A Man With a Pure Heart Page 4

  Eleanor was still for a moment. She began to chuckle, then laughed until she had to use her napkin to dry her eyes.

  ****

  Kathleen stood looking out toward the lake. “This is a beautiful spot for a home.”

  “The lady who left it all to Mae had a great love for this land. Mae has tried to keep that same feeling alive in her village. She tries to keep the place warm and welcoming to all the women who pass through.”

  “What part did you play in this village?” Kathleen turned those clear green eyes on Samuel.

  “Oh, I made a few pieces of furniture for the houses. Not much, really,” he replied.

  “Somehow I doubt that. You seem very close to your sister and her family.”

  He did not want to remind her of her loss, so he changed the subject. “Come, let me show you what is important to me.”

  Samuel led Kathleen to the barn. They entered through the side door, and she could immediately smell lemon oil.

  Samuel led her to a large piece of canvas spread on the floor of the barn. There was a two-drawer escritoire standing in the middle of the canvas. It had thin, dainty legs with carved vines running up to the drawers. The drawer fronts had carved roses. The piece was made of red maple, with a beautiful sheen from the oil Samuel had applied in light coats, massaging the oil into the delicate carvings.

  Kathleen raised questioning eyes to Samuel. “Good heavens, did you make this?”

  Samuel tried not to look too pleased. “Yes, it’s what I do to relax. Since I was a small boy, I’ve loved the feel of wood in my hands. And it didn’t hurt that my father owned a sawmill.”

  “Oh, Samuel, this is beautiful. You obviously have a gift,” Kathleen almost whispered.

  “Give me your hand.”

  Kathleen looked at him questioningly as she held out her hand to him.

  Samuel paused while holding her hand. He marveled at the softness of it, and was distracted for a moment. He looked into her eyes and asked, “Do you like surprises?”

  She answered him softly, “I guess that depends on the surprise.”

  Samuel guided her hand to the rose on the top left side of the drawer. He used the tip of her index finger to stroke the flower and a petal slid aside to show a small recess in the flower.

  The look of surprise and delight on her face was like a balm to Samuel’s heart. He had no idea why it was so important to him to make her smile. His heart just wanted to see those eyes shining with joy.

  “How did you do that?” she asked.

  Samuel smiled slowly. “A man can’t be expected to give up all his secrets the first time a woman asks, now can he?”

  Kathleen laughed out loud. “It’s not like I’m going to steal your trade secrets.” She sobered and said, “But truly, you are a gifted craftsman. This is a beautiful piece of work.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad you like it. Now, let’s go have a look at the village.”

  They drove out to the main road, and then another mile to the west. Before Kathleen was a group of four neat homes. Each had a friendly-looking front porch with rocking chairs, and potted plants hanging from the railings. There was a larger central building, and a little, blonde girl and two older boys playing under an oak tree at the edge of the lawns. As soon as the children heard the motorcar, they jumped up and started running. Samuel barely made it out of the vehicle before the three threw themselves at him. Kathleen smiled as the little girl wrapped herself around one of his long legs. He grabbed a boy up under each arm and swung the giggling bodies around. Kathleen had to laugh; this man drew children like flies to honey. She let herself out of the vehicle and started around it.

  A little gray-haired woman stepped out onto the porch of one of the houses and yelled, “Samuel Hinton, those boys just had a big lunch. Don’t be wallerin’ them all over the place unless you want ’em to share it with you.”

  Samuel started peeling off children as he called back, “Yes, ma’am, I promise I’ll behave.”

  He turned, held out his hand to Kathleen, and introduced her to the children before he added, “Come, there’s someone else I want you to meet.” She paused for a second and then placed her hand in his as they walked toward the little woman.

  “Mrs. Peters, this is Kathleen Campbell. She is our new schoolteacher in town. Kathleen, this is Mrs. Peters. She makes the best pies and cobblers in four counties.”

  The little woman blushed like a schoolgirl. “Samuel Hinton, how many times have I told you not to exaggerate?”

  Samuel and Kathleen spent nearly an hour visiting with Mrs. Peters. She had been the Hinton men’s housekeeper when Mae left for Tallahassee. She was full of stories of the boy’s shenanigans that kept Kathleen laughing.

  Samuel found he could face the embarrassment of the stories as long as it kept that smile on Kathleen’s face. He finally stood, extended a hand to Kathleen, and said, “All right, enough of that. None of those stories can ever leave here. I have a reputation as a hard-nosed officer of the law to keep up.”

  Kathleen was still smiling, as the “hard-nosed lawman” hugged the little woman and promised to come back soon.

  He made eye contact with Kathleen as they drove away. She was still smiling. “All right, don’t make me regret taking you there,” he growled.

  “Oh, I’m afraid the secret is out now. The big tough lawman is mush inside,” she teased.

  Samuel just shook his head. They returned to the manor and spent another two hours with the Hintons and the Finches. After supper, they all moved to the back parlor to relax. Kathleen asked Mae, “Do you play the piano?”

  Mae shook her head sadly. “No, it belonged to Lady Wellington. When Charlotte gets a little older, I hope to have lessons for her, though. How did you learn to play?”

  Kathleen smiled. “My mother was a music teacher in her younger days. Both Mary Elizabeth and I have played since we were Charlotte’s age.”

  “Oh, would you please play for us? We would love to hear something.”

  At everyone’s encouragement, Kathleen walked to the piano. She sat still for a moment, closed her eyes, and then started to play.

  Samuel was hypnotized watching Kathleen. She swayed a little, as her slender hands danced over the keys. Her eyes stayed closed, and Samuel wondered what memories whispered through her mind as she filled the room with such beautiful sounds.

  When she had finished the haunting melody, there was a deep silence in the room, finally broken by Charlotte’s little voice, “Do it again, please? Do it again!”

  Everyone laughed, and then begged for another song. Kathleen blushed sweetly, but Samuel could see that her eyes held tears that were threatening to spill.

  He stood and said, “We’ll have to have her play for us another time. Right now I have to get her back to town.” He already had Kathleen’s sweater in hand.

  She thanked everyone for welcoming her, made her goodbyes, and Samuel had her out the front door in no time.

  He got her seated in the motorcar, then gently placed a thin quilt across her lap. After sliding in behind the wheel, he turned to Kathleen. “Are you all right?”

  She gave him a weak smile, and he could see that one of the tears had escaped, leaving a trail down her cheek. He gently cupped her chin in his large hand and wiped the tear away with his thumb. “It was the piano music, right?”

  She nodded. “That was one of Mary Elizabeth’s favorites.” She took his hand in hers. “Thank you so much for today. You have a remarkable family, and their love for each other is so apparent.”

  Samuel squeezed her hand gently. “If it suits your fancy, there could be many more days like today.”

  Kathleen was glad dusk had descended and her face was in shadow. She wasn’t sure it was seemly for a woman to be so transparent. This man evoked feelings in her that only one other had been able to stir. Kathleen considered this as they drove in silence.

  Several men had courted her. Her father was a wealthy, established businessman, and while a dow
ry was an old-fashioned idea, some had approached her with the intent of bettering themselves. She had attended soirees and church suppers with first one and then another gentleman. She had never encouraged any of them until James Sheridan entered her life. Sheridan was her father’s right-hand man in Boston. He was educated, handsome, and a heart breaker. Maybe she’d been a little naïve to think a man of his caliber would be so taken with her charms that he would defy her father. When her father learned she had lost her heart to an underling, he had offered James a position in the London offices, and the man had jumped at the chance. It had taken Kathleen quite some time to regain her self-esteem after losing out to a big office in London.

  Admittedly, sometimes her tongue was sharp, and she did not suffer fools gladly. But Samuel, to put it simply, was different. She was used to men who were formally educated, who moved in society’s upper circles, and who had ambition. While Samuel showed none of these qualities, he showed deep insight into others, without being arrogant. He seemed to be comfortable with the position in life he had created for himself.

  They reached the cottage, and Samuel said, “Give me your key, and I’ll get the door and light a lamp.” She handed him the large key and waited in the motorcar until the windows filled with light. When she entered, Samuel was kneeling at the hearth, lighting the logs he had just placed in the grate. How could the simple act of lighting a fire arouse her so? A warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the fire.

  Samuel stood. “That should take…” He had been about to say the fire would take care of the chill, but when he saw the look on Kathleen’s face, he lost his voice. Their eyes locked, and he was at her side in three long strides. He reached past her shoulder and shoved the door closed.

  Kathleen wanted to speak, but her mind had shut down.

  Samuel placed a hand on each side of her face and slowly lowered his mouth to hers. Her eyes closed long before their lips met.

  Samuel raised his face and whispered, “Kathleen, open your eyes. I want to see your soul.”

  She was so weak with longing for something unknown that she leaned into him to keep from falling. Her eyes opened, and she had the look of a drunkard. “Please,” she whispered.

  “Please, what?”

  She closed her eyes again, and as she slipped both arms around his firm body, she said, “Please don’t stop.”

  Samuel groaned as if in actual pain as he buried his face in her hair and wrapped her in a crushing embrace. “Good golly Moses, woman,” he moaned. “What are you doing to me?” He placed searing kisses on her throat as she clung to him.

  She whimpered, and suddenly Samuel stopped. “Oh, Lord, Kathleen, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  He took her by the shoulders and put space between them. He couldn’t let go of her—she was too weak to stand on her own.

  She finally opened her eyes. They slowly filled with tears. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It was just so… Samuel, what is happening?”

  He gave a tortured laugh. “Honey, I was fifteen feet from a lightning strike once and wasn’t this scared. Here, sit down, and I’ll get you a glass of water.” He lowered her to the settee and strode to the kitchen. Through the doorway, she could see him brace himself on the edge of the sink and take several long, deep breaths. His hands seemed to tremble as he tried to grip the handle of the pump.

  When he got back to the front parlor, Kathleen was right where he had left her. She had both arms wrapped around a plump embroidered pillow. He knelt by the settee, slowly took the pillow from her hands, and replaced it with the glass. “Here, love, drink this.”

  Kathleen drank deeply, and the cool water helped soothe her nerves. She took a deep breath and met his eyes.

  “Better?” he asked, smiling weakly.

  Kathleen nodded yes, but answered, “No. I’ve never had this sort of reaction to a kiss before. I’m not a schoolgirl anymore, and I have been kissed by several men.”

  Samuel stood slowly and breathed deeply for a few seconds.

  “I don’t want to hear about any other kisses you may have known, but maybe you should give it some consideration. I mean, why it’s different this time. I’m going to go now and give you some time to think.”

  Katherine stood quickly—a little too quickly, and had to close her eyes to still the spinning room.

  Samuel extended a hand to steady her, but was careful not to get too close. Perhaps he, like herself, had already used just about all of his self-control.

  She slowly opened her eyes. “Thank you, that’s better. I’m sorry, I…”

  Samuel placed his fingertips on her soft lips. “Shh, don’t apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry for taking advantage of your emotional state. But I can’t seem to say ‘sorry’ for something that seemed so right. So I’m going home, and you are going to lock this door behind me, get some rest, and do some thinking.”

  Kathleen wanted to talk about this thing between them, but he turned and closed the door behind him.

  Chapter Five

  Hamish McDuff was a good businessman. He made a fair living from the ale he produced. His most requested recipe was one his granddad had passed down to him as a young boy, for a dark, rich brew. With the cry of “prohibition” going on in Georgia, and the Florida laws testing “what is and is not an intoxicating” drink, his moneymaker, so to speak, was kept very low key. That would be the “white lightning.” Oh, you didn’t just ask the barkeep for this special treat. It was made without benefit of the payout to the taxman. Hamish didn’t brew it himself, as he had no desire to run amok of the law. But that didn’t stop him from buying it from those who cared not one whit about taxes, or the law. Like the huge fellow unloading several earthenware jars this very moment.

  Hamish didn’t even know the man’s name. But as dependable as the turning of the earth, during the dark of the moon each month this great hulking beast of a man would show up with the liquid fire that the tavern keepers had come to expect from Hamish. The man was at least twenty stone, and so tall he had to duck to get in the door of the storehouse. He could carry a small barrel full of ale under each arm and not miss a breath. He would unload his wagon in the late night hours and be long gone before daybreak.

  Tonight there was a woman with him. She sat unmoving on the wagon seat. She kept her shawl-covered head down and never made a sound.

  Hamish could not help but wonder what type of woman could live in the swamp with a brute of a man like this one. One with hands the size of small hams, and who wore moccasins instead of boots.

  The woman wanted to scream as the wagon rolled away into the black night, and only the rope tied round her ankle prevented her from escaping into that blackness. That and the fact that she had no doubt the man would kill her if she tried.

  The man turned the wagon west again but took a different route. Although the woman was curious, she never opened her mouth. The wagon finally came to rest near a large dark building. There was no moon to shine off any windows, so the woman could not tell what the building was, or why they were stopping. The man disappeared into the darkness, and the only sound the woman detected was the soft creaking of boards. She had to admit, for so large a man, he melted into the darkness as soundlessly as a panther.

  A few minutes later the man returned, just as quietly, and placed a small pouch in her lap. She knew better than to question him, and after a while her fingers detected the contents of the sack. Bullets. He must have stolen bullets from that building. She returned her attention to the road. She thought they were headed west again, just on a sidetrack, running parallel to the main road. They only passed one cottage, with its neat little fence, before they merged with the main road.

  The wagon traveled west for hours, with no word spoken between the man and his captive. Occasionally it would hit a rock, and the jarring would cause the rope to rub on the woman’s raw ankle. She wasn’t sure how many months she had been with the man. It was at least a year, as she was approaching a second winter as his sla
ve.

  The whole thing was her own fault. She had been making enough to live on in Pensacola. It wasn’t much of a living, but then what was an uneducated runaway from Georgia going to do? If she hadn’t run when she had, she would have had to kill the uncle she’d been living with. He had been after her ever since she’d become a woman at thirteen. When her aunt passed on, she knew it would only be a matter of time. So she lit out one night and ended up in a brothel. For a while she just did laundry, and cooked a little, but there was no money to be made that way. At sixteen she’d ended up working on her back.

  Then she’d learned about a woman in Tallahassee who was helping girls like her to put their lives back in order. She’d hitched a ride with a couple of farmers headed east. They’d used her and left her on the side of the road. And then he had showed up.

  She convinced him to let her come on this trip, so she could memorize every tree and boulder along the way. This was her chance to get the lay of the land for when she made her run. And then he’d made her put a sack over her head for the first few miles. She could not tell where the wagon hit the main road. Oh, he believed she was all broken in now, ’cause she’d stopped fighting. He had beaten her so badly the last time, she’d been sure she was going to die. So she had started using her head, controlling her temper and planning.

  It had been the clothes that pushed her over the edge. He’d come back from his last trip and thrown a dress and underclothes at her. As if he expected her to be grateful. They’d still had the woman’s fragrance on them. And a few spatters of blood.

  She needed at least one more month to build up her strength for the swim across the river. It would be a cold swim by the end of November, but she would make it. She had to. She was not alone anymore. She and the baby would live or die together. Her eighteen years on this earth had been of little note to anyone. But she could change that, if she could keep the baby alive. She could mold a life better than the one she had struggled through.