Unforsaken (15 page)

He'd wondered the same thing himself. “Why
are
you keeping Sarah for me?"

"What do mean, why am I keeping her?” She turned toward him, her expression surprised. “You asked me to."

"When the hell did I ask you do that?” It was his turn to be surprised. “You sent your aunt to fetch her, afraid I'd say no to you."

"I never did any such thing.” She started to say something else but hesitated, glancing toward the house into the brightly lit kitchen. “I think we've both been duped."

A mix of anger and disappointment settled in his gut. “You mean you never wanted Sarah to come here?"

"No! I mean, I didn't know you needed—” She held up her hand, delaying his response, and drew a deep breath and began again. “Aunt Eula led me to believe that you needed someone to care for the child, and that you felt I was the only person you could trust to look after her properly."

"And why wouldn't I have asked you myself?"

She shrugged. “I suppose it never occurred to you that I might be capable of such kindness."

That was the last answer he expected, but it had been his first reaction when Eula Chandler presented him with the offer. Given that, he had to be honest with her. “Maybe it never occurred to me that I deserved your kindness, or that my child did either."

Her pained expression confirmed that she had thought the same thing, but he didn't blame her. And no one could question her feelings for Sarah now. Her feelings for him, however, might not be as clear as he thought. She'd been weak with exhaustion and nearly asleep when she declared her love for him, but now that she was thinking clearly, her doubt and reluctance were obvious.

"I guess the answer is no."

She looked down at her hands. “It didn't occur to me that you were really asking me."

He gently grasped her shoulders and turned her toward him, forcing her to look at him. “Yes, I'm asking you. I feel like I've been given a second chance and I don't want to mess things up this time."

She ducked her head, not willing to look him in the eye, and he swore he saw her lips tremble. She didn't say anything at first, but then she whispered, “Then I don't think we should rush into anything. That's what caused so many problems the first time."

Matthew let out a breath of frustration. “What is it you think we should wait for?"

"Don't be cross,” she implored. “I just think we should take our time and be sure of our decision. We've both changed a great deal over the years, and I don't want you to be disappointed."

"Olivia—” He barely managed to stop himself from saying how ridiculous that was, and he realized that she didn't trust him not to hurt her again.

She could claim all day not to care about public opinion, but she was painfully aware of what was said about her, and even the possibility of being considered corrupt had her in a panic. She cared all right, maybe a little too much.

From inside the parlor, Olivia watched him disappear down the front walk into the darkness. She had been completely unprepared for his proposal, and his innuendo about town gossip had reminded her how painful things had been after his return from the war. Every time she entered a crowded room, conversations would abruptly cease and knowing glances would flicker over her.

They all thought she had gotten exactly what she deserved.

She had wanted so badly for him to tell her that he loved her, but he had accepted her reluctance with little objection.

Olivia's spirits were no brighter when she left for the mill the next morning. Sarah had begged to go with her, but the unpleasant events of the previous day made Olivia hesitate. If there was to be another confrontation with Joe Hannah, Sarah did not need to be present.

When she arrived at the mill the place was buzzing with commotion and her presence was hardly noticed. She made her way inside and caught sight of Homer hurrying up the stairs toward her office.

"Homer, what's going on here?"

Her voice startled him and he whirled around, wide-eyed. “M-Miss Olivia, don't worry, we've just about got everything straightened up."

"Straightened up?” she repeated. “What happened?"

"Well, it seems some windows were broken."

"Seems? Either they were or they weren't."

"Yes, ma'am. They were."

Losing patience, Olivia motioned toward the top of the stairs. “Let's go."

Inside her office, two workmen were busy nailing boards across one of the damaged windows. Every window in her office would need the same treatment; the remains of glass snarled at her like jagged teeth in gaping mouths. Homer dashed ahead of her, grabbed a broom and began sweeping the shards on the floor into a neat pile.

Rodger turned at the sound of her voice. “Olivia, dear, I'm so sorry about all of this. I had hoped we'd have everything straightened up before you arrived."

"What happened?"

"No doubt young ruffians playing a prank. I've already ordered new glass for your windows, so there's nothing to be concerned about."

"Nothing to be concerned about?” Olivia couldn't believe how dense Rodger could be at times. “I doubt this was any schoolboy prank; the damage is too severe. Were any other businesses targeted?"

He shook his head. “We seem to be the only one."

"A bunch of hooligans wouldn't be so selective.” She was barely able to stop Homer as he bent to pick up the shattered glass with his bare hands. “For goodness sake, go find some gloves."

"Olivia, you're not becoming paranoid, are you?"

She waited until Homer was out of earshot. “Paranoid? What else besides my office was damaged?"

He fidgeted with his collar. “Perhaps they were frightened away before—"

"Just as I thought. No doubt this is the work of your Mr. Hannah.” She held up a hand, silencing Rodger's prompt contradiction. “He was furious at being let go, and he's obviously not above taking a little revenge."

"We can't prove it."

"No, we can't prove it, but if you see him around here again, day or night, send for the sheriff."

The room grew darker as each board was nailed in place, and it was obvious she wouldn't get any work done with all the hammering and banging. Still, she wouldn't allow the vandal any sense of accomplishment by going home in disgust and frustration. Or fear. “I have a great deal of work to do today, and I'll simply have to use your office."

"My office?” he squeaked. “What is it you need done? I'll be happy to take care of things."

"You just see that my windows are repaired.” Olivia gathered several heavy ledgers from a nearby shelf and turned to leave the room, nearly colliding with Homer as he rushed inside with his gloves. “Homer, do be careful. I don't want to find one of your fingers on the floor pointing up at me."

"Y-Yes, ma'am."

She rolled her eyes and wondered how the poor fellow found his way home every night.

Halfway down the stairs, Rodger was right on her heels. “Olivia, wait up now."

She glanced over her shoulder but didn't stop. “We can talk inside. I can't hear a thing with all that banging."

Inside Rodger's narrow office, she settled herself in a chair across from the desk and began leafing through the ledgers. Without looking up, she asked, “What is it?"

"Well, just what exactly do you expect to find?"

"More than likely it's what I won't find."

"Won't?"

"Something's just not right,” she insisted. “I just know it."

Matt stared out across the cotton field, a vast expanse of ankle-high green leaves rustling in the wind. The white blossoms were just now turning a pale shade of pink that would soon deepen to red and fall away to leave the tiny bolls to form and ripen in the hot summer sun.

He'd been so encouraged by the promise of a bountiful harvest that he'd decided to surprise Olivia with a proposal. Instead of delight, she'd been horrified at the prospect of town gossip regarding the two of them, and he'd had to ask the second time before getting his answer. No.

He still couldn't figure it out. She'd declared she loved him, plain as day, and made no attempt to retract her statement. She kissed him as if she cared for him, wanted him. The natural conclusion would be that they should be married.

Olivia didn't see it that way.

He thought of all that had changed since the war, and the main thing was his finances. His father had never been respectable, but they'd had money. Enough that no one turned John Bowen away from their place of business, and his mother's family had been in the area for generations.

Matt had lost a great deal in the war and had started over from scratch, like most folks. Except Olivia. Her father had practically owned the town, and Olivia had managed to hang on to everything despite the war. If anything, she had prospered. Enough to buy out the Yankee tax collectors and beat the carpetbaggers at their own game. Most folks thought that made her no better.

More than anything, he'd always believed she'd been motivated by fear, but now he had to wonder if it wasn't the money that had really mattered to her. By controlling the farm land, she insured her stake in the cotton market and her profit.

The cotton was well on its way, and he should have brought Sarah home weeks ago, but she'd been so sick, he wanted her to have the best of care until she was completely recovered. Carter's girls had already offered to look after Sarah while he was in the fields, and he knew it was unwise to allow her to become so attached to Olivia.

He also knew it was unwise to let the child become accustomed to fine living that he couldn't provide. She had more dolls than she would need in a lifetime and a chest full of fancy dresses, and Olivia was paying someone to give her piano lessons.

Perhaps he was becoming a little too attached himself. He was the last person she needed to remind her how much she had changed since the war. Everyone had changed, but Olivia bore no resemblance to the timid young girl she had been. Olivia feared losing things, and marrying him was asking her to give up a lot, but he was also offering her a chance to start over.

New beginnings.

Things would never be the way they had been, but they could still be good. He refused to accept Olivia's reluctance He would make a new beginning with her and show her that things could be better.

Chapter Thirteen

"The things I let you talk me into."

"Hush up, now,” Eula scolded. “Can you think of a more pleasant way to spend a lovely Saturday afternoon?"

Olivia made no comment as she helped Sarah down from the buggy and straightened the little girl's dress. Sarah was overjoyed at the prospect of her first outing since recovering from the measles.

Today most of the town had gathered to help build a barn for Bill and Mary Ann Fleming, a newly married couple, and the work was well underway by the time they arrived. While the men toiled on the barn, the ladies were busy setting up housekeeping for the young couple.

Olivia had been surprised to receive a personal invitation. The new bride had been so sincere and jubilant, Eula scolded Olivia for even considering forgoing the day's festivities.

"Miss Chandler!” Mary Ann's face lit up when she caught sight of Olivia and Eula. “Thank you both so much for coming!"

Olivia accepted the girl's exuberant embrace. “I wouldn't miss it for anything."

Ignoring Eula's smug expression, she placed a beautifully wrapped package on the plank table bearing the growing mountain of gifts for the new couple. Mary Ann had already opened several and couldn't resist opening Olivia's. She gasped in delight as she withdrew the fine linen tablecloth.

"Oh, my goodness,” she breathed. “It's lovely, just lovely."

"I'm glad you like it."

"Oh, Miss Chandler.” Mary Ann hugged her again. “You're the sweetest thing."

"Please, call me Olivia."

Mary Ann turned to show the tablecloth to her friends as if it were some priceless treasure. Their awed reactions made Olivia feel conspicuous, as if she'd given something extravagant.

Most folks had learned to do without wealth, and new standards of success and accomplishment were necessary. Still they had fared better than most. Olivia had heard horror stories of entire counties with not one building left intact—nothing but blackened chimneys standing like grave markers where beautiful homes once stood.

War was so useless. She had only just learned of her brother's death when word came that Yankee troops were marching toward them from Atlanta, burning everything in their path. Her father had died, her brother killed in battle, and Olivia couldn't bear to lose one more thing. Not her home, not her town, and she had vowed that somehow she would stop it.

"Come on, Livvy,” Sarah clamored, tugging at her hand. “Let's find Daddy!"

That comment made the good ladies forget all about the tablecloth, and they exchanged knowing glances. Olivia only smiled down at Sarah and said, “Of course, sweetie. Let's go."

Olivia led Sarah across the grassy lot and surveyed the rising skeleton of the new barn. Her eyes found Matt right away. Perched atop the tallest ladder, he was laughing at something another man said and wielding a hammer with easy certainty. He had removed his shirt, as most of the men had, and the muscles cording his arms and shoulders gleamed with sweat in the midday heat.

"There's Daddy!” Sarah cried out and pointed toward her father. “Hello, Daddy!"

Matt glanced down and smiled as he waved at the two of them. Still holding tight to Olivia's hand, Sarah waved back, and Olivia raised her own hand in a hesitant greeting. With a conscious effort, she turned away to keep from staring, and caught sight of Eula, already helping with the dinner.

A makeshift table had been put together with long planks and bales of hay, and every inch was covered with bowls and pots of food. Mrs. Tate had stationed her daughters strategically at the end, where the desserts were placed, each girl serving wedges of pie or cake with an eager smile. One by one they were each invited to join some blushing young man for dinner.

"Sarah, darling, why don't you join the other children?” Eula suggested. “They're all having a picnic and will be playing games after they've eaten."