The Heirloom Brides Collection (22 page)

“May I ask what that might be?”

“That you made a vow to someone.” The saddest smile he’d ever seen passed over her lips. “And—while I think there may have been other ways to go about it—I think you went about it the way you felt was right at the time.” She rose quietly and dug around in a nearby drawer. A few seconds later, Tate heard the strike of a match, and she had lit a fresh candle. Mrs. Cromwell shook out the match and set it aside. “But you were gone a long time.” Slowly drawing her basket onto the crook of her arm, she rose and crossed the floor. At the top of the ladder she paused and glanced back. “I think Wren has convinced herself that a bond like you two had couldn’t last forever.”

He tried to think of what to say to that. Some way to blow Wren’s worries into oblivion—where they belonged. But as he’d said…

Not all men who went to sea were brave.

It was time to make sense of all the reasons he’d left. There were three of them. At least, three that he’d learned to see. The first was that just a few days before Jase’s wedding to Abigail, the oldest Kennedy had told his younger brothers to either straighten up or get out. Wanting to heed his warning, Tate and Timothy, who was two years his junior, had passed the winter in the barn. When a second winter rolled around, they couldn’t take that kind of living anymore. Poor as dirt, they had nothing to their names except strength, comradery, and a taste for adventure. All of which served them well.

Which led him to his second reason—wanting to be able to provide for Wren.

She’d have married him while he had nothing to his name because she loved him that much. And he loved her the same. Which was why he’d toted himself off before he was reckless enough to ask her to make a life with him when he hadn’t a thing to offer her save the left side of a hayloft.

And the third. Well…

He knew now that Mrs. Cromwell already knew that one. So he simply spoke her name when she set down her basket at the ladder opening. At her pause, he asked if he could stay on a little longer. “Maybe a couple of weeks? I’ll pay my way, of course. But if I could just have some more time, there’s something I’d like to ask Wren. With your blessing…” He moved to his pack and dug around in the bottom, finding what he was looking for quickly. He withdrew a small leather satchel and handed it to Mrs. Cromwell. “Wren’s grandmother… she gave that to me, for her.”

With a tug of the strings, Mrs. Cromwell peeked inside, and her eyes brightened. “Oh my.” Then she looked at him—joy flooding her face. “Tate,” she whispered excitedly.

He grinned, but it fell just as quick. “It’s awfully pretty, so I suppose she’d like it, but I don’t know that she’d want it from me. And rightly so.”

“This pleases me to no end.” She squeezed his arm, holding it. “But to your worries—you just follow your heart. I know she’ll follow hers.” Mrs. Cromwell clutched both sides of his head, pulled him lower, and pressed a kind kiss to his forehead. “Nothing would make me happier.”

Still smiling, she stepped down, and when she was gone, Tate looked at his palm, flexed his hand—the scar as much a part of his flesh and future as he prayed Wren might one day be. He remembered afresh the vow he’d made—not to the great sea, the salty air, or the brilliant sky, and not even to the friend who would always be one of his brothers. But to Mr. Cromwell. The man who wanted the best for his daughter. The vow Tate had made before he left. The final reason why he’d left.

W
ith afternoon light spilling through the window, Wren buttoned up a clean blouse. She’d just finished dumping a jar of pickled watermelon rinds down the front of her bodice, and with the stain now soaking in the washstand and the spoiled rinds thrown to the chickens, she smoothed the waist of the fresh blouse into the hem of her dark blue skirt.

Footsteps overhead declared that Tate was up—and restless. Quickly, she buttoned the front of her waistband and was just straightening it back to rights when a loud crash made her jump. It was followed by a groan and a scuffle. Lying in the bedroom doorway, Destry tipped his head to the side and quirked an ear. Wren stepped out in bare feet to see what all the commotion was.

“Tate Kennedy, what on earth are you doing up there?” she called out.

“Ow,” Tate groaned again. “Just a moment…”

Hands to hips, she stared up at the loft opening until he appeared and started down.

“What was that noise?”

“I might have broken a chair that I shouldn’t have been standing on.” He lowered himself the last rungs.

“What were you doing on a chair?”

“I was trying to see out of that upper window.”

“What for?”

“To see how far I could see.”

“Are you insane?”

“No. Just not used to being bedridden.” He rubbed his shoulder even as he apologized for the chair. “I promise to fix it.”

She rolled her eyes and motioned him to the table, where the twins were waiting. “Like the time you nearly sank us in that boat you were supposed to have fixed?”

“I fixed the boat. Afterward.”

“How about the time you got us lost on your hunt for the James River?”

The twins’ large eyes moved from Wren to Tate in rapt curiosity.

“We weren’t lost. We were just taking our time getting home.” Winking at the boys, he sat.

Wren fought a smile as she followed suit. Mama said grace and, when she finished, served Tate two pieces of fried fish. Wren scooped him a mound of creamy turnips, followed by two hot biscuits. Then she dished up plates for the twins and noticed their empty cups.

“Oh, the milk.” Wren plunked the serving spoon back into the turnips. “I’ll be right back.” She stepped out and down the lane to the springhouse, where she ducked inside the hut. Built into the hillside over a spring, the structure held air, cool and still. The floor was uneven stone with a trough down the center that filled from the earth. Round cheeses and winter vegetables lined small shelves. Pale butter was packed into stout crocks.

Wren lifted the lid off a large crock that sat half submerged in the water. Dipping a ladle into the milk stored there, she poured several servings into a quart jar. The glass chilled instantly. Slipping from the small stone hut, she started for the house and was just steps from the door when she heard Mama and Tate talking in easy tones.

“And when will you head off?” her mother asked.

“Probably sometime in the next couple months. Hopefully sooner.”

Wren’s feet slowed.

“It will be a good time of year to travel.”

Then Tate’s voice. “It will be.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Wren retraced his words, but they only hit her heart harder. Fearing her chin might set to trembling, she slowed altogether. And there it was—the realization that she may very well lose him all over again. She’d tried not to hope for anything other than the emptiness that she had been facing. Had tried to press her heart from him, but when it came to Tate Kennedy, it was as impossible as holding on to the tides.

With one last shaky breath, Wren stepped into the kitchen and filled her brothers’ cups without a word. Tate gently moved his closer, asking if he might have some.

“There’s coffee on the stove,” Mama offered.

Wren’s face must have been troubled, for Tate seemed reluctant to pull his gaze back to her mother.

Finally, he did. “I haven’t had a cup of milk in over a year. Coffee. Always black and boiled to death. One of the few things safe enough to drink at sea. Nothing”—he turned the cup in his hand and looked back to Wren—“nothing like this.”

Without a word, Wren set the jar down beside him.

Mama cast her a curious glance. Smoothing her skirts, Wren sat. She ate without looking up and was glad when the boys and Tate fell into easy conversation about their work for Mr. Paddock. It wasn’t until her mother stood and mentioned spotting a stranger coming this way that Wren realized how quickly the dinner hour had gone.

Mama went out to meet the prospective guest, and the twins darted into the bright yard, scaring a cluster of crows, making as much noise as possible as they went back to the fields. The breeze swept in through the open door, and Tate gently said her name.

“Is everything all right?” That same breeze stirred his short brown hair.

Several responses came to mind, so she made herself speak the one that was most true. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” She stacked two cups, her voice feeling small. “Please be honest with me this time.”

Broad shoulders pressed to the bench behind him, he lowered his head. “Yes.” He peered down at the table. “But not for a little while, and to be honest…” He glanced over at her. “I was—I was hoping… That you might…” His brow scrunched.

Puzzled, Wren stood and had just tugged her skirt free of the bench when he spoke again.

“This is all in the wrong order.” He blew out a slow breath. Then to her surprise, he rose. His boots sounded strong and solid against the floorboards. “Wren, there’s something that I need to tell you. I mean, ask you.” He gulped, forehead creasing under a visible uncertainty. “You see, I spoke with your grandmother—while I was in England—and she had something else for me to give you. It’s up there.” He motioned to the loft, then smeared unsteady hands together. “I wasn’t going to do this now… like this… but maybe it’s best.” After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped closer.

“Stop.” Her own hands were trembling. She said it softer. “
Please
, stop.”

His eyes went wide.

“I don’t want gifts. I don’t want chivalry. I—I don’t want anything from you.” Because the only thing she longed for was the one thing he wouldn’t part with.

Her hopes drowning in the realization that the winds would bear him away again, she stepped into her bedroom, snatched up the bundle he’d brought her, and carried it back out. “I’m sorry, I can’t accept this. It would be better that way.” A cleaner break. Not like last time when he’d packed her heart in that satchel of his and toted it across the world.

Tate nudged his glasses up and stared at what she had. Wren tried to read his expression, but he turned his face and looked out the window to where her mother was closing the coop door. A muscle tripped through his jaw. He wet his lips, then pressed his eyes closed. Perhaps she’d spoken too harshly. Her words digging into her peace, Wren hoped that he realized she meant to make this easier on him. To let him know that he need not try and make up for any lost time. She was letting go. Setting him free.

Oh, if he would but let her.

Finally taking what she held for him, Tate worked at the bundle with suntanned hands—separating the seeds and journal from the mittens he’d brought her. “Well, keep these,” he said softly, laying the packets and stout book on the table. “They’re not from me.”

Golden-brown eyes peered down at her.

Wren nodded, willing a sudden twinge of tears away. She didn’t want to hurt him. Truly she didn’t. But this had to be done. He took up the mittens and gripped them in one hand. Tate glanced back to the window, then up to the loft.

He started up the ladder, and the wood creaked with his footsteps. The whole house breathed silence. Wren looked at the packets and book sitting lonely on the table. Saw in her mind his fallen smile. A clatter had her glancing over to where her mother was propping the door open. “The man was looking for the road, but he seemed so weary, I have a hunch he may be back.”

Wren nodded and, not knowing what to do, wiped the table with a rag much too slowly.

“What’s the matter?” her mother asked.

Folding the rag over on itself, Wren whispered that Tate was leaving again.

Mama spoke so softly, she nearly mouthed the words. “Did he tell you this?”

Wren nodded and, after a moment’s hesitation, pulled her mother into the open doorway where she might whisper and not be heard. “I can’t stand by and simply watch this time.”

“He said something to me about it, too,” Mama said in a low voice. “But I thought he was just going to visit his folks. I’m certain that’s what he said.” She gripped Wren’s hands in her own. “Did he tell you differently?”

Wren’s mouth fell. “His parents?”

“In Kentucky. He said it was time.”

The ground surely dipped beneath her feet—shoving everything on its side—including the staggering dose of wonder that she didn’t deserve to feel. “K–Kentucky?” Wren repeated. Hope and regret collided within her, churning her stomach. The breeze tugged at their skirts, pushing and pulling in the cooling air.

Mama smiled sadly. “He also said something about trying to be responsible. Poor fella. I think he’s a bit overwhelmed.”

Wren pressed a hand to her forehead.

Her mother slid a comforting hand to Wren’s lower back. “Is everything all right?”

Eyes closed, Wren made herself nod. No words would come. Probably because she’d already said enough. Regret souring inside her, she breathed in slowly through her nose.

Burning inside her was the need for her mother’s wisdom, but before she could find the words, Tate climbed down the ladder. He didn’t look at Wren. Just tipped a nod to her mother, moved around them and out the door. The sight of his knapsack slung over his shoulder slammed all words from Wren’s lips.

Her mother said something that Wren didn’t hear.

“I need to follow him.” Not wanting him to get far, Wren started off.

Destry beat his paws against the path ahead of her.

With his long strides, Tate was already out of the yard and into the pasture. Clutching up her skirts, Wren started at a run. Away from the house, she called his name. But it had just fallen from her lips when Destry hobbled and let out a sharp whimper. Wren nearly stumbled over the dog. Her heart still tumbling onward, she sank to her knees on the path. Destry kicked his hind leg, whimpering fiercely. He licked at his front paw.

She spoke softly, lifting it onto her lap, but he only whined harder. He tried to pull his trembling leg from her grasp, and suddenly Tate was there. Kneeling. His hand warm and strong as he took Destry’s paw.

“Easy, boy.” Brow knit in concentration, Tate turned the foot up to study the pad, and Wren spotted a sliver wedged deep. Wren smoothed Destry’s fur. With quick, steady fingers, Tate worked the shard free. The dog’s cries turned to a pant, and he licked at Tate’s arm. Rising, Tate gave him a solid pat and ruffled his ears.