“Don’t count on it, Meg.” He picked the newspaper off the counter, tucked it under his arm, and shuffled into the back room.
Meg balled up the handkerchief in her hands—Grant’s handkerchief—and this time there was no stopping the tears.
Thirty-six
Meg left the shop later that day, ahead of her father. She was so busy pulling on her gloves that she failed to notice Grant until she practically plowed into him.
Stopping short, she dropped her glove. “Y-you startled me.” She fought to rein in her galloping senses, but it would have been easier to stop a herd of stampeding cattle with one hand. “What are you doing here?”
He bent to retrieve her glove. Straightening, he handed it to her. “I came for answers.”
She wiggled her fingers into the silky depths. “What do you mean? What kind of answers?”
He grabbed her firmly by the arm and pulled her out of the path of passersby. He was so close that his warm breath mingled with hers, so close she was sure he could hear her pounding heart.
“What did I do to make you so angry at me?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in her ear.
“I’m not angry.”
He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face to his. “No? Well, you could have fooled me.”
She glared at him. “If you would kindly step aside.”
“Not till you answer my question.”
“I have nothing to say to you.” She pushed his hand away, and all the anger, resentment, and—more than anything—pain buried in her heart broke free.
Suddenly she had a lot to say indeed, and words spewed out of her in a rush. “I thought you would use New Year’s against me in court. So what went wrong? Did my wanton behavior fail to sway the judge? Did—”
“You thought I would use…what happened between us?” He looked clearly aghast.
Her cheeks flared, but she refused to look away. “Dancing, laughing, and flirting, Miss Lockwood?” She threw his words back at him like darts on a target board. “Were you too heartbroken to kiss?”
He stared at her in disbelief. “You think that’s why I kissed you?”
“Yes, but it didn’t work, did it? That’s when you decided to make Tommy agree to marry me so that Papa would have to drop the suit.”
“You think that was my doing?” Grant sounded incredulous. “I didn’t have a clue what was on his mind until he spoke up in court. And if you think for one moment that I would use New Year’s”—his eyes glittered with anger and maybe even hurt—“you don’t know me.”
She searched his face. He certainly looked sincere. Sounded it too. “But the Gazette said—”
His nostrils flared. “And you believed that piece of yellow journalism?”
She caught her breath. “It wasn’t just the Gazette. Everyone’s been saying—”
“I don’t give a—” He raked his fingers through his hair and lowered his voice. “What happened in court was all Tommy’s doing. I had nothing to do with it. I would never—”
She felt a stirring of hope inside. “Never what?” she whispered.
“I would never advise a client to do something that was clearly a mistake.”
It wasn’t the answer she’d hoped for, or even wanted to hear. “But Tommy said—”
Grant’s lips thinned. “What? What did he say?”
“He said you told him that the only way out of paying the money was to marry me.”
“It’s my job to tell a client the facts, and that’s what I did. I certainly didn’t encourage him, if that’s what you think.”
Her mind reeled in confusion. “If…if that’s true—”
“It’s absolutely true!”
She caught her breath. “Then…then I owe you an apology.”
He studied her as if to determine her sincerity. “Just so you know, what happened on New Year’s was between you and me. No one else. I’ve never stopped thinking of it. Nor have I stopped wishing you had come back for more.”
His words were like warm, gentle waves washing away her deepest pain. “Oh, Grant,” she whispered when at last she could find her voice. “I…I’m so sorry for…for misjudging you.”
His gaze clung to hers. “You said you loved him.”
“I do. We’ve been through so much together. I love him only as a friend. It can never be anything more than that.”
He moved closer. “Are you saying—?”
She nodded, and her eyes filled with tears. There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much she needed to say, but a knot of emotion sat heavy like a rock in her throat. Swallowing hard, she gazed up at him, her love so great it felt as if her heart was about to burst.
“Grant, you’re the only one I ever truly loved. I know that now.”
He caressed her face tenderly. “Oh, Meg, you don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that. I’ve never loved another woman like I love you.”
Joy unlike any she’d ever known filled her heart, and a warm glow flowed through her. “Oh, Grant, I—”
“Meg!” At the sound of her father’s sharp voice, the two of them drew apart. Papa stood a short distance away, motioning to her. “Time to go home.”
She hesitated. “Coming, Papa.” She turned back to Grant. “I have to go.”
“Meet me later.”
She glanced at her father’s stoic expression, and her heart sank. His low opinion of Grant couldn’t be plainer if he’d shouted it from the rooftops.
She felt as if she was being pulled in two different directions. Papa needed her, but her heart belonged to Grant. He was worth fighting for—and she planned to do just that, but not yet. Not while her family was still broken. Not while she had another battle on her hands.
“I can’t,” she whispered, beseeching him to understand. “Not yet…”
His dark, earnest eyes sought hers. “When?”
“Soon,” she whispered. She backed away and turned to join her father. She glanced at Grant over her shoulder. “Forgive me,” she mouthed. Please, please forgive me.
Thirty-seven
For two days nothing happened. Mama didn’t come home, and so far, Papa had not made any progress in winning her back.
That night, Meg was beside herself with frustration and could hardly concentrate on the novel in her hands. Why, oh why couldn’t her parents settle their differences? She wanted her family whole again, but that wasn’t the only reason for her impatience.
Grant had asked her to meet him, and the longer she stayed away, the more her doubts increased. She’d asked him to wait, but would he?
If I had someone like you…
The memory sent a warm flush to her face but did little to erase her uncertainties.
Tomorrow would make three days since they’d last met, and he’d made no attempt to see her. That hardly sounded like a man in love, or even one mildly interested. Had she misread the promise in his eyes? The longing in his voice?
Somehow Grant staying away was worse than being left at the altar. Far worse. Papa was fighting for Mama. Why wasn’t Grant fighting for her?
The grandfather clock sighed, and a chorus of chimes, cuckoos, and bongs announced the hour of ten. Meg placed her book on the end table. It looked like nothing would happen tonight, so she might as well go to bed. Josie’s letter had failed to get the desired results. Now what?
Rising, she stretched and reached for the lamp switch. Something made her perk up her ears, and her hand froze. Was that…?
She strained her ears, but there was no mistake. From the distance came the distinctive sound of the Lockwood bell. Her breath caught in her lungs. The bells never rang after dark unless it was New Year’s or an emergency.
Amanda called from the top of the stairs. “What happened? What’s wrong? Where’s Papa—”
“Isn’t he in his room?”
“No.”
Meg didn’t know what to think. When did Papa leave the house? “We better see what’s going on.”
Amanda practica
lly fell down the stairs in her haste. Meg reached the front door first. Pulling two cloaks from the wall hooks, she tossed Amanda hers and dashed out the door.
“Hurry!”
The cool, clear air carried the sound over the sleepy town, and already neighbors were pouring out of the houses and onto the street. Those who had already retired for the night stuck their heads out of second-floor windows, mobcaps tied on, and inquired of those below. “Is it a fire?”
That was always the worst fear, but far from the only one.
“Maybe somebody tried to rob the bank.”
“Do you think the prisoner Kidd escaped?”
Running feet pounded the street as people rushed toward town, some carrying lanterns that swung back and forth like shiny sabers.
Meg reached for Amanda’s hand so as not to lose her in the crowd. Why would Papa ring the bell at this time unless something was terribly wrong?
She searched the crowd for Grant. Had he heard the bells? Would he ignore them? Or would he, like all the others, rush out to see what the fuss was about?
The crowd spilled onto Main like floodwaters, hundreds of feet pounding the ground. Since there was no traffic, they filed down the middle of the street.
“I don’t see any smoke,” someone called out.
“Maybe the sheriff will know something.”
But neither the sheriff nor his deputy was in the office, and the crowd kept going. They swept en masse by the hotel and Farrell Jewelers, and continued on past the gun shop and the general store.
The bell grew louder and seemingly more urgent as they neared the Lockwood Watch and Clockworks shop.
Meg lost Amanda in the confusion. Hoping to spot Josie or Ralph, she craned her neck, but it was hard to pick out any one person in the mob, even someone as tall as Grant.
The memory of another time—another ringing of the bell—came to mind, and it was all Meg could do to breathe.
Happy New Year, Meg.
The crowd reached the clock shop where Papa stood tugging on the bell rope with all his might. T-Bone stomped up to Papa and pointed a threatening finger. For once, he wasn’t wearing his butcher apron. Instead, he was dressed in a white nightshirt that made him look almost ghost-like.
“You better have a good reason for dragging us out of bed in the middle of the night, Lockwood!” T-Bone said, ripping the bell rope out of Papa’s hands.
“Yeah,” yelled Blacksmith Steele.
Fists pumped the air as several men, including the dogcatcher and the mayor, crowded around her father. Papa had always seemed big and strong—invincible, even—but in the midst of the angry mob, he looked surprisingly vulnerable.
Meg waved her arms. “Stop, please. Everyone!” Her voice was drowned out by the angry shouts around her.
Trying not to panic, she glanced around. Where was her brother-in-law? The sheriff? Even Tommy. Oh, Grant, why aren’t you here? You would never let anyone hurt Papa…
Her hand brushed the side of her cape, reminding her of the gun in her pocket.
She hesitated, but the shouts only grew louder, the threats more serious. T-Bone shoved Papa and yanked the rope out of his hands.
She pointed the gun at the rooftop, squeezed her eyes shut, and pulled back on the trigger. When nothing happened, she cocked the hammer. This time when she pulled the trigger, the gun practically exploded in her hand. Crying out in alarm, she dropped the weapon, and it fell to her feet.
Silence followed the report, and all eyes turned to her, even Papa’s. The crowd backed away, leaving her alone in the center of a circle.
T-Bone dropped the bellpull and gaped at her. Things might have ended there, had Papa not grabbed the end of the rope and resumed ringing the bell.
Just when things seemed about to grow ugly again, Sheriff Clayton pushed his way through the mob. “Don’t move, any of you,” he yelled. He stalked up to Meg and picked her weapon off the ground where she’d dropped it. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Before anyone could answer, another bell rang—this one a distance away. The Farrell bell.
The sheriff whirled around. “What the—”
A hush settled over the crowd, followed by a nervous buzz. The Farrell and Lockwood bells ringing together in the dead of night? Never before had such a sound been heard. What could it mean?
“The world must be coming to an end,” a voice shouted.
T-Bone cursed. “If it is, I wish it would hurry. I ain’t got all night.”
Meg suddenly spotted Mama standing between Josie and Ralph. She looked as puzzled as everyone else.
Papa stopped ringing the bell and wrapped the rope around its hook. He then faced the hushed spectators. “Ladies and gentleman,” he said. “I’m sure you all want to know why I brought you here.”
“You better have a good expl’nation!” Sheriff Clayton growled. “Or I’m runnin’ you in for disturbin’ the peace.”
“Then you’ll have to run us both in,” a voice sounded from behind.
Spotting Mr. Farrell, Meg’s hopes soared. Could this possibly be the good news she and her sisters had been waiting to hear?
People stepped aside to let Farrell through, and he joined Papa in front of the shop. The two men standing side by side without fighting was a rare sight indeed. The mob grew so quiet that the sound of moths could be heard butting against the gas streetlight.
Farrell lifted his voice. “Lockwood and I have an announcement to make.”
Papa nodded. “Starting tomorrow at precisely twelve noon and twelve-forty, the town of Two-Time will become a one-time town. We will follow standard time as set by the railroad so that there will never be another accident.”
Meg’s jaw dropped. How did Papa ever get Mr. Farrell to agree to such a thing?
Her father continued speaking, but whoops and hollers drowned out the rest of his statement. No one cared about details. Let the two jewelers work that out. Tonight was the time to celebrate.
No one wanted the occasion to end. People stayed to talk to friends and neighbors about the wondrous event that would forever change their town. Before long, fiddle music filled the air, along with Mr. McGinnis’s dreaded bagpipes. Young people started dancing, and a few older folks followed along. A group of mariachi players eventually appeared, strumming guitars.
Amanda nudged Meg’s arm. “Oh, look!”
Meg turned just in time to see Mama throw herself into Papa’s arms.
*
Moments later, Meg chased after Tommy’s father as he headed down Main.
“Mr. Farrell!” she called.
Turning, he waited for her to catch up. “Meg.”
“I just wanted to say thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank your pa for tearin’ up that check. Sure took a burden off the family.”
“I’m sorry we put you through all that,” she said.
Mr. Farrell ran his hand over his shiny bald spot. “Tommy had it coming to him. He should never have left you danglin’.”
“Is that why you agreed to the time change? Papa tearing up the check?”
“That was part of it. I was also afraid he’d lost his mind.” His jowls quivered beneath his beard. “He kept bangin’ on my door yellin’ somethin’ about Lord Byron. Whoever he is.”
Meg smiled to herself. So Josie’s column did do some good.
“I finally opened the door, and that’s when your pa told me everythin’. Just want you to know, there never was anythin’ between your ma and me.”
“I know that, and Papa knows it now too.”
“When the wife found out Elizabeth left him, she got it into her fool head to do the same to me.”
Meg stared at him. “Mrs. Farrell left you?”
“That she did. Said she wouldn’t come back till Henry and I solved our diff’rences.”
Meg couldn’t believe her ears. Just wait till Amanda heard about this! Gaining the right to vote and marching for a cause was one way women could exert power, but it was by no mea
ns the only way. Mama and Mrs. Farrell together had done what no one else in town had ever been able to do—they’d brought an end to the Lockwood-Farrell feud.
“Do you think you and Papa can be friends again?”
Mr. Farrell shrugged. “You and Tommy are still friends. Guess that means anythin’s poss’ble.”
Mrs. Farrell called to him, and Mr. Farrell’s face lit up. It was clear that he loved his wife very much and was glad to have her back.
“I better go. Thanks to your pa, I have a whole bunch of clocks I’ve got to reset tomorrow.” He turned. “Dang it,” he muttered. “Why’d it have to be railroad time?”
No sooner had Mr. Farrell vanished into the crowd than someone grabbed Meg by the arm and twirled her around.
Startled, she gasped. “Grant!”
He laughed. “Is that why you couldn’t meet me? Because you were trying to get your father to end the feud?”
“Something like that,” she said.
His expression suddenly grew serious. “I knew you had something up your sleeve.” His gaze intensified. “You asked me to wait, and I decided to give you till the weekend before I broke down your door. Do you think your father would have sued me for destruction of property?”
“At the very least,” she said and laughed. She then told him everything that had happened. He chuckled when she got to the Miss Lonely Hearts letter.
“I remember that letter. My landlady had a devil of a time trying to figure out who wrote it. I think Lord Byron threw her.”
She laughed. “It confused Mr. Farrell as well.”
His eyes sparkled. “If I ask you to dance, will you think I’m up to no good?”
Heart pounding, she smiled up at him. “Are you?”
“Absolutely.”
Joy unlike anything she had ever known rushed through her, and much to her dismay, she burst into tears.
A look of horror crossed Grant’s face. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, reaching in his pocket for his handkerchief. “If you’d rather not dance—”
“I want to,” Meg said, taking the offered handkerchief. “I’m just so h-h-happy.” Mama and Papa were back together, the feud was over, and here she stood with the man she loved more than anything else in the world. What more could she ask for?
Left at the Altar Page 24