The Last Heiress (29 page)

Amanda set down her fork. “He couldn't help it if he became sick, dear one.”

Nate focused on the whitewashed wall. “My father tried hard to drink himself to death, but it wasn't fast enough. So one cold
January after we had been trapped in the cabin for days, he cut a length of rope. After we went to bed, he fed the horses and then hanged himself in the barn.”

An icy chill ran through her veins. “Oh, Nate, I'm so sorry to hear this.”

He patted her hand. “Water long over the dam. My brother and I survived the best we could. Eventually I sent Joshua to live with an aunt and uncle so he could go to school. Apparently, he didn't stay long before running off to join the army.”

“The Confederate army?”

“Yes. He was living in Fayetteville at the time, but I don't know where he is now.”

“I hope that when the war is over you will find each other,” she said, but every word from her mouth sounded wholly inadequate.

“That's enough about me. Tell me what it was like growing up a Dunn. Tails and ball gowns for dinner? Three forks, three spoons, two knives, and every size glass known to man at each place setting?” His blue eyes twinkled.

Amanda remembered meals in their dining room after Abby had left and frowned. Mama and Papa sat at opposite ends of the table, both sullen and aloof, while she picked at her food, hoping they wouldn't snipe at each other until she went to bed. Of course, there never had been shouting or vases hurtling through the air like a West End stage comedy. Instead, her mother would whine and cajole:

Why don't we go to London this weekend, George?

Let's take Amanda to the continent for the summer.

Why don't we spend a fortnight in the Lake District with our friends?

And Papa's answers were always the same.

I have no time for your nonsense, Agnes.

Mills do not run themselves.

I don't want to hear another word on the subject.

So her mother would brood and pout in her room, leaving Amanda alone to dream about life anywhere other than Dunncliff Manor.

“For dinner, yes,” she replied, shaking off her memories. “But for breakfast and luncheon we were far less civilized.”

When Nate smiled, Amanda felt a surge of warmth in her gut—unfamiliar yet not unpleasant. “My father never lifted a finger to help his wife. Of course, she did very little either. She wouldn't pull the stopper from the washbasin for herself or turn down the covers of her bed. Mama would stand waiting and shivering until her maid returned with a warming pan.”

“Your parents were raised with servants, creating a form of helplessness. But your father probably showed his love in other ways.”

Amanda shook her head, eating her last bite of yams. “Papa did not love her or she him. It was a union arranged by their parents for practical reasons—her family owned coal mines, his owned textile mills. My mother produced three children because it was expected of her. Duty allows little room for love.”

Nate reached out and took hold of her chin. “Then you and I will have few expectations and no obligations to each other. We'll just see where our hearts take us.” Leaning across the table, he kissed her lips tenderly.

She lifted an eyebrow when she opened her eyes. “Two kisses is my limit for the evening, Mr. Cooper. Why don't we clear the table before you start thinking about your second kiss?”

“I haven't served the pie for dessert yet. Ruth helped with the crust, but I did the rest by myself.”

“What kind of pie?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

“Apple, with fruit picked fresh in Pender County.”

“You're in luck, Mr. Cooper. Apple is my new favorite since coming to America. I might have to raise my limit to
three
kisses.”

“You're the one in luck, Miss Dunn. Wait until you taste my pie.”

Twelve

Two weeks later

W
hen Nate walked the five blocks to his shop, he quickly became soaked to the skin despite an overcoat and hat. The October skies had opened with a deluge of rain that refused to stop. By three that afternoon he had yet to wait on his first customer. Perhaps the matrons of Wilmington were overseeing the construction of arks in their backyards. The rain fell so hard that water began to seep under his front door, along with an oily scum of filth. Nate relentlessly swept the sludge back to the street where it could drain into the harbor. His mind, however, stayed focused on his dinner with Amanda.

The evening had turned out better than his fondest dreams. Amanda had reached for his hand three times and kissed him twice. It would be impossible to count how often she smiled or laughed. Yes, his first culinary adventure had been an unqualified triumph. But if he didn't keep the flood out of his shop, his merchandise would be jeopardized. It seemed the faster he swept, the faster it poured in under the door.

“Looks like you're fighting a losing battle, my friend.”

Startled, Nate turned to see Mason entering the store from his stockroom. With an uncomfortable twinge he realized he had neglected to lock the back door. And Mason, thinner, bearded, and more wild-eyed than their last meeting, wasn't alone. Another equally unkempt and dissipated ruffian swaggered down the aisle behind him.

“Mason, why didn't you come in the front door like other folks?” Nate tried to keep his voice level.

“Because I ain't your run-of-the-mill customer.” Mason stopped in the middle of the store. “I know old friends from home don't have to stand on ceremony with a man like you.” His lips formed a smile, but his eyes remained cool and unreadable.

“You took me by surprise.” Nate returned to the futile task of sweeping foul-smelling water out to the street.

“You ain't gonna win that battle, Nate. We'd better move the grain sacks up high. The river has risen over the docks. The flood's coming from the wharf, not from uptown.” As he spoke, Mason lifted a sack of rice sitting in the aisle directly in the tide's path.

Nate stared for a moment, embarrassed he hadn't grasped the situation. “Good idea. Thank you.” Dropping the broom, he began moving boxes of canned goods to higher shelves. Mason and the unnamed man carried sacks of wheat, barley, and rice into the stockroom, stacking them to the ceiling on the worktable. The stranger moved with far less urgency than Mason but pitched in nonetheless.

Thirty minutes later the three men had done all they could.

“Time to head for higher ground and wait out the storm.” Mason touched Nate lightly on the shoulder. “It sounds like the wind is starting to die down. If the building doesn't float away, you can come back tomorrow and see what's left.”

Nate glanced around and nodded. “Let's brace the door shut
with this.” The three men shifted a heavy crate of ruined dry goods against the door frame, the wood already warping from the water. Then they picked their way through floating debris and locked the back door behind them.

Mindlessly numb, Nate followed Mason through streets and alleys away from the Cape Fear River. While he was busily planning a bright future with Amanda, a flash flood had turned his store into a floating stew. When they reached an uptown area of warehouses and mills, Mason headed into a tavern only a bit less seedy than those on the wharf.

Considering the circumstances, Nate didn't object to his choice of dry refuges. Inside, men seeking shelter were huddled elbow to elbow. After they found a rough-hewn bench by the window, Nate offered his hand to the stranger. “Nathaniel Cooper. I'm much obliged for your help today, sir.”

The man shook with little enthusiasm. “I ain't ‘sir' to nobody. Name's Billy Conroy. I'm expectin' you to show gratitude with a few cold stouts to wet the whistle.” Billy revealed the yellowest teeth with his smile Nate had ever seen.

“Of course. It would be my pleasure.” Nate dug out a pile of coins from his pocket. “Don't know what beer costs—take what you need.” He held out his open palm to Mason.

Mason grabbed the entire pile, plucked two, and slapped them on the bar. “Three stouts,” he called to a one-eyed barkeep. “This should keep us dry for a while.” Mason slipped the rest of the money into his pocket.

While they waited for their drinks, they wrung as much water from their garments as possible in a public place. Once the dark, foamy draughts arrived, Mason and Billy endeavored to empty their steins as quickly as possible. Issuing a rude burp, Mason motioned for refills before settling back on the bench. Nate had taken only one sip of the bitter drink.

“Haven't seen you at any more meetings, not since that first one in the summer.” Mason wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Maybe you didn't get my messages?”

Taking a second sip, Nate tried not to reveal his revulsion. “I heard about one or two, but I've been too busy to ride into the backwoods. It's only me working in the store.” He kept his back very straight against the wall.

Mason picked up his stein the moment it was refilled. “There's a war going on everywhere but here in Wilmington. You folks tend to business just like normal. Mind if I ask what's so all-fired important that you can't spend a few nights helping out like-minded friends?” He kept his voice low, considering the politics of their fellow imbibers.

Nate looked from one of his companions to the other, gauging how much to reveal. “It seems I've gone and fallen in love. Who would guess it could happen to me?” He lifted his glass in camaraderie to clink theirs. “So if I plan to take a wife, I can't be running off and leaving my store untended.” He forced himself to swallow another mouthful.

“I've been curious about you. That little gal in the hat shop next door keeps her eye on you.” Mason grinned with maniacal zeal. “She said this real fancy English lady comes by your store often. And she ain't carrying sacks of food when she leaves.”

“Miss Amanda Dunn,” muttered Billy Conroy. “I knows all about that one.”

Nate recoiled as though struck before grabbing hold of the man's coat lapels. “You are mistaken. You couldn't possibly know Miss Dunn. She's only been in Wilmington since April.”

Conroy shrugged off his hand. “I know her from back in Wycleft. Her family lives up on the hill like they was kings and queens. Coming and going in their fancy brougham, pulled by horses wearing feathered hats and silver harness.” Conroy spat
on the sawdust-strewn floor. “My dah worked in Dunn Mills all his life, right up till he fell fifty feet down a black hole.” Conroy clutched his stein tight enough to crack the glass. “What did old man Dunn do? He took his sweet time bringin' them up. Then he sez he's sorry and will pay for the funeral—one funeral for twenty-two men. He buried them side-by-side in a field outside town, not in proper plots inside Saint Luke's churchyard.”

As Conroy paused to gulp more beer, Mason's expression turned gleeful. The tale appeared to amuse him.

“Then this foreman paid a visit to each family who lost their dah. He said Master Dunn will forget about this month's rent. But next month the rent better be paid on time or the family will be out on the street.”

Nate felt heat rise up his neck to his hairline even as his mind struggled to remember everything Amanda told him about home. “Surely you can't hold Miss Dunn—”

“I ain't finished yet, Cooper. I helped save your store from the muck, so you better hear me out.” Beer sloshed over the stein's rim onto Conroy's tattered shirt.

“Go on. I'm listening.” Nate checked his peripheral vision for possible weapons other than the mug of swill.

“The foreman said Mum could send two sons to take Dah's place at the mill. Two for one, since they weren't trained. But she wouldn't let her boys set foot in that God-forsaken place. Mum went to live with her sister in Bath and sent her older boys to America with the rent money.”

As details clicked into place, Nate forced his fingers to uncurl. “I'm sorry your father was killed, but Miss Dunn lost her only brother in that horrible accident. The floor over the coal shaft supplying the mill collapsed. No one was to blame. It was an accident.”