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

by Ardoin, Sandra

  He twiddled his thumbs as they waited at the curb for the streetcar to arrive. Why did You impress upon me to volunteer, Lord? I have better things to do and better company to keep.

  “Do you?”

  Over the nearby shout of a shopkeeper and the wail of a toddler, the two words were a soft whisper to Kit’s soul. He stiffened. The last time he’d heard God’s voice so clearly, he’d been instructed to open the Pittsburgh home.

  Why is it important that I escort Joanna home today? He waited, but no further enlightenment came.

  From around the corner, a bell jangled and signaled the approach of the streetcar. When it arrived, Joanna climbed the steps to the platform and slipped Mr. Rainer a coin before Kit could hand the conductor two nickels to pay for both their fares.

  William Rainer tipped his hat. “Pleasure to see you again, Mr. Barnes.”

  “You, too.” Kit leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I haven’t heard from your brother-in-law.”

  The conductor shook his head. “I reckon, if I have anything to say about it, you will. The man isn’t worth a plugged nickel as he is now.”

  Joanna advanced toward the front of the car until she reached a pair of empty seats on either side. She settled in the center of one, leaving Kit no option but to sit across the aisle from her.

  He frowned in her direction. During the past seven years, he had lived a chaste life. Still, he could name at least a dozen women who would urge him with playful smiles to sit next to them on a short bench such as this. He wasn’t accustomed to one who wanted nothing to do with him.

  Joanna sat with her back straight and stiff as he studied her profile—the prominent cheekbones, strong chin, and fair complexion. She had matured into an exquisite beauty. No wonder Perry wanted her.

  The horses plodded forward, pulling the car down the rails. Along with the clip-clop of their hooves and the occasional ding of the transport’s bell, the drawl of conversation pulsed around them. Repeatedly, people hopped aboard the car or departed to walk the rest of the way to their destinations. He and Joanna remained silent, their attentions focused on the street ahead.

  Kit had learned through his own experiences, as well as his mother’s mistake in marrying his father, that physical attraction was not the equivalent to long-lasting love—not the kind he craved these days. He wanted what his brother had found, a woman who sacrificed for others and whose inner strength and compassion outshone the beauty of her face. Joanna possessed a beauty that failed to go more than skin deep.

  Ben’s advice to take it easy on her until he got to know her better rolled through Kit’s mind. He glanced her way again, this time with open curiosity. Just as on the day he agreed to buy the Stewart house, fragility encircled her like a giant soap bubble. If he poked her, would she pop?

  As far as he could see, she was no longer the Joanna he’d known. Had motherhood provided the motivation she needed to change? Annie displayed an unspoiled and lovable personality. Was it the child’s own inherent character or due to Joanna’s guidance?

  Realizing his thoughts carried him toward a more sympathetic view of the woman responsible for his problems with Hugh, Kit jerked his gaze away to stare out the open window of the car. Pine, hickory, and walnut trees grew thick along the edge of town. Multi-storied oaks on both sides of the street cast a continuous swathe of shade to cool them.

  Squirrels darted along the ground and up the trees, their tails swishing with agitation at the intrusion into their territory. He grinned. Almost like Joanna when he announced his intention to escort her home.

  “Such a shame that Clayton Stewart isn’t here to ride one of these contraptions.” A deep male voice from across the aisle broke into Kit’s thoughts. The gentleman and the woman with him had boarded at the last stop and occupied the seat behind Joanna.

  Kit lowered his chin and tilted his head to hide his glimpse of her. Other than the sudden, white-knuckled clench of her hands in her lap, she showed no reaction to the man’s comment.

  “Yes. Bless his heart, he died too soon. So unexpected. So … suspicious.” The man’s seat mate glared at the back of Joanna’s head.

  So these were the types of rumors Mrs. Brockhurst alluded to a week ago, rumors that accused Joanna of being responsible for her husband’s death. No matter her behavior in the past, Kit couldn’t believe her capable of causing anyone physical harm.

  “Unfortunately, we may never know the truth of his passing.”

  Kit turned around in his seat to face the couple. “Pardon me, but are you familiar with James 1:26?”

  The gray-haired woman clicked her tongue with a tsk-tsk. “I’ve read the entire Bible, young man. More than once.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, madam. Then you know God’s opinion of those who can’t bridle their tongues.”

  The woman’s jaw dropped, and indignation colored her husband’s face. Joanna shot Kit a wide-eyed look.

  Though the barb surprised even Kit, it didn’t deter him from speaking his piece. “James goes on to say that part of religion is to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction. I’m sure you’ve been diligent in seeing to Mrs. Stewart’s welfare since her husband’s untimely death.” He smiled to soften the sting of his words.

  At his last comment, Joanna jumped from her seat. She pushed past the driver, bumping him into the dash guard and earning an earful of criticism when he tugged the horses to a stop. As she hurried down the steps, Kit tipped his hat to the couple he’d dressed down and followed as she crossed the street.

  “Joanna, wait.”

  Mumbling his displeasure, he chased after her as she hiked through the sun-dried, calf-high grass of Fairview Park toward Town Lake, a small, man-made body of water created for the leisure hours of Banesville’s citizens. Why was she running away?

  She stopped midway down the slope leading to the shore. Kit slowed his pursuit and joined her. Her chest rose and fell with the need to catch her breath.

  Muddy, green water lapped against moss-covered stones laid along the edge. Ducks swam by or sunned themselves in the grass. A pair of rowboats skimmed the surface of the water on what had turned out to be a pleasant afternoon. Inside each of the boats, men showed off their rowing muscles to well-dressed women shaded by parasols. The garbled sounds of conversation echoed across the water.

  A soft titter escaped from Joanna. She compressed her lips, evidently to keep from laughing outright.

  His brow crinkled. “You were amused by what happened back there?”

  She glanced at him, and a mischievous light shone from her eyes. “Bridle their tongues?”

  “I thought it an appropriate analogy after the way they bullied you. But in hindsight, I guess I’m every bit as guilty for letting mine run away with me.”

  Joanna sputtered into uninhibited laughter that Kit found contagious. It was the first time since meeting her again that he noticed true pleasure in her features. No, there was another time—the moments he watched and listened as she skipped rope the day of Annie’s birthday. But she hadn’t known of his presence then.

  As the lighthearted moment faded for both of them, Joanna stared out across the water. “Do you know the identity of your sermon’s beneficiaries?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Weedon is a former mayor of Banesville and a friend to my husband. Mrs. Weedon is every bit as dogmatic in her temperance opinions as Mrs. Brockhurst.”

  Kit groaned. Had he offended another financial backer?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Joanna faced Kit, the desire to understand what happened on the horse car like an itch she had to scratch, even if it caused the opening of an old wound. She crossed her arms. “Why defend me?”

  By the confusion contorting his face, Joanna doubted Kit even knew why he chose to stand up to the Weedons for her. “Was I wrong to do so? Is there any truth to the talk about your husband’s death?”

  After almost three years, the question lacked any power to anger her, not even when it came fr
om Kit. Had he questioned her with a sneer in his voice, she would have declined to answer. Instead, the quiet inquiry prodded her to reply with an equal softness. “No.”

  With his gaze probing hers, she didn’t dare look away. “I believe you, Joanna.”

  She scanned the ground for a dry spot to rest her wobbling legs while she sorted out her feelings of relief. Why should she care if he believed her?

  Kit jerked off his coat, spread it on the ground, and gestured for her to sit.

  “The ground is still damp.”

  “The coat will clean. I want to know what happened. Why do people blame you?”

  Joanna hesitated a moment, then sat. Though Kit stood over her, waiting for an answer, she sensed no attempt at intimidation and impatience, only calm and self-control. The Christopher Barnes of her past was a stranger to self-control, and he’d never think to quote the Bible. In fact, if it weren’t for the familiar freckle near the hairline at his left temple, she might suspect she was in the presence of a different person—a person she could confide in.

  “Clayton suffered from pneumonia. When his health improved, the doctor assured me he would recover. Two days later, I went to his room and discovered him … dead.” She had tried to relate the experience in an impassive manner, but her voice caught on the last word.

  Silence stretched between them as Kit stared out across the water. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry for the loss you suffered, but it’s not unusual for an ill person to take a turn for the worse. It doesn’t tell me why people hold you responsible.”

  “I was young enough to be his daughter and a stranger, not from the South. Perry’s open admiration didn’t help.”

  Her husband had denied ever telling anyone of their troubled marriage, not even Perry, but she suspected Clayton hadn’t been as close-lipped as he’d claimed. Obviously, his friends, especially the banker, David Murray, guessed a problem existed between them. Even though, in public, they pretended to be a couple who admired one another, in the privacy of their home, they spoke only when necessary.

  “From the day I arrived, Clayton’s friends rarely masked their distrust of me. His death intensified their hostility. For one thing, they claimed they saw no grief after his death.” She plucked a piece of grass from his coat and tossed it aside. “After the funeral, someone began spreading rumors of a relationship between Perry and me while Clayton lived.”

  Kit settled on the flat surface of a rock far enough away from her for two people to fit between them. He drew his right knee up and draped his arm over it. His relaxed pose failed to ease the strain of the muscles running from her neck to her shoulders. Had her explanation destroyed what little harmony existed between them these past minutes?

  At his stony silence, she said, “I know what you think of me, but there was no truth to any of those rumors.”

  “You can’t deny that Perry loves you.”

  “And that makes me guilty of adultery?” She slapped her chest in frustration.

  Joanna scrambled to her feet and tramped the rest of the way down the slope to the water’s edge. Why was she telling Kit all this? She let her guard down for a short time and turned into a chatterbox.

  God, please don’t let Kit follow me this time.

  She fought the temptation to roll her eyes. What good had it ever done her to ask God for anything? Since she was a child, He had ignored her pleas—first, to bring her mother home, then to make her a good enough daughter to gain the approval of her father.

  By the time Kit came along, she’d learned not to count on God’s help or try to live up to Edward Cranston’s pious notions. To her shame, she had proven her father’s assumptions about her correct.

  Would the punishment never end?

  Miniature waves bounced off the rocks at her feet. Not far from shore, a man rowed his young sweetheart past the spot where she stood. The movement of the oars added gentle ripples to the otherwise smooth surface of the water.

  The scene calmed her. She imagined sitting at one end of the boat, shaded by a lacy, white parasol. At the other end, Kit controlled the oars with robust strokes that sent them gliding through the water, a gentle breeze ruffling the pleats of her shirtwaist. While she had longed for such a romantic outing with him, romance never entered into the time they spent together—at least not on his part.

  At the continued silence behind her, Joanna twisted, sure to discover Kit had walked away, disgusted with her. He remained seated in the same position in which she’d left him, with an arm hooked around his knee and shoulders relaxed. If not for his rapt stare, one would think him casual and serene, even a bit lazy. She’d found that same stare hard to resist in the past. It beckoned to her, cajoling until she answered the invitation to return to him.

  Kit looked up. “Has Perry proposed marriage?”

  Before she could catch it, a wry chuckle escaped from Joanna’s throat. “Like clockwork.”

  “Then why haven’t you married him?”

  “And ruin his life?”

  He angled his head. “What makes you think you’ll ruin Perry’s life?”

  Was Kit that obtuse or did he have no conception of people’s judgments? “After the things I’ve just told you and what you already know about me, how can you even ask that?”

  His grimace answered for him.

  “Perry is a friend. He will always be a friend, but nothing more.” Joanna shook out his coat and handed it to him. “I should return home.”

  “I’ll walk you the rest of the way.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “It is.”

  They strolled toward her house in silence. She had pleaded her case. In the end, his sullenness spoke volumes. When it came to her association with Perry, Kit didn’t believe her.

  As they reached the drive to her home, he grasped her elbow and tugged her to a stop. “Was your husband a good father?”

  Confused at the abrupt change in subject, she said, “He and Perry put up a front, but I wouldn’t call them close. From what I gather, Perry was the light of his mother’s eyes, and she spoiled him terribly. Clayton leaned toward being too demanding.”

  “What about Annie?”

  “My husband rarely acknowledged her.” She stepped away from his hold. “Why are you interested in Annie?”

  His lips flattened in a crimped line. “She’s six years old, Joanna.”

  “I know how old she is, Kit.” Her lips quirked. “I was at the birthday celebration, remember?”

  “You weren’t married to Clayton Stewart for six years.” Her attempt at lightening his sudden somber mood had failed. His voice ranged lower with each word until he whispered the last. “Who is your daughter’s real father?”

  Her breath caught. “My daughter? Annie is Rose’s child.”

  “Rose?” He blinked several times before confusion formed creases between his eyes. “But she called you Mama the day I came to see the house.”

  Joanna recalled rushing into the foyer after Annie’s distressed shout. “When you frightened her, she cried out for her mother. I heard and came running.”

  Kit cleared his throat and stared at his shoes. “Then you never bore a child?”

  Joanna’s skin turned cold as a corpse. She imagined her face to be as bloodless as one. She had come full circle today. First accused of acting like Annie’s mother. Now, accused of being her mother.

  Did Kit believe her to be relentlessly immoral, carrying on as if he weren’t the only man—as if she were the seducer instead of the other way around? The answer was clear by his red-faced shame. In his estimation of her, Annie could have been the child of any number of men.

  Kit blew out a shaky breath. A normally self-assured man, he was anything but one at the moment. “I … uh … I muffed this whole thing in high fashion, Joanna. I apologize if I’ve embarrassed you even half as much as I have myself.”

  Her anger lessened. How could she blame him for thinking her no better than a prostitute? She deserved his condemnation.
Conscience, guilt, fear … whatever one wanted to call it … all combined to silence a response to his apology.

  Rose would urge her to answer his question with the truth, but what good would it do them to grapple over the past? What was done was done. Neither of them could change it.

  She looked Kit in the eye though everything inside her urged her to turn away and rush down the drive to hide inside the house. “Given our past association, I suppose I shouldn’t blame you for thinking the worst about me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Joanna smoothed the periwinkle blue skirt over the tiny waist and the curve of her hips. On her way to the bedroom door, she passed the mirror on the dressing table, and her reflection called to her. She stopped to sweep a stray tendril of hair upward, out of her eyes, and leaned forward for a better look in the glass. She pinched her cheeks, adding a light pink to her fair complexion, then stilled in the midst of catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

  What was she thinking? Honestly, what did she care for Kit’s opinion regarding the rosiness of her cheeks and lips? Years ago, yes, but not today.

  With deft movements, Joanna removed the porcelain brooch pinned to the collar of the white shirtwaist and tossed it on the dressing table. It slid across the surface and hit the wooden back with a soft clink. She stopped short of mussing her hair for good measure.

  Yesterday, Kit turned her world upside down for a second time in her life. After informing her he would return this morning with the carpenter to fix the loose spindles, he’d left her at the end of the drive, pretending all was well between them. Why had she dropped her guard simply because he defended her to those nasty Weedons?

  She pressed a hand to her abdomen. How could one man cause her so much inner turmoil and emotional torture and not realize it?

  Joanna walked out of the room at the same time Rose reached the top of the stairs. At least the relationship between the two of them was on firm footing again. Kit’s assumption that Joanna was Annie’s mother helped convince her she had taken her affection for the girl too far, and she admitted as much to Rose.