Read Online Yankee Wife by Linda Lael Miller - Free Book Online Page A

never got over the terror of that day. She just walked and walked alongside the water. Charlotte says Mama wanted a ship to come and take her away from here forever.”
    They rounded the base of the knoll and came to the skeleton of a building formed of newly planed lumber. Between the boards, the blue water of the harbor was visible, sparkling in the bright light of morning, and Devon straddled the high center beam, shirtless, his legs dangling.
    Lydia looked around for Polly, but there was no sign of her.
    Devon grinned down at the pair. “Hello,” he called good-naturedly, and again Lydia felt a pang. If she'd sat down at God's elbow and designed a husband for herself—provided she'd wanted a mate in the first place, of course, which she most certainly didn't—the end result might well have been Devon Quade. He was gentle and industrious, and it would probably never occur to him to boss people around the way his brother did. Nor, she reflected, would he have been so coldly avaricious as to sell timber to each of two warring armies.
    Millie waved and called back exuberantly, “Hello!”
    Lydia seldom indulged in self-pity, at least not for more than a few moments at a time, but as she watched Devon climb nimbly down a support beam and stride toward them, she had grave doubts about her lot in life. It seemed to her then that happiness was something meant only for others.
    â€œSmile,” Devon said, shrugging into his shirt and then touching her chin with brotherly affection. “Have I brought you to such a bad place as all that?”
    She swallowed. Quade's Harbor could never be described in such a way; it was too beautiful, a living poem from the pen of God Himself. “No,” she said, lips trembling with the effort. “Where is Polly?”
    Before Devon could answer her question, Millie sniffed and said, “Probably still lying in bed, like Charlotte.”
    Lydia looked down at the child and spoke with gentle disapproval. “Millicent, that was a very unkind remark.”
    Millie's chin was set at an obstinate angle, making her look more like Brigham than ever. “It's the truth.”
    Devon's expression was somewhat sheepish. “Polly is…delicate,” he said.
    â€œSee?” Millie challenged, her lower lip jutting slightly. This gesture, when coupled with the little girl's likeness to Brigham, was comical. Just imagining the imperious Mr. Quade making such a face brought a peal of laughter swelling into Lydia's throat.
    â€œAnd what of Charlotte?” Lydia asked, trying to hide her amusement. “Is she delicate, too?”
    Millie gave a snort. “No. Charlotte is just lazy. And she likes to stay up late, reading about ships and pirates and magical kingdoms. Sometimes she walks around for days, sighing a great deal and pretending she's a princess. When she read about Robin Hood, she was Maid Marian for a solid month!”
    Both Lydia and Devon laughed, and Lydia was grateful. Unknowingly, Millie had smoothed over a somewhat awkward moment.
    Lydia was just about to say she'd look in on Polly and make sure she was all right when the insistent clanging of a bell echoed through the crisp, clean air.
    â€œFood,” cried Millie, letting go of Lydia's hand and bolting back toward the big house overlooking the harbor and the brave beginnings of a town.
    Devon smiled, but there was concern in his eyes as he and Lydia walked along the rutted road to the base of the driveway. “I know Brigham can be impossible—remember, I grew up with him—but he's a rare man, Lydia. Like you, he has a strength of spirit that carries him through experiences other people couldn't begin to survive.”
    Lydia was struck by the implication that Brigham had suffered in some fundamental and poignant way, but she didn't know Devon well enough to pursue the thought. That would have been prying. “Perhaps that ‘strength of spirit,’ as you