Unforsaken (4 page)

Olivia turned just in time to see the minister's wife struggling to comfort a little girl, not even three years old, but the child wanted her father, and Matthew didn't hesitate to reach out for her. The little girl flung herself into his arms and hid her face against his shoulder, and he absently stroked her wavy hair while listening to an earnest expression of sympathy from one of the mourners.

The scene completely undid her, and Olivia whirled around and hurried to the carriage, not even waiting for the driver to help her climb inside. She collapsed onto the seat and let her head fall back against the upholstered cushion, smothering her own cries beneath her gloved hand.

"Olivia?” Eula's voice was harried when she joined her a few minutes later. “Are you all right?"

She nodded, forcing herself to speak despite her constricted throat. “Please, hurry and close the door. Let's go home. Now."

Eula settled herself opposite Olivia and the carriage lurched forward. Why had she let herself be dragged to that funeral? She was the last person who should have been there, let alone be overcome with emotion. She could only hope no one had noticed her dash out of the cemetery.

"You should have spoken to him, dear."

She glanced up. “He saw me. He knows I was there."

"But he doesn't know why."

"I was there because you insisted that it was the right thing to do."

Eula reached inside her reticule and withdrew a lace handkerchief, offering it to Olivia. When she finished drying her eyes, her aunt said, “Then you should feel proud of yourself."

Olivia knotted the hanky around her fingers, remembering the way that child had held on to Matthew for dear life, and felt ashamed instead. She had never seen the child, never bothered to ask about her, or even acknowledge her existence. It had been so much easier to think of her as an unfortunate indiscretion rather than a little girl who deserved her compassion rather than her disdain.

Chapter Four

Spring 1868

There were certain advantages to being an old maid. Perhaps
advantage
was too strong a word, but Eula Chandler felt entitled to a few privileges, one of them being the right to meddle in the lives of those she cared about. Olivia tried not to let it bother her, knowing her aunt had the best intentions, but there were days she feared her patience had been tried to the limit.

"Now, aren't you glad you came with me today?"

"Glad is hardly how I would describe it.” Olivia snapped the reins and turned the buggy onto the main road. If anything, she was frazzled. “I had no idea we'd be there all day."

Indeed, she had little patience for the sick and the shut in, but Eula thrived on them and felt responsible for every wretch in the county. Today she had sworn delivering food was all they would be doing and that it would take no time at all. Olivia hadn't even intended to go inside, but her aunt couldn't carry everything by herself. Indeed, Olivia had to make two trips from the buggy into the house, wondering how any sick person could eat so much.

"Olivia,” Eula admonished. “We must always ask ourselves what Jesus would do."

Despite her irritation, she smiled at her aunt. “He only fed five thousand."

"Hush up and drive."

It was no short trip to reach the more rural area, and the morning was completely gone. It didn't help that the trip required driving right past Matthew Bowen's farm, coming and going.

She had managed not to even look in his direction coming out, but the silence had her mind wandering and her eyes followed suit. She managed to stop herself before completely turning her head toward the farmhouse, but not before Eula noticed the direction of her thoughts.

"Look, Olivia. There's Matthew."

Olivia glanced toward the house but saw no one. She turned back to tell her aunt that she was mistaken when she caught sight of the wagon approaching them.

Eula waved. Olivia snapped the reins, urging the horse on, and vowed not to give him so much as a passing nod.

Eula thought otherwise. “We must stop, dear. He has seen us."

"Of course he has seen us. He'd have to be blind not to see you waving like a carnival barker."

"Olivia, don't you dare drive past that wagon.” When she didn't respond, Eula threw down the gauntlet. “He'll think you're afraid to speak to him."

The horse gave a startled snort when she jerked on the reins and frowned at Eula. “Nothing could be further from the truth."

"That's good to know.” Eula smiled brightly and called out, “Good afternoon, Matthew. What a nice surprise."

"Hello, Miss Eula.” He reined the team of horses to a stop. “Miss Chandler."

She winced at the formality but merely nodded in reply.

"I envy you ladies, taking advantage of this fine weather for a drive in the country.” He let the reins dangle between his fingers, his eyes never leaving Olivia, and she felt acutely self-conscious. “Unusually warm for April."

Too warm, she thought, hoping her face wasn't as flushed as she felt. She opened her mouth to make her excuses and be on their way, but Eula cut her off.

"Just lovely. When Olivia suggested taking a drive, I just couldn't resist."

Olivia gaped at her. What in the world was she up to? The last thing she wanted was for Matthew to think she was driving past his house in hopes of seeing him.

Matthew glanced at her, his eyes slightly narrowed. His uncertainty was obvious, but she knew any contradiction of her aunt's statement would only make her appear to be denying an ulterior motive.

Though it was barely noon, it was obvious Matthew had already put in a full day's work. The sleeves of his shirt, faded almost white by the sun, were rolled up to the elbow, and several buttons were left undone at the collar. She could see that his chest was bare and quickly looked away. Unfortunately, her eyes were drawn to his forearms, tan and muscular, and the memory of those hands on her breasts made her shrink inside her elegant traveling suit.

His eyes narrowed again, ever so slightly, but this time it had nothing to do with whether she had purposely driven past his farm. He knew exactly what she was thinking, and there was no mistaking the warmth rising to her cheeks.

Olivia gathered the reins for a quick departure and gave Eula a warning look. “I'm sure Mr. Bowen has better things to do than chatter on about the weather."

Eula wasn't fazed. “Where is that pretty little girl of yours, Matthew?"

His expression softened at the mention of his child, and he replied, “One of the sharecroppers sent his daughter to watch her for me today."

"Today? Don't you have a regular nursemaid?"

A warning sounded in Olivia's brain and she twisted the reins tightly around her fingers. The last thing she needed was Matthew Bowen thinking she was concerned about his personal life. It was none of her concern whether he had one child or ten, let alone a nurse to care for them.

He smiled and shook his head. “Nursemaids are a thing of the past, Miss Eula. I make do with whatever help I can get."

"How dreadful. I can only imagine how difficult that must be for you, and she's such sweet thing."

Olivia cleared her throat and managed a polite smile. “We really should be on our way."

His smile faded and he looked her up and down one more time. “Yes, Miss Chandler. I know you're anxious to get on with your ... drive."

Before Eula could say anything else, Olivia snapped the reins and urged the horse into a trot. She ignored her aunt's disapproving glare.

"Olivia, you were not raised to be so impolite. I was not finished speaking with him."

"Then it's a good thing I managed to escape when I did."

Eula's annoyance vaporized and smug certainty took its place. “Just what are you running away from, Olivia?"

She didn't answer, concentrating instead on driving the buggy. The horse could fly and still not get her home fast enough.

"Damn!” The skillet clattered noisily against the stovetop, and Matthew swore again.

He wondered how many fingers he'd have left by the end of the week. Those he didn't burn off he would most likely slice away with the butcher knife.

He looked back to find Sarah gaping at him from her highchair, her eyes wide with alarm.

"Everything's all right, sweetheart,” he tried to reassure her. “I'll have your breakfast ready in a minute."

Determined that he could at least manage scrambled eggs, he turned back to the stove and reached for the skillet once again, this time armed with a pot holder. He spooned in a bit of bacon grease, watched it melt and slide across the pan. He broke the first egg into the pan and then another. They began to sizzle and he whisked the yolks and whites together until the eggs were done.

Scrambled were easier than fried, he'd learned that quick enough, and he'd given up on bread of any kind. At first, meals hadn't been much of a problem. Ladies from the church had provided a steady stream of food for the two of them. Gradually, the dishes became accompanied with stern admonitions that he owed it to his child to marry again and less than subtle references to unmarried female relatives: daughters, nieces, and sometimes themselves!

A man couldn't work his land if he was burdened with tending to a child, they would say over and over, and the last straw had been a stern warning that Sarah would be better off in an orphan's home if he refused to take a wife. His scathing reply had put an end to the covered dish brigade, but he'd rather eat his own cooking than listen to anyone suggest he should give up his little girl.

Remembering the pot holder, he took the pan from the stove and raked the eggs onto a plate. They were a little runny, but he managed to conceal that fact by scraping the worst of it onto his own plate. When he placed her breakfast before his daughter, she looked up at him doubtfully.

Ignoring her spoon, Sarah tested the eggs with her fingers, and her expression became even more skeptical.

"Eat up, darlin',” he urged, seating himself across from her. “We've got a lot to do today."

And he had no idea how he would get any of it done and tend to Sarah, who was still more baby than child. He'd already lost a week and a half in the fields thanks to unreliable help. Twice, he'd thought he'd found someone to watch the little girl while he worked, but both girls had quit after only a few days. One got married and ran off in the middle of the night, and the other was offered a housekeeping job for a lot more money than he could pay.

Now he was right back where he started, and his options were limited. He had married once out of necessity and vowed it would never happen again, but he would lose everything if he didn't get his crops planted.

His grim thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a horse and buggy approaching the house. Foregoing his own breakfast, Matthew reached for his coffee cup just before going outside. He suspected such an early morning visitor would not be bringing good news.

To his surprise, he found Eula Chandler bringing her buggy to a halt in front of the house. He hurried to help her down. “Hello, Miss Eula."

"Matthew, dear, how are you?"

"Fine, just fine. And you?"

"Just splendid.” She smiled up at him, and he swore he saw mischief in her eyes. “As you can see, I'm driving my own buggy, something a lady wouldn't have dreamed of in my day."

"It's a little early for a drive, isn't it?"

She smiled even more at his teasing. “No, I came to speak with you."

He waited, but she didn't elaborate. After an awkward silence, he asked, “Would you like to come inside?"

"Thank you, I would."

He was even more puzzled. He'd expected her to decline the invitation and state her business. Instead, she seemed intent on nothing more than a leisurely visit. They crossed the porch, and he moved to open the screen door leading to the kitchen. Before he reached for the latch, Eula caught sight of Sarah perched at the table.

"Isn't she a pretty thing?"

"Yes, ma'am. And a handful, too."

"Most children are at that age.” She nodded, smiling to herself. “In fact, that's the reason for my visit.” He let his arm drop to his side and the screen door snapped shut. “Sarah?"

"How are you going to manage taking care of a small child and tending all this land?"

He hesitated. “It's a challenge."

"You'll be spending all your time in the fields,” she pointed out. “It can't be easy finding someone to watch her, and when you do come home, I'm sure you're exhausted."

She wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know, but hearing it from someone else made the situation sound much more bleak. He only shrugged and said, “It isn't easy."

Eula fingered a tiny button on the cuff of her sleeve, carefully considering her next words. “Wouldn't it be easier for her just to stay with someone for the next few months? A relative, perhaps?"

Matthew felt too guilty to admit to anyone that he'd already considered the option. “My aunt in Texas would be glad to take her, but it would take weeks to get there and back, and then I might not see her until next year."

"What about right here? With me and Olivia?"

He nearly strangled on his coffee. “You're not serious."

"Of course I am. Lord knows we have plenty of room, and you could see her as often as you like."

"Olivia can't stand the sight of me, why would—"

"Surely you don't believe that.” Eula didn't wait for his answer. “Olivia was hurt, but that was a long time ago. If that's how you feel about her, no wonder she didn't want to make the offer herself."

"It's not—” His voice faltered and he barely stopped himself before insisting that he knew that Olivia's contempt for him went beyond the broken engagement and had not lessened in the past few years. Not one bit. If anything, she hated him even more, but he didn't regret what happened between them. For a few moments, he had seen desire in her eyes and had felt the heated passion of her response. That was worth any amount of animosity.

"I just don't think it would be a good idea,” he said at last, schooling his thoughts to the matter at hand. Eula Chandler was the last person with whom he should be discussing Olivia. “I'll find someone to watch Sarah."