From This Day Forward (14 page)

Every muscle aching, Rachel seized a thought swirling around in her mind. “You can buy my farm. It is for sale.” Then she might have enough money to do something other than farming.

“I ain’t got that kind of money.” George Baker twisted his mouth into a thoughtful expression. “But I have a pig I can give ya fer rights to use the pier.”

“A pig?” Before he changed his mind, Rachel stuck out her hand and said, “A deal, Mr. Baker. Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?”

Her neighbor peered at Maddy now holding Faith in her arms. “I best be headin’ back. Can I check the pier first?”

“We already have. It is in good shape.”

Another furtive glance at Maddy before he donned his hat, touched its brim, and said, “I will be back with the pig.”

“Good day, Mr. Baker.” Rachel watched her neighbor amble away and disappear into the swampy land on the west side of her farm.

Maddy approached her. “He is coming back?”

“Yes, with a pig. The Lord is good. First chickens and now a pig.”

“He might murder us in our sleep.”

Rachel suppressed her laugh. “I think you sufficiently scared him.”

“What is a pig doing tied up outside?” Nathan asked as he came into the house later that afternoon. He halted a few steps inside at the sight of George Baker sitting on a small chair that barely held his large bulk, drinking out of one of Rachel’s dainty china cups, minus its handle.

George threw him a helpless look. “I brought it to Mrs. Gordon.” He rose, searching for a place to set his cup.

Maddy hopped up from her chair across from him and took the dish from him. Blowing out a loud sigh, she sat back down and held his drink.

George crossed the main room, offering Nathan his hand to shake. “I heard you were back in the area.”

“Yes, since last summer.”

“Mrs. Gordon told me you are helpin’ her with the farm.”

Nodding, Nathan moved toward Rachel, her hair caught up under her mobcap with a few curls framing her face. All day while preparing the first field nearest the house for corn, he couldn’t get the picture of the woman out of his mind. The smile she gave him before he left to plow, her saucy walk when she had brought him dinner in the field at noon, a flush to her cheeks because she had forgotten to wear her bonnet. Her cap exposed her face to the strong sun, especially at that time of the day. The rosy hue still graced her skin, giving her a healthy glow.

“Why did you bring Mrs. Gordon a pig?” Nathan positioned himself slightly to the left of Rachel’s chair and behind her.

Rachel straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. “It is rent for using the pier.”

“Do you know what to do with a pig?” Nathan asked, seeing the smug expression fade at the question she had not considered.

“Well, no, but I figured you did. Don’t you?”

“If’n he doesn’t, I will show ya.”

Rachel beamed her pleasure at George’s offer. “Why, thank you, Mr. Baker. I appreciate the help.”

“ ’Tis not needed, George. I know what to do. So are you the reason the pier was in such good shape?”

“Yes. Been keepin’ an eye on the place since the Dalton family moved away.”

“His land is not on the river or road. He uses the pier to take his crops to town. We shall be able to do that too.” Rachel glanced between George and Nathan. “My pig is pregnant. We shall have little pigs running around here.” She paused, cocked her head at George, and asked, “When, do you think?”

“Another month, ma’am.” The large man snatched his hat off the table and plopped it on his head. “I best be going. I still have chores to do. Thank you for the tea and—bread.”

“You are welcome. Please let me cut you a few slices, and you can take it with you.”

George shook his head. “Ma’am, I don’t wa—need any. I have a whole loaf at home.” His face reddened, and he averted his gaze, looking straight at Maddy, which only deepened his color. Finally he whirled and hastened toward the door. “Good day.”

He was out of the house so fast Nathan couldn’t contain his laughter. “How did you get George to stay for tea?”

“I told him I missed having afternoon tea since coming to America.”

“And that got him to say yes? Interesting.” Nathan walked to the window that overlooked the area in front of the house. “My, he’s already halfway across the field. I didn’t know he could move so fast.”

Rachel appeared at his side and whispered, “I think he has set his eyes on Maddy. I kept catching him glancing at her. I am not even sure he realized he was. She made quite an impression on him earlier today.”

Nathan shifted toward Rachel. “How?”

“By threatening him with an ax.”

“Maddy, the same woman who fled the room when you were going to give birth to Faith? The one who is scared of her own shadow?”

“Yes. She was defending me.”

Nathan drew himself up, his arms stiff at his sides. “Why should she have to?”

“Shouldn’t you see to the pig?”

“Not until you tell me what happened here today.”

“It was nothing. I was going to chop some wood but had a”—Rachel held her forefinger and thumb apart about an inch—“tiny little problem. I lost my hold on the ax, and it almost hit Mr. Baker. I am thankful he was quick and caught it before it hit him in the chest.”

“Why were you chopping wood? You know I do it when I come in from the field.”

“I need to learn how, so I was practicing. You will not be here long.” She dropped her gaze to the floor between them. “I thought it would be easier than it is.”

“Now you see why it isn’t wise for you to try things without me to supervise.”

Her gaze pierced into him. “I am not a servant you need to supervise.”

He knew when to escape, and this was one of those times. “I’m going to take care of the pig and chop some wood. Let me know when supper is ready.”

He stormed from the house before she decided to follow and have him instruct her in how to chop wood. He skirted the stump where he split the logs and headed for the pig.
What was she thinking? She could have hurt herself or poor George
. Taking the rope, he escorted the animal to the barn.

As he entered the structure, he had to admit it was shrewd of her to barter a pig out of George—one that would have piglets she could raise and sell or slaughter for meat. And he had to give her credit for trying to learn to cook and keep house, although the thought of having the bread this evening didn’t sit well with his stomach. He could always give her another lesson on kneading and letting the dough rise. The picture of him helping her the week before, his hands over hers while working the bread mixture, popped into his mind. Her fresh scent—nothing unpleasant about it—stirred a roiling sensation in the pit of his stomach.

No, there will be no more bread-making lessons. Too dangerous
.

After securing the pig in the barn, Nathan made his way to the stump to work on chopping wood, at least enough for the next day. As he struck the log over and over with the ax, he wondered what he was doing being a farmer—not something he had wanted to do with his life.

But what do I want?

No answers came as he brought the ax down onto the wood. Frustration churned his gut as he went through one log after another until pieces were scattered about the ground around the stump. The sun went down behind the trees in the swamp west of the house. As dusk settled over the landscape, Nathan finished his chore, scooped up an armful of logs, and pivoted toward the house, nearly bowling Rachel over. The wood tumbled to the ground onto his booted foot. Pain flashed up his leg, but he riveted his attention on Rachel’s mouth, opened slightly in surprise.

She jumped back, brought her shawl closer around her shoulders, and crossed her arms over her chest. “I was coming to get you for supper. We are not having much. Just bread, the rest of the cheese your sister left for us, and mush.”

“You should not ask strangers in for tea.”

“But he wasn’t a stranger. You know Mr. Baker.”

“Did you?”

“Not till this morning, but once I knew he was my neighbor and actually quite sweet and shy, I saw no harm.”

He itched to shake some sense into Rachel. “What if he had been lying?”

“He had an honest face. Is there any reason not to think otherwise about Mr. Baker?”

“No. He is honest and hardworking, but after you found that dead man in the house, did you not have second thoughts about allowing anyone too close? What if he had been the murderer returning for the body?”

“Whatever for?”

The knot in his gut had a stranglehold on him. “My point is that you need to be cautious. There are dangerous people in this world, and you need to have your guard up against them.”

In the waning light, a smile slid across her mouth, a teasing gleam in her eyes. “Why? You seem to be doing such a good job for me.”

He stepped closer until only inches separated them. “Because I will not always be around. Remember I’m only here until you can manage on your own.” Which at the rate she was going would be never. More and more he was glad he had sent that letter to her family. He did not want to be responsible for her and Faith. He could do so little for the soldiers, for Papa, for Eliza and her baby. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

“But it is still early.”

He moved back and turned to head to the barn.

Her hand on his arm stopped his progress. “What about supper? You must be hungry.” She came around his side to face him.

Her nearness doubled his heart rate. For an awkward moment his mind went blank. All he could focus on were her lips turned down slightly, her forehead creased in question, and her eyes searching him for answers. But mostly the soft touch of her fingers on him enticing him to forget he did not want to care for another—to risk being hurt yet again.

“If you want, I can bring your supper to the barn.”

Words flooded his mind. All the reasons he wished he could leave and never look back demanded he do something to protect himself. But one thing came to the forefront of his mind and dominated his thoughts. He was responsible for her being here, and he had to stay until he could get her to see reason and leave the farm, the country, to go back to where she belonged.

“Nathan? Are you all right?”

He pulled his arm from her grasp and backed away. “I’m perfectly fine. I’m not hungry. Go in and bolt the door for the night.”

“But—”

“Now, Rachel. ’Tis late.”

“It is dusk.”

“Do you like to argue about everything?”

Another smile graced her lips. “Only when I am right.”

“We are looking at it from different perspectives.”

Her grin grew. “So there is no right or wrong?”

“Exactly. This is not a contest.”

She looked him directly in the eye. “I beg to differ. You want me to hightail it back to England and I want to stay.” Whirling around, she flounced toward the open doorway and into the house.

When he heard the bolt being put in place, he trudged toward the barn, wondering who had been the victor in that skirmish.

People crowded the streets of Charleston four days later. After weeks in the countryside, the sights, sounds, and odors of the town bombarded Rachel from all sides. The stench of refuse assaulted her as they traveled through the part of Charleston where the poor lived. A woman dressed in a plain gown with mud caked on the hem threw the contents of a chamber pot into a ditch. People hawking their wares shouted above the din of voices.

Slowly the hovels and tenements gave way to the wider streets cluttered with chaises and carriages of the more wealthy citizens. Flowering bushes of unknown plants perfumed the air, chasing away the aromas of dirt and filth.

When Nathan drove the cart down a road with massive houses on both sides, Rachel spotted rose bushes. Thoughts of home drenched her in bittersweet memories. “I wish I could plant some roses at the farm.”

“Why? You cannot eat them.”

“You can make tea out of roses. Also nice-smelling rosewater.”

Nathan harrumphed. “Not practical when money is tight.”

He brought the two-wheeled wagon to a stop in front of a red-brick, three-story mansion with tall windows facing the street. A brick and black wrought iron fence skirted the property, and behind it Rachel saw many rose bushes, not blooming yet but fully leafed.