After the Storm (17 page)

“That was wonderful, Samuel,” she said beneath the clapping and conversation swirling around the room.

“An attorney learns how to sway opinion.”

“I hope you have.”

He stretched his arm along the back of the seat again. “I do, too. This matters more than words can say.” His fingers curved around her shoulder, not quite touching her but creating a bond between the two of them and the children.

Reverend Faulkner grinned as he went back to the desk. “Thank you, Samuel. As always, you focus on the crux of the issue.” He glanced around the room. “Does anyone else wish to speak before we adjourn? No? Then—”

“May I add to the discourse?” asked Mr. Thanington, rising.

Reverend Faulkner hesitated, glancing at Samuel, then nodded. “Of course, my lord.”

Cailin bit her lower lip to keep from calling out that the man was no more worthy of the title of lord than she was, but she quieted the children, who were excited about the response to Samuel's words. She looked at Samuel, but his eyes were aimed directly at Mr. Thanington.

“Thank you, Reverend Faulkner.” He gripped the lapels of his coat and struck a pose Cailin thought more appropriate for a statue. “I know I'm a newcomer to your fair village—”

Cailin tried not to roll her eyes. This man was as pompous as Lord Messier, who owned the land and the village where she had lived. The few times he had come to the great stone hulk of a castle that overlooked the sea, he had made a royal progress through the village to make sure no one failed to recognize him as the lord and master of his domain.

“But I do have some insights I'd like to share. First, you should know I agree with Mr. Jennings. A library is of primary importance to a village like Haven.” His smile was aimed at embracing everyone in the meeting room. “That is why I wish to make an offer to your library committee.”

Heads swivelled as whispers filled the schoolroom, but Cailin stared at Mr. Thanington. Lottie murmured something. Hushing her, Cailin waited to hear what the Englishman was going to say next. She was grateful he had not tried to undermine Samuel's comments, but she could not trust a fraud.

“I would like to speak with them first about it, of course,” Mr. Thanington went on, “but, as money seems to be a common concern, I believe what I have to say to them will ease that problem.”

More whispers rushed through the room. Cailin glanced at Samuel, and he raised that single eyebrow. She fought not to laugh. He saw, as she did, that Mr. Thanington was as bloated with self-importance as a Christmas goose.

Reverend Faulkner stepped forward to announce that the meeting was over and to thank everyone for attending. The buzz of questions and suppositions flowed out of the schoolhouse with the villagers.

“Cailin,” Samuel said as he stood and held out his hand to help her to her feet, “I need to hear Thanington's offer before we leave.”

“Don't you mean
Lord
Thanington?”

He chuckled. “I'll keep that in mind.” Motioning with his head, he said, “Noah, a moment of your time, if you would.”

“I wouldn't miss this for all the water in the Mississippi.”

Keeping the children from following the two men who went to talk by a back window, Cailin glanced out the window as lightning flashed. She waited for the sound of thunder. It was no closer. The storm must be going around them, as others had since she had arrived. If just one would come through Haven, it certainly would wash away the sticky air.

She sent the wiggling youngsters to the blackboard on the side of the room, where they could entertain themselves with whatever small pieces of chalk they found. Wandering around the schoolroom, making certain she did not come too close to where Mr. Thanington was again surrounded by awed villagers, she glanced toward a shelf with a row of thin books set beneath a line of letters. She wondered if it was a long word, then saw none of the letters repeated. This must be an alphabet. She stared at it, for she had never seen all the letters arranged like this. She would ask Brendan to explain to her when Samuel was not nearby.

“Mrs. Rafferty, do you want to look at our readers?” asked a woman dressed in unrelieved black.

“Are you Miss Underhill, the children's teacher?” She tried to hide her consternation at talking to a teacher. She had to be careful to pick intelligent-sounding words, or her own lack of education was certain to be obvious.

“Yes.” She smiled. “I'd be glad to show you what work your children were doing before the school closed for the summer. As you may know, I shan't be teaching in the fall because I'm getting married soon.” Her smile grew warmer as she looked at a young man standing by the door.

Cailin wanted to sigh with relief. Here was the excuse she needed to keep the teacher from discovering that this was the first time Cailin had ever been in a schoolhouse. “I don't want to take any of your time, Miss Underhill, when you must be eager to spend time with your beau.”

“Barry is accustomed to me lingering here in the schoolhouse.” She laughed. “If I were to continue teaching after our wedding, I believe he might be less patient.” Taking down a book from the shelf, she said, “This is what Megan has been reading.” She turned a few pages and smiled. “Yes. She has read this far. As you can see, she has made slow but steady progress.” She handed the book to Cailin and reached for another. “I've been pushing Brendan a bit harder so he can catch up with the others his age. Both children are good students and eager to learn as much as they can.”

Cailin looked down at the page. Megan could read all of this? She listened as Miss Underhill spoke about what Brendan had been learning. The page in his book had many more words.

“You've got every reason to be so proud of them, Mrs. Rafferty,” the schoolteacher said as she put the books back among the others on the shelf.

“I am proud of them. Thank you for all you've helped them to learn.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. Rafferty. Good evening.” She went to where the young man waited.

Taking down the book Megan had been reading, Cailin sat on the closest bench and slowly turned the pages. The line drawings were simple. She guessed the words described the picture. Lottie came and rested on her lap while Cailin kept looking at the book. She ran her fingers over the combinations of letters which meant nothing to her. The letters blurred as tears filled her eyes. Her children knew how to read.

“Ready to go?” asked Samuel quietly. He put his finger to his lips when she started to answer. Pointing down, he whispered, “I think she had too much library meeting.” He bent and picked up Lottie.

She stood. Sliding the book back among the others, she put her hand on his arm to adjust his hold on the little girl. Something about seeing this powerfully masculine man being so gentle with the child warmed her. Simply touching him allowed her to share that invisible sweetness. Her eyes widened as his arm moved to clamp her fingers between it and his body. The twinkle in his eyes dared her to pull away. She laughed softly. Let him think he had daunted her, but the truth was, she was glad for any excuse to be close to him. Denying that would be futile.

During the ride back to the farm and while they worked together to get the children to bed, Cailin wanted to pour out her heart to Samuel. Her eyes filled with tears again as she listened to Brendan read a story to Megan while Lottie slept. Tomorrow, she would ask him to show her this book and ask him some questions that might unlock the magic of reading for her.

She brought two glasses of lemonade into the parlor where Samuel was sitting. For once, he was not reading his newspaper, although it sat beside him on the table.

Thanking her for the glass, he drew her down to sit beside him on the sofa. “I can't believe Lottie never woke up through the jostling ride and Brendan's reading.”

“She was sound asleep.”

“It'd be nice to be so oblivious to everything else in the world.” He took a drink, then bent to pull off his boots. Wiggling his toes, he said, “I think I've stepped on every rock in that cornfield in the last two days.”

Putting her glass on the table, she knelt by the sofa. His socks scratched her palms as she rubbed his toes between her hands.

“You don't have to do that, Cailin.”

At the embarrassment in his voice, she looked up to see a baffled expression on his face. “Does it help?”

“More than you can know.”

“Good.” She lowered her eyes as she asked, “What did Mr. Thanington have to say?”

“I don't want to talk about that now.” He caught her by the shoulders and drew her up to sit beside him. “I want this.”

His mouth slanted across hers, and she gladly went into his arms. Her fingers sifted through his thick hair. It sprinkled through her fingers, setting each throbbing with longing. No, a desire … a need to give the same joy to him. It was all of those and more.

So many things she wanted to ask him, so many she yearned to tell him. Every thought was stifled by the escalating beat of her pulse.

She sighed as his lips touched her cheek. She curved her arms up his back when his mouth over hers pressed her against the strength of his embrace. She exulted in the brawny breadth of his chest against her.

When he leaned her back into the sofa, she brought him atop her. Her fingers crept beneath his shirt to explore his firm muscles. At her touch, his breath burned into her mouth, mingling with her fevered gasps, igniting the passion that had refused to lie quiescent since he had roused it. His lips swept along her throat, sparking pleasure on each brief caress, and she whispered his name softly. To be with him and in his arms was heavenly.

Her joy erupted into a blazing craving when his fingers roved upward along her bodice. Shimmering sensations rippled through her as she clung to him, overpowered by his touch. Her fingers tightened on his back as his fingertip roamed in a meandering path along her breast.

The virile lines of his body sent her deeper into the cushions, surrounding her with the rapture she had despaired of ever feeling again.

Again?

With a moan, Cailin pushed him aside far enough so she could scramble from the sofa.

He sat up and asked, “Cailin?”

“No,” she said quietly. “No, this is wrong.”

“You
are wrong.” He pulled her back down into his arms and curved a finger back up over her breast. When she sighed with delight, he whispered, “This is right.”

“I can't!” She jumped to her feet.

He grasped her arm, keeping her from fleeing. “Cailin, you're frightened. It can't be from these few kisses. What's wrong?”

“This is wrong. You and me.”

“You're lying.” He scowled. “Tell me the truth!”

From the corner of her eye, she saw a hand rise. Time collapsed on itself, and she was being held by another man who was upset with her. Not upset, furious. Lifting up her other arm to protect her head, she cried, “Don't!”

Samuel released her, horrified to see this proud woman cowering before him when he had been about to put his fingers to her cheek to comfort her. As she sank to the sofa, hiding her face in the seat, he squatted down beside her.

“Cailin?” he whispered. “Cailin, what is it? Who hit you?” Even as he spoke the words he wanted to believe could not be true, a rage threatened to strangle him as he wished his fingers could be around the neck of the person who had struck her.

Her fingers settled on her right arm. “Abban—”

“Your husband?” Disgust sent nausea through him. He wanted her to deny that her husband—the father of the children he loved—had beat her.

“Yes, but only a few times.”

“Only a few? How many times would have been too many?”

“I don't know.”

“I do. Even once is too many. The children never said anything about this.”

She raised her head and dampened her lips. “I don't think they knew. It never happened when they were nearby, other than that last night when I asked him to take all of us with him to America.” She shuddered. “I never had seen him so angry, although there had been whispers of him being involved in fights at the tavern and making threats. I discounted them as drunken tales until that night. Maybe I was foolish to insist we continue the discussion outside, away from the children.”

His hand beneath hers cradled her right arm as he brought her up to sit against him. “And he hurt you?”

“He was furious.”

“How bad did he hurt you?”

Running her fingers along her forearm, she whispered, “He broke this.”

Samuel swore. “You forgave him for
that
?”

“He apologized, begging my forgiveness and blaming his anxiety at the long sea voyage through a wintry sea, as well as his despair at leaving me and the children behind. I forgave him. What else could I do when he was leaving for America?”

“And you followed so he could beat you some more?”

“I had planned to tell him that he must change, but I never thought about leaving him.” She looked toward the stairs. “He was the father of my children. I had to think of them. I thought they'd have a better life in America.”

“Did you have to think of the children?”

She gasped. “Of course I did.”

“Maybe,” he said, cupping her chin in his hand, “just maybe once you should think about Cailin Rafferty.” He stroked her cheek. “And maybe you should think about the fact that I would never hit a woman, no matter how much provocation she gives me.”

Drawing her into his arms, he tasted her trembling lips before she could ask the questions he saw in her eyes. He must not think of the past or the future when, if she had her way, she would find the money to leave with the children.

As she stood and bid him good night, he wanted to laugh. A sad laugh, for he knew neither of them could take his advice. He might want her, and she might long for him, but the fear of losing the children stood between them … and would not be moved.