Love, Come to Me(108)

“Who was she?” Lucy asked, taking care not to sound too eager or impatient. “A neighbor of yours?”

“Not exactly. But her family lived in the county. She was a Stanton—one of four sisters, the next-to-oldest one. Raine was the prettiest one. Everyone said so. She liked to flirt and tease, but she wasn’t ever interested in the county boys.”

Lucy leaned forward, listening intently. Encouraged by her interest, Amy began to talk freely. “And then Heath’s mama died, and he came to live with us when he was seventeen. Mother would have liked to die herself, having to put up with him under the same roof, but Daddy wouldn’t listen to her. He was crazy about Heath. So Mother had to put up with Heath being there. But it helped that all of her friends understood and felt sorry for her, and she really didn’t have to see him much. He was always running around the county with his friends.”

“Misbehaving?”

“I guess he was,” Amy conceded. “Heath was just . . . wild. He was always in trouble, charming his way out of it one day and getting back into it the next. Everyone seemed to like him, but no one wanted him to court their daughters . . . you understand why. Raine says that Heath would have been the most popular boy in the county if he’d come from the right kind of background. He could ride, cuss, and shoot better than anyone, and he was as smart as a whip. From what I hear, all the girls made eyes at him—Raine says he was the handsomest thing that had ever set foot over the county line—but they were all scared to be seen with him too often. It would have ruined their reputations.”

Lucy absorbed the information silently. Heath had always been an outsider, even in Virginia. Never again would she be surprised at the recollection of how fearlessly he had taken on the challenge of making a place for himself up here. It was no wonder that he had never expressed a desire to go back to the South. He had never really belonged anywhere.

“How did Heath and Raine . . .” Lucy started to ask and found that she could not finish the question because the phrase Heath and Raine stuck in her throat. She hated the idea of them together, but it was imperative that she find out just what had gone on between them. Amy seemed to understand exactly what she wanted to know.

“From the minute Heath laid eyes on her, he wouldn’t leave her alone. The Stantons didn’t like him paying court to her, but they had four girls to marry off, and he did have a nice inheritance coming to him. Raine went buggy-riding with him on a dare from one of her sisters. She won’t tell what happened, but she said that at the beginning of the afternoon he could barely get a ‘how do you do’ out of her, and by the end he had talked her into marrying him. Then she met Clay—and really, they were a lot alike, except that Clay was a Price and Heath was . . .”

“Illegitimate,” Lucy said flatly. “Clay must have seemed like a better bargain.”

“She loved Clay,” Amy replied defensively. “He was handsome and nice, and—”

“I’m sure he was.” Hastily Lucy attempted to smooth over her mistake. “I’m sorry. That came out differently than I had intended. Please go on . . . you were about to tell me what happened after Raine met Clay.”

“They got married. Heath tried to stop them, but he couldn’t. He fought with Clay, and said something to him. Whatever it was, they were never on friendly terms again. And after the wedding, Heath got so bad that no one could do anything with him—drinking and doing wild things—and finally, Daddy sent him abroad, hoping it would make a gentleman out of him. And then the war started.”

“What about after the war? Why wouldn’t they let him stay at the plantation?”

“It was mostly Clay. Clay’s back was hurt, and he was always sickly after the war. He thought that if Heath came back to live with them, Heath would take his place as head of the plantation and then take Raine away from him. And Mother didn’t want Heath there . . . and Raine . . . she stood on the front porch and argued with Heath, and she called him all kinds of names. He got mad, and he . . .”

“What?” Lucy prompted, appalled and fascinated. Amy’s face went red.

“He laughed at her because she had married Clay for his money and the plantation—the money was all in worthless bluebacks, and the plantation was falling apart. He just laughed at her. Raine grabbed a riding whip that someone had left on the porch railing, and hit him with it—that’s where he got that scar on his temple, near his eye—”

“Oh, dear Lord,” Lucy whispered, raising her fingertips to her mouth and covering it. All her jealousy of Raine was drowned in a flood of sympathy for Heath. It was the kind of thoroughly unselfish sympathy that caused her to flinch at the image Amy’s words had created. To be hurt so badly by someone you loved—and especially if you had as much stubborn pride as Heath. Why, it was something you might never get over. Raine had left her mark on him. If only Lucy could be certain that the scar was merely skin-deep. Or was it a deeper mark left on the soul, still unhealed? She was afraid that she would never find out.

“Amy seemed to be happy after the talk you had with her after dinner,” Lucy said, pausing in the act of proofreading a letter Heath had penned in his scrawling, decisive hand. Together they sat at his desk, while the gentle ticking of a clock reminded them that midnight was approaching. The fires had been banked for the night; the darkened house was becoming cooler, and yet Lucy had a cozy feeling as she and Heath worked by the light of the brightly burning lamp.