Dorothy Clark (6 page)

“I’m afraid it is.” She held the torn sleeve forward for his inspection. “Nanna sewed the sleeve together.”

He looked at the large red stitches puckering the wool of his sleeve, then lifted his gaze to her face. “And you thought it necessary to fix the sleeve before I saw it?” How little she thought of him. And without cause. He took a breath to calm the anger tightening his gut. “I’ve grown to know your grandmother quite well in these past few weeks, Sadie. She’s a wonderful woman. If she...mistakenly sewed my sleeve together, it doesn’t matter.”

“It would to Nanna...if she knew.”

There was a glitter of moisture in her eyes. He looked into their brown depths and suddenly understood why she hadn’t run inside when he appeared. “That’s why you’re working here on the porch in this heat, isn’t it? So she won’t realize what she’s done.”

She lifted her chin. “I’ll have your coat finished by the time you’re ready to go home.”

There’d be no changing her mind, judging from her protective tone. “As you wish. You can lay the coat on the railing by my lamp when you’re done. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go tend to Manning’s needs.” He turned and walked toward the other door.

“Cole...”

He looked back her way.

“I do thank you for your kindness to my grandmother and for the help you give my grandfather...no matter what your reasons.”

He could have done without that reminder of her distrust. Would he always walk in the shadow of Payne’s dark deed?

Chapter Seven

H
e was kind to her grandparents—she couldn’t deny that. She simply wanted to know why. Sadie fanned her face with her hand and stepped closer to the window as Cole strode down the garden path toward the woods, his mended suit coat a dark shadow over his arm, his lamp lighting his way. Both Poppa and Nanna thought highly of him. It was clear they trusted him. They seemed to have forgotten that his brother had also been pleasant and helpful until—

She jerked her gaze from Cole’s broad shoulders, his strong, powerful arms moving in rhythm with his long strides. She hadn’t forgotten. She wished she could. But the memories, the nightmare never stopped, and coming home had made them more powerful than ever. There were so many reminders—chief among them Cole, so like Payne with his dark eyes and black beard. Every time she looked at him she remembered.

The yellow glow of his lamp swept forward, passed over the garden bench where he carried her grandfather to enjoy the morning sun every day, moved across the ground and slid over her grandmother’s small, wood wheelbarrow sitting by the corner of the fence. Cold gripped her. Shivers coursed down her spine. She wrapped her arms about herself and absently rubbed her upper left arm, her gaze frozen on the small, painted cart.
If Poppa hadn’t sent that logger to fix the split handle, no one would have heard her scream over the noise of the saws....

She whirled from the window, tried to order her thoughts, but the unwanted memories flashed, one after another, into her head—Nanna asking her to pick berries for a pie...the smell of the warm blackberry patch...the sun-dappled path...Payne stepping out from behind the trees...

“No!” The protest burst from her constricted throat. She grabbed her skirts and ran from her bedroom, rushed down the stairs, across the entrance hall into the library and sagged against the door, shaking and gasping for breath. She drew in air, replacing the remembered scents of Payne’s sweat, forest loam and the crushed blackberries beneath her as she fought him with the scents of wood smoke, leather and candle wax and a hint of bayberry—the smell of safety.

She closed her eyes and thought about Nanna teaching her how to cook and sew and do needlepoint, of Poppa teaching her to read and showing her how to play checkers and drive the buggy, of how wonderful life had been before her world had been torn apart.

Her ragged breaths evened and her pulse slowed. The quaking eased to an inner trembling. She opened her eyes and looked around the moonlit room, drinking in the sight of all that was dear and familiar. The settle with its hooked-rug pad and worn pillow. Poppa’s chair by the hearth with the flat stone and hammer he used to crack open butternuts and hickory nuts close by. His desk.

The peace she sought fled. She stared at the gaping space on the desk’s bookshelves where the green leather business ledgers should be and shoved away from the door. Payne Aylward had stolen her grandfather’s money and robbed her of her dreams. She would not allow his brother to harm her grandparents.

But would he? Cole was so gentle with her grandmother and so thoughtful of her grandfather. And he had brought her the umbrella and left her his raincoat during the storm. And he’d saved her from the bat. Those were not the actions of a cruel man. Still...

Her breath shortened and she wrapped her arms about herself and rubbed her arm, thinking back to those moments on the porch. How foolish she’d been to blind herself in Cole’s presence by throwing his suit coat over her head, but she’d been so afraid of the bat she’d forgotten to be frightened of Cole. Yet once again, he had not seized the opportunity to—

Oh, what she was
thinking?
Perhaps Cole was not cruel like Payne, but that did not mean he wasn’t as dishonest. She mustn’t allow herself to be swayed from her purpose by his acts of kindness. There had to be a reason why he was spending his time doing these things for Nanna and Poppa, and it was up to her to discover what it was. She was certain it had something to do with the books, else why would they be missing?

She moved to the settle and curled up in the corner, leaned back and closed her eyes to think. How would it profit Cole to have those ledgers?

* * *

Cole stepped behind the partition, hung his suit coat on its peg, lifted the lamp close and examined the sleeve. The mend was barely visible. Sadie Spencer was an excellent seamstress. Was she as good a teacher? He could well imagine her standing, all cool and contained, in front of a class of students and commanding their attention. Did any of them sense the vulnerability beneath her calm, quiet exterior? Likely not. She hid it well. Until you looked into her eyes. Her eyes tore at your heart.

He scowled, swiped the sheen of sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm and walked out of the hot, stuffy office into the sawmill. The metal handle of the lamp clinked softly as he hung it on the hook over his workbench, then moved to the edge of the deck and stood looking out over the pond silvered by the reflected moonlight. There was no breeze to disturb the water’s calm, no sign of a ripple, but he knew the unseen currents that ran through the depths beneath the surface. He’d felt them flowing against his body, fought their surprising strength, and he had a hunch Sadie fought hidden currents every day. Fear lived in the depths of her eyes. And it was his brother who had put it there. His own brother.

What were you thinking, Payne! How could you
do
that? He clenched his jaw, turned to the workbench, wedged the gear he was making into the vise and picked up a chisel. The same old questions chased through his mind. Had something happened to change Payne? Or was it that their father’s blood had some horrible flaw that had surfaced, the way a dead, rotting fish floated to the top of the pond? Would it happen in him? The sickening doubt rose, knotted his stomach.
God, please, I need to know.

He placed the chisel against the walnut wood, then picked up a maul and struck it a sharp blow. A quick yank freed it to be placed against the wood at a new angle and hit again. A small chip of wood popped off and dropped to the floor. He moved the chisel from side to side, hitting it again and again, driving it deeper toward the center of the gear, forming a vee. The questions with no answers flew through his mind like the wood chips flying through the air.

He measured the cog he’d formed, loosed the gear and repositioned it in the vise. If only he could have found Payne, he would know. He’d have beat the answers out of him if necessary, then dragged him back to face justice so he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again.

Beat him.
Like he had their father. Yes, that violence was in him. And what else?

The knots in his stomach twisted tighter. He wiped the sweat from his eyes, lifted the chisel and began the last vee on the gear. What had unleashed Payne’s depravity? Where was he? Had Payne hurt anyone else? His face tightened, and he slammed the maul against the chisel, breaking a large chip of wood free. Too large for one hit. If he didn’t rein in his frustration, he’d ruin the work. And it was likely he would never know the answer to the questions that haunted him anyway. It was sure Payne would never return to this area. His older brother was too smart to do that...or maybe he was only clever and cunning, like their drunken brute of a father.

He finished the vee, picked up his rasp and smoothed the work he’d done, then ran his hand over the gear to feel for any rough spots. Pounding on the chisel against the hard wood had made his bruised hand swell again. His fingers wouldn’t fit into the bottom of the vee. He made a couple more passes over them with the rasp for good measure, then loosed the wedge and took the gear out of the vise. It was ready, unless the square center hole needed more work.

A quick comparison to the squared-off ends of the thick, round piece of walnut on the bench showed the fit was perfect, tight enough so that when he drove the gear onto the shaft there would be no slippage. He laid the shaft and gear back on the workbench and brushed his hands together to rid them of the clinging wood dust. Tomorrow he would drive the wagon into Pinewood and see if Nate had the wheels made. He needed them before he could do more on the chair.

The tension across his shoulders eased; excitement tugged his mouth into a smile. If this experiment worked... He quashed the thought, sat on the edge of the deck, removed his boots and socks and dangled his feet in the icy water. Shiver bumps prickled the flesh on his legs.

Could Sadie swim? She’d lived by this millpond all her life.

He frowned, pulled one foot from the water and leaned his back against a post, giving up his effort to keep thoughts of Sadie away. She sure had looked different tonight, all mussed and flustered and embarrassed over being frightened of that bat. And beautiful. Her cheeks had been flushed by the heat, that awful paleness that washed over her whenever he came near gone. If only she would really look at him—meet his gaze. Of course, it was probably best that she didn’t. He could get lost in her brown eyes....

He scowled, leaned down and scooped up a handful of water and splashed it over his face and neck. He’d best keep his thoughts on business. He’d no right to be thinking wishful thoughts about Sadie Spencer.

* * *

The letters ran together and the words blurred. Sadie shook her head, laid the book on her bedside table and rubbed her eyes. It was useless to try and read to stay awake.

She slipped out of bed and crossed to the washstand, lifted her long, thick braid of hair off her neck and coiled it on top of her head. If only there were a cooling breeze. Or a hard rain. That would break the heat.

Her mind leaped back to that day in the stable with the rain drumming on the roof and the lightning flashing outside the window. She’d been cold and shivering then. Of course, she’d also been facing Cole alone in that dark building, with no one to come to rescue her if she’d screamed. She’d been terrified. And then he’d left her the umbrella and his rain jacket and gone out into the storm. She had been there all alone and defenseless, and he had walked away.

I am not my brother, Miss Spencer. You’ve nothing to fear from me.

The words Cole had spoken her first day home flowed into her head, stilling her hands. She could hear his voice as clearly as if he were in the room. She shook her head and reached for her hairpins. She’d be a fool to trust his words. Still, she’d been alone, and he’d walked away. And then again, on the porch...

She held that thought close for a moment, then jammed pins into her hair to hold the coiled braid in place, dipped a cloth into the pitcher of water and wiped her face and neck. The water was warm. So were the floorboards beneath her bare feet.

Even a small breeze would give some relief. She started toward the window, spotted bats darting and swooping through the moonlight outside and changed her mind at the thought of one of the horrid creatures flying into her room. She’d rather be hot.

Weariness pulled at her. Her nightgown clung to her moist skin. She grabbed its long skirt and fanned the fabric to cool her legs, gave up the struggle, wet the cloth again and waved it in the air to cool it as she crossed to her bed. She’d made a fool of herself tonight, throwing Cole’s suit coat over her head like that. But the way bats swooped and darted around, she couldn’t tell where they would go next or where they would land, and if one got in her hair—

She shuddered, lifted her nightgown above her knees and rested back against the pillow. The cool, wet cloth she placed over her eyes closed out the dim light. Cole hadn’t laughed at her silly behavior. He’d simply come to help her. A gentlemanly thing for him to do. But confusing. She wished he’d stop doing things that were contrary to her opinion of him. It made things more difficult. And proving her suspicions true would be hard enough.

Oh, Poppa, I’m trying.

She yawned, thrust away an image of Cole driving the bat away, and slipped over to a cooler spot on the bed. It would be all right. All she had to do was locate those ledgers.

Please, Almighty God... I have to...find the truth. Please...don’t let me...fail....

Chapter Eight

T
he sun was up and shining in a clear, bright blue sky. There would be no relief from the heat today.

“Some...thing wrong, Sa...die?”

She turned from the window and looked at her grandfather being carried by Cole to his chair. Thoughts of the dream she’d had last night rushed into her head. Warmth crawled into her cheeks. “No, nothing, Poppa. Why do you ask?”

“You...sighed.”

“Did I?” She resisted the urge to unbutton the collar on the embroidered waist of her pale green cotton gown and smiled. “I was wishing for the sight of a nice, dark thundercloud this morning.”

“Me...too.” He nodded and settled himself as Cole lowered him into his chair. “Too hot to...sit out...side.”

“Or to work in the garden.” Her grandmother reached for the sewing basket beside her chair. “I was going to weed the tansy and moon pennies today, but I’m afraid my poor flowers will have to fend for themselves.”

A rush of thankfulness for the clear, alert expression in her grandmother’s eyes tightened her throat. Nanna was having a good morning. “I’m sure your flowers would like a nice, cold drink of rain, Nanna. They’re looking a little wilted.”

“Everything looks a little wilted.” Cole straightened and tugged his sleeves into place. “I would welcome a rainstorm myself—even if I am taking a wagonload of clapboard into town this morning.”

He made clapboard at his shingle mill? She looked at Cole, found his gaze on her and glanced away, thankful for the heat that would explain her flushed cheeks. Why should a dream make her so unsettled?

“Big...sale?”

“Yes. And we could have had another order equally as large in Olville, but they need the clapboard now. And we can’t make enough fast enough to cover both orders.”

We? He had a partner? A chair scraped. She turned her head slightly in order to see better. Cole had seated himself and was leaning toward her grandfather.

“Manning, have you given any more thought to purchasing the clapboard machine?”

Her grandfather frowned, shook his head. “Expen...sive.”

“You can get a note at the bank to pay for it. I could make the arrangements this morning.”

Cole wanted her grandfather to buy him a clapboard machine? All thought of the dream fled. So that’s what he was after. No wonder he hadn’t wanted her to hire a man to replace him.

“Don’t like...debt.”

She snagged her bottom lip with her teeth to hold herself from telling her grandfather not to do it. Perhaps buying Cole the machine was the arrangement her grandfather had made with him for his care, but he didn’t yet have enough money. So much for Cole’s kindness. She fought off an unwarranted sense of disappointment. Guilt soured her stomach. If she had been here, there would have been no need for such a bargain.

“Why don’t you give it some more thought, Manning? I wrote the man who makes the machines—a Robert Eastman in Brunswick, New Hampshire. We’ll talk more when he writes me back with the particulars.” Cole rose, slid the chair back by the game table and headed for the doorway. “The men are loading the wagon now. I’ll be back from making my delivery in time to take you in for dinner.” His footsteps faded away down the hall.

Did her grandfather signing a note to buy the machine have something to do with the missing ledgers? And what of the empty cash box? Should she ask about them? She drifted across the room, her long skirts swishing over the tops of her slippers, her ears tuned for the closing of the back door. What was keeping him? She couldn’t—

“Sit down and busy yourself at something, Sadie.” Her grandmother smiled, freed a hand and patted the settee cushion. “Come and help me edge these handkerchiefs. It makes me feel hotter watching you move around.”

“It’s too hot to sit, Nanna. At least when I walk about the air moves.” She smiled at her grandmother then stiffened when she heard Cole’s footsteps again, growing louder. He was returning. What did he want now? She frowned and picked up the book her grandfather was reading.
The Prairie.
The pages rustled softly as she opened the cover. “I see you’re reading about Natty Bumppo’s adventures again, Poppa.”

“Excuse my intrusion...”

Cole’s tall, broad-shouldered form filled the doorway.

“I forgot to ask if there is anything you need from town, Mrs. Townsend.”

“I should like some lemons, if they’re not already on Gertrude’s list. Some cold lemonade will be refreshing with supper.”

He did their shopping, too? He certainly had inserted himself into the family’s business. And her absence when they’d needed her was responsible. Her guilt deepened. She shoved her dread of facing the villagers aside. They would greet her with welcoming smiles, but the knowledge of what had happened to her would be in their eyes. The memory swarmed back. She forced it away and handed the book to her grandfather. “There’s no need for you to burden yourself, Cole. I’m home now. I will do the shopping.”

“Very well.” He crossed the room and held out a piece of paper. “Here is the list.”

She drew back at the touch of his large, scarred hand. Memory flashed. Her cheek prickled.

* * *

“Don’t scream!”

His arm flashed toward her. His dry, rough hand landed against the side of her face, scraped across her cheek. Her head snapped back. A salty, sweet taste burst onto her tongue—

* * *

“Sa...die!”

She swallowed, opened her eyes and looked down at her grandfather.

“You all...right?”

“What’s wrong with her?” Her grandmother’s skirts rustled as she rose and hurried over to peer up at her. “Why, Sadie, you’ve gone all pale. Are you ill?”

Her grandmother’s hand touched her cheek checking for fever, dispensing comfort as it had so many times. The prickling sensation stopped. She drew a steadying breath and forced a smile, realized she was clutching at her throat and relaxed her hand, pretending to loosen her collar. “I’m not ill, Nanna. It’s the heat....”

Cole’s boots moved out of her vision. She glanced his way and watched him place Gertrude’s list on the game table then head for the hall.

“I’ll hitch Sweetpea to the buggy for you.”

“Please don’t bother. I’ll do it when I’m ready to leave.”

He stopped, turned and looked at her. She stared at the black beard, at the lips pressed so tightly together they had all but disappeared and fought back images of Payne’s cruel face hovering over hers.
I am not my brother, Miss Spencer. You’ve nothing to fear from me.

Silence stretched between them. Cole’s chest swelled with a deep intake of air she could hear even from where she stood. His lips parted then closed again. He nodded and left the room, his boot heels striking hard against the wood floor in the hall.

He was gone. She stepped to the game table, turned so her trembling hand would be hidden from her grandparents and picked up the shopping list.
She had to go to town.
Dread tightened her stomach. “Well, it seems I shall be going into town today. Would you like to accompany me, Nanna?”

Her grandmother narrowed her eyes and peered up at her. “I would, Sadie, but I don’t believe you should go. You said the heat was bothering you. Why don’t you hurry and catch Cole and give Gertrude’s list back to him, then go and lie down?”

She took a breath and shook her head. “I’m fine, Nanna. And the outing will do me good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a few things to do before we leave.”

She hurried out of the room, lifted her skirts and climbed the stairs, her heart pounding, the list clutched in her hand. Perhaps she wasn’t yet ready to face going into Pinewood, but she would manage. And now she wouldn’t have to find the courage to walk that path. She would wait a short while until she was certain Cole had left for town, and then she would hitch up the buggy and drive to his shingle mill and get the ledgers. She would think of some excuse to give Nanna.

The shingle mill. His partner!

Her chest tightened. She stopped, pressed her hand to the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat and forced her constricted lungs to take in air. It would be all right. She would be safe as long as she was not alone. Nonetheless...

She crossed to her dresser, picked up one of her long hair picks and slipped it into her purse, then sat on the edge of her bed to wait. She knew for certain now. Cole wasn’t caring for her grandfather out of kindness; he was being paid to do so. But that didn’t explain the empty money box and the missing ledgers. He had some sort of scheme afoot. How foolish of her to let down her guard because of a silly dream.

* * *

And he had thought
he
was stubborn. Hah! He couldn’t hold a candle to Sadie Spencer when it came to stubborn! Cole scowled and drew back on the reins. “Whoa, boy.”

He set the brake and leaped from the wagon, tied Plug-ugly to the hitching rack in front of the wagon shop and strode toward the open doors. He understood that Sadie was frightened of him, but why wouldn’t she let him help her? There was no reason for her to refuse his offer to hitch up the buggy for her. None. She didn’t have to be in the stable with him. He would have hitched up and gone on his way while she stayed in the house. Maybe if she would give him a chance, she’d learn he wasn’t like Payne. He was tired of telling her so.

He stepped into the barn, blinked away the momentary blindness caused by coming in out of the bright sunlight and nodded to the man fitting an axle on a wagon. “Morning, Carl. Nate here?”

“He’s in the back.” The wheelwright straightened and swiped his forearm across his glistening brow. “Hot enough for you, Cole?”

“It’ll do.”

And that was another thing. Horses were just like people. They could get fractious and out of sorts in this heat. And Sweetpea hadn’t been used much since Manning had taken ill. What if the mare went mulish and took it into her head to act up? She’d tried to wedge him into a corner once. If she tried that trick on Sadie... He stopped and glanced back toward the open doors. He should have told her to bridle Sweetpea and snub her close while—

“Hey, Cole. If you’re here for the wheels, I’m just about to start the small one. The others are finished, though. They’re leaning against the wall over there.” Nate Turner nodded his head to the left.

Cole corralled his thoughts, crossed to the wheels and ran his hands over them. Not a flaw or a burr to be found. “Good job, Nate.”

The older man nodded, fitted a round piece of wood to the lathe and pumped his foot against the pedal, drawing the rope tight and turning the spindle. “I’m not used to doing fancy-type work. I hope they suit.”

“The turnings on the spokes are exactly what I wanted. When do you expect to have that one finished?”

“Shouldn’t take long. Quarter hour or so. I’d have had it done by now except for that extended knob axle you want made in it.”

Wood dust clung to his hands. He brushed them together and turned to go. “I’ve got a load of clapboard to deliver. I’ll stop for the wheels on my way back through.”

He hurried out to the wagon, climbed aboard and slapped the reins against Plug-ugly’s rump to start him moving. A quarter hour or so, plus the time it would take to unload the clapboard and then drive the wagon back to the sawmill, was too long. He would leave the load at the livery and rent a horse. He could come back and unload after he knew Sadie was all right.

* * *

“Good, girl, Sweetpea.” Sadie stroked the mare’s side as best she could from her confined space in the corner. “Move over, now.” The mare snorted and tossed her head. “Come on, girl, move over.” Not so much as a twitch. Obviously, cajoling would not work. She pulled in a breath and fanned her face with her hand. The heat radiating from the mare made the corner stifling. Enough was enough.

“Move
over!
” She placed the palms of her hands against Sweetpea’s haunch, pressed her back against the stable wall and pushed with all of her strength. The mare stood. If only there were space enough to draw her hand back for a good slap. She looked longingly at her purse sitting on the grain chest by the door. If she had that hair pick, Sweetpea would move! Perhaps...She stiffened her finger and poked the bay with her fingernail. The mare’s muscle rippled beneath her skin.

She glared at the stubborn mare, gritted her teeth, then reached up and swiped back a tress of hair stuck to her clammy forehead. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sweetpea, but you leave me no choice.” She reached under the mare’s belly and pinched as hard as she could. The horse grunted and stomped her right rear leg. The hoof barely missed the toe of her slipper and landed solidly on top of the harness she’d dropped when Sweetpea had crowded her into the corner. Now what?

Tears threatened. She sagged back against the wall and assessed her situation. If the horse moved any closer her way, she would be crushed against the wall. Alarm tingled along her nerves. She couldn’t move past the mare, couldn’t climb on her back and dared not try to crawl out beneath her belly. If she brushed against one of her legs...

Perhaps Nanna would come to the stable to find out why it was taking her so long to hitch up the buggy. Her spirits lifted with hope, then sank as quickly. It was just as likely Nanna would forget they were going to town. But surely Poppa would remember and send Nanna after her—if he had not fallen back asleep. No, she could not depend on someone coming to rescue her. She would just have to wait until Sweetpea moved and she could slip free.

It was so hot and still! Perspiration moistened her neck beneath the hair that had pulled free from the thick coil at the crown of her head. She ran her fingers through the long, heavy strands, searching for the missing hairpins.
A hairpin.
No. If Sweetpea reared...

Panic pressed in. She turned her head away from the mare in front of her and eyed the stall that formed one wall of the corner where she was trapped. If she could manage to turn... And if she could find a foothold so she could boost herself up and over... But if she fell, and Sweetpea kicked...

She took a calming breath, pressed back against the stable wall and inched around, careful not to touch the mare. Now to get out of here! She reached up and grabbed hold of the top of the stall wall, found a place to put her foot and boosted herself up.