Samantha's Secret (A More Perfect Union Series Book 3)

by Betty Bolte

  He guffawed and stepped closer to her, pushing the dog from between them as he recaptured her hands. He lifted them to rest against his broad chest, his grin sobering into a smile. "My dear, you delight me."

  The change in his demeanor occurred in a flash. So fast she barely had chance to assimilate the shift from sarcasm to sincere, from trifling to tempting. He couldn't be considering what he was apparently contemplating. Such behavior was improper as a minimum, and possibly even immoral. She gasped when he leaned toward her, closing the dwindling distance in a heartbeat. His breath carried spearmint when he exhaled before pressing his lips to hers.

  Lightning flowed through her, igniting wave after wave of illicit sensation. When he slid his tongue inside her mouth, she moaned and opened to his passionate exploration. She'd never experienced such an intense reaction to what would appear to be a simple act, a buss between a man and a woman. Not even poor Edward, God rest his soul, had drawn such a passionate response from her when they'd kissed. A voice whispered about the impropriety, the scandal of the depth to which she savored and returned the buss. She—who rebuked Trent for his position on midwives and healers, for denigrating her mother, for denouncing her treatments—clung to him, seeking support as her knees trembled.

  After long moments, he pulled back, gifting her with a bemused smile. "Your response to my kiss is all the flattery I need from you."

  She blinked away the lusty fog clouding her thoughts. His startlingly blue eyes reflected his pleasure. Her pleasure as well. Gramercy. How could she have permitted herself to indulge in him? Knowing his opinion of her? She pressed her lips together, recalling the pressure of his firm mouth on hers. Heat coursed over her skin, warming her neck, then her cheeks. Still, the man certainly could kiss. Her mind cleared by degrees with each passing moment until stellar clarity revealed the extent of her feelings for the young doctor. The attraction she'd denied betrayed her and became something more, a desire craving his touch. His kiss and caress tempted every fiber of her being, summoned her as surely as night evoked the stars.

  A slow knowing smile spread on Trent's face. "My dear, what is the matter?"

  "I do not know what you mean. I—" She drew in a sharp breath when the truth of the situation shimmered in her mind. Love? She loved him? Dear Lord, what had she done?

  Chapter 9

  The following afternoon, Samantha ambled through the bleak house with Thistle at her side. Only the sound of their footsteps echoed within the walls. Thanks to Amy's quick hands and determination earlier in the morning, crates and barrels held every item of value. Samantha's efforts to locate a place to live on her own terms, however, had failed. No self-respecting female would dare to live on her own, or so she'd been informed. No one would allow her to rent a room, let alone a house. As a result, all her things stood packed and ready, waiting for a miracle.

  The kitchen fire burned brightly, warding off the chilly winter morning. She stopped to stir the rabbit stew she'd started earlier. Tasting the concoction, she wrinkled her nose. It needed something. She tasted it again. Pinching off a quantity of dried savory, she stirred the herb into the simmering pot. Another taste and then, satisfied, she replaced the wooden spoon in the kettle. In another half hour, her supper would be ready.

  In the meantime, what should she do to occupy her idle hands? With everything of importance to her packed up, she had nothing demanding of her time. She drifted through the door and into the hall, meandering from room to room ensuring she'd included all her belongings. After supper, she'd venture out in one final attempt to locate a new home. Even if it ended up being temporary. She might even resort to seeking assistance from Mr. Manning. No, not that. How humiliating to seek help from the very man who took her house away. If she had family to turn to, she would.

  She paused at the rear window in the parlor, holding back the heavy drape in order to appreciate the vast garden surrounding the house. While the winter garden appeared barren and asleep, below the cold surface of the ground the seeds worked to create the next generation of plants. Just how they did so remained a mystery, but every spring tiny shoots poked up and reached for the sky and the sunlight. Eventually, Mother Nature presented a new batch of herbs and flowers for her table and simples recipes. She stood on her tiptoes, gripping the heavy brocade for balance. She glimpsed the gazebo in the back corner through the trees and bushes, only its peaked roof lit by the early afternoon sunshine.

  Tears threatened as she gazed on her favorite place in all the world. How she'd miss working among the herbs and flowers. Digging and working the dirt yielded more than plants, but peace and a unique sense of achievement. Where would she find a replacement?

  Dropping the drape back into place, she turned and sauntered through the empty rooms. Only three days until someone else would possess the property. Three days until she'd be homeless and on the street. She stopped and swallowed the blubbering threatening her composure. Enough. Crying served no purpose. Resigned to her fate, she regarded Thistle, who sat beside her, fluffy tail wagging slowly.

  "We shall be fine. We must keep the faith."

  Thistle yipped and rose to her feet, moving closer to Samantha. Judging by the bulge of the dog's belly, puppies would be arriving before long. Where would they be born? On the street? No, not on the street. Samantha sighed. She needed a plan and fast. Reaching down, Samantha stroked the soft fur, grateful for the loyal companionship.

  A knock sounded at the front door. She straightened, looking in the direction of the sound. She wasn't expecting any one, definitely not at this early hour. Samantha hurried to answer the summons, Thistle trotting ahead.

  "Emily, what a pleasant surprise." She opened the door wider to permit her friend entrance.

  Emily strode into the front hall, her heavy black cloak pulled close against the cold air accompanying her. She grinned at Samantha as she clasped both her hands. "I bear good news, my friend."

  "And what might that be?" Samantha pushed the door closed with a foot, hope swelling inside as she perceived excitement emanating from Emily. "Pray tell me before you come apart."

  "Father has invited you to live with us. We have the room and would welcome you to be part of our household for as long as you'd care to stay." She squeezed Samantha's hands and performed a tiny bunny hop. "You must say yes. I'll accept no other answer. Please?"

  "Are you certain?" Had her miracle arrived? Samantha searched for any drawbacks to the idea. The Sullivan home was larger than her own, with a fair sized garden.

  Emily bobbed her head in time with a series of hops. "We are agreed you'd be a most wonderful addition to our family. My garden will be at your disposal to claim as yours, if you wish."

  Hope turned to joy inside Samantha's chest. "How could I refuse such a pretty offer?"

  "Then you'll come?" Emily pulled Samantha into a dancing embrace, spinning and skipping down the hallway. She sang a ditty out of sheer happiness, finally stumbling to a laughing halt. "I'm so pleased you've accepted."

  Samantha's composure was rattled by the exuberant celebration, and she settled her skirts with trembling hands. "You're too kind, my friend. I thank you most gratefully for proving to be my salvation."

  Emily tilted her head, one brow lifted in question. "Come now, I am no miracle. But I am your friend and am here to tell you Father's big wagon shall arrive to move your belongings to your new home within the hour."

  "You were that sure I'd say yes?" Samantha shook her head, aware of the relief and calm easing through her. But an hour? "Am I so predictable?"

  "Perhaps, but I also had vowed to not take no for your final answer." Emily nodded twice with a grin. "You needed a home and we have one for you. So, yes, I knew you'd agree. Tell me, what assistance might I be?"

  "I'm ready to move my things, as you can see." Samantha led Emily through the house, indicating the clusters of wooden barrels and crates scattered throughout. "I plan to leave the furniture behind as it has no use for me. Although, it pains me to relinquish my f
ather's fine craftsmanship to strangers. I do hope all the tables and chairs and carpets suit the next owner."

  "Very well. Father permitted me to bring the light carriage to welcome you in style." Emily spotted an open trunk of dresses and another of bonnets and gloves. "Shall we load your clothing and be on our way? Solomon and Richard can handle the rest later."

  "I must douse the cook fire first." Samantha led the way into the kitchen. Grabbing a napkin, she removed the kettle from the hook over the fire and placed it on the hearth. She glanced up at Emily. "May I bring my stew along for supper at your house?"

  "Our house now, and yes, of course." Emily snagged a few heavy cloths and laid them on the table. "Let's wrap the kettle in these for the trip."

  Samantha moved the pot onto the napkins and Emily folded the cloth about the hot metal. Samantha turned to douse the fire using the urn of water on the sideboard. Steam rose up the chimney as the first drops hit the flames.

  "Now for the trunks." Samantha carried the swaddled pot and placed it on the floor by the front door.

  "Between the two of us, they should be no problem." Emily hurried down the hall to the open door leading into Samantha's bedroom.

  They made short work of securing the trunks on the back shelf of the conveyance. Samantha noted its gleaming metal wheels and black wooden sides with the Sullivan family crest announcing the respected owner. Two black horses stood patiently while the ladies and Thistle mounted the two steps and settled on the front seat. Emily lifted the reins, clucked to the pair, and the carriage rolled down the street. Thistle's heft wedged between the women, tongue lolling from her open mouth.

  It all happened so fast, Samantha didn't have chance to consider the importance of the event. As the horses walked along the dirt road, gusts of icy wind lifting their manes, reality sank in. She'd left the house for the last time.

  Leaving her family's home proved bittersweet with the opportunity to move into a nicer dwelling in a better part of town. As the carriage bounced along on the uneven dirt surface, Samantha viewed Charles Town with a new view to the people and their aims. From the start, the first shots fired in anger, the people had become divided between those loyal to the Crown and those seeking an independent existence. For years, the fabric of the community they lived in had been torn by the differing opinions. Might peace mend the tear? Might she find a means to fix a path for her future? Perchance the respect the town held for Captain Sullivan might lend itself to her reputation as well. With all the questions surrounding her talents, she wouldn't mind the positive boost.

  Emily drove behind the Sullivan home and stopped the carriage in front of the small stable. Richard appeared to handle the horses in time for the ladies to climb down. As Richard tied the reins to the hitching post, Thistle bounded to the ground and began exploring the area. The dog sniffed the bushes edging the cobblestone drive, then disappeared into the stable while following a mysterious scent trail. Curious. The loyal and protective dog typically stayed close to Samantha's side, especially as her time to have her puppies neared.

  Samantha regarded her new home with a fresh appreciation for the tidy barn and separate building for the kitchen. The tall brick house boasted three stories with wide piazzas on the southern exposure. She'd visited many times, but this visit felt different. In truth, she had no idea how long this stay would extend. She spun slowly in place, taking in each detail of the backyard. The small family garden included an adequate herb section near the brick kitchen, and a neighboring flower garden with winding crushed seashell paths. The flowers and herbs sparsely dotted the soil, leaving plenty of space for additions of other plants. A small smile emerged on her lips. With some time and effort, she'd create a smaller version of her former collection of plants.

  Solomon, his dark hair trimmed close to his head, grabbed up one trunk at Emily's request, and carried it toward the back door of the three-story brick house. Richard lifted the second trunk with strong black hands and followed. Slaves. A thrill of unease drifted across her shoulders, making her shiver. She recalled the horrific tales of the slave uprising in Haiti and the resulting drastic changes to America's laws associated with owning and catching runaways. Brutal beatings, whippings, and even hangings comprised the allowed punishments. Freeing the poor slaves became ever more difficult under the restrictions imposed by law. The number of blacks, both free and enslaved, in South Carolina was far greater than whites. An uprising would put every citizen of the state in jeopardy. Samantha had forgotten the Sullivans' owned them. Everyone knew they treated their slaves with dignity and kindness, but her family had never needed extra hands, so the reality left her disconcerted and unnerved. In fact, the only time they'd had a slave in their house was while Evelyn stayed with them and had Belinda with her. She may have to find another place to live after all, depending on how everyone got along. Samantha turned to Emily when she walked up.

  "You'll stay in the room next to mine." Emily led her inside, the two men trailing behind. "It's empty now that Frank has regained his own home from the Britons."

  "Do you miss having him stay with you?" Samantha followed Emily down the short hall and then trudged up the wooden stairs behind her. "Seeing him daily?"

  Emily chuckled as she turned the knob on the door. "I still see him daily, he merely has to make more of an effort. Here we are." She pushed open the door and ushered Samantha and the men inside.

  Samantha had not been in this room before so she paused to take stock of her new quarters. The hardwood floor, probably made from cypress, was covered by a colorful braided rug. A single bed stood against the far wall, draped with an elaborately stitched quilt. Even from the door, she could tell the quality of the hand stitching involved for sewing the blanket. Heavy curtains hung at the lone window. A sampler, stitched by a child's learning hand, hung on the wall above the headboard. To the left, the writing desk and a spindly chair waited. Samantha smiled when she noticed the simple silver inkstand. Her notes on birthing could continue as she worked to unravel the reasons why so many women and children perished in the aftermath of childbirth. With luck, she'd unravel the reasons for the frequent deaths of women in her mother's care.

  "Will this suffice?" Emily swooshed past Samantha to open the window. "A little fresh air will help, I dare say."

  "The room is lovely. Thank you." Samantha crossed to the desk and dropped her purse on its surface. "I am most grateful for your father's hospitality."

  "Pshaw. He knows I'll be moving out shortly, once Frank and I marry next month. I fear he's afraid of being lonely." Emily crossed her arms and regarded Samantha. "I wonder whatever he'll do without me to run the place."

  "He'll discover how important an asset you've been for his peace of mind." Samantha untied her cloak in preparation to remove it.

  Footfalls echoed on the stairs. "Miss Emily!"

  Samantha spun at the urgent tone. "Something is amiss."

  "Jasmine?" Emily strode to the open door, her boot heels hard on the floor. "What is the matter?"

  The young black woman stopped, panting, in front of Emily. "Miss Samantha's dog..." She gasped in another breath and let it out in a rush. "She's in the stable..."

  "What about Thistle?" Samantha hurried to stand by Emily. "Is she causing mischief?"

  "No, miss." Jasmine gulped another breath, placing one hand to her throat as her breathing slowed. "She be having her pups. Solomon noticed as the third came out."

  "Gramercy, I knew she was due to drop them soon. I must go to her." Samantha retied her cloak and then lifted her skirts a bit off the floor with shaky fingers, hurrying from the room and down the stairs. Emily and Jasmine trotted behind, their footsteps echoing in the narrow confines of the stairway. "She's so young to be having puppies."

  "It's a natural occurrence," Emily said. "I'm sure she'll do fine. She's strong."

  "I must be there to assist. I owe her healthy pups." Samantha pushed out the back door and strode across the stone drive to the barn.

  Inside,
she paused for a brief moment to let her eyes adjust. Spying Thistle lying on a pile of straw in the far corner of the small building, she hurried past four horses tied by their halters in narrow stalls to observe the dog's condition. Thistle gazed at her with distracted eyes, her attention turned inward. Beside her, four tiny pups crawled in the sweet straw. Thistle panted harder, and then another puppy emerged. Samantha smiled as the tiny creature received licks from its mom, drying and cleaning the newest arrival. After a moment, concern replaced the joy in Samantha's heart. The puppy lay still. Thistle licked it more vigorously, nudging the wee pup, until finally laying back down to push another puppy into the world.

  "How fares your dog?" Emily stopped beside her, a smile on her lips. "She looks so content, doesn't she?"

  Samantha watched numbly. Not every pup born would thrive or survive, but seeing the struggling puppy still increased her anguish. What could she do to help the little puppy? With all her training and experience, surely something would revive it. Of course, she must wait for the time being as she couldn't do anything while Thistle labored to bring all her pups into the daylight. Samantha sifted through possibilities in her mind but nothing seemed even possibly effective.

  "What's wrong with that one?" Jasmine smoothed her apron after her hurried steps to keep up with Emily.

  "I fear it was a stillbirth." Samantha stared at the lifeless form, wishing with all her being the wee creature had lived. Thistle panted and gazed up at her. Trusting her, the poor wretched dog. "I'm sorry, girl. I don't know what to do to help."

  The dog nosed one of the older puppies, tentatively licking its face before ignoring the white and tan body. Samantha peered closer, crushing dismay filling her when she detected the puppy's struggle to breathe. Its sides barely moved as its little mouth opened, gasping for air. Not another one. She couldn't bear it.