Unforsaken (3 page)

Olivia paused thoughtfully, as if contemplating her cousin's advice. “I'd be a fool to turn away business. Besides, the opinions of the people in this town are the least of my worries."

Olivia watched the uncertainty flicker in Ada's eyes, always amazed at the depth of the woman s hypocrisy. If it weren't for her husband being related to the Chandlers, Ada Kirk would be poor as Job's turkey, but she was scandalized whenever Olivia provoked the disapproval of the town matrons. Ada was hard pressed to maintain her social standing and not jeopardize her bread-and-butter.

"Olivia has to do what she thinks is best for the business.” Aunt Eula never hesitated to speak in defense of her niece. “After all, that mill is the only thing that kept this town from ruin."

That and Northern trade, war or no war. Olivia's father had seen little reason to cut his ties to Yankee industry just because there was a war on. When the knowledge became public, Olivia, not her father, bore the brunt of resentment for not stopping the practice. Instead, she doubled the business and saved the town from financial ruin, but her treachery was never forgiven.

"You're absolutely right, Miss Eula.” Rodger hastily latched onto something upon which he could agree. “Half the men in town work for us, and their wages are the livelihood for every other business there is."

For us.
Olivia was tempted to remind Rodger that no one worked for him. He worked for her just like every other man at the mill, but she remained silent. Aunt Eula had once observed that Rodger had very little to be proud of and needed every shred of importance he could scrape together.

Rather than having an unpleasant disagreement, Olivia chose the simplest tactic to hedge Rodger's doubtful loyalty. “We wouldn't be getting the extra business if Rodger hadn't worked so hard on restoring that old warehouse in the first place."

Rodger beamed and gave his wife a knowing look. Ada managed a weak smile. “Oh, I was happy to do it, you know that. I told you we'd need that extra space, and I was right."

Why must he always point that out? Even a broken clock is right twice a day.

Rodger glanced at the other guests and went on to say, “With all the extra business, that old building will pay for itself twice over."

"And this year will be the most profitable since the war,” Olivia predicted, amused at how quickly he took the bait and stopped worrying about contempt. “The weather has been perfect, and getting the cotton to market is all that matters."

"I couldn't agree more,” Rodger said over his coffee cup. “Everyone is optimistic, and Matthew Bowen told me himself this year will be his best ever."

The dining room fell silent, and Ada gaped at her husband in openmouthed disbelief. Olivia felt the nervous glances skittering in her direction, and her fingers trembled as she reached for her own cup, causing it to rattle on its saucer. Poor Rodger babbled on about the possibility of adding new machinery to the gin, blissfully unaware of his blunder, and Olivia listened intently. She would be damned if she would so much as flinch at the mention of
his
name.

"It's such a lovely afternoon, why don't we have dessert on the patio?” Aunt Eula said by way of dismissing the uncomfortable silence and rose from the table. The guests followed her lead. “We have pecan pie, and I know that's your favorite, Reverend Peeler."

Olivia rose from her chair but let the others file out of the dining room before exhaling the ragged breath she didn't realize she was holding. Bracing her palms on the table, she hung her head and berated herself for giving a damn what anyone thought, but it was obvious they'd all expected her to crumble at the mere mention of Matthew Bowen's name. Even Aunt Eula had eyed her warily for a moment. She only wished there had been no reaction to hide.

Two years. It had been two years and she still couldn't forget him. How could she, when he had doomed her to being an old maid? She'd had her share of gentlemen callers, but none to whom she cared to explain what had taken place that fateful Christmas Eve. The thought almost made her laugh. With her money they probably wouldn't care if she was a saloon girl.

"If you don't get out there on that patio, they'll figure you're in here drying your eyes."

Olivia's head snapped up, and she glared at the housekeeper. “I don't give a damn what they think."

Maddy only smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “No, but you care plenty what Ada Kirk goes blabbing to her friends."

"That her husband is a babbling fool?"

"Everybody knows that.” Maddy turned her attention to the task of clearing the table. “But they all wonder just exactly what your feelings toward Mr. Bowen are after all this time."

Chapter Three

Speculation over Olivia's feelings grew even more that fall.

While most of her neighbors were struggling to get back on their feet, Olivia prospered, along with the lumber mill and the cotton gin. She made no apology for profiting from the destruction of the war, and was absolutely brazen about dealing with the Union Army and would-be carpetbaggers. Behind her back, most folks called her a traitor, but her treason fed their children.

Cotton was in demand, and Olivia surprised the factors in Savannah and Charleston who thought to deal with her any differently than they had her father. He kept detailed records, and she followed his example and accepted nothing less than top dollar.

She parlayed the profits by paying off the Yankee tax collectors and acquiring control of almost every acre of land in the county. Landholders would repay her with a percentage of their crops over a ten-year period, and she allowed them to keep their homes. For this she was labeled an extortionist, a vulture preying on the misfortune of others, but no one opted to take their chances with the tax collector.

"There are plenty of folks who'd give their eyeteeth to change places with them."

"Olivia, darling, you really must be more sensitive toward their circumstances,” Aunt Eula urged as they hurried up the front steps of the church. “Times are hard and—"

"Everyone has a sad tale to tell.” She paused before stepping inside. “Would our being homeless make things easier for them?"

Eula's lips thinned in disapproval but she said nothing more.

Once inside, Olivia was surprised by the solemn assembly. For weeks, every member of the church had anxiously awaited the arrival of today's speaker, a missionary just returned from the South Sea Islands. Several polite nods were exchanged but there was none of the usual chatter before the service and certainly none of the excitement she expected over such an interesting speaker.

The minister solemnly asked everyone to stand and opened the service with prayer.

"Heavenly Father, we ask your blessings upon this church and this community. We pray comfort and reassurance for those who have lost loved ones. We pray especially for Matthew Bowen in the loss of his wife—"

Olivia's Bible slipped from her hand and landed with a heavy thud on the floor. Her head began to swim, and she dared not reach down to retrieve it for fear she would topple to the floor herself. She forced her attention back to the minister's words, positive that she had not heard right. Instead, he droned on about the plight of a father left to raise a young child without a mother.

When the prayer concluded, every bowed head raised and turned expectantly toward Olivia, but she exchanged only a brief look of surprise with her aunt before returning her attention to the minister, as if he had prayed for nothing more significant than clear skies for a picnic.

It was a fitting day for a funeral. Drizzling rain had begun at dawn and lulled only long enough to ensure the service would not be canceled. As the carriage neared the cemetery, Olivia noted the dark clouds on the horizon and hoped for a downpour.

"Please don't make me do this."

Her aunt ignored her plea and glanced out the window. “Thank goodness the rain didn't keep folks away."

"Aunt Eula, no one expects me to attend. In fact, some might consider it improper."

"If you don't put in an appearance, you'll never be able to show your face in this town again.” The severe tone was so out of character for Eula that Olivia was quite taken aback. “It's one thing to avoid someone socially, but not paying respect to the dead is an affront even you can't buy your way out of."

Olivia opened her mouth to rebut, but Eula was already stepping out of the carriage and thanking LeVon for his assistance. She had no choice but to follow despite her every instinct to remain safe inside the shadows of the carriage.

Stares of disdain and reproof assailed her immediately, and a rush of whispers reached her ears. Her insides quaked and she remained rooted in place, holding tightly to the handle of the carriage door.

"Please, Aunt Eula, I'm begging you."

"You can't turn and run now. You'll look like a fool."

"Stay close,” Olivia whispered to the driver. At his understanding nod, she forced herself to follow her aunt's confident steps toward the gates of the cemetery. Several men were gathered just outside the entrance, and they all tipped their hats and spoke in a solemn manner befitting the occasion. Their wives, however, felt no obligation for polite pretense and stared daggers at Olivia, only to look away when she met their glances with haughty disdain.

"Don't get your back up,” Eula warned in a sharp whisper. “Remember why we're here."

"I'm here because you forced me."

As with her earlier protests, the comment went unanswered, and Olivia was actually pleased to see her cousin Rodger coming toward them.

He offered his arm to Eula and nodded to Olivia. “You should have let me know you would be here. You would have been welcome to ride with us."

"We hadn't planned on it.” Olivia accepted the arm he offered her and allowed herself to be led to the graveside, where the mourners were already beginning to assemble. Thankfully they were forced to take a place in the back.

A narrow strip of tarp had been erected as an awning over the open grave and the simple coffin was draped in a modest spray of flowers. Olivia had to look away, holding tight to Rodger's arm, and she prayed desperately that the sick feeling in her stomach would pass.

"All right, cousin?” he asked, patting her hand in a reassuring gesture. She nodded and moved to stand behind her aunt, who sought out a place beside Rodger's wife.

"Do you know what happened?"

"Fever of some kind,” Rodger whispered discreetly. “I can't believe you're here."

She glanced up at him, trying to read the meaning in his quiet remark. “I'm sure everyone else feels the same."

Even Ada glanced back at Olivia, obviously aghast, no doubt mortified to be in her company. Poor Ada, how would she be able to denounce Olivia's presence when standing right at her side? Olivia only smiled slightly and nodded, knowing she had Ada completely discomfitted.

The minister cleared his throat a little louder than necessary, but it served to draw everyone's attention back to the purpose of the gathering. For the first time, Olivia caught sight of Matthew standing before his wife's grave, and her heart constricted with anguish for him. Dressed in a dark suit that had seen better days, he looked so much older than he should, and she was heartbroken to see the desolation on his face.

It hurt even more to know she had no right to offer sympathy or contrition, and he might even resent her presence here today. Still she couldn't tear her eyes away from him. Throughout the entire service, her gaze remained fixed on the stark figure he made, his eyes downcast and his face betraying none of the sorrow he must be feeling.

Olivia was thankful he never looked her way. She wished she could think he might never even know she'd been there, but she had no doubt there were many in the community who would feel honor-bound to tell him how shameful her presence had been and how much they disapproved. Her back stiffened at the thought, and she glanced over the solemn assembly.

Hang them all! What right had any of them to judge her actions? If it weren't for her, not one of them would have a roof over his head or food on his table. They all knew it, too, and hated her all the more. How silly she'd been to think her actions noble, but she preferred wealth and comfort to admiration any day.

The thought gave her solace, and a satisfied smiled played upon her lips. She looked up to find Matthew's gaze riveted on her face, his expression grim. Olivia felt every ounce of blood rush from her head even as her face flamed. Dear Lord, not only had he noticed her, but he'd caught her grinning like a possum. She wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

Instead the rain began again and she hung her head slightly, ducking the raindrops and his sight. The rich scent of damp earth filled the air and Olivia shuddered, acutely aware of being surrounded by graves, old and new alike. She hated cemeteries, always had, and today she felt that hatred more intensely than ever.

The first time she'd ever seen a graveyard had been the day her mother was buried in the family plot. It was August, stifling hot without a breath of air stirring, but her father had seen that they were all dressed in proper mourning clothes. Black from head to toe. Her father insisted on maintaining the decorum befitting their family's prestige, despite the merciless heat.

She dared peer up at her father just before the service began. There had been nothing sorrowful in his countenance, only solemn composure as he shook hands with the minister and bid him to proceed. Tears stung her eyes and she squeezed them tight, pretending to pray. Father had warned her not to make a spectacle of herself by blubbering in front of the whole town, but she feared she would suffocate from holding back her tears.

The minister concluded the service with a prayer, and folks moved to extend their sorrow to Matthew. Olivia resisted her aunt's insistent tug on her sleeve, refusing to further humiliate herself, and turned toward the exit where her carriage was waiting.

She'd taken no more than two steps when the cries of a child reached her ears, frightened, confused cries, and she froze in place. For some reason, she turned around. She had to find the source of those cries, and she was sorry she did.