Jane Bonander (21 page)

“You sure he should be moved?”

“Do you think I’d move him if the doctor had told me not to?” He’d assured Susannah that children were resilient, able to sustain tumbles that would surely break an adult’s bones. But Corey did have a sprained ankle and was supposed to stay off his feet.

“Did you ask the li’l man why he went off like that?”

Susannah rotated her neck, hoping to work out the kinks. “Yes, poor little love. But I knew the answer even before he told me.”

“Which was what?”

“He woke up and heard Nathan arguing with me on the porch. Whenever that happened between Harlan and me, Corey would wander off until he couldn’t hear the noise anymore. I’d discovered it a couple of times, and believe me, it scared me senseless.” She shivered. “Something dreadful could have happened to him. It almost did, this time.”

Louisa gave her head a solemn shake. “Why didn’t they hear the chile’ cryin’ way before they did, Honeybelle?”

“Odd as it may seem, the doctor thinks he probably cried himself to sleep. And since the rest of us were sleeping, no one heard him.”

“No injury to his sweet li’l head?”

Susannah gave Louisa a peck on the cheek. “No injury to his sweet little head, you old softy.”

Susannah took the two tins, left the house and hurried across the cold grass, shivering as the chill easily filtered through her clothes. Stepping into the barn, she paused and listened as Jackson chanted an eerie, almost tuneless melody.

Padding noiselessly through the dimly lit barn, Susannah came to the room where Nub had put the stove. She felt the warmth immediately and peeked inside, finding Jackson curled up against Max’s long body, chanting softly against the dog’s ear.

The sight of the two of them almost broke her heart and she said a quick prayer herself for Max’s survival. Jackson stopped chanting, and Susannah realized he was staring at her.

Smiling, she held out his lunch. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday, Jackson.” When he didn’t respond, she opened the pail and pulled out a piece of chicken.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

He moistened his lips and swallowed, eyeing the chicken hungrily.

Susannah sighed, put the chicken into the pail and placed it on the cold, dirty floor near him, then sat down across from him. “You have to eat, Jackson. You won’t be any good to Max if you don’t eat.”

He rummaged through the contents of the pail, pulled out the bread and broke it into scraps. Then he took out the chicken and smeared grease onto a piece of bread and shoved it under Max’s nose. Slowly, lovingly, he rubbed it back and forth across the dog’s mouth.

Her heart lurched again. “Jackson,” she said softly, lifting off the lid to the other tin, “let’s give him some of this.” She took a spoon from her apron pocket, scooped out some of the oatmeal-molasses-cream mixture and put it on the inside of the lid. She handed it to Jackson.

With an understanding nod, Jackson took the food and placed it near Max’s mouth. Susannah handed him the spoon and watched him feed her dog. About halfway through the tin of oatmeal, Max hiked himself up and slowly lapped up the rest of it.

Jackson grinned, his eyes glistening. “Max,” he whispered, bending over to hug the dog.

Blinking back tears, Susannah cleared the emotion from her throat. “Now Jackson must eat,” she ordered, pushing his lunch toward him.

Jackson gave her another smile, one so achingly familiar that it pinched her heart. “Your father will be very proud of you, Jackson.”

He didn’t understand her, but she didn’t care. She was satisfied that he was eating. Still, when she thought about the struggle he and his father would have ahead of them, she felt a measure of sadness.

“Mama! Max all right?”

She turned and saw Corey’s sweet face poking out from a bundle of blankets in Kito’s arms. “Hello, sweetheart. Yes,” she said, scooping her son into her arms, “Max is fine, thanks to Jackson.”

She scooted against the wall, resting the bundled Corey on her lap. “Thank you, Kito.” She held Corey firmly, but he squirmed, wanting to touch the dog. She moved closer, enabling him to caress the animal’s hip.

“How’s things in here, Miz Susannah?”

“They’re wonderful, aren’t they, Jackson?”

Jackson barely acknowledged them, concentrating instead on a second piece of chicken.

“We finally got Max to eat some oatmeal,” she explained. “It was the only way to get Jackson to eat, too.”

Kito smiled, his dark eyes warm. “Sure am glad to hear it, Miz Susannah. Don’t know what the boy’d do if that dog died.”

Susannah’s own smile softened as she watched Jackson eat. “I don’t know either, Kito.”

“Max sleeping?”

Giving Corey a quick kiss on the cheek, she breathed in the clean baby smell of him. Love expanded inside her. She hugged him until he squirmed. “Yes, darling Max is asleep.”

“Well,” Kito said, stepping nervously from one foot to the other, “guess I’ll get back to work. We fed the li’l mister a bite of bread and jam before we left the house, Miz Susannah.”

“Again, thank you.” As he turned to leave, Susannah said, “Kito?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

She let out an audible sigh. “I’m happy for you and Louisa. I’d thought all along that she’d be a good woman for you.”

“You was right, Miz Susannah. She keeps me hoppin’. I didn’t know what I was missin’ till she come crashin’ into my life, waggin’ that saucy tongue of hers.”

Susannah marveled at the smile that spread across Kito’s face at the mere mention of Louisa’s name. “I had my doubts in the beginning.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t.”

“Not even when she talked so cruelly about your bad leg the day you brought her to the cabin?”

His chuckle deepened, rumbling up from deep within his chest. “I knew she didn’t mean nothin’ by it even then.”

Susannah settled against the wall and put Corey on the floor between her legs. “How did you know?”

“Somethin’ happens ’tween a man an’ a woman that goes beyond words, Miz Susannah. Me’n Weesa felt it the first time we laid eyes on each other.”

She frowned, remembering that those were almost Louisa’s words exactly. Pondering them, she watched him limp from the room.

She hadn’t felt that way about Nathan from the very beginning, had she? But now, just thinking about him made her heart pit-a-pat a little faster in her chest. Perhaps there had been something there; she’d just chosen to ignore it. Or she might have been too caught up in her fears to dwell on it.

Closing her eyes briefly, she rested her head against the wall. Whatever she’d felt had been one-sided, for were it not, Nathan wouldn’t have been so eager to soak up every one of Sonny Walker’s lies.

Jackson’s sigh of contentment forced her thoughts to the present. He’d stretched out beside Max, his head on his arm, his eyelids heavy.

Corey continued to stroke Max’s hip, but he appeared tired, too.

She studied the three of them. “Well,” she scolded, her smile warm, “aren’t you all just terrific company?”

“Sing, Mama,” Corey requested, his voice husky with sleep.

With Corey in her arms, she struggled to her feet, crossed to Nub’s cot and put her son down, making sure he was well covered. She took the blanket off the end of the bed and kneeled beside Jackson, draping the quilt over him. She stayed a moment, staring down at the face that was so much like Nathan’s she wanted to cry. She brushed the tawny, golden brown hair from his forehead, her heart twisting when she saw that he frowned in his sleep.

“Oh, Jackson, Jackson,” she said on a sigh. “What sadness must be locked away in your heart . . .” On an impulse, she bent and kissed his cheek, then touched the spot with the backs of her fingers.

“Mama, sing what the bird says,” Corey ordered from the bed.

Rising from beside the sleeping Jackson, she gave him one last glance before returning to the bed. Corey held out his arms, and she took him onto her lap, again nuzzling his hair.

Do you ask what the bird says? The sparrow, the dove,
The linnet, and thrush say, “I love, and I love!”
In the winter they’re silent, the wind is so strong;
What it says I don’t know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing and loving—all come back together. . . .

She glanced down to find him asleep, his dark curly lashes fanned out on his cheeks. She hugged him close for a moment, savoring the feel of him in her arms before laying him back down on the cot.

It was then that she realized someone was standing in the doorway. She glanced up and her heart leaped against her ribs. “Nathan,” she whispered, unable to contain the tangle of emotions that somersaulted through her.

S
usannah’s face held an abundance of emotions. All of them scraped against the raw edges of Nate’s heart. “What’s going on in here?”

She stood, her gaze wary as it lingered on him. “We finally got Max to eat something. And Jackson, too.”

He stepped into the room, careful not to touch her as he walked past her, for if he had, he would have been hard-pressed not to attempt to drag her into his arms. Unfortunately, she didn’t look all that receptive. It didn’t surprise him.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and crossed to where his son slept, though his thoughts were still on Susannah: the song she’d sung, the womanly way she smelled, the sweetness of her lips, the rounded fullness of her breasts, her startled yet amazed reaction to her sensual awakening all those weeks ago, her natural, instinctive, delicious passion. . . . He realized with a sense of amazement that he could go on and on recounting her assets.

He gritted his teeth and swore again. To change the direction of his wayward thoughts, he said, “I didn’t know Samuel Coleridge’s
Answer to a Child’s Question
had been set to music.”

“I don’t know anything about that. My mother used to sing it to me when I was little. For all I know, she made up the tune herself.”

She was still holding herself aloof. With his guilt about Judith’s death and burial finally put to rest, he was anxious to get on with his life. After his visit with the breed, Nate had stopped to see old Doc Madison. He’d identified Judith’s body five years ago, and put Nate’s tortured mind to rest.

As he’d ridden home, Nate realized how possessed he’d been. He also knew that if he didn’t set things right with Susannah, he’d lose her forever. The concept made him ache all over.

His thoughts meandered back to the poem she’d sung. “Your
mother
knew the poems of Coleridge?”

She glanced away, but not before he saw that he’d hurt her. “My mother wasn’t always a whore, Nathan.”

He wanted to ask what had happened to make her one, but he realized that what her mother was had nothing to do with her. It was a cleansing revelation. “Do you know the rest of the poem?”

Her cheeks flushing pink, her eyes still averted, she nodded.

But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings he,
“I love my Love, and my Love loves me.”

He was silent, the words forcing an opening into his soul. How easy she was to love! He cursed Sonny Walker for painting Susannah with a dark brush, and himself for believing him. But no more. Susannah was a strong, proud woman. What he’d done to her could have broken her spirit. That it hadn’t proved to him that he wasn’t worthy of her love. But he wanted to be.

Cursing, he tried to focus on Jackson, but the picture of Susannah kissing the boy’s cheek as he slept was engraved in stone in his mind. And the sound of Susannah’s husky-sweet voice as she sang to Corey still rang in his ears.

Jackson stirred, snoring softly as he crowded the dog. The uncomfortable lump formed in Nate’s throat again, but he welcomed it. He’d have withstood the pits of hell if that had been the only way to have Jackson returned to him. He forced a grim smile. In a way, he had withstood hell, both in the war and in his mind.

His glance landed briefly on Nub’s bed where Corey slept. “Why is he here?”

Her fingers caught the edge of her apron and she twisted it nervously. “He wanted to see Max. Kito bundled him up and brought him out.”

They stood in uncomfortable silence. Finally, she spoke. “What did you learn in town, Nathan?”

Ah, just the way she said his name, drawing it out with her soft Missouri drawl . . . He cleared his throat roughly. “Doc Madison verified that it’s Judith’s body in that grave.”

She let out a soft gasp. “I’m sorry, Nathan. I’m sorry you got your hopes up only to have them dashed again.”

He was convinced that she really meant it. Tears shimmered in her eyes and she caught her trembling lower lip between her teeth. Hell, she seemed more upset about it than he was. He felt relief to be able to put it all behind him.

With another explicit curse, he moved away and hunkered down next to the dog. She kneeled next to him, her fresh delicate scent teasing his nostrils as she stroked Max’s rump.

“He ate a lunch pail full of oatmeal and cream,” she said softly, tossing Nathan a tentative smile. “And the doctor checked him after he examined Corey. He said Jackson was doing everything
he
would have prescribed to keep the animal alive.”

Her expression was plaintive, almost melancholy. “Jackson is a fine boy, Nathan.”

“No thanks to me,” he mumbled, feeling awash with self-pity.

“Perhaps not. But it’s up to you to assure him that where he spent the last five years matters to you only because they kept him alive and took care of him. Not that he spent them living among people you think are savages.”

Her words were like a blow to the stomach. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Her gaze bore through him, sharp and clean as a whittling knife “No?”

“Of course not. He’s my son.”

She gave him a cynical smile. “You have a habit of jumping to conclusions, Nathan. Never mind what you’ve thought about me. I’ll bet you punished yourself endlessly before learning that Judith truly died, wallowing in your worry that if she’d survived in an Indian camp, she could come back to you, but would be shunned by the rest of the world.”

“What’s wrong with that?” His defenses were up.

“Nothing, if your concern was purely for Judith, and not for yourself.”

He rose and swung away, knowing there was truth in her words. Her hand settled on his arm; he felt her touch through the layers of his clothes. “I didn’t say that to hurt you, Nathan. Just don’t dwell on the past. Jackson is here now; take advantage of every minute.”

He strode to the door, anxious to leave the temptation to touch her behind. “When did you acquire such wisdom?” Though the question was meant to insult her, he found he truly wanted to know.

She picked up Max’s empty water dish, crossed to Nub’s bucket and filled the dish with the dipper. When she put the full dish in front of Max, he struggled to his elbows and noisily lapped at the water.

“It’s never easy to forget the past, Nathan.” Her expression was open and unguarded. “I should know. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think about . . . about what I did to Harlan. I killed another human being. He was a rotten, abusive drunk, but he was a human being. Don’t you think my crime eats at me?”

She kneeled down beside Max and examined his wounds. “I think about it because my mind won’t let me forget it. But I have to remind myself that if I hadn’t . . . hadn’t killed him, he would have killed me. And if he would have killed me, Corey—” She swallowed repeatedly, appearing to fight tears. “Corey would have . . . have been at Harlan’s mercy. Or . . . or Sonny’s. I couldn’t let that happen, Nathan. I just couldn’t.” She glanced up at him, her soulful brown eyes wide and guileless and shimmering with unshed tears. God, he could drown in them. . . .

Blinking furiously, she glanced away, one shoulder shrugging helplessly. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect my son,” she finished, a delicate shudder passing through her as she lowered her head.

He studied Susannah again. “Did you know your father, Susannah?” He had no idea where that question came from.

She shot him a quick, puzzled glance, one which slid away slowly. “No,” she answered softly, moving her hands to Max’s ears. “He wasn’t around very long.”

Nate snuffled a laugh. “Skipped out on you, did he?”

“No.” Her gaze snagged his and held. “He died.”

He felt like a heel for even asking the question. It wasn’t any of his business anyway. She should have told him to take a flying leap off a cliff She probably wanted to.

“Mama! Papa Nathan! Corey gotta pee.”

Susannah scrambled to her feet. “Hold on, sweetheart.” She went to him and lifted him into her arms.

Nate moved toward her, intent on carrying Corey to the necessary.

“No,” she said, casting a glance at Jackson, “you stay here. We’ll be fine.”

“Susannah.” When she turned he said, “Bring Corey to the shed with the tub in it before you put him to bed tonight.”

“The tub? Why?”

“The warm water will soothe his bruises and help him sleep,” he answered.

He watched her leave, knowing that he wanted to learn everything there was to know about her. And sensing, too, that whatever he learned would only make him love her more.

He glanced away from the door and found Jackson studying him, his expression grim.

Nate tried to smile, although his insides quaked with uncertainty. “Hello, Jackson.”

The boy was no longer his charming, lovable, trusting three-year-old son. This boy didn’t admire him. This boy’s face didn’t light up when Nate entered a room. This boy undoubtedly felt abandoned.

Another thought struck him. This boy had learned everything he now knew from strangers, from people who had probably plucked him from the jaws of death. Even so, a fierce sense of possession gripped Nate. Jackson had loved him once. Nate would make him love him again.

Until Jackson’s return, Nate had rebuked a God that would so cruelly take his family from him. Now, though unsure how to proceed, he asked the God he’d deserted to listen to him again. He wanted what they’d had. He didn’t care what he had to do to get it back.

His gaze caught the edge of something familiar leaning against the far wall of Nub’s room. Smiling to himself, he crossed the room, pulled it away from the wall and brought it to where Jackson sat.

“Remember this, Jackson?” He hunkered down beside the boy and ran his fingers over his handiwork.

Jackson’s face changed, his expression one of painful joy as he greedily touched the wagon that Nathan had made for him so many years ago.

Nate spun the wheels with his finger. “Still works,” he announced, pride lacing his voice.

Jackson’s eyes were bright with excitement. “Max,” he said, his arms forming a carrier from the dog to the wagon.

Nate’s smile spread and he felt a seed of excitement burrow into his chest. “That’s a terrific idea, boy.” He took the old blanket that Susannah had spread over Jackson and folded it, making a bed in the wagon.

Max was up on his elbows, watching them. He barked, a weak, high-pitched whining sound of excitement when Nate carefully lifted him onto the cart.

Jackson took the handle and tugged, the wagon moving slowly over the dirt packed earth.

Feeling a warmth in his heart that expanded with such fierce happiness Nate thought he might explode, he followed his son outside.

They sat under the trees with Max, listening to the wind as it whistled through the leaves. Nate pointed to objects, familiarizing Jackson with the English names. It was a game; often Jackson said the word before Nate had a chance. His chest swelled with pride, for his son had a quick, eager mind.

Kito emerged from around the side of the cabin, lugging a basket of wet clothes. Louisa joined him, and when they stopped under the lines Nate had strung between the trees, she kissed Kito full on the mouth, then shooed him away.

Nate rose. “I’ll be back, son. I want to talk to Louisa.”

“Pa?”

Emotion, raw, painful and sweet rose through Nate. He turned, his eyes wet with tears. Jackson’s face held the intensity of one on the brink of understanding. Nate rushed to him. “Yes, son,” he answered, his voice breaking, “I’m your pa.”

Tears streaked Jackson’s cheeks. They reached for each other, and Nate pulled his son hard against his chest, his own tears wetting Jackson’s hair.

“Pa . . . Pa . . . Pa . . .” It was a litany of relief, disbelief, comprehension.

Nate held him until Jackson pulled away. The boy’s eyes shimmered. “Pa,” he repeated around a huge, toothy smile.

Nate started to sit beside him, but Jackson gave him a little push, nodding toward the clothesline. “Talk . . . to . . . Louisa.”

Knowing his eyes brimmed with love, Nate gave his son’s hair a teasing ruffle. “I’ll be right back.”

He strode toward Louisa, his breakthrough with Jackson giving him hope that he could still save what he’d had with Susannah.

Louisa struggled with a wet sheet. “Here,” she ordered, handing him one end. “Hold this whilst I start pinnin’ it to the line.”

Nate took the sheet and pulled it straight. “Tell me something about Susannah.”

“‘Bout time you come askin’ after her. From the way she’s been mopin’ around, I thought you’d already made up your mind.”

“I may need a lecture, Louisa, but I don’t want one. Tell me about her life.”

Louisa finished pinning the sheet to the line. Nate handed her the end of another, holding it as he’d held the one before.

“Her ma died when she was only ten,” Louisa began. “Poor Honeybelle. I learned that poor chile’ was in the cabin alone with the body for more than a day.”

If possible, her expression grew even more grim. “I also learned that bastard Harlan Walker’d come by to see Fiona, Honeybelle’s ma, and found the poor woman dead.

“When Fiona got sick, she tol’ me to watch after Honeybelle. Hell. No one in that town’d let a ‘dirty nigger’ raise a white chile. They’d let filthy trash like the Walkers do it, but not a Negra.”

Nate’s stomach burned. “She lived with them?”

“Yeah,” she answered, snorting loudly. “Them pissant Walker brothers sweet-talked her into comin’ to live with them and their ma.” She spat a curse. “That woman could’ve been a preacher were she a man, the way she proclaimed hellfire and brimstone.”

She stopped working and gazed into the distance. “I tried to get Honeybelle back, but no court in the land would give her to me.” She sniffed, wiping her eyes with the edge of her apron. “She had a miserable life, Mister Nathan. I came around as much as I dared, and as Honeybelle got older, she’d meet me in secret places, cryin’ . . . cryin’ . . .

“That white bitch filled Honeybelle’s head with all sorts of nonsense meant to scare the bejesus out of her. Made her think God was mad at her for bein’ pretty and nice.”