by Sara Orwig
“Right now, Claire, you’re excited from our lovemaking. As the day passes, you may not feel as warmly toward me.”
She paused, looking up at him, her eyes filled with tears. He wiped them away. “I know what I feel, Fortune,” she said. “And maybe you can love again if you’ll let go of your memories.”
“I have let go,” he said, pulling her against his chest. “I’m beginning to feel like I’m coming back to life. All those years I’ve lived in memories, looking back and longing for what I lost.”
She clung to him and kissed his chest. “Fortune, I’m so happy.” Her hand drifted over his chest, down toward his waist. “Now, I want to stay here and make love to you, but we have to go downstairs.”
He caught her hand up, smiling at her. “We’ll never get downstairs if you touch me like that. Go on. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
She smiled at him and brushed his lips lightly with a kiss. As she left the room and closed the door behind her, her smiled broadened into true radiance. The bracelet linking him to his past was gone. There was a chance for love between them.
Sunday morning they took Michael to church, and during the afternoon Fortune went over landscaping plans for their yard with her. He continually touched her, and she relished his attention, wishing it never had to end. He had come home from work earlier yesterday, and today he had spent the entire day at home. When she thought of Saturday night and this morning and how long they had stayed in bed and made love, she felt a fluttery sensation.
Alaric appeared at dinner, and then Alaric and Michael and Fortune all went out to build a house in a tree for Michael.
As they worked nailing boards, Michael ran to climb the tree. Alaric motioned to Fortune. “Hand me the nails.”
Fortune was bent over the board he was sawing, working until it was cut through.
“Fortune!”
He looked up to see Alaric staring at him. Alaric’s eyes narrowed.
“You didn’t answer me. I asked for the nails. Maybe you have the same thing wrong with your hearing that’s wrong with Claire’s.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
Alaric put his hands on his hips. “I should have known you wouldn’t lead a celibate life forever, but God, I hope you don’t hurt her.”
“Dammit, Alaric, leave my wife alone! You’re too concerned about Claire.”
“Well, well, what’s this? Temper over Claire, over a woman who’s actually still alive, Fortune?”
Fortune ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the house, forgetting Alaric as he thought about Claire. “She’s a fine person and I respect her and we’ll have a decent enough marriage if you don’t meddle in it.” He turned to look at Alaric. “She’s innocent where men are concerned. You start your sweet-talking charm, and you could turn her head. She’s vulnerable. She has a husband who doesn’t love her wildly and she knows it. She went into this marriage knowing it.”
“You’re a man of stone, but maybe Claire is melting the stone. I think I’ll place my bets with Claire, although God knows why she would want a man who doesn’t appreciate her—”
“Dammit, if you don’t stop, you’re going to be on your back. I do appreciate her, I just don’t love her.”
Suddenly Alaric grinned. “Well, well. I do place my bets with Claire. You’re not made of granite after all.”
As Fortune took a step toward him, Alaric scooped up boards and strode out of the carriage house. Then he stepped back inside. “I hope she makes you pay for all the misery you dealt her!”
“Dammit!”
Alaric’s deep laughter carried in the air while he sprinted toward Michael and the tree.
Alaric stayed through the evening, and when Michael went to bed, Fortune wanted to get Claire to himself. He would carry her upstairs to their bedroom and shut the door to the world and love her as he had before. To his irritation, Alaric continued to lounge in a chair, talking about every subject he knew with Claire, making her laugh. The hour grew later and the tall clock in the hall chimed with the passage of time.
“Why don’t we have a game of poker?” Alaric finally said. “We don’t have to wager. Fortune told me he taught you to play.”
“I don’t think—” Fortune began.
“That would be fine, Alaric,” Claire said politely, and Fortune stared at her, realizing she was trying to be courteous to Alaric.
“Alaric, it’s late,” he said flatly.
“Oh, only a hand or two. Where are the cards, Claire?”
She moved to a table and opened a drawer.
“Get the ones from the library, Claire, and the chips that are in there,” Fortune snapped.
Startled, she glanced at him questioningly, but then she nodded and left the room. He leaned forward. “Alaric, we’ve been friends a long time. Will you get the hell out of here so I can be alone with my wife?”
Alaric’s eyes grew round, and Fortune saw the devilment dancing in them. Clenching his fists, he fought an urge to plant his fist squarely on Alaric’s jaw.
When Claire returned, Alaric stood up and crossed the parlor to link his arm through hers. “Claire, I remembered I have to be up at dawn tomorrow morning. Forgive me for suggesting a game and then canceling it all in the same breath, but I feel an urgent need to go home.”
“Fine, Alaric. Maybe tomorrow night. Come join us for dinner.”
“Thank you. We can work some more on the house for Michael.”
They walked outside, where the air was cooler, and Fortune moved forward to place his arm around Claire’s shoulders and pull her against his side. “Good night, Alaric.”
“Night to both of you,” he said, smiling. He kissed Claire’s cheek. “You’re a lucky man,” he said to Fortune, and turned to mosey away.
Claire went inside, heading for the back parlor, where she picked up the cards. Fortune took them from her hands and set them down, putting out lamps. His pulse drummed with eagerness, and the moment the room was dark, he drew her into his arms, picking her up to carry her upstairs.
A week later, Claire was in the Northrop store when she saw Trevor Wenger approaching. She turned to face him, glancing toward the back corner of the room, where Michael was reading a book.
“Mrs. O’Brien. I’ve been hoping I would find you in here again. May I say hello to Michael?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Don’t call him. I’ll go back there in a moment. Have you thought it over about allowing him to come to my house?”
It was the question she dreaded, yet she knew that sometime she would have to make a decision about it.
“I want you both to come if you’d like.”
“My husband feels strongly about keeping him from you, so if I allow him to visit, it’ll be against Fortune’s wishes,” she said, knowing she had given Trevor Wenger hope with her answer.
“I don’t imagine your husband’s feeling toward me will ever change. Does he have to know?”
She looked away, still mulling it over, torn between what she felt was right and what Fortune wanted. “If I let you see Michael, you must promise me that you’ll never hurt any of us again, not Michael or me or Fortune.”
Dark eyes gazed back at her steadily as he arched a brow. “I can promise that I won’t initiate anything. But if your husband draws on me, I’ll defend myself.”
“No more beatings.”
“No, but he deserved one for taking Marilee and burning Belle Tache. You have my word I won’t hurt any of you unless it’s in self-defense.”
She stared at him, feeling qualms, yet always when she thought of refusing him, she felt it was wrong to keep Michael from knowing his grandfather. He was a pillar of Atlanta society, after all. She could tell Fortune afterward, and perhaps he would relent. She believed Trevor Wenger would never hurt Michael. The look of longing in his eyes and voice was painfully clear.
Yet she couldn’t deceive Fortune, and she didn’t want to risk the tenuous bond they had forged. She
bit her lip in indecision, wishing she didn’t have to make this choice.
Feeling fluttery, because she knew Fortune was unyielding on some issues, as ruthless as Trevor Wenger when he was provoked, she looked up at Wenger. “Yes, I’ll bring him to visit.”
“Thank you, Mrs. O’Brien. I’ll be good to him. He’s all I have now. When can we do this?”
Glancing through the front window at Badru, she tried to think of the best time. “Tomorrow morning at half past ten would be good. I usually stay home, and Badru will be going with my husband to help with some work.”
“Work at his mill. He wants to give me competition,” he said with dry amusement in his voice.
“Yes, he does. There’s no changing him on that.”
“I don’t mind. Competition works two ways,” he said blandly. “Can you stay until noon to eat with me?”
“No. We need to be back home then.”
“I know you’re going against your husband’s wishes, and it worries you. I want to thank you again. This means everything to me, and I shall repay your kindness. I promise you, you’ll never regret this. Now I’d like to speak to Michael.”
She nodded and stepped aside, glancing outside at Badru, who stood beside the buggy, waiting for their return.
Finally Trevor Wenger came back up the aisle to pass her. “Thank you, Mrs. O’Brien. I appreciate your kindness. I’ll look for you both in the morning.”
She watched him walk down the aisle and wondered if she could trust him. Had she done the right thing? Would she ever be able to convince Fortune that it was right for Michael to know his grandfather?
That night as she ate a late dinner with Fortune and Alaric, she stared at Fortune, wanting to mention that she had talked to Trevor Wenger, but she couldn’t when Alaric was present, and after he had gone, she tried to think how to begin as Fortune drew her into the back parlor.
Closing the door, he turned to lean against it and pulled her into his arms to kiss her. His hand ran down her back, over her buttocks, and pulled her up against him. Her hips thrust against him while they kissed, and she had only a momentary flicker of worry that in a little over twelve hours, she would be going against his wishes.
Chapter 21
As she drove the buggy, Michael sat beside her gazing around. He wore his new black coat and pants and had on a white linen shirt.
“Mama, what will Papa say when you tell him we’ve been to see Grandfather?”
“I don’t know, Michael. He’s your grandfather and he said you’re all the family he has left. I’ll try to talk your father into understanding that I feel you should get to know your grandfather.”
“They hate each other, don’t they?”
She looked at Michael, sometimes surprised by what he noticed. “Yes, they do. Your father feels your grandfather took your mother and you from him. Your grandfather feels your father took her from him. But they may get over their hatred, and that’s what I pray happens because both of them love you and both of them are related to you.”
“I don’t want to make Papa angry with me.”
“He won’t be angry with you,” she answered firmly, knowing she was the one on whom Fortune’s wrath would fall.
They turned on Grubb Street and she glanced back over her shoulder, suddenly feeling as if Fortune’s cold blue eyes were on her. She thought about their lovemaking the night before and felt a twinge of both guilt and fear. She didn’t like going against his wishes, and she didn’t want to lose the warmth building between them. For an instant she slowed, pulling on the reins, and Michael looked up at her expectantly. She gazed down into his dark eyes, part of his heritage from Marilee and Trevor Wenger. And she knew she couldn’t keep Michael from his grandfather.
She flicked the reins, praying she could make Fortune understand. Just this once she would take Michael to see Trevor Wenger, and then after that she wouldn’t go again until Fortune agreed to it.
In another two blocks she slowed and turned up the drive. She looked at an elegant Greek Revival house with six massive Doric columns and a wide fan transom over the door. She wondered if Trevor Wenger had tried to rebuild a house that looked like his burned Belle Tache.
“It’s a big house,” Michael said. “Look, Mama, he has peacocks.”
She glanced at the colorful birds strutting through a bed of purple periwinkles and blue delphinium, and she realized that only a month ago, Michael would have been awed by the mansion. Fortune was making them accustomed to luxury. She thought about her savings, which Fortune seemed to have no interest in. She had written letters, and finally the money had been transferred to the Atlanta National Bank, and she felt better. Since Fortune regularly gave her money that he said was her own to do with as she wanted, almost half of it was going into her savings. Someday it would there for Michael, but right now she still felt better to know there was money that was hers and if she had to use it, she could.
As she slowed in front of the house, a servant came out the front door and Trevor Wenger followed. He was a handsome man, his face creased in a wide smile. His face was narrower than Fortune’s, his nose as straight, his lips thin, giving him an imperious air. Yet when he smiled at Michael, he looked friendly.
“Come in, both of you. This is one of the happiest moments in my life. I want to show both of you the house, and I want to show Michael the room I have for him if his father ever permits him to come stay.”
He stepped back to allow her to enter ahead of him while a white-coated butler held open the door.
She looked at the vestibule, filled with marble statuary, oil paintings, and gilt furniture. As they walked through the house, larger than their own, she looked at fine porcelain figurines, bronze figures, enameled snuff boxes, and realized he must have collected treasures from all over Europe.
And Michael’s eyes sparkled when Trevor showed him a room filled with toys, a wooden rocking horse and wooden hoop, wind-up toys, a bear with cymbals, a set of wooden soldiers.
“We’ll go back downstairs to the parlor, Michael, and let you stay to look at your toys,” Trevor Wenger said.
“Yes, Grandfather.”
She walked beside Wenger as they descended the stairs. “You have beautiful things.”
“I collected some during the war years when I lived abroad. Thank heaven they weren’t at Belle Tache! Oh, I have something for you, Mrs. O’Brien.”
She looked at him questioningly as he motioned toward the front parlor. She entered a room filled with treasures fit for a museum. He fetched a small box made of gold with diamonds, sapphires, and rubies encrusted in the top and handed it to her.
“I can’t accept a gift like this!”
“Of course you can. Open it.”
She opened it and listened to a Strauss waltz. Instantly she remembered dancing with Fortune the last time she had heard it played. “It’s beautiful, but this isn’t necessary.”
As she reached out to hand it back to him, he touched her hand lightly. “Keep it. It is a mere bauble, a token of my appreciation for your bringing Michael. It means nothing to me, and I can afford to give it to you.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling uneasy, knowing she would have to place it somewhere out of Fortune’s sight.
“Sit down, please.” He went to the bell pull and in minutes a maid served tea and small biscuits and jam.
Claire’s uneasiness faded slightly as she listened to him talk about his travels in Europe. “I wish someday I could take Michael, but I know that’s probably too much to hope for. If not, I hope your husband plans to take him.”
“He does, as a matter of fact.”
“Good. Michael seems a very bright child to be reading the books he does. I’ve talked to Edwin Northrop.”
“Michael is bright.”
“You’re the one who found Marilee while she was still alive?” he asked, abruptly shifting the direction of their conversation.
“Yes. She asked me to care for Michael.”
“Those y
ears are over now. I apologize again for the men I sent to find him. I’m thankful now he was with you. And you’re a very bright young woman to manage to elude Pinkerton’s and the men I hired. Evidently Harwood found you too late. Enough of that. Are you enjoying your new home?”
“Very much.”
“It’s a fine house, and it should be good for Michael. I’ll give you the name of two tutors who are excellent and the agency you can contact to hire them.”
“Thank you. I’ve just started asking around, but I don’t know too many people here yet.”
“I think you’ll find both of these would be excellent.”
She spent the rest of the hour talking to Trevor Wenger and realizing he could be charming when he wanted. Finally he stood up. “May I take Michael for a short walk in the garden?”
She hesitated only a moment. “Yes, if you’d like.”
“Thank you. Don’t worry. I’ll come back,” he said, smiling at her. “If you enjoy reading, I have a library across the hall. Help yourself.”
“Thank you.”
Once he had left the room, she stood and moved to the window to look out. In minutes she heard Michael’s voice raised in excitement and Trevor Wenger’s deeper voice. Their footsteps and voices faded, and she strolled into the hall. She walked to the end of the hall to look through the beveled glass door. Man and boy walked along a path between beds of flowers, and for a moment she felt a ripple of fear. If Trevor Wenger took Michael now, it would take an hour to get back, tell Fortune, and start after them.
She looked over her shoulder. If he did something to her, he could have more than a day’s start because Fortune worked late most nights. Uneasy, she stayed in the hall watching for them for the next half hour until finally she saw them wind back along the path.
Feeling foolish for her worries, she returned to the front parlor to sit down until the two of them came inside. “Mama, you have to come see one of the toys. It’s a train and runs along a track.”