by Rose Gordon
“I'm not surprised you came,” Marjorie said. “You're the only real friend I've ever had and despite my not being able to offer you refreshments and lighthearted chitchat like I once did, you always come back. That wasn't the surprise. It was just how soon. You do know you came here to see me just three days ago, don't you?”
“I know.” Carolina didn't care that Marjorie couldn't offer her snacks and inane conversation, she just wanted to be her friend. But because she didn't want to push her or make her too uncomfortable, she'd tried to keep her visits to only once a week. Not only did she wish to spare Marjorie's pride, but she also knew that even though she was helping some, her presence likely slowed Marjorie down; not that Marjorie would ever be so unkind as to say anything. Without word or invitation, Carolina started plucking the purple leaves on the plant in front of her and putting them in the broken basket at Marjorie's feet.
“Thank you,” Marjorie whispered as she continued. “Daddy expanded the crop by four rows this year and without any help―” She shrugged.
“I'd be glad to help,” Carolina offered.
Marjorie dropped her leaves into the basket and tucked a stray tendril of hair back under the fraying edge of her blue bonnet. “I cannot allow you to do that.”
“Why not? I have nothing else to do.” She moved over to the next plant and started removing its leaves.
Marjorie twisted her lips and lowered her lashes as she went about plucking more leaves.
Carolina dropped everything in her hand and turned to face her friend. “All right then, if you don't wish for my help, I shan't offer it again. However, since you already know I am the most shameless, ill-mannered lady of your acquaintance, I shall be blunt and tell you I came today to seek your help.”
“You want my help?” Marjorie asked in a voice full of surprise.
Carolina bit her lip and nodded. “No, I don't want your help. I need it.”
Marjorie laughed for what Carolina assumed might be one of the only occasions she'd done so since her home had been destroyed in the final year of the war. “What could I possibly help you with, Carolina?”
Carolina smiled at her. Marjorie was the only person who'd ever respected her wish to call her by her full name. Except John. Even after everyone else started calling her Lina in his presence, he'd continued to call her Carolina like she'd asked. Except when Gabriel first introduced them, but she assumed he did that just to irritate her―
Marjorie's cough reminded Carolina of her purpose. “I don't know how to say this...”
Marjorie laughed again. “Oh, Carolina, I don't believe that. You've never lost your tongue before.”
Carolina twisted her lips, but charged forward. “This is different.” She casually turned to face the Indigofera tinctoria plant in front of her and began plucking off the purple leaves. “This is about a gentleman.”
“Ah,” Marjorie said, continuing where she'd left off with her work.
“I was hoping you could give me some advice,” Carolina said as she plucked a little cluster of three leaves from the plant.
Marjorie's lips thinned. “I'm not sure I can give you any advice.”
“Yes, you can,” Carolina protested. She dropped more leaves into the basket and started pulling them from the next plant. “You were engaged to be married, were you not?”
“Engaged, not married,” Marjorie pointed out before walking around to the other side of Carolina.
Carolina looked at her friend from under her lashes. Had she caught on to what she was doing? “But you would have married them.”
Marjorie's hands stilled. “And it's for the best I didn't.”
“Well, to be fair, the first one died.”
Marjorie muttered something that sounded oddly like “might as well have” but before Carolina could ask her anything else, her friend spoke again. “What is it you wanted to know?”
“How to get him to admit his feelings.”
“It's not a trick, Carolina. He just did.”
Carolina frowned. That wasn't very helpful. “You mean you didn't do anything to Daniel to make him take notice of you?”
“Not unless you consider sewing him into the bedsheets doing something,” Marjorie murmured.
Carolina sputtered with laughter. “W-what?”
“I sewed him into the bedsheets,” Marjorie said with a shrug.
“Why?” she asked, drawing out the word.
“To keep him where he ought to be,” Marjorie said with a quick grin. “It's called a bundling bag. Mama said it was a Scottish tradition.”
“And you sewed him into the bedsheets,” she repeated, dumbfounded.
“Well, not him exactly. You just sew the sheets around him as if you're to make a sack and he's the goods.”
All sorts of mischief cycled in Carolina's mind. “I'll have to wait a few more days to try that,” Carolina murmured. “I sew him in the bedsheets and Bethel will never forgive me.”
“Never is a mighty long time, Carolina.”
“Yes, well, sewing a man into the bedsheets is a mighty hefty crime, so it just might fit,” she said with a giggle as she pulled off another cluster of purple leaves and threw them down into the basket at Marjorie's feet.
“Perhaps so. But―” she plucked a few more leaves, moving much slower than she had been earlier, almost as if she was purposely going slow― “I think I might have some news that might make Bethel never grow cross with you or anyone again.”
“Oh?” She clamped her lips together so she didn't look too eager for whatever it was Marjorie might want to share.
“Remember that secret?”
Of course, how could she not? “I think so...”
Marjorie snorted. “Carolina, you cannot fool me. I have a feeling that if it weren't for the young man you were speaking about a few minutes ago, whatever it was you thought I was hiding would have been the only thing on your mind.”
Carolina cast her a mock scowl and plucked the leaves in her grasp with enough force the plant shook. “Think what you shall, but now I insist you tell me your secret.”
“Well, if you insist, then I guess I'd better not tarry,” Marjorie teased. “Remember I told you Daddy planted four new rows this year? Well, he said the crop could be good enough that he thinks he'll be able to afford to plant eight more next year, but he'll need some help.”
Carolina knit her brow. Was this good news or bad news? More crops was a good thing, but as it was Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds and Marjorie spent all day every day tending to the rows they already had. How would they manage another eight? “That's good...”
“Actually it is.” A slow smile spread her lips. “It means Silas will be able to return after Daddy sells this harvest in a few weeks. He'll be a free man, of course, earning a wage.”
Carolina grinned. “I'm so happy to hear that,” she said, hugging her friend.
“I'm sure Bethel will be, too,” Marjorie said, winking.
“I hope you're right,” Carolina said, sighing. “She might night not like it as much as we think she should.”
“Why is that?”
Carolina exhaled and looked at a tree in the distance for a minute. “I fear her feelings for him aren't as strong as they once were.”
“You mean because he's been away in Charleston the last five years?”
Carolina mindlessly picked the leaves in front of her. “Possibly. She hardly sees him. But what if it's more than just the time they've spent apart? Before the war, Bethel said they used to dream of getting married. Obviously marriage wasn't possible with them each on separate plantations, but they did get to see each other regularly and were as married as they could be, considering the circumstances. But what if it's different this time? He's free to come and go as he pleases, she's not. I just can't help but think it will create a chasm between them.”
“I don't think so,” Marjorie said softly. “I don't think he cares about the difference in their status, and since he'll be working here as an employee, he'll be ab
le to go see her as often as he likes. Besides, Daddy said Silas was so excited at the prospect of coming here to work and being close to Bethel, I'm not so sure he wouldn't willingly work in your father's indigo fields if that's what it took to close that chasm you think might have been created by Silas' emancipation.”
“He just might have to,” Carolina said only half-jesting. “Mother would sooner allow me to marry John than allow Bethel her freedom.”
“John? Is that your beau's name?”
“He's not officially my beau, but yes, his name is John.”
“Is he the fellow your brother brought back with him?”
“Ye― How did you know Gabriel was back?”
“I must have seen him out working on the border between our plantations,” she said evasively.
“Oh.” Marjorie's unusual silence suggested there might be more than she was leading onto, but she knew better than to force her when it came to certain topics, and the look on her face made it quite clear this was one of them. Just like with the identity of the first man Marjorie had been engaged to. Marjorie told her nothing about him except that he'd gone off to war. A year after the war ended, she'd become engaged again. This time, however, the gentleman didn't end their engagement by dying an honorable death fighting for independence, but had been pursuing two young ladies at the same time and chose to marry the one with greater wealth.
“Carolina?”
“Yes?”
“What makes you think that you have to do anything to get his attention?”
“Because not doing anything isn't working.”
“And what exactly have you tried?”
Carolina quickly told her about bringing him water and the picnic, conveniently leaving off a few irrelevant details of the picnic.
“That's all?”
Carolina frowned. “Well, I took him water yesterday while he was in bed with a sunburn,” she said as if it were an afterthought.
Marjorie grimaced. “Lemon water is good to apply on sunburns. It should help it heal faster.”
“Thank you. Mother bought some lemons last time we were in Charleston. I'll have to try that. I've tried my usual salve, but I'm willing to try anything else that might help. I've never seen such a bad sunburn.” She moved to the next plant. “Do you have any other suggestions? For getting his attention not treating his sunburn, that is.”
Marjorie looked like she wanted to say something, but just shrugged and shook her head instead. “Thank you for helping me today.”
“You're welcome,” Carolina said. She'd hoped her friend had been so distracted with their talking that she hadn't notice Carolina helping. Apparently not. “Consider it payment for the invaluable advice.”
Marjorie lifted her eyebrows. “What invaluable advice?” Her eyes narrowed “You're not planning to sew him into the sheets the next time you see him, are you?”
“No. Not the next time; but I can't guarantee I won't the time after that.”
~Chapter Sixteen~
John pulled his shirt over his head and sighed with relief when the coarse fabric rubbed his shoulders, but didn't hurt. Who knew the daughter of a wealthy plantation owner would actually know how to make—and be willing to apply—an ointment that actually worked. He snorted. That wasn't a mystery. Well, at least not the part about why she'd been willing to apply first the salve, then the lemon water; he was still astounded she'd known how to mix such an effective concoction in the first place. Her reasons for being kind enough to apply it to his blistered skin were obvious: she truly did fancy him.
He sighed. Were he just a common gentleman expected to work his life away in trade, she'd be the perfect wife: attractive and good-humored. And though he'd be reluctant to admit such out loud, he found her inability to be rattled, her unshakeable confidence, and her persistence to be admirable—and charming in a somewhat unusual way; which was downright odd, since he'd hated to associate with this type of creature while living in England. But there was something about Carolina that had set him at war with himself; from the day they’d met, he’d been battling between what he needed and what he wanted.
Abruptly, he shoved to his feet and walked from the room; it mattered naught that his body fired with need when he saw her, or that just the scent of her could make his heart pound. He couldn't marry her. Vicars didn't marry ladies who were so brazen and bold. They married quiet misses who could be a comfort to the ladies of the church and always set a good example with their proper manners and meek demeanor, something Carolina Ellis wasn't capable of; of that, he was certain.
“Are you sure you're well enough to work?” Gabriel asked.
John jumped. He hadn't heard Gabriel approach. “Yes, I believe I'm well enough.” He'd been abed for two days, which was plenty of time to heal. Even if he wasn't completely well, he'd be out here working in order to be as far away from Carolina and her delicate touches and sweet smiles as possible. Another day of that and his resistance might crumble. Not to mention, Mrs. Ellis was planning a supper for some of the neighbors tonight and had told him in not so many words that he needed to be well and out of her house before the guests arrived. “What do you need me to do today?”
Gabriel scratched his head. “I don't. I thought you'd still be in bed today, so I already asked Lina to go.”
“Go where?”
“To the Fields'.”
John blinked at his friend. “While I admit your sister seems the sort to be a little unruly at times, I cannot believe you actually sent her to work in the indigo fields.”
“Not those fields; I sent her to the Fields' Plantation. They're our northern neighbors.” He chuckled. “I'd bet my entire inheritance had Lina known you'd be well enough to go in her stead, she might have done whatever you asked of her—including leaving you alone—to take her place.”
What makes you think I want her to leave me alone? John started at the thought. “Er...is there a reason she doesn't like visiting the Fields?” he asked with a slight cough, while he beat his palm against his chest.
“I'd say so,” Gabriel said with a grimace. “Apparently, Charlie's still sweet on her.”
“And she doesn't like him,” he ventured, chastising himself for caring so much about Gabriel's answer.
“No. He's proposed to her each time he's seen her since she was six.”
“Six?” John repeated in disbelief.
Gabriel nodded slowly. “As you already know, Lina does nothing in half-measures, and following her clapping and cheering for him after he played the piano at our house when he was ten and she was six, he's fancied himself in love with her.”
“Does he know she doesn't return the feeling?”
“I don't believe so, no.” He shrugged. “Does it really matter?”
“No,” John blurted; then flushed. “What I mean is, no, it doesn't matter to me whether or not she's informed him of her feelings.”
Gabriel raised one dark brown eyebrow. “But only if they're not romantic feelings?”
John scowled. “I have no idea what you're talking about, and you'd better be careful what you're insinuating.”
Gabriel chuckled. “Not to worry. She sees no reason to marry him while you're around. Mother, on the contrary—” He shrugged again as if that was a perfectly acceptable way to end a sentence. “You can ride over there if you'd like to give her an excuse to leave Charlie and Mrs. Fields' clutches before nightfall. And, to ensure she doesn't accept his proposal, of course,” he added with a wink.
“I'm sure I'll find something around here that's in need of repair.”
“Do as you'd like.”
He surely would do as he'd like. He had no desire to chase after Carolina, and he certainly had no desire to “save” her from yet another unwanted marriage proposal. If he did that—even just to be kind, of course—she'd certainly think he had an interest in her. No, he'd go find something with which to occupy himself.
But doing what?
He walked to the barn to see if the roof was st
ill in need of patching and frowned. Someone had finished his job. No matter. Perhaps there were more fence posts to drive. He walked the entire eastern perimeter and stared along the northern side. He came to an abrupt halt. If Carolina saw him here on her way back, she might think he was coming after her—which he wasn't.
John shut his eyes and sighed. He was being ridiculous. If she caught him over in that direction, he'd just tell her the truth: he was looking for something to do in order to earn his keep. Is that so? Shoving that traitorous thought from his mind, he pushed off from the fence and started toward the stables. If Gabriel didn't have any work for him, he might as well find something to do with his day, and the further away from Carolina, the better.
The day they'd arrived, Gabriel had allowed him to use the last stall in the stable for the black and white stallion he'd brought with him from Boston. Since then, he'd only taken him out long enough to brush him and take him for a few laps around the stable yard for exercise. Perhaps today he could take him down to the pasture and let him stretch his legs.
John saddled his horse and led him outside to the lush pasture before mounting. He filled his lungs with fresh air and tapped Hammond with his heels. Hammond took off running. The wind whipped through John's hair, blowing it every which direction. “Come on, boy,” he urged.
Hammond ran faster and the grin he knew had to be splitting his face widened. It had been so long since he'd ridden his horse as if he hadn't a care in the world. Gabriel had offered to buy Hammond on more than one occasion, but John refused to sell such a fine piece of horseflesh and planned to take him back to England when he went.
