His-Yankee-Bride--Rose-Gordon Read online

  She didn't respond, and that bothered him more than if she had. The workings of her mind were a puzzle he doubted even Edward could solve. He nearly snorted. That wasn't much of a stretch. Edward had the hardest time determining his own wife's feelings and desires. In fact, it was John who had to help him. But, as easy as it was to recognize what did and didn't interest Regina, where Carolina was concerned, he was at a loss. The only thing he knew for certain was that while she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on, she was also the most willful and brazen. How fortunate for him she had somehow taken into that unusual mind of hers the notion that one day, presumably in the not-so-distant future, they would be wed.

  Her hands squeezed his a fraction tighter. “Very well. I'll let you get back to that fence.”

  Then, before he could have a chance to question her motives and talk her out of trying anything foolish, she fled.

  ~Chapter Eight~

  Carolina had often been termed willful, bold, brazen, or even shameless, but anyone who'd called her that, hadn't seen what she was truly capable of yet!

  A passing infatuation gone in two weeks, is that really how he'd termed their feelings?

  At nineteen, she may not know a lot about life, but she did know her own feelings. Her heart told her this was love. If she needed any more confirmation, she only had to look at the workings of fate that had brought him to her once again. Now, she just had to prove it to him.

  Unfortunately, while she didn’t need to do anything more than merely exist for the gentlemen in Charleston to flock to her, she had no idea what to do in a situation where the gentleman in question was resisting her.

  “Bethel,” she said, flinging the back door wide open.

  Bethel's head snapped in her direction. “Yes, chile?”

  “I need some help.”

  Bethel's black eyes widened, likely because the last time Carolina had spoken that exact sentence to her, the two of them had to spend the afternoon in the dye house dying one of Mother's dresses a dark blue to cover up the blood Carolina had gotten all over the front, when she'd cleaned the gash one of the hands' children had gotten in his head. She wiped her hands on the front of her white apron. “Wot hab yous done now?”

  “Nothing.” Yet. Carolina cleared her throat and waved her hand through the air. “It's nothing like last time. I just need you to help me court John.”

  “Wot you say?” Bethel asked, her dark brows puckering.

  Carolina sighed. “John is being as stubborn as Father's mule, and I've decided to court him, but I need your help.”

  Bethel didn't look very convinced. “Yous does know 'tis da boy who should be doin' da courtin', don't yous?”

  “I know,” Carolina said through clenched teeth. “He's just reluctant to do so.” She sat down at the little table where Bethel and the other house workers took their meals, picked up a wooden mixing spoon, and idly ran her fingers over the handle. “I think he's afraid to admit his interest in me because he works for Father.”

  Bethel's eyes softened. “An' yo' sho e's da one yo' wan'?”

  Carolina nodded. “I'm sure.”

  “Wot Mrs. Ellis tink?”

  “She doesn't approve,” Carolina said, tossing the wooden spoon back onto the table with a hard thwack.

  “Uh huh.” Bethel readjusted her apron and sat down at the table. “An' does yous hav' a plan?”

  Carolina bit her lip and shook her head. “No. I just know that I need to court him. I just don't know how.”

  A slow smile spread across Bethel's lips. “I's gots an idea. Yous come back har 'morrow a hour 'fore yous an' Mrs. Ellis take dinner.”

  “All right and what do I do before then?”

  Bethel's eyes narrowed on her. “Yous ta be doin' nothin', hear?”

  “Yes, Bethel,” she said, standing.

  Bethel's large, callused hand reached out and closed around her arm just above the elbow. “You's not 'bout ta do somethin' stupid, is you?”

  Heat burned Carolina's face. Bethel knew her too well. “No, Bethel.”

  Bethel shook her head. “I's knows be'er dan dat, Miss Lina. An' I tellin' yous, let Bethel hep if yous wan' dat boy.”

  “But I don't see—”

  “No, yous don' see. Listen, chile, if yous wan' him, yous gots to make him knows e canna live witout yous. Jus' do what I say an' in a week that boy won't be able to ask yous to marry him fas' 'nuff.”

  For some reason, she doubted that, but knew better than to argue with Bethel. “Fine,” Carolina said on a sigh. “I'll try it your way.”

  “Dat's all I's askin'.”

  “But in a week if it doesn't work—”

  “Den yous is ta be doin' yous own thin'. I know,” Bethel said with a rueful shake of her head and a wide gap-toothed grin.

  “Well, as long as we're clear on that.”

  “We's clear.” Bethel released her hand. “Now, yous be runnin' alon' an' goes sees yous fr'end Marjorie like yous pro'mised an' leab everythin' ta Bethel.”

  ***

  Marjorie lived just to the west of Lowland Cross. Despite being four years Carolina's senior, when they were younger, Marjorie would come to Lowland Cross to play with Carolina and Gabriel and any of the field hands' children who wanted to join their games nearly every day before the war began.

  After the war ended, everything had changed. Gabriel hadn't returned and Marjorie's life had transformed from the daughter to the wealthiest planter around to the daughter of the poorest.

  Carolina ducked between the planks of wood that made up the border between Lowland Cross and Reynolds Ridge and paused a moment. Leading up to the war, Jacob Reynolds had been one of the strongest voices for independence and because of it, the Redcoats had made sure to burn his house and fields to set an example. Though six years had passed since that terrible night, to a stranger it might seem like it had only happened yesterday.

  Their once glorious two story brick home that was the envy of everyone around lay in a heap of char and bricks. A smaller structure no larger than the barn back at Lowland Cross was now where they made their home. As promised, Mr. Reynolds had freed every man of color who'd fought alongside him for America's independence, Silas included. The others who'd chosen to stay behind had either run off or been taken captive the night of the fire.

  All around Carolina was dry grass and hard dirt where indigo plants as far as the eye could see once grew. She started forward. Having no house nor workers had been hard for the Reynolds as they struggled to rebuild. But they had pride, and they had heart. And combined, they weren't yet ready to give up on their beloved plantation.

  “Good afternoon, Marjorie.”

  “Carolina,” Marjorie greeted from where she sat on the hard ground, pulling weeds.

  Carolina sank to the ground next to her and looked away so she wouldn't see the grimace she was sure had to be on Marjorie's face. Marjorie may be seen as an outcast to some due to her family's financial ruin, but they were still friends and Carolina cherished her friendships far more than other people's opinions.

  “Please don't,” Marjorie said quietly as she continued to pluck the weeds that surrounded the Indigofera tinctoria plant.

  Carolina gave an exaggerated sigh. “And is it a punishable offense to come sit by my dearest friend in the middle of the afternoon?”

  Marjorie cast her a dubious look then turned back to her task. “It should be,” she muttered.

  Carolina harrumphed while simultaneously plucking the weeds closest to her. “And what is that to mean?” she demanded in mock irritation as she continued to pluck weeds.

  “You know exactly what I meant.”

  Carolina did, indeed. “I did tell you I'd, be coming by,” Carolina reminded her. Truly, she didn't know who these visits were harder for. Carolina who felt she was fighting a battle with an army of ten versus one thousand, trying to let Marjorie know that despite all that had happened, she'd always be her friend. Or perhaps it was harder for Marjorie who'd once
been the envy of so many to be reduced to doing the work of a field hand. Though Marjorie had never once been the kind to think of anyone as inferior or talk down to anyone, it still had to be hard for her to be seen this way. And then of course there was the rumor regarding her fiance and his throwing her over.

  “I know,” Marjorie said, breaking into her thoughts. “And I didn't think for one minute that you'd forget.”

  “Actually, if you find my presence unwanted, you should blame Bethel. I'd planned to come see you tomorrow, but she insisted I needed to come see you right now.”

  Marjorie made a sound similar to that of a soft snort. It was almost as if she was trying her hardest not to laugh. “How is she?”

  “Bethel?”

  Marjorie nodded.

  “She's all right. She misses Silas something awful.”

  “We all do.” The sadness in her voice was unmistakeable. Though Silas was what Carolina thought some might find scary or intimidating due to his sheer size, he was a very gentle, compassionate man who wouldn't harm a mosquito unless he thought it carried malaria and was about to bite one of the Reynolds', particularly Marjorie.

  Carolina reached over and patted her friend's hand. “Do you remember when they first met?”

  “Yes,” Marjorie said with a wistful smile. “It was at my father's spring barbecue. Silas had only been with us about a month and as soon as Bethel came into view juggling two bowls of cooked vegetables, a pan of fried tomatoes and a loaf of fresh baked bread, Silas ran to help her. And that's when―”

  “She knew,” they both finished in unison.

  Carolina shook her head and laughed. “I'll never forget that story and how Bethel knew immediately she was in love for as long as I live.”

  “Would that be because Bethel retells it all the time?”

  “No.” Carolina glanced away from where her fingers were wrapped around a cluster of weeds. “Not anymore. She quit telling it when Silas was freed. But I heard it often enough before then.”

  “Has she seen him since he moved to Charleston?” The concern and longing in her voice was unmistakable.

  “I try to make up reasons for her to see him.” She sighed and pulled more weeds. “But I think she's given up on him.”

  “Hmm,” was all she'd say.

  Carolina's hand stilled over the clump of weeds she'd just gripped and she turned to face her friend. “Marjorie?”

  “Hmm?” she said, not stopping in her work.

  Carolina twisted her lips. Other than Gabriel, who was her true sibling, she'd considered Marjorie as the sister she'd never had and while she loved them both, they both had this irritating habit of refusing to tell her things. With anyone else this wouldn't be a problem, she'd just find another way to ask until they divulged all the secrets they kept, but for some reason, she had yet to discover a technique that could work on either of them and knew better than to push as it only made them more determined not to say anything. She sighed. “Why do you tease me with your secrets so?”

  Marjorie's lips twitched. “Because if I told you, it'd no longer be a secret.”

  ~Chapter Nine~

  Carolina's jaw dropped, “A jar of water?”

  “Mmmhmmm,” Bethel said, carefully pouring a ladleful of water straight from a metal water pail into one of Mother's canning jars. “A hot day like taday, a man's be needin' some wata.”

  “But won't he already have a canteen with him?”

  “I sho e does. But tis is fresh wata an' it been sittin' in da ice hous' all morn'n so it coo, too.” Bethel put down the jar she'd filled and picked up another.

  “Why are you filling up two?”

  “If Mr. Gabriel is workin' wit him, yous need ta give him a glass, too. O else Mr. John migh' not take his.” She finished filling that jar and set the ladle back into the bucket. “But, if e alone, yous can stan' thar while e drink his glass, then leave the other one wit him.”

  Carolina wrapped her arms as far around Bethel as they'd go and gave her a tight squeeze. “Thank you.”

  “You's wec'um, chile. Now, take these out thar 'fore theys get warm.”

  “Oh, right.” Carolina released Bethel and picked up the tray with the two jars of water.

  Bethel walked to the door with her and opened it, winking to her as she passed.

  Carolina willed herself to stay calm as she walked over to where John was working on the roof of the carriage house. It wouldn't do to let her excitement get the better of her and spill the water.

  John's tall, broad form came into view, and Carolina halted beneath a shade tree to watch him for a minute as he straightened and pulled his shirt over his head. The sun glistened off the sweat that covered his muscled abdomen and chest. She swallowed. Hard. He was very well formed with hard planes and thick muscles; he looked like he'd been chiseled from marble. He balled up his shirt and ran it across his face and shoulders.

  He could certainly use some water, she thought, resuming her steps. “John,” she called.

  John's body jerked in surprise at her shout, and he lost his footing. With what Carolina thought might be an Englishman's curse—something about Zeus—or was it deuce?—John slid down the steep incline of the roof and over the edge. He was spared an untimely, and quite possibly painful, meeting with the rock-covered ground when his hands found purchase with the edge of the roof just as he went over.

  “Did you require something, Carolina?” he asked as cool as can be while dangling from the edge of the roof.

  “T-to give you water,” she stammered; still in shock.

  “I already had water,” he pointed out, taking a deep breath. He let go of the roof and jumped down to the ground.

  “I know, but I thought you could use some fresh water,” she said, walking over to him.

  John nodded once then took one of the glass jars of water, not once meeting her eyes. He took a swig. “Thank you.”

  “You're most welcome. Would you like to go stand in the shade while you drink that?”

  “No,” he said, taking a large gulp.

  Carolina frowned and set the tray with the remaining glass on the ground. “Are you sure? Your skin is going to blister and burn if you continue to stand in the sun.”

  John's blue eyes went wide as if he'd just remembered he wasn't wearing a shirt. Lacking all sense of grace whatsoever, he quickly lifted the jar of water to his lips and gulped it down as fast as he could, heedless of the two rivulets of water that were streaming out either side of his mouth. If her mother were here, she'd gloat about being right about him being no gentlemen. He finished his glass and wiped the back of his forearm across his wet lips then handed her his empty glass. “I need to—”

  “Be getting back to work,” she finished for him. “It seems that's what you always say to me.”

  “That's because you always seem to find me when I'm working.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Does that mean, if I sought you out when you weren't working, you'd talk to me?”

  “No.”

  If she didn't want to marry him so badly, she'd shake him silly for his belligerent tone and foolish stubbornness. Employing every ounce of self-control she possessed so not to break her agreement with Bethel, she simply nodded. “All right, then. Get back to work. But here, take this with you.” She reached down and grabbed the other glass jar of water and shoved it in his direction.

  “Take it with me?”

  “Yes, so you can drink it later.”

  He rolled his eyes. “And just where do you think I'll keep it until it's time to drink it, Carolina, in my pocket?”

  “No, just take it up there with you and set it down close to where you're working.”

  He pushed her hand away from him. “Did you not see me slide down the roof? If I put that jar of water down on the roof, it'll slip right off.”

  She shrugged. “Then stand here and drink it. I don't mind.”

  “I'm sure you wouldn't,” he muttered under his breath. “Carolina, truly, I thank
you for bringing me the water. It was a very nice thing for you to do, but I cannot continue to stand here and drink water when I should be working. It's not fair to your father. He's paying me to do a job, and I'm not doing it.”

  “Oh, don't worry about that,” she said with a dismissive flick of her hand. “Once we mar—” She bit her lip to stop herself. She cleared her throat. “You could pour it into your canteen.”

  “I already have water in my canteen,” he said with a hint of annoyance.

  His annoyance with her only served to make her more annoyed with him. “Then give it to one of the other men. I'm sure that unlike you they'd be more than appreciative to have some fresh water.”

  He ground his teeth. “Do you see anyone else up there working with me?”

  Carolina glanced to the carriage house and blinked. She hadn't even noticed he was the only one who'd been working up there. Of course, when she'd walked up, she'd only been looking for him, so hadn't noticed he'd been alone. She shrugged. “All right, how about if I just leave it for you under the tree over there?”

  “Fine,” he all but growled.

  Irritation bubbled in her blood. “There is no reason for you to be treating me this way. Everyone else out here has to drink hot water from a dirty, old canteen or go to the well. One would think you'd be a little more grateful. Not only did I bring you a cool drink now, but I'm offering to leave you another glass. Yet, you act annoyed that I called you down to take a break for a little refreshment.”

  “I was busy,” he said through gritted teeth. “Unlike you, I work for my keep, and I don't have time to take frequent refreshment breaks.”

  Carolina sucked in a sharp breath at his cold words, and before she could think better of it, she splashed the contents of the jar in John's handsome face. “There. I do believe the dilemma of what to do with this second jar of water has been solved.”