She waited through two more baskets and when one belonging to Mr. Holden, the schoolteacher, came up, she bid on it. “I think he purchased items from the mercantile, so I can’t go too wrong.”
“We can always share. I know my purchase was a good one.”
The committee had spread worn, but clean quilts, blankets and tablecloths in various spots on the lawn. Mr. Bell found a remaining one in a spot where the sun filtered through the branches of a poplar tree, providing a little shade. He folded over one corner of the quilt to make additional padding for Lillian and laid down the sleeping baby.
As they unpacked their lunches, Raylene told him what Della had said about her crying son. “It seems Lillian is an exceptionally content child.”
“I love pickles,” he said, unscrewing the lid from a pint jar. “And look, peaches. You chose well.”
Raylene unrolled a napkin and held up two forks.
He grinned and uncovered the chicken she’d fried. “I’ve never had chicken as good as yours.”
His words gave her a fluttery feeling, and she prayed she didn’t blush. He’d complimented her chicken, not declared undying love or passion, for heaven’s sake.
“Meriday taught me. We were fortunate to buy healthy layers and pullets when we got here. We were so excited that we ate chicken every day for a week or more—along with fruit from my uncle’s root cellar and eggs. It took a good year to plant a successful garden. I wouldn’t have survived without her.”
“Nor she without you, I’d imagine.”
She used her clean fork to scoop potato salad onto both of their plates. “I’m not so sure.”
Tanner picked up on the unfamiliar tone of doubt in her voice. The woman was a force of nature, so this glimpse of self-doubt surprised him. She exuded confidence, but never hesitated to attribute credit elsewhere. Her modesty was charming. Here and there she’d revealed glimpses of an intriguing past. Most people wanted to put the past behind them, so he respected her vagueness.
She wore a yellow pinstriped dress today, and the whimsical brooch at her throat was a gold-winged dragonfly with peridot gemstones in a row to shape the body and gems also created tiny green eyes. He guessed its sale would buy considerably more than a load of wood. Her narrow-brimmed hat had been adorned with yellow and white silk flowers. Even without the tailored clothing and elegant accessories, she was stunning, with cream-colored skin, pale winged eyebrows and eyes as clear blue as the sky behind her.
Whomever Mr. Cranford had been, he hoped the man had deserved the love of such a woman.
He enjoyed the lunch more than any meal in a long time. Even more than her tender hams and delicious roasts. More than the maple-basted turkey she’d served. More than the succulent braised pork with pickled radishes. Because they shared this amicable meal together, this day would always be memorable and special.
“You mentioned your husband was an engineer,” he said. “Was he in the Corps of Engineers or did he pick up arms during the war?”
“As a West Point graduate, he remained with the Corps working on the Defenses of Washington for some time.”
“The forts.”
“Yes, they completed a ring of thirty-seven forts by sixty-two, but when those were completed, the Corps kept only twenty engineers on staff, and the others were sent to guard bridges. That’s where he was killed.”
“Where were you when you got the news?”
“I was living at Winston Farms with my parents. My father sold and bred horses for the Army. Business was lucrative for a while, but before long he couldn’t meet the demand and was forced to protect his mares and studs from looters. He was killed by looters who took the last of the healthy stock.”
“Union soldiers?”
With her lips set in a grim line, she shook her head. “Our own confederates.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s when I knew we weren’t safe from anyone.”
Vivian had been in the city, but as a woman alone, had she felt the same sense of despair and fear? No one had been spared, soldiers and civilians alike. The endless battles had seemed futile at the time, and maybe someday people would look back and be able to see the good in that war, but it wouldn’t be him and it wouldn’t be during his lifetime.
He pushed to his feet. “I’m going to get us drinks.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
From where she sat, Raylene noticed Octavia Gaines dipping iced tea into jars. Mr. Bell approached the makeshift table, and she handed him a full jar. She said something and he smiled.
Raylene suspected that the fair-skinned young woman’s unpractical lack of a hat and the subsequent exposure to freckles was meant to assure that her curly red hair would be seen gleaming in the sunlight. Raylene didn’t like the feelings seeing Octavia smiling at Mr. Bell created. She was a young girl all over again, sitting at the piano while her mother kept insisting that she play the same musical piece over and over, her back ramrod straight, a smile on her face and singing sweetly.
‘You’re not a pretty girl, Raylene. How you comport yourself, your posture, your singing and sewing, your moderate voice and feminine graces are the only qualities that will endear you in this life. The other girls will have the advantage of beauty. You must enhance your other attributes to make yourself pleasing. Sing it again.’
She’d been obedient. A man had married her. All that work for the hollow relationship her parents had assured her she was lucky to secure had been a monumental letdown. And try as she had to be pleasing to her husband, she’d still fallen short.
She wondered if Octavia could pluck or fry a chicken. But it didn’t matter. She was pretty.
Mr. Bell returned and handed her a cold jar of tea.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Did you save me a peach slice?”
She set the jar with remaining peaches in front of him. “I invited the Baileys to Sunday dinner week after next.”
He smiled. “My mother used to host the minister and the schoolteacher on a regular basis. That’s very kind of you.”
“I hadn’t thought of Mr. Holden.”
“The least you could do to thank him for the peaches.”
She studied his expression.
A smile tilted up the corners of his mouth. “I’m teasing you.”
Lillian squirmed and emitted a couple of squeaks.
Raylene moved beside her. “You had a nice nap in the fresh air, didn’t you, sweetling? Shall we change your wet clothes?”
She changed the baby and Mr. Bell took her bottle from a bag.
“I’m happy to feed her, Mr. Bell.”
He handed her the nursing bottle. “Do you consider me a friend?”
She took the glass bottle and blinked. “I—well I suppose I do.”
“Then perhaps you can call me Tanner.”
Propriety and manners were deeply ingrained in her Southern upbringing, but she acknowledged that people in Twin Springs were less formal. Especially friends, she supposed. “Very well,” she acquiesced. “But not in public.”
“It will be our secret,” he said with a grin, as though they had something very intimate to hide.
She was sure she blushed then, and she quickly looked down.
Lillian drank her milk while waving her free arm and kicking one foot in the air.
He’d made an offer of friendship, and she supposed it was expected of her to reciprocate. No one except her parents, Meriday and her husband had ever called her by her first name. The missus was part of her armor, proving she’d been deemed good enough at least once. Her first name seemed so personal. And vulnerable.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll call you Mrs. Cranford.”
Was she so transparent that he could see her dilemma? She looked up to discover his tender expression as he watched her holding his niece. The tenderness was for the child he was growing to love, and while it touched her, the obvious emotion made her feel lonely.
She needed fri
ends. “You may call me Raylene when we’re not in public.”
The smile he lifted now was definitely for her. He met her eyes.
He had lines at the outer corners of his eyes, and his smile created fascinating creases in his cheeks. Even if he hadn’t been one of less than six men under forty in Twin Springs, he’d have been sought after. He had a tall, solid masculine form, and he was unquestionably handsome. She remembered he’d described his mother’s hair as wavy and the color of honey, and Raylene now noticed his was the same rich color he’d mentioned.
Sometimes his facial hair was clipped short in a neat beard and mustache, but he’d been clean shaven for a week or two. She didn’t know which look she preferred. He had a nice face. Straight eyebrows, full lips.
Her perusal ended there.
They were friends now.
Chapter Six
“Who bought your basket?” Meriday asked that afternoon as they sat on the veranda sewing new aprons. Mr. Bell’s—Tanner’s rent money had gone a long way to provide a few extras, including fabric and a sharp new pair of scissors.
“Mr. Bell,” she replied matter-of-factly. She told Meriday whose basket she had purchased and about their lunch.
Her friend didn’t say anything for a few minutes, but silence was always comfortable between them.
Meriday let her hands go slack in her lap. “I have something to tell you.”
Raylene stopped sewing and looked up. “All right.”
“Rose invited me to dinner after church next Sunday.”
John Jay’s mother. “That’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But I won’t be here to help with the meal or to eat with you and the boarders. His family is making it a special occasion. They usually have only a cold lunch, but this will be a traditional Sunday dinner.”
“That is special. I’ll do just fine without you, so don’t worry about it. I’ll fix something I can finish and serve by myself. You go enjoy yourself.”
Meriday smiled. “We’ve been together nearly every Sunday since we got here.”
“Not today. I stayed for the basket lunch at church. And I’ve done that a few times before.”
Meriday nodded. “And I’ve stayed at Willow Creek for events after church a time or two. This feels different though.”
“Because he’s a man you like?”
With a shy smile, her friend nodded.
“Well, I’m happy for you. You deserve whatever happiness that young man will bring to you.”
A light rain nourished the grass and trees and punctuated their afternoon with the soothing patter of drops on the leaves. From their comfortable chairs in the sitting room, Almira and Emerald’s voices were a steady drone of chatter and occasional exclamations through the open window. As was his habit, Abraham had left the house in the early afternoon, and as was their habit, Almira and Emerald speculated as to where he’d gone.
Tanner had left Lillian in her basket while he took care of Lula Mae and the chickens. Soon after he’d gone to care for his horses, and had then returned as it grew too dark for her and Meriday to see their needlework. Tanner sat nearby with an oil lamp he’d carried from the house, reading a book from her uncle’s library. He’d gone through several since he’d been here.
Raylene was content here, and the security of their seclusion temporarily dimmed the years that had preceded today. She was happy for Meriday, her heart full for the relationship she’d glimpsed forming between her friend and John Jay. It was only right that Meriday find someone to make her happy, someone to love and to love her. She couldn’t hope for more for her dearest friend.
But buried deep was a fear and a lonely ache regarding the future if this played out. Meriday deserved love. She deserved to marry, move on and start a new life, have children—be the free person she was and grasp all of life she could get.
Raylene had never been without her except for the few months she’d lived with her husband before the war began—and even as a newlywed, she’d missed her friend. Going home to Winston Farms had been a relief.
If Meriday married John Jay, Raylene would be truly alone.
She resented the anxiety that threatened her composure, so she didn’t allow the thoughts to rise to the surface.
She was capable. She was determined as well as graceful and cultured. She was all the things she’d become to outshine the pretty girls.
“You haven’t played or sang for us in a long time,” Meriday said as they folded their sewing into their bags. “I’ll pull extra chairs around the piano.”
Pleasantly surprised at Meriday’s suggestion, Tanner closed the book. He picked up Lillian’s basket and joined all the women in the sitting room. Almira and Emerald kept their seats, but laid down their embroidery.
“With Abraham gone, I am always outnumbered by lovely ladies,” Tanner said as he took the chair Meriday had provided. She set Lillian’s basket beside him.
“You are outnumbered no matter where you go.” Raylene took a stack of sheet music from the bench, closed the lid, and seated herself before the piano. He rarely came into this room, and he’d never before seen the lid removed from the keys.
“I will play your requests and then play to please myself,” she pronounced with a mischievous expression he’d never before seen. “Almira, what’s your choice?”
“Oft in the Stilly Night,” she replied with certainty.
Raylene shuffled through the stack until she found the sheet music and splayed open the pages. Her fingers touched the keys, and she deftly played the opening measures.
“’Oft in the stilly night, ere slumber's chain has bound me,’” she sang. “’Fond mem'ry brings the light….’”
Almira and Emerald smiled and listened with their eyes closed, a dream-like look of nostalgia on their faces.
Tanner was mesmerized by Raylene’s sweet voice as well. He wasn’t familiar with the song, but hung on every word of days gone by as she brought them to life.
“’When I remember all the friends so link'd together, I've seen around me fall. Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one who treads alone.’”
In a shaky soprano voice, Almira sang the last lines with her. “’Some banquet-hall deserted, whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead, and all but he departed.’”
She dabbed her eyes with an embroidered hankie. Did the song remind the elderly woman of her husband, of days gone by, of a love never explored?
Emerald asked for Ella Ree, which he didn’t recognize until Raylene played it and sang. “’Then carry me back to Tennessee, back where I long to be—among the friends of yellow corn to my darling, Ellie Rhee.’”
“My mother played that one on her fiddle,” he said.
“Oh, do you play, Mr. Bell?” Emerald asked.
“I can play some,” he replied with a nod.
“Is your fiddle in your room, young man?” Almira asked. “Go fetch it.”
He retrieved the fiddle his mother had left him from its case and returned to the others.
“Meriday has surprised us all and wants to hear The Star-Spangled Banner,” Raylene told him with a smile.
“Meriday always asks for The Star-Spangled Banner,” Emerald informed him.
He smiled at the young woman. “One of my favorites too. I’ll try to do it justice for you. What’s the key, Mrs. Cranford?”
She smiled. “It’s written in ‘B’ flat. What these ladies don’t appreciate is that when sung, the notes range an octave and a half—from below middle ‘C’ to a high ‘F’. Nor do they care.”
He raised his eyebrows.
She ran her forefinger over the lines. “When you study the word structure, it’s actually a poem, not a song. This first melodic phrase starts on the ‘F’ above middle ‘C’, jumps down a major triad, then jumps up a major triad, and then up to the octave—and then….” She looked up with a raised eyebrow, but realized they weren’t paying her rant any attention. “Well, the melody flops around like a fish in a rowboat.”
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br /> “You sing it beautifully, dear,” Emerald told her.
“I’m not as accomplished as you,” Tanner said. “In fact, I play more by ear than by reading the notes.” He shrugged. “But may I look at your sheet music anyway, please?”
Raylene felt unnerved having him standing so near. “Yes, of course.” She moved the papers. “Let’s try the first measures without vocal accompaniment, to see how we complement one another,” she suggested.
She played an introduction. Tanner spent only a few moments tightening the strings before placing the bow against them. The first few notes were surprisingly clear, not the squeaky novice sounds she had anticipated.
After the first page, she played only the chord accompaniment and left him to interpret the melody in a hauntingly beautiful interpretation that made the hair rise on her arms. The man had a gift—especially if he’d had no professional instruction. She glanced away from the music to gauge the faces of the women listening. All sat enthralled; Meriday and Almira had tears in their eyes.
The high notes were exquisite, something far more difficult to accomplish with strings than tapping keys on the piano, and the low notes took her breath away.
The piece came to an end. Raylene played the last chord, and the sound of his instrument vibrated in the air a long haunting moment.
She hadn’t taken a deep breath for two pages, and did so now, taking a rush of air into her lungs.
Sometimes the ladies clapped with joy at a song. Sometimes they hummed a little or immediately asked for the next piece, but in this sublime moment silence stretched as though no one dared break the magic spell.
Raylene placed her hand on either side of her hips on the bench and turned her head to look at him. “Mr. Bell, I’ve never heard anything so moving. It begs me to ask why you’re shoeing horses and not giving concerts.”
He lowered the fiddle and bow and gave a dismissive shrug. “I’m not that good, nor do I want to give concerts. I’ve only had this out a handful of times in the past couple of years.”
Lillian made gurgling noises from her basket, and Raylene turned to find her wide awake, flapping her arms. “Lillian enjoyed it too.”
Tanner (Bachelors and Babies Book 14) Page 7
