Marry Me (19 page)

Cole had no liking at all for what she was saying or where it was headed. She was concerned about his reputation, not her own. “They’re just boys, Rhyne. You said so yourself.”

“Of course they are, but apples don’t fall far from their trees, do they? There’s talk behind my back, and there will be talk behind yours. For me, I don’t care so much, but you’ve got more than your fine reputation to consider.” She held his gaze, her expression frank, and said quietly, “You have to consider Whitley.”

Cole was raising the covers to slip into bed when he heard distinctive footfalls in the hallway. The same board creaked that always creaked when Whitley was skulking on the other side of the door. He crossed his bedroom with considerably more quiet.

Whitley gave a wild start when Cole opened the door. She would have fallen back against the far wall if he hadn’t caught her by the wrist and dragged her into his room.

“Why are you still awake?” He closed the door. “And why are you sneaking around?”

“I’m awake because I want to know what she said,” she whispered. “And I’m sneaking because that’s what you do if you don’t want someone to hear you.”

He thought it best not to tell her about the warped board that invariably gave her presence away. Better to know where she was than where she was not.

“Well?” she demanded. “What did she say? Is she going to stay?”

“She’s undecided.” He took the lamp from Whitley’s hand before she dropped it in her excitement and placed it on the dresser top. “Take that blanket on the trunk and wrap it around you. Why are your feet bare? Where are your slippers?”

Whitley went for the blanket and ignored him about the slippers. She crawled onto the bed at the foot and crossed her legs tailor-fashion, pulling the woolen blanket around her shoulders. She impatiently swatted at some flyaway strands of her unruly hair. “What do you mean she’s undecided? How can that be?”

“It happens that she has a mind of her own, Whitley.” Cole returned to the bed, pulled back the covers, and climbed in. He sat with his back against the headboard and drew his knees toward his chest.

“Of course she has a mind of her own,” she scoffed. “Whose else would she have?”

“She actually thinks with it,” he said, tapping the side of his head and giving her a pointed look.

Whitley did not allow herself to be sidetracked, which was proof, she could have told him, that she could think, too. “What were her objections?”

“You and me. She doesn’t want to live here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She thinks her presence will tarnish us. Miss Abbot is concerned that living here could be used by the committee as a reason to push me out at the end of the contract year, regardless of whether I want to stay. She also made the point that you would suffer for your friendship with her. Her opinion on both counts is heavily weighted by this afternoon’s altercation.”

“Well, that is just silly. You will not abide your decisions being subject to committee rule. And what do I care about suffering for a friendship? It sounds noble. It is just the sort of decent gesture that our parents would want us to make.”

It was true, Cole thought. The apple really didn’t fall far from the tree. “You are certain, Whitley? You’re right that I don’t care for myself, but Miss Abbot’s right when she says I need to be concerned for you.”

“As long as I don’t have to begin addressing her as Miss Abbot, I’m certain.”

“She’s not saying no to the position,” Cole said. “At least not yet. She talked about taking a room at the boarding-house.”

Whitley screwed up her nose. Her freckles momentarily bonded. “Runt could stay there, but Rhyne shouldn’t.”

“I explained that. It’s confusing for her.” He told Whitley about Rachel Cooper living on her own when she came to town. “I suggested to Miss Abbot that she speak to Mrs. Cooper. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Her cheeks puffed as she blew out a lungful of air. Wait-and-see was her least favorite activity. “Is there anything I can do?” “Go to bed, Whitley.”

“But–”

“Bed.”

Rachel Cooper set the silver tea service on a side table and poured two cups of tea from the pot. “Sugar?” she asked Rhyne.

“Please, Ma’am.”

Rachel arched an eyebrow. “I thought we were long past that. You must call me Rachel.”

Rhyne nodded. She surreptitiously observed Rachel’s graceful, economical movements as she finished pouring and added the sugar. Her hands turned delicately as she lifted the cups. Rhyne took hers and held it carefully in her lap, conscious of Rachel’s eyes on her.

Belatedly, Rachel realized she was staring. “Forgive me. I’m admiring my own handiwork, I’m afraid. I chose the particular shade of gray because it is a match for your eyes. The dress suits you, or perhaps it’s that you suit the dress. I can never decide which is more complimentary.” She waved a hand airily. “It doesn’t matter. You are looking very fine, Rhyne.”

“How kind you are to say so.”

Rachel blinked. That response was unexpected. Behind the rim of her cup, she smiled. “What can I do for you?”

she asked. “Not that I am ungrateful for your company. Indeed, it is a pleasant diversion from laying out a new pattern, but I don’t consider it likely that you came simply to pass the time with me.”

“No, ma’am. Rachel. No, I didn’t.” Afraid that she would spill her tea, she didn’t try to lift the cup. “Dr. Monroe made a proposal last night.” She watched Rachel’s smooth brow wrinkle like linen. Wondering at the reaction, she reviewed her words. “Oh! You think … oh, that’s comical… he didn’t …” She steadied the cup and saucer as she began to laugh. “He didn’t
propose
to me. He made a proposal. It’s not the same thing at all.” She suddenly remembered herself. “It doesn’t flatter him much that you’d think it, but I reckon it’s a compliment to me, so it is kind of you to mistake the matter.”

Rachel replaced her cup and saucer on the tray and sat back as if pushed by a physical force. She felt as though she had to catch her breath. “Start at the beginning,” she said finally. “I think I’m ready.”

Rhyne shared the important details of her conversation with Cole. “I’d like to accept his offer of hire, but I don’t know if it’s proper that I live there. I wonder how it might change folks’ mind about the Monroes if I stay with them. The sheriff probably told you what happened at the school. That sort of thing might happen again, and I have to tell you, it’s not all that easy to square off in one of these dresses.” The pitch of voice changed slightly, as did her intonation. “Not that I am ungrateful for what you’ve done. Indeed, it is a pleasant diversion from wearing trousers, but I don’t consider it likely that I can win many fights in a dress.”

Rachel’s mouth opened fractionally. It required a moment to register what she’d just heard: her own voice coming back at her, repeating words almost identical to ones she’d spoken earlier. “Is that me?” she asked. “Do I sound like that? My goodness, it was, wasn’t it? It was
exactly
me. How did you do that?”

That wasn’t a question that Rhyne couldn’t really answer. The truth was, she didn’t know, and on this occasion she hadn’t been entirely conscious of doing it. “I meant no offense,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t mocking you.”

Rachel leaned forward and bridged the distance between her and Rhyne by placing her fingertips on the back of Rhyne’s hand. “No, don’t distress yourself. I didn’t think for a moment that you were mocking. I think you’re trying to learn. It’s astonishing, really.” She gently nudged Rhyne’s saucer, encouraging her to drink some tea, then she sat back again and gathered her wits.

“As I understand it, the essential duty of all of the positions for which Dr. Monroe wants to employ you is teaching. He obviously sees something in you that makes him believe you will be able to guide his sister. The way I hear you describe it, I think he does not merely want a housekeeper, or a cook, or a tutor, or any of the other things you mentioned. He wants someone who will gently take Whitley in hand.”

“I’ve gentled horses before, but I don’t think Dr. Monroe knows that.”

“Maybe he senses it. People can, you know. That’s why they bought animals from you. You gentle horses. Some people break them.”

“That’s just an expression. It doesn’t mean they really break them.” She fell silent as Rachel merely continued to stare at her. “He did say he didn’t want to quash her spirit.”

“See?”

“But what about associating myself so closely with them? Living there, and all. What about that? I’m not bedridden now. I haven’t been for a long time. It was different when I was the doc’s patient, but I held my own yesterday. Folks are going to know I’m fit.”

“Indeed.” Rachel’s smile was wry. “Let’s put that aside. Tell me, are you comfortable there? Do you feel safe? Are you treated well?”

“Yes. Yes to all of that. It was hard at first. You know, to accept so much do-goodin’. Whitley didn’t know what to do ’cept fuss and talk at me. And Dr. Monroe, well, he’d done what he could out at the cabin. They pushed and prodded some, though not with any of those instruments the doc has in his bag.”

“There’s a small mercy.”

“That’s what I thought, and on account of them being so kind to me, I thought I should maybe make a like effort.”

“You shouldn’t accept the offer because you’re grateful, Rhyne. You’re going to work very hard for that salary.”

“Sure, by doin mostly the same things I did for Judah. He didn’t pay me. Hell, most times he didn’t let me sit at the table with him. The Monroes invite me to share their meals all the time. They don’t even ask anymore; they just expect it.”

Rachel hardly knew whether to weep or laugh. “The doctor and his sister have excellent manners.”

Rhyne grinned. “Don’t they just?”

Rachel chuckled. “What do you want from me, Rhyne?”

“Direction, I think. I’m not good with advice; mostly I ignore it. But I’d be a fool not to take direction.”

“It’s forward.”

“Pardon?”

“The direction is forward,” said Rachel. “Stop looking over your shoulder. Stop looking for trouble. You can’t prevent people from thinking what they will, but really, Rhyne, your view of the town isn’t one I share. My experience in Reidsville has been that the gossip is generally harmless, people look out for one another, and once there’s something new to talk about, the last new thing fades away. The philosophy is live and let live.”

“Judah wasn’t much for town,” Rhyne said. “Before I was born he lived here with my ma and my brothers. The house is still here. Randy showed it to me. I don’t know why he moved out, but he did, and I came along, my mother died, and we just made do where we were. He revived the Abbot Family Players when he saw I could learn my lines and take a part, but he thought the town didn’t properly appreciate his talent.” “Perhaps they didn’t.”

Rhyne leaned in to share a confidence. “Between you and me, Rachel, I don’t know what would have been enough.”

“I see. So it was like that.”

“It was.”

Cole walked out with his last patient of the day to find Rhyne waiting for him. She was perched on the edge of one of the room’s two ladder-back chairs, her hands folded in her lap, her spine holding her narrow frame in its most proper carriage. The posture suggested to him that she had just returned from visiting Rachel Cooper and that she had been paying attention to every nuance of Rachel’s bearing.

“Hey, Runt,” Ned Beaumont said as he hobbled past her. “Heard you got the best of the Morrison boy yesterday. Rudy’s kid, too. Can’t say I’m surprised. You always could scrap real good.”

“How kind you are to say so.”

Cole’s steps faltered as he jerked his head around to look at Rhyne. She gave him a pleasant, butter-wouldn’t-melt-smile, and waved good-bye to Mr. Beaumont. Cole watched Ned get safely down the steps before he shut the door and turned to Rhyne. “How kind you are to say so?”

Rhyne watched him shake his head, but there was no mistaking the glimmer of a smile that changed the shape of his mouth. “I spoke to Mrs. Cooper.”

“And?”

“I accept the position.”

“And?”

“And your offer to bunk here.”

“I don’t believe I said ‘bunk,’ but I take your meaning.” She stood and thrust her hand at Cole. “Shake, then. We have a deal.”

He stared at her hand, then extended his own. He met her eyes. “Shake.”

Rhyne pumped his hand. “I reckon I’ll find Whitley so we can start dinner.”

He nodded. She left.

They pretended the current in their handshake hadn’t been real.

Whitley heaved a sigh hard enough to flutter the papers in front of her. “It can’t possibly be important to know this,” she said, jabbing a finger at the list in front of her.

“You haven’t tried. Let’s just go through it once and see how many you already know.” She took the study paper away from Whitley. “Start with Aurora.”

“Goddess of the dawn.”

“Bacchus.”

“God of wine.”

“Ceres.”

“Goddess of the earth, grain, and harvest.”

“You’re a fraud, Whitley Brookes Monroe. Cupid.”

“God of love.”

“Diana.”

“Goddess of the hunt.” “Janus.”

“Do you think my brother’s handsome?”

“What?”

“I heard Dot Hammond tell Susan Walker that Cole was handsome. I wondered if you thought he was.”

“Not as handsome as, say, Janus.”

“God of new beginnings. Symbolized by two faces. That’s like Dot Hammond. Two-faced. I thought she was my friend, but all she wants to talk about is Cole.”

Rhyne folded the list of Roman deities in half and tucked it between the pages of Whitley’s reader. “You know all of this. Why do you pretend to be what you’re not?”

She shrugged. “Why did you? You were pretending, weren’t you? I mean it’s not true that you used to be a boy.”

“Oh, Lord.” She leveled Whitley with a narrow-eyed glance and gave her Runt Abbot’s husky voice. “We’re not gonna talk about my balls again, are we?”

Whitley’s own voice rose a full octave. “Do you
have

them?”

“Do you even know what they are?” “I do, but I’m not saying.” “Uh-huh.”

Whitley grabbed Rhyne’s wrist. “Come here, I’ll show you.”