She curved a palm around the top of the wing chair that sat between them. “I don’t understand.”
He knew she did. Though the light was faint, the rays that did enter the room rested on her face. Illuminating the guilt that shone in her eyes.
“I heard Belle outside your room, ma’am. When I asked her why she was doing that, she confessed she was worried about you. She didn’t want to bother you . . . but felt you needed to be checked on.”
She shook her head as if she was having trouble organizing her thoughts. “Mr. Truax, I am so sorry. It seems my servant has overstepped herself. Terribly. I’ll speak with her.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
“Pardon me?”
“You heard me,” he said. “She was near tears, she was so worried about you.”
“Yes, but—”
“She cares about you, Miranda,” he said frankly. “And what’s more, she told me only out of kindness to you. You cannot think of punishing a servant for that.”
“It was a kindness for my maid to tell one of my guests that she was concerned about her employer’s mental state?” Her voice was filled with derision. “Perhaps you were used to such insubordination in the service, but I am not.”
Her chin was lifted, her eyes were full of fire. The last of her languidness was now only a memory. She looked indignant and like everything a well-brought-up woman of worth should look like.
But he could tell it was only an act. Her voice was brittle and her posture was so stiff that he feared there was a very good chance she would break.
“Sit down, Miranda,” he said harshly.
“It is not your place to tell me what to do. You need to leave.”
Ignoring her, he stepped closer. “Madam, I have been through too much in my lifetime to pretend with you.”
“Don’t you mean 'anymore’? As in pretend anymore? You lied to me. You knew Phillip. You came here to check on me. Yet, you let me believe you were merely a guest.”
“If we’re going to say so much to each other, then let us be completely honest,” he said, stepping to his left and taking a seat on the small eggplant-colored velvet sofa. “Your husband was a good man. A wonderful man. Furthermore, he was an outstanding officer. He saved all of our lives in one way or another, and observing his death was one of the worst times in my life. But more than anything else anyone will ever know about him, he worshipped you, Miranda.”
Her lips parted.
Robert leaned closer, close enough to see the band of dark blue that surrounded her irises. “He. Loved. You,” he said slowly, taking care to enunciate each word. “He loved you more than he loved anything else in this world.”
“I loved him.”
“I know you did. And that is why when it came to our attention that you were not doing well, we decided to pay you a visit.”
She sat down. “Who is we?”
“Captain Monroe and me, Miranda. Someone is blackmailing you, threatening you with so-called proof Phillip betrayed the Confederacy if you do not sell this house and leave Galveston.”
After a pause, he said quietly, “And I now know that you are at the end of your ability to handle it. Miranda, please allow me to assist you. Please allow me to be someone you can trust. Please allow me to take care of the person who is making you so miserable and ruining one very fine man’s reputation.”
“Robert, you don’t understand. This person is skilled at deceit. If he follows through on his latest threat—even using documents somehow falsified—everyone will believe him, no matter what you say. I will have no choice but to sell this house, and I won’t know if I am selling it to the blackmailer or not.” Her words were uttered in a halting, clumsy manner.
When he said nothing, only waited for her to continue, she said, “I will lose everything but the money from the sale, which won’t be much, given I am branded a traitor’s wife. I have little money . . . your help is too late.”
“It is not,” he replied quickly. Wishing she could trust him, could understand the depth of his regard for her, he added, “I can help you.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“I am speaking about your problems, ma’am. When we discover who has been doing these things, I will ensure that he pays and everyone will know about his lies.”
“How could you?”
“That is not something you need be concerned with.” The fact of the matter was simply that he knew a great number of ways to bend men to his will. He’d learned many skills when he served, the least of which was strong-arming men to do what he wanted. “Miranda, you need to trust me.”
She looked at him with longing in her eyes . . . but it was mixed with doubt. It was obvious that she yearned to trust him but was too afraid. “I trusted the sheriff,” she said at last.
“You still can. You can trust Jess Kern.”
She shook her head. “You are wrong about that. He lied about being imprisoned with Phillip. It would have meant so much to me to have known that they shared a history, but he didn’t care enough about my feelings to inform me of that fact.”
“I don’t think that was exactly how it went, Miranda.”
She continued as if he’d never spoken. “Furthermore, Sheriff Kern never stopped by to tell me who you were when he recognized you.”
“Just because he didn’t feel he could divulge another man’s secrets doesn’t mean he won’t hold your needs close to his heart.”
“Are you on my side or his?” She paused, then asked quietly, “Or are you still more worried about dispelling military secrets than being completely honest with me?”
In spite of himself, he flinched. “We are all on the same side, Miranda. I promise you this.” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “If you believe anything I say, please know that you can trust Jess Kern, Miranda.”
She bit her lip. “All this sounds too good to be true.”
Perhaps it was. No doubt something would go wrong in their plan to follow up on their suspicions, and there would be snags.
When she moved to stand and dismiss him, he held up a hand. “I know you would like me to leave, but we still need to talk about the original reason I came in here.”
“I cannot discuss that with you.”
“I feel differently. Your staff is concerned about you. They are very worried about you.”
“I . . .” She swallowed. “My personal problems are not their concern.”
It would be so easy to accept her statement. To promise that he would alleviate her worries and then be on his way.
But he had begun to see that he cared about her too much now. She’d become not a mission but a reason to get through each day. In short, she had bewitched him.
Perhaps it was time to see if she, too, was under such a spell. Looking at her closely, he took care to be blunt. Jarring. “I have heard you have been depressed. Beyond depressed.” He lowered his voice. “Some might even say suicidal. You said yourself that you have not wanted to live. Do you want to die?”
She gasped, but said nothing.
Robert took her silence as an invitation to push even more. “Miranda, do you, in fact, want to die?”
“I cannot believe you asked me that.”
“Yet you didn’t answer.” Staring at her coolly, he said, “And that, Miranda, is why I am here.”
She met his gaze. Stared hard at him. Then got to her feet and strode toward the window and pressed her hands on the cool glass.
If she thought he was going to leave now, then she was sadly mistaken. He was willing to sit on the lumpy settee and stare at her back for as long as it took to get some answers.
After all, as far as he was concerned, that was the real reason he was on Galveston Island. Beyond his loyalty to his unit, beyond his promise to her husband, Robert had agreed to this mission because he needed to know more about himself.
He needed to understand why he’d done the things he’d done and why he’d survived.
He ne
eded to understand why he had been able to get a job and finally flourish while so many men were still suffering from wounds and mental anguish. He needed to understand what was in his soul and in his heart. Only then, at long last, would he be able to find any peace.
14
DO YOU WANT TO DIE?
The question was blunt and bordering on blasphemy. It was one she felt no one should ever ask.
Yet Miranda had a feeling she might be the only person on earth who was afraid to answer it.
Which was the problem, Miranda realized. She’d been drifting in and out of her pain for so long, she’d begun to wear her depression like a mantle on her shoulders. After the mind-numbing grief she’d felt from Phillip’s death had begun to fade, she’d been at a loss for what to do about her future. For too many years she’d felt confused and adrift.
But she’d had her home. Phillip’s mother and sister were bitterly hurt that Phillip had made provisions to ensure she would always have the house as her home and not his family. But then she learned they were working with lawyers to try to contest Phillip’s will, and she’d known she must do something.
When Winifred and Emerson, her longtime servants, had suggested that she turn the big mansion into a boardinghouse as a way to solve her financial problems, she’d first been aghast. Phillip would have never wanted her to live with strangers. He had often told her he liked taking care of her and seeing to her needs, much to his mother’s dismay.
Miranda couldn’t come to terms with the idea of converting his family’s home into a place of work. But when their lawyer’s letters had gotten forceful enough for Miranda to have to hire her own to fight them, the little money she had left began to run out.
Uncovering a force of will she hadn’t even known had existed inside of her, she’d known it was time to take action. Therefore, she’d followed Winifred and Emerson’s advice and opened the Iron Rail to boarders.
Oh, but those first few days after she’d placed that advertisement had been nerve-racking! Many of their friends had been scandalized, and acquaintances who had always looked down on her because she was not from Galveston blatantly turned their backs on her. Doubts had begun to set in.
She’d been sure she’d done something unforgiveable.
But then, one Tuesday, two things happened within three hours of each other. She’d received a telegram reserving a room for two weeks. Moments later, a gentleman had showed up and asked for a room for the evening. God had provided.
He’d paid when he arrived and had been both extremely respectful of her and appreciative of the mansion.
Winifred had cooked him a simple supper and Emerson had shined his boots. And in the morning he’d not only left a sizable tip, but promised he would return . . . and spread the word about her charming establishment.
And with his departure, she’d realized there was a chance that she was going to be okay after all. She’d started to think of herself as a survivor. She wasn’t broken; she was mending. She was going to make Phillip proud.
However, she soon received her first threatening letter. The words had been ugly and cruel. That note had torn her apart and had reminded her of just how alone in the world she was.
But boarders and guests had continued to come and their company had soothed her soul. Until the letters came every week and the animosity she felt from everyone in her circle of friends had become more intense as rumors about both Phillip and her spread.
She hadn’t understood it. Couldn’t think of what she had possibly done to deserve such ire, such treatment. Why did everyone believe these lies? She even asked her best friend, Mercy, about it. Mercy had been by her side when she’d married Phillip, had held her hand when she’d first heard that Phillip had been captured.
She’d stayed with Miranda for days after they learned he’d died.
Miranda had turned to Mercy when Mr. Winter had first leered at her and the first time two women she’d known walked by her without acknowledging her. Almost as if she were a fallen woman.
But as she’d confided all her fears and worries to her best friend, a change had occurred. Instead of being supportive and optimistic, Mercy’s expression had become shuttered. Instead of offering Miranda advice, Mercy had shuttled her out of her house.
And then had become as distant and aloof as everyone else.
That betrayal had been so difficult, almost as if she were experiencing another death. But this time, there seemed to be no one around her to lean on. Somehow, for some reason, she was all alone.
She’d begun a downward spiral after that, and it had culminated with the morning she’d not only contemplated jumping from the window, but gone so far as to open the pane.
But yet . . . she hadn’t jumped.
Did that mean something? Did that mean she cared enough about her life to keep it? Or was she merely too afraid about failing in her suicide attempt?
Only to herself had she been able to admit that she hadn’t been sure.
But now, with Robert staring at her, practically willing her to confront the truth, even when it was so shameful that she knew she’d barely been able to admit it to herself, she yearned to say that she did not want to die.
She blinked. Realizing that she felt more certain about that than ever before. She did not want to die. She wanted to breathe and walk and talk to other people and plan.
And even remember.
“I . . .” Perversely, the words felt stuck on the tip of her tongue. It was as if her brain was telling her one thing but her mouth was completely incapable of following its directions.
Still Robert watched her.
His attention, so intent, so unwavering, made her lungs tighten. It made her pulse skitter and race in a panic.
Abruptly, she looked at him, afraid he was going to stare at her impatiently. Show her that he was like everyone else in her life. Remind her that she wasn’t worth his time, his conversation, or even his compassion.
But when their eyes met, she saw only acceptance. And patience. He wasn’t waiting for her to be a different person. No, he was simply waiting for her to find herself.
That enabled her to find her bearings. She breathed deeply and forced herself to concentrate on this moment. Not the past, not an uncertain future.
Buoyed by that, she gathered herself and breathed in deeply. Finding success, she inhaled again. And felt hope.
It was as if God had finally spoken to her and blessed her. He’d taken so much, but he’d given her this man.
Oh, she didn’t expect Robert to stick around. She didn’t expect him to even become her friend. But he was there for her at that moment, and the feeling of happiness that accompanied it was so sweet she almost felt giddy.
Suddenly, Miranda knew she had to tell Robert about her thoughts and her worries. About her hopes too. She had to convince him that she wasn’t as bad off as everyone feared.
And, she realized, she had to convince herself that she was worth his time and attention. Somewhere inside of herself she was the same person she’d always been. The girl who had met handsome Phillip Markham at a soldiers’ ball and enchanted him. The girl who had bravely hugged her husband with a bright smile before he went off to war, not wanting his last memory of her to be one of tears.
Suddenly, she was living, breathing, feeling.
She was alive.
“I do not want to die,” she said at last. “I . . . I, well, for a time, I wasn’t so sure about that, but now I realize I want to live this life that was given to me. Even if it’s not perfect.” She closed her eyes. Had there ever been a greater understatement? “I mean, even if it is painful, right now I realize I want to feel that pain.”
Slowly, he got to his feet. Looked at her steadily. And finally nodded. “Good.”
She thought he was going to turn around. She was certain he was ready to leave the room. Be rid of her now that he wasn’t afraid she was going to jump or collapse or do whatever else he imagined she was on the verge of.
Bu
t he didn’t do that at all.
“It’s going to be all right, Miranda,” he murmured as he approached her. “You are not alone any longer. I will not leave you to face everything by yourself,” he said as he carefully wrapped his arms around her.
“I, too, have suffered, but I got stronger. You will get stronger too,” he whispered as he brought her into his embrace and held her close.
His warmth, his very being, felt so comforting that she allowed herself to relax. With great deliberation, she placed one hand around his waist, then the other. Leaned her cheek against his clean, starched shirt.
And clung to him.
Robert Truax, former second lieutenant in the C.S.A. and comrade of Phillip’s, had become important to her. Not just because he was a handsome man. Not just because he had almost become a friend.
But because he believed in her.
And because right then, right at that moment, she believed in herself too.
She wasn’t perfect, but she was alive.
She wasn’t strong, but she could be.
She wasn’t happy, but she had hope.
Furthermore, she was standing. She was blessed. She was being held.
She had not fallen yet.
15
IT WAS NEVER EASY TO ASK FOR HELP. HOWEVER, ROBERT had learned the hard way that it was far more difficult to face the consequences of failing by himself.
Because of that, combined with last night’s memory of holding Miranda Markham fairly burning in his chest, he’d pulled out his quill and forced himself to compose the letter he hadn’t wanted to write. Jess was now an ally, but Robert needed more.
I have learned, sir, that Mrs. Markham’s difficulties are even worse than I had surmised. I have told you that her friends have abandoned her, even her best friend. Men who are so far beneath her that they should be doing nothing but begging for a kind smile are treating her as a pariah. Now I’ve learned that she has been receiving threatening letters for a year and is being blackmailed with the threat of some kind of false proof that Phillip was a traitor. All that on top of insinuations that she has dishonored her husband with other men.
The Loyal Heart Page 15