Sakes, Tessa, let no man cause you such misery, even as fine a one as Clay Tygart.
She hated the lingering humiliation of it. Hated her wholehearted response to him. To try to right herself, she buried the book of poems beneath a pile of hay in the barn. Forced herself to begin fashioning a baby garment for Maddie till she felt less burnt. Yet even then her heart tugged her traitorously toward him, and she looked at the tiny, unfinished garment and pondered Maddie’s happiness instead.
“What’s turned you mute as a mackerel?” Ross asked her after supper as their brothers, all but Jasper, sat playing the dice game with Keturah.
Tessa stilled her needles long enough to say, “I’m recovering from being made a fool of.”
“With Tygart, you mean.”
An inner wince. “So ’twas plain even to you?”
“Only because you’re my sister and I’ve studied you.” He scooted his stool closer lest their voices carry. “As for the colonel, I reckon he’s partial to you being out here right regular. Only he’s trying to hide it.”
“Hush.”
“It’s plain as daylight.”
“Colonel Tygart’s likely beholden to a sweetheart overmountain somewhere.” This was what she’d settled on. Some former tie, despite his denial.
“Well, she ain’t here.”
Her needles clacked with a vengeance. “Sometimes I sense Keturah’s sweet on him, which muddles matters further.”
“What? I don’t see that at all. But sure enough, Zadock is sweet on Keturah. Seems like we could turn all that around somehow, especially you and the colonel.”
“I’ll not help you,” Tessa vowed.
Ross leaned back with a grunt of disgust. “Here we all sit, not a one of us married, and no sign that’ll ever change.”
“What about you and the Parker girl?”
“Mary Rose?” Ross scowled. “It’s like courting her pa.”
Tessa chuckled despite herself. “We’re a hopeless lot, us Swans. Colonel Tygart even refers to me as the Spinster Swan.”
“Fighting words.”
“No need to act roosterish.” Weary, eyes smarting, she put her handwork away. “’Tis true.”
Stepping away from the game, Keturah took the steaming kettle off the grate and served tea. Blackberry root tonight. Ma dozed in her rocker near the hearth, waiting for her sons to tire of the game. A gentle rain was slurrying down, a welcome sound. The fields needed a good drenching.
’Twas almost haying time. Soon the scythes hanging from the barn rafters would be readied for the harvest. Her thoughts canted to the waiting dye shed. Thanks mostly to Keturah’s foraging, they now had elderberries for blue dye, white birch bark for buff, and scaly moss for brown. And a fine field of flax to turn to linen in time. For now, the pulled stalks lay rotting by the creek to ensure a fine sheen for cloth, creating so fearsome a stink it might even drive the Indians away.
“So, Sister, I reckon you won’t be making any more garments for the colonel, though it was big-hearted of you. He won’t find any finer even east of the mountains.”
She sipped her tea, aiming for a dispassionate view. “Stands to reason he shuns a back-settlement woman who’s rough as butter spread over stale bread.”
Ross’s amused snort roused Ma, who got up and began checking the fastened window shutters and barred door. He scratched the beginnings of a beard. “A prim overmountain miss don’t seem right for the colonel somehow.”
“I’m done thinking about it.” Getting up, Tessa set her cup on the table and went behind the quilt to her corner.
With any luck, Clay Tygart wouldn’t invade her dreams.
16
For a woman of rustic domestic endeavors, Tessa’s knitting needles were a wonder. Even Maddie exclaimed over Clay’s gift, though a rebuff remained in her eyes.
“Will you look at that. Fancy clocking to boot,” she said as she clucked over the detailed embroidery. “Part of me hopes these stockings don’t stay up your long legs. Not till you ask forgiveness.”
