“That is the man who makes the horses pull the boat.” Clayton smiled at his daughter. “They call him a ‘hoggee’—it is his special name.”
Nora nodded, twisted round in her father’s arms, looking at everything. “Who him?” She pointed.
“That is the man who pushes the boat away from the banks of the canal.”
“What he special name?”
“He is called a ‘tripper,’ and, yes, he has a big stick. It is called a pole.”
Clayton grinned and looked her way. “Is she always this inquisitive?”
Sarah met his gaze. Her stomach fluttered. “Yes, she is.” She looked away, looked back. His eyes! Her heart stuttered, and her tongue followed its lead. “I…I must answer at least fifty questions a day.”
“You are very patient.”
“Mr. Bainbridge?”
Sarah started. The young man who had come to the cabin asking to speak to Alice Gardner stepped up beside them. “The governor requests you join him at his table, sir.” He glanced at Nora. “He also suggests it would be too adult an occasion for your child.”
“How opportune.” Sarah stepped forward, avoided Clayton’s gaze. It was too unsettling. “It is time for Nora to eat. And then she must have a nap. All of the excitement has tired her.” She reached for Nora. “Tell your papa goodbye, sweetie.”
“Bye, Papa.”
Clayton leaned down, received Nora’s kiss and gave her one in return. He lifted his head, looked at her. “Goodbye, Miss Randolph.”
Her voice deserted her. Sarah dipped her head, turned and walked away. But when she reached the corner, she could not resist a backward glance—and immediately wished she had. Clayton was at the governor’s table, smiling as he bowed over the offered hand of a very attractive young woman. She eyed the woman’s gown of shimmering green silk trimmed with rows of lace-edged flounces, looked down at the serviceable material, the plain full skirt of her own gown and wished fervently she had brought along one of her own elegant, fashionable gowns.
Sarah pulled the coverlet up over Nora’s arms, moved over to the other wall and did the same for Portia. Alice Gardner had disappeared the moment she put her charge to bed. Not that she minded. The children were both fast asleep, exhausted by the day’s excitements. And it was little wonder. There had been so much enthusiasm and fervor when the boat stopped and the governor spoke briefly to the people who lived in the small settlements along the canal.
She had lost count of how many stops they had made. Or of how many cannons had boomed in respectful salute or wild celebration. But she remembered how handsome and distinguished Clayton had looked, standing with the commissioners during the speeches. And how the governor’s daughter had hovered nearby. The pretty, stylish, widowed, newly out of mourning, governor’s daughter. Alice said Portia’s father had died a year ago last month.
Sarah frowned, walked to a window and looked out. The narrow walkway was empty of people. The constant hum of voices had ceased. It must be late. She should go to bed, but the berth was uninviting. She was too restless to sleep. Where was Clayton now? Was he abed? Or was he standing out there on the moonlit deck with the governor’s daughter?
Soft whispers caught her attention. Sarah glanced toward the door. Alice Gardner walked into the room, the glow in her eyes and the flush on her face visible even in the dimmed lantern light. It made her own loneliness unbearable. “I feel the need of some air, Miss Gardner. Would you please watch over Nora while I step outside for a few minutes?”
“Of course. It is a lovely night, Miss Randolph.”
It was. A warm, gentle breeze caressed her face, teased the tresses of hair at her nape and temples as Sarah walked along the narrow passage to the now-deserted open deck at the front of the boat. Moonlight streamed down from the ebony sky to light her way. The night was soft and still. So quiet she could hear the clop of the horses’ hoofs against the dirt of the towpath, the rustle of the streamers overhead. Footsteps.
Sarah whirled about. Clayton Bainbridge crossed the deck to stand beside her. “Good evening, Miss Randolph. You are up late.” Concern shadowed his face. “Are you unable to sleep? Is it your fear of the water?”
Sarah shook her head, brushed a strand of hair off her face. “No. The canal boat is very different from a ship. And I find the water does not frighten me if I stay on the side of the boat by the canal wall. And, of course, the boat being towed by horses is very reassuring.” She was babbling! Why did the man make her so nervous? She took a step back, put some space between them. “I simply came out for some fresh air before I retire.” She took a chance and glanced up at him. “And what of you? Why are—”
“Hey! Hey! Lock!”
Sarah started at the crewman’s shout and turned back toward the front of the boat. Light illuminated the darkened canal ditch, glimmered on the water.
A bugle blew.
“This is why I came out. Watch.” Clayton spoke softly, his deep voice little more than a whisper.
A crewman ran by them to the front of the boat—waved a red lantern.
She looked up at Clayton. He had closed the distance between them again. She edged forward. “What is he doing?”
“Telling the lock keeper we are here.”
The boat slowed, stopped. Men came into view, running on top of the stone wall. A minute later there was a rushing, swishing sound.
“Hear that? They have opened the first set of gates.”
He had stepped up beside her again! Sarah wiped the palms of her hands against her long skirt and looked at the small space between her and the rail. She was running out of room to move away from him.
“As soon as the water level is even, they will unhitch the towrope, and we will enter the canal chamber. The captain will steer us through while our crew helps the lock crew.”
The boat moved forward, floated between thick walls of stone so close crew members jumped to them and joined the other men already on the walls.
Sarah stared at the massive walls. Had Clayton built or repaired them? She looked up to ask, but the question died on her lips. Clayton was looking down at her, his blue eyes dark and smoky with tiny flames burning in their depths. Everything in her went as still as the night. He moved closer. Her knees quivered.
“Locking through!”
The shout ripped through the air. Sarah jerked, came back to sanity. Water rushed and surged. Crew members leaped back onboard and went about their tasks. She groped behind her for the railing before she fell in an embarrassing heap at Clayton’s feet, and watched them hitch the towrope to a fresh team of horses, grab their poles and take up their positions. She fixed a polite smile on her face and looked up him. “That was very interesting. Thank you for sharing your expertise with me, Mr. Bainbridge. But it is late, and I need to check on Nora. Good evening.”
He did not move. He just stood there, looking at her. Heat climbed into her cheeks. He was probably wondering why she was acting so strange. She straightened her spine, let go of the railing, inched by him and walked down the passageway to her room.
Everyone was sleeping. Sarah went to the dressing room and changed into her nightgown and robe. She draped her gown over a chair, walked to the empty berth, slid beneath the covers and stared out the window at the dark night sky.
She loved him. She could not deny it any longer. With all her being she longed to be Clayton’s wife. To have his children. But it was impossible. He still loved his wife. And he barely tolerated her presence.
Tears welled, flowed down her cheeks. What was she to do? How was she to get through tomorrow without giving her feelings away? Oh, dear God, help me to stay calm tomorrow, to not reveal my love to Clayton.
Sobs threatened. Sarah took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Tomorrow. One day. She could manage that. She would simply stay as far away from Clayton as possible for the rest of the journey.
Stony Point. It wrenched her heart to think of leaving, but the time had come. Sarah looked in the dress
ing-room mirror a last time. Lavender half circles stained the skin below her eyes, a testimony to the last two sleepless nights. But there was nothing to be done about them. At least they would not be so visible in the shade of her hat’s deep brim. She settled the yellow, flower-bedecked bonnet in place and turned away. The deep ruffle around the bottom of her yellow silk gown whispered across the plank floor as she walked to the bedroom.
The bare space on the rag rug increased the lump in her throat. Her trunk was waiting in the carriage. Quincy had carried it down earlier, right after Clayton had been called away on business.
She would never see him again.
Sarah’s steps faltered. She stopped, held her eyes wide and took a deep breath to stop the tears pushing for release. Do not cry! For Nora’s sake, do not cry. She hurried through the bedroom, refusing to think about the woman who would live here in her place, and started down the winder stairs to the kitchen.
Nora’s voice floated up to her. She set her mind against the horrid ache in her heart, fixed a smile on her face and stepped into the kitchen.
Eldora looked her way, disappointment on her face, censure in her pose. “So, you are really going.” It was not a question. It was an indictment.
Sarah steeled her heart and nodded. “I must, Eldora. I hope someday you will understand and not judge me too harshly.” She swallowed, forced herself to go on. “I will always remember you with gratitude and affection.”
“Me go bye-bye?” Nora stopped petting Rogue and scrambled to her feet. Her blond curls bounced as she ran across the slate floor.
Sarah closed her eyes, took a breath, then opened them and knelt to take Nora in her arms. The last time. Dear heavenly Father, help me! For Nora’s sake give me strength. She leaned back and looked into Nora’s blue eyes. “Not this time, sweetie. Nanny Sarah has to go away. Far away.” She cleared the tears from her throat. “And you must stay here with your papa, and Eldora and Quincy. And Lucy.”
Nora’s lower lip pouted out. She shook her head. She leaned close and put her arms about her neck. “Me wants you. Me go, too.”
Sarah blinked hard, hugged Nora as tight as she dared and rose to her feet. She smiled and forced a playful note into her voice. “Now, what would your papa do if you went away with me? And who would play with the kitties and Rogue? Gracious! They would be very, very sad without you.” She glanced at Eldora, sent a silent plea for help.
“And who would I have to make cookies for?” Eldora shook her head, walked over and held out her arms. “And you know what else? I have a job for you to do. I promised your papa I would make him some ginger cookies. But I am almighty busy. Would you help me?”
Nora nodded and leaned into the housekeeper’s pudgy arms.
Sarah whirled and ran from the kitchen. Tears blinded her. She wiped them away, fumbled with the front door and stumbled to the carriage. Her chest ached with pressure. Sobs racked her body. She wrapped her arms around herself trying to stop the pain, and huddled in the corner of the carriage as they drove away.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“How are you feeling this morning, Sarah?”
“I am all right, Mother.” Sarah put down her book and summoned a smile.
“You did not eat any breakfast.” Her mother eyed her, as only a mother can. “And you ate very little last evening.”
“I was not hungry.”
“And you were pacing around in your room until the wee hours this morning because you were not tired? Sarah, dear, you are talking to your mother.” Her mother reached down and touched her cheek. “Did you get any sleep at all?”
“A little.” Sarah took a breath, rose from her chair and walked over to look out the French doors. “I did not mean to disturb your rest, Mother. I did not realize you could hear me.”
“That is not my concern, Sarah. You are.” Her mother came up beside her, put her arm around her shoulders. “Do you want to talk about Mr. Bainbridge, and why you suddenly decided to come home?”
Sarah bit down on her lower lip and shook her head.
“Sarah, the Lord…”
“I am not blaming God for anything, Mother. I know now I was wrong to blame Him for Aaron’s death. It was not God that decided to sail home on the Seadrift that day. It was Aaron. And he did so against the advice of a sailor who was familiar with New England weather. He warned Aaron of a coming storm. But it was such a beautiful day when we set sail Aaron was certain the sailor was wrong.”
She shuddered, walked to the mantel and stared up at a painting of a clipper ship under full sail, her rail almost plowing the water as she skimmed across the waves. Her father had painted it. He often painted his ships. She hated the painting that hung over the fireplace in his study. It showed a ship, mast broken, rigging fallen and trailing in a raging ocean. He had been aboard that ship during the hurricane that so damaged it. But he had survived. Just as she had survived the storm that swept down on the Seadrift.
“I did not realize how dangerous sailing upon the ocean can be.” She sighed. “Since I can remember, all I wanted was to marry a ship’s captain and sail with him around the world on our honeymoon. I…I never thought further than that.”
Sarah turned, looked across the library. “Is it possible to get a man mixed up with a dream, Mother? I mean, to think you loved a man when it was what he stood for that you really loved?” Tears blurred her vision. She wiped them away. “I…I thought I loved Aaron—and I did. He was always so calm and kind and respectful. But now I do not believe I was in love with Aaron. I just wanted to be safe. And I always felt safe with him. Not…nervous.”
She took a breath, plunged. “Mother, when Father…looks…at you, do you go all breathless and weak in the knees, as if you are going to fall?”
“No, dear.” Her mother shook her head, smiled. “I always go all breathless and feel as if I am going to melt.”
Sarah stared, gulped, ran across the room to the safe haven of her mother’s arms. “Wh-what am I going t-to do, M-Mother?”
Her mother held her close, stroked her hair. “A very wise lady once gave me some excellent advice when I was in a similar situation, Sarah. The same advice I am going to give you—go to Mr. Bainbridge and tell him you love him.”
Sarah lifted her head, drew back out of her mother’s arms and shook her head. “No. No, I cannot do that, Mother. Ever. You see, Mr. Bainbridge has made it very clear that he does not want me in his life.”
“Him a big kitty.” Nora pointed at the picture on the right side of the page.
Clayton smiled at her sleepy tone and looked down. His daughter was losing her battle against sleep. “Yes, a very big kitty. He is called a lion.”
“What him special name?” She snuggled closer against his chest. Yawned.
“He does not have a special name. Why don’t you give him one?”
She nodded, closed her eyes. “Me likes…”
Clayton chuckled, set the book aside and rose from the rocker. “That is one lion who will never have a special name.” He kissed Nora’s warm, rosy cheek, laid her in her crib and pulled the coverlet over her. She would soon be too big for the crib. He should go into the attic and see if that small child’s bed he had slept in was there.
His child. The fact still had the power to knock him slightly off-kilter when he thought about it. The guilt over causing her mother’s death lingered, hovered in the background, when he looked at her, but no longer consumed him to the degree he would not even acknowledge his own daughter.
He frowned, brushed Nora’s curls back off her face. Was he doing her a disservice by not hiring another nanny? They seemed to be managing all right without one. Eldora and Lucy, even Quincy, watched over her while he was working. And he had breakfast with Nora every morning, and tucked her into bed every night. He had been the only one that could calm her enough to go to sleep when Sarah had left.
Sarah.
Clayton turned from the crib and walked into the adjoining bedroom. Sarah was the real reason he did n
ot seek another nanny. He missed her. Longed for her presence.
He stepped through her door onto the landing, glanced at his own door, both open now as they had been when she was caring for him, and his face tightened. No, he would not hire another nanny. They would continue on as they were. The idea of another woman across the landing, so close to his own room, was intolerable.
He checked to make sure the gate he had built for the top of the stairs was latched. The bedroom doors had to stay open all night so he could hear if Nora needed him, and he wanted no possibility of his little daughter taking a fall down the winder stairs. He glanced down the stairwell, sucked in his breath at the memory of Sarah descending the steps, light from the lamp in her hand illuminating the downward spiral, glinting on the silky mass of brown hair loosely restrained at the nape of her neck and spilling down the back of her quilted robe. The mere thought of her struck him breathless.
Clayton fisted his hands. Men are not permitted that luxury, though we are allowed to punch a wall—or each other. Or fight Indians. Another memory. The house, his mind, his heart was rife with them. They had been talking about her crying, because she was upset by memories of the man she loved. The man who had so captured her heart she wanted no other. He stared at the wall, quivered with the desire to punch his fist through it. But it would solve nothing. And it would only, once again, prove his weakness. His lack of self-control. And it would show that he had been right to let her return to Philadelphia.
Clayton strode into his bedroom, the muscle along his jaw twitching. Letting Sarah go was the hardest thing he had ever done, but she deserved a man of honor and moral strength. A man like her fiancé, who had died in that storm at sea. A man who betrayed a deathbed promise to his best friend did not qualify.
“What is it, Eldora?” Clayton looked up from the cost estimations he was figuring for the northern canal extension.
“You have a visitor. She’s waitin’ in the drawing room. I’ll bring tea.” The housekeeper threw him a look and trudged off down the hall toward the kitchen.
Family of the Heart Page 21
