Cinnamon and Roses Page 14

  Rebecca flexed her hand, testing the size and fit of the jewelry. “Fine."

  "Good. Now why don't you go outside. I'll be there in a minute."

  She didn't move.

  Caleb began reaching into the inside pocket of his suitcoat, then paused to give her a little push. “Go,” he said. “I'll be right there."

  She turned and walked out of the mercantile, her feet moving by habit alone. Her mind spun in a thousand directions at once, searching for a reason Caleb would insist upon such a set of rings. They had never been engaged, so she certainly shouldn't be wearing a diamond. And her marriage to Caleb was no more than a false union; she hardly felt worthy of even a wedding band. Perhaps he felt that his wife, however unloved, should wear jewelry befitting his family name.

  When Caleb came up behind her, she jumped, startled. He didn't say a word as he helped her into the rig and turned the team back toward the churchyard.

  Holbrook and Megan sat on the steps, waiting patiently. Megan immediately spotted the rings on Rebecca's curled fingers and began chattering up a storm that lasted the entire drive home.

  Caleb pushed a pile of papers across the desk and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his eyes and loosened the collar of his shirt, tossing the coffee-brown string tie in the direction of his earlier-discarded suit coat.

  As his father had reminded him that morning, he had paperwork to get done. There were a hundred things to do—ticket sales to total, drivers to pay, schedules to chart—but Caleb couldn't seem to concentrate on even one.

  It was this marriage thing that bothered him. Oh, he'd known it would be rough. He'd expected to be constantly fighting with Rebecca. He'd expected to fork out cartloads of money to keep her happy. He'd even expected to come home each day to find her in the parlor, doing nothing but drinking tea and eating sugar cookies. What grated on his nerves, though, was that none of them—these things he had braced himself to bear—ever happened.

  Not only did Rebecca not argue with him, but she was warm and passionate in his bed. That was the one thing Caleb never would have counted on. Clawing and screaming he might have been able to handle. He wasn't so sure about the soft, willing woman he found in his room each night.

  As for spending his money, Caleb practically had to beat Rebecca to get her to take even a small amount of cash for necessary items.

  She did sit on the sofa most of the day, but Megan was more than eager to tell him why. She spent her time sewing. If she was not making something new for Megan, then she was mending her own dresses.

  Yes, now that Caleb thought about it, Rebecca had seemed better outfitted lately. Even her oldest, most worn day dress looked prettier. She had patched loose lace around the cuffs or added a strip of new ribbon to hide the fraying hems. All in all, Rebecca was more beautiful than ever. She had time to take care of herself and her own clothes now rather than doting on customers.

  Her frugality was almost enough to make Caleb rethink his low opinion of women. Almost.

  "You ready to go home?"

  Caleb raised his head to see his father standing in the doorway of the small back office. Caleb rose, the legs of the chair scraping across the floor.

  "Did you get that work done?"

  "Not yet. I'll take it with me to finish after dinner."

  "Sure you will.” Holbrook chuckled and turned away.

  When they arrived home, Caleb sent his father in with the papers he was determined to work on that evening. He unhitched the horses, led them to their stalls, and rubbed down each thoroughly. After grabbing his jacket, which he had draped over a stack of hay bales, he walked around to the side of the house, where he intended to wash in the water trough before going inside.

  Caleb rolled up his sleeves and scrubbed his hands and arms with the bar of lye soap left at the trough for just such a purpose. Then he gave his face a good splash, drying it with his now wrinkled and dirty coat. Slinging the garment over one shoulder, he headed for the rear entrance of the house.

  Even before he rounded the corner, Caleb thought he heard the distinct sound of retching. Quickening his pace, he scanned the area.

  He didn't see anyone, but the sound persisted as he looked all around the backyard, even circling the tiny toolshed located there. Just when he thought he must have imagined the noise, Caleb spotted Rebecca slumped over the stack of firewood piled against the house, her body trembling.

  Caleb went to her, shaking out his coat and draping it over her shoulders. Her tremors seemed to stop as she leaned weakly against him. He hugged her close and brushed the hair back from her sweat-dampened face.

  "Better?” He felt her head move affirmatively against his chest. Caleb knew the vomiting stemmed from her pregnancy; he'd helped her back to bed several mornings in a row after she'd frantically thrown off the covers and run for the chamber pot. What Caleb did not understand was why Rebecca was out back rather than inside.

  He was still holding her close when Megan appeared, a damp cloth in her hand. “Is everything all right?” she asked, lightly wiping Rebecca's face.

  Caleb nodded. Rebecca lifted her head and began to straighten. Her body shook a bit, and Caleb tucked the coat more securely around her shoulders. Her face was the color of chalk.

  "Come on,” he said. “Let's get you inside."

  "Not that way,” she said tiredly, clutching the front of his shirt.

  Caleb frowned and looked at Megan.

  "She was in the kitchen when she got sick,” his sister explained. “The cooking smells nauseated her."

  Finally understanding, he nodded and gently lifted Rebecca into his arms. He walked slowly and carefully to the front gate, worked the latch open with one hand, and carried her up the porch steps. Megan ran ahead to open the door for them.

  "I'm fine now, really,” Rebecca argued, though her voice sounded weak.

  Ignoring her, he carried her upstairs to bed, then unlaced her shoes and rolled down her stockings, watching as she tried valiantly to keep her eyes open. By the time he removed her dress and loosed the top two buttons of her camisole, Rebecca's eyelashes had fluttered closed, and her soft breathing filled the room, interrupted only by the occasional sound of a light snore.

  Caleb awoke early the next morning. The fingers of his left hand tingled slightly with his movements, and he realized that he'd held Rebecca all through the night. Her head still rested on his shoulder, her face turned into his chest.

  He allowed himself a moment to look at her. Rebecca was truly beautiful. Oh, not in the usual ways, and certainly not by cultured standards. Her skin was perhaps a shade too tan, her nails too short and uneven. Even the stubborn tilt of her chin seemed to defy society's norms.

  Caleb scoffed to think that he had once counted himself lucky to have Sabrina Leslie as a mistress, the most beautiful, sought-after courtesan in New York. As far as Caleb was concerned, Sabrina didn't hold a candle to his Rebecca.

  His Rebecca? Yes, she was his. He didn't completely trust her, didn't know if he ever could, but she was his wife and the mother of his child.

  A hard tug tautened his heartstrings as his gaze slid to Rebecca's still-flat stomach. He brushed the area lightly with his fingers, wondering if she could feel the baby yet.

  Rebecca mumbled something unintelligible at his touch and rolled away, snuggling into the pillow on the other side of the bed. He watched her a moment more before sliding his arm from beneath her shoulders and rising with a regretful sigh to dress for work.

  It was still early, but he at least expected Nina to be in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Instead, he found the downstairs empty and dark. He built a fire in the stove and set a pot of coffee on to boil.

  Then he made his way through the pitch-black hallway to the study. The folder of papers he'd brought home was in the middle of the desk, seeming to glare at him. Groaning, he sat in his father's office chair and opened the binder.

  Caleb blinked at what he saw, thinking the hazy light of dawn was playing tricks on his eyes.
He lit the nearby lamp and looked again. The handwriting and figures seemed real enough. He even rubbed at them with his thumb, just to be sure.

  "Is everything all right?"

  Caleb raised his head to see Megan, still in her night-gown and robe, standing in the doorway. Her voice sounded timid, not at all what he was used to from his impertinent, strong-willed sister.

  "I think so.” He hurriedly flipped through the rest of the papers to see if those, too, were finished. “Did Dad do these last night?” The possibility existed, but Caleb doubted his father would do the much-hated paperwork simply because his son had wanted to retire early with his new bride.

  "No."

  Caleb saw Megan straighten her spine and wondered what the devil was going on.

  "I did them."

  His eyes widened with surprise. “You?"

  Her shoulders lost a bit of their stiffness, her voice softening. She even winced a little as she answered. “Yes."

  He didn't say anything. Looking back at the papers, he scanned each more carefully. By the time he finished, the first bright rays of sunlight had begun to shine through the large window at his back. Megan remained in the doorway, twisting her hands nervously.

  "Everything seems to be in order. And all the figures look right.” He heard his sister release a pent-up breath of relief.

  "You're not angry, then?” she asked.

  Angry? No, he was far from angry. Megan had saved him hours of mind-numbing work. He shook his head. “Why, though? How did you know what needed to be done?"

  She came farther into the room, a smile brightening her girlish features. “They're monthly reports,” she said, dropping into a leather-lined chair across from Caleb. “I simply added up the ticket sales and subtracted the drivers’ pay. I get bored around here at night. You and Rebecca retire so early, I have to find something to do to keep busy."

  Caleb felt a heated flush rise up from his neck at her mention of his and Rebecca's nightly disappearances. And from the wicked grin lighting her face, Megan knew exactly what went on in their bedroom after dinner.

  He cleared his throat and changed the subject. An idea had come to him. A rather ingenious idea, if he did say so himself. “How would you like to make a little extra cash, sister dear?"

  Megan shrugged one shoulder.

  He supposed she didn't care much about money; anything she wanted or needed, Holbrook provided. But there was one thing she couldn't resist. Something Holbrook disliked and would not buy for his daughter.

  "Let's make a deal,” Caleb said, using the confident smile that had gotten so many stubborn businessmen to agree with him back in New York. “You do the paperwork for the Express, and I'll keep you supplied with reading material."

  Megan sat up in her chair. “Really?"

  Caleb nodded, knowing he had her in the palm of his hand.

  Surprisingly, she shook her head. “No, the type of reading you would supply isn't what I'd like."

  "Dime novels?” Caleb asked, hoping she would reconsider.

  Her nose crinkled. “They're mostly stories about train robbers and outlaws. How boring."

  "What would you like, then?” he asked, half afraid of her answer.

  "I prefer romances. Papa refuses to let me read them."

  Penny dreadfuls. If Holbrook ever found out he was supplying Megan with them, Caleb would be disowned. “Romances, then,” he said, snorting at his sister's silly daydreams.

  "Of course, they're much shorter than other stories. I'll need twice—no, three times as many."

  "Fine,” Caleb said in disgust. So much for getting the better of his little sister. She was an Adams through and through.

  Megan started out of the room and was almost to the door before Caleb remembered something he'd wanted to ask her. “Megan, exactly what made Rebecca so sick yesterday?"

  Megan looked at him for long seconds, disbelief written on every feature. “She's going to have a baby, silly. Didn't you know?"

  "Of course I knew—know,” he blustered. “How did you?” He and Holbrook had both agreed to keep Rebecca's condition a secret from Megan. At least until a proper amount of time had passed after the wedding.

  "Let's see,” she said, considering. “You rushed the wedding. She sleeps late every morning, comes downstairs looking pale, and usually excuses herself two or three times a day to be sick. Then there's the fact that she's started a few new dresses for herself, all with extra material at the seams so they can be let out to accommodate her expanding figure. Need I go on?"

  "No."

  Caleb tried to remember being sixteen. Had he been as knowledgeable at that age? Somehow he doubted it. Other than learning to run his maternal grandparents’ newspaper, he had spent most of his time wooing Josephine. Lord, what a mistake that had been. The bitch had very nearly ruined his life. To this day, he still felt icy claws of hatred and distrust wrapped around his soul.

  Caleb pushed the murderous thoughts out of his head. “So what made her ill yesterday evening?"

  "Didn't she tell you? Rebecca and I cooked dinner."

  His brows lifted.

  "Your mind really must have been wandering at supper. Don't you remember? Nina quit. She and Peter are getting married next week, and then they're moving to Topeka."

  "What does that have to do with Rebecca?"

  Megan sighed, as though trying to explain something to a small child. “Rebecca decided to take over Nina's duties. With my help, of course. Until we can hire someone new.” She clapped her hands in excitement. “She's going to teach me how to make an apple pie. Did you taste them the night of the dance? Oh, that's right, you were too busy avoiding Anabelle. Well, Rebecca's pies are divine, and she's going to show me how to make one."

  Caleb nodded distractedly, and Megan left with a shake of her head and a small shrug.

  Why would Rebecca be willing to cook meals for his family? Being dragged here against her will, he would have expected her to relish their dilemma. Instead, she rolled up her sleeves and pitched in, fighting a fit of nausea just to prepare dinner for his father and sister. He frowned, aiming to find out why Rebecca was being so helpful as soon as he had the time.

  He decided to wait for his father in the dining room, but he ran into Megan again at the foot of the stairs. She'd changed into a powder-blue day dress and white kid slippers. Caleb bowed gallantly, knowing his sister's penchant for romantic gestures, and offered his arm. She took it, acting every inch the regal princess.

  Caleb's laughter at one of Megan's high-handed comments died in his throat when they entered the dining room. The table was set, and heaping plates of food sent steam swirling into the air—oven-baked ham, boiled potatoes, and poached eggs, surrounded by shining china plates, silver utensils, and elegantly folded navy-blue napkins. Just then the kitchen door swung open, Rebecca's hands full with a tray of toast and a jar of elderberry jam.

  She looked up, startled to see Caleb and Megan already there. Her eyes traveled to the table, and an apologetic smile lifted the sides of her mouth. “I'm sorry it's not more appetizing, but I was afraid the smell of anything else would make me ill.” She looked warily in Caleb's direction, half expecting him to be upset.

  "It looks wonderful,” Megan said, taking her usual seat.

  "It's fine,” Caleb said, trying to overcome his initial shock at seeing all Rebecca had done in such a short amount of time.

  Rebecca stood still, concerned that his short reply and statue-like stance meant he was angry. She held his gaze, the silence stifling. Then she noticed his brown eyes sparkling and curiosity sprouted in her brain. He didn't seem upset.

  "You're sure?” she asked, hoping to figure out his puzzling reaction.

  "More than fine,” he clarified, and he pulled out a chair for her to be seated.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rebecca looked up from her stitching, surprised by the voices that filtered in from the foyer. She put aside the length of fabric she was working on and opened the sliding parl
or doors.

  "Rebecca!"

  "My dear, you look lovely."

  "Marriage is treating you well, I hope."

  Rebecca found herself crushed in the arms of Hariette Pickins. Then Thelma Wilkes. And finally Mary Archer.

  "Please, come in and sit down,” she said with a little laugh as she led them into the parlor.

  "I'll make tea,” Megan said and headed for the kitchen, returning several minutes later with a tray.

  "Where's Anabelle?” Rebecca asked, noticing the girl's absence.

  Mary shook her head. “She refused to come. Oh, Rebecca,” she said, patting Rebecca's hand. “You know how taken Anabelle was with Caleb. I'm afraid she had it in her head that she would someday be his wife."

  Thelma snorted. “A typical sixteen-year-old. She'll be over it just as soon as some other handsome young man pays her a bit of attention."

  "I suppose,” Mary said with a motherly sigh and quickly turned the conversation in another direction. “We can't tell you how much we've missed seeing you on Wednesdays."

  Rebecca smiled and refrained from reminding them that she had only been married for two weeks.

  "Just look at this dress,” Hariette said, standing and holding out the sides for inspection. “It's abominable. I don't know what I'll do without you. I suppose I'll have to order from Sears and Roebuck. Oh, but I dread buying clothes out of a catalogue."

  "You wouldn't happen to be interested in continuing as our seamstress, would you, dear?” This from Mrs. Wilkes, who threw her a slanted glance.

  Rebecca began to shake her head, knowing she could never be caretaker of the Adams household as well as continuing to sew for profit.

  "Oh, do it, Rebecca,” Megan urged. “You know you've missed your Wednesdays."

  "But I don't have the time, not with—"

  "Posh,” her young sister-in-law spouted. “We're going to hire a new housekeeper soon, so you won't have to cook much longer, and you know I'm always here to help. I'm sure these ladies would be willing to keep your little business a secret. You could sew for them but not take on any new customers."