The Rose of Winslow Street (20 page)

“Libby, this is a very logical thing for us.”

She didn't want logic, she wanted to be adored. Cherished. For once in her life she wanted to believe a man would be willing to cross a raging sea on her behalf, slay a dragon, marry her even if she did not come with a house attached.

“I think you should stop talking now,” she said between clenched teeth.

“Why would I stop talking? You have not agreed to the plan, and I think it is a good one. A logical one—”

She stopped, turned to face him, and spoke in a lethally calm voice. “If you say the word
logical
one more time, I am liable to burst into flame.”

He laid his big hands on her shoulders, making her feel ridiculously petite, which was another reason to resent him. She was beginning to like the way his strength made her feel feminine and protected, which was utter rot. “I can see that I have offended you, but I do not know why. You had better spell this out for me, Libby.”

She would cut her tongue off before telling him that she wanted to be courted, to be valued for something beyond the planks and tiles of a house. It was pathetic to imagine this son of a duke would be interested in an illiterate spinster, but her pride would not let it show. She forced the muscles of her face to relax, cooled the fire in her eyes. “Tell me,” she said with false calm. “What exactly did Marie's father give your family in exchange for taking her off his hands?”

Michael rubbed his jaw while he studied her through troubled eyes. “We received two hundred cubic feet of cargo space on all of his ships. Plus, he let us use his warehouse free of charge.”

She pasted a tight smile on her face. “Ah . . . the warehouse space. I could see how that would sweeten the deal.”

Michael nodded. “Well, yes. Otherwise we would need to rent storage space near the port, and that is very expensive. So it was a good deal for us.”

“How fortunate for you.” She turned and began walking toward the main road. Was she really going to have to walk alongside this man for another two miles before she could get home? She would give her eyeteeth if she could scrub this entire day from her memory. She had been harboring pitiful daydreams about Michael almost since the hour she met him, so perhaps it was just as well she was subjected to this conversation so she could kill the fantasies once and for all.

“I can see that I have been clumsy with my marriage proposal, and this has offended you, but I think I did what was necessary. I told you I find you attractive, which is true. I pointed out the legal advantages in regard to the house, which is another bonus. I did everything Turk said I should do, and yet somehow I have spoiled this.”

She did not think it possible, but each time Michael opened his mouth, he set off another bombshell to make her feel worse. She narrowed her eyes. “You discussed this with Turk?”

He nodded and for the first time had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Well, yes. I feared the customs might be different in America, so I went to him for advice.”

“You sought out a mercenary soldier from Turkey for advice on courting an American woman?”

“It was either Turk or Joseph, and Turk has a way with women. In Europe, they practically fling themselves at him. It is very amusing to watch.” He dragged a hand through his hair in frustration and sent her a sheepish grin that normally would have made her weak in the knees, but all it did today was make her heart ache. “Why don't you tell me about how these things should be done in America, and I will fix what I have done wrong, yes?”

She closed her eyes, because if she kept looking at him she was either going to laugh or cry, but she was not certain which. She drew a ragged breath and forced her voice to be calm. “I want to pretend this conversation never happened. I don't want to exchange a single word with you, because honestly, if you keep talking, you will figure out a way to make everything worse. So let's start walking, and whatever you do, stay silent. Pretend we are behind the lines in enemy territory and you dare not speak a single word lest sudden death pour down from the skies. Please.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and set a brisk pace toward Colden. She heard a skeptical grumble from Michael, but the clomping of his footsteps let her know he was following. “I have never been behind enemy lines with a woman. This is something I would never do, but I will play along with your request.”

“Thank you.” She turned and resumed a brisk pace, anxious to stay ahead so she would not have to look at him.

They only managed to take about twenty steps before his voice sounded from behind her. “I think you should know, the way you are stomping can be heard from a mile away. Those enemy soldiers could be upon us at any moment.”

His voice was serious, but she knew if she turned around she would see humor glittering in his eyes, which was why she kept her eyes fastened on the sight of Colden in the distance. She froze and crossed her arms over her chest, staring stonily straight ahead. His footsteps halted just behind her.

“Tell me,” she asked icily. “Have you ever been trapped in a corner where there was absolutely no hope for you because you had botched every possible route of escape?”

“Something tells me this is where I am right now.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she still refused to turn around and look at him. “Maybe you should ask Turk, just to be sure.” She began walking again, desperate to get out of his orbit. She needed to be alone before she could start nursing her wounded pride.

When they came to the fork in the road at the Vanderbergs' cranberry field, she refused to step another foot with Michael in tow. “You can follow that road down a mile, and it will join up with the south end of Winslow Street. I'll take the old Cheney road back to my brother's house.”

Mercifully, he did not argue with her.

H
e should have known Libby Sawyer wouldn't agree to marry him so easily. Michael plucked a strand of saw grass from the side of the road and chewed it as he strode down the dusty lane toward Winslow Street. He was sorry for whatever he had said that offended her, but he wasn't discouraged. Good things were worth fighting for, and Libby Sawyer was at the top of the list of things he wanted to fight for. He had known for weeks that a marriage to Libby would be the logical solution to his problem, but there were plenty of other reasons he wished to marry her. He adored Mirela and the children, and his camaraderie with Turk and Joseph added a robust element of friendship to his life, but none of that stopped him from becoming lonely. He wanted a
woman
by his side. Libby was smart and funny and attractive. When she smiled at him, he wanted to lift a thousand-pound boulder to impress her. Whenever he had a triumph, he wanted Libby to be there to share it with him.

After the day she joined them for the Fourth of July celebration, Michael was certain that Libby was the woman he needed to complete his family. Already she had a power over him that was frightening in its intensity. Libby was the partner he had been missing, and he would've been a fool to wait any longer before proposing. And it was more than his physical desire for Libby. He wanted to make her laugh. He wanted to watch her eyes sparkle when he spoke about the pollination behavior of flowering bulbs. Women seemed to like fancy words about love and poetry, but such things did not come easily to him. His feelings for Libby were strong, like the turbulent pull of an ocean tide, but he was clumsy with putting such things into words.

There would be plenty of time to figure out how to soothe Libby and win her back, especially since he believed she wanted to be won. He tossed the strand of grass aside and reached down for another, gnawing on the fibrous stalk as he walked.

He slowed his steps, suddenly attuned to the quietness of the afternoon. Normally, a day in the country was alive with sounds: the rustling of leaves, the drone of insects. Those sounds were there, but they seemed very distant to him. He felt a clench in his belly.

Something was wrong. He had not survived all these years by ignoring this sensation.

He tossed the stalk of grass aside and quickened his pace, knowing he was needed at home. The face of Dominic Sterescu slammed into his brain. Had the man contacted Enric after all? It was now possible to send a telegraph message across the ocean, and even now the wheels of Mirela's destruction could be set in motion. He clenched his teeth and kept plowing forward, devouring yards with each stride. Surely Enric could not be coming after them, not this quickly. Perhaps this uneasy sensation was because one of the boys had taken a tumble. Or Mirela had taken a turn for the worse again.

When he rounded the bend where a thick tangle of blackberry brambles grew, he could see almost a full mile down the road. And near the end of that road was a wagon with two huge men at the driving bench.

Something was wrong. Turk and Joseph were supposed to be at the house with Mirela, not riding around in the countryside in some borrowed wagon. He launched forward, his lungs filling with air and the muscles in his legs straining with the effort to run faster as he tore down the narrow country lane. He shouted after the wagon, yelling so loudly his voice grew hoarse, but finally Joseph swiveled around and saw him. A moment later the wagon slowed to a halt as Turk drew on the reins of the horse.

Michael kept running, his alarm growing when he saw Mirela on the driver's seat beside Turk and the heads of his boys emerging from the rear of the wagon. Joseph sprang down and came striding toward him.

“What is going on?” he demanded, noting the grim set of Joseph's jaw.

“The sheriff came by the house this morning with an army of men. They brought eviction papers.”

Michael narrowed his eyes, his hands curling into fists. “For what cause?” he demanded.

“The judge says the professor gets to retain possession of the house until a formal ruling on ownership of the house is released. They threatened us with deportation unless we abided by his order.”

A cold fist squeezed his heart as he looked past Joseph to his family huddling in the wagon. He had promised them stability, but once again they were uprooted and tossed into the whirlwind. His hands clenched into fists. “You allowed this to happen?” he asked quietly. “You put up no fight?”

“Turk and I were willing, but Mirela was not. She was adamant. She insisted there was to be no violence, and you know how bossy she can be.”

Running away went against every instinct in his blood. He cursed that he had not been there to prevent Mirela's catastrophic decision. It was always easier to defend a possession than take it back, and Mirela's order had put them in a dangerous position. “Where are you headed?” he asked Joseph.

“There is no money for a hotel and I don't know anyone who would welcome us,” Joseph said. “You described an abandoned barn to the west of the village where you took shelter from a rainstorm. I figured it would do.”

Michael nodded, but his mind cringed at the thought of Mirela sleeping in the dirt. She had endured far worse conditions, but never when she was under his care. “It will do for tonight,” he said grimly as he began walking toward the cart.

Plans to get back into the house were already taking shape in his head, forming and clicking into place even as he strategized ways to comfort his traumatized family. He could see from the way Luke was holding his stomach and Andrei's sullen expression that they were not doing well.

He forced a glint of humor into his eyes. “Thought to take off without your old man, did you?” It was not particularly humorous, but the worst thing he could do was permit himself to display the rage seething inside him. If the easing of the tension around Luke's mouth was any indication, it was working. He ruffled Luke's hair as he walked past the wagon and braced himself to deal with Mirela.

But when he came up beside her, Mirela was surprisingly calm. She managed a sad smile and laid her hand on his arm. “We will be all right, Michael,” she said softly, but with conviction.

Perhaps Mirela did not understand how hard it was to regain a position after being ousted from it. Mirela was wrong to abandon the house. The townspeople of Colden were too soft and spineless to mount a physical challenge against them, but he would not berate Mirela in front of the others. What did she know of military strategy? When he extended his hand to her, she took it, and he guided her down from the wagon. “We will be back in a moment,” he said to Turk as he led Mirela toward the screen of blackberry brambles.

“I know your intentions were good,” Michael said when they were far enough away that the children would not hear. “But I am going to work with Joseph and Turk to devise a strategy to get back into the house. Tonight. The faster we move, the more likely we are to catch them unawares.”

Mirela lifted her chin. “No.”

The calmly spoken refusal took him aback. He set his hands on her shoulders and spoke slowly but forcefully. “Yes, Mirela, we will.”

“No you won't.”

He waited for her to elaborate, but the droning of bees in the blackberry brambles was the only sound to break the silence. A trickle of perspiration slipped down his face as he glared down at her. “Mirela, you aren't being logical.”

“I won't condone the use of force,” she said. “The way we took the house was
wrong.
I was in too much of a daze that night to understand exactly what was going on, but not anymore. I insist we abide by the ruling of the court.”

He dropped his hands from her shoulders and stalked a few feet away. When Mirela used that autocratic tone, he knew she meant business, but he wasn't going to stand for it today. “I won't permit my family to be homeless when I have the ability to provide for them,” he snapped out in anger. “You cannot ask this of me.”

“What of Professor Sawyer's family?” she asked, and he flinched when Libby's image flashed before him. “You have always been relentless in protecting and providing for your family, but it is wrong to do so at the expense of others. Every person in this town is one of God's children, and that includes Professor Sawyer. Does he not deserve an equal measure of your respect and compassion? Were it not for a quirk of fate, could not any one of the strangers in this town be your brother? Your father? Your son or daughter or wife?”

The words stung and he looked away, but Mirela grabbed his chin and forced him to look back at her. “Michael, I love you, but you have trampled on decent people who stood in your way. You have justified your actions by relying on man's law over God's law.
And you know better than that
.”

Her words vibrated with urgency. The heat of the summer pounded down on him and he was tired, angry, thirsty, and worse still . . . he knew Mirela was right. A better man would be able to tell her so, but the slow burn of rage at the sight of his family hurled into the street made his throat clamp up around any conciliatory words he might utter. He turned his back on her and stalked to the wagon, bracing his hands on the dry, cracked boards as he looked at his children. Once again, fear and uncertainty lurked in their faces. He forced the corners of his mouth to turn up into a smile he hoped they would believe was genuine.

“Tonight we will sleep in a barn,” he said. “In the course of history, most soldiers have taken shelter in barns, so after this night you will be part of a long line of heroes. Right? Turk and Joseph can back me up on this.”

Andrei looked skeptical, but at least Luke seemed willing to play along. Joseph returned to his position in the driver's seat and the wagon resumed rolling down the road. As Michael walked alongside the wagon, the danger of their situation crashed down upon him. They had no friends, no money, and no shelter.

Libby sensed something was different before she even stepped foot onto Jasper's property. A visitor's carriage and horse were tied to the hitching post, all windows of the house were wide open, and the sound of her father's laughter carried on the evening breeze. The moment she stepped inside she saw Jasper and one of the identical twin lawyers Regina had hired. Was he Mark Radcliff or his brother, Raymond? She did not have time to ask, because her father came rushing toward her.

“Pack your bags, Liberty-bell! The gypsies have been evicted from our home!”

“What?” she gasped, her brain unable to process this shocking turn of events.

“That's right . . . the judge has signed an order evicting those vagabonds from our home. We can move back into our house this very evening!”

She turned to Mr. Radcliff, too stunned to even formulate a question.

“It is true,” he said simply. “Judge Frey has shifted the burden to the Dobrescus to prove they were never served notice on the sale of the house. This makes it far less likely they will win their lawsuit. That being the case, the judge said possession of the house reverts to your father until the court issues its final ruling.” The lawyer executed a jaunty little bow. “You are free to move back into your home this very evening.”

“But . . . what has happened to the Dobrescus?”

“Gone!” her father said with delight, but Mr. Radcliff was a little more dignified.

“Sheriff Barnes took care of business this morning,” he said. “We waited until Mr. Dobrescu was out of the house, which we had reason to suspect would occur today, and the eviction was carried out immediately. The sheriff brought plenty of men to insure the eviction went smoothly.”

Libby felt sick. “But where have they gone?”

The lawyer shrugged. “I'm sure the sheriff's men took them wherever they wished to go. They have use of the town's wagon until they can find a new situation. So long as he does not barge into another unoccupied house, I'm certain we will all be happy!” He chuckled at his own joke and her father succumbed to peals of laughter. Libby simply stared in disbelief. While she had been tromping through the woods, Lady Mirela was being thrown out onto the street. And those two boys. They had nowhere to go and no one in this town was likely to lift a finger to help them.