LoverforRansom

by Debra Glass

  A hot blush infused Cathleen’s cheeks. She didn’t want them to disapprove, but she needed to establish her authority. “Perfectly fine.”

  He eyed the tray and then the closed door. “She won’t come out.” It wasn’t a question.

  “There’s no reason she can’t dine with the family in the dining room.”

  “There’s one.”

  “What would that be, pray tell.”

  “She doesn’t want to,” Mr. Byrne said. As he neared, Cathleen detected the earthy scent of horses and leather. The men to whom she’d been exposed smelled of fancy pomade, books and ink, or stank of liquor and fish. This fragrance Mr. Byrne possessed wasn’t unpleasant at all.

  She huffed, trying to dislodge the distracting scent. “Really, if she is to be coddled so, then I’ll never be able to teach her a thing.”

  He started toward the tray, drawing Cathleen’s attention to the way his trousers molded to his thick thighs with every step. “Just for tonight. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

  Tearing her gaze from his legs, she shot to her feet. “I stand firm. You hired me to provide instruction and that’s what I intend to do.”

  His features darkened. Black brows lowered over ice-colored eyes. “I hired you to teach her, not starve her, Miss Ryan.”

  She stepped closer and tilted her head up to look at him. Lord, how had the North ever won the war with giants like this fighting against them? “Part of teaching her, Mr. Byrne, includes educating her on how to adapt to tasks the seeing take for granted. Do you want her to be a recluse? A shut-in? Do you want to cripple her for the rest of her life?”

  He blew an audible breath through his nose. The gentle force of it fanned her cheeks.

  She hugged her arms to keep him from seeing how she trembled. “The blind can live full, meaningful lives. Don’t hold her back out of a sense of…of guilt.”

  His eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw flexed, delineating strong, unyielding lines that were reflected in his stubbornness.

  She wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. “Mr. Byrne, if you love your sister, help me help her.”

  His gaze darted from her to the closed door and back again.

  Cathleen sensed he was torn and her heart went out to him—and also to the poor, angry child behind that door. She touched his arm. “She’ll come out when she’s hungry. Trust me.”

  Tense muscles crackled beneath her fingertips.

  “You’ve seen this sort of behavior before?” he asked.

  “Sadly, yes.” And of course, she had seen it at Perkins amongst the students. She’d never been the instructor who’d had to deal with it though.

  He nodded as if he were resigning himself to the fact that she knew best and Cathleen felt some of the tension ease out of her shoulders.

  “It might not happen tonight. But I assure you, by tomorrow, she’ll come out of that room.”

  “For your sake, I hope she does,” he said, then turned on his heel and bounded back down the stairs.

  After he disappeared from view, Cathleen clenched her fists. She ground her teeth in frustration. She wouldn’t give up. Steeling herself, she took a few steps toward the door. “Jenny, your supper is getting cold.”

  Nothing.

  “Your family is waiting for you.”

  “I’m not coming out.”

  Cathleen pursed her lips. She debated pounding on the door, but decided it would only serve to alert the Byrnes. Instead, she paced over to the tray and looked at the plate of fried chicken, delicious-smelling green beans and mashed potatoes covered with gravy. Her stomach growled audibly.

  She couldn’t go down. Not yet.

  But if Jenny was going to be stubborn, this food didn’t need to go to waste.

  * * * * *

  Disheartened, Cathleen lay awake in the giant four-poster bed. She’d been blind most of her life and knew the sighted equated the loss of vision with darkness. The blindness she’d known had been more akin to nothingness. It wasn’t anything like the pervasive blackness that permeated this monstrous house during the night.

  Wood popped and creaked as the house settled and cooled. Insects seemed to drone and buzz far louder than was natural.

  Cathleen was a city girl, unaccustomed to country life. Her earlier episode with the horse and wagon had exhibited that quite clearly to everyone involved. Her face flamed with shame at the memory.

  In addition to the unfamiliar scents, sights and accents, she just knew she’d never become comfortable with being waited on hand and foot by the very men and women she’d striven to see freed. It didn’t make sense that they would continue to remain in positions they’d been in before emancipation. She’d seen an influx of many former slaves in the North, but not nearly so many as she had imagined would flee their oppressors.

  Cathleen had never lived where servants were employed but she’d encountered them at Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s home, and at the homes of others who’d furthered the women’s movement. Those servants hadn’t been treated any differently than she’d seen Mrs. Byrne treat hers. She’d even witnessed a camaraderie between Ransom Byrne and little Charles she’d never perceived between Northerners and their staff.

  She blew out a sigh and flipped onto her side, hoping sleep would come. The bed was certainly comfortable enough, with its thick down mattress and abundance of cool feather pillows that smelled like the clean Tennessee outdoors. A stark contrast to Boston’s open air, which reeked of closely quartered people, horse offal and burning coal, all mingled with the fishy odors drifting from the harbor.

  Another scent lingered in the room that pleasantly overrode all the rest. This was Byrne’s room and he’d left his unmistakable stamp on it.

  Cathleen’s impaired sight tended to intensify her other senses—the decidedly masculine fragrances of spices, horses, leather, fresh lumber and male musk all but assaulted her, reminding her with every breath of the man who normally slept in this bed. She stretched her legs, luxuriating in the silky smoothness of the cotton against her bare skin.

  A muffled sound came from the next room, and Cathleen pushed herself up off the pillows to listen more closely. Again, she heard a whimper. Jenny…

  Throwing back the covers, she slid off the side of the bed, grateful for her habit of counting steps to familiarize herself with unusual surroundings.

  Eight steps to her bedroom door.

  Thirty-six steps to Jenny’s room.

  Sometime during the night, Jenny had opened her bedroom door. “Jenny?” Cathleen called in an authoritative voice. She squinted in the darkness that was barely lessened by moonlight spilling in through the door to the balcony.

  A gasp tore from the girl’s throat. She twisted wildly toward the sound. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s I, Cathleen, your teacher. What’s the matter, dear?”

  “I don’t…I thought I heard—” Fresh sobs gurgled in the girl’s throat and she burst into tears.

  Cathleen rushed across the room and planted a firm hand on Jenny’s shoulder before sitting beside her and dragging her into an embrace. “Hush, sweeting. It’s all right now.”

  Holding Jenny tightly, Cathleen stroked her hair, soothing her with soft words until the girl stopped shuddering and sniveling.

  A breathless Mrs. Byrne appeared in the doorway. “What’s all this commotion about?”

  “Jenny was experiencing a night terror.”

  “A night terror? Oh, Miss Ryan, these sorts of outburst from her are common at night. The doctor said that we must let her work through these fears, otherwise—”

  Cathleen was appalled. “Work through them?” she interrupted. “Are you mad? You cannot begin to imagine what losing sight is like. Every noise, every creak, every thud is amplified tenfold. She’s terrified.”

  “But…” Mrs. Byrne stopped talking and her lips formed an O. Her eyes glittered in the darkness and she began to wring her hands. “I would never… The doctor said…”

  “Well, I’m here now,” C
athleen said, gathering Jenny closer. “I will help her learn to deal with the heightened senses.”

  Cathleen closed her eyes, fighting away her own memories of night terrors. Steeling herself, she held Jenny back far enough to study the girl’s face. “Would you like me to stay with you?”

  Jenny nodded.

  Cathleen caressed the girl’s cheek and coaxed her to lie back down. Taking Jenny’s hand to reassure her, Cathleen stood. “I think it’s best if I stay here the rest of the night, Mrs. Byrne. We’ll discuss what else this doctor has told you tomorrow.”

  Speechless, Mrs. Byrne nodded. She turned to leave but stopped. “Miss Ryan, I’m glad you’ve come.”

  Cathleen smiled. For the first time since she’d arrived at Byrne’s End, she was glad she’d come too.

  * * * * *

  Ransom looked up from the breakfast table, shocked as Jenny made her way into the room on Miss Ryan’s arm.

  What could have possibly happened since his departure last night to have caused such a change in his sister? Ransom judiciously didn’t speak, but rather exchanged glances with Sissy. The nickname had been bestowed on his mother as a child by Aunt Chloe. As the oldest, Ransom had adopted the term and thus set the trend for Jenny.

  Jenny’s hair had been combed to a shine and pulled back in a bow. She wore a fresh day dress and even though her eyes were fixed, unseeing, her countenance was bright and flushed with color.

  “Where on earth are your manners, son?” Sissy asked, the nervous warble in her voice evident. “Aren’t you going to pull Miss Ryan’s chair out?”

  The teacher waved her hand at him in dismissal. “I’m quite capable of seating myself.”

  But Ransom was already on his feet. After tossing his napkin on his chair, he circled the table and pulled Jenny’s chair out.

  “Your brother is waiting to seat you,” Miss Ryan whispered as she gently nudged Jenny into her seat.

  Groping, Jenny found the table and then the chair before she sat. Ransom bent to press a kiss to her cheek. “Good morning, sister.”

  Jenny reached up and patted his hand. Wide-eyed, Ransom turned to the teacher, wondering how this severe little woman, with her plain mourning gown and black glasses, could have made such a transformation in so short a time.

  “Good morning, Miss Ryan,” he said cheerily as he drew the chair from her hands and pulled it back for her.

  Mouth set in a grim line, she moved around the chair and sat as he pushed it in. “Thank you, Mr. Byrne.”

  “Good morning, Miss Ryan!” Sissy greeted cheerily as a servant moved around the table, dishing food onto the plates. “I trust after the…um…unpleasantness, you slept well enough?”

  “Very well,” she began, but Ransom butted in.

  “Unpleasantness? Thank you, Sally,” he added as a biscuit landed on his plate.

  His mother’s hand fluttered as if she were shooing a bee. “Jenny had a bad dream.”

  “I’ll butter that for you, missy,” Sally whispered to Jenny.

  “Thank you but she can do it herself. And it wasn’t a bad dream at all,” Miss Ryan said as she quietly placed Jenny’s hands on her cutlery. She guided Jenny’s fingers to the biscuit on her plate and then to the butter dish. “Would you like to try?”

  “I’m afraid I’ll make a mess,” Jenny squeaked.

  “Nonsense. You’re learning. It’s perfectly fine for you to make a mess,” the teacher said patiently. “Careful not to cut yourself.”

  Ransom gaped as his sister began the trial and error process of buttering a biscuit. “Unpleasantness?” he repeated.

  Miss Ryan eyed him over the top of her spectacles. “Her reaction to common sounds that wouldn’t otherwise frighten a sighted person is perfectly normal. Other senses fill in and can become overwhelming, especially at night. It’s merely an adjustment Jenny will make with time.”

  “Now you won’t have to come to my room in the night anymore,” Jenny said, directing her comment toward him.

  “I knew you’d been going to her.” Sissy shook her head but gave him a sly smile. “And I’m glad you did. Sally, my tonic?”

  Ransom sat back in his seat. He’d hardly made it a secret that he’d defied the doctor’s orders. “I didn’t think that doctor knew what he was talking about.”

  “It’s a good thing Miss Ryan has come.” Sissy took the little bottle Sally produced from her pocket. From the ever-present taint on his mother’s breath, Ransom highly suspected it had been filled with bourbon. She’d imbibed ever since his grandfather—her father—had died.

  Ransom envied her ability to escape. He certainly didn’t blame her. But he would not afford himself the same luxury. He deserved to suffer for bringing death and blight home to roost.

  “When will you get started teaching Jenny her lessons?” Sissy inquired.

  Just about to put a forkful of egg in her mouth, Miss Ryan stopped. She straightened. “The lessons will involve the entire family and the servants as well.”

  “What do you mean?” Sissy tipped the bottle over her coffee and poured in at least two tablespoons of the liquid.

  “It’s acceptable to use your hands to feel your way around the table,” the teacher told Jenny as she guided her knife to the top of her plate. Miss Ryan lifted her gaze. “Jenny is clearly not comfortable with her surroundings. Everyone at Byrne’s End can help by remembering to perform simple tasks that will keep the house uniform for Jenny.”

  “Such as?” Ransom asked.

  “I’ll show you in good time. But for now, we should stop talking about her as if she weren’t here.”

  He tasted his coffee, the realization that he’d been guilty of treating Jenny differently sitting like a cold stone in his gut. Since she’d gone blind, he’d treated her as if she were a fragile doll instead of the horse-riding, rough-housing sister he’d loved to kid before the war.

  Maybe entrusting Jenny to this presumptuous Yankee woman was exactly what they’d all needed.

  * * * * *

  Ransom lifted his head as he heard Miss Ryan’s unique blend of Irish brogue and clipped Boston accent. He wiped his brow with his sleeve as he stepped back from the horse he’d been brushing. He peered out the stable door. What was that woman up to now?

  She stood on the back veranda conversing with Charles, who nodded and pointed toward the barn. Then together, the pair set off.

  Ransom’s brow furrowed. What could she possibly want from the barn?

  There was only one way to find out.

  He trekked down the hill and, as he neared the barn, Charles emerged, carrying a black-and-white puppy.

  “What are you doing with that dog?” Ransom asked as Charles struggled to hold the wriggling puppy.

  Miss Ryan stepped out of the shadows, dusting off her skirts. “I’m taking it to Jenny.”

  Ransom strained not to laugh. He raked his fingers through his hair. “Did you ask Sissy about that?”

  The teacher stiffened. Her chin lifted defiantly. “Mrs. Byrne has given me free rein to teach Jenny as I see fit.”

  This time, Ransom did chuckle. “Are you planning on taking that mongrel inside the house?”

  “Of course. I think it would help her sleep. And besides, I’ve enlisted the help of young Mr. Hunt, here, to train him.”

  “Train him?” This was growing funnier by the second.

  “Yes.” She pushed her glasses up on her pert nose. “Dogs can be trained to help the blind, besides being invaluable companions.”

  “I don’t doubt that, Miss Ryan,” Ransom said. “But Sissy isn’t going to allow that animal in her house. And even if she bites her tongue on this, Aunt Chloe won’t.”

  The teacher’s lips pursed and then her black eyebrows arched over the top of her spectacles. “Then I’ll need your powers of persuasion to convince them, Mr. Byrne.”

  “Whoa!” Ransom said, throwing up his hands. “If you want to face Aunt Chloe’s wrath, go right ahead. I’m not going to be any part of this.”


  “But Mr. Byrne, Jenny needs this dog. He’ll help her to feel safe at night…since you’re no longer in the house.”

  Ransom sucked in a sharp breath. Even this woman’s flirting was tinged with the lash.

  “Of course, Jenny and I could trade places with you and set ourselves up in the house where you’re staying,” the teacher offered. “Provided there’d be no objection to this darling little puppy there.”

  The woman just wouldn’t be dissuaded. And Ransom couldn’t find fault with her argument. A dog would be a welcome distraction for his sister, and might also serve to get her out of the house. “Very well,” he said, and reached to take the dog from Charles.

  He ignored the way the Yankee woman’s smug smile irritated him as he strode purposefully toward the house. “Come along. Let’s face the salvo of fire we’ll most surely endure from Sissy and Aunt Chloe.”

  He scratched the dog behind the ears to soothe its squirming and was rewarded with a sound, sloppy lick to the hand.

  Charles veered off as they closed in on the house.

  “Where are you going?” Ransom asked.

  “I volunteered to train the dog,” Charles said. “I never said I’d ask Aunt Chloe if Jenny could keep him.”

  Ransom laughed heartily. “You run on, then.”

  “Thank you for your help, Charles!” Miss Ryan called after the boy as he disappeared around the side of the house.

  Ransom stepped onto the porch and opened the door. “After you,” he said, stepping aside so Miss Ryan could pass in front of him.

  Some of the earlier bravado she’d possessed had wilted. She gnawed her bottom lip as she slipped off her spectacles and pocketed them.

  “Sissy!” Ransom called.

  Feather duster in hand, she stepped into the downstairs hall, followed by Aunt Chloe, who looked more than formidable with her broom. They looked like mismatched twins in their calico day dresses and aprons with their hair covered by white kerchiefs.

  “What are you doing with that mutt?” Aunt Chloe asked, her scurrilous gaze darting back and forth between Ransom and Miss Ryan.

  Ransom looked at the suddenly mousy teacher. She cleared her throat. “I…I think Jenny would benefit from having the responsibility of caring for a pet.”