by Susan Wiggs
“What people?”
“Neighbors. Clients at the bank. People at church.”
“Mama says if you worry too much about other people’s opinions you’ll forget to think for yourself.”
Lucy’s wisdom, coming from this little girl, always surprised him. “I know what I think,” he said.
“What?”
“That I would like to take Ivan to the beach and throw sticks for him. Want to come?”
“Hurrah!” Jumping up, she kissed him on the nose. “I love Ivan, and I love you.” She scampered toward the esplanade.
He couldn’t get over the wonder of her. She was as capricious as the lake wind, and totally nonjudgmental. Totally accepting of him.
It struck him then that someone had taught her to be this way—open-minded and bighearted, unconcerned with appearances and more concerned with the things that matter, like a maid’s sore foot, his grandmother’s misplaced spectacles, a blooming rosebush in the garden.
He knew exactly who had taught his daughter to be like this, full of love, free of pretensions or unreasonable fears.
Lucy Hathaway.
Sixteen
Lucy clutched the summons from Randolph Higgins to her bosom and shut her eyes in an ecstasy of relief. “I knew it,” she whispered. “I knew he couldn’t manage without me.”
“Are you sure that’s what this means, dear?” Viola Hathaway held the rail of the horse trolley as it lurched up the avenue.
Lucy opened the note and read the words again. Mrs. Hathaway and Miss Hathaway are cordially invited to call… When the message had arrived at the shop an hour earlier, she’d sent for her mother and rushed to catch the horsecar.
“I can’t imagine what else,” she said with her first genuine smile since Maggie had left. She tried not to think about how empty her life felt, how lonely and meaningless without Maggie around. Without her daughter’s lively chatter, her constant presence, Lucy had felt half alive.
Before Maggie had come into her life, Lucy had held an idealized notion of independence. She thought a woman should be self-sufficient and not dependent on anyone for anything. Maggie had proven her wrong. There were some things even a modern, independent woman could not live without, such as the abiding love of a child. Maggie had taught her more about the nature of justice and independence than all her readings and rallies.
And just like that, with the stroke of a pen, she’d lost her.
Self-pity was never a pleasant sensation, and Lucy battled it with a will. She stayed busy with the shop and planning the upcoming Centennial March. But a part of her lived each moment with Maggie. What was she doing right now? Was she eating right, remembering to clean her teeth and say her prayers?
“Such a cryptic message could mean several things,” her mother said. “Your official visiting days are Saturday and Sunday, isn’t that so?”
“I’ve already ruled out some emergency with Maggie. I made him promise to summon me by wire for that.” Lucy eyed a prosperous-looking family walking along State Street, a lively little boy clutching his parents’ hands and swinging between them. “The sudden appearance of a child was bound to be a disruption in Mr. Higgins’s well-ordered life. I believe he’s found the rigors and challenges of fatherhood unexpectedly harsh. Men think child rearing is such a simple matter—which it is, so long as they have wives to do the real work.”
“Don’t be smug, dear. You could be wrong, just this once.”
Lucy noticed that her mother had put on her best blue serge dress and matching bonnet, the gloves she usually saved for church and an expression of almost heartbreaking eagerness. Viola loved visiting; when the Colonel was alive it had been the center of her life. After the fire, widowhood and poverty had taken their toll, robbing her of the privileges she used to enjoy. Invitations to the polished drawing rooms of Chicago’s fashionable neighborhoods had evaporated with cruel swiftness.
Viola’s eyes shone as they entered the gentrified area of turreted mansions, splendid greystones and trim esplanades between Bellevue and Burton Place. Stepping out of the trolley on the corner, they walked along the lakeside promenade, their steps quickening as they neared the Higgins’s house.
The massive door opened and Lucy stepped inside. Immediately she heard a squeal of delight followed by the patter of running feet. Shrieking “Mama! Mama!” Maggie raced along the railed upper gallery and down the stairs. Behind her, the large dog galloped. Lucy opened her arms and scooped up her daughter. The thin wiry legs wrapped around Lucy as she inhaled the little-girl smell and rubbed her chin on the top of Maggie’s head. Emotion overwhelmed Lucy. She lived and breathed for this child. How in heaven’s name could she abide being apart from her? Finally she found her voice. “Hello, sweetheart. I’ve missed you so.”
“I missed you, too, Mama. I was waiting and waiting until Saturday and it never ever came.”
Lucy set her down. “Look at you,” she said, careful not to voice her true thoughts. Maggie had been trussed into a child-size corset and laced into a dress with a stiff bodice and bustle, and leg-o’-mutton sleeves that gave her the look of a dressmaker’s doll. Her hair had been heated and curled into sausage ringlets, which looked absurd, given the short length of Maggie’s locks. She even smelled different, of gardenia eau de toilette. “You look very grown-up,” Lucy said.
“I don’t like to wear dresses and petticoats and combs in my hair,” Maggie said.
Lucy didn’t blame her, but stilled her tongue to keep from objecting. She tried not to feel shocked and disturbed but she was. Ever since she’d found Maggie, all decisions regarding the child had been hers alone to make. Suddenly there was someone else involved. Someone entitled to teach and guide Maggie. To determine what she wore, what she ate, what she learned. Maggie had only been away a short time and already Lucy had the dreaded sense that her daughter was becoming a stranger.
Stepping aside, Lucy said, “I have a surprise for you.”
“Grammy Vi!” Maggie hugged her hard around the waist. A moment later, Randolph Higgins arrived, looking very much the lord of the manor as he strode into the foyer.
Lucy greeted him with cautious reserve. Maggie gave him a bright grin and took his hand without hesitation. Lucy was startled. Something was happening between the two of them, some affinity that hadn’t been there only a few days ago.
A shadow from above fell over them. Lucy looked up to see a very buttoned-down and proper Miss Lowell in the gallery. Lucy had met the woman only once. Before sending Maggie to live here, Lucy had come to meet the governess and the household staff. Though tempted, Lucy had refrained from commenting that Mr. Higgins had hired an entire staff to do the job Lucy had been doing by herself for the past five years.
“Hello, Miss Hathaway,” the governess said. “Miss Maggie has not finished her penmanship practice today. We were just in the middle of our lesson, weren’t we?”
Maggie clung to Mr. Higgins’s hand and ducked behind him. Lucy bit her tongue. Under this roof, it wasn’t her place to make decisions for Maggie.
“The day is much too fine to stay indoors,” Mr. Higgins said easily. “And Miss Hathaway and her mother have come to visit. I think we might take a stroll out to the lake.”
“As you wish, sir.” Miss Lowell bowed and withdrew. Somehow, in her nod of acquiescence, Miss Lowell managed to convey a note of disapproval. It was very subtle and Lucy couldn’t tell if Mr. Higgins had noticed at all. She would have to think about that—should she protest a governess who disapproved of letting a child play out of doors on a beautiful day?
“Hurrah!” Maggie yelled, running to the door. “Come on, Grammy! It’s marvelous at the lake!”
Lucy decided to discuss the governess later. For now, she was simply grateful to see Maggie once again. Holding her grandmother’s hand, the little girl skipped and twirled along the path that wound through the parklike neighborhood. How vast this must seem to Maggie, who was used to the cramped garden behind the shop. Already, she seemed at home
in her new world, Lucy realized with a jolt. She resembled a fairy, dancing along the pathway in her new silken skirts, with lace-edged bloomers showing beneath the hem.
As a knot tightened in her stomach, Lucy followed Maggie and Viola to the avenue, heading toward the beach.
“Can I take Grammy to see the otters?” Maggie looked to Lucy for approval, then seemed to remember, and turned to Mr. Higgins. Confusion dimmed the eagerness in her eyes.
Lucy’s heart ached for her. Everything had changed so fast.
“I would love to see the otters,” Viola declared, taking control of the situation. She indicated a row of wrought-iron benches. “Why don’t the two of you wait here?”
Her mother, Lucy reflected, was wise in ways she was only beginning to understand. She and Maggie made a perfect picture as they walked away, blithely chattering, the lake and summer sky creating a rich blue background.
As she took a seat on the bench, Lucy sent a tentative glance at Mr. Higgins and was surprised, as she always was, to feel a lurch of…something. She could not think why he moved her, but he did and had from the first moment she’d set eyes on him. He was so very different now from that handsome, teasing young man who had caused her to humiliate herself so completely. Yet in a way, he was much the same. Scarred, yes. And sobered by unimaginable pain and loss, yet…his eyes were still as clear and deep as leaves with the sun behind them.
Heavens. She’d come about the matter of her daughter and here she was indulging in all manner of speculation about Randolph Higgins. Clearing her throat, she said, “I must admit, I was surprised to receive your message. I didn’t expect to be permitted to visit Maggie until Saturday.”
“That was the original arrangement,” he said.
“Is there a problem?”
“I wouldn’t call it a problem.”
Then it struck her. She turned to him on the bench. “Your wife is coming back, isn’t she?”
“It’s nothing to do with that,” he said. “Diana has declared herself unable to travel from California. Frankly she claims the fire was such a traumatic time of her life that revisiting Chicago even to see her daughter might not be possible. I had a photograph made of Maggie and me, and sent it to her.”
Lucy was struck dumb. Floored. The woman had been informed that the child she believed dead had actually survived, and she wouldn’t even come for a reunion. What could it mean?
Lucy took a deep breath. “Is she— Your wife—”
“Ex-wife,” he reminded her.
“Is she— You said she recovered from her injuries after the fire. But was she—is she—”
His face, stamped with anguish and forbearance, deepened with color. “You mean is Diana as grotesquely disfigured as I am?”
“I—” Lucy stopped. She did mean that. And he wasn’t disfigured. Why on earth did he think a few scars could disfigure a man like him? Mr. Higgins had learned to live with his infirmities. In a way, the scars only seemed to add to his aura of quiet strength. But a woman of Diana’s beauty might never adjust to the changes.
“She looks the same now, or so I imagine, as she did the night you met her,” he said. “Diana’s reaction to the news of Christine’s survival is unexpected, I admit, but it has nothing to do with my asking you to come today.”
“Then perhaps you’d best tell me the reason.”
“This whole matter, miracle that it is, has proved to be more…complicated than I ever could have imagined.”
She had every right to gloat. For all his money and power, Randolph Higgins had found something he could not buy or influence. For all his cold competence in matters of commerce, he’d encountered a challenge beyond his skills. He’d discovered something Lucy had known all along. That being a parent was hard. In his arrogance he’d thought that simply creating a fairy tale chamber for Maggie and hiring an army of servants would magically transform him into a father.
He had quickly figured out that there was no luxury he could buy or expert he could hire to create a bond that took years to form.
But Lucy couldn’t gloat. His bafflement and his candor were somehow endearing and sincere.
“I will be direct,” he said. “I don’t know any other way to be. Maggie is wonderful. More wonderful than I ever dreamed.”
“I knew you’d think so. I’m very proud of her.”
“You should be.” He stared out at the lake as he spoke. “At first, I pretended that all would be well. Both Maggie and I are trying hard, but I can’t deny the obvious. She loves my dog but misses her cat. She would rather play baseball in the service alley than have a tea party in the summer parlor. She’s more at home climbing a tree than practicing dance steps, and prefers dungarees to dresses. She befriends the servants. She’s so delightful, so bright and inquisitive that I kept thinking everything would be all right.”
“And it’s not?”
He turned to her on the bench. “She’s desperately lonely for you. At night she cries for you, and she’s been counting the hours until your visit.”
She tried not to flinch at the thought of her daughter, crying and alone in her big new bed. “We all knew this would be an enormous adjustment.” Lucy tried to sound reasonable even as she burned with the need to know what he was leading up to.
“My aim was to live with the daughter I’d lost, not torture her.”
Oh, she wanted to hug him for his honesty, for not pretending all was well. Instead she stayed quiet, holding herself stiffly in check on the bench. Though accustomed to speaking her mind, she found it easy to listen to Randolph Higgins. “Go on,” she said.
“I was wrong to believe this arrangement was the best possible step for Maggie.”
Lucy gasped. Men didn’t admit being wrong, did they? She’d never met one who did. “You want to give her back?” she blurted out.
“No—nothing like that,” he said. “The thing is, Maggie needs you. I think, in time, she will come to need me as she once did. I want her to need us both.” He ran his splayed fingers through his hair. “I’m not saying this well. I want—that is, I think it would be best for Maggie if you were to live here.”
Shock stole her breath. She wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “Here,” she echoed. “At your house?”
“Yes. My sole concern is Maggie, her happiness and her welfare. And with each hour that passes, I understand even more clearly that her happiness depends on having you near. I must have you here, Miss Hathaway. Maggie and I both need you to live here.”
She stood up and turned, holding the railing. Her glance swept across the vast lawn, the pristine waterfront and the neat square house that looked as though it had sat there for centuries rather than years. And it looked…magical. For years she’d worked to convince herself that she had everything she needed at the little flat in Gantry Street and was perfectly content. But the truth was, she sometimes had a secret wish for a place of splendor and luxury—a place like Mr. Higgins’s home, the home he’d built for a woman who didn’t want him.
Lucy was instantly ashamed of her yearnings, for they violated her egalitarian principles and— She stopped herself. Mr. Higgins was not interested in her ethical dilemmas. He simply wanted her to come and make things easy for him and Maggie.
Bitterness filled her throat. She would be his employee. A servant to do his bidding, to be hired or sacked at his whim. Could she, for Maggie’s sake? Could she humble and subject herself to this man for the sole purpose of being close to her daughter?
“That would be impossible,” she said through stiff lips.
“You miss her. I know you do. If you lived here—”
“Maggie would never understand why her mother had suddenly become her servant.”
“You don’t understand.” He stood with a restless energy that made her nervous. “Hear me out. A child needs a mother, and Maggie regards you as her mother.”
“So you’re saying if I agreed to live here, that would solve the problem?”
He paused in his pacing a
nd shot her a rueful look. “In truth, Miss Hathaway, I think it will introduce a whole new set of problems. But with you here, Maggie will have both parents in her life and that is the most important thing—”
“And once I get everything running smoothly, then what is my position?”
“You haven’t let me finish, Miss Hathaway.” He walked toward her to stand only inches away. “I’m offering you a permanent arrangement.” He put his hand over hers.
She caught her breath. He’d never voluntarily touched her before. Except the night they had met, the night she’d made her scandalous proposition.
“Miss Hathaway, I’ve thought long and hard about making you this offer. It’s the best possible solution.”
When he finished speaking, a peculiar stillness seized him. She thought he might be holding his breath. She found herself drawn into the complicated facets of his eyes, wishing she could decipher the mysteries there. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she saw his lips move but couldn’t hear his words.
Ah, but she did hear him.
She heard exactly what he said: “Will you be my wife?”
Lucy had heard that the human heart could soar, but until this moment she’d never believed such sentimental nonsense. Now her own heart took wing, launched by Mr. Higgins’s proposal. Oh, she understood that he would never have asked her if not for Maggie, but still… For the first time in her life, she craved that most feminine of accoutrements, a fan. Her face and chest felt hot.
Kiss me, she thought. Oh, God, if you would kiss me, I would have only one possible answer for you.
He didn’t kiss her. They stood together staring at each other. She could not imagine what he was thinking, though she knew very well what she was feeling. Giddiness. Longing. Confusion. Shame. All her life she’d scorned the institution of marriage as a form of bondage for women. Yet in the most secret place inside her, she’d yearned to know the consuming magic of romantic love. Over the years she’d idealized it, fusing the concept of free love with a sort of medieval notion of what true devotion should be.