His eyes held hers until she lowered her lashes. He couldn’t contain his knowing smile.
"Is there anything else before I turn in?"
Her gaze flickered up then dove to her feet. "Thank you, no. Miss Vee and I plan to take turns sitting with Mr. Gooch. You’ve done more than enough, and it’s very late. I’m sure you had a tiresome day on the road."
He offered a small bow. "I’ll say good night then."
"Just a minute, please," Miss Vee called in a hushed tone. Hurrying over, she ushered them into the hall. "Actually, I need to talk to you both. Now seems as good a time as any."
"Our guest said he’s tired," Mariah protested. "Can’t this wait until morning?"
Miss Vee cocked her head at Tiller. "Are you too bushed for a little chat? I have a business proposition." By the eager glow on her face, she had something big to say.
He grinned. "I suppose I can fend off sleep, now that you’ve piqued my interest."
"That’s what I thought." Ignoring Mariah’s furrowed scowl, she pointed at the parlor. "Take a seat inside. I’ll fetch us some tea."
Tiller raised his hand. "None for me, ma’am. Keeps me awake."
"Don’t worry"—she waved him off—"I’ll brew a pot of chamomile."
They crossed the hall, and Tiller stepped aside to allow Mariah into the room. She hadn’t met his eyes since he’d embarrassed her, and he couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts swirled in her head while she stared at the two young men with such admiration.
The possibilities churned his gut and lit a small fire of jealousy in his heart. Surely, she wasn’t interested in those two showy braves.
Don’t be a fool. You have no right.
He’d just met her, after all, though it seemed he knew her well. He felt a kinship with Mariah. An easy bond greater than simple attraction. Greater and more enticing by far.
She settled into a chair across the low table and folded her hands in her lap.
Tiller studied her, taking advantage of the fact that she refused to look up.
In her frenzied rush to deal with the Indian healer, a few locks of hair had escaped from the topknot on her head. Long and bountifully black, the wispy strands gleamed in the firelight coming from the hearth. Her eyes were the color of chestnuts. This he recalled from memory since only her sleepy lids were visible. Dark brows with a delicate arch set off her sweeping lashes. His meddling appraisal moved to her full lips, and his pulse surged.
Mariah’s hand fluttered to her mouth, waking him from his daze. She’d caught him at the very thing he’d mocked her for doing.
Clearing his throat, he shifted his attention to the hearth.
"I apologize for Miss Vee," she said lightly. "She gets worked up at times."
He glanced at her. "I don’t mind. She seems to have a good heart."
Mariah tucked in one of her loose strands. "It’s very astute of you to notice." She angled her head. "Considering you’ve known her for such a short while."
For the first time, Tiller took note of the slight crook in her nose. An imperfection, some might say, but it took nothing from her beauty. No more than the pleasing slant to her eyes.
He blinked as the realization hit. The boy he met on the road had said, "Mastah John and his Injun daughter run the finest stand on the Natchez Trace." Little wonder the Choctaw brothers would appeal to her. The elegant mistress of Bell’s Inn was an Indian, too.
Did it matter? He’d have to think on it awhile.
"Mr. McRae?" Mariah said softly. "Have I lost you?"
He covered his wayward thoughts with a wide grin. "What happened to calling me Tiller?"
She gave him a shy smile. "Your name bears getting used to. It’s very unusual."
"Just think of tilling the ground, and you won’t forget. That’s why folks started to call me Tiller in the first place. I suppose I’m good with the soil."
Mariah leaned closer. "So it’s not your given name?"
He shook his head. "Reddick’s on my birth papers, but I doubt I’d remember to answer to it. No one’s called me Reddick in years."
She thoughtfully mouthed the name. "I think I like it. Reddick has a nice ring." Her chin came up. "Though Tiller’s nice, too."
"I agree." Miss Vee swept into the room on the tail end of their conversation, placing a tray filled with teacups and little cakes on the table. "Tiller’s very nice indeed. Why would there be any question?"
Mariah shot him a grin. "Never mind, dear. Let me help you with the tea."
Miss Vee handed Mariah a delicate cup, which she passed on to Tiller. Once she’d served them, they settled down to watch each other over the steaming rims of their drinks.
Tiller’s first sip coated his top lip with creamy foam, the warm liquid so pleasant he hated to swallow. He held up his cup. "What did you say this concoction was?"
Miss Vee beamed. "Chamomile. I doctor it to my own peculiar taste. I hope you like it."
He chuckled. "You could say so. What makes it so good?"
Miss Vee set her saucer on the table. "Oh, I’m glad you like it. I brew it like everyone else then add a dollop of beaten cream and a teaspoon of honey. Sometimes I scrape in a little cinnamon, but I didn’t this time."
Tiller shook his head. "I like it fine the way it is."
"Tastes positively cozy, doesn’t it? It’ll help you sleep, too."
"Is that a fact?"
Mariah sat forward. "Speaking of sleep, it’s well past everyone’s bedtime, so if you will, kindly get on with it."
Swiping foam off her lip with the back of her hand, Miss Vee nodded. "You’re right. I’ll come to the point." She shifted toward Tiller. "Were you serious when you said you were in no hurry to leave?"
He glanced at Mariah. "Well yes, but—"
"Good, because we’re in no rush to see you go."
Mariah’s cheeks colored. "Dear lady, what are you suggesting?"
Miss Vee seemed not to hear. "Like I told you before, Mariah’s in need of a strong, trustworthy man."
Mariah’s pretty face paled and she gulped air.
Still ignoring her, Miss Vee tilted her head at Tiller. "At supper you said there’s no family to speak of, correct? No wife and passel of kids tucked away, waiting for you to come home?"
"Miss Vee!"
The lady finally glanced over her shoulder. "Keep your garter fastened, honey. It’s not what you think."
Tiller came to the rescue. "Listen, I’m not sure what this is about, but I can only stay until my pockets dry up." He raised his hands and shrugged. "And the truth is I’m not carrying that much cash."
Miss Vee clapped her hands. "Perfect. My idea may be the solution to both your problems."
Standing so fast her teacup sloshed, Mariah scowled at Miss Vee. "I don’t know where you’re going with this nonsense, but I’ve heard quite enough." She set her saucer on the table. "If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed."
Miss Vee caught her wrist. "Hear me out." Her pleading gaze seemed to hold Mariah tighter than her restraining hand.
Mariah sniffed. "With the way you started, I don’t think I want to hear the rest."
Wringing her hands, Miss Vee colored. "Oh fiddle! That’s because I’m not saying it right. Sit down and let me start over."
Easing into the chair, Mariah picked up her cup. "Very well, but make it quick." She narrowed her eyes. "And choose your words carefully."
Miss Vee grimaced. "Yes, of course. I’ll try." She raised her chin. "I’ve been mulling over the facts in my head, honey. About the inn being so neglected."
Mariah colored and shot her a warning scowl. "A few things may need a hammer and a coat of paint, but—"
"You said it yourself, the walls are collapsing on our heads." She followed Mariah’s pointed look at Tiller. "No need in posturing. I doubt the state of this place has escaped his notice."
Mariah huffed her frustration and fell against the back of her chair. "What’s your point to all this?"
The older w
oman’s face lit up. "I’m proposing that Tiller stay on and make the repairs in exchange for room and board—with a few buttered rolls thrown into the bargain." She winked. "If you think her yeast bread is good, wait till you taste her pies."
Her eyes darting between them, Mariah scooted to the edge of her seat. "Oh my, you really should’ve run your plan by me first. You see, I already have the repairs worked out."
Miss Vee crossed her arms. "Let me guess. You intend on tackling them yourself, don’t you?"
Mariah opened her mouth to speak, but Miss Vee’s hand shot up. "Young lady, you have more than enough to say grace over. Dash your pride and accept Tiller’s help." Her bottom lip trembled. "For pity’s sake, accept my help. I feel responsible for you in your father’s absence."
Pulling a handkerchief from her waistband, she wiped her eyes. "I’m suggesting this idea for John’s sake as much as yours. He’ll still be recuperating when he comes home. I won’t have him climbing ladders and toting lumber." She shook her finger in Mariah’s face. "One thing’s certain, he’d roll over and die before he’d allow you to do it."
Mariah’s cup shattered in a spray of milky-white tea and shards of porcelain. Flinching, she dropped the jagged remnants at her feet.
Miss Vee struggled to stand. "Oh, honey! I’m so sorry. It must’ve cracked when I poured in the hot water. Are you hurt?"
Tiller snatched a folded towel from the tray. Skirting the table, he inspected Mariah’s hands and found a cut, small but deep enough to bleed. He wrapped the cloth around her wound while Miss Vee shook the broken pieces from her frock and blotted creamy splatter from her chin.
"I’m all right," Mariah said quietly. "It’s nothing. Please don’t fuss."
"We’re going to make sure, if you don’t mind." Miss Vee peered at her face. "I pray no glass flew inside your eyes. Do they sting when you blink?"
Mariah shook her head. "Really, I’m fine." She swiped at her wet skirt. "Though I would like to get upstairs and change."
"Of course, dear." Miss Vee slid her arm around Mariah’s waist. "Come, I’ll help you."
"What about Mr. Gooch?" Mariah asked.
"Don’t fret," Miss Vee said, urging her forward. "I’ll take first watch."
Concerned, Tiller followed them to the landing.
At the foot of the stairs, Miss Vee paused. "We’ll all sleep better if we get this thing settled." Biting her bottom lip, she raised her brows. "Will you do it, Tiller? Will you stay on at Bell’s Inn and help us?"
He studied Mariah’s face, but it offered no hint to her thoughts. "If I were to agree, would it be all right with you?"
Her sigh, sweet with the smell of honey, stirred the air between them. "I can’t think of a good enough reason to say no."
Tiller smiled. "Tell you what … I’ll chew on it overnight and let you know my decision in the morning."
Winking, Miss Vee pointed at the tray on the table. "While you ponder, chew on one of Mariah’s iced cakes. If you decide to hang around, there will be plenty more to follow."
Once they’d gone, Tiller bit into the confection, rolling the buttery goodness over his tongue. Delicious. Only sweetness didn’t set right in a mouth filled with questions. The proud mistress of Bell’s Inn, hard to figure from the start, just became a delightful riddle.
Mariah may have Miss Vee fooled, but not Tiller. Hot water had nothing to do with the broken cup. Some word or deed clenched the girl’s fingers so fiercely she’d crushed it to bits.
Was it Miss Vee’s reminder of Mariah’s responsibilities? The rebuke about her pride? Perhaps the mention of her father, wherever the absent man might be.
Snatching one more cake, Tiller munched on it as he made his way to his room. He intended to replay every second of the evening in his mind until he figured out what thistle had so sorely pricked Miss Mariah’s winsome hide.
NINE
The sun began a slow crawl up the far horizon as Joe reached the end of his rutted lane. By nightfall, it would slide down the backside of the sky and sleep closer to Myrtle than he would.
He had a long ride ahead to reach Mississippi, and the same distance to come back. In between loomed the time it would take to convince John Coffee to release Mariah.
Joe halted his pony and shifted in the saddle to stare behind him. His ancestors left their Mississippi homeland in tears, but the place Joe had carved out of the vast Indian Territory was apookta. His happy place. Long, lonely days stretched ahead before he could return.
Gray smoke swirled from the crooked stovepipe, reminding him of the pleasant morning spent with his wife. Myrtle had slipped out of bed early or else hadn’t turned back the covers at all, since she’d managed to wash and pack all of his clothes, load his rucksack, and prepare a breakfast fit for three men.
In light of the fact Joe was leaving, and considering the news she’d served alongside his eggs and fried bread, she probably hadn’t slept a wink all night. Tears had brightened her eyes in the firelight—tears of joy or fear, he couldn’t tell—before she lowered her chin to her chest and whispered the words he’d waited twenty years to hear.
Myrtle would bear him a son, for surely a male child wrestled for life beneath her bosom. He’d been too patient, too hopeful for the babe to be anything else. They’d call him George after George Hudson, the first principal chief under the new Choctaw constitution. Joe would teach him to hunt and fish, to honor his mother, and to sit tall at tribal council.
Myrtle said the miracle came to her in November, near the time of the white man’s Thanksgiving. For the first time in Joe’s life, there would be cause to celebrate the season.
He couldn’t help but wonder why fate waited until all hope had dimmed. Why the gift had come at a time when he wouldn’t be home to share its unfolding.
In the distance, Myrtle stepped out of the front door with a dishpan in her hand, hustled to the edge of the porch, and let the water fly in a silvery arc that caught the morning light.
Watching her dart inside, Joe sighed with contentment, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. His wife had carried the child and the secret close to her heart for nearly six months, which meant the boy would come by the dawn of the Mulberry Moon.
Sudden pain squeezed his chest and worry tickled the back of his mind. Myrtle was spritely for her age but hardly a girl. Fretting drove her to bustle about, looking for work to fill her hands and occupy her troubled mind. She’d toil hard, sleep few hours, and eat too little until he returned. He imagined her lumbering about the cabin, hauling water, chopping wood, bent over the washboard, her body swollen with his child.
The picture set his teeth on edge. John would not stand in his way this time. Mariah would be a comfort to her aunt in her condition and a great help with the baby. With his niece settled in his home, his obligation to his sister fulfilled at last, Joe could relax and enjoy his new son.
Ghostlike, Myrtle appeared again, drifting across the porch with one hand on her stomach, the other splayed over her heart. She stared toward the southern pasture, her back to him. Joe knew she wept even before she leaned into the rail and gripped her face.
He clenched his jaw and fought the urge to turn the dun pony and race to her side, take her in his arms, and soothe her fears. With a leaden heart, he forced his eyes to the front and tapped the horse’s flank with his heels.
Home wouldn’t be apookta for Myrtle until Joe returned, but his spirit couldn’t rest until he settled his business with John Coffee. The sooner he began the journey, the better for all concerned.
TEN
To the honorable Dr. T. Moony
Canton, Mississippi
Dear Dr. Moony,
This letter serves to inform you of my father’s recent demise. As you predicted, his condition worsened day by day until, on the evening before last, shortly before the midnight hour, he lost his feeble hold on this life and passed into blessed rest. I want to thank you for your kind administrations in our hour of need.
Respectfu
lly,
Miss Mariah Minti Bell
P.S. The enclosed should cancel the balance of my debt.
Mariah laid down her pen, the tightness in her chest beginning to ease. She would seal the letter and hire Rainy to deliver it first thing this morning. The money tucked inside should satisfy her debt in full and cancel her prior arrangement to make payments for Father’s care. Once she’d paid her bill, Dr. Moony would have no reason to return to the inn. They had no friends or relatives in Canton, no close connections in town, so the good doctor wouldn’t likely mention the death of John Coffee Bell to anyone there.
Her shoulders tensed as Mr. Gooch’s pain-wracked face drifted into her mind. She and Miss Vee had taken turns sitting with their battered guest throughout a fitful night. The right thing would be to bring Dr. Moony out to care for him, but doing the right thing would roll the boulder that sealed her tomb.
Unlike the blessed Savior, there’d be no resurrection.
If Mr. Gooch took a turn for the worse, she’d have no choice. For now, everyone seemed perfectly content with the Indian healer. Thankfully, Tobias accepted goods in trade for his services since she had no money to pay him—she patted the bulging envelope addressed to Dr. Moony—especially now.
Mariah stared out the window, biting her bottom lip. Which need would get the meager few dollars she had left? The help’s salaries or stocking the pantry? Feeding Sheki or repairing the loose boards and chipped railing?
Jutting her chin, she counted out the few dollars she owed Miss Vee, Dicey, and Rainy and set them aside. Those dear ones wouldn’t suffer lack because of her deception. She’d find some way to cover the other needs.
A knock on the door brought her hand up to hide the letter. "Yes?"
Miss Vee peered in. "Are you awake?" She stepped inside, her brow etched with concern. "You’re usually downstairs brewing coffee by now."
Crumpling the letter, Mariah hid it in the folds of her skirt. "Gracious, I know. I’m dawdling worse than Dicey this morning. A lingering touch of spring fever, I suppose."
"We’re two days into June, Mariah. The time for spring fever is past." Mariah shot her a pointed look, and she held up her hand. "All right. I won’t hover." At the door, she paused and smiled. "But hurry along, will you? We have to fill Tiller’s stomach in case he’s decided to accept your proposition. He’ll need strength to tackle all those repairs."
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