Hannah Howell (23 page)

“That ye will have to beat the lads off me?”

“Wretch.” She gently punched his arm. “The lasses, of course. You will draw them like bees to honey.”

Everyone was waiting on the veranda for them. Even Adam Dunstan was freshly shaved and dressed in his best homespun shirt and pants. Clover realized that such occasions for socializing were probably rare and thus were attended by everyone who could walk, ride, or crawl.

She sat beside Ballard on the wagon seat, with everyone else in back, except for Shelton, who rode his horse beside them. “Are you sure ‘twill be safe to return in the dark?” she asked.

“Aye. ‘Tis a full moon,” Ballard replied. “The road will be lit enough for us. Some folk will spend the night, but the accommodations are rough. Shelton will ride in front of us to lead the way.” He patted her knee, grinning when she blushed and carefully removed his hand. “Dinnae fret over it, lass. Just have a good time.”

“I intend to.”

When Ballard pulled their wagon up in front of the church and Clover saw all the people who had already arrived, she hoped she could stick to her resolve to enjoy herself. Whole families made their way into the church, each dressed in different degrees of
finery, from clean homespun to calico with lace trim. Clover was heartily glad she had not worn her finest gown. Her silks and brocades would have been glaringly out of place.

Inside the hall, Clover helped Molly and her mother set out the food they had brought on the large table placed at one end. Molly had made apple cake and scones. Clover had baked two loaves of bread and made a small pot of blackberry jam, the last with Molly’s help.

Agnes sought out Mabel Clemmons in a corner, immediately starting a conversation. Clover was glad her mother had found a companion, but she was a little surprised it was Mabel, whose rough, outspoken ways were so different from Agnes’s refined manners.

The fiddlers struck up a tune and Ballard tugged Clover onto the floor for a rowdy country dance. She was quickly caught up in a dizzying round of lively dancing and unending introductions. She doubted she would ever remember all the names and faces paraded before her. When Ballard became immersed in a discussion on horse breeding with a balding man named Chester Tuttle, Clover slipped away to fill a plate with food and, seeing that Mabel was now alone, went to join the woman. Before she could begin a conversation, however, her mother returned and sat down next to her.

“Where were you?” she asked her mother.

“I needed a moment of privacy,” Agnes replied, blushing faintly.

“Oh. And where can that be found? I might need a little privacy myself before the evening is ended.”

“Out back.”

“Well, I be damned,” said Mabel, looking across the room. “There be Colin Doogan and his brood.”

Clover was just looking toward the group Mabel had pointed out when she heard a thud. She turned to see her mother lying sprawled on the floor. Just as Clover hurried to see what ailed her, several women rushed over to help. Molly pushed her way through the women and knelt on the other side of Agnes. A moment later Ballard, Lambert, Shelton, and the twins huddled around them as well.

“Does she do this often?” asked Mabel, staring down at the unconscious Agnes. “She will be causing herself an injury.”

“I have seen her swoon only once,” said Lambert, “and I have known her for nearly two months. She collapsed when Clover said she was marrying Ballard and they were all coming to Kentucky.”

Mabel laughed and Clover shot her a brief look of mild annoyance. She cushioned her mother’s head in her lap as she and Molly tried to rouse her. Just as Agnes began to stir, a shadow crossed over them, and Clover looked up to see the man whom Mabel had identified as Colin Doogan staring down at them, his face pale and his gaze fixed firmly on Agnes.

Clover saw at once that Colin Doogan was a dangerously attractive man. She heard Molly whisper “Black Irish” and nodded in agreement. His hair was glossy black with a touch of white at the temples, and he had the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

“Agnes McGillicuddy?” he said, his voice soft and hoarse.

“McGillicuddy?” Molly looked at Clover. “You are Irish?”

“Mama’s father was. He died before I was born.” She frowned at Colin Doogan. “Do you know my mother, sir?” Clover’s heart pounded faster as she suddenly recalled the story her mother had told her on the day before her wedding, of a certain man named Colin whom she had known before she married Clayton Sherwood.

“I knew her many years ago when she was newly engaged to some young lad named Sherwood,” Colin Doogan replied.

“My father,” Clover whispered and looked down at her mother, whose eyes fluttered open.

“Oh, heavens above, child,” Agnes muttered, and rubbed her temples. “I thought I saw a ghost.”

“The ghost of Colin Doogan perhaps?” Clover suggested. She glanced at Colin’s three sons and murmured, “You neglected to tell me that the man was married. Or was he still a single gentleman when you knew him?” Looking at the brood of grown Doogans clustered around Colin, Clover knew the man must have been married even then.

Agnes slowly looked up until she met the gaze of the man leaning over her. For a moment she came close to fainting again and felt Molly and Clover each slip an arm around her in support.

“Lord above, Colin, what are
you
doing
here?”
Agnes demanded.

“I told you I wanted to move west,” he said as he took her by the hand and helped her to her feet.

“Many men spoke of going into the frontier in those days. ‘Twas a common dream.”

“Well, I acted upon it. I came here fifteen years back, brought my family three years later. You do
not look any different than you did the night we shared a dance at the Langleys’ May ball.”

“Nonsense.” Agnes blushed. “I have grown quite plump.”

“No, you have just matured into the fine woman I saw promised in the young girl you were then.”

Clover caught Molly rolling her eyes and had to bite back a chuckle. She stood up and moved to Ballard’s side as the other onlookers gradually drifted away. For a moment they let Colin and Agnes exchange information, each sympathizing with the other’s loss of a spouse. Ballard finally interrupted to perform the introductions, presenting to Clover and Agnes Colin’s eldest sons—Patrick, Michael, and David—who all carried the strong stamp of their father. The other seven children stood still long enough to be introduced as well, and Clover knew she would be hard-pressed to recall their names. When Colin excused himself for a moment, promising to return as soon as he was sure his younger children were all being looked after, Clover turned to her mother, who appeared hale but flushed and a little dazed.

“Well, Mama, I must say I never realized you were such a flirtatious girl in your youth.” Clover winked at a chuckling Ballard. Since almost everyone had drifted away, Clover could not resist the chance to tease her mother just a little bit. “A married man? Tsk, tsk.”

“Oh, hush.” Agnes giggled. “Imagine finding him here. He is right. He did talk of moving west, as many young gentlemen did back then. We ladies all oohed and aahed and declared them such daring heroes. Of
course most of them never went anywhere and we ladies politely forgot their boasts.”

Ballard shook his head. “More games.”

“I am afraid so. Flirtation and courtship do contain such mild deceptions and vanities. Oh, and Colin Doogan was a master player.” She grinned when Ballard laughed. “In his defense, I must say that I never heard a whisper that Colin had been unfaithful to his wife.” She frowned. “He had four children even then.”

“Has ten now, ma’am.” Ballard said. “His wife was ready to have some more, but he said enough was enough. He wanted to be able to give the ones he had a good life and enjoy some time with his wife without a bairn at her breast.” He glanced around and caught all three women blushing while Mabel cackled. “Did I say one of those words I shouldnae say?”

“Well, I suspect such indelicacy is acceptable around family and such, but never in the company of others,” Clover replied. She suddenly thought of how long it would take a woman to produce ten children, especially if there had been long separations here and there. “Colin Doogan never got to spend that time with his wife, did he,” she guessed.

“Nay. She got a fever and died. Been dead for three years now.”

“How sad,” murmured Agnes.

Clover nodded and refrained from teasing her mother anymore. The fiddlers struck up a waltz and she gasped with delight. “Oh, Ballard, they know the waltz.”

“Colin taught them,” he murmured, frowning at the small knot of dancers. “Only a few of us have learned it.”

She grasped his hands. “Shall we dance?”

“I fear I am one of those many who have nae learned yet.”

“I shall teach you. Please come along.”

His reluctance was clear as she dragged him out onto the dance floor. At first their movements were stiff and awkward, but Ballard was a quick learner with natural grace. She laughed when he lost the last of his resistance and began to whirl her confidently around the floor. By the time the dance was over she was breathless and giddy and gladly released him to go and talk to friends. She got a glass of punch and one of Molly’s scones and returned to her seat next to Mabel, only to notice that her mother had disappeared again.

“Where is Mama now?” she asked Mabel as she took a sip of the tart punch and set her cup down on the bench.

“Out there swirling about with that rogue Colin.”

“Oh.”

Clover ate the scone as she watched her mother dancing with the tall, handsome Irishman. Agnes was smiling and clearly enjoying herself. Suddenly, all Clover could think about was that her father had been dead for only a few months.

“You ain’t sure you approve of our Colin, are you?” said Mabel.

“I am sure Mr. Doogan is a very nice man.” Clover could see from the look on Mabel’s weathered face that her polite response did not satisfy. “All I want is for my mother to be happy. As my father made her happy.”

“Ah, I see.” Mabel spat, hitting the spitoon with her
usual accuracy. “Child, ain’t nothing wrong with your ma wanting to cure her loneliness.”

“Loneliness? How can she be lonely living in a household of nine people?”

“I reckon you know demmed well what kind of loneliness I be talking of. If you don’t, then Ballard MacGregor ain’t the man I think he is.” She cackled when Clover blushed deep red. “Your ma loved your pa. I hear it clear when she talks of him. But your pa done took himself away from her. I suspect she is still grieving, but she has the sense to know that life goes on. So does Colin. Now, those two flirting and laughing like they are might raise a few eyebrows back where you come from, but out here we ain’t bothered by such petty and useless niceties. Agnes and Colin know they are in the autumn of their lives, and neither of them wants to spend those years with just memories.”

“Of course. Then again, they could be acting just like any two friends who have not seen each other in years.”

Mabel snorted. “That sure as hell was no ‘let us be friends’ gleam I saw in old Colin’s eyes.”

Clover caught sight of Molly and Jonathan Clemmons sitting close on a bench, their heads together as they talked. She smiled at Mabel. “And what kind of gleam do you see in your son’s eyes?”

“I demmed well hope it’s a marrying sort of gleam. The fool ain’t getting any younger, and I have a hankering to see a grandchild or two before I die.”

Clover restrained a laugh. “Well, Molly
is
determined to find a husband.”

“Good. I reckon Jon needs a determined woman to get his backside afore a preacher.” Mabel looked
Clover over carefully. “Just when are you and that long-legged Scotsman gonna start a family?”

“You are a rude woman, Mabel Clemmons,” Clover said genially.

“Demmed right, and proud of it. It is one of the few good things about getting old. You can speak your mind and be crotchety and nobody troubles you about it.” She winked at Clover. “I got a soft spot for that Scot of yours, but don’t you go saying nothing to him about it.”

“Of course not. We would not want him to get too puffed up.”

“Exactly. Now, that’s why I’m asking you about starting his family. I know he wants one.”

“Yes. He was very clear on that matter. So do I. If God is willing, there will be a babe started before too long.”

Mabel nodded. “Reckon that boy is doing his best.”

“Definitely his best,” Clover drawled, and they shared grins that turned into hearty laughter.

Mabel had an odd effect on her, Clover mused, then frowned when the old woman scowled at the dancers. Clover looked to see what had caused Mabel’s dark expression, then grunted when she jabbed her in the side with a bony elbow.

“What is wrong? I see nothing but people dancing.”

“Then you ain’t looking hard enough. That hussy, Elizabeth Brown, has dragged your man onto the dance floor.”

Clover could see Ballard’s head, but it was not until the crowd parted a little that she caught sight of Elizabeth. The woman was dressed in a red gown, tight and low-cut, and she was pressing herself scandalously close to Ballard. Clover fought a swell of fury at seeing
Elizabeth reap the benefits of the dancing lesson she had just given Ballard. After taking a deep breath to steady herself, Clover tried to see how Ballard felt about Elizabeth’s actions, but there was little expression on his face.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go after your man, child,” said Mabel.

“He is only dancing,” she murmured, silently cursing the fact that she even cared who was in his arms.

“That slut is clinging to him like a limpet. Go and tear her off him.”

“Perhaps he likes dancing with her.”

“Balderdash! I know that boy. He don’t get that cursed stone face on him when he’s having fun.” She frowned at Clover. “Don’t you care that she’s trying to steal your man right afore your eyes?”

“Mrs. Clemmons, it is not a matter of caring. It is a matter of dignity. I do not wish to act the jealous, interfering wife.”

“Maybe where you come from you sit back and let such nonsense go on, but ‘round here we do something about it. Ain’t you seen how the other women are looking at you to stop the hussy?”