Because of Rebecca(8)

He descended the carriage step and helped her down. “Yes. When my mother was alive, she was the best hostess around Jackson. Let’s have a bit of refreshment and get Master Lucas out of the sun.”

“That sounds divine.” Rebecca slipped her arm through his as they walked to the verandah. “Perhaps Charlotte can use your swing to rock Lucas to sleep?”

“Certainly,” he agreed. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll go see about something to quench our thirst.”

While he was gone, Rebecca explored the perimeter of the house as she walked along the portico. Studying the large baskets of ferns hanging from the eaves and the inviting, yet protective, foliage planted close to the porches’ edge, she wondered how many gardeners it took to keep the grounds looking so perfect. She knew Mr. Hollingsworth used hired labor on his land, which did not come as cheap as purchasing laborers at auction. If appearances meant anything, Mr. Hollingsworth was a wealthy man. Yet he risked it all to help those in bondage by the color of their skin. That fact alone held her in awe of him.

With all the excitement over Josephine’s ailment she’d almost forgotten to discuss Ruth’s plight further with him. She had to keep her head about her and mention it to him again at the first opportune moment.

Walking back to the front of the house, she smiled at her maid who held a sleeping Lucas in her arms.

“Couldn’t you imagine living here, Charlotte?” she asked, stopping about a yard away.

“That I could, miss.” The young maid looked relaxed as the swing moved back and forth. “The cottage is nice, but living on a plantation would be a world different for us.”

Rebecca nodded. “Lucas could run and play to his heart’s content during the summers.”

“That he could.”

She sighed, leaning her back against the stoop post. “A place like this comes with much responsibility. I suppose that is why I have a small place in Memphis. It’s enough to keep a body from being weary.”

“Being weary from what?” Jared asked, coming up behind where she stood staring out over his land. Tightness formed in his chest at the memory of his late wife doing the same on many occasions. He suddenly missed her desperately. And he wondered what he’d been thinking bringing Miss Davis and her son to Oak Hill. Was he really ready to forge forward and put his past behind him?

“Goodness, Mr. Hollingsworth, you startled me,” Miss Davis said, her cheeks flushed. “I was being wistful. Speaking my thoughts aloud and no doubt, boring poor Charlotte with my prattle.”

“Ah, I see,” Jared replied, smiling. “My housekeeper will be out shortly with lemonade.”

He pushed his previous thoughts away as he offered her his arm and led her to the wicker settee. He couldn’t live in the past forever, and living alone at Oak Hill was not the answer either. He had to move on. Mitchell was right. It was time he began thinking about remarrying and living a normal life again. Not just to replenish his coffers, and keep the Hollingsworth bloodline going, but because he was lonely. He needed a companion, someone to make him feel alive again. Meeting Miss Davis had proven that to him. Besides, he couldn’t expect the duty of producing respectable heirs and carrying forth the Hollingsworth name to fall upon Rory.

“I want to thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Hollingsworth,” Miss Davis said, bringing him back to the present. “You’ve gone beyond what would be expected of an escort at a friend’s wedding.”

“It has been my pleasure, miss… Shouldn’t we dispense with the formalities, Miss Davis?” He took a seat in the wicker armchair. “I know we only met yesterday, but I feel as if we are going to know each other for a long time to come, being Mitchell and Elizabeth’s friends. Won’t you please call me Jared?”

She smiled and her green eyes sparkled. “Then please call me Rebecca.”

Jared reached across the table for her hand as a gesture of camaraderie. She slid her fingers along his; heat reverberated from their silky touch, jolting him in his seat. He pulled back his hand, abruptly breaking the contact.

Still smiling, she tilted her head and closed her eyes slightly. Had she felt it too? He watched her closely for several moments, but she gave no sign.

“Here you go,” a plump woman in a gray dress and crisp white apron said, sitting down a glass pitcher of pale liquid on the table before them. “There are cookies cooling in the kitchen if you get a sweet tooth later on.”

“Thank you, Mary,” Jared replied, glad for the momentary interruption.

“I hope it isn’t too tart.” Mary poured three glasses and took one to Charlotte.

Rebecca accepted the glass he handed her and took a sip. “Just tart enough, don’t you agree, Mr.…I mean, Jared.”

“Just right.”

After finishing their lemonade, they left Charlotte and Mary to visit on the verandah while Lucas slept. Jared escorted Rebecca around the grounds. On the far side of the stables he showed her the empty bins awaiting the late summer harvest of cotton. Then he took her down to where the field hands lived, boasting of the improvements that he’d made to the two rows of quarters in the six years since his father passed away.

“Why’d you decide to change from your father’s way of running the plantation?” she asked, twirling her lace parasol, as they strolled past the small houses.

A few field hands lingered nearby under shade trees, taking advantage of the lazy Sunday afternoon. They called to their employer, and Jared acknowledged them with a courteous nod before answering Rebecca’s question.

He picked up a small twig and snapped it in two as they walked. “I neither liked nor respected my father. He abused my mother as well as those who worked his land. His drinking only made things worse.”

He stopped and stared across the field before continuing. Despite his resolve, his voice cracked when he spoke, recalling the unhealed pain of his youth. “My father’s hand was responsible for my mother’s early death. A body can only heal so much before it is broken.”

He pulled at tall grass near his knees. “After my mother died, I vowed I would be different. No matter what it took, I would not become like my father and would never raise a hand to another.”

Her silence was expected, but he wouldn’t stand for her pity. Jared glanced at her. Instead of pity he thought he saw admiration in her eyes.

“You’re very brave to take this stand when your neighbors cling to the accustomed way of life. Do they treat you differently?”

“Brave? Is it really brave to live by your convictions?”

“It takes courage to go against the grain. Not many men would do it, yet you have made it your way of life. Is that why you decided to help Ruth?”

“Ruth?”

Rebecca nodded and pointed to the larger house on a small hill in the distance. “Who lives there?”

“My foreman. Mr. Paxton and his family live in what once was the overseer’s home. He has three daughters and another child on the way. They’re…they’re praying for a son.”

Rebecca laughed softly. “You don’t sound like you have faith his prayer will be answered.”

Jared shook his head. “Women get a look about them when they’re expecting as if you can tell they’ll have a son or a daughter.”

“You could be wrong.” She stopped under the shade tree.

“The joy would go to Paxton if I am.” He pointed at a stream a few yards ahead. “Let’s take a break from the heat and go wading.”

The idea of taking off her shoes and stockings and pulling up her skirts to mid-calf to go wading tempted greatly. However, the thought of Josephine having another “spell” if she found out made her think twice before she finally answered him.

What harm could a little wading do?

Rebecca closed her parasol and offered him her hand in response. They ran like children, laughing on the way to the stream. Once there, she sat down on a nearby log to unlace her boots.

“Here, let me do that.” He knelt before her on one knee and her heart skipped a beat as she watched him meticulously unlace each. He gently held her calf in his hand as he removed the boot. Tingles of gooseflesh shivered up her leg from the bottom of her foot as his fingers gently brushed along the underside. Her sheer stockings provided little protection from his intimate caress.

Her throat went dry because his actions were highly improper. She should stop him before she found herself enjoying his touch. Her heart fluttered and foreign warmth spread through her. “I—I better do the rest.”

He looked up, his blue eyes darker than she recalled. She quivered at his intense stare and shyly looked away.

“Last one in has to kiss a salamander,” he challenged.

She laughed and hastened to remove her stockings, determined not to kiss a salamander unless it had blue eyes, blond hair and looked like Jared Hollingsworth. She wasn’t sure what had come over her, but if this was living dangerously, she liked it.