It seemed like yesterday, and yet another world away.
Savannah reined in beside her, her cheeks flushed, breath coming hard, and her smile radiant. Until she looked at the house. The flush of joy gradually ebbed from her expression, replaced by a sheen of longing so keen and sharp it almost hurt Maggie too much to look.
“I remember, at the first of the war, my father reading in the paper what President Lincoln said about the skirmish between the states. That it wouldn’t last long.” Savannah shook her head. “So many times I’ve wondered . . . if the men who took us to war had known the cost from the very beginning, would they still have done it?”
Maggie reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand, having had much the same thought. She waited for Savannah to dismount then did likewise, looping Belle’s reins over the post.
Maggie started for the porch steps.
“Where are you going?”
Maggie turned. “To the front door.” It came out more like a question than a statement, and Savannah shook her head.
“I don’t have the key anymore, Maggie. They took it from us. They tend to do that when one’s house goes to auction.”
Feeling more than a little foolish, Maggie knew Savannah meant nothing hurtful by the statement, but still . . . it stung.
“They simply showed up one day,” Savannah continued. “Mr. Drake and his men. They told me we had an hour to gather clothes and personal family mementos. Anything of real worth was to be left behind to pay the debt.” She sighed. “They left for a short time, and I gathered what I could. Thankfully, shortly after Mother passed, knowing we were going to lose the house eventually, I’d gone through most of the personal items and put them in boxes. But at the last minute I carried Mama’s table, the one you saw, out of the house and put it beneath the willow at the back of the property. I came back a few days later and got it.”
“You never told me that,” Maggie whispered. She could imagine only too well Stephen Drake acting the bully. “I would have helped you.”
Savannah shook her head. “You and your father were having your own struggles. I didn’t want to add to them.”
A gentle wind rustled the leaves in the bowers formed by the oak and poplar trees overhead, and brought welcome cool in the heat of day.
Savannah gestured, tentative hope brightening her eyes. “My hope is that one of the windows down here is unlocked. We never locked the one by the kitchen. Let’s go see!”
Swept up in Savannah’s optimism, as she’d always been, Maggie followed. They checked the kitchen window then all the windows on the ground floor, to no avail.
Everything—doors included—was locked up tight.
Standing on the back porch, they both stared at the grimy pane of glass filling the upper half of the door, and Maggie wondered if her friend was having the same thought.
Savannah ran a hand along the edge of the glass. “I remember the day Papa supervised as Jake put this new pane in. Jake and some of his friends broke the old one playing ball. Jake worked for weeks to pay Papa back.” Savannah looked over at her, then slowly shook her head. “I don’t think I can.”
Maggie looked at the adjacent windows, but felt Savannah’s silent sanction and nodded. “Well, then I say we try what my older brothers did on school nights when they were supposed to be in bed asleep.”
Question—and a glimmer of mischief—replaced Savannah’s somberness.
“Follow me!” Maggie tugged on her arm.
They ran like schoolgirls around the side of the house and to the base of an ancient oak.
“Maggie, you can’t do it. You’re . . . a married woman.”
Maggie winked. “I’m a married woman, yes. But one who can still climb trees!” She reached down and pulled the hem of her skirt up between her legs, then tucked the hem into her waistband and promptly curtsied. “I’ll be up—and hopefully inside—before you know it.”
She’d climbed this tree a hundred times, albeit not in recent years, and the limbs she remembered as easy to scale proved a tad more challenging than she’d anticipated. Still, she made it to the second-story porch railing and climbed over.
Winded but triumphant, she waved down to Savannah then set to work.
She knew this house as well as her own, and began first with the windows to what had been Mr. and Mrs. Darby’s bedroom. They wouldn’t budge. She started to move on, but what she saw within the room wouldn’t let her.
Savannah’s parents’ bedroom furniture, just as she remembered it. Handed down from Mr. Darby’s parents, she recalled. The dresser, the settee, the wardrobe . . . everything just as Savannah had been forced to leave it. And for the same reason that would have cost Maggie Linden Downs—unpaid back taxes and loans in default.
If not for Cullen.
The past week of truce between them had been so welcome after the tension of weeks prior. But she knew this peace wasn’t wholly authentic, because they still hadn’t confronted the differences between them.
And they would be forced to soon enough.
She moved on to the boys’ room, checking for broken panes as she went, knowing how fragile panes of glass could be. What a shame if one were to break. But . . .
No broken panes. Not even a crack.
“Nothing yet?” Savannah called up from below.
Maggie peered over the edge, mustering a hopeful expression. “Not yet, but I have one room to go!”
She walked around to the windows that looked into Savannah and Carolyne’s room and peered inside. How many nights had she spent in that bed, dreaming out loud with Savannah? Or standing before the dresser mirror, brushing her hair?
She pressed her face closer to the window. There . . . Savannah’s silver hairbrush, comb, and mirror—the complete vanity set, a gift from Savannah’s maternal grandmother—still on the dresser. Oh, Savannah . . .
Maggie hurt for all her friend had lost. Possessions that couldn’t even begin to compare with the loved ones she’d had to say good-bye to. But still, pieces of a life that was gone.
And same as she’d discovered earlier, these windows wouldn’t budge either.
She knelt and peered inside, just a pane of glass away, at the window latch. She doubted she could break it without Savannah hearing, and even if her friend didn’t hear, she’d see the broken glass once Maggie let her inside. Unless she cleaned it up quickly, which she could if—
Maggie stood, realizing this wasn’t her decision. She walked back to the porch railing. “I’m sorry, Savannah,” she called down. “The windows are all locked.”
Savannah stared up, and in the silent exchange that followed Maggie felt the weight of her friend’s decision hanging between them. She honestly didn’t know what she would do if she were in Savannah’s situation. That’s one thing she’d learned in recent months: a person couldn’t guarantee what she would decide in a given circumstance until she was in it. Until the decision was hers alone. Until she’d counted the cost.
Savannah slowly bowed her head, and when she finally lifted her eyes a moment later, Maggie read her answer.
“This isn’t my home anymore, Maggie,” Savannah said, her voice wavering. “I accepted that once.” She took a deep breath, her chin trembling, her gaze traveling over the house. “I need to accept it again.”
Chapter
THIRTY-ONE
You talkin’ ’bout my Kizzy, ma’am?” Disbelief clouded Odessia’s expression as she pulled dry laundry from the line, the final days of August proving just as hot during the past week as the ones that came before. “Ridin’ your fine horse . . . in a race?”
Maggie nodded, catching the scent of fresh soap and sunshine from the clothes. “That’s precisely what I’m talking about, Odessia. I know this is something you’ll need to discuss with Mr. Ennis, and also with Kizzy. I haven’t mentioned anything about the race to your daughter. And there’s always the chance she might not want to participate.”
But even as Maggie said it, she knew the probability of
that was nil. Kizzy was more at home on a horse than most people were in their parlors. Riding was in the girl’s blood. To stay.
“She good enough for that, Missus McGrath?”
Maggie couldn’t hold back her smile. “Oh, Odessia . . .” Her eyes watered. “Your daughter is beyond good. She’s one of the best riders I’ve ever seen. Uncle Bob agrees.”
“Uncle Bob seen her ride?”
Maggie nodded. “He’s been helping me teach her at Belle Meade.”
Odessia’s jaw dropped as her hand went to her hip, and Maggie knew instantly where Kizzy had learned the gesture.
“Lawd, just wait till Ennis hear this.” Odessia smiled, then her expression turned pensive. “But ain’t all the riders in them races boys, ma’am?”
“Yes, they are. Or have been. However, the Thoroughbred Society’s rule book says nothing about requiring jockeys to be male. Your daughter would be the first girl ever.”
Odessia said nothing for a moment. “But ain’t it dangerous? Ridin’ that way. I heard tell of boys gettin’ hurt real bad. Or worse.”
Maggie was struck by the depth of concern in the woman’s eyes. It felt familiar somehow. Then she realized . . . she’d seen the same look from her own mother. “There are certain dangers involved in racing. And in riding. We work to minimize them, of course. But the risks must be weighed and considered carefully.”
“And you say my Kizzy would be the first.” Odessia folded one of Ennis’s shirts and placed it in the basket, her eyes wary. “Ain’t always good bein’ first at somethin’, Missus McGrath. It come with a price.”
“Yes, it does,” Maggie said softly. “Which is why I came to you first and am asking you to speak with your husband about it. Then together you can decide whether you want to share it with Kizzy . . . or not.”
Odessia picked up the basket of clean laundry, and Maggie followed her around to the front of the cabin and up the steps to the porch.
“What if Ennis and me say no, ma’am? What then?”
Maggie heard the skepticism in the woman’s voice, and tried to mask the disappointment from her own. “Then that will be the end of it. I will never mention it to Kizzy, and she will never know. You have my absolute word on that, Odessia.”
Odessia regarded her for a moment then gestured toward the door. “’Fore you go, ma’am, I wanna show you somethin’ Kizzy did.”
Maggie hesitated only briefly before following her inside. After her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw Odessia holding out a piece of paper.
“Kizzy been drawin’ her whole life, Missus McGrath. Mostly in the dirt, sometimes on a piece of slate with chalk, when we got it. But Ennis, lately he got the children some paper and pencils, and my daughter, she been drawin’ everythin’ in sight! But this be her favorite thing to draw, ma’am.”
Odessia held up the picture, her expression softening, and Maggie’s throat tightened with emotion.
“That’s me?” Maggie asked.
“Mmm hmm . . . Ridin’ Miss Belle. Two o’ you all she talks ’bout these days, ma’am.”
Maggie sighed. Kizzy’s giftedness at drawing didn’t begin to equal that of her riding, but it didn’t matter. It was the smile the girl had drawn on her—and Belle too—that brought one to Maggie’s face even then.
“Thank you for sharing that with me, Odessia. And thank you, too, for speaking to your husband.”
Maggie turned to leave, then paused and looked around the cabin.
“Looks a mite different since you was last here, don’t it, Missus McGrath?”
Still taking in the changes, Maggie nodded. “Yes, I believe that’s a fair statement.”
“Your husband, he didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Warmth filled the woman’s expression. “Mister McGrath raised all the men’s pay. So Ennis and the children and me, we decided to fix up the place. Some of the other families been doin’ the same on theirs.”
Maggie looked around. “It looks very nice.”
No more daylight stabbed its way through the walls and ceiling. The plank wood floor looked new, all boards tightly fitted, no cracks or spaces, the ground beneath the cabin hidden as it should be. In one corner, a proper bed with a mattress. In the other, a sturdy table with six chairs.
“Got me a proper wash bucket for the dishes too.” Odessia pointed. “Ennis say ’fore winter comes he gonna rebuild the fireplace and make a hearth big enough for me to cook in proper like. Right over there.” She beamed.
As Odessia showed her the rest of the improvements they’d made, Maggie grew quiet, realizing again how far removed she was from a reality only a stone’s throw away from where she’d lived her entire life. What she considered normal was more than some people in the world would ever know.
As she walked back to the main house, she looked across the acres of flourishing crops fanning out on either side of the road, with harvest soon upon them, and for the first time in her life she saw the land for what it really was. A gift to be stewarded. At best she was a custodian, and not a very good one at that. Something she vowed to change.
Cullen understood far more about that than she did. And Papa had seen that quality in him, no doubt. Her father had always had a way of seeing into people. She peered up into the cloudless blue, hoped heaven was listening, and mouthed a silent thanks.
Odessia had agreed to speak with Ennis that evening, then to let her know their response. If the couple said yes, and Kizzy was in agreement, then there was only one more person Maggie needed to speak with.
And despite the man’s kind and generous nature, he would be the most difficult to persuade of all.
Wondering if a man’s heart had ever beat straight out of his chest, Cullen rolled onto his side and pulled Maggie close, her back velvety soft against him. The quickness of her breath encouraged a satisfied smile, which broadened when she reached for his hand and held it close to her chest. So close he felt the solid beat of her heart.
“I love you, Maggie,” he whispered and kissed the crown of her head. What he felt for her in that moment was so much more than anything he’d imagined when first making that promise to Gilbert Linden. A promise Cullen knew he’d never regret.
“I love you too,” she answered, shuddering against him, her voice surprisingly fragile.
“What’s wrong, love?” He rose up and smoothed the hair back from her face. She turned into the pillow, but he cradled her cheek, urging her back—and felt the trace of tears. Dread swept through him. “Did . . . I hurt you?”
She hiccuped a breath that sounded a little like a laugh. “No . . . of course not.”
Relief flooded him. “Then what is it?”
Her hand tightened on his. She took a deep breath, then exhaled. “I simply never expected to . . . care for you like I do.”
He laughed and turned her to face him. “We’re goin’ to have a good life, Maggie. You and me.” He kissed her, tasting the salt of happy tears.
She deepened the kiss and slipped her hand beneath the covers.
He smiled against her mouth. “Are you tryin’ to kill me, woman, or just—”
A sharp screech from somewhere outside broke the kiss, and Bucket awakened with a growl at the foot of the bed. A half second later, the hoot of an owl followed on its heels—right outside the window, from the sound of it—and Maggie laughed softly.
She snuggled closer. “Well, that about scared me to—”
“Shh.” Cullen sat straight up, a cold tingle needling up his spine. Bucket growled low.
“What’s wrong?” Maggie whispered, rising beside him.
Cullen put a finger to her lips, listening as eternal seconds ticked passed. Then, in the distance . . .
A shrill scream.
He bolted from bed and grabbed his shirt and trousers, aware of Maggie pulling on her gown then fumbling in the wardrobe. Once dressed, he pulled on his boots and grabbed the rifle from beneath the bed.
He strode to the hallway, Bucket r
unning ahead, barking. “Stay in the house, Maggie. Come and lock the door behind me.”
“Cullen.” She huffed, pulling on her boots, then hurried to catch up. “If you think I’m going to—”
“I don’t have time to—”
“I’m your wife. And I’m coming with you!”
Biting back a response, he raced downstairs and into the central parlor, jerked open the top desk drawer, and emptied a box of cartridges into his pants pocket.
Behind him, Bucket barked and clawed at the front door.
“Cullen!”
He turned and spotted Maggie by the front window, her father’s Sharps rifle in hand and an erie glow rising on the horizon over the cabins.
Chapter
THIRTY-TWO
As soon as Maggie stepped onto the porch, she smelled the smoke and heard the distant crackle of flames. Cullen set off for the cabins, and Bucket raced past him. She followed, rifle in hand.
“Stay close,” Cullen called back. “You understand?”
“Yes!”
Wearing her gown and a long riding coat, the quickest things she could put on, she gathered her skirt and ran as fast as she could, barely able to keep up.
They crested the hill and saw chaos below.
Cabins alight with flames, at least four structures that she could see; people running, screaming, children crouched together in the common area. A volley of rifle fire sounded, and Cullen turned, pushing her to the ground and covering her body with his.
A handful of seconds, and they were running again.
The first person Maggie recognized from a distance was Onnie, then Cletus. The couple was first in a line of young and old spanning the short distance to the creek, passing buckets of water to douse the fires.
As she came nearer, lungs burning, Maggie realized that one of the cabins ablaze was Ennis and Odessia’s. She searched the crowd for their faces, for Kizzy and her brothers, but she didn’t see them anywhere.
“Follow me!” Cullen yelled and cut straight through the fray.
The heat and smoke from the flames thickened the stagnant summer air and gave the night an unworldly feel. But it was a woman’s shrill scream that turned Maggie’s blood cold. Up ahead a crowd had gathered, and Maggie spotted Odessia among them.
To Win Her Favor Page 28
