Bandit's Hope (40 page)

The sights and smells of a meal from Mariah’s kitchen tempted a man like few things could. His stomach moaning in protest, Tiller laid aside his napkin and pushed away from the table. "I hope you’ll all excuse me; I can’t eat a bite until I have a talk with Otis."

"Looking for me, boy?"

Blood surged to Tiller’s head as Otis rounded the corner, his dancing eyes searching the room. They landed on Tiller, and he beamed his toothless grin.

Standing, Tiller took a hesitant step, but the joy on the old man’s face lured him forward.

Otis reached out first, wrapping him around the waist in a warm embrace.

Staring down at his wiry, white head, Tiller’s chest swelled with unshed tears. "You should despise me."

Otis grunted. "Pshaw! How could I despise my best friend?"

Tiller pushed him to arm’s length. "You have every right to turn me in to the law, and I’ll understand if you do. Either way, I promise to repay every cent they stole if it takes me the rest of my life."

Otis shook his head. "I don’t expect it."

Tiller gripped his shoulders. "Consider it done, sir. Can you ever forgive me?"

"I forgave before you asked." Otis winked and offered his hand. "It might’ve been a sight harder if I hadn’t got to know you for the fine lad you are. I thank the Lord I got the chance."

Soaring with the freedom born of pardon, Tiller clasped both hands around Otis’s hands and shook so hard he nearly pulled him off his feet. Grinning, Otis pulled free and nudged him aside. "You won’t find me so forgiving if you didn’t save me a bowl of Dicey’s fine stew."

Smiling, Mariah slipped off her apron and took her seat across from Tiller. Otis slid into the chair next to her. Her face red and swollen, Miss Vee slipped quietly into the room, patting Tiller’s back before taking her place. His heart went out to her, and he reached across to squeeze her hand.

The meal seemed the best he’d ever tasted. The lively conversation and the presence of people he loved etched a notch in Tiller’s soul that promised to rival his memories of Scuffletown.

Shoving in his last forkful of blackberry cobbler, Hooper pushed aside his plate and cleared his throat. "Tiller, can we go somewhere and talk?"

God’s peace settled around Tiller with the warmth of a quilt. "Whatever you came to say, go on and say it."

Hooper glanced around. "Are you sure? It’s of a personal nature."

Gazing at each familiar face, Tiller nodded. "These folks are my family, too. I don’t mind them hearing."

Hooper leaned forward. "I’m afraid the first part of our news is bad." His eyes darkened. "It’s about your mama, son."

Ellie reached across to take his hand. "Aunt Effie died, Tiller."

Mariah gasped and came around the table to stand behind him, her soothing fingers on his neck.

The words touched his heart but didn’t penetrate. He tried to feel sadness but couldn’t feel much of anything but regret. "When?" The single word was all he could muster.

"Weeks ago," Hooper said. "I saw to her burial myself."

So they hadn’t come to pack him off to a funeral. "What happened?"

"She had an illness." Hooper seemed to squirm in his chair. "A stomach problem worsened by her … inability to eat."

Tiller cringed, the stew a surge of bile in his throat. His mother slowly died of hunger while he ate his fill of good food, most of it bought by stolen money. He understood for the first time the depths to which he’d fallen. "I failed her." Defeat washed over him and he closed his eyes. "I left her to die."

"No." Ellie tightened her grip. "You surely didn’t." Her strident voice softened. "She failed you."

His gaze shifted to her. "Ellie, don’t."

"Let her talk," Hooper said. "What she said is true. Don’t you remember? Your ma sent you away."

Tiller leaned back in his chair. "What choice did she have? I was shiftless and troublesome. Couldn’t earn enough for my keep. It was either send me to Uncle Silas or watch me starve, too."

Hooper wasn’t listening, just watching and shaking his head. "Your memory is skewed. You worked hard tending other folk’s lawns and brought home every cent." His face red, he slapped the table. "You were a skinny, starving child who could never do enough to avoid her strap."

"What is this?" Tiller hated that his voice cracked. Wishing he’d agreed to talk in private, he gaped at them. "Did you come all this way to speak ill of my ma?"

Releasing his breath on a sigh, Hooper folded his hands in front of him. "I’m sorry. I just can’t bear to hear you blame yourself."

Determination surged in Ellie’s gaze. "There are things you still don’t know."

Tiller pulled away from her. "Then tell me, blast it. That’s what you came for, isn’t it?"

Sympathy oozed from the circle around him. Wyatt patted his back, tears wet Mariah’s cheek when she leaned to embrace him, and Miss Vee clutched a napkin to her trembling mouth.

"All right, I’ll tell you." Hooper sighed. "But there’s no easy way to say it." As if an idea just came to him, he pointed at Otis. "Let’s start with him."

Fear nudging his heart, Tiller’s gaze flickered to Otis sitting across the table, wiping his eyes on his shirtsleeve. "What’s this got to do with him?"

Hooper patted Otis’s shoulder. "I heard you swear to honor a debt to this man."

"That’s right, but—"

"We’re here to say you won’t have a problem keeping your promise."

Desperate to understand, Tiller blinked from Hooper to Ellie. Her eyes danced and a smile tugged the corners of her mouth. "You have money, Tiller. That’s the good news we came to tell you."

Hooper nodded. "Your ma hoarded every cent she ever got her hands on. She lived poor but died rich. Aunt Effie left you a fortune."

Uncle Joe leaned forward and cleared his throat. "How much?"

"Plenty," Hooper said, glancing at him. "Thousands of dollars deposited in a Fayetteville bank in the name of Tiller McRae."

FORTY-FIVE

A
solemn procession worked its way down the Natchez Trace to the southwest corner of Mariah’s land, the family burial grounds. Her mind flooded with memories of the night she rode the back way along the Pearl with Father’s poor ravaged body. Far better to be in the company of loved ones, with the bright sun in her face, than picking her way alone and afraid by moonlight.

Sheki pulled the rig up the bluff overlooking the bend of the river. Uncle Joe hauled back on the reins and parked near the broad oak next to Mother’s grave.

Mariah reached for Miss Vee’s hand. "Are you ready?"

Dressed in mourning clothes, she pressed a black hankie to her lips and nodded.

Tiller climbed down and offered them a hand, then joined Uncle Joe at the tailgate to help shoulder the weight of Father’s headstone.

John Coffee Bell, Husband of Onnat Minti Bell, Loving Father of Mariah.

His name engraved in the cold stone settled the fact in Mariah’s heart more surely than carrying his lifeless body. Father was gone. She wouldn’t see him again this side of heaven.

Clinging to Miss Vee and Dicey, Mariah led them to the unmarked patch of ground, his final resting place. Pulling off their hats, Tiller’s Scuffletown family and a few of Father’s close friends gathered around them. Rainy, along with his father and little brother, held to the back of the crowd. Tobias, his sons, and the rest of the Pearl River clan stood in hushed silence.

Mariah drew strength from their quiet presence, and a load lifted from her shoulders. At last, those who loved her father could honor him in death, as he deserved.

Pulling shovels from the rig, Uncle Joe and Tiller dug a trench and set the gravestone in place.

Miss Vee knelt and placed a handful of wildflowers next to the marker, her fingers caressing the letters of his name. "Oh, John. How I’ll miss you."

Crying softly, Dicey patted her shoulder. "He was a fine man, that Mista’ Bell. A real fine man. I’m gon’ miss him, too." She sniffled and spun away.

Tiller’s comforting warmth slid behind Mariah, his hand on the small of her back. "You all right?"

She shook her head. "Not yet."

Raising her trembling chin, she faced the circle of mourners. "I want to thank you all for coming to say farewell to my father. And while you’re here"—she forced herself to look up—"I want to apologize for the terrible thing I’ve done. I pray you can forgive me." She couldn’t make out every word from the mumbling, shuffling group, but she felt the healing balm of their acceptance.

Tiller gripped her hand. "While we have your attention, I’d like to make another announcement."

He raised his brows at Uncle Joe who nodded. Mariah clutched his arm to stop him, but his loving smile eased her heart.

"Mariah Bell has consented to be my wife," he said. "We’ll be married right away, before we leave for North Carolina."

The wide eyes of the Pearl River clan swung to Uncle Joe.

He squared his shoulders. "It’s a good match," he boomed in a loud voice, forever settling the question.

Nudging elbows and broad smiles followed, especially from Tiller’s family. Only Chris and Justin Jones cast dark, brooding scowls at Tiller.

Tiller bowed his head respectfully. "Given the circumstances, we’ll have a quiet ceremony with just the family as witnesses. I know you’ll understand." His voice grew louder. "But after a respectable amount of time, I promise to throw a rousing good party to celebrate."

Amid a curious mix of warm condolences and sincere congratulations, the mourners filed away to their conveyances and scattered.

Mariah leaned her head against Tiller’s chest. "Are you certain the time was right to announce our wedding?"

He shrugged. "Looked like the only chance since tomorrow you’ll be my bride."

Tobias, the last to leave, paused to give Miss Vee’s shoulder an awkward pat. "Miss Viola, if there’s anything I can do to ease your grief, you let me know."

Still kneeling at Father’s grave, she reached to squeeze his hand.

"Well, I’ll be pickled," Uncle Joe whispered, his eyes twinkling. "Did you see that?"

Mariah shook her head. "See what?"

"Tobias is sweet on Viola."

Mariah shushed him with a finger to her lips. "For pity’s sake, keep your voice down. Are you certain?"

He raised one brow. "As sure as I’m standing here. I saw it all over his face."

Watching Tobias shuffle across the yard, his shoulders bowed, Mariah recalled how he always grew flushed and tongue-tied in Miss Vee’s presence. Was it possible Tobias had pined for Miss Vee while she carried a torch for Father?

Mariah smiled at the thought. She prayed Miss Vee’s heart would quickly mend and she’d finally see poor Tobias. It comforted her to hope her friend wouldn’t wind up all alone.

Turning to help Miss Vee off the ground, Mariah patted her puffy, sagging cheek. "Let me take you home."

She nodded. "I’m ready."

Mariah wrapped an arm around her waist. "I’ll make you a pot of your special tea."

She smiled weakly. "I’d like that."

At the wagon, Tiller gave Miss Vee a boost up while Mariah climbed in the other side. Wrapping a shawl around her, Mariah pulled it snug while she searched her pale face. "Perhaps it would be best if we postponed the wedding."

Miss Vee’s head snapped around. "You’ll do no such thing. Why would you even consider it?"

Mariah raised one shoulder. "It doesn’t feel quite right. You know … so soon after."

Miss Vee’s trembling fingers locked on Mariah’s chin, and her darting eyes roamed her face. "Haven’t you learned anything by watching my plight?" She gave Mariah a gentle shake. "Every second is precious, dear. Don’t waste a single breath." She released Mariah and slid on her gloves. "Take us home, Joe Brashears. A pot of chamomile tea is sounding better by the minute."

FORTY-SIX

M
ariah pinned the last dark curl atop her head then slid her brush in her vanity drawer. Turning her face to the side, she smiled. If she squinted, the strong chin, straight nose, and almond eyes were her mother, gazing back proudly from the glass.

Today Mariah would fulfill her promise. Under the protection of Tiller’s name, no one would try to lay claim to her land. In the freedom of his love and care, she’d be able to run the inn exactly as she saw fit. She gave her image a saucy grin. "As long as my husband approves."

Standing, she appraised her gown of black satin with its applied beading, chenille tassels, and needle lace. In the dress, she would marry the man she loved and still respect her father’s memory. It pleased her to honor the two most important men in her life on the same day.

Satisfied with her appearance, she slid on her mother’s delicate wedding slippers, set aside for this day, and crossed the hall to her father’s room. The familiar smells rushed at her. Instead of allowing grief to take her breath, she inhaled deeply, drawing comfort from his presence in the room.
"Chi hollo li,
Aki," she whispered, the love she swore an ache in her chest. "Very, very much."

The beaded necklace her mother had left her, last seen dangling from Uncle Joe’s angry fist, hung from a corner of the mirror. Lifting it with shaky fingers, Mariah slipped it over her head and patted the jasper stone at her chest. "I love you, too, Mother. I wish you and Father were here today. I know you would be happy for me."

There would be many more times in Mariah’s life when she’d miss her parents’ presence. Birthdays, anniversaries, the births of her children. She squeezed her eyes tight against the tears. A bride shouldn’t cry on her wedding day.

"Mariah? Where are you?"

She ducked her head out the door. "In here, Miss Vee."

Standing with her head poked into Mariah’s room, she spun and gasped. "There you are. You’re a vision, honey. Joe’s back with the minister." She laughed. "And Tiller’s pacing holes in the parlor rug."

Stepping over the threshold of Father’s room, Miss Vee’s breath caught. "It’s the first time I’ve been in here. You can still feel his presence, can’t you?" Gazing around sadly, she wrapped her arm about Mariah’s waist. "I wish he could be here to give you away."

Mariah smiled and leaned her head on Miss Vee’s shoulder. "I was just telling him the same thing."