Stunned, Maggie heard Onnie begin to laugh.
“Thank you, Lawd, is all I got to say.” She looked between the two of them. “It be ’bout time!”
The next morning Maggie awakened to discover that she’d overslept, and Cullen was already gone. Before she was even out of bed, she saw the note on her side table.
Dear Mrs. McGrath,
You’re beautiful when you sleep, do you know that? It’s an early morning and I’ve got to run into town for supplies. We’ll be in the lower fields today. And I’ll be eager to see you at dinner tonight.
Your husband,
Cullen
P.S. I think Cletus knows too.
Maggie grinned and stretched, eager to see him again as well, but with a day full of tasks between this hour and that.
An hour later, dressed and having eaten a quick breakfast—all while enduring Onnie’s knowing smile—she headed out the door to Belle Meade.
It still felt odd not seeing Bucket around the house during the day, but the collie seemed to live for the moment when Cullen whistled for him to jump into the wagon bed. And some nights, by the time the crew returned at dusk and the collie gulped down dinner, the dog seemed barely able to make it up the stairs before sprawling in a heap at the foot of their bed.
But she knew Papa would have loved the fact that Bucket went into the fields every day. Papa . . . Oh, how she missed him. Their conversations, his laughter. The way he saw good in the world even amidst the bad.
Maggie guided Belle down by the lower fields but didn’t see Cullen anywhere. Nor did she see the Percheron. And usually the two went together.
Her riding lessons went well and the morning passed quickly. Her heart for teaching the young girls was slowly returning, though it still wasn’t her first love.
After her last student left, Maggie led the saddle horse, Daisy, one of her favorites, back to the mares’ stable. The pretty little black mare was smart as a whip and had a sweet disposition. The horse was on the smaller side, too, which made her an excellent horse for training young riders.
“Good lessons with them girls today, Missus McGrath. You sure a patient soul, ma’am.”
Still growing accustomed to being called that, especially by Uncle Bob for some reason, Maggie looked down the way to see him peering at her over a stall. “I try to be patient, Uncle Bob, but I’m not always. I have to remind myself what it’s like to be their age, and their size, and how intimidating it is to ride one of these marvelous creatures.”
“I don’t think you was ever afraid, ma’am.” Uncle Bob shook his head. “If you was, I don’t ’member seein’ it. And I been watchin’ you ride since you and Miss Mary was seven years old. But I tell you what, ma’am, you done made my hair gray a time or two back then.” Uncle Bob laughed as he walked away.
Maggie did too, but on the inside her heart squeezed tight, thinking of similar words spoken to her not that long ago. Papa . . . I miss you so much.
She unsaddled the mare and brushed her down, grateful for a few moments alone with her thoughts. If she’d known how much Papa had feared for her, if he’d shown her that fear, she might never have learned how to ride the way she did.
Yet, as grateful as she was to know how to ride and to train, what she truly wanted was still out of reach. The Peyton Stakes was scarcely three months away, and she had the fastest horse in the county, perhaps even the state, but still no jockey.
Thirty-five thousand dollars.
What she and Cullen could do for Linden Downs with that money . . . Everything Papa had wanted for the farm—whatever Cullen wanted—would be within their reach. Listening to Cullen the other night, she’d heard Papa’s love for the land in his voice and had taken such comfort from it.
If she could ride Belle in the race herself, she would, but she knew that would never be permitted. Besides, she weighed considerably more than a lithe young boy, and Belle’s times would be far slower than when Willie had ridden the mare.
Daisy’s dark coat finally gleamed a blueish-black, and Maggie cleaned the brush and returned all the tack to its proper place. She checked her chatelaine watch affixed to her skirt band. Half past twelve.
Surely Cullen had returned from town by now. She only hoped he hadn’t had any more encounters with Stephen Drake while there.
Two nights ago, when she and Cullen had stayed up talking in the kitchen, he’d asked her about her day. She’d told him all about her visit with Savannah, and about their friendship since childhood. Mary too. But she hadn’t said a word about her encounter with Stephen Drake, not wanting to upset him. Now she wished she had.
Because if Cullen happened to run into Drake in town, and the man mentioned seeing her . . . that would not go well.
She wondered again if she’d credited the man’s character too heavily due to his family’s good reputation. The elder Mr. Drake, Stephen’s father, several years deceased now, had been a fine man, and a friend of her father’s. But Stephen . . .
“You hear about last week’s heat, ma’am?”
Maggie looked up, noting Uncle Bob’s cautious expression. “Do I want to know?”
He shrugged. “You in a good place of mind right now? Or poor?”
She smiled. “I think the answer to my question, then, would be no.”
“All right then.” He started to walk away.
“Uncle Bob!” She laughed. “You have to tell me now.”
He turned back, grinning, then nodded toward the mare in the stall behind her.
Maggie turned. “No! Fortune came in first again?” She threw a scathing look behind her at General Harding’s champion thoroughbred. The same mare Belle had beaten twice earlier that spring. “That’s three weeks in a row Fortune’s won the heat.”
“Don’t I know it.” Uncle Bob eyed her. “I was there to watch.”
“I bet it was a handsome purse too.”
“Handsome enough, ma’am. The general, he always be happy to win. But I can tell the victory ain’t as sweet with him knowin’ Bourbon Belle should be out there runnin’ with ’em.”
Having no response to that, at least none that would contribute to the conversation, Maggie saddled Belle and led her from the stall. “Thank you again, Uncle Bob, for everything.”
“You welcome, Missus McGrath.” He looked over at her, wiping his hands on his white apron. “You doin’ all right, ma’am?”
A gentleness shone in his eyes beyond what was customarily there, and knowing he’d already offered his condolences more than once on Papa’s passing, Maggie realized he could only be asking about one thing.
“Don’t get me wrong, ma’am,” he added quickly. “I’s real happy for you . . . if you’s happy.”
She appreciated this man more than he knew. “Thank you, Uncle Bob. I wasn’t at first, but . . .” She thought again of how much she enjoyed being with Cullen. Not only as his wife but simply being with him. “I am now.” She read uncertainty in Uncle Bob’s eyes. “Cullen McGrath is a fine man. And a very good husband.”
His smile came slowly. “He best be, ma’am.” He nodded, raising his eyebrows as though to accentuate the point. “He best be.”
By the time Maggie returned to Linden Downs it was midafternoon. She stopped by the cemetery to put the wildflowers she’d picked on her way home atop Papa’s grave, only to find a single purple iris already there. Freshly picked, too, the delicate petals so beautiful. She had a good idea who had placed it there and would be certain to thank him.
Back in the saddle, she looked downhill toward the house and saw the empty rocking chairs on the porch. A bittersweet yet undeniable resignation settled her. All of them were together now. Only she remained.
She searched the cloudless blue overhead, wondering if souls in heaven could ever see glimpses of the world they’d left behind. Or if, once there, a person would even want to look back.
But if they did, if they could, and Papa happened to be watching . . .
She snapped the reins and Belle res
ponded, and by the time they reached the house and Maggie reined in, she could feel her father’s pride inside her. She hoped that if he were watching her now, Papa would also know how grateful she was to have Cullen in her life. And in her heart.
She dismounted and was nearly to the stable when a sassy little voice brought her up short.
“I got me a question, Missus McGrath. And I’s needin’ an answer.”
Maggie turned, and seeing who it was, she grinned.
Chapter
TWENTY-FIVE
I want you to learn me how to ride.” Kizzy’s face scrunched up. “But not like them white girls. I wanna ride like you, Missus McGrath.”
Tempted to smile, Maggie eyed her. The girl looked from her to Belle then back again. “Have you been following me over to Belle Meade?”
The girl shook her head. “I gots to leave way ’fore you do. But I done figured out what days you go. I seen ya there three times now. You ain’t never seen me though.”
Maggie read the seriousness in the girl’s expression and remembered what Mr. Ennis had said about his daughter. “Have you told your parents you want to learn to ride?”
The girl’s bravado slipped a notch. “They done tol’ me not to be askin’ you, ’cuz you’s the boss’s wife. But I seen you learnin’ them others, ma’am, and I know I better than they is. I can pay too.” She dug into her pocket and held out her hand.
Maggie looked at the pile of pennies and thought about how many bags of rocks this little slip of a girl had toted to earn that amount, then about how much it cost the girls she taught at Belle Meade. Or, rather, what their parents paid for them. The costs didn’t even begin to compare. Kizzy’s was far greater.
“I’ll teach you how to ride,” Maggie said, admiring her spunk.
Kizzy’s smile broke free.
“But,” Maggie quickly added, watching the girl’s mouth turn down, “one of your parents needs to give me their permission. In person.”
Kizzy’s brows drew together then just as quickly smoothed. She held the pennies out further.
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t get paid until I give the lesson.”
Studying her for a second, Kizzy nodded and slipped the coins back into her pocket. “But if Mama and Papa say I can, you ain’t gonna change your mind?”
Maggie smiled. “I won’t change my mind. And we can start soon, if you want. Within the next two weeks. You can ride with me over to Belle Meade.”
Her eyes lit. “You mean, you be teachin’ me over there?”
“If your parents give their permission.”
Kizzy tore down the road, her little legs pumping.
“Kizzy!” Maggie called.
The girl skidded to a halt, dust pluming.
“Have you ever ridden before?”
The girl looked at her like she was daft. “Why, o’course I have, ma’am. We gots us an ol’ mule I ride all the time.”
Maggie laughed softly as the girl rounded the corner out of sight.
One afternoon later that week, Maggie flipped through the scant stack of mail she’d received in the past month, remembering what Stephen Drake had told her about sending his written condolences. Granted, there had been days right after Papa died when she’d scarcely left her room, but she would have remembered a note from Drake.
She checked the drawer in the desk in the central parlor, then the one in the hallway table. And there, in that drawer, lay an envelope.
She picked it up and was just as quickly disappointed.
The invitation from Belle Meade. Remembering the day it had arrived, she fingered the envelope, also remembering how frustrated she’d been that it was addressed to Cullen and not to her or Papa. But now . . .
She smiled. That didn’t bother her at all. After all, she was Mrs. Cullen McGrath now. In every way . . .
She opened the envelope, already knowing what was within. And sure enough . . . the invitation to the yearling auction being held next month.
The invitation’s ornate script and deckled edge gave it an especially rich feel, which was appropriate, considering the event. Mary had likely chosen the stationery, no doubt from Williamson’s Writing Supplies in Nashville. Maggie turned the card over to see if she was right.
A handwritten note was on the back.
Dear Mr. McGrath,
I appreciated our visit the other day and trust you will seriously consider my offer. In the hope of convincing you, I’ll add two of my finest saddle horses to the deal and raise my offer to five thousand dollars. Bourbon Belle is worth every penny. After all, as we discussed, I’ve seen her race.
Yours most sincerely,
General William Giles Harding
The note shook in Maggie’s hand.
She read it again, already knowing what it said. And the second reading only worsened her trembling. And ignited her anger. So Cullen had known about Belle racing all this time, yet hadn’t said a word. And now he wanted to sell her? Maggie exhaled.
He wouldn’t do this to her. He couldn’t. Could he? Not after what they’d—
Remembering this note had been written well over a month ago, the pieces began to jar into place. Cullen had met with General Harding about selling Belle right before Papa died.
So he was simply biding his time now, waiting for the right opportunity. That day in town, the same day she’d seen General Harding’s carriage, she had also seen Cullen. Even though he denied it.
Maggie took a sharp breath, events becoming painfully clear. But not as clear as they were about to get for Cullen McGrath.
Chapter
TWENTY-SIX
Cullen slapped the reins, urging Levi up the hill toward home. The Percheron’s massive hooves found easy purchase, and the animal pulled the weight of the wagon, including the dozen or so women and children seated in the back bed, with seemingly little effort.
Cullen always marveled at how, in early morning, the chatter of the women and children behind him all but drowned out the squeak of wagon wheels and the chirp of birds. But as nightfall crept closer . . .
He smiled. They were so quiet, most of the little ones sleeping. He would’ve sworn that if not for the wheels’ complaint over the rutted road, he would hear the sun’s gentlest sigh as it edged slowly down in the west.
How could so beautiful a place harbor such ugliness?
The “wolves” were growing bolder in their attacks. The cow found slaughtered in the field days ago was proof of that. But unless wolves had taken to brandishing knives and slitting a cow’s throat before hacking it to death, his earlier suspicions had proven correct.
Who the men were that were doing this, if it was indeed more than one man, he didn’t know. But he had a suspicion. He hadn’t seen or heard from Stephen Drake since that day in town with Maggie. But from experience, he knew that men like Stephen Drake didn’t simply go away. Nor would such a man give a second thought to slitting the throat of a heifer. Or of another man, if it came to it.
Cullen looked out over the land, his land. And his and Maggie’s home. Be it right or wrong, he’d instructed Ennis and the handful of workers who knew the truth about the incidents to refer to them as wolf attacks, if any of the women or children asked. No need to upset them, or Margaret. She had enough to deal with right now.
Meanwhile, he was dealing with the problem.
Cresting the hill, he guided the wagon toward the house and spotted Margaret waiting for him on the porch. Even from a distance, the sight of her warmed him. And at least for a while the challenges currently facing him receded.
Earlier that week he’d written her a note before leaving one morning. Pen in hand, he’d paused for a moment, just to watch her. She bewitched him, even in sleep. Her brown hair, touched with auburn, lay loose and wild on the pillow, and the sheet formed to the contours of her body. Curves he was coming to know so well.
The thought warmed him further, and desire for her fanned out through him. Grateful didn’t come close to describing how he felt ab
out the way they were learning to be with each other.
As he guided the wagon to the barn he threw her a wave, indicating he’d be there shortly, then pulled to a stop. He climbed down and assisted the women and children from the back bed.
The crops in the field were planted and—thanks to the timeliness of gentle summer rains—were well on their way. There was no longer any need to follow behind plows and pick up rocks, but he’d overheard the men discussing what a difference it made in their families for them to work together, and what the extra income meant to them too. So he invested in a slew of flour sacks, and now the women and children—those who wanted to—picked weeds and any unwelcome insects they found from among the plants.
It was hard to grasp how much his life had changed in what felt like so short a space of time. He’d felt so empty inside. And angry. And now . . .
It was as though he was finding his life again, much like the fields of Linden Downs. Sometimes he wondered if he should have told Mr. Linden about what happened in England, and with his brother Ethan. But he’d been so eager to put all that behind him. And he truly thought if Mr. Linden had known the truth, the man would’ve understood.
At least, that’s what comforted him in the moments when doubt resurfaced.
He thought about Ethan often, wondering where he was, what he was doing, and whether his brother ever thought about him. The chance of his ever seeing Ethan again was nonexistent, because he’d never told his brother where he and Moira were going. He’d been so angry at Ethan the last time they’d seen each other. And angry at himself for not figuring out beforehand what his brother had planned. If only he’d—
“We get both the wagons unhitched tonight, sir.”
The sound of Ennis’s voice urged Cullen back from another world. One best left behind.
“Jobah and Micah,” Ennis continued, “they help me do it, sir. Be good practice for ’em.”
Looking at Ennis’s young sons and seeing their little chests puff out, Cullen nodded. “Much obliged, young men.”
To Win Her Favor Page 23
