Had she angered him? Did he think….No. She would not assume. “Have I upset you?”
“No. I am merely thinking.”
“About?”
“You.”
He said no more, and her stomach churned. Why must she be filled with this tumult of unfamiliar emotions? Is this what Ella meant when she’d mentioned matters of the heart could be complicated…and painful? Love seemed to be nothing like what happened in books. No, life was far too messy for that.
But this ache she felt, it couldn’t be love. She glanced at Tristan, noting the hard set to his jaw, and decided that no, what she’d felt had been compassion for his condition, and sorrow for his pain. She’d merely taken her own loneliness and conjured up a story to ease its sting.
Suddenly, he whirled around and grabbed her shoulders, and she let out a startled yelp. His eyes widened, but he didn’t release her.
“Marry me.”
She blinked. Surely he jested! “What?”
“Marry me, Opal, please.”
Opal stared at him, the pain in his eyes reflecting something in her own heart. She looked at him for what felt like an eternity, and then shook her head. “But I don’t love you.”
Her words seared through his chest, burning in a way he never knew words could. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, and he realized his mistake. He ran into this as though it had been a battle, and she a contested field to be won. He’d given no thought to the gentle ways that women wanted.
Tristan gently brushed his fingers down her jaw. “Marry me, and you will.”
She gasped, her eyes flying wide. “I….” Tears welled and she spun away, pulling from his grasp.
He let her go, and watched her run inside, berating his own idiocy. What right did he have to say such a thing? He could not make her love him.
Tristan waited for several moments, until he was sure she had escaped him, and then went into the house. Mrs. Martin had given him a guest chamber above stairs, a sparse area with a straw tick and a washbasin, but he dare not go up there tonight.
He found the oil lantern in the parlor and lit it, turning the wick down low. He located the book he sought on the shelf near the fireplace, and opened the thick volume in his lap. Where to begin?
Where would he find verses that would teach him how to conquer his tongue? To speak with gentleness, to love another? Who would show him how to erase the darkness that still tried to cling to his soul?
He flipped the pages, and decided to start with the gospels.
Opal tossed in her bed, unable to sleep. In one day, two men had declared to marry her. And here she’d thought she might very well end up an old maid. She stuck her head under her pillow. Neither had been what she wanted.
I don’t love you.
She groaned, burying her face.
Marry me, and you will.
Despite it all, despite logic and reality, she had always dreamed of something more. Something akin to what Ella and Westley shared. She wanted a man to look at her like that, to sweep her into his arms and declare his love for her.
Instead, she had a foul man who aimed to do nothing but use her, and another who….well, what did Tristan want? He’d blurted a marriage proposal out of nowhere, right on the heels of telling her what had happened to his sister. And he’d claimed that all she had to do was speak vows, and love would come. She may be inexperienced, but even she didn’t believe such a thing to be true.
Her stomach twisted. What a fool she’d been to assume. Of course he would have that much pain over the evils done to his sister. What was wrong with her to think any affection a man showed must be of a romantic nature?
Opal groaned and tossed again, and her mattress sank. She’d forgotten to tighten the ropes. Not that it mattered, as she doubted she could get comfortable anyway.
Finally, she willed her racing mind to still, snuggled down in the depression in the center of her bed, and started to pray.
Chapter Twelve
Two days had passed. Two days of watching the waters leave debris, scrubbing the mud clinging to the house, and thanking Tristan for slogging to the kitchen to bring back what little was to be had from their mostly ruined stores.
For two days Opal had thrown herself into the work of cleaning and avoiding speaking to Tristan of anything more than the most basic necessities. To his credit he didn’t pressure her, only watched her with those eyes that always said too much.
She’d come to a clear conclusion. Obviously, he’d offered to marry her to save her from the devices of Mr. Weir. Well, she appreciated the sentiment, but she would not be a bride of obligation nor sacrifice, no matter how noble the intentions. That carpetbagger could not force her to wed, and she would not be caught off guard again.
The dog began barking, and her heart leapt into her throat. Had thinking of the scoundrel hastened his return? She dropped the cleaning rag from her hand and darted to the door, needing to check again that it remained locked. But when she reached the door, it was not a fancy blue chaise that churned up the mud, but a pair of sturdy, if mismatched, geldings, and the Remington carriage.
Opal flung open the door, her heart thudding against her ribs. Westley Remington swung down out of the seat, his boots sucking in the ankle-deep leavings of the river. He lifted Ella down next, her weight seeming nothing to him. Ella pulled her simple skirts above the muck, revealing sturdy boots that laced up past her ankles.
Ella’s eyes found Opal’s, and she burst into a smile. Mr. Remington gave a wave, and the two made their way onto the porch.
“Oh,” Ella said, “I was worried I would find only a foundation left when I finally arrived!” She grabbed Opal and pulled her into a hug. “I came as soon as we could get down the road.” She cast her husband a seething glance. “I would have walked here yesterday, if he would have let me.”
Opal settled into her friend’s embrace, unable to keep her smile contained.
“Indeed,” Mr. Remington said, ignoring his wife’s retort. “I am surprised you fared this well. Did the water come inside?”
She pulled free of Ella’s arms and turned to him. “No, thankfully it did not rise above the back porch. It flooded the kitchen, the barn, and the smokehouse, but the main house is unharmed.”
He nodded, his thick, dark hair caressing his forehead. “A blessing.”
“Aye,” Ella agreed. “And a blessing you are safe. How is your mother?”
Opal gestured to the door. “She is a bit flustered over all of the excitement, but doing as well as can be expected.”
At Opal’s urging, the Remingtons passed into the house and headed to the parlor. She made sure to secure the door, having to nudge Shadow back—lest he think to come in the house—and then moved to join them.
She hesitated in the doorway, willing her emotions to calm. Ella, it seemed, would not be fooled by such a tactic. No sooner had she settled on the settee than she rose from it again.
“What’s wrong?” She hurried to grasp Opal’s hands.
“A great deal is wrong,” Mama said from behind.
Opal tried not to groan, but Ella narrowed her eyes as the sound escaped unbidden from Opal’s throat. Couldn’t they just enjoy friendly company for a few moments before divesting the tale?
Mama swept past them into the parlor, not bothering to spare Opal a glance. “Come. There is much to tell.”
Opal glanced around the foyer and hall for Tristan, but saw no sign of him. Better he be somewhere occupying himself, anyway. She hadn’t given the gristly details of what had happened with Mr. Weir prior to their bout with the river, and she didn’t really want him overly informed.
Besides, Ella would probably want to ask him far too many questions. Opal sat next to Ella and listened to Mama recount all that had occurred, surprised at how candid she relayed it. Opal watched her, marveling at how the past days’ events seemed to have changed Mama. She looked tired, but she also seemed more genuine than she normally appeared with company. Not to mention more
animated.
Mama left out no details, and at several intervals had to pause to answer Mr. Remington’s heated questions. By the end of it, Ella was grasping Opal’s hand so tightly it started to hurt.
“Make no mistake, Mrs. Martin,” Mr. Remington said, his expression stony. “I will see that scoundrel banned from these lands and run out of this town.” He looked to Opal, and she wondered if such an expression was one a brother wore. “I will let no harm come to you, I promise.”
The promise warmed her, and she was thankful for friends who were truly more like family.
“Tristan asked me to marry him,” Opal blurted.
Silence settled on the room, and she lowered her eyes.
“You did not tell me,” Mama said. “I thought he had been too busy with the chores to have the opportunity.”
Opal’s eyes flew wide. “You knew?”
Mama gave a satisfied smile. “Of course, child.” Then she frowned. “You did not accept?”
A shout arose from outside, cutting off her answer. They hurried to the window, but Mr. Remington reached it before she did, and his figure blocked her view. He made a funny noise that reminded her of one of Shadow’s growls, and then darted out of the parlor.
The women followed on his heels and piled out onto the front porch. Another shout arose, joined by the feverish barking of Tristan’s dog. She craned her neck, trying to look around Mr. Remington’s large frame as he hastened to the front stairs. A flash of movement grabbed her attention, and she stepped around Mama to see. Two figures rolled out from behind the Remington carriage, spraying mud.
Opal let out a squeal. Mr. Weir had returned! His horse sidestepped and whinnied, hooves flying dangerously close to the struggling men. Tristan shouted something, and then flipped Mr. Weir onto his back, pinning him in the muck.
“Stay here,” Mr. Remington commanded as he nearly leapt off the second stair. He acted as though he were still an officer in the Federal Army and the women were his troops!
The ladies looked at one another, and Ella seemed to share Opal’s thoughts. They both hefted their skirts and scurried down the front steps. Mr. Remington called for the men to halt, but Tristan had Mr. Weir’s shirt collar in his hands and was saying something Opal couldn’t hear.
Ella grabbed her arm and pulled them to a stop next to the carriage, just a few paces from the men. “Not too close. I’ve seen enough fighting men to know you never place yourself within reach.”
Opal frowned and made a move to step forward, but Ella held firm.
“They won’t mean for you to get hurt, but when their fists are flying, they don’t seem to have much control over where blows land.”
She sounded so earnest that Opal relented. The shouts stopped, drawing her eyes back to the men whose suits were covered in thick river sediment.
Mr. Remington clasped Tristan on his shoulder. “Rise, Mr. Stuart, and let us have words with this fellow.”
Tristan sneered at Mr. Weir, and Opal couldn’t help the kernel of satisfaction that blossomed over the look of fear covering his face. She crossed her arms. There. Let him see what it felt like.
Mr. Weir’s eyes found hers, and narrowed. Tristan caught the expression and whirled around, seeing her.
“Opal,” Tristan barked. “Return to the porch.”
So now he thought to command her as well? She lifted her chin. “I will not. As this matter concerns me, and my home, I shall stay.”
Tristan opened his mouth as though to contest her, but then a spark flashed in his eyes and, to her great surprise, he grinned. “You are correct, Miss Martin. My apologies.”
Underneath Tristan’s weight, Mr. Weir groaned.
Ella put her fingers to her mouth, but couldn’t quite contain her smirk. Her husband merely shook his head and turned his attention back to Mr. Weir. Tristan shoved off the man, earning another groan, and then stood back to watch him slowly gain his feet.
Mr. Weir brushed himself off, glaring at Tristan. “What is the meaning of this? I will have the law after you, vagrant, for attacking me without cause!”
Tristan’s fingers flexed at his sides. “Without cause?” He looked at Mr. Remington. “I would say attempting to threaten a lady into a betrothal in order to steal her home is an adequate cause. Would you not agree, sir?”
Opal pressed her lips together. What all had Mama shared with him? Opal had given him no details.
Mr. Remington nodded. “I say that is fair and just cause, indeed.” He turned his palms out. “But if you wish, Mr. Weir, I will accompany you to town to speak with the Federal officials. I know them all quite well.”
Mr. Weir blanched, then balled his fists. “The lady agreed to marry me.” His voice seemed less forceful than before. He glanced at Opal again. “There is no crime here.”
Tristan made a rumbling noise and took a step closer, causing Mr. Weir to lean back and begin sputtering. Shadow seemed to take this as an invitation to renew his barking. The dog bounced around the men, letting his canine dissatisfaction with the situation be known, and earning a worried stare from the carpetbagger. Opal had never liked the creature more.
Tristan merely held out his hand toward the dog, and the canine quieted. Shadow sat back on his haunches, his eyes riveted on Mr. Weir.
“As the lady is present…” Tristan gestured to Opal. “We shall merely ask her.”
She swallowed, annoyed with her pounding pulse. With Tristan here to protect her, she should not feel afraid. His warm eyes offered encouragement, and her resolve strengthened.
Opal tore her eyes away from Tristan and let her gaze rest on Mr. Weir’s red face. “I do not wish to marry you.”
“But, you said—”
She squared her shoulders, finding more confidence. “I merely said what I had to say in order to get you to leave. Surely after the way you treated us, and the unholy insinuations you made, you cannot expect for me to want to marry you.”
Mr. Weir sneered, revealing the man she had seen in the house once more. Instinctively, she took a step back, and Ella held her arm for support.
Tristan stepped between them, his voice dangerously low. “There you have it. She has no desire to wed you or further suffer your intentions. You will remove yourself from this land and never return.”
“But, I—”
Tristan snagged the front of his shirt. “Are we clear?”
Mr. Weir glowered, and Mr. Remington stepped closer. Tristan released him and moved back, wiping his hands on his trousers.
Finally, Mr. Weir flung his hands up. “Fine! This place is a ramshackle heap anyway.” He bared his teeth at Opal. “Not to mention the fact that she would be far too much work to refine and not nearly pretty enough to be worth the trouble.” He made a rude gesture at Tristan and then grabbed the pommel of his horse’s saddle. “I will take my money elsewhere.”
Tristan tossed him the horse’s reigns. “See that you do.”
Without casting her another look, Mr. Weir grabbed the reins and yanked the horse’s head to the side. The frightened creature let out a startled whinny, then churned up the muddy grass in her yard as it lurched away.
In another moment, the horse was galloping down the drive, leaving Opal with a profound sense of relief.
Chapter Thirteen
Tristan stood heaving, watching the scoundrel disappear down the drive. A strong hand clapped him on the back.
“I daresay that fellow won’t be bothering us again.”
Tristan turned to the stranger. “I hope not.” He glanced at Opal. She and her friend, this man’s wife, chatted softly with their heads together.
The dark-haired man followed his gaze. “My wife is rather fond of Miss Martin.”
Tristan nodded absently, unable to tear his gaze from her face.
“I’m Westley Remington,” he said, giving Tristan’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “And you must be Mr. Tristan Stuart.”
“What?” Tristan turned. “Oh, yes, of course.” He stuck his hand out.
“A pleasure, Mr. Remington.”
The man gave his hand a firm shake. He glanced at the women and then back to Tristan. “You have my word no harm will come to Miss Martin so long as I am near.”
Tristan nodded again, but felt the strangest irritation at the words. Almost as though he believed he should be the one pledging to protect her. But she had refused him.
Love is patient, love is kind…love is a sacrifice, and it is a choice. It is not a mere feeling.
Words from long ago surfaced, and he remembered the day he’d heard them. He’d been twenty, just after Fort Sumter. He’d been restlessly sitting in chapel, his father and his older brothers only days from leaving to join their new units. The pastor had spoken of love for family and for country. Of how love meant you had to sacrifice and honor those you loved, and it wasn’t merely a feeling.
His eyes followed Opal to the house. Could she love him in that way? She had already demonstrated those qualities in the many things she’d done for him. She’d even risked her life, jumping into the swirling river, when she thought she could save him. His throat constricted. She’d leapt for him, even though she couldn’t swim.
Were such things not at least sparks of love?
Mr. Remington moved to follow, and Tristan gave Shadow a pat on the head and a command to stay and watch before shoving his hands into his pockets and making his way toward the house that looked so much like his own lost home.
But what was home, really? It wasn’t the brick and mortar, but the people embraced within. And heaven help him, but if home was a place that held the heart, then his heart had just stepped inside a place called Riverbend.
Tristan lingered with Mr. Remington on the porch after the women slipped inside. The other man stood silently for a time, looking out over the yard. It still bore the signs of the flood, but Tristan had removed the majority of the fallen limbs and debris.
The Heart of Home Page 10
