by Cheryl Holt
The fire lit up the sky, so it was easy to observe the entire spectacle. Joanna pushed inside, and after an anxious minute or two, she threw out three bags, then carried out a fourth. She dragged them away from the building so they wouldn’t burn too. Clara was so dumbfounded that she dawdled like a stone statue, too terrified to rush over and help.
Joanna joined her, and as the flames grew bigger, the temperature soared. They had to step farther into the trees to escape the heat. They huddled together, gaping as the inferno swallowed their world.
The forest was eerily quiet, as if the animals had scurried away from the danger. The only sound was glass breaking and the cracking of timber. Other than that, it was as if they’d been struck deaf.
“Where is Mutt?” Joanna asked after a bit. “You didn’t let him in the house, did you?”
“No, and I thought I heard him bark. It woke me up, but then, when I listened more closely, it was silent.”
“I’ll walk around to check on him.”
“No, Joanna! Don’t walk around!”
“I won’t go in. I have to be certain he’s not stuck under a board or trapped in a corner. Don’t move.”
Joanna flitted off and vanished in the shadows, calling to Mutt as she searched. An eternity passed before she reappeared. She was cradling a huge bundle that was almost too large for her to hold, and Clara couldn’t imagine what it might be until she neared and Clara saw it was Mutt.
“Oh, no!” she wailed. “Is he . . . is he . . . ?”
“He’s just hurt. Take off my cloak. Lay it on the ground so I can put him down.”
Clara unhooked the cloak and spread it at their feet, then Joanna gently placed him on it. He had a fierce gash opened on his neck and down the front of his leg, as if he’d been slashed with an ax or a knife.
“Someone cut him!” Clara fumed. “He’s such a good dog! Who would act that way?”
“I don’t know,” Joanna said, but she was glaring in a manner that told Clara she had her suspicions.
“Would Mr. Boswell have come early?” Clara asked.
“It was deliberately started, Clara. The window in my workroom was smashed in, and it looks as if a torch was hurled into it.”
“But we were sleeping upstairs!”
“I realize that.”
“Was it Mr. Boswell?”
“I can’t guess right now. I’m too distressed, and I have to tend to Mutt. I must focus on that and naught else.”
Joanna bent down and whispered to him in the soothing language she utilized when she was healing. He whined and licked her fingers.
His gash needed stitching, and they had medical supplies in their satchels, but it would be difficult to dig them out. Plus, it was so dark. Joanna probably wouldn’t be able to see well enough to sew the wound.
They knelt with Mutt, petting him, comforting him, and glancing occasionally at their destroyed home. A wall collapsed, the roof fell in. They couldn’t slow it down, couldn’t stop it. They could only watch through the long night and wait for dawn to arrive.
Margaret sat at a dining table in the coaching inn in Gretna Green where she, Sandy, Tim, and Tom had traveled so she could wed quickly. They’d finished breakfast, and Sandy was out in the barn, arranging a carriage for the journey back.
The boys were . . . somewhere. She wasn’t sure where, but they’d show up.
The four of them had cantered to Scotland on horseback, but they were returning at a leisurely pace. With the marriage accomplished, there was no reason to hurry.
They’d argued over whether to have Tim and Tom accompany them. They could have left them with Sandy’s in-laws, his deceased wife’s parents and the boys’ grandparents. Sandy had a cordial relationship with them, but it would have caused a delay where they’d have had to explain themselves.
They’d been afraid his in-laws would be upset to learn he was marrying again—and so abruptly too. He couldn’t bear to shock them, so he’d inform them later, when he could calmly clarify what had happened and that there was a stepmother in the picture.
As to Margaret, she felt they were carrying an enormous negative burden by having to elope, and she wouldn’t increase the load by angering Sandy’s in-laws.
So they’d brought Tim and Tom along, and she was glad they had. They’d been raised around horses, so they were excellent equestrians, and they’d galloped with Sandy and Margaret as if they’d been made for hard riding, which of course they had been.
They’d delivered a sense of fun to the escapade, so their frantic trip seemed like a family decision. Margaret wasn’t merely attaching herself to Sandy. She was joining herself to all three of them. She had a husband and a pair of sons she adored.
She hadn’t written a note to Jacob, so she had no idea if he’d even notice she was gone. She was that inconsequential to him and the estate, but Sandy would definitely be missed. His presence was too vital, and they’d debated whether Jacob might chase after them if he ever deduced their intent.
She truly didn’t think he would, but then, what did she know about her brother?
He’d incensed Sandy to such a high degree that Sandy wouldn’t continue working for him. They would leave Ralston Place immediately. Sandy had a bit of money saved, so he could rent them a house, then begin applying for jobs. He was renowned for his expertise with animals, and he was positive he’d be offered a better position elsewhere.
She was positive too, and she refused to believe otherwise.
She heard the boys before she saw them. They tromped in the front of the building, the door slamming after them. They were like a force of nature: serious, tough, loyal, smart. In other words, they were possessed of their father’s best traits.
They were such physical beings. They pushed, shouted, and punched. Their boots were always scuffed, their elbows always scraped, and their trousers usually had a hole in the knee by the end of the day.
Life with them was exciting, loud, and exasperatingly splendid, and she couldn’t figure out how she’d endured so many quiet years with Mr. Howell. How had she survived all that festering silence?
They blustered in and marched over to where she was alone in the corner and finishing her tea.
“We have a surprise for you,” Tom said.
“I love surprises. What is it?”
Tim had his hand behind his back, and Tom nudged him. With a flourish, he whipped out a bouquet of wild flowers. “We didn’t pick any for you for the wedding. Pa was regretting that you had to marry without flowers.”
“Oh, you two . . .”
Tom added, “Pa says we’ve been bachelors for too long, that we have to get accustomed to having a lady in the house again. We can’t forget things like flowers.”
She pulled them close, one in each arm, and gave them a tight hug. It only lasted a second before they squirmed away. They didn’t like to be cuddled or have their hair ruffled, but she did it anyway.
“We decided on an important issue too,” Tom said, “and we’re hoping you’ll like it. You see, we’ve been wondering what we should call you.”
“It doesn’t seem appropriate for it to be mother,” Tim explained. “We had a mother, and we miss her very much.”
“I understand perfectly,” she said, “and I wouldn’t expect to take her place.”
“You’re not Mrs. Howell anymore, and it would sound odd for it to be Mrs. Sanders. Or even Mrs. Sandy, so we’ve agreed on Mother Margaret. Would that be all right with you?”
Tears flooded her eyes. She couldn’t help it. “Yes, Mother Margaret would be marvelous.”
At witnessing her wave of emotion, they were horrified, and Tim asked, “Have we upset you?”
“No, I’m happy.”
They cocked their heads as if she was a very strange creature, and Tom asked, “You cry when you’re happy?”
“
Yes. It’s another thing you bachelors will have to learn.”
She hugged them again, and the instant they grew restless, she released them and said, “Find Sandy and check if the carriage is harnessed. Fetch me when it’s time to depart.”
They stamped out, and she listened to them go, chuckling at the ruckus they made. They were handsome and polite, so no one minded the commotion they generated. When they went by, people smiled.
The front door opened again, and she glanced up, assuming it would be Sandy, but when she realized who’d arrived, she scowled so ferociously she was amazed her face didn’t crack.
“What are you doing here?” she said to her brother. “And if you imagine you can stop me, you’re too late. I’m married.”
She held up her hand to show him the gold band on her finger. He smirked, then staggered over and plopped down on a chair. He appeared weary and spent, as if he hadn’t slept in days.
There was a basket of scones on the table, and he grabbed one and gobbled it down. “Where is Sandy? Has he abandoned you already?”
“Very funny. If you must know, he’s out in the barn, renting a carriage. His sons are with us too, so if you’re about to cause a scene, I wish you wouldn’t. I can’t have them watch their new uncle being an ass.”
He didn’t respond to her taunt, but seized her teacup, gulped the contents, then put down the cup with a hard smack. “You asked what I’m doing here, and I have absolutely no idea.”
“You . . . what?”
He looked to be at a loss for what had to be the first time ever. “After I discovered you’d eloped, I was so angry. The hideous traits I’ve inherited from Mother surged to the fore, and I left home, hell-bent on catching you, but it’s a long way to Scotland. I had many dull hours to ponder my intentions.”
“What have you determined?”
“I’d just like you to be happy, and I’ve always liked Sandy. He’s steady, reliable, and accursedly loyal. Who wouldn’t choose that type of man as a husband for his sister? If he loves you as much as he claims, why shouldn’t I let him have you? I’m too . . . too British, I guess.”
She sputtered out a laugh. “I guess you are too. We both are.”
“When he asked to wed you, I was focused on problems that don’t matter. I was contemplating bloodlines and class distinctions, and he was offering to cherish you forever. You had a rough experience with Mr. Howell, and I probably could have prevented the betrothal, but I didn’t. I’ve always regretted that I didn’t protect you.”
“I don’t blame you for it. You remember what Mother was like. It was so difficult to stand up to her when we were younger. It was easier to capitulate than to fight.”
“Yes, and you paid the price for that. If you can have a kind husband now, why shouldn’t I want that for you?”
“All of that occurred to you while you were riding to Scotland?”
“Yes, and I can’t fathom my purpose. I’m sorry I was so horrid to you. Have I missed the ceremony?” He pointed to her ring. “It seems as if I have. I would have liked to attend.”
“My goodness,” she murmured. “You’re being so gallant. I suppose I have to retract every insult I hurled over the past week.”
“I suppose you have to too, and if I inquire nicely, would you wed again once we’re back at Ralston Place? Could we have a second ceremony? I’d like to walk you down the aisle. Father would be glad about it, and I’d like everyone at the estate to be there—for you and for Sandy.”
She did burst into tears then. The boys had pushed her to the brink, but Jacob had shoved her over.
“Don’t weep,” he muttered. “Please! I didn’t think I could possibly feel any worse, but if I’ve made you cry, I might have to throw myself off a cliff.”
“I can’t help it. This whole exploit has been so draining. I’m thoroughly exhausted. I don’t have an ounce of sense or energy remaining.”
He dug a kerchief out of his coat so she could dab at her eyes.
“Are you happy though?” he asked. “You look happy. Well . . . except for the tears. You’re definitely sending me conflicting messages.”
“I’m very, very happy.”
Noise erupted out by the front door, and Tom stomped in, calling, “Mother Margaret, are you still here?”
“Yes, Tom, I’m here,” she called back. She explained to Jacob, “That’s the name my boys have picked for me: Mother Margaret.”
“Pa says to tell you ten minutes.” Tom strutted over, but when he saw Jacob, he halted and dubiously studied him. Then, his tone a tad cool, he said, “Hello, Captain Ralston.”
Margaret said to Jacob, “This is Sandy’s older son, Tom.” She smiled and added, “He’s my son too.”
“Hello, Tom,” Jacob said.
“He’s planning to join the navy in a few years,” Margaret said. “I told him he could talk to you about it, but we’ve been so busy running away that there hasn’t been any time.”
“I would love to talk to you about the navy,” Jacob said. He could be very charming when the occasion required it. “It’s a fabulous career to have, and it would be perfect for you.”
On the trip north, Sandy hadn’t spared the boys from the truth, so they were aware that Jacob had been vehemently opposed to the marriage. Margaret had piled on plenty of snide comments she shouldn’t have voiced, so Tim and Tom had no illusions about what had transpired.
Tom scowled at Jacob and dared to ask, “You won’t cause trouble, will you? For if that’s why you’ve arrived, my Pa and I won’t let you. My brother either. Margaret belongs to us now, sir, so we have to always protect her.”
“I’m not about to cause trouble,” Jacob insisted. “I was furious initially, but I’ve calmed down, and I’m delighted that you’re fond of Margaret. She deserves protecting, and I’m sure you and your father will take good care of her.”
“We will. Pa says she’s not too good at taking care of herself, but we’ll get her squared away.”
Jacob raised a brow and grinned at her. “It sounds as if the new men in your life know you quite well. From this moment on, I suspect you’ll be in excellent hands.”
“Dammit.”
Sandy mumbled the curse, then glanced around to be certain no one had heard. He never liked to use foul language, but he was standing outside the coaching inn’s barn, and who should strut toward him, but the exalted, pompous Captain Jacob Ralston.
Where had he come from? And why would he slither in when everything was over? It was too late to stop them.
Sandy and Margaret had endlessly debated whether her brother would bestir himself to chase after her. Sandy had assumed he would simply because he was such a conceited ass, and he’d be eager to put Sandy in his place.
In the past, Sandy wouldn’t have risked absconding with Margaret, but he’d had about all of the Ralston family he could abide. For thirty years, he’d been denigrated and snubbed by them.
He’d tolerated their awful mother, Esther—because he’d had to tolerate her. He tolerated their ward, Kit Boswell—because . . . because . . .
Why had he? In his dealings with Kit, he’d had to ceaselessly degrade himself merely to keep his job so his boys would be safe, but he was widely respected in the community, and—when he attended auctions and horse races—he was repeatedly offered better positions at higher salaries.
He tolerated Jacob Ralston because he was never present to throw his weight around. With his exhibiting some of his mother’s worst traits, Sandy had had enough.
He’d stayed at Ralston Place because he’d always worked there. It was habit. It was loyalty. It was . . . stupid. A few days earlier, when he’d stood in the manor as the Captain had complained that he was too lowly for Margaret, he’d suffered a flare of temper that hadn’t burned out.
Normally, he viewed himself as a very placid fellow, but the Captain had l
it a spark under decades of umbrage, and Sandy couldn’t tamp it down. Margaret was his now, and that fact couldn’t be changed. Not even by a pompous, angry brother.
He braced his feet, fists gripped behind his back so—if the arrogant oaf insulted him—he wouldn’t pound the man into the ground. He supposed the Captain was a brawler, but so was Sandy. If it came to blows, they were the same size, and it would be a fair fight.
“Hello, Sandy,” the Captain said as he sauntered up. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Captain.”
“I just talked to Margaret.”
“We’re wed, so if you were intending to berate me, you should think again. I should first explain that I quit.”
The Captain scowled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I resign from my post. Since you don’t believe I’m suitable to be your sister’s husband, I’ve decided you are not a person I want to work for anymore. I’m no longer your employee, so if you offend me or disparage her, I will beat you to a pulp.”
“I wasn’t planning to protest your marriage.”
“Oh.” The comment dumped cold water on Sandy’s ire. “What were you about to say then?”
“I’ll start with this: I don’t accept your resignation.”
“I don’t care. I quit anyway. It’s a thankless proposition to toil away for you.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“This journey to Scotland clarified numerous issues for me,” Sandy said. “I exhaust myself, keeping the estate in fine shape. For you! But why must I strive so valiantly? I supervise the employees. I ensure the crops are planted and the orchards trimmed. I learn when a tenant’s widow needs her roof repaired, yet I have to grovel to Boswell every second. My patience for that type of nonsense has vanished.”
“I don’t pay you enough money.”
“I know you don’t,” Sandy raged, “and this will be a great surprise to you, but I constantly receive job offers.”
“I’m not surprised by it. Who wouldn’t like to hire you?”
“I’ve refused them because I told myself I should be faithful to you, but I’m tired of it. I will latch onto the next proposal that’s tossed at me. I’ll load up my wife and my sons and go to a spot where my contributions are valued.”
