Bitter Eden (35 page)

Callie agreed readily. They left with Rosalind leading, heading directly to the woods path that would take them to the pickers' cottages. Neither spoke. Each was wrapped in her own thoughts and memories.

Albert was waiting for her inside the cabin. He burst through the door as soon as he heard the horse

"Rosalind!" He stopped short when he saw Callie beside her. Both were speechless.

"Why, Albert! Imagine running into you out here. What can you be doing?" She glanced at Callie. It had been a simple-minded plan and an even simpler comment, fooling no one, least of all Callie. Realization and dismay were written all over her face.

Nonplussed, Albert looked from one woman to the other; then the fiery, angry look Rosalind was so unfamiliar with came into Albert's eyes, and he darted forward, pulling the reins from her grasp. Roughly he led the horse to the side of the cottage away from Callie.

"Albert! What are you doing! Stop it! Let go of my horse/'

"I am going to talk to you. You brought her, not I," he rasped. His free hand agitatedly messed his hair until it stood in loose waves, making him look more appealing than she had ever seen him.

She shook her head. "Albert, what has come over you? I can't come with you . . . not with Callie right ...»

"Why did you bring her?"

"I was wrong. I shouldn't have."

"Get down from the horse. Come with me—just for a moment."

"Ill meet you. Tomorrow I'll come alone. I promise. I'll be here."

"It must be today. You wont come tomorrow if I let you go."

"I will come. I gave you my word. You can come to the house and drag me out if I don't. I will be here. Oh, Albert, please!"

He stared at her for a moment, then tossed the reins back at her. "I will come after you, Rosalind. I no longer care who knows, so you'd best be here and alone."

ft « ft

Callie had turned away from them, waiting at the edge of the clearing. She supposed she had always known and not really wanted to. She couldn't block out the sounds of their voices, but she could the words. She didn't want to know now what was being said anymore than she had once wanted to know if Albert and Rosalind did meet. She wished somehow she could again know nothing. Think nothing. Soon she heard Albert ride off.

"Callie, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that would happen," Rosalind said when she rode up to Callie's side,

"Why? I don't understand. You and Peter are happy. You have been given everything a woman could ever want. Why did you meet him! Oh, Rosalind, whyever did you have to make me a part of it?"

Rosalind put her hand to her head. "I don't know what to say. Albert was the first man I ever loved. . . . I needed someone . . . then. Callie, I didn't think he would act this way today if someone were with me. He is always so proper and . . ."

Callie shook "her head, biting her lip to keep the tears back. The horses pawed as the two women continued to keep them standing.

"You won't tell Peter, will you, Callie?"

Callie let out a sobbing laugh. "Tell him? Oh, dear Lord, Rosalind—how could I tell him? I don't have the courage ... he trusted you. I just don't understand. How could you have done it?"

Rosalind looked helplessly at her. "I don't know," she whispered. "It started so long ago ... I wouldn't even begin to know how to tell you. I'm not sure I understand myself. Callie . . . don't hate me."

Callie was no longer trying to hide her tears. "I wish we had never come back to England."

"So do I. Callie . . . ?"

"Don't you know what this would do to them if Natalie and Peter find out? Natalie already believes that you and Albert meet. And there has been talk. We never paid attention to it, but . . . people have gossiped. Oh, Rosalind, Peter trusted you so. He believes in you. If he didn't love you, I could—"

"Callie, don't! You can say nothing to me that I haven't said to myself a hundred times a day. I know what I am, but I meant to end it. Truly I (id. That's why I agreed to see him this last time. I just don't know what came over Albert. He's been like a madman ever since we returned. I didn't want to meet him today—I wouldn't have asked you to come if I had wanted to see him. Please believe me. I thought nothing would happen if you were along."

"What will you do now?"

"I don't know. Something. Somehow I must make him understand I never want to see him again. You must believe me, Callie. I love Peter. No matter what I did before—I love him."

Rosalind wrestled with her problem all that evening. She thought perhaps she would be unable to slip away the following day. Perhaps Peter would want to take her into Rochester or Seven Oaks. Anything that would give her an idea of what to do about Albert Nothing occurred. After they had returned to the house, Rosalind was left alone to do as she pleased. Callie found Anna and continued making the blanket she had decided upon for Natalie's baby. Meg was with Jamie, as she had been every minute since they had arrived.

Peter had left the house early that morning, chagrined at having thought such foul thoughts about his wife the night before, and sorry he had let those fears precipitate an ugly argument between himself and Frank the first night he was back. He made amends

with Frank by offering to help prepare for the hop pickers, and spent the day accompanying Frank around the farm, careful not to refer to his own hop yard as Frank told of the improvements he had made since they'd left.

"The brewhouse isn't in such good shape. I haven't your touch, Stephen," Frank admitted graciously and hopefully.

"I can give you a hand. Who do you have working it?" Stephen asked.

"Jem Bonner. He's able enough, but he hasn't the experience. He still comes out with a brew that is hit or miss."

"If that is all, I can have you straight in no time. If he's got the feel for it, I can teach him the rest"

"I'd appreciate it."

"All right, Frank, you've got Stephen occupied. What about me?" Peter asked.

"You're here for a holiday—both of you."

"Holidays don't seem to agree. I'd rather be busy."

"I've not had time to check out the pickers' cottages. One needs a patch on its roof. I'm not sure what shape the others are in. And the cows have to be taken to the hill pasture."

"That'll give me a pleasant day's work," Peter said happily.

Stephen was already on his way to the brewhouse. Peter went to herd the cattle to the upper pasture. He would see to the pickers' cottages on the way back.

Natalie sat in her sumptuous bedroom in Foxe Hall, staring at the tokens to femininity that Albert constantly brought home to her and placed in pink and white profusion all about her room. He gave her too much of everything and too little of himself. She loved him with a possessive desperation and felt him slip-

ping away from her a little more each day. It had been bad enough when Rosalind was in Poughkeep-sie, but now that she had returned, her relationship with Albert was impossible. She had only the shell of him. Someone else held the core of his being captive. She thought about that for a long time—his captivity. She made a circle in the moire bedcover with her finger, then smoothed it all out. She repeated the motion until the feeling cemented itself in her mind that she had freed the circle by the erasure. Then she got up, dressed quietly, put on her walking boots, and left the house unnoticed.

Rosalind rode to the cottage as she had the day before. This time, however, she was alone, and very aware of that aloneness.

Albert was standing outside the cottage waiting for her. Long before she could see his features clearly, she knew by his stance that he was angry. As she came nearer the cottage and dismounted, she was frightened.

Tm here," she said nervously. "What is it you absolutely must talk to me about, Albert? I really can t stay long."

"Come inside," he said and waited until she entered the cottage first. He didn't close the door. "Why did you bring Callie with you yesterday?"

"I didn't want to come alone. Surely you can see that by now. I don't love you anymore, Albert. We're both married and . . ."

"It's all neatly wrapped up for you now."

"Yes."

"Well, it isn't for me."

"Albert, please. I don't know what's happened to you. You're so different. I don't know you," she said, backing away from him.

"Is Jamie my son?"

"I don't know/'

"You said he was."

"I know, but that was a long time ago. How could I know? I wanted to hurt you then. You had hurt me and I wanted to strike back at you. It meant nothing/' she stammered.

He laughed harshly. "Nothing? It meant everything to me. You'd never see that, would you, Rosalind?"

"That isn't true! You made no effort to keep me here. You didn't want me to stay. I know that now, and I know you were right. Leave it there, Albert Please. We were wrong."

"No. I was wrong. I was afraid ... of everyone. Afraid of Peter. I couldn't bring myself to confront him then, but I loved you. I love you now. And I'm no longer afraid. We'll leave together. I want to make it up to both you and Jamie. We'll go anywhere you want—India, France, the West Indies—name it, Rosalind. I'll take you anywhere in the world."

Rosalind stared at him, bewildered and afraid. "Albert, you're not thinking clearly. You . . . you cant mean what you say. It makes no sense. You're married. . . . Natalie is expecting your child. Even if I wanted it there is nothing you can do for Jamie and me now."

He took a step toward her, the anger gone from his eyes, replaced by a hungry lustful look unfamiliar to Rosalind. He placed his hand on her throat, feeling the lively pulse throb beneath his fingertips. "I remember everything about you," he said in a low husky voice. "Every inch of flesh on your body." He took off her hat and placed it on the battered table beside them. "Let me see you again."

Rosalind was breathing in shallow, quick gasps. She was both tantalized and scared as he unbuttoned her

riding jacket One of the things she had always loved best about him was his ability to move with the even precision of a man who knew what he was about and needn't hurry. He took off her blouse, caressing and fondling her breasts until the nipples stood hard and she was swimming through a haze of feelings and desires whose end was only Albert, hard and waiting.

Her back was toward the open door. She neither saw the shocked terror on Albert's face nor felt the bullet that entered at the. base of her skull, exploding all thought and feeling in one thundering moment.

She was thrust against him. Albert clung to her slumping body helpless to so much as cry out before the second pistol went off, crashing through his own skull and leaving him in Rosalind's lifeless arms for all eternity.

Peter had gathered some new thatch and tools. He walked happily through the woods to the cottages. He heard the shots, but shots were nothing to be alarmed at in a woods where poachers were often more numerous than the game.

It had been the most relaxing day he'd spent since they had left Poughkeepsie. He was wearing a blue work shirt that he had left behind. He felt as young as he had been before he ever dreamed of leaving Kent. He liked his life in America, but it had been a long time since he had been mentally free to enjoy the physical exhilaration of a task without being burdened with the responsibilities of the farm. He was happy that summer afternoon.

He came to the tidy row of brightly whitewashed cottages, which leaned comfortably against each other. The door to the last cabin stood open, swinging crazily against the wall whenever the wind blew.

As he came nearer, he saw two dueling pistols laid

neatly at the lip of the door, the barrels touching, nose to nose. Puzzled, he walked to the cottage, shoving the door open the rest of the way. Albert and Rosalind lay together across the bed where they had fallen.

He stood for a dazed, shocked moment, staring at them. Blood stood like a huge coagulating ruby on Albert's forehead, but nothing showed on Rosalind. Her sleek black hair hid everything. Confused and shocked, he felt like an intruder, and backed out the door. He wandered around the clearing, putting down his thatch, then picking it up, not knowing what he meant to do. He stopped, stood still, then went back to the cottage. He picked Rosalind's jacket up from the floor and went over to her.

"Rosalind," he said softly as though he were afraid to awaken her from her sleep. He picked her up gently, covered her nakedness, and carried her from the cottage.

Chapter 25

Peter struggled back to the house awkwardly bearing Rosalindas body. He kicked open the kitchen door, slamming it against the wall.

The scullery maid glanced up scowling from her scrubbing and saw him standing there, leaning heavily against the door, and began screaming. The entire household was alerted by her terrified noise and Pe-ters own alarmed, anguished voice as he cursed her and demanded a silence she couldn't maintain.

Anna clutched CaUie's hand as they came to the entry of the scullery and saw him there with Rosalind draped in his arms. The scullery maid was down on her knees moaning her way through a litany. Seeing the look on Peter's face, Anna rushed over, shaking the girl until she was a chattering blob ready to obey whatever she was commanded.

"Get Mr. Berean . . . Mr. Frank. Hurry! Run to the fields and find him," Anna said tensely and in as low a voice as she could manage, keeping her eye on Peter as she spoke. "Gol" Anna repeated.

The girl moved forward, then stopped, pleading with her eyes on Anna. Peter blocked the doorway.

"You can get past him. Now hurry! Go!"

The girl squeezed her eyes shut, flattened herself against the wall, skirting Peter without touching him.

He stood stunned and confused. Once the noise had stopped, he didn't notice the scullery girl at all. He kept his eyes steadily on Rosalind.

Anna took a step forward, as afraid as any of them to go near him looking as he did. Callie cowered at the entry, not knowing what was wrong, knowing only that it was terrible.

"Peter," Anna began as she approached him. He didn't move or indicate that he had heard her. "Peter," she said louder. "Peter!"