I Promise

by Joan Johnston

Marsh felt like cheering when his daughter decided to be civil.

  “Hi, Delia,” Billie Jo said. “Did you come for supper?”

  “No, I’ll be leaving as soon as I finish here. I brought back your dad’s quilt.”

  “Oh. Did it dry all right?”

  “Like new,” Delia reassured her. She washed her hands and used another paper towel from the roll standing beside the sink to dry them. She retrieved the paper towel on the floor and threw them both in the trash can she found under the sink, then turned to Marsh and said, “I’ll call you when I get the information we discussed.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow anyway,” Marsh said. In answer to Delia’s raised brow, he reminded, “At Hattie’s funeral.”

  “Oh. Sure.”

  Billie Jo held the door for Delia. “I . . . uh . . . I won’t be coming to your mom’s funeral with Daddy,” she said. “Because . . . uh . . .”

  Marsh watched Delia lay a comforting palm against Billie Jo’s cheek. “I understand, Billie Jo,” Delia said. “Don’t worry about it.” She gave Marsh one last glance over her shoulder before she left.

  Marsh marveled at how well Delia understood his daughter. He should have realized that Hattie’s funeral would evoke memories for Billie Jo of her own mother’s death. There were lots of things he didn’t know—was still learning—about his daughter. In all these months he hadn’t talked to Billie Jo about Ginny’s accident, waiting for his daughter to bring up the subject. But she never had.

  What could he have said? That he had been shocked to hear about Ginny’s death and dismayed to learn he was going to have responsibility for his teenage daughter? He could not—would never—admit that to Billie Jo. As he had feared, their first months together had been rocky. This past week they seemed to have turned some sort of corner. Talking to his daughter was easier; it certainly was not yet easy.

  He could remember thinking that when he had a child of his own he would make sure he—she—would know she was loved. Hell. It sure was simpler to make those sorts of promises than to keep them.

  “Hamburgers again?” Billie Jo said as she dropped her bookbag on the table and joined him at the stove.

  “My culinary repertoire is limited,” Marsh said. “There’s always spaghetti or baked chicken.”

  “If I have baked chicken again anytime soon, I’m going to start clucking,” Billie Jo said in disgust. She hefted herself onto the counter and sat eyeing him speculatively. “So, when are you and Delia getting married?”

  Marsh dropped the spatula and burned himself retrieving it from the pan. “What?” He stuck his burned fingers into his mouth to cool them.

  “I’m not blind, Daddy. I saw the hickey on her neck.”

  Marsh flushed. He wondered what Delia was going to say when she found it. He hadn’t meant to put it there, but Delia hadn’t been complaining when it happened. “We don’t have plans right now to get married.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “There are . . . complications.”

  “You don’t love her?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “She doesn’t love you?”

  “I didn’t say that, either.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Billie Jo asked.

  “Delia’s work is in New York,” he said.

  “Oh. I see.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to move to Brooklyn?” Marsh said, his lips twisting wryly. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t fair to his daughter to drag her halfway across the country because it was what he wanted. But he didn’t take it back.

  Billie Jo was silent a long time, biting at her lower lip with her teeth in the way that reminded him of Ginny, while she contemplated his request. Her answer made him feel proud of her and ashamed of himself.

  “I’d move if you asked me to, Daddy. But I’d rather not. I’m kinda getting used to this place. I mean, all the stories you’ve told me about Grandma Dennison and Great-grandma Hailey are kinda neat. I like living in a house where Norths used to live a hundred years ago.” She grinned and corrected, “Except when it rains.”

  “The roof’s next on my list.”

  She continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “Especially now that I’ve met Todd, it would be hard to leave hi—this place and go somewhere new and start all over.”

  Marsh had thought only of himself for a long time. He owed his daughter some stability. He owed her a little self-sacrifice.

  Even if it means giving up Delia? Marsh felt a familiar ache in his chest. But he knew what his answer had to be.

  “Don’t worry your head about it,” he told his daughter. “Delia and I will work something out.”

  Billie Jo’s relieved sigh told him how much she had been willing to give up for him and made him feel even worse for having asked.

  “Thanks, Daddy.” She jumped down from the counter, grabbed her bookbag from the table, and headed for her bedroom. “I have to call Todd,” she said.

  “Supper will be ready any minute.”

  “Just to tell him we aren’t moving,” she shouted back down the hall at him.

  Marsh realized then that Billie Jo had suspected what might be coming if he married Delia, maybe even dreaded it, without ever letting him know it. He should have asked how she felt sooner. He should have listened to what she had to say. He had a lot to learn about being a parent.

  He wished Delia was going to be here to help.

  He made himself consider, for the first time, the notion that she might not.

  The morning of Hattie’s funeral had dawned gray and cold for southwest Texas in January, but Delia, used to the frigid temperatures in New York, hadn’t worn a coat. The wind was picking up, making it unpleasantly chilly at graveside.

  The whole town and half the county had turned out at the Uvalde Cemetery—the older portion on the west side of Highway 90 where plots were still reserved for Circle Crown descendants—for Hattie’s funeral. The Carsons were a prominent Uvalde family, so that wasn’t unusual. Except Delia figured the crowd had come as much to ogle The Hanging Judge, and U.S. Congressman Clifford McKinley and his wife, as to pay their last respects to Hattie.

  The plot was shrouded by a live oak, which rustled noisily, so the minister’s voice was occasionally lost. Delia was having a hard time concentrating on what he said. She was burying her mother with unfinished business between them, but she had learned a valuable lesson from the experience: It was dangerous to let matters between herself and Marsh North lie unresolved. There were no guarantees in life. It was foolish to postpone living it with someone you loved.

  She was meeting Marsh after the funeral to go over the plea bargains she thought were suspicious. They had to find some connection between them, some sign of wrongdoing by Sam Dietrich. Or else.

  Or else what? Are you going to resign anyway to be with Marsh? Are you willing to do that? Are you going to let people think the worst of you?

  Delia was unable to answer those questions.

  The wind whipped at her new black dress with its high collar, which concealed the hickey Marsh had given her the previous day. She hadn’t discovered the stupid thing until after the stores were closed last night. Actually, Rachel had pointed it out to her. She had been at first astonished, and then embarrassed. She had been so lost in what Marsh was doing to her that she hadn’t felt him put it there.

  Thank goodness for small towns. After needling Delia over her predicament, Rachel had called her friend, Madge Kuykendall, who had met them downtown at Madge’s Boutique with the key to the store and helped her find something to wear.

  Rachel stood beside her at Hattie’s grave holding Scott’s hand, looking beautiful in a black St. John knit despite her tears, which she dabbed at with a lace handkerchief. The six-year-old was becoming restless as the long-winded Baptist minister proved that everything in Texas was done bigger and better, even funerals. Congressman McKinley, looking sad and solemn, stood bes
ide his wife.

  Cliff’s unexpected arrival in a black limousine after the start of Hattie’s funeral had created quite a stir. Frankly, Delia had thought he would remain in Washington. On second thought, she had realized it would have looked odd—and been a political faux pas—for the congressman to miss his mother-in-law’s funeral. It also gave him the perfect opportunity to come after his wayward wife.

  When Rachel had told Cliff on the phone that she had left him and didn’t intend to return to Dallas, he had been furious. He had told her he would come and get her. He had said he wasn’t going to let her go. But there wasn’t much he could do to her from more than a thousand miles away.

  Well, he had taken care of the distance without much trouble. Trust Cliff to manipulate even their mother’s funeral to his advantage. Delia knew her sister must be terrified, but there were no outward signs of her distress other than the tears she shed.

  Delia didn’t intend to let Cliff bully her sister—or take her away with him. She wasn’t sure what she would do if he became physically violent. Rachel was safe so long as there were witnesses around to keep Cliff in line. But Delia was worried about what he might do when everyone left the cemetery, and they were alone again.

  Delia sought out Marsh in the crowd. He was standing directly across from her in the second row of mourners. She made eye contact with him and was surprised to realize how well they could communicate with no more than that. He glanced at Cliff, then back to her, and nodded, and she knew she would not be left alone to deal with her sister’s husband. With Marsh beside her, Delia was sure she could handle Congressman McKinley.

  Rachel might have escaped in the push of people who wanted to shake Congressman McKinley’s hand and express their condolences after the funeral, except Cliff slipped an arm around her waist and held on tight. Rachel sent an increasingly irritable Scott to wait for her in the car, where he had left his Power Rangers.

  Cliff was patient with his constituents, and it wasn’t until the last one had left with a smile on his face that he gave his full attention to his wife.

  “Let’s go get Scott and go home, Rachel,” he said, heading toward the limousine, pulling Rachel willy-nilly along with him.

  Rachel dug in her heels. “No, Cliff. Stop it. Stop!”

  “Hold on, McKinley,” Marsh said, stepping in front of the other man, Delia by his side.

  “Who are you?” Cliff demanded.

  “Marsh North.”

  It was apparent Cliff recognized the name. The congressman had made a point of acquainting himself with the press. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m a friend of Delia’s. I moved back here recently with my daughter.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, but if you’ll excuse us, my wife and I are leaving,” Cliff said.

  “I don’t believe the lady wants to go with you,” Marsh said.

  “I don’t!” Rachel said.

  “Shut up, Rachel!” Cliff ordered.

  “Let her go, McKinley,” Marsh said.

  “Get out of my way.” Cliff attempted to move forward.

  Marsh stayed where he was, and Cliff came to an abrupt halt. Realizing he couldn’t escape with Rachel, Cliff let her go.

  The congressman turned to his wife and said, “I’m taking Scott home, Rachel. With or without you.” He headed toward the car, where the little boy was waiting.

  Rachel clutched at his arm. “Cliff, please, you can’t—”

  Cliff shook her off, but she grabbed at him again. He whirled and slapped her, then stood frozen, appalled at what he had done.

  Delia gasped. She saw Marsh’s hands ball into fists and reached out to grab him to keep him from attacking Cliff. “Marsh, don’t!”

  “You bastard,” Marsh snarled at Cliff. “Why don’t you try that with someone your own size.” Marsh’s body was taut with leashed anger. A muscle in his jaw spasmed as he clenched his teeth.

  The congressman looked around quickly to see if anyone had seen him cowering from the other man. When he realized the area was abandoned, he turned back to face his three adversaries. “I’ll do what I like,” he retorted. “She’s my wife.”

  Rachel stood with her head high, her face pale except for the red spot where Cliff’s palm had struck her cheek. “Not for long,” she said.

  Before anyone could make another move, Delia stepped between Cliff and Rachel. “That’s enough, Cliff,” she said in a quiet voice. “Rachel isn’t going with you, and neither is Scott. She’s staying here and filing for divorce.”

  A look of such virulent hatred appeared on Cliff’s face that Delia stepped backward until she came up against Marsh’s muscular chest. His strength steadied her. “Let Rachel go, Cliff,” Delia said. “Otherwise, it’ll be all over the papers that you beat your wife.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Cliff said, his brows lowering ominously. “Let me return the favor. If you try smearing me, I’ll make sure your sister ends up in an asylum. The woman’s unbalanced. She drew a gun on me. She tried to kill herself. She should be put away.”

  Delia knew Cliff would make good on his promise, that there was every possibility he could. They were at a stalemate.

  Cliff smirked at her and started to reach for Rachel. Marsh’s voice stopped him.

  “Congressman, perhaps you can explain why a condominium in Alexandria with the deed recorded in your name has been occupied for the past two years by Miss Elizabeth Camp.”

  Delia gave Marsh a look no less startled than the one on Cliff’s face. She turned to Rachel to see if she had known about Cliff’s in discretion, but her sister looked equally surprised.

  Cliff’s expression quickly became grim. “How did you—”

  “Let’s just say I have my sources, Congressman McKinley. Now, step away from your wife.”

  Cliff took a step backward and turned a malevolent look on Delia. “If you try to use that information against me, I’ll ruin you.”

  “You can keep your little love nest, Cliff. So long as you give your wife a divorce and custody of her son,” Delia said.

  “He’s my son, too.”

  “I’m sure appropriate visitation can be arranged,” Delia said.

  “Only if it’s court supervised,” Rachel said. Her skin was stretched tight over her facial bones. Her eyes burned with anger.

  Cliff’s face paled. “How can you do this to me, Rachel?”

  “You did it to yourself, Cliff.”

  Cliff’s chin jutted. He had lost, but he wasn’t defeated. “You’ll pay for this,” he said to Delia. Then he turned and walked away.

  Delia didn’t exhale until the chauffeur closed the limousine door behind Cliff. She turned to Rachel and saw her sister’s eyes were dry for the first time since the funeral had begun. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. For the first time in years, I’m just fine.”

  “Let’s go home,” Delia said. “Come with us, Marsh,” she invited.

  “I have some things I have to do,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later this afternoon, when we get together to go over those papers.”

  “Before you go, will you tell me how you found out about the condominium?” Delia asked.

  “I’d be interested to know that, too,” Rachel said.

  “I figured as long as I was paying a hacker to look around at Sam Dietrich’s bank deposits and real estate deeds, I might as well investigate the congressman, too.” He shrugged. “It paid off.”

  “Thanks, Marsh,” Delia said.

  “Yes, thanks,” Rachel said.

  “My pleasure,” he said with a smile.

  “Scott must be getting restless. Will you be much longer?” Rachel asked Delia.

  “No, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Delia stood silent until Rachel was gone. Then she turned to Marsh. “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You were there for me,” Delia said.

  “Of course I was there for you. I love you,

&nbs
p; Delia.” Delia’s heart skipped a beat.

  Marsh shook his head. “Damn. I meant to say it for the first time in a more romantic set ting.”

  “This is fine,” Delia said.

  Marsh gave her a quick, hard kiss. “This afternoon,” he said. Then he was gone.

  Delia stared after him. This afternoon they would go over everything. Depending on what they found . . . choices would have to be made.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Delia arrived at Marsh’s back door late the afternoon of Hattie’s funeral just as Billie Jo was leaving. Todd was standing half in and half out of the screen door, holding it open for her.

  “’Bye, Daddy,” Billie Jo said, slinging her bookbag over her shoulder. “Todd will bring me back when we’re done studying.”

  “Hey!” Marsh called as he slung the towel he had been using to dry dishes over his shoulder.

  Billie Jo turned. “What?”

  He opened his arms. “How about a hug?”

  To Delia’s amazement, the teenager loped back to her father, wrapped her arms around his waist, and let him give her a big, noisy bear hug.

  “I love you, kid,” Marsh said.

  “I love you, too, Daddy.”

  An instant later, Billie Jo was on her way out the door. She paused long enough to say, “Hi, Delia,” wink broadly, and add with a grin, “You and Daddy have fun!” before she grabbed Todd’s hand and raced for his pickup.

  Delia was still staring after them through the screen door with her jaw slack when she felt Marsh’s arms surround her from behind. “Did I just see what I think I saw?” she asked.

  “Billie Jo North with the son of the school board president? Yup. That’s what you saw.”

  Delia turned within Marsh’s embrace. “No. I meant the hug. And the ‘I love you, kid.’ “

  Marsh flushed. “Oh. Yeah. Well. That’s new. I’m trying it out to see how it feels.”

  “How does it feel?” Delia asked with a teasing smile.

  “Good. Great.”

  “How about one for me?”

  Marsh grinned and gave her a crushing hug. “I love you, Delia,” he whispered in her ear. He let her go and said, “Well? What do you think?”