Touched by Fire

by Gwyneth Atlee

  “Nevertheless, until some final determination can be made, I am afraid—”

  Malcolm limped out of the office and slammed Jeb’s door so hard three other customers and a teller glanced up sharply. He glared at them with such fierceness, they quickly averted their eyes. Perhaps they feared him now, he thought as he left the building.

  They should. He was an angry man. Someone had stolen his good name. Either the man who had killed Hannah, or the woman herself in some pathetic bid to gain revenge. Whichever way, he had to find her, to locate her real killer or to drag her back and prove she was alive.

  And if he did the latter, thought Malcolm as he whipped his team of horses to a gallop, he’d show his former spouse the proper way to have a woman killed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hannah awakened in the darkness to a familiar scent. Standing, she crept toward the open window and peered outside. Thousands of stars twinkled brilliantly despite the thin veil of wood smoke that hung between the earth and sky. The pungent odor made her restless, even though at home in Pennsylvania, the smell had always made her sleep more easily. There, it reminded her of warmth and safety, of her family hearth. But here, with all the deathly dryness, she felt like a woman made from kindling. One careless spark, and she’d ignite.

  Might that spark be the one in Daniel’s eye? She’d seen the look before, in men who’d coveted her when she was Malcolm’s. And especially afterwards. After what he’d done to her, they imagined her some wanton creature who would thrill to base suggestions. All the men in her hometown had thought it, and the women of good standing suddenly feared they might be seen exchanging pleasantries with her. A former friend. A former sister in town life.

  She felt sick to think of it. All those self-righteous women, proudly flaunting myriad children. All those conversations, stopped abruptly the moment she set foot in church.

  She wondered grimly, had any of them prayed for her, or had they merely spent their worship hour gossiping about what they supposed to be her failings?

  Despite the evening warmth, she shivered and tried to imagine what John Aldman might be like. She found herself hoping he resembled his brother, Daniel, with his dark eyes and the wavy hair that smelled so fresh. Despite his rudeness, she had felt an unfamiliar stirring deep inside when she recalled his huge hand as it lingered on her arm.

  Then she wondered, what kind of father could he be to little Amelia? How could he have sent her off to live in town? If Hannah had ever had a child, she could imagine no catastrophe great enough to drive her from it. If she’d ever had a child . . .

  She shook her head to clear it of unwelcome memories and instead remembered Daniel’s words. I’m going to tell him you’re too beautiful. And that I wonder why you’ve really come. She recalled, too, the coarse young woman who’d called out after him from the boarding house. Any man who kept such company would be best avoided. But how could she avoid him if he lived in the same house as John?

  o0o

  The thick, predawn gray sky barely brightened with the rising sun. Instead, clouds reflected the orange glow of distant brush fires. Aunt Lucinda entertained Hannah cheerfully throughout the morning and reassured her the men had already fended off the worst this year. Lucinda was certain the low clouds boded rain.

  “And besides, a young lady in your position has more important things to think on. You’ll be meeting John today.” Lucinda smeared pale butter on a fresh-baked roll.

  “Please, tell me what he’s like.”

  “My Uncle John’s a wonder. You just ask anybody,” Amelia said enthusiastically. A sprinkling of flour frosted her nose from when she’d helped the women with their baking. “He’s bringing me a kitten as soon as she’s old enough to leave her mama. She’s a fluffy calico. I’m going to name her Spice.”

  “That sounds lovely.” Hannah had a big yellow tabby once that she called Queen, back when she’d had a home. She wondered bitterly if Malcolm had shot the cat or simply given her away. He’d always hated inconveniences.

  “Why don’t you water the flowers along the walkway, Amelia, while Mercy and I talk?” Lucinda smiled after her grand-niece as the child went outside.

  “To answer your question, John is wonderful. Responsible and sober. And you should see him with Amelia. He’ll make a fine husband and father.”

  Inwardly, Hannah winced. She sipped her tea to hide it. “His letters were convincing, I’ll admit. But still, a woman likes to know a few . . . personal details.”

  “His farm is everything to John. He’s worked so hard since he inherited it eight years ago. I suppose that’s why he wrote to your — ah — agency. He wouldn’t make time for a proper courtship, and of course, there aren’t many young women hereabouts. Busy as John is, they’re all snapped up before he ever meets them.” The old woman reached for yet another roll. “It’s too bad Daniel’s not so steady.”

  “Really?” Despite herself, Hannah felt her interest quicken.

  Lucinda laughed. “If I don’t have a care, you’ll pull tales from me like spinning. What about you, dear Mercy? You can’t convince me this arrangement was your only prospect.”

  There it was. The question Hannah had long dreaded. Now she’d have to tell another bald-faced lie.

  “I tended my father during a very long illness, up until his death.” Her father had actually died suddenly, after a kick from one of his horses. She plunged ahead, afraid that if she paused, she’d blurt the truth and damn herself here, too. “After he was buried, I learned he had debts. And during the years I stayed with him, all my suitors had looked elsewhere or been lost in the War. I found myself without options, until a friend introduced me to Mr. Harlan and his service.”

  Aunt Lucinda nodded gravely. “There’s no disgrace in doing your duty to your father, and the War Between the States ruined many a girl’s prospects. But we mustn’t sit here gabbing. John and Daniel will be here this afternoon, and there’s still so much to do.”

  o0o

  By the time the men arrived, Hannah had spent much of the day assisting Lucinda with the cooking. Pumpkin pie, fresh bread, and roast ham filled the hot kitchen with their sweet aromas.

  Daniel was first through the door. “Aunt Lucinda, you’ve outdone yourself again. And there’s Miss Wilder, pretty as I told you, John.”

  John came in, looking so unlike his brother, Hannah would never have imagined them to be related. Although he towered like a pine, he was lean in contrast to his brother’s bullish musculature. His red-brown hair was neatly trimmed and parted crown to nape. A thick mustache made his mouth appear to droop. He corrected the illusion of a frown by offering a handsome, even smile.

  Toward her he extended a long-fingered, callused hand. “I thought my brother had exaggerated my good fortune. As the apostle said so well, ‘. . . the woman is the glory of man.’ I am very pleased to finally meet you, Miss Wilder.”

  “He might not be much on boisterous behavior, but the man’s got a chunk of scripture for every occasion,” Daniel grumbled.

  Ignoring Daniel’s too-familiar wink, Hannah fixed her gaze on John and groped for words. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Aldman. Has your mare recovered?”

  “She has. I’m very glad. She’s a fine animal, and I’m very much attached.”

  “It’s good to hear you appreciate good horses. My father brought me up to do the same.” Hannah decided with relief that John Aldman was indeed the man his aunt described.

  John did nothing during the evening but confirm her first impression. During the meal, he spoke of his harvests and his plans for future crops. “But I’m especially interested in raising draft horses to supply the logging companies. They might not be as showy as my mare, but I admire their strength. Could you learn to appreciate workhorses, too, Miss Mercy?” He favored her with a good-natured smile.

  She nodded, pleased that he already wished to consider her opinion. “In my experience, they’re a sight easier to manage than the highbred stock.”

  �
�And a sight more expensive to feed,” Daniel offered as he spooned a second helping of potatoes onto his plate.

  “All you big brutes are,” John added, gesturing toward his younger brother.

  Daniel laughed and tossed a roll at John’s head.

  Hannah bit back her own laughter. Daniel was like a troublesome boy in a schoolhouse, vexing, but difficult to ignore. John, on the other hand, would have been the young man always ready with his lessons, the one who would have carried her books home. He would have been the boy her parents wanted for her, even as her gaze roamed back to catch the miscreant’s grin.

  Playing the stern schoolmarm, Lucinda leapt to her feet. “I’ll have none of that, you boys! Imagine, there’ll be crumbs aplenty.”

  The “boys” apologized, but John smiled at Hannah, while Daniel threw a wink her way. Amelia giggled with delight and sang, “Papa wants a whipping!” A warning glance from the old woman shushed her as well.

  The rest of the dinner continued pleasantly enough. John peppered the conversation with enough polite inquiries to include Hannah in the conversation. Although Daniel seemed content to let his brother do the talking, his eyes occasionally sought out hers. When their gazes met, his lingered for a beat too long.

  After the meal, Hannah helped Lucinda clear the table.

  “That was wonderful,” Hannah said. “Here, let me help you with these plates.”

  “Fiddlesticks!” said Lucinda. “John will skin me alive if I keep you from him one more minute. I’ll get Daniel to help as penance for throwing good food at the table. Now, get yourself out there on that porch. Anyone could see you need a breath of air.”

  Hannah hurried outside, and, sure enough, John joined her almost instantly. As she turned to look at him, her stomach fluttered. She felt just like a schoolgirl before elocution practice. A shiver of fear rippled through her. She had immersed herself so completely into this part she had chosen to play. Was her true self disappearing beneath the level of her lies? Already, they had become so real that she felt herself blushing like a maiden at the way he gazed at her.

  “You’re so much more than I had hoped for,” John told her sincerely. “I’ve prayed for a good woman to be a helpmeet and a mother to my sons.”

  Hannah felt herself emerging from that sea of her deceit. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the way she’d stiffened at those words.

  Apparently, he didn’t. “I never dreamed she would be beautiful and intelligent as well,” he continued. Then he chuckled. “And modest, too. You’re blushing, I believe.”

  The color in her cheeks had nothing whatever to do with the compliments. Hannah looked down, hoping to preserve the image of Christian humility. “I’m pleased as well,” she managed. “A woman in this situation fears . . . so many possibilities. I’m glad to see you’re as pleasant as your letters.”

  “I don’t want you to be afraid, Mercy.” Cautiously, he took her hand. His were roughened by farm work, yet he held her as if he were cradling a paper rose. “Take some time to get to know Peshtigo, to get to know me. This marriage doesn’t have to be tomorrow. I’ve waited this long for you. I’m willing to wait a little more.”

  She squeezed his hand. “You’re very kind, John Aldman. And I am very glad to know you.”

  o0o

  That night, Hannah lay awake and tried to picture John Aldman’s handsome profile, his deep brown eyes, his strong straight nose, the auburn hair so thick and neatly combed. She smiled and realized she had landed on her feet. He might not be from an old, affluent family. He might not be a man of letters, but he was all she could have hoped for. More than she deserved.

  So why was it, when her own eyelids slid lower, that she found herself dreaming of his brother’s not-quite-proper gaze? Why was it she couldn’t stop remembering the feeling of his huge hand as it lingered on her arm?

  o0o

  Late the following afternoon, John came, driving an elegant, gray mare. Hannah looked up from where she’d been sweeping the front walk for Lucinda. John waved and stepped down from the gig.

  Leaning the broom against the house, Hannah walked to meet him.

  “This must be your prize. Absolutely gorgeous,” she said, letting her gaze roam over the animal’s well-formed, dappled limbs. “I see she’s made an excellent recovery.”

  John’s handsome face lit up. “That she has. I took Aunt Lucinda’s gig to fix the seat. I thought I’d return it, and see you, of course.”

  Stepping even closer, Hannah ran her palm across the horse’s silken neck. The animal turned to look at her, tiny ears pricked forward. “She has a lovely face. Those eyes are so full of life.”

  He laughed in reply. “Oh, she’s lively enough all right. You should try her under saddle.”

  “Could I?” Hannah turned toward John, excited as Amelia.

  “I only meant that when I ride her, she’s a handful. Surely, you wouldn’t wish to climb aboard.”

  “No, I don’t suppose I would.” Disappointed, Hannah stepped back from the mare. Ladies didn’t ride, her mother always told her, particularly not astride. But as an only child, her father had indulged her by teaching her the art. Whenever she thought of riding, she remembered him. When she thought about Malcolm living on her father’s horse farm, riding father’s stallion, Honor, she had to fight back unexpected tears.

  Luckily, John didn’t notice. He had turned to lead the horse toward the small stable, where Lucinda’s gelding nickered a welcome. The mare laid back her ears.

  “Faith isn’t much on socializing,” John said. “She’s as shy as I am.”

  He pulled his saddle out of the gig before he began to unbuckle Faith’s harness. The mare stamped impatiently and continued to lay back her ears in the direction of the other horse.

  “You don’t seem so shy,” Hannah commented. “You’re here again, aren’t you?”

  John shrugged and flashed a self-effacing smile. “Around you, I don’t feel that way. Maybe I should, but something about you makes me feel . . . I don’t know, at peace. I’m not usually like that. I make it a point to come into town at least once a week to see my aunt and Amelia and get to the church service. Other than that, I work. I get my satisfaction from having a house with a fresh coat of paint, from seeing young things grow, from harvesting my crops and studying the Bible. Daniel and I make a pretty decent team.”

  Hannah listened even more intently, feeling slightly guilty that John’s brother fascinated her. How could a man with such wretched manners hold even a moment’s interest, with a man like John around?

  “He can build most anything,” John said, “and he’s good at doctoring. He was a surgeon’s assistant for a while in the War. And the best part is he eats the food I put in front of him without complaining. I’m no Lucinda in the kitchen, I can tell you. Daniel and I get along all right, if I keep my peace about his Saturday carousing. That’s something he took up a few years back, but it’s not for me. I have my life just about the way I want it. Some might find it a lonely life, but it suits me.”

  Hannah wondered, could it suit her too? She’d had friends in Shelton Creek, or at least relationships with those she’d thought were friends. Thinking of the pain they’d caused her, she decided she would be better off without them. With a decent man like John, she could certainly survive.

  In time, she might even convince herself that she was happy.

  o0o

  John came into town several more times that week. Hannah saw nothing more of Daniel, who was strangely absent from Saturday’s family dinner. No one mentioned the reason, and it would be unthinkable of her to ask. She suspected he was gadding about with his rowdy friends and some of the unsavory young women she had seen. Gradually, the unpleasantness of their first encounter faded from her memory. She had John to think of now.

  As she grew to know him, she came to respect his deep faith and his dreams about the future. He was ambitious, but very unlike Malcolm. His desires for a prosperous farm and a decent family weren’t tainted by a
wounded family pride. His wants weren’t steeped in selfishness or a feeling of entitlement.

  Guilt faded slightly as Hannah began to believe she would survive. Peshtigo, despite the drought, looked like a promising young mill town. John’s farm, she soon saw, was quite a pleasant place, with a house built of real planks instead of logs. His cattle, hogs, and horses looked fit and well-tended. Most importantly, John and Aunt Lucinda accepted her as if she were a long-lost friend.

  “We must introduce you to Uncle Phineas soon,” John said. “If you pass that old curmudgeon’s inspection, you’ll be family no matter what I have to say.”

  “Oh, don’t you tease like that,” Lucinda scolded. “Uncle Phineas’s not a villain. He’s just set in his ways, like a lot of old farmers. He’s living near Marinette, so we’ll see him by and by. And if I were you, young John, I’d keep an eye on Mercy. A pretty thing like her might change Phineas’s mind about the joys of bachelorhood.”

  Whenever she thought of Lucinda’s wink, Hannah grinned. It would all be fine then, she decided, as she adjusted to her new name, Mercy. Perhaps she’d gotten that second chance in answer to her prayers. Soon she found herself smiling more frequently, even laughing sometimes.

  After a few days in Peshtigo, she barely even noticed the smoke on the horizon.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Daniel Aldman wished he had more whiskey. Or apple brandy, or even ginger beer. Come Sunday morning, he always wanted something extra, to buy some sort of cease-fire for the cannon in his head.

  Vicksburg. It sounded like the mortar guns at Vicksburg once again. The shooting that went on and on, reminding him of all the limbs and lives lost to it.

  But the War was over six years now, and the banging only meant another hangover from another weekend spree. Stepping over an unconscious fellow reveler, he picked his way clumsily to the tavern door.

  “Next time I’m in from the woods, I do the buyin’,” slurred a half-drunk shanty boy.