In a Stranger's Arms (20 page)

“Did you have a nice time at the prayer meeting, dear?”

“Hmm? Oh—yes, ma’am.” Dora roused from her reverie. “I mean, a prayer meeting isn’t a grand cotillion or anything, but it made a pleasant way to pass the time with other young folks.”

Caddie fetched the broom and began to sweep the floor. “Did Jeff Pratt go?”

“Y-yes.” Dora emptied a mound of chopped vegetables from the cutting board into a large crock on the back of the stove.

She looked to be struggling to hold something back, but the words burst out in spite of her efforts. “Miz Caddie, do you have any idea how hard it is to flirt with a blind man?”

Work-reddened hands flew to Dora’s redder face. “Oh, sugar! I can’t believe I said such a thing. Please don’t pay me any mind, ma’am.”

Setting her broom aside, Caddie put her arm around Dora’s shoulders. “Don’t you tell me what I should and shouldn’t pay any mind, missy. I can’t say as I’ve ever given much thought to the matter, but I reckon it’s not easy for a well-brought-up lady to communicate her interest to a gentleman who can’t see her.”

No casting glances, followed by a coy smile when one got returned. No putting up hair in a new style to attract a compliment. No letting a fan or a handkerchief fall so a gentleman might retrieve it. How would the poor girl ever attract Jeff s notice?

Dora heaved a little sigh. “I knew you’d understand, Miz Caddie. Life’s going on. The old rules and ways of doing things have to change if they aren’t working. Don’t they? Like you marrying Mr. Forbes so soon after you met him.”

“I suppose that’s true, dear.” Caddie couldn’t help feeling Dora credited her with far greater wisdom than she possessed. “Maybe you ought to try putting yourself in Jeff’s place. What sorts of things might get your attention if you couldn’t see?”

“You mean like wearing scent?”

“That’s a fine idea.” Caddie returned to her sweeping. She always thought best while her hands kept busy.

“Something distinctive,” she added. “Not rose water like every other girl might be wearing. A fragrance that’ll let him know you’re nearby whenever he smells it. I’ve got an old bottle of lemon verbena I’d be glad to let you have. That might do the trick. And don’t forget your voice. There’s a world of difference between the way a lady speaks to a gentleman she wants to encourage, than to one she couldn’t care less about.”

“I know just what you mean.” Dora chuckled.

“You have a pretty laugh, too, dear. Reminds me of sleigh bells. If Jeff Pratt hasn’t already noticed it, he’s not as clever a fellow as I’ve given him credit for.”

“Thank you, Miz Caddie. I feel so much more hopeful after talking to you.”

Suddenly Caddie felt like a fraud. What right had she to give another woman advice on winning a man when she’d shown so little aptitude for it herself? “I’ll just go fetch you that bottle of lemon verbena, before I forget.”

A happier thought occurred to her. “Perhaps when Manning sorts out this miserable tax business, we can host a dance. You young people need more chances to socialize.”

Dora endorsed the idea with an eager nod.

Bustling off to hunt up that old bottle of scent, Caddie found herself wondering what might happen if Manning couldn’t sort out their tax problem with the odious Mr. Larkin.

The sound of men’s voices drifted in through her open bedroom window—one jovial and more than a little patronizing, the other sharp. Whether from indignation or desperation, Caddie couldn’t decide.

“Be sensible, Forbes. Virginia needs tax dollars for rebuilding. As you’ve probably seen, the state’s in bad shape.”

“And whose fault might that be?” Manning inquired.

Telling herself not to listen, that it would only rile her, Caddie moved toward window as if she was being pulled.

“Why, their own, of course,” replied the tax collector with contemptible good humor “for starting that terrible war, which is why they can’t expect the rest of the country to foot the bill for their reconstruction.”

Somebody ought to shove a hornet’s nest down that man’s trousers! Caddie’s mind seethed like a swarm of those vicious insects.

Manning didn’t answer right away. Was he going to agree with his fellow Yankee?

His reply, when it came, was so quiet, Caddie had to lean out the window to hear. “I don’t see how driving promising businesses into bankruptcy is going to help revive the South.”

Though part of her wanted to applaud Manning’s reasoning, another part wished he’d defend the South with more fire.

Why should he, though? she asked herself. For the better part of four years Confederate troops must have shot at him, killed his friends, taken others prisoner. Perhaps his home in southern Pennsylvania, about which he was so evasive, had been scourged by battle when General Lee marched north in the spring of ’63.

For reasons she couldn’t fathom, Caddie found herself taking her own advice to Dora. Putting herself in Manning’s place. Why had he come and what made him stay, she wondered, if not the desire to get rich quick, as she had first supposed? Nothing about this mysterious Yankee made any sense.

She realized she’d missed part of their conversation when Mr. Larkin suddenly raised his voice to make a telling point.

“The Freedmen’s Bureau needs money to operate, too. Our gallant boys in blue didn’t fight and die to free those folks just to throw them out of the only kind of work they’re fit for.”

A mess of contradictory feelings tugged Caddie this way and that, like a child tormented in a game of blindman’s bluff. Her mama had taught her to treat their servants with a firm but gentle hand. Ten years ago, she would have sworn that Mammy Dulcie, Big Amos, Uncle William and the rest were practically family—better cared for than so-called freedmen living in the hungry squalor of Northern cities. She’d been certain they would scorn emancipation.

Until she’d watched her slaves desert her when Union soldiers marched into Richmond. Celebrating in the streets like the day of deliverance had arrived.

“I wore a Union uniform for four years.” Manning’s voice sounded tired. “I wasn’t a boy and I sure as hell wasn’t gallant. I didn’t join up to free the slaves, but I’m glad it came about or that whole war would have been for nothing. I don’t know what needs doing to help those folks, but it’s a big mistake to grind the Confederate states into the dust in the name of the Freedmen’s Bureau. Sow that kind of poison seed and folks will reap a crop of hate around here long after we’re gone.”

A shiver went through Caddie as she listened. Had women in Bible times experienced this curious mixture of fear and excitement when they heard the Old Testament prophets speak?

Eavesdropping on Manning’s conversation with the tax collector, she found herself inclined to echo Varina’s initial judgment of the man.

I don’t believe he is a Yankee.

As Manning watched Mr. Larkin ride off down the lane, he decided he’d throttle the next person who had the nerve to call
him
a carpetbagger. His interview with the tax collector had given him an intimate understanding of all the term implied. And he didn’t care to be tarred with that brush.

Another unpleasant thought struck him. What would Caddie say when she found out he hadn’t been able to budge the man a penny on their tax levy?

Manning wasn’t long finding out.

“Well?” Caddie’s voice sounded behind him, though he hadn’t heard any warning swish of skirts. “Any luck?”

He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to give her the bad news after they’d started the day on such an unpleasant note. This kind of information wasn’t like cheese or whiskey, he decided—it wouldn’t improve with age. “Larkin means to stand firm on his original assessment down to the last penny. We haven’t got long to raise it, either.”

“You could have talked him down, if you’d been more agreeable.” Why didn’t Caddie’s voice sound angry?

“Agreeable how?”

He looked out over the property, all green and gold in the sun. Considering the way the lane hooked around that big old chestnut, the tree must have been a good size when Tem and Varina’s ancestors claimed this land on a charter from the king of England.

To a man who didn’t know the name of his father, let alone his forefathers, this connection between the Marsh family and Sabbath Hollow seemed almost mystical.

Perhaps Caddie sensed his regret over letting them down, for her voice held neither blame nor bitterness. “Agreeable in running down the South. Making us out to be a bunch of proud sinners who need to be humbled. That way Mr. Larkin could feel all righteous about what he’s doing.”

“How do you know I didn’t do just that?”

“I—overheard some of what you told him.”

“You didn’t need to eavesdrop. I wouldn’t have said anything different if you’d joined us.”

“I didn’t dare stay, or that awful man might have provoked me to violence.” Caddie’s lips crooked in a wry smile. “Without the excuse of a blue-tailed fly.”

In spite of the worries churning inside him, Manning laughed, too, as he remembered the tax collector’s dazed look. Considering the jolt of jealous rage that’d blasted through him when Larkin ogled Caddie, it was a wonder he hadn’t done the man worse harm.

“I apologize for listening in on your conversation, but I wouldn’t change a word of what you said to Mr. Larkin.”

Manning told himself not to glance back at her, but his head turned of its own accord.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t change his mind... and... I’m sorry I was so cross with you this morning.” He searched for an excuse that would absolve her without incriminating him. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I guess.”

The image of waking up in a bed with Caddie blazed in his mind. Hard as he tried to banish it, it wouldn’t go away. A bed holding Caddie wouldn’t have any wrong sides.

Perhaps his face betrayed a hint of his scandalous thoughts, for she averted her eyes. “We all do that now and then. No harm in it. I reckon when folks live under the same roof, they can’t go tiptoeing around, fearful of giving offense with anything they say or do. Families need to go easy with each other and stand together in hard times.”

Manning nodded slowly. Slowly he extended his hand to her. Somehow he got the feeling she was saying more than he could fathom. He liked the sound of it, anyway.

Just then, the children came tearing around the house.

“Mama, Manning, guess what?” hollered Tem.

Before they could guess, Varina let the cat out of the bag. “We made a circus—wanna see?”

Templeton cast his sister a black look. “We walk on our stilts. Rina can juggle crabapples. And I taught Sergeant some real good tricks.”

Caddie squeezed Manning’s hand. “You two were so quiet this morning I wondered what mischief you might be getting up to. Do we get to see this great circus, or just hear about it?”

“You can watch,” Varina assured her mother. “Dora, too.”

“Around back by the pump,” added Tem. “Give us a few minutes to get ready then come.”

With that, they raced away again.

For a moment Manning forget everything but how much he loved those children. “You’ve done a fine job raising those two.”

Caddie shook her head. “You wouldn’t say so if you’d seen how they moped while you were gone.”

She still hadn’t let go of his hand. “Would you do me the honor of escorting me to the circus, Mr. Forbes?”

Every particle of sunshine in the whole day seemed to concentrate on the spot where he stood. “The honor would be mine, ma’am.”

That shimmering warmth followed him around to the flat, shaded spot where Tem and Varina put on their show. Manning laughed more in the next quarter hour than he had in the previous fifteen years combined.

Yet hard as he tried to fix his full attention on the children, his eyes kept straying to the pump behind them. What pretext could he invent for taking it apart and poking around the well beneath, without provoking Caddie’s suspicion more than he had already?

Worse yet, what if he’d misinterpreted the last ramblings of a dying man—and the lost Marsh silver wasn’t hidden under that water pump?

Chapter Thirteen

“
W
HAT
’
S THIS
?” C
ADDIE
stared at the big metal chest crusted with dirt. Sergeant sniffed around it suspiciously.

Manning’s expectant look and Tem’s barely contained jubilation told her what it must be, but she didn’t even want to hope until she was completely certain.

“It better be worth digging up the well.” She peered past her husband and son at their messy excavation.

For some reason it made her recall the day Manning had shown up at Sabbath Hollow and how she’d watched him wash at the pump.

“Open it up,” ordered Varina.

“Can’t you see it’s locked, silly?” Tem fairly vibrated with excitement

Caddie shook her head. “I don’t have a key.”

“I do,” said Manning.

Her already speeding heart beat faster still. How had Manning gotten his hands on a key to this box... unless...?

Grinning like a fool, he pulled a crowbar from behind his back. “This big ugly key will open pretty near any lock.”