Prairie Song by JODI THOMAS Read Free Book Online

middle when we heard about old Tobin’s will.” She nodded toward the boy, silently commanding him to show them the way.
    “That would be nice …,” Margaret began.
    “Weren’t expecting no man.” Azile looked up at Grayson as though he’d just been left on the doorstep. “I ain’t got a room ready for him. And I don’t plan on doing no cleaning this time of night. He’ll have to sleep in the barn.”
    Margaret straightened slightly. “He’ll sleep in the sitting room. Bar, can you find him dry bedding?”
    Bar watched Azile for a moment before nodding. No one missed the smile that spread across his face when Azile whirled her full skirt and disappeared as silently as she’d appeared.
    Cherish felt a chill all the way to her bones as they moved down a mahogany-paneled hallway toward the front rooms. “This is a beautiful house,” she whispered more to herself than to anyone else. She noticed several blank walls and empty spots where furniture should have been. Even run-down and dusty, this was one of the finest homes she’d ever been inside. Most houses in Texas were small-little more than dugouts—but this one was as grand as some she’d seen in New Orleans and Austin.
    Bar carried the lantern before her. “I was born here. I know this place like a mole knows his hole. There’re more rooms than you’d guess.”
    They passed one room after another filled with draped furniture. “Miss Hattie stays downstairs ‘cause she’s too sick to be moved much.” He pointed to a closed door. “That’s her room.”
    As he spoke, Azile stepped through the door. Unsmiling, she whispered, “Miss Hattie is already asleep. You’ll have to talk to her tomorrow.”
    Cherish sighed. The dream of a hot bath was the only thing that kept her from curling up in the hall and falling asleep.
    Bar turned toward the stairs. “Your rooms are up here where it’s quiet.”
    Margaret opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but Azile spoke first. “We all hear things—ghosts screaming, spirits walking. This house has seen a great deal of evil and sometimes at night the walls cry in mourning.”
    Margaret huffed and motioned Bar forward. “I don’t believe in ghosts. If folks could come back from the dead, I’m sure my Westley would have returned to me. He died in the war. Shot down in his youth by a damned Yankee bullet.”
    Cherish agreed with her aunt about the ghosts, but still caught herself turning her head to listen as they climbed the stairs.
    An hour later all thoughts of ghosts were forgotten as she slid into the hot tub. She smiled as she heard Maggie talking to Grayson a doorway away in the sitting room. Her aunt was yelling as though the huge man were deaf to the language and not simply foreign to it.
    “Take off those wet clothes!” Margaret shouted.
    Grayson stood his ground, staring at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about even though his coat was dripping wet from his trips back and forth to the barn.
    Margaret tightened the belt of her wool wrapper. “You need dry clothes. Take off those wet ones and I’ll hang them by the fire.”
    Grayson fought back a smile and continued to stare. Only moments before, he’d thought he was too tired and cold to feel anything, but that was before Margaret walked through the door all fresh and blushing from her hot bath.
    Margaret huffed impatiently and moved closer. “I don’t understand how you sometimes read my mind and now can’t seem to hear a word I’m saying.” She touched the top button of his coat and loosened it as she spoke. “You’ll catch your death if you don’t get dry.” Her fingers moved nervously yet with determination to the next button.
    Fighting to control his breathing, Grayson let her continue. He could feel the hesitancy in her fingers as she slid her hand along the wall of his chest, opening his coat. For days he’d been near her, watching her move, listening to the softness in her voice when she talked with Cherish,