She laughed and sobbed at the same time, because she did believe it. She had become friends and lovers with Boyd during this war, but this battle had gone to him.
"I'll never learn," she whispered, and turned away before he could see her tears.
"You want to forget the past, Claire? Then quit living it." He caught her sleeve and pulled her around to face him, his eyes flashing. "I'm not Jack, damn it." He threw down his ax and stormed into the saloon through the back door.
Chapter Thirty
After her argument with Boyd, Claire's relationship with her father grew more awkward. It was clear to her that she was no longer his little girl. She'd lost her innocence. Her father was no longer that tall tree with outstretched limbs that offered her refuge; he was a man with faults that troubled her and opinions she didn't agree with.
They spent a tense afternoon together while several men from the hardware store installed a huge pane of glass in her parlor window. When it was finished, Claire built a hearty fire in the fireplace to warm the room and chase the chill from her bones. After too many minutes of silence, she scrounged up the nerve to tell her father about the journal and her grandmother's affair with Abe.
Her father was horrified.
Appalled.
And angry.
He condemned his mother's actions and refused to read the journal. He didn't want to know about her infidelity, or the name of the man who had sired him.
Claire met Addison in the foyer and quietly told him about her father's reaction. Addison was disappointed, but he went to the parlor to visit with his hardheaded, narrow-minded son. The two men spent a good part of the afternoon playing chess and discussing the pleasures of good whiskey and fine cigars.
Claire sighed and went to the kitchen. Were sin and vice the only things men thought, or cared about?
She prepared a roast chicken and chestnut stuffing for her father, who would be leaving for Buffalo the next morning, and for Addison, who wanted to spend the last evening with Claire and her father. The kitchen felt cozy and warm from the oven, and the aroma of baked chicken and stuffing lent a festive air to the evening. They had just sat down to eat when someone banged on the front door. Sailor tore through the house with a yelp of excitement. Claire followed more sedately, but each step of the way she wondered if it was Boyd.
To her shock, Desmona stepped into the foyer, tainting the air with the smell of rose water.
Her red-rimmed eyes were full of anger. "I should like to speak to my husband," she demanded, her voice ringing through the foyer.
Addison hobbled in and leaned on his walking stick, wearily patient. "What are you doing here, Desmona?"
"That is the question I've come to ask you." Her lips thinned. "Have you lost your good sense, Addison? If the gossips see you here, there will be no end to the scandal."
"Nonsense. I'm visiting friends."
Sailor sniffed Desmona's hand muff, and she gave him an irritable nudge. She thrust a gnarled finger in Claire's direction. "This girl is trouble. Just like her grandmother."
"Go on, Sailor," Claire said, shooing the dog into the parlor.
"What's going on here?" Claire's father's imperious voice boomed through the foyer as he strode in and stopped beside Claire.
Desmona's eyes darkened with hatred as her gaze swept him. Her lip curled and she turned to Addison. "I'm not going to let this girl and her father ruin our family name, or steal our daughters' inheritance because of a book that chronicles your unsavory behavior."
Addison's bushy eyebrows beetled above his angry blue eyes. "What are you talking about?"
Desmona ignored him and spoke to Claire. "Where's the journal?"
Suddenly, everything came clear to Claire. "You were the one who broke into my home. You were looking for the diary, weren't you, Mrs. Edwards?"
Desmona lifted her chin. "Where is it?"
Her brazen demand outraged Claire. How dare the woman push into her home and demand something so personal? Claire turned to Addison. "Your wife is obviously distressed, Mr. Edwards. Perhaps you should take her home."
"I'm not leaving without that diary," Desmona insisted.
"Is she referring to your grandmother's journal?" Claire's father asked.
Claire couldn't think of a worse way to tell her father the truth, but she couldn't avoid it. She nodded.
His forehead furrowed. "Why would she give a damn about that?" he asked. But in the next instant, his eyebrows lifted and he stared at Addison.
The two men resembled each other so much with their lanky builds and sapphire blue eyes, Claire was surprised her father hadn't realized before now. He sagged against her desk, utterly flummoxed by the revelation.
"I see the cat is out of the bag," Desmona said, irritation grating in her voice. To Claire's utter astonishment, Desmona pulled a revolver out of her hand muff and pointed it at Claire's stomach. "Where is it?"
"What are you doing?" Addison asked in shock.
Desmona ignored him and jabbed the nose of the gun into Claire's gut. "Get that diary."
"How dare you accost my daughter!" Her father's outraged voice boomed through the foyer. He shifted his stance, but Desmona drew back the hammer on the revolver.
"Stay back, Mr. Dawsen."
Addison teetered on his cane. "For God's sake, Desmona,"
"Get your coat, Addison. We're leaving." She glared at Claire. "Where's the journal?"
Claire straightened her shoulders, unwilling to take one more step in fear. She refused to be pushed, prodded, or pounded ever again.
Her father touched her elbow. "Go get the diary, sweetheart." He was telling her to run, but she wouldn't leave the fate of the people she loved in the hands of this crazy old lady.
"No, Daddy." An odd calm stole over her as she stared into Desmona's manic eyes. "You have no right to my grandmother's personal life."
"I have a right to protect my family and my reputation. Believe me, I'll shoot you to do so."
Desmona was dead serious.
"No one knows about the journal, Mrs. Edwards."
"And I intend to make certain they never do." She waved the gun toward the desk. "Get the diary."
In that brief moment of distraction, Addison stepped forward and planted himself between Desmona's gun and Claire's body. Claire's father shoved her toward the parlor, but she stopped in the doorway, refusing to leave her grandfather to defend her.
Addison spread his arms, baring his chest to Desmona's revolver. "If you're going to shoot anyone, shoot me. I'm the one at fault. Not Claire."
His wife's hands trembled as she gripped the revolver tighter. "She has the journal, and I want it destroyed."
"That won't change what happened," he said.
"It will keep your unsavory behavior from ever being known."
His blue eyes turned into oceans of pain and sadness. "What difference will that make? You'll still know. You'll still hate me like you've hated me for forty-nine years."
"It will protect our girls and our grandchildren. They shouldn't have to suffer gossip or shame over your licentious behavior with another woman."
"Neither should you," he said. His thin shoulders stooped with defeat. Surprise whisked across her face. "I cheated you out of a good marriage, Desmona. I regret my infidelity. But my biggest regret is that I crushed the sweetness in you and turned you into a bitter woman."
"Bitter?" Her chin snapped up and her nostrils flared. "I was wronged. You fell in love with another woman and broke my heart, Addison."
"I ended the affair with Marie the day you found us in her parlor. From that moment on, I behaved with decency and respect toward you."
"Is that supposed to make your betrayal acceptable?" She glared at him. "Where was your decency and respect when you broke our marriage vows?"
He lowered his head, looking so abashed and ashamed that Claire's heart wrenched with pity.
He cleared his throat, but his voice came out a choked whisper. "I was lost, Desmona. I admit it. I wronged you. I
've spent forty-nine years trying to make amends, but you've put up barriers at every turn. And now I realize I don't even know you. The woman I married would never point a gun in hatred at a decent human being who has never harmed her in any way."
Desmona's mouth fell open.
"Whatever happened to that beautiful, giving woman I married?" he asked, his voice thick with regret.
The anger drained from her face, leaving only desolation.
"I'm sorry I did this to you," Addison went on. "I'm sorry I snuffed out the stars that used to be in your eyes."
"Addison, you fool, it's too late for an apology," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. Tears shimmered in her eyes.
"Is it?" he asked. "Or is it just too difficult for you to forgive me?"
"How can I forgive you?" Her lips trembled and tears welled up and rolled over her lower lashes. "You loved another woman."
"And I loved you."
"No, you didn't." She shook her head and lowered the gun to her side, tears filling the grooves of her wrinkled cheeks. "You never loved me."
Addison slipped the gun from her hand and passed it to Claire's father. "Come here, Desmona." He pulled her unyielding body against him and rubbed her hunched shoulders. "I loved you when I married you," he whispered against her gray hair.
An anguished sob erupted from Desmona's throat, and she buried her face in Addison's chest.
"I'm sorry." He stroked her back. "I'm responsible for all of this."
Desmona's gnarled fingers clutched his gray sweater, and her shoulders shook with sobs.
Claire's throat filled with tears, but she couldn't turn away.
"We've got a few years ahead of us," Addison went on, his voice wobbling with emotion. "Let's spend it in peace."
Desmona wept too hard to answer.
Addison eased her away and tipped her chin up. Tears made her eyes red and puffy, but Addison looked at her as if she were the young woman he'd married. "If you can forgive me, we might still enjoy the time we have left."
A breathy sob flared her nostrils, and she pressed her brown-spotted hand to her mouth.
"Will you let me walk you home?" he asked, but Claire knew he was asking for more, that he was asking Desmona's whole forgiveness.
Desmona closed her eyes and gave a small nod of assent.
Claire exchanged a sympathetic look with her father, then turned and went to the parlor fireplace where Sailor was lounging. She could hear Desmona sobbing and Addison quietly consoling her.
"You are going to be the death of me," her father said from behind her, then he turned her toward him and pulled her into a crushing embrace.
He was trembling.
Her strong, tall father was trembling.
She clung to him, loving the starchy smell of his shirt and the hard pounding of his heart that affirmed his presence in her life. How had she ever walked away from him?
"I want you to come home with me," he said.
"I know." She hugged him. "I'll come for a visit in the spring."
He looked down at her with displeasure. "I meant for you to move home."
"This is my home, Daddy."
"Then for God's sake, stop marching."
"This business with the Edwardses has nothing to do with my temperance marches. It was about grandmother's journal"
"I don't give a damn if it's a temperance march, a journal, or a cur like Jack Ashier that puts you in danger. I don't want you involved in anything that will hurt you!"
"Oh, Daddy..." She squeezed his neck then leaned back. "I love you."
He sighed and fit her against his chest again. "You give new meaning to the word troublesome."
She smiled and smoothed her palm over his firm shoulder. "I'm sorry you found out about your father this way."
"I assume Addison has known about this?"
She nodded. "He was thrilled when he found out about you, and he has asked a million, questions about you since."
Her father was silent for a minute, then released a long sigh. "If you won't come home, and you won't quit marching, maybe you should rethink Boyd Grayson's marriage proposal"
Her heart somersaulted, and she jerked back to stare at her father.
"He told me he asked you. He told me you refused. But he's still willing. More than willing, if my guess is worth anything."
She had no idea how to respond. Why did Boyd tell her father about his proposal?
"He's a good man, Claire. I would welcome him as my son-in-law. "
That's why. Boyd had wanted her father's blessing.
She pulled from her father's arms and knelt beside Sailor, who was nudging her legs to get her attention. "I don't want to marry again," she said, stroking the soft fur on Sailor's neck.
"Why not? Mr. Grayson thinks you care for him, and it's obvious he cares for you."
"He wants to own me, Daddy."
"Bosh. You insult my intelligence, Claire."
"Then why did he go to Buffalo to get you? I'll tell you why," she said, her heart aching. "He wants you to convince me to stop marching. He's trying to keep me from shutting down his saloon. He was serving his own interests when he asked me to marry him. And he was serving his interest when he went to visit you in Buffalo."
She heard the front door close, and knew Addison and Desmona were taking their first steps back home, and hopefully steps toward healing a rift they'd endured for decades.
"A man like Boyd Grayson doesn't ask a woman to marry him because he wants to control her decisions," her father insisted. "That boy loves you. He brought me here because he knew we loved and needed each other, and because he is sincerely worried about your safety."
Claire sighed and bent to add a log to the fire. "I like not having to answer to anyone. I like being in charge of my life."
"Is it more important to you than sharing your life with a man you love?"
"Yes." She dusted her hands on her skirt and stood. "Yes, Daddy, it is." It had to be.
He shook his head. "You're as confused about love as you are about your temperance marches that aren't doing a damn bit of good. It's all nonsense, Claire. He shook his head in disgust. "If your independence is that important to you, then I'll transfer your dowry money into an account for you. Believe me, you can live comfortably without taking boarders."
"Oh, Daddy, I don't want your money."
"As long as you insist on living an independent life, I insist on giving you the means to do so. His jaw clenched. "If Jack Ashier were still alive, I'd kill the bastard."
The fury in his voice shocked her.
"He ruined you. For that offense, I would gladly kill him." Red-faced, her father stormed out of the house.
Claire rushed to the foyer window and saw him cross the street, no doubt to nurse his anger with a manly glass of good whiskey at Boyd's still operating saloon.
She stood by the window, listening to the revelry next door, wishing she had a place to go and a friend to talk to. Was her father right about the temperance marches being a waste of time? She rubbed her temples to ease the ache behind her eyes. Maybe they weren't helping anyone. Elizabeth's situation hadn't changed at all. Anna's life wouldn't change as long as she was married to Larry. And truthfully, Claire's own marriage to Jack would have been hell even if the saloons had been closed down. Jack would have made his own liquor, and had at times. So what was the point? What was she trying to accomplish by marching? She wanted to protect women like herself and Anna and Elizabeth, but all she was doing was antagonizing every man in town.
And questioning an honorable man's integrity.
She leaned her forehead against the frigid window pane, suspecting that her father was right about the temperance marches, and about Boyd's intentions. She was sorry she'd judged Boyd unfairly.
But most of all, she was sorry that her father was right about her, that Jack had ruined her ability to trust.
Chapter Thirty-one
Boyd lowered his ax and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. H
e blew his nose and cursed the wind that cut a chill path through the yard at the depot.
"You sick?" Kyle asked, stopping his team of Percherons in the middle of the yard where Boyd was whacking the bark off a maple log. Frosty clouds of air blew from the horses' nostrils and spun away on the wind.
Boyd wasn't sick. He was all twisted up inside, true, but it was nothing a doctor could cure. He stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket and picked up his ax. "Remember that talk we had out here right after you married Amelia?"
"How could I forget?" his brother said. "It was one of your shining moments."
"Well, it's your turn to give me some advice. How do you change a lady's mind about something?"
"You think I know?" Kyle tipped his head back and laughed. Several of the lumberyard crew members paused in their labor to look. "Boyd, if there's a way to do that, I'd sure as hell like to know."
"How do you get Amelia to change her mind when she's set on something?"
"I don't."
"The hell you don't. She supports everything you want to do with the mills."
"That doesn't mean she always agrees with my decisions," Kyle said. "We each speak our mind, then find a compromise. Easy in theory. Difficult in practice. "
"What if you had to change her mind?"
"I'd get on my knees and beg."
"I'm serious, Kyle." He felt foolish asking for advice, but he was desperate enough to suffer his brother's ribbing. "I need to change Claire's mind about pursuing this temperance issue before she gets herself killed. One of the ladies found a rattlesnake in her kitchen yesterday."
"At this time of year? I find that hard to believe."
Boyd shrugged. "That's what I heard. And I don't want something like that to happen to Claire."
"Well, well, well. I believe Duke was right," Kyle said, looking surprised. He gave a grin that made Boyd want to smack him. "The lovely widow has gotten her claws into you. It's going to be a hell of a good time watching you try to shake loose." He grabbed Boyd by the shoulders with mock talons.
"Get away from me." Boyd jabbed Kyle in the stomach with the handle of his ax.
Kyle grew serious. "You're the expert at seducing women. Use that to change Claire's mind."
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