Читать книгу Dulcie's Gift - Ruth Langan, Ruth Ryan Langan - Страница 10

Dulcie slipped from bed and crossed to the window. A spectacular sunrise was just visible on the horizon, and the land spread out below was still gilded with dew. She caught her breath at the sight of a herd of deer on a distant hill-side. A cow was lowing nearby, and the birds had begun their morning symphony.

The newly plowed fields, a deep rich black, were divided by rows of gangling palmetto trees. Their fronds waved in the gentle breeze. An occasional live oak, dripping with Spanish moss, spread its branches in a graceful arc.

She had just discovered heaven. After the battle-scarred countryside she had left behind, this peaceful pastoral setting brought tears to her eyes.

Her prayers had been answered a hundredfold. And now she must find a way to remain in this Eden. Hadn’t Papa always said that any fool could seize opportunity, but it took a wise man to create opportunity where none existed? She would have to get busy creating.

Dulcie turned away from the window, and for the first time noticed that her clothes were now washed and draped over a chair. Her chemise and petticoats were as clean as the day they’d been made. Her gown, though shabby, had been carefully pressed. Beside it were her old scuffed kid slippers, polished to a high shine.

She made her way to a basin of water that stood atop a low chest of drawers. Beside it was a cake of lavender soap and a soft linen towel. With a little smile of delight she set about washing herself.

Bless the Jermains, she thought. For all their stern posturing, they were being most kind. Now if only she could persuade them to be charitable, as well.

“She’s lying.” Cal’s voice was rough with anger. In the thin light of morning he joined his aunt and brothers around the elegant dining-room table and filled his plate with corn bread, eggs and slabs of roasted pork.

“And the children?” Aunt Bessie whispered. “How do you explain their answers?”

“They’re all lying.”

“People have been caught unawares by storms before,” Barc said logically.

“True—if the storm comes up unexpectedly. But this one gave plenty of warning. The skies over Charleston were black for days.”

“So why do you think they took to the boat?”

“They’re on the run. They refuse to talk about Charleston. Or the war. Most refugees are eager to talk about the people they lost, the homes, the belongings. I suspect something…”

“Something illegal perhaps?” Barc asked.

“Miss Trenton seems like a fine Southern lady,” Aunt Bessie protested.

“And a fine Southern lady can do no wrong?” Cal gave a hollow laugh. “Look around you, Aunt Bessie. The war has made something less of all of us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Barc said with a sneer. “I rather like what I’ve become.”

“You would. How much did you lose on your last trip to Charleston?” his older brother snapped.

“Enough to assure me an invitation to their next round of poker.”

“I’m sure Nellie Simpson is thrilled at your patronage of her sporting house.” Cal’s features tightened.

“I only go for the games of chance,” Barc insisted.

“I’ve heard a man gambles every time he samples Nellie’s women,” Dar put in.

At the young man’s remark, Aunt Bessie’s eyes flashed fire. “I’ll not have such talk in my home, Darwin.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.” Chastised, he lifted his cup to his lips and fixed his gaze on the spotless lace tablecloth.

“As for you, Barclay.” The older woman turned her full wrath on the smiling charmer who was her middle nephew. “How can you stand to visit Charleston and see what General Sherman has done to that lovely city? It’s—”

“We were talking about the women and children.” Cal refused to allow her to dwell on her favorite source of irritation.

“Yes. Of course. Now, Calhoun,” Aunt Bessie continued as though she’d never been sidetracked, “I don’t see how we can turn them away.”

“I’m not suggesting we turn them out in the cold.” Cal sampled the corn bread and thought again how he’d missed such simple pleasures when he’d been away at war. So many things had been taken for granted until they were gone. A bed. Dry clothes. Corn bread warm from the oven. “At least not now,” he added. “But as soon as the injured are well enough to travel, I want them returned to Charleston.” The sooner the better, he thought, and felt a little flush of displeasure at the image that had come, unbidden, to mind. The image of a body pressed to his, lips buried against his throat, lashes whispering across his heated skin. Abruptly he lost his appetite and shoved aside his plate.

“You will see to them, won’t you, Calhoun?” His aunt placed a hand over his.

At once she felt him pull back.

He had been this way since his return from the battlefield. Cold. Withdrawn. As though he could prove that he needed no sympathy for his loss. No comfort for his pain.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said, at the pleading look in her eyes.

“I’ll be happy to take them back to Charleston when they’re ready,” Barc said with a smile.

“It will give you an excuse to try your hand at the cards again,” Dar muttered.

“How soon do you think they can travel?” Aunt Bessie asked.

Cal shrugged. “A week or so, I should think. The child doesn’t seem as badly hurt as the woman.”

He stood, eager to keep his promise to his aunt so he could escape to the fields. His impatience wasn’t lost on the others. Ever since their return from the war, each brother had taken refuge in his own way. The reclusive Dar had his precious books. Outgoing Barc had his whiskey and gambling. And Cal, angry and embittered, lost himself in the mind-numbing, physical demands of farming.

“Is there some potion or poultice Robert could prepare?” Aunt Bessie asked.

Cal shook his head. “There isn’t any medicine that will erase a blow to the head.”

“Well, I know you’ll do the best you can,” his aunt said solemnly.

Cal was already striding from the room and up the stairs.

As he entered the Irishwoman’s room, he nearly collided with Dulcie. Instinctively his hand shot out to steady her.

The rush of feelings was the same. He felt the heat first and then the tiny current that seemed to pass from her to him and back again. He released her at once and took a step back.

It was obvious that her crimson satin gown had once been considered the height of fashion. Now one sleeve was torn, and the cuffs were frayed beyond repair.

Over her gown she had tied a simple white apron, which only served to emphasize her tiny waist.

But it was her face that held his gaze. Scrubbed clean of mud, her skin was flawless and as pale as alabaster. Burnished dark hair, brushed until it gleamed, fell in silky waves to below her waist. The striking green eyes were wide with surprise.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“I promised my aunt I would look to our injured guests.” He emphasized the word “guests” as he moved past Dulcie.

She stood with hands on hips, looking as if she would block his entrance. “Why?”

“I know a little about healing.” He sat on the edge of the bed and touched a hand to Fiona’s head, then gently lifted each eyelid, frowning as he studied her pupils.

Dulcie watched him, feeling a growing sense of panic. Of all the people in this house, why did it have to be this gruff, angry man who’d been sent to look after Fiona?

Well, this was his house. He had permitted them refuge from the storm. She had no right to interfere.

Nevertheless, she persisted. “Are you a doctor, Mr. Jermain?”

He shot her a quelling look. “I am a farmer, Miss Trenton. A simple farmer.”

When he returned his attentions to Fiona, Dulcie clenched her hands at her sides. A farmer maybe. But simple? Never. There was so much anger in this complex man, so much hostility, it fairly burned to burst free.

“Miss O’Neil.” Cal spoke sharply to the still figure in the bed. “Can you hear me, Miss O’Neil?”

Acting as a buffer between her friend and this stern stranger, Dulcie moved to the other side of the bed and reached out to clasp Fiona’s hand. “Oh, Fiona,” she whispered, “please, please hear me.”

“You must speak in a normal tone, Miss Trenton.”

Dulcie eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because your friend is in a deep sleep. You must find a way to penetrate the layers of pain. Each time you visit her bedside, you must attempt to engage her in conversation. Talk about things you both know. Things you’ve shared. Call to her. Invite her to reach out to you.”

She stared down at her friend, as if willing the young woman her strength. “Yes. All right.”

“Now, about those marks on her back…”

Dulcie’s head came up sharply, and he could see her closing up before his eyes.

“It is obvious that not all of them were caused by the fall in the boat. How did she come by the others?”

“I have no right to violate her privacy. You will have to ask her when she awakes.”

“I am asking you, Miss Trenton.”

Dulcie gritted her teeth and held her silence.

“Very well.” Cal stood and walked out of the room.

She released Fiona’s hand and raced after him as he crossed the hallway to another bedroom. “Clara is sleeping. I would rather you not disturb…”

Ignoring her, he stepped into the room and approached the bedside where the little girl lay. From the doorway Dulcie watched as he lifted the child’s hand and examined her injured arm. After applying a clean dressing, he felt her forehead, then gently rolled the sleeping child onto her stomach and ran his fingers along her spine. When at last he tucked the blankets around the little girl’s shoulders and turned away, Dulcie confronted him.

“You call yourself a simple farmer, Mr. Jermain, yet your actions say otherwise. I do not believe you.”

“Then we are even, Miss Trenton.” He pinned her with his dark, penetrating look. “For when you say you did not see the storm approaching, I do not believe you.”

Struck speechless, she could only stare after him as he moved around her and stalked away.

As Dulcie stepped into Starlight’s room, where the others had gathered, she was pleasantly surprised. The young woman had supervised sponge baths for everyone, and all stood, neatly dressed, hair combed.

But despite their spotless appearance, they wore identical frowns of concern.

“You look splendid. But please, tell me what’s wrong,” Dulcie coaxed.

“We’re afraid,” Starlight explained. “The Jermains are such stern people. It’s obvious they don’t like having us here.” She clutched Dulcie’s arm. “Oh, Dulcie. What if they send us back today?”

Dulcie swallowed. She’d been asking herself the same question.

“I don’t believe they will send us away until Fiona and Clara are capable of making the journey back to Charleston. So for a few days they will tolerate our presence on their island. And perhaps we can find a way to remain a little longer.”

“But how?” Starlight asked.

Dulcie glanced around at her young charges. “God works in mysterious ways,” she said as bravely as she could manage. Then, straightening her spine, she said, “Come along. It’s time to greet our rescuers.” And face their prying questions once more, she thought.

As she descended the stairs, her fears nagged at her. The Jermains would be eager to be done with the burden of so many extra mouths to feed. She had to think of a way to make the burden lighter. For she was determined to remain here as long as possible. No matter what price they were forced to pay, she and the others must not be returned to Charleston.

“Well.” Aunt Bessie looked up from her mending. It was not one of her favorite tasks, but with all of the household work falling to Robert, she had no choice but to pitch in. “I see you are up and about at last.”

“Yes. Thank you for your hospitality. For the beds we slept in. And for washing our clothes,” Dulcie said as she shepherded the others into the room.

“For your clothes you can thank Robert. He was not happy with the muddy rags on his floor and thought it best to sacrifice a little sleep in order to achieve the cleanliness he desires.”

Aunt Bessie set aside her basket of mending. Though the women and children wore clothes that were clean and pressed, they were indeed little more than rags. It offended her sense of dignity.

“There is hot food in the dining room. Come along.”

All eyes widened when they entered the dining room and caught sight of the sideboard groaning under the weight of several silver trays.

“There is corn bread, roasted pork and coddled eggs,” Aunt Bessie announced. “I sent Darwin to milk the cow. As I recall, children have need of such nourishment.”

“That was kind of you.” Dulcie handed each child a plate. But instead of filling them, the children began cramming the food into their mouths.

Aunt Bessie looked horrified. “I simply cannot abide such a lack of manners,” she said with indignation. “Where were you children raised? In the streets?”

Dulcie bit back the words that sprang to her lips. Could the woman not see that the children were starving?

Taking charge, she admonished, “You will spoon the food onto your plates. Nathaniel, you may go back for seconds. But for now, take only what you can eat.”

“Yes’m.” He eyed the food with naked hunger.

“Emily and Belle, I think your eyes are bigger than your stomachs.”

The two little girls reluctantly returned half their food to the silver trays, put the rest on their plates and made their way to the table.

Frail Starlight, on the other hand, spooned only a speck of food onto her plate. Dulcie took it from her hands and filled it, then returned it to the young woman. “See that you eat, Starlight. You need to regain your strength.”

“I…I’ll try.”

When all were seated, Dulcie prepared a plate for herself and took a seat at the table. She bowed her head and the others did the same, clasping hands as Dulcie murmured, “We thank thee, Father, for this shelter from the storm and for this splendid food.”

“Amen,” the children intoned.

As the others began eating, Dulcie touched a hand almost lovingly to the lace tablecloth. “This is beautiful, Aunt Bessie.”

It took the older woman a moment to gather her wits. She had been first moved to anger by the shocking lack of dining etiquette and was now moved by some other, deeper emotion at the touching scene of the women and children praying.

It had been a long time since she had heard such words in this house. She had never been one for outward signs of religious faith. Her nephews were especially resistant to any displays of religion since their return from the war.

“The lace was made in Belgium.” As soon as she took her seat at the table, Robert appeared at her side with a steaming cup of tea. As always, his white shirt and dark pants were perfectly pressed, his shoes polished to a high shine.

A minute later Dar entered carrying a pitcher of milk. As he filled each child’s glass, he kept his gaze averted, as though reluctant to look directly into their eyes. But he did glance at Starlight, who ate slowly, as though she’d had little experience at such a feat. Almost at once he looked away.

“Milk?” He paused beside her.

“Yes, please.”

He filled her glass quickly, then moved on to Dulcie, who refused. She’d noted that Aunt Bessie had said cow. Singular. If, indeed, there was only one cow on the plantation, it would be important to save what little milk there was for the children who needed it.

His chore completed, Dar fled the room, obviously eager to get away from so many strangers. Perhaps, Dulcie thought, he did not like children. Nor, it seemed, did any of his family.

“Tea, missy?” Robert asked.

“Yes, thank you. And thank you for washing and pressing our clothes, Robert. That was very kind.”

Except for a slight arching of his brow, Robert’s handsome face remained expressionless.

As Dulcie bit into the coddled eggs, the first she’d actually tasted in months, and corn bread still warm from the oven, she couldn’t help sighing. Leaning back, she sipped strong, hot tea. “This is wonderful, Aunt Bessie.”

“Thanks to the Yankees who set fire to our home and helped themselves to most of our supplies, it’s simple fare,” the older woman snapped.

Out of the corner of her eye Dulcie saw the look that came over Starlight, and knew that Bessie’s words had sent her retreating into a safe place in her mind. She knew she must deftly change the subject, or the young woman would retreat even farther.

“Simple to you, perhaps, but not to us. This food is heaven-sent.” Dulcie glanced around the table, enjoying the way the children looked as they dug into their meal. It was the first time she’d seen them scrubbed clean, wearing crisply ironed clothes. They were, in Dulcie’s eyes, a band of angels.

When she’d searched the upper rooms this morning, Dulcie discovered that she was not the only one with her own room, which opened onto a graceful balcony. Nathaniel and Starlight had been given rooms of their own. Emily and Belle had been given a room together. Though they had probably been placed in separate beds, Dulcie had found the two little girls lying together in one bed, their arms still wrapped around each other for comfort.

She could hardly blame them for being fearful. It had been a dangerous, exhausting journey, and she still found it hard to believe they had survived.

“I’m sure you are eager to return to Charleston,” Aunt Bessie began. She caught the looks that passed between Dulcie and the others, and thought about what Cal had said over breakfast. She was not imagining the fear she saw in their faces. “But my nephew assures me that the woman and girl are not yet strong enough to make the trip. Therefore, it would appear that you will have to remain with us for a few days.”

Their relief was palpable.

For a moment no one spoke. Then Dulcie broke the silence. “We wish to repay your kindness.”

“And you shall,” Aunt Bessie said sternly. “This is a large plantation. Since the war, we find ourselves without help. There are floors to scrub and rugs to beat. Dishes to wash and—”

“—clothes to mend,” Dulcie put in, glancing down at her torn gown.

At the word “mend,” Aunt Bessie perked up. Perhaps she could be relieved of one of her dreaded chores. “Can one of you actually sew?”

“I can,” Starlight said softly as she finished her meal.

Aunt Bessie immediately warmed to the strange young woman. “Fine, child. Come with me. The rest of you can offer your services to Robert. But beware,” she cautioned, “he is a harsh taskmaster. And I am even more so.”

“We are not afraid of hard work,” Dulcie assured her.

As the children pushed away from the table, Dulcie called to them, “Each of you will carry a tray laden with dishes to the kitchen. Papa always said, ‘With many hands a burden is made light.’”

In the kitchen, they found Robert busily wrapping food in a square of linen. He seemed genuinely surprised when Dulcie explained that she and the others intended to work in payment for their keep.

“Just tell us what to do and it will be done,” she said simply.

He thought for several long moments, and it was plain to Dulcie that he was wondering whether he could entrust the care of this fine old house to such inexperienced hands. At length he nodded. “I will show the children what I want them to do. In the meantime, missy, this food must be taken to the men in the fields, along with a heavy jug of water. Can you manage?”

She nodded.

He glanced down at her kid slippers. “Then I would suggest you select a pair of boots from those in the cloakroom. After last night’s rain, the fields will be muddy.”

Dulcie made her way to the back hallway and pulled on a pair of oversize boots. Picking up the food and water, she stepped outside and began walking across the fields.

It was easy to see where the men were working. A horse plodded slowly across a distant field, with a man at the plow behind, churning up the rich black soil. In his wake walked two more men.

Despite the blazing sun overhead, the air was cooled by a fresh breeze off the water. Dulcie found herself savoring the chance to be alone with her thoughts while enjoying the beautiful day.

Oh, how Papa would have loved this! There was a time when the two of them could have stood here like this all day, enjoying the beauty of nature. Just thinking about those wonderful carefree days brought a smile to her lips. Then, remembering her duty, she walked on.

When she drew close to the two men, she saw they were Barc and Dar. They looked up in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” Barc called.

“I’ve brought you your midday meal.”

“And none too soon.” Barc crossed to sit in the shade of a live oak.

Dar dropped down beside him. Both men eagerly drank from the jug, then leaned back on their elbows to watch as Cal followed the horse toward them, etching a straight, perfect furrow as he did.

Dulcie stood there, grateful for the shade. As Cal came closer, she couldn’t tear her gaze from him.

He was…magnificent. It was the first word that came to her mind. He had removed his shirt, and the muscles of his upper arms and shoulders bunched and tightened with every step. Sweat glistened in the dark hair that matted his chest. When he came abreast of them and reined in the horse, he lifted an arm to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Robert has been replaced.” Barc handed the water jug to his older brother. “And I, for one, am grateful. Miss Trenton is far easier to look upon.”

At Barc’s gentle teasing, Dulcie felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

“So I see.” Cal balanced the heavy jug in one hand. Tilting back his head, he took a long, deep drink before returning the jug to Barc and wiping the back of his hand across his lips.

“Let’s see what Robert sent us.” Barc eagerly unwrapped the linen and helped himself to a chunk of corn bread and a slab of cold pork before passing it on to the others.

Cal sat down, leaning against the trunk of the tree. He stretched out his long legs and lazily crossed one foot over the other. “To what do we owe this pleasure, Miss Trenton?”

Dulcie’s blush deepened. The sarcastic tone of his voice did not make it sound like a pleasure at all.

“Your aunt explained that if we were to remain here for several days, we might wish to earn our keep.”

“And do you wish to earn your keep?” he asked, studying her until she was forced to look away in embarrassment.

“Of course,” she said through gritted teeth. “It is not our intention to be a burden to anyone.”

“If you were a burden, Miss Trenton,” Barc said with a laugh, “you would at least be a most charming one.”

Grateful for his glib tongue, she offered him a smile. “What are you planting, Barc?”

“At one time, all of these fields used to be filled with white gold—” Dulcie was familiar with this term for cotton “—but now, with no market for it, and no way to get food-stuffs from the North, we must grow everything we need. In this field we’re planting sweet potatoes.”

“What other crops do you plant?” Dulcie asked, eager to keep the conversation on less personal subjects.

“Okra, sorghum, corn, beans, grain.” Barc pressed a hand to his back. “And anything else Cal can think of that’ll keep us stooped over a furrow all day. Isn’t that right, Dar?”

Dar only nodded and helped himself to more corn bread.

Cal finished his meal quickly and got to his feet. As he brushed past Dulcie, he muttered, “You may be able to earn your keep, Miss Trenton. But you’ll never earn our trust.”

He strode back to the waiting horse. Leaning into the harness, man and beast resumed the tedious, backbreaking job that seemed, given the vastness of the fields around them, never-ending.

Stung by Cal’s abrupt dismissal, Dulcie gathered up the remains of their meal. Barc touched a hand to her arm. “Don’t take offense, Miss Trenton. Cal…has not been himself since the war.”

“The war affected all of us,” she replied. As she turned to leave, she could feel Cal’s dark, piercing stare burn into her, even from the distance that separated them. Lifting her chin, she returned his look before tossing her head and beginning the long walk back to the house.

It didn’t matter, she told herself. She didn’t care what Cal Jermain said to her or thought of her, just as long as she and the others were allowed to remain here.

She would work. She would endure. But she would never go back.