South of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 2) (31 page)

Chapter Sixty-Seven

    
 
J
ude Thomas paced the room in agitation. The windows were broken on one side of the building and several stones from the fireplace had come free and tumbled to the floor. In the far corner there was a hole in the roof and stains from past rains streaked along the wall.

      Jude did not see or care about the condition of the house. The place had belonged to his aunt and he was indifferent, even in days past when it had been a stately home. Right now it was a place to stay for the moment. Once he’d finished his business with Elgerson he’d take the money he had hidden under the floorboards and buy his own place. He’d go somewhere where no one knew the hated name Elgerson, some place warm where the women were available and no one knew his name.

      The conversation with the Shofield girl at her home ran over and over in his mind and he was consumed with finding a resolution, a way to salvage his plan.

      “Mark told me that he didn’t want to see me ever again.” She’d wrung her handkerchief in her shaking hands. “Please don’t yell at me anymore. I don’t know what else to do.” Bernadette had sobbed deeply.

      “Then you have to go back. You have to apologize, or make it up to him, anything. Whatever it takes. Aren’t you in love with him?” Jude yelled into her face.

      “I don’t know,” she sobbed. “I thought I was but he doesn’t love me and I tried what you said. I put his hand on me and he didn’t like it. He looked at me like he was repulsed. Maybe he doesn’t like girls or something.”

      Jude gritted his teeth in frustration. “I don’t care. You need to go back.”

      “Oh, please,” she begged. “I don’t feel well and I just can’t.”

      Jude raised his open hand and it met the girl’s cheek with a sharp slap.

      Bernadette jumped up and ran from her home. She found a quiet place behind the back shed and heaved the contents of her stomach into the weeds.

      With some persuasion he believed the girl could get Corissa’s kid back on track and get her position back at the mill. It would only have to last long enough for them to trust the girl with information about when the payroll came in on the train.

      He vowed he’d not lose his temper again with the girl. He’d take her out and buy her another new dress, something sweet. It had worked in the past. He just needed to be a bit more patient.

      Bernadette came back into the room looking pale and sickly. Jude helped her to the bed and sat beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders.

“I’ll buy you another pretty gown. We’ll ride right now into St. Peter and you can get anything your heart desires.”

      “Anything?” she sobbed.

      “Anything,” he promised. “I just want you to be happy. If you help me with this I’ll take such good care of you that you’ll never be unhappy again. You know that I love you, right?” He feigned a smile.

      “I thought you did,” she pouted. “Please don’t hit me anymore.”

      “I won’t. It was wrong of me and it won’t happen again. Now go wash your face and we’ll go shopping.”

      “Alright,” she sighed deeply.

      Bernadette’s stomach settled as the day continued and once they arrived in the city she was feeling much better. The streets were lined with fancy carriages and bright trolleys and in nearly every window there was another pretty dress, a lovely pair of shoes or a fine bonnet. Jude purchased nearly anything that caught the girl’s eye and by nightfall her spirits had lifted considerably.

      He checked them both into the hotel and in the dark of a small room he kissed her softly and made love to her on the thin mattress. She accepted his advances, his lovemaking was no longer painful, but her belly ached and when he had finished she was thankful he fell into a deep slumber.

      In the morning they would return to Billington and she would go back to the mill and try to make it all up to Mark. She still thought about Samuel Evens though. She thought if she were in love with anyone it would be Sam.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

    
 
T
he warmly colored filly tossed her head as the young man walked patiently along the fence. He held her lead gently in one capable hand and the flexible lunge whip in the other. She was a brightly colored bay, her shade a soft auburn and she bore a white berry-shaped star along her forehead. Her mane and tail were near black, except for the flaxen stripe that streaked through her tail. Dark ears turned to follow him and her legs bore four white stockings.

      “Well, Strawberry,” Mark spoke to her in a soft and encouraging voice. “Let’s see how you feel about this.”

      He led her around so that she stood close to the fence and he put his boot onto the railing and raised himself up slowly. The filly tossed her head and eyed him suspiciously. He stood taller than her now and the horse was not sure if she was comfortable with the man’s position.

      He stepped down smoothly and led her around the pen again, then halted her and stepped up on the rail again. This time it was less threatening and she stood more calmly. He went through the motions several times until she became comfortable with him petting her from above.

      He carried the saddle to the fence and dropped it onto the rail. The long-yearling trotted up behind him and sniffed at the saddle over the man’s shoulder curiously.

      “That’s an interesting thing now isn’t it,” he said to her and rubbed her muzzle affectionately. She tossed her head and trotted away briskly and then returned to sniff at the contraption again.

      When she was no longer nervous he slid the saddle onto her back and cinched it swiftly but firmly, careful not to pinch or startle her. He held the lead, but allowed her to toss about, trying to rid herself of the weight. When she was convinced she could not throw it off she trotted to the man and stood beside him, nodding and setting her head on his shoulder.

      “Not too sure about that, eh girl?” he stroked her withers affectionately.

      Strawberry nickered softly and pushed her muzzle into his palm.

      He stopped, and pulled out a light lunch, sitting on the fence talking softly to the animal. She sniffed at his food and pushed her muzzle into his bag, smelling the apples he had there and she pawed at the sack and blew through her nose.

      He reached inside of the pack and produced an apple, which she grabbed quickly. When he tried to eat another himself she pranced around in front of him, bowing, as he had taught her, in an attempt to gain another piece of the fruit. He rewarded her, laughing in his easy, comfortable way.

      Mark led her around again and stepped up beside her. This time it was familiar to her and she stood calm and easy. He led her away from the fence, slipped his boot into the stirrup and slid onto her back in one easy movement.

      Strawberry backed up suddenly and lowered her head, dumping him on his backside into the dirt.

      He stood up calmly and took her lead again. She tossed her head, backed up a bit, and then trotted to him again when he nickered to her.

      He walked to her side and straddled her again quickly. This time she reared then backed up, lowered her head and dumped him again.

      After several attempts the filly was enjoying the game, but Mark’s backside was beginning to bruise.

      Strawberry walked around and waited for him this time. He took a deep breath and was on her back again, this time clinging tightly. She tried to unseat him, but he did not slide off as easily this time. She tried leaping and arching her back several times, bucking until he slid off again. She walked up to him and pushed him with her nose as he lay for a moment in the dirt.

      “Are you enjoying yourself?” he smiled.

      Roland crossed the field and stood in the stand of trees a few feet from the corral. He watched the lively animal dumping Mark repeatedly and chuckled at the boy.

      He saw him get up, dust himself off and shove his hat back onto his head and then get on again.

      In yet another attempt, he got onto the horse’s back and, unable to unseat him again, she walked in a tight circle and tried to nip at his legs. Then she put out her foreleg and dumped him again.

      When he stood up this time he sighed deeply and scowled at the animal. She tossed her head playfully and butted his chest with her nose.

      Roland crossed the yard and called out.

      “I’ll take her lead. Try again.”

      “How about if I watch and you try,” Mark rubbed his posterior, hat in hand.

      “It doesn’t work that way. Go ahead.” Roland pet the animal’s nose and placed his hand on her shoulder as Mark mounted her again. The older man led the horse around the pen and she did not resist. She trotted along nervously, but quietly, and after several passes around the corral Mark began leading her to one side and the other with gentle pressure from his legs and soft pulls on the rein.

      Eventually Roland removed the lead and Mark urged Strawberry to a quicker trot and she paced along the fence easily.

      Roland slipped out of the gate and stood, arms resting on the rails, watching the young man on his first ride of the fine animal.

     None of the other horses remained now, only this one. She was a beautiful creature, slender and finely boned. There was no question she was fast. Roland had watched her several times race uninhibitedly across the fields. Mark was a kind and capable horseman and cared for the animal well.

      He waved to the boy and continued his trip across the field.

      Emma Vancouver watched Roland crossing the field towards her. She carried Ottland on her hip and a basket in her other hand, walking to meet the man partway from the mill. The tall grass rippled in the gentle breeze and birds darted across the sky swiftly. The child noticed a butterfly and pointed a chubby finger, indicating its jagged flight.

      Roland watched her walk with a gentle grace, the curve of her hip as she balanced the child, the way her golden hair blew out behind her, her calm demeanor as he watched her steps crossing the field.

      He stood still, in the bright sunlight, silhouetted against the vivid blue sky. He wanted to capture the moment, keep it always in his mind. Carry it with him all the years of his life. He wanted to remember her this way for years to come. Remember her young and beautiful, lithe and slender. See her this way when time had begun to change their faces, to age their bodies, when his son was a grown man.

      She looked up to him and smiled and quickened her pace and his heart swelled with love for her.

      Emma saw him standing there, a calm serious look upon his face, and she smiled. He looked so handsome to her, so familiar, so comfortable. Wherever she was in the world he would always be home to her. When she reached him he kissed the child and lifted him, easing her burden and then kissed her cheek.

      She looked up at him and whispered, “Roland.”

      Emma spread the cloth out beneath the stand of trees. They could see Mark riding the filly inside of the corral, fast and then slow and then fast again. Roland lay back on the cloth and looked out over the field while Emma laid out lunch for him and the child and he knew he was a lucky man.

      Mark slid from the horse’s back and rubbed her mane affectionately. He saw the family beneath the stand of trees and watched them enjoying their lunch together.

      He had begun to feel that he wanted a family of his own more than anything in the world.

      He wanted a woman beside him that knew his mind, understood his moods, wanted his kisses and wanted them because of love. He wanted to bounce a child on his knee that was his own, to face the challenges of being a father, of being a husband. He began to wonder if she wasn’t under his nose right here. She might be waiting for him somewhere else. But where?

      Strawberry put her head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her neck and then led her quietly back to the stables. He frowned at the possibility that to find the right woman he might have to one day leave Stavewood. He didn’t even want to think how he felt about that.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

    
 
B
ernadette Shofield stood on the porch at Stavewood in the fading light of the warm spring day. She could see the family gathered in the parlor through the lace curtains in the window.

      She saw Timothy Elgerson on the floor with his daughter and little Phillip, reading a book intently and making frightful faces that had both children giggling. Rebecca had her knitting on her lap and was patiently and rhythmically throwing her yarn across her needle, stitches sliding onto her needles from right to left. Mark sat in the chair in the corner, feet crossed at the ankles and eyes closed. She recognized the pose. Whenever he was worried over something he would sit that way with his fingers laced and his hands in his lap.

      She took a deep breath and tapped the knocker softly. Rebecca opened the door and greeted her quietly. 

      “Hello, Mrs. Elgerson.” She held her breath. “Could I please speak to Mark?”

      Rebecca looked at the girl for a moment and asked her to wait in the foyer.

      “Mark,” Rebecca leaned close to him. “Bernadette is in the foyer. She would like to speak to you.”

      The young man opened his eyes, looked at the woman and scowled.

      “Should I tell her to leave?”

      “No,” he sighed. “I’ll talk to her.” It was not Rebecca’s responsibility to resolve his problems, he thought.

      He walked out to the foyer, nodded to the girl and opened the front door, directing her outside.

      He grabbed onto the porch railing with both hands and looked out across the lawns.

      “Go ahead,” he said quietly.

      “Oh, Mark. Don’t be that way. Let me explain, please.”

      “Are you going to try and tell me again that I don’t notice you and Sam Evens does?” He turned to her and folded his arms across his chest.

      “That came out all wrong,” she tried to keep her voice from becoming shrill.

      “That just about covers things between you and me, Bernadette,” he addressed her. “All wrong.”

      “I don’t think so,” she cleared her throat. “I love you.”

      “Really?” he chuckled sarcastically. “Is that what you think?”

      “Well, I do,” she said. “I think about you practically all the time and I don’t like it when you’re not happy or you work too hard. I am always trying to get you to notice me because I want you to think I’m pretty and that you want me.”

      “And you think that those things mean you’re in love with me.”

      “Well, yes,” she responded. “I am.”

      “No, Bernadette. You’re not in love with me any more than I am with you. We became friends, that’s all. You and I had something in common, I thought. We were both ashamed of our families, but I realized that I don’t really feel that way. I am proud of my family. I’m so proud of them, in fact, I was afraid I couldn’t measure up to what it meant for me to be a part of it. But I’m not in love with you. I don’t think I ever was.

      “I liked you once. I liked that, in spite of coming from a simple life, you were always yourself. You were kind and genuine. Now I don’t know who you are.” He looked at her in her bright lipstick and tight fitting dress. “I do have to ask you one thing.”

      “What?” she asked softly.

      “Every time I see you, you are wearing another new dress, each one more outrageous than the last. I’m sure they aren’t coming out of your paycheck. So, I have to ask, whose wallet are they coming out of?”

      “Well,” she sighed.

      “Never mind, Bernadette. I think I probably don’t want to know.” He dropped his hands to his sides, exasperated.

      “Be careful,” he looked away. “You’re liable to get yourself in a bad situation the next time you take a man’s hand and put it on your breast like that.”

      Tears began to well up in her eyes and she looked at him with a tortured expression. She didn’t know if she should slap his face or thank him. She opened her mouth to try to explain, but she knew that if she even mentioned Jude’s name, especially right now, it would not go well.

      “Bernadette,” he turned to her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what’s going on with you, or with you and Sam. I don’t know. I know that you and I don’t belong together, that I do know. Maybe you should go see Sam. You can do that and I wouldn’t hold it against either of you. In fact, I wish you all the happiness in the world, but you and I are done.”

      “I could change,” she pleaded. The thought of Jude hearing that she had not resolved things with Mark began to terrify her.

      “Change?” He looked at her in confusion.      “What is it you want, Bernadette?”

      “If you could just try again. Just try to love me for a while. Maybe everything will change.”

       He watched her face as she avoided looking him in the eye and wrung her hands nervously. He could make no sense of her suggestion.

      “Why, Bernadette? Why should either of us try to be in love when we clearly are not? Do you think we can pretend and it will just happen? I’m certainly no expert, but I don’t think it works that way.”

      “Well,” she decided to try another approach. “What if we were friends like before? Like before I put…” she cleared her throat. “We can just spend time together like before and then see what happens. We don’t have to be in love if you don’t want to, we can just be like we were before.” Maybe if Jude were to just see them together he would be satisfied.

      “Bernadette, don’t you see? Every time I see you I am so angry I have to calm myself down. Don’t you understand that I pulled Sam out into the road and beat him with my fists over you? You’re standing here, out after dark, alone, with tears running down your face trying to convince me we should try to be in love. This is madness.” He stood up straight.

      “I just thought… I mean I don’t want you to be angry anymore and if we were just friends again everything would be fine.” She couldn’t come up with any reason he should continue to see her and her hands began to shake.

      “Bernadette,” he took both of her hands. “Go home, please. Just let it go. It’s over, just let it be.”

      “But you don’t understand,” she burst into tears and he pulled her close to him to calm her shaking.

      Jude Thomas stepped back into the woods and smiled.

      “Good girl,” he told her as he jumped into the carriage beside her and she pulled away from Stavewood. “I knew you could do it.”

      Bernadette smiled nervously. Maybe if she tried to talk to Sam like Mark suggested, maybe he would understand.