Unforsaken (21 page)

She dreaded the confrontation and stalled for several minutes in the general store, pretending to look at fabric while everyone else pretended not to look at her. Finally, she left without buying a thing and turned toward the gin.

"Livvy! Livvy!"

Olivia froze at the sound of Sarah's cheerful voice, slowly turning to the girl darting down the wooden sidewalk toward her. The next instant the child was in her arms, winding her little arms around Olivia's neck.

"Sarah,” she said, willing herself not to cry and upset the little girl. “Oh, sweetie, I've missed you so much."

"I miss you.” Sarah drew back enough to plant a kiss on her cheek. “We got another cat, and she had kittens."

"More kittens?” Olivia couldn't help but notice the dirt smudged on Sarah's face, and the fact that her bare feet were filthy. “What on earth will you do with all those kittens?"

The little girl giggled. “Daddy says we won't have mice, that's for sure."

Olivia smiled, brushing a tangled lock of hair back from her face. “What are you doing in town?"

"Daddy had to fetch some medicine for the horses,” she explained, pointing toward the feed store at the end of the street. “And he brung me along."

"Brought you along,” Olivia corrected gently.

"Brought,” she amended. “But only if I promised to be good."

"You are a good girl, and he knows that."

"Mrs. Carter says I'm a handful."

Olivia frowned. “Mrs. Carter? Have you been staying with them?"

Sarah nodded. “She looks after me while Daddy works."

Not very well, it seems.

Finally she had to ask. “How did you get so dirty?"

Sarah glanced down at her dress and her grimy hands. “Doing chores."

"Chores!” Olivia was horrified. What kind of chores could a child so young be expected to do? “What sort of chores?"

"I fetch the eggs from the hen house, pull weeds in the garden—"

The list went on, and Olivia felt her anger kindle against Matthew for allowing this sort of thing to happen, and she intended to tell him so.

"Your father is probably looking for you. Perhaps we should go back to the store and let him know you're with me."

Sarah scampered along beside her on the sidewalk, their hands clasped tight, and Olivia quelled each gaping stare with the look of haughty disdain she'd mastered so well. She caught sight of Matthew coming toward them, a harried expression on his face.

"Sarah, honey, don't ever wander off from me that way."

"I found Livvy, Daddy, look."

His gaze traveled from their knotted fingers up the silk sleeve of her dress and settled on her face. “I see."

"Daddy, I wanna go home with Livvy.” Sarah's grip on Olivia's hand tightened almost to the point of being painful.

"No, sweetie, you have to come home with me."

Without warning, Sarah's lip trembled and she buried her face in the folds of Olivia's skirt. “P-Please, Livvy, please let me. I'll be good, I promise."

"Don't cry, Sarah.” Olivia knelt to hug the little girl, heartsick at the thought of refusing her, but one look at Matthew's grim expression told her that he would not compromise. “You're always a good girl. Always."

Sarah clung to her, her tiny fingers twisting in the fabric of her sleeves. “Please, take me home with you ... just for a visit."

"Sarah"—Matt's voice was gentle, almost pleading—"Miss Olivia can't do that."

The little girl blinked back her tears and asked, “Why? Why not?"

Olivia glanced up at Matt, and he turned away, but not before she saw the guilt and anger in his eyes. Forcing a smile, Olivia found a lace handkerchief in her pocket and dried Sarah's eyes. “Your daddy needs you, Sarah. He needs you to help him on the farm ... to take care of all those kittens. And what about the baby chicks? If you hadn't told your father about them, some old fox would have gotten them for sure. Your daddy needs you to help him take care of things. You'll do that for me, won't you?"

Sarah nodded bravely, but her lip trembled slightly. “I will, but I miss you."

Olivia tucked the lacy handkerchief in Sarah's hand. “I miss you, too."

Matt held out his hand to Sarah. “Come along, honey. We need to get home and see about the horses."

Sarah hugged her tight, and Olivia kissed her cheek, tasting the salty tears. She whispered into the child's ear, “I love you. Don't ever forget that."

He hoisted Sarah onto the wagon seat and turned to bid good day to her as if she were a brush salesman.

She didn't wait for his dismissal. “May I speak with you? Privately."

He hesitated, following her toward the back of the wagon. When she turned to face him, he shook his head. “There's nothing to say."

"Perhaps you can explain why you're allowing your little girl to be mistreated."

"Mistreated?” His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?"

"Don't you see how dirty she is? She told me she's expected to do
chores,
for God's sake.

"She was helping in the garden, and there was no reason to get fixed up for a trip to the store for sulfur and liniment.” He glanced down at his own work clothes. “I suppose I don't look much better."

"You're a grown man; she's barely more than a baby."

"Olivia, I hate to tell you this, but children on a farm are expected to do chores, even the younger ones. It won't hurt her to get a little dirty in the process."

"A little dirty? She's barefoot and filthy, or haven't you bothered to notice?"

"I don't neglect her, if that's what you mean. She washes up every night before bed. and I make sure she's taken care of."

"You mean Mrs. Carter?” She put as much contempt in the words as she could.

"Yes, she looks after Sarah for me. She and her girls."

Olivia knew her distaste was evident. “I don't know how she can look after the ones she has, let along someone else's child."

"I suppose you should have thought of that before you moved them in on me, shouldn't you?"

"I—” She barely stopped herself from blurting out that she had no idea the Carters were a traveling mail-order bride service, but she sensed his accusations went further. “You mean, of course, that I—"

"That you were paying Carter a salary behind my back."

"I was only trying to help Sam,” she insisted, telling herself it was at least partly true. “He was at his wit's end with so many folks under one roof."

"Then why didn't you just tell me that?"

She only shrugged. “It's not their fault."

"Don't worry, I won't throw them out just to spite you."

"You will be sure they're looking after Sarah properly, won't you? For her sake, I mean."

Something flickered in his eyes, softening his expression for a moment. He stepped closer. “I know you're fond of Sarah, and I promise you no one is mistreating her. She's a poor man's daughter, Olivia. I can't give her the things you did."

"Then let me give them to her.” She was pleading. “She won't even have to know—"

"I'd know."

She looked away. “What did you think would happen if we'd gotten married?"

"I suppose I wasn't thinking at all,” he admitted. “You would have been miserable, Olivia."

She wanted to tell him that she was miserable now, but such a statement would only lead to tears and begging. Perhaps he wasn't miserable without her. As long as he had someone to look after Sarah, he was getting along just fine. All she could do was nod in response to his statement.

"Don't worry about Sarah. She'll be just fine."

She nodded again, and he climbed up onto the wagon seat beside Sarah. “Say good-bye to Miss Olivia, sweetheart."

One last tear slipped down the little face. “Bye, Livvy."

She watched the wagon lumber down the street. Just before it turned onto the main road, Sarah turned around on the seat and waved to her, the lacy handkerchief still clutched in her hand.

Chapter Seventeen

Olivia's fingers were beginning to cramp from signing her name over and over again, but Rodger patiently slid another stack of papers in front of her. She gave him a sidelong glance. “You certainly have been busy."

"It's our busiest time of the year,” he reminded her, thumbing through the pay vouchers she'd just finished signing. “High cotton, as they say."

Was it? Olivia stopped to think and realized how late it was in the year. Wagons piled high with cotton would begin lining up at the gin before sunrise and continue long after twilight. Just yesterday, it seemed, Matthew had been fighting to get his crop planted, and now harvest was upon them.

And they were getting along just fine. Just fine without her. They didn't need her at all, and she was dying inside without them.

She scratched her name on a few more documents, barely glancing at the names and figures.

"Olivia, I'm sorry you had to come in today.” Rodger scooped the last of the papers from the desk. “But I can't do a thing without your signature."

"I don't mind."

"I know you've been under a strain lately,” he reiterated “Perhaps you should consider giving me power of attorney ... so that I could take care of these tedious details without troubling you."

A faint warning sounded in her brain, but she managed to keep her expression blank. “I don't mind, Rodger. You're already taking care of so much."

"I'm happy to do it, Olivia. This place is important to me, even if it isn't mine."

She ignored the thinly veiled implication behind his remark and turned to look out the window. “Did you ever stop to think what life would be like without money?"

"What?"

"I mean, what would matter most to you if you lost every cent you had?"

"I hope to blazes I never find out."

She managed a slight smile, wishing she hadn't learned too late. Her greatest fear had been losing her security, and in the end it was worthless to her. She might never want for money, but she'd lost two people she loved more than anything on earth.

She should be happy they were doing so well, not suffering with regret and loneliness like her. The prospect of seeing Sarah again or bumping into Matthew at the mercantile was daunting. How many such encounters could she survive without falling apart in front of a store full of people?

She was sorely tempted to tell Rodger to bring any more papers needing her signature to the house from now on, but he would no doubt go directly to Judge Stone and have her declared an invalid.

"If this is all you need from me today, I think I'll go on back home.” She rose from the chair. “I still tire easily."

Rodger offered to see her home, but she refused, thanking him for his concern. “I'll be fine."

Once outside, she caught sight of the foreman and waved to him. “Hello, Sam."

"Hello, Miss Olivia,” he said as he crossed the distance between them. “It's good to see you."

"Thank you.” She almost had to shout to be heard over all the commotion of machinery and men's voices. “I see you're keeping busy."

"The place is a madhouse,” he declared. “Nonstop from dawn ‘til dusk, and not a free minute in between."

"Making hay while the sun shines, I suppose."

"Yes, ma'am. Every man is scrambling to get his cotton in before rain sets in. Can't pick cotton when it's wet, and too many rainy days in a row won't let it dry out enough to pick. It'll just rot on the stalk."

"Well, it looks like everyone in the county is here today."

"There's plenty more struggling to get theirs picked. Not enough pickers to go around."

She knew she shouldn't ask, but she couldn't stop herself from casually inquiring, “How is your brother-in-law managing?"

"George? Says they're doing all they can, but Bowen will be lucky to get half his crop picked."

"Half?"

"It's just him and George. Like I said, there's just not enough pickers. It's a shame, too. He's got a bumper crop this year."

"Olivia!” Eugenia Jennings stood gaping out her front door. “What on earth are you doing here?"

"May I come in?"

Wariness quickly replaced the woman's shock, and she hesitated. “What's this about?"

"I need to talk to you."

Once inside, Olivia couldn't help but notice the threadbare carpets and faded draperies, and Eugenia stood braced for any critical remarks about her home. As a girl, she had always been haughty, but Olivia felt no vindication in seeing her reduced circumstances.

"I was out on the back porch. Why don't you join me?"

It was no invitation to tea. Eugenia was in the middle of canning tomatoes, and she went right about her work without even offering Olivia a place to sit down. Olivia had never felt so awkward, but she tried to be as gracious as possible.

"I suppose it's more pleasant to do this outdoors.” She had no idea how the process worked, but she could only imagine the open porch being more comfortable than a stuffy kitchen.

"It's cooler out here,” she said by way of explanation. “Makes it easier to get things done."

Olivia nodded, genuinely amazed at the number of canning jars still waiting to be filled. Row after row of fruits, vegetables, pickles, jams and jellies were already lined up across the porch. She picked up a jar of peaches and complimented the woman on their beautiful color.

"Funny how we never thought where things like that came from, isn't it?"

Olivia nodded. “How did you learn to do all this?"

Eugenia laughed. “Necessity. Just like laundry, cooking and cleaning.” She glanced down at her hands, reddened from her work. “I suppose I'll never have the hands of a lady again."

Olivia clenched her gloved hands into fists. She was no fragile gardenia herself, but she'd never faced the hard physical labor of poverty.

"What is it you need to talk to me about?"

"I had hoped to speak with you and your husband, both."

Eugenia straightened up, her eyes narrowed with distrust and a trace of apprehension. “What about?"

Olivia felt herself flinch at the look on the woman's face. Once, she had relished the idea of having prestige, having folks tread softly around her, but she sorely regretted the power she had so badly misused.