Ashes in the Wind (51 page)

Irritably, she folded down a sleeve of the black gown and began to button it. She could not fathom the reason for the resentment she felt toward him at the moment. “We had an agreement, sir,” she pressed, hoping to probe some reply from him that might assuage her pride. “You promised—and you’ve broken your word—”

“I have taken many oaths, madam,” he interrupted. “One as a doctor, one to my country, two as a husband—and I have come to the realization that in the taking of them, I have made many contradictions.”

The conflict of vows had become apparent to him when he had been ordered to leave the wounded and retreat from Pleasant Hill. In outright disobedience of that command, he had chosen to stay. The
consequences of his defiance of orders gave him little ease from pain, although he had been honored as a hero. Still, he had felt it his duty to stay and find conveyances for the wounded.

His oath as a doctor had conflicted with his marriage to Roberta. She had repeatedly lied to the patients who had come calling, turning them away. The last had been a tiny, gravely ill girl who had been brought to the house by her parents. Roberta had seen the family coming and had met them on the front porch to inform them that he couldn’t be reached, though he had been no farther than the cottage. Braegar was favoring a comely patient at the time and was not available. The child, as he learned later, died that same afternoon, but when confronted with the truth, Roberta had only shrugged indifferently, sneering that the world was better off without the likes of that backwoods trash.

Thus, it seemed that every oath he had ever taken had in some way turned its sharpest edge toward him, and this last one no less than the others.

“You mention honor, sir.” Alaina prodded him from his thoughts with the reminder. She was not about to let her question die a beggar’s death. “But the vow was threefold. What of love and cherish?”

A brief moment’s pause ensued before Cole chose to give her an answer. “I cherish you.”

She could find no satisfaction in his reply. “And what of love?”

Cole chafed uneasily. “I have always been suspicious of this flaring thing that occurs on first glance,” he muttered. He favored her with a quick glance and spoke with deliberate slowness. “How
can I determine what love is? When a man and a woman begin to understand each other, love begins small and grows with the passage of time. It is that which a man holds within himself until it blooms to its fullest.”

Angry frustration ran rampant through every fiber or Alaina’s being, and her argument burst forth in a torrent. “With all due respect, Major,” she curtsied politely, “but I think you’re a blind, bloody fool! A baby is begun in a few brief moments, but it endures a lifetime! An acorn will lie in the crevice of a rock for years, but when the winds tumble it to fertile ground, then it sprouts in the first warmth and wet of spring to become the mighty oak which will last a century or two. As for the holding of love, it’s the only thing that must be given away to be held dear in one’s heart. It must be shared, or it withers!” Her eyes flashed, and expressions changed her face in a fleeting panorama of emotion. “You, Major, are like a huge, black cloud on a hot summer day. You rumble and crash and fill the air with great sounds. Your lightning flashes with awesome power and sends small, frightened creatures scurrying for cover. But until the rain falls, until that
which you hold within you is shared, the land and life will remain as parched and dry as they were before. Until then, you will only tumble and roil and tear yourself apart. In other words, sir, until some good is done, the noise and show are all for naught!”

Before Cole could lift a brow in amused condescension, she turned and stalked across the porch, leaving him to watch the tantalizing twitch of her skirts as she flounced into the house.

His entrance into the hall was much more orderly, and as he descended the foyer steps, he saw the last flick of petticoats passing the upstairs balustrade, then a short moment after, he heard the definite closing of her bedroom door. Miles glanced his way warily, and Cole subdued the smile that threatened.

“Have Peter fetch the madam some water,” he requested. “She’ll no doubt be wanting a bath.”

“Yes, sir. And will you be wanting your breakfast now, sir?” Cole’s affirmative nod seemed to relieve a small measure of the man’s anxieties. “Annie will be happy to hear that, sir.”

Cole seated himself at the dining room table and accepted a cup of brandy-laced coffee from Mrs. Garth. He struggled to shake a feeling that was familiar from his childhood. The one thing his father had been intolerant of was willful foolishness, and Cole had learned at a tender age that if he persisted in an obvious folly, his father would usually seek out a pliable willow switch and firmly instruct the son on the rewards of traveling such paths. Afterward, the son had suffered deep chagrin at having tested the limits of propriety with such inane boldness. It was this selfsame chagrin Cole struggled with now. The only thing missing was the sting of the switch, and yet he could not truthfully retrace the line over which he had obviously stepped.

He finished his breakfast, choosing to ignore the plate of fried potatoes, and sat back to sip the steaming coffee, even forgetting to add to the second cup the usual draught of spirits. He wished now that he had paid more attention to Alaina’s words. It had
taken an extreme effort on his part to maintain a stem demeanor and disguise his fascination with her open bodice. Her glistening bosom had heaved with each angry breath as those soft lips berated him. What he could remember of her lecture, he sensed in it a hint of sincere wisdom that belied her years. But, he had already recognized that behind that comely face was a brain—and an active, alert one at that!

Alaina’s snarl came from the hallway, and Cole set his cup on the saucer in surprise, pushing his chair back just as she rounded the wide doorway from the hall. In the next instant there was a flash of yellow and black as her evening gown was hurled into his lap. He started to rise, but realized she was suddenly near, almost treading on him. She planted her small feet firmly between his and furiously shook a fist before his nose.

“You bluebellied swamp rat!” she hissed like a fighting-mad wildcat. “I’ll go naked before I wear a stitch of the clothes you bought!”

At very close range Cole saw the burning, spitting rage that fairly sizzled in her clear gray eyes. “I wouldn’t mind that, madam,” he drawled calmly. “But what has brought this on?”

Alaina snatched the dress from his lap, and at the violence of her movement, Cole half expected something more disastrous to befall him. “Don’t patronize me, you muleheaded Yankee!” She shook out the dress for his inspection until his gaze was properly directed toward the large charred holes burned through the bodice and skirt.

“Do you think I would do that?” He raised his own incensed glare. “Be damned, woman! I did not!”

Alaina fingered the burned edges as she remembered her desire to please him, and she could not restrain the tears that came into her eyes.

“Alaina.” Cole’s own wrath ebbed as he confronted that misty gaze. He laid a hand on her slim waist as he attempted to console her. “I cannot imagine who in this house would do such a thing. Is it not perhaps possible that a gust of wind blew it into the fire?”

“There was no fire,” Alaina murmured softly. Her ire had fled, but was replaced with a growing tightness in her chest. “Someone lit the kindling in the fireplace and threw the gown on top of it.” She folded the gown carefully over her arm and smoothed the unsinged sleeve with her hand.

“I ask you to believe”—Cole tried again—“that I would not do such a thing. But who would? Can you name anyone else?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She spoke so softly Cole had to strain to hear her voice. She clutched the dress closely and, sniffing, turned her face away from him. “It was one of my best. Mrs. Hawthorne helped me to find it.” Her voice began to break. “I wanted you to be proud of me, not because of what you could give me, but because of what I could bring to you.”

Cole had faced Roberta’s tantrums until they had become just another fact of life, but he felt helpless and unsure before the tears of this small wench.

Ah, damn!
The wisdom burned in his brain.
Chide her! Get her dander up a bit! Anything is better than this
—he thought.

“What am I seeing?” he pondered aloud in a gentle, half-teasing tone. “Is this the one who took a
mop to a man? Is this the one who dragged me from the river and saved my life in the middle of a war? Is this the same one I see crying over a spoiled dress? Is this Al?”

Alaina faced him, and Cole realized his failure in the same moment. The tears flowed freely now, making light paths through the smudge on her cheek. Her voice trembled with suppressed sobs.

“I was a young girl with hair hanging past my waist, raised in a fine family to be a fine young lady.” She breathed deeply, trying to fight the heartache and tears. “I watched them all go, one by one. I buried my mother, then I had to cut my hair short and ragged. I had to rub dirt into it and on my face. I had to wear old, stinking clothes from somebody’s ragbag. I had to learn to walk like a boy, talk like a boy, fight like a boy. I had to listen to you prattle about giving me a bath”—she was sobbing aloud now—“when I felt so filthy I could have died.” She leaned forward, and the gray eyes searched his face in wonder. “Don’t you understand? Don’t you know?” Her voice broke in a sorrowful wail. “There was no Al! It was always me!” She beat a clenched fist against her bosom. “I have always been Alaina! There—never—was—any—Al!”

The sobs broke, and Alaina fled, still clutching the yellow gown. The sound of her grief dwindled until the bedroom door shut them off, leaving him to bear the oppressive silence alone.

T
HE
gown was irreparable, but Alaina was of much more sturdy stock. By nightfall, she had come to the determination that she could bear the loss of the garment sufficiently well. In this calmer state, she realized she had, in her dismay, thrown herself on a deep green velvet chaise that had not been in her room when she had left to tend the garden. She found it rather strange the way items of comfort were moved in during her absence; she surely had not expressed a need for any of them. First, there had been the standing mirror, a day later the mantle clock, then the thick Oriental carpet, and finally the rich, overstuffed chaise placed in front of the windows where she might relax and enjoy the scenery. She could no more explain the reason for these additions to her room than she could the damage done to her gown.

The night echoed its misery through the house. The wind changed, and howling gusts whipped the trees into a frenzy, stripped the last leaves from the branches, sending them scurrying, and left the bare limbs to twist as if in agony before its fury. Blinding bolts of brightness lanced across the night sky and faded to deafening crashes of thunder. Rain spattered the windows forcefully and washed down
them in tiny rivers. Then, as quickly as it had descended, the storm passed, and all was quiet again. Serenity settled into sleep, and the house grew dark and still as the lamps were blown out, and each sought his own bed. Late in the night, Alaina thought she heard the restless roaming of her husband down below in the study, but even that eventually ceased. The moon broke through the clouds, and she came again to the fringes of sleep. In a floating limbo of darkness, serenity was dispelled by a strange scuffling and dragging that seemed to come from somewhere in the depths of the house. Soldier whined in the hall outside
her bedroom, an eerie sound in the dark of night when other ghostly noises pervaded the manse.

Determined to be brave despite the uncertainty of what lay beyond her room, Alaina struck a sulfur match to a candle and, slipping into her wrapper, carefully opened her door. Soldier sat on his haunches before Roberta’s door and was only momentarily distracted by Alaina’s entry into the hall. He scratched at the portal and whined, as if wanting to be let into the room.

“Come away, Soldier,” she coaxed. “Nothing is in there.”

He growled as if in disagreement, bringing a trembling to her hand that nearly made her drop the candle. Realizing he would not go away until his curiosity was satisfied, Alaina squashed her fears and pushed open Roberta’s door. The hound thrust through and made several circuits about the room, sniffing and then pausing as if to listen. Alaina glanced about. Nothing seemed out of place. The
window was open, and the drapery billowed out, making a flapping noise. Sure that she had discovered the source of the disturbance, Alaina breathed a sigh of relief.

“That’s all we heard, Soldier.” She made the statement aloud as if to convince herself. She went to close the window and was amazed to find the draperies dry and untouched by the rain that had been forcefully driven against the house from nearly every direction. She could only surmise that one of the servants had opened it after the storm to let the rain-sweetened breezes freshen the room. A wintry chill had also been admitted, and its breath went quickly through Alaina’s gown and wrapper. Roberta’s suite was not a place where she desired to be, and the frosty, tomblike atmosphere did not encourage her to linger. She called to Soldier, but he was preoccupied, sniffing and whining at a wall where small, square plates of silvered glass were fitted snugly together, creating an illusion of a larger mirror. An alcove of sorts framed it, and the whole was draped in scarlet velvet. Standing before his reflection, the mastiff seemed convinced that he had found another animal in the room.

“Out with you, Soldier!” she scolded. “Out, I say!”

The dog tucked his tail between his legs and reluctantly made his exit. Still, with the door of her own room closed safely behind her, it was a long time before Alaina could put to rest her disquietude.

At breakfast her place at the table remained conspicuously empty throughout the meal, and though the master of the house made inquiries among the servants, he received only a vague explanation
from the upstairs maid that the mistress was not feeling well this morning. Determined to find out more on the matter, Cole made his way to the door of his wife’s bedroom and for once paused to rap lightly on the wood. Hearing a murmured reply from within, he pushed the portal open and found her seated on the edge of the chaise as if about to rise. Seeing who it was, Alaina huddled back on to the cushions, tucking her bare feet beneath the hem of her nightgown and pulling her thin wrapper close about her neck. Half mumbling a greeting, she replaced a cloth over her brow and eyes, dismissing his presence from her sight.

The chill in the room became immediately evident to Cole. The fire had burned low, and the gusty wind that whipped around the comers of the house sucked a hearty draft up the chimney.

“You should have summoned the servants to stoke the fire, Alaina,” he gently scolded. “You’ll catch your death in this room.”

She sniffed noncommittally beneath her mask and sank deeper into the soft cushions, listening to the sound of his irregular footsteps as he crossed to the fireplace. He shut the damper down a bit before throwing several slabs of dry wood onto the glowing coals, then approached the chaise where he stood for a long moment considering the slight figure of his wife.

“Is it my understanding, madam, that you are not well?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, sir,” she murmured.

“I thought you might still be lamenting the loss of your gown.”

“I have put it behind me, sir, as you suggested.”

“If you would like a replacement for it, it will be an easy matter to accomplish. I’m sure the dressmaker in St. Cloud can find the same cloth and lace—”

“I can manage without it. I have other gowns, perhaps not as nice, but they’ll suffice.”

Cole searched for some path to break this polite but restrained stalemate. “I’ll be going into town to talk over some business with Franze, and I was wondering if you would care to ride in with me.”

Alaina raised a corner of the cloth and peered at him, then lowered it again. “I’m sorry, sir, but I am indisposed today.”

Cole scowled deeply. She had used almost the same words he had uttered in a brusque apology the day before, and he wondered if this was some attempt of hers to retaliate. Illness was a ruse Roberta had often resorted to. “If your head aches, madam, I shall advise Annie to fetch some ice from the icehouse. It has a soothing effect—”

“My head is fine, Major.” She stressed the title.

Cole reached down and slipped a hand over her brow, receiving a glare from her as the cloth toppled to her breast.

“I don’t have a fever either, Major,” she informed him crisply.

“Then I am bemused, madam—” he began, but Alaina snatched the cloth and flung it angrily to the floor.

“Bemused? Doctor Latimer!” she gritted and blushed profusely at the necessity of having to explain. “Is it beyond your capability to realize that I am a woman? Do you know so little about women that you cannot imagine why I am genuinely indisposed?”

The dawning came, and Cole did his best to hide a smile of amusement. “I’m truly sorry, madam. I was not aware that your state was of such a delicate nature. As a husband I should realize your womanly inconveniences, of course, but being less than intimate with you, I am somewhat at a disadvantage.”

“Go away,” Alaina groaned in abject misery. Hoping sincerely that he would leave her in peace, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chaise. She could not help but wonder how it always happened that she was reduced to the very shambles of her dignity whenever he was about. Why couldn’t he, just once, see her as a proud lady, dignified and serene? It seemed that Roberta had always been able to accomplish that feat with ease. Why couldn’t she?

“I will leave you, my dear, after I have seen to your comfort.”

She raised herself somewhat apprehensively as he went into his bedroom. He reappeared with a decanter of brandy and a snifter. After splashing a small draught into the bottom of the glass, he offered it to her. Alaina wrinkled her nose in repugnance and listlessly turned her face away.

“I think I would prefer to remain sober and suffer in solitude.”

“Come now, Alaina,” he chided with humor. “The brandy will sooth and warm you and perhaps alleviate some of your discomfort. As a doctor, it is the best I can prescribe for your plight.”

She sniffed as she reluctantly accepted the snifter. “I thought you had given up your practice.”

“How can I resist when I have a captive patient?” he grinned.

She glared at him, but he seemed unaffected as he spread a lap robe over her legs and tucked it around her cold, bare feet.

“Is there something your pride will allow me to purchase for you while I’m in town?”

The pert nose lifted sufficiently to convey that she was slightly miffed by his question.

“Bonbons, perhaps?” he inquired, regarding her closely.

His suggestion made her forget her irritation. She hadn’t tasted bonbons in years! Her eyes were eager as they found his, and he laughed when he saw his answer.

“I’ll buy you so many, my pet, you’ll get fat if you eat them all. Then you’ll leave me no other choice but to annul our marriage.”

She saw the teasing sparkle in his eyes, and her own smile warmed. “Just a few will content me, sir.”

“I may not get back until late, however,” he warned. “I’ll be hiring lumberjacks to go up north with Franze, and I’m not sure how long it will take.”

Alaina leaned her head back against the cushion and hid her expression of disappointment beneath the cloth, carefully spreading it over her eyes in silent dismissal.

Cole stepped to the door. “I shall most probably dine in town. You need not hold dinner for me.”

She lifted the cloth from her eyes. “And I, sir, will most probably dine in my room. If your concern bends to that matter, I shall be most cautious in my selection of guests.”

It was Cole’s turn to scowl, but after a moment, a laconic smile twisted the corner of his mouth. “At
least, madam, I need have no fear of Braegar Darvey and his attentions for a space.”

The gray eyes took on the cold glint of ice. “Major Latimer, you seem to have a most curious morality. You took me readily enough in New Orleans when you thought me a woman of the streets, and no doubt have had many women. I suppose your excuse is that it’s simply the relief of a physical need. On the other hand, you choose to interpret the most proper graciousness as if it were some sordid betrayal and vent your spleen accordingly.”

“There are many things you don’t understand, Alaina.”

“In that, sir, you are entirely correct!” She gave him a perplexed half smile, half frown while she waited patiently in hopes he would explain them.

Cole opened his mouth to retort, then steeled himself against a weakening urge. He opened the door, nodded a curt farewell, and left her staring after him, as much bemused as she ever was. She listened to his footsteps going down the hall. How could she ever understand him when he seemed intent to surround himself in a sea of silence?

It was nearly midnight when she heard Cole come into his room and move about in the bathing chamber. His footsteps paused beside her door. Somewhere she heard the thump of Soldier’s tail on the floor, then the footsteps went away. Long into the black hours of the night, she listened to his restless pacing in the study below.

The next morning Alaina halted in surprise just within the wide doors of the dining room. Placed on
the table before her service was an ornately painted tin box and a nosegay of small, yellow daisies tied with a ribbon. At such a time of year, it was a most refreshing sight.

A soft smile touched her lips as she sank into her chair, noting the card that was braced against the tin and lettered simply, “Alaina.” She lifted the bouquet and gingerly tested the pungent fragrance, warmed by Cole’s thoughtfulness. She knew the tin contained the candies he had promised, and it occurred to her that such candies were usually made in the large cities in the East and required a great deal of careful handling to transport them this far afield. Why had she never doubted Cole when he had so very casually said that he would bring some to her?

Almost as swiftly, the answer came. Roberta had loved bonbons. Indeed, she had demanded them even in the hardest times. Now the woman was dead. But would she ever go away? Would she ever stop haunting their lives?

The kitchen door creaked as Cole pushed it open, then he paused, seeing his young wife framed in a swirl of warm, shimmering gray silk. The early morning light bathed her in a soft halo that made her seem like a dreamlike apparition, and he had to fight a feeling of awe as he stared. Slowly her gaze raised to meet his, and the mysterious smile that touched those soft, fertile lips nearly drew his breath away.

“Thank you, Cole.”

“Do the bonbons meet with your approval?” he asked softly.

She laughed gaily as if she were about to plunge into some strange, thrilling adventure. He watched
the entrancing play of her features as she lifted the lid and parchment paper beneath it. Her eyes widened in amazement at the wealth of confections he had purchased for her. Lifting a tidbit, she tasted it delicately, then sighed and closed her eyes as if transported into some pleasure beyond this world.

“Absolutely wicked!” she giggled, licking her fingers. “Will you have some?”

Cole retreated to the safety of his place at the table and rejoined ruefully, “Olie swears such sweets will destroy one’s manhood.”

Alaina regarded him with a smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “Do you lend a great deal of credence to old men’s tales, Doctor Latimer?”

“Madam, of late, if one declared a like effect from water, I would have no way to prove the contrary,” he commented dryly.

She leaned her elbows on the table and lifted a chocolate to consider in museful deliberation. “Perhaps you should try several. They might ease the lustful side of your nature.”