Gar cleared his throat and shifted on the swing beside her. “You have borne grief, Leah, more than you deserve, maybe. I hope you can forget it here, and find peace.”
The night bird sang in a tree just beyond the porch and its mournful melody underlined the words he spoke. Leah only nodded, guilt at her duplicity tugging at her.
“Then you left the city to come here?” Gar prodded after another few moments.
Leah drew a breath, willing to tell this part. “I knew I’d been born in Kirby Falls, and I thought…well, no matter what I thought, I came here to live. You know the rest of it, how I took in laundry and sewed up cuts and dabbed salve on infections and lived in a little house alone.”
“Were none of your mother’s people left here?”
She shook her head. “My father is dead, and she had no one here. I doubt anyone even remembers Minna Polk.” She considered for a moment. “There is no Polk family hereabouts that I’ve heard of, so perhaps she was right, that there was no one of my father’s family here to miss her when she left.”
His gaze rested on her hands, fascinated by their movements. Narrow, they were, her fingernails short and neatly trimmed. He was aware of the faint calluses she bore, brought on by wringing out clothes over a scrub board, and marring the smoothness of her palms. And he knew that those same hands were tender and loving when they dealt with his baby daughter.
Leah’s hair was down tonight, her braid over one shoulder, the end loose with a handful of curls evident. She’d touched them, wrapping one then another around her index finger, and he wondered how that silken lock would feel, clinging to his own rough skin.
The sky was darkening and her hair was golden in the twilight, seeming more fair as the shadows deepened around them. His hand lifted from his knee and then settled there again, his palm aching to lay claim to the rounded slope of her shoulder, wishing he dared to draw her closer to his side.
And why not? he asked himself. She was his wife, all legal and binding. And yet, there was a bridge he was not ready to cross. He’d told her he would not expect her to occupy his bed, and now, less than a month into the marriage, he was eyeing her like a randy boy.
She fit in well here. She suited him, and Karen and Kristofer were enamored of her. If there were a chance of sending her on her way, he daren’t risk it. He would not go back on the bargain he had made with her.
Leah leaned into the corner of the swing and lifted one foot, tucking it beneath her bottom. “I suppose this is the life I yearned for back in the city, Gar. I didn’t like the dirty factory smoke in the air, and the streets so full of horse droppings that they had to clean them with a crew of men every few days.”
He chuckled, and heard the sound with a sense of surprise. Was he so bereft of humor in his life that he must be amused by tales of horse droppings? And yet, it seemed tonight that he could put aside his austere manners and relax with Leah, here in the almost-dark. She too had relaxed her guard, and he watched her, the lamp from the kitchen spreading its glow to silhouette her face.
She was pretty, this woman he’d married. More than pretty, he decided, his eyes taking in the clean lines of her profile. Her nose was straight, her chin just a bit prominent—he smiled at that observation. She led with it often, he decided, that stubborn part of her giving away her tendency to dig in her heels.
“Do you miss living in town?” he asked, urging her to speak her mind with him.
“In Kirby Falls? No…only that I enjoyed talking to the ladies at the store and having tea with Mrs. Thorwald and Eva Landers sometimes.” She turned her head and met his appraisal.
“I love your children, Gar. I appreciate the lovely home that you allow me to share. I even like you sometimes,” she said, adding the qualifier with a small pursing of her lips.
“That’s about as good as it will get…between us, isn’t it?” His gaze was focused on her, and he watched for a reaction, his jaw clenching as he fought the strange sadness that gripped him.
Her eyes lowered as if she feared she had daunted his mood. “I do like you, Gar. I think this will work out for us both, this being married and sharing a home with your children.”
Perhaps it was comfort he needed, more than just the pleasure she brought his eyes.
Gar’s hand clenched, and he forced it open, feeling a tingling in each fingertip, swallowing the reluctance that nudged his conscience. His palm lowered to touch her, skimming the narrow line of her shoulder, his index finger tracing the ridge of her collarbone. She lifted her chin, her eyes wide and startled. Her tongue, that fascinating bit of flesh that never failed to intrigue him, slid across her upper lip, then retreated.
Promise, be damned! He leaned forward, touching his mouth to her temple, the soft curls at her forehead brushing his nose. He inhaled her scent, a fresh air and rainwater aroma. It was sweet, yet not like the honeysuckle or the early roses by the porch. Better—like a woman’s flesh, fresh from washing at the end of day, when she rinsed away the dust and perspiration her skin had gathered.
He saw her in his mind, this woman of his, stripped to the waist, standing before her washstand, drying the dampness from her skin, her hair free and loose from her braid, long strands outlining the soft contours of her breasts.
Those breasts that were only inches from his hand.
His fingers stilled their roaming, one barely brushing the side of her throat. “Leah.” He’d never heard that sound in his voice before, harsh yet pleading. With only inches to travel, his index finger touched beneath her chin and tilted it to his pleasure.
Her lips were soft beneath his, unmoving yet not unresponsive. She was hesitant, as if she waited for him to tell her what to do. Her breathing stilled, and then her lips twitched and were motionless once more, as if she experimented with the sensation of their flesh touching. A sigh escaped her mouth and he inhaled it, then pushed against her softness, sensing a reluctance as his lips would have eased between her own.
He moved his mouth, seeking another angle, his teeth touching her bottom lip. She shivered, a soft sound of surprise making him smile. His caress moved to her cheek, and he closed his eyes, brushing lips and nose against her soft skin, murmuring words he’d almost forgotten how to speak, in the language of his birth.
“Gar?” She was breathless, her movements awkward as she shifted away from him. “I didn’t think we were going to do things like this.”
“We are allowed to share friendly kisses, Leah,” he said quietly. “I’m sure it was a part of our bargain.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Straightening, he looked at her, his attention taken by the startled look she wore. Almost as if she were fearful of him, she drew back—as if his kisses had frightened the young girl she had been half a score of years past.
If he hadn’t known better, he’d have judged the Widow Gunderson to be no more knowledgeable about the ways of marriage than a virgin bride. Perhaps her husband had not warmed her for his taking. Maybe she had not spent hours dallying beneath the moon, and more long minutes beneath the sheets before her woman’s flesh was made his.
At that thought, Gar’s foot stilled the movement of the swing. Suddenly he could not bear to think of this woman beneath another man. He rose to his feet. “You are right, Leah. I took advantage of the darkness and the warm night. I beg your pardon.” His head bowed in a semblance of apology, and he watched as she rose and made her way to the kitchen door.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, her breathing just a bit ragged. His tongue touched his upper lip and he tasted the residue of her flavor there. He was right. She was sweet. Just a bit tart beneath the surface, but sweet, nonetheless.
Dr. Berg Swenson attended Sunday church with regularity, occupying his customary pew. Leah flashed a glance in his direction this morning. How could he face God within his sanctuary and not be stricken by heaven’s power? This man, who worshiped and nodded and spoke so kindly to the townsfolk, was the vilest of all cre
atures, in Leah’s private record book.
He picked and chose his patients, caring for those who paid well and presented small challenge to his talents as a physician. And that Hulda Lundstrom had not rated high on his scale of need would forever be held against him by the woman who had witnessed her death.
Now, in the aftermath of the morning service, during which Leah had sung favorite hymns and listened to a long sermon that had half the congregation shifting in their seats, she was approached by the man for whom she felt only scorn.
“Mrs. Lundstrom.” He was pompous, never considering that she would not reply…although she was sorely tempted.
Her manners won out and she turned to face him. “Good morning, Dr. Swenson.”
“I have a case I would like to discuss with you,” he said in an undertone.
“Oh?” Her surprise was genuine.
“Will you step aside with me?” She nodded and he grasped her elbow, turning her to one side of the churchyard, away from the lingering crowd of parishioners.
“I have a patient whose illness has resisted my attempts at healing. I thought you might stop and see him with me.”
Leah bit her tongue, monitoring her words, lest she gain an enemy by this meeting. “What makes you think I can help someone you are unable to treat? Surely, you are more prepared than I to handle illness.”
“He has a fever, and nothing I give him eases it. I fear that he is growing weaker by the day.”
“How long has he been ill?” Leah asked, her mind darting over the remedies she knew to be of value.
The doctor frowned. “That’s the problem. It’s only been three days since he called me in, and the fever has drained him beyond what I would have expected.”
“I don’t know if I can be any help,” Leah said quickly. “I have tended bruises and cuts and bound up broken bones. Fever can be a worrisome thing.”
“He will pay you well.”
Leah stiffened. If money was the final argument in this favor he asked of her, the doctor was in for a surprise. “If I see him, I won’t ask a fee. I will do it as a service because I am able.”
“Leah, what is the problem?” Gar stood at her back, holding Karen in his arms, the scent of leather and horses and store-bought soap making her aware of his presence even before he spoke.
She turned her head, including him quickly. “The doctor wants me to visit a patient of his and see if I can suggest anything to aid his recovery.” She took a step back to include Gar in the circle. “Will you mind if we do it now?”
“Who is ill?” Gar asked the doctor, looking around the churchyard as if he would discern which among the townspeople were absent from the crowd.
“Eric Magnor.”
Gar’s brow lifted. “Eric? I had not heard. Surely he’s not…” He frowned.
“No, nothing beyond a fever that lingers, I think. I thought your wife might have a suggestion to offer.”
“Yes, we can stop by on our way home. Will he be expecting her?” Gar asked.
“I’ve told him I would suggest it,” the doctor said.
“And he agreed?” Leah asked.
Doctor Swenson nodded. “He was more than agreeable. He’ll be waiting for us.”
Karen’s head nodded, and her eyes closed as she used Gar’s shoulder for her pillow. Kristofer waited in the surrey, watching them as they walked from the churchyard.
“I’ll put her down on the seat by Kris,” Gar said quietly. “She should sleep for an hour or so, I would think.”
The big house sat on the edge of town, far removed from the sawmill that had made its construction possible. White, with tall pillars across the porch, it spoke of wealth and power, an image only enhanced by the presence of a butler who opened the door to the Sunday visitors.
“Mr. Magnor is expecting you, Mrs. Lundstrom.” His regal tones welcomed Leah, even as his chilly demeanor excluded the two men who accompanied her. “Will you gentlemen wait in the parlor?” He motioned to the wide doors leading to the formal room just down the hallway.
“Leah?” Gar’s low utterance of her name was a question she understood.
“I’m fine,” she said quietly, for his ear only. “I won’t be long.” Picking up her skirts, she followed the stately figure of the butler up the curving staircase to the second floor, looking back for a moment to meet Gar’s gaze. His nod was one of encouragement, and she allowed a half smile to touch her lips.
The room to which she was led was spacious, with windows open to the sun and fresh air. Eric Magnor was dressed in a fine robe. His trouser legs showed beneath its hem, as if he would hold his illness at bay by being clothed, instead of lying abed as he probably should have been.
He sat before the fireplace, but no fire lent warmth to the room. His head turned as Leah entered the doorway and he waved a hand at the butler, signifying his dismissal.
“Will you sit down, Mrs. Lundstrom?” His voice was far from strong, and he failed to rise, a lack Leah could only blame on his condition. For beneath the flags of color that rode his cheekbones, Eric Magnor was pale and wan, his eyes sunken in his head, his lips dry and cracked from fever.
He looked more than his age today, his graying hair lank against his head, the few wrinkles in his brow prominent.
She stepped closer to him, scorning the seat he offered. Her hand touched his forehead, and she felt the heat radiate from his flesh even before her palm made contact with the lined skin above his eyes.
“You have had no relief from the fever?” she asked.
He shrugged, a fatigued movement of his shoulders. “It comes and goes, and I’m tired to death of the pills and potions our esteemed town physician has to offer.”
Leah stepped back and watched him, noting the lax position of his hands on the arms of the chair. As if the man had no strength to spare, he leaned his head against the high chair-back and lifted heavy eyelids to gaze upon her.
“Do you have any remedies to suggest, ma’am? I understand you are a healer of sorts. Do you claim success in treating fever?”
Leah nodded. “I have a bag that contains various…” She paused. “If my husband will give me the use of his team and surrey, I’ll go home and bring it back with me. For now, I would suggest you have your butler or some other servant help you to bed and then wash you with cool water. It may ease the fever. It certainly won’t hurt.”
“My stable man can take you,” Mr. Magnor said, lifting a hand toward the doorway, where the butler had apparently waited, unseen by Leah.
“Sir?” the man asked.
“See Mrs. Lundstrom downstairs and do whatever she asks,” Mr. Magnor said wearily.
Leah rose, darting one last look at the ailing man. “I’ll return as soon as I can,” she promised. “Please do as I suggested, sir.”
His hand waved again, as if speech were too tiring to attempt, and Leah left the room.
Gar stood at the doorway of the parlor, his expression wary as she descended the stairs. “What is it, Leah? Can you help him?” He walked to meet her and offered his arm.
She took it, pleased by the gesture, and nodded at the doctor, who came from the parlor to join them. From beyond the front door a child’s voice called out. “The children?” she asked.
“Karen awoke and a maid went out to them. She is playing with them in the yard. I doubt they’ve missed us.”
“Would madam care to be escorted by the stable man, as Mr. Magnor suggested?” the butler asked, his bearing more subservient, his glance in Leah’s direction almost friendly.
“No, I’ll take Mrs. Lundstrom home myself,” Gar said brusquely.
Leah’s fingers tightened against his sleeve, and she halted him with a look. “Gar…I must come back. I’m only leaving to get my bag from the house.”
His jaw set and he looked about him with a harried glance. “I had not expected that, Leah. Perhaps the stable man had better follow us and bring you back. He’ll have to make the trip twice, getting you home later on, but that can’
t be helped. I can’t leave again, with the baby to tend to.”
Gar’s mouth tightened, and Leah felt a stir of aggravation at his gesture of impatience. They stood before the stoop under the scrutiny of the butler, and Gar’s hand clenched into a fist, the muscles of his arm rigid beneath her touch.
“This is important, Gar,” she said softly, seeking his understanding.
“So is your family, Leah,” he blurted, but then had the grace to look abashed at his harsh rejoinder.
“Dinner is almost ready to put on the table. By the time you and the children finish eating, I should be back.”
His nod was almost imperceptible as he turned his gaze upon her. “I’m sorry. I’d looked forward to this afternoon, when we could spend time without worrying about the barn or the crops. I’m being selfish, I know. And Eric Magnor is a friend. I shouldn’t begrudge him any help you can give.”
“He’s pretty sick, Gar,” she said, following him toward the surrey.
“Madam?” The butler hurried to catch up with them. “Am I to send the stable man along to bring you back?”
“Yes.” Gar spoke abruptly.
He offered Leah his hand and she climbed the iron step into the vehicle. Within minutes they were well on their way home, the doctor making a more leisurely path to his house near the sawmill.
Chapter Seven
It was hours past dark before the fever broke, and Eric Magnor slept. Leah sat beside his bed, watching her patient, her gaze drawn to the austere features of the man she had met only this noontime.
He’d been more than a gentleman with her, instructing his housekeeper and butler to do her bidding. And so they had worked together, she and these two servants who obviously held their employer in high esteem.
Eric had swallowed the tea obediently, a blend of dried elderberry blossoms and boneset that Leah’s mother had set such store by in years past. He had endured the cooling towels as his fever rose, and had shivered without complaint as his butler fanned him in the warm summer evening. The debilitated state of the man was frightening, Leah decided, watching as her orders were carried out. And not until he broke out in a sweat that drenched him thoroughly did she relax her vigil.
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