A Love Surrendered (17 page)

At least I do
, Annie thought with a heavy sigh as she mounted the stairs with her sister weeping in her arms. Glory was young enough to forget most of the pain of losing Mama and even Daddy, but Annie certainly wasn’t, something she obviously shared in common with Aunt Eleanor. Determined to forge more commonalities with the woman who now shared their lives, Annie purposed to reach out to her aunt.

“But I need the Queen of Sheba,” Glory insisted after Annie tucked her in and said prayers. “She’s on the floor in the parlor, and I can’t sleep without her.”

“Okay, I’ll get her, sweetie. Close your eyes, and I’ll be right back.” Planting a kiss to her sister’s cheek, Annie hurried downstairs to rescue the Queen of Sheba. Bobbling the rag doll in her hands, she turned to head back upstairs when a shout halted her at the parlor door.

“Never!” her aunt shrieked. “I could never trust you again—ever! Please leave—now.”

Annie stared, her back pressed hard against the green silk wallpaper of the foyer wall, gaze frantic as it darted to the
half-open library door. She was paralyzed, desperate to flee, but a thunderous slap rooted her to the floor as surely as the palms that were rooted in brass containers at the foot of the stairs. Her aunt’s hysterical shouts to “get out” sent Annie flying to the library door where she skidded to a stop, the next words leeching the blood from her face.

“I’ve never stopped loving you, Ellie, and I never will. I was a stupid fool, too young and weak and full of myself to see the hurt I would cause. Please . . . you have to forgive me.”

Mr. Callahan loved her aunt?
Annie’s body fused to the wall behind a potted palm, her aunt’s wrenching sobs keeping her from flying back up the steps. Hoarse, muffled words told her Mr. Callahan was attempting to comfort her, but it seemed to no avail as her weeping continued . . . until a telling silence. Too scared to move or even make a sound, Annie stood fixed, eyes sealed as if that would alleviate guilt over invasion of her aunt’s privacy.

“Marry me, Ellie,” he said, his voice urgent and low. “Let me make it up to you so we can have the marriage we were meant to have.”

Annie stifled a gasp, unable to escape for the shock grafting her shoulder blades to the wall.
Mr. Callahan was the fiancé who’d broken her aunt’s heart?
The next thing Annie knew, Mr. Callahan stormed out of the library without so much as a glance back, the slam of the front door jarring both the beveled glass panes and Annie’s nerves. Heart banging against her rib cage, she tiptoed to the stairs and stopped, the sound of weeping drawing her back. Slowly moving to the library door, she peeked in, and tears pricked at the sight of her stern and stoic aunt slumped over the love seat, body heaving with every painful sob. Without a second thought, Annie hurried to her side, hesitating only a moment before dropping Glory’s doll to embrace her aunt in her arms.

Eleanor startled, head lunging up to reveal a face swollen with tears. She pushed a damp strand of hair from her
eyes, voice hoarse. “What are you doing?” she whispered, her glazed look only adding to the tragedy of her manner.

Kneeling before her, Annie tenderly took her aunt’s hand, giving her a faltering smile as moisture welled in her own eyes. “Sharing your grief, Aunt Eleanor,” she whispered. “That’s what families do, you know.”

Mouth parted in shock, Aunt Eleanor stared like sodden stone, seconds passing before her lips began to quiver. With a fresh swell of tears, she collapsed into Annie’s arms, clutching tight while Annie stroked her hair with the same tenderness she reserved for Glory. Head bent against her aunt’s, she silently prayed for God to heal her hurt, and in one frail shiver of her aunt’s body, a rare peace began to settle. “I’m not sure what Mr. Callahan said or did to hurt you like this, Aunt Eleanor, but once when my best friend moved away, I remember Mama comforting me, holding me just like I’m holding you. She said something I didn’t really understand at the time, but I remember that it gave me a lot of peace when she said it.”

Aunt Eleanor sniffed and pulled away, swiping a limp handkerchief to her eyes. “What was it?” she asked, her words waterlogged and nasal.

Annie ducked to smile into her aunt’s eyes like her mother had done so many times for her. “She said, ‘Susannah, I know it hurts like the dickens now, but God promises that “weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”’ ” Annie swallowed hard, the memory of her mother’s comfort pricking her eyes. “So we prayed, and you know what?”

“What?” Aunt Eleanor whispered, eyes rimmed raw and looking a lot like Glory.

Annie caressed her aunt’s arm, a rush of love filling her heart. “Within one month, the best friend I ever had moved in next door.”

Aunt Eleanor caught her breath, fingers pressed to her mouth. Rare wrinkles bunched beneath squinted eyes that appeared on another onslaught of tears. Blinking hard, she
attempted to smile, clutching Annie’s hand in a quivering grip. “She was lucky, your friend,” she said with a heave, blinking hard as if to dispel more water from streaking her face.

“Oh no, Aunt Eleanor, I was the lucky one,” Annie said. She leaned to press a light kiss to her cheek. “Just like now.”

“Susannah . . .” Aunt Eleanor’s throat shifted before she swallowed Annie in a ferocious hug, her whisper trembling with emotion. “Thank you
so
much.”

A grin tipped Annie’s lips over her aunt’s shoulder. “You’re more than welcome, Aunt Eleanor.” She closed her eyes, wishing this moment could last forever. “Can I . . . I mean would you . . . allow me to pray with you? It’s what Mama would do if she were here, you know.”

The breath in Annie’s lungs stilled as she waited, Aunt Eleanor silent in her arms. Finally she felt her aunt nod, and her breath slowly seeped from her lips. Tears stinging, she prayed just like Mama and Daddy would pray—calling upon the God whose mercies were new every morning, along with his joys. She asked God to give her aunt peace in the midst of this storm, to heal her soul and bring her joy. When she was finished, she pulled away, giving her aunt’s hand a final squeeze before reaching for Glory’s doll. Rising to her feet, she smiled, her face as blotchy as her aunt’s, no doubt. “Well, I better take this to Glory before there are tears on the second floor as well as the first.” She bent to kiss her aunt’s cheek. “Good night, Aunt Eleanor. I love you.”

“Good night, Susann—” Aunt Eleanor stood, her demeanor calm once again. She tugged on her dress, gaze low as she attempted to straighten it while muscles jerked in her throat. “I mean . . .
Annie
. Thank you.” Pink tinted her cheeks. “And I love you too, dear.”

Annie smiled and turned to leave, joy leaping in her chest.

“I . . . I’d like you to go with your friends.”

Annie stopped, easing around with a kink in her brow. “Pardon me?”

With a firm lift of her chin, Eleanor finally met her gaze.
“Out to dinner for your birthday, dear, and I’ll give you funds to pick up the bill.”

Annie couldn’t help it—her jaw dropped. “Thank you, Aunt Eleanor, but that’s not necessary to buy dinner for my friends, truly. I’m not sure if they’ll pick someplace a little more expensive or not, but even so, there will be four of them in addition to me, so that’s too much.”

“No it isn’t, Annie,” she whispered, moving forward to extinguish the light. “Nothing’s too much to repay your kindness.” Cupping a tentative arm to Annie’s waist, her aunt gave her one of the first genuine smiles she’d ever seen on her face. “And to be honest, my dear,” she said, a tremor in her tone, “dinner for a thousand wouldn’t be enough.”

Flinging the door wide, Luke McGee stormed into his four-story brownstone on Commonwealth Avenue, the subsequent slam of the front door a perfect match for his mood. Usually the seven-block walk from the Boston Children’s Aid Society was a pleasure this time of year, when May was just burgeoning into June. There was nothing Luke loved more about summer than shooting a hoop or two with dirty-faced urchins who clamored for his attention, while mothers strolled with toddlers and neighbors jabbered from yard to yard. But tonight, the chatter of tree frogs and scent of honeysuckle were the farthest things from his mind. No, tonight his thoughts were first and foremost on his wife. Katie Rose, the sass and love of his life . . . and the woman with a penchant for secrets when they suited her cause.

With two abrupt jerks, he loosened his tie and bolted up the worn oak steps to his second-story flat like he hadn’t just worked a thirteen-hour day. Adrenaline pumped through his veins along with more than a little anger. Even at the late hour of ten o’clock, the smell of fried chicken from somebody’s supper still lingered in the hall along with the scent of his
neighbor’s pipe, a docile man whose wife refused to allow him to smoke in their flat. Luke’s lips leveled in a tight line. Why would Mr. Tuttle allow his wife to wear the pants in the family, for pity’s sake? Didn’t he know women needed—no,
wanted—
a strong man they couldn’t ride roughshod over? That if given the chance, some women had no problem batting their baby blues while taking an inch and pushing a mile? Free as a bird to flit wherever they wanted?

Like my wife
. Suit coat slung over his shoulder, he grunted and fished his key from his pocket, thinking tonight might be a good night to clip a few wings.

Key in the lock, he paused, reflecting on the last time Katie Rose pulled a stunt like this almost a year ago when they’d been newlyweds in the throes of wedded bliss. She’d enrolled in law school without telling him, and Luke had been so mad, he’d slept on the couch for a solid week. They’d had their fights since then, but nothing like that. He ground his jaw.
Till tonight.

He blasted out a noisy breath, knowing full well he needed to calm down. He was tired and hungry and just found out his wife was cavorting with her old boyfriend behind his back—not a good combination for a happy home. Hand on the knob, he closed his eyes, determined to give Katie the benefit of the doubt. She’d probably run into Jack and forgotten to mention it. He exhaled and hung his head, his conscience a little heavier than before. Just like he’d “forgotten” to mention working nights with the wealthy intern Carmichael foisted on him for the summer.

“Hey, Boss, forgot to tell you I saw your wife at the Harvard Law Library this week,” his pretty new intern had said before she’d left tonight.

“What?” Luke had looked up from his desk, staring as if she had just tossed the cup of coffee she was holding into his face. He blinked. “You know my wife?”

“Not personally,” the brown-eyed beauty had said, nodding to Luke’s wedding picture in the bookcase against the
wall. “But I recognized her from your picture.” She offered a shy grin. “My brother’s at Harvard Law, and sometimes I go to the law library with him.”

He nodded, trying to remember if Katie mentioned a night class or seminar this week. “Did you talk to her?” he asked, the collar of his shirt suddenly too warm over what Katie might say about him working late hours with a pretty intern.

“Nope.” She deposited a stack of typed letters and the cup of fresh coffee onto his desk. “I didn’t want to interrupt—she was talking to some guy.” She flicked a strand of platinum hair over her shoulder, adjusting a dress on a shapely body Luke had never really noticed before.

Heat climbed up the back of his neck as he averted his eyes, snatching the letters to scrawl his signature at the bottom of each one. “Probably the Dean of Portia Law School or maybe one of her professors,” he murmured, feeling the clamp of his jaw. “Distinguished older gentleman, slight build, thinning on top?” He kept signing letters, trying to appear nonchalant.

Her hesitation made him glance up, and she shook her head, nose scrunched. “No, this guy was pretty young, about her age or a few years older. Tall, dark, well dressed.” She shrugged. “Probably just a friend from Harvard Law.”

He froze, pen stalled midsignature, its point gouging until a tiny pool of ink bled onto the paper.
Jack.
He scratched the rest of the signature with way too much force.
Sweet mother of Job, she was hobnobbing with her old fiancé?

“Well, I better go,” she said quickly, as if suddenly aware Luke was clenching his jaw. Glancing at her watch, she headed for the door, sending a smile over her shoulder. “Unless you need me to get those letters out tonight, that is, which I can do. It’s just I promised my mom I’d be home early.” She smiled. “At least before ten this time.”

He waved her out the door. “No, go—please. I appreciate all your help, Lauren, I could have never done it without you, especially with Gladys on leave and Bobbie Sue out with shingles.” He slumped back in his chair and pinched the bridge
of his nose, suddenly feeling way older than his twenty-five years. He managed a tired smile. “And thanks for the coffee. You’re a wonder. Haven’t seen an intern work this hard since my wife before we got married.”

Lauren spun at the door, hands clasped to her chest and brown eyes suddenly aglow. “Oh, your wife was an intern at the BCAS too? How romantic! Is that how you met?”