Five Sisters (A Romantic Suspense Novel)

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Five Sisters (A Romantic Suspense Novel) Page 36

by Leen Elle


  The room was silent for another moment. Even Betsy, who was normally yapping endlessly, didn't say a word. Something about this man and his effect on the room struck her silent.

  "And I, er . . . Well, I suppose I should introduce everyone else then, shall I?" continued Mary, "You've met all us girls before, of course. But, er . . . You remember, Ethan, of course?"

  Charlie nodded simply and managed to say, "Of course. Nice to see you, Mr. Lindsey," as he gave a nod towards Ethan.

  "And these are his parents, John and Betsy."

  John gave a small wave while Betsy took Charlie's hand between both of hers, shaking it warmly, and said, Oh it's so wonderful to finally meet you, Mr. Wilkie. We cannot thank you enough for bringing over the girls."

  "It was my pleasure," Charlie murmured with another forced smile.

  "And there at the piano is Brook Lindsey, Ethan's cousin."

  Both men nodded quietly.

  "And, of course, you already know Nathaniel."

  "You're, er . . . You're feeling better, I hope?" Charlie asked. As he spoke, barely able to make out a few words, it was clear to all that his mind was not focused on the conversation.

  But Nathaniel nodded, "Much better."

  "And, er . . . Well . . ." Mary stammered, "Would you like to sit down?"

  "No, no . . . Thank you though."

  "Would you like some tea? A scone?"

  "Some biscuits, perhaps?" said Betsy.

  "That's alright," Charlie offered quickly, "It's really very kind of you, but I'm not so very hungry at the moment."

  Mary's face was blank. She'd said the normal cordialities, introduced him to everyone, suggested he sit down and drink some tea, and had no idea where she ought to go from here.

  The room was still silent. All eyes were on Charlie and Mary, waiting for someone to speak. Brook shuffled on his seat uncomfortably, Emy looked down to her feet, and Gail shared a frantic glance with Nathaniel. Poor Charlie began to rotate his hat in his hands, wondering what he ought to say. A more awkward silence could not be imagined.

  From her invisible position in the corner, where she'd been regarding the situation silently, Sara suddenly rose. At the sight of Charlie her heart had broken and hearing his voice only heightened her misery. Why must he torment her so?

  With the book hugged to her chest again, its beautiful leather binding and withering pages a poor substitute for Charlie's arms, she began to cross the room. She just couldn't take it anymore. To sit there crouched beside the fire and listen to the casual, meaningless conversation tore Sara apart. The words of his letter, the letter she'd read countless times in the past few months, were running through her head: He could only regard her paternally; they could never be. The tears were welling in her eyes, poised innocently at the brink and thirsting to crawl down her cheeks. Ashamed and wounded, knowing if she remained her torture would never cease, she tried to flee the room unnoticed.

  But of course he saw her. Although all eyes were on Charlie, he could only see Sara.

  He said quickly, earnestly, "Please don't go."

  And as if his words had thrown a rope around her, Sara stopped as soon as she heard him speak. She stood just before the door, breathing quickly and with her eyes still staring only at the floor. But then, ever so slowly, she allowed her gaze to slowly rise. It ran across the room, up the sofa, up Charlie's figure, and into his eyes. She had to bite her lip to keep from bursting into tears.

  "Please stay, Sara," Charlie repeated softly.

  Hearing him say her name only made Sara's agony worsen. She felt herself tremble in weakness and gulped to prevent herself from sobbing. Her eyes, unmistakably wet, could no longer leave him and were locked upon his face no matter how much she wished to pull them away.

  For a moment Charlie's mouth poised open, as though searching for the right words to say. His mind was racing a mile a minute and he didn't quite know where to begin.

  "I'm sorry," he blurted out, the words escaping his lips so quickly he could barely control them, "I can see that I'm obviously, er . . . that I'm obviously hurting you and I never meant to. I would never intentionally cause you pain, you know that."

  Sara didn't say a word.

  "I'm sorry I arrived so unexpectedly. I didn't mean to intrude on your holiday but I just . . . I wanted to see you. We were only out on the ocean five weeks or so before . . . before I turned around." Charlie struggled to speak in full sentences. The words came to him in breaks and it was difficult to piece them all together so that she could somehow understand, "I . . . I feel terrible. You haven't left my mind since we parted and I-I just kept thinking over everything I said and everything you said and . . . And I'm sorry, Sara. I hope you know how much I still care for you and how dearly I think of you. Because you've always been . . . always been so kind to me and I never deserved it. I never deserved it at all . . . I can't, and I could never, deny my love for you. Surely you must know that!"

  Her legs moving involuntarily, Sara stumbled backwards as though attempting to further the distance between them. With her eyes holding onto Charlie's in a fierce, undeniable grasp, she feared she may run towards him, as though in a trance, if she didn't control herself. Biting her lip again to fight the tears, she sat down upon the ottoman in front of the fire; her legs were so weak they could no longer support her.

  "I tried to push you away so desperately," Charlie continued, his voice straining, "But despite all my arguments- my age and my poverty and . . ." he gulped, rubbing his eyes, "And Roy- you never seemed to doubt yourself. And I should have known! I should have never . . . I'm sorry I've troubled you so horribly. If only I'd realized sooner perhaps we wouldn't be caught where we are now . . . But still now, notwithstanding what I'm trying to say, I think of Roy. I think of him so very often. And Amelia too . . . And I wonder what Roy would say if only he knew. If he knew that I . . . and that you . . . But it's useless to dream of his opinion. We'll never know. And yet I think of what you told me that day, back in my office . . . Why shouldn't he want us both to be happy? As a good friend and a good father, I should think that he would. Albeit the shock of it all, if I promised that my intentions were true and that I only wanted to care for you and protect you and . . ." he nearly choked on the word, "and love you, I would imagine that he'd understand. If he saw that it wasn't a schoolgirl crush on your part or . . . or some unworthy, despicable desire on mine . . . surely he wouldn't protest. If . . . If he saw how earnestly you pleaded with me and how I've been trying to think of his respect all the while . . . He couldn't have . . . A-Although we can never truly know his thoughts, I no longer believe he would have been opposed to it. Surely if he saw your sweet, ardent face, dear Sara, he'd understand that I . . ."

  His voice trailed off as Sara broke into tears. Sitting on the little ottoman with her feet curled beneath her and tears trailing down her cheeks, she was continually reaching up a sleeve in an effort to dry her face though the attempt was futile. In mere seconds, more tears would be flowing. And she was still biting her lip, though it was no longer to hold back tears but to contain and soften her sobs.

  The remaining occupants of the room were as still and silent as they could be, positioned around the room like motionless statues. Like spectators, providing an audience to his lament, they watched Charlie and Sara. Only Mary was alert of her actions, ready at the edge of her seat and prepared at any moment to rush to her sister's side if Charlie cast her off again.

  With an active restraint, Charlie held himself back. He yearned to rush to Sara's side and calm her tears, but he couldn't. Not yet, anyway. The distance between them, he still standing behind the chaise and she at the opposite end of the room near the fireplace, aided his effort. The chaise became a fence, the only tangible barrier separating him from her.

  He turned his cap in his hands again, wringing it nervously, and stuck a hand in his hair, dampened by the snow. Then, shaking his head, he began to speak once more.

  "I'm sorry, Sara. Even now, seeing your f
ace and . . . and . . . I haven't even heard you speak yet but that doesn't matter. Just seeing you makes me lose my head. I-I can barely speak. I've been thinking about this moment for five long weeks, more than an entire month, trying to make out what to say . . . and how to say it . . . but even with all that preparation, I haven't an idea what I'm saying . . . My heart's beating so fast I feel I may have a heart attack. And although the house is warm I feel as though I'm still out in the snow, for my hands . . . My hands can barely stop shaking. Because I'm trying, I'm trying ever so hard, to tell you everything all at once. And none of it's coming out exactly as I meant it too. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you hadn't a clue what I'm talking about."

  Sara still didn't say a word but now she was shaking just as much as he was. Her shoulders and hands were trembling, her cheeks were damp, and she was holding her sleeves to her eyes because the tears were so constant there was no way to control them. In any other circumstance, she would have fell to the floor and crumbled into a little ball or fled the room in embarrassment. To have that many eyes staring at her, boring into her, as she cried would have been humiliating. But at the moment the only eyes she could see were Charlie's and they were what was holding her in place.

  "What I'm trying to say . . ." said Charlie, "Very inarticulately . . . is that . . . in fact . . . despite what I said before, and despite what I wrote in that letter, and despite . . . despite everything, I do love you, Sara. And, if you haven't already given your heart to another and if you're willing to forgive me . . . I . . . I can only hope that you'll have me. Because I know now that you're the only one for me. And being separated from you only made that all the more clear . . . I don't want to lose you again and I don't want to waste anymore time . . . You're far too good for me, but if your feelings have not changed and you're still willing to overlook my faults, then I have something I'd like to ask you."

  As he stepped forward to cross the room and knelt down beside Sara, she could no longer control her sobs. Her heart had stopped, her shoulders were still shaking, and her sleeves were sodden.

  Charlie reached forward to take both her hands from her eyes, leaving the tears to fall freely down her face. He touched them softly to his lips and Sara nearly felt her heart crack into two.

  "Will you marry me, Sara?"

  The room was suspended for a moment, completely silent and completely motionless. Ethan and his parents were shocked, their eyes wide and their mouths dropping open in awe. Brook wore a lopsided smile and Emy clasped his hand, her heart rising. Nathaniel was rather startled, for he'd never quite seen Sara so upset nor Charlie so smitten, and his right eyebrow rose unwittingly. Gail's hands were covering her mouth while Mary's were clasped in front of her chest, and both girls were staring intently at their sister in wonder.

  The silence slowly diminished as Sara's sobs became louder. She couldn't help it. And with her hands still held by Charlie, she couldn't wipe away the tears running down her cheeks and nose. But she bit her lip ardently and finally spoke, though her voice was muffled and hoarse from crying.

  "Yes," she said, nodding fervently, "Yes, of course I'll marry you, Charlie."

  All at once, the room erupted into shouts and laughter, sighs and smiles. But Sara heard no one and saw no one but her Charlie.

  Her hands were thrown carelessly around his neck and Charlie beamed. Sara's heart was racing now but she still couldn't stop crying. Her damp cheek pressed against his shoulder and her tears were dried on his sweater. "Oh Sara," Charlie kept murmuring, as though still in disbelief, "Oh Sara, you're finally mine at last." Without even thinking on it or propriety a moment, Sara's face traveled upward until her lips met Charlie's. All at once a cold rush traveled through her veins, reaching from her mouth all the way down to the tips of her toes. She was shivering now, her head growing dizzy. She'd been waiting for this moment for so long, waiting for the day she could finally rest comfortably in Charlie's arms and know he wouldn't pull away.

  Epilogue

  Ethan & Mary Lindsey

  Ethan Lindsey and Mary St. James wed the following March and the day went just as wonderfully as Mary had always imagined. Scarcely any clouds were visible, the sun shining brilliantly, and the temperature was warm for the brisk spring day. Mary's dress was lovely, the ceremony went on without a flaw, the food was delicious, and their guests had a marvelous time dancing. Neither Ethan nor Mary could ask for anything more.

  After spending a week in the mountains, they moved into the little house John and Ethan had worked so hard to build. While Ethan continued his studies at the university, Mary found a job at a local seamstress shop in town and she worked long hours there for their first two years together so that they were able to maintain a stable income. It was difficult, one can imagine, for such an optimistic and beautiful girl as Mary to become accustomed to working life, but she did it for hope of their future.

  Once Ethan found a job at the hospital in Brighton, she and Ethan tried desperately to start a family. They'd both always wanted children and now that Ethan was no longer in school, it seemed the perfect time. But things didn't go quite as well as Mary had planned. It took years for her to finally become pregnant. And when she did, she became quite ill indeed and was forced to quit her job as a seamstress. The pregnancy was uncomfortable and filled with complications. Mary spent most of her days alone in bed, though Betsy stopped by often; Ethan worked from dawn until dusk. And then, after all that struggling, Mary took a violent turn for the worse and was taken to the hospital. She'd had a miscarriage.

  After several more miscarriages in the next few years, Mary became with child once more. She and Ethan were still trying their best to be optimistic, despite all their difficulties, and somehow Mary made it through another horrific pregnancy.

  In the middle of a cold, winter's night, their baby girl was born.

  Her name was Amelia, after her grandmother, and she was everything they'd always wanted.

  While Ethan worked hard to become a surgeon, spending nearly everyday at the hospital, and Mary returned to her old job, little Amelia grew up.

  She spent most of her days with her mother, on the floor of the seamstress shop surrounded by scraps of fabric and thread and measure tools. The women Mary worked with adored Amelia and they always made sure that the scissors and needles were out of reach for her little, stubby fingers. Once she was old enough to walk, they dressed her up in frilly laces and lovely calicos, tying ribbons in her hair and adorning her hats with bows.

  Little Amelia looked exactly like her mother, from her black, shiny ringlets down to her milky white skin. Her eyes were a beautiful shade, sitting just between Ethan's navy and Mary's clear blue, and her lashes were far longer and darker than any child ought to have. With skin as soft as silk, her cheeks were often pinched by the ladies of the seamstress shop, much to her distaste, and Mary always made her wear a hat for fear she'd end up with a face full of freckles.

  Amelia's father doted upon her constantly, bringing his darling daughter surprise gifts from town whenever he could spare the money. Her room was filled with exquisite china dolls, their faces painted with rosy cheeks and crimson lips; rocking horses with real hair that she could braid with pretty ribbons; dollhouses with miniature furniture so intricately designed it was nearly as attractive as the furniture in her house; and tea sets that came with everything one needed to set up a proper meal. She was the envy of every girl in the county, to be sure. Whenever a child was invited to the Lindsey's house they couldn't help but be flattered and dressed in their Sunday best so as not to look silly next to Amelia's lovely dresses and ribbons.

  Throughout Amelia's childhood, Ethan and Mary tried for another child. They wanted nothing more than another lively face to light up their house. But the attempts were to no avail. The miscarriages continued and Ethan soon feared another baby would wreak havoc upon his dear Mary's health. In this way, it soon became clear that Amelia was Mary's angel, the only child she could ever have.

  As the y
ears past, much to Mary's pride and Ethan's dismay, Amelia grew into an attractive young lady and found many interested boys around Brighton. She went off to town every Saturday, her arms around the waists of her girlfriends, to attend the weekly dances held in the great old stockroom. Just like her mother, she easily stole the hearts of many a men and enjoyed acting the part of a playful coquette. There was a new beau calling at the Lindsey's doorstep every week and Amelia was happy to oblige them.

  Their life was a happy one through and through, despite the disappointments of Mary's many miscarriages. Ethan found success as a doctor and Mary no longer had to work. They lived in that beautiful house in the countryside of Brighton for all their days, adding more luxuries as their fortune increased. Mary Lindsey lived comfortably in a life nearly as perfect as she'd always dreamed of, becoming content with only one child to keep her happy. With a loving husband, charming house, and wonderful young daughter, she truly couldn't ask for anything more.

  Charlie & Sara Wilkie

  Charlie Wilkie invited Sara St. James to join him on Violet soon after Mary's wedding. Of course, she accepted him without hesitation.

  Taking up the girl's old room aboard the old ship, Sara found herself far more comfortable now that she had the entirety of the tiny room all to herself. Nearly two of the beds were stacked with crates of Sara's book collection, an engagement gift from John, which she set upon reading immediately. And unlike the voyage to Brighton, where Sara spent nearly half of her time in solemnity, she was able to enjoy herself immensely. She fished with Rory and Zooey, learned to play Jess's fiddle, danced with Charlie and the other boys at midnight parties, and relaxed in Charlie's office in the company of a thick novel. Being the only woman on board she became the mother of all the sailors, cooking their meals and cleaning their clothes, but it wasn't half so bad as she imagined it might be. Someone was always willing to help out if need be and the men were never very picky about the cleanliness of the ship or the quality of their food.

 

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