Until the Dawn (32 page)

“Why do you care about those documents? You know something about them and aren’t telling us. Why?”

“Because it’s none of your business,” he said in a nasty voice.

Above all, love one another
. She didn’t understand the torments that drove this man, but they were real, and they were painful to him. Such a man deserved compassion, no matter how rude or blunt.

“I wish you would join us downstairs,” she said. “We are having a grand celebration this evening. I’m going to spend the day making the world’s best oyster chowder. I’m generally not boastful about my cooking, but on this recipe I feel confident. It would be a shame to spend the day alone up here when we’d rather have your company.”

He narrowed his eyes, but she kept pushing.

“You once told me how you admired your Vandermark cousins in Holland because they shared meals together. How can we have a proper meal without the family patriarch?”

The reference to his joyful cousins caused the first real hint of softening on his face, so she continued that train of thought.

“Pieter is going to have his first taste of oysters this evening. He can’t stop talking about it, and I know he will want both you and Quentin to be there.”

“I’ll be there,” Nickolaas conceded, then he spoiled the effect by slamming the door in her face.

“What are these?” Pieter asked, holding up a handful of leeks, their bright green tips flaring out almost like a bouquet of flowers.

“They’re leeks,” Sophie replied as she mounded the ingredients for this evening’s feast on the cutting table. “They are a type of onion but have a softer taste.”

“I don’t like onions,” Pieter said.

“They’ll be diced up so small you won’t even notice them. And they’ll give a wonderful flavor to the chowder, just you wait and see. This will be the best oyster chowder ever served on the eastern seaboard.”

Her chowder was a hearty dish made with smoked bacon and thickened with cream and russet potatoes. It would be seasoned with minced leeks, cracked pepper, and an array of fresh herbs. Everything would be fresh and wholesome, and the feast would last until long after the sun went down.

Since finding that astounding bit of text yesterday, the professors felt like they were on the verge of discovering something wonderful. It ignited their curiosity and sent a bolt of energy through the researchers, who were now convinced there was a mysterious history here just waiting to be discovered. And what
better way to celebrate than with food? Pieter was bursting with excitement over his first taste of oysters, convinced he was now old enough to sample the delicacy without getting squeamish.

“Marten said it would be better to have the celebration down by the river,” Pieter said. “He said that the only proper way to celebrate an oyster harvest is while gathered on a beach. My father can’t get down to the river, and he’s spoiling it for everyone.”

Sophie kept her face calm, although it was spiteful for Marten to share that hurtful detail with Pieter. Marten was terribly threatened by Quentin, who apparently had read him the riot act this morning, although he refused to say what it was about. It was easy to imagine how intimidating Quentin could be, and she didn’t want to embarrass Marten by demanding the details.

“We’ll eat on the back terrace overlooking the river,” she said. “That way, we’ll be able to see the fireflies when they come out at twilight. It will be like they are lighting our celebration.”

“Okay!” Pieter agreed. It was amazing to see this boy blossom into a curious and normal boy, no longer frightened of the dark or every strange sound. The biologists had taken him under their wing and showed him how they collected water samples, placed dots of water on glass slides, and studied them under the microscopes set up in the dining room. They even provided him with reference books and let him try to identify some of the cell samples collected from the river.

She was dicing potatoes when Mr. Gilroy interrupted her. “Mr. Vandermark wishes to see you. Mr.
Quentin
Vandermark,” he clarified.

Sophie kept dicing. “He’ll have to wait. Pieter and I have two sacks of potatoes to dice and three sides of bacon to cook.”

Mr. Gilroy was smooth, and before she knew it, he removed the knife from her hands and was drawing the board of potatoes
toward him. “I am happy to dice the potatoes,” he said. “Quentin is waiting for you near the Spanish cannon.”

It was alarming how Mr. Gilroy could manipulate the situation with such ease. She propped her hands on her hips, determined this man would not once again get the better of her. “Dicing potatoes? I thought you were under orders to search the house for mysterious texts.”

A bit of humor lit Mr. Gilroy’s face as he began cutting up a potato with expert hands. “The challenge of serving two masters,” he said.

“Can I come, too?” Pieter asked. It was rare for Pieter to seek out a chance to visit with his father, and she couldn’t deny him.

It was surprisingly cool outside, and Sophie looked down to Pieter. “It feels like that Canadian front they forecasted has arrived, don’t you think?”

Pieter looked at the gentle breeze ruffling the sycamore leaves and then up at her. “The wind is coming from the north,” he confirmed with a solemn nod.

“It’s steep here, hold my hand as we go down to the ledge.”

“I’m not a baby,” Pieter mumbled, but he still accepted her hand as they walked toward the outcropping. It was nice to feel needed. All week she had loved cooking for these people and being a part, in however small a way, of the research teams. Maybe she would never run her own climate observatory, but there was still a role for her in supporting the work of others. After all, these men couldn’t continue their work if they weren’t fed.

A glance at the river showed the biologists busily harvesting oysters into baskets. She hoped she could settle the business with Quentin quickly, for the amount of work still to be done before tonight’s feast was staggering. The bacon needed to be cooked, cooled, and diced. She wanted to prepare herbed butter, and shucking oysters required a lot of time, as well.

As the overhang came into view, she saw Quentin formally dressed in a suit jacket with a satin tie, sitting on the bench and fiddling with his cane. She wasn’t used to seeing him dressed so formally. It made him look . . . very nice, actually.

“Here we are,” she said brightly as she walked the final few steps.

Quentin looked surprised to see Pieter. He pushed himself to his feet and fumbled with his cane. “I . . . um . . . I didn’t expect you to bring Pieter.”

“I’ve been helping make oyster chowder,” the boy said proudly. “Next we’re going to shuck the oysters, and Miss Sophie says I can help. I’m not afraid of oysters, even though they’re slimy.”

Humor lightened Quentin’s eyes. “You sure? Last time I showed you an oyster on the half shell you looked ready to run and hide under your bed.”

“But I’m older now. And Miss Sophie says they won’t look so awful once they’re in the chowder,” Pieter said in a voice that still carried a whiff of trepidation. “I’m going to try them tonight. I think I’m old enough now.”

She met Quentin’s gaze, an amused message flying silently between them. Most people were squeamish about their first taste of oysters, but it would be fun to introduce the boy to the culinary delight. It was going to be a fabulous evening. Everyone here had formed an immediate bond in the quest to uncover the history of the estate. She instinctively wanted to share the moment with Quentin and Pieter, especially given the way Quentin had been so decent to her lately. And the way he was looking at her so strangely . . . like he was anticipating something.

“Pieter, I need to speak with Miss Sophie privately,” he said.

“Does that mean you want me to go away?” Pieter asked in a confused voice.

To her surprise, Quentin suddenly seemed tongue-tied. His
gaze darted around, and a flush stained his cheeks. “It means you need to run along for a few minutes while I discuss grown-up business with Miss Sophie.”

She couldn’t imagine what was making Quentin so uneasy, but Pieter was used to obeying orders and went scampering up the ledge to the house.

“He’s come a long way in the past six weeks,” Quentin said, still fiddling with his cane and staring somewhere over her shoulder. “Most of that is due to you. You’ve been very good for the boy.”

Compliments from Quentin were as rare as rubies in the sand. “Thank you,” she said with a surprised smile.

“I found a Bible in his bedroom.”

Her shoulders sagged. So . . . that was why he’d summoned her. He’d discovered she’d failed to slam the door on Pieter’s curiosity about faith and was going to interfere.

“He asked if there was a Bible in the house, and I showed him where it was,” she admitted.

Oddly, Quentin didn’t seem angry. He tugged on his collar and seemed merely a little embarrassed.

“I’m willing to admit I’ve been wrong about that,” he said. “I studied Christianity at college and understand the basic doctrines. The principles aren’t bad, and if they bring Pieter comfort, I don’t mind him exploring until he is an adult and ready to make his own decisions.”

She smiled softly. “What made you change your mind?”

“You.”

He couldn’t have surprised her more if he sprouted wings and dove off the cliff. For a man so aggressively hostile to religion, this capitulation was stunning. But he still seemed ill at ease. His jaw was clenched and he couldn’t meet her gaze, but with jerky motions he gestured for her to sit on the bench.

“You are very good at reading Pieter and his needs,” Quentin
said as he joined her on the bench. “Before you came, I didn’t realize how much he has missed a woman’s softness in his life. He lowers his guard around you and becomes curious about the world around him. He is less prone to anxiety over pointless things. I owe all this to you.”

“Thank you,” she said again, wondering what was prompting this bewildering conversation. He rubbed his hands along the rough fabric of his trousers and cleared his throat. He seemed so nervous that she began to fear his next sentence. Was he taking Pieter and leaving them? His anxiety was contagious, and her stomach clenched and heart began to pound.

“Whatever is bothering you, just say it,” she prompted. Anything to break this awful tension.

He took a heavy breath then turned to face her. “Miss van Riijn, I am in need of a wife, and Pieter is in need of a mother. I believe you would fill both roles quite well. Will you marry me?”

She gasped. If she wasn’t so appalled, she would laugh, but there was nothing funny about this moment. She’d had three fiancés, and at each proposal she’d believed herself in love, but love was the last emotion she felt for Quentin Vandermark.

He awaited her answer like a condemned man awaited an executioner.

“I can’t imagine we would be a good match,” she stammered.

He stiffened even further, his spine straightening and his chin lifting. “We’re an excellent match,” he countered. “You have a genuine affection for Pieter, and your devotion to Dierenpark in unquestionable. If you marry me, you can live at Dierenpark for the rest of your life.”

Not a word about love. Not that she expected it from a man as stern as Quentin Vandermark, but she’d never imagined marrying a man without a true and genuine affection. Until recently, Quentin had seemed to actively dislike her.

“That’s what you need then, a mother for Pieter?”

“Precisely. As I said earlier, my health is precarious and I need to secure his future. I believe you can provide him with a foundation of integrity and moral judgment. And you could be mistress of Dierenpark for the rest of your life.”

His proximity was uncomfortable. She stepped away from the bench, gazing out over the river.

She
would
be good for Pieter. The quick affection that had bloomed between her and Pieter felt almost like being a real mother.

And love hadn’t worked out so well for her in the past, had it? All her life she’d longed to feel needed, and Pieter needed her. There would be a lot of advantages to marrying into this family.

She dragged air into her lungs and surveyed the vista before her. She had loved Dierenpark as far back as her memory reached. Marriage to Quentin would mean she could savor the beauty of this breathtaking spot for as long as she lived. It could all belong to her.

It was a perfect day, the sky a blinding blue. The colors seemed magnified, the sound of the insects droning in the nearby flowers strangely loud. The scent of honeysuckle was so strong it seemed cloying, the sunlight so bright it hurt her eyes. She shaded her eyes as she took in the view, dwelling on the idea that it could all belong to her as soon as she spoke the word. All she had to do was marry Quentin, and then Dierenpark would be hers forever. She felt hot and dizzy and overwhelmed.

A movement caught her attention. Quentin rose to his feet, the tip of his cane clicking on the stone as he drew closer.

She would have to be his wife. She couldn’t even meet his gaze, and she was contemplating the longest, most intimate connection with a man who half-frightened, half-thrilled her.