| |
Michael scratched at his throat for the hundredth time though doing so never relieved the inward burning. Then rolling over, he pulled himself upright and reached for the glass of water left on the bedside table. Water relieved the discomfort, temporarily.
Depression swirled around him again, a black cloud. Which was worse? Being cooped up here with nothing to do, or this feeling he’d never sing again?
Anne said he needed to trust God; God had healing for his mind and his body. She was right, and he believed that. But it was hard to see it when he couldn’t even say hello.
A rustle at the door brought his gaze upward and he smiled back at the face looking in at him.
“Good morning,” Amber said. She smoothed her skirt and the action accentuated her rounded curves.
Even expecting, she was amazingly beautiful.
Amber wandered over and seated herself at his side, resting her hands on her belly. “I wanted to talk to you, and lest you think what I’m about to say will put you in any difficult situation, I’ve spoken to Anne and told her to stand outside the door.”
He wrinkled his forehead. What could she possibly have to say that would require that?
She continued. “I’ve decided to be an open book ... transparent, as they say. You and I have quite a past together.”
True. Whatever image she’d formed of him, he’d also had an image of her. She’d been his friend when he had no one else.
She shifted in the seat. “You are by far the handsomest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
He gave a half-hearted smile, relieved for once he couldn’t speak.
“I’ve made no bones about that to anyone, including your wife. I cannot help that I have eyes in my head.” She waved her hand. “However, you were right about my picture of you. Well, it was more than a picture. I know in proper society, which I was never part of to begin with, men and woman do not talk of these things. But as long as I’m doing this, I have to tell the truth, so please pardon me for being forward.”
You always were forward. It was one of the things he’d liked about her, how she spoke her mind. You never had to guess how she felt.
“I fantasized about you.”
Heat raced up his cheeks, and he turned his head. But maybe this was too much for even him.
She laughed. “I’ve embarrassed you. I’m sorry. But, Michael, you know what I was. Why would I not think such things? I didn’t know any different. There was no right and wrong in my world, only survival. I worked for the next meal and a roof over my head. No one cared for me.”
She reached out and took his hand. “No one until you came along, and I guess I attached more to that than I should have. In fact, I know I did because I worshipped the ground you walked on. Once you were gone, it only became worse.”
She sighed and fell silent for a moment, seemingly lost in her thoughts. “I came all this way with that image in my mind, only to have it dashed at my feet when I met your wife. I like Anne. She’s done for me what no wife would ever do for a woman of my ilk.” She held her free hand palm outward. “Don’t think it. I am what I am, and I have accepted it.”
“But ...” she continued. “I have begun to give myself a higher value. Why can’t I live happy? Why can’t I raise my child in an environment different from what I knew? Seeing you and Anne’s love for each other gave me hope, though I didn’t realize it at the time. When I finally let go of my misguided dream, I saw possibilities I didn’t know existed. Yet I made a distinct mistake in my thinking, a mistake which Patrick set me straight on last night.”
At Patrick’s name, her face lit up, and Michael contemplated the expression. Curious.
“Your friend is a strange man,” she said. “He’s so inherently good. You know ...” She leaned toward him, and the sudden view of her ample cleavage swam in his mind. He ducked his head. When he reopened his eyes, she’d straightened.
“He asked me to marry him the night of the fire.”
Michael raised his hand and turned a thumb up, but she shook her head. “No, it wasn’t thumbs up. I figured he did it out of obligation. He’s like that—always wanting to help others, going out of his way to do what he feels is right—and I admire that in him. At the same time, I didn’t want pity. Oh, he cared for me. He told me so. He even kissed me once.”
Patrick kissed her? This was news.
“I won’t embarrass you with details of that, but let’s say it was pleasant. However, it didn’t change my mind. I wouldn’t marry him and load him down with my past and my problems.”
Her voice faltered, and she inhaled a shaky breath.
He contemplated the change. What else bothered her? Whatever it was, she was very afraid of it.
“Then there was Joe. He was a reminder of what I was and a danger to reveal my present condition. When I woke up with him in the room, he made it known what he wanted.” She flipped her hand in dismissal. “He failed, but our struggle is what caused the fire.”
She swallowed and steadied her breath. “I’m sorry about the house and sorry for all the trouble I’ve brought to all of you. I ... I cannot help but feel guilty for your injuries. Your beautiful voice. To think all that time I knew you, you had such a gift, and I’ve taken it away.”
He squeezed her fingers. She blamed herself, and he understood why. But there was no need. This was as much his fault as anything else.
She smiled back at him weakly. “I came here though to tell you I’d changed my mind, or rather, Patrick changed my mind ... about his proposal. He can be ... persuasive when he needs to be.” She smiled again.
It was a better look for her.
“I told him last night to ask me again, and so he did. I have accepted. I wanted you to know. But I wanted to say this one last thing.”
She leaned over the bed and kissed him on the cheek. The familiar floral scent that was hers rushed up his nose. “I love you, Michael O’Fallen. I will always love you. I can’t help it, and I’m not going to even try to stop.” She paused. “You know I’m not religious, and I’m not sure I believe in God the way you do. Yet I think God is working on my heart to love another man, a good man, a kind, generous man unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”
She stood to her feet. “I wanted you to know that.”
Amber is marrying Patrick. He repeated the phrase in his head. Never thought I’d see the day. But then, he’d never thought she’d show up here either.
She moved toward the door but halted in the opening. “Michael, I have to believe you’ll sing again, and I fully plan to be there to hear it. Your voice is magical, a blessing. Even without a belief in God I cannot explain it any other way.” She left, and her fragrance lingered in the room.
Anne entered in Amber’s wake, and she smiled at him. But it was strained and full of emotion. Unspeaking, she crawled into the tiny bed and curled herself around him. He cradled her there, admiring the familiar curve and warmth of her. After a few minutes passed, she leaned back her head, and he kissed her long and soft, lingering on her lips.
She drew her fingers down the stubble growing on his cheeks. “That was the hardest thing for me to hear ... ever.”
Then why did you do it? She could have said no. He wouldn’t have spoken against it.
“I wanted it out of the way,” she continued. “She was honest with me. She said she wanted to tell you about her and Patrick, but she needed to say certain things first. I wondered what, but I think I understand now. She needed move on.”
Anne cuddled up against him again, and her voice emerged muffled in his chest. “Doc says you can stay at the hotel now, so I thought we’d have dinner together. Amber offered to watch the baby.”
He nodded. Less boredom. That was good. And the opportunity to sleep with his wife. The prospect of that heated his blood.
“Patrick has gone in search of lodgings. But Michael, I’m worried about him.”
Worried? Michael drew a question mark in the air with his forefinger.
“Not about his marriage to Amber. It was that he seemed ... different this morning. Almost manly. I couldn’t get over it.”
Manly? Patrick Finnegan?
“Also, he told me he would be gone most of the morning,” she said, “but the way he said it bothered me.” She sighed. “Maybe it’s all in my head.”
Maybe it was.
Patrick knocked firmly on the Compton’s front door, listening to the sound reverberate in the interior. It opened to reveal the unsmiling face of Hetta, the Compton’s maid.
He cleared his throat. “I’d like to see Joe Giarello.”
Her expression didn’t change, but her knuckles whitened and she gripped the knob tighter. She gave a sharp nod, however, and signaled for him to enter.
He cast his gaze around the foyer, marveling as he had the night of the dinner, at the majesty of it. The chandelier alone must have cost a fortune.
Rumor had it Mr. Compton made his fortune in steel previous to the war, and during the war through the manufacturing of weapons. That seemed shady to him, but then he’d had a negative opinion of the war in general. War meant lost lives, men gone who had families that needed them. War was what had sent him south to Florida. He’d wanted to be as far away as possible.
Of course, traveling to Florida had come with its own risks. When he’d arrived, the state was in its infancy and the population exceedingly thin. Many people had sickened and died of disease or poverty. He’d been blessed to stay well and have money to live on. He firmly believed that was because of God’s help.
Patrick’s stomach tied in a knot, and bile rose in his throat. He’d been unable to eat breakfast this morning, knowing what he’d planned to do. The feeling had worsened when he ran into Anne in the lobby. He’d made an excuse, but had the feeling she didn’t believe him.
“I’ll be gone most of the morning,” he’d told her. “I want to see about rebuilding the house, and hopefully find us lodging until then.”
She’d tilted her head and stared at him, her gaze uncertain. “Patrick. Are you all right?”
All right? At that minute he hadn’t been all right, and now he wasn’t either. Right now, he was scared to death.
“Reverend.” Mr. Compton appeared in the foyer from a hallway stretching forward to the kitchen.
“Mr. Compton.” Patrick extended his hand, breathing a sigh of relief when Mr. Compton took it.
“What can I help you with today?” Mr. Compton replied.
“I realize this will seem strange, given all that has happened in the last week, but I had hoped to speak with your nephew, Joe. I feel I owe him an apology.”
“An apology?” Mr. Compton rubbed his thick fingers over the gold buttons of his vest. “I fail to see how you owe him anything.”
But I do. He fell because of me. And Patrick’s conscience wouldn’t let go of it.
“Well, sir, I respect and appreciate you and your wife being kind to Grace and I, and to my friends in recent months. However, Joe’s injuries happened in my house, and I feel it is only right to express my sorrow.”
Mr. Compton inhaled deep and waved toward the parlor. “Let’s be more comfortable, so I can explain things.”
Explain things? What was there to explain?
But he was in no position to complain, so he followed Mr. Compton’s heavy footsteps across the shiny tile and into the parlor, the same room where Michael had performed. He seated himself in an armchair and waited for his host to speak.
“Reverend, Joe’s injuries are unfortunate. I’m afraid they’ve touched his mind. He’s angry most of the time, shouting obscenities the likes of which my wife and I have never heard. I’m afraid he’ll not speak so kindly to you.” Mr. Compton heaved a great breath. “The doctor says he’s in denial, wishing to blame his situation on everyone else. That’s our only plausible explanation for such vile behavior. Yet we cannot turn him out. Where would he go? He cannot care for himself, though the doctor says if he’d apply himself he could navigate well in a chair. I’m afraid, however, that in his thoughts he’ll always be half a man.”
Patrick contemplated Mr. Compton’s words and prayed for wisdom. “Mr. Compton, I am regretful for the horrible circumstances you’ve found yourself in. My apology must extend to you and your wife as well. I do not like that this happened at my hand.”
“At your hand?” Mr. Compton sputtered. “Why, Reverend, we’ve never blamed you. You generously allowed Joe to visit and stay the night. He’s explained all of that to us. The fire happened and he fell. It was a regrettable accident.”
Patrick’s face heated. Stay the night? An accident? What tale had Joe spun about his purpose there? He set the question aside. “Just the same, my conscience would feel better if I could speak with him. I’m prepared to withstand whatever he says.”
However, his nerves said otherwise. And his stomach.
Mr. Compton stood and motioned toward the doorway. “Very well. I will show you the way then.”
Each step up the stairs felt like a spear through his legs and into his spine. His fingers tingled, blood rushing into the tips. Patrick curled them into fists and held them upwards, his elbows bent.
I can do this. I can do this.
It wasn’t a mistake to come. He had to believe that. God was here with him. God would show him the way and give him the right words. Every life deserved prayer and forgiveness. Even Joe. Even the man who wanted to—
He sucked in a breath. There wasn’t any other reason for Joe to be in the house that night. He’d come there for Amber. Hadn’t he said so? His cries on the landing were plain enough.
I had to have her. She’s the best.
The words of a man in torment, a man who didn’t know the way to peace came through the Father above, and not fleshly pursuits.
The door to Joe’s room stood ajar, and Mr. Compton waved him in. Patrick stared at the shape on the bed, the bottom half broken and wilted, the top half sparking with hate.
“You ...” Joe’s eyes enflamed and he uttered an oath. “Come here to gloat? She’s in your bed now?”
Patrick flinched. Joe would think that; he knew nothing else. “No. I came to apologize,” he said.
Joe’s eyebrows shot up and more foul words emerged. Spittle flew from his distended lips. “Apologize? For taking her from me? She was mine. Nobody gave better—”
Patrick jumped in place. Did people talk this way?
“What’s the matter, Reverend?” Joe continued. “You celibate? Never had a girl’s—”
Horrified, Patrick stepped back.
“You haven’t, have you?” Joe tossed back his head and roared, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his hands scrabbling at the air.
Patrick recoiled, yet whispered a prayer. This was awful, yes. But he’d come all this way for a purpose, and he had to fulfill it. He had to say he was sorry. “Joe, I want to apologize for ... for not helping you.”
Joe seemed to barely hear his words. Patrick’s ears burned.
“Please, Joe, hear me out,” he begged. But there was no being heard. This was as futile and useless as Mr. Compton had said it would be. Patrick turned, his heart heavy.
As he did, Joe quieted, and his voice became strangely calm. “Has she told you about the baby’s father? Hmm? Because I know who he is. I know who he is and where he is. I also know how to contact him.”
Blood rushed from Patrick’s face. He whirled around. “You wouldn’t do that.” But he saw it in Joe’s eyes. He would, and he had.
Joe curled his lip into a snarl. “I think I’ll keep his name to myself though,” he said, “and let him ... pop ... show up on you. So go ahead and enjoy your free nights with her, get all you can because when he gets here, it’ll end.”
Patrick fled the room, Joe’s laughter ringing in his ears. He dashed down the stairs and out the door.
Who was the father? Who was he that Joe thought his name would matter? Worse yet, if he was that dangerous, why hadn’t Amber told him?
He held his breath until he was well away from the house, finally pausing alongside a hitching post. He willed his mind to rest.
He’d tried, but failed and that sat sour in his heart. Plus, now he had worse troubles. What should he say to Amber? Should he tell her what Joe said or should he keep it to himself?
And he had more immediate needs. Lodging. They couldn’t continue to live at the hotel. He must find them a place to live and secure repairs on the old house. That required a visit to the lumberyard.
He couldn’t possibly get married without a place to stay, and his marriage seemed even more important now. He had to get married soon before whatever evil thing happened.
Evil. The sensation returned and he started. Of course. This trip today was a warning. He’d done what he could to ask forgiveness, and it had been rejected. He had no control over that. But he’d gained insight by being there and perhaps that was more valuable right now.
Assurance settled in his heart. Tomorrow he would go see the minister and arrange their nuptials. Today, he’d find them a place to stay.
He aimed himself across the street. But as he approached the other side, his eyes widened.
A boy, his arm pulled back, hurled a rock towards his head.