Hannah's Dream (18 page)

Her encounter with Adam on the hill had irritated her, but she still found the quiet cowboy attractive.  He wasn't handsome in the conventional sense, as she wasn't as pretty as Sarah Bernhardt, but there was something about him, and her thoughts wandered toward him several times a day.  Hannah didn't like being so preoccupied with a man who didn't appreciate her paintings, but he had warm eyes and for a while, the idea of painting him repeated over and over in her mind.

She'd been studying his face since they'd arrived at the ranch.  He wouldn't have to sit for her.  She knew his features by heart.  His nose wasn't too long and sat an inch above his upper lip, which wasn't too full.  He was clean-shaven, and Hannah liked a clean-shaven face.  It was easier to tell what a man looked like and in Hannah's mind, what he was thinking.  Adam had a nice face and therefore, she reasoned, had a good heart.

As she watched him ride Amigo around the corral, she heard Becky come into her room.  She had clean linens.  Hannah blushed and adjusted the curtains.

"Those nasty curtains won't stay in place again, eh?"

"I was opening them.  I'd forgotten to do it this morning."

"Oh, I see," Becky said smiling.

"I was looking for Jimmy.  Have you seen him?"

Hannah turned around and saw Becky smiling.

"You don't fool me, Hannah.  I've known you all your life.  You're sweet on that boy."

"That's ridiculous.  I'm not sweet on anybody."

"You can't fool me, or your Ma.  We both see the way you look at him when he comes to Sunday dinner."

James and Adam joined the women for dinner after church every Sunday.  Adam would sit across from Hannah and try not to look at her, but often found himself staring in her direction.

"And we've seen the way he looks at you."

"He does not.  And besides, he doesn't think I'm a good artist."

Becky straightened her back.  "Did he say that?"

"No, but he doesn't."

"Well, if he didn't say it, why do you think it?"

"You remember," Hannah said.  "He was watching me paint and said my painting was nice."

"Oh, just nice.  Well, let's tar and feather him, the cad."

"I don't want my paintings to be nice, Becky.  I want them to breathe, as though they were alive."

"Dear Lord, I wouldn't want one of those paintings in my house.  I'd be afraid it would strangle me in my sleep."

"Oh, all of you, no one here understands."

Hannah rushed past Becky and down the stairs.  She ran out onto the porch and saw Marian sitting there.  Marian started to say something, but Hannah ran down the steps and away from the house before she could get the words out of her mouth.  Marian stood and went to the rail.  She watched Hannah run past the corral.  She also saw Adam watching Hannah, and watched as he followed her into the woods on Amigo.

Hannah ran until she was out of breath.  She sat on a rock next to a small stream and cried.  She felt so alone.  She missed Louise so, and even Mr. Rousseau.  They understood what it was to feel this way, to want to create something so beautiful that people would feel it, too.  No one on the ranch empathized with her.  Even Jimmy had abandoned his painting.

She heard the trees rustling behind her and turned to see who it was.  She saw Adam's hat and then Amigo's nose emerge from the trees.  She frowned and turned back to face the stream.

Adam slid off Blue's back and tied the reins to a tree branch.  He walked over to Hannah's rock and sat down beside her.

"You all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said.

She tried to sound indifferent, but he could tell she was angry.  His gut told him not to speak, but his mouth didn't listen.

"I saw you running and thought you might be hurt."

"Did I look like I was hurt?" she said.  "I was running."

Adam looked at the stream.  She was mad at him again.

"All right," he said standing.  "As long as you're not hurt."

He began to walk back to Amigo and she stood.

"You may want to ask me what is wrong," she said.

He stopped and turned around.  "Okay, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said as she sat on the rock again.

"You seem kind of mad again," he said.

She started to cry.  Now he really felt bad.  Women cried, James had told him, and it always makes you feel bad.  He said to put your hand on their shoulder and don't say anything.  Just listen.

Adam walked over to Hannah and put his hand on her shoulder.  She began to cry harder.  He took his hand away.  She began to sob.

"What do you want me to do?" he cried.

"Nothing.  I don't want you to do anything.  Go away."

Adam thought for a minute.  Amigo snorted and whinnied.  The horse was tired of standing there.

"You want a ride on Amigo?" Adam asked.

"A ride on a bucking stallion?  That sounds like a wonderful idea," she said, but the way she said it made Adam feel as though it
wasn't
such a wonderful idea.

"I'm just trying to help you," he said.  He soon regretted opening his mouth.

"Help me?  You can't help me.  You don't know anything about fine art.  You're just some uneducated ranch hand who spends his days talking to horses."

Now Hannah regretted her words.  She turned and saw the look on Adam's face and blushed.  He turned and went to Amigo and climbed on his back.  

"I'm sorry..." she said, but he had turned Amigo around and was riding away from her as fast as the horse could take him.

Chapter 31

New Beach, New Jersey

Sitting at the breakfast table alone, Margaret already missed Louise.  Harrison had taken the girl to the train station in Red Bank and the house felt empty without her.

You're being foolish, Margaret told herself.  But she had never had her own children and had grown close to Louise.  Louise had absorbed Margaret's kindnesses like a sponge.  The deprivation she'd lived with all her life had left her needy and insecure.  Under Margaret's patronage she had gained poise and learned to use her tongue.  She was intelligent and, on occasion,  showed her wit.

After Detective Smith left the house that day, Margaret had been thinking about Pierre.  Then, when two more officers appeared at her door that night, apprehension took hold of her.  They were looking for Detective Smith, he hadn't returned to Red Bank.  Fear crept up Margaret's spine.  She told them Pierre lived in a room over the stable, and they went to talk to him.  They returned and said he wasn't there and, because they were eager to return to Red Bank before midnight, asked her again to have him call their station.

After that, she wasn't comfortable around him, and she was concerned because she had allowed him to become so intimately involved in her life.  While their relationship remained platonic, he was still aware of most of her business dealings and knew where she kept things in the house.  She had also included him in her will.  She was going to give him a large sum of money, but if Pierre was a wanted man, she didn't want to dishonor her husband's name by leaving his money to Pierre.  

When Pierre was on one of his getaways, she had seen Graham Ross, her lawyer in Red Bank, and had her will changed.  She was now prepared to ask him to find another place to live.  She'd wished he had gone to California as he'd said he might.  It would have been easy to find him a new place and have his items moved when he returned.

She saw Pierre pass the French doors and then the doorbell rang.  Ginny ran past her from the kitchen and went to answer the door.  Margaret had the locks changed and didn't give Pierre a new key.  He was rather put out, and she was vague when he asked when she would give him one.  When she saw his face, she knew he'd be asking again and this was the day she would have to tell him to go.

Margaret, however, had always underestimated Pierre's ability to discern her moods.  He could predict Margaret's behavior.  The day she told him about Mr. Smith, he knew his days in the house were numbered.  When the locks were changed, he had no doubt.  He knew it was just a matter of time before she told him to go and he'd been planning for that day.  When he saw her face, he knew that day had come.  He could have spared her and offered to leave.  A gentleman would have.  His father would have.  But Pierre had shed his veneer of gentility long ago and wasn't going to go away quietly.  He would rather enjoy watching Margaret squirm.

"Good morning," he said.

He's too cheerful,
Margaret thought.   Pierre was haughty and didn't like mornings.  He seldom came to the breakfast table before nine.  She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the dining room.  It read eight-thirty.  She took a deep breath before speaking.

"I'm glad you came a bit early today," she began.  "I have something I have to discuss with you."

Pierre spread his napkin on his lap.  He didn't say a word.  He reached for the teapot and poured himself a cup.

"I think it's time you went out on your own," she said.

"You are asking me to leave?"

"You've been here a long time, Pierre, and you have your position as a teacher.  You must have put something aside for the future.  I helped you get on your feet and now it's time for you to be on your own."

"But what about Louise?"

Margaret was surprised he'd mention Louise.  This had nothing to do with her.

"Why do you ask about Louise?" she said.

"She lives in your house.  She has parents and a house of her own.  Why can she stay here, and inside the house with you, when I have been in the shed all these years?"

"The room over the stable is hardly a shed, and you're just trying to change the subject.  It's time, Pierre.  I'll have Harrison look around for a room for you if you'd like, but you must understand that it will happen and it's best to accept it and move on."

Ginny brought him toast and plunked it down in front of him.  He shot a look at her and saw contempt in her eyes.  She must have heard Margaret telling him to go and felt justified in treating him badly.  He had sensed Ginny's growing disapproval, but her loyalty to Margaret had forced her to treat him with respect.  Those days were gone.

"Very well, Margaret, I will move on as you say.  Thank you for your
generous
offer of Harrison, but I think I can find a suitable place to live."

His sarcasm wasn't lost on her, but she chose to ignore it.  He was hurt and felt the need to hurt her in return.  She sipped her tea and watched him eat his toast.  His charm had worn off ages ago and she was glad he was going quietly.  She wished him well, she truly did, but she wouldn't miss him.

She rang the bell and Ginny appeared by her side.

"Ginny, tell George I'll be going to Red Bank today and I need him to drive."

Ginny nodded.  "Yes, ma'am." 

Ginny went back to the kitchen.  Pierre picked up the paper and began to read.

"So, you're going to Red Bank?" he said.

"Yes, I have some errands to attend to.  It's good you don't have to work during the summer.  It will give you time to do what you have to do."

"It's most fortunate," he replied.  His eyes were on the newspaper.

"I feel two weeks is more than enough time, don't you?" she said.

"More than enough," he replied.

He didn't look at her.  In the past, Margaret would have said something about his rudeness, but she let it go.  He'd be gone soon and she'd have the table to herself.

Pierre was still sitting at the table when Margaret was ready to leave.  She went to the dining room to ask him to leave the house while she was gone.  She didn't know that he had taken her house key from the hook on the wall next to the front door.  Harrison would have noticed, but Harrison wasn't there.  Ginny and Jenny were going out to lunch at the drug store in New Beach while Margaret was away.  They had their own key.  The house would be empty.

"Have you finished eating?" Margaret asked Pierre.

"Quite finished," he said.

He rose from the table and turned toward her.  She was wearing a new black dress.

"You look lovely, Margaret, " he said.  "Is that new?"

"It is.  Now, you have things to take care of, don't you?"

He took her hint and followed her out the front door.  Ginny was standing by the door and Margaret turned to her.

"Please lock up when you leave, Ginny," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," Ginny said.  
I won't give that man a chance to get back in when we're gone.

Pierre stood by the carriage until Margaret was safely inside.

"Enjoy your trip to town," he said.

He was smiling.  He was trying to look sincere, but now that Margaret knew him well, she knew he was pretending. 

"I will do my best," she said.

"Oh, Margaret, I wanted to ask you about Jasper."

Jasper was the horse Pierre used whenever he left New Beach.  Pierre had become accustomed to the horse and was fond of him.  Margaret hadn't been prepared to give him the horse, but he may be willing to leave earlier if she did.

"What about him?"  she said.

"I would like to take him with me.  How much is he?"

"You insult me, Pierre.  I wanted to give him to you as a gift."