The Barefoot Bride (36 page)

Love. Love was real.

And how eager he was to tell her he'd discovered that sweet truth, to fervently profess his love for her. He wanted to tell her to stay with him forever.

But he couldn't do that now. Not when he was just understanding what his wish would mean. She was nature in all its untamed glory, and this was Boston in all its refined elegance. The two, very simply, did not mix.

"I realized that from the start," he whispered again. "Knew it but hoped..." He ran his hand through his hair.

And he couldn't return to North Carolina with her either, he fumed. That would mean leaving Desdemona, for he could never take her with him. To hell with the fact that Araminta still retained custody over Desdemona, but the girl, though she'd improved mentally, remained frail and weak physically. She'd not last a week enduring the rough life Chickadee yearned to have back again.

There was only one course to take. Pain gripped him as he thought of it. As much as he longed to give Chickadee all his love, the love that had been there from the beginning, he would have to conceal it from her. He could never even let her suspect its existence.

Because if she knew, she would never leave Boston. She'd stay here and endure her homesickness with her indomitable fortitude. She'd be brave for him, keeping her yearning for the Appalachia carefully hidden.

But he'd see it each time he looked into her eyes—those sparkling orbs that were as green as her mountain forests. He'd feel it every time his fingers played through her copper hair, those tresses that were the same red-orange-gold of the mountain leaves in autumn. He'd hear it each time she laughed, that sweet, happy song that rivaled even the lovely melody of the Blue Ridge breezes.

Staying in Boston would be a sacrifice too great to expect of the girl he loved. And so, when the Winslow business was over—something he knew would occur shortly—he would have to send her home.

"Why, dammit?" Why had it happened this way? Why had Fate allowed him to discover love and then forced him to send it away? It was the cruelest injustice he'd ever known. He pressed his forehead against the cold pane of the window and shut his eyes against the pain he knew would never go away.

"Why what, Saxon?" she said softly and joined him.

God, he would miss that voice, he thought as he turned to enfold her in his embrace. "Keely," he whispered and wondered what would fill the void in his arms when she was gone.

He swept her from the floor, and because she was a rare treasure it would be agony to relinquish, he held her closely and tenderly while he still had the time to do so. He carried her to the bed and slowly undressed her, savoring each revealed part of her before uncovering the next.

He shed his own clothing quickly, and when he lay down beside her, he kissed her with all the adoration he wished he could put to words. And when he began to caress her, it was with more passion than he'd ever shown her before. He made love to her languidly, thoroughly, as if each passing minute was his last with her.

And when at last he had finished and Chickadee dried his sweat-drenched face with her soft hair, she had no way of knowing that one of the droplets was a tear.

*

The Christmas season brought with it a fresh snowfall and Khan's complete recovery. Chickadee spent a lot of time outside, Saxon, Desdemona, and Khan never far from her side. The Blackwell grounds were soon covered with snowmen, most of them sprayed yellow by the very territorial wolf.

Saxon, as a surprise for Chickadee, went out and bought holiday decorations for the house—all of them arranged with galax leaves. He thought it would please her to see how galax was used, but when she fingered the heart-shaped leaves and wondered aloud if she was the one who'd picked them, he was reminded anew of how much she missed the Appalachia.

Chickadee had no idea her homesickness was the reason for Saxon's depression. She only knew he'd changed and didn't smile much anymore. More than anything, she wished there was a way to bring back his sweet, mocking grin.

Her wish was granted on Christmas Eve. Saxon, denied real Christmases as a child, ignored the bitterness the holiday always brought to him, and in the privacy of their bedroom he played Santa Claus and presented Chickadee with the gift he'd had made for her.

It was the most beautiful rifle she'd ever seen; sleek, gleaming, and perfect in her hands. But more than that, its stock was the one she thought had burned so long ago.

"I found it on the floor of your cabin that day," Saxon explained. "I had a gunsmith here use it to make a replica of what the parts that the original rifle must have looked like."

She was speechless with gratitude and disbelief, and many moments passed before she could find her voice and present him the gift on which she'd been working so hard. Sliding her hand beneath her pillow, she brought forth a small book and held it out for him to see.

He was confused. The book of poetry already belonged to him. "For me?"

In answer, she only smiled and flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted. "'When the br-bright sunset fills,'" she began to read slowly, "'the sli-silver woods with...'" She paused then, her nose wrinkled as she tried to read the next word.

"Light," Saxon whispered in amazement.

"'Light,'" she continued, nodding, "'the green slop... slope throws its shadders in the hollers of the hills, and wide the up-upland glows.'"

Her eyes afire with pride, she closed the book, caressed it, and then looked up at Saxon. "I larnt to read, Saxon. It's my Christmas gift to you."

His eyes went from her book to her face, and what he saw there made his heart skip a beat. She was beaming with happiness over her accomplishment. "Who taught you?"

"Bunny. First we read, and then I make Bunny go out and move her body around. She don't like it much, but she's bound and compelt to have Max as her man and thanks she's got to git smaller. Me, I think Max'd like her if he jist knowed her better. Anyhow, she larnt me to read, so I figgered I'd hep her back. And I been a-larnin' Desi to read too."

"Longfellow," he said softly. "You read Longfellow. A passage from 'An April Day.'"

His eyes and voice caressed her. She melted in the heat of his tenderness. "I liked it. It made me thank o' the Blue Ridge. You reckon that Longfeller ever went to the Blue Ridge? This here poem he writ sorter makes you see them mountains in yore mind, don't it?"

"Yes it does, Keely," Saxon agreed sadly. "It's a beautiful poem, and it does indeed describe your hills."

She watched as that strange melancholy filled his eyes again. "Saxon, ain't you proud o' me? Didn't it make you happy to hear me a-readin' the way I done?"

There were no words he knew to describe the intensity of his feelings at that moment. Almost everything she ever attempted, ever succeeded in doing, she did for him. Dear God, how he longed to tell her how much she meant to him. "Keely," he whispered, taking her into his arms and holding her for a very long time before he spoke again. "You will never know how much your gift means to me. It's the most meaningful present anyone has ever given me."

"I'd do anythang fer you, Saxon. And it was fun a-larnin' to read. It's fun a-larnin' new thangs. I don't reckon thur's nothin' I wouldn't try at least once."

She sat back and ran her fingers over the spine of the poetry book. "Like the grand-ball party that Miz Preston woman's a-havin' at her place soon. I ain't never been to nothin' like that. I warn't much fer them other git-togethers I been to, but this ball thang differs. Bunny tole me this story? Well, it was about this girl called Cindereller. She had the worstest kind o' time with her stepmama and stepsisters, but in the end this fairy come and heped her git to the ball at the castle. Cindereller even weared glass shoes. Wonder why they didn't break and cut her feet up, Saxon?"

He squelched his amusement. "They were made of magic glass."

"Magic glass," she repeated, wishing she could believe in that sort of thing but knowing full well it was only fantasy. "Yeah, well, Bunny said this grand ball you-uns have ever' year is jist as fancy as Prince Charmin's ball."

"Do you wish to attend the ball, little one?" Their invitation hadn't been withdrawn, he mused. If Chickadee wanted to attend Boston's most elegant affair of the season, he'd take her. He'd do anything at all to make her happy before he had to send her away. And if Boston didn't like it, it could go to hell.

"Well, I do sorter want to go. But, Saxon... I don't know how ter dance real fancy-like."

"I could teach you to waltz in one afternoon, Keely. The steps are easy to learn, and you are naturally graceful."

She threw her arms around him. "Oh Saxon, thanky!" Flying from the bed, she began to twirl around the room, already practicing that thing that Saxon called a waltz.

He watched her and thought of how much like Cinderella she really was. A rare beauty with a heart of pure gold, mistreated by society, much as Cinderella had been abused by the stepmother and stepsisters. And he, he thought with a pang of longing, might have been her Prince Charming. The only thing missing in the story-come-to-life was the fairy godmother.

The thought jerked him to his feet. He stood staring at Chickadee, his only movement the slow smile of newborn hope spreading across his face.

"Saxon?"

His grin broadened, his gaze still riveted on her.

Why couldn't
he
be her fairy godmother... er, godfather?

"I might need me some spectacles," Chickadee said, "but I could swear that's a smile a-turnin' up yore lips. Didn't never thank I'd see it agin. What brung it on?"

"If I could transform her... like the fairy did with Cinder—" he mumbled quietly to himself. "Make Boston see her in a different light..."

"What's that about light, Saxon?"

He began to pace, his hands firmly clasped behind his back. "If people began to accept her, stopped ridiculing her..." He stopped in front of a wall, stared at it for a second, and then turned for another walk around the room.

Chickadee couldn't understand his incoherent words. "Saxon, what—"

"She herself said learning new things was fun," he went on, his speech still slurred. "If society ceased its scorn, would she begin to... Maybe if she were given a warm welcome wherever she went... it's quite possible... really quite possible that she might..."

Chickadee took a quick sniff of him as he passed her on his journey across the room but smelled nothing but his bay rum soap. So why he was acting so snockered?

"She might begin to
like
it here," he muttered. "If she did, she might want to stay. It would be her
own
choice to stay. Wouldn't be a
sacrifice
if it was something she truly, deep down wanted to do!"

"Dang it, Saxon, what are you a-carryin' on about?"

"How do you feel when people say mean things to or about you, Keely?" he queried loudly.

"What? Well, that's the stupidest question anybody ever—How the hell you thank I feel? Don't nobody feel real good when other folks is—"

"Would you like to put a stop to it?"

"Cain't nothin' stop them snakes from bad mouthin' but a death chill. You a-sayin' I should kill 'em the next time they—"

"I don't think well have to resort to murder," he said with a chuckle that turned into full-fledged laughter as he swept her into his arms and swirled her around.

"Saxon, what's got you in sech a franzy?"

"Listen to me, mountain girl," he said excitedly and put her down. "You've defended me at every turn since your arrival to Boston. It's my turn now. No one is ever going to have reason to snub you again. Do you understand, Keely?"

"But how are you gwine—"

"Cinderella!" he yelled and planted a kiss on her forehead. "You're going to be Cinderella at that ball."

"Cinder—Saxon, what—"

"Just picture it, Keely." He pointed dramatically toward the wall. "Here you come, sweeping down the staircase and into the ballroom. Every pair of eyes in the room watches you. Everyone wonders who you could be. There's something about you that looks familiar—but they don't know any real princesses, and that's certainly what you appear to be. Your beauty, charm, grace... surely only a princess could possess such an abundance of those enviable qualities."

He spread his upraised hand wide. "And now, Keely, listen to the whispers that ripple all around you. 'Who is that lovely girl?' 'Where does she come from?' 'Why haven't we met her before?' 'We must acquaint ourselves with her.'"

"And what am I a-wearin', Saxon?"

He smiled when he saw how hard she was staring at the wall. "Your gown? Gorgeous! Gold satin, isn't? And your emeralds, the ones I bought to match your eyes. See how they glitter in your hair, at your ears, throat, and wrists? And what's this I see? Who are all those men lining up to dance with you? And what are you saying to them? What? That you'll only dance with me? And there we go, Keely. Look how we're waltzing. Hear how loudly everyone is applauding!"

"What fer are they a-doin' that?" Her eyes were mere slits, she was concentrating so hard on the imagined scene.

"Because you're so elegant and delightful. You've captured the interest of everyone, and look! The ball has ended, and everyone has crowded around you asking you to visit them. Inviting you to their homes and—"

"Hold on, Saxon!" she exclaimed, the dream. "Them folks cain't stand me. They ain't never gwine—"

"Oh, but they will. Because you see, Keely, they'll have no reason whatsoever not to. We'll work hard to—"

"Work? But—"

"You said there wasn't anything you wouldn't try"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Mountain girl turned to princess!"

"Saxon, I ain't never gwine be no prin—"

"Please, Chickadee." He could see no other solution to the dilemma that was causing him such agony; his plan was a desperate attempt to hold on to the one person who had given his life meaning, the woman he loved with all his being. "Trust me, little one." His eyes echoed his plea.

Chickadee, with the eyes in her heart, saw his sincere hope that she'd agree. And his hope gave her back her own.