Hannah Howell (18 page)

When they passed a table stacked with bolts of material, Clover paused and looked down at the gown she was wearing, a green brocade with a lace fichu at the neck. The day’s journey had been hard on the lace trim as well as on the delicate material. She knew the work she would have to do as Ballard’s wife would be even harder on her gowns. She needed sturdier ones made of kersey, wool, and even homespun. If she had a few more serviceable gowns, she could keep her silks and brocades for any festive occasions, at least until they were so out of fashion that no amount of clever reworking would salvage them.

Molly helped her pick out material that would hold up well yet not be uncomfortable. After a quick glance at her mother’s attire, she selected enough fabric to make her mother two gowns as well. She was not sure she would get much assistance from her mother in the more menial chores, but did not want the lack of a sturdy gown to be the reason.

Clover was just walking over to Ballard to make sure that she was not spending too much when a man, two youths, and a boy entered the store. Ballard, Jonathan, Lambert, and Shelton barely acknowledged the group, who were dressed in stained buckskins. Mabel glared at the big man and spat into a spitoon. The way the man and two youths eyed Clover made her hold the bolts of cloth a little tighter against her chest. Although they were at least a yard away, she could smell the acrid scent of long-unwashed bodies. With his bushy black and silver beard, the man reminded her uncomfortably of Big Jim, and she edged toward Ballard.

“What can I do for you, Morrisey?” Jonathan asked the man.

“You can start by getting me some whiskey. Me and my boys done drained our last jug last night.” He pushed one of the youths toward the counter. “Sam here knows what else that fool woman of mine thinks she needs.”

“A new husband,” said Mabel loudly.

Morrisey glared at her. “Enough out of you, old woman. My Bess does fine. Ain’t I given her ten strapping boys?”

Mabel snorted. “One right after another till the poor thing looks as old and dried up as I do.”

Clover was fascinated by the way Mabel snapped at the huge, ill-tempered man. A slight movement at her skirts distracted her and she looked down into the huge brown eyes of the smallest boy who had entered with Morrisey. He was staring at her as if he had never seen anyone like her before. As she tried to think of something to say, she realized that dirt was not the sole reason for his darker skin tone. Some of the darker patches were actually large bruises and his small nose had a kink in it as if it had been broken and had healed crookedly. As she leaned down to take a closer look, the boy slowly reached out with one bone-thin dirty hand and touched her cheek. Before she could say anything, he was pushed aside so hard that he fell to the floor. Clover looked up to see Morrisey grab the child by the front of his ragged shirt and lift him up.

“Stupid brat, I told you, you ain’t to be touching white women.”

Clover watched in openmouthed shock as the man hit the small boy with a closed fist, threw him to the floor, and kicked him viciously. Without a second’s hesitation, she dropped the bolts of cloth save for
one and, as Morrisey bent to grab the boy again, she slammed the heavy bolt of cloth against his head. He bellowed a curse, staggered back a few steps and glared at her, raising his meaty fists. Clover dropped the cloth, grabbed the little boy by the hand as he stumbled to his feet, and tugged him behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ballard move so that he stood next to Morrisey.

“Give me back that little half-breed, woman. This ain’t none of your concern.”

“I will not stand here and let you brutalize this child, Mr. Morrisey,” she said.

“He ain’t your brat; he be mine—bought and paid for.”

“Bought? You
bought
this boy?”

“Cost me two silver dollars, he did. His ma was raped by some Shawnee buck and wanted to be rid of him. A man can’t be having too many strong backs to work his fields, and he came cheaper than those black ones.”

“This boy will never have a strong back if you beat him like that or starve him as you obviously have been.”

Morrisey stuck out one big, filthy hand. “That be my business. Now give him back.” When Clover did not move, he snapped, “You best do it, woman, or I’ll be setting the law on you.”

“Clover,” Ballard said, stepping over to her, “ye have to give the laddie back to him.”

“But, Ballard—”

“Ye have to, loving. ‘Tis the law. There isnae a cursed thing we can do about it.”

Before she could argue, the boy slipped away from her. To her astonishment, he flashed her a tiny smile,
skipped around Morrisey, and headed for the door. As the child passed Mabel, she tossed him a chunk of bread. He was eating it even as he ran out the door.

“I am telling ye, Morrisey,” Ballard said, his words spat out from between clenched teeth, “folk are getting weary of ye and your brutish ways.”

“Well, you know how to stop it. The judge done told you last summer. Buy the boy.”

“No one here has sixty dollars, Morrisey, and weel ye ken it.”

“Ain’t that just too bad. Reckon I keep the breed then.”

“Get out,” said Jonathan. “Sam has taken care of your business. There’s no need for you to linger here.”

As soon as Morrisey and his sons left, Clover looked at Ballard, who had picked up the bolts of cloth she had dropped. “Is that the end of it? There really is nothing we can do?”

“I fear not, lass. We have tried everything. Me and Jon tried to beat some humanity into Morrisey last spring, but it only made it harder on the boy. We even got a circuit judge to listen to us, but it didnae make no difference. The boy is half Shawnee. His own ma doesnae want him and no one kens where his people are even if they would take him in. The judge said that the only thing we can do is buy the boy back, but Morrisey is demanding sixty dollars. Ye ken weel how little coin there is about, and he willnae take anything but silver.” He shrugged. “All we can do is slip the laddie some food now and then, and let Morrisey ken that if he hurts the boy too grievously, he will pay for it. I am sorry, Clover.”

“‘Tis not your fault.” No one said any more about
the boy, but Clover knew that she would not be able to shake him from her thoughts.

Ballard bought every piece of material she requested. He readily agreed that she needed sturdy everyday gowns. She and Molly were discussing what dresses she would make even as they left the store. The Clemmonses followed to say good-bye. It took a while for Ballard to get them all back into the wagons. As soon as they were seated he started them on their way.

As they traveled to Ballard’s home, Clover carefully studied the land through which they passed. She grew uneasy as she saw how empty of people the area was. She had spent her whole life in a town house, side by side with other families, in an increasingly busy river town. It did not look as if Ballard had many neighbors at all, and certainly none within calling distance.

“Ye will be seeing my place as soon as we round the next bend in the road,” Ballard said after almost an hour.

Clover steadied herself. If she was disappointed with her new home, she did not want to reveal that to Ballard. As they turned the corner, she nearly gasped with relief. It was not the sort of architecture she was accustomed to, but it was no rough cabin either. A sizable two-story plank house sat in a small hollow. It had a large wraparound veranda and Ballard had obviously taken care to leave shade trees standing nearby. A huge stone chimney rose on either side and a smaller one poked up over the roof from the back. Stables and a tidy corral lay just beyond, as well as several smaller outbuildings. She could also see that
Ballard was in the process of building more paddocks for his horses.

As they drew up in front of the house, a man stepped onto the porch. He was reed-thin with a head of thick, snow-white hair. Ballard introduced them all to Adam Dunstan, his hired man. Clover could see that Adam was intensely curious about Ballard’s early return with a new wife and added family in tow, but he just murmured a greeting and began to help Shelton and Lambert unload the wagons.

Ballard took Clover’s hand and led her into the house, signaling her mother, brothers, and Molly to follow. Clover noticed that the women kept her brothers a few steps behind them, staying close enough to hear what Ballard was saying, yet far enough away to allow her and Ballard to exchange a few soft confidences.

“We can start upstairs, lass, so we will be out of the way when the lads bring your things up,” Ballard said, leading her toward the stairs that rose from the front hall.

The second story was unfinished. She saw only two doors. The other rooms were marked out by finished walls and tacked-up blankets. As Ballard dragged her toward a door, Clover counted six blocked-out bedrooms.

“This is to be our room,” he said as he opened the door and tugged her inside.

A fireplace dominated the outer wall and a large, roughly hewn bed dominated another. Two bear rugs covered most of the floor. Clover did not want to consider how Ballard had obtained them. The wardrobe, clothes chest, and bedside tables were all handmade. Although the furniture had none of the
fancy decorations she was used to, the pieces were beautiful in their heavy, solid simplicity.

As he dragged her through the other rooms, she realized that Ballard, Lambert, and Shelton were adept at making what they needed. There were only a few pieces of store-bought furniture. Clearly Ballard had planned his house carefully, with a keen eye to upgrading it as his fortunes improved.

Molly enthused over the kitchen, set in a side wing that extended out from the rear of the house. Ballard showed Clover the other four downstairs rooms, each with corner fireplaces, then hurried her outside. She found it hard to keep up with him as he showed her the stables, the barn, the smokehouse, the chicken coops, the privy, the springhouse, the icehouse, and even the small log cabin he had built as his first home, which now served as Adam’s quarters. There was even a summer kitchen which he said he would eventually attach to the main house. Clover began to wonder when the man had time to raise horses. He had barely indicated the outlying fields, recently planted apple orchard, and kitchen garden when they returned to the house to unpack all their things and cook a meal.

By the time Clover crawled into bed that night she was exhausted. She smiled faintly as Ballard slipped in beside her and tugged her into his arms. As he ran his hand up and down her sides, her fatigue faded. Her passion for him flared to life and she snuggled closer.

“Ye have nae said much since we arrived,” he murmured as he encircled her neck with soft, nibbling kisses.

She smoothed her hands over his strong, warm
back. “There has not been much chance to talk. Actually, I did wonder when you found time to plant your fields and raise your horses.”

“I didnae build the house all on my own, or the stables and the barn. We had one of those fine, neighborly parties where nearly everyone for miles around comes to lend a hand. Although I have plenty of other work to do, there are times when I can work on the house. I built most of the furniture in the evenings and over the winter.”

“Ah. That explains the lumber and tools downstairs.”

“I can move them, clear it all out, if ye want.” He undid her nightgown, carefully kissing each newly exposed patch of skin.

“Keep it as it is for as long as you like. There is plenty of room here.” She murmured her pleasure when he cupped her breast in his hand. “It does seem as if you can do most anything you set your mind to. I hope I can learn to be half as self-sufficient. A great deal of what you do for yourselves, others did for us.”

“Ye will learn, lass.” He tugged off her nightgown and tossed it aside. “I had to. This place has been my dream for a very long time. Sometimes I think I was born dreaming of it. Even as a lad I was always seeking to learn things that would help me build this place. I pestered carpenters and made a nuisance of myself at farms, always trying to see how things were done. Every job I did taught me another skill. ‘Twas all work with my hands, though—building, farming, and tending the animals. Now that I am that much closer to fulfilling my dream, I see that I should have taken the time to learn to read, to write, to figure
more than a length of board or the exact amount of seed needed to bring in a good crop, and to act as the gentry act.”

“And I am sure you will learn those skills as well. Probably a great deal faster than I learn to cook.” She smiled when he laughed. “I hope you continue to be amused by my mistakes.”

Ballard kissed her, softly growling his appreciation when she responded to his hunger with equal intensity. As he moved his hands over her slim body and she responded with eager passion, he knew she had missed their lovemaking during the journey as much as he had. She trailed her fingers up the inside of his thigh and lightly touched his erection. He shuddered, hoarsely whispering his approval. His love-making grew fiercer as she caressed him, but she offered no complaint. When he finally joined their bodies, she met him stroke for stroke, curling her lithe form around him in eager welcome. His release came but a heartbeat after hers and then he collapsed in her arms. It was several minutes before he had the breath to speak.

“It appears ye are a quick learner after all, lass.” When she giggled, he briefly grinned against her skin and prayed he could keep this part of their marriage alive, no matter what difficulties lay ahead.

“Go to Kentucky? Are you completely mad?” Sarah frowned at Thomas as he paced their front parlor.

“That cursed Scotsman must pay for what he did to me. When he left a month ago, he no doubt thought he had escaped my wrath, but he will soon see how wrong he was.” Thomas gingerly touched his nose, which had healed crookedly after his last fight with Ballard. His nose ached all the time and he blamed his increasingly frequent, fierce headaches on it. It was a constant glaring reminder of how Ballard MacGregor had defeated him time and time again.