Town Square, The (17 page)

A snowstorm swept across the valley on May first, the weight of the snow as heavy as the burden on her heart. She donned her snow boots and shoveled the driveway and sidewalk with Maybelline before heading to the paper. It was a heck of a way to start the work week. Cold weather this late in the year made her grouchy. Snow just shouldn’t be allowed to happen in May. It threw her off, and she and the other staff complained about it all day. Even Arthur was in a bad mood and spent most of the day out of sight.

“Harriet,” Arthur called as he stepped out of his office as she was about to change her shoes so she could head home. In the snow.

“Yes?”

“Can you come in?”

His tension worried her. Arthur was working brutal hours again in preparation for the launch. He’d done about twenty drafts of his first Sunday editorial for the paper and still wasn’t happy with it.

When she entered his office, he shut the door behind her, something he rarely did. Her stomach immediately knotted up like ball of yarn. “What is it?”

He sighed, long and deep, and ran his hand through his hair, causing a stray lock to fall across his forehead. “I’ll just spit it out. I’ve been awarded the Pulitzer for the first editorial I did on your father.”

Pressing her hand to her stomach, she concentrated on breathing. The news stole her breath. A Pulitzer? It was an astonishing honor, especially given his age.

And all because of what her father had done.

The trap was so close around her it was digging into her limbs.

“Congratulations,” she uttered, and even to her ears, her voice sounded brittle and cold, like one of the old matrons on Beacon Hill.

He crossed the room and put his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t know what to say to you. It’s the most bittersweet news I’ve ever received.”

Those blue eyes beseeched her, and she made the corners of her mouth tip up. But inside she felt dead. He was being honored for something that had hurt her family, and the injustice of it was impossible to bear.

“It’s great news, Arthur, and I’m glad for you. Truly. It’s quite an honor.” Stepping back, she clenched her hands into fists at her side, feeling the need to flee.

“Harriet, please let’s talk about this. I can’t imagine what this—”

“Arthur,” she interrupted, her voice harsher than she’d intended. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just go home now.” She stared at the floor, eyes dry and unblinking, reaching for control.

While he stepped close, he didn’t touch her, and for that she was glad. If he did, she might dissolve right in front of him.

“This is dredging up everything we’ve put behind us, isn’t it?”

Clearly it wasn’t behind them. They’d only put a tincture on the wound.

“Arthur, I’m still here under false pretenses. I don’t think
anything
is behind us.” She hung her head, suddenly as sad and tired as she’d been when she first read the award–winning article one Sunday morning in their Beacon Hill townhome. She hadn’t left the house for three days.

“Harriet.” This time he did touch her back lightly, drawing her in for a sweet embrace.

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and she had to blink them back.

“I love you. We’ll figure this out.”

This couldn’t be figured out. And in that second she knew the truth. “I can’t change my name, Arthur.”

It would be the ultimate betrayal of herself. She wasn’t willing to pretend she was something she wasn’t, not even if it gave her distance from everything that shamed her. Oh God, why couldn’t she have figured this out before she fell in love with him?

His fingers caressed her cheek, and then tipped her chin up so she’d meet his eyes. “I know, baby. I guessed that all along, and I love you for it. We’ll find a way to make it work.”

Her heart gave a cry of utter defeat. With her past, they could have no future. Suddenly she had to get out of there.

“I don’t think…Maybelline and I can stay here anymore, Arthur.”

“Harriet…” His face fell. “Please don’t say that.”

She shook her head. “This story about my father is
never
going to go away, don’t you see? And after lying to the townspeople and dragging you into it…”

His hands grabbed her shoulders. “Stop this. Stop this right now. I won’t hear any talk of you leaving.”

And the hoarseness in his voice finally brought the first tear sliding down her cheek. Oh, God, this was too much.

“You can’t keep running away, Harriet. We have something here.” He shook her lightly, like he was trying to imprint his will on her.

“Arthur, please,” she pleaded.

“The people in town like you now. It will work itself out.”

His head was buried as deeply in the sand as hers had been. Well, she was seeing clearly now. “I’ve lied to them, Arthur. How forgiving do you think they’ll be?”

“I forgave you,” he said.

Her lip trembled. “Oh, Arthur.”

“And your actions affected me more than anyone else in town. Have a little faith, Harriet.”

She thought of the way the people she’d grown up with, her friends, her own extended family had turned on her. They’d known her, liked her, even loved her, and yet they’d abandoned her all the same.

“You’re wishing on a star, Arthur.”

His brows slammed shut. “Fine, don’t trust them.” He took a breath. “We don’t need to tell them. We’ll find another way.”

He was as stubborn as an ox, and his refusal to see the truth hurt her more than anything. “I
told
you,” she ground out, clenching her teeth to keep from crying. “I can’t abandon who I am, and things can’t continue this way forever.”

“I know,
dammit,” he said, yanking her against his chest. “Harriet, just trust me. We’ll figure it out. Just don’t, for cripes sake, leave.”

His voice broke, and she wrapped her arms around him.

“I don’t see how this is going to work anymore,” she whispered, another tear falling.

Edging back, he stared straight into her eyes, the intensity of his gaze pinning her in place. “Harriet. Do you trust me?”

“Arthur, I—”

“I said, ‘do you trust me?’” he asked with more force, his hands tightening on her skin.

“Yes,” she whispered, her heart breaking. “But this is getting too complicated, and it could have negative repercussions for you, for the paper.”

“Like I give a flying flip.”

Shoving away from him, she stood her ground. “Don’t you
see?
I can’t even be happy for you, and it’s a
Pulitzer,
Arthur.”

His brow knotted. “Harriet—”

“You’re being willfully blind about this, Arthur, as blind as I was, and that’s not like you. Aren’t you the one who’s all about seeing things clearly and calling a spade a spade?” Her body started to tremble.

Those blue eyes stared into hers. “What I see is the woman I love, who was hurt by something I did, but can still see me for who I am and love me for it. Do you think that kind of love is normal? We’ve been tested in fire, Harriet, and I’m man enough to know that’s as rare as it comes. The other stuff doesn’t matter.”

She swallowed thickly, the pressure to cry squeezing her chest. “I don’t think I can stand any more testing, Arthur. What if we get married? What are we going to do, hide the award in the basement?”

Her hand pressed against her mouth when she realized she’d brought up marriage—something the woman was never supposed to do. Something she’d been terrified to think about.

His shrug was almost Gallic. “I don’t know. I don’t give a damn about the award. All I care about is you.”

“No,” she said with force. “Don’t you see? That’s a problem. You
should
care about this. It’s an enormous honor. I’m dragging you down.”

He framed her face in his hands. “No, baby. You make me happier than I’ve ever been. Nothing can compete with that.”

Closing her eyes, she pressed her lips together, wondering how she could make him understand. She pulled his hands away from her face and stepped back. “Arthur, when I met you, your career was the most important thing to you.”

“That’s changed,” he said, his voice thick.

Her heart bled at the hurt in his voice, which was usually so sure and strong. “This paper is your dream, and a Pulitzer is an incredible feather in your cap.”

“I know that, dammit,” he said suddenly, control snapping. “Do you think I like this? Do you think this isn’t tearing me in two? I’ve wanted a Pulitzer since I knew what it was, and now I get the goddamn good fortune of winning one for the very editorial that ruined your life and brought you here in your quest to ruin mine. Life’s not always fair, Harriet, but when this kind of stuff happens, it shows you what matters. It shows you what you’re made of. And Harriet, I know without a doubt that you’re made for me, just as I am for you.”

Her heart pounded in her chest when he thrust a hand out toward the phone.

“When I got that call, I didn’t have one moment of happiness over it. All I could think about was how this would hurt you, hurt us. I thought about it all day, how to tell you. Don’t you understand? I love you. The rest of it doesn’t matter. Who gives a damn about an award if you’re not by my side?”

She’d never heard him swear this much, and it was as shocking to her as the emotion rolling through him.

Lips trembling, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Arthur, we’re not going to settle this today, but you need to think this through. People are going to be happy about your prize, and you should be too. As for me and Maybelline…well, it’s our problem.”

He was across the room in a second, his hands gripping her shoulders again. “No, baby. Your problems are my problems, especially this one.”

Hadn’t he compromised his integrity to protect her? It had to stop somewhere. She lifted her chin, realizing she still had enough Wellesley spirit in her to carry her through this. “I’m a grown woman, and I’m not your responsibility.”

“I admire and respect your independence,” he said softly. “But it’s the two of us now, and that changes things.”

They weren’t going to reach any agreement today.

“Like I said, let’s both think about it.” And because his eyes narrowed and the pulse beat wildly in his temple, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Go celebrate with your family.”

“Why should I? I don’t feel like celebrating.”

Making her way to the door, she clenched the knob. “Because it’s expected.”

He shook his head. “I thought you knew me better than that. I don’t give a flip about what’s expected, and neither should you. If there’s one thing you should let die from your days at Beacon Hill, lay that one on the altar.”

Her breath caught at his comment, but she firmed her shoulder. “Congratulations again, Arthur,” she said formally and opened the door.

Fortunately everyone was gone when she walked to her desk, stuffed her feet in her ugly, clunky boots, and collected her things, trying not to cry.

Arthur was wrong.

Sometimes the only thing that kept you going was doing what was expected.

Chapter 17

W
hen Harriet entered the parlor, Maybelline was sliding a tube of pink lipstick that matched her shirt over her lips.

“What’s the matter?” she asked immediately, twisting the lipstick and snapping it shut.

Her lips trembled.

“Maybelle,” she said, using her sister’s old nickname.

“What is it?” she asked, her face tensing. “Is it Father?”

“Indirectly. Arthur found out he’s won the Pulitzer prize for the editorial he wrote about Father.”

Her sister dropped onto the mauve settee, her red hair tumbling around her shoulders. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” she answered, taking a seat next to her.

She’d cried on the way home, but had tried to compose herself before coming inside. Part of her felt like that crackled glass made by European glassblowers, their spidery fissures adding gravitas to the piece. Held together, but still broken, the lines visible and far reaching.

“Is he happy about it?” her sister asked, a tear streaking down her cheek.

Harriet put an arm around her, and Maybelline rested her head on her shoulder. “No, he’s not, which is sad, don’t you think? I mean, if not for me, he would be overjoyed.”

“I figured he wouldn’t be happy. Arthur had to know how much this would hurt you. Us. Oh, Harriet, when is it ever going to go away?”

Wasn’t that what she’d been asking herself for the past half hour? Could it ever go away while they were living a lie in this small town? Hurting the man she loved and being hurt in return by a past they couldn’t seem to escape?

“I told Arthur I can’t change my name. It feels—”

“Disloyal,” her sister finished for her. “I want more than anything for things to be the way they used to be, but they can’t. Sometimes at night, I wish with all my heart that when I wake up we’ll be at home again and none of this has happened. Just like when mom died.”

Her heart pulsed with remembered pain. She’d cherished the same wish, but their mother had never come back.

“I know,” she whispered, tears appearing again in her eyes.

“If Arthur weren’t here, what would you do?” Maybelline asked her, sniffing.

“I’d leave,” she said honestly, and handed her sister her clean handkerchief.

Her sister’s hand fell open, and she stared at the cloth. “That’s mother’s, isn’t it?”

The W embroidered in the corner had been commissioned by their mother. They’d had a collection of linens sporting the W for Wentworth around their house in Boston. “Yes.”

“I’m just starting to feel settled in Dare, but we can’t escape what happened, can we? Not when Arthur’s so connected to it.”

Eventually he would resent Harriet for taking away his joy in achievements like the Pulitzer. Her motivation in coming here had been sordid, and like a poisoned well, there was nothing she could do to change that.

“I think we should leave,” she told Maybelline. “We can go to a bigger city, one with a good college for you. Use our real names and only share our real story with the people we trust. I don’t want to hide who I am for the rest of my life.”

Maybelline straightened and turned toward her. “But what about you and Arthur? You love him.”