The Moon and the Stars

by Constance O'Banyon

  She glanced down at Jonathan and winked. “Shall we tell him that he’s usually busy when we read?”

  The boy sat up, looking as if he was considering the possibility. “You are busy most of the time, Wade. We have to read every day or we won’t know what happens in the story.”

  Wade leaned against the back of the bench, his gaze on Caroline. “I am going upriver on one of the barges tomorrow, I thought you might enjoy the trip. We will attempt to make you as comfortable as possible.”

  Any thought she’d had earlier of telling him she could not marry him had now fled her mind. All she could think about at the moment was spending the rest of her life with him. “I would love to go with you!” She closed the book. “What do you think, Jonathan. Would you like to go up the river?”

  “No.” He shook his head while jealousy dulled his eyes. “I get seasick. Wade knows that.”

  “I know about seasickness, and it’s not much fun.” She smoothed the child’s hair in place, much as a mother might have done. “I was once seasick for three whole days.”

  Jonathan’s eyes lost some of their anger. “You were?”

  “I was.”

  “Will you read to me when you get back?”

  “Of course.”

  “You will have to be up early,” Wade told her. “We leave the docks before sunup.”

  “I will be ready,” she assured him. She looked into his eyes. “Will we see you at dinner tonight?”

  “I am sorry but I have matters to attend to, and I will not be home for dinner.”

  “Oh,” she said, trying not to show her disappointment; they hardly ever dined together. It was a situation she was determined to amend after they were married. “I understand.”

  “Well, then,” Wade said, rising in a fluid motion. “I will see you at six in the morning, Caroline.”

  She and Jonathan watched him disappear, each lost in thought. “Shall we finish this chapter?” she asked at last.

  “Yes, please,” he said, but with little enthusiasm.

  “What’s wrong, Jonathan?”

  “He would like me better if I didn’t get seasick, and if I didn’t let the boys push me around at the academy. He thinks I’m a weakling.”

  She laid the book aside and put her arm around him, drawing his head onto her shoulder. “I don’t think that is true, Jonathan. He gave you a home and keeps you with him. He has to care for you a great deal. Besides, you are only a boy—your courage will grow with the inches you gain.”

  He glanced up at her with hope in his eyes. “Do you really think so?”

  She opened the book. “You will remember that Hawkeye did not have a mother or father when Chingachgook took him for his son. And you know what a brave warrior Hawkeye became.”

  The boy looked disconcerted. “Could it be like that for me?”

  “I’m certain that if you are ever called upon to prove your bravery, you will perform your duty admirably.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I do. Now let us finish this chapter,” she said, wanting to see the hurt disappear from his eyes.

  Caroline stood on the deck, holding on to her straw bonnet to prevent the wind from carrying it away. Wade had explained to her that they were actually traveling on a flatboat instead of a barge because he thought it would be more comfortable for her. The flatboat was like a floating deck with large oars that were being plied by twelve men. There was a sudden whoosh as the sails unfurled to catch the wind and relieve the men at the oars.

  She had been half afraid that the Mississippi River would be rough and she might get seasick: But it was calm, with gentle waves splashing against the boat. She stared at the muddy water as it lazily drifted seaward. She felt a sudden burst of happiness. For so long she had lived with uncertainty and fear. Now she was not afraid, and didn’t have to look over her shoulder to see if someone was chasing her. And she owed her feeling of well-being to Wade.

  He was conferring with the captain of the flatboat, and both their heads were bent over a ledger. When Wade suddenly glanced up at her and smiled, she felt warmth spread through her.

  A moment later he came to her. “I thought you might like a diversion while the dockworkers go up the river to load their cargo. I have arranged a surprise for you. How would you like to have a picnic in the swamp?”

  She watched the breeze lift his black hair off his forehead, and the sun seemed to be captured in the gold of his eyes. “Is that possible?”

  “Oui. I can assure you it is.” He stared at her lips, remembering how soft they had been beneath his. “If you will recall, I was cheated out of a picnic that day in San Sebastian.”

  “That is not true.” She shook her finger at him, but her smile took the sting out of her words. “As I recall the incident, it was you who ruined the picnic for me.”

  He reached for the ribbons that had worked loose beneath her bonnet and retied them. “Did I? I remember wanting to draw my gun and shoot a certain Captain Dunning.”

  She thought he might be joking until she saw that unmistakable hardness in his eyes. “Whatever for?”

  He ran his knuckle along her jawline. “I’ll tell you some day. But for now,” he said, smiling, “I am going to launch a small skiff as soon as the captain pulls up to that dock.”

  A short time later, he was helping her into a flat-bottom skiff. When she was seated, Caroline raised her parasol over her head to protect her fair skin from the sun. Wade set the picnic basket at her feet and took the oars.

  The boat drifted away with orders to the captain to pick them up at the dock in three hours’ time. Wade applied his oars to the water, and the skiff shot forward. He guided them down a small tributary with surprising speed. A seabird cried out overhead as the river disappeared behind them, and a white-tail deer dashed into a thicket and disappeared from sight.

  “It is so beautiful here!” Caroline exclaimed as she watched a catfish leap out of the water and gulp down an unsuspecting dragonfly.

  “It is as beautiful as it is hazardous. There are bogs in there that can swallow a whole boat and leave no trace. Then there is quicksand, poisonous snakes, and let us not forget the alligators.” He stopped rowing for a moment and allowed the boat to drift as he studied her face. “But those who see the swamp for what it is are the ones who are greatly rewarded.”

  A fluffy cloud had passed beneath the sun, and Caroline closed her sunshade and laid it in the bottom of the boat. She removed her bonnet and let the cool breeze play across her face. “Well, I love it!”

  “I thought . . . I hoped you would.”

  “This was a wonderful idea you had.”

  “Maybe I just wanted to get you alone.”

  “It seemed to me that on our journey to San Antonio, and the one here to New Orleans, we were alone quite a bit.” She glanced at a misshapen cypress tree with green moss clinging to the trunk. “And we are not alone.” She arched her brow at him. “Let us not forget the alligators.”

  He found her delightful. She was exactly the kind of woman he wanted. She was certainly the one woman he desired so much it hurt.

  Caroline noticed he wore his gun belt, and she was momentarily reminded of his other profession—that side of him troubled her. But her gaze moved upward to his arms. He had rolled up his sleeves, and she watched his muscles ripple when he applied the oars to the water.

  “I spent much of my time as a boy in these swamps. Anton once had all his workers out looking for me for two days. When they found me, I could not convince them that I had not been lost.” He raised his eyebrows. “You can imagine how Anton curtailed my wandering for a long time after that. A whole year passed before I was allowed to come here again.”

  She trailed her hand in the water, making it swirl behind them. “Tell me more about the swamp.”

  “To me, it is a place of undisturbed beauty—man has not yet left his destructive scars upon this land. If you look closely, you will see that there is a constant struggle for survival
between the hunter and the prey—it is the way of life everywhere, but nowhere more noticeable than here.”

  Her gaze dropped to his gun belt. “Like a bounty hunter and his quarry?” She hadn’t meant to say that; the words had just slipped out. She saw his frown and was immediately sorry. But there would always be that part of their lives that stood between them like a wall.

  As if he had read her mind, he drew in the oars and reached down to unbuckle the gun belt, allowing it to fall at his feet. “If you ask it of me, I will never pick this gun up again.”

  “I do ask it of you.”

  “Then that is the way it will be.”

  Her breath caught, and she wanted to touch his face, to spread her fingers through his dark hair. She wanted to feel his arms around her and have him hold her close. But she was still shy with him and dropped her gaze to the water.

  “Now,” he said, taking up the oars as if nothing important had just passed between them. “Around the next bend is my favorite place.”

  “You come here often?”

  “Not in a long time.” He paused for a moment. “I have never brought anyone here before. You are the first.”

  Her heart was drumming in her ears. He made her feel so many emotions, she could hardly separate them. She would have been satisfied to lie in his arms and just listen to the sound of his wonderful voice. She tried to concentrate on the scenery, but it was difficult with him staring at her so intently.

  The boat caught a hidden current, and they rounded the bend in a rush. She gasped as she saw huge oaks with branches draped in veils of Spanish moss. Cypress trees stood like sentinels guarding this secret place against the unworthy. A heron circled above the secluded bayou that was home to a throng of creatures. She saw turtles sunning themselves on a fallen log, and several frogs raised their heads, looking for any unsuspecting insect that might come their way.

  “This is wonderful!” she cried, joy spreading through her heart like slow molasses. “It is like nothing I could ever have imagined.”

  His voice was gruff. “I am pleased, Caroline.”

  No one had ever spoken her name the way he did: With his French accent it came out like a song. She watched him guide the boat toward a small, grassy island, then stand to offer her his hand. When they were ashore, he dragged the boat onto the grass so it wouldn’t drift away. Then he reached inside and pulled out the picnic basket.

  Caroline listened to the melodic sounds of swamp creatures. There were strange bird calls and other noises that she could not identify. Wade unfolded a quilt, and she helped him spread it underneath an oak tree.

  She unloaded the picnic basket and looked amazed. “It seems Mary took you at your word to put weight on me. We have ham, chicken, corn, cheese, and some of her wonderful biscuits, and her homemade jam. And there are pastries—apple, I hope.”

  He took the ham sandwich she offered him and leaned back to watch her. “This is my grand scheme to fatten you up. If I must, we will have a picnic a day to put weight on you.”

  She nibbled on a slice of cheese. “You want me fat?”

  “I want you healthy.”

  “I am.” She suddenly needed him to understand something about her. “I have always been healthy and have rarely been sick a day. I don’t know why I was so ill when we left San Sebastian.”

  She had his complete attention. “So you were sick as far back as that?”

  “I don’t think so. I was more terrified of you than sick.”

  Now he was watching her closely, and it was difficult for her to swallow.

  Wade’s guilt was growing by leaps and bounds. He fell into a brooding silence as he watched her wipe her fingers on a napkin. When she started to pack the basket, he caught her hand. “You have hardly eaten anything. That will not do.” He picked up a pastry and took a bite. “You get your wish—this one is apple. You must have some.”

  “It seems to me that you are always trying to coax me into eating more than I want.”

  He took another bite and then held it out to her. “Come on.”

  She nibbled on the edge.

  “That’s not a bite.”

  She took a big bite and the apple filling oozed onto her lips. When she reached for the napkin, he took her hand and pulled her to him. She gasped when he brought her across his lap and held her to him. Her eyes were wide when he dipped his head, his mouth touching hers. He heard her sigh deeply when his tongue ran over her lips, tasting the apple tart.

  “Mmm. You taste sweet like an apple,” he whispered, nibbling at her lips and sending her heart rate soaring.

  She could not have stopped him if she wanted to, and she didn’t want to. He brought her head back and pressed his lips against hers while his hand moved over the bodice of her gown, lightly touching her breasts.

  “Oh,” she said, looking up at him and not wanting him to stop.

  He reached for the blue ribbon that held the front of her gown together, looking at her as if asking for permission.

  She did not stop him.

  The ribbons slid through his lean fingers, and he gave them a quick yank. Again he looked into her eyes as if asking permission.

  Caroline said nothing. She ached for him to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her again. She gasped when he pushed the gown open and slid his hand inside. “I don’t think we should—”

  “I definitely think we should.” He halted her protest with his lips. While he kissed her, he moved her off his lap and stretched out, laying her beside him, molding her to his body. She felt the swell of him and pressed her body tighter against his, fanning the flame of his passion and hers.

  When he raised his head, and when she could catch her breath to speak, she asked, “Can it be right to do this?”

  “We are to be married,” he reminded her in a raspy tone.

  “Yes, but—”

  He drew her face up to his, gazing deep into her eyes. “At any time you can tell me to stop, and I will.”

  Before she had time to think, his mouth moved down her throat, and she could not have spoken if her life had depended on it.

  He pushed her gown off her shoulder and slowly undid the ribbon holding her petticoat together. “Mon amour, I have wanted to touch you like this for longer than you know.”

  Her eyes closed as he pushed the material aside and gently covered her breast. He ran his thumb around the nipple until it swelled, then he bent his dark head and touched his lips to the tip.

  Her hands moved into his hair, and she threw her head back. Her body quivered when he ran his tongue over her nipple. “Wade, I can’t . . . I need . . . I don’t know,” she cried, wanting something more from him. What he was doing to her was causing exquisite pain and waking a need in her that she could not understand.

  He stopped and looked into her eyes. “Are you afraid of what I am doing to you?”

  She shook her head and stared into his eyes, which were like storm centers. “It’s just that . . . I never felt this way before. I don’t know what to do.”

  He studied her face, her passion-bright eyes, her innocence shining through them like a beacon, and he knew—she had never been taken this far before. “Just how long were you a wife, Caroline?”

  She pulled back a bit. “Why do you want to know?”

  “How long did you share Michael Duncan’s bed?”

  Tears gathered in her eyes, and her head fell against his shoulder. “Michael was killed on our wedding day.” She swallowed several times and shook her head. “I held Michael in my arms as he died. I tried so hard to stop the bleeding, but I could not do anything to save him.”

  “Dammit!” he swore, slipping her gown back in place and retying her ribbons with trembling fingers. “I am sorry—I had no idea. I believe you need to tell me just what happened that day—but not here—not now. Tonight I want you to tell me everything.”

  “Michael’s death has nothing to do with you, Wade.”

  “It has everything to do with us.”

  “It is
difficult for me to talk about that day. I try to forget about it.”

  “What a tangled web,” he muttered, his manner turning suddenly cold. He helped her to her feet and folded the quilt, picking up the picnic basket. “I believe we should leave now.”

  Caroline noticed he avoided looking at her. Why had the sky suddenly turned dark, and why had the joy left her heart?

  He packed the skiff and helped her aboard, settling her on the wooden seat. When they reached the rendezvous point, the boat was just coming into view in the distance. She stood stiffly beside him on the dock, hurt and angry.

  On the trip back to New Orleans Wade was strangely quiet. He stood as still as a statue, his arms folded across his chest, and he did not look in her direction at all.

  The joy that Caroline had felt on the journey up the river had faded like the sun fading in the distance.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  When they arrived back at the house, Wade was just helping Caroline out of the buggy when a frantic Louis rushed up to them.

  “There has been a fire at the indigo warehouse! It was contained before it could spread to the cotton storage, or we never would have been able to put it out. The workers did some looking around and concluded that the fire was deliberate.”

  With worry furrowing his brow, Wade led Caroline to the door. “You will have to excuse me tonight. We will have our talk tomorrow, if that is agreeable with you.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  Wade was worried, but he gave her a warm smile. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

  Before she could answer, he had joined Louis in the buggy, and the team of horses raced down the curved driveway and through the gate. A fire, set deliberately, she thought. Who would do such a thing?

  She entered the house and removed her bonnet. Mary was waiting for her.

  “You have guests, ma’am. I put them in the morning room. Would you like me to bring in refreshments?”

  Caroline frowned. She could not think who would visit her, or who would even know she was there. Her first thought was that Brace might have found out where she was staying. “Not at the moment. Did the visitors give you their names?”