After the Frost (13 page)

She slanted him a glance, watching his slow, swivel- hipped walk, his smiling nod at something Sarah said. What would it take to put that fear in his eyes again? A word? Something else? Maybe a touch? Belle shuddered at the thought. She swallowed, pushing away the images, concentrating on the ground beneath her feet. It didn't matter. She had no interest in making Rand angry, or fearful, or anything. It would be better if he didn't notice her at all, if he just left her alone until she could get herself and Sarah out of here.

"I ain't decided where to bury her yet," Sarah was saying as they entered the yard and started around to the front. "Janey liked tulips."

"I don't think your grandma would take kindly to us digging up her tulip beds," Rand said. "How 'bout if we put her over by the lilac tree?"

"That's where Scout lies."

"Well, do you think Janey would mind a cat lying on top of her?"

Sarah looked thoughtful. "I don't know."

     
"1 don't think she would," he said.

     
"No, I guess not." Sarah looked at Belle. "Do you think she'd mind?"

     
"I don't think so," Belle said. "Scout might even keep her warm in the wintertime."

     
Sarah smiled. "That's what I think too."

     
"Good, then that's where we'll dig," Rand said. They rounded the corner of the house, and he eased the shovel from over his shoulder and went to the huge, spreading lilac tree beside the porch. "Where's Janey?"

           
"Over there," Sarah said. She grabbed a weathered wooden fruit box from the porch and hurried back to them. "She's in here."

     
Rand nodded briefly and began to dig. Belle stood back, watching as Sarah set the box on the ground and fumbled with the red flannel rag she'd wrapped the doll in. "1 wisht we had some flow'rs," she said wistfully. "I couldn't find any."

     
Rand paused in his digging. "We'll just pretend we have flowers, Little Bit."

     
"I don't wanna pretend."

     
"We don't have much of a choice."

     
"But Mister Benson had flow'rs at his fun'ral."

     
"Mr. Benson was in a funeral parlor."

     
Sarah tugged at her sunbonnet. "Then I wanna take Janey to a fun'ral parlor."

     
Rand sighed in exasperation. He ran a hand through his hair. "Sarah, we can't—"

     
"What about leaves?" Belle asked.

     
"Leaves?" Sarah frowned. "What d'you mean?"

     
"Leaves are awfully pretty now," Belle said. "All those colors—seems to me they're even better than flowers. Why, it'd be like puttin' gold on Janey's grave, don't you think?"

     
Sarah's brow wrinkled in consternation. "Like gold?"

     
"Uh-huh. Not many people are lucky enough to have pretty gold leaves on their graves."

     
"That's right, Sarah," Rand agreed—surprisingly. "I think Janey would like it."

     
"Really?"

     
"Really."

     
Sarah nodded. "I think Janey would like leaves too." She ran off to gather them, her sunbonnet bouncing over her shoulders. Belle watched her go, dimly aware that Rand stood there, too, motionless for a moment before he began digging again.

     
She waited for him to say something to her, but he didn't. Just kept digging. The thud-scrape of the shovel against the dirt—rhythmic, steady—was the only sound between them. Goose bumps rushed over Belle's skin. Rand was digging with concentrated effort. Almost as if there was someone he wanted to put in that hole.

     
Me maybe
. Belle forced a smile at the thought. She cleared her throat. "You only have to dig deep enough for a doll, you know," she said.

     
Rand glanced up at her, a look that sent shivers through her again. One cold, angry look. "I know." He didn't stop digging.

     
Belle took a deep breath and turned away. So much for conversation. She didn't even know why she tried. It wasn't as if she gave a damn whether he liked her or not.

     
"Papa!"

     
Sarah's screech of excitement cut through Belle's thoughts. Her head jerked up, she saw Sarah standing by one of the huge oaks, near a pile of leaves, gesturing wildly. "Papa, come see!"

     
Rand straightened. "What is it?"

     
"I got me a baby snake! Hurry!"

     
The shovel handle thudded to the ground. Rand raced across the yard. He was almost there by the time Belle realized what Sarah had said. A baby snake. There were copperheads in these woods, and she knew a baby one was no less dangerous than a full-grown one. To a child like Sarah it could be lethal.

     
Quickly Belle followed, but by the time she got to Sarah, Rand was already pulling the little girl back from the pile of leaves.

     
"Where is it?" he was asking.

     
"In there." Sarah pulled away from him, pointing into the leaves. "You prob'ly scared it away, Papa."

     
"Stay back." He grabbed her hand and turned to Belle. "Watch her," he demanded.

     
Belle nodded. Slowly, carefully, Rand kicked at the leaves with his foot.

     
"Oh, that's smart," she said sarcastically. "Keep doin' that and I'll have to call Dr. Stewart."

     
"Quiet." He didn't even look at her. Warily he squatted down, leaned closer. Then incredibly he smiled. "Shhh," he whispered. "Little Bit, come here."

     
Belle put a hand out to stop Sarah. "Wait a minute—"

     
"It's all right." He gestured for Sarah to move closer. "Sarah, look at this."

     
Sarah pushed past Belle's skirt to stand beside Rand. "I don't see anythin'," she said.

     
"Right there." He pointed into the leaves.

     
Sarah frowned. "I can't see."

     
"All right. Just a minute." Rand reached into the leaves, poking around with his fingers. Belle leaned forward, trying to see over Sarah as Rand drew back, this time with something cupped in his hand. When he turned to Sarah, there was a broad smile on his face. "Ready?"

     
She nodded.

     
Slowly Rand opened his hand.

     
Sarah gasped. "It
is
a baby snake!"

     
Coiled in his palm was a tiny garter snake. How he had seen it, Belle had no idea. It was the color of the leaves, brown and gold, and it was still as death, its beady eyes watching them warily.

     
"Quiet," he warned. "It's just a little garter snake."

     
Sarah's eyes were round. "Can I touch it?"

     
He nodded. "Be careful, you don't want to hurt it."

     
Tentatively she reached out, touching the snake with the tip of her finger. The reptile moved, curling into a tighter ball, and Sarah jerked back. "It tried to bite me!"

     
"No, it didn't," Rand assured her. "You scared it, that's all. It's just a baby, Sarah."

     
"Can I—can I hold it?" she asked.

     
Rand's eyes were fastened on her face. "Promise to be careful?"

     
She nodded solemnly. "Uh-huh."

     
"All right, then. Hold out your hand." When she did, Rand straightened her fingers so that they laid flat. Then, with his hand still steadying hers, he slid the tiny snake into her palm. The garter snake shivered. Its tongue flicked out.

     
Sarah jerked, but Rand held her hand in place. "Careful, Little Bit."

     
She stood there for a moment staring down at the snake, watching it carefully. Then suddenly she looked up, her large brown eyes alight with pleasure, and giggled.

     
It was a warm, sincere, heartfelt sound, and it went right through Belle. She wanted to laugh, too, from the sheer joy of seeing Sarah's screwed-up face, but somehow she couldn't.

     
You don't belong here
. The words rushed through Belle's mind, slicing into her heart, and she stood there watching Rand and Sarah smile together, watching the little snake twist in Sarah's palm. Belle felt suddenly confused, lost and abandoned—as if she were intruding on an intensely private moment between two people she didn't know. She saw the way Rand squatted in front of Sarah, a six-foot-tall man suddenly the height of a five- year-old, saw the way his tanned fingers curled around Sarah's, his eyes reflecting her pleasure—and Belle saw it all as if she were watching strangers in a park.

You don't belong here
.

Her mouth went dry. Belle stepped back, wishing that she could disappear and hating herself for wishing it. Only minutes ago she'd been annoyed with Rand for intruding on her time with Sarah, but now the tables were neatly turned, and it reminded her suddenly, uncomfortably, of the other night. Everything was the same. She'd felt as out of place listening to their stories, seeing their quiet companionship, as she felt right now.

She would never have that kind of relationship with Sarah. Belle knew it with a sudden, blinding flash of understanding so painful, it left her breathless. Coming back here had been a stupid, reckless waste of time. What had she been thinking? That she could just walk into their lives and take over? That it would be a simple matter to wrest Sarah away from Rand—that Sarah wanted to be rescued?

The silly fantasy came racing back. The fantasy where Belle took Sarah's hand, led her to the train, and told her she was safe, that she would never have to go back again. The fantasy where Sarah looked up at her with loving, thankful eyes and smiled.

The same smile Sarah was turning on Rand now.

The same loving, thankful look.

Belle swallowed the lump in her throat, confused and embarrassed. Because the look Sarah reserved for her was nothing like that. Because in her daughter's eyes Belle had never seen anything but uncertainty or common politeness.

     
"She's happy here,"
Rand had said not so many days ago. And she hadn't believed him. Had seen the rebellion in Sarah's eyes, the resentment, and believed that instead. But now, for the first time, Belle wondered if maybe Rand had been right.

     
"She's happy here. Goddammit, she's happy."

     
Maybe.

     
Belle's hands were shaking, she twined them in her skirt, trying desperately to steady them. Rand looked up at the movement. She saw the surprise in his eyes and she knew he had forgotten she was there. For only a moment, but he'd forgotten nonetheless.

     
The knowledge made her feel more invisible than ever. Belle swallowed again, tried to smile. "I—think— uh—I'll just go on upstairs for a minute," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "I'll be back—"

     
"You ain't gonna miss the fun'ral?" Sarah asked.

     
"No. No, I won't miss it."

     
But she would, and Belle knew it—and knew they wouldn't miss her at all.

     
She turned and walked back to the house.

Chapter 10

     
A
t first Belle didn't know where to go. She stepped inside the hall and closed the door quietly behind her. The darkened hallway was rich and warm with the scents of beeswax and spice, and she heard the steady murmur of voices, the ringing laughter from the kitchen. It made her feel more alone than ever.

She didn't know what to do. What the hell should she do? She hadn't expected any of this, hadn't expected Rand to love Sarah or for Sarah to love Rand back. Hadn't expected Sarah to be happy. But she was, and it was obvious Belle's plans to rescue her daughter were stupid and pointless. There was nothing to rescue her from. Nothing except Lillian's stifling control, and now Belle realized Rand would keep Sarah safe from that, just as he had protected Belle from it long ago.

You were wrong about him. Wrong about everything. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

No, that was not strictly true. She hadn't been wrong about everything. Rand wasn't the same man she'd run away from six years before. He was nothing but a farmer now, a man whose big dreams had somehow disappeared. A man she no longer trusted with her heart.

But those were the only things that were different, really. In other ways, important ways, he hadn't changed. The last few days crowded in around Belle, smothering her with images: Rand talking to Sarah on the porch, listening to her outrageous stories; Rand digging a hole for a doll's grave; Rand carefully putting a coiled baby snake into his daughter's hand. Belle had forgotten the kindness in him. It had been wrong to think he wouldn't know how to give Sarah the kind of life she deserved. Belle took a deep breath. Rand would do anything for Sarah, she knew that now. Because he truly loved his daughter.

Belle couldn't take Sarah away from that. In spite of the fact that she would never forgive Rand for what he'd done to her, she couldn't—wouldn't—take revenge on him by taking Sarah.

Hell, she didn't want revenge anyway.

She didn't know what she wanted.

Belle put a shaking hand on the banister and slowly went up the stairs, barely hearing the telltale creak of the third step. In her mind she heard laughter, Sarah's high-pitched giggle and Rand's deep, throaty tones. They went well together, belonged together. Rand and Sarah, Sarah and Rand—the names singsonged in her brain like an old game.
By all the laws of every land, I give Sarah unto Rand. By all the rafters of the house, I marry the cat unto the mouse. . . .