by Lisa Plumley
“He’ll be there,” Thomas interrupted, full of certainty.
“Leave that to us,” Miss Reardon promised. “All right?”
Still, Daisy hesitated. After her talk with Thomas, she’d realized that she’d been wrong about Owen. She hadn’t needed strength enough to leave him; she’d needed strength enough to believe he wouldn’t hurt her, the way Conrad had, to believe that Owen must have had another reason for behaving the way he had. Now Daisy did believe that. All that remained was finding Owen and telling him so…at the Independence Day town picnic.
At least, that’s what Thomas and Miss Reardon assured her.
Doubtfully, Daisy gazed at them. Then she lifted her chin. If nothing else, she reasoned, Élodie would be at the picnic. Daisy could find Élodie, apologize for leaving so abruptly and maybe assure herself the little girl was doing fine. That way, even if Owen wasn’t at the picnic—and she personally doubted he would be—the event wouldn’t be an utter loss.
“All right!” Daisy said. “Let’s have ourselves a picnic!”
Chapter Thirty-One
Swearing under his breath, Owen glared at his most recently placed beam. It looked crooked. Hellfire. He guessed this was what he got for trying to work while his heart was broken.
With the stable bustling around him, he put his hands on his hips, feeling exasperated. Down the aisle, Gus placed the next boarding horse in a stall. He saw Owen watching, tipped his hat with a downright sullen motion, then kept on working.
Evidently, Gus was still irked at him over Daisy’s being gone. Well, Owen thought, Gus could go on being irked from now till next Sunday. There was no undoing what was already done.
With a sigh, Owen swiped his arm across his brow. His stable was already half-full. Business promised to be especially profitable this year. That should have pleased him. It did not.
“Papa?” Élodie approached, looking somber. “Are you busy?”
“Nope.” Deliberately, Owen dragged himself from his own bad temper. “I’m never too busy for you, mon petit chou.”
His daughter appeared tentative. Also, troubled. By now, it occurred to him, she and Mrs. Archer should have been on their way to the town picnic. Maybe Mrs. Archer had canceled today?
If so, Élodie would be powerfully disappointed.
“What is it?” Owen pressed. “Is something wrong?”
“Well, I was just wondering…” Élodie’s innocent gaze lifted to his. “What’s a bastard? Because I heard some of the ladies at the pharmacy saying Miss Walsh was having a bastard baby.” She inhaled a gulp of air. “But when I asked Mrs. Archer about it, she only shushed me.” Owen felt himself gaping. Élodie cast him an inexplicably…wily?…glance. “’Course, she was one of the ladies saying those gossipy things, so maybe that’s—”
“Mrs. Archer said—” Owen broke off at a sputter, feeling wrathful enough to spit nails. “They said Daisy’s baby was—” He rounded on the empty space surrounding him and Élodie, needing a target for his rage. He stumbled for more words, fists clenched.
“I’m sorry, Papa!” Élodie put up both hands in a peaceable gesture. “I didn’t mean to make you angry. I only thought—”
“I’m not angry,” Owen said to reassure her. Then he realized the truth. He was angry. Damn angry. He was angry enough to raise hell with the whole town. “I’m furious.”
“Why? Is a bastard baby a bad thing?” Élodie pulled a face. “Because it sounded like a bad thing, the way those ladies were all whispering about it. I felt plumb sorry for Miss Walsh.”
Owen growled at the thought. If people in town had been slandering Daisy… Well, they’d have him to answer to. The whole all-fired lot of them. He knew just where to find them.
At the annual Independence Day gala town picnic.
“That’s why I reckoned I’d better ask you,” Élodie said. She gazed up into his face. “I knew you’d know what to do.”
Surprised and humbled by her constant faith in him, Owen gazed down at her. Looking at his daughter’s earnest face and loyal demeanor, he was startled to feel…remorseful.
He’d spent so much time trying to ensure Élodie’s future, it occurred to Owen just then, that he hadn’t spent enough time seeing to her days as they were right now. He’d labored so hard, for so long, to free his daughter from the potential heartache in her future that he’d overlooked the very things that were happening to her right at this moment—like listening to a person she loved be maligned for being brave enough to have a baby all on her own, in a town where she scarcely knew anyone.
Poor Daisy, Owen thought. Even if he couldn’t be with her the way he wanted to be, she damn well deserved to be treated with respect and kindness. She deserved…more. More than this.
“If you don’t know what to do,” Élodie said further, balling her fists in perfect imitation of his fighting stance, “then I’ll bet I do! I’ll tell off those ladies, but good! If you say that’s a bad name to call someone, Papa, I’ll do it!”
Shaking his head at her pugnacious demeanor, Owen put his hand on Élodie’s shoulder. He gave her a comforting squeeze.
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll take care of this.”
“You will? Are you sure?” His daughter appeared relieved, yet still fretful. “Because it’s a mighty big problem. As near as I could tell, all the ladies in town were talking about it.”
At that, Owen closed his eyes. Daisy needed him, he realized. He’d be damned if he would let her down. If no one else would defend her, he swore to himself, Owen Cooper would.
“I’m sure,” he told Élodie. He hugged her. “You put that word clean out of your head, you hear? You won’t ever need it.”
His daughter smiled. Vigorously, she nodded. “All right.”
“Now, run upstairs and get your parasol and your fancy shoes and…and whatever else people take to the Independence Day town picnic.” Helplessly, Owen gestured. “Hurry, or we’ll be late.”
Élodie’s eyes widened. “We’re going to the town picnic?”
Her excited squeal drew all eyes to them. At first, Owen scowled. Then he nodded firmly. “Darn tootin’, we are.”
“Hurray!” Waving her arms, Élodie ran upstairs.
From the nearest stall, Gus led in another boarding horse. Then he leaned both arms on the gate. “You ain’t leavin’, boss,” he drawled. “Tell me another stretcher, ’cause I ain’t buyin’—”
“You put up a sign, lock up the place and go home, Gus.” With an expansive wave, Owen added, “Hell, go to the picnic!”
“What? You’re pullin’ my leg!” His helper gestured. “I’ll be damned if there ain’t folks lined up down the street, wanting to board their horses and park their buggies here. If you don’t take their money, they’re liable to head straight on down to—”
“Don’t care. Let them leave.” From a nearby peg, Owen snatched up his hat. “Some things mean more than money.”
Gus boggled. He grinned. “All done savin’ up for a rainy day, boss? Fixin’ to enjoy yourself in the sunshine a spell?”
“Something like that,” Owen allowed, then grabbed his coat.
With her heart pounding in excitement, Élodie raced upstairs. Once there, she flung open the window shutters. She leaned out to give Mrs. Archer their prearranged signal.
On the street below, Mrs. Archer beamed. She signaled too. Then she picked up her skirts and bustled to the square.
Everything was set! Nearly overcome with excitement, Élodie hurried to her bedroom. In a trice, she’d assembled her parasol, her best ruffled gingham sunbonnet, and a necktie for Papa. Downstairs, he’d looked handsome, of course—as usual—but Élodie reckoned this occasion called for something a mite fancier than his usual homespun attire.
Clutching those items, she hurried back to her father. She still didn’t know what a “bastard” was, it occurred to her on the way. Miss O’Neill had suggested the correct vocabulary for her talk with Papa, and although Mrs. Archer had shied away from that
particular term, in the end the two older women had agreed.
Doubtless, Élodie reasoned, that word meant something scurrilous. She wasn’t stupid; she’d seen the look of ferocity on Papa’s face. But Élodie couldn’t understand what a tiny, innocent baby could do to deserve to be called names. Besides, by this time next year, Élodie’s new baby brother wouldn’t be worried about that. He’d be enjoying the town picnic, too!
Heartened by that thought, Élodie flew downstairs. It had been a near thing, her misunderstanding Papa’s notions about loving someone again—and Élodie spilling the beans about that misunderstanding. But now, things were almost fixed. Élodie had not ruined things between Miss Walsh and her papa—and she’d have herself a brand-new family by the end of the day to prove it!
Humming with excitement, Élodie spotted Papa waiting for her in the stable. She headed directly toward him. They might never have gone together to the Independence Day town picnic before…but judging by the determined look on Papa’s face right now, their first visit would be plenty memorable.
With Daisy securely hastened off—in Mrs. Sunley’s capable company—to the Morrow Creek town square for the picnic and all its frolics, Thomas took Miss Reardon’s arm. Together, they left in the opposite direction to finish their part of their scheme: making certain that Owen Cooper wound up at the picnic, too.
“Oh, dear!” Miss Reardon blushed with the effort of walking quickly, her breath coming faster. “I do hope we haven’t set ourselves too difficult a task! Mr. Cooper can be so troublesome at times. If we can’t convince him to come with us, so we can present him to Daisy, as we’ve promised…we’re sunk!”
“Don’t worry, Mellie,” Thomas told her. “We’ll do it.”
“But how can you be sure?” She turned her beautiful gaze to his, her skirts swishing along as she moved. “We shouldn’t have promised! We should have waited for Matilda and Abbey to help.”
“I don’t need help,” Thomas proclaimed. “I’m sure.”
“But the situation is so significant!” Miss Reardon said. “We cannot fail. There is nothing more important than love.”
“That’s right,” Thomas agreed, reveling in the feeling of her arm in his. “Love is absolutely the most important thing.”
And that’s when it struck him: here he was, chasing through the streets like a madman to assure his sister’s loving union with Owen Cooper…when his own potential love stood ignored, right beside him! Abashed to realize it, Thomas stopped.
“Thomas, what are you doing? Come on! We must hurry.”
Pulled back by his arm, Miss Reardon stopped, too. She gazed at him, with her merry eyes and her arresting demeanor, and Thomas knew right then that he could dawdle no longer.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “Time is wasting. That’s why I have to say, I’m wild about you, Mellie. I think about you all the time. I want to be with you night and day. And when all this is finally finished,” Thomas swore, “I promise I will love you—”
“I already do love you,” Miss Reardon declared. Then suddenly, with full measure of wonderment and delight, she was kissing him. She was kissing him as Thomas had dreamed of kissing her, so often, if only he could find the courage.
It was marvelous. Better than all his dreams combined.
“There.” She smiled at him. “It’s about time we had that settled between us. We’ll talk more later. You can tell me again how spoonily you think of me.” Another impish grin. “In the meantime, let’s hurry. There’s the stable, straight ahead!”
Miss Reardon grabbed his hand. Thomas let himself be led, dazedly feeling like bursting into poem or song. Mellie had kissed him, he thought in a dither. Mellie properly loved him!
By his side, she appeared lively, too. Surely this was a good omen for the day. But then they reached the stable, Thomas tried the door…and all his good cheer faded into dust.
“It’s locked.” He looked around, baffled. “The stable is closed.” Thomas chased the perimeter. “No one is here at all.”
“But how can that be?” Miss Reardon asked, following him.
“I don’t know. Owen Cooper nearly never leaves here.”
Thomas scratched his head, pondering it. Miss Reardon gazed at him in equal befuddlement. Almost at once, they came to identical—and identically worrisome—conclusions on the matter.
“If Mr. Cooper isn’t here,” Mellie fretted at the stable door, “then how can we bring him to Daisy at the town picnic?”
Sobering quickly, Thomas frowned. “We can’t.”
At the thought of his sister, alone and expectant at the gala town picnic—at his urging—Thomas wanted to groan with dismay. What had they done? Worse, what were they to do now?
Chapter Thirty-Two
At the grassy square in the center of Morrow Creek, the whole place buzzed with frivolity and laughter. Red, white and blue bunting stretched from pole to pole at the entrance gate. Townspeople milled about, dressed in their most sporting garb, chatting with their neighbors and waving souvenir flags. The town band played a patriotic tune, festively arrayed on the same stage where, later, Astair Prestell was scheduled to appear.
BARKER & BOWLES PRESENT: THE LITERARY FIGURE OF OUR AGE! ASTAIR PRESTELL AND HIS ELUCIDATING OBSERVATIONS… TODAY ONLY!
Gazing at the sign and stage, Daisy felt at first wistful, then accepting. She would have liked to have spoken at the town picnic. But with everything else that had gone on…
Well, maybe next year, she reckoned as she scanned the crowds for signs of Élodie—or Mrs. Archer, who was supposed to have brought her here.
Unfortunately, Daisy glimpsed neither of them. There were plenty of children present, but none of those children sported twin coppery braids, an elfin smile and a lovable demeanor.
Determined to enjoy herself all the same—because, after all, Morrow Creek was her home and her baby’s home now— Daisy turned to Mrs. Sunley, who’d accompanied her here. She smiled.
“My goodness! I think the entire town is here.”
“Pshaw,” Mrs. Sunley scoffed. “You haven’t seen anything yet. This place is only half-full right now. By nightfall, it’ll be downright rootin’ tootin’!” She gave Daisy a fond smile. “Good luck on your mission, my dear. I’m off for some mescal.”
Left on her own, Daisy watched as her friend toddled off to enjoy what had become—apparently—a yearly tippling tradition.
Standing there alone amid the frolicsome antics of the Independence Day celebrants, Daisy sighed. She hoped Élodie hadn’t decided to stay home this year. She hoped Thomas and Miss Reardon were correct, and Owen would be at the picnic, too. She hoped… She hoped she wouldn’t lose her nerve when she saw him, and fail to tell him all the things that were in her heart.
She’d never been brave, Daisy knew. All her life, she’d relied upon happenstance to guide her. If not for her newfound friends here in Morrow Creek, she would never have met Owen Cooper. She would never have known Élodie. She would never have had cause to question Conrad’s behavior, to acknowledge her baby and her changing future…to risk loving someone with all her heart. Thomas, Miss Reardon, Mrs. Sunley and everyone else had seemed to discern that about her. Their very necessary urgings toward a new, more complete life had brought Daisy very far.
Now all that remained were a few more important steps. The only question was, could Daisy take those steps on her own? Could she claim the man and the life she wanted and make amends for her mistakes in the process?
Daisy didn’t know. Just then, surrounded by everyone she knew in town and a great many more people she did not, she feared the answer was no. Panicking, she hoisted the freshly baked pie she’d brought, then turned away from the crowd altogether.
Upon pushing his way into the town square, Owen spotted the group of gossipy troublemakers he sought almost immediately.
With Élodie’s small hand held firmly in his own, he bee-lined toward them, making his way to their gathering point at the popular booth hosted by a local me
scal distillery.
With every step, his focus narrowed, blotting out the cheery hellos of his neighbors, the flapping flags and signs, the bunting and the band. With every step, his teeth clenched more tightly, causing his jaw to ache. With every step, his resolve strengthened. He intended to defend Daisy or die trying.
“You.” Owen reached the group at last. He swept them all with his most fearsome gaze. Shaking with anger, he honed in on Mrs. Sunley, Mrs. Archer and Miss Reardon, specifically. He reckoned Miss O’Neill ought to have been included, but she was nowhere in sight. “You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, slandering Daisy the way you did! How you could treat a good, kind, gentle, caring woman that way is beyond reason! I never—”
Mrs. Sunley raised a glass. “Mescal, Mr. Cooper?”
Owen gaped at her. “Do I look as though I want a drink?”
“You look as though you want to murder someone,” the widow said. “A drink generally helps calm down folks who are tetchy.”
“Tetchy?” Awash in amazement, Owen scowled. “Damn right, I’m ‘tetchy’! I’m mad as hell!” He pointed. “You three are—”
“Language, Mr. Cooper.” Miss Reardon tsk-tsked, aiming a meaningful glance at his daughter. “There are children present.”
Frustrated, Owen glared at them. “You don’t even have the decency to be ashamed of yourselves! I heard what you said about Daisy. It’s reprehensible. Don’t you know the damage that can—”
“Hello there, Mr. Cooper!” Thomas Walsh had arrived, appearing chirpy and pleased—and not the least cowed by Owen’s fury. “It’s about time you came to the picnic. You led us on a merry chase.”
Owen didn’t know what Daisy’s exasperating brother was blathering about, but the sight of Thomas made him even angrier. The least the man could have done was stand up for his sister.
“You will all stop spreading malicious gossip about Daisy!” Owen said, coming clean to the point. “You will shut your mouths and not say a single word more! Otherwise, I promise I’ll—”