by Craig, Emma
Then Maddie’s voice came again, sleepy, confused. “Mommy?”
“My God, what did I do?”
Grace’s voice was a mere whisper, filled with consternation. It jolted Noah out of his trance. He felt as if an iron bond between them had just been hacked apart. The split left him bleeding inside.
Damn, what an idiot he was.
He turned and forced himself to grin at Maddie. “Did you have a nice nap, Miss Maddie?” His voice was gravelly, hoarse with shattered hopes.
The little girl nodded. She sat on her blanket, rubbing her eyes and looking troubled. He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Little kids didn’t know anything; they weren’t responsible for the state of the world—the state of Noah Partridge. Maddie was guiltless. It wasn’t her fault she’d interrupted the most significant experience of his life. The most significant pleasant experience, rather.
Turning to Grace, he mumbled, “You all right, ma’am?” He needed to say more, but couldn’t make himself apologize. Not yet. Maybe later, when he could coerce a lie out of his mouth, he’d say he was sorry. At the moment, the only thing he was sorry about was that their kiss had been lopped off in its youth. He wanted her back in his arms so bad, he ached with yearning.
“Yes. Yes, I’m all right.” She turned and began walking toward her daughter. “Did you have a nice nap, Maddie?” Her good cheer sounded forced.
The little girl nodded and watched her mother somberly. “Why were you kissing Mr. Noah, Mommy?”
Great. Kids never let things just slip by, did they? Noah felt guilty for putting Grace in an uncomfortable position with her daughter, even if he’d never regret that kiss.
“Um—” Grace shot him a look over her shoulder. Thank God it wasn’t accusatory. She actually looked kind of helpless, as if her imagination wasn’t good enough to tackle this one, and she hoped he’d help her.
Noah grinned, feeling marginally less like he’d been abandoned on a desert island. “I was thanking your mommy for a nice day and a delicious lunch, Maddie. That’s all.” That’s all! What a blasphemy.
Grace appreciated it, though, and that’s what mattered. She shot him a grateful glance and scooped Maddie up from the blanket. “Yes. Sometimes grown-ups kiss each other for thank-you’s, dear.”
Maddie seemed to accept the feeble explanation from these two adults in her life, although it took her a minute. Noah wasn’t sure he’d survive her speculative scrutiny.
# # #
With his mind’s eye, Mac observed the picnickers and shook his head. He was both glad and sad about Grace and Noah finding passion and relief in each other’s arms. Not that they didn’t need it. If they’d only let themselves, they could be happy as a couple of nesting doves with each other, but Mac suspected they both needed a little more time.
Every now and then, Mac wished human beings weren’t such a stubborn, foolish lot. Maybe his kin were right about ‘em. But no. Mac liked these two, Grace and Noah. They were good people, both of them, and there was certainly no denying they needed each other, for their own sakes and for the sake of wee Maddie.
Aye, but they were an obstinate lot, the two of them.
Grace, for instance, continued to labor under the misapprehension that Frank Richardson had been the be-all and end-all of the human male. And there was no denying that Frank had been a nice enough fellow. He’d loved his wife and daughter, which proved to Mac he’d had more than common sense.
But Frank was dead.
Besides, no matter what Grace thought, Frank wasn’t the only good man in the world. If Grace would only allow herself to recognize Noah Partridge’s fine qualities through the wall the memory of her sainted Frank had erected, she’d find another good man who’d love her and Maddie as much as Frank ever could. And, although Mac would never say so to Grace, Noah Partridge was more attuned to her basic nature than Frank ever had been or ever could have been.
She and Noah were alike in so many ways, if they could only work past their personal anguish to see it.
Then there was Noah. Mac puffed on his pipe, sympathy for Noah Partridge making his eyes sting. The poor man. A poet and a musician, truly, if ever a man had been born one. And then he’d had his life and all of his good intentions torn apart in that terrible, unforgiving war.
Mac heaved a big sigh. Noah wasn’t the only one who’d suffered; not by a long shot. But there was a cure here, if Noah could make himself accept it. Mac intended to see that he did.
With a grin, he decided to recruit Susan Blackworth to help him. Susan was as hard as nails, but she knew what was what. A smart woman, Susan. Mac liked her.
# # #
Grace was alternately ashamed of herself and defiant when she and Noah packed up their picnic things, Noah saddled the horses and strapped everything in place, and they set out for home. Because she wasn’t sure how to make conversation with the man who’d shattered her composure, and with that astonishing kiss fresh in her memory, she fussed over Maddie until her daughter objected.
“I can ride Old Blue, Mommy! I rode him all the way to the lakes.” Indignation brightened her eyes and made her cheeks burn pink.
Grace sighed. “I’m sorry, Maddie. I know you can ride Old Blue. You did a very good job riding out to the lakes.”
Maddie sniffed and continued glaring at her mother.
“You’re a good little rider, Miss Maddie.”
Grace glanced at Noah. He smiled at her, and she got the impression he felt as rueful and uncomfortable as she. That was something anyway. Suddenly she had what she considered a brilliant idea.
“Would you like to stop by the Blackworth place, Mr. Partridge? We can pay our respects to Susan, and you can see if your piano repair work has held up.”
Was that less than diplomatic? Well, no matter. It was out in the atmosphere now and couldn’t be recalled.
He shrugged. “All right by me.”
Good. She could chat with Susan Blackworth, and maybe the memory of her indiscretion would fade by the time she, Noah, and Maddie started back to the wagon yard. Grace wasn’t sure how she was going to face Noah Partridge in the days to come with that kiss between them. What an idiot she was. And what an unfaithful, unnatural wife to Frank she’d proved herself to be. The knowledge sat like vinegar in her stomach.
Oh, Frank, I didn’t mean it.
She had meant it. When it happened, she’d meant it, anyway. Grace hadn’t known herself to harbor such weakness of the flesh until that episode with Noah Partridge. She’d mildly enjoyed carnal relations with Frank, although she’d always craved the intimacy of the act more than the act itself. She had seldom felt real lust.
Had she felt lust with Noah? Grace didn’t know, although she had a sinking feeling she had, and that she still did. If Maddie hadn’t stopped them, Grace had a shrewd notion she wouldn’t have stopped them, either. She was so upset and confused by her own behavior that she couldn’t even bear to think about it now. Maybe tonight, in her bed, she could contemplate her shortcomings, figure out why she’d weakened, castigate herself, and formulate a plan to make sure it never happened again.
“I don’t want to go to Mrs. Backwort’s.”
Surprised but glad for the diversion, Grace asked, “Why not, Maddie?”
The little girl’s mouth set into an uncharacteristic pout. “I don’t like her.”
Maddie’s stout declaration cut across Grace’s mental recriminations like a splash of acid. The girl must still be sleepy, or she’d never have made such a bald statement.
“My goodness, Maddie, that’s not a very nice thing to say.”
Her daughter’s little chin lifted defiantly. “Well, I don’t. She’s all black and wrinkled, and she smells funny.”
“Maddie! That’s a very harsh judgment, and quite disrespectful.” Grace frowned. “What do you mean, she smells funny?”
“She does.”
Unsure how to combat this unusual, sullen rebellion on her daughter’s part, Grace wasn’t encouraged
when she saw Noah grin.
“I think that smell’s from camphor, Miss Maddie,” he said. “Folks use camphor balls to keep the moths from eating their clothes.”
“Mommy’s clothes don’t smell like camper,” Maddie said, as if that in itself was sufficient indictment against Mrs. Blackworth and her funny smell.
“I don’t like to wear woolen things unless the weather’s very cold, because wool makes my skin itch, Maddie. It’s wool that the camphor protects. The moths don’t like the smell either. People don’t have to use camphor to protect calico and cotton, because the moths don’t eat those fabrics.”
“Oh.” Maddie scowled. The expression looked so out of place on her pert face that even Grace smiled at the incongruity of it. “Well, I still don’t like her. She never smiles.”
“Do you like folks who smile, Miss Maddie?”
“Yes. Smiles make people look nice.”
“I don’t smile much, Miss Maddie. Do you not like me?”
Noah’s question surprised Grace, who hadn’t realized he knew how grim he appeared.
Maddie shrugged. “You’re just out of practice and sad. Mac told me so. You’ll get better one of these days.”
“He did, did he?” Noah eyed Maddie slantways. His hat shaded his face, but Grace saw his tight grin. He looked awfully handsome, and she wished she hadn’t noticed.
“Yes. Mac knows all about stuff like that.”
“I see.”
Uncomfortable with the conversation, Grace said, “Mac’s a pretty wise old fellow, all right, but little girls still mustn’t say unkind things about their elders, Maddie. Mrs. Blackworth is an old lady, and she deserves your respect.”
Maddie’s sigh was so huge, it nearly lifted her out of her saddle. Grace knew exactly what she was thinking, because she remembered thinking pretty much the same thing when she herself had been a little girl and had been made to be polite to people she didn’t like. She forced herself not to smile. Noah, she noticed, didn’t try anywhere near as hard as she did. His grin softened his grim face like magic. She wished she hadn’t noticed that, too.
Conversation lagged until Maddie tilted her head to one side and said, “Why do moths eat wool. Doesn’t it taste all dry and icky?”
Maddie looked resentful when both Grace and Noah laughed, but Grace appreciated her daughter’s lightening of the atmosphere more than she could say.
# # #
Taking in the full glory of Susan Blackworth, who looked like she was all set to attend a funeral in her unrelieved black garb, whose face was wrinkled into a permanent scowl, and who clutched her black cane in gnarled fingers as if she intended to lift it and smack someone with it, Noah guessed he could understand why Maddie found the woman intimidating. He kind of did, too. And she did smell of camphor. Kids. They were so honest.
Like his being out of practice in smiling, for instance. Every now and again, honesty could be a mighty uncomfortable commodity to hang around with.
He banished the thought and tipped his hat to Mrs. Blackworth, who had hobbled outside to greet them. “Afternoon, ma’am.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Partridge.” She eyed Grace and Maddie. “And what are you doing with the Richardsons, if I might ask?”
“The weather was so lovely after all that snow and cold that Mr. Partridge was kind enough to take Maddie and me out to the lakes for a picnic, Susan.”
“A picnic, eh?” Mrs. Blackworth gave Grace a brief hug and held out her arms to Maddie. Maddie didn’t look very happy as she walked into the old woman’s embrace. It appeared to Noah as if she were holding her breath. “Sounds like a damned fool thing to do in the middle of winter.”
The shocked expression on Maddie’s face—Noah guessed she didn’t approve of a lady swearing—was comical, and Grace laughed cheerfully. Noah admired her for being able to do so in the face of the older woman’s black frown. Shoot, Susan Blackworth gave him the willies, and he was a man grown.
“It’s a beautiful day, Susan. Just because it’s getting on towards Christmas doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the fine weather while it lasts.”
“It won’t last much longer.”
Mrs. Blackworth snorted after her pronouncement, but Noah realized her black-olive eyes twinkled appreciatively. Evidently Grace wasn’t merely tolerant of the older woman’s eccentricities, but had noticed something worthwhile in her. Maybe Mrs. Blackworth wasn’t really such an old crone. He decided to withhold judgment. When he’d worked on her piano, she hadn’t had three kind words to say to him in as many days. She seemed to like Grace Richardson, though, and that showed she possessed some sense.
They entered the house and went to the parlor. Because he knew where to look, the first thing his gaze landed on was that gorgeous old reed organ standing neglected in the corner. His fingers curled in anticipation, and he straightened them deliberately. That organ was nothing to him. He’d told the old bat what to order and how to fix it, and she could do it or not as she chose. He had nothing to do with it, and wouldn’t have unless she asked.
“I don’t suppose you’ve come to give me back my money, have you, Mr. Partridge?”
Mrs. Blackworth’s voice sounded like old papers rustling together. Her words brought him up short. “Bring your money back?” He stared at her, open-eyed with astonishment. “Doesn’t the piano still work?” Hell, he’d done his best. He knew he’d repaired it properly. Tuned it, replaced worn-out felt pads. Cleaned it of years’ worth of caked-on grime.
“Oh, it works, all right. I’ve even been amusing myself by picking out a few tunes when my hands don’t hurt too badly.”
The sly old witch squinted at him as if she knew something he didn’t. Which she undoubtedly did. Her attitude annoyed him. “Well then, why should I give your money back?” His tone was curt.
She chuckled like a bin full of rusty nails. “My bargain still stands, Mr. Partridge. That old reed organ your granddaddy built for the repair of my piano. But you’d have to give me back the money I paid you for fixing it.”
Noah let out a breath. Oh, yeah. He’d mercifully forgotten her bargain; he didn’t appreciate her bringing it up again. “What the hell do I need with a reed organ?” If he recalled correctly, he’d asked her that the first time she’d made the offer.
Her bony shoulders lifted with her shrug and her teeth glittered in her weathered face. The damned old bat seemed amused about something. “I wouldn’t know.”
He felt a tug on his hand and glanced down to see Maddie’s bright face smiling up at him. “You can give it to Mommy for Christmas, Mr. Noah!”
“Oh, yeah?” He could, could he? His gaze shifted to Grace, who looked mortified.
“Maddie! Mr. Partridge doesn’t want to give me an organ for Christmas.”
“How come?”
Yeah, Noah thought. How come? What the hell else did he have to do with his money besides buy expensive Christmas presents for Grace Richardson?
He had land to buy, is what he had to do with it.
“Maybe another time, Miss Maddie.”
Susan Blackworth let out with another rusty-hinged laugh. “I think you’re missing out on a golden opportunity, Mr. Partridge. Where else can you get one of your own grandfather’s best—and first—instruments for so low a price? They don’t make ‘em like that anymore, you know.”
He eyed her and wondered if she was trying to be funny again. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
Grace gave a small, indulgent mew, as if she sympathized with his losses. Whole lot of good that did him.
“Can you play us something on the piano, Mr. Noah?”
He glanced at Maddie again and fought a frown. He didn’t want to play that instrument. Playing pianos brought back too many memories; memories that made his heart and head ache and were liable to bring his demons back. He realized with something of a shock that he hadn’t had a bad attack of nerves for several days.
Oh, hell, maybe this would be a test to see if he was getting better. He could play a
little tune on that blasted piano, and if he had to run screaming from the house, he’d know for sure he wasn’t cured. Mrs. Richardson already knew he was crazy, and he didn’t give a rap about Susan Blackworth. If he scared poor little Maddie, so be it. Her mother would just have to deal with her.
“Reckon I could play a song, Miss Maddie, if it’s all right with Mrs. Blackworth.”
“I think that would be lovely, Mr. Partridge.”
Noah jerked his head around. Damned if the old witch hadn’t sounded almost courteous.
“Let me get Mrs. Valdez to fetch us some tea and gingerbread.”
Maddie clapped her hands. “Oooh, a tea party! Can I have a cup of tea, Mommy?”
“I suppose so, dear.”
“With sugar and milk?”
“Of course, with sugar and milk, Maddie. I know how you like it.”
Grace’s face held an expression of such affection that Noah could hardly stand to watch it. And Maddie . . . Hell, the kid sounded like tea and gingerbread was some sort of special treat. Cripes, he guessed it was. He shook his head. What a life this territory was for women and children. Noah thought Frank Richardson had been a blasted numskull to bring his wife out here.
Although, he must admit, she didn’t seem to resent old Frank for it. Rather, she loved him as much today as she ever had if Noah was any judge—which he wasn’t. What did he know about women and love? Or faithfulness? He’d never experienced them.
There he went, letting his spite get him down. Frank Richardson had clearly been a paragon; he’d surely deserved Grace’s love and loyalty. Unlike Noah Partridge, who deserved shit and got it. Aw, hell.
He forced himself to smile. “What do you want me to play first, Miss Maddie?”
“Play some Christmas songs! It’s going to be Christmas pretty soon.” Maddie turned to her mother. “Isn’t it, Mommy?”
“Yes, it is, sweetheart.”
Hell. Christmas. The season Noah hated most in a year full of hateful seasons. The season he’d lost his family, his livelihood, the woman he’d loved. Even if she had already deserted him and married someone else, he’d loved her. Julia had died giving birth to her husband’s child on Christmas Eve. If he recalled correctly, that was the last time he’d cried. He wished he hadn’t remembered.