Bouquet for Iris (8 page)

As they drew closer, she saw the house had three floors. A row of windows at ground level indicated the presence of a basement, too. Dormer windows jutted out from the sloping, gray-tiled roof that made up the third floor. Four windows per floor looked out on one side, lined up one on top of the other with symmetrical precision. The front side of the home featured a porch on the first floor, topped by an identical balcony for the second floor, each flanked by six white columns. The dark-paneled double doors that formed the entrance on the first floor were echoed by an identical doorway on the second floor. The third floor had no door or balcony, but six windows completed the balanced architecture of the house.

Iris focused on the second-floor balcony, wondering what room led to it and hoping it would be the children’s parlor. Once the temperature warmed a bit, she could see herself teaching the two little girls while they sat on the balcony and listened to the cheerful gurgle of the nearby stream that wound a silvery path along one side of the property.

Lance slowed the wagon as they reached the wide set of stairs marching up to the front porch, while Iris admired the beaded detail on woodwork that separated the brick walls from the tiled roof. She hadn’t realized until now just how wealthy Mr. Spencer must be.

Iris accepted Lance’s help to dismount and trailed him up to the front door. He grabbed an ornate brass knocker and banged it against the polished wood of the wide front door to announce their arrival.

After a moment the door opened, and a short, rotund woman with a face as dark as a starless night wrung her hands on a white apron and smiled at them. Her white teeth shone brightly in a face wreathed with smiles. “If it isn’t Master Lance come to visit.” She turned her dark brown gaze to Iris. “And you must be the new nanny. I have to say it’s a relief to see you. Not that I don’t adore the children, but there’s so much other work that needs to be done.”

Iris felt a little overwhelmed as the friendly woman continued her monologue. Uncertain what else to do, she gathered her skirts and dropped a curtsy.

“Oh, you don’t need to be bowing to me, missy. It’s not like I’m kin to the master. I just keep the house and watch over the children.”

Lance greeted the older woman. “Josephine, it’s good to see you.”

“Who’s here?”

Josephine peered back over her shoulder. “It’s Master Sherer and the new nanny.”

Iris looked past her to the man who was making his slow way across the marble floor of the vestibule. His hair was mostly gray, although she could see a few strands that were as black as a raven’s wings. He wore it parted in the middle and pulled back in a neat queue, which had the effect of making him look very old-fashioned. Most of the men she knew had shorter haircuts that did not have to be tied back. Mr. Spencer used a cane carved from black walnut that made her think of the one Grandpa Taylor had made for her grandma.

A wave of homesickness struck her as suddenly as a bolt of lightning. For a moment she desperately yearned to visit her grandparents’ farm. She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath.

What nonsense! She was here because it was her dream. She opened her eyes, smiled brightly, and held out her hand to her new employer. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Spencer.”

He moved his cane to his left hand and took her hand in his. “Many prayers have been answered by your safe arrival.” His face was weathered, and his nose was broad and slightly crooked, as though it had been broken sometime in the past. His eyes were faded brown in color, but they held an expression of welcome that eased fears Iris hadn’t even realized she held.

“Thank you, Mr. Spencer. I am thankful to be here.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be quite so thankful, Miss Landon.”

Iris squinted in the direction from which Mr. Spencer had come. A man stood in the doorway, but she couldn’t see his features because of the sunlight streaming into the vestibule from the room behind him. She could see that he was tall and slender, but he didn’t look at all familiar to her. How did he know her name?

“Don’t pay any attention to Mr. Stuart.” Her host frowned over his shoulder at the man. “He is filled with doom and gloom today.”

Iris looked back toward the man in the doorway. Mr. Stuart? The man who had knocked her down on the night of her arrival? She barely heard Lance’s greeting as she remembered that evening.

Mr. Stuart looked completely different when he was not inebriated. His light brown hair had been styled so that it no longer fell over his forehead, and his clothing was neither wilted nor creased. He stood much straighter, too. The only thing she did not like about his transformation was the stern look on his face and the disappearance of his dimples. His mouth had a distinctive downturn, and his brows were drawn together in a frown. How had she ever thought him charming or genial?

She turned her attention back to Lance. “Thank you so much for bringing me. I will come to visit as soon as I may.”

“We’ll look forward to it, Iris. You know that Camie and I are thrilled to have you so close.” He nodded to the older man. “I suppose we’ll see all of you again soon.”

Iris tried to ignore the snort from Mr. Stuart as she assured Lance that she hoped to see him and his family at church. She glanced at Mr. Stuart. From his raised chin and downturned lips to the way he cast his gaze to the ceiling, he personified disdain. Did the man not even attend the local church? What an awful thing. She could not imagine trying to get through the week without the chance to join other Christians in worship and fellowship.

A little voice inside her head stopped Iris’s thoughts. Was she being judgmental? Perhaps Mr. Stuart attended services across the river at Brainerd Mission or in some other community. Perhaps he had a sweetheart who lived nearby, and he chose to attend her church’s services. A disagreeable feeling fluttered through her stomach, and Iris wondered if she was coming down with a cold. She hoped not. She didn’t want anything to mar her first days with her new charges.

As she followed Josephine upstairs to the nursery, she heard Mr. Spencer invite Lance in for a business discussion. She wondered if their business would change the expression on Adam Stuart’s face.

Adam watched as the young woman gathered up her skirts and followed the house slave up the wide stairs to the nursery. He could not believe anyone of Miss Iris Landon’s ilk would make a decent nanny, but he supposed Spencer had his reasons for hiring someone so young, inexperienced … and beautiful. She was nearly as tall as he and carried herself with the assurance of European royalty. And her puppy-brown eyes had been filled with innocence and hopeful expectation. She had absolutely nothing in common with the nanny who had raised him and his siblings. That woman had been older and much more fierce than he imagined Miss Landon could ever force herself to be. She reminded him more of Sylvia Sumner.

Sylvia
. The name provoked a stabbing pain in his chest. It made him want a drink, but he couldn’t leave. Not when work remained to be done.

Adam followed Lance and Mr. Spencer into the parlor, but a trill of laughter floating down from the upstairs landing made him want to run from the house before he made a fool of himself. He could clearly recall meeting Miss Iris Landon when she’d been dropped off in front of Poe’s Tavern in the middle of the night. He had been drawn to her natural beauty even then. He could try to convince himself that it wasn’t true, but something about Iris Landon made her stand out from other women. Some undaunted spirit that called to him. So he’d paid attention to what was being said about her in town.

Nathan Pierce had been the first to report on Miss Iris Landon, describing her as “that pretty, curly-haired gal staying with the Sherers.” Then Adam had heard she would be moving into the Spencer household as nanny to the two little orphaned Indian girls since Camie Sherer had given up the job.

A maelstrom of discussion had taken over as the community discussed whether or not a marriageable white woman should work in an Indian household. That brought forth those who had originally been against the Indian children being cared for by Camie Sherer. Hadn’t they tried to warn people at the time that no good would come of accepting Wayha Spencer’s decision to hire a non-Indian female to tend his granddaughters?

It was all a part of what was wrong with this country. Adam didn’t know why it still irritated him to hear the biased comments of the white settlers. He should have learned by now that the original inhabitants of this land would never be accepted as equals. Not when acceptance meant that thousands of acres of land would be unavailable to white settlers.

Miss Iris Landon’s willingness to work for an Indian family notwithstanding, most white people only wanted to exploit Indians or have them removed to some inhospitable land far away. He didn’t know which was worse, the greedy landgrabbers or the overeager missionaries. Miss Landon was definitely not part of the first group. She had most likely accepted her position so she could proselytize the little girls. Like most women, she had an ability to deceive herself into believing in a benevolent Creator, but why must she try to force her beliefs on others?

“You’re not making your case very well.” Mr. Spencer’s sharp gaze brought Adam to the matter at hand. He waved Adam to a horsehair-covered settee before taking a seat in an overstuffed chair to one side of the hearth. He pointed Lance to a straight-backed chair that stood between his seat and Adam’s.

“I apologize, sir. What more do you need to hear?” Adam had been all through this many times before, but he was willing to explain it again if Mr. Spencer wanted him to. All he needed to do was focus on the reason he’d come out here in the first place, a reason that had nothing to do with what was going on upstairs.

“Adam here feels I should put my house and lands up for sale.”

Lance looked in his direction, and Adam could feel his ire rising in response to the man’s incredulity. “It’s not like I’m the one who wants to buy it. I’ve never pretended to have that kind of money at my disposal.”

“Then why do you advise Mr. Spencer to sell? In spite of the tragedy of losing his loved ones, there is no reason he should move back to Lookout Mountain.”

“Of course not. That’s an outlandish idea!” Adam tugged at his waistcoat and straightened his back. “Who said anything about his going to the village?”

“You don’t understand, Lance.” Mr. Spencer tapped his cane on the floor to get their attention. “Adam thinks I should go to the new Indian Territory.”

“What!” Lance turned to Adam. He looked confused. “I thought you were an opponent of Indian removal. I thought you believed as I do that the Indians have a right to their land.”

Adam shrugged and looked out the window as he tried to organize his thoughts. How could these men be so blind to the truth? It was time to face facts. President Jackson had won. It didn’t matter what they or anyone else thought. The Cherokee would never be allowed to stay in Tennessee. If he could convince his friend of that truth, then the old man would be able to see the logic in moving now—he would have his choice of homesteads in the new Indian Territory. Instead of waiting until his home and land were wrested from him by the full force of the American government, he could sell his holdings for a reasonable amount and have money when he made the move. “What I
believe
has no bearing on it. The fact is that the signing of the treaty at New Echota is a death knell to the Cherokee Nation.”

“If that were the case, Chief Ross would be here gathering his belongings instead of staying in Washington.” Lance’s voice was calm and reasonable, but to Adam it reeked of ignorance and self-deceit. “Obviously he believes there is still a chance for the Cherokee to win.”

“Again that word—believe.” Adam’s jaw was so tight it ached. “It sounds to me like that missionary wife of yours has turned your brain into mush.”

Lance came out of his chair like a shot. “Be careful what you say about my wife, sir.”

Adam also stood and sized up the shorter man in case he had to defend himself. Lance Sherer looked brawny and strong, a side effect of earning his living traipsing through the wilderness to survey property. But no matter the outcome of a bout of fisticuffs, Adam knew he had to apologize. He’d allowed his temper to get the better of him. He let his gaze drop. “I meant no disrespect.”

The tension in the room did not ease appreciably. He could see the other man’s hands still clenched in fists.

After a moment Mr. Spencer sighed, pulled himself out of his chair, and came to stand between them. He turned his back on Adam and addressed Lance. “As a good Christian, you will no doubt accept his apology.”

Adam spread his hands. “I’m really sorry. This is a difficult time for all of us.”

Lance nodded and turned back to his chair. “What do you need from me?” He directed his question to Mr. Spencer.

The older man went to the mantel and grabbed a large wooden box from it. Adam watched as Mr. Spencer maneuvered his way to the settee and sat heavily. He opened the box, and Adam saw that it contained several official documents. “Even if you’re right and the Indians are forced to leave their homes, I am in a different situation. I hold an official warrant for this land.” He triumphantly pulled out a parchment and waved it.