Flights of Fancy

by Jen Turano

  Falling into step beside Izzie and heading for the house, he found himself praying that he’d have the right words to say to the children. If he didn’t have the words, he prayed God would step in to assist him.

  Chapter 31

  Telling the children their father had died was one of the hardest situations Isadora had ever experienced.

  Prim and Henry had taken it hard, retreating into tears and silence, while Violet had merely climbed into Isadora’s lap, where she’d stayed for hours. Daisy, on the other hand, being all of three, had not been as affected. She’d snuggled against Ian as he’d sat in a chair, saying “Poor Papa” a few times before she’d scrambled off Ian’s lap to play with Sparky when the dog came searching for her.

  Ian had dealt remarkably well with the children. He’d hurried to assure them they’d have a permanent home with him, already having summoned a fellow attorney to draw up adoption papers so the children would know their futures were secure. Being an intuitive sort, and perhaps because he’d lost his parents at an early age as well, although she’d yet to hear the full story about his father, he’d told the children that although he was adopting them, he expected them to continue calling him Ian since he had no intention of trying to replace the father they’d obviously loved.

  Realizing Ian was giving them a forever home, one that included Aunt Birdie and Uncle Amos, who’d already assumed the role of grandparents, the children seemed as if they’d had a great weight lifted off their small shoulders. What Isadora’s role was to be in the family, she truly had no idea. But Ian had begun watching her with something interesting in his eyes, something that seemed to hold a bit of promise, although what . . .

  “Ah, Izzie, there you are,” Aunt Birdie said, walking into the drawing room, where Izzie was unpacking some curtains that had just been delivered from Joseph Horne Company. “Ian asked me to tell you that he, Amos, and the children are taking Buttercup, Elmer, and Sparky for a walk around the grounds. He didn’t want you to worry.” She took a seat in a chair that had also just been delivered and beamed a smile Isadora’s way. “I must say, I’m pleased that Ian’s made himself so readily available to the children. Why, he’s only left the house that one time to fetch papers from his office concerning a pressing matter of business, but he’s not spent much time with those business matters over the past two days. I have high hopes that means he’s finally getting his priorities straight and learning that increasing his fortune isn’t the most important thing in the world.”

  “He’s certainly settled well into the role of guardian.”

  Aunt Birdie sent her a pointed look. “He makes a good father figure, which most ladies do find very appealing in a gentleman.”

  Isadora fought a smile. “You do know that you’ve been abandoning any semblance of delicacy lately pertaining to your matchmaking efforts, don’t you?”

  “Delicacy is overrated, in my humble opinion.” Aunt Birdie’s eyes began to twinkle. “And since that’s out of the way, allow me to tell you yet again that I believe you really should reconsider attending the ball tonight with Ian. It would be a lovely evening for you and would also give you an opportunity to spend time with Ian without the children around.”

  “Delightful as that sounds, I can’t attend the ball because I have nothing suitable to wear, no matter that the lovely Miss Moore proclaimed I’d be fine wearing a plain skirt and blouse.”

  “I would have thought you’d use the excuse of not believing you’d find yourself comfortable at a society ball instead of the tried-and-true excuse of not having something to wear.”

  Isadora refused to rise to that bait. “Ian said something similar earlier, although he was a little sneakier about it, using one of those catch-me-by-surprise tactics I’m certain he often puts to good use as an attorney.”

  “You’ll have to disclose all your secrets to us eventually, dear. I’m beginning to wonder why you’ve held them so close to you this long. You and Ian clearly have a fondness for each other.” She smiled. “You also share an easy camaraderie, and there’s no denying how well both of you interact together with the children.”

  Since she’d not neglected to notice how easy it was being around Ian, but since he had yet to broach the topic of them, or what he thought might be possible between them, Isadora wasn’t certain how to respond. She readily admitted, at least to herself, that her feelings for Ian were changing. She was no longer merely smitten with the man, but something decidedly more. But because she wasn’t certain if he returned those feelings, and she was, for all intents and purposes, his employee, she felt uncertain of what to do next.

  “I could always alter something you have in that trunk of yours so you’d feel suitably dressed to attend the ball.”

  Pulling herself from her thoughts, Isadora grinned. “I assure you, Aunt Birdie, even though everyone has remarked time and time again on how large my trunk is, there’s nothing resembling a ball gown stuffed inside it. Besides, according to Ian, he’s merely going to attend the ball for a short time, since he apparently promised his friend Victor he’d go. However, because we’re at a riveting point in Treasure Island, he wants to be home to read with the children before they go to bed. That means it would hardly be worth my while to go through the fuss that’s needed to prepare for a ball.”

  “You know how much fuss is needed to prepare for a ball?”

  “Did you ever consider that I might have once worked as a lady’s maid?”

  “Have you seen what your hair looks like when Prim’s not around to style it for you?”

  “A fair point,” Isadora conceded. “So allow me to simply say this—yes, I’ve attended balls.”

  “And when are you going to disclose that to Ian?”

  “When the moment is right?”

  Aunt Birdie considered her for a moment before she nodded to a chair next to her. “Sit.”

  Isadora abandoned the curtains, knowing there was nothing to do but take a seat because Aunt Birdie clearly had something she wanted to say and she seemed to think Isadora needed to sit down to hear it. Lowering herself into the chair, she folded her hands in her lap and smiled. “I’m sitting.”

  “So I see, and sitting with perfect posture, I must add, something you’ve frequently taken to abandoning since you’ve come to stay with us.”

  “Have I really?”

  “You have, and good for you, I say.” Aunt Birdie leaned forward. “It shows you’ve become comfortable around us, and it also suggests you’re finally becoming comfortable with the Izzie you want to be, not the Izzie I fear you’ve been told you’re supposed to be.”

  Before Isadora could think on that, Aunt Birdie settled back into her chair. “I’m sure you’re aware that I was wary about you from the moment Ian carried you into the farmhouse, dripping wet and already beginning to break out in a spectacular rash. Even after you disclosed a few of your secrets to me, I still continued to keep a close eye on you.”

  “That’s disconcerting.”

  Aunt Birdie waved that aside. “You were a woman of mystery, but more importantly, you’d captured Ian’s interest, and because of that, and because he’s dearer to me than anything, I was determined to figure you out.”

  “And have you?”

  “Not quite, but I do know this—you’re a woman who seems to be coming into your own, finally discovering what’s important to you. That’s a blessing right there, and something not everyone experiences.” Aunt Birdie nodded. “I believe Ian is becoming important to you, and because of that, and because you’re becoming important to him as well, he deserves to hear the truth. All of it.”

  Even knowing Aunt Birdie was right, and even though she’d been trying to compose a bit of a speech to use when she finally got up the nerve to disclose her true identity to Ian, Isadora simply hadn’t found the courage to reveal all her secrets just yet.

  “What if I tell Ian everything and the friendship that’s developed between us changes?” she finally asked.

  “To po
int out the obvious, dear, you and Ian have developed feelings for each other that go beyond mere friendship.”

  Isadora couldn’t disagree with that, at least as it pertained to her feelings for the man.

  She’d never been as attracted to a gentleman before. She’d also never enjoyed the sense of ease she felt whenever she was in Ian’s presence. She’d laughed more while in his company than she’d ever laughed in her life. But she was afraid that if she told him she was a New York high-society lady, their relationship would turn more formal, no easy laughter to be found.

  Aunt Birdie suddenly reached over and took hold of her hand, pulling Isadora from her thoughts. “You, my dear child, have been given the unusual blessing of landing in a world I believe is completely foreign to you. That blessing has allowed you to grow, putting you, or so I believe, on a new path. Ian’s also been shown a new path for his life. God, I’m sure, is opening his eyes to the possibility of helping those in need rather than pursuing a future that was rather self-serving.” Aunt Birdie gave Isadora’s hand a pat. “God allows us to choose the direction those paths He shows us will take, so now it’s up to you and Ian to decide if you want to forge a new path together, one I’m certain will exceed your wildest dreams. But to do that, you’re going to have to tell him everything.”

  “I wish I had your confidence in believing God’s hand has been in all I’ve experienced of late, but . . .”

  The rest of her words got lost when Henry suddenly burst into the room, carrying Elmer under his arm while Buttercup ambled into the room behind him.

  “Did you forget that Buttercup isn’t allowed in the house, or that Elmer isn’t allowed on the table?” Isadora asked as Henry immediately plucked Elmer off the table he’d just set her on and tucked her back underneath his arm.

  “Sorry, Izzie, I forgot. Ian wanted me to come and tell you we got company. He also said that me and the girls had to come inside lickety-split with Uncle Amos.” His eyes turned wide. “Jonathon’s come back, and he’s got Hank with him. But when I went up to the carriage to say howdy to Hank, he didn’t say howdy back.” Henry gave Elmer a squeeze, which she didn’t seem to appreciate since she let out a squawk. “He don’t seem like he wants to get out of the carriage, but that might be because Sparky’s standing right outside the carriage, snarling up a storm.”

  Rising from the chair, Isadora headed for the door, pausing when Uncle Amos hurried into the room, holding Violet’s and Daisy’s hands while Prim followed behind them.

  “Ian wants us to stay in the house,” Uncle Amos said, sending a look to Aunt Birdie that she immediately seemed to understand because she was on her feet in no time.

  “Children, what say we go into the kitchen? I’ve found a delightful recipe for a strawberry cake, and I could use some help baking it.”

  “I’ll stay here with Buttercup,” Uncle Amos said before he smiled at Henry. “And I’ll watch over Elmer as well. I don’t think that fancy chef Jonathon hired yesterday will appreciate having animals in his kitchen, although he might not be too keen on having all of you descend on him either.”

  Aunt Birdie’s nose shot into the air. “Mr. Irvin may be a most sought-after chef, Amos, but given I know what Ian is paying him, I don’t believe he’ll give us a bit of trouble.” With that, she ushered the children out of the drawing room, leaving Isadora and Uncle Amos behind.

  “Perhaps I should take Buttercup back to the garden,” Isadora suggested.

  “You don’t need an excuse to see what’s happening with Hank, child. Ian asked me to tell you he’d like you to join them. I’ll mind Buttercup and Elmer, make sure they don’t get a hankering for any of the lovely flower arrangements you’ve put in this room.”

  Leaving Uncle Amos leading Buttercup toward the fireplace, although there was no fire in the grate, Isadora thought she saw him spread out a lovely blanket she’d been intending to use in the library right before encouraging Buttercup to lie down on it.

  Fighting a smile, she strode down the hallway, stopping in the entranceway when the door opened and Ian stepped over the threshold, holding Hank’s arm while Jonathon brought up the rear.

  “What room should we use?” was all Ian said to Isadora.

  “The pink receiving room has the most furniture.”

  To her surprise, Ian’s lips twitched just the slightest bit. “I have a pink receiving room?”

  “In all honesty, it’s more along the lines of salmon, but that doesn’t sound nearly as appealing as the pink room.”

  “To the pink room it is, then,” Jonathon said, giving Hank a prod with what Isadora only then realized was a pistol.

  “Is that necessary?” she whispered as they hurried toward the receiving room.

  “He wouldn’t cooperate or come with me until I pulled this out,” Jonathon returned. “But I’m not going to use it on him, not unless he turns difficult.”

  Blinking when Jonathon sent her the tiniest of winks, Isadora followed everyone into the pink room, watching as Hank put up a bit of a struggle when Ian tried to get him into a chair, that struggle ending when Jonathon gave a wave of his pistol. Ian then got her settled on a pink fainting couch, taking a seat beside her while Jonathon remained standing, keeping the pistol trained on Hank.

  When silence settled over the room as Ian merely sat and stared at Hank, Isadora cleared her throat.

  “Would anyone care for me to fetch some tea?”

  Ian turned her way and frowned. “You’ve clearly never been involved in an interrogation before. Normally, tea is not served, and normally, when the lead interrogator is staring the perpetrator down, no one interrupts with an offer to fetch tea.”

  “Is that what you were doing? Staring him down?”

  “I was, but it’s hardly likely to work now, since we’ve disclosed the tactic I was attempting to use.”

  “Maybe I really should fetch some tea and leave you and Jonathon to handle the matter without further disruptions from me.”

  “Or you could simply sit there. Perhaps quietly?”

  “I could do that,” Isadora muttered even as Jonathon seemed to press his lips together to contain a smile, an odd circumstance if there ever was one, considering the situation.

  “I wouldn’t mind some tea, and I also wouldn’t mind if someone would explain to me why I’ve been abducted,” Hank said as he glared all around. “It was hardly my fault Amos went after me with an axe, forcing me to quit my position. But even if I did leave you in the lurch, Mr. MacKenzie, I don’t think that warrants this shabby treatment I’m suffering today.”

  As Ian leaned forward, Isadora suddenly saw the door open a few inches ever so carefully, revealing a face that certainly belonged to Henry.

  She got to her feet. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” She lowered her voice and leaned toward Ian. “We’ve got a visitor, but I’ll see to him. Don’t feel as if you need to wait for me to return before you try out another one of your interrogation tactics.”

  “Those tactics aren’t as effective if you give notice about them,” Ian muttered while Jonathon might have released a snort.

  “Right, sorry.” With that, Isadora headed for the door, not surprised when Henry’s face suddenly disappeared and the sound of scampering feet echoed down the hallway. Henry, on the other hand, certainly seemed surprised when she caught up with him and Sparky.

  Taking hold of his arm, she pulled Henry to a stop. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping in the kitchen right now?”

  Henry swiped a hand over his nose. “The girls are still gettin’ all the ingredients together. That’s boring. ’Sides, Sparky wanted me to come with him to check on Hank.” Henry reached into his back pocket and pulled out his slingshot. “I figured since Sparky was snarlin’ at Hank, and ’cuz he wanted to lead me to him, that Hank ain’t a nice man after all. That’s why I was fixin’ on givin’ Ian my slingshot.”

  “No one is going to use a slingshot on Hank.”

  “They gonna use that pistol I saw Jonathon
holding instead?”

  “No. Now go back into the kitchen, take Sparky with you, and don’t let me catch you outside the door to the pink room again. Understand?”

  Henry sent her a scowl, grabbed hold of Sparky’s collar, then stomped his way toward the kitchen, muttering something about no longer liking her. That, curiously, left her feeling as if she’d just passed some type of milestone—one where she’d gone from carefree society lady to a strict, almost matronly type who was obviously doing something right since Henry was so put out with her.

  Waiting until she was certain Henry was heading for the kitchen and not trying to sneak back again, Isadora turned and walked toward the pink room.

  She stepped inside and closed the door firmly behind her, lingering there so she wouldn’t disrupt Ian, who seemed to be in the midst of another interrogation technique, one where he was speaking in an almost soothing fashion.

  “. . . and there’s no use continuing to try and convince us everything that happened on the farm was Uncle Amos’s fault, Hank. We know you were lying to him, lying to the folks in town, and causing mayhem in your wake. We also know that you were merely doing all those things at the bidding of someone else, and if you cooperate with us, I, as an attorney, can strike a deal with the judge who’ll be hearing your case, a deal that might not see you behind bars for as many years as you’re facing now.”

  “Telling lies isn’t a crime.”

  “But arson is. I’m also fairly sure no judge is going to be lenient with you after they learn you were responsible for tampering with a plow that could have killed a seventy-nine-year-old woman or for tampering with a wheel that fell off a wagon carrying four young children.”

  “Birdie wasn’t supposed to be on that plow, Amos was, and—” Hank suddenly stopped talking and pressed his lips together, as if he’d just realized what he’d revealed.

  Ian smiled in satisfaction as he stood and nodded to Isadora. “Perhaps you should go and fetch us that tea, Izzie. I have a feeling it might take a while to get the full story out of Hank, but—” His smile turned deadly as his gaze settled on Hank. “I will get the full story out of you. Do know that I’ll do whatever it takes to squeeze every last bit of confession from you, even if whatever it takes is somewhat . . . unpleasant.”