Deborah Camp (29 page)

“I drew a bath for you.”

As he came closer to Zanna, the smell of soap and clean skin exuded from him, dispelling the stench of smoke.

“Thanks.” She tried to smile, but it was too much of an effort.

In the kitchen, she undressed slowly and slipped into the tub of tepid water. She soaped her body twice, rinsing the smoke from her skin, then washed her hair.

It was nearly an hour later before she pulled on her thin wrapper, combed the wet tangles from her hair, and rejoined Grandy in the front room.

He stood at the window that gave a view of the black field and smoke-laden horizon. Zanna sat on the sofa, feeling shaken and helpless. What was he feeling, standing so silently at the window? The bath sheet was gone, leaving him naked from the waist up. Desire uncurled like a lazy cat in the pit of Zanna’s stomach. She looked away, hoping the creature would sleep again.

“I feel as if I should have done something instead of letting it burn out, but there was nothing …” Her voice trailed off as Grandy pivoted slowly to face her. “What? What are you thinking?”

“You know who did this, don’t you?”

She dropped her gaze to her twisting hands. “Yes, but neither of us can prove it.”

“Neither of us has to,” he said, turning to stare out the window again, hands clasped behind his back. “Just so long as we both know. That’s enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“Revenge.”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean? We can’t let Duncan get away with this. Do you think he’ll stop now? Use your head, Zanna.”

“Believe me, it’s better if we don’t look for trouble with him.”

“We’re not. Trouble found us.” He jerked his head toward the window. “It’ll find us again.”

“This has nothing to do with you. I’ll handle it.”

He crossed the room so quickly that Zanna gasped in shock when his hands closed on her upper arms and propelled her up until her face was almost level with his.

“Why do you think he burned that field? Because the hay was the only dry thing around here? Maybe. Or because I cut that hay and stacked it out there?” His smile was cagey and he gave a slow, sure nod. “It’s a message to
me
. So you see? This has nothing to do with
you
.”

“No. I’m at the center of it.”

“But the fire was to get
my
attention,” he insisted, giving her a shake that sent locks of damp hair over her shoulders and onto the backs of his hands.

“Yes … no. Duncan … he wanted our attention. Not just you. Not just me.”

“Us,” Grandy repeated, letting her go.

“Yes. Us.” She rubbed her upper arms where his hands had cut off her circulation. The tingle spread throughout her body when she realized what she’d said and what it implied. “Us?” she said again and Grandy nodded.

He sat in Fayne’s old chair, legs stretched out straight. “Don’t you think it’s about time you told me what you’ve got me into, Zanna?”

Could she trust him? she wondered. Could she trust herself to tell him the whole truth? What would he think of her? She closed her eyes, hating to contemplate his reaction. Finally, she stood up and padded barefoot to the window.

“I see now that I’ve made a terrible mistake,” she said, her voice no stronger than a whisper.

“How’s that?”

“I should have told you this before your opinion of me mattered.”

“Whatever it is can’t be all that bad,” he chided.

She smiled sadly, seeing her reflection in the windowpane. She turned slowly, knowing she couldn’t hide from him any longer. “I’m a coward, Grandville, and I’m certainly not a lady.”

“What are you talking about, Zanna?”

Her mouth twisted and her eyes filled with tears. “If anyone is a trained dog, it’s me.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re always calling yourself that, but I lived that life. I was treated like an animal.” She swallowed hard and forced herself to continue. “You once said that fear breeds hate. I’m living proof of it. I hated Fayne Hathaway with my whole being.”

Grandy felt Zanna’s tension as if it were another person in the room with them. He wanted her to trust him, to open up to him, but he didn’t know how to coax the truth out of her. It seemed she had kept some things to herself for a long time; terrible, tragic things. Grandy sighed, knowing all too well about secret regrets and tainted pasts.

“Tell me, Zanna,” he urged. “Whatever it is, it’ll be all right.”

She left the window, her bare feet whispering across the floor as she moved around the room, pausing to stroke the cover of the Bible on one table and to pick up a delicate figurine from another.

“My father gave this to me when I was sixteen,” she said, turning the porcelain royal carriage and four white horses in her hands. “I was my father’s crown of glory. He told me that all the time. I remember this birthday so well because it was the first time Fayne gave me a present. He’d never paid any attention to my birthdays before, but on my sixteenth he presented me with a lovely sewing basket filled with sewing notions. He said that all young women needed a sewing basket.” She set the figurine back on the table. “Maybe that’s why I never liked sewing until lately.”

Grandy’s heart went out to her. It’s the tears, he thought. He couldn’t stand to see her cry because he felt she had cried too often in her short life. But there was something
else. Her sadly sweet smile tugged at his heartstrings. He knew she was fighting a monster from her past, yet he felt powerless to help her slay it.

“Zanna, sit down and just tell me,” he said, trying to sound both forceful and supportive.

“If only it were that easy.” She sat down on the edge of the sofa, lighting there like a restless spirit, looking around absently, remembering the first time she’d seen Primrose and how happy she’d been—still innocent of the dark side of human nature and of the world’s evils.

Deep inside, something clamored for release. Almost against her will, she let her gaze fall on Grandy, watching her across his steepled fingers. What did he see in her? What kind of woman did he think she was? Whatever his vision, it would be altered by what she had to say. He would never see her quite the same again.

The dark secret rattled its cage deep within her and Zanna threw open the barred door and let it out. She gasped at the pain as it tore through her and swamped her mind with visions of that day—that dreadful, deadly day when her weakened spirit had been broken and she had begun to hate herself.

“He had me,” she said, her voice coming out hoarse and unfamiliar. “He had me and bragged about it. Said he’d have me again. Any time he wanted.”

“Who? Duncan?”

She nodded and lifted a hand to point a trembling finger toward the burning field. “Out there in the barn.”

Grandy knitted his brow. “No, hon. The barn is over yonder.” He nodded in the opposite direction.

“Not that one. The old one. It stood in the field where we planted the cotton. I had it torn down after Fayne died.” Her heart hardened. “I couldn’t stand to look at it. Not after …” She shook her head angrily. “I screamed and kicked and bit, but I finally just gave up. He was going to take me, no matter what.” Again she shook her head and tears stung her eyes. “I’ll never forget.
It wouldn’t have been any worse if he’d taken a knife and gutted me.”

Grandy looked aside, away from the shadows haunting her eyes. “Was Fayne alive when Duncan raped you?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell him about it so that he’d kill the bastard?”

“No need for that,” she said, eyes brimming. “Fayne stood by and watched while Duncan took me there in that filthy place with the barn owls swooping overhead and the rats scurrying around me.”

“Oh, my God,” Grandy groaned, sick with disgust. He covered his eyes with his hands, trying to block out the repulsive visions that he knew would haunt him from that moment on. “All I’ve ever heard about Fayne Hathaway is that he was a fine man. How could a
fine
man stand by and
watch
his brother rape his own wife?”

Zanna wiped briskly at the tears streaming down her cheeks and sniffed, her chin jerking upward in that proud way of hers. “Fayne was the most respected man in this county.”

“Yes, but
why?
”

“He put on a good show,” she said, trying to keep from sobbing. “He had everyone fooled—even me and my father. Papa would never have suggested that I marry Fayne if he’d known what kind of man he was.” She plucked fretfully at the skirt of her chenille wrapper. “Fayne was good to his hired hands and to everyone in town. He was the first to give money to anyone in need. He paid for the new roof on the church and bought a beautiful pump organ in New Orleans and had it brought here by rail. He paid for the lumber to build the schoolhouse in town. Every man, woman, and child adored him.” She hugged herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “But he was cruel to animals … and wives. He’d had two before me. Both died young. One in childbirth—both the woman and babe died during the ordeal—and one
drowned in a flash flood. Once Fayne married a woman, he felt he owned her and could do whatever he pleased to her. I believe his father treated his mother worse than he treated his own slaves, but I’m not certain of it. All I know is that both Fayne and Duncan viewed marriage as a means to own and control a woman. I can only guess that they learned such behavior from their father.”

“And you never knew any of this until after you’d married him?” Grandy asked, sick with rage. His stomach muscles quivered and he had to choke down an impulse to retch.

“Fayne was good to me. I was very young and had never had a suitor. He bought me gifts and treated me like a princess. Papa was sick and he wanted to make sure I’d be taken care of. Fayne was the answer. I wasn’t ready to marry, but Papa kept telling me how he could die in peace if he knew I was going to live well. I remember telling Papa that I didn’t love Fayne, but Papa said I’d grow to love him. I believed my father, but there were times …” She paused, looking inside herself at the hazy memories. “Sometimes Fayne would look at me a certain way and it scared me. Made me feel dirty.”

“So you married him after your father died?”

“Yes.”

“When did he start treating you badly?”

“From the beginning. The first night.”

“You mean, he was selfish. He didn’t consider your feelings.”

A mirthless smile touched her mouth as she realized he was still a long way from understanding her situation. He thought that Fayne hadn’t been a good lover, which Zanna found pitifully humorous. She laughed, but it hurt.

“If only that had been the problem,” she said, sliding back on the sofa, exhausted. Letting the monster loose was depleting, sapping her energy and twanging her nerves like banjo strings. She tipped back her head and stared at the ceiling. In her mind’s eye she saw Fayne lumbering
toward her as she lay trembling in the big bed and then falling on her, heavy as a sack of feed, and driving into her while she cried and he clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her screams.

“A bad lover, I could have tolerated,” she said. “What did I have to compare Fayne to in that regard? Would I have known bad from good? Probably not.” She pressed her lips together. “No, it wasn’t that. He always … hurt me.” She took a deep breath, trying to keep hold of her overwrought emotions. “The first night … it was terrible. I was young and inexperienced, eager to please, and he tore off my pretty nightgown and threw me down on the floor in the kitchen, of all places! I can’t ever go in that kitchen that I don’t remember.” She had to pause when a sob tore up her throat and snatched away her voice.

“Stop. Stop it!”

The anguish in his voice brought her head up. Grandy was standing, his head bent, his eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have … but you asked.”

He shook his head, his chest heaving. Finally, he pulled in a great breath and came to sit beside her. He took her cold hands in his, his eyes glistening with emotion. “My God, Zanna. I had no idea. Don’t go on. It’s too painful for you.” He looked deeply into her eyes and tipped his head to one side as if struck by a different notion. “Or maybe this is good for you. You haven’t talked about it before to anyone? No one knows? Not even Booker?”

“Not all of it. Theo knows that Fayne was brutal and I told him about Duncan, but I kept most of it from him. I didn’t think he could bear hearing it. Theo loves me so desperately and I don’t like to see him hurt by things he can do nothing about.”

“Do you want to tell me the rest of it, Zanna?”

She started to take the easy way out by excusing herself and going to bed. It would be nice to cage the monster again, but she knew she couldn’t do that. It was too late
to pretend that the world was a pretty place with nothing to fear.

Grandy watched her carefully, sensing her need to talk openly—at last. He imagined that she must have looked like a dewy flower in her wedding nightgown. It must have been white. Blue and pink ribbons trailing from it, perhaps. And her hair loose and flowing. How could that bastard have ripped the nightgown from her slender body and thrown her to the floor? It made him want to put his fist through something, but he knew any display of violence was the last thing Zanna needed from him.

“I never learned to cook because I couldn’t stand being in that kitchen alone with my thoughts,” she said, suddenly enlightened. “Funny, I hadn’t put that together until now. Lately, I haven’t hated the kitchen because you were in it with me. It’s become a good place again. A place for learning and laughing.” She squeezed his hands. “For the first few months it was like that. Fayne scared me. I cried. He took what he wanted. The more I cried, the more he liked it. Then I stopped crying. I got used to the pain. That’s when he started hitting me.”

Grandy’s heart twisted. Listening to her made being dragged behind a horse seem like a picnic.

“Just when it seemed the darkest and I was thinking of leaving this world, a miracle happened.”

“Fayne died,” Grandy murmured hopefully.

“Oh, no. That came much later. No. I found out that I was with child.”