by Linda Ladd
Donovan said nothing as they moved to face each other, and Doctor Whittingham instructed them on the rules. As the old man finished, Douglas spoke, very low, so only Donovan could hear him.
"Make your peace with God, MacBride, for I intend to kill you. Alysson came to me once, and she will again. I don't intend to give her up."
He felt triumphant as a muscle flexed and held in MacBride's cheek, the first sign of emotion from him. Jealous rage had been the doom of more than one man facing Douglas in a duel. Perhaps it would be again.
"I will call out twenty paces, then you will turn and fire. If after the first discharge, honor has been attained, the challenge will be at an end. If not, your seconds will reload, and you will step off the distance again. Are there questions?"
No one answered, and Donovan and Douglas turned back-to-back.
"One,” Doctor Whittingham called, stepping back from them. “Two ... Three..."
Douglas moved with measured footsteps, his finger tight against the trigger as the count reached eighteen. He would turn just after the count reached twenty, and he would kill Donovan MacBride.
"Nineteen ... Twenty."
He whirled and fired just as Donovan began to turn. The crack of Compton's pistol broke the heavy silence, sending a flock of crows cawing and fluttering from their roosts in the trees. Donovan's gun was up but not yet aimed when it felt as if his upper arm were hit by a drawn-back fist. His pistol discharged with the impact, and he clutched his wounded arm. Simultaneously, Compton screamed as Donovan's bullet hit him in the leg.
Donovan watched dispassionately as Compton writhed in agony upon the ground, then slowly he lowered his smoking pistol to hang at his side. Doctor Whittingham ran to kneel beside Compton, opening his black leather bag as Brace came forward to examine Donovan's arm.
"Adam was right, the bastard turned early,” Brace said. “It's a good thing he told us."
He ripped Donovan's blood-soaked linen sleeve as he spoke, pulling it back to examine the raw bullet wound. “It's not too bad, but you sure as hell won't be using this arm for a while."
Donovan said nothing. He gripped his arm tightly as the doctor worked on Compton's shattered kneecap, sickened by the sight of it, sickened by his participation in the duel. He turned and started toward the riverbank with Brace behind him. As they took their places in the boat, and it was pushed into the water, Brace looked at Donovan.
"What about Alysson?"
"Tell Olivia to take her to Wildwood where I won't have to look at her,” Donovan said bitterly, then turned his gaze to the far shoreline of Manhattan.
Chapter 16
For the next two weeks, Alysson lived in virtual seclusion at Wildwood. She did not see or hear from Donovan or anyone else, other than Olivia, who treated her with cold dislike. Olivia had told her that both Donovan and Douglas Compton had survived the duel, but nothing else, and Alysson longed to know more.
She had overheard Olivia telling one of the servants that Brace had sailed to Philadelphia for some kind of special cannon for the Halcyone, but she had no idea of the date of his departure or his return. And she was not sure he would treat her with any more cordiality than his sister did. He blamed her for the challenge, just like everyone else.
She sighed, guilt racking her again as she sat alone under a latticed grape arbor on the sweeping, verdant lawns of the MacBride estate. Thick entwined vines shaded her place on the long white rattan swing affixed by chains to the ceiling beams. She looked down through the giant oak and maple trees dotting the lawns, where sheep had been let loose to crop the grass. Far down the hill, the East River glittered in the sun like a rippled silver mirror.
Wildwood had been built atop the rolling hills in the heights of Brooklyn, a beautiful wooded setting for the enormous white brick mansion. The house was impressive with its long porches supported by stone pillars and a balustraded roof. The house was every bit as elegant and expensively furnished as her father's London house. But a warm atmosphere pervaded Wildwood's wide halls, fragrant with the scent of lemon oil and beeswax, and filled with smiling servants. Lord Tyler's house had been cold and austere with no joy and no laughter.
Alysson looked up at the round tower rising from the center of the front wing, high above the red-tiled roof. Several days after her arrival, she had found a library there, with tall windows overlooking the rooftops and church spires of the distant Manhattan Island. She had spent a good deal of time there, reading or peering at the wharves and slips with a spyglass.
On this day, however, the insufferable heat of late August had driven her outside, and she fanned her flushed face with her lace handkerchief. Even her place in the deep shade was nearly unbearable, and never had she suffered so in England's cooler climate. For a fortnight the heat wave had plagued them, and though she wore her coolest dress of lavender muslin, without a single petticoat, rivulets of perspiration trickled down her back and between her breasts.
Even the usual wind from the river had settled into a heavy stillness, and she stood up restlessly, lifting out her bodice where it clung to her sticky skin. The heat had been making her ill, and she was often quite sick to her stomach. A wave of nausea swept her, and she began to walk, not wanting to think of the grueling weather, not allowing herself to think of Donovan.
She strolled toward the house on a path of white bricks that curved eventually to the back lawns. Several Negro servants tended beds of begonias and brilliantly hued and beautifully arranged in splashes of red and white and pink beneath the lofty trees shading the porches. She paused there to admire them. There were so many different varieties of flowers: neat, orderly beds of marigolds and peonies, scarlet salvia and climbing roses on star-shaped trellises. Clay pots filled with green ferns and glossy ivy hung suspended beneath the colonnaded verandas.
Hedges perhaps a foot high lined the carriage drive that wound in front of the house, as well as the neat bricked walkways. She wandered down one of the walkways she had not taken before. It led through a high brick wall where laundry maids were hanging freshly washed linen upon long lines suspended between poles. When they saw her, they looked away, whispering among themselves and stealing glances at her. Alysson was used to such ostracism from the household staff. She really couldn't blame them. They were obviously very loyal to their master, and she had caused him trouble and embarrassment.
Pain and loneliness pierced her, for she missed him, missed what they had shared. They had been so happy. But she wouldn't think about that night when she had lain so contentedly in his arms. It hurt too much.
The path forked just ahead of her, and she knew one branch led through a deer park to the famous MacBride stables, but she turned toward a dense forest at the edge of the grounds.
The trees there were choked with undergrowth and vines, and she thought it strange that they had been left in such a wild state when the rest of the grounds were kept so meticulously. When she came upon a narrow dirt path meandering back through the dark leafy trees, she took it without hesitation, welcoming the cool respite from the glaring sun.
Trilling birdsong echoed in the silent woods, and she stopped, lifting her face as a gentle breeze rose to whisper through the boughs above her head. Her thoughts went back to Donovan, as they always did, and deep, cutting regret slashed her heart. For one night, he had held her tenderly the way she had always dreamed he would. Was that all they were destined to share? She was at fault, she knew. She should never have gone to Douglas, yet how could she have known he would be compelled to challenge Donovan the way he had? Still, Donovan had not even given her a chance to explain. He had tried and convicted her on the word of others, like the Moor of Othello with the innocent Desdemona. She had nothing now. Her acting profession was denied her, her husband was gone, and even her friends could not reach out to comfort her.
Tears of self-pity welled, and she suppressed them. She had cried enough in her bed at night. She was tired of crying, weary of feeling sick and miserable. She bent and picked up a
stick, then threw it from her in a sudden burst of anger.
"Damn you, Donovan! Why won't you listen to me!"
Her voice resounded through the empty woods, and she stood very still, closing her eyes. More than anything, she wanted Donovan to come to her, to let her tell him why she had gone to Douglas's house. But she knew he would not come. He believed everything Douglas had told him. She had seen it in his eyes. She shivered. She would never, ever, in her entire life, forget the way he had looked at her that day.
She walked on, dispirited, until she came upon a swift-flowing stream next to an old stone millhouse. She sat down heavily in the dappled shade of a mossy bank, staring across the rippling green currents to where the water gushed in a torrent over a series of smooth, flat rocks sloping gradually into a deeper pool below them. It looked like a wide, curving slide, she thought, remembering how she and Freddie had played and splashed in a similar stream in Cornwall.
Her troubles of late had made thoughts of her old friends less frequent, but she wondered about them now as she tossed small stones, listening as they kerplunked into the water. She wiped perspiration from her brow, reaching down to dip her handkerchief into the water. She pressed the cloth to her forehead and cheeks, then looked around as an idea came to her. No one was about. In truth, the overgrown appearance of the place, suggested no one ever came near.
She removed her shoes and stockings quickly, gasping as she put her bare toes into the cold water. It felt so good, though, that she could not resist the temptation of a swim. She stood, quickly removing her dress, then waded out in her chemise, submerging to her shoulders. It felt wonderful, took away some of the queasiness in her stomach, and she felt better than she had in days. She swam a few strokes, then floated on her back in the deeper water.
A small cluster of hickory trees stood on the edge of the bank, their thick branches overhanging the water, and the angry chatter of a squirrel caught her attention. She watched it as it hopped about the limb with its tail held upright, then scolded her soundly before circling underneath the branch to stare upside down at her out of bright beady eyes.
A different movement took her eyes along a nearby limb, and Alysson was startled to discern a small elfin face peering through the thick green foliage. It took her a moment to realize that the spying child was Olivia's daughter, Katie. She had seen the child several times since she had come to Wildwood, but always at a distance, for Olivia had, no doubt, forbidden the little girl to associate with her.
The squirrel chattered again, hopping along the limb as if showing off. As it came very close to the child's hiding place, Alysson remembered a game she had played with Freddie.
"Hello, Mr. Squirrel,” Alysson called out suddenly. “What on earth are you doing up there?"
The playful young squirrel froze at the unexpected sound of Alysson's voice in the quiet glade, cocking his head to one side as if contemplating her. Smiling, Alysson threw her voice, using her best Irish brogue.
"I am looking for nuts if it is any of your concern, miss! Must you stare at me!"
It seemed very much indeed as if her words had come from the preening squirrel above her, and a startled rustling came from the branch where young Katie hid. The leaves parted slightly to reveal an incredulous little face, eyes wide upon the talking squirrel.
"Did you know a little girl followed you here?” the squirrel said then. “She's right there above you. See her?"
The squirrel had remained very still as Alysson had spoken for him, making the charade seem all the more real, and Alysson answered in her own voice.
"Don't be afraid, Mr. Squirrel. She won't hurt you. Will you, Katie?"
There was a long silence, then a tiny voice came from the leaves. “No."
The squirrel scampered away at a voice so close to him, and Alysson called up to Katie.
"I guess he doesn't want to talk anymore, but I'll talk to you if you'll come down and swim with me."
There was no answer, and somehow Alysson knew she should not insist. She closed her eyes and floated on her back, but when she opened them again, the child was on the bank, sitting on her heels as she watched Alysson. She was very small and looked to be around seven or eight with dark red hair swinging in long braids over her thin shoulders. Her small, heart-shaped face was covered with freckles. Alysson smiled at her but did not speak, afraid Katie would scamper away as the squirrel had done. A few minutes passed before Katie broke the silence.
"I happen to know that squirrels can't talk."
Alysson paddled closer. “Did you not hear that one speak?"
"Squirrels can't talk,” Katie repeated with a stubborn slant to her small jaw that Alysson was sure she must have inherited from Donovan.
"All right, I guess you are just too clever for me. And you are right. It was I who spoke for Mr. Squirrel."
Katie looked inordinately pleased with herself, but it took a few more minutes for her curiosity to prompt another question.
"How did you do it? It sounded as if he said those things, but I know he didn't,” she added quickly.
"It's just something that I learned to do when I was little like you, but some people can't do it at all. Do you think you could?"
The child nodded, and Alysson smiled. “Then you must try it, but you cannot move your lips. Your voice must come from the very back of your throat. Listen."
Alysson demonstrated, and Katie jumped in surprise as Alysson's squirrel voice sounded again from the limb above them. Her eyes grew rounder, but she tried herself. To Alysson's delight, her first attempt was not bad at all.
"That's very good, Katie, much better than most people can do at first."
Alysson's praise gave the child the confidence to try again, and with each ensuing attempt, Katie lost a bit of her reserve. Alysson listened and complimented her, not wanting to frighten her away. It would be very nice to have a friend at Wildwood with whom she could talk, and Katie had shown more willingness to be her friend than anyone else she had met there. Perhaps Katie was lonely, too.
When Katie grew tired of trying to throw her voice, she pulled off her stockings and shoes to dip her feet into the stream.
"It's too cold,” she said at once, lifting them back out.
"Only at first, then it feels good.” Eager to talk to the child, Alysson asked her a question. “How did you get here without me seeing you? I didn't know you were anywhere around until I saw you near the squirrel."
"Macomi taught me to walk in the forest without even snapping a twig or rustling a leaf. I followed you all the way from the grape arbor,” Katie told her with pride, and Alysson wondered who Macomi was and why Katie was left to run loose in the woods. She wondered if Olivia knew her daughter was so far from the house.
"Who is Macomi?"
"She is my nursemaid."
"Does she know you are here with me?"
To Alysson's surprise, Katie's face crinkled into a smile. “Of course,” she said. “She is right there, behind you."
She pointed one small finger to the other side of Alysson, and Alysson gasped as she turned and found an old Indian woman squatting on her haunches not five yards away, her broad face impassive.
"How long has she been there?” Alysson cried in alarm, and Katie shrugged.
"Since I came down from the tree."
Alysson looked again at the Indian dressed in fringed brown garments that blended with the forest colors, afraid she and the child had heard her curse Donovan in the woods. Thank goodness she had left on her chemise when she had decided to swim.
"Is it true a man shot my uncle Donovan because of you?” Katie asked with unexpected bluntness, staring at Alysson out of wide blue eyes. “Mama says you caused him to be hurt and that's why he doesn't come home to see us anymore. I miss him. He always brings me a special sweet from the city called ice cream, even though it's very expensive."
Remorse gripped Alysson, but she tried to explain. “I'm sorry about that, Katie, but I'm sure he'll come to see you again so
on. He's very angry at me for something I did, but it has nothing to do with you."
"What did you do? He never gets mad at me."
"I left his house and went to see a man he doesn't like. I'm very sorry now that I did it, because I love your uncle Donovan very much."
Apparently the answer was quite enough for Katie, because she stood, changing the subject.
"I swim, Macomi,” she said aside to the Indian, then added something else in a rapid guttural language that Alysson could not understand.
Macomi nodded, and Katie immediately squirmed out of her flower-sprigged white dress and executed a perfect dive off a log. Alysson watched her for a moment, then turned halfway around to look at the Indian.
"Do you speak English, Macomi?"
"I speak."
Alysson smiled with pleasure. “Good. Perhaps you will teach me your language someday."
She looked admiringly at the Indian's attire, especially the wide belt that seemed to be made of some kind of purple shells.
"That's a lovely belt. Did you make it yourself?"
"Wampum. For dead daughter."
Alysson was immediately sorry that she had asked about it, hoping she hadn't said the wrong thing. Macomi turned her dark eyes to Katie where she swam in the deep water.
"I would like very much to be Katie's friend, Macomi. Do you think she'll let me?"
"You her friend now."
Alysson smiled at the answer, but during the next hour, Alysson still found the little girl to be very shy and a trifle wary about becoming too intimate with Alysson, though it didn't stop the child from asking Alysson plenty of questions about herself. After a time, they dressed and started home upon the trail. Alysson felt refreshed and hungrier than she had in a very long time.
They had hardly passed the brick wall at the back of the gardens when Olivia hurried across the grass toward them. As soon as she was close enough, she hugged Katie to her. She turned hostile eyes on Alysson as she knelt, holding her daughter at arm's length.
