Baroness (28 page)

She waited until another sedan passed then crossed the street, put her head down, and tried to conjure up some explanation for Guthrie that wouldn't send him to the police, or worse, back to Cesar's club with his fists cocked.

What if she'd simply…changed her mind?

She had. Between Valerie's and the entrance to Central Station, she knew exactly what she wanted. No more show business. She would marry Guthrie and figure out how to help him with his world, his baseball career. Didn't he call her his lucky charm? She could give him that much, and more. She'd cheer him on, like the other wives, and learn how to build a home for him.

And someday, she'd also learn how to love him.

She nearly wept when she opened the massive doors to Grand Central Terminal.

Cesar wouldn't know. He wouldn't guess.

The expansive ticketing area, with the domed ceiling of the skies, the massive chandeliers dripping light upon the vast emptiness, hollowed her out. She didn't see him anywhere.

She walked into the main waiting area, the rows and rows of pews lined up like a church. A few sailors, a family of five, the children sprawled over their belongings as they slept, an elderly woman holding her valise as if someone might run by and yank it from her grip.

What if he'd already left? She pressed her hand against her roiling stomach.

Or…It was only five. Perhaps he simply hadn't arrived yet.

She found a place in the back, a place that allowed her to survey the entire room, and scooted in, folding her arms around her. The cavernous room devoured any heat, and she shivered as she looked for a vent.

“Is this seat taken?”

She looked up at the voice and found it attached to an elderly woman, only her doughy, wrinkled face showing from the folds of her habit. Rosie frowned, looked at the empty bench beside her, the rows and rows of unoccupied spaces, and could only shake her head.

“Very good, then,” the nun said and sat on the bench, setting her valise beside her on the marbled floor. “I find it so lonely to wait for the train, and you looked like you might need a friend.”

Rosie tried to fit herself back together, hoping the bruise Cesar left behind hadn't yet formed. She noticed the mud on her stockings, the way the gauzy rose-colored fabric of her dress had turned transparent in the rain so that perhaps even her undergarments bled through.

She put a hand to her hair, tried to smooth it.

“I see you were caught in the storm,” the nun said.

“Something like that.”

A gentleman walked into the waiting area. Not Guthrie. Her heart sank.

“My name is Sister Mary Susan.”

“Re—Rosie Worth.” She eked a smile from the despair inside.

Sister Mary Susan said nothing for a moment as a family entered the waiting area, the mother pushing a pram.

“Where are you headed, Miss Worth?”

Rosie rubbed her finger and thumb into her eyes and pulled away kohled fingers. She couldn't imagine what a horror she must appear. “I hope to Chicago.”

“What's in Chicago?” Sister Mary Susan leaned over, her cross swinging forward as she opened her valise.

Rosie watched a couple enter, the man carrying two suitcases, the woman in a coat and hat, dressed for travel.

Oh, what would Guthrie think when he saw her, bedraggled, dressed for a party? Surely he'd know she was desperate, and then what? Would he believe she really wanted to be with him?

“I'm supposed to meet someone here. He's traveling to Chicago, and I'm hoping he'll allow me to accompany him.”

Sister Mary Sue continued to rummage through her valise. Her silence indicted Rosie, and she added, “But he asked me to marry him already. We'd be
married
.”

A smile tweaked the sister's lips as she sat up. She held a white wool cardigan sweater and draped it over Rosie's shoulders. “I can't bear to see you shivering so.”

Rosie stared at her. Hazel eyes with flecks of gold, they bore a gentle humor.

“Please, just until you warm up.”

Rosie nodded, pulling the sweater around her. Warmth seeped into her.

“So, is your young man late?” the nun asked.

Rosie refused to voice her fears. “He'll be here.” She played with a button on the sweater. “At least he told me he would. I—I hope he hasn't left already.”

“Certainly he wouldn't leave without his fiancée.”

“We're not exactly engaged…yet. He asked me, but I haven't agreed.”

“I see. But now you are ready to agree?”

Another man walked in, stood with his briefcase in the center of the room, then made his way back out to the ticketing area. She glanced at the clock. Five thirty.

“Yes,” she said. “I—I realize that I…”

“That you love him?” Sister smiled. “That God put you together?”

Rosie didn't think God had anything to do with their match. In fact, she felt pretty sure He hadn't been watching any of her activities of late. Still, this was a holy woman. “Perhaps. Guthrie is a good man. Kind. And he cares for me.”

“Those are the sort worth waiting for,” the sister said.

Rosie nodded, stifling a yawn.

“You look exhausted.”

“I was up all night.” She hoped the nun didn't ask why, although it wouldn't take much to do the math.

Mary Susan regarded her for a moment. “If you'd like to lie down, I will watch for your young man. Tell me what he looks like.”

“Oh, no, I couldn't…” But she was so tired. And maybe if she could just rest for a moment, she might be able to untangle her panic, breathe deep, figure out how she got here.

“He's tall and blond, with the kindest green eyes and magnificent shoulders—he plays baseball for the Brooklyn Robins.”

“Does he now?” Sister Mary Sue smiled. “I'm a fan.”

“Maybe I'll just sleep for a moment.” She scooted away from the woman, lay down, cradling her head on her hands, drawing up her legs. “Just ten minutes. You'll wake me?”

“Of course, dear.”

She drew in a long breath, finally feeling the warmth of the sweater touch her bones. “I don't know why you're being so nice to me.”

The nun patted her. “Because God loves you, Daughter.”

Rosie shook her head. “Trust me, I haven't done anything to earn His love.”

“It's a good thing that it can't be earned then. The Holy Scriptures say that when we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. That settles peace in my bones at night.”

Rosie's eyes flickered shut. “Please, Sister. You don't have anything to worry about.”

She heard a huff of air, perhaps a chuckle. “We all have something to worry about, child. We all go to God hoping to bargain, only to discover we are fools. But it's in our foolishness that we discover grace.”

“I'd love to know what that might look like,” Rosie said, the darkness closing around her. She still felt the nun's hand on her shoulder.

“Shh. Rest now. I'll make sure you find your beloved.”

Rosie was out long enough for the memories to assault her. Cesar, angry as he slapped her, then Lilly on the boat, pledging to forgive her. Dashielle in the garden, laughing at her proposal, Finn's cry as his boat drifted away.

No, not a cry. The sound of a train whistle. She opened her eyes, feeling the edges of her hands imprinted in her face. Pushing herself up, she found the clock.

“Six thirty! I've missed the train.” She rounded on the sister. “You were supposed to wake me.” She wiped her face, knowing she was only making it worse.

“I have kept my word,” Mary Susan said, her face a picture of calm.

“But the train left! Are you saying he never showed up?” She got up, moved out of the pew, hating that she'd put so much into this wild hope of catching Guthrie, hating that she even needed rescue. She stood there dwarfed in the nun's sweater, soggy and looking like she'd slept in an alley, and despised her weakness for putting her heart in the hands of Jack, then Dashielle and Lilly, of Cesar and Guthrie. Of Sister Mary Sue.

Of God.

She put her hand over her mouth and tried not to whimper, not wanting to consider what she might do next, how she might return to the Algonquin, or perhaps straight to her mother's home, dragging Cesar and his thugs with her.

“Red?”

She stilled. Swallowed.

“Don't go. I brought you coffee.”

She turned, and he was there. Wearing his ball coat and a pair of dark pants, a tie, his blond hair glistening, clean-shaven, those strong arms holding two cups of steaming coffee. He offered a slight smile, his eyes so sweet she could weep right there.

“Guthrie,” she breathed. “I—I thought I'd missed you.”

He glanced at Sister Mary Sue, who dusted off her habit, picked up her valise. “I believe my train is about ready to board,” she said as she stood. She met Rosie's eyes, hers golden and bright. “So lovely to meet you and your fiancé,” she said quietly. She glanced at Guthrie and leaned close. “I believe God would approve.”

He would? Rosie offered the faintest smile. Then, “Your sweater—wait.”

The sister turned, shook her head. “Let it keep you warm on your trip. I will make another.”

Rosie couldn't help it. She threw her arms around the sister. “Thank you.”

When she let her go, it seemed the nun's eyes glistened. “It's my pleasure to serve a child of God.” She patted Rosie's cheek before she moved away.

“We have a train to catch too, Red.”

Guthrie's voice stilled her, and she just stood there, dumb at her turn of fortune. “But I thought the train already left.”

He handed her the cup of coffee then reached into his pocket. “Not the train to Kansas City. My mother called and hoped I could come home. I would love for her to meet you.” He stepped closer and wiped the handkerchief down her cheek. “You're a little smudged there.”

She winced at his touch, pain spearing through her. “Ow.”

He peered closer, and she wanted to shy away. “Red, did someone hit you?”

She stared at her coffee.

“It was Cesar, wasn't it?” His tone bruised her, a hiss to his voice.

She nodded.

He looked away, his jaw tight. “Where is he?”

“Guthrie, no. Listen. I—I made a mistake. I should have said yes to you right off, but I—”

“So that's what this is about.” He stared at her with such sadness she wanted to look away. He shook his head. “I came in and this nun started waving at me. I couldn't believe it when I saw you there, sleeping on the bench, as if you'd actually been waiting for me—”

“I was—”

“Then she told me to go get you some coffee, and…you don't even have a suitcase, Red. You didn't plan this. You came here because, what? You got in a fight with Cesar?”

She looked away from him, her teeth on her lip, because yes, his words sounded right, but—“No. Yes, he hit me. And more—”

“More?”

“I'm okay. And yes, he scared me. But that's not why I'm here, Guthrie. I…” She closed her eyes, willing herself to say it, finding it easier than she thought. “I want to marry you. I want to be your wife.”

Silence. She waited for a reply, anything, but when he said nothing, she opened her eyes.

He had put down his cup on the bench. Had his hand tented over his eyes, as if he might be crying. Or so angry that—

“Yes.” He looked up, and yes, his eyes were wet. “I don't want to know why you're here, why you'll marry me. Just that you will.” He got up, took the coffee from her hand, set it beside his on the bench. “And in case you need another reminder…” He got down on one knee. “Red Worth, will you be my wife? I promise to love you for as long as I live.”

She touched his cheek, unable to speak, and nodded.

He smiled. “Very good. Because I already bought your ticket to Kansas.”

She threw her arms around him, and he caught her around the waist, picking her up, burying his head in her shoulders. “I'm going to take care of you, Red. I promise to make you happy.”

“I—I love you, Guthrie.”

He set her down, touched her forehead to his. “One day you'll mean that.”

She started to protest, but he covered his mouth with hers, his hand on her unhurt cheek, kissing her. Sweetly, with his whole heart.

And, she kissed him back just the same, without a measure of charade.

Guthrie. His name was on her lips when she pulled away, caught in his gaze. He took her hand. “Let's go home.”

He picked up his suitcase and retrieved her coffee. She took a sip, relishing it as they walked into the ticketing area, toward their platform. Light washed through the half-moon windows high above, like streams from heaven. Guthrie took her hand, holding it tight.

Home. Yes.

“Red. No wonder you fought me. You've been saving it all for baseball.”

The voice knotted in her stomach. She turned, and Cesar stood in the center of the terminal with several men grouped behind him. A bandage covered his nose. He pinned her with his dark eyes, a smirk on his face as he advanced toward her. “Did you think you could run from me? That I wouldn't find you?”

Beside her, Guthrie took a long breath. “Leave her alone, Cesar. She's leaving with me.”

Cesar raised his eyebrow. “Really?” He motioned to one of the men, who edged up behind Guthrie. “I don't think so. See, she's my new leading lady, and I'd hate to have to close the show.” He reached up to the string of pearls, grabbing hold as if Rosie might be on a leash. “She belongs to me. Isn't that right, doll?”

She considered his smile, remembered his greasy lips on hers, and shot a glance at Guthrie. He appeared calm, just the hint of a storm behind his eyes, but she'd seen that look before when he was grappling at Vito's.

“No, that's not right.” She jerked her arm hard and in that same second threw her hot coffee at Cesar's face, splashing him with the scalding liquid. He cursed, even as he yanked, hard.