her lips. “Is that why you wrote to us? To save me from Mother?”

  He chuckled and for a brief moment Carolina glimpsed the man she remembered him being before the war. “Well, no. That's not the entire reason I wrote. Here, let's go to the parlor.”

  Carolina followed her father down to the hall and to the beautifully decorated formal parlor. The familiar sound of labored breathing filled the air as Father used his only arm, by turning his right wheel, then reaching across to give a turn of his left, to wheel himself across the room, positioning himself to the left of the window. When Father had first returned home without his left arm and the use of his legs, Carolina had tried to help him as best she could, only to be barked at to leave him alone, he could do it. It might take him thrice as long as it would take her to get him to his destination, but his pride was too strong to accept any more help than was absolutely necessary.

  Sighing at what was to come, she sat down on the dark green settee and waited for what he had to say. Not that it would change anything. She still planned to find and charm her Englishman. She might have to wait a few weeks for her parents' ire to settle before returning to Charleston, but she would find him again, and perhaps one day even marry him.

  “Lina,” he said with a ragged breath.

  “Yes.”

  “Is there a certain young gentleman of your acquaintance that you'd like to see again?”

  Carolina shifted in her seat. “Perhaps,” she said airily, smoothing her hands over her lavender skirt.

  Father showed no sign of emotion, a talent at which he was most skilled. “Oh?”

  Heat crept up her face. Why didn't he just scold her for her inappropriate behavior and get it over with? His calm tone and imploring eyes were unnerving! “Yes, there is a young gentleman with whom I'd like to become better acquainted.”

  “What does your mother think?”

  Carolina scowled. “She doesn't approve.”

  “I see,” Father said, nodding slowly.

  She had no doubt that he did. Father always was an observant one.

  “And is this why you've taken a fancy to him?”

  “No.” She wouldn't lie. Her mother's dislike might have spurred her to like him more, but it wasn't the reason she'd liked him in the first place.

  Father chuckled as if he could read her mind. “I hate to disappoint you, Lina, but there is nothing I can do at the moment to reunite you with your suitor; however—” he grimaced and repositioned himself in his chair— “I can arrange a reunion between you and another gentleman.”

  Images of a skinny boy with black hair, chipped teeth, and a permanently blank face formed in her mind. Charlie Fields was the son of a neighboring plantation owner whose father had always pushed for a marriage between him and Carolina. Panic settled in Carolina's stomach. Was her punishment for flirting with the Englishman marriage to Charlie? If so, she'd climb out her window tonight just to escape. “Must I meet with him?”

  “He asked for you specifically.”

  She doubted that. He seemed no more interested in marrying her than she was in marrying him. His parents had likely told him to say that. Though she'd never been cruel enough to express her disinterest for him to his face, it should have been as obvious as the sun rising in the sky each morning to her parents that they didn't suit. “Please, don't make me marry Charlie, Father. I'll...” She'd what? Pursue John with a little more dignity? That didn't sound right.

  Her father cut her off with a quick hand gesture. “No need to do anything except go out the back door, then go to the right, and greet the first lad you see wearing a white shirt and blue trousers.”

  Carolina stared at her father. Had something fallen from a shelf and hit him on his head during her stay in Charleston?

  “Go on, now,” he barked.

  With what she hoped looked like a smile, but was certainly more likely to resemble a grimace, Carolina stood. Her father had never been known to make such odd requests as this, but if all she had to do was greet the neighbor's son, she could do that. And if he tried to propose to her, she'd just distract him by changing the subject. “Very well.”

  “Good. Now go before your mother returns.”

  Carolina eyed him curiously one last time before leaving the parlor and making her way to the back door of the house.

  She lifted her hand to block the bright sunlight that was in her eyes and walked down the wooden steps. Taking one more calming breath, she turned her squinting eyes to the right, and immediately, her breath caught and her heart beat out of control. “Gabriel!” she squealed, dashing in his direction as if a ravenous mountain lion were nipping at her heels.

  Running too fast to slow down, she barreled directly into her older brother, who wrapped one arm tightly around her and clung tightly to a large wooden walking stick in his left hand.

  “Lina,” he whispered, tightening his hold on her and then letting her go.

  She stepped back and gazed up at his face. Seven years might have passed, but she'd have recognized him anywhere. He'd certainly aged while away, much like she expected she had, too. His soft brown eyes were now harder than she remembered. Faint lines in the skin around his eyes and lips were now visible. Then, of course, there was the large scar that divided his left cheek. He twitched and Carolina's eyes narrowed on where his hand clutched his walking stick then slowly drifted to his legs. Her eyes widened as they fell to the left cuff of his trousers.

  Immediately, she brought her gaze to his.

  He nodded once, a silent confirmation that he did indeed now walk with a wooden leg.

  She swallowed hard. This must be why he'd stayed away so long. She opened her mouth to assure him that his wounds and scars didn't change anything. Under it all, he was still her brother, and she was just glad he'd finally returned; but she was cut off when Gabriel jerked his gaze away, then called, “Banks, come here. There's someone I'd like you to meet.”

  ***

  John lowered his axe and jerked his head in his friend’s direction.

  Then slowly, every ounce of blood in his body drained straight to his toes. Ever since he'd run into Carolina that day at the mill, he'd been seeing and hearing her everywhere. Well, not really, because that same evening he and Gabriel had left Charleston to travel to his family's plantati
on. So, those women they'd seen riding in buggies headed the other way down the country roads weren't really Carolina—and once he’d blinked rapidly for ten seconds and had cleared his vision, it had been easier to see that. Same with the excited high-pitched squeals he'd been hearing since he'd arrived. At first, he'd whip his head around every time he'd hear one, thinking she'd found him, only to realize it was just one of the many children who lived on the plantation having fun.

  That's why, when he heard that high-pitched squeal a few moments ago, he forced himself to ignore the way it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and reminded himself it was just a gleeful child.

  But, he could no longer attempt to convince himself of such. Seeing only the petite form, complete with the gentle curves of the chit, who stood next to Gabriel there was no denying it: she'd found him again.

  His axe slipped from his numb fingers and made a soft thud as it hit the ground.

  “I've got work to do,” he shouted, snatching up his axe with a scowl. He didn't know—nor did he care—what her game was, but as far as he was concerned, she could use her wiles on Gabriel. He wanted no part of it.

  “That can wait,” Gabriel called. “I want you to meet my sister.”

  Any amount of blood which had begun circulating back through John's body drained again, and this time, when he dropped his axe, he had to swallow the cannonball sized lump that had recently formed in his throat. “Sister?” he croaked.

  Gabriel nodded. “Yes, Lina. The one I told you about.”

  John closed his eyes. In the six months they'd been acquainted, Gabriel had spoken of “Lina” many times. Each time, John quickly found a way to abandon that topic for one less uncomfortable. John had come to America for a chance to escape his pressing duties and responsibilities, not gain more.

  Commanding his heavier-than-lead feet to carry him forward, he made his way over to the siblings. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lina,” he said, avoiding her eyes.

  “And it's a pleasure to see you again, too, John,” she said, touching the back of his callused hand with her dainty one. The action sent a jolt of desire directly to his groin and a grimace to his lips. This was exactly what he didn't need.