Now he felt his stepmother's tension in the grip of her fingers, knew she was trying to think of how to explain the sudden reappearance of her daughter, and he wondered, a little meanly, what palatable lie she would come up with. Perhaps some tale that Belle had been held captive by Indians in the West, or maybe a story about how Belle had lost her memory. He could hear his stepmother's smiling words now: "We thought she was lost, but then—oh, it was such a miracle—she regained her memory and came back to us!"
The image nearly brought a sarcastic smile, and Rand forced it away, chastening himself mentally. He owed Lillian too much to be disrespectful—even in his mind. Without her he wouldn't even know he had a child, much less have Sarah with him. If nothing else, Lillian had been there for him the last six years. Without her he never would have survived.
Rand squeezed his eyes shut, blocking from sight the yellow dress a few rows in front of him. Yes, he had Lillian to thank for Sarah, if nothing else, and because of that he would go along with the story she invented. For her sake he would pretend. For her sake he would help however he could.
Whatever it meant.
By the time Reverend Snopes wound through an hour and a half of Bible thumping, delivered the community bulletin board, and read the sick list, Belle was bored stiff. The reverend was still as dull as ever. He should be thanking God she had arrived, she thought irreverently, because at least while she was here, the congregation had a reason to stay awake.
It was the only joke she could bring herself to make. The gossipy whispers were all around her. It was all she could do to hold her head up and pretend to listen to the preacher. She heard bits and pieces, words said just loudly enough for her to hear, hastily muttered questions. "Where has she been?" "—she was in Cleveland last," "stepbrother's death—scandal—" "I heard she was a—well, you know."
She tried to close her ears, not to hear, but it was impossible. She told herself she should be used to it. They had always talked about her. Even when she lived here, she knew the things they said about her. She was too wild, too strange, too everything. It had always been like that.
Though until today it had never been mean. It was a shock to hear what they'd been saying, the lies that had been passed as truth. Suddenly in their minds she was little better than a whore.
She laughed shortly, softly. Well, maybe they'd stone her when she walked out. God knew it wouldn't be the first time someone had wanted to punish her for her sins. They could all just stand in line.
"God bless you, my friends. Keep God in your hearts this week, and I will see you next Sunday." Reverend Snopes spread his hands to encompass the entire congregation, his sleeves flapping like the wings of a fat raven. On cue, the crowd rose, the organ swelled.
Belle inhaled deeply. It was time to put her plan in action. "Keep God in your hearts," the reverend had said. She hoped the crowd here remembered it.
Pasting a smile on her face, she rose and turned to face the aisle, searching for Rand and her mother.
The congregation filed by.
Not one good Christian spoke to her.
But she heard their talk, their hateful gossip, as they moved past, and she met their curious looks. Belle felt her face redden, and she raised her chin, fighting to keep her expression even. Their lack of charity surprised her, even though she knew it shouldn't. After all, she was the first to say what hypocrites churchgoing people were. Still . . .
It didn't matter. She was here only for one reason, and it wasn't to hear the sermon or make friends with the neighbors.
Then she saw Rand and Lillian hurrying out the front door, and she forgot all about gossip and godliness. Belle pushed into the crowd, ignoring the shocked gasps as she made her way up the aisle toward the back of the church. By the time she got to the front porch, groups of people were already gathered on the knoll, and she spotted Lillian among them. Rand had disappeared, and Belle felt a quick surge of relief. She only wanted to deal with one of them at a time, and Lillian was more than enough.
She took a deep breath, running down the steps and hurrying through the grass. She slowed just before she reached her mother, pushing back loose tendrils of hair and trying to look as composed as possible.
"Why, hello there, Mama," she said, smiling the broadest smile she could muster. "Miz Dumont, Miz Miller, how nice to see you both again."
The talk died. An uncomfortable silence swept the group. Ernestine Dumont and Stella Miller stared at her as if she'd just risen from the dead.
Lillian swept into action, just as Belle knew she would, but her mother's expression was stiff, her smile frozen in place. She clutched the folds of her black silk dress convulsively. "Hello, Belle. I didn't expect to see you at church today."
"Well now, I couldn't stay away." Belle smiled brightly at the two women standing beside her mother. "It's been so long since I saw everyone, I just had to pay a visit."
"It has been a long time," Ernestine Dumont's blue eyes sparkled with malice. "What has it been? Five years? Six?"
"Six years," Belle said. She looked at her mother. "Wouldn't you say so, Mama?"
Stella Miller broke in before Lillian could answer. "You never told us Belle was comin' in, Lillian," she said, her tone faintly accusing. "Why, it's such a surprise."
"For me too," Lillian said hastily. "I didn't know myself until yesterday."
"I wanted it to be a surprise," Belle said. "Mama had just been naggin' me for months to come on home, but you know how it is."
Stella and Ernestine murmured their assent.
"But I finally managed to get away—and here I am."
"Get away?" Ernestine said sharply. "From what, dear? We haven't heard from you in so long—we were concerned you might have fallen into trouble."
Lillian broke in before Belle could answer. "It hasn't been that long, Teen, really. Why, it's not as if we haven't kept in touch."
"Oh?" Stella frowned. "Lily, you never mentioned—"
"Well, of course we did," Belle lied. "I'm surprised you thought otherwise. What kind of a daughter would I be if I didn't write my mama once in a while?"
Both women looked discomfited. Lillian reddened.
"I've had several letters," she said. "Belle wrote me from—"
"New York," Belle supplied.
"Yes." Lillian's glance was begrudgingly grateful. "From New York."
Stella Miller looked thoughtful as she fanned herself with a small, gloved hand. "New York City? Why, Lily, I thought you told me Belle was with a cousin somewhere. I don't think you said New York, but of course that was a while ago—"
Lillian stiffened.
"You must mean Cousin Sally," Belle said, seeing her mother's surprise as she embellished Lillian's lie. "I was there for a while."
"Yes," Lillian said reluctantly. "Sally—in Philadelphia."
"Sally and I just didn't get on," Belle continued, ignoring her mother's warning glance. "You know how it is. And her husband—well, he's not much for family." She shook her head sadly, feeling a surge of amusement at their quick murmurs of understanding.
"That's such a pity," Ernestine said, her concern as false as her sympathy. "But you know, Belle, we were talking about you the other day, weren't we, Stella? We were wondering what you were up to these days. Claudia Akers thought you must have a passel of little ones running around by now."
I'll just bet that's what they were thinking. Belle forced her smile wider. "Not a passel, no," she said cheerfully.
"How long are you plannin' to visit?"
"I don't know." She plunged ahead. "In fact I was thinkin' I might just stay." She smiled at Lillian's appalled expression. "That is if you don't mind, Mama."
"No, no of course not." Lillian recovered quickly. She smiled weakly, sweeping the other two women with her glance. "We're just delighted you could come back."
"I imagine you are," Stella said drily. Her gaze was shrewd and measuring. "Belle, your mama and Rand are comin' over for dinner this afternoon. You'll join us, won'
t you? I mean, I assume you're stayin' at the house?"
Now. Do it now. Belle threw a quick glance at Lillian. Her mother's face was so stiff, it looked like it might crack. The expression sent such a strong stab of satisfaction through Belle that her own smile was genuine. "Well, actually I'm stayin' in town for now. It just seemed easiest when I got in the other night. But now that I'm thinkin' I might stay awhile, I was hopin' Mama wouldn't mind if I came on home."
Lillian's brown eyes widened in shock and surprise, and Belle saw the instant protest begin on her lips. Protest that died away the moment her mother saw the avid stares of the other women. Stella Miller looked ready to pounce at the slightest word. And Ernestine Dumont wore a wicked smile on her heavy face, as if she was enjoying Lillian's obvious discomfort.
"Goodness, I can't imagine why she wouldn't," Ernestine drawled. "Why, a hotel's not only dangerous, it's unseemly."
"Absolutely," Stella put in. "I'm sure your mama would love to have you home again after so long."
The coldness in her mother's gaze went clear into Belle's bones. "I'm surprised you thought you had to ask, Belle," Lillian said slowly. "You're always welcome, you know that."
Belle suppressed a shiver. Even if no one else did, she heard the anger in her mother's carefully modulated voice. She'd heard it too many times to mistake it. There would be hell to pay later when they were alone, but now she felt a rush of triumph. She had won. Lillian could not back out now—Stella and Ernestine would not only tell everyone, they would be watching for the slightest hint that things were not as they seemed.
Belle smiled at the thought. "Thank you, Mama. I thought that might be your answer."
Chapter 5
She had trapped them neatly, Rand thought angrily, watching her from across the Millers' dining-room table. Like rabbits caught in a snare, they'd stumbled in without hesitation and now were too dumb and surprised to struggle.
He would have told her no if she'd asked him. He knew just how he would have said it—solidly, so that there was no room for misinterpretation or pleading. A quiet, forceful no. But she had not asked him, and he knew why.
She leaned back in her chair and laughed, pulling meat from a piece of chicken with strong, tanned fingers. Her eyes sparkled as she responded to something Paul Miller had said. For just a moment, deep inside him, Rand felt a spark of admiration—just a spark, and barely there, but he felt it nonetheless. If he'd been less angry, he almost could have congratulated her on the success of her plan. He was sure even this dinner was part of it—a way to charm the neighbors and lull him and Lillian into complacency. There was no doubt in his mind that what Belle really wanted was to get inside the house, to wait until they were unsuspecting and then run off with Sarah.
They'd been blithely, easily manipulated.
Or Lillian had anyway, so he was caught as well, because he would not publicly embarrass his stepmother. If he refused to let Belle stay, if he kicked her out of the house or made things so bad for her, she left, it would be gossiped about for years. It would be humiliating for Lillian, and as for him, well, he had lived through that once. He did not want to again.
Belle laughed again, throwing her head back to bare her slender throat. The motion accentuated her slight overbite, the teeth that seemed a bit too big for her mouth, a feature he'd once found charming. Now the realization that he still did—that he noticed it at all— brought back his guilt, and that made him furious. Damn her. He clenched his fist beneath the table. At the very first opportunity he would confront her, let her know in no uncertain terms that she wasn't fooling him with her charming laughter and seemingly innocent words. He knew what she was up to, and he'd be damned if he'd let her get away with it—
"More green beans, Rand?" Stella Miller was leaning over him, pushing a nearly empty serving bowl at him, and Rand blinked in surprise.
He shook his head. "No thanks, Stella. I've had plenty."
"Why, you've hardly had any at all," she admonished him. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you didn't like my cookin'." She sat down again beside him, a swoosh of blue-striped silk and cotton. "I guess I prefer to think you're only excited at havin' your sister back."
"Stepsister," he corrected softly.
Across the table Belle paused, a bite of chicken halfway to her mouth. She grinned. "You should have seen the welcome he gave me yesterday, Miz Miller. Why, I wanted to leave just so I could come back again."
"I imagine." Stella smiled. She reached for the platter of fried chicken and handed it around the table. "We're all so happy to see you. I guess Lily's the happiest of all, isn't that true, Lil? It's not every day your own daughter comes back." She looked pointedly at Lillian, who smiled woodenly.
"No, it's not."
Rand took a bite of mashed potatoes. It was all he could do to swallow them.
"Try these pickles, Rand." Stella handed him a small dish. "They're this year's."
He took one politely, plopping it onto his plate. It glistened sickeningly beside his half-eaten chicken.
Stella leaned forward, her beady eyes flashing. "So what kept you away so long, Belle? You were in New York, you say?"
"New York's a big city." Paul Miller, Stella's husband, spoke from the end of the table. He wiped his heavy mustache with a napkin and sat back in his chair. "I hear it's full o' pickpockets and such."
Stella flashed her husband an irritated glance.
Rand's stomach tightened. He didn't want to look at Belle, told himself he didn't give a damn where she'd been or what she had done there. But he couldn't take his eyes from her. He felt the tension in his body as he waited for her answer.
"Well," she said slowly, still picking at her chicken. "I guess you could—"
"Mama, we're all done." Abby Miller took her last sip of milk and looked at her mother. She squirmed impatiently in her chair. "Can Sarah 'n me go out to play?"
Stella nodded distractedly. "Yes, go on—but come on back if you want pie."
"Don't get dirty, Sarah," Lillian said.
No one was watching Belle—no one but Rand—and he saw the slight tightening of her jaw, the way she took a deep breath as if to hold in her temper. The chicken fell from her fingers, and she wiped them on the napkin in her lap. He wondered if her hands were clenched beneath the table, wondered what the hell she was thinking.
There was a clamor as the two girls pushed back their chairs and rushed outside. The front door slammed shut in their wake.
Stella swiveled back to Belle, her sharp features taut with curiosity. "I'm sorry, Belle. You were sayin'?"
"Dangerous place, New York is," Paul said. "Ain't that so?"
Belle looked at him and smiled, the kind of charming smile Rand had seen so many times before, knew intimately. "I s'pose it's dangerous enough," she said slowly. "There are lots of people there. It's a big city."
"And you all alone." Stella tsked. "How did you bear it?"
"I wasn't alone, Miz Miller," Belle said. "A friend of mine lives in a boardin' house there. I worked for her."
Stella looked scandalized. "In a boardin' house?"
"A very respectable house, Stella," Lillian broke in.
"I see."
"Didn't you say you cooked for them, dear?"
Belle laughed, a snicker that set Rand's nerves on edge and stiffened his spine. "No, Mama. I couldn't cook to save my life."
Lillian's eyes clouded. Rand saw the subtle thinning of her lips. Her voice was steel-edged. "But when you wrote me, you said—"
"When I wrote you?" Belle's eyes opened wide in surprise. "Why, there were so many letters, Mama, I hardly remember that one. Are you sure I said cookin'?"
Stella looked avidly from Belle to Lillian. Rand could almost see the woman sniffing for blood.
He scooted back his chair. It screeched on the floor. "How about some coffee, Stella?"
"Oh, of course." Stella jerked to her feet. "Goodness, I was so interested in Belle's stories, I nearly forgot."
Rand f
elt Lillian's eyes on him, but he leaned forward, focusing his gaze on Paul, determined to change the subject. "So, Paul, are you still planning to show that ram at the fair?"
"You bet I am." Paul nodded. "Spent the last two weeks workin' on that damn sheep's weight. You know old John Stillwell's got a Merino ram himself. Bought it at auction over in Clinton County last week . . ."
Paul went on talking, a slow, heavy cadence that hummed in Rand's ears even though he no longer really listened. He nodded at the appropriate times, made noises of agreement, but he didn't hear what Paul was saying. He was too aware of Belle sitting silently across from him, and of Lillian's cold, stiff silence. Too aware of the fact that they had to spend at least another hour with the Millers before they could gracefully leave.
"Oh, Paul, stop talkin' about that silly ram." Stella bustled back into the room, a steaming pot of coffee in her hands. "Not when Belle was just tellin' us what she's been doin'."
God, the woman was relentless. Rand sat up, opened his mouth to say something, anything to head her off, but Belle beat him to it.
"There's really nothin' to tell." She smiled. She waited while Stella poured coffee and then she reached for the sugar bowl. "I'm just glad to be back."
Paul chuckled. "You can't ever get home outta your blood, I guess. You know, I remember when you and Cort and Rand here used to run wild on the Hocking." He poured a heavy stream of yellow cream into his coffee. "Used to scare old Henry to death."
Rand felt a chill clear into his bones. He grabbed for his coffee, stunned to see that his fingers were shaking.
"Yep." Paul took a sip from his cup. "You know, Stella used to say that if Rand jumped in the river and drowned hisself, Belle'd be right behind him. Ain't that right, honey?"
Stella nodded. She pulled two pies toward her and sliced a knife into one of them. "I surely did say that. Custard or gooseberry, Rand?"
After the frost f Page 4
