Spring Blossom (23 page)

“Get in that house!” Hunter ordered,
laughing as he turned her by her shoulders.

“With any luck,” she called over her
shoulder, “he’ll have you down about a week from Tuesday.”

Margaret chuckled lightly as she watched the
girl disappear into the house.

“She’s full of vim and vigor, that girl,”
Hunter said, reaching up and placing both hands around Maggie’s
waist.

“She’s not usually like that?”

“Not quite as…excited,” he said as she
landed on the ground in front of him. “She’s been looking forward
to having another woman to talk with.”

Margaret smiled warily.

Hunter placed his hand on the back of her
waist and guided her toward the house. “Come on, I’ll take you in
and then get some help to unload your trunks.”

The kitchen was large and bright and clean.
This appeared to be the room where they ate their meals; a large
wooden oval table, surrounded by six chairs, stood at one end. A
row of windows ran the length of the outer wall, and a large
cabinet and hutch took up most of the wall opposite. The cooking
area contained a long L-shaped counter, a cast-iron wood stove, and
wooden storage bins set up off the floor on a platform. Cupboards
had been suspended from the ceiling along the wall of the counter.
In the center of the area stood a large cutting block. The room was
sunny and welcoming and smelled pleasantly of lemons.

Marie-Louise smiled at them as she halved
lemons with a long knife. “I was going to make new curtains for
these windows,” she said as she began to squeeze the lemons. “But I
thought you might like to choose the material yourself. We can make
them together.”

Hunter laughed. “Could you give her time to
unpack her knickers?” he teased and ducked out the door before
either woman could respond.

Margaret blushed at his reference to her
under-garments and Marie-Louise huffed as she poured ample
quantities of the fresh juice into two glasses. “What does he
know?” she muttered. And then she was turning away. “Be back,” she
called as she exited the room.

Margaret felt her head would spin of
Marie-Louise did not slow down.

She took another step into the room as she
looked around at her new home. Walking toward the large table, she
removed her gloves and unpinned her hat. Before she could be
seated, however, Marie-Louise had returned, carrying a clear
frosted pitcher of water.

“Sit,” she said as she whisked by. “I keep
water in the root cellar so it stays cool.” Having added water and
sugar to the two glasses, she returned to the table and sat in the
chair to Margaret’s left. “There.” She took a drink from her own
glass. “You’ll like this, I hope. I don’t make it so sweet that
it’s syrupy.”

Margaret took a sip, nodded her head, and
raised the glass again for a longer drink. “It’s very good. I was
thirsty.”

Marie-Louise beamed with pride. “I’m very
glad you’re here,” she said again. “I don’t usually run on like
this, but I haven’t had another female to talk with for
months.”

“How long have you lived here?” Margaret
asked, thinking of the easy relationship this girl had with
Hunter.

“It’s been six months and three weeks since
Jeffrey married me and brought me here,” she explained, smiling
happily. “And I love this place.”

“You do seem happy.” Margaret smiled and
lifted her glass to drink again; it was, in fact, the best lemonade
she had ever tasted.

“Oh, I’ve never been happier,” the young
woman continued with feeling. “The men are good to me, and I love
my husband and this old house and the cottage out back where
Jeffrey and I stay.” Her eyes sparkled as she gazed quickly around
the kitchen with glowing fondness. “All I need now is a baby.”

Clearly surprised by the comment, Margaret
choked. “So soon?”

“The sooner the better,” the girl said
lightly. “I’m not…yet, you understand. But I keep praying.”

There was a commotion outside, and
Marie-Louise pulled back the curtains. “Here’s Jason and Jeffrey to
help,” she said, letting the white lace curtain fall back into
place. “Come outside and I’ll introduce you to my Jeff.”

There were no two ways about it.
Marie-Louise moved to the door and she expected Margaret to follow
her. “Don’t be shy,” she said, seeing Margaret’s hesitation. “Jeff
is just as sweet as he can be and Jason is a grand fellow. You’ll
like them. Come on, now.”

Jason proved to be a mountain of a man who
stood a half head taller than Hunter. He was well muscled, without
an ounce of fat, and sported flaming red hair and a bushy beard to
match. And, he greeted Margaret warmly.

The three men were standing at the rear of
the wagon, having obviously already stabled the horses, when Hunter
looked up and smiled as Margaret walked his way. These are my
friends, his eyes told her.

Margaret smiled when she caught the meaning
behind that look; she realized it was important to him that she
like these people. Was it equally as important to him that these
people like her?

As Hunter introduced her to Jason,
Marie-Louise stepped closer to the younger man and folded her small
hand in his. This kind of open display was new to Margaret, and she
wondered at the intensity of emotions that would permit two people
to so casually show their affection in front of others.

“So you married this lout,” Jason boomed,
sandwiching her hand between both of his. “Well, I hope you’ll be
happy here, regardless.”

“Thank you,” Hunter returned ruefully, and
Margaret chuckled. She suspected Jason was in the habit of putting
Hunter in his place.

Hunter placed a gentle hand on her shoulder,
ignoring the slight automatic flinch on her part, and indicated the
young couple awaiting their attention. He smiled at Marie-Louise
and asked, “Can you release Jeffrey long enough for him to greet my
wife?”

The young man with sandy hair looked
unhappily at his employer as he let go of his wife’s hand. But,
with the smile Hunter sent his way, Jeffrey realized the man had
been teasing them. “Ma’am,” he said.

“And that’s all you’ll be getting’ out of
him,” Jason exclaimed before he clapped a hand firmly onto Hunter’s
shoulder. “Let’s get these trunks up those stairs.”

Marie-Louise lightly touched Margaret’s
forearm to get her attention. “I’ll show you the house while the
men are unloading the wagon,” she said. Margaret nodded her head
and followed in the young woman’s wake.

The tour was only beginning when
Marie-Louise point to the closed door off the kitchen that was
apparently Jason’s room. “I only go in there to collect the linens
on wash day,” she explained.

The front of the house was split into two
rooms divided by a narrow hall and a flight of stairs leading to
the second floor. One large room had been divided, she was told, to
make Jason’s room. The remainder of that once larger room contained
a desk, some bookshelves and two comfortable-looking chairs
situated before a small fireplace. This was Hunter’s study. Across
the hallway was a deeper room which was simply furnished with a
settee under the window and four chairs with accent tables grouped
before the fireplace. The floors were clean and highly polished,
and hooked rugs were scattered about. The room was bright and
inviting, and Margaret could imagine the coziness of a roaring fire
on a winter’s night.

The top floor of the house contained three
rooms, one much larger than the others. It was to this room that
the men were moving her trunks, she noted with interest.

“This will be your room,” Marie-Louise told
her and the girl had the temerity to wink.

Margaret merely smiled politely.

“This is your room,” the girl said again,
“and Mr. Maguire’s.”

Margaret’s complexion turned various shades
of red and she quickly retreated down the stairs.

CHAPTER 16

Margaret returned to the second floor later
in the afternoon after Marie-Louise told her firmly that she would
not be helping with the supper on her first night in her new home.
Not that she would have been of much assistance in any event.

Before she started to unpack her belongings,
however, she strolled through the upstairs rooms, stopping to
examine the one directly across the hall from where her trunks had
been taken.

The room contained a large bed with an iron
bedstead, a small table, and a commode. Against one wall a
handsome, cherry-wood wardrobe stood and, examining it closely,
Margaret determined it would hold most of her gowns. A braided rug
lay on either side of the large bed, and beige curtains, matching
the material and color of the comforter on the bed, fluttered at
the small window. It would do nicely, she decided.

“This was my room,” a deep masculine voice
informed her, and Margaret turned to face her husband. “My mother
kept it this way for me all the years I was in England.” He pushed
off with a shoulder from the doorframe and stepped into the room.
“I moved my things to the larger room before I left to get
you.”

Margaret frowned and clasped her hands
behind her back, considering her words carefully before she spoke.
“I like this room,” she said simply.

“I do, too. Perhaps one day we’ll have a son
who will sleep here,” he returned quietly as he glanced around the
room before his gaze settled on her again.

Margaret hesitated before continuing but
finally said frankly, “I thought I would take this room for
myself.”

Hunter’s brows arched even as his eyes
narrowed, and Margaret knew immediately that she had grossly
miscalculated. “Did you, now?” he asked in a deceptively calm
voice.

“It is a nice room,” she added lamely.

“It is. It is not our room, however.”

“Hunter,” she pleaded, stepping back from
him a pace. “You said you would give me time.”

“So I did. But I did not agree to being
estranged from you. We will share a room and a bed, Maggie,” he
added firmly. But then he softened a little as he tried to
understand and be tolerant of her concerns. He held out one hand.
“Come with me,” he said softly and led her into the room which they
would share.

He looked around the large rectangular room
that had been his parents’. It would be cool in summer; a large oak
tree cast its shade over the room and windows. And it would be warm
in winter; the chimney that serviced the parlor provided also for a
small fireplace on the end wall of the bedroom. Jason and Hunter’s
father had carved the bedstead, and Hunter had added two
comfortable, well-padded chairs and a woven rug to a center spot
before the fireplace, where he hoped to spend many a long winter’s
evening in Margaret’s company.

He stood now, in the room he had planned to
share with her before learning of her aversion to having a husband,
and he felt the warmth of her small hand tucked neatly inside his
much larger one. His plans had not changed with his new knowledge
of her; they would share this room and his bed but he would, as he
had promised, give her time to adjust to her role as his wife.

“Hunter, your friends will know that…”

“Of course they’ll know,” he interrupted,
leaning close to her as he pressed her hand against his chest.
“Haven’t you heard that husbands and wives sleep together? Most
people understand that.”

“A gentleman would allow his wife to sleep
in her own bed,” she insisted.

“Where did you learn that?” he teased.

“It is general knowledge.”

“Indeed? And did your mother and father
sleep in separate beds? Is that where you learned this amazing
news?”

Margaret tried to turn away from him but he
wouldn’t let her go.

“I suspect that they shared a room,” he
insisted softly, his dark eyes staring intensely into the light
blue of her eyes. “I suspect they shared a bed. And I suspect they
cared very deeply for each other and demonstrated that love often.
How else do you think they got four daughters, Maggie?”

In theory, Margaret knew the answer to that,
of course. She had been raised on a farm and understood the
continuance of a line. She simply did not choose to believe that
such tawdry, disagreeable behavior had any place in her own
life.

When she looked down at the floor, Hunter’s
other hand came up and held her hand against his shirtfront. “This
is simple place,” he said softly to the top of her head. “And I’m a
simple man. I have envisioned spending evenings here while you and
I talk, or while I read and you sew. Quiet evenings, away from the
work and the cares of the house and the farm.” He smiled when she
dared to look up at him, a small frown marring her loveliness. “A
quiet place where we would escape the demands of our children.” And
when she would have turned her head away from him, Hunter gently
forced her chin up again. “I have no mean or hurtful thoughts or
plans for this room, my pet,” he whispered. “Everything I want to
do with you here is about sharing. We will share the bed and our
thoughts and our humor. We will share our fears and our
disappointments, and most important, Maggie, I want us to share our
love.”

Margaret’s eyes immediately turned stormy,
and she tore herself away from him, speeding across the room to
stare out the window. “Those are pretty words,” she said evenly.
“But I think you’ve trapped yourself, Hunter.”

He didn’t move toward her; he simply turned
until he was staring at her back. “How do you mean?”

“You returned to Treemont to get a pretty,
laughing girl, and I am not that girl any longer. Once there, you
were trapped in your bargain with my father, weren’t you?”

“No!” he said firmly, taking a step toward
her. “I was not trapped, and there was no bargain. Can’t you see,
Maggie? I had a choice. I always had a choice because there was no
firm agreement. Your father and I agreed that I would return to
Treemont when you were grown, and if there was an understanding
between you and me…”