His Brother's Bride (5 page)

Six

Emily,

I'll not waste time with pleasantries as you did in your letter. It seems you have settled in that cozy little farmhouse with a husband and his brat and forgotten why you're there to start with. You are not there to be a wife or ma. You are there to find the map and gold. That is the only reason you are there.

Since you have become so lax in your thinking, I am going to save you from your laziness by setting a deadline. You have until winter's first frost to find the gold. Anyone with any wits about them could manage that. Unless you want your grandmother to be sent away, you'd best get to work.

Uncle Stewart

Emily's belly clenched, and her fingers trembled on the page. She sat down on the settee, glad she'd sent Adam out to play. She was beginning to despair of ever finding the map. She'd finished looking in the attic and around the house. It was only spring, but winter would be here before she knew it. What if she couldn't find the gold by winter? What if the map was not even here? Someone could have found it and thrown it out long ago for all she knew.

She heard Adam squealing outside and peeked out the window. He sat in the dirt watching some bug crawl along the ground. He coaxed it onto a stick and squealed again. Emily smiled. She longed to go outside and play with him, but now she felt compelled to search for the map.

She looked around the room for some area, some piece of furniture she hadn't searched already. She'd looked everywhere.

Maybe she was going about it all wrong. Maybe Cade knew something that would give her a clue as to the gold's whereabouts. Maybe he even knew of the map but didn't know its significance.

That's it. I'll see if I can find out something from him.
It sure beat looking for a needle in a haystack. Especially when she didn't even know if the needle existed.

❧

Emily put another spoonful of potatoes on Adam's plate and smiled at him.

“Thank you,” he said.

Her eyes met Cade's, and she read the approval in them. She'd been working with Adam on his manners. He was a fast student, ready to learn and eager to please. Keeping him clean, though, was a task she'd given up on. She'd learned to let him get as dirty as he pleased, then have him get washed up for supper.

She glanced at Cade, who was serving himself another slab of ham. He could put away food, that man, but still stayed slim and solid. Well, it was no wonder with the hard work he did all day. Her gaze fell to his hands, so strong and tanned. His fingers, squared at the tips, were long and so. . .masculine.

And still.

Her gaze found his, and she saw he was studying her. She'd been staring at his hands, she realized, and knew he must think her odd. She picked up her fork and worked a piece of ham onto it, feeling the burning in her face. He'd never said a thing about their embrace in the attic awhile back. But she'd thought about it more than she cared to admit. If Cade had thought much of it, she couldn't tell, for he'd been as distant from her as he ever had.

Her uncle's words flashed in her mind.
You are there to find the map and gold. That is the only reason you are there.
The weeks were slipping away, and she had to start questioning Cade, like it or not.

She glanced in his direction and realized Adam was telling him about a game she had played with him today. How could she steer the conversation toward the map in a way that wouldn't draw Cade's suspicion? Then an idea occurred to her.

“Perhaps tomorrow we could play a different game,” she said to Adam.

His dark eyebrows popped up high. “What game?”

“Well, seeing as how you like dirt so much, perhaps I could bury some treasure. I could make you a map with pictures and see if you can find it.”

“Real gold?”

Emily laughed and hoped it didn't sound as brittle as she thought. “Well, I don't have any real treasure, but maybe we could use buttons and just pretend it's real.”

Emily glanced at Cade, hoping to jog some memory. If he'd seen a map lying around somewhere, maybe he'd think of it now.

“Can we do it now?” Adam asked.

“Finish your supper,” Cade said. “Tomorrow's soon enough.” He glanced at Emily then back to his son. “You might help Emily with the garden before you think of asking her to play.”

Embarrassment washed over her. Now he thought she was putting off her chores to play games with Adam. He must think her completely slothful.

She tried to regain her composure. “We'll do our work first, won't we, Adam?”

“Aww.”

“None of that,” Cade said. “If we don't grow a garden, what do you reckon we'll eat all winter?”

This was getting her nowhere. He'd not taken the hint about the map at all, and now they were on a different topic altogether.

“How about if I draw up the map tonight, Adam?” she asked. “Then as soon as we're finished with our chores, I can bury the treasure for you.”

“Yippee!”

“Finish your peas,” Cade said.

“Yes sir.”

Later that night after Adam was in bed, Emily sat with a piece of paper, mapping out the backyard. Her trees looked more like inverted pitchforks, but she supposed Adam would be able to make it out.

She glanced at Cade where he sat reading his Bible. She needed to get him talking about his grandfather or the map. Surely he knew something that would be of help.

She marked the spot on the map where she would bury Adam's treasure and held it up in front of her. Would Adam be able to understand the pictures?

“What do you think of it?” She held up the picture for Cade. Across the room, his gaze lifted from the Bible to the picture she held up. He squinted, and she realized he couldn't see well from across the room. She got up and walked over to the settee where he sat.

Feeling brave, she sank down beside him and handed him the picture.

His lips twitched as he looked at it.

She felt amusement well up in her. So her picture did look like Adam had drawn it. Had she ever claimed to be an artist?

His lips twitched again.

“And what's so funny, Mr. Manning?” she asked, feeling suddenly playful.

He glanced at her then back to the map. “Why's there a porcupine in the middle of the yard?”

“That's a bush.” She swatted his arm and wondered if she'd overstepped her bounds.

His laugh was disguised as a cough.

“And I suppose you could do better?”

He looked at her then, and the amusement on his face made her feel warm and cozy all over. “I'm not the one who offered to draw a treasure map.”

His smile slid away slowly like the ocean's tide, but his gaze remained locked on hers. She felt her own fade away. The mantel clock ticked off time, and so did her eager heart.

He cleared his throat and looked back at the paper. “It's fine, really.” He handed it back to her. “You've been real good to Adam.”

She accepted the paper and suddenly realized how close they were sitting. Her calico gown draped over his knee, and she realized she liked the intimacy the image invoked.

“I've grown fond of him. He's a good boy.”

Cade settled against the back of the sofa, and she was relieved he didn't seem to mind her closeness. “He is good. But I've been a little neglectful of the manners and such. He's learning a lot from you.”

His approval brought a wave of pleasure to her belly. “He's a delight to me, I assure you.” All this talk was wonderful, but she couldn't help but think of her uncle's last letter and his deadline. Perhaps now, while they were talking so nicely, was a good time to probe.

“Adam's been asking about his ancestors lately.” It was true. He'd had a barrelful of questions about who owned the clothes and trinkets in the attic.

“That a fact?”

“Umm.” She worked absently on the map. “I didn't know what to tell him.”

He closed the Bible on his lap and laced his fingers behind his head. “Not much to tell, really. We're farmers, going back at least three generations.”

He went on to tell her about his own parents. They'd been hard workers and plain folk who'd done well to raise a family and provide the necessities. When he mentioned his grandparents, Emily's ears perked up.

“Don't know much about Grandpa Quincy 'cept he didn't much like to work. My pa said he was gone a lot and would turn up out of the blue. One day he just disappeared, and they never did know what happened to him. Eventually, they figured he was dead and put a grave marker on the hill out back.”

She'd seen it weeks ago and had wondered about it. “Do you remember him at all?”

He shook his head. “I was young when he disappeared.”

“You must have missed having a grandfather.”

He shrugged. “It was odd. Nobody liked to talk about Grandpa Quincy much. When I'd ask my pa about him, he'd get all snippy. Grandma didn't cotton to talking about him either. I just figured her feelings had been hurt by his desertion. She had a hard life, trying to keep up the farm without his help.”

“What do you suppose he did all those times he went away?” She glanced at his face.

His eyes squinted as if he could see into the past. “Don't know. I guess I figured he wandered around, liked his freedom.”

He didn't know. She could see the honesty on his face.

Unlike me.
A wave of shame washed over her.
I'm doing this for Nana, though. I have no choice.
She shifted in her seat and watched the material of her skirt slide off his leg.

“Have you ever looked through his things? In the attic, I mean?”

His gaze fixed on her, his brows hiked up beneath his dark bangs. “No. Grandma must've put some things up there, but I've never gone through the stuff.” His eyes narrowed, and their depths were laced with suspicion.

She grew warm under his scrutiny and adjusted her skirts around her legs.

“Did you find something up there?”

“No.” The word, too emphatic, popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. But at least that question she could answer honestly. “No, I just—I just wondered if you'd ever looked through his things and found some kind of explanation of what he'd done while he was away,” she finished lamely.

“Don't reckon there's much to find. He was just a wanderer who didn't much want to be tied down to family and work.”

She nodded, not wanting to agree verbally. It would be too much like a lie, and she'd had her fill of dishonesty. She decided to turn in for the night. As much as she'd enjoyed her talk with Cade tonight, it didn't take a genius to recognize the suspicion that lingered on his face. And she'd just as soon hit the hay before he started asking questions.

Seven

“I found another one!” Adam called from behind the big oak in the backyard.

“Good job, Adam. There are only two more marbles.” She wiped a dirt-coated hand across her sweaty forehead and caught Adam's look. “Silly me,” she called. “I mean only two more nuggets of treasure.”

She grabbed a weed and gave it a mighty yank, feeling satisfied when the whole thing came up, roots and all. The spring sun beat down on her dark hair with such intensity, she wished she hadn't left her bonnet on the front porch.

Adam dug through the dirt a stone's throw away. Though she'd wanted to hide buttons for treasure, Adam had wanted to use his marbles. She hoped they didn't lose any of them. He carried them everywhere he went; you could hear them jangling together in his pockets as he walked.

“My aggie!” Adam called.

Emily saw him hold his favorite marble up in the air, wearing a proud look on his face.

“You mean your treasure,” she corrected, relieved that he'd found his favorite. “One more to go!”

He attacked the dirt with vigor, and she moved down the row of tomato plants, plucking another weed.

She'd reached the end of the row when Adam jumped up. “I found it, Emily!”

The marbles that had sat in his lap spilled to the ground. He reached down to collect them and ran to her. “Will you hide 'em again?”

“Tell you what, if you fetch me my bonnet, I promise to hide your treasure again after supper.”

“Yippee!”

“It's on the front porch.”

He ran toward the house, his marbles cupped in his hands. Emily watched him go until he rounded the corner, then, turned back to her work.

She'd only uprooted two more weeds when she heard his cry.

“Emily!”

She jumped up from the dirt, her legs faltering from having been bent so long. She could hear him crying, and though it didn't sound like an emergency cry, it sounded serious.

She came around the front corner of the house to see him lying facedown on the wooden steps, still, except for the heaving of his torso. Had he twisted his ankle on the steps? Hit his head on the porch rail?

Please, Lord, let Adam be all right.

“What is it, Adam?” She squatted down beside him.

“My aggie!” He pointed at the gap between the rise and tread of the step.

A heavy dose of relief flowed through Emily. She put a hand to her booming heart.

“Oh, Adam, you scared the wits out of me.”

“It fell out of my hand and rolled down there.” Another wail escaped his lips, and he turned his tear-trailed face to hers.

“It's all right, Sweetheart, we'll get it.” She sat on the step beside him and patted his shoulder.

He turned into her arms and melted into her embrace.

“It's all right,” she said.

“It's my best one.”

“I know, Honey, we'll get it.” She pulled away and surveyed the crevice. There was no way a hand would fit through there. She grabbed the step ledge and tried to pry it up, but it didn't budge.

“Let's get Pa,” he said.

She tried to loosen the board again and failed. “I'm sure I can do it. I just need to find the right tool. Stay here.”

As she walked to the barn, she looked back and saw there had been no need to tell him to stay put. Adam was not going to leave his marble.

When she sat down beside him again, she had a heavy hammer in her hand. “Move back, now.” She whacked under the ledge until it lifted. As she pried up the board, the rusty nails squeaked as they loosened their grip on the plank.

Sunlight poured into the cavity, bathing the stale space with light. Emily set the step tread on the porch.

“There it is!”

The green glass marble lay nestled in dirt below. She reached in through strings of cobwebs and grabbed it. As she pulled it out, something alongside the inner wall of the steps caught her eye.

She handed the aggie to Adam, and he threw his arms around her. “Thanks, Emily.” With that, he ran into the house, the door slapping behind him.

Emily reached back into the crevice and grabbed for the canvas against the wall. Once she had it in her hands, she quickly withdrew it, dropping it beside her, and plucked off all the webs on her arm. She set the plank in place and hammered it back down.

Picking up the rumpled canvas, she stood and walked up the steps.

On the top step she froze. The canvas, browned with age, and blurred by water damage was a map.

She eagerly scanned the page. Yes. She could see where a crude house was drawn. At the top right-hand side of the page, an X was very clearly marked, though the drawings in the area around it were blurred. She flipped the map around. If this were the front of the house, then the X was behind the house to the west. But how far?

She studied the lines and indistinct images. There was simply no way of telling how far. But it looked like. . .yes, it looked like the lines around the X depicted a cave or a cliff wall. The gold might be buried in a cave on Cade's property. But there could be many caves! How would she ever find the right one? And once she did, how would she retrieve the gold?

She scrutinized the picture again, then hugged it to her chest. At least she had an inkling now of the direction it was in. And maybe there were only a few caves out that way. She could ask Cade a question or two and then start searching. Hope welled in her chest. Maybe she could find the gold and be done with this whole mess before winter. Uncle Stewart would release Nana to her care, and surely Cade wouldn't mind if Nana came here to live.

She so wanted to get this over with. She was tired of deceiving Cade. Perhaps he withheld his affections because he sensed her dishonesty. Perhaps when all this was finished, he would find it within himself to love her as a wife. Somehow,
even though she cared greatly for Adam, she couldn't seem
to let go of the desire to have her own children. Her heart har
bored frustration because of Cade. What were a few white lies when he was denying her dream?

Finding the map put a hope in her heart the rest of the day. Later that night as Emily tucked Adam into bed, she ran her fingers through his soft, dark hair. He had a new freckle on his nose, a result of the hours spent in outdoor play. She wondered idly if a child of hers would have freckles. Probably so, since her own skin was fair and prone to them.

“I forgot to get your bonnet,” he said.

“I think we both forgot, Sweetheart.”

“Does that mean you won't bury the treasure tomorrow?”

She chuckled and ruffled his hair. “I'll still bury it. But not until after chores.”

A shuffle sounded behind her, and she turned to see Cade in the doorway.

She leaned down and planted a kiss on Adam's cheek. “Sweet dreams, Adam. Good night.”

Suddenly, he pulled her into his little arms. “Night, Ma.”

The word caused her breath to catch in her throat. Her eyes stung, and as she pulled back from the boy, the sweet smile on his face stole her heart.

She squeezed his arm and stood, turning to leave the room. But before she took a step, her gaze connected with Cade's. His stricken expression impaled her. She couldn't move for a moment, caught in the steely web of his gaze. His displeasure was evident in the tight bunching of his brows, the rigid set of his shoulders.

Quickly, she brushed past him and down the stairs. She grabbed her sewing basket and busied her fingers with a holey stocking. Why was Cade so distressed that Adam had called her “Ma”? Was it so awful that he had grown to love her, that she had grown to love him? A child needed a mother, and she was the only one this child would ever have. That was his reason for marrying her, after all.

She realized the hurt she'd read on Cade's face must be on Ingrid's behalf. Of course that must hurt. But it had been five years, and it was only right that Adam should have a ma.

She stuck the needle through the material and pulled it out the other side. The look on Cade's face bore into her with more force that she'd like to admit. His displeasure bothered her. Wasn't she good enough for his son? Did he see something in her he disliked so much that he wanted distance between her and Adam? Wasn't the distance between her and Cade bad enough?

She heard his feet on the stairs and stiffened as he entered the room and settled across from her, his Bible in his lap. She kept her gaze fixed on her work. Her heart jumped against her ribs.

Cade's presence in the room was thick and tangible. The very air had changed when he'd entered, and her spirit squirmed. Did he regret marrying her? Her gut clenched at the thought. Did he dislike the influence she had over his son? When had she come to care so much what he thought of her?

Her gaze darted to him, and in the brief instant, she knew why she cared so much. She was falling in love with him.

She glanced at him again, her fingers trembling with the discovery. Was it somehow written on her face, in her posture? She felt sure it was and wished she could evaporate right then and there. She poked the needle through the stocking, and it poked her finger.

She sucked in her breath.

He looked at her then.

She looked at her finger, where a dot of red bloomed, and blotted it with a handkerchief from her pocket.

“You all right?” he asked.

She nodded, holding the cloth to stanch the flow of blood.

Quiet settled over the room like a heavy fog. She wondered if he looked at her still, but hadn't the nerve to check.

Upstairs, Adam shifted in his bed, and the straw ticking crackled. The mantel clock ticked off time.

“I'm sorry about how I acted upstairs.”

She looked at him then, her heart in her throat. His expression was soft in the glow of lamplight, and her breath came in shallow puffs. He was so strong and masculine, yet sometimes she caught a glimpse of this gentle side and wondered at it.

“It's good for him to call you ‘Ma.' ” There was a glimmer of sadness in his eyes.

A dark cloud of jealousy spread through her, but she pushed it away. It was only normal that Cade would be sad for his loss. For Adam's loss.

❧

Cade wondered if Emily could see the heavy thumping of his heart through his shirt. When she looked at him like that, with her doe-brown eyes all defenseless, he remembered that time in the attic when he'd held her in his arms. The familiar stab of guilt stopped the thought.

He had to think about Adam now, and his need of a mother. He'd wanted his son to have a mother; that was a big part of why he'd married Emily to start with. But hearing his son call her “Ma,” seeing him embrace her, had sent an ache deep into the pit of his stomach. Ingrid was not here to be his mother, and though it hurt to see her replaced, Emily was a fine substitute. She would love him and nurture him the way a child needed.

Emily's face was mask of vulnerability. Did she think he was angry with her?
Admit it, Manning, you were angry with her. Angry that she's replaced Ingrid in Adam's eyes.

“You've been good to Adam,” he said, wanting to allay her fears. “I reckon he's taken to you like we both hoped he would.”

She pulled the handkerchief off her finger and surveyed the pinprick, then twisted the white material in her hands. “I've grown fond of him.”

She wetted her lips, and he wished for a moment that she'd said the words about him. Had she grown fond of him as well? The thought made his heart jump.

As if she could read his mind, her face turned pink, and she looked down at her hands. “He's a good boy; you've done well by him.”

The words struck a note of pride in his father's heart. He'd done his best, but Emily had given Adam something he'd badly missed. Gratitude for her swelled up within him. He'd gotten a mother for his child and a woman to care for all their needs, and what had she gotten in return? A place to live? How could he repay her for her sacrifice? He felt a deep longing to do something for her.

“I appreciate everything you've done for him. For us.” He nodded and hoped the words hadn't been spoken too brusquely. Words were not his specialty, especially flowery ones.

“It's a privilege to care for Adam.” Her gaze avoided his, and he thought he'd embarrassed her with his gratitude.

He wished briefly that she'd included him in her words. Did she count it a privilege to care for him as well? He knew the thought went beyond their relationship, but he wanted it to be true regardless.

“You don't mind then?” Hope lit the velvet brown of her eyes.

His thoughts, scattered as a whirlwind, missed her meaning.

“If he calls me ‘Ma,' I mean,” she said.

He shook his head. “I think that'd be best.”

She gave a short nod and picked up her sewing. Somehow, allowing her to be a real mother to his son made him wonder what it would be like if she became a real wife to him. His gut clenched. With a clamped jaw and a tenacious spirit, he tried to call up pictures of Ingrid. Pictures of their own wedding, of her standing over a hot griddle, of her reading by lantern light. Deep down, in the shadows of his mind, he admitted that these days, those pictures were fading from his memory. And he wondered what would take their place.