Until now.
In amongst the pages about mustard greens and poultices, was a recipe for verjus, which used sour grapes to make an acidic liquid to be used like a wine vinegar in cooking. While the men worked on the pergola, Annie and Maddie pressed the grapes using a cider press they had Teddy fetch.
Once the last of the juice had been pressed and decanted into bottles that created more than enough verjus for both households, they rinsed down the mill and let it dry in the sun. They took a short break, finding a bit of shade on the eastern side of the house. Maddy wiped the sweat from her brow with the edge of her apron.
“This heat is something else,” Maddy said. “I should have worn my hat. I must look like an overripe tomato.”
“Why don’t you go put your feet in the water?” Annie said, then pointed to a line of trees past the meadow. “If you head down past the berry patch, you’ll see the path that will take you through the trees to the river. Nice place to stick your feet in, or even wash your hair, especially on a hot day like this. Go and breathe in the cool air by the river. That’s good medicine.”
Maddy looked over her shoulder, where Beau and the others were still at work. His skin was bright from the exertion, and the way he wiped his brow with the back of his hand shouldn’t have been as tempting as it was. And from the way her stomach fluttered when he caught her watching him and gave her a wink, he was far too alluring. She’d never been so aware of a man in her entire life. He seemed to be aware of her in a way that was so completely new she didn’t know what to make of it.
She’d been led astray once—wooed very publicly by several men who, as it turned out, wanted only one thing from her. While it was still quite common for women to be prized for their dowry, the cruelty and notoriety of the game they’d played at her expense had marked her. Once upon a time, she remembered Elouise Ashe telling her that men could never be trusted. Of course, that was before Elouise had met Dominic, who, it turned out, was an incredibly trustworthy man. So was Jeremy Webber, Gemma’s husband. Logically, Maddy knew good men existed, just like Félicité Parmentier roses, but her chances of seeing one in the flesh was practically non-existent. Following Malcolm’s betrayal—and the horror that came after it—she was quite unwilling to trust herself.
After catching herself straining to listen for the sounds of Beau’s voice, she got to her feet. At the very least, the cold water would help drive any thoughts about Beau da Silva and his taut muscles out of her mind.
“Excellent idea,” she said. “I won’t be long.”
Even as she walked away, she found herself fighting the urge to look over her shoulder, her attention drawn to Beau like a hummingbird enraptured by sweet pea blossoms. She even thought she’d caught him watching her, but before she had the chance to indulge in the idea, she reached the edge of the pasture. Ahead lay that most irresistible of temptations — a winding little path. Stands of maples, oaks, and beech trees stretched high overhead, the floor carpeted by ferns and to her delight, little clumps of spotted coralroot—a plant she had only seen in a pamphlet put out by the Nova Scotia Horticultural Society.
The sound of gently moving water joined the birdsong and hum of insects. The air turned cool and fresh as she walked amongst the trees, and bright ribbons of light danced off the moving water just ahead of her. Lured by the prospect of running her hands and feet in the cool water, she continued on the path, which sloped gently downward until she came to a small clearing. Just beyond was small waterfall.
A little bubble of joy caught in her chest.
The gentle mist cooled the air even further. No doubt the past two days of rain had made the waterfall more lively than it might normally have been. Drawn to edge of the little river, she carefully bent down and dipped her hands. It was cool but given her exertions today, refreshing. She hunched over the water, quiet in her own thoughts. It had been a long time, she realized, since she’d been so alone like this. And yet, she didn’t feel lonely. And not really afraid. She’d been afraid for so long. Afraid that the law would catch up with her. Afraid that she would die alone in a square for a crime she didn’t commit, her body hanging for ridicule in death just as it had been in life.
Taking one more moment to ensure she was alone, she unlaced one boot, and then another, and untied her garters. She rolled down her stockings, then folded them and set them neatly on a little pile of rocks along with her boots. Carefully navigating the pebbles and rocks, she winced here and there at the odd sharp rock that found the balls of her feet before reaching the water’s edge at last. The cool water skimmed her toes, and she hitched up her skirts even further, taking a few tentative steps in the water up to her mid-calf. How gorgeous would it be to submerge herself, and lose herself in the sensation? Could she risk it?
She straightened, looking back over her shoulders one last time, then, before she could change her mind, walked quickly back to the shore, where she untied her skirts and petticoat, and slipped off her blouse, draping them over a nearby branch. Unable to stifle a grin, she went back into the water in her underthings, shuddering a little bit as she walked deeper to the pool near the waterfall. When the water came just above her waist, she paused, then plugged her nose and plunged herself beneath the surface.
Chapter Fifteen
After several hours of work, which included a few splinters and the occasional cuss word, the pergola came back to life. The grapevines had been given an unfortunate haircut to accommodate the new section, but according to Hollis, the trim would not hurt them, and would in time return them to their former glory. Beau wiped his brow with a handkerchief he’d bought at a shop in London, never imagining the fine silk would be stuffed haphazardly in his trouser pockets while he performed manual labour. Not that he’d been afraid of hard work. In the early days of getting his fishing camp running, when he was still searching out the right people to work with, he’d had little choice but to pick up a hammer, a saw, or even a broom, and he’d never minded it. In fact, there was a certain satisfaction and insight that came with understanding how much work was needed to make something successful. It was that same insight that served him well at the negotiating table. It wasn’t just a firm handshake and the right joke that broke through the sometimes tense conversation inherent in a deal where hundreds of thousands of dollars might be at stake. A little understanding went a long way to disarm the shield of the man on the other side of a business deal.
Eager to push on through the day until the job was done, lunch came late. The dining room table had been informally set, filled with sandwiches, shrub, ale, and a pile of oatmeal cookies. They’d each helped themselves, then taken their plates outside to sit on the benches outside under the large maple at the front of the house to take advantage of shade. Beau had looked for Madeline, but she was nowhere to be found. He swallowed the sting of disappointment with a large gulp of beer. She seemed to love the property more than he did, and had appeared excited this morning at the prospect of having the pergola repaired.
“Your grandparents would be pleased to see this,” Annie said, looking approvingly at the work. “Daniel’s mother used to make a lovely wine from these grapes. Maddy and I helped ourselves to a look at your grandparent’s big green book and found a recipe that we tried.”
At the mention of Madeline’s name, Beau’s heart leapt a bit in anticipation. Christ, he was going mad for a woman who seemed as interested in him as she was the prospect of a den of snakes. He’d spent a lifetime with a man who’d done his duty to Beau, and no more. He wasn’t going to lose his heart to a woman who, despite what he could offer her, would do the same.
“You could spend a lifetime going through them all,” he replied.
“That sounds like a lovely challenge,” she said. “And a wonderful way to honour them.”
“I don’t know if it’s possible,” he said. “According to Miss Murray, there are recipes that call for plants that aren’t known to grow here.”
“Maybe you just haven’t found them,” she said. “She told me you were going to do a survey of the property, but you haven’t done it yet. Maybe it’s time to see what you have before you find yourself giving it away.”
“Annie, leave the poor man alone,” Daniel said, looking up at his wife with a mischievous smile. “It’s tiring being on the run from the law.”
“Like you would know,” Annie said, her brown eyes lighting up at her husband’s gentle teasing. “Daniel’s idea of playing fast and loose with the law is when he decides to plant his beans three days after a full moon.”
Beau smiled, ignoring the pang of envy at the easy way between them, and indeed the entire Chandler clan. Sitting on the other side of Daniel was Hollis, idly tousling his grandson’s thick black hair over a shared joke. Over the course of the morning, Hollis had shared anecdotes and memories about The Grove. He told Beau about the berry patch, which had started long before he could remember and flourished under Beau’s grandmother’s watchful eye; the swimming hole, under a little waterfall where the Redden and Chandler children used to go for a reprieve from the heat and the watchful eye of the adults. And most tantalizing of all, something he’d referred to as the keyhole garden. Hollis had mentioned it almost by accident, but when Beau pressed him on it, he waved it off. Perhaps it had been the rare source of unhappy memories or those with Beau’s mother that he didn’t wish to share.
After the sandwiches were devoured and the last of the cookies were washed down with the dregs ale and shrub, the Daniel and Hollis brought the horses up from the barn. They’d given much of their time, but the Chandlers had their own farm to tend to and it was time to leave. Beau also knew that Hollis wanted to talk privately with his family about this part of his own past that joined Beau to them.
Beau also wanted to ask about the offer on the Chandler farm, but because he was in the midst of a family he didn’t know until yesterday was his own, he’d decided there was a better time and place for that conversation. Besides, he’d firmly set aside the idea of selling the property. He was not yet ready to acknowledge what was behind that unwelcome hesitation, particularly when some of it had to do with his feelings for a striking, redheaded siren who wanted nothing to do with him.
And yet, as he looked over at the repaired pergola, catching sight of bunches of green grapes waiting to get fat and sweet under the sun, something else bubbled up inside him. The same feeling he’d had once when he’d come across that perfect little spot on the Miramichi River where the salmon were jumping and there was no one but him and an abandoned shack to see them: possibility.