The Flame and the Flower (43 page)

She smiled softly and pressed her cheek against his chest, more than content with his answer. In the nursery, he strode about the room as she stood with her hands behind her back, anxiously awaiting his reaction. Brushing aside the new mosquito netting, Brandon bent to inspect the crib under its ruffled canopy. Next he rocked a nearby cradle gently with his boot as a smile played about his lips, then slowly gazed about at the light blue walls and the snowy white curtains. He carefully stepped around the vividly hued rugs which lay about the shiny oak floor and opened a bureau drawer in curiosity, finding it full of neatly folded baby clothes, some of which he had seen his wife sewing before he left.

Heather went to stand beside the wooden horse with its painted red saddle and pushed it lightly with her fingers, setting it into motion.

"We found this in the attic," she said, drawing his attention. "Hatti said it was yours so I bade Ethan fetch it down. When our son is old enough to go astride it, I can tell him his father once sat upon it."

He grinned and came closer to look at it. "Sure hope it doesn't run under a branch with him."

A giggle escaped her before she turned hurriedly and pointed to a rocking chair of some expense. "Jeff gave me that. Isn't it lovely?"

He nodded his approval and quipped, "Leave it to him. He always did like to be rocked to sleep."

Heather started to point out another item of interest, but she stopped as if horrified. "Oh my goodness, Brandon! You haven't eaten! You must be starving, and here I've been chattering on."

She quickly called Mary and gave orders for a tray of food to be sent up and water heated for his bath. Brandon had gone into his bedroom and removed his jacket and stock and was pulling off his boots when she joined him.

"I'm no longer a captain of a ship, pet," he commented, giving her a sidelong look as she picked up his coat and put it away. "I sold the
Fleetwood
for a tidy sum, and now you may expect to see me about the house every day."

Heather smiled to herself, deciding she approved whole-heartedly of this situation.

A servant brought food, and Heather sat across from Brandon, watching him as he ate. She was pleasantly pleased by the intimacy of the moment and warmed by her new found love for him. The water was hustled in while the tray was taken away, and she tested its warmth before nodding her dismissal to the servants then busied herself putting out fresh linens as her husband disrobed.

Brandon eased himself into the hot water and lay back for some moments relaxing in it. When he finally sat up and began to scrub, Heather came and reached for the sponge. She dipped it into the water and held it up expectantly but waited for his approval. He gazed up at her for a long time contemplating this, then leaned forward, presenting his back to her.

"Scrub it hard, will you, sweet? I feel like I'm covered with a thick coat of grime."

She bent happily to her task, lathering the soap up well with her hands over his well muscled shoulders and down his back. Impishly she initialed a large "B" through the white suds across his back and giggled lightly as she placed an "H" before it. He peered over his shoulder at her with a raised eyebrow and a one-sided grin.

"What are you doing, miss?" he questioned.

She laughed and wrung out the sponge over his head. "I'm branding you, m'lord."

He shook his head vigorously, flinging water on her, and she laughed with glee. Stepping back to a safe distance, she threw the sponge at him and then gasped with surprise when he stood up and stepped over the rim of the tub and came after her, still soapy and wet.

"Oh Brandon, what are you doing?" she shrieked in merriment. "Get back in the tub."

She turned as if to flee, but he flung out both arms and lifting her up, swung her up over the tub. She was laughing with him, enjoying the play until he gave her a little dip as if to drop her into the tub, then she squealed and clasped her arms tightly about his neck.

"Brandon, don't you dare! I'll never forgive you."

He smiled into her eyes. "But, sweet, you seemed so interested in my bath, I thought you might like one."

"Put me down," she demanded, then her mouth curved sweetly. "Please."

His eyes sparkled. "Ah, the truth will out, madam. It's only that you have a fetish for scrubbing men's backs, is that it?"

He set her down gently on her feet and grinned as she lifted her arm and twisted to see her wet dress.

"Oh, Brandon, you're impossible! Look what you've done to me!"

He laughed heartily and pulled her back against him, encompassing her in his wet embrace again. Her giggles joined his merriment as he hugged her, his arms about her just above the rounded belly, pressing into her soft bosom. He spread his hand over her abdomen.

"I don't deny a thing, sweet. But must you still be so outraged over my misdeed?" he teased. "That was eight months ago."

"I was talking about my dress!" she corrected indignantly. "You got me all wet and now I'll have to change. Now do be good and unfasten me. I shouldn't want to ask Mary to help me change again."

"Again?" he repeated.

"Never mind," Heather said quickly. "Just unfasten me please."

He complied and resumed his place in the tub before she turned to him, holding the gown up over her shoulders.

"Thank you," she smiled and bent to press a kiss upon his cheek, then swept around and into her room.

The spot her lips had touched burned as Brandon leaned back, but he found it impossible to relax and enjoy the warmth of the bath. A movement caught his eye, and he could see her reflected in his tall, dressing mirror as she stepped out of her dress. A sudden, powerful urge struck him to ask her here and now if she would share this great room with him, to lie beside him in his bed tonight and let him hold her, not with passion's intent, but gently and with love, as a husband should when a wife is nearing her time. But caution brought second thoughts. She had acted sweet and willing before and yet not cared to share his bed. She seemed so content and happy with present arrangements. Yes, later, he thought. When she will have no excuse and will not be able to plead motherly shyness. Then he would approach her and that bed would feel both their weights.

He closed his eyes, thinking of his homecoming. He would never like leaving her, but coming home to her—well, that was an entirely different matter. He relaxed, resting his head on the back of the tub, and the heat of the water was just beginning to take the aches from his tired body when there was a quick thump on the door and it was pushed ajar to reveal Jeff's beaming face.

"Are you decent, eldest son?" he asked with belated concern.

"More so than you," Brandon grunted, chafed at the interruption. "Now close the door. Preferably from the outside."

Unruffled, Jeff pushed within, catching the door with his heel and slamming it shut behind him.

"Why, dearest Brandon," he mimed. "I sought only to bring you some fine diversions, and," this overly loud and directed to the other room, "to rescue my sister-in-law from your unusually brutish temper."

There was a sound of soft laughter from the sitting room, and Jeff, chuckling over his own jest, placed a full glass of brandy and a fresh box of cigars on the stand by the bath.

Brandon nodded his appreciation and sipped the brandy and rolled a cigar between his fingertips. With a raised eyebrow he addressed his brother.

"I think I'll keep you around. There seems to be some hope for you after all."

Heather entered the room, smiling brightly, and greeted Jeff, paying only small attention to their conversation while she gave wifely attention to the laying out of fresh clothes for her husband. It was only when Brandon began to relate his meeting with the Websters that she moved to stand behind him and listen to his story. Brandon half consciously took her hand from where it rested on the high back of the tub and gently rubbed it against his ear as he spoke to Jeff. The movement was not completely lost on the younger brother, but it was not until later that he would wonder about this strange shift of manners between his brother and sister-in-law.

As Brandon finished his tale, Heather realized how little she really knew her husband. She was touched by the plight of the Websters, and yet she felt a strange pride with his own compassion for them. Her eyes were warm and moist as she looked up for a moment and found Jeff's gaze full upon her. He smiled and returned his attention to his brother as Brandon spoke.

"Well, anyway they should be arriving on next week's packet."

Jeff helped himself to one of the cigars he had brought and lit it as he commented. "We'll have to find a house for them."

"There are plenty of houses at the mill," Brandon replied. "They can stay in that big old house Mr. Bartlett used for his office."

Jeff let out a derisive snort. "I thought it was your intention to have them stay. They'll take one look at that house and head north again. Bartlett was a damned gutter rat, not mincing words, and that place is worse than a pigsty. He made use of his female slaves in those beds there, and the poor souls were covered with vermin. It's not fit for swine, and you want to put the Websters in it? It would make your stomach turn to see the filth inside."

"I have seen it," Brandon replied with a slow smile. "That's why we're going tomorrow with some help and see to its cleaning."

"I should have kept my mouth shut," grumbled Jeff good naturedly.

Brandon chuckled. "If that moment ever comes, I'll have to send for the reverend."

Ignoring the jest, Heather stated a demand with a firm voice. "I'm going too. I wouldn't trust the two of you to put a house aright for a family." She looked at them and saw great hesitancy in their manner and hastened to add in a softer tone, "I'll try to keep out of everyone's way and not be too much trouble."

The men's gazes lowered to her oversize belly, and the common doubt in their glances was far from belied by their nods of approval.

The group that drew up in front of the overgrown and ill-kept house dismounted and stood looking at the structure with some apprehension.

Hatti snorted contemptuously. "Humph! No wonder that man got to sell. I ain't never seen a house let go to such wreck and ruin in all my born days. I think they let the pigs loose in there."

Jeff chuckled as he took off his jacket and laid it in the carriage. "It looks like we've got our work cut out for us, doesn't it, Hatti?"

Brandon's coat joined his brother's and with a rueful grin, he muttered, "Well, let's get to work. There's no need to waste any more time."

He set two boys to cleaning up the yard and went inside to see what was needed. Hatti and Heather trailed behind him, making their own feminine estimates, and Heather wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sight that greeted her. Rotting food was strewn about the floors and furniture. Dirt and trash were thick beneath the feet and a foul odor permeated the place.

"I do believe you're right, Hatti. Swine have definitely nested here."

Servants were soon carrying any and all movable objects outside for a thorough cleaning. Jeff set off to search through the other quarters for usable furniture. Hatti gave orders to the women and they were soon about the task of cleaning the house from top to bottom. Hatti's husband and grandson, Ethan and Luke, took charge of the grounds and repainting the house. Brandon left the women to their work and went with George to check the outdoor facilities, which they found in poor state of repair. No hand lay idle.

In the bustle of the moment Heather had been ignored and left to her own ends. She tied a large kerchief about her hair, rolled up her sleeves, and with a long handled brush, set about cleaning the parlor fireplace. She was seated on the hearth and intent upon her labor when she was rudely startled by a voice behind her.

"Miss Heather! Lordy me, child! You gonna ruin yourself and that baby!" Hatti hustled to her mistress's side and taking her arm, helped her to her feet. "Miss Heather, you ain't supposed to be working, child. You just come along to give advice. Master Bran see you doing work and he'll have a fit. You let these young girls do that what ain't got no baby in their belly. You just sit yourself down and take it easy!"

Heather looked about the empty room and laughed.

"Just where am I supposed to sit, Hatti? They've taken all the chairs out."

"Well, we'll just find you one, and you make yourself comfortable."

Heather was soon seated in a well-worn rocker before the dingy front windows with a book in her lap. Hatti bustled off and she was once more alone. She tried to read for a while in the dim light filtering through the grime and the filthy drapes, then out of curiosity wet her finger and brushing the drapery aside, ran it across a pane, leaving a clear streak in the dirt. She closed the book and rose in determination and soon had torn down the dirt-rotted drapes, and equipped with bucket and rag, was busily scrubbing away at the windows. She had climbed on a straight chair which she had brought in and was washing the upper panes when Brandon came through the front door. He took one look at her on the chair and didn't waste time with words. He strode up behind her and swooped her up in his arms, startling her so she cried out in alarm.

"And just what did you think you were doing?" he demanded.