Her Safe Harbor: Prairie Romance (Crawford Family Book 4)

by Holly Bush

  “Zebidiah Moran is still taken with you, I saw this evening,” Jolene said when they were alone. “He is a good man.”

  “He is the best of men,” she replied. “I would not be sitting here if it were not for him.”

  “He acted as though he hadn’t seen or talked to you since . . . since . . . for quite some time. I thought Maximillian told me he had traveled to Boston a few months ago.”

  “I haven’t seen him since the night of the Hospital Soiree. Although I believe he did visit Boston in the early part of the summer.”

  “And he did not stop at Willow Tree? I can hardly believe it!”

  “He did call on us,” Jennifer said, and stood to prepare a cup of tea.

  “I imagine he was just as attentive then as he was tonight. Smitten, I’d say,” Jolene said and accepted a cup of tea.

  “I really don’t know. He visited with Father.”

  Jolene turned in her chair. “Are you saying you didn’t see him while he was there? In Boston? At Willow Tree?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “Mother was indisposed, and I wasn’t up to callers as of yet.”

  “Really? I thought you had begun your work at the bank by then. That’s at least what I thought your and Father’s letters said, but perhaps I was mistaken. Has he written you?”

  Jennifer sat very still, listening to the crackle of the fire and the clink of the silver spoon against bone china as she stirred a sugar cube in her tea. There was very little reason to lie, no reason at all actually. She thought about what Mrs. Jenners had said to O’Brien just last week. Speech is freeing, she said. Even troubling truths are better said aloud than buried.

  “I was back to work at the bank by then, although O’Brien was not. She just recently began to go with me. I will be curious to see if she goes by herself this week.”

  “Will you tell me why you didn’t visit with Zebidiah when he was in Boston? Mother may have been indisposed, when isn’t she, but you were taking callers if you’d already begun to go back to the bank. Was it something he’d done?”

  “I could not bring myself to face him. I couldn’t do it. I was mortified! I still am,” Jennifer said in a rush.

  “Mortified? I don’t understand.”

  Jennifer shrugged, feeling her neck and ears redden with embarrassment. “I defied everything that everyone told me, leaving him to risk everything to save me, and for him to see me there.” She closed her eyes, instantly envisioning that night, that hallway, the smells and the sounds.

  Jolene knelt in front of her. “Jennifer. You mustn’t be embarrassed. There is nothing you could have done differently. Mother and that . . . that man had it planned.”

  Jennifer leaned forward, close to her sister’s face, her eyes filling with tears. “Even when Zeb saw me on the floor, with no skirts, knowing full well what Rothchild intended?”

  “No. I will not let you think of yourself as if you did anything wrong,” Jolene said and grabbed her hands. “This is not your fault.”

  “It isn’t my fault. I have been speaking to a woman who comes and visits O’Brien. I have actually been doing very well. My nightmares are rare and I am able to be alone outside of my rooms. But Zeb is different. I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable with him again! How can I be? I respected and cared for him and he was witness to my humiliation!”

  “Jennifer, dear,” Jolene said, a tear at the corner of her eye. “Do you realize how very glad we are, he is, that you are alive? That you faced this monster and were the victor? When I think of you having to defend yourself with a knife . . . it is too much to think about. You are brave beyond words.”

  Jennifer kissed her cheek. “It means the world to me that you think so.”

  Jolene reseated herself and swiped at her eyes. “You must tell me about the woman who visits O’Brien.”

  “Mrs. Jenners? She is a woman who attends church with Mr. O’Brien. She has spoken to other women when they’ve encountered violence. She comes and talks to O’Brien and me. She has set me free.”

  “Has she been a victim of violence herself?”

  Jennifer closed her eyes. “Of a level you cannot imagine. Her arms are covered with burns from a cigar and she has a terrible limp. Her leg was broken and never set properly when her husband beat her.”

  Jolene shook her head. “I hope her tormentor is gone.”

  “He is. He was drunk as he usually was and walking on the edge of the dock. He lost his balance and fell in. It was storming and the seas were high and strong. No one went in after him, thank the dear Lord.”

  “And she speaks to others about this?”

  “Yes. There is something about her. Something soothing and restful that lures me to speak openly and when I do, I inevitably feel better, even if it takes days or weeks to digest what she has said. For months I woke with terrible pain in my feet, long after all the cuts had healed over. I would wake in a cold sweat, screaming sometimes, feeling as though someone was stabbing me in the sole of my foot.”

  “What . . . did something . . . I did not know that your feet had been cut. When I was there at Willow Tree you were mostly abed and I did not stay long. What happened?”

  “Of course you did not. You were in a delicate condition. I was amazed that Max let you make the journey.”

  “What happened, Jennifer?”

  Jennifer stared away, not willing to look at her sister’s face. “When he told me what he was going to do to me, I ran into a dark room, praying it was the kitchen. It was. I’d lost one slipper when he dragged me up the outside steps and when I swept my arm over the counter I knocked china and glasses to the floor. I was standing there in one shoe, going back and forth from foot to foot in my fear and stepping on shards of glass and crockery. I had no idea I’d done it until I woke up and Dr. Roderdeck was pulling glass from my feet.”

  Jolene covered her mouth with one hand. “My God,” she said and shook her head. “You may tell me anything you need to tell me or tell me nothing at all, Jennifer.”

  “I am tired now,” Jennifer said as she stood. “You asked me earlier if Zeb and I had corresponded. He wrote me many letters until I returned them all to him and asked him to not send any more. How I regret that I stopped him! Some days I lived for his letter, as it felt as if it were the only thing keeping me from losing my mind. I had nearly memorized them I’d read them so often.”

  “You never wrote back?”

  “Just the once, asking him to not send any more.”

  “But, why?”

  “I’m not sure. But I’ve come to talk to him now. Perhaps we can correspond again.”

  “Oh, darling. Don’t let time, or anger, or fears keep you from what is precious like I did. Let him into your heart. He has not been himself for missing you.”

  “Good night, Jolene. I am glad I am here to meet Andrew and see you and Max and Melinda. I was happy to meet Bella, too. I was very, very glad to see Zeb with my own eyes, and touch his hand when we parted. Be assured, I’m determined to be happy. I will not have that man win from the grave.”

  * * *

  Zeb straightened his hair, hat in hand as he stood on the doorstep of Max and Jolene’s home the following day, Bella by his side. He’d been so shocked to see Jennifer last night that he’d acted like a fool, like a young buck with no self-control rather than the chief of staff to an important U. S. senator, writing law and bills for consideration at the Capitol. But the sight of her . . . it did things to him. Things that no woman before, or ever, did to him. He was happy as the next man to view a beautiful woman, to speak with a lively, intelligent one and be pleased. But this was not just an appreciation of the senses, of sight and sound and fragrance. She encompassed all those things and connections unseen as well, where only instinct guides a heart. The only thing left to do was to convince her of that, to remain steadfast and let her know what she meant to him with his words and deeds.

  Zeb waited as the housekeeper sent word abovestairs that they’d arrived. Within minutes, Je
nnifer and Jolene came down the steps and exchanged pleasantries. Jolene took his sister by the arm and climbed in the Shelby carriage. They waved merrily and drove away, leaving Jennifer and him alone and silent.

  It hit him in that moment that he was happy, in her company, to be near her or speak to her, especially to kiss her. He smiled at her.

  “Would you like to take a walk? Or we can take a ride in my carriage? What would you like to do?”

  “Either would be fine, but it is a bit warm for September. The breeze on a carriage ride would be pleasant.”

  “A carriage ride it is then,” he said, helping her into her seat and touching her hand as he did, eliciting a glance in his direction.

  “It is wonderful to be back visiting Jolene and Max. I’ve missed Melinda and have spent the morning in company with my new nephew, Andrew,” Jennifer said as she looked around at the buildings they passed on the streets.

  “I’ve been fortunate to be invited often to their home and have maintained a relationship with Melinda. She is dear to me. I live close by and sometimes show up when I know dinner is about to be served.”

  She laughed. “Where do you live, Zeb? Are we close by? I often think of the story you told about Jolene finding you a house and spending quite a bit to furnish it.”

  “The bills were a shock but she was right. I needed an address in a good neighborhood, with staff to help me,” he said. “There it is up ahead. With the white shutters and the white door.”

  “How lovely,” she said as the carriage slowed, and turned to look at him. “May I see the inside?”

  “Yes, of course. Smithers is there and my housekeeper as well to act as chaperones,” he said and came around the carriage to hand her down. “Are you sure you’re comfortable? Being alone with me? When you sent back my letters, I assumed you . . . I don’t know what I assumed, only that you didn’t want to see me again. I was very happy you agreed to spend some time with me today but I would never presume—”

  Jennifer stopped him with a finger to her lips. “I’d like to talk to you, but I’d rather not do it publically or when there is a possibility of interruption. May we go in?”

  Zeb led her inside and handed his hat off to Smithers. “Please,” he said as he opened a door at the back of the wide hallway. “This is my study, and there are two comfortable chairs near the window, courtesy of your sister.”

  They sat in companionable silence, looking out the window at the shrubbery and late-blooming flowers in the small garden behind his house, until she turned in her seat to him.

  “Um, I must . . . tell me about what you do for Max.”

  He looked at her, at a loss as to why she might be interested in his work when he’d hoped they’d be able to speak about more personal issues, but he would indulge and comfort her in any way he could. “I write bills and proposals for laws, according to what Max is thinking in that subject’s regard. I make sure we have enough staff to do the research and keep up with correspondence. I befriend my counterparts working for other senators when we need votes.” He paused, then continued with a more detailed description as she encouraged him to go on. Her face was pasty white, he noticed then, and she was rubbing her hands together in an unconscious motion. “I make sure that—”

  “He said I was a whore. He said he was going to make me bend over a kitchen chair,” she said then in a rush, tears suddenly streaming down her face.

  Zeb stood abruptly, holding his hands behind his back and doing everything he could do to keep from putting his fist through the pane of glass ahead, or throwing the delicate Chinese vase across the room and reveling in the crash it would make when it hit the brick hearth of the fireplace. He took some deep, calming breaths and looked at Jennifer. Her shoulders were shaking. She looked up at him, and her look of misery was more devastating than anything he’d ever heard or witnessed. He was in physical pain seeing the look on her face, knowing that his agony was nothing compared to hers.

  “I am soiled somehow, as if he had used me when he didn’t. I’ve felt I’m not worthy of your notice,” she said through trembling lips. “I’ve never told anyone all the things he said. I couldn’t bear to repeat them. I couldn’t imagine what someone would think, I only knew that if I’d heard someone else describe the same things I’d be repulsed. Even knowing the person saying it was not the guilty party.”

  “And is that why you returned my letters?” he asked and knelt on one knee before her. He longed to embrace her, hold her until she felt safe and secure, but he sensed that what she was saying was the reason she was seeing him at all. That she had to say her piece. He would let her fight her way through what she must. It was, perhaps, the only way she could be free.

  She nodded. “I was not able to face you before today, did not know if I would be able to even yet. I read your letters time and again and they reminded me of that night, of what you’d seen and thought. But I want you to know they kept me sane when I truly thought I might be losing my mind during those dreary weeks.”

  Zeb looked at her then until she met his gaze. “Tell me everything he said. Tell me every detail.”

  Tears spilled down Jennifer’s face, and she nodded. She put her hands on his shoulders to pull him close and whispered into his ear every sordid word that had plagued her over the last six months. She spoke softly, without emotion, so close to him that his hair touched her face, and her eyes focused on the golden strands and nothing else. She could feel his muscles contract and tense under her fingers on his shoulder but he did not move or lift his hands from where they lay across his thigh to touch her. She would be forever grateful to him for allowing her to say the words that had haunted her, and by doing so, maybe lessen their hold on her psyche.

  Those words, the ugly words, that Rothchild and her own mother had said had reverberated in her head these long months, clattering from one side of her mind to the other, like the clapper in a massive bell. There was silence now as she finished, quietly sobbing with the release. She sat up and looked at him. She did not see pity, which she was glad of. He picked up her hands and kissed the back of each one.

  “You do know that you were not the one to say those things or even think them. He was the villain, perhaps out of his mind, not that I care as long as he is dead and gone from our lives. But he was the one to say these words. Not you.”

  “I do know that, but after that night, I felt as if somehow I deserved his torment even knowing in my mind that I am a good person and that no one deserves that sort of treatment. But that does not stop how I feel.”

  “No one should have to go through what you have been through. I admire you more than I can convey. There is little doubt that I love you,” he said, and looked at her with resolve. “I love you. I am the one that is not worthy of you. How could I be in the face of your courage and stoicism?”

  She kissed him them. Kissed him liked she had dreamed of doing when she could hold the demons at bay. His shaking hands captured her face. “This is the only place in the world that I feel completely safe.”

  Zeb pulled her to her feet then, and pressed her to him, her breasts against his chest and her legs entwined with his. He wrapped an arm around her back and touched the back of her head with the other, pulling her lips to his until they touched, and his eyes closed. Jennifer kept her eyes open at first, confirming a moment at a time that this was Zebidiah, the man who loved her and honored her and admired her. But there were no ghosts threatening her consciousness, no fear, only complete trust in the man kissing her.

  His tongue licked the seam of her mouth, touching her tongue when her lips parted. She felt his face with her fingertips, clean-shaven and smooth, smelling his scent and loving the way she felt in his arms, feminine and alluring when he pulled her hips to his, leaving no doubt of his physical need for her. His eyes were open now, staring at her from under hooded brows, as he ran a finger down her neck to her cleavage, grazing her breast with the back of his hand. She groaned when he touched her so intimately.

 
Jennifer closed her eyes and ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, finally touching his chest, all solid muscle, pulsing with heat. She let her hand drift lower, testing herself, answering the questions that she’d tortured herself with for months. She touched him then, his sex, through his pants, feeling the long, stiff outline on her palm, and was not repulsed or frightened as she’d worried she might be, but rather emboldened as he drew in short breaths through clenched teeth. Her breasts were heavy and her lower insides thrummed with anticipation and heat.

  “Jenny,” he whispered and covered her hand with his.

  A knock at the door sent them jumping apart, she straightening her hair and he buttoning his long suit jacket.

  Smithers popped his head through the door. “Will Miss Crawford be staying for dinner, sir?”

  “Please don’t trouble yourself, Smithers,” she said. “We’ll be going soon, but I am looking forward to returning.”

  Smithers nodded with a smile and closed the door. Jennifer turned to Zeb and covered her mouth with her fingers. “That was very close, was it not?” she said with the slightest grin.

  “It was very close,” he said and took her hands in his. “I cannot describe to you how happy I feel when I see you smile. You are beautiful beyond words.”

  She smiled up at him. “I think I should go back to Jolene’s. Will you be joining us for dinner?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Tell me about your work at the Crawford Bank, Jennifer?” Max asked as he cut his beefsteak.

  “Let my sister eat before you begin your interrogation,” Jolene said and looked at Jennifer as they ate dinner the following evening. “He has been asking me all sorts of questions about what I did at the bank and what you do at the bank. I told him I was little more than a hostess but I believe you had much more demanding duties.”

  “Originally, I did exactly what you had always done, and Father was none too happy as I was still unmarried. I convinced him, though, that it was unexceptional with O’Brien as an escort, and then one day he brought an account packet to me that the bank’s bookkeepers were having difficulty balancing. After that, O’Brien and I began doing that sort of work on a regular basis.”