Warren smirked. The expression was both evil and scary. The look would have been sufficient for her, but he seemed determined to answer. He leaned close into her personal space. “Bitch deserved it. Those kinds of people corrupt good people like you. Now maybe those perverts will stay away from you.”
Tessa bit her lower lip to staunch her tears. “Except I happen to love those women, Jo especially. Now, none of them will have anything to do with me.”
“You’re welcome.”
Did he think she was thankful for his brutal behavior? “I’m not thanking you, Warren. I’m appalled.” Tessa took as step back from him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Do your superiors know about this?”
Face red with rage, Warren moved so close his body was flush with hers. “No way those people will file a complaint. No one cares about them. They know it. Let it go, Tessa.”
His spittle sprayed onto her cheek. Tessa nodded and wiped it away with the back of her hand. She moved to the door and put her hand on the doorknob. “Being blood doesn’t excuse you or your bad conduct. I’ve lost the one person I loved, because of you. You got what you wanted. I hope you’re happy with what it will now cost you. Don’t come to my home, don’t expect me to feed you, because I don’t want anything to do with you.” Tessa opened the door and stepped over the threshold. Randall was at her side instantly. She turned toward Warren. “You’re no longer welcomed in my life.”
“Damn you, Tessa.” He stepped toward her, face full of fury.
Randall gently took her elbow. “I’ll walk you home.”
“Thank you.” As they made their way to the exit, Tessa heard the hurried shuffle of feet behind her. She twisted to look over her shoulder. The patrolmen stood shoulder-to-shoulder and barred Warren from chasing after her.
“This isn’t over, Tessa. Mark my word,” Warren yelled as she left the precinct.
Outside, Randall asked, “Are you okay?”
Tessa sighed heavily. “No, but someday I will be.” She felt the tears warm against her cheek. “Probably only when I die—like I did this morning.” The moment she read Jo’s goodbye.
It never failed to shock Nicholas how the act of confining a body to bed rest turned strength into frailty. He shook his head and grinned wryly. He stared at the muscles in her arms and realized Fiona might be weakened and paler than normal, but frail didn’t apply to her. The changes—rather a growth—of the friendly relationship between he and Fiona had shifted so subtly he hadn’t recognized it happening yet was strong enough to allow him to sit in this chair while Fiona lay in bed and rested. Not that that part was the surprise factor. Fiona, dressed in men’s pajama bottoms and a white V-neck T-shirt, lay alone in her bed, in a house full of females, and he was trusted to keep watch. Of course, there was some irony if he delved deeper, which he wouldn’t traverse now. Granted, too, the door was ajar since propriety overruled all else, even in this house.
Trust.
These Cavanaugh women trusted him, and, for the first time in a long time—if ever—Nicholas felt like an honest part of a true family. He gave a silent chuckle. The only one of them he’d originally wanted was Brigid, and she looked at him like a sibling, both ignoring their night together ever happened. After Ethel’s murder, consoled and on the verge of falling in love with Brigid and summarily disabused of the notion by that woman in question, Nicholas was prepared to move on, and away from Pueblo.
He seriously reconsidered.
It’s been said there’s strength in numbers. Nicholas wanted desperately to be numbered among the Cavanaugh’s, even as nothing more than a family friend. He rejoiced in the act of investigating with Fiona.
“Gosh, you think much harder, and you’ll damage something in that male brain of yours.”
Nicholas looked up and caught the mischievous grin Fiona couldn’t try or wouldn’t try to hide. Giving a smile of his own, aware it went unnoticed, he said, “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“Easier said than done.” Fiona sat up a little, leaned tiredly against the headboard.
“Probably a dumb question, but how are you feeling?”
“Like my head’s been run over by a locomotive.” She gave a weak smile. “Kinda was, I guess. Run over by Loco Warren.” They both chuckled, but Fiona’s soon turned into a grimace. “Guess we should save jokes for later.”
“Yeah, even your attempts at them.” He liked that she snickered at his teasing, but it morphed into guilt when her hand clutched at her forehead. “Sorry about that.” She hadn’t opened her eyes since he’d been in the room. Could she tell whether she had sight or not? He didn’t get a chance to ask.
“Want to tell me what you were thinking so hard about? I felt your tension way over here.”
“Not sure this is the time.” He glanced around the room. “Or the place.”
“Serious stuff then.” Fiona’s eyes opened, but from her pained expression, Nicholas realized her sight hadn’t returned. “Let’s start with my thanks to you for getting me home.” She sighed. “Can I be honest with you, Nicholas? Be personal?”
“Yes, Fiona.” He leaned forward in his chair, rested elbows on knees. “I consider us good friends and, as such, learned to recognize how difficult private matters are for you to share. Anything discussed between us is and will be in confidence.” It wasn’t like he didn’t have secrets of his own.
“I’m afraid. Afraid I won’t be able to get over permanent blindness. Afraid I can’t take care of my family.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. He assumed it helped her staunch the flow of tears. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“A burden?” He snorted. “Like they’ll let you get away with it. Jo will drag you to the workshop and force you to work. Brigid will withhold sustenance. Margaret, well…” He’d witnessed often enough the love in Margaret’s eyes when she looked at Fiona. “Margaret will be there every step of the way. She’ll be your support, be your eyes until you learn to adjust to their loss and continue despite it.”
She shook her head slowly as if the movement helped her come to terms with his words. Fiona began to gnaw her lower lip. After a moment, she spoke. “I couldn’t stop Warren. There will be other situations. Situations I won’t see coming. I wasn’t blind when I was shot, twice, waylaid and beaten, and…and attacked by Jimmy—” Her voice held the pain of memory. Nicholas knew there was a lot more in the word attacked. He wouldn’t press her on the matter. “Before, it was a figurative worry. The worst had happened to me, affected all of us. Now.” She gulped hard. “Now, I literally won’t see trouble coming.” Fiona looked away, and Nicholas saw the gesture for what it was, her wish not to read his expression even if she couldn’t see it, and apparently not wanting him to read hers. “How do I protect them?”
Nicholas stood and reached for her chin, turned her face in his direction. “Look at me.” She gave a sniff. “You know what I mean. Look, I’ve watched you tonight. You may be scared about the blindness, but you aren’t helpless. You’ve been adjusting and fine-tuning your other senses to compensate. Believe me, Fiona, when I tell you that the women of the house love you dearly, will never see you as a burden.” He released his hold on her chin and returned to the chair. “Matter-of-fact, Fiona, I envy you. You all accept each other just as you are, unquestioningly. Have you any idea how long I’ve searched for just what you have accomplished under this roof?”
“What about you, Nicholas? Are you ever going to stop running?” Fiona’s straightforward tone caught him by surprise.
“What makes you think I’m running from anything?”
Fiona smirked. “I’m blind, not stupid. As someone who spent her childhood and part of adulthood hiding who I was—am—I recognize the signs.” She leaned back into the pillows. “Did you know I even passed myself off as a sixteen-year-old boy in Boston during my infamous gangster days? My mother and brother had died years earlier in a fire. Left me with my drunkard father. I used my brother’s name. Well, his nickn
ame, Finn, when I started working for Margaret’s brother, Eldon.”
Nicholas laughed gently, hoped she recognized the humor. “Sorry that I missed that…Finn. So, tell me honestly, how’d you feel about the pretense?”
“It was a mixed bag, I guess. I enjoyed the more comfortable clothes, that’s for sure. Became crystal clear to me the distinction between male and female. Even as a supposed male child, my word meant more than a woman of any age. Wouldn’t want to be male full time, though.” Fiona snorted. “Maybe I didn’t get the full experience because I was constantly looking over my shoulder, fearing exposure and stray bullets. But I wouldn’t give any of the experience up. The gamble led me to Margaret. I was able to reacquaint with Fionn’s girlfriend, Brigid. And gave me a sister in Jo.”
Nicholas had wondered about Fiona’s relationship with Margaret as sister-in-law and been confused by the timelines. He doubted anyone else was close enough to the Cavanaugh’s to recognize or be told of their history. “So, am I correct that Fionn’s marriage to Margaret occurred during your adventure as Finn?”
Fiona shifted uncomfortably. He wouldn’t have believed it possible, but she paled more. “You could ruin my family if you speculate aloud to anyone outside this room, Nicholas.”
“Which would be the last thing on my mind or in my intentions, Fiona.” From the thin line of her lips, Nicholas realized his words alone wouldn’t convince her of his honesty. This would be a case of tit-for-tat. “You’re not the only one in the room with a tainted past, you know.”
“Truly? Do tell?” Fiona turned toward him. “Does this have anything to do with what you’re running from?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Nicholas dragged the chair closer to the bedside. He didn’t want to raise his voice too loud, didn’t wish to be heard by unintended ears. He trusted those who lived in the house—even if Brigid seemed to have had loose lips with Ethel—but couldn’t anticipate who may come to visit. Well, he’d rather only Fiona knew what he intended to share of his history, even if Fiona chose to share with Margaret at some point. “Two years ago, I met and fell in love with a woman. I truly believed she felt the same for me. My truth was bared to her because I believed we shared love. Her response was to hire a few thugs to beat me, in her presence for whatever gratification it provided her, which was a lot, I’m certain.” Nicholas paused. “As I lay bleeding on her parlor rug, Blanche proceeded to lambaste me and explain I was no more than a tool used against her father.”
“Emotional cruelty can be more brutal than the physical.”
“In this case, yes. But you’re probably familiar with both aspects of this yourself. It’s one of the reasons I feel comfortable sharing this with you. I need to warn you, Fiona, I did not respond well, or gentlemanly.”
Fiona shook her head. “No one can say how they’d react in a given situation. We believe we will respond well, but when mixing emotions, all bets are off, usually at the cost of personal civility. You might shock me, Nicholas, but you won’t change my positive opinion of you.”
“I hope not. I’d be devastated to lose your friendship and good estimation of my character.”
“Devastated is laying it a bit thick, don’t you think?” Fiona said, humor in her tone.
“Only just.” Nicholas agreed.
“Tell me.”
Nicholas sat straighter in his seat, not that it would make the telling any easier. He inhaled deeply and forged on. “I succeeded in getting to my feet, horrified by her words, not seeing her perfidy after all our time together. Despite the pain, I managed to wrap my hand around her throat and squeeze. Fiona, I thought I’d killed her. I didn’t know if I had because I snuck out the back door when she collapsed and haven’t returned to her or the city. There had been ways to find out for sure, but there’s no pride or release in learning unequivocally you’re a murderer.”
Softly, Fiona asked, “Do you, in your heart, presume you killed Blanche?”
“No, no, I didn’t,” he said, shaking his head. Again, she wouldn’t see the action, but he believed Fiona could sense his response. “But, my word, Fiona, I was so, so angry with her, it consumed all reason.”
“And you were hurt?”
He nodded. “Yeah, probably a lot of that too. I did eventually learn Blanche is alive and well. Her father married her off to the son of a business partner. I hope she’s happy, but I wonder if Blanche will ever be happy. If I’m honest, I often hope Blanche is miserable. Hope she misses the independence she would have had with me.”
“I hope she’s miserable, too, on behalf of you, my friend.” Fiona shifted the pillows behind her to sit higher. She furrowed her brow. “Let me ask you this, Nicholas. Was this secret you shared with her something to cause you great difficulty should it come to light? Something you can’t reconcile?”
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“Yes, even with the silly cookie duster above your lip.” She smiled, swiping a finger across the right side of her upper lip as if taming a mustache.
“Hey, it makes me debonair.”
“Makes you something, all right.”
“Okay, let’s leave my manly grooming for another discussion.” He stood and moved to the slightly ajar door and closed it completely. When he returned to his chair, Nicholas said, “This could be the final straw in our friendship, Fiona. Losing your friendship will probably be the greatest hurt I’d suffered in my thirty years, but I’m willing to share if you truly wish to hear it.”
“I do, Nicholas. I can’t imagine that would cause me to shun you.”
“Oh, there is a chance, believe me.”
Nicholas cleared his throat. “I’ll get straight to the point.” He quirked the left corner of his mouth. “Haven’t always been this handsome, charismatic man before you. I…ah…was born Nicole Alena Terrell on October 13 of 1894, to a rich textile family in Philadelphia. Father was Horace and my mother, Bertha. I had two brothers, both older, George and Robert. Even from a young age I knew my parents, the doctors, and everyone else was blind not to see they were wrong about me. I was supposed to be a boy. I borrowed my brother’s discarded clothes and only responded to Nicky. My first mistake, in a long list of them, was at the age of ten, in 1904, when I confronted my father on this matter.”
He raised a brow at the memory, glad any telltale expressions wouldn’t be witnessed by Fiona. “I compounded the error by announcing the mistake rest at the feet of him and mother for not siring or birthing me correctly.”
Fiona flinched. “He didn’t take that well, I gather?”
“Not at all. Horace, more than two hundred pounds on me, tried to slam his point home with his fists. I was unconscious for two days. Lesson one. Daddy is stronger.”
“Where was your mother?”
“Buried in a bottle, I’m sure. Mother didn’t contradict or defend against Father.” Nicholas shrugged. “So, when I woke, I found only my frilly, girl clothes were available to dress in, which I did. And stormed into my second mistake in as many days. I confronted my parents during pre-dinner drinks. Neither appreciated my attitude or my timing. Daddy dragged me upstairs to my room.” Nicholas squeezed his eyes shut as memories flooded back in vivid images, again relieved Fiona couldn’t see his anguish. His silence must have lasted longer than he’d realized.
“Nicholas?” Fiona said in concerned tones. Her sightless eyes turned in his direction. “You don’t have to continue.”
Nicholas inhaled and exhaled loudly. “No, I want to share this, my life story, with you.” He hoped the strain he heard in his tone wasn’t obvious to her, suspected she heard every nuance. Nicholas believed speed was the best means over this hurdle. “Lesson two. The difference between boys and girls: boys are superior and will always take what they want.”
Fiona gasped. “Oh, Nicholas, I’m sorry.” Tears poured down her face, mirrored torment consumed her expression. She swiped roughly at her face. “Guess a lot of men enjoy teaching that specific les
son.” Fiona swallowed hard as if the action could dispel her own memories. “You can stop if you wish.”
He shifted position in the chair to collect himself and buy time. Nicholas decided to dampen the emotions with levity. “And deny you a story worthy of a radio serial drama? Never.” She smirked wanly. “Two years later, a ray of light shone on my life.” Nicholas smiled. “I met Gaines and Ruth Farwell. Gaines was a noted photographer in town. He was hired to take the Terrell family portrait. I was immediately enamored by Ruth. We made an agreement to meet at the small pond on the estate.” Nicholas snorted. “I smuggled sandwiches out of the kitchen and brought them with me. I was hoping Ruth would show. I figured if she didn’t, I’d have a snack and a longer swim.”
“Did Ruth go to the pond?”
“Yeah, though she admitted she almost hadn’t because she couldn’t understand why I had invited her. You see, Ruth was crippled. Wore braces on her legs so she could walk. We sat for a while and ate, and then I mentioned how I missed my trousers. Well, that led to a misunderstanding. She thought I was teasing. I told her she wouldn’t understand. Ruth thought I was discounting her because she was a poor, stupid, crippled girl. Which, of course, confused me more. Ruth was smart, I never saw her as common, and I thought she was the prettiest girl I’d seen.”
Fiona chuckled. “Did it take more than that to convince her?”
“Oh, she didn’t believe me, at first. She was so surprised that she changed the subject back to me. Then, I explained about the trousers, how I felt inside that no one could apparently see.”
“Did the revelation scare her away?” Fiona’s question was just a whisper as if she feared the answer. She leaned a little in his direction.
“Thought so at first. Ruth blanched and got so quiet. I backpedaled and told her I wouldn’t bother her again, but she and her father would be safer if she didn’t tell anyone what she knew. My father was a powerful man and would think nothing of destroying the Farwell’s.”
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