As the rolling hills of bluegrass slipped by the train window, Laura began to relax and even managed a pleasant smile for the soldier in the opposite seat. Almost home. Home, to shaded lawns and green pastures and frolicking yearlings. To Henry and Jemima and Doc Broadbent. To the cool porch and spacious rooms of Stone Creek Farm. She might be arriving as a dependent once again, but at least the quality of life would be a significant improvement over these last few years.
Marshall’s hotel bill had eliminated her small hoard of cash. She couldn’t have returned home then if she had wanted to, even if pride would have allowed her to admit her foolishness. At the headstrong age of seventeen she could never have admitted her error. Even now she was content to hide it, knowing how wrong she had been to follow her heart and not her head.
She had nearly starved those first few weeks while she washed dishes and scrubbed floors in return for a place to sleep. It had been humiliating to an extreme, devastating to the few remnants of her pride. But once she explained her husband was in the army, people began to look on her more kindly. Eventually she had found work sewing for one of the dress shops in town. After a while she knew enough people to start taking in mending and sewing on her own. The town was poor and her earnings were meager, but she had managed, until eventually she could even hoard a penny or two, always with the distant dream of Stone Creek in mind.
After a year or two of this life, everyone in Cairo knew her, and several of the women she went to church with began to question her about Marshall’s whereabouts. Laura had lied about letters when questioned, and after Marshall’s unit was involved in a particularly bloody battle, she didn’t mention the letters anymore. She simply donned black, and all questions had ended. Little did the good ladies know that she merely prayed the wretch was dead.
The widow’s weeds had worked wonders in Cairo, and Laura felt confident they would do the same in Stone Creek. She had written Sallie that she and Marshall were married. Who was there to protest she was not? To this day she had no idea if Marshall had survived the war, but he would certainly never return to Stone Creek looking for her if he had. It was a perfectly safe little lie that lent her respectability.
The Bluegrass Special rattled into the Stone Creek depot, and Laura rubbed at the dirty glass in hopes of seeing familiar faces. The war had sporadically struck at this wealthy area of Kentucky, but only Morgan’s raiders had done any amount of damage, she knew. They had pillaged the countryside, driven the Union Army in circles with the antics of their telegraph operator and his false messages, and destroyed the property of Union supporters wherever they could. But they had left the town of Stone Creek relatively intact. The depot looked only a little older than when she had left.
The only traveling gown Laura owned was the same one she had left in. She had grown an inch or more since then, and her bosom was a little fuller. It had taken long hours of work to lower the hem, tighten and add ruching to the unfashionably full sleeves, and let out the bodice seams, but Laura was quite proud of her handiwork. Black braid hid the seam and hem lines and added the touch of mourning necessary for her widowed state. She stepped off the train in almost the same elegance as she had once entered it.
On the platform Laura searched for someone to help her carry the carpetbag holding all her worldly possessions. She had very little money left after paying for meals and fares, and she had no idea of the cost of paying someone to take her out to the farm. She had hoped Henry would be here to meet her, but as she looked at the strangers hurrying by, she realized she had only been conjuring up fantasies of the past, not the reality of the present.
Things had changed, but she had just been too caught up in her memories to notice it. As she carried her bag into the street, Laura could see that the number of black faces around her had diminished. Usually the drivers of the buggies and farm carts were black, and the servants tripping along behind their mistresses carrying packages were black. None of these familiar sights greeted her now. She had been imagining a place that no longer existed.
Although Kentuckians claimed the Emancipation Act had had no effect on them, since they were not among the secessionist states, the military had declared martial law and issued passes to any black person seeking one, Laura had read in the papers.
Obviously the slaves had taken their freedom and left. She couldn’t blame them, she supposed. There was little enough here to make a living for a white man unless he owned land. With no education and no training, what could a black man do? Outsiders were never welcome. Freed slaves would be anathema to a community like this. She wondered where house servants like Henry and Jemima might go.
It became obvious that no one had come for her, whatever the case might be. She had wired Sallie of her arrival, but she had no idea of the conditions at the farm. Perhaps they had no servants at all, and with Ward ill . . . Laura refused to think further than that. Too much had been lost in these years. She wouldn’t create more losses in her mind.
Doc Broadbent would know how things stood. Perhaps he’d know somebody who could give her a ride. She lifted her heavy bag and started down the street.
People stared as she went by. Several gentlemen lifted their hats to her, but intent on her purpose, Laura paid them little heed. Isolated on the farm, she had learned little of the townspeople other than that they always remarked upon strangers. If they recognized her through her short veil, they didn’t give evidence of it, so she assumed they thought her a new arrival. Even so, it felt odd to have men lifting their hats to her. When she was here last, she had always been trailing Sallie, and it was always Sallie who attracted notice.
Entering by the back gate, Laura caught Doc Broadbent just hitching his horse to his buggy. She halted, not wishing to interfere if it were an emergency. Nearing thirty-five, he was still a young man, but he moved with an old man’s slowness. His lined face looked tired and stern, and she wondered if he had ever remarried.
Certainly there ought to be a plenitude of women available from whom to choose. He wasn’t rich, but he was comfortable. And if his angular face wasn’t exactly handsome, it possessed an intelligence and kindness to make up the lack. Laura rather thought the late president’s face looked much like that, although the doctor’s wasn’t as harsh-boned as the daguerreotypes she had seen of Mr. Lincoln.
Just as she determined to step forward, he looked up. She could see him hesitate, and then his mouth turned upward in a weary smile of welcome.
“Laura! Laura Kincaid, as I live and breathe! You came back!” His glance then encompassed the black bonnet and bands of mourning, and his smile faded. “Sallie told me you lost your husband in the war. I’m sorry, child.”
Laura shook back the encompassing bonnet and let the sun shine on her hair in a gesture of relief and freedom. “It’s been a long time, Doc. There’s nothing to be sorry for. How’s Ward? I told Sallie I’d be back to help, but there wasn’t anyone at the station.”
He immediately finished fastening the bridle and offered a hand to lift her up. “Come on, I was going that way. You’ll be a sight for sore eyes out there, I reckon.” He climbed up in the seat beside her and clucked the mare into a walk. “Ward’s about as well as can be expected. A healthy young man like that has a hard time adjusting to the life of an invalid.”
An invalid. Laura could not imagine that gallant young man as an invalid. Or Sallie dealing well with one. She grimaced at the thought. “Tell me what’s been happening. Sallie’s a terrible correspondent. I only hear when someone dies or takes ill. And have you heard from Cash? It’s the funniest thing, but I’ve been remembering him lately.”
Jonathan Broadbent chuckled and flicked his whip as the carriage rolled into the street and headed for the country. “Sallie’s a caution, I don’t deny. It’s been hard for her, with both her parents dying like that, and now this business with Ward coming home injured. It’ll do her good to have a level head around. Whatever anyone might say, you’re the Kincaid with the best head on her shoulders. Even Cash noticed it when he wasn’t too busy looking out for himself. I had a letter from him just the other day. He doesn’t say much, just that he’s doing fine. He made it out to California when he left here, you know. It seems he has a bit of land and some horses, but he’s not one to puff himself up, so I can’t rightly tell how he is except by reading between the lines.”
They gossiped companionably on the way out to the farm. Obviously lonely for someone who would listen, Doc didn’t notice that Laura evaded personal questions by turning them back to him. By the time they reached the stone fences of the farm, Laura began to feel as if she had come home at last.
When they drove between the stone posts of the farm, she scanned the tree-lined lane eagerly for the first sight of the house. The warm bricks appeared through the thick foliage of elms and pin oaks. She caught a glimpse of a dark shutter and a window, then a corner of the columned porch.
They lurched around the bend and the whole house veered into view. Laura observed the immense security of those familiar walls with satisfaction. The ivy had climbed farther up the side chimney than Uncle Matthew had ever allowed, but she liked the effect.
The paint on the shutters and columns had faded and begun to peel. As she looked closer, she could see the vast expanse of emerald lawn had not been cut in a long time, the mock oranges and abelias hadn’t been trimmed, and honeysuckle was taking over the rose garden. Sallie had never been much interested in gardening, so the disorder didn’t surprise Laura entirely.
The shock came when the carriage rattled around the drive and she could see the burned ruins of the once- glorious stables. She had expected neglect. Things had not been going well when she left, and the war would have drained away the labor and finances, but there had been no battles in this area. Even Morgan had left them alone. What could have happened to the stables?
Jonathan caught her surprise and alarm, and he shook his head in concern. “The aftereffects of war, Miss Laura. All the thousands of men who once fought for our country and against it are now trying to make their way back home or discovering they have no homes. They’ve been fighting for four long years, many since they were boys. Fighting is the only life they know.”
That didn’t explain the stables, and Laura watched him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.
He slowly wound his whip as he spoke. “There’s no excuse for what they do, of course. They can’t go on fighting forever, but around here it looks like they’re going to try. There’s one group that calls themselves the Raiders, and they’ll use any excuse to lynch a black man or steal from a Union supporter. They’ve been helping the slave owners hide their slaves and keeping them penned up so the soldiers can’t find them. Then there’s the Regulators, who’ve decided the law can’t protect peaceful citizens, so they set out to make their own law and order.”
Doc shifted uncomfortably on the cushioned seat of the ancient barouche. “If you’ll pardon my language, Miss Laura, it’s just another excuse for rape and pillaging, one group getting even with the other. I shouldn’t be saying these things to a lady, but you have a right to know what to expect. The Raiders came out here one night looking for trouble. Ward held them off with a rifle and one servant, but he couldn’t save the stables. They stole the last of the horses and burned the stables to the ground.”
Laura sat silently, gazing at the blackened brick walls that were all that remained of Uncle Matthew’s pride and joy. She had read the tiny articles in the Louisville Courier occasionally mentioning a “murderous raid” or “abominable acts of marauders,” but she had never associated those articles with Stone Creek. The war was over. Why keep fighting it?
Jonathan climbed down from the carriage and came around to offer her a hand. She accepted it gratefully, needing his reassuring squeeze as she glanced up the steps to the house. What had she returned to? And why?
No servant hastened to open the gracious double doors. No stable lad rushed to take the doctor’s horse and feed it a handful of grain and wipe it down. No laughing faces appeared in the windows, and no one came running around from behind the house. There was no sign of welcome at all. Even Sallie’s golden head didn’t appear to adorn the bank of once-sparkling front windows. And Uncle Matt’s booming voice would never resound again through the hallway, commanding everyone to present himself. It was a strange homecoming, and Laura ascended the porch stairs slowly.
They knocked, and a dog barked vehemently. Eventually a slight maid in worn calico and dirty apron opened the door, accompanied by a large animal that could only be Franz the Second. The maid nodded at the doctor in recognition, stared rudely at Laura, who had given a cry of joy and bent over the dog, then hurried off down the wide uncarpeted hall.
Gently Dr. Broadbent pried Laura from the animal and led her after the maid. “This way. No point in making Ward come to us.”
Still holding the dog’s collar as they traversed the hall, Laura puzzled over the conflicting information she had received concerning Ward’s health. From Sallie’s letters she had assumed him to be on his deathbed. Doc had called him an invalid, yet he had been able to hold off a gang of cowardly marauders. That didn’t sound like any invalid she knew.
They entered what had once been Uncle Matt’s study just as the maid hurried out. She bobbed a curtsy and scampered in the direction of the kitchen.
The draperies were pulled and the room was in semi- darkness, but Laura could discern the form of a large man seated in a chair. Ward’s voice was the same warm, friendly drawl she remembered as he pulled back the heavy curtains.
“Doc! What brings you out this way today? I can see you’ve brought me some lovely company.” His eyes widened as Laura shook off the concealing hat and pulled it away from her face. “Little Laura! For goodness’ sake! I don’t believe it. Look at you. Why, last I remember, you were a gangly-legged filly just making your debut. I’d make a bow if I could, but you’ll have to accept my hand instead.”
Ward took her mittened hand in both of his and squeezed it warmly, giving Laura the reassurance and welcome she needed. It took a moment longer before she realized he wasn’t sitting in the desk chair, but in some contraption with wheels. When he came around the desk, she could see the outlines of his legs beneath the blanket, but they didn’t move as he rolled into the room’s center.
“Have a seat, both of you. Lottie’s gone for some lemonade. Sallie should be here any minute. My mother and sister-in-law came to fetch her for some tea party.”
Laura settled her skirts on the old velvet settee and tried to recover her tongue. Between the neatly trimmed bands of his sideburns, Ward’s face was thinner than she remembered, and the gold of his hair had faded. He no longer sported the tanned healthiness of a man who preferred the outdoors, but his eyes were still warm and vaguely amused as he waited for her to speak. She had never been much for words around him, and he must have realized she had not changed.
“You don’t know how good it is to see you looking so well, Ward.” She managed to finally formulate a complete sentence. “After Sallie’s letter, I imagined the worst.”
Ward glanced down at his useless legs and a shadow crossed his face, but when he looked up again, he was smiling. “Well, to Sallie, my inability to dance probably is the worst. I daresay I’d feel the same if our positions were reversed. So, tell me, little Laura, where have you been hiding out all these years? I never thought that rogue Marshall had it in him to settle down. I’m glad I was wrong. You look prettier and happier than I ever remember seeing you.”
They were still exchanging news when the front door opened and the patter of light feet and the rustle of silk and crinolines hurried down the hall. Sallie flew through the doorway in a burst of sunshine, carefully coiled ringlets dancing golden in the light as she threw aside her fashionably feathered hat with its gauzy streamers and stretched out her arms in exuberant welcome.
“Laura! You’ve come at last. How dreadful of you to leave me like that! I cried myself to sleep for weeks. You’ve come to stay, I hope. Why, I don’t know how we’ve done without you.”
She grasped Laura’s hand, turned charmingly to the doctor for support, and completely ignored the man sitting in the chair behind her. Her pretty face was as animated as ever as she kissed the doctor’s cheek and pulled Laura down beside her on the settee, and Laura had to sigh with exasperation as she realized one thing hadn’t changed—Sallie’s self-centeredness.
Disengaging her hand, she glanced from her cousin to Ward. “I don’t want to be a burden to anyone. I’ll do my share to help around here if I stay. But, Sallie, I think this is something you need to ask Ward. He may not want another useless female around. I’ve been taking care of myself for four years now; I can continue to do so. I don’t want to live on anyone’s charity.”
Sallie opened her mouth to speak, but Ward interrupted before a sound emerged. “Laura, this is your home. You don’t need my permission to stay. Just be aware that we’re likely to work you half to death if you do. Neither of us has ever been known for unselfishness.”
Sallie gasped with indignation, the doctor coughed, and Laura gave Ward a relieved smile. One of them had matured over these years, at least. She held out her hand in agreement.
“Done. I’ll live in the lap of luxury and work like a slave. It seems a fair exchange to me.”
***
Laura hadn’t underestimated the situation with that brave declaration. Stone Creek had never relied heavily on slave labor, but there were certain tasks that the local population considered the province of blacks alone and therefore beneath their dignity. Combined with the loss of healthy workers due to the war, the manpower needed to run a large farm was severely limited. Only planters wealthy enough to pay the highest wages could afford to continue operating on the same scale as before the war.
And Stone Creek was far from being wealthy. Laura didn’t mean to pry, but when Sallie returned from town with her arms loaded with packages and Ward’s expression took on that expression of pain Laura had learned to recognize in her first few weeks back, she knew all wasn’t well.
Since her homecoming, Laura had taken over the tasks of helping in the kitchen and overseeing the weekly laundry, for which workers were imported from town for that day only. She had not dared ask Ward if they might have more help to trim the gardens or clean the house. What labor was available went into the fields. Their livelihood came from what could be grown in the rich acreage beyond the lawns. If there were money available for house servants, Ward surely would have provided them.
So Sallie’s extravagance on the frills and furbelows so dear to her heart could be the only reason for the pained frown between Ward’s eyes as he watched her rush upstairs with her new acquisitions. The first few times this happened, Laura politely turned her back and walked away, but the day she had to hoe the kitchen garden herself because Lottie declared she wasn’t getting paid enough to do it, Laura stalked into the study after Ward.
She found him poring over the farm ledgers, his ink- stained fingers and the stacks of scribbled papers across the desktop giving evidence that he had spent the better part of the morning in this occupation. She took a seat beside the desk and waited patiently for him to look up.
He looked so tired and unwell that Laura’s heart went out to him, and daringly she covered his hand with her own, bringing his restless scribbling to a halt. “How bad is it, Ward? I can see that half the crops haven’t been planted, and without the foals to sell in the fall, we’ll be hurting, but surely we’ve cut enough expenses to get by?” She knew all about cutting expenses from hard experience.
A thin smile appeared on Ward’s lips. “Don’t you fret about it, Laura. I can’t walk or ride a horse, but I can still manage a few things. You go on up to bed now.”
Those were the kind of words she had been hearing all her life, and a sudden fury swept through her. She had just worn her hands to the bone to keep from hiring another expensive servant. Did he really think she was totally incompetent?
She was no longer a child, and it was on her tongue to tell him so, but the way Ward passed his hand across his brow in weariness made her bite back the angry words. His pride was at stake as much as hers. It seemed a shame they couldn’t work together to solve the problem, but the barrier between them was greater than she had remembered.
Laura rose stiffly but did not go without a few parting remarks. “Uncle Matt refused to sell our slaves even though he said they cost too much. He wore out too many fields planting tobacco. This place was losing money before I left. Whatever shape it’s in now is not your fault, Ward, but it looks like it’s up to you to make changes. I’ll help in any way I can, but you have to tell me what to do.”
As she moved toward the door, she heard Ward speak her name, and she turned back questioningly.
In the light of the oil lamp his face looked shadowed, and her stomach jumped at the ghostly image she saw there. Dr. Broadbent said he was healthy. She didn’t dare think otherwise.
“Laura, if you would . . .” He seemed embarrassed, and hesitated before continuing. When she waited, he was forced to go on. “See if you can talk to Sallie. I could have hired three good laborers with the money she spent today. I know I owe her a lot for not being able to give her the kind of life she expected, and it’s hard for me to deny her anything, but she has to see that things have changed. No one has the money to go out and buy as they did before.”
“The whole world could turn upside down tomorrow, Ward, but Sallie wouldn’t change. I’ll speak with her, but you’d best write letters to all her favorite shops here and in Lexington and in Louisville and everywhere else, telling them not to extend any more credit. We might not change Sallie, but we can change the world around her a little bit. It is a very small world she lives in, you know.”
Ward’s smile was bitter as he nodded his head in agreement. “I know. I’ll take your words into consideration. Thank you, Laura.”
He wouldn’t do it, she knew as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Sallie slept in her lonely glory in the master suite upstairs while Ward hauled himself into the cot in the study each night. Never would it occur to Sallie to rearrange the rooms so she could sleep downstairs and take care of her husband’s needs. And never would it occur to Ward to suggest it. He would protect Sallie and her way of life until his dying day. Laura wondered what Sallie had ever done to deserve such devotion.
Her talk with Sallie the next day was as unsuccessful as she had expected. Her cousin looked up with surprise when Laura broached the subject, then smiled and waved her hand to dismiss it. “Don’t be silly, Laura. Why, I only spent a few dollars yesterday. Surely a few dollars won’t bankrupt us. Ward wouldn’t want me to go to his nephew’s christening in old clothes, would he? Of course not. By the way, I’ve invited his family and the rest of the guests over here afterward. I think it’s time we began socializing again. Papa always said he sold more horses at a party than he ever did at market.”
Laura stared at her aghast, but Sallie seemed perfectly oblivious of the cannonball she had just exploded. They didn’t even have enough hired help to scythe the grass. And what horses did she think they would sell?
Biting her tongue, Laura calmly agreed. “Very well. The christening is Saturday, isn’t it? We’ll have to have wine and champagne, fruit for the centerpiece, more ice than we have left in the icehouse. Someone will need to slaughter and dress a hog . . . I don’t believe we have any more hogs, do we?” She began ticking their material needs off on her hands.
“I’ll tell you what, Sallie,” she continued. “I’ll go into town and see about supplies. You find a cook who knows how to make something besides fried chicken and greens, a half-dozen maids to set this place to rights, another half-dozen gardeners so our guests won’t have to wade through the lawns, and by Saturday we’ll be ready. We’ll just have to serve the food and drink ourselves, though. I don’t think we’ll have time to train house servants.”
Sallie glared at her, picked up an ostrich-feather fan, and switched it back and forth. “Well, I declare, Laura, you needn’t get so snippety about it. I’m just trying to help, after all. Just because I can’t cook and clean doesn’t mean I can’t be useful. I’m good at parties. Ward knows that. He ought to be grateful that I’m trying. Why doesn’t he buy some yearlings, if that’s what bothers him? That’s what Papa would have done.”
It was always pointless to talk reason to Sallie. Everything was always someone else’s fault, someone else’s responsibility. Laura had learned the only way to deal with it was to drop the subject. When Sallie observed the house was not magically cleaned and the lawns were still not tended, she would find some way of blaming someone and call off the party. That kept the aggravation level to a minimum.
***
On a particularly humid day at the end of June, Ward rolled his chair to the porch to join Laura as she broke beans from the meager garden. Steve, Ward’s older brother, had just left, and after being cooped up in the stuffy study with him all day, Ward looked worn and melted. His shirt collar had lost its starch, and irritably he pulled at his cravat to loosen it. Always formally correct, he wore his coat and waistcoat still, but at Laura’s questioning lift of her eyebrow, he began to struggle out of the top coat.
“Help me out of the blamed thing, Laura. You’ll excuse me this once?”
“I not only excuse you, I sympathize. I want to know the fashion arbiter who dictates women must wear long sleeves except in evening. I’ll wager she’s a Yankee.”
Ward grunted his thanks as she helped him off with the coat. “Well, it’s evening. Where are your short sleeves?”
The pale brown silk she wore was one she had owned before the war. It had a high neck and pleated bodice, and a high waistline that was exceedingly out-of-style, but it made a sensible day dress. Laura lifted the limp skirt wryly.
“’Tis evening, but not an evening gown. When you have to clean and press your own clothes, you become more cautious of changing frequently.”
Ward gave a ragged sigh and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “My brother wants to buy some of that bottomland adjoining his farm. It’s good for horses, and we haven’t got any. I’m thinking of selling.”
Ward didn’t ask for her advice, but it was in his voice. The land had become his when Matthew died. Kentucky law was based on English common law, and a married woman couldn’t hold property. Her husband was even entitled to her wages. It didn’t seem fair, but in this case it was justified, Laura knew. If the land had to be sold, Ward would get a much better price for it than Sallie.
Laura shuddered when she thought of what it would have been like had Sallie married someone like Marshall. He could have sold the whole farm and disappeared with the proceeds. In that, he and Sallie were much alike. How she could have been so blind and ignorant puzzled Laura when she thought about those days. She wasn’t at all certain that her judgment was sound if she could fall for the likes of Marshall Brown.
“I hate to sell that stretch,” she answered thoughtfully. “It’s prime land. Couldn’t we sell something else and buy a few horses?”
Ward looked dubious. “Maybe. Do you think Sallie will object to selling anything off?”
Laura gave him a wry look as she pushed the rocker with the tip of her toe. “She doesn’t have much choice, does she?”
Ward turned his chair so he could watch her rocking, snapping and sorting green beans in the fading light. He touched her hand, halting her constant motion.
“Laura, you’re too young to waste away your life out here. Why did you come back?”
She glanced up in surprise at Ward’s sympathetic tone. He had always been a handsome man. His golden hair and chiseled face held women spellbound when he turned his charm their way. The chiseled features were lined now, but she still wouldn’t mind tracing her fingers over the dent in his chin, just below that mobile and rather seductive mouth. She smiled at his sudden concern for her.
“I was too young to waste away my life out there. Why do you ask?”
Ward frowned at her facetious answer, but it was a thoughtful frown, and his fingers wrapped around hers as he weighed his words. “You’ve been a married woman, Laura. I won’t offend your maidenly modesty if I speak of a man’s needs?”
Laura’s free fingers clenched. She was glad the half-light hid her embarrassment. “I doubt that I ever possessed much maidenly modesty, Ward. I’ve never been like Sallie, you know.”
“I know,” he said softly. “That is why I felt free to speak to you. Sallie does not see me as a man anymore, but I am. Only my legs are useless, not the rest of me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman. Your coming here reminds me of that every day.” He hesitated. “I thought, perhaps, if you should ever feel those same needs . . .” Ward drew away his hand and made a gesture of disgust. “Oh, hell, Laura, I’m not any good at wooing without horses and dancing and romantic strolls through the gardens. Forget I ever said anything.”
Laura hid her flush of embarrassment by clasping her hands in her lap and staring at them. She had a very good idea of what he was talking about, but yet she didn’t. She felt vague needs and desires when the air filled with spring and restlessness was everywhere. She felt the same when she stripped naked in the privacy of her room and daringly slept that way in the summer heat. But she had never associated these strange stirrings with Ward, and she could not now, although, much to her chagrin, she tried.
“You think you’ve shocked me, but I assure you it is a pleasant shock. I am an exceedingly wicked woman, Ward, more so than you’ll ever know,” Laura murmured as he gazed morosely over the overgrown lawn. “I’ll take your offer as a compliment, even though I cannot accept it. I know Sallie very well. She’s all the family I have. I hold her at fault for her treatment of you, but I cannot in all conscience rectify her mistakes.”
“Even if you wanted?” he asked with wry humor, the darkness between them forgiving all.
Laura dared turn her face to him again. “Were it not for Sallie, I would say yes in a minute. It would probably be wrong for both of us, because we are nothing alike, but you’re still an attractive man, and you are right, I am a lonely woman. In which case it might be much safer for both of us if you found someone less hampered by Sallie than I am.”
Ward looked startled, then grinned. “Any suggestions?”
Demurely Laura returned to her beans. “Whatever happened to that accommodating maid your parents kept?”