The Barefoot Bride (21 page)

"I got thangs to misery over jist like ever'one else," she told him smoothly. "Life ain't no—"

"Save the lecture, Keely!" He stalked to the other side of the room, stopping in front of a wall niche that was filled with a collection of handpainted thimbles and exquisite figurines. With uncoordinated fingers, he reached for one. "Look at this ugly lady. Whoever made her forgot to give her breasts. A titless lady!" He laughed and then tossed the figurine into the hearth, where it shattered.

Chickadee smiled broadly.
That's it, Saxon. Git mad. Flang thangs and holler. Ain't nobody here but me and Khan to watch you wrang it out, and we ain't gwine hold it agin' you,
she cheered him on.

"Did you think that was funny, Mrs. Blackwell? Perhaps you'd like to see it again." Saxon took another statue and hurled it into the fireplace, continuing until he broke every thimble and figurine. "Was that humorous enough for you?"

She giggled and shook her head. "Cain't you flang nothin' bigger?"

He smiled back before he lifted the brandy and finished it off. "Anything to make the lady happy." Viciously, he flung the bottle at the hearth, laughing at the sound of the loud crash.

She stood and clapped. Looking around the room, she spied a collection of fragile plates. Why these Blackwells needed supper plates in the book room was beyond her, but she'd put them to good use. She hurried to the case, opened the glass doors, and removed several of the costly plates. "Catch," she said, hurling one at Saxon.

He snatched it from the air, looked down at its red dragon design, and smiled. Araminta had been collecting this rare Chinese porcelain for years. He stood on his toes, held the plate high over his head, and cast it to the hearth. Spinning, he caught the next plate Chickadee threw to him, hurling that one also. Each time one shattered, he and his mountain girl laughed before smashing the next one.

When all the plates were broken, Chickadee calmly closed the case doors. "You done yet, Saxon?"

"Done?" His eyebrow raised mischievously. "Why, the night's still young!" He lurched to the liquor table and took another bottle from it. "Care to join me, little one?"

"Don't mind iffen I do." She went to him and took a long drink from the bottle before noticing a marble bust across the room. "Law, Saxon," she said upon reaching it. "This here man's so ugly, I bet his mama-woman borried another baby to take to the church-house!"

Saxon promptly choked on the liquor in his mouth. "That's Grandmother!" he sputtered gaily.

Chickadee joined him in his mirth. "This here's Araminty? Lord o' mercy! I tuk her fer a man!"

Saxon turned and laughed into the curtains, tugging on them so hard they fell from the elaborate cornice and veiled him from Chickadee's view. As he weaved around the room, trying to get the draperies off, she collapsed to the floor, laughing into her hands.

Saxon, too, was chuckling from beneath his silken coverings, and when he ran into the sofa and tumbled over it, falling to the other side, his snickers became great whooping sounds. "Keely," he managed to call between chortles, "come get these curtains off me!"

She crawled over to him and yanked the draperies off. He lay sprawled spread-eagle on the floor, a silly smirk still tugging at his lips. "I tried to get them off myself," he slurred. "But I couldn't."

She giggled and pulled herself onto him, her breasts cushioning her against the hardened muscles of his chest. "You cain't talk real good tonight neither. I cain't hardly understand nothin' yore a-sayin'."

His amused gaze sobered when he saw her lush breasts spilling from her robe. "Well, can you understand this, little one?" he whispered.

His kiss was so gentle, she was surprised at its tenderness. His lips moved slowly, lightly upon her own, and her mouth began to tingle. Wanting more than a tingle, she deepened the kiss herself, her tongue seeking and finding all the warm velvet valleys of his mouth.

"Love me, Saxon," she purred, her fingers rippling up and down his side.

He lifted her head and tried to bring her into focus. "I can't, Keely," he rasped. "I can't love anyone, because... I don't know how."

She wrinkled her speckled nose in confusion. "What do you mean, 'y'don't know how?'"

He removed her robe, his hands savoring the satin skin of her back and shoulders. "I mean just that." Lifting his head, he pressed kisses to the shadowed hollow of her throat. "I don't know how to love anyone."

His head fell back to the thick carpet. She caught his gaze and held it fast, her eyes seeking Saxon's very soul. There, she saw a chilling misery. Saxon hadn't meant he didn't know how to make love, she suddenly realized. He'd meant exactly what he'd said. The man lying beneath her, so vulnerable, with such sorrow etched across his fine features, really believed love was something that had to be learned.

She sat up and pulled his head and shoulders onto her lap, her fingers whispering through his black curls. "Saxon, you and me's gwine git down to whar the water hits the wheel. Yore swarved up."

"Swarved up?" He brought her hand to his mouth and ran his tongue down the length of one of her fingers.

"Yore confused. Mizzled. 'Pears to me that iffen brains was dynamite, you wouldn't have enough to blow yore nose. Love ain't what y'thank it is, Saxon. It don't got to be
larnt,
you hear what I'm a-tellin' you?"

"Keely, Keely, Keely, Keely."

"Whaty, whaty, whaty, whaty?"

He chuckled and reached up for her again. She caught his hand and held it to her bosom for the longest time while she tried to sort through what little she could understand. "Saxon, ain't nobody ever really loved you real good, huh? I mean, yore mama-woman and yore daddy, they died when you was jist a young-un, and Desi... well, she cain't never tell you nothin', and Araminty—" When his fingers tightened around her hand, her eyes closed.

In her mind she saw Saxon as a little boy. A frightened youngster whom fate had placed in Araminta Blackwell's claws. She imagined how he must have been, so young, so scared, his feelings so susceptible to hurt.

The hatred he'd spoken of earlier had begun the day Spider Woman arrived from England. But why had Araminta hated her own grandchildren, and if she detested them so, why had she even bothered with them in the first place?

"Saxon?" She looked down at him and saw he was asleep. "It's a God-burn miracle you turned out as good as you did," she told him quietly, her warm hand cupping his cool cheek. Lost in thought, she let her gaze wander around the room, taking in all the luxurious furnishings.

"This is jist the outdoin'est thang, Saxon. You was raised with ever'thang 'cept love, and I come up with love a-bein' near 'bout the onliest thang I had. Mama? Well, she was a sad woman, like I done tole you afore. But she loved me. And I had Betty Jane and George Franklin too."

"Cold, Keely," he mumbled sleepily, moving closer. "So cold."

She reached for her robe and draped it over his shoulders. "Yore cold whar this here robe cain't warm you none." She sighed. "But I reckon thur might still be a spark o' somethin' kin to what you used to be afore Spider Woman come inter yore life. That skeert little young-un's still in thar, and I can hear him a-callin' out fer what he didn't never git. He's in thar somewhars, and what we're gwine commence a-doin' is dry his little tears.

"Heartease," she murmured down to him. "It's what yore a-pinin' fer—what nobody can git by withouten. Done tole you that afore, but you don't never listen on account o' you thank you know it all, But you don't know nothin' 'bout nothin' 'cept money. But I ain't a-faultin' you none. I reckon since money's the onliest thang you've ever had, you thank it's what's gwine give you what yore a-honin' fer. What you need is
love,
Saxon. Like I done tole Desi, I ain't gwine be here fer long, but I reckon I'll be here long enough to show you what love—"

She frowned. How could she make Saxon understand what love was if she didn't love him? Sure, she felt
something
for him, but she was reasonably certain it wasn't love.

"Well ain't this jist a fine fix we're in. You a-needin' love near 'bout as much as you need air, and me... Saxon, what iffen I commenced really a-lovin' you and you didn't never love me back?"

"Love me, Keely," he pleaded, still fast asleep. He shifted in her arms and nuzzled his face into her bare middle, sighing contentedly. Chickadee held him tightly for a few moments, rocking him as if he were a baby. And like a mother, she suddenly felt a powerful urge to take care of the man who sought her comforting warmness.

"You ain't a-makin' this any easier, Saxon Blackwell, but I reckon the one who's worse offen betwixt us is you. Iffen it's love you need, I'll try and give it to you. Ain't gwine give you ever' bit o' my heart, but, well... I reckon I can give you a smidgeon of it."

After all, she told herself firmly, she wasn't risking all that much. She could love him just a little bit—enough to make him see what love was all about. The way she saw it, a little love went a long way.

Careful not to awaken him, she wiggled out from beneath him and put her robe back on. As she did, she spied the marble bust of Araminta. The old woman seemed to be taunting her and Saxon. Without hesitation, she marched to the hideous sculpture and lifted it from its stand. She lugged it to the fireplace, and with all her strength, threw it to the hearth. It didn't shatter as the china had, but it did crack into two pieces.

"You cain't hate me any more'n I hate you, Spider Woman," she told the broken bust. "But love's stronger'n hate, the way I heared it tole, and it's love what's gwine vict'ry over you."

She sniffed in the way she'd seen Thatcher do so many times and returned to Saxon. She slipped her hands beneath him and, careful to keep her back straight, used the extraordinarily strong muscles in her legs to lift him. Once she was standing, she bent her knees and straightened quickly, slinging him over her shoulder.

"I know you cain't stand it when I tote you around, Saxon, but thur jist ain't no hep fer it tonight," she told him as she left the library. "'Sides that, you ain't gwine mem'ry nothin' about this no how."

As she walked to the steps, she thought of the loneliness and cruelty Saxon had suffered for so many years. Slowly, one step at a time, she climbed the winding staircase, the pain in her trembling legs nothing compared to the ache in her heart.

Chapter 11

Chickadee's first thought the next morning was that Araminta would soon summon Saxon to the library. The woman would want a full explanation for all the destruction.

"But that ain't what yore gwine git, Spider Woman," Chickadee mumbled and got out of bed. She rummaged through her small bag of belongings and was soon dressed. After kissing Saxon, who was still sleeping off his night with the brandy bottle, she snapped for Khan and made her way downstairs.

"Git on out thar and do yore business, Khan," she told the wolf as she opened the front door. "And you ain't got to piddle around a-smellin' ever' God-burn bush out thar neither. I'm in a sweepin' trot, and I don't got time to wait that long."

When the wolf returned, they went to the library door. "Git ready Khan. Ain't no doubt in my mind Araminty's got sand in her gizzard." She took a deep breath and swung the door open wide, her face breaking into smiles when she saw Araminta standing before the broken marble bust. "Mornin', Araminty!" she called, closing the door and sashaying into the room. "Purty dress you got on, but ain't you got nothin' else 'sides black? Black ain't ugly, but—"

"Where is Saxon?" Araminta inhaled sharply in an effort to control her anger.

Chickadee took a moment to swipe at a red curl that was tickling her eye. "Well, he's got him a case o' the mulligrubs. Ain't nothin' to git all broke up over though. A-sawin' gourds is what he's—"

"Go and get him immediately." Araminta turned and stooped to examine the broken glass and china on the hearth.

Chickadee stuck her tongue out at the woman's back and then winked at Khan. "Uh, Araminty? I know habits is thangs that's hard to quit. I been a-tryin' to stop a-sayin'
God-burn
fer years. It ain't nice to say, but—"

"I cannot possibly be less interested in your repulsive expletives. It is Saxon with whom I want to talk, not you."

Chickadee bit her lip to keep back her laughter. Araminta was so imperious it was hilarious. "Yeah, well, I don't know what
expletives
is, but yore bossiness is a habit yore gwine have to let loose. Did y'know a bossy woman and a crowin' hen allus come to a bad end?"

Araminta reached for the mantel, her wrath so great she was at the point of collapsing with it. "If you do not leave this room, I will ring for Thatcher to come and remove you bodily. You have five seconds."

Chickadee only smiled. "Law, Araminty, you can fitify yoresef into the uneases faster'n I ever seed anybody ever do it afore. It ain't good fer yore health to git so riled. And ageable like you are, you'd best be double keerful, lessen you got a hankerin' to say good mornin' to Saint Peter at them pearly gates. You'll last through a few more clean shirts, but yore a-gittin' on in years, y'know."