Chasing the Sunset(34)

"Oh," Kathleen panted. "I will be so glad when that newfangled washing machine that Nick ordered finally gets here. Can you imagine just turning the handle on the drum and getting the clothes clean? If it works well, I am going to make Pa get one for Ma to use, too."

“He has not said one personal word to me since that night,” Maggie said suddenly to Kathleen, who made no sign that she had heard the very same statement at least ten times already today. “He tells me what to do, stares straight through me with that cold glare of his, and then he turns and leaves.” She heaved the wet clothes into an empty basket, and together, she and Kathleen twisted the water out of a pair of Tommy’s pants, clucking over the holes that the boy had put in them already. “If he wanted to know anything about it, he would have said something by now. It has been long enough for him to get over his mad.”

Kathleen shook her head. “It has only been three days, Maggie. I have known my Pa to carry on a sulk for weeks at a time. The point is, you did not do anything wrong. I am sure that Nick will understand what I have been doing, and even empathize. Everyone knows what his views on slavery are.”

“Then why have not you told him before?” Maggie shot back. “I will tell you why. You did not want to put him in that position. He is a landowner, and he is known to disapprove of slavery. That makes him suspect enough already. He makes his living here, and he has to deal with all these people, and you did not want him to have to choose. What he does not know about your ... activities cannot hurt him.” She flung a wet shirt over the line and pinned it on with the wooden clothespins that Ned had carved for her the first week she was here. “And besides, he could have had a little trust in me. He could have just asked me. I would have told him. I swear, right then I would have, Kathleen, I would have told him everything to keep from seeing that look on his face. I would have spilled the darkest secrets of my soul, and yours along with them, and I would not have been sorry, nary a whit...”

Grimly, she reached for the next thing in the basket, and then wiped the sweat out of her eyes with the corner of her apron. “For the first two days I felt just awful for him, because I know he has been hurt in this way before. But now, I am not feeling hurt and breaking my heart over him anymore. Now I am just plain mad. What right has he to stand in judgment of me? Oh, I know he was hurt by what he thinks I have been doing behind his back. But I also know that part of him is glad that he has an excuse not to feel anything anymore, and part of him feels justified in not trusting me. He is as stubborn as that old mule he keeps in the barn, and I am not speaking to him, either.”

Kathleen looked at her from the opposite side of the clothes line. “What are you going to do, Maggie?”

“I am going to let him stew a while in his own juices. It must be gratifying to be right all the time, and I am just going to let him be right for a while.”

Kathleen was filled with guilt and misery, and it was evidenced in her posture. Her normally straight shoulders drooped, and she seemed smaller, more fragile than she ordinarily did. Fine lines that Maggie had never noticed before fanned out from her eyes.

“Oh, Maggie, I hate seeing you so unhappy, and I hate seeing Nick unhappy, too. Even if he is acting like an ass, I have known him all of my life. That coldness he puts on sometimes hides a lot of pain, and I would bet money that he is drinking himself to sleep every night, just like he did after his parents died, just like he did when Mary died . . . “ She shook her head. “He thinks that he is doomed to lose the people he loves, over and over, and he tries not to love anyone, but it does not work. He has convinced himself over the years that he does not need anyone, and if it was not so ridiculous, it would be laughable. He has always been the kind of person who needs a lot of affection. Do you ever notice how many times in the day he goes by and pats my shoulder, hugs Tommy, or grips Ned’s arm? He has been that way since he was a child. He collects people the way that my mother collects hats. Tommy, you, me, Ned . . . “Kathleen shrugged her shoulders.

“He needs us as much as we need him and the only difference is that we all know we need him. Now he is cutting himself off, not just from you but from everyone. I have not even seen him so much as ruffle Tommy’s hair as he walks by. He is hurt, and he is scared, Maggie. Do not be too harsh with him. He needs you to love him. He is trying to drive you away but do not let him. These last few months, Nick has been the happiest that he has been since before his parents died.”

“I do love him,” Maggie said forlornly, her mouth turning down at the corners. She gave a half-hearted tug to a sheet that hung crookedly. “But he is still a stubborn jackass. And he will not let me get close.”

“Do not give up,” Kathleen said.

“I will not,” Maggie said in a whisper. “I can’t.”

Maggie picked up a basket and headed back inside, Kathleen right behind her. It was early yet; they still had plenty to keep them busy inside while they waited for the wash to dry. They had several hungry men to feed in about two hours, for starters.

“Someone is coming up the drive,” Kathleen said, and then Maggie heard the rattle of carriage wheels as they traversed the tree-lined lane, and the creak when the carriage stopped right in front of the house.

She hissed a curse under her breath; why did it have to be now? They dropped the baskets inside the back door, Maggie ripping her wet, stained apron off and wiping her face with it just as the doorknocker sent a rat-a-tat-tat through the house. Maggie raced through the house, hair flying, and opened the door to the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

Her blond hair was coiffed perfectly in some intricate structure with not a hair out of place, and Maggie’s hand went self-consciously to her own straggling strands. The woman’s coiffure was not only perfect, it framed a face that came straight out of a fairytale. Thickly lashed bright blue eyes, a perfect, straight little nose, and a cupid’s bow mouth, all set in a skin so white and perfect it looked like porcelain.

“I am Martha Fawcett,” said that red mouth now in an accent that seemed to slide all over her like warm honey. “You must be Maggie. Is Nick around anywhere? I need to talk to him something terrible.”

Maggie stared at her, and Kathleen spoke from behind her.

“Hello, Martha,” she said dryly, gripping Maggie’s arm and giving one sharp, hidden tug.

Maggie flushed brilliantly and moved out of the door so the woman could come in.

“Would you like to wait in the parlor while I go and get him?” she asked stiffly. “I will bring you some tea or lemonade if you like.”

“Tea would be fine,” Martha said, stripping the white gloves from her elegant hands. Her apple green dress swayed enticingly as she bustled ahead of Maggie into the library. “I will wait in here, though. I want to see Nick’s new books.”

Evidently she needed no help finding her way around in this house, Maggie thought resentfully.

“I will get us both a cup of tea and sit and chat with you a minute, Martha. I have not seen you for a while, and you can catch me up on all the latest gossip.” Kathleen said cheerfully, shooting Maggie a look that she had trouble reading and pretending not to notice when Martha Fawcett sent her dirtied clothing a look of disgust. “You go find Nick, Maggie. I am sure that he is down to the stables.”

Nick was, indeed, at the stables, knee-deep in blood, or so it seemed to Maggie’s horrified gaze. He and Ned were in the birthing stall with a very pregnant mare, and Nick had one arm plunged inside her up to the elbow. He turned his irritated gaze on her, his black brows drawn together.

“What is it?” he snapped. “I am a little busy right now, or can’t you tell?”

Maggie’s soft mouth became a hard line. “You have company up at the house. Martha Fawcett is here to see you. I am delivering the message, that is all.”

Having got the foal turned and headed in the right direction, Nick withdrew his arm and began wiping it with a towel, ignoring Maggie’s presence.

“She should come out just fine now,” he said to Ned, who nodded. “Call me if there is any more difficulty. I will send Tommy over to you.” He spoke to Maggie without looking at her. “Tell Martha I will be there as soon as I clean up a little.”

Maggie marched back to the house with her fists clenched at her sides. How dare he treat her like some . . . like a . . . servant, she finished ruefully, her anger dying off a little. Why, oh why, did Martha Fawcett have to show up today of all days? She was wearing a castoff dress that Kathleen had given her especially for laundry day so that she would not ruin her new, pretty clothes. It had belonged to some aunt who had stayed with them briefly and left the dress, probably on purpose, Maggie thought dryly. The material was thin enough to read through and the color was a dull, faded pewter that put her in mind of a dreary, rainy day. She had sweated right through it, too, and half her hair was falling out of its pins. Martha probably had never raised a sweat in her life; someone else did the sweating for her and all she had to do was lie around and look pretty. And she did that very, very well.