“I’d prefer not to.”
Her gaze lifted to his of its own accord, and the tenderness in his eyes took her breath away. Was he merely attempting to use kindness to get her to forget about the duel? Their feud?
She stiffened her back and hiked her chin. “Turn loose of me, Mr. Bishop.”
He heaved a sigh that washed across her face and dropped his arms so fast that she wobbled and had to grasp his arm to steady herself. Now that she was adrift from him, the loneliness rushed back. How could she betray her family by taking comfort from her enemy? Why did he of all people have to be her one adversary?
She turned her back to him and wiped her face with her sleeve. How could she ever face him again?
She couldn’t.
Carina bent, picked up her pistol, and discharged it toward the river. Mr. Bishop jumped at the loud blast. He must have thought she could actually go through with shooting him—and that saddened her. But what else should she expect after the way she’d treated him?
Making a wide arc, she passed by him and retrieved the pistol case and his weapon, which lay on the damp ground where he’d dropped it. She would clean the weapons later. Right now she merely wanted to collect them and make a quick retreat back home.
She felt his eyes on her, but she couldn’t face him again. The way he’d stood there, patiently waiting for her to kill or maim him, had completely disarmed her. Had stolen her anger and hatred. She’d come to the river expecting to die or at least to be injured, but he had willingly become the scapegoat, and she didn’t know how to handle that.
She’d been angry for so long that she didn’t know what to do, so she merely headed for home.
Maybe tomorrow when the duel wasn’t so fresh in her mind, she’d round up her anger and feel normal again.
❧
Reed hated to see her go, looking so dejected and alone. He doubted he’d ever forget how good it felt to hold her in his arms. She wasn’t the first woman he’d hugged, but with the exception of his mother, she was the only one since he’d given his heart to God. Holding the sobbing Miss Zimmer had filled an empty place in him that those teasing, painted women from the taverns he used to frequent never could.
He felt as if she’d taken a part of him with her, and he wouldn’t be whole again until he was with her. He released a loud sigh.
What in the world was wrong with him? He was pining for a woman who hated him—a woman who’d nearly sent him to his Maker.
He shook his head and strode toward his horse. He mounted but had no desire to move on. How did one go from expecting to be dead to living out the rest of the day as if nothing had happened?
His horse nibbled at the ankle-high grass and meandered just so that if Reed lifted his head, he could see Miss Zimmer hightailing it back home. What was she thinking? Had this duel settled anything?
“Please, Lord, make it so. Relieve Miss Zimmer of the heavy burden that she’s carrying. Help her to forgive me.”
He sat praying and enjoying the serene setting. Water swished softly through the tall marsh grass, and a trio of turtles sunned themselves on a large, flat rock near the bank. Yellow butterflies flittered from one wildflower to another. Cypress trees with their knobby roots, flowering dogwoods, and mossy oaks lined the edges of the river. This was a place so filled with life.
Reed heaved another sigh and reined his mount toward home. Now that he was going to live another day or so, he needed to hire someone to build his office. He’d ask Harley, since it was a sore spot with his mother.
He reined the roan to a halt just outside the barn and dismounted. The same young man who’d driven his mother to Tanglewood hurried out to receive the horse.
Reed unfastened his medical bag and nodded his thanks to the youth. “Make sure to brush him down and give him some oats.”
“Yes, sir, Mistah Reed. I always do. Caesar, he’s a good horse.”
Charley led the gelding into the barn, and Reed followed him. He walked from stall to stall, studying the horses. He was going to need one of his own since he’d be staying at the plantation, and though Caesar was a decent horse, Reed found his particular gait uncomfortable. He wasn’t ready to relegate himself to a buggy that doctors so commonly drove. A good saddle horse would do him well. “Which of these is the best horse for riding long distances?”
Charley crinkled up his nose. “Well, sir, I don’t rightly know, beings as how I ain’t never rode one very far.”
Reed pursed his lips. He should have thought about that. A Negro—free or slave—riding along on a fine horse was bound to be stopped and most likely harassed. If he didn’t have the proper papers, he could be in trouble. “Which one does Harley ride most often?”
“That’d be Pete. He’s the big dun that stays in that third stall over there.” Charley pointed across the barn.
Reed thanked him and strode up to the house. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of buying a horse of his own. Maybe he could talk his mother into going to Charleston for a few days to shop while he searched for a good horse. He smacked his riding gloves against his palm, liking the idea more and more. That would also give him the opportunity to research and locate a carpenter to design and build his office.
As he passed through the gardens, his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t yet eaten breakfast. He left before Cook had anything prepared this morning, not that he had much appetite given the circumstances. Now he was starving and ready for just about anything Cook could dish up.
He had a lot to be thankful for. He was still alive, as was Miss Zimmer, and both unharmed. Maybe things today had put in motion the end of the troubles between his family and the Zimmers. He’d held Carina in his arms and knew one thing for certain: For some odd reason, he liked her. More than liked her. He was attracted to her like he’d never been to any other woman.
The big question, however, remained: What was he going to do about that?
Nine
“Carina! Amos!”
At her fader’s sudden cry, Carina tossed down her hairbrush and ran down the hall. What would he say when she told him that Amos was no longer here, and neither were five other of their slaves? She’d managed not to tell him by simply avoiding him and staying busy away from the house. But it was bedtime, and he knew she’d be home. There was no evading him this time.
She skidded to a halt on the wood floor just outside his bedroom door. Her hand lifted to her nose at the sour odor emanating from the room. “Ja, Fader, what is it you need?”
“Where’s Amos? He missed giving me a bath yesterday. I got sick today and retched all over myself. The stench is unbearable. Where is that boy?”
“Didn’t Betsey clean you up and give you a fresh nightshirt?”
He swatted his hand through the air. “I don’t want that woman near me. She scrubs so hard she could rub smooth the back of an alligator.”
Carina grinned. There was truth in that statement. Until she was old enough to wash herself, she’d just resigned herself to having red skin from Betsey’s scrubbing during her weekly bath time. Her smile faded as she remembered her dilemma. “I can have Enoch or Woodson come up and give you a bucket bath.”
“Woodson! He’s not a house servant. Why, his hands are as rough as oak bark. Send Amos to me, and do it quick.”
Her fader crossed his arms and glared at her. Carina swallowed hard. She’d made a decision for the welfare of all, and now she’d have to face the consequences. If she ever hoped to inherit Tanglewood—and there was nothing she wanted more, save the welfare of her servants—she had to prove to her fader that she was capable. She sucked in a strengthening breath and straightened her back. “Amos isn’t here. He’s gone.”
“Gone!” Her fader bolted upright off the stack of pillows he’d been reclining on. “Did he go and run off? Who’d you hire to find him?” He scooted to the side of the bed and swung his legs over the edge, more nimbly than she’d seen him move in months.
She rushed to his
side, uncertain if he could stand if he tried. How long had it been since he’d left his bed? She reached out to halt him. “Now, Fader, you are in no condition to get up.”
He raised his elbow and shoved her back so hard she stumbled. She stepped on the hem of her skirt and fell on her backside, the fabric beneath her ripping. Tears pooled, but she forced them away. This was her only decent skirt.
Her fader scowled at her. For too long, she’d let him intimidate her and order her around as if she were one of his workers. She was his daughter—and the only reason he still had a home. She gathered her tattered skirts and ragged dignity and stood.
She pierced her fader with a glare. “Amos did not run away. I leased him and five other of our people to Mr. Davies for six months.”
The left side of his face puckered up. “Lease? Zimmers don’t lease their slaves. I’ll be the laughingstock of Charleston.”
She feared he was already ill-thought of by most of the people who knew him. Before he took ill, he was never kind. He took anything he could take and never gave an inch. Many times she wished he had died instead of her mother or Johan. She hung her head at the insensitive thought. What kind of daughter was she?
Her fader scooted back into bed, launching a rank odor her way. He certainly needed a bath. “Tomorrow, you will go to Davies’s business and tell him the deal is off. Bring back our slaves, you hear me?”
She hiked her chin. “I can’t do that. Mr. Davies and I signed a contract. We need the money for the mortgage payment and supplies. For seed. We can manage without the extra help and will save food by having less mouths to feed during this difficult time.”
Karl Zimmer’s face grew as red as the borscht he loved so much. “I’m still the owner of this plantation. What makes you think you can do whatever you please?”
Carina winced. Her legs trembled, but she knew she had to stay the course and not back down. Her fader never respected anyone who caved to his hollering. “You’re no longer physically able to run this plantation. I’ve done what I had to and made choices only after considerable thought and discussion with Betsey and Woodson.”
“Discussion! With slaves?” He grabbed one of his pillows and lobbed it at her. “Slaves don’t know squat. You can’t discuss with them. That just shows you aren’t fit to run this place.”
“Neither are you.” She nearly gasped out loud at her disrespectfulness. Never had she stood up to her fader before. “Someone has to make the decisions around here, and I’m the only one who can. You drink yourself half to death every day. A drunken man can’t run a plantation.” She took a step back, shocked at her tirade and half-afraid of what he would do to her. Thank the Lord he wasn’t able to walk.
His face grew crimson, and he sputtered. “I don’t know why Johan had to die instead of you.” He reached under a pillow and pulled out one of his empty bottles and flung it at her.
Carina spun sideways and ducked, but she wasn’t fast enough. The spiraling bottle crashed into her forehead, sending pain ratcheting through her. Her fader’s face blurred then all turned black.
❧
Reed never thought he’d ever want to throttle another man, but if not for the fact that he was a God-fearing man, he was certain he would have laid his hands on Karl Zimmer—ill or not. How could a father be so cruel as to throw a heavy bottle at his daughter’s head?
He tied off the last suture and snipped it.
“Is Miz ’Rina gonna be all right?” Betsey wrung her thick hands together and watched him from the far side of the bed.
“I hope so. I’ll certainly do all I can to help her.” He poured a generous amount of brandy over the wound to clean it then placed a square of cloth over it and wrapped Carina’s head to hold it snug. He was grateful that she hadn’t awakened during the suturing procedure, but the longer she was unconscious, the more concerned he became. Please, Father, let her be all right. Heal her, Lord.
He breathed in a long breath and straightened, rubbing the small of his back. He’d done all he knew to do. Now she was in God’s hands. Reed turned down the lantern, knowing Carina would most likely be sensitive to light when she awoke since she had a head wound.
Betsey waddled around the bed and pulled a side chair from a desk across the room and dragged it toward him. She set it next to the bed. “You sit, Doctah Boss, and I’ll go fetch you some tea and a slice of my buttermilk pie.”
He smiled. “That sounds wonderful. It’s been awhile since I ate anything.”
Reed settled in, planning to stay until he knew Carina was faring well. The frayed curtains danced on the light breeze, while tree frogs, crickets, and other insects serenaded the moon as it made its way across the night sky. He laid his head against the ladder-back chair and closed his eyes, reliving the moment Enoch had come to his door and said that Miss Zimmer had been injured.
His first thought was of the dueling pistols, but he quickly cast that aside and asked Enoch what had happened. Reed clenched his back teeth, angered again at the unfair circumstances Carina was forced to endure. And a good measure of her suffering was his fault.
He longed to be her friend, to help her, but he doubted she’d be receptive. He slid his hand down her forearm to her slender wrist and checked her pulse. Breathing a sigh of relief, he boldly slid his hand into hers and held it. Hers was small, though not soft like his mother’s, but rather callused, and her nails were chipped, rough. What kind of work had she done to earn those calluses? Reed pursed his lips, hesitated a moment, then placed a kiss on her index finger. Some way, somehow, he would make things easier for her.
Releasing her hand, he sat back and placed one hand over his chest. He’d do well to remember his patient’s vendetta. She would not be happy to awaken and find him in her bedchamber, even with Betsey present, too. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. He’d give Carina until he finished his tea and pie. If she hadn’t awakened by then, he’d use smelling salts, but he preferred that a patient come to on their own.
Standing, he stretched and walked to the window, gazing out at the near-full moon. If his presence upset her, he’d go downstairs and supervise her from there. His mind whirled with ideas as to what he could do to help her. She was a neighbor and injured. He now had a legitimate excuse to come to her home and help out. Neighbors helped neighbors during times of trouble.
Once Carina was out of the woods, he’d put together a team of his servants and start clearing her drive. Maybe if it was more inviting, other neighbors would feel compelled to stop by for a visit.
A rustling sounded behind him, and he turned, checking Carina. Betsey shuffled through the door, carrying a tray with a huge slice of pie, a teapot, cup, and a small sugar bowl and creamer. She set the load on top of the desk and blew out a loud sigh. “I declare, those steps get taller and taller ever’ day.”
Reed’s stomach growled in response to the sweet scent of the pie, and a warm cup of tea might help him to relax. But he doubted it. He wouldn’t truly relax until Carina opened her eyes and yelled at him to leave. He smiled at that thought.
Betsey chuckled low and deep as she poured his tea. “Guess that pie arrived just in time.”
He crossed the room and claimed the pie, cutting into it, then savoring the sweet flavor. “This is delicious. With desserts like this, I don’t know how Miss Zimmer stays so thin.”
“Hmpf.” The colored woman crossed her arms across her ample bosom and plopped back down in the chair on the far side of the bed. “That’s because she don’t eat nuthin’.”
“And why is that?” Though thinner than most women he knew, she seemed healthy enough. She’d never been faint or ill in his presence. In fact, she’d always had plenty of gumption and fortitude, enough to chase him off her land if need be. He couldn’t help smiling as he remembered her ordering him off her land. No sir, Miss Carina Zimmer sure didn’t lack fortitude and determination.
“I think she don’t eat so we have more food.” Betsey shook her head. “I fuss and fre
t, but nothing I can do will make Miz ’Rina eat another bite once she decides she’s done.”
“Maybe she’ll eat if the doctor orders her to.”
“And maybe she’ll hop out of that bed and chase you off with her shotgun again.”
Reed grinned and shook his head. “You’re a sassy thing—you know it.”
“I know.” Betsey smiled and ducked her head. He doubted she’d ever talked to Mr. Zimmer so freely.
Reed finished his pie then downed his tea. He checked Carina’s pulse again then paced the room for several minutes.
“Walkin’ a hole in the carpet ain’t gonna make her wake up no faster.”
He sat back down and crossed one leg over his knee. His foot jiggled and he tapped the leg of the chair with his index finger. His gaze traveled around the room. The only furniture was the bed, desk, two chairs, and a commode with a chipped pitcher sitting in a ceramic bowl. Three pegs hung on the wall—one was empty, one held the shirtwaist he’d seen Carina wear several times, and the other held a faded brown dress with small yellow flowers. The sparseness of the room and her wardrobe put him to shame.
Betsey hummed a tune under her breath while she stitched up a tear in the ugly skirt Carina always wore.
“Why doesn’t she have more clothing?”
Betsey’s brows lifted in a manner that told him he’d overstepped his bounds. She glanced at her sleeping mistress then back at him. “Ever’ time we get new fabric, Miz ’Rina, she says it has to go to someone else ’cause they needs it worse’n her, but that ain’t the truth. She won’t let me make her a new dress or skirt. She just wears this nasty old thing.”
“What if the doctor ordered it burned for the sake of her health?”
Betsey smiled widely. “I like how you think, Doctah Boss, but there ain’t nuthin’ to replace this with.” She held up the sad-looking skirt.
“Maybe my mother could help.”
The slave woman pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Miz ’Rina, she don’t like to accept he’p from others. She gots to do ever’thing herself.”
Dueling Hearts Page 7
