Spring Blossom (34 page)

When he didn’t respond to her question after
several moments, Maggie raised her head to look at him. “Hunter?”
she whispered, wondering if he had fallen asleep.

But his eyes were open, and he turned his
head toward her, his face a mask of such sorrow that it made her
afraid.

“
Hunter?” she
pressed.

He pulled her had back down to his shoulder
and tightened his arm around her. “I hadn’t planned to tell you
just yet,” he said. “But I think you need to know.”

“Hunter, you’re frightening me.”

“We won’t be replacing Anna,” he said
simply.

Maggie breathed in the momentary relief of
the uninformed. “Is that all?” she said, before asking another
question. “Who will look after this house after we leave?”

“Maggie, Treemont has some financial
difficulties. There are no funds to hire a new housekeeper,” he
added.

She was up and leaning over him then. “What
did you do with the money?” she blurted.

He stared at her for a long, painful moment.
“I hope you don’t mean that the way it sounded?”

Her eyes widening as she took his meaning
and what she had foolishly said. “Of course not! I only meant…”
Maggie stopped, confused and turned away from him to sit up and
pound the mattress with a small fist. “What the devil did I
mean?”

“I think perhaps you should tell me,” he
said quietly.

Maggie turned frantically toward him, now
fully understanding his tone. “Oh, no, Hunter!” she cried. “I would
never dream of accusing you. I trust you completely. But I don’t
understand.”

He forgave her instantly; the financial
problem was his alone to deal with. He had reacted defensively in
an attempt to protect the very one he knew would suffer the
most…his Maggie. How was he to explain what he had found in
Alastair’s ledgers? How was he to explain that her childhood home,
her haven, was threatened almost beyond hope? How could he explain
that he had no cure for what ailed Treemont? Especially tonight
when, in his own despondency, he feared he could not solve the
numerous problems? How could he explain that to a wife who loved
this place beyond all others?

Hunter propped a pillow behind his back and
sat up, bending one knee and pulling Maggie up against his side. “I
didn’t want to tell you what I’ve uncovered at first, but I quickly
realized that would be unfair. After all, Treemont is yours…yours
and your sisters’ and you need to know.” He looked down at her
then, apologetically. “I intended to pay some bills that were on
your father’s desk but when I examined the accounts I found some
disturbing entries, Maggie,” he said softly. “I’ve spent three days
looking over the records and what I’ve found is alarming, to say
the least. Treemont is heavily mortgaged…probably beyond it’s
worth. I’m sorry, my darling, but without a large influx of funds
we can’t keep this farm afloat.”

Maggie’s eyes grew rounder and more troubled
with each word he spoke, until her weary, overburdened mind could
only rebel. “Papa was a good businessman,” she cried, drawing away
from him.

“He was. I know that.”

“He would not have let Treemont fall into
debt. You must be wrong.”

“Maggie, listen to me,” Hunter returned
firmly. “This is not an indictment of your father. You must
understand, little one, that many farms and other businesses are
still struggling to regain what they had before the war. The South
suffered great losses of many kinds; financial losses among them.
Families all over this state are still recovering even after twenty
years. Treemont has done well, consid…”

“You didn’t suffer,” she interrupted with
accusation in her tone.

Hunter shook his head in dismay, continuing
to be patient, understanding the confusion and the beginnings of
panic that were building within her.

“I was fortunately, love. I had a small
inheritance given me by my father. English funds he chose not to
withhold until his death. That saved me. But Treemont has had to
struggle up from the ashes of war. The losses have been
considerable. It took near genius to keep Treemont going this long.
You’ve noticed yourself that there are fewer people to keep the
place going and with fewer hands, fewer fields have been planted
and less income from harvests. Even the main house needs
attention.”

“What can we do?” she asked, accepting the
truth as he presented it, for she knew in every fiber of her being
that he would not have told her these things unless he was
absolutely certain of the situation and he had absolutely no choice
in the matter. They had been through so much, the girls and she,
and Hunter had stood beside them…now, it seemed, there was
more.

Hunter hugged her for reassurance and
whispered against her hair, “We’ll find a way, Maggie,” he said.
“I’ll go into town and see the bankers. Together we’ll determine
the exact amount of the debt, and from there we’ll see what must be
done.”

“Hunter, will we have to leave here
soon?”

“No. We have time,” he said quickly. “Jason
will mind the place for us while we decide what our next steps
should be. But, Maggie,” he continued softly, “I don’t think we
should tell the others. Florence and Jennifer are so young to be
dealing with the concerns they are already experiencing. And this
would be completely beyond them in any event. And Denise deserves
as many happy moments as we can give her here at Treemont before
she weds and moves away. Let’s keep this between us for now, shall
we?”

Maggie knew he was right. Her sisters were
younger and did not deserve any further burdens…and she didn’t
either, for that matter. She gripped his arm harder and pressed it
into her midriff. Hadn’t there been enough trouble? Where was it
all to end? Would Treemont be lost to them forever? “I want to go
with you when you see the bankers,” she said quietly. “I may not
understand everything that has gone on in the past, but I need to
be there to discuss the future.”

Hunter did not hesitate in responding. “All
right, my love.”

CHAPTER 25

The wedding of Denise Downing and Tim
Fletcher was a quiet affair with only immediate families
present.

Maggie did not cry, as Florence and Jennifer
did, when Denise was preparing to ride away to her new home; she
simply held her sister close and whispered, “Be as happy as I
am.”

And while the statement was not a total
truth, neither was it a total lie. The only flaw in Maggie’s life
were her concerns over Treemont. Certainly she was happy being the
wife of Hunter Maguire; as each day passed she found herself more
deeply in love and more spellbound by him. He never failed to woo
her at every turn, no matter who might be present, within the realm
of propriety, of course. Florence and Jennifer frequently saw
Hunter touching or lightly kissing their sister, an occurrence that
caused Florence to blush deeply and Jennifer to wrinkle her nose in
disgust.

“Don’t you get sick of kissin’ her?” she
asked one evening as she came upon them sitting together on the
settee in the parlor.

Hunter smiled, folding Maggie back against
his chest and within his arms. “No,” he said simply.

“But that’s all you ever do,” she accused,
walking close and leaning both hands, elbows locked, on the arm of
the settee next to Hunter.

“That is not all we ever do,” he
returned.

Jennifer made a sound that was reminiscent
of a grunting piglet. “Well, you do it a lot. And touching,
too.”

Maggie had worried about the thoughts of
girls so young, but Hunter had insisted that they should not be
deprived of a loving environment. And he was not about to peer
around corners each time he wanted to demonstrate a little
affection for his own wife.

“I touch you,” he said quietly to Jennifer,
as he looked into her lustrous brown eyes. “In a different way,
it’s true, but I touch you. Don’t you like it?”

Jennifer thought about that, scraping a
thumbnail along a groove in the wood beneath her hand until Hunter
captured her fingers with his own.

“Don’t you?” he prompted.

She raised her eyes slowly to his. “I
guess.”

“I touch people because I like them or love
them. It’s a good thing, don’t you think?”

“I guess,” she repeated, a bit shyly this
time.

“I love your sister and she loves me. That’s
why we touch and kiss sometimes. One day you’ll like it, too.”

“No, I won’t,” she returned firmly.

Hunter laughed. “I’ll check back with you on
that in about ten years.”

Jennifer made a face of disbelief, and
Hunter tugged her down next to them while Maggie smiled.

Yes, she was happy with the loving ways of
her man.

But the fear of losing Treemont was a silent
torture within her heart.

*

Hunter wrote to Jason with two requests. He
explained the first request to Maggie, and although she objected
strenuously at first, she eventually saw the merit of what he was
doing. Jason would send funds, which Hunter would infuse into
Treemont. That would buy them time into the New Year. At that point
he knew, but did not state, they might be forced to make some hard
decisions.

Maggie’s appreciation was boundless, along
with her love.

Hunter did not tell her about his second
request.

*

The early weeks of December provided much
needed distraction for them all as they fell to work in preparation
for their first Christmas in town. Denise and Tim had persuaded
Maggie and Hunter and the girls to spend Christmas with them, away
from Treemont and the memories of the senior Downings who were no
longer there to share the season.

Maggie agreed for the sake of Florence and
Jennifer.

Hunter agreed for the sake of Maggie.

His lovely wife and been drawn and tired of
late, working to keep the house neat and clean with only the girls
to help, when they were not in school. And cooking was a chore for
them all, although Hunter was the more proficient and was teaching
them. Some passable meals were coming out of the kitchen, but not
many.

Maggie had set Florence and Jennifer to work
making gifts for the Fletchers and, most particularly, for their
hostess. The four of them would be staying in the senior Fletcher’s
guesthouse over the holidays. They would give Mrs. Fletcher a gaily
decorated pine wreath adorned with ribbons and berries and Hunter
had helped the girls make a pipe stand for Tim’s father.

During the evenings Maggie fashioned and
re-fashioned some of her cast-off clothing into new dresses for her
younger sisters. One thing Hunter could not deny; his Maggie was a
wizard with needle and thread.

One blustery mid-December evening, after
Florence and Jennifer had disappeared to their room, Hunter and
Maggie sat before a roaring fire in Alastair’s office. Looking away
from the book in his hand, Hunter watched her slim fingers push and
pull the needle until finally he reached out and took her hand in
his. “Your fingers must ache with all this sewing,” he said,
turning her palm up.

“I get dents,” she responded, not unhappily
as he examined the red ridges in the pads of her fingers.

His eyes moved to her face, and he frowned.
“You look so tired, Maggie,” he said. “I’m worried about you. Why
not put your work away for tonight.”

‘Soon,” she said, withdrawing her hand
reluctantly and returning to her task.

“I’ve got a small gift for the girls,” he
said abruptly and Maggie’s head snapped around.

“We said we wouldn’t buy gifts, Hunter.”

“Small and alive,” he teased. “And I’m not
at all certain the Fletchers will appreciate having it around for
the holidays.”

Maggie laughed then. “What on earth did you
get them?”

“I don’t believe I’ll tell you, either. I’ll
make it a family surprise.”

“
Is it furry?” she asked,
moving closer to his side.

“Well, it has hair, I suppose,” he hedged
and watched her moving in.

“Most babies don't,” she stated bluntly.

Hunter looked baffled. “Babies don’t
what?”

“Have hair.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” His
brows arched upward in confusion as she now leaned against him.

“Did you get them a kitten?” she asked.

Hunter cupped her chin in the palm of his
hand, raising her face so that he could look into her eyes. “A
pup,” he said absently. “What is this talk about babies?”

“Just an observation,” she said, smiling.
“Most are quite bald, don’t you think?”

“I think you are toying with me,” he mused.
“I think you are trying to tell me something.” His hand stroked her
cheek while the rate of his heartbeat increased frantically.

Maggie could see him mentally counting
backward.

“I think you might be pregnant,” he said at
last.

“…
might be,” she returned,
grinning widely now.

Hunter’s eyes lit up like a flash of sulfur.
“Oh, Maggie,” he breathed, ducking his head to offer a brief kiss.
“It would be wonderful…but it’s too soon, isn’t it? I mean…we can’t
be sure yet?”

One thing about being extremely intimate
with one’s husband, Maggie thought, was that he did not miss much.
And she found she could still blush with him. “But we can hope,
can’t we? It has been quite a while, and there are other
signs.”

“Really?” he asked enthusiastically.
“What?”

Maggie’s color heightened even more and he
laughed at her.

“Foolish woman,” he admonished lightly.
“What signs, Maggie?”

“I get a queasy feeling sometimes,” she
admitted, “and my breasts feel different.”

His eyes dropped quite naturally to the
bodice of her gown and his hand moved to touch her gently. “They
don’t hurt, do they, little one?” The thought of her in pain
positively jangled his nerves.