“Hey, you long-legged Scot, you running home already?” called a burly man from the front porch of a large wooden building.
“Clemmons, ye rogue,” Ballard called back as he pulled the wagon to a stop.
Clover sighed as Ballard leaped off the wagon seat, loped up the three steps, and exchanged a bear hug with the man. Shelton and Lambert were quick to follow. She eased herself to the ground and rubbed her aching backside. Ballard had grinned when she had put a folded blanket on the seat, but she had ignored his amusement. She knew the padding had helped her endure the rough journey.
Just as Agnes, Molly, and the twins joined Clover, Ballard looked their way. “Here, lass,” he said as he started toward her, “ye should have waited. I would have helped ye down.”
“Right about now, Ballard,” she said in a quiet voice as he reached her side, “I would have leaped back into the Ohio River rather than sit on that torturous seat for one moment longer.”
Ballard grinned and kissed her cheek, then grimaced. “Dinnae try to smooth over my error. A gentleman would have helped ye and the other women down first, then introduced them all to Jonathan. Weel, ye are here to teach me those pretty manners.”
Jonathan Clemmons stepped to the edge of the veranda. “You came back with more than you left with, Ballard m’boy.”
Clover smiled faintly at the big man, then noticed that he was looking at Molly, who was staring right back. Molly smoothed the skirts of her plain gray gown and tucked a stray wisp of hair back under her crisp white mobcap. Clover decided to take a closer look at the man as they were all introduced to him.
Clemmons was a big man, almost as tall as Ballard but of a burlier build. His face was square, plain, and weathered. He had hazel eyes with fine lines at each corner that deepened when he smiled. There was no hint of gray in his long, roughly cut brown hair, so Clover guessed that he was under forty years of age. He had a strong, deep voice and when he suddenly bellowed in surprise, she was abruptly drawn out of her thoughts.
“Married?” Jonathan stared at Ballard in openmouthed surprise. “You got married?”
“I told ye I was looking for a wife,” Ballard answered as he draped his arm around Clover’s shoulders. “Me and Clover have been wed for a fortnight now.”
“I know what you told me, you lanky fool. I just did not expect you to be so successful so quick, or”—he smiled at Clover—“to get yourself such a pretty one.”
“You are very kind, sir,” she said.
“Call me Jon.”
“I knew you would do just as you claimed you would, boy,” said a deep, raspy voice.
Clover looked at the person who had spoken and struggled to hide her surprise as Ballard introduced them all to Jon’s mother, Mabel Clemmons. The woman looked too dainty and slender to produce such a manly voice. She wore a simple blue gingham gown, and her gray-flecked brown hair was neatly pinned up. There was such life in her hazel eyes, it gave her plain, slightly angular face a hint of beauty. There was a bump in one of her freckled cheeks and Clover realized the woman was chewing tobacco. She noticed several spitoons placed strategically around the porch. When the woman suddenly spat into one, Clover was a little startled by the speed, accuracy, and tidiness of the act. She idly wondered if anyone had tried to get Mabel to take up pipe smoking instead.
“Warned her about me, didn’t ya, boy,” Mabel said, fixing her gaze on Ballard.
“Weel, there are nae many like ye, Mabel,” Ballard drawled.
“Damned right. I ain’t inclined to become staid and common in my old age.” Mabel turned her sharp gaze on Molly. “A maid, eh? Are you getting high and mighty on us, Ballard?”
“Molly was hired for my sake, Mrs. Clemmons,” Clover said. “I fear I lack a few housewifely skills.”
Mabel nodded and looked at Molly again. “So you are here only for a short spell.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I am of a mind to find me a husband,” Molly said, meeting Mabel’s keen gaze squarely. “I am fair tired of being a widow.”
A faint smile briefly curved Mabel’s thin lips before she turned to Agnes. “You here to find a man too?”
Agnes blushed. “Heavens, no. I am but a month widowed and much too old for such nonsense.”
“You’re still breathing, ain’t you? That’s ‘bout all it takes to get a man sniffing ‘round your skirts in these parts.” She winked at Ballard. “And it seems marrying is in the air.” She spat again and frowned down the road. “Course, there be one or two what might be displeased about your getting hitched up, Ballard.”
Clover felt Ballard tense as he followed Mabel’s gaze down the road. She peeked around him. And almost cursed. Loping toward them was a woman, her skirts hitched up to reveal well-shaped blackstockinged legs and red petticoats. Thick raven hair billowed around her head as she ran, and her full breasts seemed in danger of bouncing free of her low-necked gown. Ballard turned to greet the woman, only to grunt in surprise as she flung herself into his arms. Clover muttered a curse. Mabel chuckled.
“Elizabeth, enough,” Ballard snapped as he wrenched free of the woman’s grasp and held her at arm’s length.
“Come now, Ballard, I know we did not part on the best of terms, but—forgive and forget, I always say.” Elizabeth glanced at Clover and her family. “I see you have brought some new people to town. Do you mean to settle here or move on?” she asked Clover as she wriggled closer to Ballard.
“I rather thought I would linger in the area,” Clover replied wryly.
“Elizabeth Brown, there are some people I would like you to meet,” Ballard said, pushing her away as he introduced Clover’s family and Molly. He quickly put his arm around Clover’s shoulders. “And this is Clover—my wife.” Clover watched with interest as Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide and her cheeks flushed with anger.
“You married this child?” she snapped.
“I told ye I was going to find me a wife.”
“I thought those were just words, said to spite me.”
“I dinnae play those kind of games, Elizabeth. Ye have kenned me long enough to realize that.”
Clover was tempted to ask for how long and how well, but bit the inside of her cheek to stem the words. Ballard did not look very welcoming. It would be unfair to assume immediately he had lied when he had said there was no one for him in Kentucky. She just wished that this particular “no one” did not look so fulsome and sultry. She wondered crossly if Ballard knew any slender, small-breasted women besides herself.
“I certainly did not think you would be fool enough to up and wed some scrawny chit from back east. You were gone barely more than a fortnight,” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“I told nearly the whole town what I planned to do and I did it.”
“Well, this pale child will never survive out here. You made a very poor choice, Ballard MacGregor.”
“I dinnae happen to think so. And if ye cannae welcome her and her kin, there isnae any reason for ye to linger here.”
“No? You owe me—”
“I owe ye nothing, lass. I never made ye a promise or even hinted that I would. ‘Tis all in your head, a product of your own vanity. Now, either wish us weel or leave and let that be the end of it.”
“The end of it? I think not.” She glared at Clover, then marched away.
Ballard sighed. “Sorry about that, lass.”
“You said you had no one in Kentucky,” Clover murmured.
“I didnae lie. That fool lass thinks every mon in the state is fairly pining away for her.”
Clover watched the woman disappear down the road, invitation in every swish of her skirt, and suspected that Elizabeth Brown had some sound reasons for that vanity. A part of Clover wanted to know every detail of Ballard’s past relationship with her, no matter how sordid, but a larger part of her desperately wanted to brush the matter aside. She could not stop thinking that Elizabeth Brown was probably an excellent cook too.
“She seemed very sure that you would be one of those pining men,” Clover said.
“Aye, but as I said, ‘tis all in her head. There was a wee tryst atween us after the harvest frolic, but I ne’er even hinted it would be more than that. I took a quick taste of what she offers half the men in the area, and she decided I was the one who wanted to marry her. I spent nearly all winter trying to make her understand she was mistaken. I thought I had been successful. Weel, she must see the truth now. ‘Tis the last we will see of her, lass,” he said. “She has plenty of beaus ready and willing to soothe her bruised vanity.”
Ballard winced when Clover gave him a look that clearly said he was being either naively optimistic or extraordinarily stupid. “Shall we go into the store?” He took her hand in his.
“Do we need to buy anything?” she asked as he led her inside, noticing from the corner of her eye that Jonathan Clemmons fell into step next to Molly.
“Some seed. I didnae think I would return in time to plant a full crop, but I have, so I need a wee bit more seed. I thought there might be a few items ye need. Mayhap some cooking supplies. Have a look about, lass, while I talk with Jonathan.”
As soon as Ballard tugged Jonathan away from Molly’s side, Clover told her, “I get the distinct impression you have already selected your next husband.”
“He certainly is a promising prospect.” Molly winked at Clover. “Do not be fretting, miss. I will not be leaving you till you know all you need to know about housewifery. If Jonathan Clemmons be the one for me, he will be standing by when I am done.” She took Clover’s arm and glanced toward Mabel, who was sitting in a rocker next to a cast-iron stove, talking to Agnes. “His mother saw that I be considering her boy and said not a word against it, so that be the first step taken.”
“We ain’t got no Papist church ‘round here,” Mabel called over to Molly.
“That be fine, ma’am, as I am of a Protestant bent meself.”
As Molly led her around the store, explaining some of the less obvious items for sale, Clover listened carefully. She had shopped before, but now realized her ignorance with painful clarity. She had always taken a list and let the shopkeeper fill her order, or left the shopping to the housekeeper. There was clearly a great deal she had to learn about making selections according to quantity, quality, and price.
When they passed a table stacked with bolts of material, Clover paused and looked down at the gown she was wearing, a green brocade with a lace fichu at the neck. The day’s journey had been hard on the lace trim as well as on the delicate material. She knew the work she would have to do as Ballard’s wife would be even harder on her gowns. She needed sturdier ones made of kersey, wool, and even homespun. If she had a few more serviceable gowns, she could keep her silks and brocades for any festive occasions, at least until they were so out of fashion that no amount of clever reworking would salvage them.
Molly helped her pick out material that would hold up well yet not be uncomfortable. After a quick glance at her mother’s attire, she selected enough fabric to make her mother two gowns as well. She was not sure she would get much assistance from her mother in the more menial chores, but did not want the lack of a sturdy gown to be the reason.
Clover was just walking over to Ballard to make sure that she was not spending too much when a man, two youths, and a boy entered the store. Ballard, Jonathan, Lambert, and Shelton barely acknowledged the group, who were dressed in stained buckskins. Mabel glared at the big man and spat into a spitoon. The way the man and two youths eyed Clover made her hold the bolts of cloth a little tighter against her chest. Although they were at least a yard away, she could smell the acrid scent of long-unwashed bodies. With his bushy black and silver beard, the man reminded her uncomfortably of Big Jim, and she edged toward Ballard.
“What can I do for you, Morrisey?” Jonathan asked the man.
“You can start by getting me some whiskey. Me and my boys done drained our last jug last night.” He pushed one of the youths toward the counter. “Sam here knows what else that fool woman of mine thinks she needs.”
“A new husband,” said Mabel loudly.
Morrisey glared at her. “Enough out of you, old woman. My Bess does fine. Ain’t I given her ten strapping boys?”
Mabel snorted. “One right after another till the poor thing looks as old and dried up as I do.”
Clover was fascinated by the way Mabel snapped at the huge, ill-tempered man. A slight movement at her skirts distracted her and she looked down into the huge brown eyes of the smallest boy who had entered with Morrisey. He was staring at her as if he had never seen anyone like her before. As she tried to think of something to say, she realized that dirt was not the sole reason for his darker skin tone. Some of the darker patches were actually large bruises and his small nose had a kink in it as if it had been broken and had healed crookedly. As she leaned down to take a closer look, the boy slowly reached out with one bone-thin dirty hand and touched her cheek. Before she could say anything, he was pushed aside so hard that he fell to the floor. Clover looked up to see Morrisey grab the child by the front of his ragged shirt and lift him up.
“Stupid brat, I told you, you ain’t to be touching white women.”
Clover watched in openmouthed shock as the man hit the small boy with a closed fist, threw him to the floor, and kicked him viciously. Without a second’s hesitation, she dropped the bolts of cloth save for one and, as Morrisey bent to grab the boy again, she slammed the heavy bolt of cloth against his head. He bellowed a curse, staggered back a few steps and glared at her, raising his meaty fists. Clover dropped the cloth, grabbed the little boy by the hand as he stumbled to his feet, and tugged him behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ballard move so that he stood next to Morrisey.
“Give me back that little half-breed, woman. This ain’t none of your concern.”
“I will not stand here and let you brutalize this child, Mr. Morrisey,” she said.
“He ain’t your brat; he be mine—bought and paid for.”
“Bought? You bought this boy?”
“Cost me two silver dollars, he did. His ma was raped by some Shawnee buck and wanted to be rid of him. A man can’t be having too many strong backs to work his fields, and he came cheaper than those black ones.”
“This boy will never have a strong back if you beat him like that or starve him as you obviously have been.”
Morrisey stuck out one big, filthy hand. “That be my business. Now give him back.” When Clover did not move, he snapped, “You best do it, woman, or I’ll be setting the law on you.”
“Clover,” Ballard said, stepping over to her, “ye have to give the laddie back to him.”
“But, Ballard—”
“Ye have to, loving. ‘Tis the law. There isnae a cursed thing we can do about it.”
Before she could argue, the boy slipped away from her. To her astonishment, he flashed her a tiny smile, skipped around Morrisey, and headed for the door. As the child passed Mabel, she tossed him a chunk of bread. He was eating it even as he ran out the door.
“I am telling ye, Morrisey,” Ballard said, his words spat out from between clenched teeth, “folk are getting weary of ye and your brutish ways.”
“Well, you know how to stop it. The judge done told you last summer. Buy the boy.”
“No one here has sixty dollars, Morrisey, and weel ye ken it.”
“Ain’t that just too bad. Reckon I keep the breed then.”
“Get out,” said Jonathan. “Sam has taken care of your business. There’s no need for you to linger here.”
As soon as Morrisey and his sons left, Clover looked at Ballard, who had picked up the bolts of cloth she had dropped. “Is that the end of it? There really is nothing we can do?”
“I fear not, lass. We have tried everything. Me and Jon tried to beat some humanity into Morrisey last spring, but it only made it harder on the boy. We even got a circuit judge to listen to us, but it didnae make no difference. The boy is half Shawnee. His own ma doesnae want him and no one kens where his people are even if they would take him in. The judge said that the only thing we can do is buy the boy back, but Morrisey is demanding sixty dollars. Ye ken weel how little coin there is about, and he willnae take anything but silver.” He shrugged. “All we can do is slip the laddie some food now and then, and let Morrisey ken that if he hurts the boy too grievously, he will pay for it. I am sorry, Clover.”
“‘Tis not your fault.” No one said any more about the boy, but Clover knew that she would not be able to shake him from her thoughts.
Ballard bought every piece of material she requested. He readily agreed that she needed sturdy everyday gowns. She and Molly were discussing what dresses she would make even as they left the store. The Clemmonses followed to say good-bye. It took a while for Ballard to get them all back into the wagons. As soon as they were seated he started them on their way.
As they traveled to Ballard’s home, Clover carefully studied the land through which they passed. She grew uneasy as she saw how empty of people the area was. She had spent her whole life in a town house, side by side with other families, in an increasingly busy river town. It did not look as if Ballard had many neighbors at all, and certainly none within calling distance.
“Ye will be seeing my place as soon as we round the next bend in the road,” Ballard said after almost an hour.
Clover steadied herself. If she was disappointed with her new home, she did not want to reveal that to Ballard. As they turned the corner, she nearly gasped with relief. It was not the sort of architecture she was accustomed to, but it was no rough cabin either. A sizable two-story plank house sat in a small hollow. It had a large wraparound veranda and Ballard had obviously taken care to leave shade trees standing nearby. A huge stone chimney rose on either side and a smaller one poked up over the roof from the back. Stables and a tidy corral lay just beyond, as well as several smaller outbuildings. She could also see that Ballard was in the process of building more paddocks for his horses.
As they drew up in front of the house, a man stepped onto the porch. He was reed-thin with a head of thick, snow-white hair. Ballard introduced them all to Adam Dunstan, his hired man. Clover could see that Adam was intensely curious about Ballard’s early return with a new wife and added family in tow, but he just murmured a greeting and began to help Shelton and Lambert unload the wagons.
Ballard took Clover’s hand and led her into the house, signaling her mother, brothers, and Molly to follow. Clover noticed that the women kept her brothers a few steps behind them, staying close enough to hear what Ballard was saying, yet far enough away to allow her and Ballard to exchange a few soft confidences.
“We can start upstairs, lass, so we will be out of the way when the lads bring your things up,” Ballard said, leading her toward the stairs that rose from the front hall.
The second story was unfinished. She saw only two doors. The other rooms were marked out by finished walls and tacked-up blankets. As Ballard dragged her toward a door, Clover counted six blocked-out bedrooms.
“This is to be our room,” he said as he opened the door and tugged her inside.
A fireplace dominated the outer wall and a large, roughly hewn bed dominated another. Two bear rugs covered most of the floor. Clover did not want to consider how Ballard had obtained them. The wardrobe, clothes chest, and bedside tables were all handmade. Although the furniture had none of the fancy decorations she was used to, the pieces were beautiful in their heavy, solid simplicity.
As he dragged her through the other rooms, she realized that Ballard, Lambert, and Shelton were adept at making what they needed. There were only a few pieces of store-bought furniture. Clearly Ballard had planned his house carefully, with a keen eye to upgrading it as his fortunes improved.
Molly enthused over the kitchen, set in a side wing that extended out from the rear of the house. Ballard showed Clover the other four downstairs rooms, each with corner fireplaces, then hurried her outside. She found it hard to keep up with him as he showed her the stables, the barn, the smokehouse, the chicken coops, the privy, the springhouse, the icehouse, and even the small log cabin he had built as his first home, which now served as Adam’s quarters. There was even a summer kitchen which he said he would eventually attach to the main house. Clover began to wonder when the man had time to raise horses. He had barely indicated the outlying fields, recently planted apple orchard, and kitchen garden when they returned to the house to unpack all their things and cook a meal.
By the time Clover crawled into bed that night she was exhausted. She smiled faintly as Ballard slipped in beside her and tugged her into his arms. As he ran his hand up and down her sides, her fatigue faded. Her passion for him flared to life and she snuggled closer.
“Ye have nae said much since we arrived,” he murmured as he encircled her neck with soft, nibbling kisses.
She smoothed her hands over his strong, warm back. “There has not been much chance to talk. Actually, I did wonder when you found time to plant your fields and raise your horses.”
“I didnae build the house all on my own, or the stables and the barn. We had one of those fine, neighborly parties where nearly everyone for miles around comes to lend a hand. Although I have plenty of other work to do, there are times when I can work on the house. I built most of the furniture in the evenings and over the winter.”
“Ah. That explains the lumber and tools downstairs.”
“I can move them, clear it all out, if ye want.” He undid her nightgown, carefully kissing each newly exposed patch of skin.
“Keep it as it is for as long as you like. There is plenty of room here.” She murmured her pleasure when he cupped her breast in his hand. “It does seem as if you can do most anything you set your mind to. I hope I can learn to be half as self-sufficient. A great deal of what you do for yourselves, others did for us.”
“Ye will learn, lass.” He tugged off her nightgown and tossed it aside. “I had to. This place has been my dream for a very long time. Sometimes I think I was born dreaming of it. Even as a lad I was always seeking to learn things that would help me build this place. I pestered carpenters and made a nuisance of myself at farms, always trying to see how things were done. Every job I did taught me another skill. ‘Twas all work with my hands, though—building, farming, and tending the animals. Now that I am that much closer to fulfilling my dream, I see that I should have taken the time to learn to read, to write, to figure more than a length of board or the exact amount of seed needed to bring in a good crop, and to act as the gentry act.”
“And I am sure you will learn those skills as well. Probably a great deal faster than I learn to cook.” She smiled when he laughed. “I hope you continue to be amused by my mistakes.”
Ballard kissed her, softly growling his appreciation when she responded to his hunger with equal intensity. As he moved his hands over her slim body and she responded with eager passion, he knew she had missed their lovemaking during the journey as much as he had. She trailed her fingers up the inside of his thigh and lightly touched his erection. He shuddered, hoarsely whispering his approval. His lovemaking grew fiercer as she caressed him, but she offered no complaint. When he finally joined their bodies, she met him stroke for stroke, curling her lithe form around him in eager welcome. His release came but a heartbeat after hers and then he collapsed in her arms. It was several minutes before he had the breath to speak.
“It appears ye are a quick learner after all, lass.” When she giggled, he briefly grinned against her skin and prayed he could keep this part of their marriage alive, no matter what difficulties lay ahead.