by Dorothy Love
Carrie leaned against the counter. Griff had left without even saying good-bye? “Surely there’s a good explanation.”
“’Course there is. He’s a no-good gambler who comes and goes like the wind. Well, nothing I can do ’cept wait to see if he turns up. What was it you wanted to talk to him about? You want to leave a message in case he shows?”
Numb with disappointment, Carrie shook her head. What a fool she’d been. For a while it had felt as if she and Griff were already a team. Despite his recent absence, she had let herself believe that something strong and real had formed between them. But it hadn’t meant a thing.
She left the inn, climbed onto the wagon, and shook the reins. The tears came then . . . because Nate was right. She loved Griff Rutledge. With everything that was in her, she loved him.
If only he could love her too.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t warned her. But she’d plunged headlong into a relationship with him anyway, willing to risk heartbreak for a few months of feeling wanted and admired. What did she expect would happen? For all she knew he might have headed to Australia. Or gone after his old friend Rosaleen.
It didn’t matter. Griff was not the settling-down kind of man, no matter how hard she pretended otherwise. Her dream was over. And she had only herself to blame.
THIRTY-THREE
An hour late, the train huffed into Hickory Ridge, the whistle shrieking. Griff hauled his bags up the narrow aisle of the gentlemen’s car. He glanced at the railway clock and groaned. Gilman would be furious at having to wait.
He left his bags at the inn, apologized to the irate clerk for his abrupt departure, and settled his outstanding bill. A generous tip improved the clerk’s mood considerably, and Griff extracted a promise that a hot bath and fresh linens would await his return. After a quick freshening up and a change of shirts, he picked up his rig at Tanner’s livery and headed for the Gilmans’ place, eager to seal the deal before the banker changed his mind.
Passing the mercantile, he thought about Carrie. How that woman had changed him. A solitary life devoid of commitment no longer appealed to him. His brief time at the farm with her had awakened him to the joys of family life. Carrie was a natural mother. He could see that in the way she dealt with Joe and Caleb, not the easiest boys he’d ever met. She knew not only how to keep a house but to make it a home. At the Bell farm, he’d felt a sense of peace that otherwise eluded him.
Farther along the street, he smelled bread baking and grinned to himself. Carrie Daly was the best baker in the county, to boot. His mouth watered at the memory of breakfasts in her cozy kitchen when the entire room smelled wonderfully of biscuits and warm strawberry jam.
She was pretty too, with those sapphire eyes and russet curls. There was nothing he didn’t like about her. The memory of their kiss seared his heart. During the long journey from South Carolina, he’d imagined growing old with her. Watching the years change her face, walking with her across their own piece of land, knowing they belonged to each other. Maybe it was all a sentimental dream. Maybe she wouldn’t even speak to him after his unexplained absence. But he couldn’t help how he felt.
The question was whether a woman of such strong principles could overlook his past. He hadn’t told her about his connection to Rosaleen. Perhaps when she knew, she’d refuse to have anything further to do with him. But he wouldn’t lie to her. If they were to have a future together, he wanted to begin with a clean slate, no secrets between them.
The day after his father’s funeral, he’d gone to the telegraph office, intending to send Carrie a wire. He stood there for half an hour, composing message after message. But no matter how he tried to explain himself, the terse language of a telegram seemed wrong.
He hadn’t prayed for himself in a long time, but as the horse clop-clopped toward the Gilmans’ place, he asked God to give him the right heart and the right words to win the woman he loved.
Mary and the baby were sleeping. Carrie moved through the house quietly, grateful that the boys had not yet returned from school. Though her worries about money soon would be a thing of the past, she still grieved her lost dream. She had no future with Griff. Her future was here, looking after this cobbled-together family.
She removed her shawl and hat, and went upstairs to change her dress. Through the window, she glimpsed a tiny sprig of green among the brown vines on the trellis. The morning glory she’d given up for dead was coming back to life. How beautiful it had looked last summer on Henry’s wedding day.
That day she’d asked God for the grace to accept Mary and the boys into her family. Perhaps Henry’s death, and Griff’s absence, were his way of answering her prayer. She thought of Deborah, of her friend’s willingness to submit herself wholly to God even in the direst of situations. Could Carrie do that? She was tired of struggling, of carrying burdens too heavy for her heart and her head. She perched on the edge of her bed and closed her eyes.
This wasn’t exactly the way I pictured my future, Lord, but I trust you with all that I have and all that I am. I surrender to your will.
Downstairs the door burst open and Joe raced in, yelling at the top of his lungs. She hurried down the stairs, a finger to her lips. “Shhh. Don’t wake your mama and the baby.”
“Sorry.” Joe thrust a book into her hands. “I can read it all by myself. Mr. Webster says I’m one of the best readers in the whole class.” He jerked his thumb at his brother. “An’ he said Caleb is best at arithmetic. Can I read you the raindrops poem?”
Carrie smiled and smoothed his hair. “After supper. Right now I need firewood and water. Iris needs feeding, and poor Miranda needs milking.”
Caleb tossed his books onto the settee. “Don’t worry, Aunt Carrie, I’ll take care of it.”
“What are we havin’ for supper anyway?” Joe asked. “I’m hungry.”
“If you’ll fetch that ham out of the smokehouse, I’ll fry some up and make the gravy you like.”
Joe’s eyes widened. “Ham? I thought we were savin’ it for when Griff Rutledge comes for supper.”
“Mr. Rutledge has gone away.” She tried to smile, but tears threatened. “Besides, this is a special occasion. You brought home a book to read all by yourself.”
He nodded. “Yes’m. I’m right proud of it, all right, but I still wish Griff was here.”
She sent them out to do their chores and went to the kitchen to peel potatoes. At least now she could buy all the food they needed. And seed for planting. And shoes for the boys, perhaps a few bolts of fabric. Since the baby, Mary’s figure had grown softer, rounder. Her old clothes barely fit anymore, and the boys needed new shirts for school.
“Carrie?” Mary came into the kitchen and took a stack of plates from the shelf. “What happened in town? Did Mr. Gilman buy my jewels?”
Carrie paused in her preparations. Should she tell Mary the gems were worthless or preserve the illusion? Granny Bell always said honesty was the best policy. But really, why tell Mary the truth when it would only hurt her? “He didn’t buy them, but it’s all right. I sold twenty acres of land to Wat Stevens. We’ll sign the papers on Friday.”
Mary nodded, her expression sober. “I’m sorry you had to sell off part of this farm, but honestly? I’m glad to have my jewels, even if I never wear them again.”
“Our photograph arrived,” Carrie said, eager to leave the subject of the fake jewels. “I left it on the table in the parlor.”
Mary hurried to get it and came back smiling. “It’s wonderful. Look at how grown-up my sweet boys look. I only wish Henry’d had the chance to see it.”
Carrie sliced the potatoes into a pot of cold water. “At least the boys will have it as a reminder of Race Day.”
Mary grinned. “Griff Rutledge will enjoy it too, especially when he sees it in the silver frame he gave me.”
“He has left town.” Carrie worked to keep her voice steady. “The clerk at the inn told me he skipped out without a single word.” She lifted the cast iron skillet onto
the stove and dropped in a dollop of lard. “I don’t expect to see Griff Rutledge ever again.”
Mary seemed stunned into silence. Momentarily. “Well, it’s for the best if you ask me. He isn’t husband material. It’s too bad you let Nate Chastain get away. Now, there’s a steady man for you.” Mary set the plates on the table and went to get James Henry, who had begun to cry. “Deborah Patterson said poor Nate is grieving himself to death over that no-good Rosaleen Dupree.”
“I saw him in town today. He’s made his peace with the situation and is getting back to the business of running his shop.”
While Mary tended to the baby, Carrie fried the potatoes. Joe and Caleb tromped into the kitchen with the ham and a pail of fresh milk. Carrie sliced off a few pieces of ham and fried them, made gravy, and took half a vinegar pie from the pie safe.
After supper, Carrie washed the dishes while Mary nursed James Henry, and Caleb and Joe bent over their lessons. She waited patiently while Joe read the poem about the raindrops, helped Caleb with a problem in long division, and at last returned to her room to write her long-delayed letter to Ada Caldwell. She couldn’t keep secret her suspicions about Rosaleen Dupree any longer. For Sophie’s sake, she hoped Rosaleen was not the girl’s mother. What kind of woman would give away a child, deliberately trap a man into marriage, and then abandon him?
She sat at her dressing table and pulled out her writing box. What was Rosaleen’s connection to Griff? He hadn’t volunteered the information and really, it wasn’t any of her business. Besides, what did it matter now? She always loved the wrong person . . . or loved too late . . . or not at all. Obviously, love was not what God had in mind for her.
She dipped her pen into the inkwell and began to write. Outside, pale spring light leaked out of the sky. Deep shadows slid along the distant mountains and into the valley. A flock of sparrows swept past her window in a smear of brown and settled into the trees. She sighed, a sense of peace mingling with her melancholy.
Downstairs a commotion erupted, followed by footsteps pounding up the stairs. Joe burst into her room and ran to the window. “Aunt Carrie! Aunt Carrie! Somebody’s coming.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Joe pushed past Carrie and pressed his nose to her bedroom window. “See? Somebody is coming.”
She looked out. A horse and rider cantered through the trees and onto the shadowed road leading to their house. Despite herself, hope fluttered in her chest. She capped her ink bottle and followed Joe downstairs. He raced ahead and threw open the door, waking James Henry, who began to wail.
Griff reined in and strode across the yard. Caleb left his books on the kitchen table and followed Joe outside. “Hey, Mr. Rutledge. You brought Majestic.”
“Can we give him a treat?” Joe asked, wrapping his arms tightly around Griff’s legs. “I missed you something awful. Where in the Sam Hill have you been?”
“It’s long story, son.” Griff laughed and extricated himself from the boy’s grasp. He handed Joe an apple for the horse. “Maybe you boys can keep Majestic company while I talk to your Aunt Carrie.”
He looked at her then, his dark eyes alive and questioning. “May I come in?”
She wanted to shout for joy and fling herself into his arms, but she nodded, hiding the intense yearning building inside her. “Of course. Please come in.”
She stood aside while he entered. From Mary’s room came the soft sounds of a lullaby. A grin stole across Griff’s handsome face. “That’s a lovely sound, isn’t it? A mother crooning to her child.”
“Yes.” She was as full of questions as Joe. Where had Griff been all these weeks? Why had he left Hickory Ridge without saying good-bye? And why was he here now . . . with Mr. Gilman’s prize Thoroughbred?
In the parlor he took off his coat and draped it over the back of a chair. He added a log to the fire and motioned Carrie to sit beside him. In the soft light his face looked boyish and uncertain. She perched on the edge of the settee, trying to maintain distance, but his nearness was impossible to ignore. She remembered the warmth of his lips on hers, the steady strength of his arms encircling her.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve so much to tell you that I scarcely know where to begin.”
“I know you’ve been away. I was told that you left quite suddenly.”
He nodded. “My brother, Philip, wired that our father was near death. I thought I should go to Charleston at once.”
“Of course. Is your father—”
“Expired the morning after I arrived. I wrote you a note the day I left and then forgot to leave it with the postmaster. It was thoughtless of me, and I sincerely apologize.”
“I was confused when I found out you’d left town, but I do understand. And I’m sorry about your father.”
He gripped her hand and stared into the fire. “So am I. It turns out that I’d misunderstood him completely these many years. I’m thankful I had the chance to learn the truth. It freed me to go ahead with the plans I’d been making here.” He paused, his eyes searching her face. “I want to share those plans with you, if you’re willing. Will you come with me?”
“Now? It’s nearly dark.”
“I know a shortcut, and I hope you’ll think the trip is worth it.”
He looked so full of excitement and hope that nothing could have kept her from him. “Let me tell Mary we’re going.”
He grinned and grabbed his coat. “I’ll get the boys back inside. Don’t forget your wrap. It’s chilly out tonight.”
Carrie knocked on Mary’s door and made her explanation as brief as possible. “I won’t be out late.”
Mary cradled James Henry and shook her head. “People will talk.”
“Maybe they will, but you know something? I’m so happy to see Griff Rutledge that I don’t care one whit about idle gossip.”
“Obviously. You’ve mooned over him since the day you first laid eyes on him. You’ve always cared more for your own wishes than for the good of others.”
Carrie kept her voice low. “How dare you say that? After all I’ve done for you and your children.”
Without waiting for further argument, she grabbed her hat and shawl from the hall tree and went outside. “Joe and Caleb, please go inside and finish your lessons. Mr. Rutledge and I are going out for a little while.”
“Can’t we go too?” Joe asked.
“Not this time, son,” Griff said. “Go on now, and mind your aunt Carrie.”
The boys shuffled inside and closed the door. Griff swung into the saddle and held out his hand. Carrie gave him her hand, placed her foot in the stirrup, and vaulted into the saddle behind him.
“All set?” He turned Majestic toward the road.
“Yes.” She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, rested her cheek against his back, and breathed in his scent, a mixture of wool, hay, and horses. Her irritation at Mary melted away like a spring snowfall. She felt like a princess in one of Joe’s fairy tales, swept away on horseback. Whatever Griff wanted her to see could not surpass this moment, riding through the growing darkness with him and Majestic.
Griff urged the colt into a gentle canter. They left the road and cut through a stand of red cedar and old oaks, following a broken-down fence bordering the woods. The chilly spring air cooled her face. Overhead the moon rose full and bright, and the stars—shards of pure white light—glittered in the indigo sky.
They exited the woods. Ahead, shining white in the moonlight, was the Gilmans’ place. Every window glowed with yellow light that spread in rectangles across the broad expanse of lawn. Across the meadow stood the barn, lit by a single lantern.
“Here we are.”
“Mr. Gilman’s? Are you training for another race?”
Griff dismounted and held out his arms for her. She slid from the saddle and into his strong embrace. He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Carrie.”
Tears started behind her eyes. “I thought you’d left for good,” she whispered. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
> He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You won’t get rid of me that easily. I talked Gilman into selling me a piece of this place. I plan on settling down here.”
“But what about Australia? What about—”
“You’ve changed me, Carrie. You’ve spoiled me for any kind of life except the one I plan to build here.”
He had changed her too. Before Griff, she’d lived a life of quiet duty, resigned to being alone. He had allowed her to hope that perhaps one day she could live a life of joy. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but her heart was too full.
Griff offered his arm. “Come on. Let me show you.”
They crossed the meadow and came upon a small cottage, well hidden from the main road. Moonlight spilled across the wide front porch and illuminated a small garden at the side of the house.
“It isn’t much now,” Griff said, “but I plan on fixing it up, building on a better kitchen at the back. Maybe expanding the garden too. There’s already a good well out back, and a dandy creek for fishing, and thirty acres for raising and training Majestic’s offspring.”
Carrie stared up at him, scarcely able to take it all in.
“Bought him too.” Griff’s pride was evident. “Cost me a king’s ransom, but he’s worth every penny. In a few years I’ll have one of the best horse farms in the South. Maybe I’ll eventually produce a Kentucky Derby winner.”
“That’s wonderful. But I’m surprised Mr. Gilman was willing to part with Majestic.”
“Horses are in my blood, Carrie. Breeding them, training them, racing them is what I was always meant to do. Gilman understands that. That’s why he was willing to wait until I could get my funds from London. Besides, it isn’t as if he can’t see Majestic anytime he wants.”
“I’m so glad. I know you’ll make this into a wonderful place. Maybe one day Hickory Ridge will be famous because of you.”
