Читать книгу Dulcie's Gift - Ruth Langan, Ruth Ryan Langan - Страница 11

“No, little missy, not like that.” With a sigh of impatience, Robert took the feather duster from five-year-old Emily’s hand and circled it lightly around the various objects that cluttered a tabletop in the formal parlor. “Like this.”

The child watched for a moment, more interested in the array of glittering crystal animals than in his deft touch. “It’s a bunny!” she cried in delight, lifting one of the pieces.

“You must not touch,” Robert admonished sternly. He took the crystal rabbit from her and replaced it exactly as it had been. “Those things belong to Miss Bessie. They are not to be handled by anyone else.”

She lowered her head. “Yes, sir.”

“I am not a sir. I am just…” Frustrated, he searched for a word. “I am just Robert.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a shake of his head he handed her the duster and crossed the room to where Nathaniel knelt on the hearth scrubbing soot from the blackened fireplace. Though the fieldstone gleamed, the boy was black from head to foot. Even his blond hair was streaked with soot.

“How does it look?” Nathaniel asked with pride.

Robert took his time, examining the work carefully. The quality of the boy’s work was a pleasant surprise.

He pointed to a far corner of the fireplace. “You forgot a spot.”

For a moment Nathaniel seemed discouraged. Then he bent to his work once more, saying, “I’ll get it so clean you’ll be able to see your reflection.”

“Eek!”

At Belle’s cry of alarm from across the room, Robert raced to where the six-year-old was huddled, her eyes wide with terror. Her job had been a simple one: shake the dust and cobwebs from the heavy draperies and open all the windows to air out the parlor.

The servant drew aside the draperies to see what had caused such an uproar. “Why, it’s just a dead mouse, little missy. He cannot hurt anyone.”

His words, meant to reassure, only caused her to squeeze her eyes tightly shut and begin to weep and wail.

Nathaniel abandoned his post and hurried over. Seeing the mouse, he wrapped his soot-covered arms around the little girl, as he’d seen Dulcie do a hundred times, and pressed her face against his filthy shirt. Over her head he explained to a startled Robert, “When the soldiers came, Belle and her mother hid in their cellar for weeks. They had nothing to eat, so her mother was finally forced to cook whatever they could catch. Mice mostly. And then her mother died, and Belle was alone…” With all the wisdom of an eight-year-old, he patted Belle’s head clumsily and whispered, “Don’t cry, Belle. You’re not alone now. Like Dulcie said, you’ll always have us.”

Watching the scene, Robert swallowed, then seemed to take an inordinately long time clearing his throat. At last he commanded imperiously, “You may go back to your chore, Nathaniel. Little missy, you come with me.”

The little girl trailed behind his stiff figure, out of the parlor, along the hallway and into the kitchen, at the rear of the big house. While she stood trembling in the doorway, Robert crossed the room and lifted the heavy black kettle from the fireplace.

A wave of terror twisted Belle’s dainty features. In her mind’s eye she could already see this fearsome man cooking the dead mouse and forcing her to eat it as punishment for failing to complete her chores.

“Come here, little missy,” he called sternly.

With slow, jerky movements she made her way to the table, where he stood waiting.

“Sit,” he ordered.

Trembling violently, she did as she was told and watched as he placed a steaming cup in front of her.

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Tea,” he said. “When Miss Bessie finds the day… upsetting, I always fix her tea.”

The little girl stared at him, then at the cup. While she watched, he produced a plate on which rested two precious cookies still warm from the oven.

“When you finish your tea and cookies,” he said, “you will find me in the parlor.” And with that he strode from the room.

Throughout the long afternoon, Dulcie drove herself, beating rugs, scrubbing floors until they shone, rubbing Fiona’s bloodied sheets on a scrubbing board until her knuckles were raw. And all the while she kept hearing Cal Jermain’s taunting words. You may earn your keep, Miss Trenton. But you will never earn our trust.

What did it matter to her what that cruel, ignorant clod thought? As the sun made its arc across the sky, she snapped the sheets off the line and struggled to fold them in the stiff breeze. With each snap of the laundry she told herself that she cared not even that much about Cal Jermain’s opinion.

When the last sheet was folded, she grabbed up the huge wicker basket and turned, only to find the object of her venom standing shirtless by the well, washing himself in a bucket of cold water.

For the space of a heartbeat she could do nothing more than stare at the ripple of muscles across his back as he plunged his arms deep into the water and splashed it over his face. Then, forcing herself to move, she started past him. At that moment he turned toward her.

“Miss Trenton. Earning your keep, I see.”

She lifted her chin and held her silence. But as she took a step, his hand suddenly shot out, stopping her in midstride.

Shock waves vibrated through her at the strength of his touch. Perhaps it was the heat of the afternoon. Or exhaustion. But whatever, she lashed out at him in a tone usually reserved for Yankee soldiers and villains.

“Unhand me, Mr. Jermain.”

Cal had intended to do just that. In fact, he had just broken his self-imposed rule against touching. But now that she was as mad as a spitting wildcat, he changed his mind. He enjoyed seeing her lose that infuriatingly cool composure. A hint of a smile curled his lips. “And if I don’t?”

“How would you like to explain to your aunt how a basket of sheets happened to be dumped over you?”

Caught by surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. “Now how do I know you’re serious?”

“You need only continue holding me, Mr. Jermain, and you will find out.”

His laughter died, though his lips still curved invitingly. “By God, Miss Trenton, I think you’d do just that.”

“Then you had best release me.”

“I could.” His voice lowered to a seductive purr. “Or I could call your bluff.”

Using his good right hand, he hauled her roughly against him. She was so astonished by his actions, she dropped the basket, aware of nothing but a pair of dark eyes looking into hers. And lips, still carved in a dangerous smile.

And then his mouth was on hers and she forgot everything except the feel of his lips. Rough. Bruising. Hungry.

His hunger fueled her own. She knew that she should be offering resistance. Instead, her arms hung limply at her sides.

She heard a sound and realized it had come from deep inside her throat, like a growl of pain. Or pleasure. He answered with a moan of his own.

She was lost. Lost in the dark, mysterious taste of him. Lost in feelings unlike any she’d ever known before. Feelings that sent her pulse racing and her heart soaring. Feelings that whispered over her senses, seducing, arousing, making her forget everything except this man and his dangerous, intimate kiss.

Cal couldn’t seem to find the will to stop. Holding her, kissing her, stirred up feelings he’d thought buried forever. He had the strangest urge to go on kissing her until night crept over the land and the two of them could get lost in the darkness.

The hunger gnawed at him, causing an ache in his chest. God in heaven, what was happening to him? Calling on all his willpower, he lifted his head, dropped his arms and took a step back.

Dulcie’s eyes snapped open. In their depths he could read confusion—and something else. A slumbering sensuality. And then a sudden return of temper.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, Miss Trenton.” He was surprised at how difficult it was to speak.

“For which offense are you apologizing, Mr. Jermain?” Dulcie struggled to ignore the dryness in her throat. “The kiss? Or your cruel words?”

“I apologize for both, ma’am. I had no right.”

Without taking time to think, she lifted the wicker basket and dumped the contents over his head.

“Apology accepted,” she called over her shoulder as she turned and raced toward the house as quickly as her trembling legs would carry her.

“This is my favorite time of day.” Aunt Bessie surveyed everyone seated around the table. “The day’s chores are behind us, and the evening stretches before us like a gift to be savored.”

A gift to be savored indeed, thought Dulcie. She’d been given to understand that she and the others were expected to make their appearance at supper and continue with their chores until bedtime.

What was even more difficult was having to face Cal Jermain. She would never be able to forget the scene at the well. Or the confusing feelings he’d stirred up in her.

She forced her attention away from him.

Aunt Bessie wore an elegant gown of black, watered silk with high, ruffled neckline and long, tapered sleeves. At her throat was a cameo broach, and at her earlobes, elegant pearl-and-jade earrings.

Her nephews had changed from their rough field garb to crisp white shirts and dark suits. Though Dulcie, Starlight and the children had no change of clothes, they, too, had taken great pains to wash and make themselves presentable.

Dulcie found herself seated on Cal’s right, with Starlight and the girls alongside her. Nathaniel was seated on Cal’s left, with Barclay and Darwin beside him. She noted that many of the china plates were cracked, and several of the crystal goblets were chipped. But the dozen candles in silver candelabra in the center of the table cast their golden glow over the lace tablecloth, making the setting appear truly festive.

Robert circled the table, pouring a small amount of wine into goblets. The children’s glasses were filled with lemonade.

As Robert took his seat beside Starlight, Dulcie reached out her hands to those on either side of her as she always did. Starlight clasped her right hand, and the children followed suit. Dulcie said softly, “We would ask a blessing upon this food.”

She could feel the astonished looks from the Jermain family at her boldness. She was, after all, not an honored guest at table. She was, in fact, an intruder.

Aunt Bessie, a stickler for propriety, said imperiously, “In this house we do our praying without such outward displays of artificial reverence.”

“Artificial—!” Starlight began, but a look from Dulcie stopped her in midsentence.

Dulcie and the others lowered their hands to their laps. From his vantage point, however, Cal could plainly see that, under cover of the tablecloth, the young women and children reached out until their hands were once more clasped.

“Besides,” Aunt Bessie said sternly, “I believe God has turned His back on us since this damnable war.” She turned to her youngest nephew. “Darwin,” she said dryly, “you will lead us in prayer.”

“Bless this food,” Dar intoned.

“Amen,” his brothers said in unison, relieved that the prayer had been short and simple.

Aunt Bessie shot Dar a challenging look as she lifted her goblet of wine to her lips. “For a man trained to be elo- quent, you were very brief. I suppose this is something you learned while fighting Yankees.”

Dar stared pointedly at the table, taking care not to look at the others. Across from him, Starlight focused on the candles blazing in their splendid silver holders, seemingly oblivious to the words being spoken.

“We put in a hard day in the fields,” Barc said in defense of his brother. He drained his goblet in one swallow. “Besides, you know Dar isn’t fond of public speaking.”

“I notice you have no such problem,” his aunt chided.

“None whatever.” He turned his attention to Dulcie. “How are the Irish girl, and the little one?”

“They’re improving, thank you.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Cal’s head swivel toward her, but she determinedly kept her gaze focused on his brother. She knew she was blushing, and that only made the color deepen. “Fiona isn’t alert yet, but her eyes opened once and she managed a few sounds. And Clara is awake, but she’s too weak to eat yet.”

“That’s good news—” Barc turned to his older brother “—isn’t it, Cal?”

“Mmm.” His brother took a sip of wine before asking, “What sort of sounds?”

“Moans, really.” Dulcie swallowed, remembering the look of pain that had crossed Fiona’s face when she’d responded to Dulcie’s voice. “And she squeezed my hand.”

“Yes, that’s a good sign.”

“I hope Fiona wakes up soon,” Emily chirped. “I miss her songs. And the funny stories she tells.”

“Do you remember the one—” Belle began, but Aunt Bessie cut her off.

“I do believe that children should be seen and not heard. Now sit up straight. And take your elbows off the table. As long as you are under my roof, you will learn the proper way a young lady comports herself.”

The two little girls looked crestfallen as they struggled to obey. The older woman glanced at Robert. At once he hurried to the kitchen and returned with a tray of food, which he carried around so that the people at the table could serve themselves.

Dulcie glanced at the dour man beside her. As strange as it seemed, she drew comfort from Cal’s simple words about Fiona’s moans. Despite his lack of manners and his cool, angry demeanor, despite that kiss, which had shaken her to her very core, there was about him an aura of knowledge and solid dependability. Though she was loath to admit it, she trusted his opinion.

Forcing herself out of her musings, Dulcie smiled at the children as they feasted on thick slabs of roasted pork and corn bread smothered in hot gravy. She would take comfort in the fact that the food was good and plentiful. Given enough time here, they would all regain much-needed strength for the task ahead.

“This is truly a fine meal, Aunt Bessie. And a rare treat for all of us.” Across the table she saw sunny little Emily cram an entire roll into her mouth and wash it down with lemonade. From the stern look on Aunt Bessie’s face, she knew the older woman had seen it, too.

“I must apologize for the dullness of our meals,” Aunt Bessie said. “There was a time when we would roast several geese, a wild deer and perhaps a whole pig for one evening’s feast.” She sighed, a deep sigh of remembrance or regret. “And we would drink champagne from France and wear gowns from Paris and London. Now, thanks to the war,” she said wistfully, “it all seems like just a lovely dream. Who knows when we will be able to restore our poor little island to its former beauty.” She fell silent for a long moment. “Once again it seems, I have forgotten my vow. I promised myself that if my beloved nephews were returned safely, I would never complain about another thing. And here we are, all together at last. For that I am most humbly grateful.”

“You were all in the war?” Nathaniel asked. “Where?”

Cal swung his gaze to the boy. There was something in Nathaniel’s tone. Something anguished, something… seeking.

For a moment no one responded to the question. At last Barc said, “I spent half the war in Richmond, then joined General Lee himself. Dar was with Pickett’s forces at Gettysburg. Cal was with the Seventh under Stonewall Jackson until he…stayed a little too long at Chancellorsville.”

Cal saw the boy lower his gaze to the table. Whatever he was seeking, he had not found it in Barc’s words.

Although the children did not understand the importance of the places Barc had mentioned, the names were not lost on Dulcie. She felt saddened and shocked to think that all three brothers had faced such danger.

Aunt Bessie touched a napkin to her lips and spoke to Robert. “We will take our coffee and dessert in the main parlor, Robert.”

“Yes, Miss Bessie.”

She pushed away from the table and waited until Cal approached and offered his arm.

Dulcie had to rouse Starlight from the dark cloud that enveloped her, brought about by the talk of the war.

Her hand on Cal’s sleeve, Aunt’Bessie led the way along the hallway to a set of ornate double doors. Sliding the doors open, Cal stood aside and waited for the others to enter. Inside, candles had been lit in sconces along the walls and in an ornate candelabra atop a table. The floor and ta- bletops gleamed in the candle glow, and everything smelled of beeswax and lye soap.

“What happened to this room?” Barc lifted a brow in surprise.

“We cleaned it,” Nathaniel said proudly. “I did the fireplace.”

“I’ve never seen it so clean,” Barc said.

“I did the tabletops and little glass animals,” Emily said excitedly, her blond curls bobbing up and down.

“And a fine job you did,” Barc assured her.

“I counted them,” the little girl went on. “Starlight is teaching me to count. There were twenty-eleven of them,” she declared.

Dar winced, but Barc smiled and prodded gently, “And can you name all of them?”

“There’s a bunny and a turtle and a deer and…” Her voice faded for a moment, then she announced, “But the bunny is my favorite, even though I can’t ever touch it.”

“And why is that?” Barc asked.

“Mr. Robert said they belong to Aunt Bessie, and I must never, ever touch them.”

“Quite right,” Aunt Bessie said in her regal tones. She crossed the room and took a seat beside the table.

After everyone else was seated, Robert moved among them, offering coffee for the adults, glasses of milk for the children and cookies for everyone.

When Aunt Bessie saw Nathaniel reaching for a second cookie before he’d eaten his first, she admonished, “Nathaniel, it is polite to take only what you can eat.”

“Yes’m. But I know I can eat two.”

He glanced at Dulcie for permission. She gently shook her head. With reluctance he replaced the second cookie.

Beside him, Barc helped himself to two cookies and slipped one into the boy’s hand. The look on Nathaniel’s face spoke volumes.

Across the room, Cal stood alone, a cup in his hand, his left arm hanging stiffly at his side. When Dulcie glanced at him, she found him staring at her. A shiver passed through her and she looked away. But against her will she shot another glance in his direction. Cal bowed his head ever so slightly and lifted his cup in a salute. Her cheeks reddened, and she stiffened her back defiantly before turning away from him.

Across the room, Aunt Bessie watched, intrigued by what she saw. Her flinty nephew and that mysterious young woman struck sparks off each other every time they came close. They had best beware, she thought with a tightly clenched jaw. Sometimes, a single spark was all it took to ignite a forest fire.