by Grace Walton
And it seemed they were at an impasse until he began to speak again. “Miss Aurora, are you in love with my nephew?” he asked baldly.
Rory was entirely taken aback. “Sander, that's a very personal question.”
“I apologize. What I should have said was, don't fall in love with him.”
“Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because if it happens.” He stuck a finger nervously into his tight collar and stumbled over the next few words. “I mean, if you do find yourself in love with Dylan, it would be very bad for both of you.”
“Oh?” She was still very much alarmed over the turn in conversation.
“I mean, well… he would never admit to this. But my nephew has a rather antique sense of honor.”
“Sander I'm lost.” Her head was starting to pound again. She was having difficulty comprehending what he said.
“Miss Aurora, this is most likely a terrible time to speak of this.” He stopped. “But I won’t see him get hurt again. And I believe you could do it. Hurt him, I mean.”
“Again?” Her mind immediately leapt to the woman Dylan had spoken of earlier.
“What I'm trying to say is,” he said and took a deep breath. “He'll spend precious effort and time protecting your feelings. Time and effort he should use to keep himself from getting hurt.” Sander shook his head. “He never thinks of himself. When he takes on a task for Bassett, he becomes some sort of machine. He does whatever is necessary. Without thinking about how it will affect him later.”
“Who or what is a Bassett?” she wondered out loud.
“Arthur Bassett is the man who sent us here. And your falling in love with my nephew will just make this tangled mess even more complicated. Because once we've caught the smugglers, he'll give you an extravagant gift and leave you as painlessly as possible. But leave you, he will. Believe me, I've seen it happen too many times before. That's what I mean when I say it will be bad for you too”
“What extravagant present did the last woman get?” she asked impertinently.
“A team of matched carriage horses.” Sander remembered the greys that had gone to Celeste Avansley.
“So you're saying if I fall in love with him, there's no chance he might feel the same way towards me?” Today in the ballroom, he'd felt something. She'd stake her life on it. She argued silently.
“Miss Aurora, he won't. He would die to keep you from harm. But he'll never allow himself to love you.”
“I don't understand Sander. Doesn't he love anyone?”
“He did once”
“And she died in childbed.”
Sander's eyes widened in shock. “He told you about Mariah?”
She smiled and answered, “He only said he'd held her hand as she died, and that she wasn't his wife. Was she named Mariah?”
He nodded, unable to speak.
Rory continued, “What a beautiful name. Sander there's so much about Dylan I want to know. Who was Mariah? He said something about Virginia,” she said, pausing to catch her breath. “Is he from Virginia? Please tell me.”
“Miss Aurora, I can't.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Dylan will have to tell you those things if he chooses. But you’d best remember what I've said. Don't fall in love with him.”
“What if I already have?” The sad, soft question hung in the air between them.
“Then I'll pray for you.” He was serious.
“Are you a believer Sander?”
“No Miss Aurora I'm not good enough,” he answered honestly. “But my sister was. And some of her habits rubbed off on me.”
“Sander none of us can ever be good enough. We can’t save ourselves. The Bible says all have sinned and fallen short,” her voice was full of compassion as she reached out a hand to him.
Sander moved to the bedside. He gathered her small hand in both of his. “Miss Aurora, you're a lot like my sister. She was the finest woman I've ever known. I wish I could believe like you.”
“Sander can I pray for you?” Rory knew she must ask.
Lysander nodded humbly. He bowed his head and waited.
Lord, I know you want me to pray for this man, so please give me the words Rory lifted her silent request. Then she quietly began to pray aloud for the black man holding her hand. “Lord Jesus, I love you. Please be kind to Sander. Draw him to you, so he can have your peace and love in his life. Thank you Lord, for hearing this prayer.” The earnest petition was uttered with no fanfare or florid words.
A sardonic voice from the open doorway abruptly ended their spiritual conversation. “That's just like you Sander. Holding hands with my fiancée when I'm not around to take you to task for it.” Dylan leaned lazily against the door jamb.
Once again, Rory noticed, he was dressed in unrelieved black. Boots, breeches, and flowing shirt all the same midnight black.
“Somebody's got to hold her hand.” Sander was completely undisturbed. “You weren't here so I felt it was my duty to fill in the breach.”
Rory smiled at the serious face, he turned to his nephew.
Dylan strolled nonchalantly into the room and stood beside his uncle before replying in kind, “As you can see I'm here now, so take yourself off.”
“What would Mistress Tirzah say if she found you in here alone with Miss Aurora?” Sander winked broadly at Rory.
“Nothing she has not said to me before.” Dylan ushered his uncle to the door of the chamber.
Sander stopped at the door and called back to the girl, “Miss Aurora you remember what I said, about this reprobate.” Then he left down the hall and out of sight.
Returning to the bed, Dylan questioned, “What was he doing in here?” He sat beside her on the edge of the bed without waiting to be invited. “And what did he say to you?”
“He was just checking on me,” she started, but his penetrating eyes seemed to mock her.
“And?”
“And it was a very sweet thing to do.” She seemed suddenly fascinated with the counterpane on the bed.
“Sweetheart, I know you are being evasive,” his tone was level as he gently lifted the heavy hair away from her forehead to examine the ugly bruise staining it. “You might be careful to recall in the future that my life has been spent extracting the truth from people who don't want it revealed.”
She swallowed hard and turned her eyes up to face his. He might as well know the truth. “Dylan he told me not to fall in love with you.”
The hand probing her hairline abruptly stopped. “It would appear my uncle and your brother both give excellent advice. Let me add some of my own.” The hand began moving skillfully through her auburn hair again. “Don't mistake animal attraction for love. Don't make me into some kind of tragic hero in a Minerva Press novel. Because believe me, I'm not.”
“I am not an animal,” she asserted hotly. “And neither are you.”
“I could disprove that theory rather quickly if you'd like me to do so.” His words were stark and had an edge to them. He buried one hand in her hair. His other hand trailed seductively down her throat.
She cringed from the ardor in his eyes and stammered, “No… don't do that.”
“Aurora,” he used her name formally. “I'm not the kind of man who settles down with a wife and lives happily ever after. I'm the rough man who dies gut shot at the end of a dark alley and is buried the next day in a pauper's grave because no one can identify the corpse.”
“No,” she whispered refusing to let the ugly picture crystallize in her mind.
“Yes,” he contradicted her, “Sweetheart, we've had this conversation before. When I'm finished here, I'm leaving Savannah to return to London. You’ll never see me again. Do you understand Rory, never? So no matter how I act toward you in Savannah, it's a pretense, a lie. I'm leaving.” His hands rested against the pillow on either side of her face.
Her lips trembled. She forced herself to look at the wall behind him. Maybe if she stared at it long enough, the tears she felt building in her eyes wouldn't
trace down her face. She refused to let him see how deeply his words were affecting her.
God was closing this door, and it hurt. It hurt worse than anything she'd ever had to live through. Rory turned her face into the pillow, so he wouldn't see the first tear fall.
He never saw that tear. But he somehow knew one had fallen. Dylan dropped his head in defeat. He pulled her carefully into his arms, “No, don't, Rory love, don't cry.” He brushed the tears away with a tender hand. “I'm not worth crying over.”
“I'm not crying,” she protested and snatched a quick ragged breath. “Windsor women”
“Never cry.”
Rory smiled feebly against his shoulder as he finished her sentence. She silently prayed for the strength to control her wayward emotions. As always, a peace settled over her as she prayed. She knew what she must do. “Dylan you're right. Physical attraction is not love. It’s part of it. But it’s just a small part. The kind of love I want from my husband is a gift from God. It's everything He means for a man and woman to have together. Each one having what the other needs to be complete. And I won't settle for anything else.” Rory didn't know where these words were coming from. They just seemed to flow out of her. The truth in them was undeniable.
Rory watched him carefully looking for some sign, something that would tell her he cared. But she could find nothing in his eyes, no spark of passion or tenderness of love. There was only polite indifference.
He leaned toward her and placed a chaste kiss on her brow. As he stood, Dylan realized something very precious was slipping silently from his grasp. Something he’d always regret losing and could never replace. For her sake, he opened his hand and let it drift quietly away.
“Rory, I can never give you what you deserve in a husband. I can never be that man. We both know that. My life is filled with too much ugliness. And it’s not going to change. But somewhere in this world, there's a lucky man. A man who can be all the things you want and deserve in a husband. He's out there now waiting to find you. And sweetheart, if I believed, I’d pray you meet him soon.” The door closed softly behind him.
“Good night Dylan,” she replied even though he could not hear her. “I love you.” It was a quiet painful whisper. Once she'd said it out loud she felt much better.
She fell asleep clinging to the knowledge that God knew what was best for her. And He also knew the heartache plaguing her at that very moment. Best of all He held all the solutions and answers to her problems in His loving hands.
About three o'clock in the morning, she awoke with another ferocious headache. Needing a tisane, Rory decided to let Tirzah sleep. There was really no need for both of them to lose sleep when Rory was just as experienced an herbalist as the black woman.
She wrapped a robe around her bed clothes and went to the keeping room to brew one for herself. Everything in the mansion was quiet and dark. The tall case clock drummed a steady tattoo as she passed it to go toward the back of the sleeping house. The old wood floors felt smooth and cool beneath her bare feet.
She knew when she’d reached the keeping room because the floor changed to rough brick. The small fireplace in this tiny room was still flickering. This surprised her until she caught sight of Tirzah rifling through the herb cabinet.
“Tirzah, what are you doing down here at this hour?” it was a hissed whisper.
Tirzah started violently at the question and dropped the bundle of herb roots she was grasping. “Lawzy sakes, child.” First she was frightened. Then she got angry. “I didn’t raise you to be sneaking up on folks. You supposed to be up them stairs and in that bed. Now get right up them stairs.” She shooed the girl back.
“I came down to make some willow bark tea,” Rory explained patiently. “Why are you down here?”
“Your head hurting again honey?” Tirzah came over to feel her forehead. “Sit down and I'll make the tea.” The big black woman poured rain water from a covered pitcher into a copper kettle. She hung it on a hook mounted over the fire. Then she got the dried willow bark from the fragrant cabinet. She bound it with a silk thread.
Rory watched her pour the boiling water into a thick china mug and lower the little bundle of twigs into the steaming liquid. “Now child, let that sit for a while for you drink it.” Then she bustled into a heavy cloak, grabbed her herb bag, and started toward the back door.
“Tirzah tell me where you’re going,” the pale girl at the table demanded as she leaned over the cup and sniffed to test the pungency of the tisane.
“I'm gonna tell you. But you cain't go,” the older woman answered belligerently with her hands planted on her wide hips.
“You should be in bed, sweetheart.” Both women turned in surprise to see Dylan fully dressed framed in the doorway.
“Don't you ever sleep?” Rory was clearly vexed. “You're like some kind of blasted bat. Always hanging about.” Her head was thudding. Tirzah was about to leave the house in the middle of the night without giving a reason, and now he shows up. Her poor head felt as if it would explode like an overheated pistol any second. Her life was a trial.
“Mister St. John you better tell this gal she ain't going out with me in this cold night air.”
“I don't think I'll say anything to her,” he arched one eyebrow and answered the ponderous woman. “She doesn't seem to be in a very charitable frame of mind.”
She shook a finger at Rory and scolded, “don’t you go getting any of your wild ideas. I ain’t taking you out in this coldness. It gonna settle in your chest and...,”
“Just tell me where you're going Tirzah.” Rory's voice was patient, but strained as she cut her servant off.
Tirzah looked back at her and frowned. “Miss Rory, Seth done been up here to fetch me for Reba. She's working to birth her babe, but, the babe, he’s not coming.”
“You go. I'll be there as soon as I can throw some clothes on.” Her tone was short and businesslike as she drank the contents of the mug in one big gulp and hurried toward the doorway.
Dylan caught her arm and stopped her as she tried to sail past him. “Sweetheart,” he said. There was a real concern in his voice. “This is not a good idea.”
That made her mad. Who was he to tell her what to do? As far as she could tell, he didn't want anything to do with her. Hadn't he told her so at least a dozen times? Rory's mouth set in a stubborn line as she answered him, “You have no right to judge my behavior.”
It was a quiet challenge. He knew it was the truth. He'd surrendered any prerogative, he’d had over her earlier in the evening. So he released her arm and stood back.
“Now, Miss Rory,” Tirzah muttered darkly. “Don’t you get on your high hoss with me. I can do this all by myself.”
“Get one of the stable boys to hitch a horse to the buggy,” Rory ran out of the room calling. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Tirzah shook her head and mumbled something about spoiled and willful children.
“I'll hitch the team,” Dylan said curtly. He strode out into the cold night. “And I'll drive.” If the stubborn imp was going, so was he.
Tirzah finished packing the herb bag. She muttered, “Hard road coming for them two. Lawzy mercy, some kinda hard, hard road.”
The trip to Reba's shack was bumpy and frozen. The wind cut through their clothes, and low scuttling clouds hid the moon. Rory's head protested at every rut and dip in the road. Finally, they turned up a narrow wagon path. In the distance, a weak light shone from a shanty with one window. As they neared the little house, they made out the silhouette of a man calling to them frantically. He was wringing his hands.
“Thank the good Lord you've come.” He ran down toward the shed that served as a barn and tied off the reins Dylan tossed down to him. The clouds cleared suddenly. The man was ruddy and raw boned. “Miss Rory you got to save my Reba. She's sore bad off.”
Dylan helped the women down from the buggy. He took the time to squeeze a warning into Rory’s hand. She chose to ignore him.
“When did it
start, Seth?” Rory asked as they made their way quickly to the rough gray clapboard house.
“Long about sunup this morning.” He stopped at the rickety steps.
The two women moved ahead of him into the lighted interior. The house consisted entirely of one room. There was a rock fireplace, a bed frame, a table with four chairs, and a rocking chair. Although it was humble, it was scrubbed and cleaned to perfection. A slight woman lay moaning softly on the bed.
“Why didn't you send for us earlier?” Rory asked softly so as not to disturb the woman in labor.
“Reba wouldn't let me, Miss Rory.” He spread out his hands in resignation. “By the time it got bad, she heared that you done falled off that new horse. And that you was laid up in the bed yourself.”
“That doesn't matter, Seth. This baby is much more important than a piddling fall.” She smiled and pulled off her jacket wincing at the pain the effort cost her. She then went over to the straining woman on the bed.
“Reba, Reba,” Rory said and laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Reba, are the pains coming fast?”
“Miss Rory, you oughter be up at the big house sleepin’,” she murmured.
“That's ‘zackly what I done told her.” Tirzah was triumphant.
“Hush Tirzah,” Rory scolded and rolled up her sleeves, “Put some water on to boil over the fire. Get out the twine and knife we brought. And start brewing that valerian root. Gentlemen,” she said, turning toward the men on the steps. “You might as well make yourself comfortable out in the barn. This might take a while.”
Dylan frowned. She wasn't over the fall she'd taken earlier and now the mad woman was determined to deliver a baby. He was about to stop the whole foolish affair when he noticed the straight set of her shoulders and the businesslike way she began washing her hands in a nearby basin.
He was so proud of Rory, he couldn't make himself interfere. He knew she felt like all the demons of Hades had strolled over her, but she’d decided to bring this baby into the world. Nobody was going to get in her way. Dylan decided the best thing he could do for Rory right now was to get the nervous father out of her way. So he herded the distracted man down the steps and out toward the buggy. Seth prowled around the tiny interior of the barn after they had unhitched the horse.
