River Lady, Page 3

  “Oh?” Regan asked with interest, extending her arm to Bess to help her stand. “Then Leah did throw herself at Wesley.”

  “Oh yes. Stupid girl.” She glanced fondly at the sleeping Leah. “She’d have done anything for Mr. Stanford.”

  Together Nicole and Regan ushered Bess to a chair. “Tell us,” they chorused.

  Within a few minutes Bess had told the whole story.

  “It was through Leah that Clay found me on that island,” Nicole said thoughtfully.

  “And she’s loved Wesley all these years?” Regan said.

  “It ain’t been real love,” Bess said, “since she ain’t seen him in all these years, but Leah’s always had the notion that she was in love with him.”

  “Better than Kimberly,” Regan said under her breath.

  “Regan…” Nicole warned. “I don’t think I like your thoughts.”

  “Bess,” Regan said brightly, taking Bess’s arm, “it was so good of you to come by and I swear to you that Leah will be well taken care of.” Expertly, Regan escorted the woman out the door.

  Leaning on the closed door, Regan’s eyes were bright. “The girl saved your life and she’s been in love with Wesley for years.”

  “Regan, are you going to interfere in this? This is between Wesley and Kimberly. We should take the girl home, nurse her back to health, deliver the child, and perhaps find them a place of employment.”

  “And what about Wesley’s child?” Regan said righteously. “Are we going to let it be raised by strangers?”

  “Perhaps Wes and Kim could adopt—?” Nicole began but stopped. “Perhaps that is a bit farfetched.”

  “With dear, sweet Kimberly it is. I doubt if she’ll be able to put up with the nuisance of her own children much less someone else’s.” Regan sat down. “Look at her, Nicole, and tell me how you think she’ll look when she’s healed and clean.”

  Nicole hesitated, but she did as Regan bid. Nicole had an idea what Regan was hinting at and she was sure she should stop her, but at the same time she agreed with Regan. For months now she’d been hoping something would happen to prevent Wesley from marrying Kim.

  As dispassionately as she could, Nicole studied Leah’s battered face. “She has good features, good bones. I can’t tell about the eyes in this condition. She may never be pretty, exactly, but neither do I think she’ll be ugly.”

  “Oh well, we couldn’t hope to beat Kimberly’s loveliness. Nicole!” she said, rising. “I think we should insist that Wes marry the mother of his child, that he do the honorable thing by her.”

  “Regan…” Nicole gave a sigh of exasperation. “It just won’t work. You know Travis could fix it so the girl would never want for anything and Wes does not have to marry her.”

  “He’d more likely be happy with this stranger than he would with Kimberly. This girl loves Wes and I know Kim cannot love anyone except herself.”

  “But Wesley loves Kim,” Nicole said stubbornly, trying to reason with her friend. “He does not love this girl. And besides, what do we know of her? Maybe she’s worse than Kim ever thought of being.”

  Regan gave a snort of disbelief. “You heard the sister. This girl could have had an easy life in the tavern but instead, she chose to stay and support her brothers and sisters even though she had to bear beatings from that crazy old father. How many people do you know who would do that? Miss Shaw?”

  “Maybe not Kimberly but—.”

  “We have a choice between Kimberly or this battered, unloved, unappreciated girl.”

  That made Nicole laugh. “Oh Regan, really, you do exaggerate so. None of what you’re saying means anything. Wesley will make up his own mind.”

  Regan looked thoughtful for a moment. “If you and Clay agreed with me and we got Travis on Kim’s side—Wesley always does the opposite of what Travis wants—we might be able to get what we want.”

  “Clay can’t stand Kimberly,” Nicole said, half under her breath.

  “And what about you, Nicole, what do you think of Kimberly?”

  Nicole looked down at Leah for a long moment. “I hate to see anyone I love unhappy. Wesley has borne Travis’s criticism for so long.”

  “And wouldn’t it be nice for him to have a chance with a new wife in a new land—a real chance for happiness, not one doomed to failure?” Regan whispered.

  “Clay thought he wanted to marry Bianca but fate stepped in and we were married instead,” Nicole said under her breath.

  “We’re going to help fate a little, aren’t we, Nicole?” Regan urged.

  Nicole looked up, eyes laughing. “I’m afraid so—and afraid is exactly the right word.”

  In spite of Nicole’s original reticence, she was the one most enthusiastic in bringing about Wesley and Leah’s marriage. Clay looked into his wife’s eyes and remembered too well how he’d wanted to marry one woman and had ended with another. Besides, he’d had too many run-ins with Kimberly to ever take her side.

  Rubbing his jaw in some private memory, Clay said, “I owe Wes one. He helped me get away from Bianca. I just hope this Leah proves to be a better woman.”

  “That’s my worry too,” Nicole answered.

  But when Clay, Regan, and Nicole reached the strangely quiet Wesley and Travis, there was no need to persuade anyone.

  “You talk to him!” Travis seethed at Regan. “He thinks he has to marry the little two-bit whore. He’s willing to give up his whole future because the cunning slut arranged it so he was her first customer. If he’d had any sense and waited a few minutes in the church, probably twenty men would have admitted to tumbling her. I wonder if she faked virgin’s blood on their cloaks?”

  Regan, her hand on her husband’s arm, seemed reluctant to speak.

  Nicole went to stand near Wesley, to look up into his bleak eyes. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  Wes shook his head. “I don’t want to marry her but it’s my duty. She carries my child.”

  “And what about Kimberly?” Nicole asked softly.

  “She—,” Wes turned away for a moment. “That was killed when I stepped forward in the church.”

  “Wesley,” Nicole said, her hand on his arm, “I don’t know the girl, but I think she has qualities that could make her a good wife.”

  Wesley snorted. “She’s fertile. Now, shall we get this over?”

  “For God’s sake, think about it for a few days at least,” Travis exploded. “Maybe you’ll come to your senses. We can find the girl a husband. The cobbler’s boy is looking for a wife. He could—.”

  “Travis, you can take your cobbler and—.”

  “Wesley!” Regan interrupted. “Are you going to hate Leah when she’s your wife?”

  “I shall give her and the child the best of everything. Now, shall we go inside to my—,” he smiled in an ugly way—“bride?”

  Leah became Mrs. Wesley Stanford before the sun went down on that fateful Sunday. Through some inner strength, she held herself upright and answered the nervous preacher’s questions firmly. She didn’t quite understand how it had all come about, but it was so much like one of her dreams, standing in a marriage ceremony with the man she’d always loved, that the pain in her body seemed to slip away.

  The solemn group didn’t say a word when the service was complete. Leah was helped to make her mark beside Wesley’s signature in the church registry, then Clay’s strong arms carried her to a waiting wagon. She was too ill to notice where she was or that her new husband and his brother refused to look at her.

  She was placed in a boat, rowed upstream, and put into another wagon. At long last she was gently laid on a soft, clean bed.

  “My room,” Wesley snorted at Regan as Clay put the girl on the bed. “It’s fitting then that I should leave.”

  “Leave!” Regan gasped. “With a new wife and—.”

  Wesley’s look stopped her. “If you think I can look at that every day and stay sane you don’t know me very well. I have to go away for awhile and get used to the id
ea.” He pulled a carpetbag from a wardrobe bottom and shoved clothes into it.

  “Where are you going?” Regan whispered. “You won’t leave her and the baby?”

  “No, I know my duty. I’ll take care of both of them but I need some time to resign myself to…that!” He sneered at the sleeping Leah on his bed. “I’ll go to my farm in Kentucky, do some work, and should be back in the spring. The kid’ll be old enough to travel then.”

  “You can’t stick us with your leavings,” Travis said from the doorway. “You were the noble one who felt he had to make an honest woman of her. Woman! I can’t even tell if she’s human. Take her with you. I don’t want to be reminded of your stupidity.”

  “Take the expense of her keep from my half of this place,” Wesley shouted.

  “Don’t part like this,” Regan pleaded, but Wesley was already gone. “Go after him,” she told Travis. “Nicole and I will take care of the girl. Don’t part with your brother like this.”

  After hesitating, Travis touched his little wife’s cheek, then tore down the stairs. From the bedroom window Regan watched the brothers embrace before Wesley started toward the dock and the boat that would take him west.

  Chapter 3

  Two days after Wesley left, Leah was delivered of a stillborn child. She cried over the tiny coffin then was ushered back to bed where she slept for days, waking only briefly to eat lightly.

  When Leah finally woke and looked about her, she was sure she was in heaven. She lay in the middle of a big four-poster bed hung with cream-colored cloth. The walls were painted white and hung with pictures of sailing ships and men hunting, and there were chairs, tables, and cabinets such as she’d never seen before.

  She allowed herself only a moment to enjoy the view before she swung her legs out of bed. She was wearing a cap on her head and a brilliantly white gown; wonderingly, she touched the garment while her head stopped spinning.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” asked a woman from the doorway. “Miss Regan!” she shouted over her shoulder.

  When Regan arrived, Leah was struggling with the woman to be allowed out of bed. “Sally, that will be all.”

  “You don’t know what her kind’s like,” the maid said, sniffing, pushing at Leah’s shoulders.

  Regan drew herself up. “Sally!” she commanded. “Out of this room and I’ll speak to you later.” When she was gone, Regan turned to Leah, who was again trying to sit up. “You must rest.”

  “I have to see about the little ones. The old man’ll let them starve.”

  Gently, but with force, Regan pushed Leah back into bed. “That’s all been taken care of. Travis and Clay went to your farm and got all your brothers and sisters and they’re being placed in people’s homes. As for your father, no one’s seen him in weeks, not since he…came to church. Right now all you have to do is rest, eat, and get well. When you’re better, you can see your family. Ah, here’s the food.”

  Leah was bewildered when a prettily painted wooden tray laden with food was placed over her legs.

  “I didn’t know what you’d like so I ordered a variety,” Regan said, lifting domed silver lids to show fragrant, hot food.

  “I…” Leah stammered.

  Regan patted her hand. “Eat as much as you can and enjoy it, then I want you to sleep. We’re going to fatten you up before we set to work. The chamber pot’s under the bed.” With that Regan left the room.

  Leah tore into the food with both hands, eating as she always did—as fast as she could. She was unaware of the flecks of food she splashed on the bed hangings. When she finished, she used the chamber pot and emptied it out the window, just as she had at home. Scratching, she went back to bed and slept, missing Travis’s furor when he heard what Leah had done with the contents of the chamber pot.

  For ten days Leah did nothing but rest and eat and, as her scratches and bruises finished healing, Regan looked at her in speculation. Regan had told Leah about Wesley’s leaving for Kentucky, pretending that it was something he’d intended to do all along.

  Leah learned to leave the chamber pot for a maid, but she never had the courage to leave the bedroom. She sat at the window and looked out at the acres of buildings that went with Travis’s plantation, saw the hundreds of people moving about their jobs, and she began to feel restless.

  “When am I gonna start that work you mentioned?” she asked Regan.

  Regan took Leah’s chin in her hand and studied her face in the sunlight. The bruises were almost completely healed. “How about tomorrow morning?”

  “Good.” Leah smiled. “You got anything I can wear? Somethin’ old,” she said, nodding toward Regan’s blue silk dress.

  “I don’t think we’ll worry about your wardrobe yet,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes, I think we’ll start tomorrow if Nicole is available.” She gave Leah no time to ask questions. “I must go. There are so, so many preparations to make,” she said distractedly as she left the room.

  When Leah woke the next morning, both Nicole and Regan were standing over her wearing worn, coarse dresses of muslin, their hair covered, and stern expressions on their faces.

  “It’s not going to be easy,” Regan murmured. “Where do we start?”

  “Body first, hair tomorrow.”

  Before Leah could say a word, each woman grabbed an arm, pulled her from the bed, and led her out of the bedroom. Leah, while being half dragged, gazed about her in wonder at carpets, pictures, furniture of magnificence. They led her downstairs to a relatively plain room that was still beautiful compared to where she’d lived. “Is this gonna be my room? Wait a minute!” she gasped as Regan and Nicole practically tore the nightgown from her. She bent, struggling to cover her nude body. “You can’t—.”

  “Get used to it, Leah,” Regan ordered, “because you won’t be wearing any clothes for a couple of days.”

  “You have no right—,” she began, grabbing her gown from the floor.

  “Get in!” Regan commanded, pointing to an enormous tub standing in the middle of the room.

  Leah stood perfectly still where she was, holding her discarded gown before her.

  Nicole took over. “Leah,” she said firmly. “You’re a Stanford now and with the name and the beautiful house go certain responsibilities. For one thing, you cannot sit at a dining table smelling worse than a mule, which you do right now. Therefore, Regan and I are going to devote the next few weeks—or months if need be—to making you into a Stanford. We’re going to clean you, cream you, mask you, and when that’s finished we’re going to tackle your grammar, your walk, your manners, and anything else that needs work.”

  Leah looked from one woman to the other. “When you get through with me will I smell like you do? When Wesley comes back will he see me wearin’ a pretty dress?”

  Regan and Nicole exchanged smiles. “A beautiful dress. Wesley will be proud to have you as his wife.”

  Days later she wondered whether she would have gotten into that first tub of water if she’d had any idea what those two fiendish women had planned. She’d assumed they’d be happy with her clean skin, but Nicole clucked over her.

  “This won’t do at all. Too many years of neglect.”

  Leah, wrapped in a cotton robe, was led to another room and in this one sat a tub of…“What is that?” she said with a gasp.

  “Mud,” Regan answered, laughing.

  So Leah was immersed in mud, made to stand in her birthday suit until it dried, and given three more baths. Then she lay on a table while Nicole and Regan tried to scrub her skin off with coarse leather gloves. She was put into another tub of water, this one greasy with vegetable oil, and when she was removed they rubbed her with cucumber cream.

  “Not bad,” Regan said at the end of the day, hair straggling in her eyes, her dress filthy. “I think we accomplished a lot.” She smacked Leah on her bare bottom, handed her a robe, and escorted her upstairs.

  Exhausted, but her skin feeling tingly and alive, Leah fell into the bed.

&
nbsp; The next morning Nicole and Regan were there again. Leah groaned and pulled the covers over her head.

  “Oh no, Leah,” Regan said, laughing, “greet the day with a smile.” She pulled the covers off, but Leah did her own walking downstairs to the torture chambers.

  “I’ve been itching to do this,” Nicole said, pulling the cap from Leah’s dirty hair. “I wonder what color it is?”

  Leah sat in a hard chair while Nicole took a stiff-bristled brush to her scalp, scrubbing so hard it brought tears to her eyes.

  “Dandruff,” Nicole murmured, but Leah didn’t even know what that was.

  While Nicole scrubbed, Regan applied a cornmeal mixture to Leah’s face. When the mask was dry, they began washing her entire head. It took four shampooings to remove years of grease and dirt.

  “I won’t swear to it but I think there’re touches of red in here,” Nicole said.

  Even wet, Leah’s head felt lighter than it ever had, but before she could speak, Nicole began dumping handfuls of mayonnaise on her newly clean hair. Her head was wrapped in a very hot towel and she was left alone in the darkened room, her head leaning backwards, grated raw potato under her eyes.

  Wesley, she kept thinking. I’m really, truly his wife, and he’s worth all of this.

  In the evening her hair was washed again and rinsed with rainwater mixed with lemon juice, vinegar, and rosemary. Nicole had covered all the mirrors on their path from Wesley’s bedroom to the storage areas where they were working, so Leah had no idea how she looked, but as she sank into the bed she knew she smelled better.

  Leah was appalled to learn that Nicole and Regan expected her to change her underclothes and bathe every single day. She felt that if it’d been done once it was done forever, but on the third day they pushed her into a tub again. They were determined to soften Leah’s skin since it bore calluses from years of work. Her elbows and knees were scrubbed raw, then bleached with lemon juice and massaged with strawberry cream.

  And always there were lectures. Nicole taught her how to care for her skin and hair even if she spent all day in a field behind a team of horses. Since Leah couldn’t read, they made her memorize recipes for creams, facial masks, hair conditioners, and shampoos; on and on they went, making Leah recite them until she could repeat them even asleep.