Calhoun Chronicles Bundle (50 page)

His hands didn’t stop. “Don’t you like this?”

“I…” She made herself open her eyes. The woman in the mirror looked different from the way she had a few minutes ago. Now she was flushed, full-lipped and heavy-lidded. Wanton and somehow used. “That’s not the point.” She wrenched out of his grasp and moved away from him so she could think more clearly. “You’re clever enough to coax a reaction from a fence post, but that’s different from my liking it.”

He stared down at his trousers and set his hands on his hips. “You were more fun before you decided to join polite society. You’ve only been back to civilization for two days, and already you’re starting to sound like a typical woman.”

“You’re the one who brought me here—against my will, I might add.” She veered away from that accusation. There was no use arguing about matters that couldn’t be changed. “You keep trying to distract me from talking about Blue.”

His teasing grin disappeared. “What about Blue?”

“Why is he silent? Noah said he stopped speaking the day his mother died. Why is that? What happened?”

“The boy lost his mother.” Hunter spoke slowly and distinctly, as if addressing an idiot. “He’s grieving for her.”

“How long?” she asked.

“It’s been two years.”

“That’s far too long for him to be in this state.” Before Hunter could stop her, she went on. “He’s stuck somewhere in the middle of his grief, and he can’t get out. You have to show him the way.”

Without even moving, Hunter raised a defensive, invisible shield between them. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I agonize over my son? Don’t you think I’ve tried to find a way to end his silence?”

“What have you tried, Hunter?” When he didn’t answer, she asked again, “What?”

“I’ve taken him to every physician, every special tutor and school in the area. I’ve even considered sending him away to some institution.”

“You can’t cart Blue from place to place like a barn-soured horse,” she said, even though she could see his temper starting to boil. “He needs
you.
When was the last time you played with your children?”

“Oh, for Chrissake—”

“You can’t remember, can you?”

“I’m with them constantly. They spend hours at the arena or the mile track.”

“It’s not the same. They’re observers. You should be with them.”

“And what the hell do you know of this? What makes you an expert on my children?”

“I’ve learned to watch, Hunter. To listen and watch.”

“That might work on a horse, but not a boy.” His eyes were as hard and cold as cut emeralds. “Christ, you were raised on an island like a wild animal—”

“Get out,” she said, her voice so low with rage that she was almost whispering. “Now.”

Even Hunter seemed to realize he’d crossed the line with his callous remark. He took a step toward her. “Eliza, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.” His remark had pierced deep. She felt as though she were bleeding in some secret place. “Now, get out, and I’ll see to your children.”

“How come you picked all the bits of ham out of your eggs?” Belinda asked at breakfast.

Eliza, still shaken from her altercation with Hunter, dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “I never eat ham.”

“Don’t you like it?” Belinda dug hungrily into the mound of fluffy eggs and diced ham.

“I’ve never eaten it.”

“You didn’t eat the roast last night, either,” Belinda said. “But you ate all the nasty greens and oysters and corn pone. Why is that?”

Blue ate more slowly and thoughtfully than his sister. Eliza could feel his attention fall on her like a sunbeam. She knew the answer she gave to Belinda’s question was important. She knew better than to lie to children.

“I don’t ever eat meat,” she said. “Only fish and shellfish.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Not even venison sausages? Not even fried chicken or rabbit stew or pork chops?”

“No. None of that.”

Belinda took a gulp of heavily sweetened tea. “Why not?” she persisted.

“Well, I suppose it’s because when I was a girl like you, I lived all alone on an island with my father. I didn’t have any children to play with, so I spent all my time with animals.”

“You lived all alone?” The blue eyes widened almost comically.

“That’s right. Sometimes drovers came for the horses, but most days it was just me and my father. So I made friends with the animals.”

“How did you do that?”

“It took a lot of time, and a lot of patience, and most of all, a lot of watching.”

“What were you watching for?”

“I had to figure out a way to talk to them.”

“Silly. Animals don’t talk.”

“They certainly do. Not in words, but they’ve always got something to say.” She sneaked a glance at Blue and saw that he was rapt with attention. “I had deer that let me pet them, and squirrels and rabbits that ate from my hand, and birds that would roost on my shoulder, and baby ducks that followed me everywhere I went. The milch cow came when I called her, and all the wild ponies let me ride whenever I wanted.”

Belinda dropped her fork. “That’s a whopper!”

Eliza solemnly crossed a hand over her chest. “It’s true. All of it. So that’s why I’d never eat the flesh of an animal. It would be like eating a friend.”

“Eeuw,” Belinda said delightedly. “I bet Master Rencher would be all stringy and greasy.”

“Who’s Master Rencher?”

“The schoolmaster at Bonterre.” She made a face, then slathered a square of corn bread with gooseberry jam. “So why do you still eat fish and crabs and oysters?” she demanded.

Eliza laughed. “I never did figure out how to talk to an oyster.” She made a pinching motion with her hand and nipped playfully at Blue’s ear. “And can you imagine making friends with a crab?”

Blue looked stunned at first. Then he ducked away from her, but not before she’d detected a twinkle in his eye and the beginnings of a smile.

They ate in companionable silence for a time. Eliza fell deep into thought about the strange turn her life had taken, and what it meant, and what was in store for her.

“Can we meet the animals from the island?” Belinda asked, setting her rumpled napkin on the table. “The ones that talk to you?”

“Of course.”

“Hurrah!” Belinda jumped up.

“Dishes first.”

“Huh?” asked Belinda.

“We have to clean our dishes,” Eliza explained.

“But Willa and Nancy always do the dishes.”

“Willa and Nancy didn’t dirty them. We did.”

Belinda beamed, thinking this was a new game. “Oh!”

Eliza got a tray from the sideboard. As she was stacking the dishes, she saw with a start that Blue’s plate was not empty.

He had carefully and thoroughly picked out every bit of ham.

Hot and thirsty, Eliza flopped down on the grass under one of Albion’s huge, twisted live oaks. She uncorked the cider jug and took a long drink, then passed it to Blue. “Share with your sister,” she said, mopping her brow. “You children will wear me to a frazzle,” she added, leaning on her elbows and looking up at the canopy of leaves. She had almost said “You’ll be the death of me,” but she couldn’t be careless with phrases like that, not under the circumstances. “You’ve given me no rest all day.”

“You said we could play with the animals,” Belinda pointed out.

“Yes, I did. We milked Claribel, and we fed melon rinds to the chickens, and made a bed for Miranda in the barn loft—”

Caliban came bounding up and dropped a well-chewed stick at her feet. The huge dog’s tongue lolled out one side of his mouth, and his sides fanned like a bellows with excitement. He was the children’s favorite so far, because he was such a clown.

“Look,” Belinda exclaimed, “Caliban still wants to play.”

“He always wants to play,” Eliza said with mock exasperation. She flung the stick halfheartedly. It spun high above the lush green lawn. While the big dog bounded after it, Eliza drank more cider. Nancy had given them a big jug to take on their outing.

“Why is he called Caliban?” Belinda asked.

“Because he’s so big, and he’s not very pretty. Caliban is the name of a monster in a play called
The Tempest.
”

“Is he a very bad monster?” The little girl watched the dog take off after a dragonfly.

“He was naughty sometimes, but in the end he was sorry. My father used to tell me he was a lost soul.”

Blue tucked his knees up to his chest, making a ledge for his chin. He took an idle sip of the cider and stared across the lawn at the riding arena, where Hunter and Noah were putting the stallion through his paces. The Irish Thoroughbred held a special fascination for Blue. She had noticed that right off.

“Where is your father now?” Belinda asked.

Eliza should have seen the question coming. “He’s up among the stars,” she said.

“What?”

Belinda was a literal thinker, Eliza realized. She must remember that. “He died,” she said. Two simple words. So inadequate to express the loss she had endured.

“My mother died too,” Belinda said.

“I know.”

“Do you think she’s up among the stars too, Miss Eliza?”

“Oh, yes. You must miss her very much.” She tried to discern some reaction from Blue, but he merely kept his chin planted on his knees and stared straight ahead.

Belinda drank some of the cider, wiping her chin carelessly with the hem of her frock. “Everything was different when Mama was alive.”

“I’d like to hear all about her sometime,” Eliza said.

“Papa doesn’t like us to talk about her.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, every time I ask him something about Mama, he gets terrifically gruff and thirsty.”

Eliza did not press the child to say more. She was getting a strangely accurate view of this sad, damaged family. Her instinct to heal ran strong with these children. Stronger even than her instinct to save the stallion when she thought Hunter Calhoun was going to shoot it. This urge to connect and protect was powerful, and it sprang from a place inside her that she hadn’t even known existed.

She wondered if this was the same urge that fueled a mare’s fierce protectiveness of a newborn foal, or the dramatic performance of the piping plover that would lie in the sand and pretend to be wounded to distract a predator from her young.

Eliza wanted to touch Blue, to hold him close, but she restrained herself. The same mare that wouldn’t let a foal leave her side would later drive a yearling from the herd, only allowing it to return if it came back on the mare’s terms. She had no idea how things worked between a woman and child, but she decided to follow her instincts in this.

“Let’s go look at the stallion,” she said, getting to her feet and dusting off her dress.

Blue and Belinda scampered along beside her as she crossed the broad meadow to the mile oval.

“Papa made this,” Belinda explained as they walked together, Caliban bounding off far ahead of them. “He and Noah spent weeks and weeks. They got so dirty.”

If the house had an empty, neglected air, the riding facilities had a feeling of abundance. The quarters that housed Noah and two grooms were neat, the hedges trimmed around the front door. The barn was clean and well supplied with cedar shavings, hay, grain and alfalfa. The round pen and new arena had been stoutly built. There was a small building with a high roof which she recognized as a starting gate. She had never seen one, but a drawing in the Rarey text and in her father’s fireside descriptions of the Derby races back in England gave her a clear picture of the narrow chute.

At the side of the oval, they climbed to a wooden viewing platform. Noah was mounted on the stallion, and Hunter stood watching with a flag tucked under one arm.

“Hello,” Eliza called, waving to them.

The horse pricked his ears and pawed at the ground, but settled at a low word from Noah. Eliza was pleased to see the rapport between horse and rider. She was far more interested in Hunter, though. Unlike Noah, he did not look happy to see her and the children. She had not forgotten his cruel remark to her this morning, but she didn’t want the children to see her anger and hurt.

“I see you’ve got him under saddle,” she said.

“He’s a beauty,” Noah said, pressing the stallion to a smart canter. “What do you think of that, eh, Blue?” He passed by the platform with a special smile for Blue. The younger boy smiled back and held closer to the rail, enraptured as Noah rode by. Caliban ran partway along the track, then broke free, veering off to dig in the sandy fringes of the marsh.

Hunter joined them, hoisting himself up to the platform. He looked flushed and triumphant. “I do believe we have our racehorse back,” he said.

“You’re a fine jockey, Noah,” Eliza remarked.

“The best in Virginia,” Hunter said, pretending she had spoken to him. “Noah used to hire out to other horse owners, but he won’t have to do that anymore if the race and the yearling sale are successful this summer.”