Hannah Howell (17 page)

“I should hope not.” She peeked up at him and was only able to discern the outline of his face in the shadows. “Do you know many women who spit tobacco?”

Ballard laughed. “Only old Mabel Clemmons. She sets in a rocker in front of the general store her son owns. She cusses like a sailor and can beat most men
in a spitting contest, but once ye get past the shock of it, ye realize she is a clever old woman and worth listening to.”

“I had an aunt much like that. She dressed just as she pleased, which was usually quite oddly, said anything that popped into her head, and smoked cigars. I once asked her why she liked to upset and shock people, and she told me she had done everything she was told to do for fifty-odd years and now she insisted on being herself. And she believed that people need to be shocked once in awhile.” Clover smiled when Ballard chuckled softly.

“Old Mabel started to be herself as soon as she reached Kentucky,” he said.

He recalled the look on Clover’s face as they had passed some of the rougher places along the river. Clearly she had been alarmed by a lot of what she saw. He had never looked closely at places like Tullyville, just accepted them, but he could understand how she might feel.

“Clover, ye willnae be living in some rough hut. Ye ken that, dinnae ye?”

“Of course, Ballard.” She suddenly realized that she had revealed her occasional dismay a little too clearly. “I am sorry if I have led you to believe that I was, well, regretting this move. To be honest, it was not so much the newness or roughness of the places that distressed me, but the filth. I think even Tullyville will improve when a few families settle there. Women do not long tolerate the sort of things that make Tullyville so unsavory.”

“Nay, they dinnae, and Pottersville has families. It even has a church.”

“Pottersville?”

“That is what they are calling our town now. Truth is, that must be the fifth or sixth name it has had. They cannae seem to settle on what to call it, so most times I dinnae give it a name. They are hankering to be incorporated as a town though, so I suspicion they will make up their minds soon. How did Langleyville get its name?”

“A Langley family owns most of the riverfront.”

Ballard nodded. “We are called Pottersville now because Jedediah Potter got the church built. I swear to ye, lass, ye willnae find a squalid mudhole like Tully’s place. I live in the sort of town that draws families. It has good farming land, good stockbreeding land.”

She gently caressed his cheek, smiling faintly when he kissed her palm. “I will be fine, Ballard. I promise you, I am not one to pout because I do not have some fine brick mansion to live in. I entered this marriage with my eyes open, and I will accept whatever you have to offer.”

He held her a little closer, wanting to believe her, but finding his doubts hard to conquer. She would never complain or disparage his efforts, but he still feared disappointing her. Once they were out of Langleyville, away from all she had known, he had thought that his self-doubts would begin to ease. He had naively thought that he only needed to get to Kentucky, to return to the places he knew, to regain his confidence. Instead he was growing more and more aware of the disparities between what he could offer her and what she had known. He dreaded seeing disappointment in her fine blue eyes and knowing that he had failed her.

“Weel now, my wee wife, there is something I
would like to offer ye now, but we will have to wait until we get home,” he murmured as he slid his hand down her side to her hip. “There isnae much privacy here.”

“None at all,” she whispered as she heard Shelton walk past the wagon.

Needing to reassure himself that they still had something in common, he kissed her, slowly and deeply. He felt her breathing quicken and the tips of her breasts harden against his chest. Their passion was still well-matched, he thought, and breathed a silent sigh of relief as he settled them more comfortably on their hard bed. All he had to do was keep that passion alive until it matured into a deeper, richer emotion which would bind her to him for the rest of their lives.

“Hey, you long-legged Scot, you running home already?” called a burly man from the front porch of a large wooden building.

“Clemmons, ye rogue,” Ballard called back as he pulled the wagon to a stop.

Clover sighed as Ballard leaped off the wagon seat, loped up the three steps, and exchanged a bear hug with the man. Shelton and Lambert were quick to follow. She eased herself to the ground and rubbed her aching backside. Ballard had grinned when she had put a folded blanket on the seat, but she had ignored his amusement. She knew the padding had helped her endure the rough journey.

Just as Agnes, Molly, and the twins joined Clover, Ballard looked their way. “Here, lass,” he said as he started toward her, “ye should have waited. I would have helped ye down.”

“Right about now, Ballard,” she said in a quiet voice as he reached her side, “I would have leaped back into the Ohio River rather than sit on that torturous seat for one moment longer.”

Ballard grinned and kissed her cheek, then grimaced. “Dinnae try to smooth over my error. A gentleman would have helped ye and the other women down first, then introduced them all to Jonathan. Weel, ye are here to teach me those pretty manners.”

Jonathan Clemmons stepped to the edge of the veranda. “You came back with more than you left with, Ballard m’boy.”

Clover smiled faintly at the big man, then noticed that he was looking at Molly, who was staring right back. Molly smoothed the skirts of her plain gray gown and tucked a stray wisp of hair back under her crisp white mobcap. Clover decided to take a closer look at the man as they were all introduced to him.

Clemmons was a big man, almost as tall as Ballard but of a burlier build. His face was square, plain, and weathered. He had hazel eyes with fine lines at each corner that deepened when he smiled. There was no hint of gray in his long, roughly cut brown hair, so Clover guessed that he was under forty years of age. He had a strong, deep voice and when he suddenly bellowed in surprise, she was abruptly drawn out of her thoughts.

“Married?” Jonathan stared at Ballard in open-mouthed surprise. “You got
married?
”

“I told ye I was looking for a wife,” Ballard answered as he draped his arm around Clover’s shoulders. “Me and Clover have been wed for a fortnight now.”

“I know what you told me, you lanky fool. I just did not expect you to be so successful so quick, or”—he smiled at Clover—“to get yourself such a pretty one.”

“You are very kind, sir,” she said.

“Call me Jon.”

“I knew you would do just as you claimed you would, boy,” said a deep, raspy voice.

Clover looked at the person who had spoken and struggled to hide her surprise as Ballard introduced them all to Jon’s mother, Mabel Clemmons. The woman looked too dainty and slender to produce such a manly voice. She wore a simple blue gingham gown, and her gray-flecked brown hair was neatly pinned up. There was such life in her hazel eyes, it gave her plain, slightly angular face a hint of beauty. There was a bump in one of her freckled cheeks and Clover realized the woman was chewing tobacco. She noticed several spitoons placed strategically around the porch. When the woman suddenly spat into one, Clover was a little startled by the speed, accuracy, and tidiness of the act. She idly wondered if anyone had tried to get Mabel to take up pipe smoking instead.

“Warned her about me, didn’t ya, boy,” Mabel said, fixing her gaze on Ballard.

“Weel, there are nae many like ye, Mabel,” Ballard drawled.

“Damned right. I ain’t inclined to become staid and common in my old age.” Mabel turned her sharp gaze on Molly. “A maid, eh? Are you getting high and mighty on us, Ballard?”

“Molly was hired for my sake, Mrs. Clemmons,” Clover said. “I fear I lack a few housewifely skills.”

Mabel nodded and looked at Molly again. “So you are here only for a short spell.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I am of a mind to find me a husband,” Molly said, meeting Mabel’s keen gaze squarely. “I am fair tired of being a widow.”

A faint smile briefly curved Mabel’s thin lips
before she turned to Agnes. “You here to find a man too?”

Agnes blushed. “Heavens, no. I am but a month widowed and much too old for such nonsense.”

“You’re still breathing, ain’t you? That’s ‘bout all it takes to get a man sniffing ‘round your skirts in these parts.” She winked at Ballard. “And it seems marrying is in the air.” She spat again and frowned down the road. “Course, there be one or two what might be displeased about your getting hitched up, Ballard.”

Clover felt Ballard tense as he followed Mabel’s gaze down the road. She peeked around him. And almost cursed. Loping toward them was a woman, her skirts hitched up to reveal well-shaped blackstockinged legs and red petticoats. Thick raven hair billowed around her head as she ran, and her full breasts seemed in danger of bouncing free of her low-necked gown. Ballard turned to greet the woman, only to grunt in surprise as she flung herself into his arms. Clover muttered a curse. Mabel chuckled.

“Elizabeth, enough,” Ballard snapped as he wrenched free of the woman’s grasp and held her at arm’s length.

“Come now, Ballard, I know we did not part on the best of terms, but—forgive and forget, I always say.” Elizabeth glanced at Clover and her family. “I see you have brought some new people to town. Do you mean to settle here or move on?” she asked Clover as she wriggled closer to Ballard.

“I rather thought I would linger in the area,” Clover replied wryly.

“Elizabeth Brown, there are some people I would like you to meet,” Ballard said, pushing her away as he introduced Clover’s family and Molly. He quickly put his arm around Clover’s shoulders. “And this is
Clover—my wife.” Clover watched with interest as Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide and her cheeks flushed with anger.

“You
married
this child?” she snapped.

“I told ye I was going to find me a wife.”

“I thought those were just words, said to spite me.”

“I dinnae play those kind of games, Elizabeth. Ye have kenned me long enough to realize that.”

Clover was tempted to ask for how long and how well, but bit the inside of her cheek to stem the words. Ballard did not look very welcoming. It would be unfair to assume immediately he had lied when he had said there was no one for him in Kentucky. She just wished that this particular “no one” did not look so fulsome and sultry. She wondered crossly if Ballard knew any slender, small-breasted women besides herself.

“I certainly did not think you would be fool enough to up and wed some scrawny chit from back east. You were gone barely more than a fortnight,” Elizabeth exclaimed.

“I told nearly the whole town what I planned to do and I did it.”

“Well, this pale child will never survive out here. You made a very poor choice, Ballard MacGregor.”

“I dinnae happen to think so. And if ye cannae welcome her and her kin, there isnae any reason for ye to linger here.”

“No? You owe me—”

“I owe ye nothing, lass. I never made ye a promise or even hinted that I would. ‘Tis all in your head, a product of your own vanity. Now, either wish us weel or leave and let that be the end of it.”

“The end of it? I think not.” She glared at Clover, then marched away.

Ballard sighed. “Sorry about that, lass.”

“You said you had no one in Kentucky,” Clover murmured.

“I didnae lie. That fool lass thinks every mon in the state is fairly pining away for her.”

Clover watched the woman disappear down the road, invitation in every swish of her skirt, and suspected that Elizabeth Brown had some sound reasons for that vanity. A part of Clover wanted to know every detail of Ballard’s past relationship with her, no matter how sordid, but a larger part of her desperately wanted to brush the matter aside. She could not stop thinking that Elizabeth Brown was probably an excellent cook too.

“She seemed very sure that you would be one of those pining men,” Clover said.

“Aye, but as I said, ‘tis all in her head. There was a wee tryst atween us after the harvest frolic, but I ne’er even hinted it would be more than that. I took a quick taste of what she offers half the men in the area, and she decided I was the one who wanted to marry her. I spent nearly all winter trying to make her understand she was mistaken. I thought I had been successful. Weel, she must see the truth now. ‘Tis the last we will see of her, lass,” he said. “She has plenty of beaus ready and willing to soothe her bruised vanity.”

Ballard winced when Clover gave him a look that clearly said he was being either naively optimistic or extraordinarily stupid. “Shall we go into the store?” He took her hand in his.

“Do we need to buy anything?” she asked as he led
her inside, noticing from the corner of her eye that Jonathan Clemmons fell into step next to Molly.

“Some seed. I didnae think I would return in time to plant a full crop, but I have, so I need a wee bit more seed. I thought there might be a few items ye need. Mayhap some cooking supplies. Have a look about, lass, while I talk with Jonathan.”

As soon as Ballard tugged Jonathan away from Molly’s side, Clover told her, “I get the distinct impression you have already selected your next husband.”

“He certainly is a promising prospect.” Molly winked at Clover. “Do not be fretting, miss. I will not be leaving you till you know all you need to know about housewifery. If Jonathan Clemmons be the one for me, he will be standing by when I am done.” She took Clover’s arm and glanced toward Mabel, who was sitting in a rocker next to a cast-iron stove, talking to Agnes. “His mother saw that I be considering her boy and said not a word against it, so that be the first step taken.”

“We ain’t got no Papist church ‘round here,” Mabel called over to Molly.

“That be fine, ma’am, as I am of a Protestant bent meself.”

As Molly led her around the store, explaining some of the less obvious items for sale, Clover listened carefully. She had shopped before, but now realized her ignorance with painful clarity. She had always taken a list and let the shopkeeper fill her order, or left the shopping to the housekeeper. There was clearly a great deal she had to learn about making selections according to quantity, quality, and price.