Frost Fire, page 25
"I've missed Gray as well. He's rarely been away from Chicago for this long in the past, except during the war, of course. Tyler certainly has beguiled him. Just as you have me."
Charles squeezed her fingers, and they exchanged loving glances before sitting back to enjoy a companionable silence. Soon the driver turned his team into newly repaired iron gates decorating the entrance to Rose Point Plantation.
Harriet immediately sat forward to look out the window, straining to see past the long row of gigantic cedar trees as they rounded a wide bend in the road. When the white-pillared house loomed up immense against the blue sky, Harriet detected the couple standing on the shady front veranda.
"Look, Charles! They're waiting for us. See? There by the columns."
Charles peered over her shoulder as the coach rolled to a halt, then smiled and quickly swung open the door. He called a hearty greeting to Gray and Tyler as he helped Harriet descend the carriage steps.
"Tyler, Tyler, dear Tyler," Harriet cried delightedly, embracing her friend, who had left her husband's side to rush down to her. But her glad expression died upon first sight of the violet smudges beneath Tyler's tearful eyes.
"Oh, Etty, I'm so glad you've come. I'm so miserable!"
"What on earth has happened, child?" Harriet asked in concern. But Tyler only hugged her again as Gray descended the steps more slowly and shook Charles's hand.
"Welcome to Rose Point, Charles. You've made it just in time for dinner. Mrs. Bond, I hope you're well? You certainly look wonderful."
"I'm fine. And you?" Harriet answered, noticing with alarm the extreme formality of Gray Kincaid's speech, and the way Tyler studiously avoided looking at her husband.
"Tyler and I both wish to extend our congratulations and best wishes upon your marriage."
"Thanks, old chap," Charles replied, slapping his host's shoulder. "And the same goes for you and Tyler, of course." He looked up at the house. "What a magnificent place. I see you're doing work on the facade."
The men discussed the newly repaired columns and upper balcony as they climbed the stairs. Harriet followed with Tyler, acutely aware that things were not going well between the younger couple.
She had no opportunity to question Tyler, however, since Gray hovered nearby. Instead, she attempted to draw Tyler into conversation.
"So this is Rose Point. It's beautiful, Tyler. I can't wait to see every room. Shall we have the grand tour?"
"Perhaps tomorrow," Tyler answered listlessly. Then, as if she realized how rude she'd sounded, she quickly added, "Unless, of course, you'd rather see it now."
Harriet darted a worried glance at her husband as Gray silently took Tyler's arm and led her into the spacious gold-and-white dining room. Charles's answering frown alerted Harriet that he, too, had noticed the strain between their host and hostess,
Matters worsened during the meal. Long, awkward silences—which had no place between four good friends separated for so long—punctuated their desultory conversation.
"How is Betsy?" Gray asked during an uncomfortable lull.
Charles jumped at the chance to enliven their discourse. "She's fine, indeed. She's visiting with her cousins at Rock Island until our return. And I'm happy to report she already considers Harriet a mother."
"How nice," Gray said, politely killing yet another subject.
Neither Gray nor Tyler had spoken a word to each other. Tyler didn't even glance in her husband's direction, though Harriet had seen him furtively eye Tyler on more than one occasion. When Gray suggested that Charles join him in his study for cigars and brandy, Harriet was thoroughly relieved. A private, heart-to-heart conversation with Tyler was certainly in order.
As soon as the ladies had retired upstairs, Charles Bond seated himself in one of the comfortable leather chairs in Colin MacKenzie's library. Never one to beat around the bush, he turned his inquiring eyes on Gray.
"What in the deuce is going on between you two?"
"So you noticed? Well, Tyler and I have had a falling out."
"I must say it would've been hard not to notice."
Gray finished pouring French brandy into two snifters. He handed one to Charles without comment.
"Well? What happened, Gray? Your telegraph message suggested you were finding married life to your liking. And Harriet said Tyler absolutely glowed in her last letter."
His remark about Tyler brought Gray to full attention. "What did she say about me?"
"She said you were restoring the house and treating her well. For God's sake, man, what happened to ruin it all?"
Gray leaned an elbow on the mantelpiece and heaved a sigh of frustration. "I told her I went after Rose Point on purpose."
Charles stared at him. "Why in tarnation would you admit such a thing? Surely you knew she'd find it hard to forgive you."
"Of course I did," Gray answered, prowling restlessly behind the desk. "But she was blaming herself for everything. I wanted her to know the truth, dammit! Ever since we got to this goddamn place, I've thought about what a bastard her father was! I couldn't go on pretending he was the wonderful godlike creature she kept describing to me. I meant to tell her gently, but I ended, up throwing it furiously in her face. God, I wish I'd never brought her here."
Charles took a sip of his brandy, thoughtfully shaking his head. "How did she react?"
"As always. She said she hated me."
"When did all this happen?"
"A week ago. Hell, it seems more like a month."
"You shouldn't have told her."
"I wish to God I hadn't."
Charles hesitated, knowing that Gray usually reacted, adversely, to the subject he was about to bring up. "Did you tell her how your father died?"
Gray stiffened, turned, and, stared unseeingly at the lawn outside the window. "I told her what kind of man her father really was. I said he destroyed my family, but I couldn't bring myself to look her in the face and brand him a murderer. She'd never forgive me for that."
Charles's compassion for his young friend swelled. "Well, Gray, Harriet's always been a good influence on Tyler. Maybe she'll be able to help smooth things out for you."
Upstairs, however, Tyler burst into tears the moment Harriet closed her bedchamber door.
"Now, now, dear, don't take on so," Harriet murmured soothingly, putting her arm around Tyler as the sat together on the upholstered sofa at the foot of the bed. When the young woman continued to cry against her shoulder, she tried again. "Tell me what's wrong. I must say I'm shocked by all of this. In your last letter you sounded deliriously happy."
"I know. I was then. I thought everything was going to be all right. He was so kind and fixing up the house and all." More sobs and sniffles followed, and Harriet waited patiently, never having seen Tyler so upset. When the girl finally quieted, she gently stroked her hair away from her face.
"Now, won't you please tell me exactly what happened?"
"He told me he ruined Papa on purpose. He called him a devil and said awful things about him." Tyler lifted long lashes, spiky with tears. "But he wasn't, Etty. I remember him. He was good to me. He treated me like a princess, and during the war he gave nearly all his cash to the county regiment-more than any of the neighboring plantation owners. And he was always donating money and food to the poorhouse in Natchez. He might have had some faults, but he wasn't anything like Gray says he was. Gray's wrong! He has to be!"
"Perhaps there were things he did that you didn't know about. You were only a child then."
"But Gray said he destroyed Rose Point intentionally. It wasn't an order he had to carry out. He picked Papa on purpose so he could bankrupt him. He wanted to hurt us. He admitted it."
Harriet frowned, trying to understand Gray's motives. "There has to be more to the story. Did he say why he chose Rose Point?"
"No, except that my father hurt his family and deserved to be ruined. You see, I was right all along about Gray being responsible for Papa's death."
Tyler's weeping began afresh, and Harriet patted her until the onslaught passed, then held Tyler away from her, drying the tears on her cheeks.
"Tyler, I know how you must feel, but you have to think this matter through more clearly, you really must. You have to remember that you went after vengeance from Gray, and saw nothing wrong with it. Yet, now you can't forgive him for doing the same thing. Even if Gray did set out to get Rose Point, how could he have known how your father would react over its loss?" She stopped momentarily, peering over her spectacles at Tyler. "You can't really believe Gray could have foreseen that your father would take his own life. Other men lost their land and wealth during the war—too many to count—but they survived it. I survived losing the farm, did I not? You may be right in blaming Gray for taking Rose Point, but you cannot lay your father's death at his door."
Her soothing kindness brought Tyler's gaze to her, and for the first time in her life, Tyler felt the truth pushing up from where she had kept it buried inside her heart. Gray had not been to blame for that terrible night downstairs in the library. Regardless of everything else he had done to her and her father, he hadn't killed her father.
"Oh, Etty, what am I to do?"
Tyler lay her head wearily against her friend's sturdy shoulder, glad for human contact. More than anything in the days since their quarrel, she missed the way Gray held her in his arms.
"Have you discussed your problems since your argument?"
"No. It's been six whole days and we've rarely even seen each other. He spends his time directing the workers or taking long rides. I think he avoids the house on purpose. He told me he hates living here. At night he stays in the library because he knows I won't go near it." She shivered.
Concerned, Harriet shook her head. "What have you been doing with all this solitary time?"
"I've been staying here in my room."
Tyler's answer startled Harriet. "Surely not all the time? Haven't you been working on the house? You've wanted to come home for so long."
Tyler didn't reply at first, intently examining the fine embroidery work on Harriet's handkerchief. "I don't know why, Etty, but sometimes the house frightens me." Her voice lowered. "Sometimes I'm afraid to walk through the rooms by myself, though I do try to oversee the servants and act as the mistress of the house the way I'm supposed to."
"Oh, you poor child. I'm glad I'm here with you now. Things will get better, you'll see. Charles and I will help you and Gray straighten out this misunderstanding."
Tyler's face remained troubled. "Sometimes I think Gray hates me," she whispered. "I've seen the most awful look in his eyes—one that makes me want to shrivel up and die."
"That's nonsense, Tyler. If he hated you, why would he have insisted that you marry him? Why would he bring you home and restore Rose Point—at very great expense, I should think, especially if he doesn't like it here. Has he ever said he hates you?"
"No." Tyler looked down at her lap. "I'm the one who says it to him. I told him I'd always hate him." Her words caught in her throat.
"Do you?"
"No. Oh, Etty, I think I've gone and fallen in love with him."
Harriet smiled. "Have you told him that?"
Tyler swung her head from side to side, and for the first time since they had begun to talk, Harriet assumed a stern expression.
"Then swallow your pride and tell him. Tonight, before it's too late."
Long after Harriet left Tyler's room to join Charles in their bedchamber, Tyler lay wide awake in her bed, agonizing over recent events. She was torn apart by strong, roiling emotions that urged her to blame Gray for everything that had happened, past and present. Somehow, though, the tears she had wept against Harriet's shoulder had been cleansing. Much of her anger and lingering torment were gone, and she wanted to talk to Gray. She wanted to ask him what her father had done to the Kincaid family.
She remembered the night her father had slapped Mammy, and the time she had heard the screams coming from the slave quarters. Had her father done something to Gray in a similar fit of anger? If so, it must have been a terrible deed to make Gray so angry and vindictive, even after this many years. It seemed strange that he had suffered the same thirst for revenge that she had. How queerly their lives were entangled, like two skeins of yarn thrown haphazardly into a sewing basket.
Restless and unhappy, she sat up in bed, wishing Gray would come to her. All week she had waited for him to make the first move at reconciliation, but she knew now he wouldn't beg forgiveness. So be it, he'd said when she had cried out her hatred. His face had been hard and unyielding. She swallowed convulsively, suddenly needing desperately to talk to him, to be in the same room with him. But what if she went to him and he sent her away? She couldn't bear that!
Upset with herself, she began to pace the carpet. Then, unable to help herself, she opened the door and peeked into the hall. It was dark and deserted, but she could see a crack of light coming from beneath the door of her husband's bedchamber.
Heart thudding, she tiptoed toward it, terrified at the prospect of facing him. She turned, poised to flee back to her own room, but her desire to see him won the battle. She resolutely stopped in front of his door, tapped lightly, and then stepped inside.
Gray was already undressed, but sat upright in bed, obviously shocked to see her. He didn't speak, and for a moment Tyler couldn't either. They stared at each other, then Tyler moistened dry lips, her words pouring from her heart.
"I love you. I can't bear for us to quarrel and be apart like this."
Her throat closed up, but no other words were necessary.
"Thank God," he said huskily. "Come here, Tyler."
Tyler went gladly, eagerly, sliding into bed with him and sighing with unabashed joy as he pulled the coverlet over them.
"I'm sorry I said I hated you," she murmured against his naked chest as he enclosed her tightly in his arms. "I don't, I really don't."
"Shh." Then Gray quieted her with his lips.
Tyler moaned with sheer, blissful pleasure at Gray's urgent desire to touch her.
"I don't understand why you hated Papa so much, but I want to. Please tell me, Gray; explain it to me—"
"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered, his fingers tearing loose the drawstring at the front of her gown.
"Please—" Tyler whispered as his arms slipped inside her gown and around her waist, violently clamping her body against his own nakedness.
"I said I don't want to talk about it," he repeated hoarsely, his starving mouth moving over the silken flesh he had craved and denied himself for so long. He made Tyler gasp and groan, until very soon after, she didn't want to talk about it either.
19
"I'm so worried about Tyler. 'Tis dreadful, seeing her so unhappy," said Harriet the next morning as she and Charles descended the front stairs for breakfast.
"Gray's just as miserable. But that's a good sign, I believe," Charles told her with a sage nod.
His reassurance did not assuage her concern, but when her husband paused at the foot of the steps and looked past her, a smile overcame his face. Harriet quickly followed his gaze and found that Gray and Tyler had just rounded the banister above them, hand in hand. As they joined their house guests, Tyler beamed at Harriet.
"Good morning! I hope you haven't been waiting long?"
"Oh, no, we just came down, my dear," Charles replied. "May I have the honor of escorting you into the breakfast parlor, Mrs. Kincaid?" he asked formally, bowing with the utmost gallantry.
"Why, I would be delighted, sir."
Tyler glowed with happiness as she took Charles's elbow. Gray watched them move away, then tucked Harriet's small hand into the crook of his arm. He patted her fingers.
"I don't know what you said to Tyler last night, Harriet, but I'll be eternally grateful."
Harriet gazed up at him, relieved that Tyler had acted on her advice. "She loves you," she told him. "Very much."
"Yes. She told me that last night for the first time."
Harriet laughed softly. "Events are turning out very different than she expected, don't you agree? You'll have to be patient with her for a while longer."
"I pride myself on my patience, Mrs. Bond."
They joined Tyler and Charles at the long oak buffet in front of the windows, and Tyler wondered at the reason for their smiles. As Gray seated Harriet, then took his place beside his wife, Tyler was overwhelmingly happy they were no longer estranged. She watched him remove a crisp linen napkin from the engraved silver ring on the table before him, determined to find out more about his family when they had lived down on Township Line Road.
Surely there was more to Gray's hatred for her father than resentment over being a poor tenant farmer on a rich man's land. If she could learn exactly what had happened, perhaps she could convince Gray that Colin MacKenzie had not been an evil monster. Her father had no reason to intentionally harm anyone. He was too honorable a man—she just couldn't believe otherwise, no matter what Gray said. Someday soon, after the heat of their argument had cooled, she would persuade Gray to tell her about his childhood.
"Ben was here earlier this morning," Gray was saying. "Bess was delivered of another son last night."
"Are they both all right?" Tyler asked, delighted with the news. She leaned back as their new Irish maid named Molly filled her cup from an ornate silver coffeepot. "She told me she already lost one child."
"Ben said mother and baby are doing well. He's concerned about leaving them alone so soon. You see, I'd previously asked him to come into town with me to hire some field workers. When I told him to stay home with his wife, he wouldn't hear of it. As overseer, he feels obligated to come."
"Tell him I'll go and sit with Bess," she volunteered at once, eager to see the baby who had been kicking so hard to be born. "I'd like to help, and I could take them some food. Bess won't feel up to preparing meals for a while." Excited by her idea, she turned to Harriet. "You'll come with me, won't you, Etty? You'll adore their other son, little Jake. He's precious!"
