Rebecca Hagan Lee (28 page)

And what a metamorphosis she had had so far! Elizabeth grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest. Today had been an adventure in itself, thanks, in large part, to Ruby. Ruby. Who would have dreamed a three-and-a-half-year-old child could be so demanding and strong-willed? Or so terrified of water? Or so overwhelmingly possessive of her father?

Her father. Still pleasantly warm and damp from her hot bubble bath, Elizabeth stared up at the half-tester and covered a yawn as she listened to the sound of James’s deep melodic voice coming from the room next door. Elizabeth had purposely left her bedroom door slightly ajar so that she could hear the story as James resumed his reading of the adventures of Don Quixote to the Treasures. She liked the way he read aloud, the way he dramatized the story, the way he patiently endured endless interruptions to answer the Treasures’ questions or to explain the nuances of the story so toddlers might understand it. Tonight they were finishing chapter twenty-two. Pasamonte and his gang were about to stone Don Quixote and Sancho and steal their clothes, and James was skimming over the passages the Treasures might find disturbing and making a great to-do over the knight’s heroism. Elizabeth smiled at the notion of James Cameron Craig shielding his daughters from the more disturbing events in the life of the fictitious hero, Don Quixote, just as he shielded them, every day, from the more disturbing events that might touch their real lives. Elizabeth closed her eyes and let James’s voice fill her imagination with images of courtly knights and their lady loves. Chivalry hadn’t died at all. It still flourished in the heart of one extraordinary man.

JAMES STOPPED HIS
nervous pacing and focused his attention on the rapidly melting beeswax candles in the silver candelabrum on the table. He glanced over at the clock on the dining room wall to check the time again. Twenty-six minutes past eight. Three minutes later than the last time he’d checked. He raked his fingers through his hair. Elizabeth was late. Or worse yet, she had decided not to come downstairs and join him for dinner.

He walked around the table to his customary seat, lifted a small silver bell from beside his plate and rang it. Annie appeared in the doorway almost instantly, almost as if she’d been waiting just outside it listening for the sound of the bell.

“Shall I begin serving now, sir?” she asked as she lifted the skirt of her white apron a fraction and bobbed a respectful curtsey.

James shook his head. “No. Not yet.” He walked to the opposite end of the table and gazed down at the place setting laid out for Elizabeth. He hesitated for a moment, then lifted the plate and silverware and carried it to the chair sitting to the right of his own and relaid the place setting on the table in front of it.

“Shall I do that for you, sir?” Annie asked.

“No, thank you, Annie. I can manage. There’s no need to bother you with this.” He walked back down to the opposite end of the table and removed the bread and dessert plates and the glassware.

“I’ll be glad to do it, sir,” Annie insisted. “It’s no bother.”

“Actually, I would rather do it myself,” he told her. “I think I’ve gotten quite good at this during the last half hour. I’ve already removed and reset Miss Sadler’s place three times.” James flashed the timid little kitchen maid a crooked half-smile. The tips of his ears warmed in embarrassment at his uncharacteristic admission of nerves. Suddenly he turned his full attention on Annie. “What are you
doing here? It’s late. You should have had your supper and left for home an hour ago.”

“I asked Mrs. G. if I could stay a bit later tonight. I thought there might be something I could do to help out.” Annie shrugged her shoulders self-consciously and looked down at a scuff mark on her polished, but well-worn, boots.

“Why would a pretty young girl like you want to work later than necessary?” James asked.

“Ah, I’m not pretty, Mr. Craig. I’m plain,” she informed him. “I’m way too skinny, too. All elbows and knees with no boo—no figure to speak of. And I’ve got this flaming red hair and no eyebrows or eyelashes and spots on my face. It’s common knowledge that I’m never going to be passable, much less pretty. Everyone says so.” She hunched her shoulders and seemed to withdraw from him.

James studied Annie’s downtrodden expression, the flush of bright red color that stained her cheeks, the way she tried desperately not to meet his gaze and the way she attempted to hide her underdeveloped body by hunching her shoulders and looking down at the floor. She did have flaming red hair, but it was thick and curly and he’d bet his last cent that in five or six years, her hair would darken into a rich, burnished copper color. In a few years Annie’s facial blemishes would fade, and women throughout the town would envy her pale ivory complexion and big blue eyes. “Who told you that nonsense?”

“My brothers and the boys in town. And”—she lowered her voice to a tortured whisper—“my dad.”

“How old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?”

“Sixteen.” She cringed as she answered.

“And how old are your brothers?” he asked.

“Eleven, fourteen, and eighteen.”

“Well,” James pronounced in a voice full of confidence and authority, “that explains it.”

“Explains what?” Annie’s blue eyes widened with curiosity.

“It explains what’s wrong with your brothers and the
boys in town,” James told her. “Everyone knows that boys that age are louts. Especially to their sisters. As for the boys in town, well, they’ve not yet matured enough to be able to recognize beauty when they see it. You mark my words. In five or six years those same callow fellows who make fun of you now will be begging for a scrap of your attention. You see, Annie, your red hair and coloring have been passed down for generations from the beautiful women of Scotland, Ireland, England, Brittany, and Wales. You’re an unmistakable Celtic beauty. But the boys you know are too ignorant to notice.”

“Really?” she asked hopefully. “You think they’ll notice in a few years?”

“I’ll stake my fortune on it.” He smiled at her.

“What about my dad?” Annie whispered.

James frowned. “There’s no excuse for your dad,” he replied harshly. “Some men never appreciate the unique and wondrous beauty around them. But that doesn’t excuse them. Certainly there’s no excuse for a father who doesn’t think his daughter is the loveliest creature the good Lord ever put on earth.” James paused to let his words sink in, then waited until he thought he recognized a glimmer of trust in Annie’s blue eyes. “Now, why don’t you tell me the real reason you wanted to work late tonight?”

“Because it’s Friday night,” she replied as if that explained everything.

“I’m sorry, Annie,” James apologized for his ignorance on the subject of Friday nights in Coryville. “But I don’t understand what Friday night has to do with your wanting to work late. I would think it would be just the opposite—that you would want to get off early.”

“My dad drinks,” Annie confided. “And my oldest brother, Calvin, drinks. And on Friday nights they invite all their friends home to drink at our house. And, well”—tears sparkled in her bright blue eyes and her voice caught in her throat—“sometimes it gets ugly with them all pawing at me and saying that they might have to put a bag over my head, but they’ll be more than willing to suffer in order
to do me a favor and teach me all the things a girl needs to know in order to please a man.”

“Has anyone ever touched you?” James clenched his fists to contain his rage. His immediate concern was Annie’s safety, but his rage extended to her brothers and to her father, who had failed to see her inner beauty as well as her potential outer beauty and had demeaned and belittled her during the most awkward and confusing time of her life. James was furious with her brothers and her father for failing to care for and appreciate Annie as she deserved to be cared for, and appreciated and loved, just as she was—just for being herself.

“No, sir, not yet, but it’s hard to avoid ’em when they get mean and drunk every Friday,” she admitted.

“I believe there’s an extra bedroom beside Mrs. G.’s suite. If you like it and want it, Annie, it’s yours,” James said.

“For Fridays?”

“For any day you want, for as long as you want,” he told her.

“Oh, Mr. Craig, thank you.” Forgetting herself, Annie rushed forward and flung her arms around his neck and hugged him. She then quickly stepped back and blushed. “Beg pardon, sir.”

“That’s quite all right, Annie,” James said, “I needed a hug to reassure me, for I seem to have lost my dinner companion tonight.” He glanced back at the clock on the wall as his stomach rumbled, then turned his attention to the two empty place settings on the table. Eight thirty-three. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, sir. Ages ago.” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “May I go tell Mrs. G. about the room now, sir?”

James managed a rueful smile and gazed longingly at the table before he turned his attention back to Annie. “Sure, run along. I don’t think I’ll be needing you to help serve dinner for a while.”

Annie was halfway through the dining room door before
she remembered what she wanted to say to him. She turned and smiled at James. “I don’t believe a word of what they say about you, Mr. Craig.”

James’s heart seemed to skip a beat. Could Annie have possibly heard the rumors about him killing his wife? He swallowed hard. “Really?”

Annie nodded her head. “I don’t believe a word they say about you being daft in the head where those little girls of yours—the Treasures—are concerned.”

“Is that what the townspeople say?”

“Yes, sir. They say you’re real queer about them and that you’re teaching them to be uppity instead of knowing their place in the world like all the other Celestials. Everybody says you’re teaching the Treasures to think they’re as good as white folks
because
they’re Celestials, not in spite of it.”

James sucked in a breath. He had known the townspeople didn’t share or appreciate his love for his daughters. But he hadn’t known how much the townspeople resented his educating them. “What do you think, Annie?”

“I think you treat the Treasures the way you do because you love them,” she said simply. “Because you’re a man who sees and appreciates the unique and wondrous beauty around him and because you really and truly like
girls.
Even girls like me.”

“Every girl is a Treasure, Annie. Every girl is a rare and precious gem. God thought so or he would have bestowed the greatest gift of all on men by giving them the ability to carry and bear children.” James winked at her. “You’re descended from a long line of wonderful women. Princesses, every one of them. And don’t you ever forget it. Or let any mere man tell you differently.”

“I won’t, Mr. Craig. I promise.” Annie left the dining room and headed toward the kitchen, and as she did so, James noticed that she held her head higher and her back straighter and carried with her a newfound sense of dignity and self-esteem.

Moments later James’s housekeeper, Helen Glenross, appeared
in the doorway of the dining room. “What did you say to Annie?” she asked.

“I told her how much we valued her,” James answered.

“Well, whatever you said sure made a world of difference in her. I’ve never seen her stand so tall and proud. She’s practically bubbling over with excitement at having a room to herself whenever she wants it. Heaven only knows how she’s managed so far as the only girl in a house full of boys, headed by a drunken and neglectful father. Her mother ran off, you know.”

“No,” James admitted, “I didn’t know.” It seemed there were quite a few things going on in his storybook town that he didn’t know about. But he intended to remedy that situation as soon as possible.

“I came to add my thanks to Annie’s, Mr. Craig. She’s a good girl and a hard worker, and she ought to be rewarded for it. Besides, a girl her age needs a room of her own. And I hope you don’t mind, but I sort of promised her that she could paint it any color she wanted.”

“That’s fine,” James said. “And take her to pick out wallpaper and all the trimmings if she wants it.”

Mrs. G. wiped her hands on the skirt of her apron. “I’ve got to get back to the kitchen and make sure I don’t scorch your dinner. I don’t know how much longer I can keep it hot without ruining it. When I heard the bell, I thought for sure that you’d finished your sherry and were ready for the first course. What’s the holdup?”

“Miss Sadler’s the holdup,” James replied. “She hasn’t come downstairs for dinner yet.”

“What?” Mrs. G. glanced around the dining room and seemed to notice, for the first time, that Elizabeth wasn’t there.

“I thought, perhaps, she had changed her mind about joining me for dinner,” James admitted. “And I thought that you might have sent a supper tray to her room instead.”

“Miss Sadler didn’t request a supper tray,” Mrs. G. denied. “And I know I didn’t prepare one for her.”

“I know I embarrassed her,” he muttered beneath his breath. “But …” James turned to Mrs. G., a look akin to fear on his face. “You don’t suppose she decided not to eat again?”

Mrs. G. shrugged her shoulders. “It’s possible,” she replied cautiously. “Why don’t I go upstairs and find out?”