by Jillian Hart
"How thoughtful." Susan swiped the tears from her eyes. "With two ill children, I haven't given a thought to cooking. Come in, Major Hunter."
She heard his boots knell on the floor and the click of the latch catching as the door closed. The room felt warmer with him in it. She gazed down at the sleeping child. Another touch to her brow proved the fever was truly fading.
Encouraged, Tessa concentrated on her work and kept her back to her husband. She did not want to be distracted from doing her best for little Mercy, not even if her own heart was breaking. She heard the low voices of Anya and Susan talking in the kitchen and the rumble of the men in conversation right behind her, and the pop from the blazing fire in the hearth. Still, Jonah's low voice drew her thoughts away from her work.
Although she felt ready to crack in two, her body heated, knowing he stood an arm's length away. All she would have to do was reach out and he would take her against his strong chest and hold her until the fear and the pain subsided. But she could not allow it. She would not be a fool twice.
She knelt to uncover the frying pan on the floor at her feet and scooped a goodly amount of onion mash into a spoon. She gently set the heated paste on Mercy's chest.
"I often helped my mother." Anya knelt on the other side of the bed, across from Tessa, the little girl between them. "She knew much about tending the sick. 'Tis necessary to have at least one healing woman in a village."
"I could use help. I've two girls here to tend, and Thankful Bowman to check on. How's Andy?"
"Worsening, but I think the tea is helping him fight it. He doesn't seem as ill as this one."
"Aye, but he may. I will send another mixture home with Jonah. If you wouldn't mind spreading this poultice, then I can see how little Julia fares."
"I have applied these before." Anya no longer looked shy but competent, sure of her skills. She had tender hands, slim and careful. She would do a good job, Tessa knew.
Avoiding Jonah, she climbed upstairs to see Julia. She did not wish to move the child yet, who slept cozy beneath several quilts, her fever not yet dangerously high. She would crush more roots and maybe make a strong poultice. It worked for Mercy's aggressive fever. Mayhap Tessa could stop the illness before it made Julia as sick.
When she climbed down the ladder, Jonah was there. Oh, apology was plain on his face. He thought he could smile at her, that she would be grateful enough for a good home and a husband better than Horace Walling, and that would be all. He couldn't see how his motives mattered.
He would soon see how wrong he was.
"Have some breakfast. You need to keep up your strength." He held out a cup of tea, steaming and fragrant. "You look far too pale."
"From lack of sleep and from you." She said it low, without accusation. For in truth, half of the blame was hers. She was at fault for believing his lies, for imagining this man could love a woman like her.
He winced. "I had hoped for some quick forgiveness."
"Go on and hope. I'll not stop you." She plucked the tea from his grip and sipped it, retreating to her work space on Susan's polished counter.
Jonah's hands settled on her shoulders. "I'm proud of you, Tessa. This work you do, 'tis courageous. It takes a strength of character to sit beside the dying and not run, not be afraid."
"I am often afraid," she confessed, unclasping the lid from a crock. "But such is life, Jonah. 'Tis scary business. The birthing and the dying and all that comes in between. 'Tis not only in legends of war heroes, but in the strength of quietly living and loving and trusting."
Jonah saw it then, how completely he'd failed her. There was nothing wrong with setting a criterion for a wife, using it to choose his bride. The wrong came in letting her believe she was special to him, that she was above price, beyond his own fear to trust and love another. Those gifts, that courage, he hadn't given her.
Because he was afraid to hand over his heart to another, to feel emotions that could make him vulnerable, like he was at this moment.
'Twas all she could do to gather enough courage to walk through the door. She lingered on the road outside the impressive clapboard house with a dozen black-paned windows glimmering in the weak sun.
Overnight it seemed as if the earth had been reborn. Tiny gray buds dotted black-limbed trees, promises of the leaves yet to come. And on the ground, when she looked closely, tiny shoots of green struggled beneath the dirt and last year's grasses. Birds sang more loudly, as if rejoicing in the change of season. Even the afternoon air smelled different, filled with promise.
Tessa narrowed her gaze to the house. She could see the colonel's room, the curtains open to take advantage of the view of forestland and the river beyond. A great fondness for the old man penetrated the cold shock still clamped around her heart She knew Samuel would be hurt, but it could not be helped.
Gathering what strength she could, she pushed open the door and stepped inside the house that would no longer be her home. The parlor was empty, although a fire crackled in the hearth. A book lay closed on the chair between the fireplace and the window where the colonel liked to read. He was probably upstairs taking a needed nap.
She did not bother to take off her cloak, for she would be leaving soon. More numbness crept over her, and she felt as she had when her mother finally died, unable to feel anything at all. But this numbness wouldn't last long, she knew that, too, as ice on a pond could never stay frozen. In time, spring always came.
Andy slept in his bed, a hot fire snapping in the grate. She set her basket down quietly and laid a hand to his brow. Aye, there was a fever, but it wasn't as intense as the colonel's had been, or little Mercy Hollingsworth's.
Encouraged, she snatched her basket of herbs and headed down the hall where the door stood open. She paused in the threshold to see the bed carefully made, Anya's work, and the curtain thrown back to let the meager sun gleam through the window.
It took no time at all to pack, for she'd hardly had the chance to unpack. Her mother's wedding gown, the dress she had worn to become Jonah's wife, was already folded in paper on top of the few keepsakes she owned, Mother's hymnal, her book of prayers, a treasured volume of Shakespeare's sonnets.
Tessa gently brushed this last book with the tips of her fingers. 'Twas the only remembrance she had of her father, of the man whose love Mother had talked about and treasured all of her life. Tessa had wanted to find a man like that, but poetry and dreams did not make love. Only two caring hearts could.
She gathered her hairbrush and pins, the cap and nightdress and underthings from the chest of drawers. A dull ache settled between her brows and behind her eyes. She rubbed the tense muscles there and then clasped the trunk lid tight.
There, she was packed, ready to go. 'Twas a little trunk and didn't weigh more than a sack of grain. She hefted it in both hands and carried it down the corridor, passing the colonel's room.
She heard a clatter in the kitchen and set the trunk down out of the way of the door. What if that was Jonah? How could she face him?
He'd been so confident this could be fixed between them, judging by the way he treated her at the Hollingsworths'. Fixing her a breakfast plate, bringing her tea, and when he left, promising to check on her before nightfall. He worked hard to convince her he cared, that much was true.
But simple caring was not enough. Not now. Not with the way her heart ached for his touch, for all of him.
He'd made her love him with his acts of caring. Now such a bright affection burned in her heart, her days would be dark without it.
How did she deny her feelings? She could not embrace Jonah Hunter's idea of a practical marriage.
But 'twas Thomas in the kitchen, heating tea for Andy. From the dark warmth in his eyes and the set of his chin, he must know all that had happened. Aye, he'd probably known from the start, being Jonah's confidant.
What did he think of her? Did he look at her and see a woman desperate enough to imagine love where there was only resignation? To call home a place where she
was only needed for her useful skills?
Recalling how she'd thanked him in the stable that day for coming to care for her mount and to run her errand, she blushed and could not meet his gaze.
"Here is more powder for Andy. Anya will be home soon to administer it. I have already told her how much to give him. And these are the herbs for the compresses. And this for the tea. Do not mix them. One is to help strengthen the blood, and the other to fight the congestion in his lungs."
Thomas took the offered packets, already carefully measured. "You will not stay and tend him yourself? Or does the Hollingsworth girl need you more?"
"I'll come and check on him, as I would anyone else." She took a step toward the door, staring hard at the floorboards. "My trunk is in the parlor. Will you see that it is delivered to my grandfather's home?"
"Are you leaving us?" How low his voice, and his kindness hurt-Aye, how it hurt. "This is not my home, not truly. Violet and my step grandmother have fallen ill, so I am welcome there for now."
"Then allow me to see you home." His hand settled on the doorknob before she could turn it. "If you ever have need of anything, and I mean it, then you come to me. Not because you saved my father's life, but because I will always consider you my sister."
Those were kind words, and she knew Thomas meant them. Somehow, she found the breath in her too-tight chest to speak. "The hardest thing about leaving is knowing I'll no longer have brothers to tease."
He laughed then, making her leaving easier. She stepped out into the sunlight and smelled spring in the air.
After leading the oxen in from the fields, he headed toward the house. Judging by the sun slung low over the treetops it was nearly suppertime. He wanted to drive Anya over to the Hollingsworths' to bring Tessa her meal.
The back door banged open to reveal an empty kitchen. Leather pouches sat on the counter near the hearth. He recognized them. Tessa used them to store some of her roots and things in. Had she been here?
Thomas was nowhere to be found. Father was in the parlor, reading.
"Heard that wife of yours is saving lives left and right again." Natural color was back in the man's face, and the snap of fight back in his manner. "I saw her leave with Thomas. I gave Andy the bird dropping tea, just like I promised. I made him drink every drop."
"How is he?"
"Feverish, but Tessa looked in on him. Thomas said she thought he had a light case, nothing to fear as long as we take good care of him." Father's nose turned toward his book. " 'Tis good to have a healer in the family. Will come in handy when your babe is sick, as babes are wont to be."
"Aye." Father didn't seem to know of the problems between him and Tessa, and he was grateful. He headed toward the stairs, but that troubled feeling wrapped tight around his guts worsened.
He'd been out in the field since dinner and had been visible from the house. If she had been here, why hadn't she come out to see him? Why hadn't Thomas come to fetch him and let him know she was here, able to finally talk?
The chamber felt strangely empty. It felt as if all the light had gone from the room. He couldn't explain the feeling. Troubled, he pulled off his muddy shirt and shucked off his breeches. Something definitely didn't feel right
He tugged open a drawer and saw the empty place where Tessa's brush and comb had been. He turned and saw the old trunk gone from the place against the wall. An icy chill shivered down his spine.
Pain as cold as an iceberg rammed through his chest. Jonah staggered. It couldn't be. Tessa could not have left. This was her home. She was his wife. There had to be some other explanation.
But none other came to him. Not a single one.
A horrible renting emptiness tore him apart, worse than any Indian's sharpened arrowhead. It surely could not be his heart hurting, for he had no heart. No heart vulnerable to love, that is.
He grabbed clean clothes from the drawers, dressing as he charged down the hall.
"Tessa!" A furious pounding rattled Grandfather's back door, nearly shaking it off the leather hinges. "Tessa, open up, damn it!"
"Jonah!" She pulled the latch and swung open the door just before his upraised fist slammed into it again. "Stop cursing and lower your voice. There are sick people in this house."
"Where is your trunk?" He pushed past her, tense male might and sizzling rage.
Tessa took one look at the power bunched in his arms, tensed in his shoulders, and her heart stopped. "In my attic room. Where it belongs."
"Belongs? Nay, your place is with me. I mean it. To run out like this, 'tisn't right. We haven't even tried to speak of this."
"What do we have to discuss? You wanted a nursemaid for your father and you found one. He's recovering now. What need do you have of me?"
A light flickered in his eyes, a dark and dangerous light. "I thought you were very clear on the different ways I need you."
"Aye, you need a woman. There are more than a dozen in this town hungering for a man like you. 'Tis best that you leave, Jonah. I no longer want to be your convenient wife."
"You are the least convenient person I know."
"Good, then you're finally rid of your difficult wife." She splayed both hands on his chest and shoved hard. "You should be glad."
"I'm not glad." He didn't budge.
She shoved again, but he was an unmovable pillar of steely muscle and furious determination. How did she think she could move him? "I never want to see you again, so get out of this house."
"Never." His fingers curled around her wrists, holding her hard, just short of bruising. "Not without you."
"What are you going to do? Use force? Haul me over your shoulder?"
A spark lit his eyes as if she'd given him an idea. "All I want is for you to listen to me. I can make you understand-"
"Make me? What would you have me do? Live the rest of my life looking over the breakfast table at a man who will never love me in return? Spend the rest of my nights making love to a man who is only taking his pleasure with me? Spend my days being useful instead of feeling loved in return?"
"Tessa, I truly care for you." Tension dug lines around his eyes, around eyes so dark she could never know what truly lived in his heart. "Haven't you felt that in my touch? Heard it in my voice?"
"Nay, I have not seen one true act of love. Not one. But plenty of caring and kindness and treating the unwanted wife well. I have my pride, Jonah. I am worth being loved. Truly loved. I already know you're not capable of it."
Bitterness rushed across her tongue and she tore away from him, hating that part of her that had always held such foolish dreams. "I'm going to fetch Grandfather. He'll see that you leave."
"Go ahead. Ely will listen to me."
"Nay, he has been unable to keep any hired help, so at least I am useful here. And I know what I'm getting in return."
She turned her back and walked fast and hard away from him, now that her angry words had attracted her grandfather's attention. He would not let Jonah into the house, she was sure of it. She hid in the parlor, took a deep breath, and tried to will the terrible roiling pain out of her heart.
She'd never been special to him. Not she, Tessa Bradford. She would never be the woman he dreamed of at night or in the quiet moments of the day.
He still wanted a convenient, practical marriage. But she did not. She never did. She never would.
She peeked around the corner and he was still there, standing in the rain at the open door. Wind lashed his black hair across his strong chiseled face. Rain soaked his shirt and the white fabric clung to him like a second skin, showing the breadth of his powerful shoulders and every fascinating muscle in his chest and abdomen.
Their gazes locked and he just stared at her. He looked so lost. Her throat tightened, and she knelt to feed the fire in the parlor's hearth, where Violet, her sister, and Charity all lay, consumed with fever.
She turned her back on Jonah and vowed not to cry another tear.
From this day on, she would not want, would not wish. She
would not dream foolish dreams again.
Chapter Fifteen
"You cannot go marching up to her grandfather's house and steal her back." Thomas' fist collided with the table, sending cups and spoons clattering. "She is a woman with feelings, not a stolen piece of furniture."
"I do not intend to steal her. I have thought this over for two days. For two days she does not speak to me. Her grandfather comes at me with a musket. I only intend to take back my wife."
"Mayhap you shouldn't have hurt her so deeply in the first place."
"Aye, I admit it. I was wrong. I was wrong to think-" He steeled his heart, refusing to feel any more of the well-deep pain. But it did not work. "I cannot both hold her and drive the horses. I need help."
"I don't think that is a rational solution."
Considering the sharp and fiery pain raging through his chest, dragging her home seemed like a rational plan. As rational as he could possibly be.
"Ah, true love," Father chuckled from his place at the table, sipping real tea for once. "A fiery thing, that wife of yours. My advice is to surrender. 'Tis the best way to deal with an angry woman. I'd have thought you were smart enough to figure that out, boy. Then again, I never married such a strong-willed woman."
"Tessa will see reason. I know she will. She's my wife and she belongs here with me." In truth, he did not think he could keep going without her. She'd left an emptiness in his life and a worse one in his heart. He did not think he needed to admit such a vulnerability, not even to his family.
"You have much to learn about a woman, boy. Why-"
"Stop it, both of you," Thomas roared. "I can't believe I am hearing this. Tessa is a person with feelings. Her pain should not be trivialized with insincerity, Father. As for you, Jonah, she truly loved you. What do you think will convince her to risk her heart a second time?"
His love. 'Twould have to be enough.
A knock rattled the back door before Jonah could admit the truth aloud. Andy, coughing and pale, was closest to the door and hopped up to open it.
