Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

Mid-July 1777

T he summer air was redolent with promise as Tabitha sat in the dogtrot with Dulcie, snapping beans they had picked that morning in the garden. For the first time since Lord Riley’s death, Tabitha could take a breath—assuming she succeeded in inhaling the stultifying liquid one called air this time of year. Somehow, she did not even mind the heat.

The tropical splendor exploding around them went a long way toward offsetting the blistering temperature. Against lush green, everything bloomed in shades of pink and red—swamp rose, fewflower milkweed almost as tall as Tabitha in the marshes, rose gentian in the fields along the woods, and trumpet honeysuckle, the whorled flowers and berries both scarlet. Nature’s bounty seemed all the more vivid when the weight of the world did not rest on one’s shoulders.

The return to hard work felt good after the idleness of Savannah. Tabitha’s chores gave structure to each day, and every evening, she read aloud from the Bible. Likewise, Dulcie taught her not only the homesteading skills Tabitha grew steadily more proficient at, but Scripture verses her friend had long ago committed to memory, especially from Proverbs, her favorite book. ’Twas at times annoying, the way they would pop out at inconvenient moments, such as when Tabitha was on the verge of losing her temper with the laundry or in the heat of jam-making. “‘A man of understanding is of an excellent spirit.’” Spoken softly, eyes averted. Humbly yet clearly instructing Tabitha in the ways of the Lord.

Then there had been the Saturday evening two weeks before when Edmond had ridden into her yard with Jack McMullan and his foreman, another big, dark-haired Scot named Alastair. The grin on Edmond’s face had seared joy through her and assured her that her and Dulcie’s labors on the supper of wild turkey with sage and cranberry dressing, peas, summer squash, and blackberry cobbler had not been in vain. He told her they had marked the trees Alastair and his crew would return in the fall to harvest. After the hearty meal, Dulcie had cleaned up while Tabitha printed three copies of a contract. She, Edmond, Cyrus, and Jack signed, then Alastair took a fiddle from the case strapped on his horse, and they celebrated.

Tabitha smiled even now as she sat in the spot where she and Edmond had danced to the Scottish tunes. Their wild sweetness against the tawny twilight sky and his warm, firm touch as he whirled her around and around, both of them breathless with laughter at their unscripted caper, had filled her bones with honey. Had she imagined the heat in his eyes, or had it flared there for Jack’s benefit? Or in triumph at their shared success?

“You thinkin’ of the lieutenant?” Dulcie shifted on the bench to toss a handful of snapped beans into the bowl, the ends into her discard pile.

“What makes you think that?”

“That dreamy look on your face.” Her full lips flattened a rebellious smirk. “He sure did come through for us, did he not?”

“He sure did. Sending Cyrus with a hundred and fifty pounds and a signed copy of the timber contract to your father last week for Mr. Jackson felt pretty good too.”

“Mm-hm.” Dulcie paused to swat a fly. “You reckon Jackson got it yet?”

“I expect so.” Mr. Long had promised to take the money straightaway to his employer rather than wait for him to visit River’s Bend.

“You reckon he gives us to Christmas to pay the rest?”

Tabitha snapped an extra-long bean into three sections. “If he wants to be fair about it, he will.”

“Fair is not what men like him be known for.” Dulcie pursed her lips.

Tabitha managed to quell the unease her companion’s observation stirred—until horse hooves echoed up the path. Cyrus was out in the cornfield, and she was not expecting Edmond today…although his captain had given him the leeway he needed to oversee her timbering, just as Edmond had said he would do in support of the cause, since no new campaigns loomed on the horizon. But logging would not start for at least a couple more months.

She set aside her bowl of beans and rose for a better view.

When the trees disclosed a trim, erect figure atop a black stallion, Tabitha stiffened. Julian Jackson.

“Guess that answers my question.” Dulcie’s statement was as heavy as the stone in Tabitha’s stomach. She sighed and brushed stems off her apron. “I can fetch cider.”

“No.” Tabitha clutched her arm. “Pray, do not leave me.”

Mouth in a grim line, Dulcie settled back on the bench while Tabitha went to the edge of the porch.

Julian dismounted at the hitching post. His choice of clothing reflected the need for practicality in the heat rather than his usual panache—white cotton shirt, long, striped linen waistcoat, and buff breeches with his riding boots. From the moment his straw hat tipped back and his eyes met hers, though, a chill invaded the sweltering day.

“Mrs. Gage.” Even her name held an edge.

“To what do I owe the honor of this call, Mr. Jackson?” Tabitha pressed her work-roughened palms against her linen petticoats. No doubt, sweat stained her underarms and glistened on her face, but she took a perverse pleasure in greeting him in such a state—refusing to even remove her apron.

“I came to discuss your loan payment.”

She tilted her head. “It was not necessary to come all this way to thank me, sir.” What a relief to be able to say what she wanted again. To reclaim just a modicum of self-respect.

“To thank you?” He barked a laugh. “To warn you. Indeed, I could not ride here fast enough to enjoin you to flee the danger to which you have unwittingly bound yourself.”

“What danger is that?” Did he know something about Jack McMullan that she did not? Likely, he only sought to scare her, to force her back onto the defensive.

“If you will invite me on your porch, I shall tell you.” Despite his request, his gaze swept the double-pen cabin with unveiled distaste.

“Of course. I was not certain you could abide our humble surroundings long enough to tarry.” Gesturing him up the steps, Tabitha turned to Dulcie. “Will you fetch a proper chair for Mr. Jackson?”

Her brows a flat line, Dulcie went into the main room. She returned a moment later and placed the rush-bottom chair in the middle of the dogtrot, facing the bench where they had been working.

Patting her face with her apron, Tabitha returned to her spot.

Julian stepped around Dulcie and sat on the chair. When she remained standing over him, he looked up at her. “And some lemonade.”

Lemons? Tabitha laughed.

Dulcie answered through stiff lips. “We have cider.”

“Well, go fetch it, woman. Or are you not in the habit of obtaining refreshment for your guests?” Tossing his hat onto the bench next to Tabitha, he swiveled to face her without waiting to see if Dulcie would obey his instructions.

Dulcie’s narrowed gaze met Tabitha’s, but Tabitha gave a slight nod. While Julian might be a guest of the most unwelcome variety, it would hardly do to anger him—especially when his sharp tone and abrupt gestures already conveyed a barely restrained temper.

As Dulcie turned, she spoke under her breath. “‘If he be thirsty, give him water to drink.’”

“What was that?” Julian shot her a sharp glance.

Tabitha hid a smile behind her hand. “Dulcie was just agreeing with you that the Good Book enjoins us to offer hospitality.” She suffered no temptation to add that the first part of that particular verse in Proverbs referenced showing kindness to one’s enemies.

Julian scoffed but let the moment go.

Tabitha folded her hands in her lap. “Now, do I take it you and your father found something amiss with my payment? I did not think my request to settle the balance in December unreasonable given the fact that we supplied all we would have owed to the lender through this month, as well as offering a written guarantee for our means of obtaining the rest.”

“Timber. That was smart.” Though Julian’s eyes slitted, the ire left them. A glow of admiration replaced it. “I should have thought of that myself.”

“Then it was not my agreement with Mr. McMullan you objected to?”

“Not with him. With Edmond Lassiter.” Julian straightened as he fairly spit out the name.

“Ah, yes.” Why had she not expected that he would learn of Edmond’s involvement, even though they had forbidden Mr. Long to mention it? “I did hear you had some unsavory business with his family once.” She kept her face impassive and her observation vague. The less he thought she knew of his past association with the Lassiters, the better.

Julian’s handsome face twisted. “He was cheating my father. Skimming off the top of our earnings.”

“There are two sides to every story, Mr. Jackson. And that was Edmond’s father, not Edmond.”

“Edmond, is it?” He scoffed. “So the rumors are true?”

Tabitha kept her hands relaxed, though her pulse started to race. “What rumors?”

“That Lassiter is helping you because you intend to marry him.” The hatred for Edmond in Julian’s eyes—an obsessive envy that had existed long before she ever entered the scene—warned Tabitha not to feed his jealousy.

“You, of all people, ought to know better than to pay heed to the grapevine.”

“So ’tis not true?” Julian leaned forward, the scent of sweat and spice invading her space. “Answer me straight, Mrs. Gage.”

Tabitha’s back stiffened. “I do not see what concern it is of yours.”

“Do you not? When I am still waiting on your answer myself?”

“I thought my payment provided my answer.” She rolled her lower lip between her teeth.

Thankfully, Dulcie appeared in the doorway with two pewter cups. Julian glared at Tabitha, refusing to release her gaze even as he took his drink from Dulcie. When she lingered, casting Tabitha a concerned glance, Julian finally looked at her. “Do you not have something to do in the house? This is a private conversation.”

Dulcie lifted her chin. “I answer to Miss Tabitha, not you.”

The incredulity that momentarily contorted Julian’s face made Tabitha lift her hand. “’Tis all right, Dulcie. We will be in hearing range.”

Dulcie hesitated. After a moment, she dipped her head. “Call if you need me, ma’am.” She went back into the cabin but remained in view of the open door as she worked at the table.

Julian’s disregard for Dulcie gave Tabitha the courage to speak her mind. Cradling her cool tankard with her lashes lowered, she drew a deep breath. “Mr. Jackson, if your attitude toward my servant is any indication, the rumors of the poor treatment of your slaves are true. I saw enough cruelty and neglect at the hands of my husband. Why would I wish to subject myself and my servants to that again? Why would I wish to subject my land to rice cultivation, which requires heavy slave labor? For the first time in my life, I can be the mistress of my own destiny. Why would I forfeit that?”

Julian stared at her, and the tension left his broad shoulders. Perhaps her direct approach had disarmed him. He sat forward, but entreatingly this time, not threateningly. “Mrs. Gage…Tabitha…I fear we have been operating out of misunderstandings on both sides. Will you allow me to attempt to set things straight?”

She gave a slow nod. “I will hear you out.”

“First of all, it grieves me deeply that a woman such as yourself would have suffered cruelty and neglect at the hands of any man, especially her own husband. Lord Riley was a fool. To take out his own failings on you rather than tapping into the resource at this side…” Julian shook his head. A damp tendril of hair fell onto his glistening temple.

Tabitha tipped her head. “Resource?”

A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Only a weak man is intimidated by an intelligent woman. ’Tis clear you could have helped him out of his financial troubles had he only invited you into his confidence.”

Stalling a moment, Tabitha sipped her cool, tangy cider. This was not how she had forseen this conversation going. The loss of control left her fumbling. “What makes you say that?”

Julian spread his hands. “Well, for a start, he overlooked a fortune in timber.”

“I doubt the Scottish loggers would have contracted with a known Loyalist.”

His dimple flashed. “I bet you could have persuaded them, for you have done just that.”

She pressed her back against the logs behind her. “Not as Lord Riley’s wife.” As Edmond’s betrothed .

“Even as his wife, I daresay you would have. And then Mr. Long told me of your idea of a store. Brilliant! You have done the impossible—succeeded without a husband.”

She had done nothing as yet, but better to not point that out either. Tabitha set aside her tankard and folded her apron between her hands. “If that is the case, why would I need to take a husband? Admittedly, marriage has not been good to me, and if I become financially independent…” She shrugged.

Julian’s lips turned up in a slow smile, and he looked around. “Because while you might survive, Mrs. Gage, you are far from thriving. You? Here? Working like a slave?” He flicked a fold of her dirty petticoat with his pointer finger. “This is not what you were born to. You are a lady and should be treated as such. There is a beautiful house setting empty across the river, in need of a mistress’s guiding hand. You could have back all your foolish husband squandered and much more—including a younger mate who can give you what Lord Riley never could.” Julian’s languid expression left no question as to his intended meaning.

There it was again—the intimation that the stain of barenness lay not on her, but on Lord Riley. Could it be? She might yet become a mother?

The sudden image of Edmond with a child upon his knee made heat climb like trumpet vine on Tabitha’s cheeks. But she was too old for either him or Julian. They might not mind it now, but they would in ten years, especially if it turned out she was to blame for the lack of children. “If you are suggesting yourself as a husband, there are many much younger ladies who would be delighted to become the next Mrs. Jackson.”

“Insipid girls, easily won, quickly tiring, who would have no idea how to help me run an empire.”

Tabitha’s lashes fluttered. “I am certain your father would take exception to that idea.”

Julian flicked his fingers. “His role is waning. Already, he entrusts me with more and more. You guessed rightly that he would plant this acreage in rice, but I would diversify. And you would be just the woman to help me do it.”

If Edmond had not shared his story of ruin at the hands of this man’s family, Julian’s fine words and charismatic presence might have swayed her. Might make her wonder if he could actually hope to plot a better path for his future, to overwrite his father’s reputation for debauchery and cruelty. After all, anyone could change under the right circumstances. Hadn’t she? A decade ago, she would’ve been more than Julian’s match in pride and snobbery.

As it was, as long as she owed him money, Julian had power over her. She could send him away with a lofty rejection, but she would also feed an enemy’s hunger for revenge. Against herself and Edmond.

Tabitha lowered her head in a show of submissiveness. “You honor me, sir. But you will understand why I struggle to believe what you are saying when I have seen firsthand how hollow the promises of powerful men such as yourself can be.”

Julian went still. “But you will accept promises from—and make promises to—a common man like Edmond Lassiter?” A hint of a growl rumbled from his throat. “Believe me when I say, he does not come from honorable stock. Do you know he once left the woman he claimed to love?”

Tabitha’s gaze shot up. She widened her eyes in pretended innocence, but…could Julian be telling a part of the truth Edmond had left out? Had his fiancée asked him not to leave her rather than joining the rangers? But what choice had he had?

Seemingly encouraged by her doubt, Julian warmed to the story. “She begged him to wed her and try to salvage his father’s business rather than flee like the coward he was, but instead, he abandoned both her and his mother, leaving them to face the shame of his father’s deeds. I see you know what I am speaking of. But I am not here to impugn a man who is clearly beneath both of us. Only to offer you another option.”

Tabitha sought to deflect the bitterness emanating from the man opposite her, despite his denial. “My arrangement with Lieutenant Lassiter is of a business nature. He agreed to help me to benefit both of us in a time of need.”

Julian’s gaze locked on hers. “Though he is a Patriot and you are a Loyalist. Or has that changed?”

Tabitha fought the urge to wiggle under his close perusal. How to answer without openly declaring herself his enemy? “I admit, I hold a greater appreciation for independence now, Mr. Jackson.”

“And I would not take that away from you, Tabitha. But one can often find the greatest independence under a strong and benevolent leader.”

Tabitha swept her lashes down. “At times, perhaps.” He was cleverer than she had anticipated, a master of words—she would give him that. But had not Satan himself founded his arguments on a scrap of truth?

“Now that you know my motivations, my heart, pray, do not dismiss my suit so quickly only to come to regret it later.” He reached for her hand, but when his fingertips brushed the calluses crowning her palm, he could not quite hide his wince. He covered it with an explanation as he withdrew. “As my wife, you would never again be forced to demeaning labor.”

What could she say? A response flashed to mind with sudden clarity. “I will…pray on it.” That she could do. Pray for God to show her how to outmaneuver Julian Jackson. Now, at least, she was smart enough to know she could not do so on her own.

Julian rose and gave a brief bow. “Then I will take my leave. For the moment.” Settling his hat on his head, he strode down her steps with the assurance of one who had hope.

Hope. A dangerous thing. But not as dangerous as rejection. Edmond would want her nowhere near Julian Jackson. And Julian must never learn how she truly felt about Edmond.