Chapter 5 #2
They galloped up the ridge. Adam showed her where the barley and wheat would be planted, and pointed out the fields for oats and flax along the plowed uplands.
When they reached the crest, Adam pulled his mount to a halt. Madeline stopped beside him, finally able to look down at the great marsh below, which stretched before them for thousands of acres, like a vast green, grassy sea.
“All of this was created with dykes?”
He nodded, and she felt him watching her, studying her closely as she gazed with fascination at the magnificent vista below.
“How much of it is yours?” she asked.
“I own only a fraction of it. The rest goes on for miles inland. The local farmers work together to maintain it and protect it from the tides.”
“Does everyone do their rightful share?”
“Unfortunately, no. There are a number of absentee landowners. I’m pushing for the county to appoint an official committee to ensure that—at the very least—the marsh as a whole continues to be maintained.”
“Of course. You must preserve this.”
“Preserve it, yes, but if we are enterprising, we could build on it as well.”
He kicked in his heels and led the way along the top of the ridge to a road down the hill. Soon they reached the bottom and followed a narrow path that crossed the lowlands.
“We’re below sea level now,” Adam said.
“Really? And the dykes make this possible? May I see some?” Madeline could barely keep the exhilaration from her voice.
“Of course. I’ll take you to the river.”
They trotted leisurely across the chilly marsh, the horses’ foggy breaths puffing out of their noses. The scent of wet marsh mud somewhere in the distance touched Madeline’s nose, and she inhaled its glorious freshness.
Seated high in the saddle, she looked down at the drainage ditches dug into the meadows like deep gashes, carved by a giant, swift knife. She doubted any of this work had been swift, however. All of this would have been dug out by hand. Some of it by Adam’s hands.
She tried not to imagine that. It wouldn’t do her any good to picture him with his sleeves rolled up, his muscles straining against the physical force of driving a dyking spade into the dirt. Just thinking about it now caused her body to tingle in the strangest places.
They reached a dyke—a long, narrow hill, stretching like a giant snake along the bank of the meandering river. It went on and on as far as the eye could see.
“This was all built by hand?”
“Yes, by the Acadians.”
Adam dismounted and helped Madeline down. He took her hand to lead her up the steep side of the grassy dyke. From the top, she peered down into the river.
“The tide is low,” Adam said. “When it comes in from the bay and the water level rises—almost to where we’re standing—the dyke will keep it from spilling over onto the marshlands.”
“Has it ever overflowed?”
“Several times over the years, for different reasons. Neglect mostly.”
“What happens to the flooded land?”
“It’s put out of production for at least two years. The salt water has to be drained off, then rain and snow has to leach the salt out of the ground. But perhaps I’m telling you too much. I’m sure you’re not interested in the science of it.”
“Of course I am. It’s fascinating, Adam.” Too late, she caught herself using his given name, as she had so many times in her daydreams.
His head turned. She refused to look up at him. How could she? She was afraid he would see the awe in her eyes, and know how desperately she had wanted him the day she’d stepped off the boat.
“It sounds like a risky way to farm,” she continued, trying to keep her tone light, pretending she hadn’t even noticed that she’d used his given name.
“Perhaps.” He finally turned his attention back to the river. She swallowed over her heart, now thumping in her throat.
“But good management dulls the risk,” he said. “The dykes are well worth the effort. We don’t have to clear forests, there are virtually no stones, and we don’t have to fertilize the marsh soil. It’s already fertile enough. We can even use the marsh mud to fertilize the uplands.”
“It sounds like a perfect scenario.”
“Nothing is ever perfect, Madeline.”
Madeline. Hearing him use her given name sent a flurry of gooseflesh down her back. He spoke with such a deep, resounding voice, yet her name spilled past his lips with fluid grace and buoyancy.
She looked him straight in the eye. “I am all too aware of that.”
For a long moment, he gazed at her in the sunshine.
She wondered what he was thinking, what he thought of her, what he saw.
Was he trying to understand her meaning?
Was he wondering what kind of a life had shaped her into the person she was, or was he looking into her eyes and wishing he was looking into Diana’s?
He turned his gaze toward the river again. “Perhaps we should go.”
“Yes, we should.”
We definitely should, before I feel more of what I shouldn’t be feeling.
But she didn’t want to leave. She wanted to remain there with him—there alone on the dyke with the sun on her cheeks and the breeze in Adam’s hair and the sound of her skirts whipping lavishly in the breeze.
Then she thought of her sister, and knew that even if Adam felt the same things she did and wanted to stay here with her, too—which he didn’t—it would not be appropriate.
A few seconds later, he tried to lead her down the steep slope, but she let go of his hand and broke into a run.
Adam laughed. “Are you all right? You practically flew down, Madeline!”
She burst into a fit of laughter herself. “That was exhilarating!”
He walked her to her horse and helped her mount. As she settled into the creaky leather saddle and gathered up the reins, he discreetly took a section of her skirt in his large hand and flipped it over to cover her leg, which she hadn’t realized was exposed almost to the knee.
Good heavens. Her belly went whoosh as his hand brushed over her petticoats.
Without even acknowledging that anything had been amiss, Adam mounted his own steed. Madeline felt a tremor of disappointment that he had not flushed or nervously cleared his throat or expressed some other kind of abashment. Then she chided herself.
Why she should think Adam would feel awkward or shaken at seeing her leg was beyond her, for men had never stumbled over themselves with her the way they did with Diana.
They looked straight through Madeline as if she were invisible.
She did not stir passions in men, and that fact was demonstrated to her yet again, as Adam hadn’t even noticed her leg.
He flipped her skirt as if it was the folded-back corner of a faded tablecloth.
She wondered then what it would be like to be Diana, to always feel beautiful and to know that she captivated men wherever she went. What power Diana must have felt when they dissolved at her feet.
The horses started walking in the direction of the fort, and a moment of disconsolate silence hovered over Madeline.
At last, Adam spoke. “Care to race?”
Madeline shook her head. “No, I don’t really think I’m up to it.”
But then she kicked in her heels and swindled a head start across the grassy marsh, just to put some distance between them and avoid any more reminders that she was invisible.
She heard Adam laugh at her cheeky behavior. “You are a rascal, Madeline!”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw him urge his horse into a gallop.
* * *
Adam galloped after Madeline but did not push to win the race. He intentionally lagged behind a bit in order to recover his composure after the shock of his response to the unexpected, startling sight of Madeline’s long, slender leg.
Desire had sparked in him, red-hot like a blacksmith’s poker left too long in the fire.
He immediately attributed the response to his frustration over Diana’s failure to arrive, for over the past few weeks, his eagerness to see her again had mushroomed into a burning need.
Madeline was a part of those long-ago days, and her presence here had no doubt brought it all closer to home and stirred what had been dormant in Adam for what seemed like forever.
If he was aware of Madeline’s shapely leg or the creamy, soft-looking skin at her neckline, it was only because she was a woman, and he had not seen many “new” women since he’d arrived here in this remote part of the world. He would probably react that way to any feminine creature.
Adam then tried to picture his beloved’s face, and wondered if her leg would be anything like her younger sister’s, for he was sure he had seen some firm muscle in Madeline’s calf. He suspected that Madeline didn’t spend a great deal of time sitting. She seemed to enjoy the outdoors.
He watched her ride ahead of him. She was indeed an accomplished horsewoman.
He wondered further where he and Diana would be now if she had come as he had expected. Would he be riding across the marsh with her? Would she be curious about the dykes, like Madeline was?
He preferred to imagine that they would be married already and enjoying a leisurely breakfast together, for he had been without her too long. And after the bit of fire he’d just experienced, he decided firmly that he was even more starved for Diana than he knew.