Dueling Hearts

by McDonough, Vickie;

  Think of Johan. Think of all her fader had been through. She couldn’t allow herself to get close to this man. Her fader would never allow her to marry a Bishop.

  She shook her head. Marry? Where had that thought come from?

  “I’m sorry you’re not happy. I just wanted to help you.”

  “No, don’t misunderstand. I do like the changes.” She stared down the road then over her shoulder back toward the house, taking in everything. All trees and shrubs within three feet of either side of the road had been cut back or removed. Several piles of debris were placed every hundred feet or so.

  “I’ve talked with Woodson, and he will burn those rubbish heaps tomorrow or the day after, depending on the winds. We were late finishing today, and folks needed to head home to tend to chores.”

  She nodded, amazed at the difference. “It looks very nice. I just. . .”

  “Don’t make things more than they are.”

  Her irritation fueled. He had no idea what it was like to be shunned. Not a single neighbor other than his mother had ever come to visit her. Not even after Johan died. She blinked back tears. “I appreciate your efforts, but those good people did this for you, not me. They don’t even know me.”

  His arm lowered onto her shoulders and rested there, as light as a feather. “I think you’re wrong. If they could get to know you, you’d see that. Why not get out and attend some of the local social events? Come to church when the itinerate pastor visits each month?”

  She shook her head. Tanglewood was her private sanctuary. The only safe place. She didn’t want to leave it. “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” His arm tightened. “You can go with Mother and me.”

  She shook her head. He’d never understand what it was like to be the daughter of a man people despised—a man who had cheated his neighbors to benefit himself. A man who never forgot a wrong done to him. “Please, take me back home.”

  His heavy sigh sluiced guilt through her. He removed his arm and jiggled the reins, turning the horse back toward the house. He’d only been trying to help. She held her hands in her lap, wishing more than anything that things could be different.

  “I’ll be gone for the next few days.”

  His statement and the lifeless way it was uttered dug a hole in her heart. Why couldn’t he understand? She had no way to repay anyone. Keeping the plantation running and growing enough food to feed her small crew along with caring for her fader took all her time and energy.

  “I’m going to Charleston to purchase a horse and hire someone to build a clinic for me. Is there anything you need from there? I’d be happy to get it.”

  His offer to help was generous, all things considered. Generous, just like him. She had hated him for so long that she still had trouble reconciling the kindhearted Dr. Bishop with the hooligan she knew he’d been when he was younger. The lout who killed her brother.

  He pulled the buggy to a stop, set the brake, and climbed out, then turned and held out his hands to her. Swallowing back her nervousness at touching him, she forced herself to move and stood, taking care not to bang her head again. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and he gently lifted her to the ground. When he didn’t release her right away, she glanced up. Those eyes, so intense, so blue, seemed to look clear into her soul. What did he see? A woman who wished things could be different? A woman who was sorry for all that had happened between their families?

  He let go and stepped back. “You may get up and move about the house now, but don’t do any physical labor. If you start feeling dizzy, sit or lie down. And have Betsey change your bandage in a few days.”

  She hated the professionalism in his voice and the dullness of his eyes, as a man who’d lost all hope. What had he hoped to gain from her? Why hadn’t he just stayed away? Stayed in Scotland?

  Knowing him to be the sweet man he was now only made things so much more difficult. Just think of how he’d cut Johan’s life short. Had her brother been here all these years, her life would not have been so hard. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Dr. Bishop. If you could be so kind as to provide me with a list of the people who worked on the drive, I would appreciate it. I’d like to pen them a thank-you note.”

  He gave a terse nod and held out his hand, helping her up the stairs. He opened the door for her. “I’ll check on Abel before leaving. If he feels up to it, he can sit now and do simple tasks like polishing tack. Nothing that requires walking yet.”

  She nodded. “I understand.”

  “Another thing. Betsey has probably mentioned this by now, but there was a vagrant down where we were working. He stole some food then ran off into the swamp.”

  Carina’s heart leaped. “Do you think he might come here?”

  He pressed his lips together and shrugged. “I’m hoping he was just hungry and has moved on, but it might be a good idea to post a night guard for the next week or so.”

  That meant she’d be short another servant. She could hardly expect a man to stay up most of the night then work all day. But neither could she risk their safety or that of her property. She couldn’t afford to lose so much as a shovel or a spoon. Crossing her arms, she ran her palms up and down her outer arms as she searched the fields and then the area around the barn. Was someone spying on them even now?

  He lifted his gaze past her to the stairs leading to the second floor. “One more thing you should know, I attempted to examine your father yesterday, but he wanted nothing to do with me.”

  “Can you blame him?” She stiffened at the unexpected harshness in her voice. She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter.

  His lips pressed tightly together, a wounded look in his eyes. He ducked his head. “No, I don’t suppose I can. My family has done nothing but cause him—and you—trouble. Please accept my sincere apologies, Miss Zimmer.” He slapped his hat on his head, spun around, and jogged down the stairs, taking Carina’s heart with him.

  ❧

  Stubborn, mulish woman—beautiful woman.

  Why couldn’t she acknowledge what was happening between them? He knew she felt something, because her whole demeanor had changed. Her true anger had dissipated only to be replaced with a false, forced anger, as if she needed to hold on to it or lose her identity. If she liked him at all, why did she keep pushing him away? Had he completely misread her interest?

  He’d almost kissed her in the buggy. What a mistake that would have been. He smacked the reins on the horse’s back, and the animal jumped and leaped forward. Getting away from the beguiling Miss Zimmer was probably the smartest thing he could do. She wasn’t some wounded animal he’d found out in a field or the barn, but a living, breathing person. He couldn’t fix all her problems, and trying to wasn’t God’s will for his life. He was a doctor—and he needed a clinic.

  He turned off the main road onto the quarter-mile drive that took him home, slowed, and studied the landscape. A beautiful valley spread before him with a backdrop of trees that hugged the river. This was the perfect spot for his clinic. Close to the main road, yet far enough away that the dust stirred up by travelers wouldn’t drift into the windows. Maybe closer to the river would be better, so that he’d have quicker access to fresh water.

  He tapped his lip and glanced around the field. Finally he nodded. “This is it.”

  Thirteen

  Carina sat in the rocker on the front porch, watching the smoke from the debris piles slowly change from black to gray. Thankfully, the wind had blown it away from the house all day.

  Sammy raced around the corner and didn’t stop until he reached the porch. He climbed up onto the railing instead of using the stairs and sucked in a breath, his dark eyes shining. “Daddy says to tell you that there’s the last of the piles.”

  “Thank you for telling me.” She wrinkled her nose. “You smell like you’ve been standing downwind of them.”

  He nodded. “I played in the smoke. Pretended I was an Indian.” He jumped to the ground. “Daddy says I should go see to Abel. See if’n he
needs somethun’.” He loped away as fast as he’d come.

  She shook her head, wishing she had his energy. Just two years past twenty and she was already tired. Maybe she just hadn’t fully recovered from her injuries yet. But her discouragement was more than physical. Her heart ached. It probably would never heal, not after her fader’s harsh words and treatment. She shelled the last of the peas in the bowl on her lap, blinking back unwanted tears. Why couldn’t you have died instead of Johan?

  Betsey banged her way out the front door. “You done shellin’ those peas yet?”

  She held up the bowl and gave her maid a proud smile. “All done.”

  “Took you ’bout as long as it does Etta.”

  Carina lifted her brows and couldn’t resist teasing. “I’ve been injured.”

  “Hmpf. Ain’t nuthin’ wrong with yo’ fingers.” She stared off toward the road. “Guess Sammy and Woodson’ll stink to high heaven when they gets home. Gonna have to go dunk ’em in the river.”

  Carina smiled. From what she’d heard from Sammy, the menfolk went for a swim most warm evenings. She wished she had that liberty, but she was always afraid of an alligator inviting her for dinner or someone seeing her. And lately, she kept getting the feeling she was being watched. Her gaze traveled around the yard, the barn, the paddock, and back to the road. Maybe her head wound was the cause of her insecurity of late.

  “Sure do miss Doctah Boss, don’t you?”

  Jerking her head sideways, she stared up at her maid. “Why do you call him that?”

  Betsey shrugged. “It just seems fittin’, is all.”

  “He’s not your boss, you know.”

  She harrumphed again. “Ain’t nobody ’cept’n you be my boss—you and the good Lord and maybe Woodson. Sometimes.”

  Carina chuckled. “It’s good you included your husband, although you and I both know he’s not the boss of the family.”

  Betsey gave her a stern look. “Now don’t you be tellin’ him that. What he don’t know won’t hurt him.”

  Laying her head back against the rocker, Carina smiled. She hadn’t smiled since Dr. Bishop left two days ago. She hoped he didn’t come back. It would be the easiest thing for them both—and for her heart, for she feared he’d unwittingly staked a claim on it. But that could never be. Her fader would never allow it.

  “What’s got you so down in the dumps?”

  Carina twisted her mouth up to one side, unsure how much to tell Betsey. Her maid was the only person she could really talk to, other than Abel, and there were only certain things they could discuss. Susan had started coming around more often, though, but she could hardly talk to the doctor’s mother about him.

  “Go on and admit it. You miss him, too.”

  “Who?”

  Betsey gave Carina’s chair a shove, setting it into motion. “You know who.”

  She shook her head. “It could never work. Fader would never allow it.”

  “Yo’ daddy ain’t gonna be alive forever, now is he? You best be considerin’ the future before you find it arrived and done left you behind.”

  Some days it seemed as if her fader would live forever. He was too cranky to die. She winced at the sliver of guilt that pricked her for even thinking such a thing. “How is he? I haven’t seen him since the accident.” She had no desire to see him.

  “That weren’t no accident. He threw that bottle on purpose, and you know it.”

  “I shouldn’t have stood up to him. He doesn’t like people doing that.”

  “He don’t like much of anythin’, if’n you ask me.”

  “Don’t be mean.”

  Betsey pulled over the other rocker and sat down. “Yo’ daddy is the mean one. He needs to find God, just like you do. I keep tellin’ you that you don’t have to bear all yo’ burdens alone. God can he’p.”

  Carina closed her eyes, dreading another lecture about God. “Why would He help me now, when He’s never done it before?”

  “Hmpf. You don’t know what He done and what He ain’t done. How do you know He ain’t already he’ped you?”

  Carina jumped up. Was it too much to hope for a little peace and quiet on her own front porch? “He didn’t help when Mother died, and He didn’t save Johan.”

  “Yo’ mama, she had a weak heart, child. And it’s a blessin’ that she didn’t have to live all these years with yo’ daddy, him being a mean ol’ curmudgeon and all.”

  Pacing to the end of the porch, she saw Woodson walking up the road with another man, one who was leading a horse. Her heart jumped, and she narrowed her gaze. Could Reed have returned already?

  “ ’Tain’t the doctah. His shoulders is too big.”

  Disappointment pressed down on her in spite of her decision to avoid Reed Bishop. “I wonder who it is.”

  “Don’t know. I’d best get these peas a-cookin’. I’ll check back in a few minutes, in case you want tea or coffee for yo’ guest.”

  “He’s not my guest.”

  “Well, he sure ain’t come to see me.” The door banged again.

  Carina smiled at her maid’s sassiness. Though it didn’t always sound like it, Betsey respected her—she knew that. Carina actually enjoyed her maid’s cheekiness and how it livened up her monotonous life. She watched the two men. The fact that the white man walked side by side with Woodson spoke volumes about him. So many white men forced their slaves to lag behind them.

  They drew up to the porch, and the stranger removed his hat and smiled. “Ma’am, I’m William Dean. I bought the farm about four miles down the road. Used to be the Marshal place.”

  Carina nodded a greeting, thankful that Woodson did not leave her alone with Mr. Dean. Was he just being neighborly—whatever that was—or was there something he wanted? Should she ask him to sit? She tightened her hands on the porch rail. For a woman who lived in the South, her social skills were terribly lacking. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Dean. I’m Carina Zimmer.”

  Laugh lines crinkled in the corners of his brown eyes. His straw-colored hair hung thick and a bit shaggy. Betsey was correct about his shoulders being wider than the doctor’s, although they were nowhere near as inviting to cry on. She ground her back teeth together. Stop thinking about him.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Dean?”

  He glanced at Woodson, then down at the ground. Carina glanced past her visitor to her servant. “Maybe you could water Mr. Dean’s horse for him?”

  Woodson gave a brief nod. She knew he understood her desire for him to stay close enough to keep an eye on things but far enough away to give them some privacy.

  “That would be nice. Thank you.” Mr. Dean handed off the reins.

  “Would you care for some refreshment?”

  He glanced at the front door then back at her. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, ma’am. I could use a drink of water. That smoke kind of sticks to your throat after a while.”

  She invited him to have a seat then stuck her head in the doorway and called for Etta. After a long moment, the girl sashayed toward her. “Etta, I have a guest. Could you please bring us some tea, a glass of water, and some of your mama’s shortbread?”

  The girl’s eyes went wide, but she nodded. “Yes’m.”

  Having guests was a rare occasion at Tanglewood, and she suspected both Etta and her mother would be listening near the door before too long. Stepping back outside, she reclaimed the rocker on the opposite side of the porch, leaving a more than respectable distance between her and Mr. Dean.

  His gaze shifted toward the house, and Carina’s eyes followed. She grimaced, realizing for the first time in a long while how sad her home must look to others. The place needed a fresh coat of milk paint, but when was she supposed to find the time for that?

  “I moved here from Virginia a few months back,” he said, curling the brim of his worn planter’s hat. “Abigail Marshal was my great-aunt. She didn’t have children, so when she died, she left the place to me.”

  Carina nodded, not sure why he was confessing
all this to her.

  A soft smile tilted his lips. “I’ve got me the most darling two young’uns you’ve ever laid eyes on. Clifton is five, and Lucy is just three. She’s got her mama’s blue eyes.” A crease darkened his brow, as if his comment disturbed him for some reason.

  Blue eyes—that put her in mind of a certain man she was trying hard to forget. She guided her thoughts in a different direction, trying to think of something neighborly to say. “We also moved here from the North when I was a girl. How is your wife adapting to living in the South?”

  He frowned, making Carina wonder what she’d said that bothered him. Maybe his wife didn’t like it here. Footsteps sounded, and Betsey carried a heavily laden tray outside, her gaze shifting straight to Mr. Dean. She set the tray down on a small table on the far side of his chair. Carina blew out a breath, hoping her maid would be nosy and stay close. And if she was going to be a proper hostess, she probably should move close enough that she could actually reach the tea. She rose, and Mr. Dean shot to his feet so fast that Betsey gasped and jumped back clear against the porch railing, her eyes wide and her hand on her heart.

  Carina couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out. She rarely saw her maid move so fast.

  Mr. Dean’s ears turned beet red. “Sorry for frightening you, ma’am.”

  Betsey’s surprise at the apology addressed directly to her was obvious probably only to Carina. “No never mind. Have a seat, sir, and I’ll po’ you some tea.” She cast a confused glance at Carina.

  “I was just going to change chairs, so that I could serve the tea.”

  Betsey hiked her chin. “I do the servin’ here. You just sit back down and talk to yo’ guest.”

  If Mr. Dean thought her maid’s bossiness odd, he didn’t reveal it in his expression. He waited for her to sit then did so himself. Nice as he was, she was ready for this visit to be over. Having him here somehow seemed a betrayal of Dr. Bishop, not that that made a bit of sense to her. She looked across the yard to see if Woodson had finished watering Mr. Dean’s horse.

  Betsey handed Mr. Dean a glass of water, then poured the tea into cups. She added a spoon of sugar and a few drops of cream, just as Carina preferred it, and carried it to her. Blocking her guest’s view with her body, her maid’s brows lifted then waggled up and down. Carina waved a hand of dismissal, hoping Mr. Dean didn’t notice. Betsey merely wandered back to the far side of the table. “What would you like in yo’ tea, sir?”