LoverforRansom (2 page)

“What of your sister? Is she excited about my coming?”
Cathleen asked. She was enthusiastic about the prospect of teaching, and mostly
about proving she could find gainful employment and support herself, even with
her disability. She’d helped with the blind children at Perkins, but had never
had the sole instruction to herself.

He inhaled harshly. His gaze focused on the distance. “My
sister hasn’t been
excited
about anything for two years.”

“I’m afraid that’s a quite normal reaction. Children who
find themselves struck blind are often more resilient than teenagers or
adults.”

“You’re our last hope, Miss Ryan.”

Cathleen swallowed. Was the situation that dire? Her heart
ached for the girl. “The loss of one’s sight is a tragic thing, Mr. Byrne. But
it can be overcome if she is willing to accept her fate and adapt.”

“I don’t know that any of us are willing to accept it.” His
voice was as sharp and cold as the steel edge of a sword.

“Accepting something doesn’t mean you have to
like
it, Mr. Byrne.”

He turned to her, his gaze piercing. “Can you help her, Miss
Ryan?”

A shard of doubt snaked through her and she forced it away.
“If she is willing to learn, I can help her.” Of that, she was certain.

The wagon topped a hill and Cathleen turned to view the most
picturesque landscape she’d ever beheld. Brilliant oranges and reds blended
with the darker purple hues of twilight to blanket a two-story brick home with
soaring white columns gracing porticoes on three sides. A few yards from the
house stood a stable and on the hill behind, another stable even larger than the
first. A creek meandered between the two hills, and on the other side of an
arched footbridge sat a smaller house nestled at the edge of the woods.

“Welcome to Byrne’s End,” he said, his voice devoid of
emotion.

“All this is…is yours?” Cathleen couldn’t stop staring.
Throughout the South, she’d seen barren landscapes where both armies had
denuded the land of trees for firewood. She’d seen the shells of once grand
homes and barns left in charred ruins. Everywhere, the scent of lumber filled
the air where businesses and houses were being rebuilt.

But this place looked unscathed by the war.

As the wagon neared, she noticed the whitewash on the
columns flaked near the top. Here and there, a shutter hung by one hinge. A few
stumps littered the front lawn, but for the most part, Byrne’s End looked like
something out of a novel.

Realizing this was to be her home for an indeterminable
amount of time, Cathleen gulped. This grand house made her feel even more like
a poor, half-blind Yankee girl, coming so far from home to find work.

Before the wagon lumbered to a stop, Mr. Byrne hopped down.

The wagon passed the side entrance and his forehead
furrowed. “Whoa, Charles?”

“Whoa!” Charles stood and pulled on the reins with all his
might but the horse trudged on.

Waving his arms, Byrne broke into a run. “Whoa! Whoa,
Blaze!”

Panic blossomed in Cathleen’s breast and spread like
wildfire. Even though the horse had never increased his speed,
runaway horse
went through her mind and she bounded off the back of the wagon, tripping over
her skirts and rolling on the dusty driveway.

Pain shot through her hands and knees. A coppery taste
filled her mouth and she realized she’d bitten her lip.

Her glasses had toppled off her lap and she searched
frantically for them.

All her terror had been in vain. Mr. Byrne had easily caught
up with and stopped the horse. He raced back to where Cathleen sat, legs
sprawled ignominiously, her petticoat peeping from beneath her skirt, which
hovered halfway up her calves to expose her well-worn boots.

Her cheeks flamed as a shocked group of people rushed
outside.

“Miss Ryan, there was no need for that,” he said. “Are you
all right? Are you hurt?”

She flashed him a look of self-reproach. “I’ve lost my
glasses, as well as my pride.”

“Old Blaze wouldn’t have gone far.” He pressed Cathleen’s
spectacles into her hand before he bent and lifted her off the ground to brush
the road dust from her skirt.

She darted back, not in disgust, but because his too
intimate touch sparked strange, unwanted feelings inside her that vied for
prominence with the disgrace of meeting her new employers in such a humiliating
way.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, his voice lower.

She shook her head. “No.” She wanted to cry. She wished the
earth would swallow her up.

“Oh heavens, Miss Ryan!” a woman cried. “Are you all right?
Ransom Byrne, what did you do to her?”

Cathleen straightened and turned to face a woman who had to
be, by all accounts, Mr. Byrne’s mother. She looked to be a female version of
her son, with black hair and those same light eyes that scanned Cathleen in
search of broken bones.

“I panicked,” Cathleen said.

“Ransom,” the mother scolded. “You had no business making
her ride on the back.”

He shrugged.

“Really, it wasn’t his fault,” Cathleen said, dusting her
palms and then offering to shake Mrs. Byrne’s hand.

Mrs. Byrne looked from Cathleen’s hand to her son and then
back before she gingerly took it, squeezed softly then released it. “I hope
your journey south was not too treacherous.”

“Not until the very end,” Cathleen said.

“Aunt Chloe,” Mrs. Byrne turned to the elderly black woman
standing on the side porch, “will you ask Jim and Jeff to bring in Miss Ryan’s
trunk?”

Lips set purposefully, Aunt Chloe crossed her arms over her
ample bosom and jerked her kerchief-covered head in the direction of two burly
men Cathleen assumed were the aforementioned Jim and Jeff. They eyed her
curiously as they manhandled the trunk off the wagon and took it around back.

“Ransom will be staying in the office and you can have his
room. It’s right next to Jenny’s,” Mrs. Byrne said, slipping her arm through
Cathleen’s and guiding her toward the entrance.

“I wouldn’t want to impose…” Cathleen turned to apologize to
Mr. Byrne but he was strolling toward the stable.

“Now, don’t you worry yourself about him. He’s already moved
his things. You come inside. I’d like to introduce you to Jenny.”

* * * * *

Ransom gave little Charles a wave as the boy led the horse
and wagon toward the barn where the workhorses were stabled. Doubtless, Charles
would be thrilled when his father returned. Morris Hunt had taken Byrne’s End’s
prized horses west when guerillas from both armies had threatened to press the
animals into service.

Now that at least the semblance of order had been restored,
Morris and Ransom’s father, Daniel, were on their way home.

Ransom didn’t look forward to getting back into the routine
of breeding the South’s finest trotters. He’d loved and admired the noble horse
before the war, but having faced death atop his own mount, Asteroid, on a daily
basis, Ransom possessed a totally new respect for the animals.

And yet, he’d lost his passion for breeding and racing.

The war, it seemed, had torn all their lives apart.
Rebuilding some aspects would only take time. Other facets could never be
repaired. Jenny’s eyesight, for one.

As Ransom strode toward the stable, he realized he was
shaking. That infernal Yankee gal had rattled him to the core. He glanced over
his shoulder as she ascended the steps to the side entrance portico.
What an
opinionated little mite!
A shudder traversed his spine as he recalled how
she’d so foolishly flung herself off the back of the wagon. What on earth had
she been thinking?

At first he’d feared she’d been hurt. When he’d seen that
she wasn’t, he’d immediately questioned her ability to teach his sister. She’d
seemed so…
sensible
up until then.

His shook his head.

Her appearance certainly gave one the impression she tended
to be more scholarly than flighty. He’d never laid eyes on a plainer creature
in his life. With those black glasses and her equally black hair swept back in
that severe knot at the nape of her neck, she looked like something out of a
gothic novel. Without the glasses—he raised an eyebrow—or the dress, she might
be what some considered comely. He chuckled at the thought of the prim teacher
shucked down to her chemise. In truth, her figure was pleasing enough and her
features even and free of blemishes…so it didn’t make sense to him that she
would purposefully try to make herself appear so austere.

She almost reminded him of the Amish women thirty miles
south in Ethridge.

And yet, she’d blushed mightily at the mishap and before,
had been quick to relate her distrust of horses. He rubbed his jaw. Perhaps she
was just a city girl after all.

Hopefully, the brash Yankee would have the know-how to get
Jenny out of her despondency. It killed Ransom to see her so broken. Jenny’s
sadness mirrored his own self-loathing. He could live with hating himself, but
not with seeing Jenny so miserable.

He had no one to blame but himself. Nor would he ever
forgive himself for bringing home the disease that had killed his grandfather
and blinded his sister.

Even though no one stated it aloud, he knew they all held
him responsible.

Not a day passed when he didn’t wish he could take back that
stormy night when his men had delivered him to Byrne’s End on the brink of
death. If he’d had any sense about him, he would have begged them to let him
die in the woods.

Truth be told, a piece of him had died during those years of
killing and fearing being killed. But nothing had ravaged him the way watching
his beloved grandfather fade away had—or standing by helpless as Jenny lingered
on the precipice for days.

When the fever had subsided, her sight was gone.

Tragedy had befallen his family all because of him.

Everything—possessions, health, life, even dignity—could all
be stripped away in one swipe. And while his grandfather lay cold in the grave
and Jenny had been doomed to a life of darkness, he walked and breathed
unscathed.

At least physically.

Inside, he was wrecked. Shattered.

Unworthy of his family’s love and support. The most
compassionate thing he could do was leave this place so they’d never have to
look upon his face again. He wondered if they hated him as much as he hated
himself.

A muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth.
Before the war, he believed he’d take his father’s place as a breeder. He’d
dreamed of studying law and pursuing a political career.

Not anymore.

Once the farm was back in order, he resolved to leave
Byrne’s End. Maybe he’d go west. He hadn’t decided. All he knew was that he
wouldn’t force his presence on his family one minute longer than necessary.
They had to hate him for the suffering he’d brought.

The stable had already grown shadowy and when he opened the
door, a few horses raised their heads to blow and snort. He breathed in the
familiar scent of leather, of horseflesh and hay.

Asteroid raised his red head and let out a rumbling whinny.
Ransom stroked the old veteran’s velvety face. “As soon as Jenny’s well enough,
we’ll leave this place, boy,” Ransom said and laid his forehead against the
horse’s.

Mrs. Byrne chattered on and Cathleen nodded, but she could
hardly focus on anything except the cavernous rooms. Paintings of ancestors,
children and horses decorated the walls. Massive mirrors in heavy gilt frames
hung over mantles, tilted from their tops to reflect the rooms. Twin parlors
graced one side of the house, separated by soaring pocket doors. Thick rugs
reached unendingly across heart-of-pine floors.

Servants scurried to set the long expanse of dining room
table.

A wide stairway dominated the center of the house, reaching
skyward toward a landing and then branching off into two sections leading to
the second floor. The last rays of sunlight filtered in through the panes of an
arched window. One hand on the balustrade and the other gathering up the hem of
her skirt, Mrs. Byrne mounted the stairs. “We are just so thrilled that you
agreed to come to Byrne’s End. We’ve all been at a loss and have no one really
to whom we can reach out. There’s so much tragedy in the South, as you well
know.”

Cathleen nodded as she climbed the stairs alongside Mrs.
Byrne.

“Nearly every family is in mourning,” Mrs. Byrne said,
shaking her head. The woman seemed to be riddled with nervous energy and looked
as if she’d never been still a moment in her life. “I see you, yourself, are
wearing mourning.”

“My brother was killed in the fighting.”

Mrs. Byrne stopped. Her eyes widened. “Oh dear, I am so
sorry. Not by a Tennessee boy, I hope.”

Not that it would have mattered. Dead was dead. “No. Arthur
fell at Fort Wagner. He was an officer with the 54
^th
Massachusetts.”
Cathleen looked for any sign of recognition in the woman’s eyes. The 54
^th
had been one of the first troops made up of black soldiers, even though the
Secretary of War, Edwin Stanton, had decreed that only white men could serve on
the officer staff. Massachusetts Governor John Andrew had himself appointed
Arthur, comprising the officers from prominent abolitionists.

Arthur had served proudly and had died a valiant death,
charging the impenetrable South Carolina fort alongside his commanding officer,
Robert Gould Shaw. Both had perished on the parapet and had been buried with
their fallen men.

Mrs. Byrne sighed her relief. A hint of liquor tainted her
breath. Cathleen tried not to appear taken aback. Surely it was medicine…

But when Mrs. Byrne hiccupped, Cathleen knew better. Dear
Lord, what had she gotten herself into?

“Oh, excuse me,” Mrs. Byrne said. “I don’t know what that
war accomplished except taking a good many lives.”

Cathleen wanted to state that the war preserved the Union
and emancipated the slaves, a cause which she’d campaigned to further.

“Ransom rode in Biffle’s cavalry.” Mrs. Byrne smiled
proudly. “Did he tell you?”

“He did not,” Cathleen said as Mrs. Byrne teetered across
the wide expanse of the upstairs hall.

Cathleen recognized her trunk in the center of one of the
bedrooms flanking the hall. The upstairs was much the same as the downstairs,
with enormous rooms and towering ceilings. Gracefully carved crown moulding
gleamed white against the garish gold wallpaper. The doors on either side of
the upstairs balconies and in both front and back had been thrown open to draw
in a breeze.

Mrs. Byrne entered the front bedroom. “Jenny?”

“Go away.”

Mr. Byrne had warned her, but Cathleen had not been prepared
for so prickly an introduction to her new charge.

“Now, Jenny, don’t you be rude,” Mrs. Byrne scolded. “Your
teacher, Miss Ryan, is here.”

Cathleen slipped her glasses in the pocket of her skirt as
she hesitated at the door.

Jenny sat on her unmade bed, her back to the door. Her long
blonde hair hung in unkempt tangles. Her frock was untidy. Clothes lay
scattered across the floor and several drawers on the dresser gaped open, their
contents spilling over the sides.

Mrs. Byrne made an unsuccessful attempt at straightening the
dresser. “She won’t allow anyone in to clean.”

Cathleen had seen the blind become despondent and depressed.
But she’d never seen anyone this unresponsive.

When Cathleen drew nearer, Jenny made a clumsy effort to
scramble away.

“I don’t need a teacher,” she said, her tone laced with
spite. “Leave me be.”

“I’ve been blind too,” Cathleen said softly. “I know what
you’re going through.”

Jenny snorted and twisted away. “You’ve come a long way for
nothing.”

* * * * *

A bell somewhere outside tolled and Cathleen heard little
Charles’ voice. “Quittin’ time! Supper!”

She packed the undergarments she’d brought along in the
drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe before pouring water from the pitcher into
the basin and washing her face and hands.

Her stomach rumbled. It’d been awhile since she’d eaten and
though most of the Southern fare was not to her taste, she looked forward to
whatever they saw fit to serve.

After tidying her hair, she stepped into the hallway, nearly
running into a servant carrying a tray laden with food and a glass of milk. She
nodded, setting aflutter the ties to the white kerchief secured around her
hair. “Evenin’, ma’am,” the round-faced girl said as she continued down the
hall.

“Good evening,” Cathleen said but stopped walking when she
realized the meal was destined for Jenny. “Excuse me. Is that plate intended
for Miss Byrne?”

“Yes ma’am,” the girl said, her doe-like brown eyes rounding.
Her cinnamon-colored skin gleamed, doubtless from her tenure in a hot kitchen.
“Miss Jenny always takes her meals in her room.”

“She’s not allowed to dine with the family downstairs?”
Cathleen didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

“Oh, she’s allowed,” the girl said. “She don’t want to. She
wants her food brung to her.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

“But—”

Cathleen smiled. “It’s all right, Miss…”

The girl preened and grinned. “Oh, I ain’t no miss or
nothin’. My name’s America but everybody calls me Merry. You can too if you
want.”

“That’s lovely, Merry,” Cathleen said. “I’m Miss Byrne’s
teacher, Miss Ryan. And if you don’t mind, I would appreciate it if you’d take
Miss Byrne’s food to the table and tell them we’ll be down for supper.”

Merry looked uncertain. “Miss Jenny ain’t gon’ be happy
’bout that.”

“I’ll take care of Miss Jenny.”

“Aw’ right, then,” Merry said and shook her head as she
turned around and started down the stairs.

At that moment, Jenny appeared in the doorway. She groped
her way two steps into the hall. “Merry! Don’t you take that food downstairs!”

Merry stopped, twisted and started back up the steps.

Cathleen blew out a breath. She hadn’t anticipated a battle
of wills. Her hands found her hips. “Take it to the dining room please, Merry.”

For a moment, Merry looked indecisive then she turned and
headed down the stairs.

Jenny would not submit. “I’ll tell Aunt Chloe on you!”

At that, Merry stopped, turned and ascended the stairs. “I’m
sorry, Miss Ryan. Aunt Chloe would take a hickory switch to me.”

Cathleen wasn’t about to give in. “I’ll take that,” she said
and forcibly removed the tray from Merry’s hands.

“She done gone and took it from me!” Merry cried to Jenny.
“I’m sorry.”

Jenny began shrieking insults. Still apologizing, Merry
covered her ears and ran. Exasperated, Cathleen placed the tray on a side table
across the hall.

“Calm down,” she said to Jenny.

“I won’t! You can go straight back up North! I don’t want
you here,” Jenny said. The child was spitting mad. Her uncombed hair and
unseeing eyes made her look wild. Her head twisted in the direction of any
noise.

“There’s no need for this nonsense,” Cathleen said and
crossed her arms over her chest. “Let me help you brush your hair and we’ll go
downstairs together.”

“You can go to the devil.”

“Jenny Byrne!” Cathleen scolded. “That is uncalled for and
unbecoming of a girl as pretty as you.”

Jenny jerked her chin in Cathleen’s direction before bolting
clumsily back into her room. Cathleen started toward her but the girl slammed
the door shut and turned the key in the lock.

Cathleen rattled the knob to no avail. “Unlock this door.
Don’t be silly.”

“Go away.”

Cathleen knew how to solve this. “You’ll not get one bite
until you brush your hair, tidy your clothes and come downstairs to eat with
the rest of your family like a civilized human being.”

No answer came from within.

Cathleen sat on the velvet-upholstered settee in the hall
and waited.

“Everything all right up there?” Mr. Byrne called as he
climbed the stairs.

A hot blush infused Cathleen’s cheeks. She didn’t want them
to disapprove, but she needed to establish her authority. “Perfectly fine.”

He eyed the tray and then the closed door. “She won’t come
out.” It wasn’t a question.

“There’s no reason she can’t dine with the family in the
dining room.”

“There’s one.”

“What would that be, pray tell.”

“She doesn’t want to,” Mr. Byrne said. As he neared,
Cathleen detected the earthy scent of horses and leather. The men to whom she’d
been exposed smelled of fancy pomade, books and ink, or stank of liquor and fish.
This fragrance Mr. Byrne possessed wasn’t unpleasant at all.

She huffed, trying to dislodge the distracting scent.
“Really, if she is to be coddled so, then I’ll never be able to teach her a
thing.”

He started toward the tray, drawing Cathleen’s attention to
the way his trousers molded to his thick thighs with every step. “Just for
tonight. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

Tearing her gaze from his legs, she shot to her feet. “I
stand firm. You hired me to provide instruction and that’s what I intend to do.”

His features darkened. Black brows lowered over ice-colored
eyes. “I hired you to teach her, not starve her, Miss Ryan.”

She stepped closer and tilted her head up to look at him.
Lord, how had the North ever won the war with giants like this fighting against
them? “Part of teaching her, Mr. Byrne, includes educating her on how to adapt
to tasks the seeing take for granted. Do you want her to be a recluse? A
shut-in? Do you want to cripple her for the rest of her life?”

He blew an audible breath through his nose. The gentle force
of it fanned her cheeks.

She hugged her arms to keep him from seeing how she
trembled. “The blind can live full, meaningful lives. Don’t hold her back out
of a sense of…of guilt.”

His eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw flexed, delineating
strong, unyielding lines that were reflected in his stubbornness.

She wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. “Mr. Byrne, if
you love your sister, help me help her.”

His gaze darted from her to the closed door and back again.

Cathleen sensed he was torn and her heart went out to
him—and also to the poor, angry child behind that door. She touched his arm.
“She’ll come out when she’s hungry. Trust me.”

Tense muscles crackled beneath her fingertips.

“You’ve seen this sort of behavior before?” he asked.

“Sadly, yes.” And of course, she had seen it at Perkins
amongst the students. She’d never been the instructor who’d had to deal with it
though.

He nodded as if he were resigning himself to the fact that
she knew best and Cathleen felt some of the tension ease out of her shoulders.

“It might not happen tonight. But I assure you, by tomorrow,
she’ll come out of that room.”

“For your sake, I hope she does,” he said, then turned on
his heel and bounded back down the stairs.

After he disappeared from view, Cathleen clenched her fists.
She ground her teeth in frustration. She wouldn’t give up. Steeling herself,
she took a few steps toward the door. “Jenny, your supper is getting cold.”

Nothing.

“Your family is waiting for you.”

“I’m not coming out.”

Cathleen pursed her lips. She debated pounding on the door,
but decided it would only serve to alert the Byrnes. Instead, she paced over to
the tray and looked at the plate of fried chicken, delicious-smelling green
beans and mashed potatoes covered with gravy. Her stomach growled audibly.

She couldn’t go down. Not yet.

But if Jenny was going to be stubborn, this food didn’t need
to go to waste.

* * * * *

Disheartened, Cathleen lay awake in the giant four-poster
bed. She’d been blind most of her life and knew the sighted equated the loss of
vision with darkness. The blindness she’d known had been more akin to
nothingness
.
It wasn’t anything like the pervasive
blackness
that permeated this
monstrous house during the night.

Wood popped and creaked as the house settled and cooled.
Insects seemed to drone and buzz far louder than was natural.

Cathleen was a city girl, unaccustomed to country life. Her
earlier episode with the horse and wagon had exhibited that quite clearly to
everyone involved. Her face flamed with shame at the memory.

In addition to the unfamiliar scents, sights and accents,
she just knew she’d never become comfortable with being waited on hand and foot
by the very men and women she’d striven to see freed. It didn’t make sense that
they would continue to remain in positions they’d been in before emancipation.
She’d seen an influx of many former slaves in the North, but not nearly so many
as she had imagined would flee their oppressors.

Cathleen had never lived where servants were employed but
she’d encountered them at Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s home, and at the homes of
others who’d furthered the women’s movement. Those servants hadn’t been treated
any differently than she’d seen Mrs. Byrne treat hers. She’d even witnessed a
camaraderie between Ransom Byrne and little Charles she’d never perceived
between Northerners and their staff.