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

by Ardoin, Sandra

  “The contractor is here with Mr. Greer. They’re waiting for you downstairs.”

  “Kit sent his partner?”

  “Yes.” Rose eyed Joanna up and down, from the perfect curls she’d spent too much time creating to the form-accentuating ensemble. Her lips twitched. “Is that a problem?”

  “Why should it be?” There were any number of reasons why Kit arranged for his partner to accompany Mr. Culbertson. “I’m sure he’s too busy with less mundane projects to consider this one worth his time.”

  Joanna cocked her chin higher and flashed her best saucy grin to cover the hurt. “It’s a good thing. Now I won’t have to avoid him.” She paused on the bottom step. Evidently, the way in which she’d opened up to Kit about her marriage and Clayton’s death discouraged him from wanting to see her again so soon.

  She turned the overdone grin into a full, welcoming smile for the men standing in the entry hall. After greeting her, the contractor clomped past with one of his men and climbed the stairs. Rose retreated down the hall toward the kitchen. Only Ben Greer remained at her side, watchful to the point of fraying her nerves. She strolled into the cozy parlor and settled on the settee, not at all surprised when he followed.

  “I enjoyed listening to your music the last time I was here. Do you ever play the piano for the congregation of your church, Mrs. Stewart?”

  Her church? Her last entry into a sanctuary was to attend Clayton’s funeral. Rose used to ask her to Sunday services but grew weary of hearing excuses.

  “I play only for myself.”

  “Ah, I hate to contradict you, ma’am, but be assured you do have an audience. Even when you’re alone, God hears you.”

  She almost laughed at the notion that God would stop all He was doing to listen to her play. The humor evaporated with the realization that the man was serious.

  “He gave you the ability to create a beautiful sound, Mrs. Stewart, and He’s happy when you use it. Each time you sit down at that fine instrument in the music room, I hope you consider every melody to be an offering to the Lord.”

  Consider her music as an offering? “I beg your pardon?”

  “Dedicate your talent to God and please Him with your music.”

  “God has not been pleased by anything I’ve done in quite a while, Mr. Greer.” Feeling like a helpless rabbit caught in the trap of his steadfast gaze, she looked away and endeavored to regain her composure.

  “I’d welcome it if you’d call me Ben.” His soft smile eased her tension—a bit. “I’ll admit, God has the right to complain about things I’ve done, too. Fortunately, the bounds of His grace and mercy far exceed what we offer others … or what we too often fail to allow ourselves to accept.”

  The hands resting on her lap curled into fists, and her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms. This man spoke as if he knew her guilt. There was only one reason that could be. “Kit must have provided you an earful of my sins, Mr. Greer. It’s a wonder you choose to speak to me at all.”

  A flush stained the area above his thick beard. “I’m aware that the two of you experienced a troubling incident in the past, but I can assure you, Kit has shared nothing specific with me. What happened between you is God’s concern, not mine.”

  Joanna’s flesh burned with mortification.

  His expression softened. “I’d like you to understand that nothing you’ve done makes you irredeemable when you place your faith in the Source of that redemption. Jesus waits to welcome you with open arms, Joanna.”

  This man spoke with such confidence and sincerity. “Did Kit tell you that my father is Reverend Edward Cranston of Philadelphia? I’m all too familiar with God’s expectations … and His judgments.”

  “I’ve been a pastor, too, Mrs. Stewart. At one time, I was a good one.” Ben Greer manhandled the back of the chair across from her. “When my wife and child died of typhoid ten years ago, I allowed sorrow and drink to come between me and my faith. As a result, I lost my congregation, people who had treated me like family. I also lost my self-respect.”

  Joanna’s throat tightened at the pain in his quiet voice and her own memories of sorrow and loss.

  He leaned over the chair back. “God taught me that my faith was like the house built on sand. When trouble came, it washed away. But through His grace and mercy, I’ve rebuilt my faith on a firmer foundation. It will take a lifetime, but I’m growing into the type of man God had in mind for me to be.”

  Joanna turned her head toward the soot-covered bricks lining the cold fireplace. She had allowed her father’s constant diatribes to erode her trust in a loving and merciful God. Could that faith she proclaimed in her childhood be restored?

  “Nowadays, Mrs. Stewart, I serve a God who forgives and accepts broken and contrite sinners, ever imperfect human beings … people such as me and Kit.”

  Broken? Contrite? Ever imperfect? When Ben smiled, his brown eyes sparkled, but in searching his face, she found no sign of deceit or piousness. He actually believed God had forgiven him … and Kit.

  What if she trusted in that forgiveness and discovered—too late—that her father had been right all along? “My father says God extends His mercy only to those He chooses.” And never to sinners such as her.

  “I don’t know your father or your past. However, I sense you believe God is too small-minded and dispassionate to forgive whoever calls upon Him in faith. My Bible tells me He’s too righteous and loving not to forgive when we approach His throne of grace in boldness.”

  Bewildered by his confidence, she rose and walked to the doorway, then paused and turned. “You and my father serve two different gods, Mr. Greer. How am I to know which one to believe?”

  “Don’t depend on what I say or what your father says. All men will disappoint you at some point. Seek God’s mercy and grab hold of His grace, Joanna. Lean on Him through all your trials and fears.” Ben’s long legs ate up the space between them in three strides. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a black book about the size of a postal card. “I’d like to give you this Bible.”

  Her lips parted, but no words came forth. What was it about this man that halted the sharp retort on her tongue. The gentleness of his voice or, perhaps, the compassion in his eyes? She shook her head. “I can’t take your Bible, Mr. Greer … Ben.”

  “Of course, you can.” He folded her fingers around it. “All I ask is that you read it, Joanna.”

  When was the last time she had picked up a Bible, much less read it? Her father always insisted God appointed him to explain everything she was required to know. When she was a child, she believed each word that came from Papa’s mouth. As the Almighty’s anointed, he told her he spoke for God. After her mother ran off, God’s words grew harsh and too demanding for Joanna to ever please Him or her father.

  She pressed the soft, leather-bound book to her body. “I make you no promises.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Resting his palms on the windowsill of his hotel room, Kit looked down on the people and vehicles. Their bustling activity barely registered. For most of the past twenty-four hours, Joanna occupied his thoughts. Not only when he’d shown himself a fool yesterday, but from the first moment he saw her kneeling at Annie’s side almost two weeks ago. Desperation. Anger. Goading. Laughter. The impish grin before he insulted her with his belief that she bore a child out of wedlock.

  He pressed splayed fingers to his forehead as images of her from seven years ago were magnified in his memory like pictures in a stereoscope. They were interspersed with visions of a mature Joanna Stewart, a woman capable of slaying every opinion he’d ever had of her with one look into her pain-filled, gray-green eyes.

  God, what’s happening to me? Why can’t I push these thoughts of the woman from my mind?

  A hand clamped his shoulder. “Are you still among the living?” Kit’s arms dropped to his sides. He glanced at Ben and away. “Just thinking.”

  “Powerful thoughts. I knocked and called out several times, but you never answe
red, so I let myself in. Let’s talk about this morning.”

  Kit had asked Ben to accompany Mr. Culbertson to the house. How could he face Joanna in the midst of this mystifying turbulence? Nonetheless, he suspected Ben had guessed his history with Joanna, which meant his friend might provide insight into the strange emotions swirling inside him.

  The metal frame groaned and the bedspread crinkled as Ben reclined across Kit’s bed. “First, tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “I was hoping you could tell me, Preacher.”

  Kit recounted the trip on the streetcar, the Weedons’ comments, and his own response to the couple. He talked of sitting with Joanna by the lake but refrained from saying he’d watched her every move, even when she didn’t realize it. “Are you aware that there are those who think she’s responsible for her husband’s death?”

  “I’ve heard the talk.”

  Kit dropped onto the rocking chair in the corner and set the runners in motion. It was that or pace a rut in the floor. “They’re wrong.”

  Ben’s brows dipped. “Then what’s bothering you?”

  Seeking his friend’s counsel meant being honest, a characteristic Kit had come to value in others but wasn’t sure he’d received from Joanna yesterday. “I asked about Annie. I … It was important to me to discover whether or not the girl is my daughter.” At Ben’s understanding nod, Kit said, “You aren’t surprised.”

  “After all I’ve seen and done in this life, it will take more than that to surprise me. It saddens me, yes. But shock? No.”

  Kit halted the motion of the rocker and scoured his face with his hands. “Joanna told me Annie is Rose’s daughter. She said I misunderstood when I heard the child call out ‘Mama’ and she came running.”

  “You think she lied to you.” Leave it to Ben to get down to the heart of a matter.

  “Whenever I’ve seen them together, she’s been as attentive to Annie as any mother.” Kit pushed a hand through his hair. “What if I am the father of that girl? What if Joanna agreed to sell us her home in order to take her away before I discovered the truth?”

  “Those are mighty big what-ifs.”

  “You didn’t see the fear on Joanna’s face as we talked about Annie yesterday. She looked as if I’d threatened her. She’s hiding something from me, Ben, and I can’t get out of my mind that it involves that child.”

  Ben sat up straight. “How many people were privy to what happened years back?”

  “Hugh insisted we keep it quiet. As far as I’m aware, only the three of us know … now you, of course.” Ben never asked a question without a purpose. “Did she say anything to you while you were there this morning?”

  The iron frame squeaked when Ben left the bed and walked to the window. He propped a shoulder against the wall. “We talked of spiritual matters. Thanks to her father, she’s a confused woman. After Mr. Culbertson left, I sought out Mrs. McCall and asked her about the Reverend Cranston.”

  Kit grunted. “I remember him. Hard. Self-righteous. Not a man most people held in as high esteem as he held himself.”

  “While careful not to say too much, it was clear Mrs. McCall agreed.” Ben’s gaze drifted out the window as he peered up at the partially gray sky that warned of another rainy afternoon. “Did you know Mrs. Stewart and her father have been estranged for the past six years?”

  Though it wasn’t astounding news, Kit hadn’t heard. “Joanna told you that?”

  “It came from Mrs. McCall. The two women have been friends almost as long as you and me.” Ben twisted, his stare darker than Kit had seen it in a long while. “Her father turned her out of his house. While Mrs. McCall refused to say why, my guess is he learned about your dalliance with his daughter and condemned her to the street.”

  Kit bolted to his feet. As he paced to the bed and back, he muttered, “I had no idea, no idea at all.”

  Was his brother aware of Cranston’s action? Hugh had warned he’d beat Kit black and blue if ever a rumor began that hinted at Joanna’s ruin. Coming from his peace-loving and chivalrous brother, Kit took the warning seriously and never said anything, not even under the influence of liquor. He’d never thought so, anyway. Could he have been responsible for Edward Cranston learning of his daughter’s transgression? Then again, the natural course of a pregnancy may have informed him. “Why did I never consider it?”

  “Maybe because you never considered her.”

  The truth hit Kit with the power of a blacksmith’s hammer. “I was angry with Hugh and wanted to get back at him. Unlike my brother, I suspected how Joanna felt about me and took advantage of it. Once I got what I went after, I tossed her away like moldy bread, then went on the worst drinking binge ever.” His insides cringed at how thoughtless, arrogant, and cruel he’d been in those days.

  Telling his friend about that night made it all the more disgusting, but Kit forced himself to continue. “Joanna was a means to an end. I despised her for believing my lies every bit as much as I despised myself for lying to her. For years, I convinced myself she was nothing more than a childish and obliging young siren and eased my remorse by blaming her for the break with my brother. It’s taken only twenty-four hours to recognize how I failed both of us.”

  Kit gripped his hair and tugged until he thought he’d rip it from his head. After leaving Philadelphia, his drinking had increased. Now he understood how he’d used the alcohol to quench his guilt rather than a thirst. The physical pain in his scalp fell short of dulling the emotional pain of his shame.

  “No wonder she hid her identity that day in Perry’s office and refused to sell the property to me. But if I’m wrong about Annie, why did she change her mind about selling?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Kit dropped his arms to his sides and released a mirthless chuckle. “She’s leaving town after I sign those papers on Thursday. I can’t let her go until I’ve learned the truth and redeemed myself in her eyes.”

  Ben glared at him. “We’re not talking about you and your redemption, Kit. You can discuss that with God. Our conversation is about a woman who fell for your dishonesty, made a mistake, and, by all accounts, continues to pay for it.”

  Chastened, Kit said, “You’re right, of course.”

  “My concern lies with the hogwash her father apparently fed her. From what I gathered from my conversations with both women this morning, he convinced Joanna that there is no forgiveness for her actions. If you can’t help her see the truth, Kit, her guilt will not allow her to find eternal deliverance.”

  Kit swallowed hard. “Me? You’re the preacher.”

  “But you’re the one to convince her. Let her see the change God made in your heart.” A spark of humor crinkled the skin around Ben’s mouth. “Show her that it’s possible for the worst rogue and sinner to reform.”

  Kit huffed at Ben’s description of him and mumbled, “The worst sinner, huh? I wasn’t that bad.” Yes, he was.

  Deep down, Kit recognized that more than Joanna’s lack of candor and his guilt prodded his unsettled feelings. He must discuss it with Ben before it drove him crazy.

  “There’s more to my wish for her to stay.”

  Ben’s expression sobered. “What is it?”

  “Since meeting her again, I’ve come to recognize that my feelings for Joanna … somehow, they’ve changed.”

  Ben’s tight lips relaxed. “Have they changed so much, Kit, or are you finally ready to declare them?”

  “Declare them?” Kit thought to protest, then dispatched the denial with the remembrance of his first glimpse of Joanna in Philadelphia. “You think I cared for her back then?”

  She had caught his eye at the Everspring Ball shortly before his brother claimed her. Captivated by her beauty and infectious laughter, Kit had lingered in place to admire her graceful movements. How he had wished to hold her in his arms and lead her across the dance floor. He’d waited too long.

  Over the following months, he’d envied Hugh his choice in women as he envied all his broth
er’s choices. Wasn’t that what drove him to betray both of them in the first place?

  Kit sank back onto the rocking chair. “Whether or not I cared for Joanna then, I need more time to discover the depth of my feelings for her now. How do I convince her to stay, Ben? How do I win her trust?”

  “You managed to influence her before through deception. This time, try honesty.”

  ***

  “Mr. Barnes, hold up.”

  Kit spun on the wet walkway lining Commerce Street to face the man he’d met coming out of the Moondog Saloon with Donovan.

  A light mist pelted Kit’s umbrella and dotted his shoes. He had not seen nor heard from Donovan since speaking with him outside the saloon, but he refused to give up on the former fighter.

  When Liam reached him, Kit tilted the umbrella in an attempt to cover both their heads as much as possible. In doing so, a droplet slipped between his collar and neck. “What can I do for you?”

  The burly man wiped the excess water from his hands onto his wrinkled suit coat, then stuffed them in his trouser pockets as if he were cold, even though the summer air remained warm. In the daylight, Liam appeared more worn than he had in Saturday night’s darkness. “Well, sir, I was thinking it might be what I could do for you.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You offered O’Connor a job. I was figuring, if you still needed workers, you might be open to hiring me, too.”

  Kit clutched the umbrella handle a bit tighter. As Ben said, they never gave up on anyone. They were both living proof that people could repent and change. Wasn’t it their calling to help men like Liam?

  Gesturing to a cafe across the street, he said, “Why don’t we talk where it’s dry, Mr. …?” He had never asked the man’s last name.

  “McCall.”

  McCall? “Are you related to Rose McCall?”

  A smirk lined Liam’s scruffy face. “She’s my wife.”

  “I wasn’t aware.” Rose lived in the cottage behind the Stewart house; however, Kit’s inspection the day he agreed to purchase the property hadn’t suggested a man lived there, too. “Let’s get out of the rain.”