White Dreams (12 page)

Grady glanced at the battered black woman. “What is your name?”

“Hattie,
monsieur.
” She met his gaze without flinching.

“Hattie, are you telling the truth?”

“Yes, sir. My husband, my son and I were set free.”

“That should be easy to verify,” Manning volunteered. “I can check that out. It looks like a good thing I was here.”

Grady nodded. “All right, Charles.” He turned to where Langley stood. “Thank you for your offer, but it looks like we can handle it from here.”

The other man nodded and then turned to head off down the walk. “Y’all take care now.” Giving him a wave, Grady, Star and Charles helped Hattie over to where Zac was watching over Renny and Morning Moon. The luggage was piled nearby.

Star’s daughter ran forward, her long black hair streaming out behind her. “You are unhurt?”

“I am fine, my daughter.”

“You sure were brave, Star.” Renny’s eyes were round with awe.

Grady cuffed Renny gently. “She was foolish,” he said, but his voice dropped an octave, and he couldn’t hide the pride leaking through. “Brave, but foolish.” With that, he strode off and oversaw the loading of their possessions.

During the drive from the wharf, Star tended the deep gash on Hattie’s forehead as best she could. When the coach stopped, she glanced out the window. They were stopped in front of a large white house.

Renny bounced off the seat. “We’re home, Star. This is where we live.” She jumped from the coach. “Come on, Matilda.” They ran to the house. The front doors opened and a servant waited on the top step.

Grady jumped down. He reached in and held out his hand for Star.

Star gulped and stared at the enormous white house with green trim. Four round columns as wide as tree trunks framed the wide front door. Her awed gaze roamed over a sloping roofline, windows of several different sizes and shapes, sharp angles, intricate curves and details carved into wood unlike anything she’d ever seen. “This is where you live?” The sizes of the buildings they’d passed since leaving the wharf should have warned her, but nothing could have prepared her for this grandeur. Compared to Wolf s cabin, this was unimaginable. Her head twisted from side to side as she tried to absorb her surroundings.

She stepped down onto a street wide enough for at least four or five coaches abreast of one another. Between her and the house, a neatly tended lawn edged with spring blooms, full shrubs and tall trees gave the front of the house a somewhat pastoral setting. But the house itself defied all description. Star tipped her head back, trying to take it all in at once. Glass panes set in sharp-angled windows on either side of the house caught and reflected the midmorning sunlight.

Suddenly, a door onto a landing framed by black wrought iron, high above the front door, swung open. Renny and Morning Moon stepped out. Renny leaned over the edge, but Morning Moon stayed back. “Come on, Star! Come see my room.”

Morning Moon waved from her safe distance. “
Ina!
You must come see. It is pink. Lots of pink. And Weshawee’s sleeping room is as big as she said. All our family could fit inside of it.”

“I’ll see Hattie settled,” Charles said, gently leading the woman toward the house.

Grady offered Star Dreamer his arm. “Welcome to my home, Star.” Behind them, Zeke and his brothers arrived in the wagon bearing a mound of trunks and their horses. “Shall we?”

Star nodded and allowed Grady to lead her up steep steps to where the servant stood, stiff and silent in a dark blue-and-white shirt. His matching jacket had shiny gold buttons and trim.

“I am Jeffers, your footman,” he introduced himself to Grady. “Mr. Manning hired me, sir.”

“Thank you, Jeffers. Ask the maid he has hired to bring tea and refreshment to the drawing room.”

“Right away, sir.”

Star listened to the exchange with half an ear. Eager to see the inside of the house, she stepped inside—and into another world. Her mouth gaped open.

The foyer was huge. A staircase curved upward before her, and as she looked about she found four tall doors to her left, two to her right and another set in the back wall.

A small round table stood to her right, holding a huge vase of flowers. Other arrangements sat on a long, narrow table leaning against the staircase. Everywhere she looked, there was furniture. Some of the pieces had white cloths atop them, others a thin white stone fitted to the table shape. On every surface, objects were arranged.

Everything was as Renny and Emma had described. Star bent down to touch the dark, gleaming floor. It felt cool to her fingers. Standing, she grazed the smooth walls with her gloved fingers. From the waist down, the walls were brown. Above, they’d been painted a creamy white. A wide band of a darker brown, painted in an intricate design over the pale wall, separated the two. Along the ceiling and floor, polished wood added warmth to the room’s decor.

“I never imagined,” she said, turning to Grady. “I feel so small and insignificant standing here.” She glanced up at the ceiling high above her, awed by the chandelier and the ornate molding.

“This is the foyer.” Grady smiled, hanging his hat on a brass hook set into a tall wooden object to their left. I think it is meant to make guests feel that way.”

Between two doors to her left, Star spotted a large piece of furniture. It had a mirror in the center and tiny shelves on either side. She glanced in the mirror and shook her head. “Your people must really like to study their images,” she said.

Her cabin aboard the
Annabella
had boasted a mirror, as had the dining room and the grand salon. Since she’d never been terribly concerned with how she looked before, it took her by surprise to see her reflection so often.

Beside her, Grady’s laughter rang out. In the glass, wide eyes—her own—stared back at her. She grinned and spun around. It was fun to study one’s own image, she admitted, but one should not do so for too long. She swept her gaze around the room once more. More objects of various size and color sat on nearby shelves and begged to be picked up and examined. But she would do that later.

The sound of pounding feet and calls for her to hurry warned of the girls’ impatience. Grady gripped her elbow. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs. Then I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

Taking a deep breath, Star placed one hand on Grady’s arm and the other on the smooth wood of the banister and climbed. Richly detailed carpeting made their steps silent. At the top of the stairs, before the landing and after, two vases nearly as tall as children sat in the curved alcoves.

To her surprise, although Grady had predicted it, as soon as they left the landing and could no longer see below, the house became less ornate. The dark, decorated band along the wall turned to a plain solid color and the carpet was one of blue hemp.

Star found herself oddly pleased by that.

Grady wandered through the downstairs after leaving Star in the kitchen with Thomas, the cook, three young maids, Jeffers and Hattie. Of all the rooms he’d shown her, the kitchen fascinated her the most. She’d looked in every drawer, cupboard and bin at least twice, exclaiming at the amount of food to be found. She’d even opened the oven doors and made the cook, a nephew of Charles’s own, explain how the stove worked.

Of Renny and Morning Moon, Grady hadn’t seen either little girl in an hour. They were still in their bedroom.

Zeb, Zeke and Zac were out in the carriage house, settling in the horses and seeing to the condition of his carriage and wagons.

“Ah, peace and quiet.” He sighed, eager for some time to sit and absorb the fact that he was home at last.

Home.
His home. Passing a closed door down the hall from the den, he hesitated. Then, slowly, he opened it. From the doorway, his gaze followed a beam of sunlight streaming inside from a tall window down to the rug before the fireplace.

He swallowed hard, suddenly besieged with memories. He recalled cradling his wife in his arms as they sat before a roaring fire. She’d always hated the use of wood stoves; she loved to watch the flames lick at the logs of wood in a fireplace. She’d loved it so much, she’d even painted the fire screen that still sat before the hearth.

This had been her sitting room, the place where she spent most of her time—sewing or entertaining her closest friends. Off to the right, a sliding wooden partition separated this room from the den. Taking a deep breath, his gaze went to the painting above the marble mantel.

“Margaret Mary,” he whispered, staring up into the misty-green eyes. The portrait captured their love, laughter and mischief. Examining it, Grady saw the similarity between Renny and her mother. Now, from across the room, the woman in the painting smiled tenderly down on him.

Nine years had passed since he had set foot in this room, laid eyes on her beauty, but it still felt like yesterday. The last time had been just before he’d fled, and he’d come inside to beg her to forgive him for leaving their daughters behind.

He entered and waited for the pain, the raw welling of grief, the despair to overwhelm him. Sadness and regret filled him, for what had been denied them both, but nothing more. He held his breath and waited. The terrible pain didn’t come.

Shocked and a bit shaken, he realized that his devastating pain was gone. Grief had been a part of him for so long, he wasn’t sure how to react without it. Had something so simple as coming home taken the pain away? No. With sudden insight, he realized that things had changed long before he’d stepped back into his home.

But when? When had he ceased to feel the anger, resentment and pain that simply thinking about Margaret Mary used to bring forth?

Since meeting Star.

The Indian beauty’s image glided across his mind. Then he saw both women, compared them. Each was so different, each had so much to offer. Star’s petite frame, sad smile, haunted eyes and quiet nature contrasted sharply with Margaret Mary’s larger-than-life persona. Maggie had boasted love of life, easy laughter and a wonderful way of filling a room—and the hearts of all those around her—with music and laughter. But Star did that for him.

Grady tensed, expecting a return of the guilt, of the feeling that he was betraying his deceased wife’s memory by bringing another woman into her house. Indeed, something in his heart moved, but not what he expected. A wall crumbled, releasing long-held feelings, allowing fresh air to circulate in his soul. He felt light, free. And suddenly unsure of himself.

Stunned by his revelations, he backed away. He’d loved Margaret Mary. Theirs had been a once-in-a-lifetime love. He’d loved her during the years of their marriage and for nine years following her death. He’d vowed on her grave that if he couldn’t have her, he’d have no one.

But had things changed?

Though he’d known he was attracted to Star, that something about her drew him, he’d been sure that once he stood here, in this very spot, it would fade before the love and happiness he’d known with Margaret Mary. But it hadn’t. Instead, what he’d felt for his wife had faded. He had the sudden urge to weep, but he fought it off.

Was he falling in love with Star?
No!
His mind rejected it even as his heart lifted at the thought. It was impossible.

But you kissed her. You enjoyed it. You wanted more,
he accused himself.

The taunting voice in his head betrayed him, brought forth memories of their kiss, the feel of her lips moving beneath his, the sweet taste of her on his tongue. An intense hunger struck, leaving him shaken, weak. Passion had flared between them, but they had restrained it. How would it be if they both gave that passion free rein?

Incredible. Wild. Consuming.

“No. It was just a kiss,” he whispered.
Just a kiss.
It had been a temptation brought on by the romantic setting; stars, water and the gentle rocking motion of the deck beneath their feet, all had contributed. And her beauty had been irresistible.

“It was nothing more,” he said again, louder this time. But the volume couldn’t erase the truth. Star was a gentle woman who saw with more than her eyes. Her wisdom and insight combined with her humor and bold outlook on life had already endeared her to him…or more.

Like the coward he was, he ran—back to his den, away from the emotional onslaught. There, in his domain, he would rebuild his barriers.

As he shut himself inside, he ran for the cabinet.
Ah, thank you, Charles!
The man had kept him stocked. Pouring an inch of brandy into a snifter, he took a sip.

Zeke’s voice drew him from his worried contemplations. “Ma’am, you can’t just barge in on the colonel!”

The door burst open with the huge scout falling into the room. A tall, thin, determined woman had shoved past him as if he were no more than an annoying gnat.

“Grady! I didn’t believe it when Cook said she’d heard you were back.”

“I tried to stop her, sir.” Zeke eyed Hester Mae with a baleful glare.

Hester Mae hurried toward Grady, her arms outstretched as if to embrace him in greeting. He moved behind his desk and sat. “Good afternoon, Hester Mae. I’ll handle it from here, Zeke.” Grady gave the man a motion of dismissal.

He wasn’t up to dealing with his unwanted visitor, yet he had no choice.

Hester Mae moved closer to his desk. “Why didn’t you send word of your arrival? I could have met you, and seen to your house.” Her shrill voice held a note of censure.

“My solicitor saw to it.” He poured another glass of brandy and indicated the chair positioned to one side of the desk.

Hester Mae sat on the edge of the chair, but as the sound of running feet pattered above her head, she jumped up and clapped her hands to her scant bosom. “Ah,” she cried, “my nieces have returned! You found them!” She turned, watching the door.

“Do forgive me, Grady. I had no idea they’d run off so foolishly. Had I known, I’d have stopped them, of course; of that you can be sure. I do hope you scolded Emma for her impetuous behavior.” She stopped to draw in a breath of air.

Grady steepled his fingers, recalling just why Emma had left the way she had. “Emma did what she thought was right. I understand that you were threatening to take Renny from her.”