Finally she turned around to lean against the windowsill. “I confess I cannot reconcile the situation.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning if my father truly cared what happened to me, why did he not leave me cared for? Why didn’t he provide a roof over my head and an allowance on which to live?” She straightened but remained by the window. “And why wouldn’t a loving God intervene to cause my father to do that?”
“So you want God to make you safe and happy?” he said. “To see that you do not experience any discomfort or have any questions as to how your life will turn out. That is your definition of a loving God and a loving father?”
“It is,” she said as she focused on the tiny scar on his cheek rather than the man himself.
“Then you and I will have to agree to disagree.”
May crossed her arms over her chest. “I fail to see why. Do you have children, Mr. Austin?”
“I’ve never been married, Miss Bolen, so no, I do not.”
She smiled. “So all of this is based on what? Theory? Some sort of significant study of biblical texts? Perhaps a sermon you once heard?”
Mr. Austin rose to come and stand in front of her. “All of this is based on experience, Miss Bolen. You see, my earthly father’s greatest failure was in the area of making life comfortable and easy for his children. Despite his best efforts, he lost his company, his home, and eventually his wife. And yet my brother and I never doubted his love.”
“Oh,” she managed, as much in response to the intensity of his words as to the nearness of him. She slipped past him to return to her chair though she stood behind it rather than sitting once more. “Your father sounds like a wonderful man. Congratulations on that.”
“This is not a contest, Miss Bolen.”
“But it is, if you think about it. I either win or I lose, and in either case, you—a complete stranger—are the one who decides.” She met his even gaze. “You’ll forgive me if I remain skeptical that a loving God would allow something like that.”
“Let’s just see what God does,” he said. “And in the meantime, let’s talk about the issue of my meeting your prospective suitors. Why don’t you just see who is willing to make the trip and then we’ll go from there?”
May opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand to silence her. Her fingers gripped the back of the chair as she bit back words she might regret.
“In the meantime, I’ve brought a list of questions I would like to have answered.” He retrieved an envelope from his pocket and held it out in her direction. “Just some basic information so that I can learn more about you.”
She accepted the envelope and then dropped it onto the chair. “This is highly irregular.”
“So is our situation, don’t you think?”
May retrieved the envelope and opened it, pulling out the pages. The first few questions concerned her likes and dislikes. “Broccoli and a warm bath,” she said, answering the first two.
“Please write them in the spaces provided,” he told her.
As she continued to scan the questions, her irritation rose. “On which side of the bed do I sleep? Do I prefer my toast buttered or with jam?” Again she dropped the papers onto the chair. “This is ridiculous.”
“This is valuable information,” he told her. “Although it is just part of the information I need in order to make a decision. I do hope you’ll cooperate. We only have a few weeks until the deadline.”
He’d bested her with that statement, and his expression told her he knew it. May, however, was not prepared to give in so easily. “Fine,” she said with a polite nod. “I shall endeavor to answer each of these questions with the care this document deserves.”
“Good.” Mr. Austin’s voice held a tone of wariness. “When can I expect your answers?”
She upped her smile. “Oh, I shall begin work on these just as soon as you and I return from our errand.”
“An errand? I don’t recall mentioning any such thing.”
“You haven’t,” she said. “But what you’ve just said has me thinking. How can I possibly know you well enough to present a man who meets your approval if I do not find out more about you?”
Mr. Austin’s grin began as a slight rise at the corners of his mouth. As he appeared to consider her question, the smile grew. “Yes, all right,” he said with the hint of a chuckle. “I suppose that’s fair.”
“Oh, it’s more than fair, as is the list of questions you’ll be presented with as soon as I find the time to write them out.” She paused and gave him an appraising look. “A few have already come to mind, such as have you ever sustained a significant blow to the head? I suspect you will answer that in the affirmative.”
Now the laughter sounded genuine. “Fair enough. And I shall endeavor to answer each of those questions with the care the document deserves,” he said, echoing her words to him.
“Fair enough indeed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just get my things and we will be off.”
May stepped into the foyer to find the butler wearing a worried look. “Miss Bolen,” he stammered, “I fear there’s a problem.”
“What is it?”
He nodded toward the stairs. “There’s been a delivery for you. Mrs. Gallier says she must personally see that you receive it. I tried to stop her, really I did, but she just went on past me of her own accord. I am sorry, Miss Bolen.”
“Mrs. Gallier from my father’s office?” At his nod, she added, “Where is she?”
Diverting his eyes, he replied, “Up in your bedchamber, I’m afraid.”
“Do see to Mr. Austin. Let him know I may be a minute longer than anticipated and offer him refreshments.”
May turned toward the staircase, an imposing matched set of stairs that curved around to meet in the center halfway to the second floor. She paused on the landing with her heart slamming against her chest, not from exertion, but from dread of reaching the second floor.
Of stepping into a bedchamber she’d last left as a small child.
“There you are,” Mrs. Gallier called from the top of the stairs. “Do forgive the imposition, but a thought occurred after you left yesterday and I realized I had a situation in need of a remedy.”
“That seems to be happening to me quite frequently since I arrived in New Orleans,” May muttered as she joined Mrs. Gallier in the second-floor hallway. “So what is this situation in need of remedy, exactly?”
“Come with me, child, and I will show you.”
She led May down the hall to the last bedchamber on the right—the room across from the one that had once been May’s—and gestured for her to step inside. To her recollection, this bedchamber had been saved for visitors. Nothing seemed to have changed, as the canopy bed and both south-facing windows were still hung in white lace and the walls were still covered with wallpaper depicting pink roses climbing trellises.
In the midst of all this, an ugly black garment lay draped across the bed. Mrs. Gallier gestured toward it.
“Do you know what this is?”
She did. “It is a mourning gown,” she said as she fingered the jet buttons that traveled down the front of the bodice.
“Then you know why I’ve brought it.” Mrs. Gallier moved to stand beside her. “I know you and your father weren’t close, but here in New Orleans it is a sign of respect to our loved ones that we wear mourning attire.”
She noticed for the first time that the older woman was also clad in black. “Was my father a loved one to you?”
“He was,” she said with a wistful smile. “But not in the sense you’re probably thinking. He was a good man, May, though I doubt you got to see that side of him.”
“And you did?”
“Oh yes, as did my husband. You see, your father was a fixer. Do you know what that is?” She waited for May to indicate that she did not before continuing. “A fixer is a person who comes into a situation and believes he’s got to make it right. Now before you scoff, listen. He wasn’t always
that way. When I first started to work for him, well, let’s just say he was not an easy man to spend time with. But then neither was I, so we developed an understanding. I was a war widow with little children who needed feeding and clothing, and your father was … well, he was a man who had just found out his wife and daughter were moving up north and leaving him here to fend for himself.”
“So you stepped in to take my mother’s place.”
“I did nothing of the sort,” she snapped, “and shame on you for suggesting it. No, on the day I came in for my job interview he told me he didn’t hire women, and I stood right up to him and told him that I would earn him more money in one day than any man could earn him in a week. Of course he had a good laugh, until I told him I had a special skill. You see, I can read something one time and remember every word of it. Same goes for hearing it. Once your papa realized I was a walking encyclopedia of information, he decided I was probably right. Now here I am shedding a tear because he’s gone, when he only kept me around for what he could get from me, at least until he changed there at the end.”
“I guess that’s why he never bothered with me,” May said. “I had nothing to offer. Nor did my mother, apparently.”
“Oh honey, I wish you knew how wrong you are,” she said.
“As do I.” May pasted on a smile. “So while I truly am grateful you thought to bring this to me, I feel hypocritical wearing this for him.”
“Then do it for yourself when you’re ready,” she said. “Forgiveness is a powerful thing. Even if it is to put that dress on and never leave this house. Of course, it’s just a suggestion.”
May took a deep breath and chose her words carefully as she gripped the bedpost with her right hand. “My father died one year ago. I was not informed about this until approximately four weeks ago. In the time since I arrived in New Orleans, I have been informed that my father thought so little of me that he gave the responsibility of choosing a husband to someone else and then required me to marry within thirty days of the reading of his will or lose everything.”
Mrs. Gallier reached over to grasp May’s free hand then placed her other hand atop it. “That’s hurt talking. It’s pain pure and deep that’s guiding you right now. Let it for now if you must,” she said. “But I’m going to warn you that if you let it forever, you’ll be the one to pay for it and no one else. See, hurt is skin deep, but bitter goes straight to the bone.”
May released her grip on the bedpost and pressed her hand atop Mrs. Gallier’s. “Thank you,” she said. “Truly.”
“Sweet girl, I wish I could do more, but just know that here I am if you need me.” She nodded toward the dress. “It’s past the required mourning period, so do with that dress what you will. The Lord, He knows your heart. He doesn’t have to look at what you’re wearing to know when you’re finally mourning your father.”
“Yes, I believe that.”
“And whatever you do while you’re here in New Orleans, make sure it’s not coming from bitter, yes?”
Once Mrs. Gallier said her goodbyes and left, May sank onto the bed beside the awful black dress and tried not to cry. She failed.
Finally, she rose to summon a maid to deliver a message offering her regrets to Mr. Austin and providing details and a request to complete their errand tomorrow at the same time. Then she stepped out into the hallway to face the door that led to her childhood bedroom, and opened it.
To her surprise, it looked exactly as it had in her youth. It was as if she walked out at a young age and then time stopped once the door closed. Without stepping inside, she shut the door and returned to the guest room, where she once again summoned the maid.
“Do something with this, please,” she said, gesturing toward the hideous ensemble. “And then have someone bring up an envelope and papers I left in the parlor.”
When she was alone again, May went to the desk and retrieved several sheets of writing paper. If Samuel Austin III could require her to answer a list of questions, then she would most certainly do the same.
Chapter Five
So you decided not to abandon our plans today.”
Sam offered a lopsided grin as he helped Miss Bolen into the buggy he’d hired for the occasion. Whatever sudden malady she’d developed yesterday had apparently disappeared.
“I do apologize for the abrupt cancellation. I had an unexpected …”
“Visitor?” he supplied. “I saw Mrs. Gallier leaving. Did she say something to upset you?”
“I prefer not to discuss it,” she said as she smoothed out nonexistent wrinkles on her skirt with a gloved hand and avoided his gaze. “I have brought the answers to the questions you asked.”
She reached into her reticule and retrieved the documents he’d left with her. Then she offered a broad smile as she handed him a second stack of folded papers. “I took the liberty of asking a few questions of my own. I’m sure you’ll oblige.”
He laughed. “Of course,” he said as he tucked the documents away in his jacket.
“I am looking forward to meeting your father.”
“About that,” Sam said as he climbed up beside her and took up the reins. “Please understand my father is an old man who is not always well but is always truthful.” He paused. “Even when the truth is best left unsaid.”
Miss Bolen gave him a sideways look. “So he might say things to me that I will not wish to hear?”
“That is quite possible,” he said as the buggy lurched forward. “Which is why we will not be paying him a visit today.”
“Is he not in the mood to receive visitors?”
“My father has not been in the mood to receive visitors since the Yankees blockaded the river back in ’62.” Sam grinned. “But you will meet him. Eventually. However, I have another plan for today.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “I’m not sure I approve of a change in plans.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t ask for your approval, although should you decline, I will be glad to take you back to your father’s home.”
“Fine then. Do proceed.” Miss Bolen looked away then. “Where do you live, Mr. Austin?” she asked in an odd change of topic.
“I’ll show you soon,” he said as he brought the buggy to a halt. “It’s a short walk in that direction.”
A few minutes later, he had helped her down from the carriage and led her around to the shortest route to both their venue for today’s outing and his current home: the Vengeance.
“I don’t understand,” she said as she rounded the corner and saw that they were now on the docks. “Why are you taking me here?”
“In an interesting coincidence, I had already planned to bring you here as an invited guest to the Vengeance. However, since you’ve asked where I live, it is also the Vengeance, at least most of the time.”
She glanced around and then back at him. “You live here? On this?”
“I’ve sailed in worse,” he said as he nodded toward his current vessel. “She’s been good enough to get me to the Orient and back twice, and she’ll do it again soon. So, with those credentials, I figure she’s good enough for me to find a comfortable bunk here in port.”
“But your father and your nice brother Joseph …” She hesitated. “Do they …”
“Live here with me?” Sam laughed. “No, although my father would probably enjoy it much more than his current residence.”
“And Joseph?”
Sam paused to take her by the elbow and help her aboard. “My nice brother Joseph would probably like it better here than living with my father, but unfortunately, neither of them have been invited to join me here.” He spied his boatswain moving toward them across the deck and motioned for him to wait. “Joe and our father share a house near Tulane. It suits them better than my father is willing to admit.”
“But you?”
“Suffice it to say it does not suit me at all.”
The Bolen woman gave him an appraising look.
“I know this is a dangerous question, but wh
at are you thinking, Miss Bolen?” he asked as she continued to study him.
With a tilt of her head, she met his gaze. “I am trying to decide exactly what does suit you.”
“Oh, so you believe you can decide that, do you?”
She paused as if considering his question and then smiled sweetly. “Given time, perhaps. But I have decided one thing: You are a puzzle, Mr. Austin, and deliberately so. First you’re a pirate, then a gentleman. Now you’re a captain aboard his Orient-bound vessel.”
“And you’re looking to solve that puzzle, are you?”
“In three weeks?” She shook her head. “Hardly. Not without your cooperation, which I am not foolish enough to believe you’ll allow me.”
“And that I am not foolish enough to allow.” He nodded toward the center of the vessel. “So instead I will offer a tour. Welcome aboard, Miss Bolen.”
Around them deckhands were busy prepping the vessel for its next voyage, a trip to the Orient that would take him away from New Orleans for an extended period. Given the current trouble and the potential results from whatever happened three weeks from now, being at sea once again for a year or more had sounded like a good idea.
However, as he slanted a look down at his companion and watched her take in everything around her, he felt an odd surge of protectiveness that did not bode well for a long absence. Perhaps he would have Joe look in on her while he was away.
The question that remained was would Joe be looking in on a penniless woman or Sam’s wife?
Giving the men working on the sails a wide berth, Miss Bolen stayed close to his side. One of the deckhands spied him and called out a warning that the captain was aboard.
Sam guided his guest to the spot where the wheel awaited and settled her on a crate nearby. “Stay put and try not to poke anyone with a stick,” he said with a wink. “I’ll be back as soon as I see to a few things.”
“That’s not funny,” she called after him, though he couldn’t help but notice she spoke those words with laughter in her voice.
Of Rags and Riches Romance Collection Page 18