Adam's Promise (5 page)

“No, I just don't want to be dependent upon her.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “I can understand that you don't want to be in the position of servant to your sister, but it wouldn't be that way. You would be a member of the family.”

Their conversation stopped dead while they stood in the barn doorway, staring at each other. She seemed unable to think of a rebuttal.

For a second or two, he thought he had managed to persuade her, then she pressed her shoulders back and spoke firmly. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I would prefer to be on my own. I'd like to go to the fort tomorrow.”

He said yes—only because he knew there was no point in arguing, for she was not going to give in—then watched her turn away from him and walk back to the house, her gait swift and true.

Once again he saw the young Yorkshire lass who had never let anyone tell her what she could and could not do. Back in those days, that willfulness had frustrated him when he'd wanted to be alone with Diana, just as it frustrated him now, when he wanted to keep Madeline here, safe in his home.

Something was different today, however. Adam could feel his blood warming to her, for she was no longer the child she once was. She had become a woman, and he found himself admiring her for, of all things, knowing her own mind and settling for nothing less than what she wanted.

A
fter dinner, Madeline sat by the fire in the parlor, mending one of Penelope's caps, while the children played cards at the table. She had just threaded her needle, when two shiny black boots and a pair of muscular legs in tawny brown breeches appeared in her line of vision. She glanced up at Adam, who was gazing uneasily down at her.

He gestured at the chair opposite hers. “May I?”

“Of course.”

He sat down and crossed one long leg over the other. The fire snapped and crackled, and the children burst into laughter about something.

“I must apologize again,” he said quietly, “for the way I treated you yesterday at the fort, and for the way things have turned out.”

Madeline poked her needle through the white lace cap on her knees. Oh, she didn't want to have this conversation. She didn't want to experience Adam Coates trying to be
nice
to her. She'd gotten along fine the way things were—first being accused of deceiving him, then enduring his silences and cool ret
icence. She'd been perfectly happy telling herself that she was lucky to have been spared a marriage to him. She didn't want to go back to feeling otherwise.

“It's not your fault.”

“No, but I do feel responsible. If I had never sent the proposal, you would not be here among strangers.”

Madeline was careful not to let her cool exterior crack. “You're not a stranger, Mr. Coates. Not entirely. I did know you once. A long time ago.”

“Yes,” he replied thoughtfully, “it was a long time ago, wasn't it? Who would have guessed the years would pass so quickly?”

She lifted the needle high over her head to pull it through the seam. “They do pass quickly, don't they? It seems like only yesterday that you rode into our yard for the first time.”
You wore a long, black cloak.

The firelight flickered across his face as he held her in his contemplative gaze. Madeline felt her blood rush. She hoped it was not coloring her cheeks.

“Refresh my memory,” he said with interest. “Did we speak to each other much?”

She took time to clear her throat. “Not very much, no. I was young.”

“Not so young that you didn't enjoy a magic trick, as I recall.”

A warmth moved through her. She hadn't thought he remembered anything beyond her bothersome presence—intruding upon his private moments with Diana and refusing to leave when they asked her to.

“You used to make a shilling disappear. Then you would retrieve it from behind the butter crock.”

He smiled. “I do the same trick for Penelope now, but instead of the butter crock, I retrieve the shilling from her nose.”

Madeline laughed. The beat of her pulse eased a little.

“You were Penelope's age then,” he said.

“I was.”

“Looking at you now helps me to remember.” He stared at her for a long, lingering moment. “You seemed curious about the farm last night at dinner. Or were you just making conversation?”

“Someone had to,” she said with a hint of humor, which garnered another smile from him. “But I was genuinely curious as well.”

“If you like, on the way to the fort tomorrow, I could show you around the area. It's the least I can do after what happened.”

Madeline felt her mood lift slightly. “I would like that very much. Would we see some dykes? I'm curious as to how they work.”

He nodded, looking pleased with her enthusiasm. “Do you enjoy riding?”

“More than anything.”

“Then I'll take you down onto the marsh in the morning.”

She eagerly agreed and the conversation turned to Yorkshire. Madeline told Adam news about some of the people he once knew, and he asked about the earl who had been his landlord, and how the tenant farmers were faring with all the rent increases.

An hour later, it was time to retire. The boys went
upstairs and Adam stayed behind to snuff out the candles.

As Madeline climbed the stairs, feeling invigorated from her first pleasant discourse with Adam, she found herself anxiously anticipating their morning ride. There was a sweet fluttering in her belly, not unlike the way her belly had fluttered aboard ship, when they were nearing the coast.

She stopped on the landing halfway up the stairs, and squeezed the railing tightly in her hand. This nervous, giddy feeling was not a good thing.

Perhaps she should not have accepted Adam's invitation. Perhaps she should have feigned disinterest and requested that he take her straight to the fort.

But that would have been lying, and she had truly wanted to go, so much so that she had momentarily forgotten about her unbending intentions to protect her vulnerable heart. She could only hope there would be no harm in it.

 

Before breakfast the next morning, Madeline passed by Mary's open door. Mary lay quietly on the bed, her blond curls splayed out upon the pillow, her expression solemn as she gazed at the bright sash window. Her head turned when she heard Madeline's heels across the threshold.

“Madeline. I'm so glad you're here. Please, come in.” She tried to sit up.

“Am I disturbing you? You look melancholy.”

“Melancholy? I was thinking of Jacob and our baby and hoping all will go well.”

Madeline sat down beside the bed and covered
Mary's hand with her own. “I'm sure everything will be fine.”

“I wish the doctor thought so. He's ordered me to stay in bed until after the baby comes, and sometimes…good heavens…sometimes I think I'm going to go out of my mind. He allows me to take a turn about the room only twice a day, just to keep my legs in working order, and it's all I can do to keep from bolting out the door to escape and be with Jacob and feel his arms around me. I miss him so much, Madeline, sometimes I think I'm going to disintegrate and crumble into a hundred tiny pieces. And here I am, all alone in this room staring at the same four walls day after day, doing nothing but worrying about having this baby. Oh, I wish he were here with me now.”

A wave of commiseration for what Mary must be feeling coursed through Madeline. Childbirth. So much could go wrong. She squeezed Mary's hand again. “I'm sure that when you hold your baby in your arms for the first time, all this will be forgotten.”

“You're probably right.” Mary's voice brightened a bit, but Madeline knew the girl was still anxious.

“Do you like Nova Scotia?” Mary asked, changing the subject. “Or are you anxious to go home?”

“No, I'm not anxious to go. There's nothing for me there. My father doesn't need me. I'm more of a burden than anything. I want very much to make my own way here.”

“What will you do?”

“I'll be a governess.”

“For Mr. Coates?”

The question lodged like a musket ball in Made
line's heart. “No, not for Mr. Coates. I know a family from the ship who I think would be pleased to have me work for them. They have four young children and we're going to see them today.”

“Why
not
Mr. Coates?”

Madeline stumbled over a few possible replies, none of which would do.

Thankfully, Mary continued talking. “He's going to need some help soon, I think. I used to help out with the children, but after the baby comes, Jacob and I will move into our own home before the end of the summer. Jacob already has our fields planted.”

“What about Mrs. Dalton?”

“Agnes loves the children, certainly, but she does so many other things, she doesn't have time to teach them their numbers. And it matters a great deal to Adam to have his children schooled.”

Madeline didn't know what to say. She supposed there wasn't really anything
to
say. She had already made up her mind.

“I should hate to think you'll be leaving us so soon,” Mary said. “You've only just arrived, and I like that you're here with us.”

“Yes, but it was my sister Mr. Coates meant to bring, and if she comes, then I should—”

“Wouldn't you want to live here with your sister? Were you not close?”

There was that question again.

Madeline didn't know how to answer it. How could she explain that the problem was more about Adam than it was about Diana, and her feelings were too complex to even understand them herself?

One minute she found Adam cold and unfeeling. The next minute, he was apologizing and talking about shillings in noses, making her feel giddy and nervous when she knew she shouldn't be feeling anything but a sisterly regard.

Adam belonged to Diana and there was no point in hoping she could ever be with him. Not when she was so certain that Diana would come.

Besides all that, how could Madeline be sure that if she expressed her deepest feelings, the entire household wouldn't know by sunset?

That would be far too humiliating.

“My leaving has nothing to do with Diana. I'm simply a very independent person.”

Mary smiled. “I guessed that about you. You were very brave to come all the way from England by yourself, and then, to have your hopes dashed.” She shook her head. “In my opinion, Mr. Coates owes you at least a comfortable place to stay as long as you like. None of this was your fault. And don't be in any hurry to find employment, either. Take your time and be sure to find the right position.”

“I will,” Madeline replied. “But it wasn't Adam's fault, either,” she added, wishing afterward that she hadn't leaped so quickly to his defense.

Mary gazed at her knowingly for a long, agonizing moment before she finally nodded and reached for the cards.

 

Adam and Madeline started off at a trot through the early morning haze, the thumping of the horses' hooves mingling pleasantly with the chirping of
sharp-tailed sparrows in the leafy sugar maples. Frost covered the ground and glistened like a blanket of tiny diamonds in the sun.

Madeline looked about at the low fog hanging over the land. “Is it unusual to have frost so late in the spring?”

“Not for Cumberland.”

“What about the crops? How do you manage to get everything done when you have to wait so long for the ground to thaw?”

“We plow in the fall. But don't worry, this won't last much longer. In another week, you'll be fluttering your fan everywhere you go.”

“I'm not worried,” she replied, unable to stop herself from smiling. “And I still haven't seen any of those
mosquitoes
you were so adamant about the other day.”

Her teasing tone made him smile, too. “Ah, yes, the mosquitoes. They're as big as groundhogs, you know.”

“Groundhogs!” She laughed. “What do you take me for, Adam Coates? I may be a young Yorkshire lass, but I do have a head between my ears.”

“So I've learned,” he conceded.

They galloped up the ridge. Adam showed her where the barley and wheat would be planted, and pointed out the fields for oats and flax along the plowed uplands.

When they reached the crest, Adam pulled his mount to a halt. Madeline stopped beside him, finally able to look down at the great marsh below, stretching
before them for thousands of acres, like a vast green, grassy sea.

“All this was created with dykes?”

He nodded, and she felt him watching her, studying her as she gazed with fascination at the magnificent vista below.

“How much of it is yours?” she asked.

“I own only a fraction of it. The rest goes on for miles inland. The local farmers work together to maintain it and protect it from the tides.”

“Does everyone do their rightful share?”

“Unfortunately, no. There are a number of absentee landowners. I'm pushing for the county to appoint an official committee to insure that—at the very least—the marsh as a whole continues to be maintained.”

“Yes, of course. You need to preserve this.”

“Preserve it, yes, but if we are enterprising, we could build it as well.”

He kicked in his heels and led the way along the top of the ridge to a road down the hill. Soon they reached the bottom and followed a narrow path that crossed the lowlands.

“We're below sea level now.”

“Really? May I see some dykes?” Madeline could not keep the exhilaration from her voice.

“Of course. I'll take you to the river.”

They trotted leisurely across the chilly marsh, the horses' foggy breaths puffing out of their noses. The scent of wet marsh mud somewhere in the distance touched Madeline's nose, and she inhaled its glorious freshness.

Seated high in the saddle, she looked down at the drainage ditches dug into the meadows like deep gashes, carved by a giant, swift knife. She doubted any of this work had been swift, however. All this would have been dug out by hand. Some of it by Adam's hand.

She tried not to imagine that. It wouldn't do her any good to picture him with his sleeves rolled up, his muscles straining against the physical force of driving a dyking spade into the dirt. Just thinking about it now made her body tingle in the strangest places.

They reached a dyke—a long, narrow hill, stretching like a giant snake along the bank of the meandering river. It went on and on as far as the eye could see.

“This was all built by hand?”

“Yes, by the Acadians.”

Adam dismounted and helped Madeline down. He took her hand to lead her up the steep side of the grassy dyke. From the top, she peered down into the river.

“The tide is low,” Adam said. “When it comes in from the bay and the water level rises—almost to where we're standing—the dyke will keep it from spilling over onto the marshlands.”

“Has it ever overflowed?”

“Several times over the years, for different reasons. Neglect mostly.”

“What happens to the flooded land?”

“It's put out of production for at least two years. The salt water has to be drained off, then rain and
snow has to leach the salt out of the ground. But perhaps I'm telling you too much. I'm sure you're not interested in the science of it.”