And that was the crux of her problem.
Her father had called her a foolish chit for spurning Boyd’s proposal. Addison’s words were kinder, but he told her she was letting love pass her by, and without love, what point was there in living?
She’d wanted to argue that she had her friendship with Anna, her charity work, and her boardinghouse, but not one of those things brought her the love Addison was talking about. After reading her grandmother’s journal again, Claire knew that life wasn’t worth a plug nickel without love.
As she’d been learning, living scared wasn’t living.
Anna entered the parlor with a cup of tea, and kept her concerned gaze on Claire as she sat on the sofa. “You look... upset. Are you all right?”
Claire shook her head, unwilling to pretend that everything was fine when her heart was crumbling. She wasn’t all right. “I’ll be back shortly,” she told her friend then went to the foyer.
Her ribs weren’t as tender anymore, but they still ached when she pulled on her coat and boots. She tucked the journal under her arm and left the house. Ten minutes later, she knocked on Addison and Desmona’s door.
Addison answered her knock, and frowned when he saw her. “What are you doing out on this wretched afternoon?”
“I’d like to talk to you and your wife.”
He hesitated, but Desmona’s voice came from behind him. “For mercy’s sake, Addison, invite her in. You’re letting the heat out.”
He stepped back so Claire could enter their small but surprisingly cozy home. Had Desmona decorated it to give her the comfort Addison’s arms hadn’t?
“Come in,” Desmona said, her voice surprisingly cordial. Claire stepped into the kitchen. Desmona was sitting near the stove with an afghan draped around her shoulders. “How are you feeling?” the woman asked, her eyes roving Claire’s face and body as if genuinely interested.
“Sore, but the doctor assures me I’ll feel much better by next week.”
Desmona nodded in approval. “I’ve been wanting to call on you,” she said, “but I assumed you weren’t up to receiving callers.”
“I wasn’t. Today is the first I’ve been outside since I was... since you ladies gathered at my house.”
“That man did a terrible thing to you.” Desmona’s shoulders drooped and remorse deepened the grooves in her face. “I did a terrible thing too. Nothing can excuse my awful behavior, but I do apologize for pushing into your home and threatening your life.” She glanced at Addison then lowered her lashes as if deeply ashamed. “I embarrassed my husband and myself, and treated you in a most dreadful and disrespectful manner.” She looked up, her brown eyes filled with regret. “I’m deeply sorry.”
Claire was too. She was sorry for Addison and her grandmother, who’d loved so deeply and made the ultimate sacrifice for their families. And she was sorry for Desmona who had lived an empty, loveless life. Most of all, she was sorry for herself because she’d been a coward.
She believed a solitary life was a safe life, and it had brought her more pain than Jack and Larry and Karlton combined.
She didn’t have the courage to say yes to love, to trust, to believe in Boyd when he asked her to marry him. She let her fear stop her. She was no smarter than Desmona, who had allowed her painful past to ruin what could have been a decent life. Claire was doing the same thing, and if she didn’t change, she would spend her life alone like Desmona had spent most of hers, a pathetic, lonely, old crone.
Claire had to change. She had to stop hiding in her cage and peeking out at world around her. She needed to step right into the middle of life and embrace it all, the risks, the excitement, the loss and sorrow, the joy and the love.
She could only do that by putting her past behind her.
She looked at Desmona, who seemed to be waiting for her forgiveness or condemnation. “I’ve made mistakes of my own, Mrs. Edwards. And now I realize how deeply you’ve suffered over my grandmother’s relationship with your husband.”
Desmona’s mouth opened at Claire’s bold statement.
“I’m sorry for the worry and heartache this journal has caused you,” Claire said. “I came here to put your fears to rest.” She pulled the journal from her pocket and looked at Addison. “I’m going to burn my grandmother’s diary.”
Pain and shock flashed in his eyes. Surprise lit Desmona’s.
“It’s the compassionate thing to do,” she went on, hoping she could forgive herself for desecrating something so beautiful.
The darkness slowly receded from Abe’s eyes, and the lines in his face smoothed out. She knew that he understood. She was protecting the love he shared with her grandmother, keeping it pure and away from gossips who might call their grand passion a sin. It was also the right thing to do for Desmona, who had spent fifty years knowing her husband loved Marie Dawsen.
“I understand,” Addison said, giving her a decisive nod.
Claire leaned down and opened the stove door.
“No!” Desmona’s gnarled fingers clamped around Claire’s wrist.
Claire was too shocked to keep the woman from slipping the diary from her hand. But when she flipped it open, Claire’s heart stopped. To burn it was one thing, but Desmona had no right to read it.
Desmona tore out the first page and threw it into the fire. “Is your grandmother’s name written anywhere else in this book?”
“No.”
“Is my husband’s name in here?”
“No.”
“Then there’s no need to burn it.” She handed the journal back to Claire, her eyes filled with a depth of understanding and compassion Claire had never seen there. “I’m entitled to some peace of mind. You’re entitled to your grandmother’s life.”
Desmona’s selfless gesture overwhelmed Claire, and she hugged the journal to her stomach. “Thank you.”
Addison sank into a chair beside Desmona, neither of them speaking, but they seemed to be a couple for the first time in Claire’s memory. Desmona had softened toward Addison, and Claire suspected they would share their remaining years on friendlier terms.
As she walked home, Claire thought about the two people who’d survived decades of heartache, and yet had found the courage to open their hearts again. She climbed her porch steps, realizing that she’d already opened her heart to Boyd. She’d fallen in love with him. But she hadn’t let herself trust him. What had begun as a test of wills between them had deepened into a test of courage.
Sailor’s happy bark and nudge against her leg lifted her heavy heart. She hadn’t seen the dog in days. Snow speckled his nose, and his tongue lolled from the side of his grinning mouth. When Claire looked down into his adoring brown eyes and considered a life without him, she burst into tears.
She knelt and hugged his knobby head to her breast. “Oh, Sailor, I’m such a fool...”
Her sobs pained her ribs, but she couldn’t stop crying or hugging the dog. She found passion and love with a decent, honorable man then turned him away and locked herself back in her safe little cage. Boyd had asked her to spend her life with him and his silly dog. And like a fool, she’d said no.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Boyd climbed his porch steps with bone-weary slowness but a deep sense of accomplishment. The hunk of basswood had yielded its treasure.
All the years of anguish, of false starts, of fear, had taken their toll on him, but time had honed and focused his skill. The lessons and losses had brought wisdom and a keen vision he hadn’t possessed. He couldn’t have carved the statue without first being reshaped himself—by life, by loss, by love. The love of an independent and beautiful woman.
He thought about Claire constantly since walking out of her house nearly two weeks ago. He wanted to see her, to make her laugh, but he stayed away because he was afraid of pushing her into a commitment she would later regret. But coming home to an empty saloon and an empty life was torture.
Even Sailor preferred to stay at Claire’s house.
Boyd twis
ted his doorknob and heard the crinkle of paper. He looked down to find a note in his hand.
Dear Mr. Grayson,
I am writing to complain about the lack of noise from your saloon. You haven’t disrupted my life in almost two weeks. I let the best thing in my life slip away when I acted the coward and rejected your proposal. If you’re still interested in sharing badly written songs and getting beaten at cards, please come see me.
With love, Cold Claire
Boyd read the note twice because his tired brain refused to believe it was real. His heart demanded it was, clamoring so hard it left him short of breath.
He pushed inside and straddled a bar stool, afraid he would fall on his backside if he didn’t sit down.
He read the note again. Claire had written it, and she wanted to see him. She wanted to know if he was interested in sharing “badly written songs and getting beaten at cards?”
Shaking, he leaned over the bar and rummaged around for a pen and paper, but Sailor’s impatient scratching on the door made him give up his quest and let the dog inside.
As if Sailor knew something big was in the air, he wheezed and circled Boyd’s legs.
“I know, I know, she’s waiting for an answer.” Boyd rubbed Sailor’s head. “I’m looking for a pen.”
Sailor followed him behind the bar, sniffing pails and empty liquor bottles while Boyd scrounged up a writing implement and a stained piece of paper.
Dear Claire, I have found my David, and my treasure—you.
But I’m lost without your love and your trust.
Marry me and I’ll promise the fairy tale (as long as your version includes a clumsy saloon hound).
Our bruises should be gone by Friday. Will you marry me in four days? Say yes, Claire, and I’ll send a telegram to your parents.
With love, Boyd
Boyd knelt and tied the note to Sailor’s neck. “Let’s see what Claire will say to our proposal.”
The instant they stepped outside, Sailor raced across the street to Claire’s porch, barking like a hound on a scent. Boyd grinned, gaining a new appreciation for the lack of subtlety in children and animals.
Claire opened her front door and gave his dog a smile that warmed Boyd clear to his soul. She looked across the street and waved.
Boyd waved back, but was too on edge to return her smile.
Sailor nudged Claire’s legs and barked until she knelt beside him.
Boyd held his breath while she opened and read his note. She asked him to come see her, but that didn’t mean she was ready to commit to marriage.
She stared at his note then pressed her fingers to her mouth. She stood and waved the note in the air. “Yes,” she shouted then laughed and waved him over.
Claire watched Boyd—her friend…her future husband—crossing the street. She loved his long-legged, confident stride and the way his golden gaze drank her in as he climbed her steps.
He stopped in front of her, and Claire realized how much she missed him, and that he seemed taller, and more handsome, and that his hair had grown an inch past his collar.
“Is this real?” he asked, the hoarse uncertainty in his voice melting her.
For her, it was a dream come true, and she nodded. “I’ve got a note to prove it.”
“Will you feel well enough to marry me Friday?”
“Definitely.” She clutched the lapel of his coat, ashamed of her neediness but desperate for reassurance. “I need to know something first. Did you see Miss Newmaine when you went to Buffalo?”
“Yes, why?”
Her heart plunged. “You know why.”
The hint of a smile lifted his lips. “Do you remember the night of the cantata when Martha threatened to reveal ‘our little secret’?”
Claire nodded, but it hurt to remember that night and what she’d suspected happened between Boyd and Martha.
“Martha was threatening to reveal that she’s my cousin.”
Claire’s jaw dropped. “Your... cousin?”
His smile deepened, and he nodded.
“You rat.”
He chuckled and pulled her into his arms.
“Why did you let me think she was your companion?” she asked.
“Because I liked that jealous sparkle in your eyes.”
“I was not jealous.”
“You were.”
She buried her face against his chest. “I was.”
He chuckled and eased her away from him. “Ah, Claire, from the minute I saw you, there was no one else for me. There’ll never be anyone else for me. Ever.”
“I couldn’t bear it if—”
He placed his finger over her mouth. “I love you. Only you. For the rest of my life.”
She smiled into his eyes. “I feel so fortunate right now, but I hope you’ll understand that I can’t ask Anna to leave. She has nowhere else to go.”
“I know that, Claire. Anna can live in my apartment. You and Anna can turn my saloon into a safe house for those women and children you want to protect.”
She was too overcome by his generosity to adequately express herself. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
“I’m afraid I do.” He gathered her close and stroked her back. “I understand why you need to help women like Anna. And you’ll never have to worry about me standing in your way.” He gave her a gentle, rocking hug then eased back to see her face. “I admire your compassion and courage, Claire, and I’ll support you in whatever you do. If you want to take in strays, then I won’t care if we have a house full of them. If you want to give women and children a safe place to stay, then the Pemberton Inn is yours, and I’ll help protect them.”
She was touched beyond words. In the deepest part of her soul flowers of hope and joy were beginning to grow again. Boyd would nourish her spirit; he would be her light and her love—her everything.
Chapter Thirty-eight
“Be careful where you grip it,” Boyd warned as his brothers helped him lug the huge, cloth-wrapped statue into the office at the sawmill depot. “Set it on that pedestal.”
“What is this?” Kyle asked, huffing as he stepped away from the monster they just stood upright on the four-inch oak base.
Boyd’s nerves jangled with apprehension and excitement. “Something I’ve been working on for a long time.”
Duke groaned and arched his back. “It had better be worth my strained back muscles.”
Radford pulled out a pocket knife and handed it to Boyd. “Cut this behemoth loose, and let us see what we’ve been busting our backs over.”
Boyd couldn’t disguise the tremble in his hands as he cut the cords. He finished the final touches on the statue just before dawn, and had roared like a madman, screaming out all the joy and anguish he’d experienced while carving the piece. He laughed and cried and gotten down on his knees and thanked his father for the gifts he’d given his son.
But now, Boyd wondered if it was any good. Had his moment of jubilation clouded his judgment? Should he have waited? Was there more work to do?
Bat wings beat inside his chest.
Kyle smacked him on the shoulder. “Unveil the thing before it mildews.”
Before he lost his nerve, Boyd yanked the canvas off and dropped it on the floor.
Radford, Kyle, and Duke stared in awe at the statue of their father leaning on the diamond willow cane Boyd had made for him, giving them a just-between-us-boys wink.
Kyle’s mouth hung open, his gaze glued to the wooden replica of the man they had loved so dearly.
“If Dad could see this—” Radford compressed his lips, and clipped off his words. Moisture edged his eyes and he looked away.
Boyd’s heart swelled with pride and love and a hundred emotions he couldn’t name. That block of wood had been riding his shoulders for seven long years, and he was finally free.
Radford hooked his arm around Boyd’s shoulders and gave him a brotherly squeeze. “Dad would love this.”
It was one of the nicest things Radford ha
d ever said to him, and it warmed Boyd clear through to be able to share this moment with his brothers.
Almost reverently, they smoothed their callused palms over the statue, as if touching it would, allow them to touch their father again.
“This is incredible.” Wonder filled Kyle’s eyes as he touched the statue’s face—their father’s face. “It’s so life-like, I’m waiting for Dad to tell us to get back to work.”
Their laughter cut the cords of tension gripping Boyd’s chest. Finally, he could breathe again. It felt good to laugh with his brothers. For so long he felt unworthy of even walking in their shadows, but today, he could stand beside them and feel proud of himself. Today he was whole again. He’d chipped and carved and smoothed and sanded his way to the heart of his “David.”
His brothers clapped him on the shoulders and praised him for his masterpiece. “Dad would be honored,” Radford said, leaving the office with moisture still beading his eyes.
Kyle thumped him on the shoulder. “He’d be pretty impressed. I sure am.” He followed Radford outside.
Duke stayed behind, shaking his head as he eyed the statue.
“Dad wasn’t a vain man,” he said, “but if he were alive, he’d make sure every person in town saw this.” He turned, pride in his eyes. “This is an impressive tribute to a man who loved you.”
Then he stepped outside, as if he knew Boyd needed to be alone.
His brothers’ words warmed Boyd, but as he stood in front of the statue, in front of the man he’d loved with all his heart, he knew the statue wasn’t just about honor and pride, but about letting go. Unashamed, he embraced the statue and gave his father a hug.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Claire exchanged vows with Boyd in his mother’s small but homey parlor. Her father gave her away, and her sister Lida stood as her maid of honor, giving Claire a sense of homecoming she desperately needed.
Only You Page 30