Speak Easy Speak Danger

by Sharon G Clark

  “Stop it, Warren. Whatever has gotten into you, I’ll not have it. You’re no longer welcome here. Go.”

  Warren appeared stunned. “You want me to leave, not her? I’m trying to protect you from a bad element.” He walked over to Tessa as if proximity could help her change her mind. “You need to ask questions, Tess. Did you know Jo isn’t her name? Do you know anything about her past? Even if she isn’t a danger, she could bring danger to you through her family’s past.”

  Tessa stared him down, filling Jo with a lot of pride and a hint of trepidation. Tessa was a force unto herself when ticked off. “If you cared for me as you professed, rather than see me as your cook and scrubwoman, you’d have remained silent about what you heard, accepted it as the gossip I’m sure it is. Even if it were true, you’d allow me to make my own mistakes.” Tessa’s finger shot forward and stabbed him in the chest repeatedly. “You had your dinner and your pathetic entertainment. You can go now.”

  “What about dessert?”

  “Seriously? You lost the pleasure the first time you disrespected my friends.”

  “She’s a potential heartbreak. Why doesn’t she have to go?” Warren asked. “I’m blood, family.”

  “Right now, I’m ashamed. Leave Warren.”

  Jo felt queasy, the spectacular dinner a heavy lump in her stomach. She knew this day would come but hoped it would happen much later. It was best to get her past in the open. She wanted Tessa to see her for who she was, overall. Even if the information could push Tessa away. The worst part, Jo was heartbeats away from being deeply in love with Tessa, despite the short length of time they knew each other. She truly believed in love-at-first-sight the moment her gaze landed on Tessa. The feeling of home, her own home, was strongest when with Tessa. Tessa made Jo believe in permanence and futures with happy endings. But Jo’s past was sordid, and the very thing to give Warren what he wanted—Jo out of Tessa’s life.

  Reluctantly, and with one final glare in her direction, Warren left.

  “I’m sorry,” she told Tessa.

  “For what?”

  “We ruined your special night.”

  Tessa raised an eyebrow. “The night isn’t over yet.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tessa cleaned the kitchen and table after she ordered Jo to the couch. She’d gone obediently, but Tessa suspected Jo anticipated they’d make a farewell tonight. The main thing about tonight was Tessa could think of only one instance Jo’s past would send her running—to learn Jo was a murderess. That scenario seemed too far-fetched. And, even that prospect had circumstances to make murder doable. Whatever had happened in the past, Tessa planned on offering her total support to Jo and her family.

  She’d had a good family life of her own, even if her parents felt distancing themselves the only way to deal with her and her preferences in the heart department. Warren treated her as most men did, keeping her domesticated, sweeping the other issues under the carpet. Her family seldom offered praise, believed it made a person vain. They weren’t demonstrative either. Tessa longed for the touch of another.

  She had a taste with Catherine but only when it suited the other woman. All too soon, she realized Catherine used her to see how far Tessa would go to please someone. Catherine grew bored before they ever reached a point of intimacy.

  But Jo? Their acquaintance was still new, Jo complimented her often—honestly?—and innocently touched Tessa in casual and comforting ways. Kissing Jo made Tessa feel beautiful, wanted, desired. When Jo lightly caressed her breast—

  Even now, Tessa burned with arousal at the memory. Jo might even be too good for her, despite what Warren might think otherwise. Jo was strong and caring, charismatic and outgoing, and dedicated to her family. No, nothing Jo shared could ever make Tessa turn away from her.

  Tessa dried her hands on the dishtowel and then hung it on the metal rod above the sink. “That does it,” she said. She left the kitchen area, sat beside Jo, and picked up one of Jo’s hands in both of hers. “I apologize for Warren, even if I don’t control him.”

  Jo gave a wry smile. “You have some authority over him. He did leave without demanding dessert.”

  “Too bad, it’s not where it counts.” Tessa squeezed the hand she held. “Sweetie, I know he brought up some painful things. If you don’t ever feel you can share your past with me, I’ll understand. It may seem too fast, but I have feelings for you, Jo. Feelings I think could turn into something wonderful for a long time. I’d like to know everything about you. No matter how dark. You’ve already told me Fiona isn’t your biological sister, and you can’t tell me her story. When you feel ready, maybe you can at least tell me yours.”

  “Tessa, I don’t want you to look at me differently. Presently, you look at me like I mean something important to you. If I tell you about my past, I foresee the expression will change quickly, and not in a positive way. I would most probably lose you, Tessa.”

  “That won’t happen,” Tessa said. “But I understand you can’t know that about me. Eventually, you will. We can start with small things.”

  Jo looked away from her. The hand she held became sweaty and trembled. Jo tried to pull it out of her grasp. Tessa held tighter. In a barely heard whisper, she asked, “What would you ask of me by way of a small question?”

  Tessa playfully pursed her lips. “I like the name of Jo. It suits you. Is Warren correct, were you born with another name?”

  A flicker of emotions crossed Jo’s expression. It meant the memories had multiple feelings—mostly bad—associated with them. A long period of silence ensued before Jo said, “I was born Thelma Josephine Winton. When Fiona came into my life, she called me Sunny.” Jo rolled her eyes. “I was far from sunny in disposition, but there wasn’t talking Fiona out of it. She claimed I brightened a room. Silly, huh? Anyway, after a time, Margaret helped with the papers to make me officially Sunny Josephine Cavanaugh. Now I’m older and use Jo. Sunny seemed to indicate a child, and I don’t want my name to give that impression.”

  Tessa could see how hard the small admission was to tell. She wanted to prod for more personal information but couldn’t push and isolate Jo with her painful memories. “Thank you for sharing.” She scrunched up her nose. “Mostly, thank you for changing from Thelma. Jo does suit you better.” From the tension radiating from Jo’s body, it was obvious to Tessa the past not an easy topic for her. They needed to get back to their relaxed conversation, the effortless physicality between them, in their budding relationship. “Most of the shops are closed now, so there shouldn’t be too much foot traffic in town if you’d like to go for a walk.”

  Jo hesitated for a couple of minutes, finally nodding. “A walk would be nice.”

  Before long, they walked down the sidewalk arm in arm and chatted about the work on the shop, Jo’s carpentry work with Fiona, and Tessa’s reason for becoming a seamstress. “Do you plan something like this?” Jo asked. “Growing up, I never thought ‘gosh, I want to be a carpenter,’ but Fiona did.” Jo’s expression shadowed. Was it fate they continually returned to the topic of childhood? The observation hadn’t been lost on Jo, either. She’d been present in their conversation but not entirely. They had walked from her end of Union Avenue to the other, crossed over, and returned. Her shop was at the bottom of Union Avenue, which led to the train depot.

  Crossing back over, Jo paused at the door to her covered stairwell. “Are you coming in?” Tessa asked, unlocking the outer door and stepping inside.

  Jo shook her head. “I should get home. Supper was wonderful, Tessa. Honestly. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad you liked it.”

  Ever so slowly, as if memorizing every pore, Jo stared at her, then finally raised a hand and caressed her cheek. Jo kicked the door closed with her heel, sealing them alone in the stairwell illuminated with a single bare light bulb with a long thin chain. The tenderness and warmth of Jo’s touch had Tessa moan softly. When Jo spoke, her voice was low and cracked with restrained
emotion. “Fiona didn’t work with gangsters. She worked on the inside against them.

  “Up until I met Fiona, my family seldom had a place of our own and often were kicked out for not paying rent. Eating was often a novelty and usually meant we beat most of the other homeless to fresh food, relatively speaking, from the spot where restaurants emptied the trash. Clothes were what we could scavenge.” She drew in a deep, quivering breath. “My parents had just sold me to Eldon Graham for drugs. They didn’t ask questions, Tessa, about what would happen to me. Wouldn’t have cared. I was purchased to work in a brothel. I was fourteen years old.” Jo swallowed hard, blinked back tears. Holding them at bay was a battle Jo was losing.

  “When Fiona found me, Eldon had just ‘tested’ his newly acquired merchandise. His second-in-command prepared for his turn.” Her eyes squeezed shut, as if afraid to witness Tessa’s reaction to the revelation. Tessa wanted to be sick. Who could do such a thing to a child? “Fiona got me out of there and has protected me ever since. Margaret made certain I caught up in my education so I could go to a real school like normal children.” Jo took a step away from her and bumped into the door. “That is why we left Boston. Fiona wanted me to have a new life and take away from me the chance of anyone recognizing me as tainted, dirty trash.”

  Tessa felt the damp trail of tears down her face. If she had to guess about Jo’s past, using the bits Warren had spouted, she could never have envisioned the truth Jo shared with her. Jo thought her history would push Tessa away from her. Quite the opposite. Their meeting and friendship proved they shared a bonding of pure kismet, an intended destiny from God. Could it be an illusion? Certainly. Were feelings and personal revelations between them shared too fast? Possibly. Tessa, however, believed Josephine Cavanaugh her intended forever-mate.

  She moved toward Jo, whose only avenue of escape was the staircase since Jo had pressed herself against the closed door. Tessa reached for her hands. Jo didn’t fight her, although her body stiffened. Slow, so Jo observed her every move, Tessa wrapped her arms around Jo’s waist, pressed herself fully against the front of Jo until their breasts pressed tight against each other. She leaned forward until her lips brushed the bottom of an earlobe and whispered, “You were handsome and strong to me before. Now that you shared such private pain, I can see you’re even stronger than anyone I know.” Tessa shifted, her lips pressed against Jo’s, persisted until Jo returned the kiss. Before she realized she would say the words, Tessa blurted, “No wonder I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  Both stared at one another in wide-eyed silence, before Jo nudged herself to the side, swung the door open and ran out.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Margaret stared out of the bedroom window but focused on nothing. Jo hadn’t returned from her dinner date, and Fiona would be upstairs soon to retire to bed.

  What an awful burden for her to process. Worse, what must this situation be like for Fiona, who was living it daily? Margaret squeezed her eyes shut, pushing away the tears. Fiona worried this illness would make her a burden. Ha. If anyone had been a burden, it was her, Margaret thought bitterly. Yes, Fiona wanted to leave Boston years ago, hoping to make a new life for them all. But she took Jo from a path of prostitution, saved her body, spirit, and mind. Saved Brigid. Okay, Brigid hadn’t exactly been running from anything, but she had a place of love and support, an adventure she wouldn’t have had in Boston.

  For Margaret, Fiona offered a safe-haven of love and appreciation. Margaret always felt the emotions, in her heart, in her world, in the depths of caramel-colored eyes when Fiona looked at her. Fiona gave her the chance to follow her dream of teaching, which her brother never allowed. Recognized her good days, comforted—sometimes with nothing more than silence and a shoulder to rest her head on—during bad days and recognized, often anticipated, what Margaret needed. And you never recognized when Fiona needed you, did you?

  Reaching into her memory, Margaret realized it had always been this way. She recalled the moment precipitating Fiona’s current physical troubles—the moment she’d ignored Fiona’s plea and set them on this current path. A memory which would now haunt Margaret.

  Margaret closed the door behind her once they entered Fiona’s room. She was tired, stressed, and heartbroken at how withdrawn Fiona had become since leaving the hospital. The reason became apparent as soon as Fiona spoke. “Leave with me, Margaret. Tonight. Please.”

  Fiona turned to face her. “It will only take a few minutes for Sunny and me to pack, but we’ll wait for you. I’m still jake with Old Man Chambers, and I know he’ll give me one of his old trucks.”

  Tonight? “Honey, I can’t leave now.”

  Fiona’s expression was crestfallen. “Why not?”

  “I have obligations, Fiona. I can’t just run off willy-nilly.”

  “Obligations?” She took a step forward, but Fiona moved to put the bed between them. Fiona snorted loudly. “So, I’m not important enough as either your lover—one time granted—or even important enough to be an obligation.”

  “That’s not true, Fiona. I’m just asking for a little time.”

  Fiona crumpled onto the chair by the bed. From the quivering in her shoulders, Margaret realized she was silently crying. On impulse driven by her heart, Margaret rushed to Fiona and dropped to her knees, clasping Fiona’s hands in hers.

  With an anguished whisper, Fiona said, “I don’t know how I can. I don’t want to be part of this charade anymore. I want to be me, be Fiona.” Her head rose, watery brown eyes met Margaret’s. “I can’t be part of these horrible—”

  Squeezing the hands in hers, Margaret said, “I understand. I’ll do my best to keep you away from Eldon and Jimmy.” Margaret suspected Jimmy would do his best to maintain distance for a while, rather than explain what happened with Lorraine. “I’m not saying ‘never,’ Fiona, only I can’t leave this soon. Please, stay with me, here, for a while longer?”

  “What are your feelings for me?” Fiona asked, her voice sounded small and hurt.

  Looking at the torment in Fiona’s eyes had her questioning what was going on with her insecurity. “Honey, what are you afraid of?”

  Fiona looked away. “I’m afraid I can’t protect you, can’t protect Sunny. After Lorraine’s death—”

  Margaret cupped Fiona’s cheek, the pad of her thumb brushing across her chin. “If I didn’t care for you, Fiona, I wouldn’t be asking for time. If you need to leave, I’ll be sorry to see you go, but will understand. I wish you would stay.”

  “What if I can’t protect you?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen. I love you, Fiona. Please trust me.”

  Trust her. What a fool Margaret had been to say those words, not to see how deeply Lorraine’s murder had affected and frightened Fiona. Fiona had trusted her, and now the toll proved exorbitant for her wife. Cost her sleep because of nightmares of Jimmy’s horrendous assault on her, which nearly caused Fiona’s death.

  Margaret sucked in a deep breath. She may have let Fiona down then, but she wouldn’t do so now or in the future. Margaret had to wait for Edward’s return call, while he made inquiries for a nearby specialist to examine and consult with Fiona. She planned to use her time wisely, concentrate on Fiona and her needs. More so when the school year concluded in the next few weeks.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Jo asked from the doorway. Margaret shook her head as Jo entered the room and came to her, draped an arm across her shoulder. “Fiona finally told you, didn’t she?”

  She nodded. “Yes, and then I called Doc Edward.”

  “Did he say anything helpful? She can be healed, right?” Jo’s voice rose, hope in her tone.

  Margaret sniffed. Fixed, like a broken chair leg? “Fiona’s not an inanimate project, Jo.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” Jo said, face flushed. “You knew what I meant. You’re upset and scared.”

  “I did, and I apologize.” Margaret shifted from under Jo’s arm and sat in the rocking chair clo
se to the window. Jo sat on the bed, and faced her. “Honestly, Jo, after I explained the symptoms, it was the silence of what Edward didn’t say that hit me with a sense of dread. Maybe I’m overreacting, but I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe it has nothing to do with exaggerating and everything to do with being overly sensitized to what is happening to the love of your life. It’s not like we can do anything but give Fiona our emotional support until we get some definitive information to work with here.”

  Despite her anxiety, Margaret raised an eyebrow, and teasingly said, “Ooh, listen to you all adult speaking.”

  “I’m in conversation with a teacher. Can’t have you stuffing me in some remedial education situation. I have better uses for my summer.”

  “Aw, honey, I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner. How was your dinner with Tessa?”

  “No need to apologize. You’re a bit off-balance and understandably.” Margaret remained silent while Jo squirmed at the end of the bed. Fear is the worst, Margaret prepared a conciliatory response rather than wait for Jo to gather her thoughts, but Jo finally responded. “The first part with Warren was uncomfortable, but we got through it.” Jo inhaled a deep breath. “I told her about my past, Margaret. Warren brought up some with his insults about Fiona, and I couldn’t let Tessa believe them.”

  “Oh, Jo, that couldn’t have been easy.” Margaret jumped from the rocker and plopped on the bed beside Jo, her arm draped over Jo’s shoulder in an expression of support. Jo must care for Tessa a lot if she shared happenings in Boston. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know, honestly.” Jo shook her head. “Not in the way you’d expect. Certainly not the way I expected.”

  “What did she say, Jo?”

  “She kissed me.” Jo slowly met Margaret’s gaze, and Margaret’s anxiety grew at the dread-filled expression on Jo’s young face. “Tessa said she was falling in love with me.”