Rebecca rinsed her cousin’s hair and laid her hand on her bare shoulder affectionately. “Maybe there’s someone in Minnesota for you,” Rebecca smiled.
“Tell me a little bit about Roland.” Emma lay back in the bath luxuriating in the warm water and her cousin’s pampering.
“You like him?” Rebecca asked, still concerned about the man.
“He’s different. Handsome, yes, but there’s more.” Emma pictured the man in her mind, imagining his strong features and dark features. “I like them tall, dark and handsome, you know.”
“He’s a dark one, that’s for sure,” Rebecca frowned.
“Why don’t you like him?” Emma turned to her, studying her face.
“I like him. I’m not sure he’d make good husband material.”
“Husband material? I just wanted to get to know the man. What’s wrong with him?”
“There’s nothing wrong with him really. He does have a temper I think. He’s a bit strong willed at times.” Rebecca searched for the right words.
“Timothy never loses his temper?” Emma asked.
Rebecca thought back to the day she had witnessed Timothy beat a man for stealing his horses, a man with whom he had a past relationship. He certainly did deserve the beating, but Tim had lost his temper, and it could have ended up much worse than it did.
“I guess so,” she had to admit. “I don’t see that in him anymore, but yes, there certainly was a time.”
“All men have tempers, Becky, all the good ones anyway.” Emma laughed lightheartedly, trying to put her cousin at ease.
“Maybe you have tamed Timothy. Perhaps all Mr. Vancouver needs is a bit of taming.”
“I fear that he may be more of a beast than you realize.”
“Maybe.” Emma laid her head back once again, daydreaming.
“This will be exactly right!” Rebecca instructed Emma to turn in front of the mirror.
“Perfect!” she exclaimed.
Emma studied her reflection in the looking glass and complimented Rebecca on the results. Her skin glowed from gentle oils and her hair gleamed from Rebecca’s fine soaps. It fell in shiny waves along her shoulders and back with soft, slender tendrils framing her face. Her cheeks glowed with color from the time they had spent in the garden, and a few hearty meals had begun to fill her gaunt look. The soft hue of the gown warmed her color as well and put a sparkle in her eye.
“Rebecca, you are a genius. Why I didn’t follow you out here just for your dressing abilities, I will never know. I look and feel more wonderful than I have in years.”
“As I recall you thought me mad for answering an ad.” Rebecca checked her own reflection and decided that both women were sufficiently dressed for the dinner meeting with the mill managers. “You never did listen to me.”
Emma hugged her warmly as Timothy tapped on the door.
“Come in,” Rebecca called.
“Pardon me ladies. I believe that I have a wife in here somewhere.”
Rebecca giggled and touched her fingertips to her nose.
“Emma, you look stunning. Why, you are nearly as beautiful as my wife. I am overcome by the loveliness in this room. Would you ladies care to accompany me to dinner?”
“Tamed,” Emma whispered to Rebecca, who giggled agreeably.
“You two go ahead,” Emma nodded to her cousin. “I will be along shortly.”
She watched Timothy gallantly lead his wife through the doorway, nod to her briefly, and close the door.
Emma took a moment to gather herself and looked into the mirror one last time. Rebecca had a knack for finding the best in her, even when she could not find it in herself. Reflected in the mirror she saw a woman that looked graceful and confident, not overdone. While Rebecca, in her tiny stature, looked delightful in tumbling curls and the fullest of gowns, Emma was tall and now reed thin. She felt self-assured and comfortable as she left her room and descended the stairs.
Chapter Seven
Roland Vancouver sat in a wooden chair in his dark kitchen and surveyed the room as if through a newcomer’s eyes. Cobwebs filled every corner and crevice and the floor was littered with dust and leaves. He had once taken great pride in this simple house, but now it stood as a testament to recent neglect. He ate and slept in the structure, but at some point it had stopped being a home.
He thought back to a time when he hauled home lumber religiously at the end of his workweek, always adding a bit of framing, or finishing off a porch. The house was mainly built of split logs, cut lengthwise at the mill. The flat edge gave smooth walls indoors while maintaining a rustic, log exterior. The open floor plan fit his bachelor lifestyle perfectly. Since he lived alone he had no need for many doors or walled off rooms. The plumbing consisted only of a sink and hand pump in the kitchen.
None of the layout of the house, or the current condition had bothered him in the past, but now he wondered how a woman coming into the house might see it.
“What’s the point?” he scolded himself aloud. “No woman wants this.” He kicked the table leg with his good leg and struggled to his feet. He limped to the window and looked out at the property. The landscape was green and bright in contrast to the dusty interior. He hobbled out onto the porch and listened to the leaves rustling in the birch beside the house. Although he had stood there a hundred times before, it sounded different somehow. It seemed soft and mournful. He sighed deeply and limped back inside to prepare for his meeting with Elgerson and the mill managers.
He shaved carefully for the second time in a week and chose a dark jacket over a white shirt. He spent several minutes struggling into his stacked heel boots and limped out to his barn. He opted to leave the cane behind this time. The leg was gaining some strength, and, although the pain was excruciating, he was determined to walk unassisted.
Chapter Eight
Emma stood on the stairway landing and listened to the voices downstairs. The men had gathered in the parlor, enjoying glasses of brandy and fat cigars. She recognized only Timothy’s in the collection of deep voices and tiptoed quietly down the stairs. In the foyer Roland stood alone, leaning against the doorway, a goblet in his hand. He nearly lost grip on the glass in his attempt to straighten himself as he saw the girl coming down the stairs.
“Roland, how good to see you,” Emma smiled brightly.
The man stood as upright as possible, leaning only his shoulder against the door jamb. Stunned by the woman’s appearance, he could not find the words he needed to greet her.
“Are you alright?” she finally asked.
“Y-yes, fine,” he stammered. The change in her appearance was astounding. Never a man to be impressed by frills and fancy clothing, he found the girl’s look striking, elegant, but gracefully simple. What he thought plain and ordinary before was clearly a gross miscalculation. The woman was actually very beautiful, and her open and inviting smile made her seem comfortable to him, and he found the combination disarming.
“Would you mind introducing me to the other people?” She peered around the corner apprehensively. “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone and I feel a bit nervous. Would you mind terribly?”
She took his arm easily, supporting him lightly and waiting for him to gain his balance, then stepping slowly and gracefully as they began to walk into the parlor. She smiled at him genuinely and whispered softly, close to his ear, “Thank you.” Roland struggled with his composure as they entered the room.
Every head in the room turned and Roland scowled slightly.
“Roland,” Martin Mitchel stepped forward and offered his hand. “Who is your lovely guest?”
“Martin, this is Rebecca’s cousin, Emma.” The man felt awkward in his presentation. Once the picture of confidence, he now fought to compose himself. He introduced each man in the room in turn, every one clearly taken by the wholesome beauty of the woman. Roland turned to her following the final introduction and the soft feminine scent of her as she leaned towards him nearly threw off his balance.
; “Why don’t we go over here,” she spoke softly and gestured to a settee on the far side of the room. She held his arm graciously while he struggled as upright as possible across the room. He held her hand until she was seated and then lowered himself into the seat beside her.
She touched his injured knee lightly and Roland Vancouver sat bolt upright. Where he had lost much of the sensation in the upper part of that leg he now felt her light touch plainly.
“Thank you,” she said softly, then pulled her hand away quickly. “I’m sorry,” she checked the expression on his face. “Are you in pain?”
“No,” he choked. He knew it would be impossible to rise up from the chair as abruptly as he wanted to and he frowned.
Emma watched his face closely. “Roland, what’s wrong?” she asked discreetly. “Is there something I can do?” She touched him inadvertently again and he jumped.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you okay?”
Roland gulped his drink and sat silent.
Timothy returned and he and Rebecca led the party into the formal dining room. All the men seemed in a jovial mood, with the exception of Roland Vancouver.
Emma stood up in front of him and offered her hand. “I don’t see your cane. Let me help you get to your feet.”
Roland eyed her hand doubtfully, cursing his situation.
“Roland,” she continued. “It’s okay. I’m not asking for anything except to help you. It’s that simple. Let’s go have dinner.”
He took her hand reluctantly and struggled to his feet. She held his elbow firmly and allowed him to lean on her. “Roland,” her voice was strong and confident next to his ear, and the intimate manner with which the name rolled off her tongue made him feel helpless and irritable. “Do you think that because you need a bit of help you are less than a man?”
Roland glared at the girl irately.
“You can give me all of the nastiest looks you can muster, but I still think you’re wonderful,” she smiled at him openly.
The man gave her a puzzled look as the girl urged him forward.
Their plates piled high with fresh trout and spring greens, Timothy passed heaping bowls of freshly mashed potatoes and turnips with steaming glazed carrots and the appreciative men ate heartily. After dinner and dessert, coffee was served efficiently and Timothy began the meeting.
“Roland,” Timothy began. “I guess I should start with you. I’ll be reopening on a part time basis and I need an honest assessment of what kind of hours we can run and how much production we can expect in that time.”
Roland Vancouver struggled to his feet, despite Timothy’s urging to him to remain seated.
Roland spoke clearly and bluntly, with a confidence the women were each impressed by, though in different ways. Rebecca found the man cold and shrewd, his manner blunt and brutally direct. Emma watched him and wondered how a man at once so assertive and self-confident could be so emotionally crippled by his injury. She was sure there was more to the man than his dark demeanor.
She studied him throughout the meeting, confident, yet watching her suspiciously in sidelong glances. Emma decided that there was something about her that made the man nervous and she could not stop herself from wondering what that was. She considered his face carefully. He wore his hair long, nearly touching his shoulders, a style she found was popular among the local men, particularly the mill workers and loggers. His moustache was freshly trimmed and he was carefully shaved with the exception of a trim goatee, dark against his fair coloring. His brows were fine and straight and his physique slim and toned. He had removed his jacket after supper and rolled his sleeves efficiently as paperwork was passed around the table. He leaned with both arms, strong and tanned on the table, studying the forms. Emma found herself more fascinated as the man spoke, listening to the deep tone of his clear voice and his professional manner.
As the conversation continued around the table, Roland would look at the girl occasionally, uncomfortably distracted by the girl’s perfume and admiring looks. She smiled up at him on several occasions and he cleared his throat and tried to concentrate. When the meeting concluded the men began to filter from the room, but Roland remained standing at the table.
“You must be very good at your work,” she remarked as she came around to his side and grasped his elbow.
“I was, once.” He allowed her to lead him toward the doorway.
“You hurt your leg, but I think your mind is perfectly fine.” They walked out onto the porch as the carriages of the other men began to pull away.
“Is your offer still open?” she inquired.
“Offer?” He eyed her suspiciously.
“To take care of your house. I thought I might come by in the morning and we can talk. Business,” she explained.
“It might not be ready for that just yet,” Roland fidgeted on the wooden planks, looking down at his feet and then off across the dark lawns.
“We’ll decide that then. Is ten good for you?”
“I’ll come for you at ten,” he frowned.
“Timothy told me it’s less than a mile. I’ll be walking, thank you.” She smiled sweetly.
“Suit yourself.” Roland limped down and struggled onto the buckboard, tipped his hat and rode off. Emma stood on the porch in the waning moonlight and watched until he disappeared into the shadow of the trees that lined the road leading to the estate.
“He doesn’t scare you?” Rebecca approached from behind.
“Scare me?” Emma faced her questioningly. “Why on earth would he ever scare me?”
“I think he’s a bit frightening,” Rebecca took her cousin’s hand and placed it protectively in her arm.
“I think he needs a friend.” Emma looked off towards the road.
“He may not want a friend.” Rebecca studied Emma’s face, noticing the faraway look in her eyes.
“I’m thinking that Mr. Roland Vancouver may not always admit what it is he needs.”
“And I suspect that you may not always get what you want when it comes to that man.” Rebecca kissed her cousin’s hand lightly. “Goodnight, Emmy,” she whispered.
“I’m going to his place tomorrow to look into working for him. I think he could use a bit of help.”
“I warned you about this one,” Rebecca sighed.
“I understand, Becky, but this time I think it’s worth the risk.”
Rebecca ascended the massive staircase to the upper floors and found Timothy lounging in the bed, his head filled with plans and calculating figures.
“She’s going to his place in the morning,” she remarked as she pulled a nightgown from the mahogany bureau.
“Roland’s?” He looked up at her, distracted by her fussing with her buttons. “Come here,” he gestured to her.
She stood beside the bed and he unfastened the back of her dress.
“She asked me yesterday about his place. I know she’s been thinking about it.” He kissed her shoulder as she slipped out of her clothing.
“Tim, he’s so demanding. I just can’t imagine him with a woman, especially Emma. The accident has only made him moodier. I think she’s somehow captivated by him. I just don’t see it at all.”
“I was moody once myself.” He turned her to face him and pulled her into his arms. “Maybe she can find a way with him. Let her try, Rebecca. He’s a good man, a hard worker and devoted to me. Maybe she sees that in him. There’s no hope of him ever healing if he never tries. Come here, and let it go for tonight.” He kissed her neck passionately, and Rebecca giggled and then melted into his arms. Emma and Roland were soon forgotten as Timothy pulled her into the bed beside him and finished removing her undergarments.
Chapter Nine
Emma followed the road as Timothy had instructed and after a warm walk found the man’s residence easily. The yard was scattered with tools and most of the grasses were overgrown. One door on the barn hung in disrepair.
The house was rugged, fine and solidly built, surrounded by a
wide, open porch. Heavy, upright logs supported the porch roofs and the home featured large windows and wide stairs at the entrance.
She spotted a pump in the center of the yard and pushed at it vigorously until a spurt of fresh cool water splashed onto her hand. She patted her face and neck energetically and gasped at the temperature change.
Roland emerged from the doorway and watched her enjoying the cool water. From behind her figure was slender and well-shaped and as she bent to remove her shoe she noticed him and smiled from her stooped position, over her shoulder. Her look was engaging and her position provocative and Roland Vancouver jolted from the effect. The pain shot up, beginning at his knee and escalating upward along his thigh. The agony then immediately subsided and was replaced with a sensation he had long abandoned hope of ever feeling. He staggered back into the house as Emma rose to greet him, and she stood for a moment in the yard overcome with confusion.
“Roland Vancouver,” she muttered to herself. “We will be doing this today.” She brushed off her skirt briskly and strode with determination to the doorway.
She found the man, his back to the doorway, gripping the chair until his knuckles were white. He stood bent slightly, and she heard him muttering under his breath.
“Good morning,” she announced brightly. “I am here as promised!” Her tone was overly cheerful and he turned his head slightly to peer at her over his shoulder.
“So this is the place,” she strolled around the room boldly. “It’s awfully dark. Do you mind?” She pulled the tattered covering from a large front window without waiting for his reply.
She turned to him, standing in the brightened room. His face was dark and foreboding and his expression threatening. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
“Roland?” Emma walked up to him, facing him squarely. “What’s wrong?”
South of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 2) Page 4
