After the Frost (18 page)

"Rand!"

Marie's voice was like a gnat in his ear. He ignored it. "Come on! Come on!"

"Rand!" Her hand pulled at him, grabbing his elbow. "Rand!"

The horses pounded the short stretch. The crowd surged forward.

"Rand!"

He swung around, annoyed. "Just a minute!"

"But look!" She pointed into the crowd. "Isn't that your—?"

"My what?"

"Your daughter!"

He thought he heard the word wrong, but still he couldn't keep himself from following her finger. He stared into the crowd, searching, looking—

And then he saw her. Sarah. She was above the crowd, and her round face was lit with joy. She screamed with the others, pointing and laughing. He heard the echo of the horses, the drumlike sound of their hooves hammering the dirt, heard the cheers as the horses raced through the finish line.

"The roan! The roan won!"

But it all faded to the back of his mind, vague sounds and shapes that had nothing to do with anything. He felt Marie grabbing his arm, the bump and nudge of the people around him. And he saw Sarah clap her plump little hands and look down smiling.

Into Belle's face.

Belle's smiling face. The same face and the same smile that had burst through his consciousness this morning, that sent him reeling as if he'd never seen the sun before.

Rand's chest felt tight. His heart pounded. And he suddenly wished like hell he was alone with Marie so he could kiss her.

Chapter 13

T
he next day Belle waited outside the home exhibits listening to the hawk of the vendors, the
baa
of the sheep in the livestock ring a short distance away. The sun was hot, the afternoon felt more like an Indian summer than the start of fall, and she pushed at the brim of her large hat, forcing it back from her eyes.

Damn, where were they? She'd been standing here for the last hour waiting for Lillian and Sarah to make an appearance. They had disappeared this morning almost the moment they arrived back at the fair, hurrying off before Belle had a chance to react or protest. The thought filled her with frustration, a nagging ache. In the two days she'd been at the fair, she hadn't spent a single second alone with Sarah. Lillian was always there, grabbing hands and taking control with exasperating skill.

The way she always had.

Belle stared at the sheep in front of her unseeingly. Her mother was a master at making sure everything went the way she wanted it to, and Belle already saw the effect on Sarah: the resentment in the child's eyes, the too-obedient way she followed orders. Belle recognized it too well—that resentment had been in her own eyes once, along with a hundred plans to escape, a hundred places to hide. She wondered if Sarah had found those places yet, if she'd ever gone to the canal and sat on the banks just watching the packet boats, or pulled a few bass from the Hocking River. Had Sarah ever hidden in the loft of the barn and watched the world go by?

Or had no one shown her those things yet?

Belle sighed, wishing—again—that she knew where Lillian and Sarah had gone this morning. She was certain they would come back here. Lillian had a pie entered for judging, as well as a collection of preserves that Belle hadn't even bothered to look at. Eventually her mother would be back—with Sarah anchored to her side, no doubt.

Almost in response to her thought, Lillian and Sarah stepped from the building. Belle jerked away from the pole she was leaning against, meaning to hurry over. But then she paused. They were with someone else, a woman she'd never seen before. Another one of Lillian's friends probably. Belle steeled herself for the inevitable scrutiny and walked over.

"Hey there, Mama," she said, pasting a broad smile on her face. "I've been lookin' for you."

Lillian stiffened. Her smile was equally forced. "Why hello, Isabelle." She glanced at the woman standing beside her, "Marie, have you met my daughter, Isabelle?"

"I don't believe I have." The woman called Marie smiled and extended her hand. "Hi there, I'm Marie Scholl. It's so nice to meet you at last. After all the stories I've heard, I was beginning to think people were making you up."

Belle paused, taken aback for just a moment. The words were sincere, and she thought she saw real pleasure in Marie Scholl's face, pleasure without a hint of disapproval. It was so odd coming from one of her mother's friends that Belle wasn't sure she was really seeing it. She took Marie's hand warily. "Oh, I'm real all right," she said. "Much to Mama's dismay, I'm afraid."

She felt Lillian tense beside her, but Marie just took the words as a joke and laughed—a clear, trilling laugh that rang in the air. "From what I've heard, I imagine you were a handful when you were a child. I have a few children like that in my class."

"Marie is the teacher we brought in from Virginia last year—and a good friend of ours," Lillian explained.

Belle frowned at the strange emphasis in her mother's voice and then ignored it. "I see. So you've only been here a year?"

"Just one year." Marie nodded. Her eyes sparkled. "But I love it here already. Everyone's so friendly—especially your family."

Lillian smiled, and there was something in her eyes that made Belle feel vaguely uncomfortable. "It's our pleasure, Marie. Isabelle, did I tell you that Rand—"

"Grandma, can I have some cider now?" Sarah whined.

"In a minute, Sarah," Lillian's fingers tightened on Sarah's hand. She looked at Belle. "Marie is—"

"Grandma, I'm thirsty."

Lillian frowned. "In a minute. I'm talking to Belle right now. As I was saying," she went on, "Marie is a good frie—"

"I want some cider." Sarah twisted against Lillian's skirts, pulling at her hand. She sent a pleading glance to Belle. "I'm thirsty."

It was too good a chance to miss. Belle stepped forward. "I'll take her to get some cider, Mama."

Lillian's lips tightened. "It's quite all right, Isabelle. She can wait. You shouldn't spoil her."

"But I was heading over there anyway," Belle said, smiling. She held out her hand to take Sarah's. "And this way you can talk to Marie. I just know you have plenty to say to her."

The desperation in Lillian's face would have been funny if it wasn't so hurtful. Belle struggled to ignore it, to tell herself it didn't matter.

"It's all right, Mama," she said. "It'll only be a minute."

Marie nodded and smiled. "We'll wait right here for you."

Lillian was caught. They both knew it. Belle saw the flash of panic in her mother's eyes, the tight anger. Lillian couldn't refuse without it looking odd, and God knew she wouldn't do that. Slowly she released Sarah's hand. Almost before the child's fingers were loose, Belle grabbed them. Sarah's chubby hand felt warm and sweaty in hers, and when Belle looked down, Sarah's smile was wide and relieved.

"I want two cups of cider," she said.

Belle laughed. "Come on, then." She threw a smile at her mother and Marie. "See you in a few minutes."

Then she and Sarah were walking away, across the path to the open space where vendors hawked candies and cider. Away from Lillian. Belle suddenly felt light and carefree. The sun was warm, the air was clear and sweet, and she was alone with Sarah. Belle wanted to run for the sheer joy of it, but she walked slowly instead, knowing Lillian wouldn't take her eyes off them and wanting to prolong the few short steps to the vendor as long as she could, to treasure this time alone with her daughter.

Sarah tugged at Belle's hand. "We're walkin' too slow. I'm hot."

"That cider'll cool you right up," Belle assured her. "Too bad we've got to stay around for the fair, or we could go swimmin'."

"Swimmin'?" There was a touch of longing in Sarah's voice. "I'm not allowed to go swimmin'."

Belle jerked to a stop in the middle of the fairway, sure she hadn't heard right. "You're not allowed to go swimmin'?"

"Huh-uh." Sarah shook her head. "Papa says it's dang'rous."

"Dangerous?" Belle squatted down even to Sarah. "The river or the canal?"

"Both."

Belle frowned. When she was young, she and Rand had spent hours at the river, at the canal. Fishing, swimming, betting on who could skip rocks the farthest. Those were some of her most treasured memories. It was impossible to believe they weren't Rand's, too, impossible to think he would deny such pleasures to his daughter.

Well, maybe he would, but she wouldn't. Belle took a deep breath and got to her feet. "We'll see about that. I'll tell you what, you and me will take a trip down to the canal just as soon as we get home. How would you like that?"

Sarah looked at her warily. "I'm not s'posed to."

"It's all right. You'll be goin' with me." Belle started toward the cider vendor. "It's about time we had a little fun."

"Will we go swimmin'?"

"No." Belle shook her head. "I think it'll be too cold to go swimmin', Sarah. But we'll stick our feet in the water and watch the boats go by. How does that sound?"

Sarah tugged on her hand. "I wanna go there now."

"Not yet. But soon. As soon as we get home." Belle turned to Sarah with a smile. "And this will be our secret, Sarah, all right? Don't tell your papa or Grandma."

" 'Cause they won't let me go," Sarah said sagely.

Belle nodded. "That's right. They won't let us go."

"I won't tell," Sarah vowed.

"Neither will I," Belle said. "It's a promise."

Just saying the words made her feel better, just as Sarah's promise filled her with a warmth nothing could take away. Sarah needed her. She needed someone to let her swim in the canal and fish in the river. Someone to teach her about the places to run away to, the places to be free.

Belle wanted to be that someone. More than anything she wanted it.

So she would make it happen. Because once she'd been a girl who needed someone to show her the same things. Because the boy who'd discovered them with her was gone forever.

But Belle had not forgotten them, and neither would her daughter. She would make sure of it.

T
he ride home from the fair was silent, and for that Rand was grateful. In the back of the wagon Sarah played quietly while Lillian watched, and though Belle was perched on the seat beside him, she hadn't said a word. He told himself he was happy about that, and he held himself as stiffly as he could to keep from touching her, to keep from having to mutter a quick "sorry" or hear her indrawn breath. From the corner of his eye he saw the way she studiously surveyed the passing scenery, and a hundred questions spiraled through his mind.
"Where were you at the fair? What were you doing? Who were you doing it with?"

It drove him crazy, and he hated that it did. He had deliberately stayed away from her during the last three days. He'd taken his meals with neighbors or bought something from a vendor, and he'd spent two nights huddled in the freezing cold in the back of the wagon, ostensibly watching over Bertha, but in reality shivering alone until dawn, thinking of the rest of them in bed at home, warm beneath heavy quilts. But he still couldn't get the memory of her smile out of his head. Nor could he forget the sight of Sarah laughing on her shoulders, and the way Belle's eyes had sparkled in return. It ate away at him until he couldn't sleep, or eat, and he dreaded the end of the fair, since it meant she would be around all the time. At home he couldn't avoid her, couldn't keep Sarah away from her.

Ah, Jesus, what was he going to do?

He tried to concentrate on Sarah's meaningless babble as she played with a pile of rocks in the wagon bed, but he couldn't completely force the questions from his mind, and he wondered what Belle was thinking.

"This is my fav'rite one," Sarah said. She leaned forward, extending a grubby hand with a gray stone clenched between her fingers. "See, Belle?"

Belle glanced down and smiled. "That's a fine rock, Sarah."

"You wanna know what I call it?"

"What's that?"

"It's name is Anna, 'cause it looks just like my friend Anna."

"Oh, really?" Belle turned in the seat, leaning over to scrutinize the stone more closely. The movement made her braid fall over her shoulder. It brushed Rand's arm. He jerked away, and her gaze came up slowly to meet his. He turned back to the horses.

She went on speaking as if nothing had happened. "Your friend Anna is round and gray?"

Sarah giggled. "No. It just looks like her some."

The giggle made Rand wince. He heard Sarah's wistfulness, the touch of hero worship, and he knew that she was doing her best to impress Belle.

It made his heart fall. Rand urged the horses to a faster pace. "Sit back, Sarah," he said sternly. "I don't want you falling down."

"But—"

"Listen to your father, Sarah," Lillian said.

The talk stopped. Belle moved back around to face the front. He felt her disapproval hovering between them like a fog, and he set his jaw and stared straight ahead, wishing he could make the miles between here and home disappear.

They did finally. It seemed to take forever, but at last they reached the wooded road just before the farm. Rand's relief was overwhelming as he pulled the wagon into the drive.

Belle was off the seat almost before he came to a stop. She reached for Sarah before he even knew what was happening.

"Let's find a good place for these in your room," Belle said, grinning. She scooped up the pile of rocks and tucked them into her skirt pocket.

Lillian made a move to stop them. "Supper will be ready soon," she protested.

"Just call us," Belle said. She threw them both a triumphant smile, and then she grabbed hold of Sarah's hand and the two were gone, into the house before he or Lillian had time to say a word.

Lillian stared at the open front door, her mouth open, and it occurred to Rand that he had never seen her look so flabbergasted.

In seconds she snapped her mouth shut again. "Well, I—" she took a deep breath and looked at him. "Something has to be done about this."