“Don’t you go cryin’, Miss Linden. Now ain’t the time.”
Surprised by Onnie’s uncustomary admonishment, Maggie looked at the woman’s reflection in the mirror.
Onnie moved closer. “Day I meet Cletus is the day I married him.” She nodded as if acknowledging Maggie’s surprise. “Cletus and his family, they was bought by your grandfather and brought to Linden Downs long ’fore you was born. Soon as my papa clapped eyes on Cletus, he went and made a deal with Cletus’s pa. Next day we’s jumpin’ the broom. I’s hardly a woman then. But Cletus, he was already a man.”
Maggie stared at Onnie’s reflection in the mirror then bowed her head. She was familiar with the custom practiced by the former slaves. As girls, she and Savannah and Mary used to borrow her mother’s broom and go play in the barn, jumping over the broom again and again, making up stories of who they’d someday marry.
So far none of their dreams had come true. Not even today, on her wedding day. Savannah and Mary didn’t even know. What would they say when they found out? Once they learned who her husband was.
Maggie slowly lifted her head. “I always thought from watching you and Cletus that you’d—”
“I know what you thought. Same as others did. But just ’cuz you thinkin’ it don’t make it so. You feelin’ trapped right now, child. Like you wanna run to the hills, and yet your feet, they’s mired deep in the mud. You can’t move. And ain’t nobody can get you out.”
Hearing the finality in Onnie’s voice, Maggie felt tears rising again. Onnie had described how she felt so perfectly.
“I know that feelin’, Miss Linden. I done lived with that all my life.”
The tears froze in Maggie’s throat, her love for this woman rubbing up against the only life she’d ever known until after the war. Some days it still felt like they were trying to find their place with each other.
Onnie’s eyes softened. “You always been a good girl, Miss Linden. Even as a child, you was thoughtful and kind.”
Maggie felt a smile.
“But you ain’t never had life tell you what you is and ain’t gonna do. Not like it’s tellin’ you now.” Her expression sobered. “I’s by your mama’s bedside when she breathed her last, and I reckon if she was here today she’d have all sorts of things to tell you. But she ain’t here, Miss Linden. So I gonna tell you what my own mama tol’ me on my weddin’ day. She say, ‘Child, in hard times more than any other, you gots to remember that the Lawd is maker of both the joy and the pain.’ ”
A single tear slipped down Maggie’s cheek, but she quickly brushed it away.
Onnie smoothed the back of her dress. “As for Cletus and me—” She gave a soft laugh. “I done told the Lawd to take me long ’fore he takes that man. ’Cuz when he die, he gonna take half of me with him.”
Onnie turned away and busied herself with folding the skirt and shirtwaist Maggie had worn earlier.
Unable to speak, Maggie finished tucking strands of hair into place atop her head. She was grateful Onnie and Cletus had enjoyed so special a closeness after such a beginning. But she remembered what her own mother had said about Negroes, more than once. They’re different from us, Margaret. Not only in temperament, but in how they see things. In how they look at life.
So even though Onnie said she understood what marrying this man meant, Maggie knew she really didn’t. Because Onnie didn’t comprehend life in the same way. The woman couldn’t begin to understand how drastically Maggie’s world would change.
And not for the better.
Chapter
EIGHT
Dearly beloved, we are gathered together in the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony . . .”
Maggie clutched the bouquet of freshly bloomed magnolias, certain their sturdy stems would snap at any moment. She looked down to see the thick white petals trembling in her grip, then caught Mr. McGrath’s eye and realized he was watching them too.
She quickly stared ahead at the pastor, a younger man recently hired after their pastor of decades died last summer. She’d seen the man on occasion when she and Papa attended services, which was infrequent these days, considering her father’s health. This pastor scarcely knew her family, a fact for which she was most grateful at the moment.
Maggie looked at her father seated in the chair by the empty hearth, Bucket lying at his feet, then at Onnie and Cletus standing on either side. They all wore a similar expression. Not a smile really, and not a frown. It was as though they were waiting for her to decide for them.
“This union, instituted by God—” The pastor’s notes slipped from his Bible and floated to the floor. “Oh, I beg your pardon.” Face flushing, he bent to retrieve them, then proceeded to try and put them in order again. Finally he cleared his throat and started again. “This union, instituted by God, is not to be entered into lightly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, and solemnly.”
Mr. McGrath shifted beside her.
Maggie bowed her head and sneaked a look his way only to see his hand balled tightly into a fist at his side, his knuckles white. He was nervous? She trailed her gaze up the length of him, his height challenging her discretion, and she saw the muscles tensing in his jaw.
Cullen McGrath wasn’t nervous. He was angry. And she felt her resolve to go through with this slip another notch. To be married to such an ill-tempered man . . .
The pastor hadn’t even asked them to kneel at the first, as was custom. Then again, there was no altar in the parlor, there were no attendants, no groomsmen. The regular order of things had been set aside. As was just as well, she guessed.
“Who gives this woman to be married?”
The pastor’s question jarred her, but it was the sheen of affection and earnest hope in her father’s gaze when he nodded his consent that was nearly her undoing.
“Marriage is the union of a husband and wife in heart, in body, and in mind . . .”
Maggie felt weak in the knees. Two of those unions—interminable as they were—she could live with, under the circumstances. But that of the body? She gulped. She could no more be intimate with this man beside her than she could any stranger on the street. And he’d been married before, which meant he knew all about . . .
Well, everything. And she knew next to nothing.
Then again, his being an Irishman, he’d likely already known about all of that long before marriage.
The pastor went on and on, and the longer he went, the more Maggie realized she couldn’t do this. She’d thought she could, but she couldn’t.
“I do,” came a deep voice beside her.
What? Mr. McGrath had taken his vows? Already? And precisely what had he vowed? She hadn’t been listening.
She peered over to see him looking down at her, his eyes a pale, almost grayish green, and—surprisingly—she found not a trace of anger in them. Only what looked to be . . . understanding?
“Miss Linden?”
Maggie turned back.
The pastor offered a smile that said he clearly thought her a sweet but nervous young bride. At least he was partly right. “I’m going to read your vows now, and all you need do to indicate your willingness to accept them is to say ‘I do.’ ”
“Do you, Margaret Laurel Linden, take Cullen Michael McGrath to be your husband, to live together after God’s ordinance . . .”
Mr. McGrath shifted beside her again, this time brushing her arm, and the solidness of him sent a shiver through her. Not an altogether pleasant one. Once she said I do to this man, this Cullen Michael McGrath, he would have control of Linden Downs, of her, and no telling what he would demand.
“Will you love him, comfort him, honor him, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sadness and in joy . . .”
Were those the same vows he’d taken on her behalf? But even if he had, he hadn’t meant them. He couldn’t have. He didn’t even know her. He would never be standing here beside her if
not for Linden Downs. He was only marrying her to get the land.
If she were to speak up right now and end this charade, she knew exactly what the outcome would be for her and her father. The auction, then moving into town. Yet considering the man beside her, that alternative was becoming more desirable by the minute. But for her father, her saying no to this marriage would mean the loss of a family legacy. And that heartache alone, not to mention the transition of the move itself, would likely cut short the number of months—or weeks?—he had left.
By saying I do she would fulfill her father’s wish and they would keep the home, the land, her Bourbon Belle. The two possibilities wrangled inside her until an unlikely adage rose to offer counsel. For he who fights and runs away, may live to fight another day. She didn’t know who had said it or remember where she’d learned it, but she was grateful for it now, because it helped her realize her father was right. This was the only way.
“. . . and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto him as long as you both shall live?”
Realizing the moment had come, Maggie opened her mouth to respond, but her bravado left in a rush and took her voice with it. She couldn’t say the words. She closed her eyes, breathed in and out, and tried again. With the same result.
For courage she looked at her father, and this time tears welled in his eyes. She turned back.
“I do,” she whispered and would’ve sworn she heard a sigh of relief beside her.
“Do you have a token of love to offer your bride, Mr. McGrath?”
Maggie shook her head, trying to save them all some embarrassment.
“Aye, I do.” Mr. McGrath pulled something from his pocket, already looking at her when she turned. He held it out. “It’s your grandmother’s ring,” he said softly. “Before you came down, your father gave it to me . . . to give to you.”
Her paternal grandmother’s ring. The one her mother had also worn.
“Very nice,” the pastor said, beaming. He thumbed through his notes. “Ah, here we are.” He cleared his throat again. “Mr. McGrath, if you will place the ring on Miss Linden’s finger and then repeat after me.”
Mr. McGrath held out his left hand and Maggie, not wanting to, slipped hers into his. His grip tightened ever so slightly as he fitted the ring onto her finger. She made the mistake of looking up at him and felt a twinge of whatever it was she’d felt when she first rode up to the house and saw him standing there—before he opened his mouth.
Keenly aware of the warmth from his hand, she forced her gaze downward as the pastor began reciting the vows.
“With this ring,” Mr. McGrath echoed, “I, Cullen, wed thee . . . Margaret.”
His deep voice dropped nearly to a whisper, and Maggie’s pulse quickened. But she kept her gaze on the ring. And on his hands—hands that dwarfed hers. Hands that, surprisingly, appeared to be accustomed to hard work, judging by the calluses on his palms.
His hands and forearms were tanned and dark next to hers, except for a thin white scar that stretched across his knuckles.
“And with it, I bestow . . .” His grip suddenly firmed on her hand, and he hesitated in repeating the last part of the vow. “. . . all my worldly goods,” he finished, his voice falling off at the last.
Maggie lifted her face then, wanting to see the look in his eyes, but his gaze was conveniently occupied elsewhere. She gently pulled her hand away.
“Well done,” the pastor said, a hint of relief in his voice. He closed his Bible with a flourish. “By the power invested in me as a minister of the gospel of Jesus Christ, I now pronounce you man and wife. And now, if you wish, Mr. McGrath”—the clergyman gave a nervous laugh—“you may take this opportunity to kiss your bride.”
Cullen McGrath turned to her, and Maggie tensed. He leaned down, and all she could think about was the memory of her first and only kiss, and how she didn’t want that to be—
He kissed her forehead, lingering only a second. Yet even after he drew back, she could still feel the unexpected tenderness of his lips on her skin.
But knowing the kind of man he was and why he was standing here to begin with, she knew better than to trust him. And she planned on telling him exactly that at her first opportunity.
“That was a fine dinner, Miss Onnie.” Cullen tucked his napkin beside his plate, discreetly taking his social cues from Mr. Linden, who’d done the same thing a moment earlier.
Cullen looked across the table at Miss Linden—he simply couldn’t bring himself to call her Mrs. McGrath, regardless of what had transpired between them earlier that day. But as was the case since the ceremony concluded, she kept her gaze occupied elsewhere—on her place setting, the tablecloth, looking about the room . . .
“You welcome, Mister McGrath,” Onnie said softly, removing his plate and not looking at him either. Apparently it was a common theme. Not that he faulted them.
At least the canine member of the family seemed eager enough to welcome him. Bucket watched him intently from the hallway, wagging his tail every time Cullen looked in his direction.
Cullen glanced back across the table. Putting himself in Miss Linden’s place, he knew he wouldn’t have liked the situation any more than she did. In fact, standing beside her earlier as the pastor droned on and on, he’d worried that she wouldn’t go through with it.
Saying his own vows had proven more difficult than he’d imagined. Especially while remembering the first time he’d made those promises to a woman. He’d meant them then with all his heart, mind, soul, and body. He’d meant them today, too, only not with the same fervor. Or emotion.
But how could he, when he didn’t even know the woman? And when her eyes held such reservation?
He’d been glad a pastor had married them rather than a priest. Having a priest preside over the vows would have made what he’d done that much harder.
“So, Mr. McGrath—” Mr. Linden fingered the rim of his water glass. “Cullen,” he added with a smile. “Did you enjoy riding the property this afternoon? I wish I’d felt able enough to have gone with you.”
“Aye, sir, I did. Linden Downs is just as beautiful as you said, and then some.”
Mr. Linden gave a satisfied look, but Miss Linden’s expression communicated anything but satisfaction.
Cullen had asked her to accompany him on the ride, thinking it would give them an opportunity to talk, which seemed a good idea considering they were now man and wife. At least on paper. But she had declined.
Cullen pulled some notes from his pocket. “While I was out I drew up a plan about what to plant in each field, as you suggested, sir. Perhaps we could sit down and discuss it.”
Miss Linden frowned in his direction.
“Once you’re feelin’ better, of course,” he added quickly.
Though Mr. Linden looked considerably stronger following his afternoon rest, Cullen shared Miss Linden’s obvious concern for her father’s health. Linden had described the “incident” from last evening to him, and Cullen knew it must have been frightening for them both. No doubt the man’s distress over back taxes and the pending sale of his land had contributed to his ailing heart.
Hopefully now, though, if things went as Cullen planned, Gilbert Linden would be able to regain his strength even as he watched his farm take on new life again.
“I also have the deed to the land here, Cullen.” Linden removed a pouch from his coat pocket. “I’ll go ahead and sign this over to you, and then—”
“Papa, don’t you think it would be wiser to do that tomorrow? After Mr. McGrath has the receipt confirming he’s paid off the back taxes?”
Cullen looked across the table to find Miss Linden’s heretofore elusive gaze now riveted to his, her suggestion thick with accusation. Did the woman really think that lowly of him? That after all this, he would attempt to take the property and . . . do what, sell it at auction and abscond with the difference? As if any of the powers-that-be in this town would allow an Irishman to get away with such a thing.
�
��Margaret.” Subtle disapproval tinged Mr. Linden’s tone. “I don’t think it’s helpful to—”
“No, sir, that’s fine,” Cullen interrupted, offering a reassuring glance. “I don’t mind waiting. And perhaps, M—” He’d nearly called her Miss Linden, which didn’t quite seem proper now either. He tried again, watching for her reaction. “Perhaps . . . Margaret might wish to go along with me. In fact, I think that would be a very good idea.”
Her eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “I’ll happily accompany you . . . Cullen.”
And so it begins, he thought to himself, not really tempted to smile but finding her response a touch humorous all the same. She’d said his name as though it were an off-color word. He already knew from having seen her ride that the woman was a fighter, not fond of losing. And that was good. She’d met her match.
“We’re going to need workers, Mr. Linden.” Cullen shook his head when Onnie returned and offered him more water. “Some of the crops require greater care than others, but by my figures we’ll need at least twenty men to start out. Men with experience are preferred. But I won’t turn away a hard, honest worker.”
A soft huff came from across the table, and Cullen looked in Miss Linden’s direction, only to find her head bowed.
“Good workers are hard to come by, Cullen.” The gentleman rose slightly to nudge his chair back, and the simple exertion caused his breath to quicken. “I can give you some names of people to contact in town. Men I’ve done business with in the past. Our families go back quite a ways. I’m certain they’ll be willing to help you. Us,” he added, his excitement evident.
Cullen thanked the man, but already knew from recent experience that whatever contacts Mr. Linden had from years back would not welcome a contact from him. Best go directly to the source of the hardest workers he’d ever seen. Men who worked from sunup to sundown with nary a complaint.
And he knew just who to talk to about that at Linden Downs.
To Win Her Favor Page 9
