South of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 2) (6 page)

Chapter Eleven

    
 
R
ebecca paced the kitchen with agitation. “Did she say that she would be home for dinner?” she questioned Mark as he sampled the simmering stew.

      “She didn’t say she would. I’d guess not. I think she’s still trying to clean out Roland’s house. When I left she was hanging sheets in the yard and I thought I smelled food cooking from inside the house. Boy, that filly they found is something else.”

      “I don’t like her being out there all day. What else was she doing?”

      “My guess is that they’re busy falling in love,” Mark stated offhandedly.

      Timothy chuckled as he entered the room. “Who’s falling in love?” He sniffed at the stew.

      “Roland and Rebecca’s cousin.” Mark leaned back casually against the counter. “They looked like the two of you did that day in the barn.”

      “Oh, Tim,” Rebecca sighed. “I’m worried.”

      “About them falling in love?” Timothy leaned against the counter beside his son.

      “Oh, you two!” Rebecca growled with frustration. “How can you both just let this happen? Roland Vancouver can’t make her happy. He’s stubborn and, well, he’s such a bachelor!”

      “He’s chicken, I can see that,” Mark stated distractedly. “Just like the two of you were. When I fall in love I’m not going to fool around about it. I’m just going to come right out and say it and get on with the good stuff!” he announced.

      “The good stuff?” Timothy looked down at the boy suspiciously.

      “Yeah, you know,” the boy winked at Rebecca. “The good stuff.”

      “I want some!” Louisa announced as she swung open the door. “I want good stuff, too!” Mark scooped the child up in his arms and carried her out of the room. “You are the good stuff,” he whispered to her, looking back devilishly at the couple standing with shock on their faces in the kitchen.

      “I would take you inside, but I don’t believe that this is my house any longer,” Roland smoothed Emma’s hair from her face gently.

      “Do you like it?” she sighed and sat up embarrassed.

      “I suspected that only some kerosene and a match might clean it up. Now I can’t even recognize it and there seems to be the smell of hot food coming from inside.”

      “Oh, goodness!” Emma sprung to her feet and smoothed her dress. “I left a roast simmering on the woodstove.” She scrambled up the stairs and opened the lid to the heavy pot. A tantalizing aroma filled the air as Roland gathered sparkling clean lanterns and began to light them in the soft dusk.

      “There are clean dishes in the cabinets, and rolls here.” She set a basket on the table. “I’ll be back tomorrow to do that back room, and then we can talk about how often you would like me to come.”

      “You’re leaving?” Roland turned abruptly to face her.

      “I did what we arranged. The cleaning, the cooking. Did I forget something?”

      “You are not leaving.” Roland pulled a chair away from the table. “Sit down.”

      Emma knit her brow. “It’s not necessary, Roland, really. I’m feeling a bit embarrassed actually. I’m sorry for breaking down like that. That should not have happened. I apologize. I’m glad you like the house, but really I should go.”

      “Sit down,” he repeated.

      Emma frowned and sat in the chair. Roland struggled with serving, but soon set out two plates filled with the steaming roast and sat across the table from her.

      “There are many things you have done today,” he began. “But there is one thing I want more than any other in this house. I hate to eat alone. Tonight you eat what you’ve made with me, and tomorrow you eat what I prepare. Agreed?” He leaned toward her over the table darkly, and then smiled unflinchingly.

       The couple ate heartily, the energy they had spent through the day having built healthy appetites in both of them. Their conversation was light, Emma afraid she might fall apart again, and Roland comfortable in a clean home with a friend at his supper table. He stopped after his last bite and leaned back in his chair.

      “This is very remarkable, Emma. I must say. You have transformed this house. I don’t believe it has looked like this ever, even when I first built it.”

      “Why did you build it?” Emma enjoyed the last morsels of her meal. “It’s so cozy. Did you imagine a family here?”

      She watched his expression cloud over, but he met her eyes honestly.

      “I did. I built it while Elgerson was working on his estate. He was engaged to his first wife then. I thought he had a dream all laid out. I was wrong about that.” He looked around the room, recalling all of the plans he had made as he cut and placed each board.

      “Then Rebecca came and set everything that was wrong right for him. Timothy Elgerson is an amazing man. I guess I wanted to be a bit amazing as well. I wasn’t born to what he had, but I do alright. I thought I’d build this place and it would be good for a start. When the property is cleared there’s a garden out back and the water is good.

      “After the accident when I found out…” He stopped short.

      Emma waited calmly for him to finish.

      “They told me I might not…” He stopped again. “After I got hurt I just lost my ambition, I guess.” He rose from the table and turned from her.

      “You’re young, Roland. You may have that family yet.” She tried to sound reassuring. She gathered the plates and set the dishes in the big sink.

      “Thank you for staying.” Emma turned to find the man close behind her, an odd look on his face. “Do you use everyone’s name the same as mine?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

      “No,” she considered it for a moment. “Your name is different. It’s nice. I like to say it. Roland,” she said softly.

      He stood facing her and she dared not move. She thought for a moment he might kiss her and she was terrified and thrilled. He reached and twisted his finger in a tendril of her hair, studying it closely. She saw his jaw tighten and he gritted his teeth, but he did not move from her and he did not move towards her. Emma froze in place, watching him struggle with some inner demon, before he turned away abruptly.

      “It’s beginning to get dark. I’ll give you a ride home.”

      Emma sat in the buggy afraid to utter a word for the entire ride back to the estate.

       As she climbed out she thanked him softly.

      “I’ll come back in the morning.” She watched his face closely.

      “That would be good,” he replied and shook out the reins.

      She watched him turn in the road and then walked up the front steps.

      “Is everything okay?” Rebecca walked to her cousin and touched her face.

      “Fine,” Emma smiled.

      “Your face is filthy,” Rebecca laughed.

      “No!” Emma gasped. “Really?”

      Both women giggled violently in the foyer mirror, Emma discovering that she was indeed quite filthy, as Timothy wandered out from the study.

      Emma faced the day, freshly scrubbed and wearing a faded, but clean frock. She appeared in the family dining room moments before any of the household and was pleased with her promptness and hopeful for the new day.

      “Good morning,” Mark greeted her as Louisa ran and jumped into her arms. She lifted the child onto her lap and wrapped her finger with one of the child’s fat curls.

      “You headed back to Roland’s today?” Mark poured fresh orange juice from a ceramic pitcher.

      “I plan to. I still have some things to do in the house,” Emma replied, sampling the juice and sharing her glass with Louisa. The child smacked her lips and belched loudly, making Mark and Emma laugh aloud.

      “What do you say?” Rebecca entered from the kitchen and admonished the child.

      “’Scuse me,” the child giggled.

      “Come here and sit nice,” Rebecca instructed the child, situating her in her tall chair and fastening a cotton bib around her neck.

      “I’d like to get to the dressmaker’s next week. Emma, please join me,” Rebecca requested as she poured her own juice.

      “I’d like that very much,” her cousin responded. “Perhaps Roland will pay me soon and I might consider a bit of shopping.”

      “Then we’ll go on Tuesday,” Rebecca smiled.

      Timothy entered through the kitchen door, a steaming mug of coffee in his huge hand. He kissed the child on the top of her head and Rebecca on the cheek as he greeted the people at his table.

      “Emma and I are talking about going to the dressmaker’s next week,” Rebecca informed him.

       “Oh, how fun does that sound?” he wrinkled his face at the child.

      “I wasn’t expecting you to join us,” the young mother scowled at his teasing.

      “And for that I will be eternally grateful!” He dropped into the chair at the head of the table. “Emma, Rebecca told me she showed you the dresses upstairs. You looked very lovely at the meeting. If you like I can have someone bring the wardrobe down to your room so that you might choose what you like from the collection. Seems a waste to have them gathering dust up in the attic. I’d just as soon get that whole mess cleared out.”

      “I would feel so assuming, Tim, really.” Emma smiled sweetly.

      “Take them,” he waved the air in front of him with a bold stroke of his hand. “If I don’t have to go to the dressmaker’s while you are here the exchange will be to my advantage.”     

      He left the room briefly and returned to his chair. “The things will be in your room by the end of the day.” He sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile.

      Emma enjoyed breakfast with the family, but kept imagining Roland alone in his house with no one for conversation.

      “Is everyone ready for tomorrow?” Timothy broached the subject of the mill opening and Rebecca sighed.

     “It’s time.” The big man watched his wife’s worried face.

      “I know,” she said softly.

      “Mark, I’ll be counting on you most of the day today.”

      “I know, Pa. At lunch I wanted to get out and take a look at the foal at Roland’s if I could,” Mark requested excitedly.

      “Were there any markings on the mare?”

      “No, Pa, no brand at all. I don’t know where she came from.” Mark sat back as Birget placed breakfast in front of each member family quietly.

      “I’m going to try to get out to Weintraub’s this afternoon if I can. Maybe it’s one of the horses that went missing.” The farm was largely abandoned since the death of Octavia and her mother, but Timothy suspected that unrepaired fencing had meant the loss of several of the stock before they had been cleared out for auction.

      Rebecca decided that with everyone gone all day she ought to get to her sewing. She knew once the mill reopened Tim would again be around the house fewer hours. She missed him, but enjoyed the time to pursue other things as well, and looked forward to the distraction.

      Emma walked slowly to the Vancouver house, gathering a few fresh flowers and wild herbs along the path. As she neared the house she saw Roland walking haltingly towards her, unaided by his cane. She hurried to meet him and marveled at how well he was doing.

      “You’ll be walking perfectly fine in no time,” she commented, stepping in a circle around him.

      “I suppose that using the leg was the best thing after all,” he smiled, embarrassed.

      They walked slowly to the house together. Emma was flattered that he had come out to meet her.

      “Timothy says the mill reopens tomorrow,” she ventured.

      “Yes.” Roland rubbed his goatee thoughtfully.

      “How are you feeling about that?”

      “Good. A little nervous, but good,” Roland replied. “That mill has been in Tim’s family for three generations. Before last summer there had never been an accident. Now the mill has more modern equipment, better ways to stop the blades and most of the building is new. It’s what I do, and what we all do, and we do it well. It’s who we are and it’s fitting that it should reopen,” he explained. “I’ll be glad to get back to work, I’m not one that does well feeling useless.”

Chapter Twelve

    
 
E
mma scrubbed the unfinished room thoroughly and laundered all of the blankets and sheets, hanging them to dry in the hot sun. She gathered several soft-colored flour sacks from the kitchen and draped them casually across the top of the windows, giving the home a cozy, comfortable look. She sorted out kitchen cabinets and washed clothing, all the while keeping a shopping list on the sideboard for things she would need to maintain the man’s house: clothespins and soaps, dusters and rags.

      As she brought in the linens she watched Roland leading the mare around the yard while her filly followed her closely. He brushed the horse and spoke to her gently, then pitched fresh straw into the stables. She saw him stop regularly and rub his leg thoroughly and decided to add the ingredients for a strong liniment to her list. Once he started working regularly he’d appreciate a comforting poultice after a long day, she thought.

      She called him for lunch in the early afternoon, afraid he would overdo trying to keep out of her way. He kicked back in the chair, stretching out his leg while he ate.

      “Have you ever tried a compress on that wound?” Emma tasted her cool sandwich.

      “No, I never did much for it. I haven’t been using my leg all that long.”

      “It might bring you some comfort, even help the healing. I’ll make you up one from the herbs I gathered this morning if you wouldn’t mind.”

      Roland bit into his sandwich eagerly, the crisp cucumber and thick slice of cool ham a refreshing combination. “How would it work?” he asked absently.

      “I’ll make up a poultice and press it to the wound. Where exactly is the wound?”

      Roland scowled. “It’s probably not a good idea.” He looked down at his leg thoughtfully.

      “Why not? I can wrap it on, just over the knee right?” she asked innocently.

      “Hardly,” he choked. “I expect it would be someplace that you’d rather avoid.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

      “Oh,” Emma blushed profusely. “I thought it was, um, lower.”

      “No,” he replied huskily.

      Emma put her hand to her face and watched him, gathering her nerve. “Tell me about it.”

      “It was a large splinter, hot from the lightening. Shot right into me.” He stood up suddenly and walked stiffly out to the porch.

      Emma followed him out soundlessly and put her hand on his shoulder. “I have no desire to make you uncomfortable, Roland,” she spoke close to his ear, her chin nearly on his shoulder. He could smell her freshly shampooed hair and feel the gentleness of her touch. “I see you struggling to get past the pain. I want to help, not embarrass you or make you uncomfortable. Please, Roland let me do something to help.”

      She took his hand gently and led him back into the house and directed him to sit on the freshly made bed.

      “I’m thinking this is not a good idea,” he protested.

      “Then you’re thinking wrong.” She lifted his leg and pulled off his boots firmly. He cleared his throat loudly and tried to convince her to stop.

      “Hush,” she scolded him. “Lay quiet.” She lifted his legs to the bed and he protested again.

      She grasped his knee firmly and felt the muscle tighten in her hand. She massaged it gently and Roland objected hoarsely. Caught between the sweet relief of her soothing massage, and his fear of his uncontrollable reaction to her closeness, he sighed deeply. She moved her hand capably along the damaged quadriceps along the top of his thigh, kneading the muscle until she felt it relax and then moved another few inches up.

      He grabbed her hand suddenly and lifted it from his leg. She looked up and he watched her intently. “You need to stop now,” he whispered, inches from her face. “It feels wonderful, but if you continue…” the words choked off in his throat and he stared into her eyes.

      His face was serious and determined and Emma found herself wanting the man. His eyes were dark and exciting and she reached down and took his hand from her wrist. He didn’t resist her, and she stood slowly and walked away from the bed.

      He cursed as she walked away. Each time she stirred him, the pain eased. It was as if his desire for her were healing in ways he never thought possible. He gathered himself, getting to his feet and found her on the porch.

      She turned to him and spoke softly. “Roland,” her eyes were sad and resigned. “I’ve been lonely too long. I wanted nothing more than to be close to you. I don’t expect anything more. I suspect your accident has done more damage than you’re telling me and I have to tell you that I don’t care. I don’t expect any more from you than friendship. There are lots of things that make up a man. Some men are accomplished lovers, but they are not good partners. I have no expectations at all. If I made you uncomfortable or led you to think that in any way I expected more than you can give then I apologize.”

      She touched his arm softly and looked into his dark eyes. As she turned to descend the stairs he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, kissing her fiercely.

      Emma gasped loudly as he looked down into her eyes. She threw her arms around his neck and returned his kiss, running her fingers through his hair and whispering his name against his lips.

      “I don’t know what I can…” She kissed away his protests.

      “Roland,” she whispered. “I don’t care. I only know I want to be with you.”

     Mark stopped dead in the roadway, and watched the couple in each other’s arms on the porch. He chuckled to himself and cut into the woods, deciding to visit the stables from the back way. “Chickens,” he muttered to himself, “I knew it. It took them long enough.”

      Roland took Emma’s wrist and led her back to the room and sat her on the bed.

      “I don’t know what kind of a man I am anymore, Emma. I was a good man once. I don’t know now. I know that since you have been here I feel things when I watch you I never imagined I would feel again. I couldn’t bear to disappoint you. And I fear I’ll not be able to stand myself if I do.”

      “Then let me ease your pain.” She directed him to lie down and touched his leg as she had earlier. If I expect only that, then I cannot be disappointed.”

      She began to relax the muscle in his leg again and, as she moved closer to the tattered scar, he gasped raggedly.

      “Wait,” he whispered.

      She stopped her massage and held her hand still.

      “I’m afraid.”

      “Is this easing your pain?” she asked quietly.

      “Yes,” he admitted.

      “Then I’m not disappointed.”

      She unbuttoned his shirt slowly and he looked at her darkly. When she laid him back on the bed and began to unfasten his trousers, he grasped her wrist again, firmly.

      She put her face close to his and whispered. “Roland, I want you to close your eyes. I’m not here. There is nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be embarrassed about. There are no expectations. I am just a fantasy and there is no one here you must impress.”

      He let his eyes fall closed and tilted his head back.

      She unfastened him slowly and slid his slacks from his hips.

      An enormous, angry scar ran from mid-thigh and up into the groin. She pulled a sheet across him discreetly and touched the area around the scar lightly, massaging gently. He groaned softly and she felt the thigh tighten suddenly. He grasped her wrist and she looked up and met his dark eyes. She put her hand boldly against the sheet over him and felt him rise from her touch. She let her hand lay there without movement and he reached into her hair and pulled her to him kissing her violently. She moved her hand slowly and felt him stiffen beneath her palm.

      “You are the finest fantasy I believe I have ever had,” he whispered to her and she put her thigh across him. He unfastened her bodice slowly, feeling the delicious reality of her thigh pressed against him.

      Her body was slender and firm, long of torso and limb, and she let her dress fall from her shoulders. He felt it gather softly against his once pained limbs. The rising desire he felt for her stung and felt delightful as he lifted her with his strong arms and lowered her onto him. He stopped as he entered her, thrilled and terrified by the sensation.

      She shuddered and placed her slender hands against his chest, then rose slowly, sending a chill through him. He moved her deftly to lie beneath him and entered her again, beautiful and compliant beneath him. She kissed him hungrily and he felt her thrill of satisfaction as he reached a peak he long believed he would never experience again.

      “Does it hurt?” she asked as she ran her fingertips gently along the edge of his scar.

      “I don’t think it will ever matter again,” he propped himself up on one elbow and studied her face.

      Her freckled nose glistened in the soft light and her eyes were sultry and drowsy. Her hair spilled out beneath her and he ran his finger along her jawline.

      “Thank you,” he whispered to her in a deep timbre.

      “That, Roland, was not what I expected.”

      “You cannot be more surprised than I am,” he chuckled deeply. “I didn’t think that was something I would ever experience again.”

      “Roland,” she whispered.

      “It drives me crazy when you say my name.”

      “Roland,” she whispered again.