Diamonds and Dreams (63 page)

It was the first time Saxon had ever seen
Heath’s home, and he was appalled at his friend’s poverty. But
though the Mansfields had very little, they shared generously with
him. He resolved to find a way to repay their kindness.

After supper he and Heath rode through the
pines until they arrived at the exact spot where they’d met a few
years ago. The memory of the two of them standing in that pine
forest, their guns pointed at each other, neither having the heart
to shoot… Both of them had laughed at the absurdity of the
situation.

“Why didn’t you shoot me that day, Sax?”
Heath asked.

“Probably for the same reason you didn’t
shoot me. I thought maybe you were a better shot than I was and
hoped if I didn’t shoot, you wouldn’t either.”

Their laughter filled the cool, tangy woods.
“You know,” Heath began, “I still don’t know if you can shoot
straight. All we did that day was talk about how much we hated the
war.”

“That, and keep you and your mother’s silver
spoon collection from being found by my regiment, that pillaging
gang of ruffians.”

Heath’s smile faded and was replaced by a
look of gratitude. “I never got the chance to thank you for hidin’
me and Ma’s box of treasures, Sax.”

“It would have been much easier to hide only
the spoons, but since you wouldn’t relinquish the box to me, I had
to hide you with it,” Saxon said and laughed again.

“If any other of General Kilpatrick’s
soldiers had found me, they’d have shot me without a thought. You
were a traitor for those ten minutes it took you to cover me with
all that brush. Why’d you do that? You barely knew me.”

Saxon studied Heath’s blond hair, brown
eyes, and crooked grin. “You look like a good friend of mine in
Boston—Max Jennings. You even smile like him. He fought, too, but
rode with a different company. I’d sure as hell have wanted someone
to help Max if he’d been in the same situation. I guess that
ridiculous smirk of yours saved you, Heath.” Saxon held out his
hand, and the warm handshake that followed expressed all the
unspoken feelings between them.

Heath pointed to a distant tree. “See that
lone pine over there? It’s got a low-hangin’ branch with two pine
cones on it. Squint and you’ll see ’em. Now, you try for the one on
the left, and I’ll try for the one on the right.”

Saxon squinted, nodded, and readied his
rifle. When both men were ready, they aimed and fired.

Both pine cones exploded off the branch.

Both men doubled over with laughter. “Damn,
Heath! It’s a good thing we didn’t shoot that day, or we’d be
buried here!” His laughter faded, and he sat quietly in the saddle
for a moment. “Tell me a little about turpentine,”

“You’ll need to go on over to Jackson
Springs,” Heath said. “And you might want to take a look at Blue’s
Crossin’ too. Your grandmother’s right about the turpentine
industry. If she’s able to purchase timberland, there’s no tellin’
how much money y’all can make.”

“You mean
Grandmother
can make. It’ll
be
her
money buying the land,
her
money starting the
business,” Saxon said bitterly.

Heath gave him a sideways glance. “But won’t
you inherit it all one day?”

Saxon’s jaw clenched. “On one condition.
I’ve got to marry first.”

“Got somethin’ against women?”

“I like everything about women except
marrying one. But Grandmother is adamant. Either I marry or I’ll be
disinherited.”

“Saxon, you’re a Harvard graduate. Make your
own fortune!”

“I’m proud of Blackwell Enterprises, Heath.
It’s a fine, strong company. Although it belongs to Grandmother,
I’ve worked hard to make it what it is. Don’t get me wrong, though.
I’ve no doubt I could make a fine life for myself without Blackwell
Enterprises. I tried once, but my new place of business burned to
the ground, and the man who’d financed it for me left town the next
day. I never found proof Grandmother was behind it all, but I know
she was. After that, she informed me that should I ever attempt to
leave Blackwell Enterprises again, she would send Desdemona to an
asylum for the insane. And there’s no way in hell I’ll let
something like that happen to my sister.”

Heath inhaled sharply. “Is
Desdemona…insane?”

“She doesn’t speak, and she’s a bit out of
touch with reality. I don’t call that insane, but Grandmother would
have no trouble having her committed.”

“But as her adult brother, surely you have
the right—”

“The courts have given Grandmother complete
custody of Desdemona, and since I’ve no money of my own I’m not
considered a suitable guardian. I have no rights at all. And
Grandmother has countless law firms working for her. They’re
everywhere, but they’ve one thing in common. Satan rules them
all.”

“But even if startin’ your own business
means Desdemona goin’ to an asylum, she wouldn’t have to stay there
for long,” Heath ventured. “I know you’d make money quickly, Sax.
With it, you’d win custody of Desdemona and be able to get her out
of the institution.”

Saxon tangled his fingers through Hagen’s
mane and squeezed the hair until his hand shook. “You’ve never seen
Desdemona. She’s so pale it’s as if she wallowed in a tub of flour.
And she’s no bigger than that scrawny pine sapling over there. I
know she wouldn’t last a day in an asylum, much less the time it
would take me to make enough money to win custody of her. I could
never risk it, Heath.”

“You know,” Heath said thoughtfully, “I had
you figured out to be a lucky man, Sax. In a lot of ways you are,
but livin’ with that witch grandma of yours… If I were you I’d do
anything to escape her. I’d stay here in North Carolina forever. I
know there’s Desdemona to worry about, but at least you’re free
from your grandma now. Take advantage of it and enjoy the time away
from her.”

“Take advantage of the time away…” Saxon’s
head snapped up, his mind working furiously. “Heath, I’d say
getting together a detailed report on the turpentine industry would
take a long time. It can probably stretch into months, don’t you
think?”

Heath grinned. “
Many
months.”

“If I were to send Grandmother a letter…tell
her the research will take me months to do… If I were to tempt her
with figures of all the money there is to be made here… If her
greed were tickled like that, she wouldn’t think of doing anything
bad to Desdemona in my absence.”

“It’s a brilliant plan! And I know a place
where she’d never be able to find you if she decided to look. She’d
think the research was takin’ you far and wide! It’s a place where
a man can enjoy all the beauty, peace, and freedom the world has to
offer. Just the medicine you need, Sax.”

Saxon reined in Hagen beside a pine and
pulled at a piece of the bark. “Where is this utopia?”

“Western North Carolina. The
Appalachia.”

“The mountains?”

“I’m tellin’ you, Sax, you haven’t lived
till you’ve seen the Blue Ridge. I’d tell you what it looks like,
but there are no words to describe that kind of scenery.”

“Where would I stay?”

Heath grinned and shook his head. “There are
some inns along the way, but I recommend sleepin’ right under the
stars. Gets a little chilly at night, but at this time of year you
aren’t gonna freeze. You can make that report for the witch when
you get back here. Or better yet, I’ll start it for you. Do it,
Sax. Go see those mountains.”

Saxon smiled back, his eyes aglow. This was
the perfect way to assist the Mansfields. “Tell you what, Heath.
Why don’t you do the entire report for me? I’ll pay you well.”

“The hell you will! I’ll do it for
nothin’.”

Saxon raised an ebony eyebrow. “Sorry. If
you don’t take payment, I’ll have to stay here and do the report
myself. A damn shame, Heath. Those hills are probably just what I
need.”

Heath cocked his head and smirked. He was
trapped, and he knew it. He held out his hand for Saxon to shake,
and the deal was sealed.

As they rode back to Heath’s house, Saxon
was deep in thought. Postpone his return to Boston. A damn good
idea. By doing it he was helping Heath and defying Araminta.

The Appalachian Mountains. Perhaps a little
more uncivilized than he cared for, but anything was better than
marriage.

* * *

The journey to the Blue Ridge had taken
almost two weeks, but now, as Saxon lay back on the cool mountain
ground, he was glad he’d followed Heath’s advice. He had no idea
which mountain he was on, and what’s more, he thought with a grin,
he didn’t care.

Sun courted shadow here. There were miles
and miles of unsurpassable beauty. Every azalea and rhododendron
was ablaze with blossoms. The mountains seemed blue, but when Saxon
blinked, they turned to green and then to gray and then to every
imaginable color. The azure of the sky teased the emerald depths of
the lush woods and, through it all, the area was splashed with the
reds, yellows, whites and purples of the wildflowers—as if some
mischievous angel had gotten hold of a paint palette and splattered
her favorite hues.

As he stared out at the scenery, he tried to
think of how to fill his time but couldn’t come up with a thing to
do. Soon his senses were so lulled by the mountain tranquility, he
closed his eyes. As he drifted to sleep, the last thing he heard
was the lullaby of the mourning dove that watched him from a
flowering dogwood.

An unfamiliar sound soon awakened him. He
had to shake his head several times before he realized it was a
growl.

A huge black bear stood a short distance
away, its enormous paws swiping at empty space as if in
anticipation of clawing at flesh. Saxon scrambled up from the soft
bed of tender plants he hadn’t realized were the bear’s meal. He
walked slowly toward Hagen, dread pumping through him when he saw
his horse had come untied and was free to flee if he was so
inclined. “Easy, boy,” he whispered to the skittish steed. “We can
outrun him or shoot him. Easy, easy.”

At that moment, the bear lumbered forward.
Hagen reared in fright and promptly galloped into the thicket,
carrying Saxon’s rifle with him. Left with only a knife, Saxon
cursed and snatched the blade from his boot.

He whirled to see the monster coming
straight at him, the layers of fat and muscle on its tremendous
body rolling up, down, and sideways. Saxon stood rooted, his entire
body quivering with readiness.

But though the steel of his dagger soon
disappeared into numerous places on the bear’s body, the animal was
merely maddened by the pain. It wrapped its thick arms around its
opponent and squeezed.

Saxon’s breath rushed from him. His ribs
felt crushed; his blood stopped in his veins. The pressure in his
head was so great, he felt it would surely burst. His arms, pinned
down by his sides, lost all feeling. He could not wield his
knife.

The mourning dove had fled, and the growl of
the bear was the only sound he heard as he watched the slobbering
monster’s head descend. He saw the bear’s mouth open but quickly
looked away from the horrible teeth that would surely bring about
his death.

As he turned away, he saw something red
flash in the brush of rhododendron ahead, but before he had time to
identify what it was, the bear’s teeth sank into his shoulder, and
the raw agony that streamed though his every nerve made him
scream.

The echo of his shriek was accompanied by a
blast of gunfire. With one last roar, the bear crashed to the
ground, carrying Saxon with it.

Saxon managed to roll off the huge animal,
and just before his eyes closed, he saw other eyes, green as the
verdant mountain forest, peering down at him. The face in which
they were set was freckled and tawny, and the hair that surrounded
the face was long, curly, and very red.

As he lost consciousness, he could have
sworn what he saw was a girl.

* * *

Betty Jane swiped at a cobweb that floated
from the ceiling of the small log cabin and then poked Saxon’s
side, eliciting a low moan from her patient. “Well, he’s the
groanin’est man I ever laid eyes on. He ain’t quit a-wailin’ since
Chickadee brung him.”

“Iffen a bahr’d got holt o’ you, you’d be
a-whinin’ too,” her husband, George Franklin, said. He leaned back
in his creaking hickory chair and began to whittle. “Wonder what
he’s a-doin’ up here? Ain’t never seed him afore.”

“You don’t never see nothin’. You ain’t been
no further’n over yonder in years,” Betty Jane said, pointing
toward the window. “And quit a-shovin’ them shavin’s all over the
floor!”

George Franklin ceased whittling for a
moment to push the point of his knife up into his beard and scratch
his chin with it. “Reckon I go whar I have to go. Don’t see no
reason fer gwine nowhars else.”

The loud voices woke Saxon. Immediately, he
realized he was naked but couldn’t understand why. He slowly opened
his eyes, and through the haze of pain he saw a tiny room and
meager furnishings around him. However, the bed in which he lay was
soft, and the thick quilt wrapped around him lessened the chill
that wracked his body.

He looked up at the old woman who stood next
to the bed. “Who are you?” he whispered.

“Good, yore awake.” She reached for a bottle
from a table and held it to his lips. “Swaller it on down.”

Saxon turned his head, the obnoxious smell
of the potion warning him of its taste. “What is that?”

“Yarbs.”

“Yarbs?”

“Ain’t you got no yarbs whar yore from?”

He struggled to understand.

“Yarbs!” Betty Jane repeated. “What’s in
this here bottle is wolfbane root with a smidgeon o’
snakeroot.”

George Franklin flicked a wood shaving from
his thigh. “Done tole you to put likker in it, Betty Jane. Them
yarbs ain’t gwine do nary a bit o’ good withouten no likker
added.”