by Mary Davis
“Enter,” Mr. Jones called.
Troy took a deep breath and turned the knob. “Do you have a minute?”
His boss looked up from where he sat. “Of course.”
Troy closed the door and crossed to the desk.
Mr. Jones frowned. “You look tired.”
Troy had spent half the night going over the events of the day and what he should have done and said. And he prayed for a quick resolution to his dinner party problem. And that Liv would understand and not be angry with him for another year. “About the supper on Saturday.” He could speak man-to-man without hurting Violet’s feelings.
Mr. Jones gave a Cheshire cat smile. “I can’t tell you how happy you have made my wife and daughter.”
That was not what Troy wanted to hear.
His boss went on. “Some fuss about having an odd number of guests at the table.”
“Sir, I was wondering if we could find someone else in my stead.”
“I can’t believe a young man in your position would turn down a free meal.”
Troy’s position was not destitution but rather love. This “free” meal put him at a terrible disadvantage with Liv and could cost him dearly. He took a deep breath and forged ahead. “Your daughter is quite beautiful, but I don’t…well, care for Violet in the way you suggested yesterday. It might be best to have someone else be her escort.”
His boss’s smile faded, and he leaned forward. “My daughter wants you, and you will be there. Understood?”
He did. “But why me? Certainly there are other eligible men who would be suitable.” And willing. “What about Titus Berg? Or William Ecker? Or—”
Mr. Jones held up his hand. “All worthy suggestions, but my daughter asked for you.” He turned his palms up. “We are only mere men. How are we to understand the workings of the female mind? It’s just a supper, boy, not a marriage proposal.”
He hoped Violet understood that. Dare he argue further? Or flat-out refuse?
“Anything else?”
Losing his job would serve no purpose. Liv would still be angry with him. It would accomplish nothing. The damage was already done in Liv’s eyes. No turning back. “No, sir.”
“Then I suggest you get back to your duties.”
Troy returned to his office. Since it was Violet who requested his presence, she was the key in this. Maybe he could convince her to change her mind. He would reason with her.
Meeting with her would be risky, especially if Liv found out. But well worth it if he got out of the supper party.
* * *
Olivia woke to knocking. Her swollen eyes wouldn’t open.
“Olivia?”
She forced her puffy lids up and squinted. The room was too bright. “Uh.” She blinked to clear her vision.
The knob rattled, and the door opened. Gran stepped in. “We were wondering if you’re feeling all right.”
“Of course I am.” Olivia’s mouth watered at the scent of cooked bacon.
“You don’t usually sleep this late.”
“What time is it?” She sat up and yawned.
“Nine o’clock.”
No wonder it was so bright. She was always up by six or six-thirty. Last night she had been too upset to sleep and had cried silently for hours. “I’m sorry for oversleeping. You made breakfast?”
“Your mother and I did.”
“You two shouldn’t have had to do that.” In the five years since Mother’s accident, Olivia always cooked breakfast.
“Don’t worry about it. Your mother and I are capable of cooking a meal.”
“I’ll get dressed and be right out.”
Gran closed the door behind her.
Olivia threw back the covers and put her bare feet on the scratchy wool rug beside her bed. She dressed quickly, brushed out her braid, and twisted her hair onto the back of her head, shoving pins into it as she headed for her door.
When she entered the parlor, Gran and Mother looked up from their handwork. One sewing. The other knitting. Mother spoke. “Are you all right? You’re not catching something, are you?”
She’d caught something all right. Troy with Violet. Again. “I’m fine.”
“There’s a plate in the warmer for you. Bring it in here to eat so you don’t have to sit alone. Coffee’s in the pot on the stove.”
Olivia continued into the kitchen. With a towel, she pulled the plate out of the warming oven. The bacon was crisp the way she liked it, but the eggs and the biscuit looked dry. She poured a cup of coffee and returned to the parlor. She preferred tea but didn’t have the energy to make any.
She sat and ate. Well, mostly just poked at her food and sipped her coffee.
Mother rested her hands in her lap with the quilt block she was piecing together. “You look tired, dear.”
Olivia could try to deny her fatigue, but what good would that do? Mother would know. She already did. “I didn’t sleep well.”
Gran finished a row of knitting, flipped the sleeve around and continued. “It’s no wonder with the row you had with Troy last night.”
The click, click, clicking of her needles might as well have been the clicking of her tongue in disapproval. She always did fancy Troy. She didn’t know him the way Olivia did.
“Don’t hang on to disappointments.” Mother picked up her sewing again. “There are too many real tragedies to dwell on minor indiscretions.”
“It wasn’t minor. He was with another woman.” Just like her father.
“But wasn’t it Violet? You know he doesn’t care for her.”
“Then he should have pushed her away. Mother, I would think you of all people would understand. Troy is just like Father.”
“Your father was a good man. He just couldn’t cope after my accident. I don’t blame him for leaving.”
“You should.” Oh, Mother would never speak ill of Father. “I can’t put up with Troy’s behavior any longer.” This was how life with Troy would be. Always wondering. “I’m done with him.”
“I doubt that.” Mother voiced what Olivia’s heart told her.
Doubt or not, she had to make it so. She would avoid Troy until her heart learned to obey.
* * *
Troy lifted the ornate brass knocker and tapped it twice. The vibration resonated up his arm and sent a foreboding shudder through him. Maybe he should leave.
A maid opened the door. “May I help you, sir?”
He wanted to say no. He wanted to leave. He took a deep breath. “I’m here to see Miss Violet Jones.”
“Very good, sir. Right this way.” She showed him into a lavishly decorated parlor. “Whom shall I say is calling?”
“Troy Morrison.” He had never been in his boss’s home before. He much preferred the Bradshaws’ welcoming, simpler parlor. He pulled at his collar. Like a mouse who had willingly entered a trap, he waited for the cat to arrive.
He looked around. A large mantel clock of carved dark wood sat above the fireplace. A smaller crystal clock on a tabletop. And a third brass-framed clock on a secretary desk. An empty china vase on the mantel. A pair of porcelain figurines of a boy and a girl. Polished rocks in a brass bowl. A carved wooden box too small to be functional. Queen Anne–style furniture set on a lush red-and-blue carpet. He shook his head at all the impractical trinkets.
According to all three clocks, nearly fifteen minutes had passed. Where was Violet?
“Mr. Morrison.” The syrupy voice came from behind him. “I never expected you to call on me.”
Troy spun around. The cat had arrived. He swallowed hard. If he dealt with Violet carefully, he could get out of the supper party and still keep his job.
Violet wore a costly jade-green gown. She crossed to the settee and lowered herself but didn’t look as though she was actually touching the seat. How could she manage to appear to hover like that? She motioned next to her. “Please, have a seat.”
Using Liv’s trick, he sat in a chair across from her. “I wanted to speak to you about the dinner
party.”
“Not from over there. Sit here.” She touched the seat next to her.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“If you wish to speak with me, then I insist.” The cat had issued her demand.
He didn’t move.
She rose. “Good day, Mr. Morrison.” A dismissal.
He shot to his feet. “Very well.”
She smiled triumphantly and lowered herself back down, hovering.
Coming had been a bad idea. Violet enjoyed the power she wielded over him. He sat as close to the end and as far away from her as he could. She didn’t seem to mind.
He gritted his teeth and forced the words out. “About supper on Saturday.”
She folded her hands and rested them on her lap. “I’m expecting a grand time with you.”
Not likely. He curled his hands into fists. “Why do you want me there?”
“Why not?”
Because he didn’t belong there. “You know I’m in love with Olivia.”
“You are too good for her.”
No. It was the other way around. He was a simple miner’s son. Olivia’s father had been a businessman.
“Has she even forgiven you for us being together last year?”
“We were never together.”
“We kissed. I would call that together.”
“You kissed me.”
She shrugged as though it were a detail too minor to comment on. “Has she forgiven you?”
“She had until yesterday.”
Violet’s mouth twisted into a smile. “The look on her face was exhilarating.”
“You saw her at the bank?” That must have been the reason Violet had behaved so openly. Only nineteen and already cunning. “Why don’t you like Olivia?”
“I really don’t care one whit about her. But she has had you wrapped around her finger for far too long. No other girl stood a chance at winning your heart. Maybe now you’ll see that there are plenty of other girls more than willing to be Mrs. Troy Morrison. I’ve done you a favor.”
No, she hadn’t. Troy held his breath as Mr. Jones’s words came back to him. It’s not a marriage proposal. He was in quite a spot with Violet. One wrong word, and she could get her father to fire him for no reason. He let the air seep out of his lungs. “Why me? You could have just about any other man in town.”
She waved a delicate hand in the air. “Oh, none of those silly boys interest me. You are the only one I’ve not been able to attract. I’ll venture to guess that you didn’t even notice I was gone for five months.”
She had been gone? He couldn’t admit that he hadn’t paid attention to that. He recalled his boss mentioning something about it. Was Violet doing this because he hadn’t said anything about her absence?
“Why would you want a man who doesn’t love you? Don’t you want love?”
“I suppose love would be nice, but I’d rather be the envy of every woman in town.”
She made it sound so simple, but what an empty, sad life. He saw no way of talking himself out of this with her. If anything, he’d made matters worse.
Nausea rolled in the pit of his stomach. He stood. “I have to get back to work.”
Violet rose and blocked his path. “You will be here Saturday.”
He gritted his teeth again. “I don’t see where I have much choice.”
“No.” She smiled, seeming to enjoy his torture. “You don’t.”
He hurried out the door, down the walk, and through the gate. He looked up in time to see Felicity Devlin staring at him from across the street. Great. Just great. Almost as bad as Liv herself catching him exiting Violet’s house.
Felicity shook her head and planted her fists on her hips as though she expected him to give an account for himself.
That might not be bad.
He crossed the street to her. “It’s not what you think.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
She widened her eyes in question. “Then explain yourself.”
Liv was usually content to jump to her own conclusions. Being given the chance to explain himself right off was different.
“My boss has insisted that I attend a supper at his house on Saturday.”
“I know.”
So she had spoken to Liv already. “I don’t want to go.”
“I find that hard to believe when you have run off in the middle of the day to visit the lady you will be keeping company with.”
He glanced back at the house. “I wasn’t visiting her—I mean, I did go there to talk to her.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “Apparently, it was Violet’s idea to have me as a supper guest.”
“Don’t you mean her companion?”
He didn’t want the conversation to get capsized by the details. “Look. I don’t even want to go. Mr. Jones is insisting. If I don’t attend, I’ll lose my job. I went to talk Violet out of having me there.”
“How did that go over?”
“Not well. I think I made matters worse.”
She folded her arms. “So what are you going to do about it?”
He held out his hands. “There is nothing I can do. I’m trapped. You believe me, don’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
He became cognizant of where Felicity stood in relation to her house and Liv’s. A sinking feeling washed over him. “You’re on your way to Liv’s, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “She was thoroughly upset yesterday. I want to make sure she’s all right.”
He was painfully aware of Liv’s ire. “Are you going to tell her about this?” Please say no.
“I haven’t decided.”
Relief mixed with his dread. He couldn’t believe she might keep it to herself. “Please don’t tell her. I’m trying my best to fix this. If Liv finds out I was here, it will only make her more upset unnecessarily. You wouldn’t want that now, would you?”
She shook her finger at him and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you try to sweet-talk me. I’ll think about it, only because you are Nick’s best friend. But you better not be seen with her again.”
“Thank you. I’m not planning on it. And I will think of some way to get out of this supper.”
“You had better.”
Now he just needed to wiggle out of supper. But how—and still keep his job?
* * *
Olivia walked down Spring Street with Felicity. She had been pleasantly surprised by her best friend’s visit. Felicity had insisted Olivia go with her, wanting her to help choose yarn for a shawl she was going to knit for her mother’s birthday in the fall. Olivia knew her friend didn’t need her help. Felicity was on a mission to cheer Olivia up.
She doubted anything could lift her spirits. She needed to sort through her feelings for Troy, both the painful ones as well as the good ones. Then to decide if she loved him enough to put up with the hurtful things about him, or if her father’s betrayal and faithlessness had rendered her incapable of trusting.
Stepping up onto the boardwalk in front of the mercantile, she noticed a well-dressed man standing across the street. Wasn’t that the same man she’d run into outside the bank yesterday? She couldn’t quite tell.
Felicity opened the door for Olivia. “I think you’re being followed.”
“You’ve seen him, too?” She glanced at Felicity and back to the man, who had turned and was walking up the street. She stepped inside. “Why do you think he’s following me and not you?”
“I saw him walking down your street when I arrived.” Felicity closed the door and peeked out the window. “Have you ever seen him before?”
“I think I saw him outside the bank yesterday.” She’d run into him, and he’d kept her from tumbling into the muddy street.
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.” This was preposterous. Just because she had seen this stranger in the past couple of days didn’t mean he was following her. “I think it’s just coincidence that we have both seen him. Friday Harbor isn’t
so big that someone new in town wouldn’t be seen over and over.” She glanced out the window. “He’s gone. If he were truly following me, wouldn’t he still be there?”
“I suppose.”
“Nothing more than happenstance.” Olivia walked over to the flat bin of yarn. “What color are you thinking of?”
Felicity picked up a skein. “This red would be pretty on her.” She picked up another skein. “Or what about this royal blue?”
Violet sauntered up to the bin, fingered some white yarn, and then gave a smug smile. “Troy is coming to my house on Saturday for supper.”
Olivia took a controlling breath. She would like to scratch Violet’s eyes out. But maybe she should let Violet have Troy and be done with him. No. Anyone but Violet. “I know.”
“He’s going to be my partner.”
Olivia refused to be baited. “So?”
“So…it appears the better woman—me—has won.”
Felicity squared her shoulders. “I don’t know that better is the right word. I would use conniving, wily, manipulative. Troy loves Olivia, so declaring yourself the winner is a bit ill-considered.”
Olivia appreciated her friend standing up for her. She wasn’t up for verbal sparring with Violet.
“Call me what you like, but I have the best catch in town.” Violet turned with a swish and sashayed away.
Felicity patted Olivia’s arm. “Don’t worry. Troy would never choose her over you.”
How could she be so sure? Troy was attending a formal supper at Violet’s house.
When they left the mercantile with the red yarn, the man in the fine suit was nowhere to be seen.
* * *
After supper, Olivia poured hot water from the teakettle into her dishwater. She dipped her finger in to test the temperature and jerked it back out. She would need to wait a few minutes before plunging her hands in.
“Olivia, dear?” Mother called from the parlor. “Would you come in here?”
She wiped her hands on a towel and walked into the other room. “Would you like some more tea?”
Mother glanced at her cup. “No, I’m fine.” She opened her mouth to say something else but stopped at a knock on the door.
“I’ll get that. I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you, dear.”
She opened the door.