Cinderfella (31 page)

“Stillwell,” Stuart said softly, commanding the man's attention. “Did you hit my daughter?”

He sputtered, turned red, and mumbled a “well I never” and something about unfair odds.

“A coherent answer, if you please,” Stuart demanded.

It took Howard a moment to gather his composure. “There were occasions where I felt it necessary to reprimand Felicity. She has an unnecessarily flighty side to her nature, as you well know. As her husband, it was my right to discipline her.”

“How could you?” Charmaine stepped forward to plant herself defiantly at Stuart's side. Her hands were balled fists, her eyes blazed. “All your talk about equality and honesty and —”

“Charmaine,” Stuart interrupted. “Go stand with your sisters.” Amazingly enough, she obeyed.

Stuart faced Stillwell, alone but with the strength of his family behind him. “As Felicity's father, it's my right to kick your scrawny butt out of my house and tell you never to darken my door again. It's also my right to advise you not to show your face around town before the Thursday train. Word spreads fast in Salley Creek, and we don't take to wife-beating here.”

“It was hardly wife-beating,” Howard defended himself with a roll of his eyes. “An occasional scolding, that's all.”

“An occasional scolding with a riding crop, from the look of her back.” Tavish said with quiet menace. He took a single step forward, and Howard took a couple of quick steps backwards. “Mr. Haley,” the big man continued. “It would be my great honor to assist Mr. Stillwell from your home. With your permission, of course.”

“Permission granted.”

In the blink of an eye Tavish had Howard in his grasp, an arm around his neck, another around his waist as he lifted the little man from his feet.

“I can't believe I was ever associated with this family!” Howard shouted, his voice reverberating with Tavish's steps. “You're all demented, and . . . and you breed like rabbits!”

“I'll have your things delivered to the hotel,” Stuart called out as Tavish carried Howard to the front door. He followed, then gleefully stepped ahead of Tavish to open the front door. With a mighty heave, Howard Stillwell was tossed onto the front porch.

The slamming of the door was like a gunshot.

“Thank you, sir,” Tavish said softly. “I've been wanting to do that for a long time.”

Stuart had to look up to see the man's face. A Scot, for God's sake.

Tavish returned to Felicity's side, and Charmaine hurried to her father. The look on her face was not a happy one.

“I needed to handle this myself, and that's why I shooed you back,” he began, explaining away his actions before she had a chance to lambaste him.

“That's not why I'm so angry,” she snapped. “You pull a gun on Ash at the drop of a hat, even blacken his eye. Howard is guilty of a heinous offense, and you don't so much as raise a hand.”

He placed an arm around his youngest daughter's shoulder. “I would've killed him, if I'd raised a gun. I would've beat him to death if I'd raised a hand.” It was the truth.

“I can't believe I never saw, that Felicity never told me what was happening. I thought I knew Howard, that he was a good and decent person, but I was blind.” There was a forlorn quality in Charmaine's voice, the kind of pain that would break any father's heart. “I thought I was so darn smart, but I didn't see anything clearly. I didn't know people the way I thought I did. Not at all.”

He stopped her there in the hallway and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Are you terribly disappointed that you won't be returning to Boston right away?”

She shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears. “I can't go back there. Even before I found out what kind of man Howard was, I knew I couldn't return to Boston and simply take up where I left off. It's not what I want anymore.”

“What do you want?”

A single tear ran down her face. “I want Ash.”

“Then you'll have him,” he declared with finality.

Charmaine shook her head quickly. “No. He doesn't love me, he doesn't want me, and I won't have you interfering this time. I don't want him back at gunpoint!”

His daughters would have what they wanted. The best clothes, the best education . . . huge Scots, city-bred lawyers, even sodbusters. Maybe in this case the truth was a more effective weapon than a six-shooter. “I don't know if you realize it or not, but Howard said some pretty strong words to Ash on Sunday afternoon.”

“Like what?” she snapped, her tears drying quickly.

“That you were too bright and beautiful to be stuck on a farm for the rest of your life. That you were . . . wasted here, and you deserved better.”

“You didn't
stop
him?”

Stuart tightened his fingers. “Maybe in my heart I agreed with him. After all I've done to keep you here. . . . ”

In spite of the tight grip on her shoulders, Charmaine backed away. “This is the worst thing you've ever done to me,” she accused. “How can I ever forgive you?”

“Charmaine. . . . ”

She turned from him and ran to the stairs, hurried up the steps with her skirt held in both hands, and disappeared into the upstairs hallway. A moment later, the door to her room slammed with as much force as the front door had slammed shut on Howard minutes earlier.

 

 

 

 

Twenty-Two

 

Morning light made her dreary world seem horribly bright and warm. The remaining red leaves on the maple tree outside her window danced playfully in the wind, brushing the windowpanes and calling to Charmaine, reminding her that life was rich and beautiful and forever changing.

She unfolded the telegram in her hand and read once again. As she'd read it by candlelight last night and by the rays of the rising sun this morning.

Disregard previous telegram. I seem to be falling in love with my husband!

If Ash had seen this telegram when he'd seen the other, would he have forgiven her? If she showed it to him now, would it make a difference? Perhaps, perhaps not. It all depended on whether or not he loved her, too. She believed, in some hopeful moments, that he did love her. She'd seen it in his eyes, felt it in his touch . . . no one was that good an actor.

Her heart lurched when the knock came at the door, and then she remembered that Howard was gone from this house and wouldn't dare to return.

“Come in.”

The door swung open, and Felicity poked her head into the room. “Are you sure?”

Charmaine folded the telegram and set it on her bedside table. She went to the door, took Felicity's hand, and pulled her sister gently into the room. “Of course I'm sure.”

They hadn't had a moment alone since Felicity's arrival. Last night Charmaine had stayed in her room, and Felicity had surely retired early after her long trip. There was so much to be said.

“Why did you never tell me?” Charmaine asked. She accompanied her question with a hug Felicity responded to.

“How could I? I was so ashamed.” Felicity placed her head on Charmaine's shoulder. “And you adored Howard so.”

“I didn't adore him, I admired him,” Charmaine said sternly. “And I certainly wouldn't have felt a smidgen of admiration for him if I'd known what was going on, if I'd had any inkling of the kind of man he was.” Felicity didn't need to know about Howard's advances, his foolish declaration that they were meant to be together. She set herself back and looked Felicity squarely in her deep brown eyes. “You should have come to me.”

Felicity sniffled. “That's what Tavish says, what he said all along.”

“Tavish,” Charmaine said, her hands on her hips. “Now that's another surprise. I had no idea —”

“You were so caught up with Howard's work,” Felicity interrupted. “I couldn't very well admit to you that I'd fallen in love with another man. A man more tender than Howard will ever be, a gentle and loving man who made me realize that there's more to love than sacrifice and pain.”

“He's good to you, is he?”

Felicity's eyes were suddenly bright. “He is. Tavish saved me, Charmaine.”

“I have to know,” Charmaine said sternly. “Is Tavish his first name or his last?”

That got a smile from Felicity. “His first. Tavish Alexander Ewan Dougald MacCullen.”

“That's a mouthful,” Charmaine said with a smile of her own.

“Daddy's making him sleep in the bunkhouse,” Felicity confided. “I imagine he'll either shoot him or put him to work before the week is out.”

“Daddy shot Ash.”

Felicity paled and her smile disappeared. “He did? I was just kidding. . . . ”

“It was just a scratch,” Charmaine amended. “And he didn't know it was Ash at the time.”

That news didn't console Felicity at all. “I have to warn Tavish.”

The door opened, and Jeanette slipped into the room and closed the door behind her. “What are you two talking about? I was headed down for breakfast and I heard these little voices chattering away.”

“Nothing important,” Felicity said quickly. “I have to run. . . . ”

“Wait.” Jeanette came to them and placed an arm over each sister's shoulder. “I have news.”

“More news?” Charmaine said lightly. “I don't know that I can take more news for at least a few days.”

Jeanette ignored her. “We're staying!” she said gleefully. “Robert and I discussed it last night, and then Robert talked to Daddy bright and early this morning, and we're going to stay!”

“Robert's not going to take up ranching, is he?” Charmaine asked dubiously. She couldn't imagine the refined man living her father's life-style.

“Of course not,” Jeanette said sensibly. “Small towns need lawyers too, you know.”

“We're staying, too,” Felicity said softly, “if Daddy doesn't shoot Tavish,” she added forlornly.

They put their heads together, the way they had as little girls. Charmaine was still the runt, the little one, the baby. Right now that didn't seem so bad.

“Just imagine it,” she said. “The three of us, here in Salley Creek again.”

“We'll turn this town on its ear,” Jeanette whispered.

“They'll never know what hit them,” Felicity said with a smile.

“And what are we going to do about Ash?” Jeanette asked in a no-nonsense voice.

“Nothing.” Charmaine drew away slightly. “We're going to do absolutely nothing.”

She was pinned between her sisters, and they gave her matching devilish smiles.

“Nothing?” Felicity repeated. “Think again, Runt.”

 

Tomorrow Charmaine would be gone. Ash paced in front of the fire, half-crazy with lack of sleep and missing his wife.

Principle was all well and good, but just how much sacrifice was a man supposed to make in the name of what was right? And . . . a horrible thought . . . what if he was wrong? What if Charmaine was pacing her room in the Haley house, packed and ready to go to Boston and missing him as much as he was missing her?

He'd never expected her to stay, in spite of her promise of forever. Science, right? Magnetism.

He knelt on one knee and threw back the rug to reveal the Montgomery treasure hiding place. The box was small, but it held so much of his mother and what he remembered of her. He brought the box up and placed it close to the fire, where he could see more clearly.

Opening the Bible, he settled himself comfortably on the floor. His name was the last entry in the book. He had been so certain that Charmaine's stay in his life was a temporary one that he had never entered her name and the date of their marriage. And she'd never asked him to.

He barely glanced at the Montgomery blessing. One true love to cherish for all time was not a concept he could deal with right now.

The book of poems was at the very bottom. Somewhere in this book was the poem his mother had made him memorize. It had been years ago, before she got sick. All he could remember was that his name was in there, somewhere.

It was a slim volume of poems by Thomas Campion, and as he picked it up the pages fell open to a well-used page. His poem.

Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air;

Thrice sit thou mute in this enchanted chair;

Then thrice three times tie up this true love's knot,

And murmur soft: “She will, or she will not.”

 

There was more, but this one verse was enough to make him doubt everything he'd done.

He hadn't given Charmaine a choice. He'd made it for her, thinking it was for the best, certain he had to sacrifice his happiness for what was best for her. But he hadn't given her a choice.

Charmaine Haley, who flouted convention and spoke her mind and preached on the rights of women from her very heart . . . that woman wouldn't have stayed with him after their bizarre wedding unless somewhere deep inside she had wanted to. She could've run, she could've disappeared, she could've made his life hell, instead of heaven.

She will, or she will not.

How could he let her go without knowing for sure? He'd spend the rest of his life wondering. . . .
 

It was late, but he couldn't sit here and do nothing. Would she, or would she not?

He delayed only long enough to take an ink pen and write Charmaine's name next to his, along with the date of their shotgun wedding.

 

* * *

 

Everything was in place. Charmaine paced in front of the window and fiddled with the ribbons at the cuff of her nightdress. Eula had assured her that Ash always did his shopping at her mercantile, and that wouldn't change no matter what. When she finally saw him and told him that Charmaine was planning to stay here in Salley Creek and marry the first man who asked her, after their divorce was final, he'd have to do something — wouldn't he?