“Does that mean we have to do everything Papa says?” Amanda asked.
“Amanda!” Josie said, looking shocked.
Amanda’s eyes glistened with tears she seemed determined not to shed. “Knowing Papa, he did this on purpose just so he can have his way!”
Meg put her arm around her sister’s waist. “It’ll be all right,” she whispered. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying,” Amanda exclaimed, brushing away evidence to the contrary.
Josie turned to the doctor. “My sister is just upset. We all are.”
“Your father has a strong constitution. With some rest and good care, he’ll be up and about before you know it,” Dr. Stybeck said. “Just keep him calm.”
Meg nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”
He donned his derby. “I’ll check back in the morning.”
“I’ll see you out.” Josie followed the doctor to the stairs. She paused with her hand on the newel post and glanced at the closed bedroom door, her face etched with worry. “I’ll stay the night.”
Meg shook her head. “There’s nothing you can do. Go home to Ralph.” He had been laid up again with a lung infection, and nothing could erase the worry from Josie’s face these days.
Josie hesitated before finally nodding. “You both better get some sleep. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
After Josie and the doctor left, Amanda said, “I’ll sit with Papa so Mama can rest.”
Meg nodded. “We’ll take turns.”
Amanda swiped at a tear. “How are we supposed to keep Papa calm? That’s like trying to hold back the wind. If he finds out I’ve enrolled in that school—” She caught her breath. “I’ll withdraw my application.”
“Don’t do that,” Meg said, twisting her handkerchief into a ball. “It’s only for five days, and it means a lot to you.”
Amanda chewed on a fingernail. “I don’t want to upset him.”
“I’m afraid I’m the one most guilty of that, but I’ll make it right. You’ll see.”
Amanda blinked away the last of her tears, but her eyes remained red. “Oh, Meg. I’m so sorry. I was thinking of myself, and here you—”
“I know.” Meg pushed a strand of hair away from her sister’s forehead and gave her a loving hug. Amanda could be distracted at times, maybe even self-centered, but when push came to shove, she always rose to the occasion.
Amanda searched her sister’s face. “What are you going to do?”
“The only thing I can do.” Meg’s confident voice belied her true feelings. Her life was spinning out of control, and there didn’t seem to be a blasted thing she could do about it. No matter how much she dreaded the trial, she couldn’t take a chance on further upsetting her father or his heart. Not now.
“I’ll go through with the lawsuit. Just like Papa wants.”
*
“Mama?”
Surprised to see her mother and not Amanda seated by Papa’s side, Meg pushed the bedroom door open all the way. The first blush of dawn crept along the windowsill, but the shadows of night still clung to the corners of the room. A slight breeze from the open window tugged at the lace curtains, and the cool air felt refreshing.
“Come in, Meg.”
Closing the door softly behind her, Meg moved to her mother’s side and dropped to her knees. “Have you been here all night? I thought Amanda—”
“Shh.” Her mother’s gaze fell on Papa, who hadn’t stirred. Even in the dim light, his face looked deathly pale. “Amanda sat with me for a while. Then I sent her to bed.”
“Oh, Mama,” Meg whispered. “You shouldn’t have done that. You need sleep. Go to my room and rest. I’ll stay here.”
“Thank you, precious, but when your father awakens, he’ll want me by his side.”
Meg placed her folded hands on her mother’s lap. “Forgive me, Mama. I never meant… If he doesn’t recover”—she shuddered at the thought—“I’ll never forgive myself.”
Mama cupped Meg’s hands in her own. “You mustn’t blame yourself, child.”
“But I’m the one who upset him.”
Her mother’s gentle sigh sounded like a summer breeze. “Your father feels things deeply, and that includes an obligation to protect his family. He’s convinced that Tommy leaving you at the altar caused you great harm and distress.”
“But that’s not true, Mama. I mean…” Meg hesitated.
She felt distressed all right, but only because of the pending lawsuit. Why wasn’t she more upset with Tommy after what he had done? If anything, she felt…what? Numb? It was as if that awful scene at the church had happened to someone else.
Shocked by the realization, she was momentarily struck speechless. When she agreed to marry Tommy, she had honestly thought she loved him. But if that was true, shouldn’t she feel utterly miserable? Heartbroken even—or something? Anything?
“What were you about to say, Meg?”
Meg studied her mother. What would you think of me, Mama, if you knew what was in my heart? If you knew I wasn’t as devastated as everyone thinks I am. Would you think me cold and unfeeling? Perhaps think less of me?
“I-I’m so confused. I don’t know how I feel or which way to turn. I keep waiting for something to happen, but I don’t know what.”
Her mother’s expression softened. The gray morning light picked up the gold in her hair, the warm lights in her eyes. “It hasn’t been that long. You’ll sort it all out soon enough.”
“But when, Mama? How long will it take?” She was at sixes and sevens, and she hated feeling that way.
A hint of a smile touched her mother’s lips. “Patience, my dear. Some things can’t be rushed. Each heart has its own clock. Grief has its own time, its own season.”
Grief? It had never occurred to Meg that she was grieving. Now that she thought about it, it made perfect sense. Being left at the altar had been a loss on so many levels. Even her friends avoided her, as if they didn’t know what to say. Or maybe they just didn’t want her bad luck rubbing off on them.
Her mother’s words gave Meg a measure of comfort—or at least an excuse for feeling so unlike herself. Still, it didn’t feel like grief. Not like the horrible sadness that had fallen over her like a shroud when Grandmama Lockwood passed away. Or even when her beloved pony died the winter she turned twelve. But maybe grief came in different shapes and sizes.
Like love.
Fourteen
Three days later, Meg stopped to read the small, understated sign on the door of Grant Garrison’s office.
His name was printed in tasteful gold letters followed by the words Attorney-at-Law. It was a far cry from the blatant signs favored by the other lawyers in town. It hardly seemed to belong to a man whose larger-than-life presence seemed to suck the air out of every room he entered.
She braced herself with a deep breath before reaching for the handle. The door flew open at her touch, and she jumped back.
“Oh!”
Mr. Garrison looked surprised to see her standing there. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He was wearing his hat and held a brown portfolio at his side.
“It’s fine. I”—she glanced at the leather case in his hand—“caught you at a bad time.”
“Not at all. I just have an errand to run, but it can wait.” His brow creased. “Does Barnes know you’re here?”
“No. Nobody does.”
He hesitated. “If you have a question about the case, you should talk to your lawyer.”
She moistened her lips. “I’m not here about the case.” At least not exactly.
He studied her a moment before glancing up and down the street. “Come in.”
“Are you sure?” Just being around him made her pulse throb, and she suddenly felt like a stammering schoolgirl. “I-I don’t want to keep you.”
“You’re not.”
She stepped across the threshold, her gaze traveling from wall to wall. Unlike Barnes’s office, this one was sparsely furnished
. Only a blotter, inkstand, and oil lamp broke the wide expanse of the polished oak desk. A tall, well-stocked bookshelf stood like a sentinel on guard duty, with rows and rows of law books arranged in precise military order. Only the town’s lending library had more volumes.
The other walls were bare except for a framed diploma from Harvard Law School. The office said much about the lawyer but little about the man.
“Have a seat.” He motioned to a brown leather chair that looked as if it had never been occupied. He pulled off his hat and set it on the desk next to his portfolio, his movements unhurried and precise.
Meg sat and folded her gloved hands in her lap. Her mouth dry, she lifted her chin and tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.
What hold did he have over her? Why did he affect her so? He was so unlike the local cattlemen and farmers. He didn’t talk like them, and he sure didn’t walk like them, his long strides more purposeful and precise. But neither was he like the big-city dandies who drifted through town on occasion. It didn’t seem possible, but even with his immaculate dress and cultured voice, he was the most masculine man she’d ever encountered.
Instead of taking his own chair, he slid a hip on the corner of his desk and folded his arms across his chest—a simple movement that emphasized his virile appeal.
“You said you weren’t here about the case. So why are you here, Miss Lockwood?”
“I came to return your money.” Relieved at having something to do, she pulled off a glove. Fishing the twenty-dollar gold piece from her drawstring purse, she placed it on his polished desk. The money provided an excuse for coming today, but it wasn’t the only reason.
He glanced at the Liberty coin before turning his gaze back to her. He really did have nice eyes, though today they were more gold than brown. His slightly mussed hair gave him a boyish look that hardly seemed to go with his broad chest and wide shoulders.
“Your father agrees to this?”
She debated how to answer him without making her father look bad. “Let’s just say he’s not in a position to agree or disagree.”
Garrison angled his head, brow furrowed. “In other words, he doesn’t know.”
A surge of guilt rushed through her. She hated going behind her father’s back, even when she knew it was the right thing to do.
“Papa has a…health problem. He had an episode. His heart—”
A shadow of concern fleeted across Garrison’s face. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is he all right?”
“Right now he is, but the doctor said we have to keep him calm.” She chose her next words with care. “As you might imagine, that won’t be an easy task.”
He commiserated with a nod of his head. “You could ask your lawyer to petition the judge for a postponement. To give your father time to recuperate…”
She’d suggested that to her father, but he’d absolutely insisted on the trial proceeding on schedule. Truth be told, she was as anxious as Papa to have it all over and done with. The last thing she wanted was to face the new year with a trial hanging over her head.
“That won’t be necessary. My father is recovering nicely and expects to return to the shop next week.”
“Glad to hear that.”
He sounded sincere, and her opinion of him went up another notch, which worried her. She was having a hard enough time trying not to like the man.
“I’m afraid he won’t be completely out of the woods.” She gazed at Mr. Garrison through a thick fringe of eyelashes. Time to get down to business. “If you could perhaps…be gentle with him, I would be ever so grateful.”
He tilted his head, eyebrows arched. “By gentle, do you mean on the witness stand?”
She lifted her gaze and looked him square in the face. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
He rubbed his chin. “Under the circumstances, I’m afraid what you’re asking might not be possible.” His gaze locked with hers. “My duty is to provide my client with diligent representation. I’ve never found a gentle approach to be that effective.”
Recalling how gentle he had been with Tucker, she asked, “Never, Mr. Garrison?”
“Perhaps when dealing with children and horses. But not in a court of law.”
She noticed he left women off his list. “I know the plaintiff and defense are not allowed to testify in such cases, but I wonder if the judge would be willing to make an exception in my case.”
“Are you saying you wish to take the stand?”
“It could be bad for Papa’s heart to testify, and Mama…has a hard time speaking in public.”
“Putting you on the stand in a case such as this would be highly unusual.”
“But not impossible?” she asked hopefully. When he didn’t correct her, she added, “You can be as rough as you wish with me.”
He smiled, and it was as if the room suddenly filled with sunshine. “Now there’s an intriguing thought.”
She blushed and her pulse quickened. “What I meant is—”
“I know what you meant, Miss Lockwood.” His smile had died but not the memory. That remained firmly engraved in her mind. “It’s been my experience that judges seldom make exceptions. Especially in breach-of-promise suits.”
“That makes no sense.” Who knew the facts better than the parties involved? “A marriage proposal involves only two people and is generally not made public.”
“Agreed,” he said. “But the courts consider such testimony prejudicial.”
“Perhaps in light of my father’s recent health problems, the judge would reconsider.”
“To be fair, that would mean that my client would also have to testify. Is that what you want?”
Tommy’s testimony was the least of her concerns. “What I want is to protect my father’s health.”
He studied her. “If you’re worried about your father’s condition, perhaps you should reconsider. About dropping the suit, I mean.”
“I’m afraid that might place an even bigger burden on my father’s health,” Meg said.
“I wouldn’t know. I’m better at law than matters of the heart.”
She regarded him, curiosity whetted. Did his statement have a deeper significance, or had she only imagined it? “And yet you take on a heart-balm lawsuit.”
A muscle tightened at his jaw. “I hope to see the day such legalized extortions are outlawed. They’re nothing but a racket devised to bring men to financial ruin and disparage women.”
Disconcerted by his sudden cold contempt, Meg met his icy stare straight on. “Disparage women, Mr. Garrison? How so?”
“By assuming that women are weak and defenseless and unable to support themselves.”
She folded her hands together in her lap. She couldn’t argue with anything he said, but neither could she verbally agree without sounding critical or disloyal to her father.
Still, it was a statement she couldn’t altogether ignore. “I’m afraid you’ll have to change the way society thinks and who employers choose to hire before you get your wish,” she said.
Just getting her father to let her work in his shop had been a battle. He was convinced that allowing his daughters to hold down jobs reflected poorly on him and his ability to care for and support his family.
“Perhaps,” Garrison said wryly. “Right now, I just wish to change the mind of the court.”
“I would say that your work is cut out for you then. The court tends to favor us weak and defenseless women.”
“Of course”—his expression lightened, as did his tone of voice—“that’s only if you can convince the judge that you are indeed…defenseless.” There was that smile again. It was just a quick flash, but it made her heart flutter. “And that’s a mighty big if.”
“If the judge is like most men, he won’t need much convincing,” Meg said.
A faint twinkle appeared in the depth of his eyes. “In that case, it seems that you have me at an unfair advantage.”
“I certainly hope so,” she said, as if such a thing wer
e possible. “Just so you know, I intend to ask my lawyer to speak to the judge about letting me testify in place of my parents. I trust you won’t object.”
“About questioning you on the stand?” A look of anticipation crossed his face. “He’ll hear no objection from me. In fact, I’ll be happy to tell the judge that myself, if it would help.”
Why, the sneaky dog! He wanted her to take the stand. “I’d be much obliged,” she said with a sense of unease.
He looked a tad too arrogant for her peace of mind, like a man who not only enjoyed a good fight but welcomed it.
“I won’t keep you.” She stood. Better leave before he guessed how close she was to losing her composure.
Standing, he picked up the gold coin and held it out to her. She glanced at his hand but made no move to accept the money.
“Take it,” he said. “You owe me nothing.”
“I’d prefer to keep it that way.” It was bad enough having to ask him to go easy on her father. She walked to the door but, before leaving, glanced over her shoulder. “Thank you for your time.”
“The defense should be thanking you, Miss Lockwood,” he said.
Fifteen
Papa showed up at the shop that Monday morning, anxious to get to work.
Meg had promised her mother that she would keep an eye on him, but there was no slowing him down. He even insisted he felt well enough to perform the hourly bell ringing.
Still, she couldn’t help but fuss.
Finally, he threw up his hands. “You’re treating me like an invalid.”
“The doctor said you have to take it easy and—”
“Bull!” He thumped on his chest. “You know what will stop this old ticker? Boredom, that’s what. Now go. I need you to drop this ad off at the Gazette.” He handed her a hand-drawn sketch. “Have Buttocks run it in Friday’s paper.”
“Buckham, Papa. Buckham,” Meg said with a sigh.
Trying to get her father to stop calling the man names was a waste of effort. The editor steadfastly refused to abide by Lockwood time. Unfortunately, the town had only one newspaper, so her father’s threats to boycott fell on deaf ears.
Left at the Altar Page 9