A Reluctant Melody - Will she risk losing everything … including her heart?

by Ardoin, Sandra

  Her breath caught. Had she followed in her father’s footsteps—basking in misery?

  “I know you’re worried. We wouldn’t be in this predicament if I hadn’t given in to my fear and married Liam.” Though she had come to the Stewart house a widow in Joanna’s employ, Rose had believed raising a child was easier with a man to lean on—evidently, any man. Yesterday, they had driven him away.

  “We’ve both made mistakes.”

  Rose gripped the top edge of the piano. “You’re not responsible for my problem, Jo.”

  “If it hadn’t been for me, you never would have met Liam. We’ll go where he can’t find us.”

  If Joanna sold the house to Kit, the money would go to Liam, along with much of her savings, and she would have a pittance to start over somewhere else. Yet, she couldn’t bear knowing Kit was near, that she might meet him around any corner at any time.

  “Are you sure you want to sell to Mr. Barnes to save us from Liam?”

  Joanna laughed, the strident sound devoid of humor. “A matter of choosing between two evils, isn’t it?”

  ***

  The next afternoon, Joanna leaned back in the parlor armchair. Her head rested against the scallop-edged antimacassar draped over the back.

  Perry towered over her. “Why, Jo? Why change your mind again?”

  Joanna sighed and lifted her head. With no word from Liam since Wednesday, she had begun to hope she could ignore his threat and almost talked herself into believing they were safe, that he had gone away, fearful she would report his abuse and blackmail. The note Rose found tacked to the cottage door that morning proved her ignorance.

  My best to you while you heal.

  Liam had been careful to disguise his threat, but Joanna read between the lines, something Rose refused to do.

  “I don’t understand.” Perry shoved aside the pillowcase stretched inside Joanna’s embroidery hoop and dropped onto the sofa. He crossed his legs and stared at her as if she were a stranger. “First you want to sell, then you don’t, and now you do. You don’t normally display a capricious nature.”

  How did she explain her odd behavior without revealing the truth? Liam made it clear their agreement was to be secret or not at all. Not that she wanted it shouted from one end of town to another anyway. “You know I didn’t feel well the day Mr. Barnes arrived for our meeting. I made a rash decision.”

  “And now you want me to offer him the house?”

  “I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you.”

  “I don’t mind a bit of inconvenience when you’re involved, but why not tell him yourself?”

  She smiled to ease the tension between them. “You are more capable when it comes to conducting negotiations, and you were willing to act as my agent before. Are you unwilling now?”

  “Perhaps so, if I’m going to look like a fool in Kit Barnes’ eyes.” He huffed. “I’ll send him a message that we’d like to meet—”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  He cocked his head. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I would prefer that you see to everything. When the papers are ready, they can be sent here for my signature.”

  Joanna sat rigid as he studied her, his dark brows drawn in a “v.” Finally, his features relaxed. He uncrossed his legs and rose from the sofa. “If that’s what you want, I’ll notify him.”

  “Thank you.”

  She followed Perry through the foyer to the porch. He stopped and turned toward her. “Barnes seemed anxious to purchase a property. It’s possible he’s already found another location to suit his needs. What will you do then?”

  She laid a hand against the burn in her stomach. What if? “I’ll contemplate that problem should the need arise.”

  “I wish you would contemplate us.” His aqua gaze held hers before he reached out and, with the tip of one finger, raised her chin. Perry bent forward and Joanna stiffened. Her heart thundered in her ears. But instead of pressing his lips to hers as she’d expected, he kissed her forehead. “Goodbye, Jo.”

  Perry walked to his carriage parked under the porte cochere. After a last look in her direction, he urged his horse into a turn and back down the drive.

  Joanna touched the spot where he’d kissed her. Contemplate them as a couple? She didn’t dare.

  Rose stopped alongside her. “Maybe you should marry him.”

  “He doesn’t deserve me.”

  “Nonsense.”

  The carriage turned onto the road and vanished in a cloud of dust. “Perry deserves a wife with an honorable past, not one who wasted her youth and God’s patience on vain pursuits.”

  “I’ve never met that woman, Jo, and I doubt she ever existed, not to the degree you remember. Despite everything, God loves you. So does Perry. Both will forgive you if you ask.”

  She faced her friend. “Now you’re the one speaking nonsense. Why should I expect Perry to do what his father refused to do?”

  They stepped inside the house. Annie peered from behind the staircase. Her chestnut hair poked out in various places from a pair of braids she’d plaited herself. “Is he gone?”

  Joanna glanced at Rose, who held her arms out for the child. “He’s gone, my girl.”

  Annie rushed to Rose and received a reassuring hug. She gazed up at Joanna. “I don’t like him, Aunt Jo.”

  “It’s all right, sweetheart.”

  Both women knew Annie’s dislike had more to do with Liam than Perry. The latter had never so much as raised his voice to her. In fact, he ignored her. Did Perry not like children? The question never occurred to Joanna before.

  She climbed the stairs to change into a dress better suited to helping Rose clean the house. The child’s reaction reinforced Joanna’s conviction that she had no choice but to sell to Kit. Even without Liam’s threat hanging over her, it was the right thing to do—for Rose and Annie.

  The girl was young. Once she was free of the loathsome Liam McCall, she would regain her trust in men.

  Unlike Joanna.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kit boarded the horse-drawn streetcar and found an empty seat at the back. Once settled on the wooden bench, he reached into his coat pocket, removed the envelope he’d received from Perry Stewart, and withdrew a sheet of expensive paper. He ran a finger across the tiny embossed symbol at the bottom, a stationer’s mark, then reread the succinct message.

  Sir,

  If you are still interested in the purchase of Mrs. Stewart’s home, please contact me at my office, and we will begin the process of sale.

  Kit’s heart thrummed. The woman had changed her mind—again. He’d never met a more fickle female. A chuckle erupted. In actual fact, he still hadn’t met one, since they’d never been introduced. Before he replied to Perry’s message, he intended to meet this mysterious stepmother and decide for himself the level of her seriousness. What did one say to the person who held the well-being of others in her unpredictable hands?

  As the car rolled south down Broad Street toward the outskirts of town, Kit eased back and grabbed the paper a former passenger left lying on the seat. He read the news of last Sunday’s flooding and fires that engulfed the Pennsylvania communities lying on the banks of Oil Creek. The calamitous event ran all the way from Titusville to Oil City. He whispered a prayer for those affected by the extensive loss of life and property. With all they were going through in his home state, how could he complain about an indecisive woman?

  The conductor frowned at Kit. “You know your destination?”

  “How far is Hickory Grove Road?”

  “Get off at Peeler and Limestone. It’s another half-mile northwest.”

  “We’re headed in that direction?”

  “We are.” The man leaned against the back wall of the car and tucked his thumbs inside the armholes of his vest. “You reckon to make Banesville home?”

  “Not permanently.” Kit held out his hand and introduced himself.

  The conductor pumped his hand once, then let go. “William Rainer. Yo
u got something against our glorious South, Yankee?”

  Kit ignored the man’s good-natured prejudice and explained his purpose for being in town. To end, he added, “Problems with alcohol exist in all corners of our country, Mr. Rainer—north, south, east, and west.”

  The conductor straightened, his face pinched with disgust. “Most drunkards don’t have a problem with alcohol. The problem is the quantity they consume.”

  “That’s one way of stating it. However, with God’s help, people can change.” Kit hesitated. It had taken him several years before he’d grown accustomed to admitting to strangers his weakness. Still, it wasn’t a comfortable admission. Each time, he held his breath while awaiting the other person’s reaction. “I’m one who has changed.”

  The statement drew raised, silver eyebrows. “You don’t say? So you reckon you can help others?”

  “With God, all things are possible, sir. But to answer your question, we help those who seek help. Until a man has the will, success is doubtful.”

  They discussed the house he and Ben planned to open. “In general, we approach it three ways. Doctors handle the physical issues and care for the body. We rely on pastors such as my partner, Ben, for spiritual guidance. As for the practical matters of finding them work and repairing family relations, I take responsibility for many of those tasks. Mostly, I manage the daily operation of the ministry. We want our men to know it’s possible to conquer the lust for liquor, and to see the glory of a sober life.”

  The conductor eased onto the empty seat across the aisle. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Do you think you can help my wife’s brother?”

  Once more, Kit discerned the hand of God on his work and his purpose for being in this particular town at this time. “I’d be happy to talk with him, but as I said, there are men who refuse our help, and we aren’t successful with everyone who comes to us. I’m staying at the Hotel Ambrose. Have him contact me.”

  Kit exited the car blocks from Joanna Stewart’s home and waved to the conductor. Once he reached the house, he strolled up the long drive and paused about ten yards in front of a two-story, white structure at the top of a low hill. Over the years, its broad porch and portico had been augmented with a porte cochere. The mansard roof imparted pride, distinction, and elegance to a country dwelling standing in the midst of simpler farm houses.

  On his last visit, he and Ben sat inside a rented buggy parked at the edge of the road and missed details of the home’s condition. Today, he could see the outside needed a new coat of paint. Several rotting boards along the foundation were splattered with rust-colored dust from the clay soil. He tilted his head back. A number of slate shingles were missing from this side of the roof.

  What was the inside like? He rubbed his hands together. There was only one way to find out. After seeing the extent of the required repairs, he might follow Mrs. Stewart’s example and change his mind.

  Kit climbed the porch steps and pulled on one of the double screen doors. He frowned as the bottom scraped along the porch flooring. Once he squeezed through, he lifted the iron knocker and announced his arrival.

  Moments later, the inner door creaked open and a child peered at him from inside the house. She clutched a stuffed cat, crude and homemade, but well-loved. Round eyes, pale blue like his own, studied him. Those eyes grew fearful, and she swung at the door in an attempt to slam it shut.

  “Wait.” Kit slapped his hand against the wood panel. “Is Mrs. Stewart home?”

  She turned and screamed, “Ma-ma!”

  A woman rushed into the foyer, her focus solely on the child. Tendrils of blonde hair poked from the back of a bright red, calico headscarf wrapped around her head. She wore a dingy work dress covered by an apron and carried a feather duster in her left hand. With her back to Kit, she knelt in front of the girl. “Good heavens, Annie, what’s wrong?”

  The child’s stare drew the attention of the woman—Mrs. Stewart’s housekeeper?—to what was behind her. When her wide, blue-gray gaze bore into Kit’s, the air whooshed from his lungs with the force of another of Donovan’s punches.

  He should have turned his back on this town and left on the train with Ben.

  ***

  As Kit Barnes stood on the other side of the threshold, memory after memory rushed through Joanna’s mind in a humiliating flow more powerful than she had experienced in Perry’s office and the days since. Vivid images, tingling senses, and grief—mind-numbing grief.

  The feather duster clattered to the floor.

  She struggled to drag in a breath, and an absurd thought jumped to the forefront. To him, she must look like a fish dying on desert sands. On the other hand, from his parted lips, pale face, and heaving chest, she surmised Kit fought his own battle to catch his breath.

  When he found his voice, he managed to sputter a feeble, “J-Joanna Cranston?” He had not recognized her in Perry’s office after all.

  She swallowed, but it failed to ease her dry throat, and she almost choked when uttering the word “Stewart.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Once the initial shock wore off, Joanna realized that she still knelt by Annie’s side. Looking up at Kit put her at a disadvantage, so she pushed to her feet and steeled herself to deal with him as a mature adult—a widow—not the naive young woman of seven years ago.

  “It’s Joanna Stewart.” She pronounced each word slowly and with feigned confidence. “Or if you prefer, Mrs. Clayton Stewart.”

  Kit’s slackened jaw clenched and his icy-blue gaze hardened—a gaze that lacked the red, glassy effect she had noticed often during their short time together. Regardless of his recklessness in those days, he had been charming and striking in looks, only two years older than her.

  Standing before her today, he had come of age and devastated Joanna with a clean-shaven and sober appearance, a square jaw and stubborn chin. The only blemishes to his attractiveness were the yellowing bruise at the side of his face and the ferocity in the stare that held her awestruck.

  “You knew me when I walked into Perry’s office on Tuesday, didn’t you? Why hide and pretend to be ill?”

  “Because I had no desire to see or speak with you. If I had known you were interested in my home, I would never have agreed to a meeting in the first place. Why do you think I asked Perry to contact you today? You were to deal with him, not me.”

  From the top of the paper collar and up, his skin reddened with outrage until the color matched the deep blush of her favorite rose. Wherever she went from here, she’d never plant another such bush and let it forever remind her of him.

  He crossed the threshold and stopped within a foot of her. She squelched the instinct to retreat. Hot breath fanned her face as he said, “If I had known who owned this place, Mrs. Stewart, I would have canceled the meeting myself.”

  At his raised voice and fierce expression, Annie grabbed Joanna’s hand and slid partially behind her. Kit’s eyebrows spiked. Evidently, he had forgotten the child’s presence. So had she.

  Joanna bent and ran a comforting hand over the soft hair covering Annie’s head. It twisted her heart to see fear in those young eyes. “Take Kitty and run along to the kitchen, sweetheart. I smelled cookies baking earlier.”

  “For my birthday?”

  “No. Mama has something special planned for your birthday.”

  Annie eyed Kit one more time, as if she were unsure about leaving Joanna alone with him. Finally, she backed away, then whirled around and escaped down the hall toward the kitchen. The soles of her worn boots tapped the floor in an excited rhythm.

  Joanna turned to Kit. “Please keep your voice down. You scared her.”

  “It wasn’t my intention.” He exhaled with a heavy sigh. “She’s partial to that stuffed cat, isn’t she?”

  “The child is partial to animals, real or stuffed.” Once they were settled elsewhere, Joanna would get the child a puppy or a kitten. She should have done so long ago.

  They stood in uncomfortable silence,
both gaping at different walls of the foyer. She slid a peek at him. By the faraway look on his face, Joanna suspected Kit never noticed the garish and peeling wallpaper. Sooner or later, he would.

  Now what? They couldn’t stay this way for the rest of the afternoon. He said he would have canceled their meeting had he known her identity. Did he despise her so much he’d turn down her current offer to sell?

  No. No. No. Joanna refused to lose the two people she cared for most to a mean and drunken lout. She’d use the Devil himself to be rid of Liam for Rose and Annie’s sakes. It just so happened he stood two feet away.

  “We may as well make ourselves comfortable in the drawing room.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Past history prodded Kit to run back down the drive and all the way to Pittsburgh if he must. Instead, he removed his hat and followed Joanna into a large drawing room where she sat on the sofa with her back straight and chin held high.

  Kit glanced around the room. Their illicit tryst cost him five years of estrangement from his older brother, Hugh, while she surrounded herself with opulence. He ground his back teeth. Hugh had no idea of the favor Kit had done him.

  To this day, he cringed at the memory of seducing the woman his brother loved. Knowing God had forgiven him for the sins he’d committed—still committed every day—should bring him peace of mind. Not now. Not while standing here and looking one of his biggest mistakes in the face. As dishonorable as his own actions had been, he never would have succeeded in betraying Hugh without Joanna’s all-too-willing participation.

  Although he’d been unaware of it at the time, he’d caught her in her stepson’s arms on Tuesday. She hadn’t changed.

  Kit regretted upsetting the girl, though. Annie. Had Joanna been so vain as to give her daughter her own name?

  A burning sensation rose in his chest. Why had he never thought of her as a mother … as another man’s wife?

  Had Clayton Stewart been a man fierce enough to make his own child cower at the sight of a male? Kit’s fingers curled into a tight fist. Had he had the same effect on his wife?