Mountain Laurel (Montgomery/Taggert 15)

’Ring turned back to the fire and Toby, who was still sitting there. With a hand that shook, ’Ring poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down.

“Don’t look like you’re none too popular,” Toby said.

“She’ll get over it,” ’Ring answered. “By morning she’ll see the light and—”

“And what?” Toby asked.

’Ring didn’t say a word but looked into his coffee cup.

“It don’t matter none,” Toby said. “Women are a dime a dozen. They’re always around. Always underfoot. Why, I bet that within a week you can get yourself another woman. Colonel Harrison’s daughter likes you a lot. I bet she’d be glad to go back to Warbrooke with you. She’d like to have you buy her diamonds and silk dresses. In fact, sometimes I think that one of the things she likes best about you is Warbrooke Shipping. In fact, I sometimes think that’s what most women like about you boys. It would bother me some if I was contemplatin’ marriage. You know, if I was as rich as you tradition-lovin’ Montgomerys and a woman wanted to marry me ’cause I was so rich. Don’t seem to bother you, though. In fact, with you, if a woman don’t want your money, you try to give it to her anyways. That’s good, lets you know where you stand with her.”

’Ring threw the coffee on the ground and stood up. “Toby, you talk too much and you don’t understand anything.” He walked away from the campfire.

“True,” Toby called after him. “I ain’t as smart as you.” He looked back at the fire and snorted. “There’s rocks smarter ’n that boy.”

Chapter 15

Maddie pushed Edith away and saddled her own horse. When the animal blew out its belly, Maddie punched it in the stomach and pulled the cinch tight. It was cold in the early morning light, but she didn’t feel the cold. She hadn’t slept any during the night, but lay awake and looked at the ceiling of the tent and listened to Laurel sleeping and the sounds of the night.

’Ring hadn’t come to her and she hadn’t expected him to. All during the night she had cursed herself, asking herself why she’d ever thought that she could have a life like other people’s.

She leaned her head against the horse for a moment and thought of her mother. Her father had received all the credit for his travels and his journals, but those in the family knew how much he owed to her mother. If it hadn’t been for the quiet calm of Amy Littleton, Jefferson Worth would have died anonymous, just as hundreds of mountain men before him had.

Maddie had a great need to see her mother, to talk to her, to ask her advice, just to be held in her strong arms. She closed her eyes and remembered what her mother had told her on the night she’d first sung for her father, the night that her mother had said that her father was to go east and get Maddie a teacher.

Afterward Amy Worth had tucked her daughter into bed. “What is going to happen to me?” Maddie had whispered to her mother.

Amy took a deep breath. “For some reason God has blessed you—or cursed you, depending on how you look at it—with a talent. He has singled you out from other people. He’s made you different. And from now on nothing in your life is ever going to be the same. I know you’re young, but right now you have to decide whether you want to honor this gift or hide it.”

“Oh, honor it,” Maddie had said easily.

Amy did not return the smile. Instead, she grabbed her daughter’s shoulders and pulled her up so they were face-to-face. “Listen to me, Maddie, and listen hard. If you decide to honor this gift, you will never, never have a life like other people. There will be wonderful highs, but there will be agony such as other people never know. You have to take all of it, you understand me?”

Maddie had no idea what her mother was talking about. To her, singing was only pleasure and nothing else. It was adulation and attention from adults. It was hugs and kisses and praise.

Her mother was searching her daughter’s face. “I’ll allow your father to get a proper teacher for you only if you want it.”

“I do. I like to sing.”

Amy gave her daughter a little shake. “No, not like it. You have to love it. Maddie, a talent like yours is an all-or-nothing thing, and you have to want to sing more than anything else on earth.”

Maddie understood a bit then. Already singing was everything to her. It replaced schoolwork and games, pretty clothes and playmates, and everything else that others considered good in life. She’d rather sing than do anything else. “I want to sing,” she said softly.

Amy had seen the fire in her daughter’s young eyes, and she’d let out her breath, then clasped Maddie to her. “May God protect you,” she whispered.

Now Maddie at last knew what her mother had meant. Until now she’d found no conflict with what she wanted and what she had. Oh, there were times when she was tired and she wanted to be alone yet there was a group of people clamoring for her to sing. Sometimes she

yearned after the solitude of her father’s mountains, and sometimes she was sick of being wanted, not for who she was but for what she could give people, but all that was more an annoyance than anything else. And she’d always known that if she wanted badly enough to leave Paris or Venice or wherever, she could. But now she seemed to have no more choices left in her life.

“Maddie.”

She lifted her head but she didn’t turn to look at ’Ring.

“Please don’t leave like this,” he said. “Let’s spend the day here and talk.”

She turned to look at him. “Will you travel with me as I sing?”

“I have to run the family business. I’ve stayed away long enough, and as soon as my tour in the army is finished, I have to return.”