Christie (39 page)

"Poor man, hummph!" snorted Lula.

"What say you, Lula?" queried Garrett.

"Ah said there's nothing poor or pitiful about that shifty-eyed old weasel!" Lula's black eyes shone fiercely.

"Now, Lu," said Christie, "just because you never took a liking to Uncle Philip, there's no reason you should go about calling him names!"

Garrett's eyes darted to Lula's face. "You base this dislike on reasons, Lula?"

"You can
bet
ah do, sir!" snapped the black woman. "All anyone needs to do is look him in the eye—try to, that is. Ah tell you, ah don't trust the man, and when ah get this feeling, ah'm
always
right. Ah'd question him real careful, Captain! Now, if you'll both excuse me, ah need to see Master Adam has his bath."

"Yes, of course," said Garrett, staring absent-mindedly, at the two pieces of jewelry he still held in his hands.

"Garrett?" questioned Christie after Lula had left. "You're pensive, darling. Do Lula's words disturb you?"

"What sort of a man is Philip Stanhope, Christie?" His tone was still quiet, almost introspective.

"Oh, thoroughly mild-mannered, kind, and generous, and not without 'charm. He—Garrett! Surely you can't think—"

Hearing the alarm in her voice, Garrett smiled, breaking out of his thoughtful state. "No, of course not, sweet. Come, let me put these on you. I have a wish to see you in Randall finery."

Smiling, Christie turned that he might place the necklace about her. After he had fastened it, and the bracelet at her wrist, he walked her to the mirror hanging on the far wall.

"Oh, darling! They take my breath away!" Christie exclaimed.

"Not so much mine, as the woman wearing them," said Garrett behind her as he bent to kiss the nape of her neck.

Shivering deliciously, Christie turned to face her husband, wrapping both arms about his neck. "Thank you, Garrett. I'll treasure them always, not only because they were your mother's, but because you gave them to me. —Oh, dear! Do you think Uncle Philip will claim the bracelet back?"

"Not if he's the kind, generous man you say he is, and if I pay him its worth," said Garrett. "Now, what say you to changing into some stunning gown to set off these jewels in a manner appropriate for having dinner with Jesse? I'll admit this tempting creation shows them off beautifully," he said, running a finger down the cleavage she displayed before him, "but I'm not about to share such with Brother Jess!"

Laughing, Christie stood on tiptoe to place a kiss on her husband's lips and went inside to change.

Hate that night Garrett lay quietly on the big bed holding his sleeping wife in his arms. Tenderly he placed a kiss on the fragrant, pale hair that softly tickled his chin. Christie . . . there were times, especially in moments like this, when he still couldn't believe she was really here in his arms again, his alone, and he would lie awake for some time after she had already fallen asleep and simply hold her this way, feeling her close, loving her with his heart and mind, as he just had with his body. . . .

His thoughts drifted back over the evening's events. How exquisitely beautiful she had looked
going down to dinner, bedecked in the jewels . . . his wife! Wearing the things his mother had worn for his father ... it was things as they should be . . . Christie rightfully bequeathed the gifts of love Marianne had received from Jeremy . . . rich and fitting tokens of cherished love and honor from an adoring husband. And one day, perhaps, he and Christie would have a daughter who would wear them, or their son would give them in equally loving tribute to a wife of his own. ...

He smiled as he thought of Christie's suggestion that perhaps Jesse should be given the bracelet, it having his birthdate on it, to bestow upon a wife of his choosing someday. It was like her to think that way, and Garrett had told her she might ask Jess herself, which she had, once his brother had gotten over his astonishment at seeing the bracelet and learning how she had come by it. But Jesse had insisted Christie keep both pieces, saying good-naturedly, "If I ever do find a woman to make me as happy as you obviously have made Garrett, I'll simply do what our father did for our mother-design her something of her own, and create a new set of Randall heirlooms."

Garrett smiled to himself. He may have been tragically bereft of loving parents early in his life, but now, he considered himself richly gifted with the presence of these people he loved and was so close to. . . . Jesse . . . who could ask for a finer brother— or friend? . . . Christie . . . there weren't words to do justice in describing her place in his life. . . . Adam, their tiny son ... a living, breathing, extension of their love, cherished by them as such, and also for the person he had already begun to be . . . Ah, Garrett
Randall, he thought to himself, you're a lucky man! To think, only a few short months ago, he had been so angry, so bitter. But Christie's love had changed all that. Even his quest of twenty years seemed vaguely unimportant now. . . . Strange, he thought, that now, in the midst of all this feeling of bounty, he should find himself standing on the threshold of finding the answer to that puzzle.
Was
it still important? Yes, he had to admit it was, but not in the same way it had been, not in that consuming way that left him no other avenues for living—and none for loving. . . . No, he would pursue it now only as a matter of rightful justice to be served and not in the spirit of terrible vengeance, that devouring monster he had lived with all too long. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling satisfied with this assessment.

Then his thoughts turned to the particulars the revelation of the bracelet had turned up. . . . Philip Stanhope—what was his part in this likely to be? On the one hand, he felt inclined to accept Christie's surmisal of what had happened. Stanhope, being a wagering man, could easily have acquired it in such a manner. It was entirely plausible. But what of Lula's fears and insinuations? He could not put those aside too lightly. He felt he knew the black woman well-well enough to trust her instincts. Hadn't he hired her in the first place because of the canny judgment and intelligence he had read in her eyes? She was no superstitious fool; she had been around enough of humanity's motley array to know human nature, and know it well. Why didn't she trust Stanhope?

He shook his head, trying to clear it enough to refocus and summon up an image of Stanhope the evening he had met him at the ball. . . . It was no use.
He had been so intent on his teasing pursuit of Christie, his mind had been on little else. Again he smiled to himself and then bent to place a soft kiss on his wife's slightly parted lips. Christie stirred and snuggled closer to him and his arms tightened about her. Even then, he had probably already begun to fall in love with her—small wonder he couldn't remember anything of Philip Stanhope!

His thoughts drifted again. . . . Toward the end of dinner, when Christie had gone upstairs to feed Adam, he and Jesse had discussed the matter some. Jesse's feelings were similar to his own. He and Christie would travel to Charleston with the idea of finding out from Stanhope who had previously owned the bracelet. In the meantime, Jesse would go to Carlisle and set in motion a quiet investigation of Stanhope's affairs over the past twenty years or so, to see if this might shed any light on the darker possibilities Lula implied. They would not trouble Christie with knowledge of this. In all likelihood, Stanhope's character would come out unsullied, and there was no reason to alarm her unduly. He would do anything to keep her from even the slightest hurt! Of course, if, by some remote chance her uncle were . . . guilty—he had to say it, if only to himself— well, he would cross that bridge if, and only, if, he came to it. It wasn't likely to happen. Still, why would a man who had won such a fabulous piece of jewelry keep it hidden away in a locked desk? Why wouldn't he have it seen on the arm of his wife or daughters? These were questions which had to be asked. And he would watch Stanhope's eyes very carefully when he asked them. . . .

Chapter Twenty Six

Christie sat in the middle of the bed hugging her knees as they supported her chin. She felt loved, and pampered and lazy, as she always did these days after a morning in bed with Garrett. This morning he had risen earlier than he usually did in the days since they had begun sharing this bed. Measures had to be taken, he had explained, to find out who the gunman was who had threatened their safety, and the first step was a thorough tracking and search of the area involved in yesterday's attack. So he and Jesse had ridden off quite early with some of the men, planning to go to the Indian village to enlist Laughing Bear's help, and then to commence searching. She shivered slightly and hugged her knees more tightly in an attempt to dispel a sudden wash of fear which flooded her as she was struck by the notion that Garrett could be in danger.

"Dear God! Keep him safe, please," she whispered softly, and then, without being able to control them, she felt hot tears slide down her cheeks and a sob wrench loose from her tightly constricted throat.

At that moment Lula's familiar tapping came at the door. "Christie, honey? You awake?"

Christie tried to stifle her tears, but failed completely, and so she answered in a watered voice. "C-Come in, Lu."

The door opened, and a buckskinned Lula marched in, her breeches lending authority to her stride.

"Ah thought ah heard tears! What are you crying over, baby? Lover's quarrel?" she asked, coming over to hug her young friend.

"Oh, no, Lu! Just the opposite, really. I—I was just feeling so terribly happy and in love and then I thought of the possible danger he might be in and— oh, Lula, it
frightened
me so! I couldn't even bear the thought of anything hurting him! Do I sound terribly foolish to you?"

Lula gave her an extra squeeze, saying, "Foolish! Lord, child, there's nothing foolish in it! You've just gained what I'd call full membership in the 'club,' that's all—the 'lovers' club,' that is. You've just found out the last surprise left in the mystery of being in love—that it can hurt and be caught up with pain even when it does run smooth . . . smoothly? Ah think it ought to be 'smoothly,' but Mr. Shakespeare said 'smooth.'" She gave a smirk of satisfaction at her ability to deal with something coming out of her newfound acquaintance with literature; she and Christie had just read
A Midsummer Night's Dream
together a few days before. "Anyhow," she continued, "Christie, you're just beginning to find out that when a body's lucky enough to come by a great
love, like yours and Mr. Garrett's—"

"Or yours and Laughing Bear's?" questioned Christie with a small smile.

"Or mine and mah man's, yes." Lula smiled. "When you're that lucky, you also realize it doesn't come for free. Loving is caring, caring so much about that person, he becomes more important to you than yourself. You'd do anything to keep him from harm; but then you quickly realize there's nothing anybody can do to keep anybody else completely safe, and that's where the pain comes in. Believe me, ah know. This is the second time around for me, and ah lost, lost badly the first time. Never thought ah'd get a second chance . . . but the Lord was kind, and here it is." She whispered bashfully in Christie's ear now. "To tell the truth, with this one, it's way, way
better
than it was with me and poor old William. Mah first was a comfortable kind of love. We kind of grew into it. . . but this! This is fireworks and starry nights; know what I mean? Oh, Lord! Of course,
you
know! Well, baby, just grit your teeth and make up your mind that the price you pay for great loving is great worrying. It's new and hard to carry right now, but you'll learn to bear up after some time passes. You will, child, honest."

Christie smiled and hugged her friend in return. "Lula, what would I do without you? After you're married we must arrange to visit regularly. Is it too far a ride?"

"Couple hours," answered Lula. "Not too bad. How come that husband of yours hasn't taken you out there, anyhow? The chief's anxious to meet you."

"Oh, he's been planning to," said Christie, "but now, with all this mysterious shooting going on, it will have to wait, I'm afraid. Oh, I hope they can get to the bottom of this before your wedding! Nothing could keep me away from that!" • Noting Christie's mood begin to sober again at the mention of the shooting trouble, Lula sought to change the subject. "Christie, ah tell you what. The reason ah came in here in the first place was to show you something ah learned and ask if you'd like to have some fun at it with me. The baby's sleeping right through the morning, it seems. We could work in here until he wakes up."

"Work? At what?" Christie's eyes widened in anticipation. "Wrestling."

"Wrestling! Oh, Lu, what would a lady need— Good Lord! I almost started to sound like Aunt Celia! You mean you've
been
learning Indian wrestling from Laughing Bear?"

"Uh-huh." Lula grinned. "And you wouldn't believe the fun!"

"Oh, yes, I would!" chuckled Christie. "And if you taught me, I could have the same fun at it with Garrett! Oh, let's go! Where do we start?"

So Lula's distraction was put into effect, and after pulling the mattress from the bed onto the floor, the two women, both dressed in breeches, spent the morning at the Indian sport. Christie learned how it was possible for a small person to achieve an advantage over a much larger opponent by making that one's weight work against him. She learned principles of leverage and surprise. She learned how
one's feet can be completely useful when one's hands are constricted and therefore not. And, perhaps more importantly, she learned that there's nothing like a few hours' workout for the body, to relieve the cares of the mind; and when, shortly before noon, the baby awoke and they had to stop to tend him, both women felt thoroughly refreshed and clear-headed.

They shared a lunch together in the bedroom from a tray, for Lula, sensitive to the feelings of the other servants, wouldn't take a meal with the mistress where the others in the house might see them. After lunch Christie remembered to compose the letter to Aunt Margaret and one of the stable boys was found to take it to Charleston. The afternoon passed quickly too, as Lula and Christie took hot baths to pamper muscles newly used in their morning's sport. They talked happily about Lula's wedding plans and the probable upcoming trip to Charleston—Lula agreed eagerly to come along, mumbling something about her Randalls needing all the protection they could get—and the fact that, now that his eyes had turned from newborn blue to green, Adam would grow up to look almost entirely like Garrett.

"It's only those dimples that are obviously his mamma's," said Lula.

"Obviously his mamma's what?" came the masculine voice as the hall door to the bedroom opened. There, as Christie whirled to look, stood Garrett, suntanned and grinning as he leaned lazily against the door frame and looked at his wife.

With a small cry, she was up from the bed where they had been playing with Adam, and in Garrett's arms. Hugging her warmly, Garrett laughed. "Here,
love, I've only been gone since this morning!" But the way he kissed her let Christie know he had missed her the way she had him.

"Guess I'll take this green-eyed, dimpled young-un to his own room now," drawled Lula, moving toward the nursery.

Laughing, Christie pulled her husband into the room by the hand. "That's what we were commenting on when you came in, darling. Lula says, except that he has these dimples of mine, Adam's the spitting image of you."

"Hurrah for the dimples!" Garrett laughed, kissing the two he spied in Christie's cheeks. "I need something about the lad to remind me of you! Oh, Lula, speaking of our son, will you leave him here a spell? I swear, if more than a day passes that I've not looked upon him, it's entirely possible I won't recognize him when again I do. Do all babies grow so fast?"

Lula brought the contentedly cooing infant to Garrett. "All of them who are as well fed as this one." She grinned. "His mamma's got enough milk to feed triplets!"

"Does she now?" Garrett grinned as he shifted his son to his right arm so that he might give Christie a squeeze about her slender waist with his left. In his wife's ear he whispered, "It must be from having such generous and beautiful equipment." Then he kissed her ear.

Flushing but smiling, Christie buried her face shyly in Garrett's chest and heard him chuckle softly before again addressing Lula.