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To come downstairs after the sleepless hours haunted by the nightmare made more powerful by her return and to see him there...she paused and pressed her hands to her stomach as the knots twisted tight again. Cole’s likeness to his brother unnerved her. And try as she would, she could not ignore his presence—the man dominated a room. She would be thankful when he was gone, though it was clear after last night that he would defy her request. It had to be her grandfather who told him to leave. She would have to find a reason.
She lifted the lamps off the mantel in the dining room and carried them back to the table beneath the window in the butler’s pantry. She’d learned long ago that plunging into work the morning after having the nightmare was the best way to bury her fears. Being in control of something drove away the feeling of helplessness—and this morning that helpless feeling was overwhelming. And not only from the nightmare.
It pained her to see her grandfather’s efforts to cope with his infirmities and know there was nothing she could do to make him better. She removed the lamps’ glass chimneys, wiped them with a soft cloth, then turned up the wicks and picked up the silver trimmers. And Nanna...
“I’ve been studying on—” The scrape of a chair against the porch floor drowned out the rest of the words.
Cole. She’d thought he’d gone. She leaned toward the window and peered to her left. Her grandfather sat in a rocker on the porch and Cole Aylward stood leaning against the railing. She drew back lest he see her and took a breath to calm the pounding of her heart the mere sight of the man provoked.
“...best sit here on the porch. That sky doesn’t look too promising, and it smells like rain.”
Her pulse skipped. If they talked on the porch, perhaps she could discover why Cole was being so helpful and—
“What are you doing, sweeting?”
She started, jerked the trimmer handles together and snipped off too much of the wick on the first lamp. “I’m cleaning the lamps from the dining room mantel, Nanna.” She tossed the charred piece of wick into the small trash bucket on the table, adjusted the wick and replaced the cleaned globe, straining to hear the conversation taking place outside. Her grandfather’s halting words were difficult to understand, and Cole Aylward’s deep voice was hard to hear, but she dared not open the window lest they become aware that she was eavesdropping.
“What holds your interest?” Her grandmother frowned and moved into the pantry.
“Nothing, Nanna.” She quickly cleaned and trimmed the second lamp and stepped away from the table. “I’m finished.”
“What cost...buy...one?”
Buy what? She tilted her head toward the window.
“I’ll help you carry the lamps, Sadie.” Her grandmother bustled to her side, lifted one of the lamps in her small, pudgy hands and moved toward the doorway to the dining room. “Come along.”
She snatched up the other lamp and followed, wishing she could have waited to hear what her grandfather was considering buying. What had Cole Aylward suggested? What was he after?
Her grandmother set the lamp on the fireplace, turned it just so, stepped back and looked up at her. “I’m so glad you’ve returned.”
The smile brightening her nanna’s dear face brought a surge of guilt. She should have come home years ago. Willa and Callie had both written of how much her grandmother missed her, of the sadness in her eyes when she spoke of her. Yet she had let her cowardice keep her away. How selfish she was. Well, no more. She was home now and she would make it up to her grandmother. She set the lamp she held on the other end of the mantel, then tugged the bodice of her gown down into place at her waist.
“Turn it so that the knob is on the right, Ivy.”
Ivy? She caught her breath and turned.
Her grandmother looked up at her, a mild rebuke in her eyes. “I’m not scolding, Ivy. But I should think that after all these years in our service you could remember that little detail.”
Nanna didn’t know her. Something awful took her by the throat, squeezed life from her heart.
“Well, gracious! There’s no reason for tears, Ivy. I said I wasn’t cross with you.” Her grandmother reached out and patted her hand. “Now wipe the tears from your eyes and come along. We’ve the lamps in Mama and Papa’s room to tend to.”
* * *
“It’s something to think about, Manning.” Cole yanked his gaze from the dining room window—for the third time. Or, to be more accurate, from the slender, shapely young woman he could see through the glass.
“Cost...ly.”
He frowned, braced himself with his extended left leg, shifted his weight onto his right hip and rested his thigh along the railing. “Yes. But no one else in the area has a clapboard machine. I think it will pay for itself with the first few loads we ship downriver.”
The fading brown eyes took on a speculative gleam. Manning swept his hand through the air. “Big mar...ket.”
The show of enthusiasm brought a smile to his lips. It seemed he might have found a way to get the afflicted man excited and involved in his businesses again. “Very big. I’ve been doing some letter writing. There’s no other supplier of machine-milled clapboard from Olville to Buffalo. And none I could find a trace of from here to Pittsburgh.”
He twisted front and leaned forward. “You’d be the first, Manning. The other timber companies will still be riving clapboard by hand, and you know shaving them clean is a slow process. They wouldn’t be able to compete with your time or price.”
He stared down at his hands dangling in the open space between his legs. Big hands. Strong and powerful from felling trees and making shakes and clapboard. Payne had big, powerful hands, too. He glanced back up at the window and watched Sadie turn from placing a lamp on the fireplace mantel. So lithe and graceful. So unable to defend herself.
Stop it! He clenched his jaw so hard the muscle along the bone twitched. He couldn’t throw away four years of effort and hard work because he felt guilty for something that was not his doing.
Lightning flashed white brilliance through the air. Thunder rumbled a warning of things to come. The approaching storm seemed an ominous omen. He pushed off the railing, looked up at the darkened sky and turned to Manning. “I’d best take you inside before the storm hits.”
“No.” Manning’s face worked; his eyes flashed as brilliant as had the lightning. His good hand fisted on his knee. “Stay here. Like...storms.”
“All right. If it gets too bad, I’ll come back and take you in.” He turned toward the steps at another flash of lightning. “You think about the clapboard machine, and we’ll discuss it more tonight.”
Raindrops angled down from the black clouds rolling in, splatted in a halfhearted warning on the wooden steps, made dark wet splotches on the slate stones of the garden path. “Looks like this is going to be a soaker.” He stole another look at the window. Sadie was not in sight. Disappointment pricked him. He frowned, tugged the collar of his shirt up to cover the back of his neck, trotted down the steps and set off down the path.
* * *
Lightning flashed through the room. Thunder rumbled. Sadie replaced the glass chimney on the lamp she’d lit, glanced at her grandmother serenely dusting the serving table for the third time and started for the door. “I’ll see if Mr. Aylward is still here to bring—”
“Sadie.” She halted, startled by the ring of authority in her grandmother’s voice. “Cole Aylward is our good friend. You are to call him by his given name, as you do Daniel. Do you understand?”
Did she mean it? Or was she lost in her own world? She searched her grandmother’s eyes for that opaque look she was beginning to recognize and nodded. “Yes, of course, Nanna, if that is what you wish.”
“It is. Cole doesn’t take you off on dangerous adventures the way Daniel does. Now, you’d best hold the door for Cole. He’ll be bringing Manning inside.”
She nodded, swallowed back tears at the way her grandmother slipped in and out of the present, wished with her whole heart she could help her. Lightning flashed again. She opened the porch door, then stared agape. “He’s gone.”
Irritation flared. She stepped out onto the porch, heard the soft splat of raindrops, felt the freshness of a quickening breeze on her face and hands. How would she get her grandfather inside? She cast a sidelong glance at him, worrying over the problem. Perhaps the rockers would slide...
Her grandfather chuckled. His eyes twinkled with humor, crinkled at the corners. Her own mouth pulled up into a grin, tugged there by the chortling sound that accompanied so many of her happy childhood memories.
“Can’t...do it. Too...heavy...for you.”
Her amusement fled. “Don’t worry, Poppa. I’ll get you inside someway.” She cast an angry glance toward the garden path and stepped toward him. “Mr. Ayl—” she glanced at her grandmother standing in the doorway “—Cole never should have left you out—”
“Stay here!”
She stopped and stared at her grandfather, taken aback by his sharp tone. He reached out his good hand and took hold of hers.
“Not...child.” His face worked; his hand squeezed hers. “Told Cole...leave me. Like...storms.”
Not child. How humiliating for a proud, independent man like her grandfather to have to accept the care, the control of others. She swallowed hard and pushed back a tendril of hair the wind had plucked free of the thick coil of hair at her crown. “I’m sorry, Poppa. I should have asked your wishes.”
“You keep Poppa company, Sadie. I’ve work to do. Don’t go off the porch now.” Her grandmother smiled and stepped back into the dining room.
She stared at the closed door, aching with the need to have her grandmother and grandfather well, to have everything the way it was. “I remember, now that you’ve mentioned it, how much you like storms, Poppa. It used to frighten me when you would stand out here on the porch with the lightning flashing and the thunder crashing.” She turned from the door and forced a smile onto her face. “I was usually huddled up on the settee with Nanna.”
He tugged her closer, laid his cheek against her hand. “I...miss her...too.”
“Oh, Poppa...” She sank to her knees, placed her head against his knee and snagged her lip with her teeth to keep from crying. “Is there nothing Dr. Palmer can do to help Nanna get better? Can’t he give her some sort of medicine, or—” Her throat constricted, closed off the flow of words.
Her grandfather shook his head, his mouth working. “Some...thing in her...mind shuts...off...now and then. Doc can’t...stop it. Sorry, Sa...die.” He rested his big, work-worn hand on her hair, and she closed her eyes and imaged him whole and well and for a moment her world righted itself.
The wind gusted, snatching at her skirts. A door banged. Banged again. Her grandfather tensed. She looked up.
“Stable...door.” A frown knit his gray brows together. “Wind break...it.”
“I’ll go close it, Poppa.” She rose and shook out her long skirts.
“Lightning...”
She pushed out a small laugh and shook her head. “I’m not afraid of thunderstorms anymore.” It isn’t nature that hurts you, it’s men. “I’ll be right back.” She lifted her hems and ran down the steps, veered left onto the path that led to the stable. The wind blew her skirts against her legs. Raindrops spattered on her hair and shoulders, chilled her bowed neck.
She grabbed hold of the stable door with both hands and tugged with all of her strength to pull it closed against the rising force of the wind. It moved after a momentary lull, and she planted her feet and backed toward the gaping stable doorway, hauling the big, heavy door with her.
Lightning snapped, sizzling to the earth in a yellow streak. Sulfur stung her nose. Thunder clapped and the rain came—a wild, stinging deluge driven by the wind that snatched the door from her grasp. “Oh!” She ducked her head and jumped inside.
Raindrops drummed on the shakes overhead. The wind whistled across the open doorway and banged the door back against the building again. She stared in dismay at the heavy fall of water pouring off the roof to splash against the ground and tried to work up enough courage to go out and try again to drag that heavy door closed. And then it didn’t matter.
A large figure loomed in the opening, then pulled the door closed, shutting out the splashing curtain of water. Lightning flashed through the windows in a watery shimmer, shone on the rain-slick rubber jacket and glittered on the wet, black beard and dark gray eyes of Cole Aylward.
Chapter Four
Ice spilled down her spine, flowed into her arms and legs and froze her in place. Sadie stared at Cole Aylward, saw the image that haunted her nights. His black beard bobbed and his lips moved, but no words penetrated the glacial wall of fear.
“Did you hear me, Miss Spencer? Your poppa sent me to bring you to the house.”
His raised voice crumbled the ice, broke through her numbed senses. Poppa? How dare he use her pet name for her grandfather! A quaking took her, so strong, so furious in intensity her long skirts shook. “Don’t you call him that!”
“Look, Miss Spencer—” He took a step toward her. A towering shadow in the dim light.
She gasped and jerked back, her spurt of defiance dead.
He jolted to a halt and a heavy breath escaped him.
Light flashed on something in his hand. She caught a glimpse of a knob on the object he held before he turned and leaned it against the wall, shrugged out of his rubber jacket and tossed it on top of a nearby feed chest.
No, Almighty God, no! Not again. Her heart thudded. She stared at his hands, raised hers to cover her arms where his brother’s hard fingers had dug into her flesh as he threw her to the ground. Memory froze her lungs. A prickly warmth flooded her body, and the room swam in a slow, sickening circle, the edges turning dark, closing in.
Lightning snapped, startled her from the encroaching darkness. Thunder shook the building and rattled the windowpanes. She shook her head to clear away the fuzziness, forced strength into her quivering legs and edged backward, not daring to take her gaze off Cole.
“I came back because the storm worsened and I wanted to get Manning inside before he got soaked by the driving rain. He sent me after you—told me to tell you your poppa had sent me so you wouldn’t be frightened. That was his word, not mine.”
Did he think her a fool? If that were true, why would he remove his rain jacket? She needed a weapon. Something. Anything! She stretched her right hand backward, groped through the space behind her.
“Obviously, that didn’t work.” He turned toward her, lifted his hands.
She whirled to run, spotted a hay fork and snatched it from its place in the corner then spun back, the wooden tines extended toward him. Rain beat on the roof. Lightning flickered, and thunder rumbled. The horse in the stall behind her snorted and pawed at the floor.
Tension quivered on the air. Cole stared at her, silent and still, slowly tugged his shirt collar up around his neck and lowered his hands. “I’ve told you, I am not my brother, Miss Spencer. I abhor what he did to you. But I am at a loss as to how to convince you of that. Perhaps time is the only answer.” His voice, deep and quiet, blended with the drumming overhead. He turned, gestured toward his rain jacket. “That should keep you dry. Please hurry back to the house. Your grandmother is worried about you.”
She watched, wary and disbelieving, as he shoved open the door, ducked his head and stepped out into the gray deluge. What was he doing? She stared at the door, waited. It remained closed. The heavy thudding of her heart eased. Her racing pulse slowed. She dropped the hay rake, moved forward on shaky legs and stared down at the object he’d left behind. A furled umbrella with a brass knob in the form of a drake’s head.
Your grandfather sent me after you.
Was it true? She picked up her grandfather’s umbrella, held it against her chest and sagged back against the wall. Why would her grandfather do such a thing when he knew what had happened to her? Why would he send Cole Aylward, of all people, to come after her when she was alone and defenseless? Had her grandfather’s reason, also, been affected by his seizure? Or was Cole lying?
She closed her eyes, fought the clinging fog of weariness and fear. What could she do? She was helpless against Cole Aylward’s strength and unequal to an Aylward’s cunning ways. She tightened her grip on the umbrella and wrapped her arms around herself in a futile effort to stop the inward quivering, the outward shivering. “Heavenly Father, You know I’m not strong enough or brave enough to fight him. I can’t do this. Give me strength and courage and wisdom, I pray.”
Her choked, whispered plea was swallowed by the sound of the rain that pounded on the shakes overhead and slapped against the outside of the wall behind her. She opened her eyes and stared down at the rainwater that seeped under the door and trickled across the thick puncheons into the dark interior, trying to understand, to grasp what Cole was after. He had to have a reason for the care he was giving her grandfather. Was it money? Payne had stolen the money from her grandfather’s desk at the mill before he had—
A shudder passed through her. She shoved the memory away and thought about the conversation she’d overheard. Cole wanted her grandfather to buy something. It had to be Poppa’s money he wanted. That would explain why he was working to gain her grandfather’s trust—or knowledge of where he kept his money.
Her face tightened. The thought of her grandfather being duped because of his weakened state brought strength. She shoved away from the wall, partially opened the umbrella and waited for another lull in the wind, then slipped outside and slammed the door closed again, leaving Cole’s raincoat lying on the chest. She would rather be soaked to the bone than touch a garment that belonged to him.
* * *
The stable door banged.
At last. Cole pressed back into the darkness against the wall and watched Sadie run for the house, the umbrella she held bucking and flapping in the buffeting wind, the pouring rain soaking into her dress, turning the fabric black in the dim, stormy light.
No rain jacket. He needn’t have bothered leaving it for her. He should have simply left her the umbrella and gone home. He scowled and drew back as she gained the porch. There was no need; she didn’t even glance toward the end where he stood, merely hurried inside.
He pulled his wet collar tight against the back of his neck, crossed the porch and trotted down the steps. The wind plastered his wet pants to his legs, blew his shirt flat against his chest and fluttered and slapped the sides of it against his ribs. Rain soaked through the fabric and chilled his skin. He shivered and sprinted to the stable, water splashing from beneath his boots.
The wind wrestled him for the door. He forced it open, stepped through and eased it closed, then stood just inside to catch his breath. The smells of grain, hay and dust mingled on the moist air he drew in. A cold drop of water slid down his neck. He snatched his hat from his head, twisted the knit fabric and watched the water flow off his knuckles and splash on the floor.
The horse sniffed, extended its neck over the stall door and whickered.
“Later, girl. It’s not time for your feed.” White light flickered through the windows, gleaming on the garment draped across the feed chest. His jaw clenched. For a frightened, fragile-appearing woman, Sadie Spencer had a strong defiant streak.
He looked down at his hands twisting the knitted cap, eased their grip, tugged the hat back on his head and lifted his raincoat off the chest, his fingers digging into the rubber cloth. His mother had also been defiant and strong—in her own way. And that defiance had cost her her life at his father’s hands. Would Sadie have died by Payne’s hands if that logger hadn’t heard her scream and come running to her aid?
His stomach clenched at a sudden roll of nausea. The look of stark terror on Sadie’s face when he’d stepped through the door and turned toward her was chilling. And the anger of injured innocence, of a person who has had her sense of peace and security torn from her, lurked in the depths of her brown eyes. It was heartrending. How could he ever hope to make that up to her?
A lightning bolt crackled through the rain. Thunder clapped. He stared down at the rubber fabric dangling from his clenched hands and wished it were Payne in his grip.
* * *
They should be asleep by now. Sadie took a firm hold on the oil lamp and walked to the top of the stairs, listened but heard no sound. She thrust the lamp behind her, leaned around the corner and peeked over the railing. The trimmed lamp on the center table spread dim light through the empty entrance hall. The way was clear.
She gripped the railing and eased down the four steps to the landing, turned and started down the longer flight, glanced to her left. The morning-room door was closed, her grandfather’s snoring coming muted through its wood panels. Good. She could check the money box without interruption or explanation.
The soft tap of her slippers blended with the whispered brush of her dressing-gown hem against the polished oak steps as she descended. A loud snort from the morning room froze her at the bottom of the staircase. She held her breath, waited until the snoring resumed, then hurried across the hall into the library. The light from the lamp fell in a golden circle onto the braided rag rug her grandmother had made as a bride. A lump formed in her throat, swelled as she lifted her gaze. This was her favorite room. Poppa’s room.
