After the Frost (2 page)

     
Belle gave him an insolent smile. "Well, now. This is a reg'lar welcomin' party. I—" She stopped, seeing Sarah push past Rand into the kitchen.

     
"See, Papa? Here she is, just like I tole you."

     
"I see, Sarah." Rand didn't take his gaze from Belle. "Now, go on out front and see if you can't find Scout."

     
"I can't. She went under the porch."

     
"Then see if you can make her come out."

     
"But, Papa, I
can't
—"

     
"Sarah." Rand and Lillian spoke at the same time, a unanimous authority that made Belle stiffen mutinously. But Sarah only frowned for a moment before she sighed and turned around again, stomping out of the kitchen. Within seconds the sound of light, childish humming floated back to them from outside.

Rand was looking at Belle as if he'd already forgotten about Sarah. "I can't believe you'd dare to come back here."

"Oh, no?" she asked. "Then you shouldn't have taken my daughter."

That surprised him, she noted with satisfaction. She saw confusion flit across his face, the quick glance to Lillian before he caught himself and looked back at Belle. "So that's it."

"Yes, Rand, 'that's it.' I've come to take her back."

"No."

Belle raised a brow. "No? Wait a minute—I guess you didn't understand. I'm not askin' your permission, Rand. I'm tellin' you."

"And you think I'm going to let you just walk out of here with her? Jesus, Belle, she's been here two years! Where the hell were you? Playing cards? Drinking? You sure as hell weren't with Sarah. What'd you do, forget about her?"

His words hit her like a blow—worse, because she hadn't expected it. Sharp and stunningly hard, they made her feel lacking somehow, brought back the guilt and regret she'd kept buried since she'd walked away from the Masons' boardinghouse six years ago, alone and scared. It filled her throat until she felt as if she couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

She looked away, trying not to wince, fighting to gain hold of her emotions. But still her voice sounded thin and forced. "Go ahead and think what you want."

"You're damn right I'll think what I want. Hell, you left her with strangers—"

"Randall." Lillian's quiet voice cut through his anger. "Isabelle, perhaps there's a better time to talk about this—"

     
"There's no better time." Rand bit off the words, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at Belle. "Get off my land."

     
She shrugged deliberately, fixed him with an innocent smile. "I'll be happy to. I'll just get Sarah and—"

     
"Take her and I'll kill you."

     
"Randall," Lillian said.

     
Belle laughed—a quick sound, devoid of humor. "I'm just terrified, Rand. Quick, tell me how you'll do it: pistols at dawn? Or will you take after me with Henry's shotgun? If you're lucky, you can shoot me in the back before I get too far."

     
"Isabelle." Lillian's voice was stern. "Please."

     
"Please what, Mama? Please go? Please don't cause trouble?" Belle shook her head. "Too late for that, I'm afraid." She smiled. "What you've got is trouble starin' you right in the face. Unless you let me walk out of here with her."

     
"And take her where?" Rand demanded. "Back to that hellhole I found her in? Or have you even thought that far?"

     
"Anywhere but here."

     
"She's happy here." He motioned to the back door, where the sounds of Sarah calling for the cat could be heard in the distance. "Goddammit, she's happy."

     
Belle choked a sound of disbelief. "I remember what bein' happy here meant, Rand. I'm surprised you don't. Look at you—stuck here on this farm, workin' in the fields. Why, you remind me of your daddy." She raised a brow. "Are you happy, Rand? Is this where you want to be?"

     
"Yes," he said stiffly.

     
"I don't believe you."

He tensed. "Get out." Rand's voice was white-hot anger, fiercely controlled, so softly spoken, she wasn't sure she'd heard it.

"I do think it's best if you leave for now, Isabelle," Lillian said with a quick warning glance at Rand. Her voice was calm. "We need some time to think. We'll talk about this later."

Belle laughed softly, skeptically. "How much later, Mama? Next week? Next year?"

Rand stepped forward. "Damn you, Belle. Get out."

She stood her ground. "Go to hell."

"Enough." Lillian stepped between them. Her lips were tightly pursed in displeasure. "Please, Isabelle. This is ridiculous. Once we all calm down, we can talk about this like civilized people."

Ever the diplomat
, Belle thought sarcastically, but she looked away from Rand and retreated like the obedient child she had never been. Though she hated to admit it, her mother was right. Belle felt shaky, barely on the edge of control. She had not handled this well. It would be better to leave, to come back when she'd had time to think, to plan.

"All right," she said. She lifted her chin, yanked the brim of her hat back down, and gave them both a defiant smile. "I'm leavin'. But I won't leave this town without her. I never meant for her to be with either of you."

Rand only stared at her, his fist clenching sporadically at his side.

She walked across the kitchen, past Rand, who moved aside as if she were poison and paused at the back door. "See you later."

Then, stinging from the echo of their silence, she walked across the yard to the waiting wagon.

Chapter 2

     
R
and stood there, unable to move or think or even breathe. The kitchen seemed suddenly stifling; he could still smell the remnants of her scent—harsh soap and dust—floating in the air, suffocating him, mixing with the sweet, spicy aroma of pears.

She was back. Sweet Jesus, she was back.

Lillian took a deep breath; her slender fingers smoothed imaginary wrinkles in her apron. "Well, that was—"

He spun angrily on his heel, knocking his shoulder on the doorframe in his haste to leave before she could finish her sentence. Whatever his stepmother wanted to say, he couldn't stand to hear it. He heard her startled gasp and then "Rand! Randall, please!" as he ran across the yard and into the fields, but he didn't slow his step. He searched for Sarah and saw her playing peacefully at the side of the house. He felt a moment's relief, but it wasn't enough to calm him, and he didn't stop, just rushed past her into the fields. He needed to get back to the corn, to be in the center of the fields, where the heavy smell and the clacking rustle of the stalks in the breeze were all around him; where he could think about nothing but the corn and when it should be cut or when the next thunderstorm would hit.
                       
^

God, yes, to think of nothing but those routine, day-to-day things. The things he'd hated thinking about until just this moment, the things he'd spent his whole life avoiding.

The drying corn sawed at his face and hands as he pushed through it; he felt the spidery tassels in his face and the corn dust shiver into his collar. The warm, milky smell was all around him, soothing him.

"Are you happy? Is this where you want to be?"
Belle's words mocked him, tormented him, just as she must have known they would.

"Are you happy?"

Rand pushed his way through the heavy stalks, moving single-mindedly until he was in the center of the corn, until the house was gone, until there was nothing but brown leaves and dusty tassels.

Are you happy?

"Dammit!" He shoved his hands against his ears, trying to block the sound. "Dammit, why the hell did you come back?" But his words taunted him and did nothing to banish the image of her face. He almost laughed at the irony of it. There had been a time when he would have given his life to see her again, and now all he wanted was to exile her forever.

Why had she come back? Why now?

The question was meaningless; Rand already knew the answer. It made sense that she had returned now. Perfect sense, because he had finally managed to stop thinking about her, to stop feeling guilty about the past, to concentrate on anger instead. He laughed softly, bitterly. He'd been feeling contented, or if not that, then almost complacent. He should have known she'd show

Up now.

Someplace in the back of his mind he had expected it, he knew. The truth was, he'd waited for it, in some strange way even wanted it. But not this minute. Not today.

He thought of her standing in the kitchen. She was still small, still delicate. He thought of her slender neck and the fine bones of her face, dwarfed by the huge man's hat, the thick hair that hung in a heavy braid down the middle of her back—a hundred colors of gold all twisted together. All so much the same, just as he remembered.

Rand stared at the tall stalks without really seeing them. He'd told himself that the next time he saw her— if he ever did—he'd be in control. Cool, calm, self-possessed. He told himself she didn't matter, had never mattered, that he'd outgrown the madness that had overtaken him when she was fifteen and he was . . . old enough to know better.

But then he'd walked into that kitchen and seen her standing there, facing him with that familiar, defiant lift of her chin.
Hey, Rand
. He heard her greeting again in his mind, challenging, wary. She'd lowered her voice to say his name, had almost whispered it, and it felt as if he'd been hit in the stomach—as if, for some strange reason, he hadn't expected her to remember it. And with her voice had come his guilt, barreling back as if it had never truly gone.

What the hell was he going to do now?

"Papa?" Sarah's voice came through the corn, cutting through his thoughts. "Papa?"

Rand shoved a hand through his hair. Sarah. The thought of his daughter brought instant, blessed relief. If anything good had come from that brief, turbulent madness six years ago, Sarah was it. She had kept him sane the last two years—since the detective he'd hired had found her in a boardinghouse in Cincinnati, abandoned by her mother at birth. If Belle thought she was going to take his daughter from him again . . .

She wouldn't, he told himself fiercely. She would have to kill him first.

"Papa!"

Rand took a deep breath. "Stay where you are, Sarah. I'll be right there." He knew exactly where she'd be— perched on a weed-covered stump at the edge of the field, hugging her knees tightly to her chest, waiting for him the way she waited for him every night.

He made his way back through the corn. She was there. Her golden hair shone in the sunlight, and the smile she gave him through the dirt on her face was brighter than any summer day.

"Papa," she said, climbing to her feet and flinging herself into his arms, "you ain't goin' to work no more today, are you?"

He buried his nose in her hair. It smelled of dust and sun and little girl. "No, Little Bit, I'm done."

"Good." She leaned back to look at him, her eyes serious. "Who was that lady who was here?"

He hesitated, not knowing what to tell her. Neither he nor Lillian had ever told Sarah about her mother, and to his knowledge she'd never asked a single question. It had seemed best, when they'd first brought her back—a wary and frightened three-year-old—to wait until she was older, and now he supposed they'd just fallen into the habit. God knew he and Lillian never discussed Belle, at least they hadn't for a very long time.

There might be no need to tell her now.
The thought jabbed into his brain, hopefully, fleetingly. It was possible that Belle would just go away. Not likely, but certainly possible. His lips tightened. God knew he'd do everything in his power to make sure she did. "Who is she?" he repeated. "She's Grandma's daughter. Your . . . aunt. Belle."

     
"You didn't seem very happy to see her."

     
He smiled grimly. "No, I guess not. I was surprised, that's all."

     
"Oh." Sarah looked pensive, and Rand realized with a pang that the expression was a copy of Belle's.

     
He tightened his arms around her. "How's Grandma doing, anyway? Is she finished with the pears?"

     
Sarah leaned her head back, ignoring his question, staring up at the sky. "Belle could play with me since Janey's dead."

     
He closed his eyes. "I thought you told me Janey might be better tomorrow," he said wearily.

     
"Well, I lost her head, Papa. She won't get better."

     
"Maybe you can find it and Grandma can sew it back on."

     
"Maybe." She stared at him thoughtfully, her large brown eyes focused on his. "Belle's comin' back, ain't she, Papa?" Then, when he was silent: "Ain't she?"

     
He wanted to say no, she wasn't. But the words wouldn't come, not to his mind or to his throat, and Rand just stared helplessly at his daughter, unable to think of a single thing to say.

     
She watched him for a moment, waiting, and then she nodded and squeezed his neck with her plump little arms. "Grandma's makin' pancakes for supper," she said. "With jam. I like that best."

     
Rand felt the desperation inside him unwind, drifting away, and he gave Sarah a squeeze of relief and joy and fear. "Me, too, Little Bit," he said softly, walking back to the house. "Me too."

     
F
rom the hotel window Belle watched the street below. She saw the men striding down the planked sidewalk, rounding the corner on their way to the Black Horse Tavern, heard the sound of the Cincinnati, Wilmington, and Zanesville train moving out at the edge of town. From here she could just see the curve of the canal as it followed the bend of the Hocking River. There was a packet boat moving on it now, slowly, leisurely, the people sitting on the upper deck tiny little shadows against the sunset. For a moment she wished she were one of them, wished she had nothing to wait for, nothing to keep her from leaving this town—leaving Ohio.