by Diane Guest
As he held her she became acutely aware that the thin flannel of her nightdress was all that covered her, all that kept her from being naked before him. And she was beyond caring. Sylvanus reached under her chin and untied the drawstring that kept her clothed.
The gown fell to the floor in a soft rush, and she stood without moving and let him look at her bareness. "You're beautiful," he said, and with a gentle hand he drew a slow line from her shoulder, down over one breast and across the softness of her stomach. At his touch, she drew in a deep, deliberate breath.
Then he took both her breasts in his hands and buried his face between them. As his lips found her nipple, a soft moan came up from her throat and she tangled both of her hands in his dark hair: "Sylvanus," she whispered, "take me to bed."
He lifted her as if she were a child and laid her on his pillow. "Take off your trousers," she said. "I want to see you."
For a moment after he lay beside her, they were quiet. Then he was inside her so suddenly that she cried out, surprised. And then, "I love you, I love you," until there was nothing but breathing and moving, inside and out. At the moment of his release, she held him close, loving him with all her self.
Later she looked at him in wonder at the strangeness of it all; that he should seem so familiar to her now, so much a part of her, when she had known who he was for such a long time without ever knowing him at all. These things I must remember, she thought. His passion. His strength. The way his eyes hide the gentleness of his soul.
She was happy just to watch him as he lay asleep beside her, and then all at once she wanted him again, wanted to know that he still loved her, still desired her. She was filled with the young girl's fear that now that he had had her, he wouldn't want her anymore. "Sylvanus?"
He was awake instantly. She didn't need to say a word. As soon as he saw her, the touching began again, and this time when it was over she was the one who fell into a soft sleep, knowing that if she had ever done anything right in her life, this was it. With him, the passion and the tenderness had been inseparable, one and the same, and she felt no shame, no regret.
OCTOBER 7, 1871
The sun hadn't come up yet but the room was bathed in hazy light. It stretched across the horizon far above the treetops and filtered its way across the clearing and through the open window, giving the room an eerie, unearthly glow.
Matthew lay alone in the bedroom he had shared up to now with Aaron and Ethan. He was frightened. Where could she be? He knew she had gone off somewhere with Mr. Morgan, but where? She never even did come to school. Miss Abigail said she went to get Hester and Ethan and Aaron.
He had waited all afternoon. They hadn't come home. And then at dinner, no one said anything. He had to talk to her, tell her about his father.
He pulled the covers over his head and tucked his knees up to his chest. His paw was there all right. In Penobscot Landing. He could feel it. And she was the only one who could help. His paw was going to come and get him, Matthew knew for sure. And she wasn't there to stop him.
Maybe she got hurt again. Please God, don't let her be hurt again. Maybe he should go and look for her. No. She had told him to stay there. Not to dare leave the grown-ups for a minute. He wouldn't go. He'd stay like he promised he would, and he'd pray that she'd come back. Soon. Before Jake Shepherd came and took him away.
Two miles away, Susannah stirred, looked over at the man lying beside her, and slowly shut her eyes.
At the Meade house, Kate stretched, put her cold feet against her husband for warmth, and went back to sleep.
Downstairs in the Snell house, Edwin lay awake, working his right arm back and forth in a determined effort to free himself from the ropes that he thought held him in his bed.
And in the Snell stable, not far from Boy and Susannah's goats, Jake Shepherd crouched and waited for his son.
Matthew was late getting up. "Lazy bones," Mrs. Keefe said. "Hurry up and eat your breakfast so we can get this place cleaned up before Mrs. Snell gets home."
"Is she coming?" Matt asked.
"Sure enough. She and the children should be along anytime now. One of the men from Mr. Morgan's stopped by last night and told us."
Matthew felt his fear slide back down his throat and into his stomach. She'd be here soon and he could tell her about his paw. He finished his oatmeal and downed his milk in a single gulp. "I've got to feed Boy," he said.
"Hurry along then, because I want you to walk on down to the store with me by and by."
Matthew nodded and flew out the kitchen door, taking the back steps two at a time. He crossed to the stable and opened the door.
" 'morning, Matt," John called.
Matthew turned in time to see Dr. Meade coming around the corner of the house. But not before, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father, standing just inside the stable door. Matthew stood paralyzed for one instant, fear rushing through him. Then raw instinct took over and he tore back toward the house, not stopping to look, but knowing with certain, shrieking horror that he was about to be seized from behind.
"Dr. Meade!" he screamed and hurled himself toward the porch steps. John turned at the door just in time to see Jake Shepherd reach for Matthew's scrambling body.
John grabbed the broom that stood beside the door and brought it down on Jake's head with as much force as he could muster, doing little damage, but allowing Matthew enough time to dart up the stairs and in the back door. John followed without hesitation, shooting the deadbolt home, just as Jake's shoulder slammed against the door with shuddering force.
"I want my son!" he roared, and began to beat against the door with thundering fists.
"Get the shotgun," John said to Matthew.
Without question, Matthew did as he was told. Hearing the commotion, Abby, Jenny, and Mame all came into the mud room. "What on earth… ?" Abby began.
John motioned for quiet. "Jake!" he shouted. The pounding stopped. "You better take yourself away from this house. Now. Or I'm going to blow you to pieces right through this door."
"I want my son. Then I'll leave and you won't never see my face no more."
Matthew huddled in the corner, white-faced, terror-stricken.
"You're in big trouble, Jake," John said. "You've done murder. You're not taking Matthew anywhere."
Silence. John could hear him breathing. He wished to God he had Kate's notion of justice. Then he could have blasted Jake to hell right through the door.
"You ain't seen the last of me. I can wait."
They heard him walk down the steps and Jenny peeped out the window. "He's running," she said.
"Jenny, you go get the law. Out the front door," John said. "Quick." He put his arm around Matthew's shoulders and led him into the kitchen.
"You should have shot him, Dr. Meade," Matthew said. "You should have shot him dead."
"Thank God you were here," Susannah said to John. "My poor Matthew." She put her arm around the little boy and hugged him to her. "I'll bet you were plenty scared."
He nodded. Words would never describe how scared he had been. "Do you think they'll catch him this time?"
"I bet they will," said Aaron.
They were all gathered in the parlor, Susannah, Sylvanus, and the children having arrived from Morgan House just in time to meet Jenny running out the front door. ,
"Are you going to be in town for a while?" John asked Sylvanus.
"I've got some business at the mill. Why?"
"I was hoping that between us we could make sure that Susannah isn't alone here, at least not until we get some word about Jake Shepherd."
"We'd like to have you for supper, Sylvanus," Susannah said, trying to keep the happiness out of her voice. She knew he would stay. He had already promised her in the privacy of their bed that morning.
"I can't think of an invitation I'd accept with greater pleasure," he said, loving her with his eyes.
John watched the two of them in silence. I wonder what's going on here, he thought. No one had
mentioned why the children were back, nor why they had all spent the night at Morgan House, nor had he thought it was the time to ask. But Sylvanus seemed more at ease than he'd seen him in years. The lines of pain around the corners of his mouth were gone. And Susannah. She should have looked ghastly, but instead she glowed with a quality that reminded John of something positively delicious. I don't know what they're doing, he thought, and I'm not going to pass any judgment, but I hope to hell they don't get hurt. "Well, I guess I'll see my patient and then go along," he said, and crossed to the door.
The sound of Susannah's voice stopped him. "John. How has Edwin been?"
"He's been quiet. Very quiet." A look passed between them and Susannah felt the skin at the back of her head begin to tighten.
"I'll talk to you later," John said and left the room.
All morning, Edwin had been working at the ropes that held him to the bed, but at the sound of the door opening, he closed his eyes and lay still, scarcely breathing. He almost had his right hand free, and it would never do for them to catch him now. Freeing the left side, his glorious, armless, left side would be easy, once he got the right hand loose.
I am walking on their bodies, he thought, as John bent over him and pulled one eyelid up. Edwin kept his eyes rolled back in his head.
"Edwin? Can you hear me?"
Silence.
"Will you drink a little?" Edwin heard the splash of water in the cup. His head was lifted, but he kept his teeth clenched. He was so thirsty, but if he drank they'd think he was alive. Then it would be ruined. She'd never come alone again. She had to come alone.
He'd have to wait until he freed his hand. Then he could drink all the water he wanted. When he was alone. So they wouldn't guess that he was really alive.
John eased him back on the pillow, shaking his head. He knew that Edwin was conscious. What game was he playing now? He shrugged his shoulders and began to change the poultice, noting with some degree of satisfaction that Edwin's arm was healing nicely. How strange, he thought, that as his body gets stronger, his mind gets weaker.
John left the room, wishing he knew what was going on behind those closed but watchful eyes. He had second thoughts almost at once. Maybe not, he thought. Maybe you're one hell of a lot better off not knowing.
Sylvanus urged the horse forward. These fires were getting to be a damnable nuisance. He wished it would rain. The wind had picked up and was blowing from the north, clearing the air some, making it easier to breathe. But the byroad was closed again. He should have left Susannah earlier. Maybe he would have made it through before the fires burning north of the road turned back upon themselves, sending more pines to block the road again.
But he had hated to leave her. God, how he loved her. It made him ache to think how much. She was wonder, and magic, a precious mixture of everything that was lovable in a child, irresistible in a woman. She didn't know it yet, but he meant to keep her with him forever, never be away from her when she might need him, never let what happened to Anne happen to her.
Dark thoughts about Edwin clouded his mind. He knew Susannah was frightened and he couldn't blame her. As soon as this dry spell ends, he thought, we'll take him to Chicago. Maybe back East. He didn't know what the divorce laws were in a situation like this, but he would move heaven and hell before he would let her go.
He disliked Edwin, but he couldn't help but shudder at the thought of what might be in store for that strange, empty man. Sylvanus had only been inside a madhouse once in his life, and that had been enough for him. If he lived to be a thousand, he would never forget the sound. Or the stench. God, I hope she never has to see a place like that, he thought. It would kill her.
He dug his heels into Uncle Arch's sides and urged the horse forward. It must be close to midnight, he thought, and I'm bloody tired.
There were no lights on in the front of the house, but he knew that Caroline would be waiting for him. And for once he was glad. He wanted to tell her now. No more waiting. He had waited long enough.
She was sitting in the drawing room, the lurid crimson glow from the midnight sky filtering through the tall windows, turning the blue of the room to hellish red.
Sylvanus couldn't pour himself a drink fast enough. He downed it in a single gulp and poured himself another.
"Where have you been?" she asked quietly.
"At the Landing."
"With her?"
"Yes, if you must know."
She stood and crossed to his side. "You took them all back with her." She smiled and Sylvanus looked away, saying nothing. "I suppose I should still be angry with you for striking me yesterday." She put her hand on his arm. "But I'm not. You took them out of my house. That's apology enough."
He moved away from her. "I didn't take them out of this house for you, Caroline. Their mother no longer felt safe leaving them here."
Her eyebrows curved up like black wings over the obliqueness of her eyes. "Not safe?" she asked. "How curious. But then I really don't care how she felt. You're the only one who is of any concern to me."
Sylvanus laughed. "Caroline, you are a wonder. How you can say things like that and keep a straight face is more than I can imagine."
Her expression didn't change, but her voice lowered almost to a whisper. "I don't mean it as a joke, Sylvanus. You're the only one who is of any concern to me."
"Say what you want," Sylvanus said. "In any case, madam, your feelings are of no concern to me. They never have been and they never will be."
"I can't understand your cruelty. You once were so different."
"I don't know what you've talked yourself into believing, Caroline. I was never different. You know I brought you here only because you were pregnant." His voice dropped to a ragged whisper, "Pregnant with my grandchild." The words were lacerating, razor-sharp, slashing his throat and mouth as they passed, bleeding, into the empty space between them.
Caroline said nothing. She crossed to the window and stood looking out, and Sylvanus had the incredible feeling that he had been dismissed.
"I want a divorce, Caroline," he said.
"I don't care to discuss this now," she said.
"You don't? Well, I do. Our life together, such as it has been, is at an end. The play is over, ladies and gentlemen. It's time to go home."
She kept her back turned away so he couldn't see her face. "I don't know what you mean."
"I've paid my debt to you, Caroline. And David's. It's over. I'm leaving this house. You may stay if you like. It's all the same to me. But if you choose to stay, it will not be as Mrs. Sylvanus Morgan. I'm going to end it."
She turned slowly toward him. Her eyes were glowing with a savage, unearthly light. "How dare you think your debt to me is paid?" she hissed. "It was your son who was unable to control his passion. It was your son who impregnated me with his bastard child. He would have paid, and paid dearly, if he hadn't died. And how proud his dear, dear mother would have been of him."
A faint pulse at Sylvanus's temple fluttered into life and the color in his face faded to ash gray. He turned away and spoke through clenched teeth. "What David did, I have no answer for," he said, and the pain he had lived with for six years came into his throat and almost choked him. "But I know what he wrote to me in his last letter. His shame, his horror, his disbelief that he could have done such a thing. No blame to you, madam. Not one word of blame to you. My son. My poor, frightened, horrified son, not yet a man. A child, still. And I was not there to help him." His eyes did not cry, but his soul did. "David," he whispered. "My poor David." And when he turned back to her, his face was twisted and dark. "And you, you immoral bitch," he said. "A boy, not yet sixteen. A child. Your own nephew."
She blinked twice in the face of his loathing. There was nothing more to indicate that he had made any impression on her. Then she said, "If you thought I was to blame, why did you marry me? Why didn't you let me bring up the bastard myself?"
When he spoke, Sylvanus's voice held a terrible sadness. "The baby w
ould have been my grandchild," he said softly. "The only thing left to me of her, of them. Do you think I would ever have abandoned it to you? I would sooner have drowned it in a bucket like an unwanted kitten." He stopped speaking and finished his drink. "But that's all finished now," he said. I've paid our debt, David, he whispered to himself. Rest in peace. He looked back at his wife. "I'm getting a divorce, Caroline, and nothing you can say or do will change my mind."
Those who believe that the face is a window to the soul would have been horrified at that moment to look upon Caroline Morgan. The icy control that ruled her life shattered like a million pieces of crystal hurled from the highest summit. All trace of beauty vanished as her features were contorted in rage. "How dare you." She clenched and unclenched her fists. "How dare you threaten to leave?" she shrieked.
"I dare because I don't feel ashamed or guilty any" he said with quiet conviction. "I dare because I loved my son and I believe that he would never have violated your purity had there been anything in you to violate. I dare because such an unspeakable thing would never have happened if you had had one faint glimmer of humanity or goodness in your soul. I dare because I want to live with someone I love."
Caroline flew backward as if he had struck her. "You what?" she whispered.
Sylvanus didn't repeat himself. Instead, he crossed to the window and stood looking down toward the Landing, ignoring her.
How long he stood there he didn't know, but when the clock in the front hall struck one he became suddenly aware that Caroline still stood behind him in the shadows. He turned and looked at her with no emotion other than curiosity that he could have lived with her for so long a time.
"I don't think it's going to be possible," she said quietly.
"What isn't, Caroline?" he asked wearily.
"For you to leave me."
He drew a tired breath. "I'm going to bed." He crossed to the door and was about to open it when her next words struck him across the back of the neck like the edge of an axe. "I watched them drown, you know. Anne and David. He went down almost as soon as the boat tipped. He panicked, I suppose, but then what else would you have expected from him, the little fool? Not Anne, though. She was a strong swimmer, always had been. She managed to swim almost to the dock. Al-most." Her voice took on a soft, lilting quality. "Al" she said again. "I could have saved her. I could have reached out and saved her. She was pleading, 'Caroline, help me,' with the water rushing in and out of her mouth. But I didn't."
