Joanna gestured for him to occupy the chair across from her and began to straighten her dress. Her fingers stilled, and she glanced down. When she lifted her chin, her eyes were closed, and he imagined her counting to ten. She raised a hand toward her head and dropped it before touching the cloth tied around her hair. Kit gripped his lower lip between his teeth to keep from laughing aloud.
She opened her eyes and her lips spread in a failed attempt at a smile. “Excuse me. I’ll ask Rose to prepare us refreshment.”
What would she do if he told her he didn’t want any? Would she concoct another excuse to remedy her disheveled appearance? He might as well go along with her ruse. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Coffee and those cookies you mentioned sound good.”
A dignified Joanna Stewart stood and, with her back rigid, crossed the room at a well-bred snail’s pace. She turned into the hall and disappeared. At the skitter of running feet, he laughed.
The laughter ceased as he sniffed the scent of furniture oil. A nearby table held a rag as gray as Joanna’s apron. He’d caught her cleaning house? Why? With a place this large, she must employ servants to accomplish the job.
For the first time, he focused on the sparse and shabby furnishings scattered throughout the large room. He could say Joanna had done well for herself if it weren’t for the obvious surroundings that shouted neglect. The once glittering luxury of the Stewart home had dulled.
The carved mantel of the fireplace, gilded sconces, and wide trim reminded him of his grandfather’s house in Philadelphia. Though he and his mother’s father battled endlessly during Kit’s wayward youth, he thanked God the two of them reconciled before Grandfather Mullins passed on.
Joanna returned without the apron and head covering and eased onto the settee again. “Rose will be in shortly.” She fluffed the material of the blue, cotton dress—one better suited for cleaning than entertaining—and squirmed on the seat. Her gaze darted everywhere, except in his direction, and her fingers moved across her lap as if she played a lively and imaginary song.
Did her awkward fidgeting have less to do with anger or vanity than it did nerves? Kit slumped in the chair at the thought of making the audacious Joanna Cranston Stewart nervous.
A slim, red-headed woman, close to Joanna in age, carried a silver tray into the room. It supported a matching coffee service, china cups and saucers, and plates covered in silver dollar-sized sugar cookies. After setting the tray on the table next to Joanna, she snatched the dusty rag and tucked it into her apron.
“Thank you, Rose.”
“You’re welcome. Call out if you need anything else.” Kit battled frostbite to his face under the servant’s glare. “I mean anything.”
Rose left the room, and he said, “Pleasant woman.”
Joanna’s expression darkened. “Rose McCall is my best friend. She’s been my rock through every trial I’ve faced and the one person I could count on. Don’t ever speak ill of her.”
Every trial? What had the years since he’d last seen Joanna wrought?
Slivers of sympathy worked their way under Kit’s skin. Irritated, he brushed them aside. Why should he feel pity for Joanna when he’d been the one to suffer through the sorrow of a broken family relationship?
She jabbed the dessert plate in his direction, and the cookies slid along the smooth china. Kit caught them before they landed in his lap. Then she reached out to pass him a saucer holding a cup brimming with coffee so hot it produced a high cloud of steam. He held his breath, wishing he’d asked for lemonade.
After her short, but intense, tongue lashing, dare he broach the topic of their past? It hung like a black shroud over their heads and would continue to do so if he passed on this opportunity. “From your friend’s attitude toward me, I suppose she knows about us.”
“Obviously, your memory is poor. There was never an ‘us,’ Kit.”
She’d thrown in his face the angry words he’d shouted long ago. “Joanna, there is no ‘us.’ There’s you and me and one night that meant nothing.” The steam that swirled above his coffee fell short of taking the chill from the air.
“How is your brother?”
Employing a smile, he countered her attempt to provoke him. “He’s well, thank you. Hugh opened a grocery in Northern Virginia and married last year. Violet is a lovely woman, so sweet and … innocent.” He gained momentary satisfaction in hearing her soft gasp.
The starch left her posture, and she murmured, “I’m sure she’s a perfect angel.”
Odd that she chose that term to describe Violet, a woman known as the Yuletide Angel. “She may not be perfect, but Hugh found a godly and noble woman.”
“I am happy for him.”
The sincerity in her voice added to Kit’s shame. Why was he acting like a cretin and rubbing Joanna’s nose in Hugh’s happiness? Because she tried to put him in his place after he insulted her and her friend with unkind remarks? He leaned forward. “Joanna—”
“Do you still want to purchase my property?”
He drew back at the meekness in her voice. Regardless of her less than principled character, she had always been a confident woman. He’d seen this side of her only once. While it didn’t sway him years ago, it pained him to witness it now.
Kit looked around. Did he still want this place if it meant dealing with Joanna Cran … Joanna Stewart? The Lord had given him a choice between best and second best, between this place and the Simmons house. Shouldn’t his cause rise above his personal animosity?
“I’d like to discuss a purchase.”
Joanna set her saucer on the tray. The cup produced a gentle rattle. She clenched her hands on her lap, her gaze fastened on them. “Since you ignored my wish that you deal with Perry, we may as well settle the terms while you’re here.”
Kit opened his mouth to say he’d like to see the whole house first, but Perry Stewart burst into the room without waiting to be greeted. With his attention fixed on Joanna, he marched forward. “Jo, I sent a message to the hotel for Mr. Barnes.” Perry removed his hat and tossed it on the settee. “I’ve heard nothing from …” the words drifted away once he noticed Kit.
“Good afternoon, Perry. I received your message.”
He frowned. “What are you doing here? Mrs. Stewart requested I handle the negotiations of her sale.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Perry crossed his arms and glared, increasing Kit’s vigilance. If the housekeeper knew about them, had Joanna also confided their indiscretion to her stepson in the past days?
“I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds.” Kit set his coffee cup on a nearby table and stood. “I was about to ask Mrs. Stewart for a tour of the property before I decide whether or not to make an offer.”
Perry patted Joanna’s shoulder. “You wait here, dear. I’ll show him around.”
She glanced between the two of them. Nothing in her stoic manner suggested a romantic involvement with her stepson. “Thank you, Perry.”
Kit grimaced when Stewart squeezed Joanna’s hand. He waited for her to bat her eyelashes or bewitch him with a smile, a flirtatious response to Perry’s show of affection. When she pulled away from his hold without the expected coquetry, Kit’s lungs caved with the release of his breath.
More than an hour later, they had toured the downstairs rooms, five upstairs bedrooms, the cottage and outbuildings and walked the garden and grounds adjacent to the house. When they returned to the drawing room, Joanna occupied the same place on the settee. He would think she’d remained there the whole time if it weren’t for her change into the fashionable green and white striped dress she wore on Tuesday—the dress he’d spotted hanging in an upstairs bedroom earlier. The Joanna he’d known would never have been seen in the same clothing twice in one week.
He’d rushed through her room, reluctant to invade her private domain. Like the other rooms in the house, its furnishings were old and sparse. Taking into account other tidbits he’d gleaned this afternoon, he suspected she had
been selling the furniture bit by bit. The only valuable piece to remain was the grand piano in the music room.
“Well?” Her glance shifted from one to the other of them, then lingered on Kit.
How did she manage to place such curiosity and demand into one word? She was that desperate for his money? “I’m interested.”
Had he not been studying her, Kit would have missed the delicate relaxation of her shoulders. “Then you may have the property for five thousand dollars.”
“Five thousand?” Outrageous.
“Jo,” Perry crossed the room to stand behind the settee, “may I speak with you? In private?”
She held up her hand. “It isn’t necessary. Mr. Barnes wants to buy. I want to sell.”
Kit stuffed both hands in his pockets to prevent himself from throttling her. “The real estate agent mentioned four thousand, which I find more than fair considering the age of the structure and the amount I’ll spend in renovations.”
The one pristine area Kit found was the garden with its meandering paths and variety of flowering and foliage plants. Years ago, he had appreciated Joanna’s horticultural talent in every sprout and bloom surrounding her father’s house. Back then, she’d had a knack for growing medicinal herbs. She had accomplished the same here. No doubt the men would find the half-acre of greenery a place of comfort and serenity during their trying times.
“My benefactors have—”
“Your benefactors?”
“Yes.” Kit dropped onto the chair he’d occupied earlier and leaned forward. “This purchase is not for my personal use, Joanna.” He explained about the home in Pittsburgh and the offer from Mrs. Brockhurst and her friends.
A moment of open-mouthed silence followed his explanation. “You come to the aid of men who consider alcohol a balm for the troubles in their lives? Kit, you couldn’t pass a bottle of whiskey without it following you home. I always figured Mrs. Brockhurst for a snob, but I never thought she lacked common sense. Has she seen that bruise on your jaw?”
Kit smiled. “It’s clear only one of us has changed.”
Her stare spit nails, but his comment halted her mockery.
Perry’s puzzled gaze ran from Kit’s dusty shoes to the top of his head. “You two knew each other before today?”
Joanna shifted on the seat as if she sat on a cactus-stuffed cushion. “We met in Philadelphia.”
So Perry hadn’t been aware of their past and, apparently, she wasn’t eager to tell him even a portion of the story.
Perry’s nostrils flared and his chest heaved. “I see.”
Kit figured he saw more than she intended. Over the years, she had become quite the lady of the Southern manor, but the slight tremble running through her fingers betrayed her detached expression. He had gotten one thing right. Perry wanted more from Joanna than a stepmother-stepson relationship.
You’ve landed in a hornet’s nest, Barnes. He would be fortunate to leave this room without being stung.
A shrill child’s giggle echoed in the foyer—Annie with the brown hair and blue eyes. After scaring her with his angry voice, Kit welcomed the glee coming from the … what? “How old is Annie?”
“She’ll be six on her birthday.”
Six? A cold wind raked his core. “When is that?”
“The fifteenth.” Joanna narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
Kit subtracted the years and months. A June birth. Every degree of warmth drained from his body as his gaze shot to Joanna.
God, tell me it isn’t possible.
All right, what did he know for certain? Incapable of speech or movement, he reasoned through the facts. The child had called for her mama, and Joanna responded within seconds. Annie turned six in less than a week. From what he’d learned, that made her older than Joanna’s marriage to Clayton Stewart. She had Kit’s coloring.
“Kit?” Joanna’s voice broke through his preoccupation.
He jumped to his feet, hat in hand, and prepared to leave. “I’d like to think …”
“What is your decision, Barnes?” Perry blocked his path to the foyer.
Kit considered the condition of the structures and grounds, the lack of servants, the fact that he’d caught Joanna in the midst of cleaning her own house, the meekness in her voice when she asked if he was still interested in a purchase. Breaking through the confusion, all he saw were Annie’s eyes and hair color.
Much of the inheritance from his grandfather remained in a trust for the next three years. Kit wouldn’t see the bulk of it until he’d been sober and trouble-free for ten years. Until then, he lived on an allowance, much of which maintained the Pittsburgh house. However, he had set aside modest savings. Could he afford to agree to Joanna’s ridiculous price?
Somehow, he would make up the thousand-dollar difference himself. What he wouldn’t do was let Joanna’s daughter experience want. Not when the possibility existed that he could provide for his own child.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Joanna sat on the flat lid of the trunk in the attic. Dust swirled in the narrow beam of sunlight cutting across the dry, wooden floor in front of her. Not even opening the windows rid the space of the summer heat.
She coughed and, with the back of her hand, swiped perspiration from her forehead. “I wish I had my fan.” She waved musty air at Annie, who sat at her feet and giggled.
“You were smart to suggest we start this job in the morning. I can’t imagine what it will be like working in the mid-afternoon heat.” Rose swiveled to glance around the rest of the space. “What will you do with all this … clutter?”
“Much of it was here when Clayton bought the house. Frankly, it’s rubbish that I plan to leave for Kit to sort through.”
Rose planted her hands on her hips. She tried and failed to hide her smile. “Joanna Stewart, just because you don’t like him, is it a proper Christian attitude to saddle him with the job of cleaning out what you don’t want?”
“I abandoned proper Christian attitudes long ago, remember?”
What would the angel named Violet do? Contrary to everyone else’s opinion, Joanna had never felt more than friendship for Hugh Barnes and wished him well in his marriage. But the affection in Kit’s voice when he spoke of his sister-in-law two days ago, not to mention the veiled taunt, still stung.
“Don’t tease like that.”
“You think I’m teasing?” At Rose’s scowl, she said, “All right, so you won’t consider me a total heathen, I’ll ask Perry if there’s anything he wants. I’m certain some of his mother’s things are still here.”
Annie tugged on Rose’s apron. “What’s a hee-then?”
“Never mind.” Rose leaned down and gently tapped a finger on the tip of Annie’s nose, and then addressed Joanna. “Perry has never struck me as being the sentimental sort.”
“I don’t think he is, but I should give him the chance to look.” Joanna doubted he’d risk dirtying his clothes to rummage through the collection of odds and ends. “I only want what will bring a decent price when I sell it, and I don’t see any of that kind of thing up here. There’s not much of value left on the other floors, either.”
“What about the piano? I know it means a great deal to you.”
Joanna’s stomach muscles constricted. Since she was seven, she’d only lived a short time without expressing her joys and frustrations through music. Those were the months between being cast from her father’s house and marrying Clayton—months she had needed the comfort most. That period of separation from playing the instrument she loved had hurt with a magnitude that intensified the loss she had suffered.
“A piano that big would never fit into the size place we’ll be able to afford, and would cost too much to transport.”
Asking Perry if he wanted to buy it was out of the question. He owned a similar grand piano already, one she suspected he purchased to please and impress her, to encourage her to feel at home when she visited, and bribe her into a more permanent stay.
“It’s possible Mr. Ba
rnes wants it for his ministry.”
Joanna shook her head with an emphatic fervor. “He’s taken too much from me already. I’ll find a buyer for the piano because I will not leave it for him.”
She had survived one turbulent period brought on by Kit. She would survive this one and plead that God make it the last. Maybe He would find her pathetic enough to take pity on her.
Joanna tapped her toe on the floor in an irregular rhythm. Kit had appeared stricken just before he bolted out the door. Had he taken ill? For a moment, it troubled her. After all, the last thing she wanted was for him to die in her house. How would she explain that to Mrs. Brockhurst and the other biddies in town who already considered her a murderer?
“I’ll ask Perry if he knows someone who might want the piano.”
Rose grabbed an old bonnet from a box and tried it on. She strutted across the floor, dodging furniture and trunks.
Annie jumped to her feet and reached upward to Rose. “I want a hat.”
Joanna laughed, her mood bolstered by their antics. “I think you’ll enjoy playing with the old dresses and toys we’ve found today.”
“Can I, Mama?”
“Whatever is all right with Aunt Jo.” Rose removed the bonnet and set it on Annie’s head.
“Take whatever you want, sweetheart.”
“Can I have this, Aunt Jo?” Annie held up a cheap, wooden box with a badly carved cover. Its unsophisticated design would attract only a child.
“If you want it.” Joanna hopped off the trunk and raised the lid to dig through her husband’s clothes. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the moth-repelling naphthalene flakes and removed the protective paper covering the vulnerable cloth inside. She reached for the top article, then drew her hand away, amazed by the sudden sorrow that gripped her over the loss of a man who barely spoke to her when they were alone.
After a successful fight against pneumonia, the doctor had diagnosed Clayton’s recovery to be all but certain. Within forty-eight hours, her husband died.
A Reluctant Melody - Will she risk losing everything … including her heart? Page 5