Family of the Heart (11 page)

Lightning seared across the darkening sky, threw its light in the window. Thunder cracked. Sarah jerked. The roan snorted, tossed his head and thudded his hoof against the stall floor. The bay shifted position. Clearly, the horses were sensing her fear. She had to leave. Right now.

“Time to go, Nora.”

The little girl shook her head, tightened her grip on the ball of fluff in her lap. “Kitty.”

“We will come play with the kitty tomorrow. But now we have to go get cleaned up for dinner. Your tummy is getting hungry.”

“And my mouf.”

“Yes. And your mouth.” Sarah settled the toddler’s sunbonnet in place, tied the strings and took the purring kitten from her lap. “I do not want you to get wet in the rain so I am going to run really fast.” She lifted Nora into her arms, gathered every bit of courage she possessed, walked to the door, slipped it open and waited. She would go after the next flash of lightning and, hopefully, reach the house before it came again.

Lightning streaked against the darkened sky. “Hold on tight, Nora!” Heart pounding, Sarah bent forward to cover the toddler with her body, leaped outside, kicked the door closed and ran, terror driving her every step.

They were not in the backyard. Clayton lowered the umbrella to block the slanting, wind-driven rain from his face and opened the garden gate.
If they were not in the stable
—He refused the worry trying to squirm its way into his thoughts and broke into a loping run toward the carriage house. Something hard slammed into his chest just below his breastbone.

“Ugh!” The breath burst from his lungs. He dropped the umbrella, grabbed his assailant by the shoulders. Sarah Randolph lifted her head, stared up at him out of eyes wide with fear. Her shoulders trembled beneath his hands. He tightened his grip, felt something squirm between them and glanced down.

The child lifted her bonnet-clad head and giggled. “We runned fast!”

Lightning rent the darkness. Sarah jerked, shuddered.

Clayton picked up the umbrella, slipped his arm about her shoulders and guided her through the gate and up the path.

Light splashed across the glistening brick. He looked up. Mrs. Quincy stood at the top of the steps holding a lantern to light their way. “You all right, Sarah?”

Wisps of wet hair brushed his hand as Sarah looked up and nodded. “Yes. W-we are fine.”

A gust of wind tugged at the umbrella, blew the rain beneath the porch roof. The lantern light flickered as the housekeeper stepped back. Sarah went rigid beneath his arm, her steps faltered as they reached the porch. Clayton stole a look at her face, glanced at his housekeeper. “Eldora, take the child.”

Sarah stiffened. “I will care for Nora.”

“’Tis only till you get into some dry togs, Sarah.” The housekeeper sat the lantern on the bench and reached for the toddler. “Well, Miss Nora, what have you been up to?”

Nora leaned into Eldora’s arms. “Me play with kitty. See horsy. And we runned fast!”

“Did you, now? That’s just fine. Why don’t you tell me all about it whilst I give you some supper.” Eldora shielded the little girl with her broad body and waddled into the house.

Lightning sizzled, a brilliant yellow spear streaking to earth. Thunder cracked.

Sarah gasped, broke from his grasp and dashed for the door. She made it halfway across the porch before she collapsed in a heap on the floor.

“Sarah!”
Clayton threw the umbrella and rushed to her side. She shook her head, pushed feebly at his chest when he reached for her. He ignored her protest, lifted her into his arms and strode to the door. The howling wind blew her hair loose from its restraint, whipped it across his face. The lantern banged against the back of the bench.

Sarah shuddered, tried to speak.

He shook his head, carried her into the library and lowered her to the settee. “Stay here! I have to get the lantern before it breaks and starts a fire.” He ran outside, grabbed the lantern and rushed back. Sarah was sitting up, her wet hair spilling over her shoulders, a red cord in her trembling hands. Her face was the color of plaster. She winced and bit down on her lower lip as lightning flashed.

Clayton hurried to the windows and closed the shutters, then walked over and stood in front of her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and looked up. He had never seen such fright on a person’s face. He did not understand it, was helpless to take it from her. Could not even take her in his arms to comfort her. He jammed his hands into his pockets to resist the temptation. “Why did you not
stay
in the carriage house? Surely you knew I would come for you?” His concern made the words come out sharper than he intended. Color rushed into Sarah’s face. She rose and faced him, shaking, her shoulders squared, the red cord dangling from one fisted hand.

“And why would I think you would care enough to come for us, Mr. Bainbridge? You will not even
look
at your daughter! And, as you refuse to allow her in your presence, how would you know we were missing? We could have been trapped in that carriage house all night!” Her chin lifted, she looked straight into his eyes, her own wide and shadowed. “I confess, had I been alone, that would have been my choice rather than go out in the storm. But Nora is my charge and I am not so selfish as to put my fear above her needs. Now, if you will excuse me, I must change out of these wet clothes. Good evening, Mr. Bainbridge.” She whipped her long skirts to the side, stepped around him and hurried from the room.

Clayton stood silent and watched her leave, every fiber of his being screaming to go after her. He walked to the table by the door, picked up the lantern, opened the side and lowered the wick. The light sputtered and died. Darkness closed around him. He hung the lantern on its peg by the door, turned and walked out into the hall. There was no sound of Sarah’s passing, not even her footsteps overhead. Only the storm—and solitude.

He drew his gaze from the stairs, set his mind against the sting of her indictment against him and walked down the hall toward his study. What Sarah had said was true—and the reasons did not matter. Explaining would not change anything. Things were as they had to be.

S
arah hung her wet dress over the edge of the bathtub, grabbed a towel and rubbed at her dripping hair. Rain pounded on the roof, thunder grumbled. She shuddered, dropped the towel, pulled on her new blue gown and willed her trembling fingers to fasten the fabric-covered buttons that paraded from the prim collar to the narrow vee at the waist. How ironic that the dresses had been delivered when she would not be needing them. After her display of cowardice this evening, it was unlikely Clayton Bainbridge would trust her to care for his daughter—even if he did not love the child.

But for him to dismiss her would be unfair. It was
his
fault she had collapsed. Her legs would not have gone all weak and wobbly if he had not told Eldora to take Nora from her. Having to care for the toddler had given her the strength to face her fear. And when that strength was not required, her knees had given way.

Sarah frowned and shook out her long skirt over her petticoat. If she were summoned, what defense could she offer Clayton Bainbridge? She could hardly tell him the truth—that strong emotions struck her in the knees, a silly weakness she had been plagued with since childhood. That would only further undermine his trust of her reliability. Nor did it explain why she had attacked him that way. She should have held her tongue instead of lashing out at him. But the man was so incredibly frustrating! And he had challenged her when she was most vulnerable. The storm—

Lightning glinted between the closed slats of the shutters.

Sarah shivered, tugged her quilted robe on over the dress, pulled it close about her for warmth and crossed to the mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess. She brushed it out, gathered it loosely at the nape of her neck and secured it with the blue ribbon edged in the same demure scallops that graced her gown’s collar and hem. Her hair would dry faster falling free, and her hands were trembling too hard to manage her normal hairstyle. She was having enough difficulty tying the ribbon.

A rush of tears blurred her reflection. Would she ever again tie a ribbon in Nora’s golden curls? If she were dismissed, who would care for the toddler? Eldora was too busy. And Lucy was home caring for her family—may have herself succumbed to the sickness going around.

The tears overflowed. Sarah wiped them from her cheeks, turned from the mirror and pulled on her shoes, concentrating on the activity as a defense against the thought she did not want to entertain. But it hung there in the dark recesses of her mind, refusing to be denied. What if Lucy came back and brought the sickness to Nora? What if—
No!

Sarah jolted to her feet. She would not think that. She would
not!
And she would not worry about being dismissed. She still had tonight. And perhaps Clayton would be too busy meeting his deadline for the repairs on the canal to think about replacing her. That would give her until July to prove her competency. Oh! And he needed her for the excursion trip in July.

Sarah grabbed on to the hope, hurried to her bedroom, tossed her robe onto the bed and opened the door to the winder stairs. Light from the kitchen lit the staircase. A smile trembled on her lips. Eldora must have opened the door at the bottom of the staircase to listen for her. And she had thought the housekeeper so harsh and uncaring. She started down the stairs, paused as Nora’s baby voice floated up from below. “A horsy is big! Kitties are little. They scratch.”

How endearing.
Sarah’s throat tightened. She cleared away the lump and started down the steep spiral, being quiet so she could hear Nora’s conversation with Eldora.

“They do?”

“Uh-huh. See?”

The thought of Nora’s pudgy little hand being held out for Eldora’s inspection brought the lump came back to her throat. Sarah swallowed hard.

“My, my! That looks serious. Why don’t you eat your last bite of peas like a good girl whilst I baste this roast, then I’ll fetch my beeswax salve. That will fix you right up.”

Sarah wiped away tears. Trust Eldora to have what was needed. If only she had a salve to heal a broken heart. Or an elixir one could take for a paralyzing fear. But no one could cure those ills. Not even time had lessened their grip on her, though loving Nora helped. Caring for the little girl had turned into a blessing.

Sarah caught her breath, tightened her grip on the railing. She had to keep her nanny post. She simply had to! But what could she do to secure it? Not even an apology could take back her rash words. Oh, she hated storms. And darkness. And fear. Why could she not simply be safe? And why could little Nora not be loved? What sort of God allowed such cruelty?

Her chest tightened, ached. Sarah blew out her breath, hid her trembling hands in the folds of her long skirts, counted to ten and stepped out into the kitchen.

Clayton shoved the last of the blueprints he would need for tomorrow into his leather pouch and crossed to the door. His work was finished and the study was crowding in on him. More accurately, his thoughts were crowding him. Dinner had been a nightmare of forcing food down his throat while trying to ignore the sound of Sarah’s voice in the kitchen. And that glimpse he had caught of her carrying the child up the stairs—

Clayton broke off the thought and yanked the door open. He needed to move. His long strides swallowed the length of the hall, made short work of the library. He lit the lantern from a taper in a wall sconce, opened the back door and stepped out on the porch. Rain drummed overhead, ran off the eaves and splashed on the ground. So much for a walk. At least out here he had space around him.

He set the lantern on the table, leaned on the railing and stared out into the stormy darkness trying to empty his memory of the way Sarah Randolph had felt in his arms—of that one fleeting instant of trust he had seen in her eyes when she had looked up at him. He knew, better than anyone, he did not deserve a woman’s trust. Deborah had trusted him and his weakness had killed her.

Lightning flickered in the distance. Thunder rumbled in on a gust of wind. Something rustled behind him. Clayton turned. The opened umbrella he had discarded was trapped between the house wall and the table. He picked it up, grabbed the lantern and trotted down the porch steps and strode to the gate, slipped through it onto the gravel way.

Sarah had run into him right here—headfirst. Knocked the wind out of him.

We runned fast!

A smile tugged at his lips. The child was a brave one. Clayton scowled, squelched the frisson of pride that zipped through him. But the fact remained, dogged his footsteps—the child had been not fearful of the storm, only excited by the adventure. And she liked horses. He had always liked horses. Had never feared them.

Enough of that sort of thinking!
Clayton leaned into the wind and picked up his pace. He had come outside to forget about tonight’s events—not dissect them. He crowded under the stable’s overhang, closed the umbrella and opened a door. The hinges squeaked. The roan snorted, neighed a challenge. “Easy, boy, it is only me.” There was an answering whicker, low and welcoming.

The tension in his body eased. Clayton grabbed a handful of carrots from the barrel beside the door and crossed to the stalls. Both horses stretched out their necks, nostrils twitching. “Yes, I have carrots. Here, girl.” He fed Sassy, stroked her velvety muzzle, patted her neck and moved on while she munched contentedly on her treat.

Pacer thudded his hoof, stretched out his head and bumped him in the chest. “I have not forgotten you, fella.” Clayton scratched beneath the roan’s throat latch and gave him his carrot.

Silence.

The sound of it surrounded him, emphasized by the drumming rain, the crunch of the horses’ chewing. He opened the door and slipped into Pacer’s stall, scratched beneath the black mane then slid his hand down over the roan’s withers and back. Pacer turned his head, nudged him in the shoulder and went back to his munching.

Pain caught at his chest.
This was the sum of the affection in his life, a nudge from a horse.
Clayton patted the powerful shoulder and stepped back out of the stall. He gave each horse another carrot, walked to the grain box and sat, leaning back against the wall and studying the Wellingtons on his feet. A knot in a log pushed against his shoulder blade. He shifted his position, crossed his arms over his chest and listened to the rain.

And why would I think you would care enough to come for us, Mr. Bainbridge? You will not even look at your daughter! And, as you refuse to allow her in your presence, how would you know we were missing? We could have been trapped in that carriage house all night!

Clayton scowled. Could he find no peace from Sarah Randolph? Must thoughts of her intrude even here? It was his last haven.

Clayton jerked to his feet and paced across the carriage house. He could not escape the woman. Images of her appeared to him everywhere in the house, in the yard, even at his special, private place at the pond. Usually with her chin lifted and eyes snapping as she confronted him with some offense or other on behalf of the child. But there were those other few moments, when her eyes were warm and—

Clayton sucked in a breath and erased the vision by staring at his reflection in the window in front of him. The woman was an annoyance. But she was excellent with the child. And she cared deeply for her—
it.
The way she had faced her fear of the storm to bring the child back to the house proved that. But she was also a temptation he should put out of his life. His attraction to her was growing and he did not want or need that complication. He wanted no part of love. There was too much pain, too much hurt when you let your heart become involved with someone. And he had already proven himself unworthy of a woman’s trust.

He pivoted from the window, paced back across the dusty, puncheon floor and picked up the lantern. Trying to avoid her was not working. He had tried that this afternoon and she had ended up in his arms. He had to dismiss her. Be rid of her. It was the only answer. He reached for the door.

Nora is my charge and I am not so selfish as to put my fear above her needs.

The words stabbed deep. Clayton stiffened, tightened his grip on the bar. That was exactly what he was doing—putting his fears above the child’s needs. What sort of man was he? Had he no strength of will? No honor? Sarah Randolph stayed.

He shoved the door open, stepped out, slammed it shut, dropped the bar into place and stalked toward the house, oblivious to the rain, the wind, everything but the turmoil inside him.

Wind slapped at her long, sodden skirts, whipped them into a frenzied flapping that knocked her off her feet. The planking of the deck beneath her heaved, shuddered. The ship tilted. She groped for something to cling to, found only emptiness, slid. Lightning flashed, threw flickering light over a gaping hole where the ship’s rail had been, over Aaron clinging to the broken end and reaching for her. She stretched out her hand.

The world exploded. Brilliant light blinded her. Thunder deafened her. She fell—

Strong arms clasped her, lifted her, held her tight and secure against a solid chest
.

Sarah opened her eyes, stared into the dimly lit room, disoriented…confused. Her heart pounded, her pulse raced, but something was different. She felt strangely calm. Why should that be? Usually the nightmare left her in a state bordering on panic. Perhaps she was finally getting over her fear—the terror that gripped her when she had almost drowned.

Shivers shook her. The calm disappeared. She would never forget the feeling of the icy-cold Atlantic waters closing over her head. Never.

Sarah pushed to a sitting position, slid her legs over the side of the bed and shoved her feet into her slippers. The storm had diminished. She could hear rain tapping at the window, but the pounding on the roof had ceased. She rose and pulled on her robe, watched for a telltale glint of light through the shutter slats, listened for the sound of thunder. There was only the rain. She took a deep breath, walked to the nursery door and peeked in at Nora. The little girl was sound asleep, her thumb in her mouth, her bandaged finger curled on her cheek.

She is so proud of that bandage.
Sarah’s chest filled. Her future was uncertain, but she would always treasure this time with Nora. She turned back to her bedroom, rolled up the wick on her bedside lamp and carried it to the desk. The letter from her parents Quincy had brought home with him earlier that evening lay on the polished wood. She picked it up and unfolded it, smiling as she caught sight of the salutation.

“Our dearest daughter,”

Sarah sat in the chair, pulled the lamp close and began to read. She knew what it said, had already read it three times, but tonight she needed the reassurance of their love.

The door at the bottom of the winder stairs opened, closed. Sarah lifted her head and listened, but heard no one calling. She rose, picked up her lamp and opened her door. “Did you want me, Eldor—”

She stopped, stared down into Clayton Bainbridge’s upturned face. His features hardened. Her stomach flopped. “Forgive me, I heard the door and thought perhaps Eldora wanted me.” She stepped back, closed her door and leaned against it, listening to Clayton’s footsteps as he climbed the stairs. They paused on the landing. Her heart leaped into her throat. Would he knock? Tell her to pack and leave, that she was no longer wanted in her post in spite of the canal celebration? The door opposite hers on the landing opened, closed.