Patricia Rice (41 page)

She shivered as he brushed her breasts again before removing the corset. "Papa John would have approved. I think he would have approved of you had he lived."

Pace smiled wryly behind her back as she pulled off her chemise. "He wouldn't have approved of what I did today."

"No. I cannot feel it is right either, but sometimes, I can see no other choice. It confuses me."

He shrugged out of his waistcoat and regarded her modestly turned back with confusion. "You're not angry?"

"I am angry with Joe Mitchell. I am angry with that man for starting the argument in such a place. I am angry with myself for not knowing how to stop what happened. I am angry a great deal more than I ought. But I don't know what to do about it."

Pace's lips curved in amusement as Dora pulled her night shift over her nakedness before unfastening the tapes of her petticoats. He'd never had a modest women before. He rather liked the idea. "You need do nothing but look after Frances and this household. I might be crippled, but I can fight my own battles."

She turned and stared at him boldly even though he was removing his shirt. "Thou art not a cripple, Pace Nicholls. I will not hear
thee
say it any more than I'll hear it from another. You are alive. Do you have any idea of what that means to me?"

She had tears in her eyes. Pace regarded them with astonishment. He couldn't remember anyone crying over him before. Except Dora. Something clicked into place, and he studied her cautiously. "You kept me from returning until the battle was over. Why?"

The tears glistened in the lamplight like dewdrops on cornflowers. "You would have died there. Or met Charlie, which would have killed you as certainly."

He didn't think he wanted to hear this. "How could you know that? How could you even know when the battle would take place?"

Those days when he'd made love to Dora were engraved indelibly on his mind. He remembered clearly how he had returned to Atlanta only to find cold ashes. She had given herself to him just to keep him from that battle.

"I don't know," she whispered. "The same way I always knew where you were, how to find you. I just knew. And it's been gone since those days. Do you have any idea how much I suffered, not knowing where you were after you left here?"

He didn't know. He didn't want to know. The horror of what she said was still sinking in. In taking carnal knowledge of his childhood angel, he'd literally brought her down to earth.

Chapter 31

Love seeketh not itself to please.

Nor for itself hath any care,

But for another gives its ease,

And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.

~ William Blake,
The Clod and the Pebble

They saw the carriage well enough in advance for everyone to hurriedly clean themselves up to greet the occupants. Pace politely helped Josie out when it arrived at the front steps, then unloaded the trunks while Dora greeted her warmly and took Amy into her arms.

It was mid-May, Frances was beginning to sleep through the night, and Dora almost felt human again, but she could never compete with Josie's healthy good looks and spectacular attire. Dora still wore her Quaker gray while doing her household duties. She still felt like a servant next to Josie's elegance.

After sending the carriage off, Pace bounded up the stairs to take Amy into his arms. The little girl squealed and clasped his neck happily, and Dora felt the knot of love squeeze tighter. Despite his faults, Pace was a good man. He was good with children. He seemed happier with them than with anything else in his life right now.

He looked at Josie with the politeness the occasion required, and Dora could find no other emotion hidden behind that careful facade. It could be wishful thinking on her part, but she relaxed a fraction, until she turned and caught Josie's expression of sadness and a hunger for something unavailable. Dora's stomach ground nervously.

"It's good seeing you again, Josie," Pace was saying. "Too many Yankees in Cincinnati?"

Josie managed a feeble smile. "Daddy says he needs me back here. I'm supposed to stay with him, but"—she finished brightly—"I left so much of my wardrobe here, I just couldn't leave it all behind. And I had to see my darling little niece, after all. Amy's done nothing but talk about her all the way home."

Pace grinned and tickled Amy's stomach. "Want to see your new cousin, baby doll? She's saying your name already, you know." He carried her toward the stairs, more intent on the child's laughter than the tension between the two women left behind.

Josie's shoulders drooped as soon as he left the room. "I can't stay here. I thought I could, but I can't."

Dora wanted to shout her agreement. She wanted to yell in triumph that Josie had made the wrong choice and now she would suffer for it as Pace had suffered then. But she couldn't. She merely murmured sympathetically, "It's your home, too, Josie. Charlie would have wanted you to stay."

Josie gave her a sharp look. "Don't give me that humble Quaker nonsense, Dora. Pace didn't even look at me, but he wasn't paying much attention to you either. We're both in this together, whether we like it or not. I'll admit, you were smarter than me. You chose the right brother. But I know more than you do about men, and I can have him back if I put my mind to it. He adores Amy. He'll do anything for her."

Dora's gaze met Josie's. "He has a daughter of his own now. There is no contest. What is it you want, Josie? I can see thou art unhappy."

"The 'thees' and 'thous' are slipping now, aren't they?" Josie said, a trifle maliciously. "Life in this place is like that. If not for you, I probably would have murdered Mother Nicholls in her bed. And if Charlie hadn't taken himself off to war, I might have murdered him too. It's hard to remain young and innocent when married to this family."

Josie's words harbored a grain of truth. Dora was afraid to agree with it. She gestured toward a seat. "Thou has best tell me what is on thy mind."

Josie took the seat and worried at her gloves. "My father says it is time I consider marrying again. That's why he called me home."

She wore navy instead of heavy mourning, Dora noted. The choice wasn't exactly unseemly, but it did indicate a certain lack of respect for a young husband killed defending what he thought right. Dora couldn't precisely blame Josie for that. "Thou art young yet," she said cautiously. "Amy should have a father. Perhaps thy father is right."

"I don't wish to marry again," Josie answered. "I won't have another man knocking me around again. I won't do it. Daddy says he wants assurance that he has someone qualified to take over his land when he's gone. Why can't he hire someone? I don't want to be traded like a slave on the auction block."

Dora knit her fingers together and studied her sister-in-law. "It is not easy finding someone to hire. Only ask Pace. And thy father is not well. He is worried about thee and thy mother when he passes away. I can see what he is saying." Unhappily, she added, "And I know what you mean, also."

Josie looked on the verge of tears as she looked past Dora to stare fixedly at the wall. "What can I do?"

Dora thought for a minute. "He cannot force you to marry," she said.

"But if he died tomorrow, I couldn't run that place. It's his life. It means everything to him. You know how you feel about your father's farm."

Dora didn't mention that she'd gladly parted with the land for good cause. Pace had spread the word that Jackson was just tenant farming as before. "Does the farm mean more to your father than you do?" she asked quietly.

Josie stiffened, then considered. "I don't know. It might."

"If it does, then he is not worthy of your respect, and you needn't sacrifice yourself for him. People are more important than land, Josie." She continued in a more cautious tone, "Don't ignore your father's wishes, though. He could be right. A good man will not hurt you. He will love and worship you. But do not marry just to please your father." As Josie had before, Dora could have added, but refrained.

"You are right." Josie set her lips firmly. "You make it seem so easy." She finally turned her gaze back to Dora. "Thank you." Then she smiled and rose from her seat. "I still think I'll stay a few days. I left all those old gowns here. I must do something with them. And if Daddy wants me to start courting again, he'll have to buy me a whole new wardrobe. That will make the trouble worthwhile."

Dora followed after her, worrying at her bottom lip. "Josie, I..." She grimaced and forced herself to speak outright. "I took the liberty of using one of your old gowns, the yellow one. Harriet said you would not mind, that it was out of date. I could fix it back..."

Josie glanced over her shoulder as she swept up the stairs. "You would look horrible in yellow. Throw it out. I've got others much more suitable. I'll never fit in them again. And I've got the latest patterns. We can make them look like new." She grinned happily. "It will be just like the old days, planning wardrobes and talking about suitors. I just might enjoy this after all."

It might be just like Josie's "old days," but it certainly hadn't been Dora's experience. Still, she made no objection. She would be the kind of wife Pace deserved. Who better than Josie could tell her what that entailed?

Besides, the four weeks were up, and Pace had made no sign of taking his husbandly rights since that night two weeks ago. The jonquil dress must have done it that time. Maybe a newer and prettier one would work this time.

When Pace walked by Josie's bedroom a little while later, the two women were engrossed in a cascade of gowns and petticoats. He shook his head and kept on going. He should be grateful that he had a wife who didn't demand expensive new garments every time she turned around. From the looks of it, Charlie had spent every dime the farm had earned keeping Josie in clothes.

He didn't like thinking about that. He didn't like thinking about the empty stables and the three miserable hogs left in the pen. The army had stripped them of everything but the chickens, and he supposed he should be grateful for them. He knew farther south it was far worse than that. Two armies had stripped entire plantations of every living thing, including the men who had run them. As Dora had once told him, at least he was alive.

His bad arm ached from the punishment he gave it, but he couldn't let Jackson do all the work. He could hoe a row as well as the next man. He just didn't have to like it.

As he watched Solly's sister hoeing the tobacco patch, it occurred to Pace that Josie hadn't brought Amy's nurse back with her. He hadn't given Delia any wages before Josie left. He bet the woman had decided to take a job in Cincinnati. Hell, he didn't have the money to pay another servant anyway. Josie would have to look after Amy herself.

But he sure would like it if someone could look after Frances during the night so he could have some uninterrupted time with Dora. She fussed and fidgeted with the baby all the time, getting up in the middle of night to check on her even when she slept. Then she would look so tired when she went to bed at night that he didn't have the heart to wake her when he got upstairs. He didn't think four weeks enough for Dora to recover, but he would have liked a few kisses or hugs in the interim, just enough to remember he was a man.

Hell, who was he fooling? He was so randy that he'd go straight from kisses to the real thing. Dora wasn't the problem. He was. He didn't know how to take her in his arms and just give her a nice peck on the cheek once in a while. He had no experience with that kind of thing. His father certainly had never done such things. But Pace kind of figured Dora would like that, and eventually, it might lead to something more.

But he didn't even know how to kiss his own wife: a damned thing to admit but the truth. He must have been out of his head that first time when he'd practically assaulted her in the barn. And the next time, she'd come to him and practically offered herself. They'd never courted. They'd never had time to ease into these things.

And now he expected to just hop into her bed and have his way with her whenever he felt like it.

That discussion about how she'd always known how to find him didn't make things easier. He still didn't know how to take it. He'd thought about it a lot of nights, lying there beside her while she slept. Dora had spoken the pure and honest truth as far as she knew it. She had always appeared when the boys tried to beat the tar out of him. She'd found him the night Josie had announced her betrothal to Charlie, and the time the slave catchers had shot him. He remembered other times, too, times when she'd appeared where she shouldn't, all because of him. He'd never thought of how she'd done it. Now he couldn't stop thinking of it.

She had saved his damned life, and he'd showed his gratitude by taking her in a field and putting his child inside her. And then he'd gone off without a word, leaving her to deal with it all alone. If she was an angel, then he was the devil incarnate. No wonder they couldn't seem to connect anymore.

As he watched Jackson guide the mule, Pace wondered if Dora wouldn't be a hell of a lot better off if he got out of her life. He wasn't good for much. Jackson could plow the fields. If he could hire another hand, they wouldn't need Pace at all. He wanted Frances to have a father, but what the hell kind of a father would he be? One who would teach her to have tantrums and beat people up when she got mad?