Beyond All Measure (34 page)

He turned, his hand resting on the doorknob. She sent him a triumphant little smile. “Finally, I have your undivided attention.”

“Go on.”

“It belonged to Sumner Redmond, one of my mother’s . . . friends. When I was born, he deeded it to her—a consolation prize for not leaving his family to marry her. The price of her silence. When she died, it passed to me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Your name isn’t on any of the documents my lawyers uncovered.”

“Redmond insisted on that, to keep safe the secret of his affair with my mother. His lawyers handled everything.” Her voice broke. “I hate every blasted acre of it.”

“I would have bought it five years ago.”

Her face flamed pink. “I know. But I was saving it as a . . . a present for you. For when we married.”

“What?”

“I thought that one day, you and I . . . but then Saint Ada arrived, and I knew I didn’t stand a chance.”

“And you thought that if you terrorized her into leaving—with Charlie’s help, I suspect—I’d fall into your arms?” He shook his head. “Even if she hadn’t come here, things between you and me never would have worked out that way. You may as well sell that land to my buyers. You’ll turn a profit, they’ll deed it to the sharecroppers down there, and we’ll keep the peace in the town you claim to care so much about.”

Her dark eyes flashed. “I do care! Hickory Ridge is all I’ve got.”

“Well then?”

“Why did she have to come here and ruin everything?”

He drew a long breath. “Come Friday morning, I expect to see you on that train.”

She crossed her arms. “I’ll be back. This is my town. And not even you can keep me away forever.”

“You don’t have to stay away forever. Only until Ada and I have gone to Texas.”

“So the rumors are true. You
do
intend to marry that wheyfaced Yankee.”

“If she’ll have me.” He opened the schoolhouse door, letting in a blast of frigid air. “Friday, Bea. And don’t forget to wear your new Ada Wentworth hat.”

She hurled a book that narrowly missed his head.

THIRTY-ONE

Ada stepped off the porch and into the thin April sunshine. Rain had fallen in the night, and the cool spring air was sweet with the scent of new growth. The trees along the road were budding, and the dogwoods were already in bloom. In the garden, patches of wild violets and pale, creamy daffodils peeked from beneath the stones lining the path. May would see the flowering of irises and wood hyacinths and lily of the valley, followed in June by hollyhocks and Lillian’s prized roses.

Helping Wyatt sort through his aunt’s things, Ada had discovered Lillian’s gardening journal. Written in a faint, spidery hand, it chronicled the blooming of the various plants with notes about cuttings and new plantings and the various species she had cultivated with such care.

“Keep it,” Wyatt had said when she found it. “Aunt Lil would want you to have it.”

She crossed the cobbled path to the rose garden. There were signs of new growth here too. Wyatt had planned to transplant a rosebush to Lillian’s grave, but now it would have to wait. According to Lillian’s journal, that was a job best accomplished in late winter, before the bush began to put on new canes. With all that had happened after Lillian’s death, there hadn’t been time.

Ada bent to brush dirt from a daffodil. Above her, a robin darted among the branches of the magnolia tree, building a nest. Building a future.

Ada’s eyes filled. Even here, surrounded by so much beauty and promise, her heart was as heavily burdened as ever. Her injuries had long since healed, but Bea Goldston’s brutal attack had left her feeling more discouraged and fearful than ever. On her infrequent visits to town, she found herself searching every face, wondering who had accompanied Bea into the woods that day.

Like everyone else in Hickory Ridge, Ada had been stunned at Bea’s sudden departure. A dear cousin in North Carolina had taken seriously ill, or so it was said. Then, near the end of March, Charlie Blevins had been arrested for setting the fire at the Spencers’. True to the Klan’s code, he’d steadfastly refused to implicate anyone else. According to Sheriff McCracken, Blevins continued to deny any involvement in Ada’s ordeal, but since his arrest there had been no more intruders at Lillian’s place and no more incidents on the road.

That doesn’t mean there won’t be.

Ada absently brushed a few ants off the fresh new rose leaves and bent to pull a weed, but her mind kept circling around to her dilemma. Soon she would have to give Wyatt an answer to his proposal. Just last week he’d gone to another meeting in Chicago, moving ahead with his plans to sell the mill and buy his ranch. It wouldn’t be fair to keep him waiting forever.

Ada didn’t doubt his devotion to her. The problem was her own inability to let go of all that had happened to her, to put her life in another’s hands. Since the attack, especially, she couldn’t help seeing herself as damaged goods—like a torn bonnet long past mending. She wanted to let go of bitterness and blame, but her raw feelings lodged like stones in her heart.

She didn’t like the person she had become—older, sadder, but not much wiser. How could she promise herself to Wyatt when she felt this way?

The sound of hoofbeats on the road pulled her away from her dark thoughts. It was Saturday, a half day at the mill, and Wyatt had suggested a picnic by the river. Gathering her skirts, she hurried out to the road to meet him.

He reined in Cherokee and slid from the saddle. “Morning, darlin’.”

“Good morning.” Tamping down her misgivings, she smiled up at him. Just for today, she’d concentrate on being happy, on enjoying the day with Wyatt. She waved one hand toward the garden. “It’s starting to bloom.”

“Aunt Lil would be pleased. She always said that flowers were proof God hadn’t yet given up on his creation.”

They went inside. While Ada poured lemonade into a jar, Wyatt loaded a basket with bread and cheese, dried apples, and a small crock of butter.

“It’s a good day to go up to the waterfall,” he said. “I’ve wanted you to see it since that first Sunday at church.”

She had an instant mental picture of Wyatt sunbathing on the rock in the middle of the stream. That had been the beginning of everything. “I remember.”

“Seems like a long time ago.” He smiled into her eyes. “So much has changed since then.”

Ada wrapped the jar in a towel and set it carefully inside the basket. “The quilting circle certainly has changed. Without Lillian, we seem to have lost our enthusiasm for it. Bea’s gone. Carrie hardly ever comes anymore. But I suppose I can’t really blame her.” She took a couple of napkins from the shelf and tucked them into the basket. “She lost so many years wrapped in mourning. She must feel as if she’s starting life all over again.”

“I kind of feel that way myself. Since you, my love, I feel like I’ve got a second chance too.”

“I know,” she said, her voice soft. She turned away and added a few more things to the basket. “But there was nothing wrong with your old life. Everyone looks up to you. And the mill is the biggest success in town.”

“Success doesn’t make up for loneliness. Life is always better shared with somebody you love.”

“Libby Dawson said almost the same thing just last week.” She handed him the basket.

“She did?”

“What she said was, ‘It sure is a lonesome washing, Miss Ada, without a man’s shirt in it.’ ”

Wyatt laughed. “Ready?”

She waited on the porch while he unsaddled Cherokee and led her to the pasture behind the house. He hitched Smoky to the new rig he’d bought, and they set out for the river.

“You haven’t told me about your meeting in Chicago.” Ada secured her hat and unfurled her parasol as Smoky trotted down the sun-dappled road. Sitting so close to Wyatt, knowing how he felt about her, stirred up so many emotions she’d rather not think about. Better to keep the conversation light.

“We’re close to a deal. They agreed to let Sage stay on as foreman. The sticking point was Two Creeks. I want them to buy the land and deed it to the coloreds who have been sharecropping it all this time.”

“Will they do that?”

“I think so, eventually. Since all the fires up north last fall, timber isn’t as plentiful there. Prices are up. And Chicago is still rebuilding. Those investors want my mill so they can cash in on the increased demand. They won’t get it unless they’re willing to guarantee that the coloreds won’t be thrown off the land.”

“But I thought the current owner wouldn’t sell.”

“I believe that problem has been resolved.” Briefly, he told her about his last conversation with Bea Goldston.

Ada stared up at him, stunned. “Bea owns Two Creeks?”

He grinned. “Finding that out was the shock of the ages. My lawyers are talking to hers. I think they’ll work it out.”

“For your sake I’m glad that she’s willing to make a deal, but I don’t understand why she’d do anything to benefit those sharecroppers. She’s the one who said their presence was holding the town back.”

He shrugged. “She loves Hickory Ridge more than she hates them. And if I know Bea, she’s counting on coming back one day, a heroine for having made such a sacrifice.” He shook his head. “She’ll probably run for mayor.”

“If anyone would try it, Bea would.”

“In any case, Hickory Ridge doesn’t need any more unrest. We had plenty of that when Brownlow was governor. It’s time to move forward.”

Ada watched Wyatt as he drove along, one hand resting loosely on his knee, the sunlight stippling his face. Though she’d tried to move forward, she still felt stuck in her own sad past. But Wyatt had learned to leave yesterday alone. With him, everything was always about the future.

“The papers say good cropland is renting for up to six dollars an acre these days,” she went on. “If Bea does sell that land, she can ask top dollar for it.”

Wyatt grinned. “Why, Ada! If you ever get tired of making hats, you can be a land agent.”

When they reached the church, Wyatt tethered Smoky in the yard. Ada crossed the churchyard and ran her fingers over Lillian’s new marble headstone. The reality of Lillian’s death assailed her all over again. She blinked back tears.

Wyatt stepped up beside her and put an arm around her waist. “Think she’d like it? It isn’t too ostentatious? I couldn’t decide between angels and flowers, so I got both.”

Ada smiled. “Lillian wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet. I’m sure she’d love it—especially the inscription.” The familiar words from Lillian’s favorite hymn were chiseled beneath her name: “My Shepherd Will Supply My Need.”

Wyatt studied it for a moment and then turned away. “Let’s go.”

They unloaded the rig and headed along the path to the river, then followed an overgrown trail to the waterfall. Wyatt spread their blanket in a mossy clearing, and they sat down, their backs to the distant mountain. The first of the wildflowers were just blooming; the hillsides were carpeted with splashes of pink and blue and the shimmering white of the dogwoods. Water tumbled over gray boulders and splashed into the cold green river below, sending up a fine mist that glittered in the sunlight.

Opening their basket, Wyatt tore off a chunk of bread, buttered it, and handed it to Ada. She chewed with relish and licked a fleck of butter off her fingers. “I’m glad you brought me here. It’s so beautiful. Like a secret paradise.”

He nodded. “It’s been one of my favorite spots since I was a boy.”

She poured a glass of lemonade for each of them, then sat back, inhaling the clean spring air. “It sure is a fine day for a picnic.”

Wyatt brushed bread crumbs off his hands. “And a fine day to talk about our future.”

No. Not now. Not today. I’m not ready.

Ada set down her glass. She started to speak, but he stopped her with a kiss to her forehead, his breath warm on her skin. “Please, Ada. I’ve been thinking about this ever since I got back from Chicago, and I want to get it out.”

“All right.” She clasped her hands and waited.

“As soon as I can settle things here, I’m headed for Texas.”

Tears blurred her eyes. “I know.”

“A year ago I would have felt just fine about going back home alone, setting up in a little cabin on my own land. Fact is, I would have preferred it. Ranching is hard work—long hours, always something that needs doing. It didn’t seem right to ask someone to share that. But now I can’t imagine living anywhere without you.” He tipped her face up and looked into her eyes. “For so much of my life I felt as if everything was matter of chance. Now I know better. We were put here to find each other. You know that as well as I do.”

She looked into his beloved face, too overcome with love and dread to forestall the words she knew were coming next.

“I’ve been waiting for your answer since Christmas. I know you’ve had a lot on your mind, and maybe you still have doubts about living someplace where there are more cows than people. But I have to know.” He brushed her lips with his. “My dearest friend, will you marry me?”

She brushed away the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “You’ve been more patient with me than I deserve. And I would love more than anything to say yes.”

“Well then?”

She couldn’t meet his hopeful gaze. She looked past his shoulder to a patch of wildflowers nodding in the breeze.

“I don’t understand.” He took her hand. “What’s bothering you, my love?”

“I can’t—” She strove to discipline her voice, to take control of her emotions.

“If it’s the hat business that’s got you worried, I’ll buy you a shop to rival Waterfield and Walker. Or I’ll build you one. Fort Worth is growing so fast, there’s sure to be plenty of ladies needing fancy hats.” He laced his fingers through hers. “The most important thing is that we’re together.”

Ada finally found her voice. “That’s the difference between you and me. You don’t worry about the what-ifs. But I do. What if I disappointed you? What if you wake up one morning and realize that you don’t love me after all?”

He shook his head. “That will never happen.”

“It might. And then what? I couldn’t bear it if you stopped loving me.”

Wyatt gripped her shoulders. “Look at me.”