Bandit's Hope (42 page)

Looking down at her dress of black taffeta and velvet, she nodded. "Yes, it would be difficult."

"Then we’ll do it," he announced. "It might be fun. Lord knows I can afford it," he added with a wink.

Handing her aboard, he started to laugh. "It’s a good thing the others decided to wait in the hotel. Can you imagine Ellie riding in this contraption?"

Mariah laughed. "Actually, no. I can’t."

He angled his head. "If you don’t mind, I’m going to ride past the old house before we go to the cemetery."

She patted his hand. "I think it’s a fine idea."

Heads turned as the carriage rolled through the narrow alleys of the poor part of town. Gaunt, hungry faces stared up as they passed, striking a chill in Mariah’s heart. Wishing they’d given the fancy clothes and high-flown rig more thought, she tightened her grip on Tiller’s arm.

They pulled up to a broken-down shanty, a study in hopeless gloom. The sagging roof had caved in places, allowing the weather to rot the eaves. The outer walls—what was left of them—were a dirty, paint-chipped gray. Weeds had sprouted through and overgrown the walkway from the porch to the street.

Mariah couldn’t imagine anyone living inside, and it saddened her to think Tiller once had.

Climbing down, they made their way toward the door. Tiller pulled to a sudden stop and caught her hand. "This is far enough. I don’t think I want to go inside."

Concerned, she studied his pale, sickly face. "Of course."

His gaze roaming the dilapidated house, he sighed. "I could’ve done so much to help her."

"No, Tiller." She squeezed his fingers. "We both know how expensive repairs can be. She wouldn’t have let you spend the money."

He bit his lip and nodded.

Glancing around, Mariah saw they’d drawn a crowd of curious people, closing in from all sides. Nervous, she drew closer to Tiller and nudged him with her elbow.

Awaking from his daze, he took off his hat and nodded. "Afternoon, folks."

An older man, short in stature, stepped up and held out his hand. "Reddick McRae. I’d know you anywhere."

Tiller beamed. "Mr. McLean. How are you, sir?"

The little man enveloped Tiller’s hand in both of his. "Not as well as you, I see." His remark held no resentment. Instead, he smiled warmly. "I’m happy to see you’ve done well for yourself."

Mariah held her breath, waiting to see if Tiller would mention where his fortune had lain hidden for years.

He smiled graciously. "It was none of my doing, sir. I fell into a blessing is all."

Mr. McLean laughed. "Just like when you were a boy. Everything you touched turned to a blessing." He pointed. "I still have the finest roses in the neighborhood, thanks to you."

Tiller introduced Mariah as his new bride. Thrilled each time she heard the words, she accepted the round of well wishes.

Mr. McLean scooted closer and nudged Tiller. "My cousin is the one who first spotted you in Canton, son." His brow furrowed. "We tried to tell your ma. She just didn’t believe us."

Tiller fingered his hat brim. "I’m real sorry about that, sir."

The man pounded on Tiller’s back. "That’s all right. I’m just happy to see that other fellow looked you up." He blinked uncertainly. "This is what happened, ain’t it? You do know your ma is … well, no longer with us?"

"Yes, I heard. And I’m obliged to your cousin. You’ll tell him for me, won’t you?"

"I sure will, son."

Shading his eyes, Tiller stared down the street. "As a matter of fact, we’re on our way to the cemetery now to pay our respects."

Awkward silence fell over the crowd. Backs straightened and feet shuffled. Smiling faces turned to frowns, and some looked away in disgust.

Excusing themselves, Tiller and Mariah climbed aboard the carriage and drove away.

Tiller sat so quietly in thought, Mariah began to worry. Leaning on his arm, she peered into his face. "Will a penny buy some of those weighty thoughts?"

He flashed a weak smile. "You were with me at the bank, Mrs. McRae. You have a sight more than a penny to barter with."

She stretched to kiss his cheek. "Are you all right?"

Tiller sighed. "Just sorting a few things out." He tipped his chin. "Those folks back there want me to be mad at Ma. I reckon paying her respect was the last thing they’d want me to do." His gaze softened. "Most likely, if I hadn’t had me that talk with God, I’d feel the same."

She nodded. "We’ve both had a few lessons in mercy lately."

"That’s true, but it’s more than mercy I feel. My ma wasn’t mean for meanness’ sake. She was different when I was younger. Outright kind and gentle. She turned into a stranger after pa died."

The pain in his eyes took Mariah’s breath.

"But I think I understand now that it wasn’t my fault she treated me bad. After all I’ve heard, I realize Ma was sick. Sick in body, mind, and spirit." He smiled through his tears. "Knowing that truth, I intend to pay respect to my ma and tell her good-bye. I’m going to lay flowers on her grave then walk away from Fayetteville, free of bad memories once and for all."

Grinning, he wrapped his arm around Mariah’s shoulder and sat taller in the seat, shifting the bowler to a jaunty angle. "Free of my past and ready for the future with the woman I love."

FORTY-EIGHT

T
iller’s breath caught as they turned their horses toward the lone cabin in the distance. His anxious mind flooded with old memories of his first sight of the tiny house. Looking around that day at the crooked porch, swampy yard, and flooded rain barrel, he’d refused to believe they were at his uncle’s house in Scuffletown.

"I’m too tired for teasing," he’d said to Hooper. "What is this place?"

Despite what the outside lacked in charm, once past the front door, that sad, frightened boy knew he’d come home at last. Within those unassuming walls lived good times, great stories, welcoming arms, and love that stretched the seams.

"Home sweet home," Hooper said beside him, speaking Tiller’s thoughts aloud.

Frowning, Mariah pointed. "That’s the house?"

Tiller smiled. He knew just how she felt. "Don’t worry, it’s cozy inside," he said, offering the same assurance Hooper had given him that day.

The jumble of thoughts in Tiller’s mind was nothing compared to how his insides felt. Though he’d finally accepted that his mama’s plight was not his fault, he couldn’t say the same for his uncle’s pain. He’d rehearsed a dozen times what he’d say to Uncle Silas.

Glancing at Nathan riding tense and tight-lipped beside Wyatt, Tiller knew he must have been dreading his own reckoning.

Neither of them would be putting it off for long. The door burst open, and a dozen shouting people spilled onto the front porch.

Tiller’s eager eyes searched for Uncle Silas. Grayer than Tiller remembered, moving a little slower, he tottered down the steps behind a whole passel of squealing youngsters with Aunt Odell at his side.

"Look at that," Hooper said, smiling from hither to yon. "My girls are here."

Ellie leaned in the saddle and stared. "Blast it, Hooper, I knew it. What has your wife gone and done to my boys?" She sped up and rode ahead, reining her mount in front of two sets of dapper boys standing quietly with folded hands.

Hooper laughed so hard he almost fell out of his saddle.

Grinning, Tiller pointed. "Ellie had twins?"

Wyatt groaned. "Two pair as rowdy as they come." He chuckled. "At least they were when we left."

The prettiest little things Tiller had ever seen scampered, dainty and giggly, toward Hooper’s horse. He slid to the ground and swung them up, one at a time, for a kiss on the cheek. "Girls, come meet your cousin, Tiller."

Pausing to draw his smiling wife under his arm, he led his family to where Tiller and Mariah stood holding their reins.

"I’d like you to meet our girls." He placed his hand atop one chestnut head. "This here is Della, named after Ma, and the younger one"—he patted her curly head—"is Olivia. We call her Livvy after Dawsey’s aunt."

Tiller bowed and kissed their hands. "I’m happy to meet you, ladies."

Blushing, they ducked behind their mother’s skirt.

Beaming into his eyes, the woman reached for his hand. "I can’t tell you how happy we are to see you again. I do hope you remember me."

He smiled. "Of course I do … Dawsey." Tiller knew Hooper’s wife as Miss Wilkes, the young woman he’d worked for in Fayetteville, so it was hard to think of her as anything else.

Ellie caught Dawsey’s shoulder from behind. "All right, Dawsey McRae. What have you done to them?"

Dawsey turned and gathered her into a hug. "Sweet Dilsey. I’m so glad you’re home."

Ellie pushed away her hands. "There will be none of that until you’ve explained yourself." She pointed over her shoulder at the docile boys. "I want you to take away these charlatans and bring back my young’uns."

Wyatt squatted in front of his sons, smoothing their slicked-back hair and patting their rosy, scrubbed cheeks. "I don’t know, Ellie. I could get used to them like this."

In the hubbub, Tiller learned the elder twins were Silas and Gerry, named for their grandfathers. The younger set were Duncan and Hooper, named for Ellie’s brothers—but Hooper, the quiet one with serious green eyes, they called Tiller because of his uncanny knack with the soil.

Quiet throughout the how-dos and welcomes, Uncle Silas nudged through the crowd to stand in front of Tiller. As solemn as a deacon, he quietly took his hand.

The years had been hard on him. His shoulders stooped, and deep creases marred his weathered face, but the bright eyes were the same. Roguish eyes, twinkling with a thousand untold stories.

Tiller pulled Mariah forward. "Uncle Si"—he nodded—"Aunt Odie, I’d like you to meet my wife, Mariah."

His aunt, as pretty as ever despite her age, wrapped them both in a tearful hug. "We missed you, Tiller. I prayed every day for your safe return."

Uncle Silas released Tiller and reached for Mariah’s arm. "Let’s go inside by the fire, pretty lady."

Mariah smiled and let him lead her away.

On the porch, he stopped and waved his hand. "You children find something to do outside while the grown-ups have a little talk."

His grandchildren scattered for the woods.

Nathan hung back as everyone crowded for the door. Frowning, Wyatt tugged on his sleeve. "It’s all right, Nate. Let’s go inside."

He shook his head. "I don’t think I’m welcome. The old man never glanced my way."

"It doesn’t matter," Wyatt said. "You can allow him a little anger. You owe him that much."

Tiller grasped Nathan’s shoulder. "I’ve made up my mind to offer an apology whether he accepts it or throws me out on my ear." He tightened his grip. "It’s like Wyatt said. We owe him."

Wyatt pointed toward the house. "If you can’t stand up to that little man in there, how will you face our parents?"

Doubt wavering on his face, Nathan glanced toward his horse.

Tiller shook his head. "Don’t do it, Nate. If you run now, you’ll be alone for the rest of your life."

"Nathan Carter!"

They swiveled toward the house. Uncle Silas meandered across the yard, dodging scattered kindling by the porch and mud holes near the rain barrel.

Unable to read the expression on his uncle’s face, Tiller held his breath.

He glanced at Nathan. The poor man’s hands shook, and he stared like a cornered animal. Backing up two steps, his body tensed to run.

Uncle Silas reached them, his smile a little shaky, but the hand he extended to Nathan was steady. "It’s been awhile, young fella’. In all the ruckus, I didn’t get to tell you how glad I am to see you."

Nathan pulled off his hat, wadding it in his trembling fingers. "Mr. McRae, it’s good to see you, too."

"You weren’t leaving, were you? I know you’re in a hurry to see your folks, but I was hoping you’d stay for a cup of coffee at least. We can catch up on old times."

Nate’s throat worked up and down. "I don’t want to intrude, sir."

"Intrude? It’ll be a sorry day when I don’t enjoy the company of an old friend."

Tiller and Nathan had grown too tall for Uncle Silas to reach around them, so he rested a hand on each of their arms and led them to the house.

Crossing the threshold felt like stepping back in time. Glancing around, Tiller saw that nothing much had changed. Aunt Odell had spread the kitchen table with food, Uncle Si’s rocker faced the crackling hearth, and the mats they used for extra beds were rolled up against the wall. He almost expected to see the one he’d slept on years ago spread for him in the corner.

"If anyone’s hungry, there’s plenty. Just grab a plate and fill it."

Aunt Odie didn’t have to offer a second invitation. The hungry travelers bustled close to the table, laughing and rubbing shoulders.

Uncle Silas caught Tiller’s arm and pulled him aside. "I know you’re probably starved son, but I reckon we need us a talk first."

Tiller nodded. Best to get the apology over so he could stomach the food.

They watched each other with wary eyes. "I’m sorry," they blurted at the same time.

Tiller drew back with a puzzled frown. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"I let you down, son. I wanted you to feel welcome here, then I threatened to send you back to your ma the first time you made a mistake." Tears spilled onto his cheeks, tearing at Tiller’s heart.

"You don’t owe me an apology, sir. I owe you one. I gave you nothing but trouble from the first day I came."

Hooper squeezed in between them. "I say you call it a draw and come to supper."

A squeal from outside sent Wyatt stumbling for the door. "Mercy, it sounds like somebody’s getting skint out there."

Hooper and Dawsey shared a grin. "You’re not used to the way girls express themselves, Wyatt," she said. "Livvy’s just excited, that’s all."

"About what, I wonder?" Hooper said, peering over Wyatt’s shoulder.

The rest of the children set to squealing, too—Ellie’s boys the loudest. She shot Dawsey a look of pure disgust.

Hooper spun with a grin. "I see what has them worked up. Their Uncle Duncan and his family are riding this way."