Cinderfella (7 page)

 

Elmo leaned forward in his chair, as anxious as a child. Since their dinner of burned fried chicken and nearly raw corn, Nathan had been entertaining with stories of his travels. Ash listened with interest, Verna was coolly attentive, Oswald was bored . . . but Elmo was fascinated. “You've been to San Francisco?”

Nathan's demeanor was apathetic, as he looked past Ash and into the fire. “Many times. Lovely city. It was there that my troupe performed for a Russian prince, and it was there that I met Lily Langtry.”

“Lily Langtry?” Elmo shook his head in wonder.

Oswald didn't even lower his book. “Don't be such a rube, Elmo. That's Ash's job.”

“You can't blame me for being interested.” Elmo defended himself. “Shoot, nothing ever happens around here.”

“That's why I love it here so very much,” Nathan said with a smile.

Verna was quite put out to have a guest in the house. While her cooking was wretched, and often offensive, she
did
have to prepare meals when there was company.

Nathan was comfortably settled in the spare room upstairs, the one Verna had been using to store her seldom used sewing supplies. She had actually suggested that he stay in the tack room in the barn, the room where Ash put up the drifters he hired to help with the wheat harvest in the summertime. Ash didn't often put his foot down, but he wouldn't have his godfather sleeping in the barn.

Nathan was telling his story about the Russian prince, a story Ash had heard a number of times. On occasion the Russian in question was a duke rather than a prince, but Ash believed the story was mostly true. He half-listened, allowing his bones to relax, allowing his mind to wander. It was nice to listen to a voice that wasn't harping, whining, or insulting.

“You should've seen Lila in those days.” Nathan shook his head in wonder. “She was a beauty, she was, perhaps the greatest of this century.”

The harrumph that came from Verna's direction was soft but unmistakable.

“Why, that Russian prince did his best to sweep her off her feet,” Nathan continued undaunted. “Flowers, confections, jewels . . . she refused them all.”

Ash loved hearing Nathan's stories about his mother. All he knew of her was the woman who had kept this house and raised her only child and delighted in her small family. He remembered just as well her heartbreak and her illness, her last days on this earth.

But when Nathan spoke, Ash saw his mother as she'd been before coming to this place in her life. Talented and sought after, surprisingly adventurous, and wise enough to spurn her many admirers . . . until John Coleman came along.

“What a foolish woman,” Verna snapped, “to refuse a prince and then turn around and marry a farmer.”

Nathan's smile vanished. So did Ash's rare good mood.

It wasn't long before Verna excused herself and took to her downstairs bedchamber. Elmo yawned and climbed the stairs, and even Oswald eventually closed his book and headed for bed. They'd been gone for several minutes before Nathan spoke.

“How
do
you stand it?” he asked softly.

It was a question Ash had asked himself many times. “I have no choice.”

“I suppose multiple murder is out of the question,” Nathan said dryly.

Ash smiled. “I'm afraid so.”

Nathan stood and stretched short arms over his head, yawning with theatrical flair. “Well,” he said as his arms dropped. “If you change your mind and need an accomplice, you know where to turn.”

“Why, thank you, Nathan, but I think that's above and beyond your duties as a godfather.”

After Nathan climbed the stairs, Ash doused the lamps and made sure all the downstairs windows were closed securely. This time of the year it could get mighty cold at night, and icy wind through an open window could make for a chilly morning.

He didn't imagine Charmaine Haley had ever been cold in her life. The Haley house probably had a fireplace in every room, and she'd surely have a wardrobe of warm wool and fur wraps and earmuffs. She'd certainly never awakened in the morning and been forced to place her bare feet on a cold floor.

Oswald would love her lifestyle. Not only was life on the farm distasteful to Verna's oldest boy, he seemed to think he'd been cheated because he hadn't been pampered all his life. While Ash dreamed of the simple pleasure of living alone, Oswald probably dreamed of discovering that he was a long-lost prince switched at birth and that his real parents would arrive any day to whisk him away to a life of luxury.

Ash had thought, often as of late, that Oswald and the Runt would make quite a pair. Pretty and spoiled, they were surely two of a kind. But when he tried to picture them together, when he tried to imagine Charmaine and Oswald standing side by side as a couple — he couldn't quite make it work.

She was too good for him. Hell, no woman deserved Oswald March as her husband, not even Charmaine Haley.

 

 

 

 

 

Five

 

The last-minute preparations for the masked ball had taken the better part of the week. Charmaine did what she could to help her mother, taking care of the details that inevitably came up when organizing an affair of this size. Making certain that there was a sufficient amount of good silverware and china, hiring extra help for the evening, checking to see that the cabin was prepared for the musicians who would arrive on tomorrow's morning train.

Eula, an excellent seamstress since the age of twelve, had taken a hand in preparing the masks that would be handed out at the door. Goodness knows when she'd had the time! All the guests would be in disguise, and if they arrived without a mask, one would be provided.

Charmaine looked in wonder over the array of fancy masks in the box on the counter. There were feathers and beads of every color, silver and gold thread, the finest silks and velvets.

“You've done a magnificent job, Eula,” Charmaine said as she lifted the mask nearest her hand, of royal blue velvet with a silver feather and blue silk ribbons in varying shades. Beneath the royal blue was a jumble of colors both bright and muted, masks elegantly plain and frivolously extravagant. The sunlight that came through the mercantile window shone on strands of gold. “How will I ever decide?”

Eula smiled proudly. “You'll not have to decide at all. Yours was special-made, to your mother's specifications, and it's by far the most beautiful of them all. Mrs. Haley had very definite ideas about what she wanted for you.” With that, Eula reached beneath the counter and removed a bundle of brown paper. She handled it carefully, as if what was hidden inside were of the finest and most fragile crystal, and her smile widened as she placed the oddly shaped package on the counter and waited for Charmaine to unwrap it.

The plain string that held the package together came undone first, the knot plucked loose with anxious fingers. If the look on Eula's face was any indication of what waited inside, it was sure to be a treasure.

The brown paper fell back to reveal a white satin mask. There was a touch of peach lace at one corner, resting on a triangular bed of a darker peach silk that would surely match the trim of her ball gown perfectly. And there were pearls everywhere. Seed pearls were sewn around the exotically slanted eyeholes and planted carefully amid the peach lace, and there were larger, oddly elongated pearls that literally dripped from the bottom edge.

It was decadently beautiful. “Oh, this is magnificent.” Charmaine lifted the mask, carefully and with both hands, and held it against her face. She peeked through the eyeholes at a grinning Eula, squealed with undignified glee, and spun around just in time to watch Ash Coleman come sauntering through the door.

He stopped dead in his tracks. Goodness, he filled the doorway, blocking the sunlight and evidently the air as well, for all of a sudden there wasn't quite enough to take in a good deep breath.

“Hello,” she said softly. The mask fell, still protected by two cautious hands.

Ash simply nodded, to her and then to Eula, and walked to the back of the store to do his shopping.

He looked a little better today, without the mud covering his face. There was still the bushy beard, though, and the dark hair that was unfashionably long and untended, and while Ash hadn't recently taken a plunge into the pigsty, he was wearing more than his share of plain Kansas dirt.

The glee she'd felt upon unwrapping her mask vanished. How silly and unproductive it was to get carried away with plans for this inappropriate masked ball. To become breathless at the very appearance of a
man
. A man entirely inappropriate for her, in any case. Howard and Felicity would be mortified by her reckless behavior.

“Can I help you find something, Ash?” Eula stepped from behind the counter and down the center aisle to the rear of the store. Charmaine carefully rewrapped the mask and listened intently to the soft conversation drifting to her from the back of the store. Something about salt and flour and tobacco, evidently forgotten by Verna on her last visit to town.

The voices came closer, and they were accompanied by Eula's soft step and Ash's heavier footfall. Charmaine directed all her attention to the string she was retying. She needed to tie the string quickly, place her mask in the box with the others, and mutter a quick and gracious farewell to Eula and her customer. Her suddenly clumsy fingers refused to cooperate.

“Here, let me do that,” Eula said as she stepped behind the counter and took the package that was much the worse for wear. The brown paper was crumpled, and the string was in knots. In a flash, Eula had unknotted the string and fastened it securely around the covered mask.

Charmaine was well aware that Ash stood behind her. He didn't say a word, she couldn't hear him breathing or moving, but he was there. She could
feel
it, as if the air around him was agitated.

She jumped when a cheerful voice called from the doorway. “My, this charming town has changed since I was here last.”

The man standing in the doorway wasn't much taller than she was, and he wasn't dressed like any farmer or rancher she'd ever seen. His clothes were, in fact, very up to date, very Eastern, from the bowler hat that was perched atop a graying head to the brown checked frock suit to the shiny shoes that were marred with more than a touch of dust. The smile on his face was brilliant as he stepped toward the counter.

“Ash, you must introduce me to these lovely ladies,” the man said as he removed his bowler with a gentlemanly flourish.

Ash cleared his throat. “Mrs. Eula Markam,” he said softly, “this is Nathan Sweet, an old friend of the family. Mrs. Markam and her husband own this mercantile.”

Eula nodded and muttered a friendly “How do you do.” In answer, Nathan Sweet bowed deeply. And then he faced Charmaine.

“And this is Miss Charmaine Haley,” Ash said, his voice dropping to a lower note.

“Mr. Sweet,” Charmaine said as she offered her hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

The little man beamed at her. “The pleasure is all mine. Miss. I swear, Ash, this young woman is every bit as ravishing as your mother, and I never thought I'd hear myself say that about anyone.” His eyes twinkled. “Have you ever given thought, Miss Haley, to stepping upon the stage? You would make a fabulous Juliet.”

Charmaine felt the heat rising to her face. Blushing! She was much too old to blush at a compliment, no matter how outrageous it might be. “I have no aspirations to the stage, Mr. Sweet.”

“Pity,” he said, and he seemed to mean it.

“I must be going,” Charmaine said with a weak smile, nodding first to Eula and then to the gentleman before her. “There are a thousand errands to be taken care of this afternoon. It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Sweet.”

She wrapped her arms around the box of masks, anxious to escape into the sunlight. A few minutes ago she'd been laughing, but right now she felt uncommonly uncomfortable. No one else seemed to be affected by the change of mood. Eula was smiling brightly, Mr. Sweet was grinning, and Ash . . . well, she hadn't turned to face Ash, not once.

“Good heavens, Ash, you're not going to allow this lovely creature to carry this cumbersome load.” Mr. Sweet's voice was faintly outraged, and still he smiled.

“It's not heavy. . . . ” Charmaine began, but before she could finish her sentence Mr. Sweet swept the box from her grasp and deposited it into Ash's arms.

“It's all right, really it is,” Charmaine insisted as she attempted — and failed — to take the box from Ash.

“I'll get the supplies loaded into the wagon,” Mr. Sweet said to Ash. “By the time you return from assisting the lovely Miss Charmaine Haley with her errand, we'll be ready to go.”

Mr. Sweet immediately struck up a conversation with Eula, leaving no room for an argument from either Ash or Charmaine.

 

He was going to have Nathan's hide when they got back to the farm.

Charmaine walked silently beside him, her eyes straight ahead. When Ash glanced down he saw sunlight on golden hair, squared shoulders encased in a gray muslin that looked almost silver, a profile as delicate as that of a porcelain figurine.

Below that fragile face Charmaine Haley had the body of a woman, pure and simple. She was curvaceous and delicate, and with one glimpse at that body his mind was filled with all sorts of indecent thoughts. Thoughts he couldn't afford to entertain.

The box Ash carried was ridiculously light — a child could have carried it for miles without tiring.

He was definitely going to have Nathan's hide.

The big Haley house was situated at the edge of town, a good walk from the Markam mercantile but not much of a trip. They passed people on the boardwalk and on the street, people they'd known all their lives and those recently come to Salley Creek. Those people, friends and strangers alike, nodded and stared.