Cinderfella (30 page)

Most especially, he was getting rid of
her.

 

His head ached, and the field before him tilted ever so slightly in his distorted view. Ash closed his eyes for a moment. The winter wheat was doing well, with the temperate weather and the goodly amount of rain they'd had lately, and would be well established before the first frost. Next year would be a good one.

Next year would be a lonely one.

The two hours of sleep he'd gotten last night had come on the floor in front of the fireplace. He probably wouldn't have slept at all, but the whiskey had made him finally drop off there. When he woke he was sore from sleeping on the hard floor and had one hell of a headache that was still with him.

In that moment, a moment of pure panic as he'd lifted his head from the floor, he wondered what he'd done — but a moment later he remembered that he'd only done what was best for Charmaine.

By that time her trunk was already packed and sitting by the door. He'd placed her belongings in that trunk as soon as he'd returned home from the Haley house, making damn sure he didn't linger over this dress or that, or hold her hairbrush too long in his hands.

He'd pulled out well before dawn to deliver that trunk, to get that chore done while he still could. There had been a moment of doubt as he'd placed that trunk carefully on the Haley front porch, a moment when he'd considered walking through that door and up the stairs and knocking on door after door until he found Charmaine's room.

He didn't do any such thing, of course. After returning to the farm he'd found enough work to keep him busy all morning, hard physical labor that wouldn't give him time to think. It almost worked.

The worst of it was coming into the house for the noon meal. He was all alone, and there was no warm and welcoming fire, no waiting dinner or the smells filling the house, no laughter or kiss or hug. . . .
 

This was what he'd always wanted, wasn't it? To work and live on this farm alone, to have peace and quiet. To be his own man. When the time came he'd take another wife. Hell, he was no martyr who'd live out his days as a hermit and moan about what he had almost had. He'd marry, one day, and fill the house with children and be a good husband and father — but he'd never love another woman the way he loved Charmaine.

Walking back to the house, he passed the pond. They'd never had a chance to skate there. They'd never had a chance to do a lot of things. . . .
 

 

The confrontation was inevitable. Charmaine had successfully avoided Howard all day, but before supper he found her in the parlor. Alone, as her mother had excused herself with an untimely bout of nausea and Jeanette's sympathetic reaction had sent her scurrying from the room a moment later.

“There you are.”

Howard's cheerful greeting from the doorway startled her, and she spun to face him warily. “Good evening, Howard,” she said formally.

He swept into the room with a falsely concerned frown on his face. “How are you, my dear?” He took both of her hands in his own and leaned much too close.

“I'm afraid I'm not feeling well,” she said, slipping her hands from his and backing away. “I really should rest before supper.” She tried to walk past him, but he sidestepped into her path.

“You'll feel better when we get to Boston,” he said lowly, and then he placed his hand on her arm. “I promise you that.”

She took a step back and his arm fell away. “Howard, I'm not going back to Boston. I'm staying here.”

The expression on his face frightened her. Pure rage flitted briefly across his features. “You can't mean that.”

“I do,” she said firmly. “I'm going to stay here and help my mother, and . . . and. . . . ” And try to win Ash back? Was it possible? No. If he'd wanted her he never would have left her here and talked so calmly about choosing another wife. “And besides, it wouldn't be proper for me to stay with you with Felicity out of the house.”

“But I need you,” he reached forward and grabbed her arm, his hand a tight vise at her elbow. “The lectures are not as well attended when you're not there, and donations to my fund suffered while you were away. With the scandal of Felicity's betrayal shadowing my every move, I need you to stand beside me and support me, Charmaine. Don't desert me now.”

“I can't, Howard. Let me go,” she insisted, squirming ineffectively. The grip at her elbow held fast.

Howard leaned closer, so near she could feel his breath against her face. “And as for propriety, when your divorce and mine are final, we can marry.”

“What?”

“If I'd met you before I married Felicity, I would have done everything in my power to make you my wife.” His lips brushed her cheek. “We are meant to be, Charmaine. I knew it the first moment I saw you. Surely you felt it, too.”

“Howard!” She leaned away from those cold lips. “Don't be ridiculous. Stop this nonsense and release me!”

He gripped her chin in his hand and forced her to be still while he laid his lips on hers. It was revolting, cold and wet and repulsive. She pressed her lips tightly together and struggled against his greater strength.

Finally, he lifted his mouth from hers to whisper. “You must come to Boston with me.”

Charmaine stilled her struggling, which was to no avail in any case, and lifted her face to stare coldly into Howard's gray eyes. “If you so much as touch me again, I'll have my father shoot you. He will, you know, and I won't have to ask twice.” She kept her voice calm. “He shot Ash for kissing me, and I was a very willing participant in that kiss. What do you think he will do to you when I tell him you molested me?”

“I certainly did not molest you,” Howard said as he released her. He was afraid of her father, afraid of this unrefined world he couldn't control. She could see that in his eyes and in the sudden change in his demeanor. “This was mentioned yesterday, I believe. Stuart actually shot your, ummm . . . husband?”

“In the leg,” she said, stepping quickly to the door to make her escape. “He was trying to kill him, of course, but Ash was quite a distance away.” She turned in the doorway, wanting to watch this little man squirm. “How fast can you run, Howard?”

She didn't wait for an answer, but left Howard to grapple with his limited imagination.

 

The open window let in a cold wind that filled every corner of the dark room. It washed over his body, reminding him that no matter how dead he felt, he was still alive.

He'd likely never sleep again. Ash lay on his back in the bed he'd shared — for a while — with Charmaine. She was still here, even though everything that belonged to her, everything that reminded him of her, was gone. He could feel her in the air, smell her on the bed, and there was a piece of her heart that remained in his. It would fade with time, he was sure, diminish a little every day until she was truly gone. And if it didn't . . . God help him.

He'd survived a full day without her, if you could call this misery surviving. If he loved Charmaine a little less he'd make his way to the Haley house and claim his wife and bring her home. He'd make her sacrifice everything she wanted to be his wife. To sleep in this bed with him every night, to have his children and fill this empty house with love. To be his family.

There would be no sleep tonight, nothing but the snatches of restless dreams his body claimed when exhaustion took over.

He wished he loved her a little less.

 

Tuesday afternoon, as Charmaine was discussing baby names over tea in the parlor with her mother and Jeanette, someone pounded furiously on the door. Her first thought was
Ash has come to his senses,
but it was a hope that died quickly, well before Jane opened the front door.

Felicity appeared at the parlor door, wide eyed and travel weary, and a moment later Tavish was behind her; he was a full head taller and had Felicity's daughter Hester, cradled easily in his large arms.

A darker head appeared beside and slightly below Tavish's red one, and Jeanette came up in a shot.

“Robert!”

Felicity and Tavish stepped aside so Jeanette's husband could enter the room. He was such a handsome gentleman, well groomed and well dressed, with a face almost perfectly proportioned and eyes the color of black coffee.

“What are you doing here?” Jeanette said as he took her hands in his. “Oh, something must be terribly wrong.”

“This telegram came after you left.” He reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper. “It seemed important.”

“You could have sent a telegram yourself,” Jeanette said as her husband handed her the paper. “There was no need to come all this way.” She unfolded the paper in her hand, read it quickly, and gave Charmaine a pitying glance. “Oh, I'm so sorry.”

Charmaine reached out and took the telegram from Jeanette. Without reviewing the words, she folded the paper twice.

“But still,” Jeanette said to her husband. “You didn't have to come all this way. What about your important case?”

Robert gave his wife a quick kiss. “I've left the firm,” he said without further preamble.

“Oh, Robert,” Jeanette whispered.

“It's been a long time coming, darling. You know that.”

They sat silently side by side on the sofa.

“He left,” Felicity said softly, “because they objected to him handling my divorce.” She continued to stand in the doorway, perhaps afraid to come in and find out what sort of reception she would receive. “They said it was distasteful and scandalous, and they would not have their firm associated with such a case.”

Charmaine watched her mother step quickly to the door to wrap her arms around Felicity in a welcoming hug. Relief flooded Felicity's face, and her eyes filled with tears.

“He's here, isn't he?” she whispered. “Howard's here, that's what Robert said.”

Tavish got a disapproving glare from Maureen, who lowered her gaze to her granddaughter with a wide smile and a “gootchy-goo.” She started to take the tot from Tavish, but Charmaine was there before she could.

“You shouldn't, Mother,” Charmaine said as she scooped Hester into her arms. “She's much heavier than she looks.”

“Nonsense. I'm perfectly capable of holding my granddaughter.” Charmaine had no choice but to place Hester in her grandmother's arms.

“Charmaine,” her mother said as she sat with Hester cradled in her arms, “tell Jane we'll be eight for dinner tonight.” She glimpsed briefly and sharply at Tavish. “Though I imagine we'll have to eat in shirts to avoid unpleasant scenes.”

Tavish said nothing, had not said a word since stepping into the Haley house. Maureen Haley, usually so proper and sweet, would have none of that.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself, young man?” she asked sharply.

Tavish stepped just past Felicity to face Maureen Haley bravely. He was bigger even than Ash, a good six-foot-three with a broad chest and massive arms, and there was nothing pretty or gentle about his face. That face was rugged, as if it had been battered and weathered for all its time on this earth.

Tavish wasn't dressed in a fine suit of clothes, as Robert was, but sported a well-worn shirt and brown twill pants and a heavy coat. “All I have to say for myself, ma'am,” he said in a deep Scottish brogue, “is that I love your daughter, and I love her daughter as well, and I couldna stand to see them treated as they were. No man, no matter how important or rich or educated, should be allowed to strike a woman when it takes his fancy.”

“Tavish!” Felicity hissed.

He took Felicity's hand in his and turned a loving face her way, and in that moment he was beautiful. “They love you too, and they have a right to know the truth, no matter how painful it might be.”

Charmaine had never seen her mother look like she could do anyone physical harm — until this very moment.

“Close the door, Charmaine,” she ordered. “And hold off on informing Jane on the number we'll be for dinner. I think we all need to have a nice long talk first.”

 

Burned bacon, eggs that were half-scrambled and half-fried, and a slice of leftover apple pie. Ash played with his supper. If he was going to have to cook for himself for a while, and it looked as if he would, he'd have to stock up on beans, some canned vegetables, and maybe a loaf of that bread Eula sold at her mercantile.

Of course, restocking the kitchen would have to wait. He wouldn't take the chance of running into Charmaine in town, so there was no way he could make the trip before Friday. If he saw her he was likely to toss her over his shoulder and carry her home, just as he had on their wedding day.

He hadn't expected to miss her so much it hurt, but he did. From the beginning . . . from the first dance, the first kiss, the impulse that had commanded him to throw her over his shoulder and carry her home . . . he'd known she wouldn't stay, that she would never be happy here.

So why was he feeling so goddamned sorry for himself?

He hadn't expected a quiet house to grate on his nerves the way it did. He could almost —
almost —
wish for Elmo's whining and Oswald's complaints and Verna's nagging to fill the silence. Maybe then he wouldn't be so certain he'd made the mistake of his life in sending Charmaine away.

 

Howard never had a chance.

He came downstairs expecting a quiet dinner for five, and was greeted well short of the dining room door by an impenetrable wall of outraged Haleys and their chosen mates.

It gave Stuart great pleasure to step forward and confront the pompous ass.

Howard's eyes went past Stuart to Felicity and the towering Tavish. “What are you doing here?” Not a word about the exhausted child who was sleeping in Jane's arms in the kitchen. No
Where's my daughter?
or
Is Hester here?