The Right Wife (8 page)

“This is Sheffield, Alabama,” Aaron announced, slowing the phaeton almost to a standstill.

Maggie looked down an endless stretch of wide dirt street lined with newly planted trees. She could see only one large building and a scattering of small structures, but it was apparent that construction was under way, and there was a sense of anticipation in the air.

“That’s the Cleveland Hotel,” he said.

“It looks rather odd, doesn’t it? A three-story hotel and a row of little buildings practically all alone out there.”

“Yes, I guess it does,” he agreed. “But they built the place a couple of years ago for the engineering crew and potential investors. That row of small buildings beside it are offices and business houses.”

Aaron motioned the horse forward, and they rode farther up the street, gradually leaving the wide, graded avenue to enter a small, bumpy road.

“Thayer and I have invested money in Sheffield, so we’re expecting a bright future for this town. It’s close to the Tennessee River, and, a few miles back in the hills, there’s an abundance of iron ore. Then to the south, there’s the Warrior coal fields.”

“I plead ignorance, Mr. Stone,” Maggie said. “Just what does that mean?”

Aaron smiled, thinking how unladylike it was to question a man about his business. “It means that Sheffield, England’s namesake, should become a great industrial city.”

“You have important plans for your future, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’m a wealthy man, Miss Maggie, and I intend to be even wealthier. I’ve purchased an old plantation at Barton where I plan to live and raise fine sons and daughters.”

“With the Widow Arnold as your wife?”

“Eunice Arnold is a genteel lady,” he said as he maneuvered the buggy along the narrow path leading through a thickly wooded area. “She’s everything I need in a wife.”

Maggie felt a pain so intense shoot through her body that she had to fight back the tears. He wanted his wife to be a lady, and that was one thing Maggie knew she could never be.

“I want Judith to grow up to be a lady,” Maggie said, disclosing one of her dearest wishes. “When the time comes for her to marry, I want her to have her pick.”

“That’s a fine ambition, Miss Maggie,” Aaron said, stealing a glance at the beautiful woman beside him. The muted beams of tree-filtered sunlight struck her hair, turning it to flame. The fast, windblown ride had loosened it so that more strands hung free. Her creamy skin glowed with the vibrancy of youthful health. He had never wanted to touch a woman so badly in his entire life.

“I’m taking in sewing so I can have enough money to send her to Miss Anna Pybas’s school.” Maggie had to keep talking, had to keep thinking about Jude and Micah and their future because, otherwise, she would shatter into hundreds of little pieces. She must not think about Aaron married to another woman, loving another woman. “Wesley thinks it’s a good start. He’s offered to help me send Micah to Brother Larimore’s in Florence, but I intend to find a way to come up with the money on my own.”

“Do you have Micah’s future planned too?”

“Only partly,” she admitted. “I promised Pa to see Micah got an education and was set up in a profession. I kind of had the ministry in mind, but Micah is not too taken with that notion.”

Aaron laughed heartily. He had never known anyone like Maggie Campbell. “And what about you? What plans do you have for yourself ?”

“After I see to Jude’s and Micah’s futures, I want a home and a family of my own. I want a plot of land where I can grow vegetables, and flowers, and strong, healthy children.”

“And what do you want in a husband, Maggie?”

“I want a good man who’ll love me.” She didn’t dare look at Aaron because she knew the desire she felt for him was written plainly across her face. “I want a man I can work alongside, and talk to, and laugh with.”

“You don’t want money or social standing?”

“No. I’m a plain woman with simple, honest needs.”

“You don’t want much from this life, do you, Miss Maggie?”

“Oh, but I do,” she corrected. “What I want is so rare that very few people ever get it. I want contentment, Mr. Stone.”

Aaron could not reply. She had struck a nerve deep within him. Contentment. He had never been content and never expected to be. If he could marry Eunice and fulfill his personal dreams, he would be satisfied, but because he could never reconcile the past with the present, contentment was an unattainable goal.

“Before you, Miss Campbell, is the mighty Tennessee River.” Aaron loved to come riding down here by the river. There was such a sense of peace pervading the place, gentle water rolling on and on for miles, tall trees and green grass, insect and bird songs, endless blue sky, and the smell of springtime rebirth.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Maggie said as he stopped the phaeton. All around them nature had painted a canvas of growing verdancy. It was like being cocooned in a lush green nest with an azure canopy.

“White Orchard is close to the river,” he said, finally daring to look at her.

She turned, smiling at him. “White Orchard?”

“The old plantation I bought.”

“What a lovely name.”

“There’s row after row of pear trees, and in the spring, acres of white blossoms cover the land.”

“I’d love to see it.” She spoke without thinking, and immediately wished back the words.

“You’d love it, Maggie.” White Orchard was a place where a woman like Maggie could plant her flowers and have her vegetable garden, and raise beautiful children. His children. No. Damn her, he could not allow himself to think such thoughts. Eunice would be the mother of his children, but the image in his mind was not the Widow Arnold’s slender frame. It was titian-haired Maggie Campbell’s body swollen with his child.

“I . . . I’m sure I would. Perhaps . . . maybe you’ll bring me some pears. I make awfully good preserves, and my pear pies are better than apple pies.”

“I’ll most certainly bring you all the pears you want.” Aaron’s big hand reached out slowly, his thick fingers hesitantly touching her folded hands as they rested in her lap. One finger began to rub methodically back and forth across the top of her hand.

“Thank you.” Maggie was barely able to gasp the words. The moment he touched her, a tingling sensation passed through her, leaving her weak and trembling.

He should never have touched her. It had been a deadly mistake in judgment. He could feel the tiny tremors racking her body. His fingers gradually moved up her sleeve-covered arm, stopping at her long, lovely neck.

“Please don’t,” Maggie pleaded. Even though she longed for his touch, she could not allow his advances. She wanted him to go on touching her forever, but nothing would be forever with this man.

“Oh, Maggie,” Aaron moaned as his hand moved up her neck to fondle the side of her face. “Why did you come into my life?”

Tears had formed in her eyes and were threatening to spill. She swallowed back the flow, pain clutching at her insides. “You mustn’t . . .”

But the words died on her lips when his fingers touched her mouth and his other hand went to her waist, pulling her closer. Of their own accord, her lips kissed his fingertips, igniting an all-consuming passion within her. The touch of her moist lips against his flesh incited him to action, his mouth quickly replacing his fingers.

The first kiss was hard and hot and powerful. He was dying for the taste and feel of this woman. Dear God, nothing had ever been so good as having Maggie in his arms, his mouth on hers.

She flung her arms about his neck, responding with equal fervor, as wild for this joining as he was. Her body was racked with spasms of desire, as feverish excitement spiraled downward to the very core of her womanliness.

Each kiss became deeper and more urgent as his wet tongue thrust into her waiting warmth. He tasted faintly of cigar and lemonade, but potently of male muskiness. She strained closer to his huge body, her own tongue shyly responding.

When her tongue touched his, he groaned in his chest and crushed her to him with a force that rocked them both. His mouth spread kisses all over her face, his tongue drawing a moist line along her neck to her ear.

“I want to touch you,” he whispered heatedly into her ear as his big hand moved over her breast, enfolding it gently. When he squeezed, she moaned. “So full and round and soft,” he breathed against her neck.

“Aaron, we mustn’t—” Somewhere in the back recesses of her mind, Maggie knew she should stop this before it went any further, but her surface senses refused to listen.

“Let me look at you, my love,” Aaron pleaded, his fingers slowly loosening the front buttons of her dress.

As he unbuttoned the dress bodice, his mouth played with her ear, covering it with warmth, his tongue darting in and out, then circling it with tantalizing strokes. Maggie tried to stop his hand, but he brushed her efforts aside. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He eased the dress from her shoulders and lowered it to her waist. When she struggled against him, he pulled her back into his arms, pressing her swollen breasts against his granite-hard chest. The thought of looking at Maggie was driving him insane. He was being pushed beyond reason by his uncontrollable desire for this hot-blooded woman who smelled of female need and sweet springtime.

His mouth took hers again as his hand reached up to massage her breast, his thumb flicking slowly back and forth across her protruding nipple.

“Aaron.” She breathed his name against his shoulder as he lifted her into his lap, and his hand moved inside her camisole, above her corset, to grasp her heated flesh.

“I want to see you and taste you.” He feathered kisses across the top of her breasts, his tongue plunging into the valley between as his thumb continued its administrations to her nipple.

Maggie’s body jerked with passion, her bottom squirming against his legs. She could feel the hard, swollen manliness against her buttocks, and his big hand clutched her by the waist, pushing her lower body up and down against his need.

Just as his other hand delved beneath the camisole, Maggie cried out and buried her face in his chest. “What are you doing to me? I feel so strange.”

“Does it feel good, Maggie?” His voice was softly seductive. “Do you like my hand on your body?”

“Oh, yes!”

“My God, Maggie!”

Aaron was so absorbed in making love to the willing woman in his arms that he tried to ignore the disturbing noise rumbling in his ears. But as the sound of horses and riders grew louder, he forced himself to listen. Human laughter and animal hoofbeats broke loudly into the riverfront stillness.

“Not now,” he cursed. “Dammit, not now.”

“Oh, Aaron,” she cried out. “Someone is coming.”

He reached to help her pull up the bodice of her dress. She quickly redid the buttons as he moved her out of his lap and onto the seat. “I’m afraid your hair is a mess.”

She tried to no avail to rearrange the mass of curls hanging around her shoulders. She couldn’t think. She could barely react to the abrupt cessation of a passion like she had never known. All she wanted was to cling to Aaron, to beg him to love her.

“Leave it,” he snapped angrily, guilt and frustration controlling him. He wanted Maggie Campbell with a fervor that could destroy them both and ruin all his plans for the future. He had to alienate her in order to keep her out of his arms.

“Well, I guess I lost my bet with Thayer,” he told her flippantly.

“What?” Her mind hardly functioned enough to understand what he said. Her bewildered body was still in charge.

“Thayer bet me his new phaeton here that I couldn’t spend an afternoon alone with you without trying to make love to you.” Aaron had to hurt her in order to protect himself. “I guess he was right. A man can’t resist a girl who’s as hot for loving as you are.”

The sound of flesh striking flesh reverberated through the peaceful quiet when Maggie’s hand made bold contact with Aaron’s cheek.

“Please take me home, Mr. Stone.”

“Certainly, Miss Campbell.”

M
aggie stood up and stretched to relieve the aching muscles in her sore back, closing her tired eyes to rest them. Sewing every day for the past week from six o’clock until after noon had put a strain on her young body. She was not only sewing for Mrs. Mobley and her twins, but for several neighbors and Aunt Tilly. Although the pay was meager and the work hard, Maggie was determined to continue for the sake of Jude’s and Micah’s educations.

She leaned her head back against the wall, groaning as she grasped the sides of her back and began massaging.

“Miss Maggie,” Daisy called out from the hallway where she stood holding a tray. “I’ve got you somethin’ to eat. It’s done nearly two o’clock.”

“Please bring it in, Daisy,” Maggie instructed as she cleared a small, material-covered table. “Sit it down here.”

“It ain’t much,” Daisy sighed. “I do declare I thought that Mr. Wesley was going to eat everything we cooked.”

Maggie inspected the tray when the woman set it down, realizing that she was indeed quite hungry. “It looks good.”

“Just beans and cabbage and corn bread. Mr. Wesley ate all the blackberry cobbler.”

“This is fine. Thank you.”

“Miz Gower’s sending me down to the store for a few things. Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Not for me,” Maggie said, sitting down to her meal. “But see if Uncle Chester will send some stick candy for Jude.”

“Yes’am.”

“Oh, by the way, you wouldn’t be planning on stopping at Mr. Coleman’s, would you?” Maggie picked up the glass of milk and drank slowly, enjoying the rich taste.

“Why, Miss Maggie, whatever do you mean?” Daisy laughed.

“Is he a good man, Daisy?”

“Yes’am,” the blue-eyed servant girl said. “He’s a fine man that wants a wife and children. He said Mr. Aaron done deeded him twenty acres of White Orchard land and plans on him overseeing all the farming done on that place.”

“I see.” Maggie could not bear to hear the man’s name. She had neither seen nor heard anything of Mr. Stone in the five days since, angry and silent, they had ridden home from the river.

“Oh, my goodness,” Daisy gasped. “I done nearly forgot. There’s a lady downstairs to see you. A Miz Eunice Arnold. She come just as I started up there with your food. She says she wants to talk to you about sewing for her.”

The last person on Earth Maggie wanted to sew for was the Widow Arnold, the future Mrs. Stone. She wondered if the woman had been told about the newsworthy Sunday buggy ride. No doubt, some eager friend had rushed to tell her the moment she returned from her trip.

“Tell Mrs. Arnold she may come up here to my sewing room.”

“Yes’am.”

“And Daisy.”

“Yes’am?”

“If she stays too long send Jude upstairs.”

“Yes’am.” Daisy giggled as she exited the room.

Maggie had tried to put Aaron Stone and their disastrous last encounter out of her mind, but she kept reliving every moment. Some nights she had awakened in a cold sweat, her body hot and hungry for his touch. He had aroused desires in her that only he could fulfill.

“Good afternoon, Miss Campbell.” Eunice Arnold stood in the doorway, serenely elegant in a dress of black taffeta with an underskirt and sleeves of blue and mauve silk print.

The woman had a way of always making Maggie feel plain and drab. “Hello, Mrs. Arnold. Won’t you come in?”

“Yes, thank you.” Eunice smiled, her expression sugary sweet.

“How can I help you?”
Flibberation!
Maggie decided the woman must spend a fortune on hats because perched on Eunice’s perfectly coiffed head sat a Dolly Varden hat accented with pink roses and mauve ties. But having a wealthy father and being the widow of a rich man, Mrs. Arnold probably never gave a thought to money. The clothes she was wearing today would more than pay for Micah’s school tuition.

“I’ve heard so much about you since Mother and I returned from Bailey Springs that I decided I simply had to drop by,” Eunice enlightened her suspicious listener.

“And what have you heard about me?”
Do you know that Aaron drove me through Sheffield and down to a private spot near the river? Do you know that he started making love to me, and I let him? Do you know that I love the man you’re going to marry?

“That you’re a marvelous seamstress, of course,” Eunice answered, scanning every inch of her rival’s body, but avoiding making eye contact.

“You want me to sew for you?”

“Possibly.” Eunice came into the tiny sewing room that doubled as Maggie’s bedroom. “While Mama and I were enjoying a delightful stay at the springs, Papa returned from New Orleans. He brought some lovely material for us. Some exquisite Chinese crepe and yards and yards of a very lightweight foulard.”

“Do you already have a seamstress here in Tuscumbia?” Maggie inquired. “I wouldn’t want to take your business away from somebody else.”

“Mercy no!” the refined Mrs. Arnold gasped as she looked about the small room, spotting a meal tray and crinkling her nose at the offending smell of boiled cabbage. “I have a dressmaker in Atlanta and one in New Orleans, but for more simple things, I thought you might suffice.”

“Do you think so?”
For more simple things, huh? You . . . You bitch! Why are you really here? Are we talking about sewing, or are we talking about Aaron?

“I realize how young and inexperienced you must be, therefore, I would never ask you to take on something complicated, something only an older and more experienced seamstress could handle.”

“How kind you are to consider my lack of ability, Mrs. Arnold,” Maggie said, the softness of her voice misleading. “But you have been told wrong if you think my being eighteen means I’m not able to compete with an older woman.”

Eunice’s platinum head snapped around, her brown eyes finally colliding with the candent glint in Maggie’s golden stare. “You certainly would not dare to compare yourself to m-my other seamstresses?”

“No. But I do know my own worth. I know what I have to offer may not be as fancy as your New Orleans or Atlanta dressmakers, but I am reliable and less expensive, and my clothing is well made and fits the wearer perfectly.”

“You certainly are confident for an illiterate sharecropper’s daughter, Miss Campbell.”

“As I said, Mrs. Arnold, I know what I have to offer.” Maggie wanted to scream that her pa had been able to read and write as well as anybody, but she would not give this woman any more explanations. She knew it was unlikely that she would ever sew a stitch for the widow.

“Several of the ladies at the springs were wearing some charming little day dresses,” Eunice said, as if no insult had been given. “Perhaps I could arrange to stop by tomorrow afternoon and bring the foulard and describe one of the simple dresses I want.”

“If you wish.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever been to Bailey Springs, have you, Miss Campbell?”

“No.”

“We went, of course, for Mama’s health. Dr. Moody is convinced that there is great medicinal value to the water there. We would have remained for a longer stay to enjoy the string band and the excellent stables and the tenpins alley, if I hadn’t been so eager to return to Aaron.”

Maggie remained silent, simply staring boldly at the other woman.

“Of course, you’re acquainted with my dear Aaron,” Eunice said, emphasizing her close relationship with the man.

“Yes. I’ve made Mr. Stone’s acquaintance.”

“He’s quite the ladies’ man, you know?”

Maggie continued to stare silently, the beginnings of a smile forming on her lips. The widow was warning her off. That meant she was afraid of losing dear Aaron.

“Of course, men are expected to run a bit wild before settling down,” Eunice said.

Is the explanation to herself or to me?
Maggie wondered. “You’re not worried about his other women?”

Eunice’s high, shrill laugh betrayed her. “Mercy no. When the time comes, Aaron will marry a lady. I intend to be that lady. All the others are simply amusing little dalliances which mean nothing to him.”

“You seem very sure.”

“I am.” Mrs. Arnold smiled, but her lovely face had lost its color, and there was tension in her gentle voice.

Maggie wanted the conversation ended. She conceded that she was no rival for this woman, but the longer Eunice Arnold talked, the more determined Maggie Campbell became to fight for the man they both wanted. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Oh, yes,” the widow said. “But, no doubt, I will see you at the Brush Arbor meeting tonight?”

“Of course. Cousin Wesley will be speaking.”

“A dear man, Brother Peterson. A fine catch for any young woman.”

“Will Mr. Stone be with you tonight?” Maggie refused to discuss Wesley Peterson’s desirability as husband material with this . . . this . . . lady.

“Unfortunately, Aaron has business he must attend to tonight. I shall be with my parents. I’m sure you have heard of my papa, Mr. Henry Waite?”

“Aunt Tilly speaks very highly of him.”

“Well, yes.” Eunice scanned Maggie, a patronizing sneer beneath her pleasant smile. “I must be off. Aaron is expecting me to stop by on my way home, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint him.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

Mrs. Arnold turned to go. “Please continue with your . . . lunch. I can see myself out.”

Maggie stood rigidly still, the anger within her reaching the boiling point just as she heard the front door slam closed. Her hand swept across her bed, sending pins, scissors, pattern pieces, and yards of material flying in every direction.

“Damn her,” Maggie screamed through clenched teeth. “You haven’t won yet, Mrs. High and Mighty Arnold.”

The early night sky was alight with after-sunset colors. Orange and crimson melted into streaks of gold, and shades of pink cast an unearthly glow on the surroundings.

In a clearing, illuminated by numerous coal oil lanterns, stood a large arbor covered with boards and brush. Inside were split log benches and dirt floors spread with straw. The smell of earth and hay and newly cut wood permeated the air, and the sound of hundreds of human voices destroyed the quiet stillness of the woodland.

Back home in Grovesdale, Maggie’s family had attended the yearly Brush Arbor meeting held after the crops had been laid by and before gathering time. Folks from miles around would come to hear the visiting preacher’s long nightly sermons. Maggie wished Pa could be here, for he dearly loved a good revival.

Cousin Wesley had asked her to look her best tonight because he wanted to introduce her to Brother Osborne, the visiting minister who would be sharing the podium with him in these two-night services. She felt obligated, because of Wesley’s many kindnesses, to try to please him.

Maggie watched as Aunt Tilly and Uncle Chester disappeared into the huge crowd milling around and about, slowly assembling in the arbor. She hugged the borrowed navy fichu about her shoulders. She was trying not to be nervous, but her navy-and-white gingham dress was new, the matching navy straw bonnet and wrap a loan from her aunt. She had never felt quite so dressed up in her entire life. If only Aaron could see how nice she looked. But it was Wesley who would compliment her appearance tonight.

“Looks like everybody in the whole town is here,” Micah said, tugging on the stiff collar of his starched shirt.

“I haven’t seen Mr. Coleman or Mr. Stone, either one,” Judith said.

“Men like them have better things to do than listen to a couple of Bible spouters holler about hellfire and damnation,” Micah told his young sister.

“Flibberation!” Maggie said. “They’re the kind that need to hear a good sermon most.”

“Look, there’s Wesley.” Jude waved at their cousin. “He’s coming over this way.”

Just as Maggie turned, Wesley took her hand. “Margaret, my dear. I’d like you to meet Brother Osborne.”

The elderly, white-haired man smiled and shook hands with each Campbell in turn as they were introduced. “We have great hopes for Brother Peterson. He is such an inspired speaker, and his good works in this fair city are abundant.”

“We’re much beholden to Cousin Wesley,” Maggie said. “His kindness has been a blessing to my family.”

“I understand young Micah will be attending school in Florence with Brother Larimore this winter,” the preacher said.

“Why, yes,” Maggie said, noticing the frown marring her brother’s boyish face. “That is, if I can save enough money to pay his tuition.”

“Wesley said you were a hard worker,” Brother Osborne said. “A commendable trait. Most helpful in a minister’s wife.”

Brother Osborne didn’t seem to notice the sudden silence because he was quickly drawn away by others eager to meet the visiting evangelist. Wesley smiled, patted Maggie’s hand, and whispered that he would see her later. Then he humbly followed his guest.

“Let’s see if we can find a seat inside,” Maggie said.

“Looks full to me,” Jude said.

The three Campbells began making their way through the crowd, smiling, nodding, and speaking to new friends and acquaintances. Tuscumbia had proven to be a friendly town, most of the local citizenry warm and welcoming. Maggie had decided Aunt Tilly was right. If they worked hard and maintained spotless reputations, she had a chance of keeping her promise and securing a bright future for all of them.

“Maggie,” a familiar voice called.

“Hello, Mrs. Mobley,” Maggie greeted her best customer, a lady with whom she was forming a friendship.

“You look lovely tonight,” the older woman told the younger.

“We’ve got matching dresses,” Jude said, eager for attention.

“So I see,” Alice Mobley laughed. “You look lovely too, Judith.”

“Is that your husband?” Jude asked, pointing to the stocky, brown-haired man sitting up front near the preacher’s podium. “I saw him with the twins.”

“Yes, that is my Clarence. He’s an elder, you know,” Mrs. Mobley explained, a twinkle in her eye. “That’s why he’s in the amen corner.”

Judith giggled but quieted instantly when Maggie nudged her with a well-aimed elbow.

“I must get to my seat.” Alice Mobley, looking rather fetching in her gray-blue crepe dress and white lace shawl, gently squeezed Maggie’s hand. “It was good seeing you.”