Spinning the Moon (53 page)

And now, as I turned my face to the steady drizzle, Elizabeth would be placed into the crypt herself. All of her beauty and wit to be hidden forever under the green slopes of the mausoleum.

Just a few close friends came to the internment. I kept my somber thoughts at bay by studying the faces of those around me. Rebecca stood solemnly, clutching her Samantha close and holding her father's hand. Clara and Daniel were there, as well as an older couple and an elderly gentleman I thought I recognized from my visits to my grandmother's.

Following the funeral, a larger group gathered at the house for the wake. Daniel seemed drawn and reserved, Clara always at his side. At one point, as I leaned against a dining-room chair for support, Daniel sought me out. I was surprised to find him alone, and he looked relieved.

He kissed my cheek, then held my hand. “I cannot imagine how devastated you must be right now. Please know that my shoulder is always available for you. I . . . had great affection for Elizabeth.”

He looked as if he were about to cry, and I patted his shoulder. It was at that moment Clara appeared and promptly claimed Daniel's arm, steering him away from me. Again, it struck me how incongruous the two of them looked together, like a mismatched pair of bookends.

The late arrival of a tall man caught my attention and I studied him closely as he moved behind an older couple. The woman looked at him
with surprise and then squeezed his hand in welcome. I still could not place how I knew them. The young man looked vaguely familiar, and his soft hazel eyes flickered in recognition when he spotted me. He dipped his head in a brief greeting before turning his full attention to the reverend.

I spotted him again much later. He stood in a corner of the dining room, scouring the crowd as if searching for someone. When his gaze alighted on me, he approached with a singular determination.

He stood in front of me and looked down at me with soft hazel eyes. “Cat? It is me, Philip. Philip Herndon. An old summer friend.”

Now I remembered. And I recognized the older couple as his parents—old friends of my grandmother's. “Yes, of course. I thought you looked familiar. It is good to see you again.”

His face sobered. “It was a shock to hear about Elizabeth. My deepest sympathy for your loss.”

I studied his handsome face, now fully matured, without the softness of his earlier youth, and saw true remorse. “Thank you, Philip. I shall miss her deeply.” I felt better, somehow, speaking to him. Just seeing him brought back memories of my carefree youth, the time of my life when death and loss were not my constant companions.

He looked down for a moment before speaking. “I would . . . If you do not mind, I would like to call on you sometime while you are here. I feel there is so much catching up to do. And I would like . . . I would like to talk about Elizabeth. Perhaps that would bring us both some healing.” He smiled a small, faraway smile. “You know, I thought for a long time that she and I might marry. . . .” His voice trailed away and his eyes seemed lost in thought.

His smile faded as he caught sight of something behind my shoulder. I turned and watched John approach, his face a mask of restrained thunder.

“Mr. Herndon,” he said brusquely, giving a brief nod. “I must say I am surprised to see you here. I thought I made it quite clear that members of the White League are not welcome at my home.”

Philip flushed deeply. “I do not know what you mean, sir. I am here with my parents to show our respects to our closest neighbor and old friend.”

John gave him a mocking smile. “I see. Well, consider your duty done, sir, and see yourself out. You may wait outside until your parents are ready to leave. But you are not welcome here, and if you don't want to cause a scene, I suggest you do as I ask.”

The red flush in Philip's cheek quickly faded to a pale white. Anger flickered in his eyes and I thought, for a brief moment, that blows would soon fall. Instead, with a brief nod in my direction, Philip excused himself, and I watched as he let himself out the front door.

Angrily, I turned to John. “What was all that about? You just insulted him gravely. He was here with a sincere offer of sympathy, you know. He was a friend of not only Elizabeth's but mine as well.”

John gripped my elbow, pulling me close to him so he could speak without others hearing. “The man does not have a sincere bone in his body. If it were not for my personal dislike of the man I would dislike him on principle. He spent the entire four years of the war in Europe, miles away from the battlefields where his friends and neighbors were slaughtered. And now he has involved himself in the White League, whose main purpose is to take the law into their own hands and harass freedmen and Republicans. That group alone is responsible for more than a dozen lynchings in the last year.”

We were interrupted by the appearance of the elderly gentleman whom I recalled to be Judge Patterson, a contemporary and old friend of my grandmother's. My heart leapt at the recognition, for this man had been like a grandfather to both Elizabeth and me. We had always suspected more than friendship lay between him and my grandmother, but they had never married. Regardless, he had loved and spoiled us like his own grandchildren, and I had loved him deeply in return.

Leaning heavily on a cane, he bent to kiss my cheek, his lips dry and withered against my skin. The judge offered his condolences, and we spoke of my grandmother for a while, until John excused himself to find Rebecca. I turned back to the judge to find his warm brown eyes examining me closely. His hand, with gnarled fingers resembling claws, grabbed hold of my forearm and he leaned close to my ear.

“I want you to know . . .” His next words were lost in a spasm of coughs. Still gripping my arm, he continued. “I have missed you all these years, my dear. You have grown into a beautiful young woman.”

I blushed, but thanked him and smiled.

“I remember you always telling me what lay in your heart—all your wishes and fears. If you ever need someone to tell your heart to, know that I am still here to listen.”

I wondered if I should dismiss his utterance as the ramblings of an old man, but when I looked into his eyes, I knew the sentiments were real and sincere. Patting his hand, I said, “Yes, Judge Patterson, of course. It is reassuring to know that I have friends who care about me.”

“There might be some unpleasantness regarding Elizabeth's death. I am sure it has been kept from you, but you need to be aware that there's talk that John may have got away with something because of who he is and whom he knows. You and I know this is not true, but the gossip is there. Just remember that I am here to help you if you need me.” He squeezed my arm, then left to go. I watched the bent figure of the old man as he walked away and felt no small comfort in knowing that I had a friend.

I seemed to be the focus of attention and braced myself for the inevitable onslaught of neighbors and friends who sought me out to introduce themselves and examine me closely. From their curiosity, I feared that I must have grown three heads. But every so often, I would look up and find John's eyes on me, and he never failed to send me a reassuring smile.

The scrutiny and constant attention left a throbbing headache at my temples. At my first opportunity I slid out of the room and hid myself in John's library. I felt completely numb. I wanted to grieve for my sister in private and to relegate my memories of her to some sort of permanence while allowing the truths of whom she had become to slip through the thin fingers of my memory and evaporate into the firmament.

Taking off my shoes, I curled up into John's desk chair and rested my forehead on my knees. I let my eyes flicker as the droning voices behind the door lulled me into a dreamless sleep, an enviable place where there were no mysteries or unanswered questions.

When I awoke, I noted that the sun no longer shone through the window and the purple cast of dusk had settled into the corners of the room. The guests must have left, because I heard no voices. The house nearly shouted its silence.

I sat up, my neck stiff, and knew instinctively that I was not alone. I slowly lowered my legs and stilled, my eyes struggling to focus on a dark shadow by the door. The steady rhythm of somebody breathing pulsed in the still room as I widened my eyes to see better. The shadow moved closer and my breath caught in my throat.

“Catherine.”

John's voice did nothing to still the hammering of my heart. “I have been thinking about you. Your future, to be exact.”

I searched my sleep-muddled brain for words. “My future?” Something in the tone of his voice heightened all of my senses.

“Yes, Catherine. Your future. I have been thinking about it quite a lot lately.”

I straightened, feeling suddenly that I could read his mind. I wanted to reach up and put my hand over his mouth before he could continue. But I remained where I was.

“I think that you and I should marry.”

A
door slammed somewhere in the house, and I think I must have said something. John approached and leaned toward me, but I did not move. He lit a lamp on the desk and straightened. His black eyes flashed in the lamplight with an emotion that I could not read but that made my skin feel as if I had been burnt by the sun.

I tried to stand but realized my legs could not bear my weight and sat back down.

John raised an eyebrow and spoke. “I know this is sudden, but after talking with my neighbors today, I have found that your presence in my house has led to a great deal of speculation and that your reputation is at stake.”

I gripped the edge of the desk. “I assure you, sir, that my reputation does not concern me at this juncture of my life. And I do not plan to remain here at Whispering Oaks, so it does not matter much.”

He paused, his eyes raking over me, my every pore tingling from where his gaze touched. I pushed the chair back, putting distance between us.

He took note of my movement and smiled. “There is another matter I wished to discuss with you. It concerns Rebecca. She needs a mother, and it seems that you two are growing fond of each other. I cannot imagine that you would wish to leave and not see her again.”

I forced myself to stand, leaning heavily on the desk for support. As much as I wished for solace amid my grief on Saint Simons and to be away from the child who so reminded me of the one I had lost, John was right. I had no wish to abandon Rebecca here in this house of dark shadows. But his proposal was not to be considered.

“You seem to forget that your wife is barely cold in her grave. If
your acquaintances are gossiping about my mere presence here, imagine what such a hasty marriage would do to your own reputation.”

He studied me with those black eyes that held so many secrets. “It is not my reputation that I care about. I know that there is nothing left for you on Saint Simons. And I want you to stay—for your sake as well as Rebecca's. The only way I see that occurring is if you marry me and live here as my wife.”

My heart seemed to stutter, skipping a beat. “I have no desire to ever be married again. I tried it once and found it lacking.”

That infernal eyebrow shot up again, lending him a wizened expression. “Then perhaps you were simply married to the wrong man.”

I heard myself sucking in my breath before I realized what I was doing. “You go too far.”

He stepped around the edge of the desk until he stood directly in front of me. “Robert treated you badly, Catherine. Do you not think that you are due a husband who will treat you with nothing but kindness and respect?”

I jutted my chin. “Like you did for Elizabeth?” I regretted the words as soon as I had uttered them.

He gripped my shoulders, pulling me closer. “You do not know the truth of what was between your sister and me. I hope, for your sake, that you never do.”

His eyes burned with controlled passion and I craved, just for a moment, to see it unleashed. This man fascinated me. As much as I wished to pull away, I wanted to feel his touch on me and let his heat burn away the eternal coldness that had resided inside of me for so long. But he was like a fire: uncontrollable, its path unknown, and, for those unwary enough to fall in its path, too easily consumed.

He released me and let his hands fall slowly to his sides. His gaze dropped to my mouth and then, deliberately, to my throat, where he could see my quick breaths and rapid pulse. I raised my hand to hide my traitorous skin, but he reached and took my fingers, his touch creating a spark that snapped in the darkening room.

My palm stung where he had touched, but he would not let me pull away. His voice was low and seductive, the tremulous notes warming places inside me that had not been touched in a very long time. I closed
my eyes for a moment, trying to shut him out, but his presence overwhelmed me.

“Catherine, let me take care of you. You will never lack for anything—certainly not food or clothing or a dry roof over your head. Can you honestly tell me that you have any of those things waiting for you back on Saint Simons?” He spoke softly into my ear, his warm breath sending goose bumps down my neck and arms. “Can you?”

I found myself leaning into him and put my hand on his chest to stop myself. “Why would you want to marry me? I have nothing to give you.”

His eyes became hooded, his emotions effectively locked away from my view. “I have always held you in high regard, Catherine. You had such a brightness of spirit about you, a joy for life that was very captivating. I . . .” Abruptly, he dropped my hand and turned away toward the window. “And Rebecca needs a mother—desperately. I think you two would be good for each other.”

I stared at his broad back, foolishly imagining placing my face against it and finding rest. “Then you . . . you are speaking of a marriage of convenience.”

He whirled on his heels, the grace of his move reminding me of an encounter I had once had with a catamount. So sleek and beautiful; so deadly. Back then I had my father and his rifle for protection. Now I had only me.

A flash of white appeared as he smiled. “No, Catherine. I have no desire for another cold marriage bed. I would fully intend to claim my marital rights.”

I was glad for the dim light to hide the flush I felt creeping over my face. “I . . . I see.”

He walked toward me, his footsteps muted by the carpet. I held my breath and forced myself to look in his face.

“I do not think you would find my bed wanting.” He leaned down, his lips hovering over mine. “Let me show you how it should be between a man and a woman.”

When I spoke, his lips brushed mine, taking away the intended sting of my words. “Sir, you are being presumptuous.”

His fingertips lightly swept down my arms, and for the first time in
my life I felt completely and utterly helpless. I hardly knew this man, and what I did know was incomplete. There were too many unanswered questions, too many hidden emotions, for me to want him the way that my body demanded. But when he was near me, even barely touching me, my reason abandoned me.

His lips touched mine gently and I tasted him for the first time. When he pulled away for a moment, I closed the gap between us like a starving person hungering for his touch. Our mouths collided as my body melded into his. His arms pulled me closer and I found myself floating in an ocean of warmth and passion, the waters threatening to suffocate me, but their lure of refuge and heat impossible to resist. I wondered if this was what drowning would be like, and the thought brought a fissure of reason to me. Like a person coming up from a deep slumber, I pulled away.

He did not step back but continued to hold me close. “You are not indifferent to me, Catherine. We have both felt this thing between us since that first night when I rescued you from the swamp.”

I shook my head, swallowing thickly. “No, I am not indifferent to you.” His expression remained guarded, but I could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. I was aware of every place on my person that he had touched, and felt a small pulse of anger at myself for allowing him to see how he affected me. Who was this man? What secrets did he hide? I needed to remove myself from his presence to allow myself to think. It was near impossible to do so clearly with him so near. And he was well aware of it.

I pulled back and stepped away from him. “I need time to think.” I walked clumsily around the desk, putting it between us, my legs wanting to buckle under me.

He stood rigid by the desk, regarding me intently. “Yes, do think about it. Think about your life these past months on Saint Simons and then think about your life here. I doubt you will have to think much further.”

“But marriage! Surely there is another way.” I looked at him anew, a glistening thought budding in my brain. “For what reason could you possibly want me as your wife?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I have already mentioned my reasons.”

“No, there has to be more to it. What do I have that you could possibly want enough to acquire by marrying me?”

His gaze darkened. “Do not insult me, Catherine. Perhaps in due course you will understand. But for now, suffice it to say that I need a mother for my child and a companion in my bed. And you, my dear, will lack for nothing.”

“It is you now, sir, who is being insulting. This transaction you are proposing is slightly better than selling myself. I may have lost everything, but I still have my pride.”

“Forgive me. I did not mean to insult you. You know that I hold you in the highest regard.” He began to walk around the desk toward me. “And I find your pride one of your most attractive assets. One of many, I might add.” His gaze flickered over me before returning to meet my eyes. “I merely meant to imply that a marriage between us would be mutually beneficial.”

He now stood within arm's length of me, and I knew I had to escape before I agreed to anything just to have him touch me again. “I need time.” Without another word, I turned on my heel and left the room.

*   *   *

I ran to my bedroom, feeling faint from the pressure of my corset as I closed the door. I sat down on a small settee by the window and waited for my breathing to return to normal. My thoughts were in turmoil—torn between grieving for my dead sister and this remarkable proposal from a man I could admit intimidated me as much as he excited me.

I thought of my barren existence on Saint Simons, the constant gnawing hunger and grief, and knew that John was right. There was nothing there for me except for more of the same and with no end in sight. At least if I stayed here, I would have food and shelter and no more worries. And I would have Rebecca. She was not Jamie, but I knew in due course that I would come to love her as my own. She was all that I had left, a final connection, somehow, to the family I had loved and grown up with.

But marriage to John! The thought thrilled and repulsed me in equal doses. The physical intimacies of my marriage to Robert had been rote and painful, but I could only imagine that sharing a marriage bed with John McMahon would be anything but.

I shivered, my body at war with my mind. What did he know of Elizabeth's death? And what was he not telling me? He had sworn to me that he was innocent of any wrongdoing, and I had believed him. It was so easy to believe his words when standing in his presence. But now, away from him, I would have doubts. How could I marry a man I was not sure I could trust?

A niggling thought teased at the back of my mind. Kneeling before my dresser, I pulled out the bottom drawer and reached into the back, feeling with my fingers until I grabbed the pipe that I had found in the attic. I stared at it in my hand and then, without really knowing why, I placed it in my pocket. I supposed I carried it on my person for the same reason I now wore the key on a chain around my neck and securely tucked inside my dress.

I paced the room, unable to come up with any answers to my predicament. I heard John leave the house, and I opened my door, feeling relieved that I would not run into him. My steps took me outside to the back porch, where I heard voices from the kitchen. Hoping to find Rebecca, whom I had left in Delphine's care, I entered the small brick building.

The pungent aroma of old smoke mixed with freshly baked bread touched on my memory and sent a wave of nostalgia through me. I stood in the doorway and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. Rebecca sat at a small table in the corner, Samantha on her lap, eating a thick slice of bread liberally smeared with butter. Delphine and her mother, Rose, stood silently, their gazes watching me with open curiosity.

I smiled. “I am sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to read to Rebecca and put her down for her nap.”

Rose knotted her thick, dark eyebrows, staring at me intently for a moment before speaking. “Delphine do that. I needs to speak with you, Miss Catherine.”

Rebecca finished her last bite of bread, then willingly took Delphine's hand, allowing the young servant to lead her and Samantha away to bed.

“Is there a problem, Rose?” I had once run a plantation, and I relished the thought of becoming useful at Whispering Oaks.

She placed a cup of tea on the wooden table recently vacated by
Samantha and motioned for me to sit. “Have some of this tea, Miss Catherine, while we chat.”

There was something ominous in her voice, and I did as she asked. A sizzling and popping sound came from a large black kettle hanging above the fire, and I jerked around to see Rose throwing a yellow powder into the pot.

“What is that?”

She did not respond, but instead wafted the smoke in her direction, sniffing deeply of the sweet and pungent odor. I looked down into my tea, but doubts assailed me and I could not bring myself to drink it. I should have left then, but I had always had a stubborn curiosity about me and I found that I could not.

Rose dipped a long-handled ladle into the pot and poured it into a tin cup. This she placed across the table from me and stood by it expectantly.