Love Inspired Historical November 2014 (19 page)

At one point the little girl looked over at Eileen. “You can come to our tea party, too, if you like. You can be the queen, and I shall be the princess and Flossie will be our very dear friend.”

“That sounds quite lovely,” Eileen responded, touched that the little girl wanted to make her a part of her make-believe adventures.

When they were finished cleaning, it was time to decorate. Dovie asked each of them to go through their things and find at least one item that they would be willing to share with everyone for the one day of Thanksgiving, and that would be their decorations.

Eileen went up to her room and looked around. At one time she had owned so
many
beautiful things. Thomas had showered her with clothing and jewelry and gewgaws. All of it was gone now. She'd had to part with everything, just to pay off the debts Thomas had left her with—not to mention purchase the simple necessities for herself.

She glanced at her trunk. No, not quite everything. There was one item, her most prized possession, the one thing she'd held on to through all those hard times.

She moved to the trunk and pulled out a tissue-wrapped package from the very bottom. She laid the package on the bed and carefully unwrapped it. The fabric spilled out, still as vibrant and beautiful as it had been the day Thomas gave it to her. The iridescent fabric of the shawl shifted between the rich blues and greens of a hummingbird's feathers with every movement. There were tiny beads sewn throughout the shawl with metallic threads, giving it even more shimmer. The fabric was supple and unbelievably soft. She could picture it hanging on the wall in the “secret” room, next to the fireplace where a tapestry had once hung.

But what if she let Dovie use it for decoration and something happened to it? Children were always having accidents and spills. She could always bring the brass candlestick by her bedside to set on the mantel, and no one would be the wiser.

But she'd know.

Eileen carefully refolded the shawl, grabbed the candlestick and headed downstairs with both items.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“J
ust a little higher on the left.” Eileen ignored the rolling of Simon's eyes as he towered above her on the ladder. “You want it to be straight, don't you?”

“At this point, I just want it to be done.” But he obligingly lifted the cord-wrapped nail a tiny bit higher.

“Stop! That's perfect.”

“At last.” Simon quickly hammered in the nail, as if afraid Eileen would change her mind.

As soon as she'd told him what she had in mind for the placement of her shawl, he'd gone to work rigging up a cord to hang it from using clothespins.

She turned to take the shawl from Fern, who'd offered to hold it for her. The girl was stroking it with an almost-reverent awe.

“I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life,” the girl said as she reluctantly handed it over. “And you actually wore this.”

Eileen smiled. “A few times—not often. My late husband and I used to throw wonderful parties for all of his friends. The house would be filled with people and lots of food. Everyone would dress up in their finest clothes and sometimes we'd even have musicians come in.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Eileen studied the thirteen-year-old. She was of an age where romantic notions could take over her daydreams. She hoped whoever Simon eventually found to care for the children would know how to keep the girl grounded without totally destroying her dreams.

Fern seemed to remember suddenly that she and Eileen weren't on good terms and with a short nod turned and moved to help Rose with a project she was working on.

Sighing, Eileen turned and handed the shawl up to Simon.

He gave her a sympathetic look, obviously having caught the exchange. “Give her a little more time. I think she's thawing toward you.”

Hoping he was right, Eileen gave a short nod.

Then they turned their attention to hanging the shawl, and in short order it was done.

Eileen stepped back to study their handiwork and declared herself satisfied.

She looked around at the rest of the room and smiled at what a hodgepodge the group had brought into the space to decorate it.

Two other candlesticks in addition to hers stood on one end of the mantel. On the other was a large yellow-and-white stoneware vase. Who had donated that—Dovie?

Hanging from the very center of the mantel was the tired little black hat with the two red silk flowers that had been in Miss Fredrick's valise. She cast a quick glance Simon's way. How typical of him to want to include the memory of the children's foster mother in their celebration tomorrow. Then she studied the rest of the room. Scattered here and there were colorful toys, hair ribbons and pretty glass jars.

It was a far cry from the expensive furniture pieces and gilt-framed pictures and mirrors that had once graced this room. But she couldn't say that she liked it any less for all that.

“You all have done an amazing job,” she said to the room in general. “The secret room has come alive again.”

“It does look mighty nice,” Dovie agreed. “And Simon and I came to a decision while you were upstairs.”

“Oh?”

“Right after breakfast tomorrow,” Simon said, “me and the boys are going to bring the dining room table in here.”

Eileen wrinkled her brow. “But why?”

“Because a few of us don't think our old bones can take all the getting up and down that's involved in eating on a picnic blanket,” Dovie answered.

“Then why don't we just eat in the dining room and then come in here after.”

“What?” Simon put his hand to his heart, as if shocked by her suggestion. “Not have our Thanksgiving meal in the secret room? That would be tragic.”

Eileen rolled her eyes, then looked around to see several of the children nodding in solemn agreement. “Very well. If you want to go to all that trouble I won't stand in your way.”

“I knew you'd see reason. All right, kids, we're eating at the table in here tomorrow.”

A cheer went up and then Dovie clapped her hands for attention. “It's been a long day, and we've got lots of things planned for tomorrow. Time to get cleaned up and ready for bed.”

Eileen nodded. “After you're cleaned up, we'll do our story as usual—”

“Can we do it in here?” Molly asked.

“I suppose so. I'll ask your uncle Simon to help me drag in a few chairs while you're getting ready for bed.” She waited for his nod before continuing. “As I was saying, we'll do our story as usual—I have a really good one for you tonight. But I'm afraid it's much too cold and wet to go out on the swing tonight. I thought perhaps instead, I could come to each of your rooms and sing a song while I tuck you in.”

That plan seemed to meet with general approval, and in a few minutes they had all trooped out of the room to take care of their nightly routines.

Simon quickly brought four chairs inside the room, then stood staring at them while he stroked his chin thoughtfully. After a minute he glanced her way. “I think I'll construct three or four long benches to set along the walls in here. They won't be fancy but they'll be easy to make and it'll save having to move chairs in and out of here every time you want to use the room.”

“How thoughtful. But don't feel like you have to be doing such things for me.”

He smiled. “I don't mind. And it's the least I can do.”

What did he mean by that?

He leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Don't think I don't know what you did this evening. It was more than generous of you to open up this room to the children. You must have had it closed off for a reason, yet when you saw how disappointed they were at the thought of missing out on the festival, you did this for them. And not only that, you're sharing your shawl, which apparently is very special to you, with the children, as well.”

There was that warm-honey-in-her-veins feeling again. What this man could do to her with just a look and that crooked smile of his. “Neither the room nor the shawl was doing any good to me or anyone else locked away the way they were. It was time they saw the light of day and the joy of use again.” As she said the words she realized how very true they were. Were there other things in her life, in
her,
that had been locked away for too long?

“That may be true—” he took her hands “—but there's not many as would have chosen ten orphans and their unprepared guardian to share them with.”

She liked the way her hands felt in his, liked the rough callused strength of them, the feeling that those hands would never let any harm come to her, and that, despite the work-roughened state of them, those hands knew how to be gentle, as well.

Wanting to convey her emotions, she gave his hands just the tiniest of squeezes. Immediately his gaze sharpened and she saw his focus shift to her lips. Was he going to kiss her?

Suddenly, with every fiber of her being, she wanted him to do just that. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze never leaving his face. His own gaze flew back up to her eyes and then they were searching, as if uncertain.

She gently disengaged her right hand and brazenly moved it to his cheek. What would he think of her?

He smiled then, a warm, triumphant, top-of-the-world smile. He turned his head without looking away and kissed her palm, all the while keeping his gaze locked to hers.

Eileen had never felt so shameless and so cherished at the same time. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to do something, but she didn't know what.

Finally he nudged her hand away and she didn't know whether she was glad or sad.

“Eileen.”

The way he said her name set her pulse racing. “Yes.”

“I'm going to kiss you proper now, if that's okay?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

S
imon pulled Eileen to him, gratified when she slipped her arms around his neck to hold him close. Then he kissed her, and those enticing, full lips of hers were every bit as sweet and warm as he'd imagined. He could hold her like this forever, for as long as he could feel her heart pounding in rhythm to his.

But finally she pulled away. The reluctance with which she did it, however, was quite edifying.

“Dovie or the children...” she said, her voice shaky.

Of course. This house was too full of people. He shouldn't have put her in a position to have been embarrassed or shamed. “I'm sorry—”

She halted his words with a finger to his lips. “I'm not.”

Simon smiled then and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze before putting a little distance between them. He couldn't believe he'd ever thought this woman an ice queen. She was warm and vibrant and altogether irresistible.

When she'd reached up and touched his face, it had been the sweetest and the most unbelievably sensual gesture he'd ever experienced.

And that kiss just now, that had been absolutely amazing.

They needed to talk, to figure out what this meant. He wanted to make certain she knew how he felt, how he wanted to protect her and cherish her and be by her side always. Surely, after that kiss, she felt the same?

He led her to one of the chairs and had her sit. “Eileen, I—”

Molly padded into the room just then, cuddling Flossie and yawning widely. “Am I first?” she asked sleepily.

Simon gave Eileen's hand a squeeze, then stepped back. They would have to wait until the children were in bed to have their talk.

“You most certainly are, sweet pea,” he said in answer to Molly's question. “Why don't you and Flossie come sit over here by the fire where it's warm while we wait for the others.”

But later, when the children had all been tucked in and Dovie had disappeared into her own room, Eileen professed to be tired and wished him a good-night.

Simon watched her climb the stairs, confused. Surely he hadn't misread how she felt.

Was she confused by her own feelings? But she was a widow, not a blushing maiden, so he assumed it wasn't the first time she'd been kissed in such a fashion.

There had to be something else holding her back. But what?

* * *

Eileen stared at the ceiling of her bedroom calling herself a coward and a fool. She should never have let their relationship get this far. Simon wasn't the man for her, perhaps no man was.

She knew he had wanted to talk tonight, to discuss what had happened between them, but she hadn't been ready.

Because she knew, no matter how she felt about him, she couldn't let this go any further until she told him the truth about herself. And she wasn't strong enough to do that yet. Because once he knew the truth, the way he looked at her, the way he felt about her, would all change.

And she truly did not think she could bear that.

* * *

The next morning there was no opportunity for her and Simon to speak privately—she made sure of that. There was breakfast to be tended to and morning chores to be done. Buddy, who was obviously on the mend, seemed to be underfoot constantly. Twice he escaped the kitchen to wander other parts of the house and had to be tracked down.

Since it was a special day, Eileen limited the chores to what absolutely had to be done along with special preparations to be made for their own version of the Thanksgiving Festival.

As soon as breakfast was over, Simon and the older children removed the leaves from the table and carried it across the hall, through the parlor and into the secret room. There the leaves were reinstalled and then all the chairs were transported there, as well.

Simon threw himself into the preparations as enthusiastically as the children, but from time to time she caught him watching her with a seriousness that was unnerving.

Once their chores were completed, the children were allowed to play. Simon had finished his work on the second checkerboard so two games could go on at one time. Fern was overseeing the memory game Dovie had taught them with some of the younger children.

About an hour before lunch, the door chimes sounded. Wondering who would have ventured out in such nasty weather, Eileen went to the door. She opened it to see Ivy and Mitch standing there, a large hamper in hand.

“I hope we're not intruding,” Ivy said as Eileen ushered them inside. “I spent the day cooking yesterday, hoping against hope the festival would be held today. I didn't want it all to go to waste, and since we'd already planned to have our meal with Nana Dovie—”

“You are more than welcome to join us,” Eileen assured her. “Assuming you're willing to put up with a bit of a rambunctious celebration. We're holding our own festival.”

“Oh, what fun!” Ivy loosened the ties of her shawl. “As long as you're certain we're not intruding.”

Simon had joined them by this time. “Of course not. The more the merrier.”

Molly tugged on Eileen's skirt. “Are they allowed to see the secret room?”

“Secret room?” Ivy's smile broadened. “How intriguing.”

“I think we can trust them to keep our secret,” Eileen replied solemnly. “Don't you?”

Molly nodded. “Can I show them?”

“Of course. You show them while I let Nana Dovie know they're here.”

Before they could move, Buddy came scurrying by as fast as his three good legs could carry him. He was closely followed by Joey, who was scrambling to catch him. When he saw Eileen he skidded to a halt. “He moves pretty fast for a dog only using three legs,” he said proudly. Then he started off again. “Don't worry,” he called over his shoulder, “I'll have him back in the kitchen in no time.”

Ivy stared at Eileen, an amused expression on her face. “I see your feelings about allowing dogs in your house have undergone a change since I boarded here.”

Eileen shrugged. “One must learn to adjust.”

Ivy laughed outright at that, then followed Molly into the parlor.

* * *

By Eileen's estimation, the first annual Pierce household Thanksgiving Festival turned out to be a great success. By midday she'd stopped trying to keep Buddy penned in the kitchen, only warning Joey to keep a close eye on him.

There was plenty of food to go around, the games Simon devised for them to play kept everyone entertained and they even enjoyed a bit of dancing.

Eileen made certain she and Simon did not share another waltz, of course. But she did accept his hand for a reel and she even danced a round with Mitch.

All in all she decided she'd had as much fun as if they had been able to attend the community-wide event. Perhaps even more.

Before Ivy and Mitch left, Mitch helped Simon move the table and chairs back into the dining room, and Ivy helped with the dishes.

By the time the couple said goodbye it was time to get the children ready for bed. Once the last child was tucked in bed, Eileen slowly descended the stairs to where Simon waited for her, knowing this couldn't be put off any longer.

He met her at the foot of the stairs, and she could see the questions in his expression.

“Shall we sit in the parlor?” she asked.

With a nod, he followed her into the room and waited quietly while she took a seat on the sofa. He remained standing.

“There's something I have to tell you,” she said without preamble.

“I'm listening.”

“I suppose you've noticed that I am not the most popular of persons in this town.”

“I
have
noticed that there are some folks here who treat you rather rudely.”

“There is a reason for it.”

He made a sharp gesture of disagreement. “There's never a good reason to be rude to a lady.”

She smiled at his quick defense. “Thank you for that. But perhaps you should reserve judgment until you hear the story.”

He finally moved to sit beside her. “Don't feel as if you owe me an explanation.”

“But I do owe you one. And you're going to hear me out.”

His brows drew down at that. But he gave a short nod and leaned back.

She took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy.

* * *

Simon waited, not sure he really wanted to hear whatever it was she had to say.

“I'm not originally from Turnabout. I was born and raised in Charleston, South Carolina.”

So that accounted for the slight accent he heard in her voice. “Not being from around here is not a crime.”

“No, that wasn't my crime. Please hear me out. I met Thomas Pierce when he made a business trip to Charleston. He became quite smitten with me, and I did nothing to dissuade him. It was something of a whirlwind courtship—we were married a mere month after we met.”

He noticed she said nothing about her being smitten with Thomas. Had she cared for her husband?

“When Thomas and I moved back here, he was quite eager to spoil me. He indulged my every whim and I let him, even encouraged him.”

He couldn't really picture her in that role. She was so controlled, so refined.

“What I didn't know was that eventually Thomas overextended himself. He was a partner in the town's bank and he began dipping into funds he had no right to touch in order to pay his bills—bills that he incurred to indulge me in my frivolity. And then, when it became clear the truth would be discovered, he took his own life.”

Shocked, he reached over and took her hand. “I'm sorry. That must have been very difficult for you.”

Her eyes registered surprise at his reaction. She gently disengaged her hands from his and resumed her story. “In the eyes of the town, I had been responsible for Thomas's ruin and his downfall. Thomas was one of their own. I was not. I was like Delilah, preying on the weakness of a good man.”

His anger over what her neighbors had put her through rose yet another notch. “It seems to me,” he said firmly, “that a man should be held accountable for his own actions. Your husband could have simply told you no. He could have also told you the state of his finances so that you could adjust your behavior, which I believe you would have, had you known. Instead he chose to play the indulgent benefactor and then was too cowardly to face the consequences of that choice.” The blackguard had taken his own means of escape and left Eileen to face not only his debtors but also her judgmental neighbors.

Eileen studied him with something akin to wonder in her eyes. “I don't believe I've ever met another man like you.” Then her expression closed off again. “But there's nothing that says I won't turn into that woman again should I ever have the opportunity. In fact there is every indication that I would.”

“You're wrong. Besides, if you picked the right man to marry, he wouldn't let you.”

That won him a smile. But she sobered quickly. “There's another thing.”

He waited for her to continue, certain it was of as little consequence to his feelings for her as the first had been.

“More than anything else Thomas wanted a big family.” She waved a hand. “If nothing else, this house is a testament to that. And I wanted to give him one. But I failed at that, as well. It appears I can't have children.”

Simon felt a pang at that. He'd always wanted to have children. But then the irony of that hit him. “Look around you. I don't think having a big family will be a problem.”

She drew herself up in obvious affront. “This isn't funny.”

“Of course it isn't. And I'm sorry that you can't have children of your own, if that's what you want. But there are ten wonderful children right here who need you very much.”

“They have you, and they have Mrs. Leggett.”

“But neither of us is
you.
” What was it she was so afraid of?

Her expression closed off, and she stood, drawing herself up to her full, shoulders-back height.

He got to his feet as well, bracing himself for whatever other objection she was prepared to make.

“If you must know,” she said stiffly, “while I like and even admire you, I don't think we would suit well together, not as husband and wife. Our lives and our backgrounds are much too different.”

Backgrounds? Did that mean what he thought it did?

But she wasn't quite done. “This doesn't change anything regarding your stay here. You and the children are more than welcome to remain for as long as you need to. And I hope we can remain friends while you are here. I merely thought it important that you understand exactly where my feelings lie.”

“Oh, I think you've made that crystal clear. And don't worry, I won't be bothering you again with anything other than business concerning the children. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go out on the porch for a breath of fresh air.”

He couldn't believe this had happened—it was like being back in Uncle Corbitt's home once more. He'd thought she understood who he was, but apparently not. Or rather, who he was didn't measure up to her standards. He should have realized her feelings on the matter when she'd kept pressing for him to ask Adam for a job at the bank.

She wanted to remain friends—he wasn't sure that was possible. Civil was about the best he'd be able to manage.

He'd made a fool of himself. It was time he pressed for a resolution to this matter of the Hatcherville property.

He couldn't move out of here soon enough.

* * *

Eileen's shoulders slumped as she watched him leave the room. That hadn't been easy or pleasant, but it had been necessary. Much as she'd like it to be otherwise, she knew that she would end up making him unhappy if she agreed to marry him. She had only to look at the marriage between her own parents to know the truth of that. Marrying her father had ruined her mother's life and turned her into a bitter, unhappy woman. She couldn't stand the thought of doing that to Simon.