Embrace the Day (37 page)

"What do you want from me, Hannah?" he whispered hoarsely, gripping the door frame and edging unconsciously toward it.

Hannah saw the slight withdrawing movement, the weary ambivalence in his face. And she understood. Her eyes filled with tears.

"Never mind, Luke," she said thickly. "I guess I was afraid to find out until now."

She was brave. So brave she wouldn't allow her tears to fall while he was there. Luke swallowed hard.

"Hannah, I—"

She waved her hand. "Don't worry, Luke. And stop looking so damned guilty. I'll be fine."

"Will you, Hannah?"

Her head descended in a slow nod. "Yes, Luke. I knew this day would come; I knew it from the start." She straightened her shoulders and faced him squarely. "I'm going to marry Zach Houseman. We'll be moving back east."

He looked at her in surprise. "Houseman? He's an old man, Hannah."

A smile twitched about her lips. "Anybody's old compared to you, Luke. Zach is a good man, a decent man. I've never been one to care much about money, but I know I'll appreciate his wealth in my old age."

There was something so melancholy about her whole plan that Luke felt guilty.

"Don't look that way, Luke." She rose and crossed the room, taking a leather portfolio from her letter box.

"Here are the titles to this farm," she said, thrusting the packet into Luke's hands. "I want you to have it."

"Hannah, no. I won't take your farm."

"You've never taken a thing from me, Luke," she said sadly. "At least let me give you this. I know you've always admired the land. With your knowledge of farming, you could make it into something special one day. Indulge me, Luke. Please."

"I'll pay you for it—"

She nearly lost control then, bringing her fists hard against his chest. "Damn it, Luke Adair, don't do this to me. I never asked a thing from you. The least you can do is let me give you the farm."

He'd never seen her like this. Why was it so important that he take her farm?

"I simply want you to have it," she said, answering his unspoken question. "I want to know I've given you something real, something you can hold on to."

"But—"

She gave him a weak smile. "I haven't lost you, Luke. I haven't lost you because I never had you in the first place." He started to speak again, but she held up her hand. "The farm will make you happy in a way I never could, Luke. Don't deprive me of the chance to give it to you."

Mariah's hands tightened around her washboard when she glimpsed a familiar figure with a wide-brimmed hat riding up Water Street toward Nellie's. Leaping to her feet, she went in through the back door and ran through the passageway to the front room, where Jack was cleaning ashes from an iron stove.

"I need your help," she said, nervously looking outside. Luke had dismounted and was lashing his horse to the hitch-ing rail. She gestured at him, and the burly man straightened up, adjusting his breeches.

"I can't—I don't want to see him. Please, will you tell him that?"

"Sure thing, Mariah," Jack said with a grin. He went to the door and motioned for her to stay in the parlor. Flexing big hands, he reached for the brass doorknob.

"Don't hurt him, Jack," Mariah said.

He frowned a little and then nodded.

Mariah hung back, tensing against the chintz curtains, listening. The door opened.

"Christ," she heard Luke mutter, and she could imagine his keen look of irritation when he saw Jack.

"We're closed until sundown," Jack said mildly.

"I'm here to see Mariah Parker," Luke informed him.

"Sorry, friend. She doesn't want to see you."

"Why don't you let her tell me that herself?"

"Now look friend—"

Mariah cringed as she heard the sickening thud of a blow, then an agonized grunt. Finally, the sound of a body hitting the pine-plank floor brought her running from the parlor.

"Jack, I told you not to—"

"Not to what, Mariah?" Luke drawled, inspecting his reddened knuckles.

She backed against the far wall of the entrance way, nearly stumbling over Jack, who was groaning and rubbing his jaw. Above the foyer, Belle and Doreen had run to the railing. They were speaking in rapid whispers and pointing admiringly at Luke.

"Please go away, Luke," Mariah said. "We have nothing to say to each other."

"Yes, we have, Mariah. I want to explain about last night."

She lifted her chin. "You needn't. I found out everything I need to know when I saw your family."

"You don't understand them, Mariah."

"I certainly do," she insisted. "They hate me. They hate me because of what the Shawnee did to your sister. And because I live here. Your older brother has them believing I'm a whore. My presence in your life would go against everything they believe, everything they are."

"They'll get used to the idea, Mariah. Give them a chance."

"Do you love your family, Luke?" She saw the look in his eyes and shook her head. "Never mind, of course you do. You've spent your whole life being their son, pleasing them, building a life with them. It's not in you to hurt them, Luke. I know it."

He took a step toward her. "You're right, Mariah," he said quietly. "I do love my family. They're important to me." He gripped her shoulders. She gasped and tried to wrench away, thrown off balance by his sudden touch. Luke continued with the same quiet insistence.

"It's you I want to build a life with, and to hell with what anybody thinks."

She groped for calm. "But you have everything—a good family, the respect of your friends and neighbors—"

"I don't have you. And you're all I want."

"
Why
, Luke?"

"Because I love you, damn it!"

He almost shouted the words, and was answered by applause and giggles from above. Mariah felt a familiar, welcome jolt as Luke crushed her against him, bringing his mouth down on hers with stunning, fierce tenderness. Suddenly, she knew that nothing could keep them apart, come what may. Gladness and love radiated through her as she returned Luke's kiss with a sweet fervor that matched his own.

Jack groaned again and staggered to his feet, working his jaw. Above, the two girls continued to titter.

"Is everything all right?" Jack asked.

Mariah smiled and laid her cheek against Luke's chest. "Everything's fine, Jack," she said softly. "Everything's just fine."

The amber light of evening bathed the Adair farm in its rich glow, gilding the white house and Genevieve's mountain laurel bushes, which adorned the front of the railed porch. A catbird called and rose from the lawn, winging westward. Luke saw to his horse and trudged up the walk. He'd been over and over what he was going to say to his family. He would be as honest with them as he knew how to be; it was up to them to open their hearts and minds and accept his decision.

The family was at supper when Luke stepped into the dining room, having paused only to remove his hat and splash water over his face and hair. They were all there, even Hance, who had already taken up residence in his nearly finished town house. He was the first to speak.

"So the prodigal son has returned," he drawled.

Luke felt a prickle of irritation, but he swallowed it. Pettiness had no place in this discussion. He took his usual seat between Israel and Sarah, across from Rebecca. She was pale but appeared calm and had eaten a good portion of corn pudding and ham.

"Are you all right?" he asked her.

Rebecca swallowed and nodded her head. But Roarke set down his fork and growled, "She hardly slept at all last night, Luke."

"I'm sorry you were upset, Becky." His gaze moved over the faces of his family, and he took a bracing gulp of cider.

"I didn't quite go about this right," he admitted. "Seeing Mariah again made me a little crazy, because I'd been trying so hard to get used to the idea that she was gone. I should have made the announcement at a more appropriate time."

"You shouldn't have made the announcement at all," Roarke said. "I've never known you to do a fool thing in your life, Luke."

"The Attwaters were a bit put out," Genevieve added, not unkindly. "Their party fell apart after you left."

Luke looked across the table at Hance. "I'm sorry for that," he said.

Hance glowered. "I've spent weeks trying to persuade the Attwaters that my family is better than poor dirt farmers.

They were ready to believe it until last night. Now Mrs. Attwater is taking Ivy on an extended trip to Boston. They seem to be having second thoughts about letting Ivy marry a man whose sister is batty and whose brother has taken up with an Injun whore."

"Hance," Genevieve began, covering Rebecca's hand with hers as the girl's eyes filled with tears.

Luke clenched his fists hard, quelling a longing to smash his fist into Hance's angry face. There had been enough of that last night. Instead, he lashed out with words.

"Maybe you shouldn't worry so much about what the Atrwaters think of Becky and me," he said with quiet anger. "Maybe it's their opinion of you that you should concern yourself with. If you're so all-fired certain of your own perfection you wouldn't worry about your family."

Luke saw that he'd hit his mark. Fury flamed in Hance's eyes, and he flung his napkin down on the table. His chair scraped savagely on the floor, and he stalked from the room.

"He's very sensitive, Luke," Genevieve said, her eyes troubled. "Please leave him be."

"Oh, yes," Luke drawled angrily. "Let him paint a rosy picture for the Attwaters so they'll never know what he is."

Genevieve's eyes hardened. "What he is," she said determinedly, "is a fine man who wants to forget the mistakes of the past. And he will. He will, if you let him."

Luke let out a sigh of resignation. "I'm sorry, Ma. I didn't come here to stir up trouble with Hance." He looked at her and then at Roarke. "I wanted to tell you about Mariah."

Everything stopped. Rebecca's fork dropped to her plate with a clatter, and she ran from the room, sobbing against the back of her hand.

Roarke clenched his teeth, and his fist closed around the base of his cider cup. "Damn it, Luke—"

"She's going to have to get used to hearing Mariah's name. And her face and her voice and the fact that her father was a Shawnee."

Luke's words threw his family into disbelieving silence. He cleared his throat, fighting anger. "I didn't mean to cause trouble last night, but I meant what I said, every word of it. I'm married to Mariah. I mean to register it officially as soon as it can be arranged."

Roarke cursed and looked away. Sarah emitted a horrified little gasp, and Israel refilled his mug with an unsteady hand. Genevieve sat and slowly moved her head from side to side.

Anger burst from Luke in a resentful tide. "When a man announces he's been married, he expects a better reaction from his family."

Genevieve looked up, her eyes wet, her sadness tearing at his heart. "How can you do this, Luke? How can you say you've married a Shawnee? Her people ripped this family in two, nearly killing you, taking Becky and turning her into a frightened, confused creature. We'll never be able to look at that woman without thinking of all that the Shawnee brought upon us. We'll never forget, Luke."

"Nor will Mariah," he said heatedly. "She'll never forget the fact that white men murdered her family while she watched. Yet she somehow found it in her heart to live with that."

Roarke gazed at his son, eyes smoldering with fury. "We're different, Luke. We can't forgive what the Shawnee did to this family. And we won't forgive you if you insist on living with that woman."

The words hit Luke with a jolt of red-hot pain. Pressing his knuckles against the surface of the table, he stood up, his eyes growing hard and cold as he looked at the people he'd worked all his life to please.

"Is that it, then?" he asked.

Roarke looked suddenly weary. "Aye. I wish it could be otherwise, Luke, but there you have it. We won't have a Shawnee in our family. And we won't have you if you take up with her."

Genevieve began to sob. Luke went to the doorway.

"I'll be getting my things," he growled. "You're making a big mistake, turning Mariah out before you've given her a chance. It's no great loss losing me, but you're fools to deny yourselves the chance to know Mariah."

He turned on his boot heel and stalked from the room with a silent vow that he would never appear at his father's table again unless Mariah were welcome there, too. He slammed the door behind him.

Luke felt a
tug, a vague longing that occupied the place in his heart where his family had been until two months before. Already he missed his father's masculine friendship, the long talks with Israel, even Sarah's pretty pouting when he teased her too much. But most of all he missed Genevieve, her laughter, her utter delight in the things he did and said.

Yet now Luke knew how shallow it had all been, the encouragement, the approval. His family's acceptance extended only to things he did that pleased them. The one time he'd done something for himself, they'd withdrawn their approval. They could only love that which they understood, which fit into their way of thinking.

All thoughts of his family fled when he looked over at Mariah, who rode in tense silence in the cart beside him. He brushed his fingers over the slight furrows that marred the fineness of her brow.

"What is it, honey?!"

She took his hand and clasped it against her cheek. "I wish today could have been different for you. A man's wedding day should be something special."

He rubbed his knuckles over her trembling lips. "Honey, we already had the grandest marriage in all creation on the banks of the Wabash, with the moon and the stars as our only witnesses. Today's little ceremony was just a formality, to get our union on the books."

"Today was perfect," she maintained. "Nell and the girls made me feel like a princess with all their fussing and silliness. But I couldn't help thinking of your family, Luke. They should have been there. All along I never really believed they could stay away."

"But they did," Luke said, dropping his hand.

Mariah's eyes filled with tears, and she looked away. "I'm afraid, Luke," she stated.

Her tremulous admission tore at his heart. "Of what, honey?"

"I'm afraid one day you'll wake up and realize I'm all you have. Your family has turned from you because of me. I'm afraid you'll resent me for that eventually."

He kissed away the sparkle of tears in her eyes. "God, Mariah, don't say that. Don't ever say that." He took her face between his hands. "You're my whole world, Mariah. I love you. I could live fifty years on one of your smiles."

She kissed him with such gratitude that in the bed of the cart, Gideon dissolved into giggles.

Mariah emerged from the embrace laughing, too, all her uncertainty having been chased away by Luke's loving assurance.

But her smile faded when they came to the top of a blue-grass-carpeted rise, and Luke drew the horse to a halt. They were looking down into a valley watered by a deep, sparkling stream and surrounded by a profusion of honey locust and oak trees. Spring flowers rippled in the breeze, and catbirds sang in the reeds beside the stream.

In the middle of the clearing stood a house. It had a snug, sturdy permanence about it that gave Mariah new confidence. A wreath of dried flowers graced the door.

"Luke," Mariah breathed. "How did you ever manage to—?"

He pushed her bonnet aside and stroked her shining hair.

He'd tell her about Hannah one day, after he himself recovered from the shock of her leaving the farm to him.

A lock of hair strayed across Mariah's cheek, and he brushed it aside. "Ah, honey, if I had my way, it'd be a palace with an army of servants to dance attendance on you."

"I don't need any more than I already have," she insisted sincerely.

With a groan of sudden desire, Luke reached for her again, but this time Mariah eluded him, leaping from the cart and raising her dimity skirts above the swaying blue-grass. Laughing, she ran with a tumbling gait down toward the house.

Luke grinned, enchanted by the sight of her small, lithe figure skipping down the hill. Not even the flowers that graced the slope could match her wild beauty.

"Wait here," he said, tossing the reins to Gideon. He set off after her, plunging through the grass with long-legged strides. Just in front of the house he caught her about the waist, swinging her around and silencing her peals of laughter with a kiss.

Then, grinning, he placed one arm behind her knees and swept her up in his arms. Mariah made a token protest as he carried her toward the door, but she wound her arms about his neck and laid her head on his shoulder.

Luke stepped into the house. It smelled of dried lavender and the freshly hewn wood of new furniture. Bending his head, he gave Mariah a lingering kiss. His heart filled with the pride of possessing her as he looked into her eyes, shining with love for him and him alone.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Adair," he said.

Hance burst into the small, overly feminine office of Nell Wingfield, nearly tearing the door off its hinges. She looked up, startled, and drew away from the anger she saw on his face.

"You owe me, Nell," he said hotly, striding to the wooden secretary where she sat.

"Do I now?" she answered uninterestedly. "Do tell, Mr. Adair."

"You've been stealing my whiskey."

She pretended surprise. "So you're the one responsible for that divine whiskey that's been coming in from Louisville. I must say, it's the best quality I've been able to find. I never could get Mr. Leland to divulge the source."

"You won't see your Mr. Leland around Lexington anymore," Hance said darkly. "He was lucky to get away with his life."

"Pity," Nell sighed. "He was such a cooperative man."

"You won't find me so cooperative," Hance snarled. He dropped a packet of bills of lading in front of her. "I'm here to collect on what you stole, Nell. You owe me close to a thousand dollars."

She brushed the bills to the floor. "I owe you nothing, Hance. Of course, if it's company you want… well, my girls always suited Mr. Leland just fine. Perhaps—"

"Not interested, Nell. I've outgrown the need for you and your kind."

A look of disgust deepened the lines of her face. "What an arrogant pup you are; you always have been. Fancying yourself too good for other people."

He laughed humorlessly. "You never have forgiven me for walking out on you all those years ago, have you, Nell?"

The words struck home. Nell shot to her feet and cracked her hand across his face. "Get out," she railed.

He ignored the sting of her slap. "Not until you pay me, Nell. Ivy's coming back from Boston any day now, and I've got a lot of work to do on my house. I'll take the full amount right now."

"For bootleg whiskey?" she snorted. "You won't get a penny from me, and there's nothing you can do about it. Of course, if you decide to be difficult about it, I can always notify the authorities. Judge Ormsby would dearly..."

"Not as much as James Blair would like to know how you get around paying your taxes on this place, Nell," Hance told her in a threatening voice.

She gasped softly. Blair was Kentucky's attorney general, as righteous as a Puritan. The local authorities had never given her any trouble, but Blair could ruin her.

"I know him well," Hance continued. "He's not a reasonable man. All it would take is a word from me, and—"

"You bastard!" Nell said, and Hance knew he'd scored a coup. There was genuine fear on that painted face.

"You have until Monday to come up with the money," he said. A stream of curses accompanied him to the door, and Hance smiled. The money was as good as his.

When he stepped down the walk to his carriage, he spied the Beasley twins walking by across the street, accompanied by a pair of Negro women overburdened with parcels.

"Can I give you ladies a lift?" he asked jovially.

The twins emitted simultaneous gasps and flounced away, ignoring him. Too late, Hance realized they'd seen him come from Miss Nellie's Liquor Vault. Laughing to himself, he reflected that women like the twins, who gave themselves away for free, were sure to resent those who turned a profit from it.

"This is getting ridiculous," Hance whispered.

Ivy kept her eyes fastened on the Reverend Rankin, pastor of the Walnut Hill Church, but he knew she'd heard him because she squeezed his hand.

"I was only gone three months," she said placatingly. "I had to go to Boston. My mother has four sisters."

"Who absolutely had to shower you with useless gifts."

Ivy stifled a giggle. "How could we even think of starting our life together without a matched set of silver candle snuffers?"

Hance chuckled softly. Although he'd never admit it to Ivy, he had a secret admiration for the many fine things she'd brought from Boston. The idea of surrounding himself with useless items of luxury pleased him.

"Our life together…" He trailed his fingers suggestively up her arm. "I like the sound of that. Lord, but I've missed you, love."

"Have you?" she whispered teasingly. "And I thought you'd flee to the nearest available arms before the dust settled behind my coach."

"You know better than that, love."

"I do, Hance. Still, you had quite a formidable reputation with the ladies…"

"Only one lady," he vowed. "Lately." His fingers found the curve of her neck.

Ivy pulled away sharply, not because she was offended, but because she felt her mother's eyes boring disapproval into them.

"Stop that," she hissed. "Mother will add another six weeks to the engagement if she thinks you're too eager."

Hance lifted his eyes heavenward. "God, not that."

Ivy bit her lip to hide her mirth, but the preacher noticed. He directed his most thunderous look at the young couple in the boxed pews of the privileged and barked, "Some of us seem to have forgotten that respect for the church is a godly thing."

Ivy had the decency to blush, but Hance gave the preacher a brazen grin, as if to say it was lucky he was in church in the first place.

After church it was customary to gather on the lawn in front. The social groups were rigidly marked here, the farmers mingling with their own, while the wealthier planters kept to themselves. The Adairs were in an unusual position now that Hance was engaged to Ivy, and young Nathaniel Caddick was showing signs of interest in Sarah. They stood in a loose arrangement beneath a honey locust tree, the men smoking, and the women listening raptly to Mrs. Attwater's description of Boston.

Ivy strolled away from the group to the long table where some of the women were cutting pies. She hugged herself, full of the familiar breezy happiness that enveloped her whenever Hance was near. She wanted to be with him now, as he stood talking under the honey locust, but felt she should take a turn at the womanly chore of serving pie.

She approached the table where the Beasley twins were unveiling a peach pie. The checked napkin was moved aside to reveal a lovely golden-brown latticed crust with the peaches glistening and juicy beneath.

"That looks delicious," Ivy remarked. "A masterpiece. I'd love to have the recipe."

Lacey Beasley looked up. Her pleased smile gave way to a feigned look of pity when she saw who had given her the compliment.

"It'll take more than peach pie to keep Hance Adair happy," Lacey told her.

Ivy was stunned by the venom in the young woman's voice. "What do you mean by that, Lacey?" she asked.

The twins looked at each other. "She really doesn't know, does she, Laura?" Lacey said to her sister. "Amazing…"