Lips That Touch Mine (42 page)

Under other circumstances, Claire would have
called Anna crazy, but in her present condition, she thought her
friend was brilliant. Gritting her teeth, she struggled into her
boots and her coat; then, with Anna's help, she slowly made her way
down the stairs. The noise outside grew louder in the foyer, nearly
overwhelmed her when she opened the door.

"You saloon owners should be ashamed of
yourselves!" someone in the crowd yelled at Boyd.

He was coatless, but seemed oblivious to the
cold wind cutting across the porch. He acknowledged the group of
women with a sweeping glance. "Karlton's attack was unforgivable.
No one could regret this more than I do. That's why I'm shutting
down my saloon."

The ladies cheered and chattered to each
other happily.

Claire felt bereft and sad. It wasn't Boyd's
negligence, or his saloon, that had gotten her hurt. It was her own
meddling that put had her into a precarious position with Karlton.
Boyd had saved her. He'd been with her all night, smoothing her
brow when the pain would wake her, holding her hand because she
needed him to.

Unwilling to let Boyd accept the blame for
what happened, she stepped onto the porch. A collective gasp
rippled through the crowd, then it grew eerily quiet as they all
stared at her. Claire cursed herself for not pulling her hood up to
hide her bruised face. She didn't want to incite them further.

Desmona Edwards stood with her daughters at
the bottom of the porch steps, with her hand pressed to her heart.
"Dear God," she said. "This is an outrage."

Elizabeth's eyes flooded with tears of
compassion as she looked at Claire. A murmur of assent hummed
through the mass of women crowded around the porch and in the
street.

"Any man who would do that to a woman
deserved to die," someone said.

Claire glanced at Boyd. His head was bruised
and his knuckles were covered with red scabs. He fought to protect
her last night, He punished himself because he felt he'd failed,
She'd been wrong about him. She'd been wrong about saloons and the
men who frequented them. She couldn't allow any more heartache or
loss to happen because of her personal ideals.

"You shouldn't be out here," he said,
scowling in displeasure.

"Neither should you," He shouldn't be held
accountable for Karlton's actions, or for her own bad decisions. Of
all of them, Boyd had lost the most. He'd lost something
irreplaceable last night. Because of her.

Anna stepped up behind Claire, "The doctor is
coming down."

Claire acknowledged Anna's warning with a
slight nod. If the doctor found her outside, he'd haul her right
back to bed and give her enough opiate to keep her there.

She faced the women she'd been marching with
and scanned the sea of winter hats and outraged upturned faces.

"What Karlton did was wrong," she said,
wincing at the pain in her ribs. The effort of raising her voice
wrenched her side and made her lightheaded, but she had to end this
battle here and now. "But I was wrong too. I wanted to help protect
women and children from being beaten or neglected, but I've caused
more harm than good, We all have."

"We've shut down the rum holes," Desmona
said. "How can that be bad?"

"Those rum holes provided an income to the
owners and their families. We were destroying Karlton's life, and
that's why he retaliated."

An indignant murmur rolled through the
crowd.

"Karlton Kane wasn't a drunkard," she said,
gripping the railing to steady herself. She raised her hand to
quiet the women, "He attacked me because he was angry, not because
he'd been drinking. I'm not saying he was justified in hurting me.
But perhaps we were wrong to march against these men,"

Another burst of disagreement came from the
women.

"What good have we accomplished?" Claire
asked.

"We've gotten men to sign our pledge and stop
drinking," one woman said.

"We've closed down four taverns," another
woman added.

Claire nodded to acknowledge the truth of
their comments. "But has that served the women and children we were
trying to help?" No one answered.

"That's my point. We aren't accomplishing
what we set out to do. I thought closing the saloons would force
men to spend their time at home with their families, that it would
keep some men from drinking and gambling. But I've learned that a
man who drinks isn't necessarily violent or bad, and that a man who
abstains from drinking can be unforgivable cruel. In other words,
our battle isn't about stopping men from drinking liquor. It's
about stopping the violence in our homes." She paused to catch her
breath. "All we've accomplished is to shut down businesses that
provided income, and a gathering place, for many decent,
hardworking men in this town. Men who weren't abusing alcohol or
neglecting their wives and children,"

"Are you suggesting we let these rum holes
stay open?" Desmona asked. Her voice was filled with curiosity
rather than antagonism.

"I'm suggesting that instead of solving a
problem, we're creating one. I'm to blame for that," Claire
admitted. "I'm the one who wrote to Dr. Lewis and started these
temperance marches."

"That doesn't make you responsible for
Karlton's actions," Boyd said, moving to stand beside her. It was
as if he knew she was clinging to the railing because she was
faint. "There was nothing wrong with your intentions," he said to
the women gathered below them. "None of us saloon owners could
fault you for wanting to assist those people who need help. Some
men do need to be stopped from drinking."

"But we are at fault," Claire insisted. "Our
cause is good, but our marching has split the community. We must
find a way to bring our town back together. That's the best way we
can help our neighbors. Antagonizing business owners isn't
productive. It's destructive. One man is dead, and two others are
severely injured and lying upstairs in my boardinghouse because of
the mess our marches have caused. My conscience can't bear any more
of this." Her body shivered and she bit down on her lip to stop a
groan of pain.

Mrs. Cushing and Mrs. Barker moved to stand
beside Desmona and Elizabeth. "What are you saying?" Mrs. Cushing
asked.

"That our efforts are misdirected. Our
mission should be to protect the home." Claire drew her elbow
against her aching ribs. "Marching may be beneficial in other
towns, but I think we can find more effective means to help the
women and children who need us. Dr. Lewis has his heart in the
right place, but I've come to realize stopping the sale of alcohol
will not stop the majority of beatings and neglect. I'm sorry, but
I can no longer support his methods."

Mrs. Cushing's mouth fell open. "Are you
quitting?"

Claire nodded. "Too much has been lost. I
can't bear being the cause of any more pain. And nothing has been
gained by our marching that I can see."

Mrs. Barker scowled, but a new light seemed
to fill Desmona's eyes. She nodded as if agreeing. Claire could
hardly believe Desmona was the same bitter woman who had held a gun
to her ribs only a week before.

"What are you proposing?" Desmona asked,
stepping forward and taking charge.

"I'm suggesting that each of us consider how
we might better contribute to our town, as individuals, and as a
group. Consider whether or not closing the saloons is the right
course. It isn't to me, and I don't think it's the answer for our
town."

"Are you quitting because you were attacked?"
Mrs. Barker asked, her eyes and voice sympathetic. "I can certainly
understand why you might be afraid to go on."

Sadness snaked through Claire, and she shook
her head. "I've suffered worse than Karlton's attack, Mrs. Barker.
I was once one of those women we are trying to help."

A sympathetic and mildly horrified sigh
rippled through the group, but it was the compassion in Boyd's eyes
that made Claire's sinuses sting.

"I'm one of those women, too," Elizabeth
said, her voice trembling as she stepped forward. The crowd of
women stared, the expressions on their faces a mix of surprise,
horror, and pity. "My husband isn't a drunkard. In fact," she said,
averting her eyes from Desmona's shocked stare, "he never drinks
liquor. Shutting down the saloons won't change him."

The crowd fell dead silent. Their frosty
breaths clouded the air, but not a sound came from them.

"Dear God," Desmona cried out, and reached
for her daughter.

Elizabeth's cheeks flamed red, but she kept
her head high and let her mother hug her.

Claire met Elizabeth's eyes and gave her a
nod of support. It had taken immense courage for Elizabeth to take
a stand and make her confession.

"My husband was a drunkard," Claire said,
purposely drawing the women's pitying attention away from
Elizabeth. "He wanted to be successful, but his addiction to
alcohol and gaming was too strong. My husband was a conflicted and
angry man. Liquor exaggerated those traits and made him controlling
and violent."

Boyd touched her arm, the tenderness in his
eyes silently letting her know that she didn't need to continue,
but that he was there for her if she chose to do so.

She had to continue. She had to convince the
women in front of her to see the real problem and to turn their
efforts toward helping women like Elizabeth and Anna.

She hugged her arms to her nauseous stomach.
"My husband grew more violent each year of our marriage," she
continued. "I learned to stay silent. That's what happens to women
who are beaten. They grow silent. They disappear." She inhaled and
winced at the pain in her side. "Living with Jack was like being
caged. We lived in hovels and moved every few months. When my
grandmother willed me this house, I believed Jack and I could come
here and build a better life. But Jack saw Grandmother's gift as a
way to make money. He wanted the deed to use at the gaming
tables."

The memory broke her heart again, and she
struggled for several seconds to control her rush of tears. The
women waited quietly, and when Claire lifted her head, she saw
their concern and sympathy.

"I refused to give the deed to Jack."

"Good for you," one woman declared, starting
a ripple of murmurs through the crowd.

Their support encouraged Claire to continue.
"My husband beat me for defying him," she said, struggling to keep
her voice loud enough to be heard. "Grandmother's house was all I
had left. It was my only hope for a decent life. So I fought back."
The tears she'd been fighting beaded up in her eyes, and Boyd
rubbed her shoulder, but she forged on. "We fell into the river and
Jack tried to drown me."

A horrified gasp burst from the women, and
they pushed closer to the porch. Elizabeth broke away from Desmona
and climbed the steps to stand beside Claire.

Her show of support brought more tears to
Claire's eyes, but she let them fall without shame. "Jack couldn't
swim. The first time he pulled me underwater, I thought he was
panicking. The second time I knew he was trying to drown me. My own
husband was..." She bit her lip and tears streaked down her cheeks.
"I swam away and left Jack in the river. God forgive me, but I
don't regret it. I wanted to live!" she said fiercely. "I wanted to
come to my Grandmother's house and build a new life, one where I
wouldn't be beaten or caged or fear for my life each day. That's
all any woman in that position wants," she said, her voice breaking
on a sob.

"That's right," Elizabeth declared, her voice
strong with conviction. "We just want a safe place to go." She
faced the crowd, her eyes meeting Desmona's before looking at the
rest of the women. "It doesn't matter if the man beating you is a
drunkard or a pastor. It hurts either way. I'm supporting Claire in
her decision to quit marching and find a better way to protect our
homes."

"I support both of you," Anna said, then
patted Claire's shoulder. "The doctor is coming."

The doctor's voice cut through the sudden
silence. "What in blazes are you doing outside in this wind, Mrs.
Ashier?"

She ducked her head to hide her tears.

Boyd slipped his arm around her shoulders as
though to protect her from the doctor. "She wanted to thank her
friends for their support," he said, then moved her toward her
front door and spoke over his shoulder. "Mrs. Ashier needs to be in
bed, ladies."

"You're damned right she does," the doctor
said. "You ladies get on home now. This gal needs rest."

Claire went inside, but she stopped in the
foyer to let Boyd remove her coat. Anna shooed the doctor to the
kitchen, promising that Boyd would get Claire back to her
bedchamber.

Boyd hung up her coat, not even seeming to
notice that she was in her house robe and nightrail. He stood by
the closet, his eyes dark with compassion and sadness. "I finally
understand," he said, his voice low and gentle. "If Jack was worse
than Karlton, then I can only imagine what you suffered. I
understand why you won't marry again."

Instead of feeling shame or embarrassment,
she felt relief. She was finally free of her secrets, and nobody
had run her out of town.

Boyd brushed his knuckles across her jaw,
careful not to touch the injured side of her face. "I wish I had
been there, that I could have saved you from Jack and that life. I
wish I could have saved you from Karlton and the pain you're
suffering now."

"You did save me." She cupped his knuckles
and pressed his palm against her wet cheek, awed that his hand
could be so powerful and yet so gentle. "They say what doesn't kill
you makes you stronger."

"You don't look very strong right now," he
said, drawing his thumb across her jaw bone before lowering his
hand to his side.

Her body felt like one big bruise. But she
would heal, and she would be stronger for surviving. "I'll be
fine," she said, wondering why the look in Boyd's eyes was so
...bereaved.