Beauty: an Everland Ever After Tale (12 page)

“You made beef stew at three in the morning?”

“I made beef stew yesterday, and the day before. It’s been warmin’ for when ye ever managed to come back to yerself.” Clucking his tongue against his teeth, Gordy shifted one of Vincenzo’s arms over his shoulder.

The younger man had always been a bit of a mother hen when it came to him being discomposed. Unfortunately, though, he usually knew exactly what Vincenzo needed. Vincenzo inhaled deeply. “I really
do
smell, don’t I?”

“I was just wishin’ I was sick, so I didn’t have ta smell ye.” Vincenzo chuckled at the joke, but then winced at the sound. “Can ye manage ta undress yerself while I fill the bath, or will ye fall over?”

Sinking thankfully to the bed, Vincenzo made a rude noise of dismissal, and began to peel off his socks. Where had his shoes and vest gone, anyway? “I’m going to sleep—“

“—after the bath, though, right?” Gordy’s voice drifted from behind the screen, amid the splash of water.

“I can’t sleep smelling like this.” What he’d been doing for the last four days hadn’t been sleep. “And you pack our things. I’ll have someone come pack up the rest of the house after we’re gone. Remember to pack Rajah’s bed, he’s picky about where he sleeps.”

A measured tread told him that Gordy had come around the screen to look at him. He could feel his friend’s stare. “Ye’re leaving Everland? For good?”

“I’m thinking Japan again, and maybe India. The Brits there still like good music.” He pulled off his suspenders, waiting for Gordy to react. To say something. He didn’t disappoint.

“I’m not going.”

“Of course you are. Who else is going to make sure I don’t fall on my face getting on the ship in San Francisco?”

“Ye can manage yerself. I’m not going with ye this time, Vincenzo. I mean it.”

It began to sink in that maybe the stubborn Scot really
did
mean it. Still, Vincenzo scoffed and began to unbutton his shirt.

“Ye don’t understand. I didn’t have friends when ye caught me. I barely remember my mother. Ye’ve been my only family for almost a decade. Here, though, there are nice people. People who care, who could be my friends. Yer friends, Vincenzo. Ye’d know that, if ye’d gotten to know any of them.”

“Oh, I know enough,” he muttered, trying to figure out why the last button wouldn’t come undone.

“I’m stayin’.”

“
Et tu, Brute
?” The damn button finally ripped free, and
pinged
against something on the other side of the room.

“—An’ speakin’ French at me isn’t going to ta change my mind.”

“It was Latin, you dolt. It means ‘you too, Brutus?’ Julius Caesar said it when his friend betrayed—“

“I don’t care, Vincenzo.” It suddenly occurred to him that Gordy wasn’t in the mood for teasing; his tone had gone hard. “I haven’t betrayed anyone. I’ve followed ye around for years, watchin’ over ye! But ye said we were done, that we’d make a home here. That’s what I’m ready for. Everland is a nice place.”

“You sound like a travel advertisement.”

“Get in the damn bathtub.” Gordy didn’t sound like he was smiling, which was a bad sign. “An’ try not to drown. I’ll bring yer sorry carcass more food, and then ye’ll sleep.” A yawn caught Vincenzo by surprise as he pulled off his shirt. “An’ I’ll get yer ticket when the station opens in the morning.

Vincenzo stood, struggling out of his pants. A hot bath and more food sounded divine. “I’ll pay you until the end of the month, if you’ll pack up the house for me.”

After a long moment, Gordy’s “Aye” sounded like he was being strangled. It’d probably been a dumb idea, to spring it on him like that, but Vincenzo’s mind was a muddle. Things would make sense after a bath.

Vincenzo sunk down into the steaming water, and felt the poisons from the last several days seep out of him. A few moments later, he heard Gordy stomp out of the room with ill grace, and he told himself that he deserved the guilt that swept through him. He’d abandoned his wife, abandoned his son, and now was abandoning the man who’d been closer than family all these years.

But it was for the best; it had to be for the best. They were all better off without him.

Arabella watched her son watch his friends. Jack and Tom had been surprisingly easy houseguests for the last few days; more subdued than she usually gave the pair credit for, and polite. Maybe it was the weight of losing their grandmother, or maybe it was the presence of Vincenzo’s odd pet—another surprise houseguest. Whatever the reason, they’d been pleasant, sweet boys.

Now they stood beside Rojita, Sheriff Cutter, and Micah on the other side of the grave. All of the orphans had managed to stay clean and respectful through the long service, and a few of them were sniffling as they watched—with wide-eyes—the coffin being lowered into the ground.

She squeezed Eddie’s hand, and when he glanced up at her, offered a small smile. He didn’t return the smile, but did squeeze back. She knew that he was remembering Milton’s funeral, although doubted that the tears he’d shed then had been nearly as heartfelt as the tears his friends shed over
Abuela
’
s
coffin.

Truthfully, she’d shed a few tears herself over the last few hours.
Abuela
Zapato had been a grandmother to the entire town; welcoming and full of advice, and always ready with a hug. She’d cared deeply for her neighbors, and for her orphans, and it was a good thing that she’d made sure Rojita and Micah would continue her work. Even as Arabella watched, Micah put his arm around his sister’s shoulders, and she turned to embrace him.

With
Abuela
gone, Rojita and Hank had definitely decided to stay in the orphanage; she’d confirmed it when she’d made arrangements to care for the two oldest boys. Arabella had immediately stopped by Crowne’s Mercantile, and Ella had been very interested in the prospect of moving into her apartment. Ian, however, was more hesitant, pointing out that with Arabella and Eddie occupying the storeroom, the apartment wasn’t too much bigger than their own. She couldn’t deny that, and left feeling even more disheartened. How were they going to make any money? How would they survive?

The minister droned on, and Arabella tried to concentrate on his words, while offering prayers for
Abuela’s
soul. It was hard to put aside her problems, but the sweet old woman had done that her entire life. Micah and Hank stepped up to shovel the first bit of dirt into the grave. Tom and Jack followed, as well as other members of the church. Then it was done, and they were all headed back to St. Crispin’s for the funeral supper.

Eddie was strangely quiet throughout the gathering. Arabella wondered if it was because of the funeral, or because he was missing his friends, or if her lectures on how to behave in public had finally taken hold. She remembered what Vincenzo had said during the picnic; had she “warped” her son by teaching him to maintain appearances at all times?

The thought didn’t sit well with her. She’d had a lovely childhood, full of freedom and laughter, and liked to think that Eddie had the same. But she’d changed over the last decade; as she’d gotten older, Milton’s Rules had been the only thing keeping her… Arabella sighed. She wasn’t sure what she’d been trying to do with those Rules, after all. Was the only way to be a worthy person to have beauty or, failing that, propriety? That was snobbish, wasn’t it?

Come to think of it, Milton had been very much the snob. He’d aped his betters at the Science Society, he’d scorned anyone he saw as below him in rank, and he equated beauty and propriety with worth. And he’d taught her to think the same way.

It was a terrible thing for a woman to realize about her dead husband, especially mid-bite of potato salad.

But she
didn’t
believe that ugly people, or people lacking social graces, were less worthy, did she? She considered Vincenzo to be the creator of the most beautiful music she’d ever imagined…and he went out of his way to show the world that he didn’t conform to society’s rules. The flamboyant silk blindfold; the outrageous expense and mystery surrounding his new house; the fact that he kept a
wild African cat
—who had eaten absolutely every piece of fresh meat in her home, including the cuts Gordon sent over—as a pet… Everything added up to a man who understood what was expected of him, and very definitely flouted society’s norms.

Maybe because he knew he was never going to go unnoticed? Not with his talent, not with his appearance. Not with his wit, and intelligence and his way of making her feel like she was the most important person in the world when she was with him.

Oh dear
. Arabella sighed. She really was in trouble, wasn’t she? Just thinking about him—
here
, in the church yard, surrounded by her friends—was making her stomach flip over and her knees weak. God forbid she actually do something like imagine him
kissing
her, because then the heat pooled between her legs and—
oh poot,
it happened.

She was going to see him tonight. Gordy sent a note this morning, telling her that Vincenzo had been ill—she felt a little guilty for not following up with his strange behavior at the picnic, but she’d been busy with the boys—but that he wanted to see her again. She looked forward to sitting with him and chatting into the evening. Perhaps she could even convince him to sit beside her on the bench in the wisteria grotto? She remembered how their knees had touched, there, and the heat in her chest increased at the memory

She and Eddie made their excuses soon after they’d cleared their plates, and headed for home. Home, which was now the cramped room behind the bookstore, with their empty apartment echoing above them. Eddie gripped her hand tightly, staring at the ground, and she finally asked him, “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe.” He was silent until they reached the garden—the perfect garden full of Milton’s beautiful choices—and then he sighed. “I stole something from
Signore
Bellini the other day.”

Well.
That
wasn’t what she was expecting to hear, but ten years of motherhood had taught her not to turn down opportunities to teach. “You mean you took something without permission?”

He stomped into the building, and Rajah bounded towards them. Eddie didn’t throw himself down and start to scratch the serval’s belly, though. Instead, he just patted the large cat’s head and sat down at the table, which was a sign he wanted to talk. The big cat followed and put his head on the boy’s thighs for more scratches. “He was sleeping in his music room. Gordy let me in, and told me he couldn’t do my lesson, but I wanted to see him anyhow. I…” He looked down, pretending great interest in the happy noises Rajah was making as he enjoyed the scratches. “I missed him.”

“I understand, sweetheart.”

“He didn’t smell sick. He smelled like the men do at the saloon, and he was sleeping on the settee in the middle of the day.” She raised a brow over this news, and sat down beside him. “I tried to get him to wake up, but he just kept mumbling. And then I looked over at his favorite chair, and the little table, and…”

He glanced up at her, and she did her best to look interested and encouraging. If he was confessing something, she wanted him to feel comfortable telling her the truth, even if that truth was going to get him into trouble.

“I saw…this, Mother.” Eddie was wearing his suit, since
Abuela’s
funeral had been formal. He patted the serval one last time, reached into the jacket pocket, and pulled something out. She saw a flash of silver, and her heart clenched to think that he’d taken something valuable from an unconscious—drunk or otherwise—man.

But then he put it on the table in front of her, and she stopped breathing. It was a little silver frame, with a photograph of a woman inside. “See, Mother? It was just sitting there, and I thought…I thought maybe you knew her, or something. She looks an awful lot like you, don’t you think?”

The woman in the photograph didn’t
look like her
. That
was
her. Arabella remembered that dress—remembered when she’d be able to fit into that dress. She remembered the day the photograph had been taken. She remembered the way Edward had tucked it between the pages of his little Bible before he’d kissed her goodbye the last time.

Her hands shaking slightly, Arabella forced herself to pick up the frame. She couldn’t help but trace the curve of the beautiful woman’s cheek. The woman in this picture was perfect, but she didn’t care; there was the hint of mischief in her expression, and her hair was coming out of her braid, and
she didn’t care
. Arabella knew, because…because she remembered not caring. She remembered what it was like to not worry every day about her appearance, or her reputation.

The woman in the photograph blurred, and it took a moment for Arabella to realize it was because of the tears in her eyes. “Mother?” Eddie sounded concerned, and as soon as she could drag her attention away from the photograph, she’d assure him that everything was okay.

“Mother, are you all right?”

Where had Vincenzo gotten this photograph? Where had he gotten
her
photograph? Had Edward lost it, or given it away? Her fingers tightened around the frame as an awful thought came to her; had Vincenzo taken it from her husband’s body? Had he stolen it?

She wanted to run to him, to demand answers from him. But instead, she forced herself to take slow, deep breaths and force herself to think rationally. She knew him. He was an honorable man. He wouldn’t have stolen something this important from her Edward; there had to be a good explanation for why he had her photograph, especially since he couldn’t see it. There had to be.

And then she stopped breathing
again
, when a truly horrible, wonderful hint of a suspicion flittered past her mind. His laugh had seemed so familiar, his discussions so engaging. What if…?

“Mother?”

She took a deep breath. No. No, there had to be a reasonable explanation for all of this. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was just surprised. She does look like me, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah.” Her son’s head was cocked to one side, and he was staring at her. “She looks like how you used to look, when I was younger.”

When
she
was younger, and worried less. She forced a watery smile and ruffled his hair. “You’re still ‘younger’, Eddie.” He smiled in return. “You know it was wrong to take this without permission, don’t you?”

“Sorry, Mother.”

“I have an appointment with
Signore
Bellini this evening. I’ll explain that you didn’t mean any harm, but I’ll let him decide what to do, okay?”

Eddie looked worried for a moment, as he scratched under Rajah’s chin, but then sighed and nodded. She liked that he understood his responsibility, but didn’t let it show. She was still too focused on the conversation she’d have with Vincenzo—was that his real name?—tonight.

Tonight, she was going to get some answers.

What time was it? He groaned, and rolled over in his big bed. The clock had struck four before he’d gotten out of the bath last night, and then there’d been more food…and then? It must’ve been close to dawn before he’d fallen back asleep.

Vincenzo scratched his bare chest, and wondered if Gordy had any food ready, whatever time it was. His stomach felt hollow, which was probably the truth. Had it really been four days? Four days since that picnic with Jane? Four days since his whole world had changed? Four days of brandy and mournful music and not nearly enough sleep. Thank God for Gordy and his mothering.