From This Day Forward Read online

  “That’s what I thought. But when I spoke up, my grandfather became very angry with me.”

  “He threw you off the plantation then? For standing up for your mother?” Rachel never wanted to meet this man who could not understand a son speaking up for his mother.

  “Not right away, but our relationship became very difficult after that. I know he hated the English because they killed his eldest son and youngest brother in the Revolutionary War, but I thought he had reconciled himself to Mama. But for some reason my father’s death set off a tirade.”

  Is this kind of hatred widespread? The fact that she was in a country that had been at war with England only a year before underscored the perils she might face, but at least here she had some land. Back home she would have nothing. “I am so sorry. I know what it feels like to lose family.”

  “Not long after my mother returned to England, I left to further my training as a physician. Grandfather made it clear he did not want me to return to Pinecrest either. Later he disowned me and refused to talk to me after that, even though my brother and sister tried to end the dispute between us. I thought when I came back from the war he would have changed.”

  “But he hadn’t?”

  Nathan laughed, but the sound held no humor. “Hardly. The war between us and England, the burning of our capital, only fueled his anger against the English and for some reason against me too.”

  “But you fought against my…England.”

  “I know. He welcomed my sister’s husband but would not talk to me.” He curled and uncurled his hands at his sides. “I am done with him. He can live in his hatred and misery. I don’t need him or his money.”

  Silence reigned in the small bedchamber.

  The sadness she glimpsed in Dr. Stuart’s eyes mirrored what she felt every time she thought of never seeing her mother and siblings again. Emotions crammed her throat. She would not cry again in front of him, even though they had shared the same fate with their families. She had to remain strong if she were going to make it here. “This soup is wonderful. My compliments to you.”

  One corner of his mouth tilted upward. “It could have been Maddy who made it.”

  “Ack. Not me. Ma’am knows I don’t know how,” her maid said, rising from the chair in the corner. “The baby is getting fussy.”

  Rachel finished the last bit of her meal, passed the bowl to Dr. Stuart, and took her child from her maid.

  Maddy gathered up the dishes. “I can wash these.”

  When Maddy left her and the doctor alone, Rachel’s nerves tingled with an awareness of the man only feet from her. What do I do now? “Who taught you to cook?” she finally said to cut into the uncomfortable silence between them.

  “The camp cook. Do you know how to cook?”

  She shook her head. “We had someone who took care of all that. Mama would have fainted if she had found me in the kitchen, learning to cook.”

  His attention slipped to her daughter, who had fallen asleep almost instantly when Maddy gave the child to her. “She’s one beautiful and determined little lady already.”

  “How so?”

  “She immediately spit out the cloth I gave her to suck on earlier. She knew it would not give her the milk she needed. Your daughter knows what she wants. She began howling right after that this morning, only to stop for a few minutes while I washed her. That did not satisfy her long, however.”

  “You washed her?”

  “I wanted to clean her up.”

  “But Maddy could have done that.”

  He chuckled, the sound of merriment luring her to him. His very presence dominated the room, as though the man had complete command of himself. He seemed so capable, even to the point of cooking for himself—a man who had come from a wealthy family. The rich men she had known in England probably did not even know where the kitchen was in their big houses. Does he have regrets like I do? Does he wish he hadn’t stood up to his grandfather—that he hadn’t been disowned?

  “I found Maddy curled asleep in front of the fireplace. I didn’t want to disturb her. I enjoyed holding your…what are you going to name her?”

  “Faith.” I am going to need a lot of it in the coming months.

  “I like that name.” He held her gaze, the silence falling again between them.

  Heat flushed her cheeks.

  He looked away and said, “I can show Maddy how to cook some simple dishes, if you want.”

  According to Dr. Stuart, there were no servants at the farm that was to be her new home. “We both need to learn.”

  “Then I will teach you both at least what little I know.” With a warm smile, he glanced down at Faith. An unreadable expression flitted into his dark blue eyes. “I will not be responsible for turning you out to fend for yourselves. I can imagine what it is like to be among strangers without a family.”

  Could she put her trust in a man again? She had put her trust in Tom. She should have realized Dalton Plantation—no, correction, Dalton Farm—wasn’t what her husband claimed it was. He had been a schemer, dreaming of how to get rich quick with as little effort as possible. If only she had known his true character.

  After Tom, she was reluctant to get close to anyone. She shook those thoughts from her mind. Regrets would not feed them. She didn’t have to get close to learn to cook.

  Rachel cuddled Faith close to her. “I appreciate your kind offer.”

  “You should stay here for at least a few days while you regain your strength. I will show you what little I know during that time.”

  Afraid of what he could read in her eyes, she lowered her gaze to Faith, unable to meet his direct look. He flustered her. She had never been in a situation like this. She should not stay, and yet she really did not have a choice—had not since she married Tom. Exhaustion clung to her after only a little bit of exertion. “Fine, but only for a day or two,” she murmured, feeling torn between not becoming dependent on anyone and getting the rest she needed.

  Three

  “Rachel, you need to wake up.”

  The words penetrated Rachel’s foggy mind, insisting she leave the warm comfort of the dark. She burrowed deeper into the covers. Then she became aware of a hand on her shoulder, shaking her. Imploring her attention. And cries. Faith’s. Wrenched from sleep, Rachel opened her eyes to find Dr. Stuart bending over her with her baby in his arms. The sight struck every word from her mind for a moment.

  He smiled. “I believe your daughter is hungry again.”

  Rachel knuckled the sleep from her eyes and pushed herself to a sitting position. “Where is Maddy?”

  “When she could not wake you, she came and got me.” He passed Faith to her, the baby’s wails echoing through the room.

  “Ma’am, I tried. You were dead to the world,” Maddy said from the entrance, chewing on her lower lip.

  Rachel took her child and settled her in the crook of her arm, rocking her. “You would think I hadn’t fed her in days, not hours.”

  Dr. Stuart chuckled. “You would think.”

  Watching Faith nuzzle against her made Rachel’s heartbeat slow. This is real. I am a mother and this baby depends on me for everything. That realization was still hard for her to grasp. Tightness in her chest threatened her breathing.

  “How are you feeling?” Dr. Stuart backed away from the bed while Maddy moved into the small bedchamber.

  “Tired. I could sleep for days….” She stopped and looked toward him. “I mean, as soon as I get to my home, I can rest then.”

  “You can stay as long as you need,” he said then disappeared into the main room, closing the door.

  For one wild moment Rachel wanted to tell him she did not want to leave. Ever. Uncertainty about her future gripped her. He made her feel safe, protected. I cannot give in to my fears. The Lord is with me. He will protect me and give me the strength I need.

  Rachel positioned Faith to nurse, bolstered in her belief she could stand on her own two feet. “Maddy, I need you to let me know what suppl
ies we have left. Check the wreck and see if there is anything we can salvage. I know Dr. Stuart brought some of the items to the cabin, but we need everything that was in the cart.” And more—more than she had money for—but she did not want to say that to her maid. “The plantation is not like my husband thought. As you heard Dr. Stuart say, the house is small, but we do not need a lot of room. There are no other servants. It will be just you and me.”

  Maddy’s eyes grew round. The color leached from her face. “I thought perhaps we would go back to Charleston.”

  Rachel shook her head. “I know that sounds frightening, but we shall make our home at Dalton Planta—Farm.”

  “How?” Her maid’s voice quavered as much as her hands did.

  “We have the Lord on our side. He brought us here. He has a plan for us.”

  “To be killed. There are Indians. There are wild animals. There…” Maddy’s words petered out in a squeak.

  Rachel caught her attention. “We shall be all right.” Please, Lord. “While you are in here, I need you to help me dress. It is time I learn what I will need to do when we are at the farm.”

  Maddy scurried to the trunk and rummaged in it for a proper gown for Rachel.

  Rachel shifted Faith to the other side and tried not to think about the man in the other room. But her thoughts refused to cooperate and strayed to him. Nathan Stuart had fought in the recent war with England. Against her country. He had seen much death and destruction. That would obviously influence a person. Her older brother had fought against Napoleon and had come home a changed man who rarely smiled or laughed.

  By the time Faith finished feeding, she had fallen asleep in Rachel’s arms. Rachel laid her in the middle of the bed then rose slowly. After taking a moment to adjust to standing, she removed her nightgown and allowed Maddy to slide a chemise then a petticoat over her. When her maid held out a simple morning gown of dark blue muslin with a high empire waist she had worn when she was first pregnant, Rachel slipped it on and buttoned it up the front.

  Looking at the color of her dress, Rachel realized how limited her wardrobe was for a woman in mourning. As a widow, people would expect her to mourn her husband. But she refused to mourn him long, not after his cruel treatment of her. She didn’t have any black and only a few gowns that were a darker color. She didn’t have many coins and certainly couldn’t afford to buy material for a new gown. Another dilemma she had to deal with on top of all the other ones.

  Maddy insisted on brushing Rachel’s hair. Rachel sat on the bed and watched Faith sleep while she indulged in the luxury. Her head still hurt from the accident, but the willow bark tea she drank earlier had alleviated the pain to a dullness she could bear. A simple headache would not keep her abed. If she were going to leave soon, she needed to start doing things for herself. After all, when she reached her new home, she would have to open up the house to air it out and would probably have to dust everything while Maddy swept. And then what?

  I do not know. I know how to run a house with servants. I know how to sew. I know how to paint and play the pianoforte. None of which would get her very far in this new country.

  Doubts taunted her as she made her way into the main room.

  Dr. Stuart stood at the table. “What are you doing up?”

  “I hate staying in bed. Mama always had a hard time keeping me there when I wasn’t well.”

  “ ’Tis sometimes the best thing to do.” He held a bowl and a spoon.

  “What are you making?” Rachel asked as Maddy, with her shawl pulled around her shoulders, hurried toward the outer door.

  “Boiled pudding.” The doctor’s gaze followed Maddy. “Where is she going?”

  “To check the wreck. Even if something is broken, perhaps I can fix it.”

  He arched a brow. “The crate with china fell apart when it hit the ground. The dishes were shattered.”

  “There is no time like now to learn to cook. May I watch you?”

  He studied her for a long moment. “If you sit on this stool.”

  A blush scored her cheeks at the assessing look he gave her, as if he were inspecting her for damage. She supposed he was, being a physician. What would it be like if he looked at me with more than a doctor’s sympathy? She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. That was not her concern. Taking care of her daughter was her only concern now.

  Easing onto the stool, she propped her feet on one of its slats. “The quicker I learn how to cook, the better off I shall be.”

  He stared at her with a somber expression. “Yes, starving has its disadvantages. And you have Faith to consider.”

  She chuckled, something she had missed since leaving her home. Tom had quickly quenched her desire for laughter, and on the sea voyage she’d had her hands full just keeping her food down. “The advantage to not knowing how to cook is that I shall get my figure back sooner.” The moment she made the reference to her body was the moment she regretted her comment. She did not usually speak without choosing her words carefully, but Dr. Stuart had a way of making her relax around him, of making her forget to be cautious when it came to men. In a short time a bond had been forged between them that she could not deny. Without his assistance, Faith probably wouldn’t have made it into this world.

  His regard skimmed her length, leaving a heated trail where it traveled. “I don’t think you should worry about that.”

  His gaze returned to hers. The intensity in his eyes, all male, stole her breath. She did not have to wonder any longer what it would be like to have him look at her as a man would a woman. She lifted her hand to smooth away from her face a strand of hair that had escaped her cap. Dr. Stuart glanced to the side, and everything returned to normal, as though they hadn’t exchanged a look that affected her pulse, her breathing.

  He placed the large bowl on the oak table and began to add ingredients. “You beat six eggs then add a pint of milk, some flour.” He dumped in two spoonfuls. “Next you add a little nutmeg, salt, and sugar.”

  She focused on his long fingers grasping the spoon as he stirred the mixture. Those fingers had cradled her daughter, had assisted her to stand when she collapsed to the floor. Goose bumps rose on her skin. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

  When he started filling a cloth bag with the pudding, Rachel asked, “Why are you putting it in there?”

  “The bag will go into a pot of boiling water for half an hour. Then we can eat the pudding.” He carried out the last step then turned over an hourglass.

  Her inadequacies came to the foreground. This would be so different from managing a large household. She was not afraid of hard work but of not knowing what to do. She massaged her forehead, her headache intensifying.

  “Do you want more willow bark tea?”

  “That would be lovely, please.”

  The aroma of nutmeg infused the room, mingling with the smells of burning wood and the clean, fresh scent after the rain yesterday. Rachel sighed, content for the moment, even though her head pounded.

  Everything would be fine once she was in her own home. If Dr. Stuart had learned to cook, she would be able to also.

  He swung a crane that held a kettle from the fire, then using a rag, lifted the pot off the hook. His movements were efficient, precise, as if he never wasted a gesture. He exuded a quiet strength that appealed to her. Nothing like her deceased husband. Dr. Stuart was a large man, perhaps six feet, with short black hair. The buckskin breeches he wore today appeared primitive, in stark contrast to his attire of tan pantaloons, burgundy tailcoat with velvet trim, a black vest, and boots the day before.

  After he poured hot water into a cup with willow bark in it, Rachel took it from him, her hand brushing against his fingers. The touch sent tingles up her arm, and she nearly dropped the tea onto her lap. She clasped the china cup and brought the steaming liquid to her lips.

  He laid his palm against her forehead, their gazes bound. “You don’t have a fever, but I imagine you will have a headache for a while. You must have hi
t your head when you were thrown from the cart. Hence the bump the size of a goose egg.”

  When he did not withdraw his hand immediately, she shivered. A sense of peace descended, as though she knew everything would be all right for her and her daughter in South Carolina. He would see to it. His calm aura reached out and encompassed her, and their connection strengthened beyond the mere physical touching of their skin.

  She blinked, shattering the surrealistic moment. “It is nothing,” she murmured, averting her gaze.

  He lowered his hand and stepped back. “Still, you need to be careful. You shouldn’t do too much too soon.”

  As Rachel sipped the tea, Maddy returned to the cabin, carrying a few pieces of the china Rachel had brought over from England.

  Chewing on her bottom lip, her servant put them—three cups without handles and four plates with chips in them—on the table. “This is all.”

  Rachel’s hand trembled as she inspected what little was left from a place setting for twelve. “We shall make do.”

  “I will put them in the chest.” Maddy gathered the dishes and carried them into the bedchamber.

  Through the doorway Rachel spied her servant lifting the lid on the second trunk, next to the one that held her clothes.

  Rachel finished the tea and rose, swaying into the table. With a grip on its edge, she steadied herself. “I had better lie down.”

  “When the pudding is done, I will bring you some.”

  Mumbling her thanks, Rachel walked as fast as she could into the bedchamber. Tomorrow she needed to go to Dalton Farm. She lay down next to Faith and closed her eyes, drawing in a deep, calming breath to still her hammering heartbeat. But Dr. Stuart’s scent clung to the bedding, teasing her nostrils as though he were standing next to her. So close she could touch him.

  Her weakened state made her react to his nearness. That is all it is. She determinedly pushed the man from her thoughts.

  Almost instantly memories of Tom filled her mind. She latched onto them rather than shoving them away as was her custom. All his lies paraded through her thoughts—especially the biggest one of all, that he loved her. Then she thought of his brutal manhandling, the slaps that came if she did not do as he said, the cross words like sharp knives thrust into her chest that were meant to belittle her into submission. Never again would she place herself under a man’s control. To strengthen that resolve, all she had to do was recall Tom’s treatment of her.