After the Frost (19 page)

He ran his tongue over his teeth, turned the reins over his fingers. "I don't suppose you have any suggestions?"

"Talk to her."

"And say what?"

Lillian sighed. She touched her chignon, mechanically smoothing away a nonexistent stray hair. "I don't know. There must be something you can say. She listens to you."

Rand laughed shortly. "Not anymore."

"Obviously she doesn't realize how much this behavior hurts Sarah. When she leaves—"

"When she leaves, she'll try to take Sarah with her," Rand said slowly, staring out at the woods beyond the barn. "That's what worries me. I'd rather have Sarah hurt and here than gone."

Lillian said nothing. He turned to look at her. Her eyes were lowered, her slender fingers pulled at the fringes of her heavy black shawl. As if she felt his stare, she looked up. "Yes, I suppose she means to leave," she said, and he heard the relief in her tone, though she tried to hide it. "What do you suggest we do to keep her from taking Sarah?"

"I don't know," he said, wishing he could say otherwise, wishing he had any idea at all.

"Yes, that's what I thought." Lillian's sigh filled the air between them. She got to her feet. He felt the wagon move as she stepped over the side and jumped to the ground. It surprised him; he couldn't remember Lillian ever getting out of the wagon without help before. She pulled the edges of her shawl more firmly about her and glanced up at him.

"Oh, Randall," she said, and he got the impression that she was trying to explain something to him, that it was important he understand. "She was always such a stubborn child. I—I did my best to control her, but it wasn't until we came here that anyone could tell her what to do. That person was you." She waved away his protest. "Oh, I know things became—impossible. Life has a way of doing that with Belle. I just . . . well, I've given up. I suppose I have no choice but to trust you to do what's right."

He couldn't speak, didn't know what to say, and before he could even think of the right words, she gave a short, affirming nod. "Well, then, I suppose I should go inside and find them."

She turned and walked away. She was up the stairs and through the front door before he could even say a word.

He stared at the house, his mind a blank except for Lillian's punishing words.
"I trust you to do what's right."
He wasn't sure what she meant. The whole speech had been a confession of sorts, and it surprised him. He had never known what Lillian thought about his role in driving Belle away, was never sure how his stepmother felt. All he knew was that she shouldn't have forgiven his actions. Hell, he couldn't forgive them himself. But she'd made it clear she didn't blame him.

She blamed Belle.

The realization made him remember his first impression of Lillian. She'd arrived at the farm one June morning with his father, who had been in Columbus to see about shipping grain. It was an unlikely pairing, but one Rand understood. She was young and pretty, and his father had been alone a long time. But Rand had also thought her stiff and unyielding, and he had looked at twelve-year-old Belle and seen the rebellion in her eyes and known that Lillian couldn't control her daughter— and that she resented it.

No, Lillian had never expected anything good from Belle, and he wasn't sure why, but when it came to what happened six years ago, Lillian was wrong. She was wrong to trust him and wrong to blame Belle. He knew whose fault it was. At twenty-two he'd seen the innocent love in Belle's eyes and done his best to crush it. But not before he'd nearly gone mad with longing. And not before he'd taken her.

Belle had been fifteen.

He had been an animal.

The memories hammered at him, and angrily Rand fought to push them away. Lillian was leaving this mess in his hands, and he didn't want it. He'd spent the last three days doing his best to avoid Belle, and he knew he couldn't confront her, even though Lillian wanted him to. Even the thought of talking to Belle frightened him, because he no longer knew how she would react. Since the day on the stairs she seemed softer, more vulnerable, and that terrified him more than he wanted to admit.

No, he couldn't face her. The thought brought a lump into his throat, made him shake. He clung to the idea he'd had three days ago, that Belle would get tired of all this and leave. She would go eventually, he knew. All he had to do was make sure she didn't take Sarah with her.

He could do that without facing Belle, without even talking to her. It meant he had to work harder at keeping her and Sarah apart. He could be with Sarah most of the time. The corn would be ready to cut soon, and after that he would mostly be husking and threshing out in the barn. She could be with him then. He could keep Sarah so busy, she wouldn't have time for Belle. And if he had to put the fear of God into Sarah to force her to keep her distance, well, he could do that too.

The idea made him feel better. Rand tapped the reins, and the horses moved forward eagerly to the barn. Yes, it was a good plan. What was even better was that he could put it into effect without having anything to do with Belle.

And maybe—maybe he could even forget her smile.

Chapter 14

B
elle spent a restless night waiting for dawn, lying in bed until she heard Lillian's soft step on the stair and Rand's sturdier one. She heard them talking in the kitchen, heard the clanking of pots and pans and smelled the rich scents of coffee and bacon.

Quietly Belle got out of bed, hastily washing in the basin on the washstand and brushing and rebraiding her hair. She grabbed her old, worn brown calico from the bag she still hadn't unpacked—not that there was that much to unpack anyway—and pushed it back under the bed. She stepped into the dress, shoved the floppy hat on her head. Then she sat impatiently on the edge of the mattress until she heard the slam of the back door, the crunching of her mother's steps on the road as she went to the springhouse.

Belle's heart pounded; excitement made her blood race. It felt familiar and good, welcome after the tension of last night, and she had to force herself to keep from laughing with pure joy as she crept from her room to Sarah's and carefully pushed open the door.

She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. Sarah was a lump in the bed, sound asleep. "Sarah?"

The little girl whimpered.

Belle went closer. She raised her voice. "Sarah, wake up."

Sarah's eyes opened. "Belle?" She blinked sleepily, groggily focusing on Belle's face.

"Come on." Belle looked around the room. Her eyes fell on the blue gingham Sarah wore yesterday, and she grabbed it from the chair. "Hurry up, now, we don't have all day."

Sarah rubbed her eyes and frowned. "Where're we goin'?"

"To the canal. Remember?"

"The canal?"

"Shhh—yes. Come on." Belle let out a harsh breath of exasperation. She held out the dress, waiting. "Do you want to be doin' chores all day, or do you want to have fun with me?"

Sarah smiled, pushing back the covers and wiggling to the ground. Quickly she dressed, her little arms pushing through the sleeves impatiently.

"Where's your sunbonnet?"

"There." Sarah pointed to the hook by the door.

"All right, then." Belle lifted the bonnet and handed it to Sarah. "Let's go. Be real quiet now, Sarah. Real quiet."

She waited until Sarah nodded in understanding, then Belle eased open the door and peeked out. She heard nothing. Hopefully Lillian was still at the springhouse. Rand was certainly in the fields. All she had to do was get herself and Sarah down the stairs and out the front door. Once they reached the field on the other side of the road, they'd be safe.

Carefully, silently, she motioned to Sarah to follow her. The two of them ran on tiptoes down the hallway, down the stairs, pausing only for a split second when the third one creaked. Once they were on the front porch, Belle grabbed Sarah's pudgy hand, pulling the child with her as she ran across the front yard, across the road.

She didn't slow down until they were halfway into the field and the house was a good distance behind them. Sarah was breathing heavily, her round cheeks were flushed.

Belle smiled. "You all right?"

Sarah nodded, wide-eyed. "D'you think Grandma saw? She'll spank me if she sees."

"She won't spank you," Belle reassured her. "You're with me. It's all right."

"She don't like me goin' to the canal."

Belle's smile widened. "I know. Come on, now, you won't get in trouble."

"Promise?"

"I promise." Belle nodded. She started walking, and after a moment she heard Sarah's pigeon-toed steps behind her, crunching on the stubbly brown grass. The sound made Belle smile. She felt more free than she had in days—in years. The sun was growing warmer, but just now the morning air was cold, and it smelled of frost and grass and dirt.

"How far is it?" Sarah asked.

Belle stopped, squinting into the distance. "Just past those trees up there." She slowed her step until Sarah came up beside her. "D'you like muskmelon?"

Sarah tilted her head. "Yeah."

"Well, then, you're in for a treat. There's this man I know who runs a stand by the canal. He's got the best muskmelon you'll ever eat. . . ." Belle let her sentence trail off into nothing. It occurred to her suddenly that it had been six years since she'd even been to the canal. Shenky might not even be there; his stand might be long gone.

The canal might not even be the same.

The thought made her chest feel tight. She doubted it had changed; nothing else in Lancaster had. But the canal wasn't like everything else in Lancaster. Every day had been different there when she was young—it was why she'd loved it.

God, how she wanted it to be the same.

"Are we almost there?" Sarah's voice held a note of excitement.

"Almost."

They walked in silence. Sarah tugged at the ties of her sunbonnet. "It's chokin' me."

"Take it off."

Sarah stopped, looking up in confusion. "Take it off?"

"Yeah." Belle frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Grandma says never take it off."

"Grandma's not here."

"No-o-o." Sarah hesitated, and though Belle could see Sarah was tempted, she dropped her hand from the ties, leaving the bonnet firmly in place. Her eyes took on a new wariness.

Damn Mama anyway.
It had been the same when Belle was a child. Tortuous bonnets and coats of itchy wool and starched cotton were somehow necessary to keep rebellious little girls sweet and ladylike. Belle turned away and kept walking. Then she reached up and took off her own hat.

The cool air felt good on her hair. Strands of it came loose and fell in her face, and she blew them aside. "Damn, that feels good." She didn't look at Sarah. "Did your papa ever tell you the story about the hoggee and his mule?"

"No." Sarah sounded uncertain. "What's a hoggee?"

"That's what they call the tow-mule drivers on the canal."

"Oh." Sarah pushed at the brim of her bonnet. "What about him?"

"Well, there was this one hoggee called Boggs. He had this mule—smart as a whip and everyone knew it. His name was Bandit, 'cause he would steal things when no one was lookin'. He'd steal the oats right out from Boggs's hand and he'd find the bag of sugar and eat it so the other mules couldn't. One time that mule even stole a watch from a passenger. When they found it on him, he had it tucked in his harness just like he could tell time. 'Course, he prob'ly could, that mule was so damned smart."

That brought a smile. Sarah studied her as if trying to figure out if Belle was teasing. "Mules can't tell time."

"That's what you think. Bandit could—or so they said. I never saw him do it myself."

"That's silly."

"I don't know about that. Boggs used to say that mule could count too. Damnedest thing. They'd stop at the warehouse for supplies, and Boggs would say, 'Count them bags for me, Bandit, so I know how much to credit.' And damned if Bandit wouldn't do it right ev'ry time." Belle laughed. "But then Boggs got married. His wife decided Bandit was too ugly, so she made him a hat —a straw one with big red flowers. Well, Bandit hated that hat. He'd do anythin' to get rid of it, and Boggs's wife just kept findin' it and puttin' it back on his head. So you know what that mule went and did?"

"What?"

"He shot a hole through it."

Sarah stared at her in silent disbelief. "But, Belle, mules can't shoot."

"Bandit could."

"You saw him?"

"Yep. He just put that gun on the ground and hit the trigger with his hoof. Shot it ev'ry time."

"Oh." Sarah said nothing more, just walked in silence as they moved through the field to the edge of the trees, but the next time Belle looked down, the sunbonnet was bouncing limply against Sarah's back.

Belle hid her grin.

They reached the canal a short time later, coming over the flat, pine-covered hill overlooking Hooker's Station. Even before they passed the drover's tavern, they heard the sound of water and the lap of boats along the waterway. Though the main business for the canal was done near town, there were still old warehouses lining the banks here, their stilted fronts jutting out over the water, their clapboards old and splintering. Shouts from two or three teamsters calling to an incoming barge carried over the water, along with the short, blaring bursts of a canalboat horn and the jangle of the mules' trace chains. The smell of oil and mule and grain filled Belle's nostrils, and she stopped and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, contentedly. Oh, she had missed this.

She opened her eyes again, smiling. "See that bridge over there?" she asked Sarah, pointing. When Sarah nodded, she went on. "Your papa and me used to jump from it all the time. We'd get on a boat headin' to town and then jump off and walk on back. That was some of the best fun I ever had."

Sarah's eyes were wide. "Papa used to jump too?"

Belle nodded. "Yep."

"Where do them boats go?"