Lorraine Heath (26 page)

“Will you stop working on his face now that you know why I didn’t come?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll go ahead and finish it now that I’ve begun. Might have to carve your features as well, just so I won’t feel so dadgum alone.”

“I’d watch you work if I could, but Mama Warner has always been there when I needed her. I can’t leave—”

“I know.”

She pressed her cheek against his chest. “Don’t stop working on the monument.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

B
Y UNSPOKEN AGREEMENT, THEY MET AT THE SWIMMING HOLE
every night after that. Lying on a quilt, Meg gazed at the stars. Stretching out beside her, Clay looked at her.

She told him about her day, caring for Mama Warner. She never talked enough to satisfy him. He could have listened to her soft voice all night, well into the morning, if she would have stayed with him that long, but he always escorted her home around midnight, watching while she climbed in through the window, wishing he could boldly escort her to the front door.

The days were shorter when he had the nights to look forward to, but the nights were never long enough.

Perched on an elbow, he lifted the end of her braid.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“Wishing I was a painter. I’d use your braid as my brush, dip it in the colors, and create the most beautiful paintings in the world.”

“And what would you do if I wasn’t near you?”

“Ah, there’s the secret. I’d have to keep you near me.”

She wrapped her hand around his neck and pulled him toward her waiting mouth. With no doubts, she initiated his favorite part of the night.

Rolling onto his stomach, he braced his elbows on either side of her to keep his weight off her, grazed his knuckles along her cheeks, and lowered his mouth to hers.

Words he dared not speak drifted through his mind, questions with answers he’d rather not hear taunted him. If she hated him, why did she meet him here every night? If she hated him, why did she welcome his touch? If she loved him, why did she meet him secretly?

If he loved her, why didn’t he leave her alone instead of luring her into his world where hate overshadowed love, and battles were still fought over a war long over?

Moaning softly, she pressed her head back against the quilt, arching her throat. Clay had learned that she liked it when he used his mouth to blaze a trail along the ivory column of her throat. Each night he learned more what she enjoyed because each night, she gave a little more of herself to him.

Gliding her hands along his shoulders, she kneaded his muscles. “You feel so tight, you must have worked extra hard today.”

“Worked extra long.” He lifted his face, his gaze holding hers. “I want you to come and see what I’ve done before you go home tonight.”

“I wish you could work at night.”

“Lanterns wouldn’t give me enough light. I need the sun.”

“You carved a headstone during a storm at night.”

“That was different. It’s smaller. I have to keep all the monument in sight. Shadows at night would distort the stone. No telling what I’d end up carving.”

She threaded her fingers through his hair and rubbed her thumbs in circles over his temples. “Have you made Mama Warner’s marker?”

“I made it the day after I saw her.”

“Is that what you want to show me?”

“No, making markers never brings me joy.”

“What you did today—”

“I think it’ll bring you joy.”

Walking through the moonless night, her hand wrapped firmly within his, Meg wanted to tell Clay that he brought her joy.

Watching Mama Warner grow weaker with each passing day, knowing she could do nothing but offer comfort and company, Meg went home exhausted each evening. Only the knowledge that she’d see Clay carried her through the long hours of the day.

She didn’t know why she’d denied herself the pleasure of his company that first week or why she thought she was too tired to crawl out the window and run to the darkened swimming hole.

She enjoyed listening to his voice as he talked about his day. Carving, she discovered, was very much like plowing a field, only the crops he hoped to harvest grew from seeds planted in dreams. Mesmerized, she’d watch his hands create shapes in the air as she was certain they’d created shapes in the stone. He talked low, his voice a caress in the night. She took the sound of his voice, the feel of his kiss into her dreams, drew strength from the small amount of time that they had together each night.

They neared the shed, and he gripped her hand harder as he slowed his steps. He opened the shed door.

“You oiled it,” she whispered.

“Yeah, sometimes I just come out here and sit, long before dawn. I prefer not to wake the twins when I do.”

They stepped into the shed, and he released his hold on her hand. She heard scratching, then a flame flared, and he lit a lantern. Lifting it over his shoulder, he walked toward the statue.

Meg eased around him and lifted her gaze. “Oh, my.”

He held out his hand. Slipping her hand into his, she stepped onto the stool. With trembling fingers, she touched the stone face.

“What do you think?” he asked quietly.

“It looks just like him,” she said in awe. She worked her other hand free of Clay’s grasp and touched both palms to Kirk’s cheeks. She ran her fingers over the stone brow, along the eyes, and down the nose. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s hardly perfect.”

“You captured so well the man he was before the war. Look at the pride reflected in his face. He has no doubts. He believes in what he’s doing.” She sighed wistfully. “I wish Mama Warner could see this.”

“Why can’t she?”

“She’s so weak, she can’t even get out of bed, and you certainly can’t drag the monument to her.”

“I could bring her here.”

“She’s too frail. I don’t think she could travel this far.”

“She could if we used the wagon. I’ll put a couple of mattresses and several blankets in the back. We’ll go slow. I’ll carry her to the wagon. Then I’ll carry her in here.”

“When would we do it?”

“Tomorrow?”

Meg knew it was unlikely that Mama Warner would live long enough to see the monument completed, but Clay had finished carving what she would care about most. “People are traipsing in and out of her house all day. All we need is for one of them to tell Robert or Mr. Warner, and after you dared Robert to shoot you, what’s left of the family would probably come after you with all guns loaded.”

“We could do it in the evening.”

Meg planted her hands on her hips. “So Robert wouldn’t have to come looking for you? He could just shoot you as you cross the threshold?”

“Not if he doesn’t know I’m crossing the threshold. The man’s gotta sleep some time.”

“You mean go late at night?”

“Why not? She’s never put locks on her doors.”

“And if we get caught?”

“I’m willing to risk it.”

The following night Meg sat in the wagon, hoping she wouldn’t regret what she and Clay were about to do. Their good intentions could easily bring harm Clay’s way if they were discovered.

“Take off your boots,” Meg whispered as she worked off her shoes.

“Why?” Clay asked.

“So we don’t wake Robert when we’re walking through the house.”

“Does he wake easily?”

Meg snapped her head around. “I don’t know, but Kirk did. I assume since they’re cousins …”

“Wish I’d known …,” he mumbled as he jerked off his boot.

The lantern resting at Meg’s feet in the wagon cast its light on his large toe as it peered through a hole in his sock. He pulled the bottom of his sock over the hole and wedged it between his toes. Meg bit back her smile. She’d never in her life known a man as modest as this one.

He jumped off the wagon and walked around the mule. The moon was but a silver sliver in the sky, the stars sparkling like a thousand diamonds. She didn’t know if they could have picked a better night for their clandestine adventure.

After helping her climb out of the wagon, he reached for the lantern. She laid her hand on his arm, and he stilled. “Promise me if we wake Robert that you’ll walk out the door.”

“And leave you to face his wrath?”

“He won’t get angry at me. In all likelihood, he’ll shoot you.”

He chuckled low. “I won’t run, Meg.”

“I’m not asking you to run. I’m just asking you to leave if we wake Robert.”

“How will you explain what you’re doing in the house?”

“I’ll say I couldn’t sleep and came to look in on Mama Warner.”

Bowing his head, he studied the ground. “Do you think I’m a coward?”

“I just don’t want you to get shot in the middle of an act of kindness.”

He lowered the flame in the lantern until it was little more than a whisper of light in the dark. “All right. Let’s try not to wake him.”

As they trudged toward the house, Meg realized for the first time in her life how loudly the grass crunched beneath her feet. She feared they’d wake the entire county. Clay walked in long sure strides as though he’d forgotten that their visit was a secret, as though he wanted to tempt Kirk’s father to aim a gun at him.

She hurried to catch him and wrapped her hand around his swinging arm as they neared the house. “Let me go in first,” she whispered.

Clay reluctantly acknowledged the wisdom of her words. If Robert did wake up, he’d be less alarmed if he saw Meg walking through the house. Clay gave a brusque nod.

Meg took the lantern and slowly eased open the door. She peered into the darkened kitchen and listened intently. Slipping the lantern through the opening, she searched the shadows, then tiptoed into the house.

Clay stepped in after her, and Meg could have sworn he stomped the floor. With her finger pressed to her mouth, she spun around and glared at him.

He shrugged.

“Walk on your toes,” she said in a low voice.

He grimaced.

“Do it or I won’t go any farther,” she threatened.

She watched his height increase and lowered the lantern for a closer inspection of his feet. His large toe had escaped through the hole in his sock.

She crept through the kitchen and halted at the hallway. One way led to the room she’d shared with Kirk, the room where Robert now slept. The main room of the house lay beyond it. In the opposite direction, a few steps down the hall, the door to Mama Warner’s room stood ajar.

Taking a deep breath, she cautiously tiptoed down the hall. She peered in through the open door.

Smiling, Mama Warner lay in the bed, her hand lifted slightly, and her fingers wiggling in the air. Meg hurried across the room, the lantern swaying and chasing away the shadows.

“I was starting to worry about you,” Mama Warner whispered.

Meg pressed her finger to the older woman’s lips. “We have to be quiet.”

Mama Warner waved her hand as though shooing away an irritating fly. Then she extended her gnarled fingers toward Clay. His larger hand swallowed hers. “Meg says you’re taking me on an adventure.”

To Meg’s surprise the brilliance of Clay’s smile shone through the dimness of the room.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m gonna be as gentle as I can, but you tell me if I hurt you.”

Meg forgot about cautioning him to be quiet. She forgot about everything but watching the care with which he wrapped a blanket around Mama Warner before gingerly lifting her into his arms and cradling her against his chest.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“You know how to hold a woman so she feels precious. Makes me wish I was sixty years younger.”

Clay laughed, and Meg thumped his shoulder. “Shh.”

He rolled his eyes. “She keeps me on a tight line.”

“Not tight enough from what I hear.”

“Will you two be quiet!” Meg whispered sharply. “You’re gonna wake Robert, and then we’ll have all hell to pay.” She nudged Clay. “Get moving.”

“It’d help if the person with the lantern led the way,” he said in a low voice.

Meg took the lead, and the whispering behind her increased. These two were worse than maiden aunts at a social. She scurried down the hallway and ducked into the kitchen.

And waited while Clay took his own sweet time following her. She felt as though she were standing on the edge of a deep abyss by the time he finally ambled into the kitchen. She could tell he and the woman in his arms were fighting to hold back their laughter. She trudged through the door, holding it open an eternity.

“You must have trained your mule,” she whispered when Clay finally walked onto the porch. “You move slower than it does. Try and hurry. I’d like for us to be back before sunup.”

“She always harping at you like that?” Mama Warner asked.

“She’s usually worse.”

Meg doubled back. “How can you walk so slow when your legs are so long? Usually I can’t keep up with you. Tonight when it matters, you’re slower than a turtle.”

“I don’t want to get reckless and drop my precious bundle here.”

As they neared the shed, Meg felt her heart flutter. She was afraid Mama Warner wouldn’t like the statue; maybe it was a mistake to show it to anyone before it was finished.

They walked into the shed, and Meg increased the flame in the lantern. As Clay walked by, she lifted the lantern higher and saw the same doubts reflected in his face. She didn’t know why it hurt to know that he was nervous about sharing his work. He had a rare gift, and she suddenly wished that he had gone to Europe, that he had developed his art and honed his skills.

Meg moved closer to the granite, and the shadows shifted over the stone. Mama Warner gasped. With tears filling her eyes, she covered her mouth with her gnarled fingers. “I want to touch him,” she rasped.

Clay shot his gaze over to Meg. She saw in his eyes that he hadn’t expected Mama Warner’s request. She also saw that he wasn’t about to disappoint the woman. He glanced at the stool, then looked back at her. “Go get Lucian. He should be in the house.”

Meg set the lantern on the table.

“I’m a lot of trouble,” she heard Mama Warner say.

She glanced over her shoulder. Cast in faint shadows, Clay sat on the stool, holding Kirk’s grandmother in his lap and shaking his head, a tender smile on his face. “No, ma’am. You’re no trouble at all.”