Patricia Rice (30 page)

"I thought we were going to the preacher," she whispered as he reached to help her out of the carriage.

"I'll not have anyone questioning the legality of our marriage. I'll get a license first. Then we'll go and get the proper words said over our heads."

"I don't want to go in there," she murmured, pulling back from him. "The preacher is enough for me."

He didn't understand this reluctance any more than he had her earlier refusal, and he didn't have patience with it. "It's just a formality, Dora. We can go to the preacher first, if you prefer. But I still want the marriage recorded at the courthouse."

"Could you do it without me?"

He was so accustomed to her "thees" and "thous" that he always noticed when she didn't use them. She didn't use them when she was truly upset about something and trying to hide it.

"All right, let's go to the preacher first. He'll give us a paper to sign, and I can come back here later and file it. Will that be all right?"

She nodded without looking at him. He didn't have the time or patience for getting to the bottom of this little mystery. He walked her down the street toward the tree-lined residential area behind the courthouse square.

Conscious of her burden, Pace watched as Dora moved with careful grace instead of the awkward waddle of other women in her condition. By the time they reached the modest cottage of the preacher, he almost wished he had some way of carrying her burden for her. At the same time, he realized that in a few months, he
would
be able to carry the burden. The thought terrified him.

They were married in the preacher's tiny front room, with his wife and daughter as witnesses. Sunlight slipped through a crack in the heavy draperies, illuminating Dora's silver curls and translucent complexion. She looked more an angel than ever, if he didn't look at the rest of her. Pace discovered some difficulty in not looking at the rest of her. The small breasts he had once suckled had swollen to twice their usual size, and he was curious to see them bared. He would have that right shortly.

The thought made him randier than hell. He had a wife well along with child, who probably hated his guts, but he was suddenly wondering how soon he could get her into bed. He was a bastard, through and through.

Pace slipped the gold band onto Dora's finger, repeated his vows without hearing them, and bent to brush a light kiss against his new wife's dry lips. The occasion certainly held nothing of the solemn or sacramental. He wasn't even surprised when the preacher presented him with the certificate to sign, and he could see the man had conveniently used 1864 instead of 1865 in the date. He was grateful he’d put some of his father's coins in his pockets. The man undoubtedly expected a sizable gratuity.

Dora didn't notice the discrepancy. Knowing her penchant for truthfulness, Pace offered up a prayer of gratitude. His major concern had been the child's legitimacy, but the nicety of pretending they had married first would be appreciated in the days and years to come. The truth would fade with time.

He made a decent contribution to the preacher's nest egg and helped Dora back outside. They were married. She was his wife. Pace glanced down at her placid face with incredulity. He hadn't been home twenty-four hours, and he already wore the chains of a wife and child. How much lower could he sink?

Dora glanced up at him then, her all-seeing eyes looking right through him. He waited for her condemnation, but she merely gave him one of her small smiles, and murmured, "I thank thee, Pace. I believe I could learn to love a man like thee."

He felt as if she had knocked the ground out from under him.

Chapter 22

The hour of marriage ends the female reign!

And we give all we have to buy a chain;

Hire men to be our lords, who were our slaves;

And bribe our lovers to be perjured knaves.

~ John Crown,
English Friar

Dora didn't know why she said those words. Pace's stricken expression made her wish she could take them back. But they'd been said, as they must if she were honest. She knew better than to engage in dangerous emotions, but Pace had released them once. He could easily do so again. They could go on without her ever uttering the words again. Her burgeoning feelings for Pace had very little to do with the terrifying realities of marriage and probably a great deal to do with her relief that she no longer carried this burden alone.

She took Pace's arm, the one he always held a little bit crooked, and started back down the path to the courthouse square. "There are not many men who know what is right. There are even fewer who will act on it. Thou hast always been one of those noble few."

His expression eased as he took her words for gratitude. "I just did what any other man would have done in my place. I'm not a complete ass, Dora. I regret that you've had to suffer for my sins, but we'll put that behind us now. I'd rather not talk of it again."

She gave him a quick, shy smile. "I did not think that what we did made babies, Pace, or I might not have done it. The fault was as much mine as thine. I was willing to accept that."

"Dammit, Dora." He glared down at her. "I told you I didn't want to hear any more about it. I already feel lower than a snake's belly without your rubbing it in."

He was determined to punish himself. Well, let him. She had other things on her mind, like the sheriff back at the courthouse. She really didn't want him to know that she was just now marrying Pace. What would happen if the sheriff demanded his deed back? Or hadn't Pace received her letter?

She had difficulty broaching the subject. Pace had fallen into one of his black studies and barely knew she existed. When they reached the curricle, he helped her in without speaking. When she called his name, he just waved her away and hurried up the courthouse steps with their marriage certificate. She sat in the curricle, clasping her hands together, whether in nervousness or prayer she couldn't say.

He wasn't frowning any more than usual when he came back out again. Dora took that as a good sign, but when he asked if she'd like lunch at a restaurant, she shook her head no. She wanted to be as far away from here as possible, before the inevitable happened.

She just wasn't used to lying. She tried formulating the words to ask about the deed, but Pace kept interrupting her thought processes.

"Where are Josie and Amy?"

"They've been ill. Josie wanted out of the house as soon as Amy could travel. They're spending a few days with her parents." Dora bit her lip while thinking of a way to change the subject, but Pace followed his own train of thought.

"Why aren't the fields plowed? Don't we have anyone left?"

"Just Solly. He can't do everything. There's some of the women in the quarters, but they have small children, and they can't plow."

"What about hiring someone? Won't Josie do it?"

Dora shrugged. "Who would we hire? The president says the slaves are free. Kentucky says they're not. The laws haven't changed while thee were gone. A free black man cannot legally live in Kentucky. And there isn't a white man in the state who will do slave work. I would do it myself, but I cannot now. If this continues much longer, we'll all starve."

Pace cursed under his breath. "Why doesn't Josie sell the damned place, then? That should give the lot of you something to live on for a while."

Dora sent him a questioning look. "It doesn't belong to Josie. Both Charlie and thy father designated thee as their heirs." She must not have explained herself very clearly in the letter, but he looked so astounded, she didn't have the heart to explain again that her name was the one on the deed.

"Me? They left me owner of that albatross? What in hell did they expect me to do with it? I don't know a blamed thing about farming."

Dora laughed at his astonishment. "Neither does Josie. I suspect they knew she would sell the place first chance she got." She stopped laughing and gave him a closer look. "I believe they thought thou wouldst more likely keep the farm in the family."

"Well, they thought wrong. I don't know a blamed thing about farming, and I'm not about to start anytime soon." He grew quiet for a minute, then sighed. "But I suppose I'll have to hire someone who does for a while. You and the others need somewhere to live until I can find a place for myself. And you'll need some kind of income. I don't know if the place will sell for enough to support all of you for any length of time."

"I have my own place," Dora replied indignantly. "Thou needn't concern thyself over me."

He gave her a curt glance that took in her swollen abdomen. "Of course not. You'll no doubt go out and plow the fields and give birth in the shrubbery and go back to work when you're done. Don't be a fool, Dora. You're my wife now. I'll look after you, one way or another."

"I don't want to be looked after," she responded childishly. "I'm tired of people looking after me. I want to take care of myself for a change. Thou canst go thy own way and leave me to myself. I've been doing a fine job of it so far."

"Oh, yes, a fine job. And you're the one who just admitted you were too ignorant to know where babies came from. Well, there's a damned sight more you don't know about, and I don't intend to let you discover it the hard way. Somebody has to look out for innocents like you."

He was probably right, but that didn't keep Dora from resenting it. She shut up and glared at the road ahead. It hadn't quite seeped in yet that she was married, and he had the right to make these vast declarations. It soon would. Against all common sense, she had traded a name for her baby for the legal tyranny of marriage. Maybe she did need a keeper.

* * *

The clouds finally moved in at nightfall, bringing with them falling temperatures and the threat of rain. Or snow. Easter flowers bloomed beneath the oaks, and the redbuds were just swelling, but Kentucky weather didn't much attend to these signs of spring.

Dora grumbled as she drew on her heavy flannel nightgown. The north wind rattled the panes of her window, sending out a draft that nearly quenched her candle. This little room beside Harriet's had no fireplace or stove. She'd thought she'd seen an end to the cold winter chill of the room. She would have to put the heavy quilt back on the bed.

She tried not to wonder what Pace was doing right now. He'd grabbed a bite of lunch and ridden off to town as soon as they returned. He'd not even stopped to explain to his mother that they were officially married now. He'd left that to Dora. The old woman had taken the news remarkably well, although she'd apparently forgotten it not two minutes later. This late in Dora's pregnancy, the news was probably more of a denouement anyway.

But Dora had seen Pace return a little while ago. He'd taken his horse to rub it down in the stable. He'd find Solly there, she knew. They were probably discussing what needed doing. Just because this was their wedding night, she didn't expect anything to change. It was not as if Pace had married her for any reason but her belly. And she knew already that made her repulsive.

She blew out the candle and crawled up under the covers. She still shivered. She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, and for the first time that day, she wondered what it would be like to sleep with her husband. Her husband. The words still sounded strange to her ears. She hadn't intended to marry. She didn't feel married. A piece of legal paper hadn't turned her life upside-down yet.

She had continued her daily routines as usual. As little as Pace stayed around, he might as well still be in the army for all the difference it made. Or perhaps she could pretend they had returned to those early days when she had been little more than a guest in this house, and he studied law.

That thought didn't let her relax. The child in her womb kicked restlessly, and Dora sought a more comfortable position. The bed creaked under her, and she held her breath, hoping Harriet hadn't heard. She would call for a drink of water or something if she knew Dora could hear her. She really didn't want to get out in the cold again.

The wind whistled and rattled the shingles. It was going to snow. She could feel it. She turned her back on the door, pretending she didn't listen for Pace's step on the stairs. He had every right to stay out all night, drink to dawn, whatever he chose to do. She had no claim on him beyond his name. She would just be grateful if he treated her as he always had, then she wouldn't fear the dangers the word "wife" represented to her.

She'd almost convinced herself of that by the time the bedroom door creaked open. She must have dozed off. She hadn't heard him on the stairs. Why was he coming in here?

She knew it was Pace. Somehow, she could sense the height and weight of him, maybe even the density. Josie was much smaller and lighter. The household only contained women except for Pace. The masculinity of the intruder wasn't in doubt.

She could smell horse sweat, whiskey, and that distinctive male aroma that was just Pace. Dora pretended to sleep, thinking he would go on to his own room. She didn't know what he wanted, but she lacked the strength to give him anything. The babe drained all her resources despite her pretense otherwise. She didn't want him knowing that. She didn't want him feeling any more burdened than he did.