Her eyes widened as she felt the turgid length of him once more. “Not again!”
“I assure you, it’s possible.”
“It can’t be necessary!” There was less force in her voice than she had intended as the effects of his ministrations spread through her. She wanted to be miserable and guilty, but somehow the need for it was gone.
“That is a matter of opinion.”
“Your foot—”
“—is fine, but there is another part of me that isn’t. Don’t you feel the least little need of … ripening?”
She bit her bottom lip to keep it from curving at his wheedling tone. He leaned to brush her lips with his, flicking his tongue along the line of her teeth set in the soft skin. She released her breath in a sigh. She whispered, “Maybe … just a … little.”
There was a mount waiting for the Thorn on the opposite side of the river. Lettie did not ask where it had come from, and he did not explain. She preferred not to think that he had planned the way the evening would end from the very beginning, but the only other explanation was that he had reached the ferry far enough ahead of her to give him time to transport his mount across the river.
There was little doubt in her mind that he was the man who had passed her while she crouched on the trail, the man behind the night riders. Still, the only way he could have been prepared for her at the ferry was for him to have known exactly what she meant to do and how he would counter it. It was uncomfortable to think that she was so transparent or he so calculating. The proper description might be determined rather than calculating, determined to collect what was owed him. She did not care for that view of him, either.
Riding along beside him in the night, Lettie began to think it was possible that Aunt Em could be right about the Thorn. Nothing that she had seen of this man, nothing she had received at his hands, gave her reason to believe that he was a killer.
Henry must have been wrong, misled by circumstantial evidence. The culprit he had sought, the murderer loose in the countryside, must be one or more of the outlaws Johnny had spoken of, a man who masqueraded in a sheet like the Knights of the White Camellia at times but who could also strike down a victim in broad daylight if the reward, such as an army payroll, seemed worth the risk. It made sense.
It made sense because she wanted it to make sense, because if the Thorn were innocent of spilling her brother’s blood that would make what she had just done all right. That was all.
She glanced at the tall shape of him beside her. If she really thought her brother was wrong, she would ask this man to remove his disguise. She could not do it. Whether the cause was something in the Thorn or some failing in herself, she did not know, but it was an impossibility. Curiosity burned inside her, and yet … and yet … To know could mean terrible embarrassment. It might also mean that her conscience would require her to inform the authorities. Or if she did not, she would feel responsible, would be responsible, for everything laid at his door from this moment. It was true, of course, that her failure to ask made it so in any case.
They came at last to Dink’s Pond. He reined in and she stopped beside him.
“So silent,” he said, his voice low. “More guilt?”
It was startling, this ability of his to understand her when he hardly knew her. “It’s the way I’m made; I can’t help it.”
“There’s no need to take pride in it.”
“Pride!”
“Accepting the blame for what other people do is as much a form of arrogance as claiming the credit.”
“We have a responsibility toward other human beings.”
“Let me speak plainly, love. You are not responsible for anything I have done or may do in the future.”
“But … if I could stop you?”
“Try, by all means.”
“Now who’s being arrogant!”
He reached across the space between them to catch her hand. “Oh, I am. Will it serve?”
Her annoyance faded, though she could be no less than honest as she answered, “I’m not sure.”
He heard the pain in her voice and wished with sudden savagery that he had the right to banish it. Or had at least exercised sufficient self-control not to put it there in the first place. His best instincts seemed to vanish when he was with her. Knowing the cause didn’t help. Or give him confidence. There was only one thing to be done, now.
“I’ll say good-bye here. If I don’t see you again—”
The stifled sound that Lettie made was so soft that she did not think he could have heard it, and yet he paused for so long that she flushed, afraid he was trying to think of some way to take his leave without hurting her. Keeping her voice even with an effort, she said, “Yes, if?”
“Forget,” he said, his voice harsh. “Forget what happened between us. Never bring it to mind. Let it be as if it never took place.”
“And is that what you will do?”
His grip on her hand tightened for an instant, then he raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm. Carefully, he placed it on her knee. When he answered, there was a trace of dry humor once more under the steel of his words. “No,” he said, “but then I have no conscience.”
It was a lie; she knew it as she watched him ride away. She was less certain by the time she reached the stables at Splendora, and not sure at all when she was safe at last in her own bedchamber. She had thought he was worried about her, but his greatest concern might have been for himself. Forget, he had said, but was it because it was better for her that way or because she would have less to remember to tell the authorities?
He was safe, if he only knew it. She could think of no way to approach Colonel Ward, or the sheriff for that matter, without telling him of how she had come by her information, how it was that she could describe the Thorn, if not accurately, at least more closely as to height and body build than most. That was something she had no wish, could not bear, in fact, to disclose to a living soul.
The auctioning off of the Tyler place, Sally Anne’s home, was held on a bright and hot morning near the end of June. The proceedings were to begin at ten. The crowd began to gather at sunup. By the time Aunt Em, Lettie, and Ranny with Lionel arrived at nine, there was no place before the house, on the drive, or along the edges of the road for a half mile in either direction to leave a wagon. It was just as well that they had walked.
They joined the family — Samuel Tyler and his wife, Sally Anne and Peter, Sally Anne’s sister and brother-in-law and their two small children — on the veranda. The women all wore black. Sally Anne’s father, a man with a shock of white hair and thick gray brows who might have been leonine in appearance if he had not been so thin, sat staring into space and gripping the arms of his chair. He shook off his lethargy enough to rise to his feet when the ladies appeared and to shake hands with Ranny, gripping his shoulder. Mrs. Tyler, short and plump and with traces of blond still in her gray hair, gave Aunt Em a tight hug and, smiling gallantly through rising tears, thanked her for coming.
Their voices were soft and subdued. Most of the women held handkerchiefs. Their visit had every appearance of a condolence call and served much the same purpose, that of support for the grief-stricken.
A bottle of sherry was produced. “Damned locusts won’t get this,” Mr. Tyler said as he poured it out and passed it around. They sat sipping the mellow golden wine and talking of the weather, pretending not to hear the people tramping through the house behind them or to see those that straggled up the drive.
They had descended like the locusts they were called, the carpetbaggers. They were the ones with the money these days. They swarmed in and out with their women, most of whom were of less than sterling virtue, on their arms. They turned up their noses at the horses as less than purebred stock, sneered at the carriages with their split-leather seats and glazed paint, and joked about the various uses that could be found for several hundred field hoes. They sat in the Sheraton chairs one after the other, looked at the bottoms of vases for mar
kings, and flicked the crystal with their fingernails to make it ring. They wondered how in the world the high-ceilinged rooms were kept warm in the winter, while conceding that they were more comfortable than expected in the present warm spell, and disagreed about what it would cost to hire enough Negro maids to keep the place decently dusted. They made disparaging comments about the furnishings: on the state of the silk hangings, “Threadbare, positively rotten, and so faded you wouldn’t think they had any color to begin with!”; the Queen Anne table and chairs, “Ugly bowlegged things, aren’t they?”; and the coin silver tea service, “Hardly a scroll on it, too plain to be worth much.” With notebooks in hand and pencils in their fists, busily figuring, they trailed out again to the front steps where the proceedings would be held.
Lettie, hearing the broad and rather hard accents of the Northeast, was ashamed, not just of the ignorance displayed but of the lack of consideration. Anyone who came up the drive must know that the family was still in residence. The only conclusion to be drawn was that they knew and didn’t care. To them anyone so poor, or with so little sharpness that they had lost their fortune down to the roof over their heads, could not matter.
“Now you aren’t to worry about a thing,” Aunt Em was saying to her sister-in-law, Sally Anne’s mother. “Everything is ready at Splendora. You and Samuel can have the middle bedroom, Sally Anne and Peter can move in with me, and the others can have the sleeping loft to themselves. We’ll make out fine, and just think what fun we’ll have, all being together?”
“You are a dear, Em. It’s terrible that we have to put you to so much trouble.”
“Nonsense! No trouble at all.”
It was a familiar exchange, one that had been repeated at least a dozen times in the past few days. Lettie paid little attention to it and so had time to notice Sally Anne’s abrupt stillness as she sat staring down the drive. Turning her head swiftly in that direction, Lettie saw a man, wearing a blue uniform, on horseback. It was Thomas Ward.
Lettie looked back at Sally Anne. The woman gave her a tired smile. “I never expected it of him. I suppose I should have, but I didn’t.”
The colonel, as he neared the house, looked up. He removed his hat, tipping it as he leaned in a half bow from the saddle. Sally Anne looked away as if he was not there. Thomas’s face tightened. Lettie deliberately lifted a hand to wave. She understood how Sally Anne must feel, but that did not keep her from wanting to shake the other woman. If Thomas Ward was there, it was not to take advantage of the Tylers’ misfortune.
Or was it?
The auctioneer, banging his gavel and raising his voice in a self-satisfied shout, began the business of the day exactly on time. Lot after lot of items came under his hammer, starting with barrels of ropes and tools from the outbuildings, carrying on with the farm animals and furniture, and ending with barrels of china and books from the house. Every lot, every item, was bought by Colonel Thomas Ward. He was not troubled by the angry looks and snide remarks from the bidders around him. He did not look at Sally Anne or her family. He paid no attention, or so it seemed, to what he was buying or how much it cost.
But he would not be outbid. Some tried it, only to go down in defeat. As the others saw what was happening, they began to drift away. By noon, the drive and the front yard had been cleared of carriages, wagons, and horses, and the lawn was empty. The auctioneer, taking his helpers and the colonel’s hefty bank draft with him, had gone away. Thomas Ward was left in possession.
He mounted the steps to the veranda where the family still sat. He removed his hat and gave a curt bow, then put the black felt headpiece under one arm and clasped his wrist with his other hand. He glanced at Lettie and seemed to take courage from the fact that she at least acknowledged his presence by looking at him.
“I apologize,” he said, “for that vulgar display. I didn’t know how else to go about it.”
Sally Anne’s father got to his feet at last, holding himself stiff and straight. “You were quite within your rights, sir. I congratulate you on an excellent purchase, and I assure you that we will be out of the house by nightfall.”
“Not on my account, I beg you. It’s my hope that you will remain, all of you, as my guests.”
He had their attention now.
“I beg your pardon?” Samuel Tyler threw his head back and looked down his nose with a fierce frown.
“I have no intention of putting you out of your home. I only ask that you permit me to call now and then — on your daughter.”
Sally Anne came to her feet with her blue eyes, usually so serene, glittering with rage. “Colonel Ward, I take leave to inform you that though you have bought our home, you have not bought me!”
Thomas looked at her with confusion and the dawning of anger in his eyes. “I never thought it.”
“No? It seems odd to me that this is the first time I have heard of your great desire to call, the first I’ve seen of you in weeks!”
“There were arrangements to make for funds and I didn’t want to intrude or have it look as if I were assessing the property.”
“If by that you mean me—”
“I didn’t say that!”
“Are you positive you don’t want to dispense with the formalities and just move in? Why pretend, since you have made so sure of me?”
“I’m not—”
Sally Anne would not let him finish, though for those who could hear it there was pain threading her angry tirade. “Why go to the trouble of paying court when money will do? Why not just hand me a roll of bills and lead me to my bedroom? That’s the way men like you usually get what they want, isn’t it?”
“What I would like to do,” the colonel began, putting his hands on his hips, “is lead you out to the woodshed—”
“Stop!”
It was Ranny who spoke, coming to his feet with a smooth surge on that single word. His voice was not loud, but there was something in it that cut through the building quarrel like a keen sword. He looked from Thomas to Sally Anne and back again. His tone flat, he said, “This is silly.” Then, without a backward glance, he walked away along the veranda and down the steps.
There was absolute silence for the space of ten seconds when he had gone. The colonel raked his hand through his hair and clasped the back of his neck. He sent a quick glance at Sally Anne, then looked at the floor. “I’m sorry if I offended in any way. I only meant to help.”
Sally Anne said nothing. Lettie, watching the movement of the woman’s slender throat and the shimmer in her eyes, thought it was because she could not. Mr. Tyler gave a heavy sigh.
“I am sure, Colonel Ward,” the older man said, “that my daughter regrets anything she may have said that was unseemly. Regardless, you must see that what you propose is impossible. We cannot accept your charity.”
A stubborn look came over Thomas’s face. He straightened his shoulders. “It isn’t charity.”
“Whatever the term you choose, it would not be proper for us to live here under the circumstances you have described. It is a question of something that has caused a great deal of hardship in this part of the world, and probably will cause more, but something to which we cling now as never before. That thing, sir, is pride.”
There was an implication — unintentional, Lettie was sure, but there all the same — that pride was something with which the colonel must be unfamiliar. Thomas Ward did not take offense. He stared at Sally Anne’s father for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was tentative.
“As you wish, sir. But there is an alternative. Could you, perhaps, square it with your principles to accept me as the holder of your mortgage?”
“With the same provision as before?”
Thomas did not so much as glance at Sally Anne. “By no means.”
“I see.” There was a flicker of regret in the older man’s face before he pursed his lips in thought.
“However,” Thomas said, “I have formed a deep attachment to this area and would like, someday, to live here and
own land. I know next to nothing about the farming methods that work best, a problem I would like to remedy. It would be a great service to me, sir, if you would permit me to visit from time to time and go over the fields with you.”
The men regarded each other intently for long moments. At last a smile began to lift the lines on Samuel Tyler’s face. He gave a snort of wry laughter and rose from his chair to step toward the colonel, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think I can put my hand on a bottle of bourbon, if my wife doesn’t have it packed in the bottom of her trunk. Come on inside and let’s talk about this over a drink.”
It was a male conspiracy. Lettie, looking from the two men to Sally Anne’s suspicious frown, fought to keep the smile of appreciation from her lips. Whether it would work or not was impossible to know, but at least now there was a chance. Ranny, with his simple and decisive intervention, had given it to them.
He had one to offer Lettie also.
Lettie, Ranny, and Lionel were in the schoolroom as usual the following morning. Peter was absent, though the problem was a cut foot, according to the note that had been sent, rather than anything to do with the events of the previous day. The morning was unsettled, with high moving clouds coming and going across the sun. Because of the fluctuating light, Lettie had moved her chair closer to the window in order to see her book better as she read from Great Expectations. Ranny sat at her feet with one shoulder braced against the chair leg as he held her hand, playing with her fingers as usual. Lionel lay on the floor nearby in his favorite position, staring at the ceiling with his hands clasped behind his head.
Lettie came to the end of the chapter and closed the book. She looked at her lapel watch. “Nearly noon. That’s it for today.”
Lionel turned his head. “Just one more chapter? Please?”
“If you haven’t had your fill of school, there are those sums—”
“I think I hear Mama Tass calling me to dinner!” he exclaimed in sudden energy, and, jumping up, made a dash for the door.
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