This Side of Heaven Page 3

  “So you’re a blasphemer as well as a thief, a strumpet as well as a liar!” The dominie’s voice swelled with affront as his gaze raked over Caroline before fixing on the man behind her. “Ephraim Mathieson, if you have not yet repudiated this shameless woman, I urge you to do so at once, and publicly! When one of my flock told me of her iniquities aboard ship, I shuddered and hurried to warn you! But it seems no warning is necessary: out of her own mouth she is condemned!”

  The dominie’s denunciation quivered in the air. Caroline’s eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth to defend herself with words that were admittedly stronger than was politic. But before she could utter so much as a syllable she was stopped by a strong, warm hand that closed over her arm, squeezing a warning.

  “And a very good day to you, too, Mr. Miller.”

  Matt’s greeting was coldly sardonic, but Caroline was too concerned with the crawling sensation engendered by his touch to do more than barely register his tone. Would the feel of a man’s hand on her person ever cease to repulse her, she wondered even as she pulled free. With the cessation of the hated contact, her mind cleared, and she was once again able to focus on the exchange between the two men.

  Her gaze moving from the bristling dominie to Matt, Caroline saw that her brother-in-law’s expression was even more unpleasant than his voice. She saw something else, too, in this, her first closeup view of him, that made her eyes widen involuntarily. He was regarding the pastor with icy distaste, but his expression in no way marred the dark splendor of his face. His features could have graced a classical statue; his jaw and cheekbones had been chiseled by a master hand. His nose was straight, his mouth long and well shaped, with a lower lip that was just slightly fuller than the upper. His eyes were deep set beneath straight, thick black brows. The irises were a brilliant celestial blue, their lightness almost shocking against the sun-weathered swarthiness of his skin. The only note of disharmony was the scar, white and jagged, that sliced across his left cheek from the corner of his eye to just above his mouth. Had it not been for that, Caroline would have easily judged him to be the handsomest man she had ever beheld in her life.

  Fortunately, he did not observe her reaction to his appearance. His attention was all for the dominie.

  “I charge you to put your household in order, Ephraim Mathieson, and denounce this sinful woman!” the pastor brayed.

  Matt’s lips tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “It is not for you to tell me how to conduct matters relating to my household, Joachim Miller. Nor to condemn a stranger without proof.”

  “Proof?” The man tittered angrily. “Proof of her blasphemy I have just heard with my own ears. For proof of her thievery and lying, I have the word of her fellow passengers from the Dove! Question Tobias for yourself, if you will; I have no doubt that he will verify the tale! For proof of strumpetry, you have only to look at the way she is displaying herself in that shocking gown! ’Tis an affront to decency, it is! She should be set in the stocks, then sent back across the sea to the Gomorrah from which she came!”

  “I believe I am capable of handling my own affairs without your interference.”

  “You dare to set yourself up in opposition to the word of God?”

  “To God’s word I’ll willingly listen, but to more of your blather, no! Take yourself from my sight, Mr. Miller, whilst you still can!”

  “So now you go so far as to threaten a man of the cloth! You will be held accountable for your actions, Ephraim Mathieson!” The dominie, chin quivering with anger, turned away. “You’ll rue this day, I promise you!” Robe flapping, he marched across the barnyard, heading with jerky haste for the path through the trees.

  “It might be less than wise to make more of an enemy of the dominie, Matt.” Daniel’s uneasy pronouncement brought his brother’s and Caroline’s gaze around to him. She had not noticed their approach during the exchange between Matt and the pastor, but now Daniel, a younger man who must, from his resemblance to Daniel, be another brother, a third man with sandy hair and a lurking grin, and the two boys formed a semicircle behind Matt. Tobias Rowse stood a little to one side, shaking his head with a frown.

  “Daniel’s in the right of it, you know,” the sandy-haired man said.

  Matt shrugged, clearly indifferent to the warning. His attention shifted to Caroline. Blue eyes met amber ones and held.

  “Are you always this much trouble?” he asked after a moment. Caroline’s chin came up. Ephraim Mathieson was clearly as uncivilized as the land in which he lived!

  “I am rarely any trouble at all, when I am not plagued by monstrous dogs and charging bulls and rude men,” she replied tartly. Having once lost her grip on the remote facade she had thought was well on its way to becoming her true nature, she could not seem to recover it again.

  Matt grunted. Behind him, Daniel started to speak, his expression worried. With a wave of his hand Matt silenced him. “From what my brother and Tobias have managed to impart to me, I gather that you have arrived from England just this morn, and are claiming to be a near relation to our family. Perhaps, now that you’ve dragged us all from our work and caused such a commotion as we are not likely to see again, you would care to explain how this can be?”

  Caroline’s eyes glinted, and she ached to give him the rough side of her tongue. But instead she took a deep breath, suddenly realizing that to alienate the very man whose support she most needed would be foolhardy. What would she do if he, in his capacity as her sister’s husband, sent her packing? The notion did not bear thinking of.

  “I am Elizabeth’s sister,” she said evenly. “I am Caroline Wetherby.”

  There was a shocked sound from the young man who looked like Daniel, and wide-eyed stares from the two boys. Matt’s eyes flickered, then ran slowly over her before returning to her face. “I see little resemblance.”

  “Believe me, I am who I say. I have papers to prove my identity. Although Elizabeth will surely know me.”

  “Ah, you saw her recently, then?”

  “You must know that I have not seen her for some fifteen years.” There was anger in her voice. “Since shortly before she ran away with you, to be precise.”

  His mouth twitched once, then was stilled. His expression was unreadable. “She spoke of you.”

  His acknowledgment that she was indeed who she claimed to be, meager as it was in the face of all that she required of him, sent a wave of relief through Caroline. Until she registered precisely what it was that he had said.

  “She spoke of me?” she asked carefully, feeling an icy finger of premonition run along her spine. “Does she no longer do so?”

  “You cannot have had my letter.”

  “N-no. I have received no letter from you.”

  “I wrote last year. To you and your father. He is not with you?”

  “He died a little more than two months ago.”

  “Ah. You have my condolences, then.”

  “Thank you.”

  There was a watchfulness in his blue eyes, and he seemed to hesitate as if weighing his next words. Coupled with the ponderous silence of the others, his reticence confirmed Caroline’s worst suspicion.

  “Elizabeth is dead, isn’t she?” Although it felt as though a giant hand was squeezing her insides, her words were steady.

  His lips tightened, and then he nodded once. “Yes.”

  “Oh, no.” Caroline closed her eyes tightly, taking deep breaths to combat the nausea that suddenly resurrected itself with swirling insistence. “Oh, no!” There was heavy silence on the part of the watching males. After a moment, her eyes opened again. This time they were cloudy with shock. “How—how did she die?”

  “She drowned,” Matt said tersely. “ ’Twill be two years ago in May.”

  “Oh, no!” It seemed to be all she could say. The children, the men—their faces grew suddenly blurry. The thought of how far she had come, of how much she had risked to make this journey, made her feel light-headed. All in vain, all in vain—the words ran thro
ugh her head in ringing chorus. Her stomach churned; she clenched her teeth, determined not to give way. But this time incipient illness was not to be denied. With a gasp, she thrust Millicent blindly into Ephraim Mathieson’s surprised arms. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she turned quickly away, stumbling in her haste to reach the nearest concealment.

  The barn was nearby; she barely managed to get around the corner of it before collapsing onto her knees and becoming violently sick. When she was finished, she crawled away to sit huddled in the structure’s cool shadow with her head resting back against the rough wood. She had never felt so miserable, both physically and spiritually.

  Elizabeth was dead. Caroline had no strength left even to mourn for her sister. At that moment her concern was all for herself: she was destitute, cast adrift in a strange land with no one left to turn to. In England she had burned her bridges with a vengeance, but even if she hadn’t she had not the funds to return. What could she do, except cast herself on the mercy of her unwelcoming brother-in-law?

  Caroline cringed in humiliation at the very idea.

  The object of her thoughts came around the corner of the barn toward her. Caroline watched him approach, vaguely registering the limping gait that he must despise. He kept coming until he stood over her. She said nothing for a moment, merely looked up at him with eyes that were slightly unfocused. It was an effort to return to the present.

  “What have you done with my cat?” Millicent was all she had left to love in the world, and the animal’s well-being was the first thing that popped into Caroline’s mind.

  “Daniel has the creature. It’s safe enough.”

  He studied her briefly. Then he reached inside his sleeve and withdrew a square of linen, which he held out to her.

  “Wipe your face.”

  After a moment’s hesitation Caroline took the cloth and did as he bade her. When she was finished, she automatically handed the crumpled ball back to him. Only the slightest of grimaces betrayed the distaste he must have felt as he accepted it and tucked it into his waistband.

  “That’s better.” His gaze ran over her, his eyes narrowed. “I remember your mincing Cavalier of a father well. You resemble him physically. I hold scant hope that the resemblance is only surface deep, but I am willing to be proved wrong. Tobias informs me that you have come to make your home with us. He also tells me that I owe him for your passage, spinning me a tale I can hardly credit. I have no patience with thieves, but I cannot in all fairness condemn you without giving you a chance to speak. So, Miss Caroline Wetherby, here is your chance: tell me what you will, and I will listen. More than that I cannot promise.”

  4

  “You will not speak slightingly of my father!”

  Caroline’s eyes flashed as she defended the honor of the parent who had been, admittedly, somewhat lacking in stability and possessed of myriad other faults, but dearly beloved even so.

  “Will I not? It is no more than the truth, although Marcellus Wetherby’s failings are certainly not the central issue here.”

  Caroline scrambled to her feet, clenching her fists as she returned his somber gaze with a glare. “I’ll not listen to you befoul his memory. He was a fine man, a kind and good one!”

  “He was an irresponsible profligate with a misguided love for a debauched king, among other less-than-pleasant traits.” Matt’s voice was dry.

  “Fine talk from the scion of a family of regicides! I don’t doubt you’d sing another tune if King Charles had not seen fit to confiscate the property of all traitors!”

  According to what her father had told her of her sister’s husband, his family had lost land and fortune with the restoration of the rightful monarch in the aftermath of Cromwell’s death. For the next several years, the once-powerful Mathiesons had scratched out a living from the soil of what had been one of their tenant farms. Then Mathieson père, still a staunch Puritan, had died, and Ephraim, or Matt as he apparently was called, as the new head of the family, had decided to emigrate. An unknown number of family members had sailed from England with him—as had Elizabeth Wetherby, who had then been twenty years old. It was not precisely tactful to fling such a recollection in the face of a man whose help she needed, Caroline realized even as she said it, but anger governed her tongue and the words were out before she could stop them.

  Fortunately, his temper did not heat to match hers.

  “The regicides were in the right of it. ’Twas the first King Charles who was gravely in error, and the son is cast from the same mold as the father. But I’ll not discuss politics with a chit who was not even born when the mess began. You may tell me, instead, what prompted you to come to Connecticut Colony. Was there no one in England you could turn to after the death of your father?”

  Caroline eyed him resentfully, but prudence prompted her to forbear continuing the argument. “No.”

  “An attractive young woman like yourself must have had at least one suitor. Could you not have wed?”

  “I had no wish to wed.”

  “You preferred instead to leave hearth and country and undertake a perilous journey to a wilderness to make your home with strangers?” His eyebrows lifted skeptically.

  “Elizabeth is—was—the only family remaining to me. I wished to see her, to be with her. So I came. Had I known that—had I known of her death, I would have made other arrangements.”

  “I see. So now we come to the heart of the matter. Having made up your mind to come, you chose to pay for your passage with worthless jewelry. What I would know is whether you knew the gems were paste.”

  Caroline’s eyes flickered. “No.”

  “The truth, mind. I have no love for liars.”

  “I am not a liar!”

  Matt looked at her reflectively. “Tobias showed me the brooch. ’Tis a lovely thing, most distinctive. So distinctive, in fact, that it called to mind a memory: years ago Elizabeth told me of a fine-looking brooch made in the same shape of a peacock as yours that your father used to wager in his games of chance when he was low on funds. ’Twas a good thing he usually won, she said, because the gems were fake, and he’d have been hanged had he been found out. That both brooches should be fashioned alike is quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

  His eyes seemed to be burning a hole through her. Caroline had to fight the urge to close her lids against that searing look. Instead she gritted her teeth and lifted her chin at him.

  “Very well, then. I knew,” she said abruptly.

  “Ah.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” Her question was fierce.

  “It means that you had better tell me the whole story whilst you still may. My inclination is to wash my hands of all responsibility for you. I told you I have no love for liars, and I have even less for thieves.”

  Bitterness twisted her mouth. “You want the whole story? All right, I’ll tell you. For the last two years of his life my father was ill, and unable to provide for us. I took in sewing for what little income we had, but it was scarce enough to pay for a roof over our heads, much less feed us. We had to sell everything we possessed of value, but still there wasn’t enough. The landlord—the man who owned the rooms we stayed in—took a fancy to me, and stopped asking for the rent the last few months. When my father died, he demanded to be paid. With—with my person.”

  Caroline stopped, unable to go on as the dreadful memories washed over her. Simon Denker’s hands running over her body, his mouth, fetid and wet, forcing kisses on her. Fists clenching, she fought back the tears that burned at the back of her eyes. She had demeaned herself enough; she would not cry.

  Matt’s lips were pursed, his eyes thoughtful as they surveyed her.

  “You need not look at me like that!” she burst out. “What would you have done in my shoes? Using Papa’s lucky brooch would not seem so dreadful had the choice faced you.”

  He seemed to weigh her words. Then he nodded. “Presented with two evils, you chose the lesser. Although it would have been better had you not l
ied about it when asked.”

  Caroline drew a deep, shaken breath. As always happened when the recollections of that day assaulted her mind, she felt curiously weak and sick. She swayed once, then caught herself, resting a hand against the side of the barn for support. Resentment blazed in her eyes as she looked at her brother-in-law where he stood passing judgment on her. It was easy to take the moral high ground when one was not in desperate need!

  “Does being sanctimonious come naturally to you, Mr. Mathieson, or do you have to work at it?”

  “I would control that vixen’s tongue, were I you.” Faint amusement suddenly lightened his expression. “And don’t bother fainting, if that’s the next trick you mean to employ to win my sympathy. I have already decided to reimburse Tobias for your passage.”

  “How very kind of you.” Sarcasm turned the polite words cold. Abandoning the support of the wall, she stood rigidly erect. She would not collapse now if it killed her to stay on her feet. “But unnecessary, after all. I find that I no longer require your assistance.”

  The icy hauteur she assumed was balm for her shamed spirit. Pride and temper might have combined to crowd out sound good judgment, but at the moment Caroline meant what she said.

  “If I do not reimburse Tobias for your passage, he will have you taken before the magistrate and sold as a bound servant to recoup the cost.”

  Caroline was proud, but she was not stupid, and his calm pronouncement shocked her.

  “Surely such a thing cannot be legal?”

  “I assure you that it is.”

  “Of course it would be, in this barbarous country! Do you Roundheads practice any other abominations besides slavery?” Bitterness edged her words.

  His eyes narrowed. “A word of advice, my girl. Do not be spewing your Royalist twaddle on this side of the ocean. Our punishments for such loose talk are severe.”