Walker's Wedding (24 page)

“Lowell?”

“Yes, son?”

The two men faced each other, both loving the same woman yet in a different way.

“I'll see that she'll want for nothing.”

Lowell's shoulders slumped. “If you should need anything—if there's anything I can do…”

“I have money to buy her whatever she wants. What I don't have,” he said quietly, “is the ability to change her mind.”

S
arah sat on the porch swing, praying for strength and guidance. Oh how she needed guidance.
And this time I will listen, Lord.

The sun rimmed the tops of the clouds, spreading reds and golds across the barnyard. Occasional lightning flashes raced through the building clouds forming in the west. Walker came out of the barn and strode toward the house. The wind picked up, whipping his clothes around his tall, rugged frame. Sarah shivered, images flashing through her mind: pictures of how lonely Papa had looked when the train pulled out earlier, how big and incredibly lonely her bed was without Walker.

She held her tongue as he walked toward her, unaware of her presence.
Give me the words to soften his icy reception,
she prayed. Sliding off the swing, she met him at the foot of the porch steps.

“I want to talk to you.”

Ignoring her, he reached for the screen door handle. Desperate now, she threw herself between him and the doorway.

“Just
listen
to me, Walker. We cannot live under the same roof for the next six months without speaking.”

The coldness in his eyes stopped her. Within the blue depths she saw the pain she had caused, and she longed to erase it. He stepped back as if debating whether to move her aside by force. Sarah swallowed against her dry throat, determined to stand her ground. The air crackled with
the building storm both within and without. He was still attracted to her; she could see it in his indecision. “Don't do this. Don't shut me out. We have to talk about this, Walker. It won't go away.”

Turning on his heel, he started back to the barn—his sanctuary, the one place he could wrap himself in his misery and refuse to face the problem.

She pursued him across the dusty barn lot, unwilling to let him walk away. Dark clouds swallowed up the sun as she picked up her skirts and called out after him.

“You've never once asked why I was driven to such desperation. You have to believe that I would never deliberately set out to hurt you.” The first wet drops struck the dusty ground as she followed him into the barn.

“I don't care why you did it.” He disappeared into the dim interior, and then a moment later a lantern blazed to life.

“Well, that's a horrible attitude.” Shaking the rain off her blouse, she sat down on a bale of hay next to Diamond's stall. Walker might not care why she'd lied, but he
was
going to hear her side of the story. “All I ever wanted was a husband and my own family and children. Papa never understood that need. Truthfully, he's spoiled me shamefully since Mama died, and I do know how to wrap him around my little finger.”

She probably shouldn't be telling Walker that, but she refused to tell another lie. Never again. “This whole fiasco began the day Papa said he was going to send me to live with my Uncle Brice in Georgia. He said a year with my uncle might get my head on straight, but a few months with him would have been the death of me. Believe me, every time I acted up, off to Uncle Brice's I would go. So I ran away—and not for the first time. I've run away more times than I care to admit this past year, but only because Papa refuses to understand my needs. All of my life I've wanted my own home, my own babies, and a loving husband.”

Walker glanced at her over his shoulder. She met his eyes defiantly. “If our butler hadn't happened along, I would have married a dockworker the day before I ran away.”

Clearing her throat, she continued, “Papa and I quarreled, and the next morning I left the house and boarded a train to New York. I intended to live with my friend Julie until I could find suitable employment.”

He glanced over his shoulder again, and then away.

“Rodney Willbanks is a no-good gambler Lucy was in love with. Lucy had cried herself dry when I sat down on the train to eat breakfast with her that morning. One thing led to another, and Lucy made it plain she didn't intend to marry you, Walker. And since you were willing to marry a stranger anyway, I thought, well now, this could be the answer to my prayers. And it was—until Lucy had to spoil everything.”

She could see his silhouette against the glow of the lamp. His face was hidden in the shadows.

“When were you going to tell me?”

She slid to the edge of the bale. “I've thought about it every day. At times, I had my mind made up to tell you the moment you got home, but then something always happened to stop me. Fear, mostly. I was terrified you wouldn't understand.”

“When, then? In five years?”

“Of course not. I couldn't keep a secret that long. Ask anyone who knows me. I tell everything I know.”

“Except this time.”

She studied her hands. “Except this time. Oh, Walker, I'd never leave you. I wouldn't walk out on you like—” She caught herself.

“Like who?”

“Like…Trudy.”

She didn't have to see his eyes to know they had turned to granite. “You knew about her. You knew and yet you still deceived me.”

“I didn't deceive you—well, I did, but I was going to tell you the truth. Why can't you believe me?”

“Sarah, I trusted you. I was—” He stopped, turning back to the rigging.

What had he been about to say? That he thought he was falling as deeply in love with her as she had with him?

“I adore you,” she whispered. “I love living at Spring Grass, and I love our home. I've wanted to tell you the truth so many times, but I was afraid. I knew the lie was between us and it tormented me day and night. Every Sunday I sat in our pew and asked God for forgiveness…and I walked out of the church and continued the ruse. I was afraid that when you knew, you'd react exactly the way you have. And the thought of losing you—” Tears welled in her eyes and her voice trembled. “I couldn't bear it. But I also can't stay here with you if you aren't in love with me.”

Thunder pealed in the distance, but the weather was of little concern. Why didn't he comfort her? Why couldn't he accept that she loved him more than anything in this world?

Lightning flashed outside the barn. Sarah slipped off the bale and approached him. “Walker, I love you.”

Walker turned and their eyes met. For a brief, euphoric moment she thought he was going to take her in his arms. Passion and anger warred on his features. Pain and desperation battled between them.

“We can start over. I promise I will never lie to you again. However painful or awful the matter might be, I
will not
lie to you again.” When he still didn't answer, she pleaded softly, “Say something.”

Tossing the bridle over the stall, he brushed past her. “You should have married that dockworker.”

With that he walked away.

D
ays went by; long hours of impasse. Sarah stood at the parlor window, admiring the glorious early autumn colors. Warm sunshine filtered through tree branches of bright yellow and gold; the scent of burning leaves was a pleasant reminder of nature's cycle.

She sighed. She had been so certain that it would be only a matter of time before she was back in Walker's good graces, yet her time at Spring Grass was waning. Nothing she said or did had made the least difference to him. At times she'd caught him looking at her, studying her rounding belly, his face an emotionless mask. Her love refused to die; his would not surface.

Sarah rose early to eat with Walker. At first he had refused to sit at the table with her. He'd stride straight through the kitchen, reaching for a biscuit on his way out the back door. Sometimes he acknowledged her; more often he didn't. Eventually, hunger got the best of him and he began eating supper in the dining room. She cherished those brief interludes because they represented one of the few times she was alone with him. Communication was limited with Flo acting as mediator. Walker wasn't rude; he just wasn't there. Somehow he'd removed himself from the situation, and she envied him. She wished she could do the same, but day in and day out, memories of their love haunted her.

This morning the crisp fall air and her rapidly expanding middle made it hard to get out of bed. She dressed in half darkness, and as she
slipped into her boots she realized that before much longer Flo would have to help her lace them. Happiness bubbled inside her as she felt the growing roundness of her stomach and the tight skin covering the child being formed. Then the futility of the situation hit her, and she lay across the bed, Papa's parting stern warning in her ear.
You will never be able to walk away from that child, Sarah Elaine. Never.

But she would. As much as she cherished the new life growing inside her, she was strong, capable of keeping her promise. It would be better for the child to think he or she didn't have a mother than for Sarah to remain and have her son or daughter witness a loveless marriage. The realization brought tears to her eyes, and the bed shook with the force of her sobs. By the time she could control herself to rise and leave the room, she was exhausted from her emotional burden.

Flo was scrambling eggs when Sarah rounded the kitchen corner. She was ravenously hungry these days, and as she walked into the kitchen she eyed the mound of sausage and biscuits. The aroma of eggs fried in butter captivated her.

“Everything smells so good! I'm famished.” She plucked a biscuit from the pile and peeled apart a hot, flaky layer. Steam rose from the bread and she sniffed appreciatively. “Who would think that it took this much food to feed one little baby?”

Flo smiled and ladled eggs into a white bowl. Sarah downed the biscuit and reached for a second one.

“Yer eyes are red as a beet. Have you been crying?”

Biting into the biscuit, Sarah nodded. “I think something's wrong with me. One minute I'm happy, the next I'm crying. I can't seem to stop once I get started, and I never know what's going to set me off. Yesterday I was watching Potster carry eggs from the chicken house into his kitchen, and all I could think of was how those mother hens would never know their babies because they would be eaten even before they hatched. I couldn't stop crying about it. Don't you think that's strange?”

Flo chuckled. “All part of having a young'un. You cry and laugh at the same time. There's no particular reason for either.”

“Does it get any better?”

“Eventually, though never soon enough.”

Sarah tried to laugh, but she ended up bursting into tears. Flo laid the spoon aside and stepped around the table to embrace her. Sarah sank into her warmth, grateful for the kindness. It seemed years since she'd had any physical contact with another human being, and Flo's hug was like manna from heaven. The older woman stroked her hair lovingly.

“Flo, will he ever love me again?”

“I don't know, honey. I really don't know. I've never seen Walker this stubborn about anything but love. You've got to hold on to hope. If you lose that, you don't have anything.”

After drying her eyes Sarah went to the dining table, where she prepared a plate heaped with eggs and sausage. She glanced up as the object of her misery strode in, yawning. She sank into her chair. Former concerns about baby chickens and their unfortunate demise forgotten, she used the edge of a biscuit to herd a few stray pieces of egg onto her fork.

Walker sat at the far end of the table, as distant from her as possible without eating in the foyer. She'd realized what he was doing a few days into the game and tried sitting at different places around the table. He would invariably take the seat farthest away. Once she had tried removing all of the chairs except the one next to hers, but he only picked up the chair and carried it to the farthest end. She had finally given up and let him sit wherever he pleased.

“Walker, don't forget Caleb is coming today,” Flo called as she scoured a skillet at the kitchen sink. “You'll need to leave the study key.”

Caleb. In all her misery, Sarah had forgotten the accountant.

Walker dug into his pocket and produced a long skeleton key, laying it before him on the table. He'd taken to locking the study.

The key sat there, taunting her. Her food suddenly tasted bitter.

Resentment bubbled in her throat and before she could check them, the words tumbled out of her mouth. “How well do you know Caleb?”

Walker's fork hovered halfway between his plate and his mouth. He
studied the utensil as if it were a foreign object. Sarah heard Flo cease scrubbing for a moment and then resume. The silence at the table was deafening. Walker slowly lifted his head to look at her.

“Are you talking to me?”

“You're not going to like this, but I think Caleb might be taking advantage of you.” She bit her lip, wondering if she'd lost her mind. She had no real proof of the accountant's dishonesty, and she certainly wasn't on the best of terms with Walker, but given a few hours alone with the ledger, she was certain she could point out some puzzling inconsistencies.

Walker calmly picked up a biscuit and spread butter on it. “Are you suggesting that my best friend is stealing from me?”

She was but not so candidly. “Have you looked at your books lately? Really looked?” She wasn't going to win points on this one, but if he was so blind that he couldn't see what the man was doing, he shouldn't accuse her of bad judgment.

Walker slid a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “Snooping again?”

“I have no reason to steal your money, Walker. You're in such an all-fired hurry to believe the worst of me, yet you turn a blind eye to others' manipulation.”

“You're speaking of Caleb again?”

“Yes.”

She knew she was out of bounds, but she didn't care. Frustration drove her. Leaning closer, she quietly asked down the long table length, “Why doesn't he return the receipts?”

Walker took a moment to answer. “For safety, I suppose. I don't need to reexamine the receipts.”

“Is it possible he doesn't want you to know how much he's skimming off the top?”

Walker locked gazes with her. “You're wrong, Sarah.”

“Scared you'll find out your best friend is cheating you?”

“Stop it!”

“You two knock it off in there!” Flo yelled from the kitchen.

Sarah ignored her. She lowered her tone. “Are you afraid you might discover that your friend isn't your friend?”

“It wouldn't be the first time someone I trusted betrayed me.”

Flo stuck her head around the doorway. “Sarah, those are mighty strong words.”

The warning only stiffened Sarah's resolve. “I know the books have been tampered with and I can prove it.”

“You're talking nonsense,” Walker said, his face now red.

“Prove me a fool.”

Glaring at her, he grabbed the key and rose from the table, the chair scraping behind him. Sarah rose also and followed him out of the room.

Flo trailed behind, whispering, “You better be able to back this up, young lady.”

“Or what? Risk losing his favor?” Sarah laughed, suddenly lightheaded with power. She could prove it, but would Walker believe her if she did?

Walker strode through the hallway. Inserting the key in the lock, he gave her a dark look and then opened the study door.

Sarah's heart tried to escape her chest, and she was short of breath by the time she approached the desk. She didn't have much time to prove her theory. Caleb would be here by eleven, and there were pages and pages in the ledger. Pushing Walker aside, she sat down and opened Spring Grass's financial records. Her hand shook when she realized that she had just touched her husband for the first time in weeks. Her hand burned from the brief contact, and she fought the desire to touch him again.

Reaching for pencil and paper, she started adding and subtracting, examining the columns of numbers for discrepancies. Walker stood behind her, his eyes fixed on the paper.

“I don't know why you're doing this.”

“I hate to see anyone cheated.” She rebuked his impatient sigh with a warning look. She glanced up. “And don't remind me that I cheated—I didn't cheat. I just didn't tell the truth.”

Caleb Vanhooser had honed the art of embezzlement. Proving that his numbers were off was going to be more difficult than she had
anticipated. Were there two sets of books? The ledger looked surprisingly clean today, as if he had tidied up his dirty work.

“Has Caleb worked on the books recently?”

“He works on them twice a month. You know that.”

She could feel him watching her, and she dared not look up for fear of losing her place in the columns of numbers. Walker edged around the desk as if trying to get a better look. He accidentally brushed the side of her chair. She glanced up, realizing that he was studying her, not the numbers. She blushed with heat, and for a mere second she considered dropping the pencil and reaching for him.

He turned toward the window, clearing his throat. Sarah dared not take time to breathe. She found a mistake, and she circled it with her pencil.

She had reached the last page when a soft rapping at the closed study door made her start. Caleb's knock. Her heart leapt to her throat. She was so close! Walker glanced at her as the knock came again, more persistently.

“Don't answer it. I'm nearly finished. Just a few more numbers…” She hurriedly tallied the last three columns, praying that Walker would allow her sufficient time to finish. From the corner of her eye she could see him walking toward the door.

A moment later the accountant's thin frame appeared in the doorway. His smile faded when he saw her, and his eyes moved to the open ledger.

“What's going on here?”

Closing the door, Walker returned to the desk. “Sarah thinks there's an error in the books. Is that possible, Caleb?”

Caleb met Sarah's eyes. His normally pallid features flushed and his gaze pinned her. “I don't believe so, but I'll be happy to go over the entries in question.”

“Some of your entries don't make sense, Mr. Vanhooser.”

His left brow arched. “Are you an accountant, Mrs. McKay?”

Sarah felt heat suffuse her cheeks. “Of course not, but I've always been good with numbers.”

Caleb forced a smile, giving Walker a long-suffering look. “Of course. Perhaps your condition has you…imagining things? I know when a woman—”

Sarah sprang out of the chair. “My condition has nothing to do with it.” She thrust her calculations at him. “Where's the ledger—and receipts that were here a few weeks ago?”

Caleb reached out to catch the fluttering sheets.

“Walker,” Sarah pleaded, “this isn't the same ledger that was here last month. That accounting had dozens of discrepancies. This ledger is a book of fabrication.”