Lorraine Heath (19 page)

“We gonna go home now?” Joe asked.

Clay settled his hat on his head and narrowed his eyes. “Nope. We’re gonna finish our wall.”

Both boys released baleful sighs.

“You can work with Lucian if you want to,” Clay said.

“Nah, we’ll work with you,” Josh said.

“In that case—” Clay knelt and placed a hand on each boy’s shoulder. “Remember that rule we have about no swearing until you’re sixteen?”

The twins exchanged suspicious glances and nodded.

“Today’s an exception. Until the sun sets, you can say any swearword you want as often as you want.”

“We can?” Josh asked, excitement at the prospect reflected in his eyes.

“Yep.”

“But we only know one,” Joe said.

“Stay by my side,” Clay said, “and I’ll teach you a few more.”

Meg looked through the opening in the frame at what had once been a partially completed opposite wall. She gazed beyond it to where Clay and the twins had come to an abrupt halt. Around her, the hammers fell into silence as everyone waited to see how Clay would react.

The litany of
go home
raced through her mind. He had but to turn and walk to his wagon.
Take the twins home,
she thought.
Please take the twins home.

He knelt in the field. The next thing she knew the twins were whooping, hollering, and running toward the wall that was little more than air.

With a broad smile, Clay swaggered to the pile of fresh lumber, hefted a board, and carried it to the frame where the twins waited.

Of all the things Clay could have done, the last thing she’d expected him to do was smile. He drove the first nail into the board with such force that Meg felt the frame vibrate where her fingers were touching it.

Tom started whistling and put his hammer into action. One by one, other hammers took up the beat.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Robert said quietly.

“I suppose we could build that wall,” Meg said, tilting her head toward the wall where Clay worked.

Robert gave her a sad smile. “I’d rather be at Shiloh again than have this town’s hatred directed my way. I have hopes of settling here, Meg, and having a family. I don’t want my children playing alone.”

An unspoken hope touched his eyes, and Meg knew he wanted his family to include her. He was young, strong, and resembled Kirk to such a great degree that she wanted to hold his promise in her heart.

He tapped the board he’d set against the frame. “Want to see if we work well together?”

Nodding, Meg knelt and placed her palm flat against the board to keep it in place. Then she positioned the nail. Turning her head slightly, she saw Clay crouching on the other side of the bam. His hat brim shaded his eyes, but she could feel his penetrating gaze riveted on her. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t responsible for what they had done to his side of the barn. She wanted to tell him—

She cried out as a sharp pain shot through her hand and raced up her arm. She saw Clay straighten and step through the opening in the frame. She closed her eyes, willing him not to come to her. If anyone knew how to handle a thumb that had been hit with a hammer, it would be Clay, but she couldn’t explain to the people surrounding her why she wanted Clay’s help instead of theirs. She couldn’t even explain it to herself.

She opened her eyes and sighed with relief. Clay had returned to his side of the barn. She could see his knee jutting beyond the board he’d nailed in place. She knew he was squatting down, his back against the board, his head undoubtedly bowed as he fought not coming to help her. How had she come to know him so well in such a short time?

“Meg, I’m so sorry,” Robert stammered. “I thought I was watching.”

Cradling her hand, Meg forced a smile she didn’t feel. “It’s all right. It doesn’t hurt that badly.”

“Let’s find Dr. Martin and make sure I didn’t break anything.” He slipped his hand beneath her elbow and helped her rise to her feet.

“I’m sure nothing’s broken,” she said, although she wasn’t certain at all.

“Anyone seen Dr. Martin?” Robert asked as they neared the house.

“Last I saw him, he was on the back porch,” Helen said. Robert guided Meg around the corner of the house. Prudence was stomping the earth while Dr. Martin stared at her in bewilderment.

“Why would I want something he made?” she cried. She pressed her finger against Dr. Martin’s chest. “I just wanted to die of embarrassment when I saw you talking to that coward.”

“I talked to a lot of men today, Pru. I don’t recall talking to any coward.”

“That Clayton Holland. You went right over to his wagon—”

“If you see a coward when you look at that young man, then you stop by my office tomorrow, and I’ll fit you with a new pair of spectacles. I wouldn’t weather the hatred of the people in this town even if they promised to make me a rich man, and they’re giving him a hell of a lot less than that.”

She pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose and thrust up her chin. “You needn’t bother to call on me any longer. I won’t be answering your knock.”

She strutted away like an enraged hen. Dr. Martin picked up a mangled twig. “I guess there’s no point in asking her to marry me now.”

“Give her a couple of days,” Meg said. “Everyone seems to have short tempers today.”

“It sure ain’t like the old days. When we gathered, we had a good time and were glad to see one another.” He smiled lightheartedly and slipped the twig into his coat pocket. “Were you looking for me?”

“Yeah, Doc. I slammed a hammer against Meg’s hand,” Robert said.

“Now, why did you do that?” Dr. Martin asked as he gently took Meg’s hand and examined it.

“I was stupid enough to think I could help build the bam if I had someone hold the nails for me.”

“That doesn’t sound so stupid to me, but I’ll confess I can think of things I’d rather do with a pretty girl than build a barn.” He winked at Meg. “You’re gonna have a little bit of bruising, but it shouldn’t stop you from dancing tonight.”

As twilight neared. Clay heard the hammers fall one by one into silence. He didn’t need to look to know that he was being left to put the final boards into place. He’d had the unrealistic hope that maybe he’d finish first. He’d certainly had the incentive. Finish up his side and be gone, but he wouldn’t leave before he finished what he’d started. Even if it took him past midnight.

He set the board against the frame. As he had most of the afternoon, he turned slightly, pressed his backside against the board, reached down, and tapped the first nail into position. Straightening, he moved the board a fraction of an inch, making certain it was level with the other boards. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucian striding toward him.

“At the pace you’re working, you’ll be here till midnight,” Lucian said just before he slammed his hammer against the nail Clay had used to set the board into place.

Both men heard the wood split and watched as a tiny fissure raced up the center of the board. Raising a brow, Clay looked at his brother. “I’ll be here till dawn if you help me.

Lucian wrapped his hand around the head of his hammer. “They made bets on whether or not you’d stay the whole day.”

“How much did you lose?”

Lucian dropped his gaze. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“I suppose that’s what a brave man would have done.”

Lucian snapped his head back. Clay captured his gaze and said, “But a coward might have stayed, hoping if he built one wall, he might knock another one down.”

“Lucian?” a soft feminine voice asked.

Lucian spun around. Clay’d never seen a hat come off a head so fast in his life.

“You shouldn’t be over here, Taffy,” Lucian said quietly.

Smiling softly, she extended a dipper of water. “I thought you might be thirsty.”

Lucian grinned. “How could I be thirsty when you been bringing me water all day?”

She shrugged slightly, her cheeks pinkening. “You just looked thirsty.”

“Then I reckon I am.”

Lucian took the dipper and drank the water, his eyes never leaving Taffy. He handed the empty dipper back to her. “I appreciate the thought.”

In the distance, the tuning of a fiddle sounded. “You gonna stay for the dance?” Taffy asked.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I was hoping you might. I thought maybe you’d ask me to dance.”

Lucian sighed deeply. “I talked to your pa.” He shifted his hat to the hand holding the hammer and touched his thumb to her cheek. “Taffy, honey, he doesn’t want me calling on you.”

She studied the ground, then nudged Lucian’s foot with her toe before meeting his gaze. “I don’t see that it’s his decision to make. I’m almost seventeen, nearly fully growed, and he doesn’t know what I look for in a man.”

Lucian chuckled. “Girl, you’re gonna get me a good sound beatin'.”

“I’m worth it,” she promised before she walked away.

“Just between you and me,” Clay said, “if I had to choose between a pretty girl wanting a dance and pounding nails into boards, I’d pick the pretty girl.”

An appreciative smile eased onto Lucian’s face. “She is pretty, ain’t she?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back before Clay could remind him the wall wasn’t finished. He fell through the frame and hit the ground.

Clay threw his head back and laughed until his sides ached.

Standing within the twilight shadows, Meg heard the deep laughter rumble, the first sound of pure unexpected pleasure she’d heard all day.

She watched Clay extend his hand and pull Lucian to his feet. Lucian walked away, and Clay pounded the nails into the one wall of the bam that was not yet completed.

She heard the bittersweet strains of the fiddle wrap around the echoes of the solitary hammer.

Why had he stayed?

Why had he stayed to suffer the wrath and scorn of people who would prefer to lie among snakes than speak with him?

And why did she feel so guilty for not acknowledging his presence? They had a pact, a gentlemen’s agreement, which he’d honored today.

Why did she wish he hadn’t?

He didn’t silence his hammer until night fell. In the dark she watched his silhouette walk to the wagon where the twins had gone at dusk.

He’d spent his entire day giving his neighbor the wall of a barn, and no one had thanked him. He’d spent a stormy night carving a child’s marker for which no one would ever thank him. In the name of honor, he had sacrificed his dream of going to Europe.

She wondered how many other things he may have done in his life for which he had received no praise or consideration.

The gentle strains of “Greensleeves” filled the night. Closing her eyes, she allowed the melody to bring forth memories of dancing within Kirk’s arms.

“Meg?”

She opened her eyes. “Hello, Lucian.”

“Would you honor me with this dance?”

They walked to an area where lanterns hung from tree limbs. “Thank you for asking me to dance. This is my favorite song.”

They began to waltz. “Clay asked me to dance with you if they played this song, and you weren’t already dancing.”

“I’m sorry for everything my father and Daniel said during the meal today—”

Lucian shook his head. “For the most part, I feel the same way they do, or I thought I did. I don’t understand him, Meg. Why’d he stay?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t know why it hurt to see him stay, but it did.”

They lost the rhythm of the music, their steps becoming little more than two people swaying in place as people danced around them.

“When we were younger,” Lucian began, “he used to give me his dessert at suppertime if I promised to sit still for him the next day so he could carve my likeness.”

“He showed me his graveyard,” Meg said. “I saw an angel that looked familiar.”

Lucian smiled. “That was supposed to be me. You have to be quiet when he’s carving because he thinks so hard he forgets other people are around. If he’s got a hammer and chisel in his hands …” He shook his head at a memory. “I was sitting for him, and he was working to carve my face. I saw this deer slipping through the trees. I said something to Clay about it, and my nose went flying off that piece of stone. He got so upset, he threw down his tools and ran to the house. Don’t know what he said to Ma, but the next thing I know, she’s running outside hollerin’ for Pa to go get Dr. Martin because Clay cut off my nose.”

She laughed at the image his words created. She could imagine Clay saying he’d cut off Lucian’s nose. To him, stone was as important as a person.

“Why did you ask him to make the monument?” Lucian asked quietly.

The music drifted into silence, and Meg answered with the truth. “I don’t know anymore.”

Sitting on the porch, Clay felt the night wind ruffle his hair. As far as miserable days in his life went, today ranked right near the top.

He’d gone to the shed at dawn and stared at the granite. He’d chipped off a piece here and there, but he’d found no joy in his actions. He hadn’t enjoyed working on the monument since he’d made the headstone for Tom’s baby girl. The statue was just something he wanted to finish now. Finish it and be done with it.

And move on.

He wanted to live someplace that didn’t have the scent of honeysuckle in the air. He wanted to live someplace where women didn’t have blue eyes.

Stretching out his legs, he leaned back on his elbows. It’d probably be best if he lived someplace that didn’t have women at all.

He’d gone to the Wrights’ farm because as much as he hated the way Meg watched him work, he hated the thought of a day without her in it even more.

From his distant vantage point, he thought she’d been the prettiest woman there. He’d wanted to walk up to her just to see if her blue dress made her eyes look as blue as he thought it might. He’d caught her laughter on the wind and held onto it to ease his loneliness, a loneliness that deepened when he noticed how much attention Robert Warner bestowed upon her, how much attention she gave Robert.

A shadow moved through the night. He sat up as Lucian came into view. “Wasn’t expecting you home so early.”

Lucian shrugged. “Danced a couple of dances with Taffy, then thought I’d best head on home and not push my luck.”