The Betrayal (10 page)

Mary smiled awkwardly. “My father and uncle came here before I was born. The farm has been growing ever since.”

“What is your name, miss?” the boy asked boldly, his blue eyes flashing.

Before Mary could answer, Matthew appeared, lumbering out the back door. His flannel shirt hung loose over his big belly. His knee breeches had a stain on one knee.

Matthew yawned loudly and stretched his hands over his head. Then he noticed the young man holding the egg basket beside Mary.

“Oh,” Matthew said, furrowing his brow and clearing his throat. “And who might you be?”

Matthew's brusqueness didn't seem to bother the
young man. “Good morning,” he said with a confident smile. “My name is Jeremy Thorne, sir.”

“And what might your business be, Jeremy Thorne?” Matthew asked. “Has Mary hired you to be her egg carrier?”

Jeremy laughed even though Matthew's remark wasn't terribly funny. “No, sir,” he replied cheerfully. “But I have come to your farm in search of work.”

Matthew Fier stared rather unpleasantly at Jeremy. “I regret to say I'm not looking for farm help right now,” he told Jeremy. “If you would kindly—”

Matthew was interrupted by Edward, perspiring from his walk across the pasture from his house. “Wait a moment, Uncle Matthew!” Edward cried. He raised his free hand to halt the conversation.

Startled, Matthew turned to his nephew. “Good morning, Nephew. Does the arm give much pain this morning?”

“Enough,” Edward replied dryly, glancing at his arm, suspended in the sling. “I overheard your conversation with this young man, Uncle Matthew. I believe we do need an extra hand.”

He gestured to his heavy sling. “You have lost my services for a while,” Edward continued. “I believe this boy's timing is perfect. He can take some of my tasks—until my arm is healed.”

Matthew rubbed his chins thoughtfully, his eyes trained on Jeremy. “Maybe …” he muttered reluctantly. “Where do you come from, boy?”

“From the village,” Jeremy replied, eyeing Edward's sling. “My father and I settled here recently. My father is ill, sir. I am our sole support.”

“No sad stories, please,” Matthew cut him off, still rubbing his many chins. Matthew studied him. “You look strong enough.”

Jeremy raised himself to his full height, throwing back his broad, muscular shoulders. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly.

Mary stood stiffly, watching them all. She wanted to urge her father to hire Jeremy, but she knew better than to utter a word. It was not her place.

Matthew nodded. “All right, Jeremy Thorne. You may begin by cleaning out that toolhouse.” He pointed to the low wooden structure behind the garden. “Pull all of the equipment out. We plan to build a bigger one.”

“Thank you, sir!” Jeremy exclaimed happily. “I am very grateful. And my pay?”

“Ten shillings a week,” Matthew replied quickly. “But let us see what kind of worker you are before we begin to think of you as more than temporary help.”

“Very good, sir,” Jeremy said. He glanced quickly at Mary.

She felt a shiver at the back of her neck.

He's so good-looking, she thought, lowering her eyes to the ground.

All kinds of thoughts raced through her mind, surprising thoughts, exciting thoughts.

But of course Father would never approve of anything between a mere farmhand and me, she realized, stopping the flow of wild thoughts in midstream.

Jeremy Thorne.

Jeremy. Jeremy. Jeremy.

She couldn't stop his name from repeating in her mind.

Her heart pounding, Mary took the egg basket from Jeremy and hurried to the house.

The talk at lunch was of the dreadful mishaps of the night before. Poor Edward. Poor Constance.

They all lowered their heads in prayer before starting their soup.

Mary couldn't stop thinking about Jeremy.

All morning long as she'd done her many kitchen chores, she had sneaked peeks at him from the door. She saw that he was proving to be as hard a worker as he had claimed.

At the back of the garden she could see the pile of tools and heavy equipment he had dragged out of the toolhouse. She watched him working alone back there, lowering his head to enter the structure, then appearing again with another handful of items.

“Mary—what are you daydreaming about?” her mother demanded, breaking into Mary's thoughts after lunch as they began washing the dishes.

“Nothing at all, really,” Mary lied, blushing.

“You barely said a word at lunch. I watched you,” Constance said. “You hardly touched your soup.”

“I wasn't hungry, I guess, Mother,” Mary replied dreamily.

“Please stop gazing out into the garden and help me with the dishes,” Constance ordered. “You see I have only one hand.”

“Go rest, Mother,” Mary insisted. “I will clean the dishes by myself.”

After the dishes were washed and put away, Mary picked up a basket and headed out to the garden to pick vegetables for the evening meal.

The sun blazed down. Mary could see waves of heat rising off the near pasture.

As she bent to pull up some turnips, a movement at the back of the garden caught her eye. Jeremy was emerging, drenched with sweat, pulling out several heavy iron hoes and rakes.

On an impulse Mary dropped her vegetable basket to the dirt and hurried to the well at the side of the house.

A few seconds later she was standing in front of Jeremy, a tall pewter mug of cold well water in her hands. “Here,” she said, thrusting the mug at him. “I thought you might be thirsty.”

He smiled at her, breathing hard. His blond hair was matted flat to his forehead. He had removed his shirt, and his smooth, muscular chest glistened with sweat.

“You're very kind, Miss Fier,” he said. He raised the mug to his lips and, keeping his blue eyes on her, thirstily gulped several mouthfuls. Then he tilted the mug over his head and dumped the rest on his hair. It poured over his hair and face and onto his tanned shoulders.

They both laughed.

“You may call me Mary,” she told him shyly, feeling her cheeks redden. “You're a very hard worker,” she added quickly.

Her remark seemed to please him. “I believe in doing a job well,” he replied seriously. “My father and
I, we have always been poor. My father's health has never been good, so I have known hard work since I was barely out of swaddling clothes.”

Mary gazed over his shoulder toward the rolling green pasture. “I work hard, too,” she said wistfully. “There is so much to do on a farm this size.”

“It is an admirable place,” Jeremy said, turning to follow her gaze.

“It is very lonely here,” Mary said suddenly. She hadn't planned on saying it. The words escaped before she could stop them. Her cheeks suddenly felt as if they were on fire. She lowered her eyes to the dirt.

“Do you have friends on other farms?” Jeremy asked softly. “Friends in town? Church friends?”

“No. I have my family. That is all,” Mary said sadly. She cleared her throat. “But I have so many chores that I am usually too busy to think about friends and—”

“You're very pretty,” Jeremy interrupted.

Startled by the compliment, Mary looked up to find his blue eyes staring intently at her.

“I like your hair,” he said softly. “It is the color of sunset.”

“Thank you, Jeremy,” Mary replied awkwardly.

He took a step toward her, his eyes locked on hers.

What is he doing? Mary asked herself, feeling her heart start to pound.

Why is he staring at me like that? Is he trying to frighten me?

No. He'S going to kiss me, Mary realized.

She started to take a step back, to move away. But she stopped.

He's going to kiss me. And I
want
him to.

“Mary!”

A voice behind her made her cry out.

She turned to see Rebecca running through the garden, waving to her wildly with both arms, her white apron flapping at the front of her dress as she ran.

Jeremy thrust the mug back at Mary, then turned and headed quickly toward the toolhouse.

“Rebecca, what is the matter?” Mary demanded, gripping the empty pewter mug in both hands.

“Have you seen Matthew? Edward? Where
are
they?” Rebecca cried, her features twisted in fear.

“Rebecca, what is the matter?” Mary repeated.

“Come quickly, Mary,” Rebecca insisted, grabbing Mary's arm. “Please. Come. Something
horrible
has happened!”

With Rebecca's shrill, frightened cry still ringing in her ears, Mary raced after her through the garden to the house.

“This way!” Rebecca shouted breathlessly, running through the kitchen and into the sitting room.

It took Mary's eyes a while to adjust to the sudden darkness. She gasped out loud when she saw Benjamin sprawled stiffly on his back on the floor.

“Look—that is how I found him!” Rebecca cried, pointing with a trembling finger. Her black hair had come undone and fell in disarray over her shoulders. Her dark lips formed an
O
of horror as she stared at the fallen man.

Mary dropped to her knees beside Benjamin. “Is he … is he …?” she stammered. “Is he dead, Rebecca?”

She peered into Benjamin's face. His eyes were frozen in a glazed, wide-eyed stare. His mouth hung open loosely, revealing two rows of perfect teeth.

“I—I think so,” Rebecca replied in a whisper. Then she ran back to the doorway, shouting, “Matthew! Matthew! Edward! Come quickly!”

Mary reached for Benjamin's hand and squeezed it. It was as cold as ice.

She swallowed hard, gaping down into the blank dark eyes that stared lifelessly up at her.

I've never seen a dead person, she thought.

“What's happening, Rebecca?” Edward had appeared in the doorway. “I heard you calling, and—” He lowered his eyes to the floor. “Father?”

“He—he must have been sitting there,” Rebecca stammered, pointing to the high-backed chair against the wall. “He must have fallen. I think—”

“Father!” Edward cried again and dropped beside Mary. “Is he breathing?”

“I don't think so,” Mary said softly. “I think—”

She and Edward both cried out at once as Benjamin blinked.

“Father!”

“Uncle Benjamin!”

He blinked again. His lips quivered. His mouth slowly closed.

“He's alive!” Mary told Rebecca happily. Rebecca let out a long sigh and closed her eyes. Slumping against a wall, she began whispering a prayer.

Benjamin raised his head groggily.

“Lie still, Father. Take your time,” Edward urged, a hand on Benjamin's shoulder.

“I am able to rise,” Benjamin insisted gruffly. “Let me up.”

Edward moved his hands behind Benjamin's shoulders and helped him to sit up.

“Uncle Benjamin, what happened? How do you feel?” Mary asked.

“I must have been dozing,” Benjamin growled, shaking his head, blinking several times to clear his eyes. “Fell from the chair, I guess.”

Matthew burst into the room breathing hard, his round face bright red from the exertion of hurrying. “Was someone calling me?” he asked breathlessly. He cried out when he saw his brother on the floor.

“I am fine,” Benjamin told him. “Do not get hysterical.”

He started to climb to his feet, then hesitated. His expression turned to surprise.

“Uncle Benjamin, what is it?” Mary asked, still on her knees beside him. The others drew near.

“My left leg,” Benjamin muttered. “I can't move it.” He moved his right leg, drawing it up, then making the foot roll from side to side.

“I have no feeling,” Benjamin said, sounding more startled than worried. “No feeling at all in the left leg.”

Glancing up, Mary watched as her father grasped the odd three-toed medallion he wore around his neck. “How strange!” Matthew declared.

“Edward, help me to my feet,” Benjamin ordered.

Edward obediently wrapped an arm around his father's shoulders and with great difficulty hoisted him to his feet.

Benjamin's eyes narrowed as he tried to put weight on his left leg. He would have fallen if Edward and Mary hadn't caught him.

“No feeling in the leg at all,” Benjamin said thoughtfully. “It does not hurt. There is no pain. It does not feel like anything. It is as if the leg has been taken away from me.”

Wisps of clouds floated low in a bright sky. The white trunks of the beech trees at the end of the pasture gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight.

Mary stepped along at the edge of the woods, lifting her skirt over low shrubs and rocks. Above her the leaves trembled in a soft breeze.

She turned where the trees ended and felt the blood pulse at her temples as Jeremy came into view. He was working shirtless as usual, his back to her, tugging with gloved hands at a tangle of brambles at his feet.