Calhoun Chronicles Bundle

by Susan Wiggs

  Hunter forced himself to go on. “There was nothing left of Lacey. But as Blue walked past her bed, his little face all wet with tears, her hand shot out. At first I thought it was a reflex, like a death shudder, but she grabbed his arm. It scared the hell out of him. Her hand was all wound in a bandage that was oozing. And she looked Blue in the eye and said, ‘Remember your promise.”’

  “What promise?”

  “I have no idea. She was delirious. Just hours from death. I don’t know why she grabbed Blue like that. Don’t know what she was trying to tell him. He was terrified. She was a sight—nothing like the mama he knew. Hair burned off, face red and blistered. Her lips barely moved. He ran out of the room, and that was the last time he saw his mother alive.”

  Hunter planted his elbows on his knees and shoved his fingers through his hair as if to weed out the memories, but it was no use. They were a part of him. “Lacey was out of her mind from the injuries and the laudanum the doctor gave her for the pain. I didn’t know what to do. So I talked to her. I talked about anything and everything. My dreams of turning Albion into a Thoroughbred farm, the way she looked to me the first time I kissed her…I tried to bring up every pleasant memory that lay buried in our past. I’ll never know if she heard me or not.”

  Eliza wept quietly in a way that he had never been able to do. She hadn’t known Lacey, but she knew how to grieve. He got up and faced out toward the darkening yard, filled with remembrances of that night. “When I ran out of talk, I didn’t know what else to do. So I sat down at her bedside and held her poor burned hand until she died.”

  “I hurt for you,” Eliza whispered, her step soft on the porch as she came up behind him. “Oh, how I hurt for you.”

  “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you this,” he said. “That’s why I never think of Lacey these days. Sometimes I see her smile in Blue’s eyes or hear the echo of her voice in Belinda’s laughter. I can’t stand that.”

  He had grimly swept her out of his life. But Lacey’s legacy lingered. Blue was left with open wounds, struck mute by shock and grief. Belinda, who had been just five when it happened, had hazier memories of her mama. Hunter would never, ever forget. Some nights, when he closed his eyes, he could still see his wife’s charred and blistered body. Could still smell the burned flesh and hair, still hear her rasping, rattling breaths as she struggled to stay alive for just a moment longer.

  Crushing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he tried to erase the images, but they stayed inside his head, forever branded on his memory. He swore, grabbed his glass and pushed past Eliza as he went in search of more whiskey.

  She stood in front of him, blocking his way. “That won’t help you.”

  He gave a short, sarcastic laugh. “Don’t be absurd. Thinking you’ve found the root of my problem is a mistake.”

  “But you just told me everything I need to know,” she said, her small face somber in the twilight. “You just told me where all the troubles in this family come from.”

  Something inside him, something the whiskey hadn’t reached yet, seriously considered her words. He had a swift, compelling image of seeing her on the beach with the stallion for the first time. She had said almost the same thing. Find out where the fear is coming from. That’s where you begin.

  He had built a fortress around his heart. Here she was with her chisel, taking it down, bit by bit. And each time a piece fell away, it hurt. He felt more cold and exposed.

  “Get the hell out of my way,” he said between his teeth.

  She planted herself in the doorway, pushing her palms against the door frame and looking him straight in the eye. “Your wife died two years ago and you’ve been drinking ever since. Don’t you think that if the whiskey was going to work, it would have by now?”

  “I don’t drink because I want it to work,” he said. “I drink because I want to forget.”

  “You can’t simply forget about the children,” she said.

  “I’m good to my kids. I love them.”

  “They need more—”

  “What the hell do you know?” he growled. “You never even met a kid until Blue and Belinda.”

  “But I know what it’s like to lose someone,” she replied, practically whispering. “Don’t you get it, Calhoun? My father was everything to me. He was Prospero. The wizard. He made the world turn around me. And when I lost him, I lost everything I ever loved.”

  “Damn it,” he said, pointing an unsteady finger. “You’re nothing but trouble. I want you out of my life.” It was true, he needed to be away from her. Away from her rain-colored eyes and her earnest looks, and her unsettling way of peering into his soul and seeing the things he tried to keep hidden.

  But he was like the stallion on the beach, wanting to be away from her yet drawn to her at the same time. Later he would blame the whiskey, but at the moment he didn’t try to resist the urge to touch her. It was more than an urge; it was a need, like the need to draw the next breath.

  He put out his hand and watched it waver a little drunkenly as he reached for her. He touched her face first, that smooth pale cheek, and with the pad of his thumb he traced the shape of her full lips. She didn’t move, didn’t even blink, as she stood in the doorway with the house obscured behind her and the falling dark of twilight throwing her features into velvety shadow. The darkness merely made his other senses more acute. He could feel the smooth texture of her skin and he could hear the way her breathing stopped for a few seconds, then continued in soft shallow puffs. His exploring thumb continued past her lips, over her chin and down to skim over her vulnerable throat. She was so delicate there, tender as a new flower. His hand looked big and rough against her throat, but she bore his touch without flinching, and even seemed to warm beneath it.

  “I’m not supposed to be doing this,” he whispered. “I told myself I wouldn’t do it again.”

  “Then why are you?”

  “Don’t ask. Just…let me…” He quit trying to explain, quit trying to rationalize. He pulled her forward, tight against him, and his mouth found hers. She tasted as sweet as he knew she would, and her body felt pliant against his. Unlike the other women he’d known, she didn’t pretend not to want this. Her surrender now, like the night on the roof, was total. She swayed against him, her body as graceful as a willow in a breeze, and she opened her mouth. No pretended coyness or lessons from finishing school governed her response. No one had ever told her to slap a man away, to tell him no, to giggle and blush. And he loved it. God, how he loved the feel of Eliza in his arms, a woman who didn’t have designs on him.

  But she had expectations, he thought, his hands skimming up and down the length of her. She expected everything from him.

  And that, ultimately, was what made him push her away. He actually groaned when he let go of her, the sound of a man being hit in a fight.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “We’ve been through this before.” He turned away and sat on the steps of the veranda. The fireflies came out, vague secretive flashes in the low shrubs of the yard. “You’re in the world, Eliza, and it’s a bigger world than your island. What you do matters now.”

  She sat down beside him. “Is that why you don’t want me here?”

  “I never said I didn’t want you here.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “You never wanted to come to Albion. You want to go to California.”

  “California can wait. It’s not going anywhere. Once I met your children, I wanted to stay, at least for a while.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re so little and they need me.”

  “Fine. They have needs. So tell me what they need.”

  She moved away from him on the step, pushing back to lean against the pillar. “They’re stuck, Hunter. They’ve lost their mother, and they have to grieve for her. They have to feel the hurt before they can get over the grief.”

  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. What makes you the a
uthority on motherless children?”

  She regarded him steadily until he started to squirm.

  “That’s different,” he said, frustrated. “You never knew your mother. You didn’t know what you lost because you never had it.”

  “I know what it’s like to be hurting inside,” she said. “I know what it’s like to be fearful. That’s what I see in Belinda and Blue. Especially Blue. They can’t get over the hurt.” She took a deep breath and braced both hands on the step behind her. “They can’t, because you won’t let them.”

  “What?” He laughed harshly. “I can’t believe you dared to say that.”

  “It’s about time someone did. Others might shrink from your temper, but not me. You’ve already said you don’t want me around, you’re shipping me to California. So I have nothing to lose, do I?”

  “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “You’re right. You don’t. You can stand up right now and go into the house and drink some more. And tomorrow when you wake up, everything will be the same. Blue won’t be speaking. Belinda will hide everything she thinks and everything she feels. And you’ll be too drunk to notice.”

  An explosion built inside him, but didn’t erupt. He felt himself seething with rage, yet he was riveted by her candor and her boldness. “And what,” he asked with exaggerated politeness, “would you suggest I do?”

  “To start with, you have to let them remember their mother.”

  “I’ve never stopped them from remembering.”

  “Not in so many words, no. But every time Belinda mentions her or asks you something about her, you cut her off. Change the subject to anything but what is on her mind and in her heart. Perhaps that’s why Blue doesn’t speak at all. Because you don’t really want him to, because you’re afraid he’ll speak of his mother.”

  “That’s horse shit.” He stood up so fast his head swam. He held the railing to steady himself.

  She stood up too, pinning him in place with her determination. She was fierce, this strange small woman. “Let them know it’s all right to remember, and to speak of her.”

  “Why the hell do you think that will change things?” he snapped. “Their mother died a horrible death. Do you think if I tell them to grieve for Lacey, things will change?”

  “Will they change if you don’t tell them?” she shot back.

  The air between them crackled with tension. No one had ever affected him like Eliza. No one had ever challenged and provoked him as she did. She was pushing him to be a better man than he was capable of being. But she didn’t understand. Like some racehorses, his best wasn’t good enough.

  “Look,” he said, “I won’t deny the children have cottoned to you. They like you, Eliza. They like you because you don’t act like other adults.” He watched her bridle defensively. “Don’t get mad, you know that’s a compliment.” He thought of the women at the picnic today, strutting around and flirting and trying to get his attention. “You know damn well it is.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That if you think you can fix whatever’s wrong with my kids, I won’t stand in your way.”

  “They’re not wild horses,” she said. “They’re children. I can’t simply lead them around an arena until they decide to follow me.” She pushed a finger at her lower lip, deep in thought. “Do you have any drawings or photographs of their mother?”

  Panic thumped in his chest. “I reckon I have a few.”

  “When was the last time you or the children looked at them?”

  “We don’t look at them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you daft, woman? Blue would just turn away, and Belinda would bawl and ask a lot of questions.”

  “Maybe you should let them.”

  “Maybe you should mind your own damn business.”

  “But you just said I could—”

  “I didn’t say I’d help you,” he interrupted. “Now, move out of my way. We have a lot to do tomorrow. The exhibition race is coming up, and I want to enter the stallion in it. I’ll need your help training him.”

  “Only if you promise to show them the photographs.”

  “Are you blackmailing me?”

  She smiled with false sweetness. “Think of it as a bargain.”

  Twenty-Two

  Eliza suspected Hunter was thinking about what she had said about the children, but he pretended the conversation had never taken place. Fine, she thought. In due time, she would get her way. Though she had little experience with children, she knew about loss and remembrance and things that go unspoken. She knew she could reach them.

  Already they followed her everywhere like twin shadows, slipping along arbor paths in the garden or through the reeds at the water’s edge. She loved the wonder in their faces when she pointed out the ring in the water where a fish surfaced, the zigzag path of a honeybee going from blossom to blossom, the rise of a loon out of the reeds and into the clouds over the bay. She loved the way they were startled and impressed by the things of nature, and the way they threw themselves into new experiences with total exuberance.

  One day they were standing at the edge of the dock, looking out at the water on an overcast morning. A pastel-colored mist fused the sea and sky, creating in them a drifting sensation, as if they had floated away from the rest of the world.

  “Look at that ship!” Belinda cried, pointing to the deepwater lanes far out in the bay. The boat appeared translucent, insubstantial, as if it wasn’t real. “It’s a lateen-rigged bark, just like Uncle Ryan’s ship.” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Uncle Ryan! Come back!”

  Eliza stroked the little girl’s soft hair. It wasn’t Ryan Calhoun. His ship flew a bright red topsail. And she knew why. She felt a shudder of apprehension when she pictured Captain Calhoun, sweeping in like an avenging angel to rescue a fugitive slave. If it weren’t for the feud between abolitionists and slave-catchers, her father would still be alive, she thought bitterly. But no, she mustn’t resent the abolitionists. The blame lay with the system of slavery, not those who defied it.

  “I don’t think that’s your uncle’s ship,” she said. “And it’s too far away. They can’t hear you.”

  The three of them stood on the dock, watching the boat sail toward the misty horizon. Then it disappeared gradually, growing more and more faint, like a ghost fading from the light.

  “I always worry when a ship goes,” Belinda said. “If I can’t see it anymore, how do I know it’s still there?”

  Eliza smiled, but the child was in earnest. She sat down on the edge of the dock, patting the planks so the children would sit down too. “I’ll tell you how you know,” she said. “Because when it leaves our view, someone else on the opposite shore can see it eventually. So even though it’s out of your sight, it’s in someone else’s.”

  “Really?”

  “I promise. If I were on Flyte Island right now, I would probably see that bark. And when I couldn’t see it anymore, I’d know someone on another shore could.”

  Belinda plucked a daisy and started dropping petals, one by one, into the water. Blue stared at the horizon, clearly preoccupied with the departing ship. After a time, the morning mist burned off, giving way to the sharp clarity of a summer afternoon.

  An idea nagged at Eliza, but she heard loud whinnying from the barn and stood up. “We’d best be going. Willa had the idea of planting flowers at the racetrack to make it look nice for all the guests who come to the race. Would you like to help?”

  “Yes!” Belinda jumped up. Blue did too, even faster, and ran along the sandy track that bordered the streambed and the beach. He loved the horses, Eliza realized. Loving something was the key to healing. She kept watching the boy, looking for a sign. The way he had stared at the departing ship filled her mind. She went and fetched the wheelbarrow full of rosebushes Willa had dug from the garden, and made her way to the mile oval.

  Noah and Hunter were working with the stallion. She could see instantly that Finn was balky and
reluctant to enter the starting gate. After tossing his head sharply a few times, he sidled away to browse in desultory fashion in the grass that fringed the track.

  Noah, seated high with his knees tucked in jockey position, looked at the sky as if asking for divine guidance. Hunter inspected the gate, pushing his fingers through his golden hair as he was wont to do when frustrated. He looked annoyingly good today, she thought, even though he had probably spent the previous night pursuing his favorite pastime of drinking. She couldn’t understand it. He nearly made himself sick with drink, yet the next day he could always get up and work like three men instead of one.

  He wore fitted riding breeches and a plain shirt. As she watched, he took a dipper of water from a jug and drank it, letting the droplets sluice down the front of him. Then he peeled off the shirt and slung it over a fence rail. Eliza hoped the children hadn’t noticed her staring at their father’s bare chest, glistening with sweat. She hoped he hadn’t noticed how lonely she was for him.

  “You can get started digging in the roses, right here at the entrance to the racetrack,” she said to Blue and Belinda. “A lot of important people will be coming to see the Thoroughbreds run, and we want to impress them.” She knew enough of the racing world to know that, to the gentry, appearances were everything.

  She tried to compose herself as she approached Hunter. He barely glanced at her, but said, “He won’t take to the starting gate today.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “We can get him to back in,” said Noah, “but he won’t come out.”

  She walked slowly around the apparatus. Finn had proven himself tractable going in and out of stalls, and this was no exception. Noah was able to bring him into the gate. But then, when Hunter released the bar, the horse bridled and balked.

  Eliza set her hands on her hips and studied the track. The long, straight sides of the oval had been beaten smooth. It appeared to be the ideal racing ground. A short distance to the east lay the beach, where waves broke on the shore and blue herons stood one-legged in the shallow surf. To the north, a fringe of green brier nodded and shimmered in the sea breeze. The meadows of Albion bordered the other two sides of the track. In the high rippling hills beyond, the white house gleamed, its flaws invisible from a distance.