Beyond All Dreams (27 page)

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the bench where she'd spent the past hour waiting.

“I'll hear it standing up.”

His face softened with a combination of fondness and concern. Never in her life had she been so terrified of the next words out of a man's mouth.

“Anna, I'm getting married.”

A bubble of laughter broke from her throat. “What?” She could not have heard him properly.

“Mrs. Norquist. Margaret is her given name. I love her and we're getting married.”

She stood mutely before him, watching snowflakes land and dissolve on his face. She tried to speak, but her voice had evaporated. Only an ungainly croak emerged. Neville winced in sympathy, reaching out to lead her to the bench. His arm surrounded her shoulders as he guided her down. She sat with a thump and finally found her voice.

“She's so old!”

“No she's not. She is five years older than me and has been a widow for ten years. We've cared for each other for a long time, but I didn't know how to tell you.”

“But she's such an angry person. I've never seen her without a scowl on her face. How could you marry a person like that?”

Neville's lips compressed into a thin line. He shifted on the bench and looked her in the eyes. “That's enough, Anna. Margaret is jealous of you. She always has been. But she's a different person when you're not around. She's funny and curious. She's got the world's most generous laugh, and I love her very much. I can't keep spending all my time with you now that she and I have confessed our feelings for each other.”

Anna recoiled. “Well . . . I'm happy for you,” she stammered. She was losing her best friend to a woman who hated her. Without warning, she burst into tears.

“Anna,” Neville whispered, pulling her into an awkward hug on the cold metal bench. She tried to hold back the sobs, but they gushed out and she wasn't a pretty crier. It was sloppy and loud and embarrassing as she blubbered on his shoulder. It wasn't that she liked Neville in that way; she just didn't want to lose him. Never
thought
she would lose him. They'd always been two peas in a pod. This wasn't supposed to happen.

She pushed back out of his arms. “Okay,” she babbled, wiping her nose on her sleeve and swiping away tears. “I've been a real idiot and I wish you the best. Of course I do.”

“You can join us for dinner if you'd like,” Neville offered. “I've always wanted the two of you to be friends. There's no reason you can't be.”

Except Mrs. Norquist would see Anna's swollen eyes and runny nose and probably jump to all sorts of conclusions. She grabbed her handkerchief and dabbed at the tears dampening Neville's coat. “I'll get dinner at home,” she said with a sniffle. “Who can resist dining with a group of twenty nattering women?”

“Are you sure?”

If she wanted to remain friends with Neville, she was going to have to accept Mrs. Norquist into the equation. Besides, it seemed mean-spirited to resent a woman who wanted to be kind to Neville. Hadn't she always wanted the rest of the world to see the extraordinary, caring man buried beneath Neville's gangly exterior? It seemed Mrs. Norquist had done exactly that, and Anna ought to be singing the woman's praises, not blubbering on a park bench like an infant who'd lost her baby rattle.

“I'm sorry I called Mrs. Norquist a battle-ax,” she said, wiping the last of her tears away. “She's actually a fine-looking woman. She looks a little bit like the Statue of Liberty, you know?”

Neville grinned. “I always thought so too.”

They both broke into laughter, but then sobered quickly. Anna had reconciled herself to a life of spinsterhood long ago, but Neville clearly needed more from life than their platonic friendship. He wanted a wife and marriage and all that came with it, and she'd been too blind to notice. Perhaps her friendship with Neville had made the prospect of being alone seem not so lonely. Maybe it had even smothered her ability to see another man.

Neville tried one more time to persuade her to come to dinner, but she was too sick at heart to join them. “I'd like to, but perhaps another night,” she said. She'd do her best to befriend Mrs. Norquist. Any woman who saw Neville's true value was someone who should be easy to like.

Neville retreated inside the warm boardinghouse, while Anna faced a long, frigid walk home. She'd walked home from this spot hundreds of times over the years, but she'd never felt quite so lonely before.

Saturday morning dawned with an icy mist drizzling from the sky. Normally on a day like today, Anna and Neville would tour a museum, or find a library to prowl, or a cozy pub to get some decent food. But he'd made it clear he intended to spend more time with Mrs. Norquist.

Without Neville, she had no one. Sitting at the breakfast table, Anna picked at her bowl of oatmeal. She wasn't hungry, but she needed to eat. The food felt like a heavy lump in her stomach. She could go back to her room and read, but Mrs. Horton was knitting, and the clicking of her needles was distracting. And going to a museum by herself would only make her feel lonelier.

Why shouldn't she feel lonely? She
was
alone! She had only one real friend in the whole world, and he was getting married and leaving her truly on her own.

There was always Aunt Ruth. They had never had the best relationship, although this past Christmas was the nicest holiday they'd ever shared together. Anna knew the signs of loneliness well enough to be able to recognize them in another person, and her aunt was lonely. And Ruth's birthday was coming up in a few weeks. The shop where Anna had bought the lace had dozens of offerings. Perhaps a few more feet of lace might serve as a peace offering. At the very least, the visit to the sewing shop would give her something to do on this dreary day.

Anna didn't think her spirits could sink any lower until she walked into the shop and saw Eliza Sharpe, her old nemesis and the object of Neville's adolescent adoration. Eliza stood at the counter, surveying buttons beneath the glass. As usual, she was dressed spectacularly, in emerald velvet with a frothy lace jabot spilling from her throat.

Eliza looked up when the little bell over the door announced Anna's arrival. “Why, Anna O'Brien,” she cooed, “fancy seeing
you here. Please tell me you've come to buy something that isn't in a shade of brown.”

Eliza's smiling face had no malice, and Anna doubted she was aware of the rudeness carried in her words.

“I'm here to pick out something for my aunt's birthday,” she said, and tried to step around Eliza to see the spools of lace farther down on the counter, but Eliza blocked her.

“Come help me pick some new buttons,” Eliza suggested. “Look, they've got glass buttons from Portugal, but these enameled ones are simply precious. I don't know which to pick. Buttons can be so confusing.”

Oh dear, this was going to be a trying conversation. Though Anna had little interest in fashion, she joined Eliza at the counter to look at the display of buttons. Apparently, Eliza had cracked a Hungarian crystal button on her riding habit and couldn't find anything close enough to substitute, so the remaining ten buttons would all have to be replaced. It was surely a sign of how low Anna felt that she actually welcomed Eliza Sharpe's company.

“Minnie Carlyle said I should get ivory buttons, but I just don't know,” Eliza babbled.

Anna winced at the mention of Minnie Carlyle. Minnie was the most vicious of all the bullies at school, a fearless girl who could round up followers to lead the attack whenever the mood struck her.

Eliza noticed. “Oh, you and Minnie never got along too well. Sorry!”

“No,” Anna said slowly. “Minnie and I were never very friendly.”

Eliza chewed on her lower lip and fidgeted, her lily-white hands clenched into fists. “I've always felt bad about the way people treated you in school. And Minnie could be pretty mean,
even to me. But it seemed like she always saved the worst of it for you.”

Heat flooded Anna's cheeks. She needed no reminder of her status as the target of Minnie Carlyle's poisonous attacks. “Why was that?” she asked. “You and Minnie and the other girls had everything. Why did you all pick on me?”

Eliza thought for a moment. “I think Minnie was jealous of you.”

“Jealous of
me
?”

“You were always so smart. Minnie couldn't even
read
—did you know that? She hated every minute of school. I don't know why it made her feel better to tease you, but it did.” Eliza stopped, her mouth screwing up as she continued looking over Anna's shoulder—at the ceiling, at the bolts of fabric. Finally she met Anna's gaze. “I wish I hadn't gone along with her. I don't know why I did. Some days Minnie was the nicest person in the world, and on others she treated me like a leper. It was stupid. Anyway, I liked the way you and Neville always stuck together, no matter what. The two of you were so smart. Where is he, anyway?”

“I'm not sure,” Anna said, though she'd bet he was staring raptly into Mrs. Norquist's love-besotted eyes.

“Tell me honestly,” Eliza said as she set a button back on the velvet tray. “When are the two of you going to get married?”

Anna gave a humorless laugh. “We're not. He's engaged to marry his landlady.”

“Oh.” Eliza wilted a little, and there was a flash of pain in her eyes. With a heavy sigh, she turned back to the buttons, tracing her finger along the rim of the tray. “It was kind of nice, the way he had a crush on me that one year. To be the object of that kind of adoration, you know? I've never really forgotten it.”

Her voice trailed away, and Anna stood in amazement at the look of regret tingeing Eliza's features. Eliza always seemed to be the most frivolous and privileged girl on the planet, and yet even she harbored regrets stemming from those school years.

Eliza straightened, an artificially bright tone in her voice. “Of course, I'm very happy with Walter. Did you know he'll probably be postmaster general someday? I'm very lucky.”

It was clear from Anna's brief meeting in the pub last October that Eliza and her husband were a terrible match. The way he cringed at his wife's ramblings made his lack of respect obvious for all to see. Eliza appeared to be empty-headed, but she surely sensed her husband's disdain or she wouldn't be silently mourning the loss of Neville's youthful adoration.

Eliza slid back behind the mask of a lovely, confident woman who didn't have a care in the world as she helped Anna select a swath of lace suitable for Aunt Ruth, and the two parted ways. As Anna watched Eliza walk down the street in her tailored suit and matching cap, it was plain to see that the elegant trappings masked a deeply insecure woman.

The conversation swirled in her mind as she walked home. She had misjudged Eliza, just as she'd once misjudged Luke Callahan merely because he had gemstone cuff links and an easy charm that attracted friends and success with ease.

Anna never pretended to be other than exactly who she was, and Luke Callahan still seemed to be fascinated with her. Would she someday regret turning him down, the way Eliza regretted treating Neville so carelessly?

She was cold and dispirited by the time she arrived home. It was only one o'clock in the afternoon and she had nothing to do with the rest of her day. Was this what the rest of her life was going to be like? Waiting for Monday morning so she could have something meaningful to do with her talents?

She drifted upstairs, where Mrs. Horton was still busily knitting.

“A telegram arrived for you,” Mrs. Horton said. “The delivery boy said it came all the way from the Yukon Territory.”

Anna sucked in a breath, surprised that Mrs. Zanetti had sent a telegram rather than a letter. She snatched the card and turned away, her fingers shaking as she broke the seal of the envelope. The note was brief.

You have no relatives, only enemies in Cuba. Stop looking and don't trust anybody. We fear you are in danger.

Your dear friends,
Maria and John Smith

She crumpled the note in her hand. What on earth was she supposed to do now?

“Well?” Mrs. Horton asked. “I didn't know you had any relations in Canada. Who's it from?”

“Nobody,” she said through bloodless lips. The fact that Mrs. Zanetti used her fake name indicated she was too afraid to use her real name. Had the government spied on this message? She had to see Neville. She didn't care that she was intruding on his and Mrs. Norquist's privacy. She needed his help.

Neville wasn't home. She waited all afternoon, but still there was no sign of him or the imposing Mrs. Norquist. And waiting on the bench across from his boardinghouse made her paranoia escalate. She hadn't noticed anyone following her, but the portly man on the neighboring bench didn't seem to have any apparent purpose for being there. Or what about the girl pushing a cart of cheeses for sale? Could she be the one who'd been sent to spy on her this evening?