by Barbara Mack
"Oh," Kathleen panted. "I will be so glad when that newfangled washing machine that Nick ordered finally gets here. Can you imagine just turning the handle on the drum and getting the clothes clean? If it works well, I am going to make Pa get one for Ma to use, too."
“He has not said one personal word to me since that night,” Maggie said suddenly to Kathleen, who made no sign that she had heard the very same statement at least ten times already today. “He tells me what to do, stares straight through me with that cold glare of his, and then he turns and leaves.” She heaved the wet clothes into an empty basket, and together, she and Kathleen twisted the water out of a pair of Tommy’s pants, clucking over the holes that the boy had put in them already. “If he wanted to know anything about it, he would have said something by now. It has been long enough for him to get over his mad.”
Kathleen shook her head. “It has only been three days, Maggie. I have known my Pa to carry on a sulk for weeks at a time. The point is, you did not do anything wrong. I am sure that Nick will understand what I have been doing, and even empathize. Everyone knows what his views on slavery are.”
“Then why have not you told him before?” Maggie shot back. “I will tell you why. You did not want to put him in that position. He is a landowner, and he is known to disapprove of slavery. That makes him suspect enough already. He makes his living here, and he has to deal with all these people, and you did not want him to have to choose. What he does not know about your ... activities cannot hurt him.” She flung a wet shirt over the line and pinned it on with the wooden clothespins that Ned had carved for her the first week she was here. “And besides, he could have had a little trust in me. He could have just asked me. I would have told him. I swear, right then I would have, Kathleen, I would have told him everything to keep from seeing that look on his face. I would have spilled the darkest secrets of my soul, and yours along with them, and I would not have been sorry, nary a whit...”
Grimly, she reached for the next thing in the basket, and then wiped the sweat out of her eyes with the corner of her apron. “For the first two days I felt just awful for him, because I know he has been hurt in this way before. But now, I am not feeling hurt and breaking my heart over him anymore. Now I am just plain mad. What right has he to stand in judgment of me? Oh, I know he was hurt by what he thinks I have been doing behind his back. But I also know that part of him is glad that he has an excuse not to feel anything anymore, and part of him feels justified in not trusting me. He is as stubborn as that old mule he keeps in the barn, and I am not speaking to him, either.”
Kathleen looked at her from the opposite side of the clothes line. “What are you going to do, Maggie?”
“I am going to let him stew a while in his own juices. It must be gratifying to be right all the time, and I am just going to let him be right for a while.”
Kathleen was filled with guilt and misery, and it was evidenced in her posture. Her normally straight shoulders drooped, and she seemed smaller, more fragile than she ordinarily did. Fine lines that Maggie had never noticed before fanned out from her eyes.
“Oh, Maggie, I hate seeing you so unhappy, and I hate seeing Nick unhappy, too. Even if he is acting like an ass, I have known him all of my life. That coldness he puts on sometimes hides a lot of pain, and I would bet money that he is drinking himself to sleep every night, just like he did after his parents died, just like he did when Mary died . . . “ She shook her head. “He thinks that he is doomed to lose the people he loves, over and over, and he tries not to love anyone, but it does not work. He has convinced himself over the years that he does not need anyone, and if it was not so ridiculous, it would be laughable. He has always been the kind of person who needs a lot of affection. Do you ever notice how many times in the day he goes by and pats my shoulder, hugs Tommy, or grips Ned’s arm? He has been that way since he was a child. He collects people the way that my mother collects hats. Tommy, you, me, Ned . . . “Kathleen shrugged her shoulders.
“He needs us as much as we need him and the only difference is that we all know we need him. Now he is cutting himself off, not just from you but from everyone. I have not even seen him so much as ruffle Tommy’s hair as he walks by. He is hurt, and he is scared, Maggie. Do not be too harsh with him. He needs you to love him. He is trying to drive you away but do not let him. These last few months, Nick has been the happiest that he has been since before his parents died.”
“I do love him,” Maggie said forlornly, her mouth turning down at the corners. She gave a half-hearted tug to a sheet that hung crookedly. “But he is still a stubborn jackass. And he will not let me get close.”
“Do not give up,” Kathleen said.
“I will not,” Maggie said in a whisper. “I can’t.”
Maggie picked up a basket and headed back inside, Kathleen right behind her. It was early yet; they still had plenty to keep them busy inside while they waited for the wash to dry. They had several hungry men to feed in about two hours, for starters.
“Someone is coming up the drive,” Kathleen said, and then Maggie heard the rattle of carriage wheels as they traversed the tree-lined lane, and the creak when the carriage stopped right in front of the house.
She hissed a curse under her breath; why did it have to be now? They dropped the baskets inside the back door, Maggie ripping her wet, stained apron off and wiping her face with it just as the doorknocker sent a rat-a-tat-tat through the house. Maggie raced through the house, hair flying, and opened the door to the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.
Her blond hair was coiffed perfectly in some intricate structure with not a hair out of place, and Maggie’s hand went self-consciously to her own straggling strands. The woman’s coiffure was not only perfect, it framed a face that came straight out of a fairytale. Thickly lashed bright blue eyes, a perfect, straight little nose, and a cupid’s bow mouth, all set in a skin so white and perfect it looked like porcelain.
“I am Martha Fawcett,” said that red mouth now in an accent that seemed to slide all over her like warm honey. “You must be Maggie. Is Nick around anywhere? I need to talk to him something terrible.”
Maggie stared at her, and Kathleen spoke from behind her.
“Hello, Martha,” she said dryly, gripping Maggie’s arm and giving one sharp, hidden tug.
Maggie flushed brilliantly and moved out of the door so the woman could come in.
“Would you like to wait in the parlor while I go and get him?” she asked stiffly. “I will bring you some tea or lemonade if you like.”
“Tea would be fine,” Martha said, stripping the white gloves from her elegant hands. Her apple green dress swayed enticingly as she bustled ahead of Maggie into the library. “I will wait in here, though. I want to see Nick’s new books.”
Evidently she needed no help finding her way around in this house, Maggie thought resentfully.
“I will get us both a cup of tea and sit and chat with you a minute, Martha. I have not seen you for a while, and you can catch me up on all the latest gossip.” Kathleen said cheerfully, shooting Maggie a look that she had trouble reading and pretending not to notice when Martha Fawcett sent her dirtied clothing a look of disgust. “You go find Nick, Maggie. I am sure that he is down to the stables.”
Nick was, indeed, at the stables, knee-deep in blood, or so it seemed to Maggie’s horrified gaze. He and Ned were in the birthing stall with a very pregnant mare, and Nick had one arm plunged inside her up to the elbow. He turned his irritated gaze on her, his black brows drawn together.
“What is it?” he snapped. “I am a little busy right now, or can’t you tell?”
Maggie’s soft mouth became a hard line. “You have company up at the house. Martha Fawcett is here to see you. I am delivering the message, that is all.”
Having got the foal turned and headed in the right direction, Nick withdrew his arm and began wiping it with a towel, ignoring Maggie’s presence.
“She should come out just fine now,” he said t
o Ned, who nodded. “Call me if there is any more difficulty. I will send Tommy over to you.” He spoke to Maggie without looking at her. “Tell Martha I will be there as soon as I clean up a little.”
Maggie marched back to the house with her fists clenched at her sides. How dare he treat her like some . . . like a . . . servant, she finished ruefully, her anger dying off a little. Why, oh why, did Martha Fawcett have to show up today of all days? She was wearing a castoff dress that Kathleen had given her especially for laundry day so that she would not ruin her new, pretty clothes. It had belonged to some aunt who had stayed with them briefly and left the dress, probably on purpose, Maggie thought dryly. The material was thin enough to read through and the color was a dull, faded pewter that put her in mind of a dreary, rainy day. She had sweated right through it, too, and half her hair was falling out of its pins. Martha probably had never raised a sweat in her life; someone else did the sweating for her and all she had to do was lie around and look pretty. And she did that very, very well.
Maggie scooted off to the kitchen and started on the noonday meal, her mind in an uproar. Lord, she was so jealous she could just . . . just claw the face off that woman down there in the library! She wanted to smack her and knock that pretty hairdo all awry, and then she wanted to scratch Nick’s eyes out for him, for even daring to look at another woman. Maggie groaned, and bent her head down to lay it on the counter.
“What is wrong?” Kathleen asked behind her, and Maggie kept her eyes closed for a moment as she straightened up.
“Nothing,” she said calmly. “I felt dizzy for a moment, that is all. It is past now.”
“Lie to somebody else,” Kathleen said, snitching a piece of cheese from the half wheel on the counter top and popping it into her mouth. She leaned against the cabinets and crossed her arms. “Do not lie to me. I thought your eyes were going to pop from your head when Martha asked for Nick in that sicky-sweet voice of hers. Is Nicky heah?” she mimicked savagely. “I have been dying to slap that woman since we were children and she told my mother I had gone skinny-dipping with Nick and a couple of other boys. I got the whipping of my life, and I did not get to come here for months after that. She conveniently forgot to mention that she was the one who dared me to do it, and then she got Nick to herself for a while after that, the jealous little cat. She always was a sneak, twisting things around to suit herself.”
“Well, evidently she is the kind of woman that Nick is most comfortable with,” Maggie said, tying on a clean, white apron. “I cannot do anything about that.” She whirled around suddenly, her eyes blazing. “Is . . . is she his lover?”
Kathleen avoided her eyes and mumbled something.
“Is she?” Maggie insisted. “Tell me, Kathleen.”
“She used to be,” said Kathleen reluctantly. “If they are not now, it is Nick’s idea and not hers. She has always wanted him. He has not been seeing her lately,” she added quickly, seeing the stricken look on Maggie’s suddenly white face, and then she made the mistake of adding: "She has been staying with her cousins in New York for almost a year."
Maggie bustled around the kitchen slicing bread, ham, and cheese, and warming vegetables for the noon meal. The muscles in her shoulders tensed as musical laughter floated to their ears. Her mouth tightened and she slammed a bowl down on the table, making Kathleen jump.
“I am going for a walk,” she said shortly, flinging the apron over the back of a chair. “Lunch is ready, the table is set, and all you have to do is serve it. I need to get out of here for a while.”
Maggie flounced out the door, letting it slam behind her. She was tempted to open it and slam it once again for good measure, but she resisted the temptation and stomped across a pasture into the forest, then took off at a run.
She ran for what seemed like forever, paying no attention to the scenery flashing by her, ran until her breath grated harshly in her lungs, until her legs cramped, ran until she was so tired that she had to stop or fall down. Maggie leaned against the rough trunk of a maple tree, gasping for breath, her leg muscles trembling from the exertion. She hung her head and wrapped her arms around her knees, and the sobs that took her unaware suddenly wracked her whole body. She lay down in a pile of leaves and wept miserably. After a while, after she had cried out all her anguish and tumultuous emotion, the crying bout eased, and she sniffled and wiped her face on the tail of the gray dress. Maggie uncurled her body to lie flat on her back and stare up at the sky.
The trees around her all wore a mantle of brightly colored leaves, the blaze of gold, bronze, orange, and red making them look for all the world like women dressed in evening finery. The brilliant hues framed a clear sky, and Maggie stared up into the heavens, enthralled. The sky was so endless; it made her feel so peaceful to watch a lonely streak of cloud drift slowly across it. Her problems seemed somehow less significant after she had stared up at the sky for a while. Maggie let herself be lulled into a dreamy state, neither awake nor asleep. She lay there in a trance state, her brain dormant for a while. She lost track of the time as her muscles relaxed and her brain shut down.
The colorful leaves fluttered in the wind, and Maggie shivered. She had not thought to grab a cloak, and now that she was cooling off from her hard run and the hard work of laundry day, it was cold out here. She sat up slowly, her muscles protesting, noting the position of the sun in the sky. She had stayed out here a lot longer than she had intended, she thought, a frown marring her face as she checked the position of the sun in the sky. It would be dark in about an hour. She had left Kathleen to do the rest of the day’s work, just ran off and never came back, with the wash still flapping on the line.
Maggie had been walking for about ten minutes when she suddenly realized that she did not know where she was. She had come so far, so fast, and she had not been paying any attention to where she was going. She had just been running, wanting to somehow leave her problems behind, and she had wandered onto land she had never seen before. Nothing here seemed familiar.
She found an overgrown path that seemed as if it led in the general direction of the house and took it, but it meandered around and took her deeper into the forest, and then the path just stopped. This part of the forest seemed darker somehow, the vegetation thicker and lusher even though it was mid-October, and Maggie doubted if anyone had come this way in years.
She was sincerely cold by now, and starting to get frightened. She had forgotten that she was in the middle of the wild; having been raised in St. Louis, she was not used to being cautious. But there were wild animals out here, and perhaps wild people, too. Nick had warned her more than once about staying close to the house. How could she have been so stupid? She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. The best thing to do, she thought, was to find someplace where she could warm herself up and stay put. When she did not come home, someone would be sure to come looking for her . . . after a while. Something rustled the bushes behind her, from the sounds of it a big something, and Maggie looked around uneasily and took off walking. She did not want to be around if that something decided it wanted her for dinner.
Ten minutes later, she had found a small clearing and was leaning against a tree there. This was as good a place to wait as any, and it was nearly pitch black now. In a few minutes she would not be able to walk around without stumbling over something. She made an enormous mound of dried grasses and leaves and pulled them around her. They helped cut a great deal of that cold wind that was beginning to whistle around, and she actually felt warm and secure for the moment. A screech owl called right above her head, and Maggie started, and then realized what that terrible, scary sound was. She put her hand on her heart and puffed out a laughing breath, trying to relax.
The mournful howl of coyotes drifted to her on the wind, and Maggie looked around
nervously. Coyotes did not bother people . . . did they? Uneasy, she tried to remember any stories she had heard about coyotes, but she had grown up in St. Louis, and the only thing that came to mind were ho
rror stories that she had heard about hungry wolves, and those did not ease her fears. To top it all off, it was beginning to rain, drops falling only lightly, but Maggie suspected gloomily that this light rainfall was just the beginning. The sky that had been so clear earlier was now filled with clouds that diffused the little light from the moon that there was and obscured the stars from view.
Leaves crackled as something moved across them, and Maggie’s heart about jumped out of her chest. She was chilled to the bone now, and soaking wet to boot, and the colder she got, the more frightened she became, it seemed. A twig snapped, and Maggie sank down farther into her bed of leaves and grasses, dry-mouthed with fear. The unmistakable snort of a horse had her sitting back up again.
“Hello?’ she said tremulously, despite thoughts of wild men and outlaws... “Is anyone there?”
“Maggie!” said an unmistakable, angry voice, and she closed her eyes in vexation. Oh, this was perfect.
Why did Nick have to be the one to find her?
The rain was coming down in earnest now, and Maggie called out to him.
“Over here,” she croaked, and the next thing that she knew, Nick was standing over her with a scowl on his much too handsome face, delivering a blistering lecture as he wrapped her in a blissfully warm blanket.
“I did not get lost on purpose,” she finally snapped after he had boosted her up on Jet and climbed on behind her, still scolding. She had been determined to say nothing in the face of his recriminations, but he went much too far with his reprimands. The last straw was when he referred to her as ‘an idiotic, scatter-brained female who did not care if she made others sick with worry.’
“I went for a walk, that is all, and lost my way. I am sure that has never happened to you–you being such a paragon of all the virtues, that is,” Maggie said nastily, driven to the edge not only by his words, but by the feel of his hard body behind hers on the saddle. “But I occasionally make mistakes.”
