Jane Bonander (11 page)

Oh, God! What if he’d hit his head on a rock? She glanced at Corey, who was busy with a pile of stones and his tin pail, then she waded to Nate and tried to turn him over. He was deadweight.

Feeling a horrible sense of panic, she knelt beside him and pulled his head out of the water. “Nathan?” She struggled to get him up, hoisting him under the arms. “Nathan! Don’t you dare drown. Do you hear me?” She put her hands on either side of his head and shook him, frantic for some response.

He shot out of the water, bellowing like a wounded bear.

Stunned and surprised, Susannah let out a sharp cry, relief flooding her—until she realized he was laughing.

She kicked at him, aiming for any part she could reach. “You wretch! You had me scared to death, damn you!”

He flopped into the water, laughing so hard she thought he might choke. And she wouldn’t have cared if he had. She felt her lips twitch. Oh, yes she would. His laughter was contagious. Hers was quiet at first, just a shaking in her chest, then she felt the exuberance again, that deep-down hearty, healthy sound that felt so free. So good. So cleansing.

Corey had waded over to join them, gaily splashing them both and squealing with glee. And Max galloped and barked and dove, playfully attacking Nathan, who wrestled with him in the water.

“Susannah Quinn!”

Pushing her hair from her eyes again, Susannah tried to catch her breath.

“You there! Susannah Quinn!”

With Corey and Nathan and Max still rollicking in the water, Susannah froze and stared at the shore. “Oh, Lord,” she whispered, her heart dropping to her knees.

She rose, her dress and petticoat so heavy with water she could barely stand. But that was the least of her problems. There, appearing proper and reproachful, stood her boss, Lillian Graves, the wife of the grocer, Edith Barnes, and Althea White, the minister’s wife, who always looked like she was sucking on an unripened persimmon.

Today, Susannah was certain the sour fruit had exploded in her mouth.

“May heaven help me.” With as much poise as possible, she picked up her water-laden skirts and slogged toward the shore.

A
lthea White stared at her, her lips pinched and her eyes glistening. Her condemning gaze raked over Susannah’s appearance and she arched a pale eyebrow at her. “We’re
very
disappointed in you, Susannah.”

Old feelings of disapproval spread through her like nausea. How would she ever explain this? “I’m sorry, we . . . I mean . . . we were just . . . it was so warm—”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Edith interrupted, her face flushed beneath her bonnet.

Susannah dragged herself to dry ground, then attempted to squeeze the water from her skirt.
Tell you what? That I have a stranger sleeping under my roof with my three-year-old son as a chaperone?
“Tell you?”

“Dear,” Lillian said, “we can understand that you might want to spend some time alone. After all, it’s been three years or so since you’ve seen him. And to think all this time you were sick to death, thinking he was dead. My dear,” she said, touching Susannah’s wet sleeve, “we’re so happy for you! Everyone is sighing with relief to know your husband has returned.”

Susannah’s jaw dropped. Her wet skirt slipped from her fingers, the heavy, wet fabric hitting the ground with a splat, pulling her dress against her shoulders.

“My—” She turned and stared at Nathan, who had just plunged Corey into the water, then lifted him into the air, sending the boy’s peals of laughter ringing through the trees. She gazed downstream, and noticed that her slippers were bobbing and weaving in the current, destination unknown.

“Yoohoo! Mr. Quinn!” Edith chirped, smiling and waving.

Susannah watched as Nathan brought Corey to his shoulders and waded toward shore. “Beg pardon, ma’am?” He turned to Susannah, as if waiting for an introduction.

Susannah swallowed a groan, then introduced him—by first name only—to the three women.

Edith’s smile was so wide her eyes were almost shut. “Well, Mr. Quinn, we are just
so
happy you’ve come home. Aren’t we?” She nudged Lillian, who smiled weakly in his direction. Althea White still appeared to be sucking on sour fruit.

Susannah discovered Nathan could be very charming when he wanted to be. And she guessed he now wanted to be, for the three women gazed up at him as if he’d hung out the moon, just for them.

Nathan continued to chat with the women as he put Corey on the grass. Susannah looked on, still too stunned to speak. He reached for Corey’s clothes, then whispered something into his ear.

Corey shook his head. “Corey went pee in the river.”

Susannah rolled her eyes heavenward but still couldn’t find her voice. What would she have said, anyway?

While Nathan dressed Corey, he chatted with the ladies as if they were all sitting in someone’s parlor, drinking coffee and nibbling cookies.

“We’re about to have a picnic lunch, ladies,” Nathan said, “would you care to join us?”

Edith tittered. “Oh, my no. We don’t want to intrude, do we, ladies?” Without waiting for an answer, she went on. “We were so worried about Susannah, living way out here, all by herself with just that mongrel dog to watch over her. As you know, Mr. Quinn,” she said with a little wink, “Susannah is a mite stubborn.”

Nathan was attempting to wring out his own clothes as his gaze caught Susannah’s. She clearly saw mirth in his eyes. “Oh, don’t I know it.”

Susannah had difficulty standing, for her wet skirt hung around her like a wet sack of flour. But that hardly mattered. She couldn’t believe what was happening, or
how
it had happened.

“Edith,” she ventured. “How did you . . . I mean, who told you about . . . about Nathan?”

Edith pressed her gloved hands over her black and pink cotton dress, as if ironing out a wrinkle. “Why, it was my Ed who told me. He’d been in Oakville to pick up some things for the store, and had run into a man named—” She turned to Althea and Lillian. “What was his name, again?”

Lillian, who had been very quiet, answered, “Hatberg? No, Hatfield.”

Althea nodded briskly. “Hatfield. Alvin and Lettie Hatfield. Her sister died a week ago Sunday. My Homer officiated at the service.”

“Oh, yes,” Edith went on. “That man, Hatfield, told Ed how you and your husband had taken them in and let them spend the night.” She leaned close. “Ed told me how sickly the woman was.”

Susannah felt immediate concern. “Was she worse? I mean, had he stopped to take her to the doctor or something?”

“Oh,” Edith said, trying to remember. “I don’t think so.” She shook her finger at Susannah, giving her a mock scolding. “And we had to learn about your husband’s return from a total stranger.”

“I’m sure she would have told us sooner or later, Edith,” Lillian said. “They really need some time alone, don’t you think?”

The words “time alone” sent Susannah’s heart dancing in her chest again.

“Oh, I know that. But as part of the community, I wanted to welcome Mr. Quinn.” Susannah started to correct her, but Edith forged on. She was grateful Nathan hadn’t introduced himself. There would be no explanation for each of them having a different last name.

Edith droned on. “There’ll be an apple-paring party at the Stedersons’ ranch one week from Friday night. Heavens, Lillian, that’s ten days away. That’s enough time for them to be alone.”

To Susannah, she said, “Everyone’s agreed that it’s the perfect time to celebrate your husband’s return. We expect to see you there.”

A buggy rattled over the road above the river. “Woohoo! Kito, we’re down here!” Edith’s voice rang loudly.

As the women hiked to the road, Lillian shot Susannah an apologetic look. Susannah smiled back, not at all sure just how she was supposed to respond. In truth, she felt as though someone had just hammered another nail in her coffin.

Picking at her wet skirt, she listened to Corey announce that he was hungry.

“But we’re all wet, darling. Let’s go to the cabin and change. Lunch will taste better if we’re dry.”

“No! Corey not wet. Corey hungry.”

Susannah slumped to the blanket. Opening the lunch basket, she took out a biscuit and a piece of cheese, handing them both to her son.

Nathan sat in the sun, his shirt already beginning to dry. Susannah tried to avoid his gaze, but she couldn’t. She knew, with certainty, they were both thinking the same thing.

“Now what do we do?” she asked, trying to cloak her panic. “You were the one who was so sure the Hatfields wouldn’t run into anyone from Angel’s Valley.”

Nathan crunched on an apple.

Angry that he didn’t respond, she admonished, “This is all your fault, you know.”

He appeared surprised. “
My
fault?”

“Of course it’s your fault. You should have put Alvin Hatfield straight right off. Instead you . . . you spun those dumb, silly stories about how we met.” She flushed, angry that she still kept that memory so close to her heart.

“And what prevented you from explaining the truth?”

His voice was quiet; it unnerved her. “I tried to explain a couple of times. Something always interrupted me.”

“But you could have, Susannah.”

“No! No. I didn’t know what to say. How to say it. I’m . . . I’m not that strong,” she admitted.

He leaned over and grabbed her wrist. “Yes, you are. Damn it, Susannah, don’t sell yourself short. Look at what you’ve done! You’re raising a child alone and doing a fine job. You’re—” He stopped, breaking eye contact.

She thirsted for more. “I’m . . . I’m . . . what?”

His eyes were cautious when they returned to her face. “You’re a lot stronger than you think you are.”

She lifted her face skyward and closed her eyes. “We’re tiptoeing around the problem, Nathan. How do we get out of going to the party?”

“We don’t.”

She blinked and stared at him. “We don’t? What do you suggest we do, go and pretend we’re married?”

He tossed the apple core at Max, who caught it and devoured it. “Would that be so bad?”

She sagged against the picnic basket. “One little fib. That one little fib is going to get us into more trouble.” She sat up again. “We can’t do that, Nathan. Sooner or later the truth will come out.”

“When?”

She drew her feet under her, cringing as they settled against her wet underclothes. With nervous fingers, she removed the pins from her hair and threaded her fingers through the wet mass.

“When?” he demanded again. “When your
real
husband comes home, Susannah?”

She felt weak, sick. He deserved to know part of her secret. But only part. “I . . . my husband is dead.” He took her hand, but she pulled it away.

“Tell me about it, Susannah.”

She shrugged and tried to laugh. The sound was nervous. Forced. “That’s all there is to tell. He died about six months ago. I . . . I needed to find some place that didn’t keep reminding me of what we had. Our life together.” It was the truth, although she hoped Nathan had taken it to mean she’d needed to get away because she’d missed Harlan so much, not because she’d had to—Oh, God, how she hated thinking about what she’d done!

“Then, why the lie, Susannah?”

She hugged her knees to her chest with one arm, pressing them hard against her fluttering heart, then with her free hand continued combing her hair with her fingers to dry it. “I didn’t want people to bother me.”

“People?”

She shrugged again, but this time she gave him a guilty smile. “Men, actually. If they thought I was waiting for my husband to return, they would leave me alone.”

“Because you wouldn’t be available.” He waited a beat. “Not like a widow.”

Relief spread through her. She’d convinced him. “Exactly.” She glanced at Corey; he was asleep.

“What do you want to do about the dance, Susannah?”

She raised her face skyward again, her damp, heavy hair drawing her head back. She studied the sunshine as it spattered through the leaves. “I don’t know.”

“I could leave, be called away on some kind of emergency,” he suggested.

The thought of him leaving left her with a heart full of sadness and fear. She shook her head, knowing that she never wanted him to leave her at all. “That would only save us from the dance. They’d still think you were—” She gasped and covered her mouth.

“What is it?”

She stared at him, her eyes wide. “There are two people in Angel’s Valley who know you aren’t my husband.”

Nathan narrowed his gaze. “Clegg?”

She nodded. “And . . . and Kito, the blacksmith.”

“I didn’t say anything to him. Just that I was passing through. That shouldn’t—”

“But I did. That day you pulled Eli off me, Kito took Corey and me home. I asked him if you’d told him who you were, or why you were in town.” She shook her head, feeling dismal. “He knows, Nathan.”

Nathan touched her hair, continuing to comb through it after she’d stopped. She jumped but didn’t pull away. “So, what have we got, then? The word of a drunk and a Negro?”

She bristled. “Kito is a fine man.”

“I’m not saying he isn’t, Susannah. But his word probably wouldn’t carry any more weight than Clegg’s.”

She realized that what he said was true. “I don’t think Kito would say anything, anyway. He’s my friend.”

“And no one listens to Clegg, am I right?”

She nodded, then sighed, worry still pressing on her heart.

“‘Ah, what tangled webs we weave.’”

His voice was like a seduction. “What’s that from?”

“Shakespeare,” he said around an embarrassed smile. “The rest of it is something like, ‘when first we practice to deceive.’”

She realized how little she really knew about him. My, he read
Shakespeare
. She’d heard of him, of course, but she’d never had the opportunity to see anything but small, traveling circuses, and then only when she could sneak away without Ma Walker discovering she was gone. And once Ma Walker died, well . . . Harlan never took her anywhere, and he rarely let her out of his sight. But she’d worked hard at learning to read. Louisa, dear soul that she was, had learned from her former master when she’d been just a girl and a slave, and had taught Susannah everything she knew. But Susannah’s skills didn’t include anything so complicated as Shakespeare. “I’ve never read Shakespeare.” She felt stupid. Inferior.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. He’s not always readable.”

His hand continued to stroke her hair, and she tried hard not to give in to the pleasant sensation. “In our case, he was right, though, wasn’t he? Tangled webs of deception.” She said it again, letting it roll around on her tongue. “It’s very fitting.”

His thumb caressed her cheek, causing her heart to beat faster.

“Susannah,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m going to kiss you.”

She closed her eyes and stiffened, but didn’t pull away. She wanted his kiss. She wanted to see how it would feel, to see if she could really stand to have him invade her mouth that way.

“Hey.”

She blinked.

A smile cracked his mouth. “Don’t think about it so hard. It’s not supposed to be a chore. It’s supposed to be a pleasure.”

She relaxed a little and tried to smile. Gently, as if he expected her to sprint away, he nipped at her lips with his. Oh, she liked how he felt, all warm and nice. And he smelled clean. She could feel his stubble; it didn’t bother her. She even liked the prickly sensation as he moved his mouth to the corner of hers, dragging the stubble across her lips.

Warmth dug a path inside her, shoveling away her fears. She touched his cheek, nudging his mouth back to hers, opening her lips, responding to his pressure.

The warmth expanded within her, rich with a sweet nectar that caused her to gasp with pleasure.

He kissed her harder, slanting his mouth over hers. His hand left her face and trailed to her neck, then grazed her breast. The tightness gathered in her nipple again as it had the night before, and she touched his shoulder, unable to keep the tiny sound of pleasure from creeping into her throat.

He pressed his tongue against her lips, gripping her arm as he did so.

Suffocation fell upon her like a blanket. She felt the ground spinning, and she pulled her face away from his, whimpering her fear.