Rachel's Choice (34 page)

“But the baby is our James's child,” Ida whined as she pushed out of the door. Her bonnet was askew, and Rachel noticed a large rip in her skirt that could have been caused by a dog bite.

Bear snarled at Ida, and she shrank back.

“That beast is clearly dangerous!” the woman sputtered. “He attacked me once. Look at my dress.”

Rachel maneuvered Deacon close to the buggy, dismounted, and picked up her son. He had ceased wailing and now was sobbing loudly. “There, there, sweetheart, Mama's here,” she soothed. “It's all right, darling.”

Nothing had ever felt so right in her life as holding Davy close to her heart. Tears of joy spilled down her cheeks to mingle with his.

“I'd never leave my child unattended, Sheriff,” she said as she wiped her eyes and covered Davy with kisses. “Philadelphia is a filthy city, no place for a country-bred infant.”

Davy's lips puckered into a half smile and he waved chubby, starfish hands at her.

“He's wet and hungry,” Rachel declared as she laid her son against her shoulder and patted his back. “Cora Wright is a respected midwife. She delivered your daughter's babe last spring, didn't she? Would you consider Cora to be incapable of caring for a baby?”

“Rachel's an unfit mother,” Ida insisted through the
partially opened door. “She didn't even notify us when he was born.”

“That's not against any law I know of, Mrs. Irons,” the sheriff said patiently.

“But she promised to tell us when the baby was born. You did!” she reminded Rachel. “This is our grandchild and you—”

“Have never been what you and Isaac wanted in a daughter-in-law,” Rachel finished for her. “It's true that Davy has your blood as well as mine, but it's also true that James would turn over in his grave if he knew how you threatened me for the money he borrowed from you. Rachel's Choice will go to Davy when he's grown, and if you'd succeeded in robbing me of this farm, it's him you would have wronged most.”

“We have rights,” Isaac grated. “We'll see the boy, if we have to drag you before a judge to do it.”

“You'll see Davy when you learn to act decently to me,” Rachel answered. Her milk that she'd feared was drying up had leaked out as soon as she'd heard him cry. Now, as her fury evaporated, she wanted nothing more than to take him inside and nurse him, and she wanted Chance here.

Isaac gathered up his money and began to count it carefully. “There was no need to throw it on the ground.”

“No?” Rachel eyed him warily. “And there was no need to load the back of your buggy with my personal belongings either.” She looked at the sheriff. “My clock is here, and my jewelry chest.”

“Merely for safekeeping, I'm sure,” Isaac muttered.

“Thought you had succumbed to foul play,” Ida supplied.

Rachel sniffed. “You hoped. Take it all back into the
house, or I'll spread it at Sunday service that James Irons's parents are nothing more than common thieves.” She motioned Bear to her side. “Now, you'll be pleased to leave my home,” she said to Ida. “And I trust that Sheriff Voshell will attend to the legal niceties, making sure that I receive James's note back, marked paid in full.” She smiled at the sheriff. “I have all the money for last year's taxes and this, if you wouldn't mind settling that business as well.”

“Not at all,” Voshell replied, taking Deacon's reins and tying him securely to the metal ring on the corner of the brick well.

“Well, then.” Ida flounced off the step and hastened to climb into the buggy. “Mr. Irons, I believe we are needed elsewhere.”

“Indeed,” Rachel agreed. “Anywhere else but Rachel's Choice.”

“You will relent and let us see the child, won't you?” Isaac asked when he'd unloaded her things and taken them back into the kitchen. “It's the Christian thing to do.”

“Perhaps,” Rachel agreed as she rubbed Davy's back and nuzzled the nape of his neck. “Someday when I'm feeling particularly charitable.”

Chance and Pharaoh arrived by boat only minutes after the Irons couple and John Voshell departed. Pharaoh stayed just long enough to make certain all was well with Rachel and then rode his gray horse home.

“You know, he's not as mean as he seems,” Chance said to Rachel. “But he does pack a wicked punch.”

“No, Pharaoh's not mean-hearted,” Rachel agreed. “He's been a good friend to us.”

“A wonderful friend,” Chance said wryly as he rubbed his jaw.

“You're lucky he didn't shoot you and leave you in the swamp for the crabs.”

He grinned, hugged her, and gave her a hasty kiss before scooping up Davy. The baby had been so exhausted by his crying that he'd fallen asleep in her arms as soon as she'd fed and changed him. Now, when Chance woke him, he began to fuss again.

“See what you've done,” Rachel admonished. Secretly she was delighted that Chance wanted to hold the baby, but as Davy's mother, she had to keep up the appearance of being in charge of her son's care.

“He's put on weight,” Chance said. “He wasn't this heavy when I left. You're going to be a big, strong boy, aren't you, Tiger?”

Davy grabbed two handfuls of Chance's hair and squealed.

“See that? He missed me.” Chance glanced at Rachel. “Didn't he?”

“He did,” she agreed. “We both did. You belong here with us.” A lump rose in her throat, and she turned away. A few weeks more she'd have him, and then uncertainty would make her lie awake at night wondering if he was alive.

“Maybe I do,” Chance replied. “Philadelphia's not far away. A smart young lawyer might make a living there.”

Rachel felt a sudden chill. “I'm not a town woman,” she said. “I don't know what fork to use if there are more than two, and I'll never learn to walk in a bustle. If you want the life you had before the war, it will have to be with someone else.” She drew in a deep breath and plunged on. “My roots run deep in this land. As much
as I love you, I could never be happy where the grass doesn't grow and the rain falls dirty from city soot. You'd be ashamed of my country ways, and I'd make you miserable.”

His blue eyes dilated with affection. “I could never be ashamed of you, Rachel. And I still say you'd make a hell of a trial lawyer.”

She reached for Davy, and he embraced them both. Then he put the baby in her arms. “This is where I should sweep you up into my arms and carry you both upstairs,” he said. “But—”

“But …” She laughed and put her hand in his. “You can do it next month,” she assured him, “when you've recovered from your trip to Pea Patch Island.”

Together they walked up the steps to her four-poster, and they spent the afternoon laughing and talking and making love.

“Enjoy today,” Rachel said. “Tomorrow the cow comes home, and life gets back to normal around here.”

“I can't wait.”

As Rachel had promised Chance, there was work aplenty to do on the farm before the fall harvest. There were tomatoes, beans, apples, and squash to dry, potatoes to dig, and fall spinach and turnips to plant. Rachel put the last of the season's cucumbers into pickling crocks and sliced cabbage to cure as sauerkraut. There were jams and jellies to make, grapes to press into wine, and fish to salt for the coming winter.

Cora Wright sent two of her granddaughters each day to help with the baby and the preparation of meals so that Rachel could work side by side with Chance in the garden, in the fields, and in the boat. Together they plowed a
small field and planted winter wheat, netted fish, and dug clams and oysters.

The work was hard and dirty, but Rachel took such satisfaction in the completion of each task that Chance began to find a similar reward in the results. And at the end of each day they would bathe together in the creek or—when the weather turned cool—in the shower that Chance rigged in the barn with a barrel of sun-heated water. Evenings were for them and Davy alone.

Chance healed and grew strong, and Rachel stored up a chest of memories for the uncertain times ahead. Neither spoke again of marriage. She assumed that if he lived through the war and still loved her, he would come back and ask her to be his wife. But whether he believed the same thing, she didn't know and wouldn't ask. She was determined to save her tears and enjoy the time they had left together.

Somehow the days piled one upon another, as the green hues of summer turned to autumn reds and gold. Morning air was as crisp and tangy as the first sip of apple cider. Pumpkins ripened in the garden, and the branches of the gnarled old pear tree sagged under the weight of ripening fruit.

One silvery evening, after a light supper, Rachel walked hand in hand with Chance to the cornfield gate. Both were weary from the hours of cutting corn and stacking the stalks into rows of shocks. Neither spoke. Around them the silvery dusk vibrated with the mournful honking of great Vs of wild geese flying south to take shelter in the nearby marshes.

“Almost finished,” he murmured.

She bit her lower lip and refused to weaken. She'd not beg him to stay. She knew before she opened her mouth
that it would be useless. She could not shame them both by the attempt.

“I saw Pharaoh this morning,” Chance continued in his honey-laced Southern tones. “He asked me if I wanted to buy his Deacon. I said I did, but that I didn't have the money. He said he'd trust me for it.”

She felt all hollow inside as she leaned against him.

“He said it was best he sell the gray,” Chance continued. “Your father-in-law was asking about the animal. It seems Deacon comes without a bill of sale, and Pharaoh thought we might suit each other because the horse was originally a Virginian. His wife's dowry, I believe he said.”

Rachel squeezed his hand. “And if you don't come back to pay him?”

“I'll expect you to do it for me.”

Tears stung her eyes. “Why is it the men I choose always leave me to pay their bills?”

He slipped an arm around her shoulder. “You'll be well provided for, Rachel. You and Davy. The truth is, in spite of the war, I'm filthy rich.”

“You're what?” She stared at him.

“No, not just comfortable. More than that. Benjamin told me, when I was closeted with him at the bank. It seems that Mother's South African mining ventures have paid off. My share of the sale of a diamond mine is more than Davy is ever likely to spend. If … if anything happens to me, if you don't hear from me when the war is over, you're to contact Benjamin. The money's in trust, for me as well as you and Davy. There's American railroad stock, some South American cattle ranches—”

“No more,” she said. “I don't want to know about it. I
don't care. I only want you, Chance. Just you, as I found you in my creek, stark naked and hungry.”

He hugged her, then chuckled. “You want me naked and hungry?” He caressed her throat and ran his fingers over her lips. “Do you know how beautiful you are to me? How you walk through my dreams at night? How hearing you laugh warms my soul?”

“Then how can you leave me? Leave us?” She'd not expected it to hurt so bad. She'd prepared herself for his going, told herself that she was too tough to break down when the time came. And now that it had, she felt like corn mush inside.

“No tears tonight,” he whispered, leaning close and kissing her eyebrows and each closed eyelid in turn. “Sweet, sweet Rachel. I kept my bargain. Now you must be strong for a few more hours. I can't go away and leave you weeping.”

He stiffened and released her, and she heard the sound of a horse galloping across the meadow. She straightened, brushing the tears away. “Hide!” she urged him.

“No, no more,” he answered. “I'm at an end of hiding.”

The horse slowed and Pharaoh's deep voice rang out. “Miss Rachel? Chance? Is that you? I brought Deacon, and that other thing you asked me for.”

Rachel saw that the blacksmith was carrying a large sack, but she was too upset to care what he'd brought. She murmured a greeting.

“He's a good horse,” said Pharaoh. “Shame he's not a stallion. He'd sire fine colts.”

“He's got good blood in him,” Chance agreed. “I'll be proud to ride him.”

“Into cannon fire?” Rachel cried.

“If I'm being shot at, I need a decent mount,” Chance said.

“Naturally you'd need a fine horse to get yourself killed on,” she answered. “So damned logical!” Without waiting for his reply, she ran back toward the house.

Upstairs, in her room, she paced the floor. She wanted to tear down the curtains, throw her jewelry box across the room, pitch Chance's clothing out the window. But Davy was resting peacefully in his cradle, and this was the last night she could sleep in Chance's arms, so she forced back her anger.

She removed her dress and underthings, let down her hair, and put on her best linen nightgown, the one with the Irish lace on the hem. She blew out all the lamps but one, then brushed her hair two hundred times and fortified herself with a glass of her grandmother's dandelion wine.

After what seemed an eternity, she heard Chance coming up the stairs. She rose, pulled back the bedspread, and extinguished the final light.

It was dark in the room, but not so dark that she couldn't make out his form in the doorway.

“I'm sorry, Rachel. Sorry we couldn't be married by now. Sorry I'm going to hurt you tomorrow by going away.”

He waited.

“I'm sorry, too,” she murmured.

“I'll go tonight if you want me to.”

“Not tonight,” she replied softly. “Tonight is mine.”

She ran into his arms and tilted her face up for his kiss. And for a few brief hours, she did not think of tomorrow, only the bittersweet rapture, the giving and taking, and the glory of being loved by such a man.

And in the morning, when she woke to find the place beside her empty, she left Davy wailing in his cradle and ran down to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee drifted from the pot on the stove; the back door stood ajar.