Chapter Twenty-one
The patches of blue sky had gone away and the afternoon had turned blustery. By the time Breckinridge made it back to the farm, a cold rain was falling. As usual, he hadn’t worn a hat, so his head was soaked when he came in. He didn’t really feel any discomfort, though. His mind was still reeling from the encounter with Maureen and Aylesworth.
“Land’s sake, you’re as soaked as an old wet hen,” Samantha Wallace exclaimed when she saw him. “Go on over by the fire and dry out for a while.”
“Where are Pa and the boys?” Breckinridge asked as he did what his mother told him. He had to admit that he was a mite chilled. The warmth felt good as he stretched his hands out toward the flames dancing in the fireplace.
“They’re in the barn,” Samantha replied. “One of the cows is calving, and your pa said it might be a difficult birth. He expected they’d be out there all afternoon. I’m sure if you want to join them it would be all right. Put on a hat first, though, for goodness’ sake.”
Breckinridge had no desire to help with the calving. He had done enough work like that in his life. Anyway, he had something else on his mind.
“Ma, what have you heard about the marriage of Richard and Maureen Aylesworth?”
Her lips pinched together as she turned to regard him. After a moment she said, “Your father told me you planned to go see that girl. That was a mistake, Breckinridge. You’ve no right to intrude on someone else’s marriage.”
“But what have you heard?” Breckinridge insisted. “Does he treat her badly?”
“What goes on behind the closed doors of a man’s house is no business of anyone else.”
“You don’t really believe that.”
She snorted and said, “Indeed I do! And I don’t indulge in gossip.”
“So there’s something to gossip about,” Breckinridge said.
His mother threw her hands up in exasperation.
“I’m glad you’re back, son, but Lord, you’d pester a person to death! I’m telling you, forget about Maureen Grantham. You’ll cause nothing but trouble if you insist on poking your nose in where you have no business.”
Breckinridge saw the stubborn determination on her face and knew he wasn’t going to find out anything from her. He nodded and said, “All right, Ma. I understand.”
“Do you really, or are you just saying that to placate me?”
“I understand,” Breckinridge said again, and as far as he was concerned, that was true.
He understood that something was wrong between Maureen and Aylesworth, and he couldn’t just ride away and head back to the frontier without finding out if there was anything he could do to help her.
* * *
He let things lie for a few days while he pondered the best course of action. Although he had plenty of suspicions, he didn’t actually know anything about what went on between Maureen and Aylesworth. He supposed it was possible he had read all the signs wrong, so he decided to find out more before he proceeded any further.
He went to the blacksmith shop in Knoxville to talk to Phineas Cobb, who shoed horses for just about everyone in town. Because of that, Cobb knew what was going on with most of them. He liked to talk, too, and he had a fierce streak of independence that made him unafraid to share what he knew.
Also, Breckinridge thought with a grin as he rode up to the blacksmith shop, Cobb was a natural-born busybody who could put most old women to shame when it came to gossiping.
“Breckinridge Wallace!” the blacksmith greeted him. Cobb was a short man, almost as broad as he was tall, with massively muscled arms from swinging a hammer. He was bald except for two tufts of white hair that stuck out above his ears. “I heard you was back in these parts. What can I do for you?”
“Horse needs a new shoe,” Breckinridge said. That was true enough. When Breck’s father had mentioned the problem, he had volunteered right away to take the animal into town and have the chore attended to, because he knew that getting information out of Cobb wouldn’t take much effort.
“Well, let me take a look. You’re lucky I can get right on this job. Not very busy this afternoon.”
Cobb led the horse into the shop and started examining the animal’s shoes, probably checking to see if he could justify replacing any of the others, Breckinridge mused.
“I wondered if you’d ever hear that it was safe for you to come back here,” the blacksmith said as he worked. “Things looked mighty bad for you for a while there. Old Junius Carlson wanted your hide after you killed his boy.”
“That was an accident,” Breckinridge said. “I didn’t like Jasper, but I wish it hadn’t happened. Who was it broke down and told the law what really happened?”
“That was the Copeland boy, William,” Cobb said as he pried off the shoe that needed to be replaced. “But then the rest of the bunch went along with him. Afraid of windin’ up in jail for lyin’ to the law, I reckon. All but Richard Aylesworth. He kept insistin’ that you jumped them and started the whole thing. Way I heard it, his pa finally pulled him aside and ordered him to tell the truth. Richard did, but you could tell he didn’t like it. He made out like it was all a mistake, a misunderstandin’, that he never said what ever’body knew he really did.”
“Everybody but his wife,” Breckinridge said. “She must’ve believed him.”
The blacksmith shot a glance at him and then nodded.
“She wasn’t his wife then, but they got married not long after that. Yeah, Mrs. Aylesworth wants to believe him, I suppose, but I bet deep down she don’t. She’s bound to know by now what sort of polecat Richard Aylesworth really is, the way he treats her.”
Cobb couldn’t be cooperating any better, Breckinridge thought. He felt anger bubbling up inside him, but he tamped it down and said apparently casually, “Mistreats her, does he?”
Cobb’s beefy shoulders rose and fell in a shrug as he said, “I wouldn’t go so far as to say he beats her . . . but I wouldn’t say he doesn’t, either. ’Course, any woman’s got to be kept in line by her husband if he’s worth his salt, but hell, the Aylesworth boy’s always had a habit of carryin’ things too far, if you know what I mean.”
Breckinridge knew. All too well, in fact.
“Reckon he probably treats her a mite more gentle now that she’s expectin’,” the garrulous blacksmith went on. “But that don’t mean he’s nice to her. Always talks to her real cold-like, he does, like he can’t stand bein’ around her. Can’t see why any man’d feel like that. She’s just as sweet and pretty as can be.”
That was true, Breckinridge thought. Maureen was sweet and pretty . . . too sweet for her own good. Too sweet—and too scared—to stand up to Aylesworth.
But what he had heard here today had helped him make up his mind. He wanted to leave Tennessee and head back to the frontier, but he couldn’t do that while Maureen was trapped in such a bad situation. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t go back to her house, but he knew now he was going to have to break that vow. He had to offer her his help. If she wanted to get away from Aylesworth, he would help her do just that.
No matter how much trouble it caused.
* * *
He knew he might need to bide his time, but he didn’t want to wait too long. Phineas Cobb seemed to think that Aylesworth wouldn’t hurt Maureen because she was carrying his child, but Breckinridge didn’t want to count on that. He had seen the way Aylesworth could fly into a rage and do crazy things. He wouldn’t put anything past the man.
The next day, Breckinridge saddled one of the horses. His brother Henry saw him and wanted to know where he was going, but Breck dodged the question.
“Just goin’ for a ride,” he replied as casually as he could. “You know how restless I’ve always been.”
“Yeah, I suppose so,” Henry said. “How about if I come with you?” He looked around the barn to make sure their father wasn’t within earshot, lowered his voice, and went on, “I could use a break from all these chores around here.”
Breckinridge didn’t want to hurt his brother’s feelings, but he didn’t need any company on this trip, either. He said, “I sort of got used to bein’ alone while I was out yonder on the frontier, Henry. Maybe another time.”
“All right,” Henry said stiffly. “Sure, if that’s the way you feel.”
He walked off, and Breckinridge wanted to call him back and explain. But he knew he couldn’t, not really. Nobody in his family would understand why he had to do this thing. They never had grasped exactly how he felt about Maureen.
Before Henry had a chance to tell anybody else that Breckinridge was going anywhere, Breck swung up into the saddle and galloped away from the farm. He thought he heard a couple of shouts behind him, but he didn’t look back. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted from his purpose. He didn’t want anything to weaken his resolve.
When he reached Knoxville, the first thing he did was to ride past the huge Aylesworth general store. It was busy, with several wagons pulled up at the store’s front porch, which also served as its loading dock. Aproned clerks, along with customers, loaded supplies into the backs of those wagons. Breckinridge didn’t see Richard Aylesworth, but since Aylesworth ran the store these days it was more likely he was inside.
Breckinridge rode on to Maureen’s house. The same maid answered his knock. Her eyes widened, and for a second he thought she was going to close the door in his face. But then she gave him a sullen look and said, “I don’t reckon Miz Maureen wants to see you, mister.”
“Why don’t you ask her that?” Breckinridge said.
“She don’ need no big ol’ fella like you comin’ ’round here and makin’ trouble. She a married woman. She don’ need to be havin’ no truck with some fella who ain’t her husban’.”
For all her fiery nature, the maid was a little bit of a thing, and Breckinridge was about to warn her that he would pick her up and set her aside if he had to, when Maureen’s familiar voice asked from behind her, “Who is that at the door, Ophelia?”
The maid scowled at Breckinridge, then turned her head to say, “It ain’t nobody, Miz Maureen, jus’ some tramp—”
Maureen moved up alongside the woman, and her face lit up with a smile as she said, “Breckinridge, it’s you again.” He could tell that reaction was her natural one, but it was quickly replaced as her smile vanished and she said, “I’m not sure you should be here . . .”
“That’s what I been tellin’ him, Miz Maureen,” the maid insisted. “Or tryin’ to, anyway.”
“You never were very good at listening when you didn’t want to hear, were you, Breckinridge?” Maureen said to him.
“I just want to talk to you for a minute,” he said. “Once I’ve spoken my piece, if you want me to leave, I’ll go without makin’ any fuss about it, Maureen. You got my word on that.”
For a long moment, Maureen hesitated. Her teeth caught her bottom lip between them for a second as she thought. Then she said, “All right, but I’m going to hold you to that, Breckinridge. Let him in, Ophelia.”
The maid ha-rumphed to make it clear how she felt about Maureen’s decision. But she stepped aside and let Breckinridge walk into the foyer.
“We’ll be in the parlor, as before,” Maureen went on.
“You want tea again?” Ophelia asked.
Maureen shook her head and said, “No, not this time. Mr. Wallace won’t be here that long.”
Breckinridge wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. But at least Maureen was willing to listen to him. She was going to give him a chance to win her over, to convince her that if she was truly afraid of Richard Aylesworth, she would be better off leaving him. Sure, there would be a terrible scandal, but that was better than staying with a scoundrel like Aylesworth.
Maureen led him into the parlor. She motioned for Breckinridge to sit down on the divan, but she stayed on her feet this time instead of taking a seat next to him.
“What is it you want from me, Breckinridge?” she asked. “You know that there is really . . . nothing . . . I can give you.”
“I don’t want anything except to help you,” he said.
“And how do you propose to do that? I have everything I could possibly need.”
“How about a husband who loves you and treats you decent?”
She paled as she stared at him. Even with him sitting and her standing, their heads were almost on the same level.
“I told you not to believe any ridiculous gossip you might hear about me,” she said. “Richard is madly in love with me and treats me like a princess.”
“That’s what you want everybody to believe.”
“It’s the truth!”
Breckinridge shook his head and said, “Everybody in Knoxville knows what sort of man Richard Aylesworth really is. He lied about what happened during that fight. He was a lot more responsible for Jasper Carlson dyin’ than I was. I was just defendin’ myself, but Jasper wouldn’t have even been there if it wasn’t for Richard. He lied to the law, whether you want to admit it or not.”
Maureen’s chin quivered a little as she said, “You’re wrong. The whole thing was a tragic misunderstanding. An accident—”
“Richard and his friends figured on beatin’ me within an inch of my life. Actually, I reckon Richard planned on killin’ me—all because I’d had the audacity to come callin’ on you. He had his sights set on you, and nobody was supposed to interfere with that.” Breckinridge sighed. “Well, it looks like he got you. But that don’t mean he gets to keep you, not if you don’t want to be here.”
“But don’t you see, I do. I do want to be here. Richard isn’t . . . perfect. No man is. But I chose to marry him, and I’ll not go back on my word.”
“Your pride’s more important to you than your life?” Breckinridge nodded toward her belly. “More important than your baby’s life?”
“How dare you!” Maureen was trembling all over now. “Breck, you have no right . . . you can’t just come charging in here like a bull and turn my life upside down . . . I have to honor my vows . . . I have to—”
She stopped short, moved closer to him, and without any more warning than that she threw her arms around his neck. Instinctively, Breckinridge came to his feet and bent his head to hers. His mouth found her lips and he drew her against him, cradling her gently against his massive bulk.
Breckinridge was so lost in the sensations washing through him that he barely heard the rapid footsteps in the foyer and the low-pitched cry of warning from Ophelia, the maid.
“Miz Maureen! Miz Maureen! It’s Mist’ Aylesworth, Miz Maureen! He—”
Breckinridge lifted his head and turned toward the door. He still had his hands on Maureen’s shoulders as Richard Aylesworth charged through the foyer and into the parlor with a pistol clutched in his hand. He screamed filthy obscenities at Breck as he thrust the gun out. Breck pushed Maureen behind him, shielding her with his own body as smoke and flame gushed from the weapon’s barrel.