Perhaps her dream of Coin the previous evening had been an omen, showing her that the past was gone and she could face her future without fear. Gazing about the familiar landscape, Allison realized she was happy again. Kentucky was her home now. She had roots here—a husband who loved her and a son to inherit the land after him.
The happiness showed in her face as Rad came into sight with the carriage. But as the carriage containing Allison and her husband and children began its trek down the long, fenced drive to the road leading to the river landing, Coin Forsyth arrived by train in Louisville.
Soon after Allison had looked back to catch one last glimpse of the house, Coin began to walk toward the livery stable to hire a carriage and to inquire the way to Bluegrass Meadors.
Chapter 41
The large riverboat paddles groaned and turned, digging deep into the water like the giant waterwheel bringing power for the looms and spindles of the woolen mill along Vickery Creek.
It was already dark. The children were in bed, and Allison, taking a turn on deck with Rad, stopped to watch the faint fairy lights sparkling along the banks of the river as the boat passed by.
"You're a thousand miles away, Allison."
Rad's chiding voice in her ear brought her back to him. She smiled and reached out to tuck her hand in his. "I'm putting the last ghosts to rest, Rad."
"Good."
He stood patiently beside her. He made no attempt at conversation; for somehow he realized that the beautiful woman beside him was struggling with the last vestige of the past. He had watched her progress these past months, refusing to say anything even though his jealousy urged him to have it out with her once and for all.
But his cautious side—the one that had kept him alive during the war—told him that he would lose more than he gained if he did so.
"I was remembering," she confessed, "the water-wheel—and wondering whatever happened to Théophile Roche, the mill manager."
"He filed a war reparation suit against the government for seventy-five thousand dollars."
A surprised Allison looked at her husband. "Then they didn't hang him, after all."
"Evidently not. But that's probably his only consolation. He won’t get any money for the burned mill."
"But how do you know this, Rad?"
"I have my sources in Washington," he answered, and then changed the subject. "Are you ready to go inside?"
"Yes. It's getting a little chilly on deck, isn't it?"
She had stayed out far longer than she'd planned. But Rad had not seemed to be in any hurry. It was almost as if by knowing what was ahead, it would be all the sweeter by delaying their night together as long as possible.
Inside the large, elegant stateroom, the gaslights gave a soft glow to the opulent furnishings. The large bed, draped in blue damask and ecru lace, had a pastel blue painting of clouds and sky overhead. Seeing it, Allison couldn't decide whether the bed might have come from some Italian palazzo or a New Orleans bordello.
Once the lights were out and the small porthole opened to catch the sounds of the river at night, the origin of the furniture didn't seem to matter. What mattered to Allison was the man lying beside her.
She felt his hands drawing her close to him, and with the touch of his lips, she remembered her wedding day and the sudden shock the first time he had kissed her.
But she remembered their lovemaking, too—on that night when she had first become his wife.
Now, as he began his lovemaking all over again, each sensation was new; yet a bond of pleasure united her to that one night.
"Allison, I love you more than life, itself," he whispered. "Don't ever leave me."
There was something vulnerable about Rad tonight. She had seen it in his eyes at dinner. Had felt it on their walk on deck. And now, as his body trembled with anticipated ecstasy, she finally understood what she meant to him. And understanding it, she wanted to give him more of herself than she had ever done before.
"I love you, Rad," she whispered.
But the old jealousy haunted him and forced him to cry out, "More than you loved Coin Forsyth?"
Allison hesitated. But then her voice was strong and sure.
"Yes. More than I've ever loved anyone."
"Show me," he insisted.
From the passive one she had been, allowing Rad to make love to her, she became the active one—changing places with him and making love to him, arousing a new passion in both of them that seemed perfectly natural, that begged and ached for fulfillment, that teased and brought partial relief, only to hold back and then begin all over again—once, twice, while the lights along the riverbank appeared briefly through the porthole—with two souls brought to the precipice by the alien sounds around them.
And when Rad could stand it no longer, he changed places with Allison, who finally cried out from the sheer ecstasy if it. This was what Rad had sought from that first night, a visible sign that his lovemaking was not for his pleasure alone.
And when they were both spent, they lay in each other's arms and slept.
The paddlewheels quieted; the riverboat drifted toward the dock along the levee, and the river current reached its cue to rest.
In the morning, as Allison opened her eyes, she saw Rad's face staring down at her. "Good morning, my love."
"Good morning, Rad." Suddenly embarrassed as she remembered the night, she stared up at the ceiling bordered in garlands and cherubs.
Rad laughed and turned her face toward him. "It's too late for modesty. Last night, I discovered your true nature."
His teasing caused her to smile. "And I've discovered something about this bed."
"What's that?"
"I think it must have come from a New Orleans bordello. Else I would never have behaved the way I did."
He laughed again. "Yes. We'll blame it on the bed." He gave her a playful smack. "Get up, wife. Your husband is hungry."
By late afternoon of the next day, Rad's family was safely ensconced in the elegant resort hotel while he made his way out to the racetrack paddocks to check on Big Caesar and his two horses.
Allison did not expect to see Rad again, except for brief periods until it was time for the race. So she contented herself with the children. In the meantime, she was oblivious to the heads turning as she walked past. But Rebecca, seeing the murmurings of small groups here and there on the grounds, swelled with pride and stood a little taller.
On the second afternoon, Allison, realizing the children were restless, took a stroll through the gardens with Morrow, Jonathan, and Rebecca, dressed in her stylish black and white uniform.
"Who is she?" a voice inquired.
"Major Rad Meadors's wife, from Bluegrass Meadors in Kentucky. I'm told she was some Southern belle from Savannah, a widow he met during the war."
"That wasn't very loyal of him, was it?"
"His family has always had a bit of renegade in it. You probably remember his father from past seasons. And they say the two brothers fought on opposite sides."
And so the voices and gossip went, while Allison briefly nodded, her parasol shading her delicate complexion and her silk skirts making a ladylike, swishing sound as she passed by.
Then the day of the races dawned and an excited Allison dressed carefully for the event. She lifted her hat from its box and coaxed the drooping feathers into their former position.
In her mirror, she saw Morrow dressed in her blue silk dress embroidered with lace, the same lace decorating the long pantaloons that stopped just short of her shiny black slippers.
Her hair hung in long blonde curls, with a blue silk hat covering her head. And as she sat and waited, Morrow looked from the parasol that she casually spun back and forth on the floor, to the mirror and her mother's image.
"Mommy has a hat just like mine," she said to Rebecca, "See?"
As soon as Rebecca's attention was diverted, Jonathan toddled over to Morrow and grabbed at her parasol. "No, Jonathan," Morrow scolded. "Boys don't carry par
asols. Only girls do."
A loud protest came from Jonathan, bringing Rebecca's attention back to the baby. "Here, Jonathan," she coaxed. "Time to go for a ride."
They left the hotel in style, with a small blackamoor in attendance and a footman in red livery carefully winding the carriage toward the racetrack. In the back of the carriage was a large basket, holding delicacies from the hotel kitchen and cool water from the springs.
"Oh, Rebecca, I'm so nervous," Allison admitted.
"No need to be. You're the prettiest woman here in Saratoga. Just like the major said."
Allison laughed. "I was thinking of Standing Tall. If he loses the race, it will be such a blow to Rad after all his work."
Unknown to either Rebecca or Allison, Rad was holding a serious discussion with Big Caesar at the paddock. Standing Tall was entered in the fourth race, but now there was a possibility that he might have to be pulled from the running altogether.
Rad knelt down and ran his hand along Standing Tall's fetlock. "When did you first notice it, Caesar?"
"Almost an hour ago, Major. I put a poltice on it right away, but the swelling hasn't had time to go down."
"You think Liberty's Son kicked him?"
"Never has before. But then, there's a filly in the next stall."
Rad swore. "Just our luck." He stood up. "It seems such a shame to come all this way for nothing."
"He can still run, Major."
"But can he win with this handicap? That's the question."
"We won't know until he's tried."
Rad knew that Allison would be arriving soon and he wanted to be in their box to greet her. "Caesar, we've worked together for this entire year. You know just as much about Standing Tall as I do. So I'll leave it up to you to watch him for the next hour. If he's no worse, then let him run. Otherwise, I'll listen for the announcement dropping his name from the race."
"Yes, Major."
Rad walked rapidly down the dust-covered trail and passed other horses, other owners and their trainers.
"I hear you've got a great horse, Meadors. You plan on winning today?"
Rad forced a smile. "If your own horse, Brown Beauty, stumbles out of the starting gate, I might have a chance."
The man roared with laughter, adjusted his cap, and stuck his large cigar back into his mouth.
The carriage holding Allison and the children arrived a few minutes before the opening ceremonies. And once again, with the little blackamoor leading the procession and carrying a small footstool, heads turned as Allison made her way toward the box where Rad was waiting.
Coin Forsyth stood at the edge of the crowd and looked at the lineup. His finger ran down the list until his eyes lit on the line: Standing Tall, out of Bluegrass Meadors. Owner: Rad Meadors, Kentucky. Trainer: Caesar.
With the roar of the crowd, the first race began. But Coin wasn't interested in the horses, only in the man whose two-year-old was running in the fourth race.
By the time the second race began, Jonathan was already crying and Morrow was thirsty. Seeing Rad's frown, Allison said, "Rebecca, you might as well take the children out on the green. Maybe they'll be more comfortable in the shade."
Rebecca was glad to leave the confining box. She was nervous, but it was because of Big Caesar. He was younger than she was, yet it didn't seem to matter to him. Just as it hadn't seemed to matter when she'd been less than civil and called him those names down by the creek. Now he wanted her to be his woman, and she had halfway promised. "If you win at Saratoga, I'll be your woman, Caesar."
That had been six months ago. Now she was sorry she'd said that, because she didn't know whether she wanted Standing Tall to win or not. And that was a terrible thing to say, after all the major's work.
"Come on, Morrow. Let's go and get something to drink from the carriage."
"Then can I play with my hoop on the green?"
"If you promise not to get your pretty dress dirty."
Once their thirst had been satisfied and Morrow's hoop retrieved from the carriage, Rebecca found a bench under one of the tall trees. While Jonathan tore the flower from Rebecca's dress into shreds, Morrow was busy rolling her hoop up and down on the green. Other nursemaids and children peopled the landscape, claiming their own spots from usurpation while the roar of the crowd in the background went unheeded.
A sandy-haired man strode purposefully across the green, and as Rebecca watched his progress, she felt a sudden chill, like a ghost stepping across her grave. And as he came closer, her heartbeat increased. "Oh, Lordy, it can't be," she said, but her eyes told her what her heart denied.
The man stopped and stared at the black woman. "Rebecca! Rebecca Smiley! Is that you?"
"Mr. Coin?"
"Yes." He rushed to her, and his face held all the anguish that had been stored up for the past three years. "Where is she, Rebecca? Where is Allison, my wife?"
"She thought you were dead, Mr. Coin. She—"
The blonde-haired child, unheeding of the man, dashed up to Rebecca. "I fell on the grass, Rebecca. Do you think Mommy will be angry that I got my pretty dress dirty?"
"No, child. It'll be all right. Now run on back and play with your hoop."
Coin's eyes followed the child. There was no need to tell him who she was; for she was the image of Allison. "Morrow?"
"Yes, Mr. Coin."
Chapter 42
The fourth race began, and Rad breathed a sigh of relief as Standing Tall rushed from the starting gate. He had not told Allison of the horse's injury; for he didn't want to worry her. But now that the race had started, he wondered if he hadn't made a mistake. He should have prepared her since there was little possibility that the horse might win.
"Rad, there's something wrong with Standing Tall, isn't there?"
Her voice, as well as her observation so early in the race, startled him. "Yes. But I didn't want to worry you."
She reached over and took his hand. But her eyes stayed on the horse that faltered and then fell behind. "Is it anything serious?"
"A swollen fetlock. But it will heal eventually."
"Good. Then it doesn't matter if he loses this race, does it?"
Rad's eyes left the horse briefly as he gazed at Allison's profile. He tightened his grip on her hand. "I suppose not."
After that, he felt better.
Rad was hardly aware of the horse's name until the announcer mentioned it. Falling so far behind, Standing Tall now seemed determined to gain ground. Rad picked up his binoculars and began to watch as the horses bunched together on the far side of the track. And then Standing Tall came from out of nowhere, edging past one horse and then another, until he was running neck and neck with the two front contenders.
By now, Rad was standing, straining to catch a glimpse of the horse. Everything was forgotten but the horse and the race. And Allison smiled as she remembered Rad's words: "For only three minutes, darling. But once he wins the race, you'll be the love of my life again."
As in all of life's important moments, the dimension of time became suspended as Rad and Allison watched the race. The minutes were an eternity in the mind, while on the track Standing Tall, in the colors of blue and gold, rode to victory.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Standing Tall, out of Bluegrass Meadors, is the winner by a nose."
Allison was swept into Rad's arms and kissed soundly in front of some of the more sedate viewers. "Come on, darling. Let's get down to the winner's circle."
But Allison hung back. "No, Rad. You go on. Let me watch from here."
But Rad insisted. "I want you, darling, beside me."
Coin Forsyth was swallowed up by the surging crowd. He managed to fight his way to the railing as the jockey rode Standing Tall into the winner's circle. And Coin waited to catch sight of the owner, the man who had stolen his wife.
While Coin watched, a tall, self-assured man with hair the color of soot appeared. And by his side stood Allison. Coin drew in his breath. She was more beautiful than ever and a radianc
e shone in her face. Suddenly, all anger vanished from Coin's heart, to be replaced by an inordinate sadness.
He had seen enough. He turned from the railing and retraced his steps past the crowd and toward the bench where he'd left Rebecca. She was still sitting there, hugging the crying little boy in her arms.
"Did you find her, Mr. Coin?"
He hesitated. "I saw her. From a distance." He suddenly cried out, "I can't ruin her life again, Rebecca. For Allison and Morrow, too, Coin Forsyth is dead. Do you understand?"
Rebecca didn't speak. She merely looked toward the child on the green.
But Coin's voice was insistent. "You never saw me, Rebecca. Promise me you'll never let Allison know I'm still alive."
"I promise, Mr. Coin." Rebecca's voice broke. And just as she shouldered her burden, Rebecca understood the great sacrifice that Coin Forsyth had just made for Allison in the name of love.
"But where will you go?" she asked. "Back to Roswell?"
"No. There's nothing for me there. I think I'll go to Canada instead."
She watched Coin Forsyth linger for a moment to drink in a final view of the beautiful little girl whom he had never seen before. Then he disappeared beyond the acres of carriages, with their drivers waiting for the owners to return.
A few minutes later, with a lovely flush giving color to her delicate, porcelain face, Allison walked onto the green.
"What's the matter, Rebecca? You look so glum. Didn't you hear? Standing Tall won."
"Did he, Miss Allison?" Rebecca attempted a smile. "That's sure good news."
Rad laughed at the puzzled look on Allison's face. "It's a mixed blessing for Rebecca, Allison. You see, Caesar told me Rebecca promised to be his wife if Standing Tall won the race today."
Rebecca got up, the sleeping Jonathan in her arms. "I'm takin' on a heavy burden, that's for sure."
"Oh, Rebecca, I'm so happy for you," Allison said. Her amethyst eyes were bright. "There's this little piece of land Rad gave me. It would be perfect for a wedding present…."
The Roswell Women Page 30
