After the Storm (31 page)

“Brendan Rafferty!” She stood and looked down at him. “You need to learn the difference between gossip and hurtful gossip. If Samuel heard you say that, you'd hurt him greatly.”

He tried to look repentant as he said, “I'm sorry, but I'm curious, too. He hasn't gone to a wedding since we got here, and you can't get married if he doesn't go to your wedding, can he?”

“That's enough talk about weddings. Let's just pick berries.”

Cailin thought he would say something else, but he nodded. She saw the disappointment in his eyes. She almost hugged him and told him she felt the same way. Burdening the child with her very adult quandary was wrong, even if Brendan could have done anything to change Samuel's mind.

Brendan suddenly cursed. Before she could chide him for using such language, he spit a berry into his hand and grimaced.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Ants.” He pointed to the insects wiggling on the berry. “They were trying to walk around in my mouth.” He spat again. “I never want to feel a tickle like that again.”

She laughed as he tossed the berry back into the bushes. “Next time, look before you put a berry into your mouth.”

“Mama!”

Giving him the hug she had wanted to give him before, she held out her pail. “Try another. Go ahead,” she urged when he hesitated. “Just check it inside first.”

He gingerly picked up a berry and tilted it to see under its cap. Popping it into his mouth, he grinned. He grabbed his smaller pail and went off to another section of the bushes.

Cailin wiped more sweat from her forehead, then unbuttoned the cuffs of her gown. She rolled up the sleeves. She might get scratched, but a few scratches would be better than roasting.

“Now you look as if you're ready to get to work,” Samuel said as he dumped his pail of berries into the washtub.

“I'm ready for a dish of blackberry ice cream.”

When he slipped his arm around her and pressed his lips to her nape, she did not fight her yearning to soften against him. He whispered, “How about a cool bath?”

“That sounds heavenly.”

“It would be if you'd let me wash your back.”

She looked at where the children were spread out around the thatch of blackberry bushes. Putting down her pail, she took his hand and led him toward a trio of trees across the narrow road. Only when she was certain they were out of the children's earshot, she said, “Please don't say things like that. They're already upset enough about the rumors. If Lottie repeated what you'd just said, the gossip would bother the children more.”

“Is there new gossip I haven't heard?”

“You know what's being said!” she snapped, abruptly irritated that he was making this difficult for her.

“It appears that they're wondering if the reason we haven't gotten married is because I wouldn't attend my own wedding.”

She gasped. “You were listening to me and Brendan!”

“You weren't whispering.” He put one foot on a stone. “And maybe the gossip isn't all wrong.”

“I don't care if it's right or wrong. I don't want the children injured by these comments that are certain to become more pointed.”

“And do you expect me to drop to one knee and ask you to be my wife?”

She shook her head. “Getting married just for the sake of the children wouldn't be good for them either.”

“You're right.” Samuel muttered the curse Brendan had used. When her eyes widened, he whispered, “Cailin, I'm not sure how much longer I can wait to hold you again.”

“You know that would make things more difficult.” She looked down at her hands.

Taking the pail, he set it on the ground. He looked down into her earthy eyes that told him how much she ached for him. “I don't care,
a stór
.”

He gave her no chance to answer. His fingers combed through her hair and tilted her mouth beneath his. With a slow pleasure that dismissed the trouble beyond their embrace, he teased her lips with the tip of his tongue. As they softened, he tasted within her mouth the flavor of blackberries that was sweetened by her own flavor. As her breath became swift and eager in his mouth, he tightened his arms around her. He wanted to sweep aside her clothes and hold her with her silken skin against him.

His hand brushed her breast, and she gasped against his lips. Delighting in her arousal, which fired his own, he stroked her supple curves until she quivered with the need tantalizing him. He savored her lithe body against him and longed for the moment when he could hold her in private.

Megan screamed.

He released Cailin, who looked frantically in both directions.

“Megan! Where is she?” Cailin cried.

“This way.” He ran toward where the bushes curved into the field.

Megan screamed again.

Running after Samuel, Cailin looked beyond the end of the bushes. She saw Megan swiping at something and crying out in pain and horror. Bees! Megan must have disturbed them.

Samuel shouted as he grasped Lottie to keep her from going to her sister, “Stay back, Cailin!”

She did not slow. Megan needed her help.

He bellowed for the rest of them to stay back. She pushed past him. Those could not be bees! They must be wasps, for they were swarming up out of the ground.

Then the wasps attacked her, too. She tried to swat them away and reach for Megan at the same time. Savage fire seared her arms below her sleeves. She could not see through the swarm as tears flooded down her cheeks, which were burning as fiercely.

“Megan!” she shouted.

“Mama! Mama! Make them stop!”

She somehow found Megan's hand. Yanking the child into her arms, she choked as the wasps stung through her clothes. She did not take time to push them away. Holding her daughter close, she tried to escape the attack.

She could not see. All she could do was feel the unending pain and hear Megan's screams.

Hands grasped her waist. Samuel! He tugged on her, and she lurched after him. She hoped he could see more than she could.

He shoved her to the ground. The earth was cool against her ravaged skin. She kept her arms around Megan, trying to protect the child and herself at the same time. Wiping away the wasps, she moaned as more stung. Samuel swore, and she knew the wasps had not given up their vicious attack.

When he grabbed her arm and jerked her to feet, she gathered Megan up in her arms. She raced after him as fast as she could. Her hair had fallen to cover Megan, keeping many of the angry wasps away from the little girl.

She heard Samuel shout to Brendan to bring Lottie. With a moan, she tried to see where her other children were. He did not give her a chance. Taking Megan from her, he seized Cailin's hand and pulled her away from the swarm. She was not sure how far the wasps would follow.

When he slowed, she sank to the ground, gasping for breath.

“No, no,” he mumbled. “We need to get into the house until they calm down.”

She pushed herself to her feet. A hand cupped her elbow, and she heard her son urging her to hurry. She winced as Brendan's hand brushed one of the spots where the wasps had stung her, but she reeled after him.

Something buzzed close to her ear. With a choked gasp, she ripped off her bonnet. A trio of wasps whirled out of it. She swung her bonnet at them. They flitted out of her reach, then flew away, clearly no longer interested in the battle.

“Inside!” called Samuel. His order was oddly distorted. Was it his voice or her ears?

Cailin pulled the screen door closed behind the children, then shut the wooden door. Leaning back against it, she took a steadying breath before asking, “Do you have any hartshorn, Samuel?”

“No.” His voice was distorted, she realized, for hers had sounded almost normal.

“Brendan, get some baking soda and mix it with whatever water we have in the kitchen. Make it into a thick paste.” She wobbled to where Megan was lying on the floor. “Lottie, get me an onion.” Kneeling, she winced. Only now was she discovering that the wasps had stung through her thin stockings.

Samuel knelt beside her. “Megan?” he called softly.

“Are they gone?” the little girl whimpered.

“Yes.”

Megan raised her head, and Cailin was glad to see there were only a half dozen stings on her face. There were probably twice that many on her arms. Taking the bucket with the baking soda paste in it, she scooped out some and plastered it on Megan's face. The little girl yelped, then relaxed as the paste cooled the hot stings.

“Brendan,” Cailin said, “peel the onion Lottie has and cut it into big slices.”

She heard him do as she asked, while she continued to lather the paste on Megan's arms. When she asked where else the little girl was stung, she was relieved to hear that she had put the paste everywhere.

“Go and sit quietly in the parlor. I'll bring you something cold to drink as soon as I tend to Samuel.”

“And I tend to your mother,” he said, his words sounding even stranger.

Cailin stared at him as she stood. Or tried to. Her eyes were swelling shut, but she could see red welts had risen over most of his left cheek.

“What were they?” she asked, setting the bucket on the table and motioning for him to sit.

“Yellow jackets.” He grimaced when she put some of the baking soda paste on his face. “They're especially vicious this time of year. I should have warned you before we left the house.”

“If you had, we wouldn't have gone for berries.” She tried to smile when Brendan handed her a plate with the sliced onion, but each motion added to the pain across her face. She sprinkled salt on the onion.

“What are you going to do with that?” Samuel asked.

“If you had some hartshorn, I would use that to draw out the stingers and ease the pain, but the onion and salt will have to do, along with the baking soda plaster.”

“Here, Mama.” Lottie held out another bowl with the baking soda paste and water. “It's my kitten's water dish.” She pointed to a spot on her arm. “I'm stinged, Mama.”

“So I see. Thank you,
a stór
.” Cailin took the bowl and stuck her fingers in it, so glad the touch cooled the agonizing burn. Gently she dabbed the mixture on Lottie's arm. Handing the bowl to Samuel, she picked up Lottie.

“Let me,” Samuel said. He held out his arms for the child. They were even more heavily covered with welts than his face.

“No, you're hurt worse than I am,” she replied, although she wanted to accept his offer. Every motion added to the pain searing her. “You need to be tended to right away.”

When her son offered to take Lottie into the parlor and read her a story, Cailin nodded. “Thank you, Brendan,” she murmured. “Are you certain you don't just want to escape from slicing more onion?”

He laughed, and she smiled, in spite of the pain.

“Sit down, Samuel,” she said quietly as the children left the kitchen. “Let me get some of this on your face while I can recognize it as your face. Rub this slice of onion on your arm while I do something about your cheek.”

He sat and set his glasses on the table. She was horrified to see one lens was cracked.

“How did that happen?” she asked.

“I'm not sure. I'm surprised they aren't worse. How are Lottie's?”

“I think they're all right.”

“You think?”

“I didn't check them.”

“Because you can't see them?”

“I've been a bit busy, as you should recall.”

He caught her hand. “Her glasses are fine, but you aren't. You're staggering about almost as much as you did when you arrived here. Sit down.”

“I think that's a good idea.” She groped for the chair, knowing it must be nearby.

“Here.” He cupped her elbow and sat her in the chair. “You don't have to pretend any longer.”

She closed her swollen eyes as he spread cooling salve on her arm. “Pretend what?”

“Acting as if you don't hurt even worse than Megan and I do.”

“You were stung more than I was.”

He shook his head. “I don't think so. Of course, we could count the stings on each other to make sure.” His low laugh offered an invitation she might not have been able to ignore if she did not hurt so bad.

Trying to keep her voice light, she said, “No thanks. I don't want to know which one of us was more foolish.”

“That's easy. You were. Hands down.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

He gently lathered the back of her hand with the paste. “You need to trust me to watch over the children, too.”

“I do.”

“Then why did you keep trying to help Megan when I yelled to you to stay back?”

She opened her eyes as widely as she could. “Would you have stopped if our situations had been reversed?”

“No, but that's different.”

“Why?”

“Because I trust you.”

She shook her head. “No, you don't. You don't trust me to take care of my own children.”

“You're wrong. If I hadn't trusted you to take care of them, I'd have sent you on your way when you were well enough to travel.”

“With the children.” When he did not answer, she sighed. “We've had this discussion before, and it went nowhere.”

“You're wrong,” he said again. He put his fingertips on hers, and she knew he was trying not to hurt her by chancing to touch one of the welts along her arm. “I listened to what you said, and I've seen you with the children. I know you need them and that they need you.”

“And they need you.”

He chuckled. “You'd make a fine lawyer, Cailin. You can argue every point until it's just easier to give up and give in to you.”

“Not every point.”

“That's true, but you've given me cause for ideas I haven't thought in a long time.”

“Since you came here from Cincinnati?”