by BJ Hoff
Even the thought of Carolyn Ross made Maggie feel miserable. “It makes me sick to admit it, but she’s probably perfect for him. With her around, there’s no way he’s going to be attracted to me.”
Evie was looking at her with a strange expression.
“What?” Maggie said.
“I’m just thinking about what we can do to make you look a little more…mature.”
“Oh, Evie—honestly!”
Again her sister turned that same narrow-eyed expression on her. “You’re giving up too easily. You love the man? Then do something about it.”
“Like what?”
“Tomorrow we’ll experiment. I have an idea for your hair.”
“There’s nothing that can be done with my hair! It’s ugly and stubborn and I’ve hated it all my life! And don’t forget the way you and Nell Frances used to make fun of it. You thought it was ugly, too.”
“Now you’re being childish. We never thought your hair was ugly. Not a bit. We were your older sisters, for goodness sake. Teasing is what older sisters do. We’ll make a nice tidy twist for you. I have a pretty alabaster comb you can use to hold it in place. Getting your hair away from your face will bring out your eyes. They’re enormous, you know. You ought to make the most of them. It will show off your cheekbones, too. You have amazing cheekbones.”
Maggie put a hand to her face. “I do?”
Evie shook her head. ‘Have you ever looked at yourself, Maggie? Really looked?”
Maggie pulled a face. “Then…you don’t disapprove of the way I feel about Mr.—about Jonathan.”
“Why would I disapprove?” A look of pain in Evie’s eyes belied her casual tone of voice. “Do you have any idea what I’d give if I’d fallen for a good man like Jonathan Stuart instead of Richard? Of course, I don’t disapprove. And you need to ignore anyone else who does disapprove—and that includes our parents. If he’s the man you want, then fight for him.”
Fight for him? The thought had never occurred to Maggie. She had assumed all along that her thoughts, her feelings, were so elusive as to be nothing more than a dream.
But sometimes you have to fight even for a dream, don’t you?
She had fought for her other dreams, hadn’t she? She had fought against her father’s stubbornness when she set her mind to go to college, even though, with Jonathan Stuart’s help, she’d won numerous scholarships. Da had been dead set against her leaving home for “the city.” And she had fought him again—and her mother as well—when she went away to Chicago. Neither of them had wanted her to leave. She would never have gone to college, never have had the experience of working at Hull House, never have become a teacher, had she not fought for her dreams.
But how in the world could she fight for Jonathan Stuart? She didn’t even know where to begin.
“We need a plan,” Evie was saying. “We’ll have to give this some thought. But we’ll start with your hair.”
Something about Evie’s businesslike approach to the matter made Maggie want to laugh. She didn’t though. To the contrary, she decided that for a change she might not give her big sister any argument.
Besides, this was the first time she’d seen any real enthusiasm or liveliness in Evie since she’d come home. Maybe this was just what she needed. Something to keep her occupied while she wasn’t allowed to do much else. A project.
Yes…she would be Evie’s project.
It might not help her situation with Jonathan Stuart in the least, but if it helped her sister even a little, it would be worthwhile.
Chapter Twenty
A Painful Encounter
Yet we, for all that praise, could find
Nothing but darkness overhead.
W.B. Yeats
Maggie was walking home with her parents after church on Sunday when Jonathan passed by in his buggy with Carolyn Ross seated beside him. They were laughing about something and looked like any other happy couple riding home from Sunday services.
Maggie might have pretended not to see them had her parents, in front of her, not waved. Da even called out to them.
Somehow Maggie forced a smile and a lift of her hand even while the pain in her heart threatened to crush her. She looked away, blinking against the tears that scalded her eyes. Not since she was ten years old and had the breath knocked out of her by a fall from a hay wagon had she taken such a blow.
Yes, she saw them together every day at school. But that was different entirely. Today they were really…together. Like a couple.
Had it been only last night that Evie had persuaded her to fight for him? And she had nearly convinced herself to do just that, believing she might actually have a chance.
Foolish! Oh, how could she have ever been so foolish as to think he might care for her, that he might ever look at her the way he looked at Carolyn Ross.
Da slowed his pace a bit and glanced over his shoulder. “Was that the school secretary with Jonathan Stuart?”
“Yea, that was Mrs. Ross,” Maggie said, hoping her parents wouldn’t detect the hurt in her voice.
Da nodded. “Looks like they’re a bit cozy,” he said to Mum, who smiled in agreement.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if he finally found someone after all these years?” she said, turning to look at Maggie.
Maggie didn’t answer; instead she pretended to be absorbed in the front window of Hubbard’s Cupboard.
A memory flashed through her mind, sharpening still more the knife that had lodged in her heart. This wasn’t the first time she’d recalled the evening spent with Jonathan at the diner—the feelings she had experienced sitting across from him, listening to him, watching his face, basking in the smile and the attention that, at least for that evening, had seemed entirely for her.
What she had seen today had tarnished that special memory—spoiled it, replacing it with something painful instead of something to treasure. Bitterness burned her throat. She was suddenly angry with herself—and with him. That night had meant everything to her, but it almost certainly had meant nothing to him.
She was even angrier with Carolyn for being just what Maggie had told Eva Grace she was only the night before: perfect for Jonathan.
Everything Maggie was not!
She had never known real jealousy until now. There had been the schoolgirl piques, of course, when the prettiest girl in the room had set her sights on Kenny Tallman, or when Eva Grace captured all the compliments at the Harvest Festival, leaving Maggie to feel like the ugly duckling scurrying around in her shadow. But never had she experienced real heartbreak, when someone she cared for couldn’t see her because of someone else.
As a child, she’d occasionally been admonished at home for wanting what one of her sisters had. She had also sat through many a Sunday school lesson that expounded on the sin of jealousy. In fact, Jonathan himself had taught principles in the classroom around the very same subject, totally unsuspecting, of course, that he might eventually be the cause of some silly female’s broken heart.
A silly female. That’s exactly how she was acting. She had to stop this. If Jonathan wanted to keep company with Carolyn Ross, he had every right to do just that.
It’s none of my business whom he squires about town. I’m not going to end up as an emotional shipwreck over a man who thinks I’m still twelve years old with freckles and pigtails. It doesn’t matter. He’s far too old for me anyway. Carolyn Ross is just right for him. She’s an older woman…they’re perfect for each other.
Maggie suddenly felt sick…sick of herself. If anyone could have read her thoughts, she would have died of humiliation. Had she always had it in her to be this hateful, this nasty-minded?
An old, discomfiting memory inserted itself into her self-disgust: Jonathan standing in front of the class when she had been just a small girl—it must have been not long after he first arrived in Skingle Creek—teaching about love. Genuine love. God’s kind of love.
“Love always puts the other person first, always wants what’s best for the o
ther. A heart that holds love doesn’t have room for jealousy or a mean spirit or selfishness. Love doesn’t take or keep. It gives…and keeps on giving.”
He had taught that same lesson of love, built around St. Paul’s message to the Corinthians, time and time again, every year, to every class, as if it might be the most important lesson he would ever teach them. “A heart that holds love doesn’t have room for jealousy.”
If I loved him…really loved him, I’d want what’s best for him. Even if what’s best for him is Carolyn Ross.
Her heart still aching, she started praying at that moment, knowing all the while that as soon as she reached home, she needed to go directly to her knees and continue praying until God’s words…and Jonathan’s…had once again taken hold of her heart and shaken this awful pettiness out of her.
Jonathan had to make a concentrated act of will to keep the promise he’d made to himself just the day before: that he was going to make a genuine effort to appreciate Carolyn, that he would take an interest in her and be attentive to her. In short, he’d had every intention of talking himself into becoming attracted to her.
She had seemed so pleased when he invited her to lunch after church that he almost felt guilty. They drove out of town a few miles to a country inn called Holly Hill House, a small, friendly looking place decorated in spruce, white, and red colors. It was a bit too frilly for Jonathan’s taste, but he had treated Ben and Regina Wallace to supper here a few times, and Regina had taken to it right away. Thinking that its appeal might be mostly to women, he nevertheless found the food good and the scenery inspiring. And just as he’d hoped, Carolyn enjoyed it immensely.
During their meal he tried gamely to draw her out, prompting her to talk about herself so that he might get to know her better. He listened closely, or at least attempted to, doing his best to take in every detail, every nuance of what she had to say. He smiled when he knew he should, making small sounds of agreement and understanding in the proper places.
And the entire time he felt like a total fraud.
This was so wrong. He should never have gone through with this, taking Carolyn to lunch, behaving as if he really wanted to be with her…when all the while he couldn’t stop thinking of Maggie.
Deception was a trait he despised, an attribute he wouldn’t have thought to be part of his character. But here he sat, deceiving a perfectly fine woman with each phony word of encouragement, each compliment, each smile.
Carolyn deserved better than this. He had no right to ask her to lunch in the first place, much less treat her as if she were special to him. She was a good person, an excellent secretary, a dependable helper. No doubt she would make a loyal friend. But she was not special to him. And she never would be, not in the way a woman should be special if there’s to be more than friendship.
From the moment he’d seen Maggie walking along the boardwalk with her parents, her cheeks flagged with color from the brisk air, her pretty blue coat open at the throat, her cloud of fiery hair glazed by the noonday sun, he’d wanted nothing else but to get Carolyn home as quickly and decently as possible and go in search of Maggie.
The way she had looked at him in that one instant, when their eyes met…had he imagined it or had it been pain that darkened her gaze?
A thought teetered at the fringes of his mind, but it was too unlikely to seriously consider. Still…was it possible that seeing him with Carolyn had been responsible for that wounded gaze? Could it be that she cared enough for him to be jealous?
“Where are you, Jonathan?”
“What?”
Carolyn was watching him closely, and he realized with a start how far from her his thoughts had strayed. The exact thing he’d meant to avoid.
“I’m sorry. Bad habit of mine, I’m afraid.”
“That’s all right. I know you must have a lot on your mind. But it’s good for you to relax now and then, you know.”
As he watched her take a bite of cherry pie, he realized that he’d been toying with his own dessert—a slice of applesauce cake. He proceeded to make a show of finishing it off.
“I know the Lazlo children are a real burden for you,” Carolyn went on. “Has there been any news about their situation?”
He shook his head, choosing to let her believe the children were the reason for his silence since he could hardly tell her what he’d really been thinking. At least this was a subject he could discuss without feeling deceitful. “There’s been no word at all. I just hope for the children’s sake that this doesn’t drag on too long.”
“Well, you’ve done everything you can. The rest is up to the authorities. And the Wallaces did say that the children are welcome to stay there as long as necessary.”
“Yes, but I don’t believe that Lazlo will leave them there indefinitely.”
“You don’t know that. Perhaps he’s not all that eager to have them back. The way he’s treated them, I wonder if he wouldn’t just as soon be shut of them for good.”
Jonathan didn’t think that was the case and said so. “Remember, he’s already come looking for them at my house.” He shook his head. “No, I’m convinced he’ll make a fight for them at some point, and I think it will be soon.”
“Well, for now you need to stop worrying yourself about it. It may turn out better than you think. So…what shall we do after lunch?”
He knew he was being touchy, but he found himself irritated by the way she dismissed the subject of the children, much as she might have brushed off an annoying bug. Nor did he want to do anything after lunch. Not with Carolyn, at any rate.
He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I don’t have the entire afternoon free. In fact, we probably should be getting on our way. I still have some things I need to do.”
Her face fell. Stung by his conscience, Jonathan moved to make amends. “We’ll have to do this again soon,” he said. “It’s especially nice out here in the winter, when we have snow.”
“Well, I hope I don’t have to wait until it snows to spend time with you again.” Her tone was teasing, but her expression was intense.
“Of course not,” he said, digging his fingers into the palms of his hands under the table. “But I really should check on Huey and Selma yet today. You’re more than welcome to come with me if you like.”
She considered the idea, but not for long. “No, they’d probably be more comfortable if you go alone. I’ll see them at school tomorrow. But so will you. Why go today?”
“I keep hoping Huey will eventually open up to me. Selma too, for that matter. Selma does seem to be responding a little, but I can’t get more than a few words out of the boy, not when I see him at school, and not even when I visit them at Ben and Regina’s.”
He paused, nodding to a couple from town who recognized him and were smiling in his direction. “Deputy Akin is pressing me to get more information,” he went on, “but the only place I’m going to get it is from the children. And I’ve had absolutely no success with that. In fact, Huey simply won’t talk to me at all other than a routine ‘good morning’ or ‘goodbye.’ Maggie says he doesn’t participate in class, and he stays to himself at recess and lunch as well. I’m at my wit’s end with him.”
He stopped. “By any chance, does he respond to you?”
“Never. I’ve tried talking to him, but the boy shrinks away from me. He’s such a skittish child.”
Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t know what to make of him. Even in the worst of situations, I’ve never had a child completely refuse to communicate with me. Selma doesn’t have much to say either. She always seems such an unhappy little girl, but at least she’ll smile now and then. And she does occasionally speak up in class.”
He got up then and went to help Carolyn with her chair and her wrap, resisting the urge to hurry her along as they left. He owed her at least the courtesy of patience, especially since he seemed to have disappointed her in every other respect.
Before they drove away, he felt compelled to apologize for his preoccu
pation. She patted his hand and smiled. “You need never apologize to me for being the man you are, Jonathan. I imagine I understand more than you realize.”
Her remark left him puzzled, wondering just what, exactly, she understood that he didn’t.
Chapter Twenty-One
Figaro
Hail, guest, we ask not what thou art;
If friend, we greet thee, hand and heart;
If stranger, such no longer be;
If foe, our love shall conquer thee.
Old Welsh Door Verse
After dropping Carolyn off at her house, Jonathan made the decision to stop at home before going on to the Wallaces’. He could visit the children later in the afternoon…if he went at all.
He was in a strange mood. Irritated with himself and increasingly puzzled by what he thought he had seen in Maggie’s expression that morning, he felt a need to withdraw for a while, to be alone, to think. Yet he was unwilling to fall into the same brooding, introspective mood he’d been in the day before. He finally realized that he didn’t actually want to think; he wanted to escape. Perhaps what he needed was something entirely different, something to take his mind away from Maggie, from Carolyn, from the Lazlo children. Something that might even lighten his spirits.
He went to the closet off the living room and retrieved his flute. He put on a recording of the first act of The Barber of Seville, wound the phonograph, and began playing along with the music. The patter song in which Figaro, the town’s barber and local busybody, dances onto the scene was a foolish, lighthearted number. Jonathan would often accompany the recording with his flute, resetting the phonograph’s arm time and time again. The music invariably gave him a lift.
When he first heard the unfamiliar sound, he passed it off as his imagination. Something on the recording, perhaps. The next time he heard it, he stopped and lifted the arm to inspect the needle. He played through the aria again, but, hearing nothing amiss, went on to the “little voice” aria before returning to Figaro’s number. Jonathan was definitely feeling better now—lighter, almost carefree.