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

by Ardoin, Sandra

Joanna stirred cream into her tea. “I bought my train ticket, but turned it back in.”

  “You decided to stay to make sure Liam behaved himself, didn’t you?”

  Joanna blew on the hot liquid. “Something like that.”

  “Exactly like that.”

  “Has he behaved?” She set the spoon on the saucer and peered at Rose over the rim of the cup.

  “I noticed you checking my face for bruises.” Rose heaved a breath. “Liam has given me no reason to doubt him when he said he wanted us to remain together. So far, he isn’t drinking, and he works hard around here.” There was nothing defensive or warm in the matter-of-fact statement or the tone in which the words were spoken.

  Joanna almost asked Rose if she was happy. She caught the question before it spilled from her lips, fearful it would lead to admitting she had seen Rose wipe away her husband’s kiss. Those times in their friendship when Joanna had bitten her tongue on a subject had been rare, but at least for a while, she would tread lightly with this one.

  “It will take time for Annie to trust him. Right now, she’s enchanted by Kit, and that doesn’t help.”

  Joanna had trembled inside while watching him with Annie. Their clear delight in one another’s company tugged at her heart—and conscience. “He tends to affect our gender that way.”

  Rose raised a speculative brow. “Not you, though?”

  She remained silent rather than lie.

  “I’ve gotten to know Kit and Ben over the past week. They’re good men, Jo. They care about those they’re trying to help. Kit isn’t the same person you described to me. He’s changed.”

  It was true that, for the most part, the man outside was a stranger to Joanna. Yes, he still charmed anyone in his path, including her at times, but she hoped she had matured sufficiently to discern between true regard and counterfeit flattery.

  Had Kit seen a change for the better in her? Not according to the look on his face after she made the offhand and silly remark about laundering her clothes. He’d turned as crimson as the bow on her dress.

  At times in the weeks since he arrived on her doorstep, Joanna had seen more in Kit’s expression toward her than a physical desire. She had seen that true regard and longed to see it more often.

  “Do you remember me telling you about the young woman who came here last month looking for a job?”

  Rose scratched her temple. “I think so. She was expecting a child?”

  “Yes.” Joanna explained about the rental of the house from Mrs. Samuels, then coming upon Darcy and taking her home with her. “I want to help her the way you helped me.”

  “If it keeps you here, I’m happy.” Rose lost her grin. “Do you think it’s wise?”

  “Wise?”

  “First, there’s your reputation to consider.”

  “You never worried about yours.”

  “No one cared about mine. Second, have you considered the hardship once the baby is delivered?”

  “I know it won’t be easy, but don’t you think it’s time I stopped focusing on my own misfortune?”

  “Is it possible without being honest?”

  When the rear door off the back hall closed, the conversation ceased—to Joanna’s relief.

  Kit walked into the kitchen carrying a book. He stopped at her side, opened it, and removed a sheet of paper, then handed both to her. “You’ll need these. Ben wrote down the page numbers for the songs he wants to sing in the next week. If you’re agreeable, we’ll start tomorrow night with the ones he’s marked.”

  Joanna opened the hymnal, read through the titles, and frowned. She pushed away from the table. “I’ve never heard of most of these. I’d better practice.”

  “Practice?” Rose glanced from Joanna to Kit. “What is this about?”

  “Joanna has agreed to play the piano for our after-supper gatherings.”

  “Temporarily.” She mustn’t let him forget that part of the agreement.

  Mischief equal in devilry to that of a naughty boy sparkled in his eyes. “We’ll see.” Kit’s chuckle followed her from the kitchen all the way to the music room.

  For the first time in years, Joanna prayed in sincerity. She prayed for the strength to maintain her guard against the pleasure such comments triggered in her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The grand piano no longer reigned as the centerpiece of the music room. It had been shoved to one end. On Saturday evening, Joanna sat on the stool with her hands in her lap while three men filed into the room and dropped onto chairs that faced a simple, handmade lectern.

  The men appeared as eager for what was to come as dental patients with a toothache. Each eyed her: Liam with contempt, Mr. Cox with an unrestrained leer, and Mr. O’Connor with a keen inspection more disturbing than the stares of the others.

  Kit and Ben entered behind them. Ben sat in a chair near the lectern. Kit occupied a seat on the end of the short row of chairs, next to Mr. O’Connor. When he glanced in her direction, she looked away.

  At the pastor’s nod, she placed her fingers on the proper keys and launched into “There Shall Be Showers of Blessing,” an appropriate hymn given the rain streaming down the windows.

  Musical notes were like the alphabet to Joanna. Although she had never played many of the songs on Ben’s list, after a couple of times through each, her fingers swept over the ivories with expertise.

  The men’s dissonant voices filled the room, hitting both harmonic and sour notes. After three hymns, Ben stood behind the lectern and opened his Bible. Earlier, Kit had told her she needn’t stay for the short talk unless the idea appealed to her, so Joanna rose from the piano stool and prepared to leave the room.

  She’d reached the door when Ben said, “Shall we thank Mrs. Stewart for her lovely accompaniment?” He clapped his hands. All but Liam followed with more enthusiasm than her playing deserved.

  Joanna dipped her head in embarrassment. What kind of service did Ben lead? Her father would never encourage his congregation to offer praise to anyone but God. When the applause died down, she stole away from the music room.

  With her back pressed to the closed door, she paused. What should she do with the next twenty minutes until she was summoned to play a final hymn? A cup of tea would soothe her dry throat and ward off the temptation to turn around and open the door a crack in order to listen to Ben—to compare his style of speaking to Papa’s.

  She took a step toward the kitchen and stopped. The allure of the quiet, muffled voice tugged at her as she wished for those mercy drops they had sung about to fall on her.

  The music room door opened. Kit slipped out and shut it behind him. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. I was on my way to the kitchen to wait until Ben needed me again.”

  “If you’d like to listen to what he has to say, you’re welcome to take my chair, or I’ll find you another one.”

  “Can you find one for me to tote home? I could use somewhere comfortable to sit.” Joanna cringed at the attempt to be flippant. Kit brought out every idiotic comment within her reach.

  His brow crinkled. She twisted her hands and rummaged her brain for a more intelligent remark. “Ben is certainly quiet when he preaches.” That was the best she could do?

  Kit flashed a crooked grin that warmed her from her heels to her scalp. “He doesn’t believe it’s necessary to shout God’s message to people who aren’t hard of hearing.”

  Another way in which Ben and her father differed.

  “Ben prefers a more subtle way to spread the guilt.”

  Spread the guilt? Joanna’s breaths grew shallow. Maybe Ben Greer wasn’t as different as she thought. Maybe his understanding of God matched her father’s flawlessly. She had hoped Papa’s beliefs were wrong. “Then I have no need to listen to him. I’ve heard it all before.”

  The smile on Kit’s face collapsed. “What I said was meant as a joke.”

  “I see nothing humorous in being told that my past choices mean certain and irrevocable jud
gment and condemnation.”

  “That can’t be further from the truth.” He reached out, grasped her hand, and squeezed it. Experience told Joanna to pull away, but when he led her across the hall to the kitchen, she followed without a fight.

  After seating her at the table, Kit slid around to sit at the other end, his warm and firm hand still holding hers. “Jo, God is nothing like your father portrayed him. Take me, for instance. We both know my faults. I’ve been pardoned for every one of them.”

  His brash claim ignited a firestorm within her. If it hadn’t been for him, her conscience would be clear. She would have no fear of God’s wrath for a moral lapse.

  “Why are you special? What makes you think God forgave you for the drinking and the other things you’ve done … for what you did to me? How is it right that I be punished, that I should suffer like I have while you pretend all is well?”

  Joanna had kept her voice low, but at the harshness and accusation, Kit let go of her hand and turned in his chair to face the outer wall of the room. That’s right, turn away from me one more time. Anger and hurt balled in her throat.

  “Jo, I’m …”

  When Kit’s gaze met hers once more, his glassy eyes intensified her fury. How dare he use that long face and slumped posture to heighten her guilt.

  “What makes you so sure your redemption isn’t a fairytale? Fool yourself all you want about God’s forgiveness, Kit, but don’t bother trying to fool me. I learned the hard way that I can’t believe anything you say.”

  A cough interrupted her scolding, and they both glanced at the doorway. “Sorry. I came for a glass of water.” Mr. O’Connor coughed again. “Throat’s like sand.”

  “I’ll get it for you.” To escape Kit’s woeful expression, Joanna pushed the chair from the table and stalked to the hand pump at the sink.

  When she returned with the glass of water, Kit was gone, and Mr. O’Connor continued to stare at her with that odd interest that made her want to shrink into a corner.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No, ma’am.” He gulped the water and handed her the glass. “I thought maybe I could help you. Payback, you might say.”

  “Payback? I don’t understand.”

  “You did me a good turn one day. I’d like to do one for you. May come a time when you need a way to defend yourself.”

  “Defend myself against what or whom?”

  He stuffed his beefy hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I was figurin’ a woman living alone like you can’t be too careful. I can teach you useful moves in case you find yourself in a tough situation.”

  “Teach me moves?” Her eyes widened. “Are you talking about fisticuffs?”

  “No, ma’am, just actions to fend off an unfriendly sort. There are things a lady can do that … uh … well…” His face turned a deeper red than the stripe in his faded shirt. “They’ll leave a man crying, Mrs. Stewart.”

  She was no naïve maiden, but it was her turn to feel the heat of a blush.

  Surely, he didn’t mistake her argument with Kit for a threat? A ridiculous notion since she had been the aggressor. “It’s nice of you to want to look out for my welfare, but I don’t think what you have in mind will be necessary.”

  He stared at her as though he wanted to argue, and then said, “Suit yourself, ma’am.”

  As he started to leave the kitchen, she said, “Thank you for your concern.”

  Without turning, his head bobbed. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Even with his rugged exterior and gruff voice, it comforted Joanna to realize she had a protector in this house. Movements to make a man cry? She shook her head. It was tempting.

  ***

  Kit laid his gray suit across the bed. Who was he trying to impress? Why don his best clothing for no reason? He wouldn’t see Joanna at the July Fourth festivities in the park today. After Saturday, she would seek to avoid him altogether.

  He should stay here and remove the stained wallpaper from the drawing room. Might as well spend his day on a useful project.

  Kit glanced around. This room required work too. When they moved in, Ben gave him the choice of bedrooms to occupy since he would live here on a more regular basis. Kit had chosen the smallest room. Sleeping in Joanna’s room, in her old bed, was too … uncomfortable. Even in here, he’d tossed and turned the past two nights.

  A whistle of admiration pierced the air. “Come in, Ben.”

  His friend lounged against the door frame with his head canted to avoid brushing the top. He grinned like a bearded halfwit. “You’ll look quite the citified dandy in that outfit, sir.” Ben laughed at the abominable impression of a Southern gentleman.

  Kit snarled at his friend’s lighthearted mood and plucked the clothing from the bed. “Hardly. In fact, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll stay here and work.”

  Ben ambled across the room. He grabbed the coat from Kit and made a show of examining the material as if he were the high-priced Philadelphia tailor who had stitched it together. “Joanna plans to be there today.”

  Kit paused in the midst of snatching the coat back. Joanna avoided going out in public, and it didn’t get more public than the crowds on a July Fourth celebration. She’d stood nearby when they discussed it on Friday and said nothing about attending. “How do you know?”

  “She told Rose on Saturday that Perry asked her and she accepted. Rose told me.”

  Frustration pressed on Kit’s chest. Joanna and her stepson were close, so why should he be disturbed to find out that Perry talked her into going?

  Kit removed his robe, tossed it on the bed, and slipped into the suit pants. “You and Mrs. McCall are getting chatty.”

  Ben laughed. “We’re conspiring against the two of you.”

  “Well, you’re wasting your time. Joanna hates me … has hated me for years. She all but said so.”

  “Now, you’re being petulant. She doesn’t hate you.”

  “You weren’t in the kitchen with her.” Kit ran a hand down the side of his face. At least her rebuke slapped sense into him. He’d ruined her—physically, emotionally, and spiritually—as fully as liquor had ruined the men down the hall.

  “Kit—”

  “I tried to apologize, but Donovan interrupted.”

  “So now avoiding her fixes everything between you?”

  “It fixes nothing. She wants nothing fixed.” Kit buttoned the white dress shirt and seized the coat from Ben.

  “Then why are you dressing in your best suit clothes to work on the house?”

  Kit stared at his hand wrapped around the material. What was he doing? Drive leaked from him like air from a punctured bicycle tire. He sank onto the mattress. “For years, I blamed Joanna for my troubles. That mote in my eye turned into a giant beam that blinded me to how much I hurt her.”

  He swallowed past the fist-sized regret in his throat, then reached for the black tie and dragged it across the bedspread. As he wrapped the material around his neck, the image of Joanna’s face materialized before him, her eyes smoky with outrage and something else. Heartbreak? Yearning?

  He formed the large knot, straightened the tie, and tucked the excess under his vest. While Joanna was wrong about God’s forgiveness, Kit understood his obligation—his desire to help her see the truth. “She doesn’t trust me, Ben, and I don’t know what to say to change her mind. At the least, I owe her an apology, but she won’t believe me.”

  “Then don’t say anything.”

  Kit balked on his way to the dresser. “Not try?”

  “Apologies—words—are important, Kit, but if we only spoke encouraging platitudes to the men downstairs, how effective do you think we would be in helping them turn their lives around?”

  “You’re saying Joanna needs to see a change in how I treat her as well as hearing an apology—words and deeds working together.”

  “It’s what we do.”

  Kit picked up the brush on the dresser and ran it through his hair, then poured a coup
le drops of the spicy Macassar oil on his hands and smoothed it through the longer of his locks to tame them. How might he show Joanna he was a different person these days? Even if they never moved past being associates in this house, he must atone for his actions and show her the difference the presence of Christ would make in her life.

  He laid the brush down on the dresser top and examined his reflection in the mirror. The oil for his hair was practical. At the same time it added a nice scent to the air around him.

  “My first act should be to help Joanna.” Kit ran a finger across the smooth cherry surface of the dresser as her odd comment about the chairs spurred a question. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that she might have rented a house without an adequate amount of furniture? The remainder of what she once owned occupied space in his attic.

  “I know where I’ll start, Ben.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Joanna stopped in the midst of pulling on her gloves to open the front door and allow Perry inside. “I don’t know how you talked me into this.”

  He bent and pressed warm, dry lips to her cheek. “It took far less encouragement than I’d been prepared to employ.”

  She gave the edge of her right glove a frustrated tug. She should have put up more of a fuss and declined Perry’s offer to escort her to Fairview Park for a picnic. This was the first Independence Day celebration she had attended since Clayton’s death, and she expected a large crowd to be present. Large crowds provided the opportunity to meet people she’d rather not see.

  Kit had told the men they could attend today’s celebration—after issuing a warning to avoid liquor and those who might serve it. A short-lived hope had flared within her that he would include her in their group. She walked away disappointed.

  Under the circumstances, it turned out for the best. On Saturday, Joanna had been like a firecracker—a sizzle of anger, an explosion, then nothing but burned out emotions. While she regretted the tantrum, her confrontation with Kit had the result of a cleansing spring rain and, afterward, she’d slept better than she had in weeks. Maybe all she needed over the years was an opportunity to make clear to him how much he’d hurt her.