Now and Forever (48 page)

"Do I? I can't imagine why."

Karen gestured toward the doorway. "Could he be the reason?"

Shannon spun around to see Andrew, arms folded across his chest, watching them.

"So introduce us, girl." Karen beamed a smile in Andrew's direction. Then,
sotto voce
to Shannon, "Where have you been hiding him? He's adorable."

"He's an old friend," she said, motioning for Andrew to join them. "He--ah, he just dropped in the other day and I've asked him to stay awhile."

Shannon noticed that Andrew wasn't smiling as he walked toward them. If anything he looked annoyed.

Karen thrust out her right hand. "Karen Naylor," she said, hanging onto her smile.

Andrew ignored the outstretched hand and Shannon groaned inwardly. Darn Dakota and her swooning spells. The poor man would probably be afraid to shake hands for the rest of his life. She considered the wisdom of giving him a poke in the ribs to urge him forward but decided against it. With her luck Karen would tumble over in a dead faint and they'd have someone else to worry about. Karen was a literal, intellectual type. If Shannon told her Andrew had dropped in from the 18th century, Karen would arrange to have them both committed.

She cleared her throat.

Karen's smile faltered but her hand remained outstretched.

Shake her hand,
she thought.
You're embarrassing me.

Andrew looked down at her, a puzzled expression on his raw-boned face. With obvious reluctance he reached out and clasped Karen's hand for a nanosecond then backed away.

"Andrew McVie," he said.

"What a wonderful accent," Karen said, a flicker of embarrassment in her chocolate brown eyes. "Where are you from?"

"Boston," said Andrew.

"Scotland," said Shannon at the same time. "I mean, first Scotland, then Boston."

"Ahh," said Karen, her gaze darting from Andrew to Shannon then back again to Andrew. "So what brings you to New Jersey?"

"He's taking a sabbatical," said Shannon.

Andrew's brows lifted.

So did Karen's.

You're making a mess of this, Shannon,
she berated herself.
Let the man answer for himself.

"I'm taking a sabbatical," said Andrew.

Karen's mouth twitched as if she was holding back a laugh. Who could blame her?

"What is he taking a sabbatical from?" Karen asked Shannon.

"Very funny," Shannon said then fell silent so Andrew could answer for himself.

"The law," Andrew said.

Karen's eyes widened. Shannon wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

"You're an attorney?" Karen asked.

"I am," said Andrew.

"I've always wanted to meet an attorney from the U.K.," Karen said, zeroing in on him. "Now are you a barrister or a solicitor or a lawyer?" She laughed. "Or have I totally botched it all up."

"I am a lawyer," he said in a tone of voice Shannon hadn't heard before.

"So how is that different from a barrister?"

"I do not know."

"Well," said Karen, turning back toward Shannon, "I have to get home." She reached into her leather tote and removed a large white envelope. "Read the papers and we'll set up a time for you to come into the office and sign everything."

Karen gave Shannon a quick embrace then, with a nod for Andrew, she said good night and left.

 
#

Shannon turned on him in a fury unlike any he'd seen before.

"What in hell is wrong with you?" she roared. "How dare you be so rude to Karen."

"I did nothing untoward," he said, bristling.

"You treated her abysmally."

"I answered her questions."

"You had no intention of shaking her hand."

"Aye," he said. "'Twas not my intention at all."

"Why in hell not?" she continued, her anger increasing. "You shook Dakota's hand."

"And you are aware of the results."

"But that's not it, is it?" she persisted. "It's because she's black."

He could not deny it.

"Bigot!"

He glared at her. "I come from a different world. Black slaves do not embrace their owners."

"You jerk! Slavery's been dead for over one hundred years. For your information, Karen's a lawyer, same as you."

The notion was so preposterous he laughed out loud. "You speak nonsense."

"I speak the truth, Andrew. Karen is a lawyer."

"I do not believe you."

"She graduated Harvard Law."

"You make that up to goad me into an argument."

"What bothers you more: that the lawyer's a woman or that she's black?"

"In truth, I find both impossible to believe."

"You're honest," she said. "I'll grant you that. But that doesn't make your opinions acceptable."

"Is there but one way to think in 1993?"

"No, there are many ways to think, but when it comes to the basic rights of others, there is only one way that is acceptable to decent, caring human beings."

"You believe me to be uncaring."

She lifted her chin. "In this regard, yes I do."

"Elspeth and I did not hold slaves."

"How wonderful for you," she drawled. "But did you do anything to convince others to release theirs?"

"'Twas not my business to tell others how to live their lives."

"Even if the way they lived their lives kept other lives in bondage?"

"Most slaves were well cared for."

"Oh, please!" She raised her hands in disgust. "Care to explain the Civil War to me or didn't you get that far in your reading?"

"There were reasons beyond the existence of slavery for the War Between the States." He had read the story that very evening and the facts were clear in his mind.

"But none more important."

"You act as if I bear the weight of slavery upon my shoulders."

"You do," she said with righteous fury. "All of you who allowed such a system to continue. You had the chance to eradicate it with the Declaration of Independence and you let it slip right through your greedy fingers."

"There is little time to debate such things when you are fighting for the future of your country. I know of this Declaration and I know of how it was wrought. There would be no United States of America had Jefferson and Adams not bowed to the needs of the Southern gentlemen present."

"An easy answer," Shannon said, "but I don't buy it. There had to be another way."

"Much of life is compromise," he said. "Have you not learned that yet?"

"Of course I have, but I find myself wondering if you've mastered the art."

"Do not hide your meaning, Shannon. Tell me straight."

"You still don't get it, do you? Think of me, Andrew. Those same attitudes toward black Americans carried over toward the treatment of women. How did you view Elspeth? Was she your property? Your partner? Your slave?"

"She was my wife and all that entailed." The words sounded defensive. He didn't mean them to be. Why was she asking him to defend something that needed no defense?

"I'll tell you what that entailed. Up until this century being a man's wife meant being his property. And up until a very few years ago a man could do anything he wanted to his property, including destroy it. A man could beat his wife, rape her, even kill her and nobody - nobody! - would say a word."

He wanted to pull her into his arms and soothe her fears but knew that would be the wrong thing to do. It wasn't his touch she needed, it was something much harder for him to give.

"On God's oath, I never struck Elspeth nor wished to cause her harm of any kind," he said. "Nor would I harm another woman in any way."

"I know," she said, her voice a whisper. "I believe that."

He felt the need of her touch and took her hand in his. "Then what still troubles you that you look at me in such a manner?"

"Many women come through my life, Andrew, and they all are in need of help."

"I understand you feel a kinship with the other good wives who have suffered unjustly."

"I do," she said, squeezing his hand, "and those wives and women and children come in all shapes and sizes and religions and races. If--if you are to be here...with me...then you must accept them as your equal and mine."

"'Tis a great deal you ask of me."

"I know it is," she said, "but you are a good man."

His mouth quirked upward in a smile. "You presume a great deal upon limited acquaintance."

"I know what I know." She touched his face with a gentle hand and he felt as if he'd been blessed by God. "You are a better man than you realize, Andrew McVie, and I believe you can learn to accept Karen and others like her."

"I cannot say with certainty if that will prove true."

"I can."

"It is not possible for you to know things that I do not know about myself."

"I've learned to rely on my gut instincts." She faced him full-on, in that warrior woman stance he'd been taken by on first acquaintance. She saw in him something that he'd thought long gone, a finer self he would sell his soul to believe still existed. "You will try, won't you?"

He nodded. "I will try."

Her smile was brighter than the sun and it warmed him to the marrow. "It's a start."

"Aye," he said. "'Tis a start."

Where it would end he could not say, but he hoped with all his heart that the end would be a long time coming.

Chapter Twelve

The shelters were a short distance away, located at the other side of the woods that were part of her property. Originally they'd been intended as guest cottages by the privacy-loving first owner of the estate, but the second Shannon saw them she knew they were destined to serve a much more important purpose.

With Andrew's help she loaded the trunk of her car with supplies and magazines and baby gear. She hadn't asked for his help. The fact that he thought to lend a hand touched her deeply. Their discussion had been painfully frank--for both of them, she would imagine. She'd half expected him to turn and walk away from her and the fact that he didn't, that he stayed to help, meant more than she could say.

When she climbed behind the wheel he took his place in the passenger's seat. "We won't be back for awhile," she said as she started the engine. "Sometimes it takes a few hours to get everyone settled in."

"Aye."

She backed out of the driveway then turned onto the dirt road that led to the cottages. Minutes later she pulled up in front of the tiny house that served as one of the shelters.

 
"They're not here yet," she said. "That'll give us a chance to open the windows and put the food away."

Andrew inspected the front door with a critical eye. "'Tis in need of repair."

"Karl isn't much for repair work," Shannon said with a shake of her head.

"Karl?"

"Karl's my handyman. He and Mildred take care of things for me."

"I have naught seen signs of Mildred and Karl."

"Vacation," she said. "They've gone to visit relatives in Sweden."

"The window sashes are in sad condition." He looked at Shannon. "How is it you continue to employ a man who does so little to earn his salary?"

Shannon hoisted two bags of groceries and headed for the kitchen. "I'm what's known as a soft touch," she said over her shoulder as Andrew followed her through the tiny hallway. "Karl and Mildred worked for the previous owner. They're practically at retirement age. I doubt if anyone could've let them go."