South of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 2)

by Kinslow, Nanette

  Rebecca walked the south path with Louisa at her side nearly every morning for the next few weeks, often bringing a maid or two to help Emma furnish her new home. While the men had returned to the mill, the women spent their days sweeping out sawdust and waxing hardwood floors. Rebecca had Mark help her bring out bolts of fabric from the attic at Stavewood, explaining to Tim that the mill had to do without him for a couple of hours. Timothy could deny her nothing and allowed Mark to help her as much as she pleased. The boy took both women to town on several occasions, loading the wagon with pieces they had ordered. Groceries and linens, rugs and utensils all tucked safely in barrels and crates. He’d sit and listen to the women chatter on, as if he were invisible, about cleaning and cooking and how to fold a towel properly. He had never imagined so much work could go into making a home and decided he ought to find himself a place for a home not far away since he had access to these experts.

  “Look at this,” he pointed out a poster on the town board. “There’s a big harvest dance next month. I think we should all go!” he announced.

  “I don’t know how much dancing I’ll be doing in a month,” Rebecca smiled.

  “You’ll be fine!” Emma read the poster closely. “You’ll be waltzing for a couple of months yet. Let’s go!”

  “The dances in Billington are the best!” Mark exclaimed.

  “Oh,” Emma frowned. “I’m not sure if Roland dances. He’s all healed now, but maybe he doesn’t dance.”

  “Roland, dance?” Rebecca looked thoughtful.

  “Maybe we should ask him before we make plans,” Emma commented.

  “Are we loaded up?” Emma asked Mark excitedly.

  “Yep,” he smiled.

  “Then let’s ride out past the mill first,” she suggested. “I’ll ask him and then we’ll decide.”

  Mark and Rebecca nodded and smiled to one another in agreement. They climbed into the wagon and set out eagerly.

  Emma jumped from the wagon as they pulled into the mill yard and looked through the big door for the foreman. Tim walked out from the office and smiled at the surprise visit, greeted Emma and took the stairs two at a time down to the wagon.

  “Well, hello!” Roland shouted over the scream of the saws.

  “Do you dance?” Emma yelled.

  “What?” he turned his head to hear her, then took her arm and led her down the stairs. “What?” he asked again.

  “Dance? Do you dance?” She creased her brow.

  “You came out here to ask me to dance?”

  “Uh…yes,” she smiled and nodded eagerly.

  “Right here?” he asked.

  “No, no,” she tried to explain. “There’s a poster in town for a harvest dance and it looked like fun, but I didn’t know if you could dance.” She watched his face expectantly.

  “Because of my leg?” He looked at her confused.

  “No, I know your leg is fine, but maybe you just don’t.”

  “Dance?”

  “Yes,” she responded, a bit frustrated. “Do you know how to dance?” She tried again.

  “I do,” he smiled proudly.

  She turned to see that Tim, Rebecca and Mark were all watching expectantly from the wagon and she waved, grinning elatedly.

  “What if I had said no,” Roland watched the three at the wagon burst into big smiles and laugh with excitement.

  “I’m not sure,” she scowled. “I guess we would have had to teach you then,” she smiled brightly.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Emma pulled the steaming pies from the big oven, one at a time, and set them on the kitchen table. She checked the time on the clock on the wall and passed by the dining room. The table was set attractively, a spray of fresh wildflowers bright against the lace cloth and lovely wedding china from Isabel arranged prettily. Roland was in the yard raking leaves from the pathway and she waved out to him energetically. He smiled and stepped back to survey his work.

  Emma climbed the stairs and stopped in the upper hall to look out the window. The distant hillsides were ablaze with the colors of fall, set against a vivid blue sky and bathed in the bright light of the setting sun. She continued to the master bedroom and pulled open the double doors, stepping out onto the balcony. Fisher Creek meandered along as far as she could see, winding its way southeast, clear and cool, reflecting the vibrant landscape. She felt the air, warm against her skin, and breathed in the crisp freshness deeply.

  Roland put away his tools in the shed adjoining a small chicken coop and three hens scattered as he closed the door. He then arranged the pumpkins Emma had set on the front step. He surveyed his property with pride and walked the path surrounding the home with contentment. Towards the side of the house he had cleared an open yard, a wide section now tilled for a spring garden. Clotheslines were strung taut from hefty lumber posts. In the autumn breeze the pale linens moved briskly in the air, rising and falling with the breezes. He knew they would feel the bite of frost very soon and sighed with relief that the home was finished. Emma would not have to winter in the confines of the cabin.

  He stomped his feet in the back mudroom and walked into the kitchen. The scent of fresh baked apple pies filled the room and he stood over them inhaling the sweet cinnamon aroma.

  “Did you know there are clothes on the line?” he called to her over the sound of her running bath.

  “Oh, Roland, no!” She gasped and emerged from the bath wrapped in a generous towel.

  “Should I take them down?” He looked down at the boot he had just removed and scowled.

  Emma smiled at him and asked. “Would you mind? The basket is in the back room.”

  He nodded. “But I refuse to fold them!” he called back as he descended the stairs with a large wicker basket balanced on his hip.

  He returned with the basket spilling over with fresh sheets and loose clothespins and Emma smiled and thanked him.

  “Here.” She turned away from him, lifted his boot as he sat in the big chair, straddled his leg and pulled off the boot quickly.

  “I surrender,” he sighed huskily. “I am doomed to a life of servitude bringing in laundry. The rewards are too worthwhile to ever give it up.” He put his hand on her hip as she pulled off the other boot and gave her towel a strong tug.

  “I’ve run a hot bath,” she teased as she dashed unclad towards the bath.

  He hurried out of his clothes to find her immersed in the deep tub, steam rising invitingly around her, damp hair falling to her shoulders.

  He lowered himself into the tub beside her and she noticed his long scar. He moved without restriction now, but the mark remained as an angry reminder of past pain.

  She kissed his face affectionately, then he turned his back to her and she lathered his hair.

  “You smell like the earth,” she commented as she pulled a tiny leaf from his tresses. “You smell like home.”

  She rinsed his hair, content in the pleasure of caring for him. He tilted his head back and beckoned her to kiss his lips.

  “What time do you expect everyone to be here?”

  “Not for a while,” she replied, a twinkle in her eye. “I thought we might have time to enjoy our bath first.”

  Emma finished her bath as he stepped out and dried himself. She watched him openly. His shoulders were broad, tanned and straight, his waist trim and stomach flat. The scar dug deep, but his thighs were powerful, his legs straight. He bent at the waist and shook out his hair, bringing squeals of protest from Emma as she covered her face in the tub.

  He held up a fresh towel for her and she stepped out carefully.

  Her body was slender and lithe, her complexion warm and glistening from the bath. Though her hands and feet were slender, her arms were strong, and her hair fell along her back. He rubbed her gently with the towel and kissed her at the waist.

  “You are looking particularly delicious today,” he remarked.

  “Am I?” she asked coyly, rubbing his hair dry with the towel.

  “Somethin
g is different,” he mused.

  “Different? How?” She pulled him up to face her.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe you gained a little weight. You look so beautifully curvy somehow.”

  He ran his hands along the curve of her waist and hip.

  “Maybe here?” she asked, placing his palm against her abdomen.

  Roland tilted his head to the side considering her question and his eyes flew open. “Are you?” His voice dropped off suddenly.

  “Mr. Vancouver, I think you should prepare yourself that sometime before July you must put a nursery in our beautiful home.”

  He gathered her up into his arms and spun her around the room quickly, then carried her into the bedroom and plopped her down on the bed.

  “A baby!” He paced around the room excitedly, fell onto the bed beside her and kissed her enthusiastically.

  “I take it that you are fine with that?”

  “I am most certainly very fine with it. Very fine indeed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Roland took Rebecca’s wrap and the men’s coats in the foyer of his home on the meadow, his face a wide grin. Mark headed out towards the kitchen in search of the source of the enticing aroma of dinner, followed closely by Rebecca, who noticed that Emma had placed the tatted doily she had made for her in the center of the sideboard. Rebecca smiled proudly.

  “The place looks great.” Timothy surveyed the living room appreciatively. “Fireplace working okay? Is the house staying warm at night?

  “I see you got the garden area tilled. Rebecca has so many vegetables this year after having Emma’s green thumb about the place. We took a wagon load out to the old orphanage just yesterday.”

  “Everything is working out really well,” Roland remarked as he poured a brandy for the big man and himself.

  “The wagon is loaded up with corn for tonight. I heard Emma made a batch of apple pies from the trees out at the orchard.”

  “Follow me,” Roland walked out through the hall and into the pantry.

  “Wow, how many pies is that?”

  “Nineteen,” Roland responded. “If I never peel another apple as long as I live that’ll be too soon for me. Worse than army work!”

  Timothy noticed that the man was more relaxed than he had ever seen him and had a wide smile on his face. Timothy Elgerson decided that domestic life certainly agreed with him.

  “Ben, good to see you. And you, Mrs. Carson.” Roland directed the sheriff and his wife into the foyer.

  “Hello!” Emma greeted as she came from the kitchen, smoothing her skirt. “Please have something to drink. We are nearly ready to eat.”

  “Thank you for having us.” Lillian Carson accepted a buttered rum. “What a wonderful idea to have an early supper here before the dance. The house is magnificent!”

  “Oh, come see the kitchen.” Emma escorted the sheriff’s wife through the dining room.

  The women fussed over the stove and the cabinets and Mark shook his head. He headed to the parlor to join the men, pouring himself a glass of cider and warming by the fire.

  “Thanks for the help in the garden, Mark. Emma is already scouting seed catalogs for next spring.” Roland tried to calculate quickly in his mind how far along Emma would be in her pregnancy by spring.

  The women burst from the kitchen, arms filled with tureens and platters of food. They rushed in and out of the room, swinging the door repeatedly and arranging the food on the long table.

  When the men returned to the foyer they stood in the doorway and surveyed the feast. The spread featured fresh corn on the cob and buttered beets. Laid invitingly on an elongated platter was a larded beef tenderloin garnished with roasted radishes and fresh parsley. Emma set down plum pudding on the side board and quickly returned with a large platter of potted quail.

  “I see you’ve had your rifle out, Roland,” Ben observed.

  Emma returned with another quail and set it on the table.

  “How on earth do any of you expect us to do any dancing after this?” Timothy asked, rubbing his stomach and finding a seat at the table.

  “That’s why we are eating so early,” Roland responded. “The minute Emma decided to invite you all she started talking food and I had the same thought.”

  “So, Mark,” Ben Carson began. “It looks like you’re the lone bachelor in this collection. Got your eye on anyone special tonight?” Ben bit into the tender beef.

  “Nah,” Mark replied, spreading soft churned butter on his corn.

  “All of the girls that show up for this dance every year and not one?” Lillian Carson asked. She was a wholesome looking woman with warm coloring and a deep sun-kissed tan. Her hair was pulled softly from her face and her expression was kind and friendly.

  “I’ll know when I see the right one,” he responded confidently.

  “You will?” Roland laughed. “Why do you think you’ll know?”

  “I’ve been watching you and Pa,” the boy replied between bites. “You both knew right away. You just fooled around about it first.”

  “I don’t know, boy.” Tim pulled apart a piece of quail. “I was wrong a time or two before I was sure.”

  “I’ll know,” Mark responded thoughtfully.

  The adults all chuckled affectionately. Rebecca looked at the boy lovingly as he dove into his dinner. It seemed there was not enough food in the world for him this summer and she had to order him new pants twice already since spring. He had never been tall, but now she realized that he was well past Roland’s shoulders as he sat beside the man. Mark was no longer a child.

  “Before we finish here, while I have you all together, there are a couple of things I would like to say.” Roland stood at the head of the table as Emma set out the last plate of the pudding. She returned to her seat and sat quietly in anticipation.

  “Rebecca, thank you for inviting your beautiful cousin to your wedding. The day Emma arrived she changed my life. I have to thank you for that.” Rebecca touched her napkin to a tear on her cheek.

  “I am sitting here in my wonderful home with a spectacular view of heaven and I thank you for that, Tim. You and Rebecca and Mark and all of the men from the area helped me make this into a home for us, and made sure we were in before the snow falls. Not only am I abundantly thankful for that, but we all got it done in time for me to get focused on what’s left to do upstairs. Now I’ll need to get that back room turned into a nursery before July apparently.”

  “What!” Rebecca leapt from her seat and ran to her cousin’s side.

  “Congratulations!” Timothy bellowed in his big voice and Mark raised his cider in a cheer.

  Emma blushed deeply and welcomed all of their blessings.

  “They will be not much more than a few months apart!” Rebecca exclaimed, placing her hand thoughtfully on her belly. “Such happy news!” She burst into uncontrollable tears and Emma smiled and patted her hand. “I’m sorry,” Rebecca apologized. “I’m just so happy.”

  The room burst into unified laughter.

  After dinner the men loaded the pies onto the wagon and then lounged on the porch in the glow of the setting sun while the women washed up and went up the stairs with dresses wrapped in soft parcels. The Billington Harvest dance was not formal, but the ladies had acquired new dresses for the occasion.

  “How lovely a color that is on you.” Emma complimented Lillian on her choice of a soft, meadow green gown. She brushed the woman’s hair to a warm shine and gathered it softly at the nape of her neck, adding a gently tied ribbon.

  “Rebecca,” Lillian gasped as the petite young mother stepped from behind the wedding screen which now stood in the big room. Rebecca turned to show off her gown, a deep shade of burgundy and elegant in its simplicity, the narrow new skirt style falling to the ankles.

  Emma ducked behind the screen and donned a soft cotton creation Rebecca had made for her. It was a deep shade of melon, flowing and fitted along the torso with an inviting neckline and fitted sleeves trimmed in white lac
e.

  “It’s perfect,” Rebecca smiled as Emma emerged.

  “Come here and let me put up your hair.”

  The trio giggled like young girls, sniffing every perfume Rebecca had brought and fussing over one another’s attire.

  Emma studied her reflection in the dressing table mirror. She never wore her hair tied up or back anymore, thinking it made her look too thin, but now, after months of abundant food and exercise, she thought the style attractive and sophisticated. Rebecca clipped tiny diamond earrings to Emma’s ears and all three women smiled at the result.

  Roland tapped at the door quietly.

  “We’re coming!” the ladies called out in unison and as he heard the rustle of petticoats and skirts he darted down the stairs to the waiting men.

  When the women appeared on the stairs every man was taken with how lovely they all looked and Mark whistled.

  “You ladies are lovelier than the autumn hillside tonight,” Timothy complimented.

  “That’s what I’m telling you, son,” Ben commented to Mark. “You got to get yourself one of these, they’re the best.”

  The group hustled about in the yard, getting into wagons and carriages and then turned onto the road towards town.

  “Mrs. Vancouver, that may be the most beautiful get-up I’ve ever seen on you,” Roland complimented as he pulled the wagon onto the road.

  “Why, thank you, sir.” Emma fluttered her lashes and smiled sweetly.

  Roland tossed his head back and smiled as he followed the caravan towards the dance.