Unforsaken (14 page)

She nodded reluctantly, and he thought of the old adage that patience is a hard-won virtue.

"Will you eat some soup now?"

Sarah turned toward Olivia and accepted a half spoonful of the clear broth. She made a face but took two more sips, and Olivia was satisfied. Placing the dish on a tray waiting on the bureau, she began straightening the bedclothes, deliberately avoiding his gaze.

With a stifled yawn, Sarah rubbed her eyes and slumped back against the pillows, fighting the sleep that her body so desperately needed. Olivia squeezed her tiny hand and wished her sweet dreams, and Matt couldn't resist covering their joined hands with his. Sarah took no notice, but Olivia stilled and moved to extract herself from his touch. He held tight.

For several minutes they sat quietly, holding hands, and watched Sarah drift off to sleep. Matt's gaze was drawn to Olivia, and she glanced up just as he raised her hand to his lips.
How,
he wondered,
do you thank someone for loving your child? For caring for her as much as you do, for being there when you couldn't be
. Words were inadequate, but he vowed to show her, somehow, how much she meant to him.

She looked away, but he didn't miss the shimmer of tears in her eyes or the regret. A tight band constricted around his chest, making it difficult to breathe, and he knew he'd better think of something to say. Was she sorry she'd said that she loved him?

"Livvy, please, don't—"

"Shh.” She rose from the bed and motioned for him to follow her. Outside, in the hall, she said, “I don't want to wake her up. Maddy saved some dinner for you, and I can ask her to sit with Sarah while you eat. We can talk downstairs."

He followed her down the stairs and into the kitchen. Once they were alone, Olivia retrieved the plate from the stove and placed it on the table for him. When she turned to fetch the coffeepot, she nearly collided with the solid wall of his chest. She skittered back, but he caught her by the arm and pulled her against him.

"You're avoiding me,” he accused in a husky whisper.

"Don't be absurd,” she countered, shuddering even before his hands cupped her face. “I just—"

Whatever excuse she might have thought of was lost as his mouth closed over hers, and her gasp of surprise only gave him the advantage he needed. He deepened the kiss, cradling the back of her head with one hand while the other slid to the small of her back, but she needed little encouragement. Raised on tiptoe, Olivia let her arms wind around his neck, and he savored the strong, primal response that urged her body closer to his.

Her fingers combed through the hair at his collar, and he inhaled the sweet, womanly scent that was uniquely hers, enhanced only by a faint touch of perfume. He buried his face in the delicate curve of her shoulder, his teeth gently nipping the flesh where her pulse throbbed. Craving the taste of her, his mouth once again sought hers, and this time her own urgency matched his.

A sound in the distance drew her attention for a moment, and he realized she was pulling away from him, gently ending the kiss. She stared up at him, and the sound came again, this time registering as the sound of someone clearing her throat. Olivia started and they both turned to find Ada Kirk peering into the kitchen, a smile of pure delight on her face.

"I declare, I told Rodger it would take
something
earth-shattering to keep you away from that gin, Olivia.” Already picturing herself delivering such a succulent bit of gossip, Ada was practically beaming. After all, the only thing better than gossip was an eyewitness account. “Looks like I was right."

Chapter Twelve

It was a week before Olivia returned to the mill, and even then she had misgivings about leaving Sarah. Aunt Eula and Maddy would take good care of the little girl, she knew, but that didn't make it any easier.

She needed to put in an appearance, at least. Heaven only knew what Ada had been saying, and Rodger had probably moved into her office.

"Welcome back, cousin.” Rodger smiled as he crossed the front lot of the gin to greet her. “I assume this means the little one is all better."

"Almost. She'll need a few more days of rest, but Aunt Eula is staying with her.” They fell into step, heading toward the gin. “Besides, it isn't fair to leave you to do everything alone.

He shrugged, as if it was nothing. “You know I don't mind."

"I appreciate all your help.” She was surprised at the number of wagons, piled high with cotton, waiting to be unloaded. “Cotton in July. You know that means we're in for a bumper crop."

Already, she could hear the steady clip-clop of the mules treading the endless path that powered the pulleys that worked the press, packing the cotton into bales. She was surprised that so much had already been ginned, and the first band of sharecroppers were lined up to collect their crop.

Olivia had already decided she didn't like the man Rodger had in charge of settling the accounts, regardless of how long he worked for her father. Joe Hannah was coarse, an obnoxious bully, and she didn't like the way he ordered people around.

"Mr. Hannah, how can that be right!"

"It's right because I say it's right"'

The harsh words drew Olivia's attention and she turned toward the commotion. She recognized the hapless farmer as Albert Wallis, one of many former slaves who sharecropped land once owned by former masters. The system was hardly fair: a sharecropper had to buy his own seed and all necessary supplies with his own money, pay the landowner a substantial portion of the crop, and live on the meager profit, if any, that remained.

Few could read or write, and most found themselves at the mercy of a system designed against them. Olivia knew many cotton merchants were all too eager to take advantage of the situation, but she considered herself above such common thievery.

"It's just that"—Wallis kept his eyes downcast—"that's such a little bit of money for so much—"

"Now you're calling me stupid!” Hannah's face flushed a brilliant shade of red, and Olivia was stunned at the fury in his eyes. “Are you saying I can't add figures?"

The other men huddled together, exchanging anxious glances, The scene was getting ugly, and Olivia wanted it stopped before things got out of control. She ignored the reproachful touch of Rodger's hand on her elbow and made her way behind Mr. Hannah's makeshift counter.

"What's the trouble?” she said in a soft tone, startling both Hannah and Wallis. “Perhaps I can be of assistance."

"There's no trouble, ma'am.” Joe Hannah slammed the ledger book closed and glared back at Wallis. “This boy, here, seems to think he knows a little more about running a cotton gin than I do."

"I didn't ... didn't mean that, Miss Olivia,” Wallis insisted, panic causing him to stammer. “I didn't mean that a'tall."

He was terrified, clearly distressed that Olivia had taken notice of the situation. She couldn't imagine why such a simple question had caused such an uproar. She reached for the ledger only to have Hannah snatch it from the table.

"Please, Miss Olivia,” Albert pleaded, “I didn't mean to cause no trouble."

"This is between him and me, Miss Chandler.” Hannah's tone was almost a warning. “And I know how to run a cotton gin."

"You don't run
this
cotton gin, Mr. Hannah, I do.” She stood her ground, ignoring Rodger's whispered plea. “Olivia, please, let me handle this later, when things have calmed down."

"Let me see that ledger, Mr. Hannah. Now."

All eyes were riveted on the confrontation, waiting to see what he would say to that.

"Very well,” he said, tossing it to the table. “Suit yourself."

Olivia flipped to the last entry and studied the figures on the page. She glanced at her cousin and back at Wallis. “I'm afraid there's no mistake."

From the corner of one eye, she could see Rodger's posture visibly relax.

"You're deliberately being cheated, and so am I."

"Olivia!” Rodger was stunned. “What on earth are you talking about?"

Hannah shot to his feet, causing the table to upend, and the wary sharecroppers scattered, except for Albert Wallis. Olivia wasn't sure if it was fear or hope that kept him rooted in place, but she didn't want to subject him to any further blame for the ugly scene.

"Mr. Wallis, can you come back tomorrow?” His eyes widened at the question, and Olivia hated knowing he feared her as much as Hannah. “Please reassure everyone that their cotton will be tallied and their accounts settled once I've had a chance to go over these books.

He nodded, backing away, and doffed his battered hat. “Thank you, ma'am, thank you."

"Olivia, please.” Rodger didn't bother to whisper; instead he was pleading. “You're making too much of this."

She gaped at Rodger. “How can you say that?"

"You don't know what you're talking about, lady.” Hannah's face was almost purple with rage, and the warning in his voice had become threatening. “You got no right interfering—"

"Interfering?” Olivia snapped. “Mr. Hannah, I own this gin, the mill, and the outhouse in back. Anything you do on my property concerns me, so don't be surprised to find me looking over your shoulder whenever I please. No matter what you're doing."

"You'd better watch your step, lady,” he ground out. “I'll not be bossed around by some uppity old maid."

"No, you won't,” she agreed, “because you don't work here anymore, and don't bother trying to pick up a pay voucher."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned toward the stairs leading to her office. Halfway up, she glanced back to find Rodger rooted in place at the bottom of the stairs, gaping up at her. Mr. Hannah stood glaring at Rodger, almost expectantly.

"You gonna let her do me this way?” he demanded.

"Calm yourself, Hannah,” Rodger advised. “Let me talk with her. I'm sure this whole mess can be worked out. Somehow."

Upstairs, in her office, Olivia began scanning the ledger and realized it was not the one she worked with every day nor one she had ever seen before today. None of the entries were in her handwriting and many of the names were foreign to her.

There was a tap on her office door, and she looked up to find Rodger wearing his usual placid expression. He stepped inside and closed the door, moving gingerly, as if walking on egg shells.

"Olivia, aren't you being a bit hasty?” he cajoled, clasping his hands behind his back. “After all, one little error doesn't warrant dismissing a longtime employee."

"One little error? Rodger, he was paying that man half what his cotton is worth and recording the full amount against our ledger. Now, where do you think the difference is going?"

Rodger begin to fidget with his cravat, and she didn't wait for his answer. “I won't tolerate an employee who steals from me."

"Don't you think
stealing
is a rather harsh word?” he countered, crossing the room. “We really should give him the benefit of the doubt."

"You're too good for your own good, Rodger.” She shook her head, amazed at his naivety. “If anything, he should be grateful I'm not sending for the sheriff."

"Good heavens,” he breathed, sinking into a chair, “think of the scandal that would cause."

"Hmm ... you're right. We'll have to make good for those men who were here today and saw everything, but we can't have every sharecropper in Georgia showing up with his hand out."

"I am absolutely right.” On second thought, he added, “Besides, this could be just a one-time thing."

"Even if it was, what do you think my father would have done if someone had spoken to him that way? In front of that many people?"

Rodger was clearly taken aback by the question and looked away before stammering, “Olivia, your father was ... he was..."

"A man?” she concluded sarcastically.

With a sheepish nod, he reminded her, “I told you there would be problems. Men want to do business with other men."

"Folks in hell want ice water, too,” she reminded him. “You see that Joe Hannah is gone within the hour."

"I can't stand to know everyone in the county thinks I'm a cheat."

Matthew eased back in the porch swing and studied Olivia's exasperated expression. “No one thinks that."

"Why wouldn't they? For all I know no one has received a fair price for their cotton, and all this time they think I've condoned the practice."

"I thought you didn't care what people thought of you."

"I don't.” His comment roused her usual contrariness. “However, this time things are not as they appear. I may be a lot of things, but I don't cheat or steal from people who can barely feed their families."

"Come sit down,” he coaxed, hoping to steer the conversation on to more pleasant ground. “I hear there are other things going around town about you."

She sank down beside him, alarmed by his remark. “What things?"

He placed one arm around her shoulders, drawing her close, and cupped her face with his free hand. “Rumor has it you're getting married."

She gasped, but he cut off her reply with the kiss he'd been wanting ever since he arrived. It wasn't much of a proposal, but the way her lips softened beneath his assured him that she was receptive to the idea. He held her close, even as the kiss ended, and smiled down at her.

Instead of smiling back, a troubled expression came over her face and she whispered, “Is that really what people are saying?"

He hesitated, wishing he hadn't tried to be clever. A couple of old men had questioned him, wanting to know if he was really courting Olivia Chandler, but he didn't think everyone in town was discussing their relationship. At least he hoped not, if a little gossip was going to upset Olivia.

She eased out of his embrace and rose from the swing. “I've no doubt Ada has been running her mouth to anyone who would listen."

"You're the one who said you didn't give a damn what people in this town thought of you,” he reminded her once again. “I doubt a little gossip would ruin your reputation."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Do you have any idea what people are saying about us already?"

"No, I don't."

"People are speculating on what's been going on between us, why you're here so much, why I'm keeping Sarah for you."