Cheryl St. John

by The Mistaken Widow

  They stood curiously close, their voices low, the sounds from the kitchen a muted backdrop to their discreet exchange.

  Sarah’s attention dropped to his lips. “Is that an invitation?” he asked.

  “I guess so.”

  “What time does William have his bath?”

  “After breakfast.”

  They both knew he was gone to the foundry by then. But he said, “I’ll stop by.”

  The swinging door behind Nicholas opened and they hurried to the dining room ahead of Mrs. Pratt and her custard.

  This unfamiliar side of his personality amazed her once again. The softer side that showed leniency with servants and concern for employees. Was that the side that spoke from his heart every so often? Or was the cynical, acerbic side of him the true side? She didn’t think so. Or she didn’t want to think so.

  Which side would be the one that reacted when he finally learned the truth about her? Would he treat her with the same indulgence he used with his employees? The same tolerance she’d seen tonight? Or had that simply been good business sense: treat employees right, they work harder.

  She didn’t have much confidence when it came to men’s forbearance. It was more likely he would respond to Sarah’s deception with the same intolerance she’d been afforded up to this point.

  Leda was telling William a tale that had Milos fairly napping. Mrs. Pratt served the custard and Sarah picked up her spoon.

  “Tell me about Thomas Crane,” Nicholas said, coming to Milos’s rescue.

  The request gave her a little start. Had someone given her away?

  Milos tossed her a subtle glance before replying. “He’s doing well. His wife’s been sick, but the Ladies’ Aid is helping.”

  Milos knew! The silver spoon slipped from her fingers and clinked against the china dish. She ignored it. If he’d gone and checked on Tom, he’d have known that first Mary and then Elissa were sick, but now nearly recovered. And Tom would have told him about her visits. Was Milos going to say something to Nicholas?

  She didn’t know why it mattered. She’d actually gone there, in the first place, to do something to help the Hallidays, to pay a debt to Stephen, and perhaps just to assuage her guilt. And yes, she’d wanted Nicholas’s approval.

  Not now though. She’d lived her entire life in comfort, her first eye-opening taste of reality coming after her father had shunned her. Still, she’d never seen how those who didn’t have it as easy lived. And now that she’d seen it, and knew how frightening it was to have nowhere to go and no one to turn to, she simply wanted to help.

  Looking at the situation honestly, Nicholas might never approve of her. But she had to approve of herself. And that had been darned hard to do over the past year.

  Nicholas finished his dessert. Mrs. Pratt removed his dish, and he propped his chin on a strong long-fingered hand, his elbow resting comfortably on the arm of the chair. With the other hand he swirled the wine in the bottom of his glass.

  His coffee-colored eyes met hers and Sarah couldn’t pull her gaze away. “I have a surprise for you,” he said.

  His shuttered expression revealed nothing. She glanced to his mother and back, waiting expectantly. What kind of surprise could he possibly have for her?

  “I know you’re already busy preparing for my guests, but we’re going to have another.”

  How did he figure his business associates coming to stay were a surprise for her? “One more will be no problem.”

  “I didn’t think so, either. I wrote her with an open invitation, and I just received a reply that she’s coming to stay. Indefinitely.”

  That last word clued her in that this was no ordinary business visit Her? Did Nicholas have a woman in his life after all? The thought shouldn’t have carved a wedge of disappointment in her chest. If he had a woman friend it was not her business. A few more months and Sarah would be erased from their lives. “Are there any special arrangements I need to make?”

  “You will know that better than I,” he replied.

  The cryptic remark brought a puzzled lift of her eyebrows. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  He finished his wine, savoring the last sip with a look of self-satisfaction.

  Milos, too, seemed to be waiting expectantly for Nicholas to reveal more, and, bolder than Sarah, he asked, “Well, who is this mystery woman who is coming?”

  Nicholas held Sarah’s gaze and replied to Milos’s question. “Claire’s mother.”

  Chapter Eight

  Claire’s mother.

  Sarah’s heart tripped an alarmed cadence. Nicholas had questioned her speaking of her mother as though she were dead, and belatedly she recognized another calamitous blunder. Stark terror fogged her brain.

  Leda smiled expectantly. “Selfish me,” she said, her words somehow sinking into Sarah’s benumbed consciousness. “All I’ve been able to think about is that I’ll have to share William.”

  Claire’s mother was alive, and both Nicholas and Leda knew it. Sarah’d been so distracted recently, she’d delayed returning Stephen’s letters to Nicholas’s desk and securing more. The additional information she could have learned might have helped her in this—another disastrous situation. She berated herself for becoming caught up in helping the Cranes and proving her worth, and thereby delaying finding valuable information that would have helped her—Wait! Who was this deceptive person she had become?

  “Nicholas sent her funds and invited her to visit for as long as she cares to,” Leda explained. “I know how much her presence will mean to you.”

  Nicholas studied Sarah with a steady assessing gaze she could easily learn to hate. Her head and tongue thick with alarm, she managed to push some words past her lips. “I—I didn’t know you were even thinking about this.”

  Claire had a mother. Claire had a mother. A mother who thought her daughter was still alive.

  Sarah’s lies had multiplied until they’d trapped her. Tripped her. Suffocated her. Oh, Lord…

  “I mentioned it to Nicholas right off,” Leda explained. “A girl should have her mother to help her through difficult times. We didn’t say anything to you, because we didn’t want to get your hopes up if her visit didn’t work out.”

  “Well, I—you’re so—thoughtful.” No other words came to her. At least nothing she could say aloud.

  “Dinner was excellent, Claire.” Milos pushed his chair back. Nicholas had done the same.

  “Join us for a glass of sherry, ladies?”

  “I’d be glad to take William up so you can stay,” Leda offered, “but I know you’re tired.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah said with a nod to Nicholas, “but I’d like to go to my rooms.”

  “I’ll beg off, too, darling. You two talk about whatever gentlemen discuss in private.” Leda leaned into her son’s kiss, and accepted a peck from Milos as well. “Good night, dears.”

  “Good night, Mother.”

  Her mind awhirl with fatalistic thoughts, Sarah followed Leda.

  “Why haven’t you mentioned your trips to the Cranes to him?” Leda asked as they climbed the marble stairs. She carried William so Sarah could use one crutch and the banister for support.

  What was she going to do? The panicked thought of packing her few belongings and rushing out into the night came as her immediate reaction. But then she looked over at her helpless son, and knew there had to be a plan with more sense.

  “I just didn’t want Nicholas to think I’d done it to earn his favor,” she said lamely, trying to behave normally. “Pride, I guess.” Because she had been trying to win his favor. And she was afraid she never could.

  “He hasn’t been very accepting of you, has he?” Leda asked.

  Oh, Lord, the woman hadn’t seen anything yet! Sarah gripped the oak banister in a white-fisted lock to keep from tumbling to the tile floor at the bottom of the stairs in a pile of quivering panic. “I understand his concern.”

  “It’s the only way he knows,” Leda said, as if in defens
e of her son. “He’s been responsible for the foundry, for Stephen and me, since a very young age. He took that responsibility seriously.”

  Sarah forced herself to concentrate on what Leda was saying. These were things she should know. “How could they have been so different, your sons?”

  “Stephen was much younger than Nicholas when my Templeton passed on. Nicholas’d had a year of college, but Stephen was just twelve. I’d had a baby girl in between the two, but she only lived a few weeks.”

  Sarah thought of those first terrifying minutes in the hospital when she’d awakened not knowing what had happened to her baby. She thought, too, of how much she loved William, and how that love grew with each hour and day and week. Her heart went out to Leda.

  They reached the upstairs hall and walked slowly. Sarah’s knees now trembled.

  “Nicholas came right home and took over everything. I never had a day’s worry over the legalities and such. He turned into a man the day his father died. He saw that Stephen finished college, though it was a constant source of friction.”

  Leda walked Sarah into her room and placed William on the downy emerald counterpane that draped her bed.

  “He gave up so much, my Nicholas, even though he never said a word. To this day he would deny he’d sacrificed anything. Such pride.” She shook her head. “His own schooling, his own ambitions. And though he claimed he and the girl were merely friends, I believe he might have married the young woman he’d met at school.”

  Sarah listened with surprise and new interest.

  “He claimed there was no time to nurture a relationship with the girl being in Boston and him here, and I suppose he was right. By the time he had the foundry’s affairs in order and had the business once again on its feet, she’d found someone else.

  “All Stephen wanted to do was attend the theater, write his scripts and travel. I know Nicholas hoped that Stephen would finish his studies and return to share the load. Nicholas works as hard as his father did, bless his soul. He takes the world just as seriously. I know we wouldn’t have all we do if they hadn’t been so diligent, but sometimes I wonder…perhaps my husband would still be alive if he’d been a bit more…”

  She paused. “I was going to say a bit more like Stephen, but he’s not alive any longer either.”

  Tears filled her gray eyes. Sarah leaned her crutches against the armoire and enfolded her in a hug, understanding how Leda had wanted only the best for both her sons.

  “Oh, Claire. You’re such a blessing.” Her voice was muffled against Sarah’s shoulder. “I don’t know how I would have survived these past weeks without you. Just knowing you’re here in the house helps me sleep at night.”

  Guilt layered over guilt until Sarah wondered how she could live with its oppressive weight building inside her.

  Leda pulled away, dabbing at her eyes with one of her ever-present lace hankies, and stepped to the bed. “And having William is just the crowning touch. The two of you are so dear to me.” She sat and placed her finger in William’s fist. Her inability to keep from touching him spoke to Sarah’s heart as strongly as her direct words.

  Her watery gaze lifted to Sarah. “Sometimes I feel so selfish. I know your mother must need you, too. But you’d been prepared to leave her, hadn’t you? The two of you must have been very close. I can’t see how she could bear to part with you for even a day.”

  Claire’s mother would have to learn that her daughter had died.

  It wasn’t only Leda and Nicholas and Milos who would be hurt by this horrible mix-up she’d perpetuated. Now there was Claire’s poor mother. How many more people would be affected before she had the courage to end it?

  Sarah sank to the edge of the bed, reproach squeezing the life’s blood from her heart. The woman was probably wondering why her daughter hadn’t contacted her. How many more relatives did Claire have that Sarah didn’t know about?

  What was she going to do? She couldn’t just sit here and pretend to be Claire when the woman walked in. Maybe she should leave tonight.

  “When will she arrive?” she asked in dread.

  “Tuesday, I believe.”

  “Oh, dear, that’s the night Nicholas’s guests will be here, and I’ve made so many plans.”

  “We will just include her, dear. It will be no problem.”

  No problem? The woman had no idea of her predicament or its looming consequences! A piercing ache pulsed in Sarah’s temple. She raised her fingertips to massage it. What now? What now? What now?

  Perhaps she could meet her at the train. That was it! And then what? Just tell her that her daughter was dead and expect her to get back in the passenger car and head for home?

  Sarah didn’t even know the woman’s name. She wouldn’t recognize her if she danced on her traveling case and sang “Camptown Races” at the top of her lungs.

  Sarah wrung her hands and racked her brain for a solution.

  “Claire, you’re positively white! Let me fetch Mrs. Trent to see to William, and I’ll help you with your clothing. You’ve overtaxed yourself with this benevolent business. Your health is important to your son’s welfare, and don’t you forget that.”

  “Of course not.” She allowed Leda to scold and fuss and summon servants, all the while reeling under the guilt of the woman’s concern. Leda loved her and William so desperately. She wanted Sarah’s happiness while she feared losing some of her love and attention to this woman now coming. Was that what the selfless love of a parent felt like?

  By the time the last servant left and William was full and asleep in his iron crib, her mind still reeled.

  She lay staring into the dark, her eyes burning, her stomach a knot of apprehension. Regret and trepidation ate at her soul. She’d been acutely aware of her eventual fate for weeks. She’d known this charade would end and she’d have to blindly make her way into the rest of her life. But she wasn’t ready yet.

  She still couldn’t walk without a crutch. She couldn’t even carry William and her bags and manage the crutch all at once, and certainly never long enough to make it to the train station.

  Sleep eluded her through the night. Though exhausted, she welcomed William’s predawn feeding because it gave her someone to talk to and soothed her chaotic thoughts. Her choices were limited.

  She could leave right now. But what kind of life would William have if she ran off without a cent or a means to provide for him?

  She could wait and let Claire’s mother see her and have her whole masquerade revealed. That scenario didn’t appeal either.

  Or she could meet her at the station and speak with her ahead of time. Maybe if she told her the truth and explained the situation, the woman would take pity on her.

  By morning she’d settled on the least horrible of choices. She would take her chances with Claire’s mother. But how would she learn her name? Had she ever heard Claire’s last name? Surely she would have remembered. She would meet her at the station, but she’d have to know her name by then.

  It was Sunday. Two days to learn it. And the only way she could think of was to go through the rest of Stephen’s letters. Nicholas and Leda had said he’d written home about Claire, so her name would be mentioned. It was the best idea she could come up with.

  On Monday morning, Sarah left William napping and made her way to Nicholas’s suite. Stealthily, she replaced the letters she’d read and took the rest of the stack, making it back to her room undetected. It frightened her to realize how good she was getting at this treachery! Her need to cover her past sins had overcome her morals. Had it caused her to multiply her transgressions? How low would she sink before this was over?

  That afternoon, while the baby slept again, she asked Mrs. Trent to check on the Cranes for her and used the time to read through the stack of letters.

  Stephen’s tone always came through lighthearted and carefree. Occasionally he mentioned something going on at home or expressed his affection for his mother, but most of his narrative detailed his current projects and
friends and the places he’d visited.

  After hearing Leda tell about Nicholas’s hopes that his brother would come home and help, she had a bit more understanding of how Nicholas must have felt. He’d forgone his own education and desires to take over the foundry.

  What all had he given up? As gruff and businesslike as he seemed, it was hard to imagine him with hopes and dreams. And doubly hard to imagine him as an enamored young man. Had he given up someone he’d truly loved?

  He’d seen to Stephen’s education and well-being, all the while wanting the best for him, yet wishing he’d share the workload. Stephen’s gay tales and unfettered life-style must have been acute reminders of Nicholas’s own burdensome responsibilities.

  The dates on the letters were months and months apart, as though Stephen wrote only when he could spare the time from his whirlwind social life. The last year or so he’d written five times, the next to the last one describing—Claire Patrick.

  Sarah zeroed in on the name she’d sought

  Stephen had called her witty and charming, full of vivacious energy and the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Sarah groaned inwardly. No wonder Nicholas hadn’t thought she matched the description of Claire.

  The last letter announced their plans to marry. Folded into it were three telegrams, one telling of their marriage and planned trip to Europe and another announcing their arrival home.

  For long minutes Sarah sat with that telegram in her hand. This was the last time Nicholas had heard from his brother. The brother he had loved and provided for. The brother he had wanted to see happy, yet had yearned to have share his burden.

  Undoubtedly the fact that Stephen had married and was on his way to Mahoning Valley had raised Nicholas’s hopes that he’d be staying.

  The last telegram sent a chill up her spine.

  We regret to inform you that there has been a train accident in New York State. Stop. Please come identify the body of your brother at the earliest possible time. Stop. Mrs. Halliday has been taken to the hospital in Newburgh. Stop. She is responding well to treatment and the baby is in excellent health. Stop.