The only other person who might be even remotely involved was Andy Emerson. But that wasn’t a spectre he cared to scare up without some serious proof.
“What if I don’t want to?”
He started to turn, to ask Maisie why she wouldn’t want to tell the sheriff what had happened so they could try and find who’d taken her, when Mrs. Sweeney said, “What we want and what is right, love, aren’t always the same things. Who we are is found in how we choose. It’s your choice, Maisie. You’re the one who has to wake up with yourself every day for the rest of your life.”
Maisie sighed, and Joe resumed staring out the window, watching balls of flame move through the yard as he wrestled with the idea of relieving Maisie’s responsibility of having to decide who she was by demanding that she tell him everything she could down to the minutest detail.
But Mrs. Sweeney was right. Maisie had to choose for herself. Needed to choose if she was going to come out the other side of what had happened stronger and in better control of herself and her future. If he took away her right to choose what to say and when, he would be no better than the kidnapper who’d stolen her freedom of movement, and almost her life.
The balls of light passed each other, one slightly higher than the other. Big Ray and Jericho, if he had to guess.
He’d offered them and a few other hands overtime pay to patrol the yard for as many nights as it took to find who’d taken Maisie and deal with him. He gritted his teeth.
He’d kill whoever had taken her. Kill him with his bare hands—
“Will you lay with me?” Maisie sounded exhausted and timid, and his anger and bloodlust flared like a volcanic blast at the abuse perpetrated against her and Reba.
“I’ll stay as long as you and your father want me to.”
“You too, Joe,” Maisie said.
He closed his eyes and dug his fingernails into the windowsill as he willed the rage away, forcing calm and a little humour to his voice as he faced around. “I don’t think we’re all going to fit in your bed, Maisie. How about I lie on the floor—”
“No,” Mrs. Sweeney said. “You stay here with Maisie. I’ll go to my chamber—”
“Can we all go to your chamber?” Maisie asked. “Your bed is big enough for all of us, even Reba.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Maisie—”
“Yes,” Joe said on impulse, interrupting Mrs. Sweeney. He smiled when she frowned at him. “That way I won’t have to worry about either of you because I’ll have you both with me.”
Chapter 37
End the Confusion
MARGARET RECLINED ON pillows faced towards the centre of the bed, watching Mr. Banner read, his voice soothing to the ears after too many days of listening to her own strident thoughts. Light from the bedside lamp on the other side of him drew a shimmering line along the straight edge of his nose and added gold tips to his sooty eyelashes.
She longed to extend her arm and rest it on the many pillows behind Maisie who snuggled low between them, the duvet drawn to her chin and eyes closed, and caress his warm nape, toy with his dark hair. Sometimes, when he paused to turn a page, he glanced over, a look of want, and of apology, on his face. Guilt and warm heat mingled low in her belly.
She closed her eyes, imprinting the moment on her heart, knowing she would relive it time and again to help her through the next months and years without them, and snapped them open again when Mr. Banner fell silent.
He closed the book carefully and glanced at Maisie. She offered no reaction. Her breathing remained slow and rhythmic, her sweet face relaxed and free of tension.
Margaret willed a smile for Mr. Banner’s benefit. “I think she’s asleep,” she whispered.
He nodded, and tipped his head to the far end of the room. When she nodded, he transferred one leg to the floor and eased off the mattress so it hardly shifted. She followed suit. To her surprise, rather than choosing a chair, he sat on the rug near the fallow fireplace and lifted a hand to her in invitation. She hesitated then crossed to the credenza for a whisky bottle and two glasses.
He took the bottle and glasses from her and set them on the rug before helping her down next to him. He poured a measure into a glass and handed it to her, poured himself a slightly larger measure and, touching the rim of his glass to hers, murmured, “To Whitey, and Bess, and Bayou.”
“And you and Sheriff Klugg,” she added softly.
His expression hardened, and then he nodded grudgingly. “And to you,” he whispered.
“For?”
“Indulging Maisie and I tonight. And for everything you do for her—for all of us.” He swallowed. “When you first came to Sugar Hill, I was leery. Afraid you’d married George for his money. When he died, I feared you’d rob Sugar Hill for whatever you could and move on to the next husband. But you’re not a Red-Headed Black Widow. You’re genuine and caring. You’ve made Sugar Hill better. For all of us. So thank you. And I’m sorry. I should have trusted you—”
“No.” She grasped his hand, brought it to her mouth, and kissed the rough knuckles. “You were only protecting what you had every right to protect. George charged you with keeping Sugar Hill solvent and the people on it productive and safe. I was the unknown, so I can hardly blame you for requiring me to earn your trust. It’s no worse and no better than I’ve expected of you since my arrival. You had to earn my trust too, Mr. Banner—”
“Joe,” he said, low and husky. “Please, call me Joe.”
She cleared her throat. “Joe.”
He smiled, and her heart leaped.
“I’m glad Maisie’s safe,” she murmured. “But who could have done this? The man Maisie described isn’t Barrister. Barrister is a small and wiry man like George was.”
“Just because Barrister didn’t physically take her from her room doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved,” he said darkly. “He isn’t the type to dirty his hands when he has the means to pay or bribe someone else to do it.”
She frowned. “You really don’t like him, do you?”
“No.” His jaw bunched. “I really don’t. I only wish I’d warned you about him before he showed up here waving a pistol.”
He stared into his drink.
“You know what I still don’t understand?” she said. “Why Reba never barked. I thought of that later, after you and the sheriff ran off into the tunnel. How Bayou was barking, and it made me wonder why Reba hadn’t. It suggests that whoever took Maisie, Reba knew them—”
“Not necessarily,” he said. “Reba’s deaf. She doesn’t bark.”
“What?” She frowned. “Deaf? But...all this time?”
“Since my parents showed up here with her for Maisie’s third birthday,” he confirmed. “They thought it would be good for her to have a dog that wasn’t like other dogs, like she—” He cleared his throat.
“Like she’s not like most other children,” she finished in a whisper. “Because she’s exceptional,” she added with a smile. “Just as Reba is an exceptional dog. Now it makes sense why she never leaves Maisie’s side. Or barks. And why you and Maisie always use hand signals with her.”
He nodded, and she sighed.
“What other secrets have you kept from me, Mr. Banner?”
“Reba’s deafness isn’t exactly a secret.”
“You never mentioned it.”
“Did it make a difference?”
“In what?” She frowned. “You mean, would I have thought differently, or less of the dog, had I known she was deaf?”
“I mean,” he said, “her deafness has no bearing on what she means to Maisie. Or to me. She’s well-behaved, and she makes Maisie happy. That’s all that’s ever mattered. That Maisie is happy.”
“You’re right.” She smiled, and looked over at the sleeping child and dog. “That is all that matters.”
“But there is something else I should have told you,” he said quietly. “Right from the start.”
She looked at him, and the cosy feeling the recent hour had
instilled in her evaporated in a flush of trepidation. “What now?” she muttered. “What other awful thing don’t I know about this place or the people around here?”
He glanced at the bed before tilting his head towards the terrace doors.
“Out there,” he whispered. “Let’s talk out there.”
JOE GAVE THE WHISKY glasses to Mrs. Sweeney to carry while he grabbed the bottle, and then a folded blanket off the foot of the bed.
Mrs. Sweeney preceded him outside. After replacing the insect netting, he eased the terrace door closed but left it open a half inch in case Maisie awoke and called out.
Mrs. Sweeney was at the railing. Joining her, he set the bottle down to drape the blanket over her shoulders before refilling their drinks. He slid hers closer to her and picked up his to regard the moonlit darkness.
“Did George ever mention the name, Simone Villeneuve, to you?” he asked.
“I...don’t recall that name, no. Why?”
In his peripheral vision, he noted her questioning glance, but he kept his gaze forward, fixed on the distant darkness.
“She was someone he and I spent a great deal of time with together,” he said. “When George still lived here. She was wild, and vivacious, beautiful, curious...everything George and I weren’t. We were fascinated by her, but it was George who fascinated her.”
“George?” She twisted bodily to face him, causing the blanket to slide off her near shoulder. He lifted it back into place. “What do you mean about George?” she demanded.
“He courted Simone until his father ran her off.”
“Ran her off?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Offered her five thousand dollars to leave Quellentown and forget George. Promised to pay off her aunt’s mortgage, too, if she went. If she didn’t, he promised to disinherit George and call in her aunt’s mortgage—Cyril was one of the major lenders in this area, and he owned the title on Willa Williams’s house. Simone was poor. Her aunt was too, and getting on in years. She’d worked her fingers to the bone, first raising her own children and then Simone and her siblings after their parents died. So...Simone came to me. Told me she was leaving town on the morning train, and she asked me to give George a note she’d written, but not until the next evening so he couldn’t stop her. She was distraught, but I couldn’t dissuade her from going. She’d made up her mind to do what she thought was best for the people she loved.” He sipped some whisky to smooth the hoarse rasp in his voice.
“I managed to convince her to stay with me that night on the promise that I’d get her to the train first thing,” he continued. “She fell asleep in my bed, and I stayed up all night to ensure I didn’t break my promise. Before first light, I went out to the stables and asked that two horses be saddled and brought to the cottage. Then I went back and woke Simone. What we didn’t know when we rode out was that George was awake in his room, working on some drawings. He looked out and saw Simone and I mount up and ride out.”
“Oh, no,” she murmured.
“Yes.” He nodded. “When I got back to Sugar Hill, George confronted me. He knew I had a sweet spot for Simone, and he accused me of betraying him. Of trying to steal his fiancée—”
“Fiancée?” Mrs. Sweeney gasped out. “They were engaged?”
“I didn’t know it when she left, but yes. George had apparently proposed to her, and she’d accepted. He’d returned home and told his father. They argued. George told Cyril he could disinherit him all he wanted, and then went up to bed. That was when Cyril went and bought off Simone.”
She drew the blanket more firmly around her shoulders. “But why was he so dead set against her? Because she was poor?”
“No. Because her maternal grandfather had been mulatto. Son of a black slave mother and a white owner father. You wouldn’t know it to look at her, red hair and turquoise-green eyes, but Cyril knew she wasn’t of pure blood, and he wasn’t going to risk a throwback tainting his line.”
“A throwback?” She scowled. “I am so glad I never had the misfortune to meet that man.”
“I doubt you’d have liked him much,” he agreed.
“From what I’ve learned, I can guarantee you I wouldn’t have liked him. At all.” She exhaled. “What was the other reason this Simone left?”
“Other reason?”
“Yes. You said that she told you only part of the reason why she was leaving, which implies there’s another part to it.”
She was far too intelligent for his good.
Lifting his glass to his mouth, he drained the contents before casting a look through the terrace doors.
Maisie had to rolled to her side so she was facing the window. Her eyes were closed, her mouth partly open, and her small face relaxed in sleep. Reba was curled behind her knees, resting her snout on Maisie’s hip.
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “There was another part to Simone’s leaving.”
Chapter 38
Affirming
MR. BANNER’S FREQUENT checks on Maisie touched Margaret’s heart. Thank heaven she’d been found safely...and slept so soundly, given the startling direction of their conversation.
She would have accepted Mr. Banner’s posit of Barrister as suspect and villain in Maisie’s disappearance, before she would have ever guessed that George had been engaged to another woman prior to her.
Had she ever really known George at all, even the slightest?
“I apologise for not mentioning Simone sooner,” he said. “But when you first got here, I thought you knew—”
“Please, Mr. Banner.” She shook her head. “Don’t apologise. I did not know of her, but it is George who should have told me. A long time ago. When we were courting, for heaven’s sake. But I suppose this is just another in a long list of omissions he left me with, so...” She smiled. “Thank you for being honest. And for all else you’ve done to help thus far. If not for you and Miss Alma, I’m not sure how I’d have gotten on, ignorant of so many facts about my late husband and this place, as well as the people who live around here.”
Pain radiated through her when he shot a guilty glance at Maisie.
“It’s all right.” She let the blanket slip from her shoulders to touch his chin and bring his gaze back to her. “Whatever this Simone’s reasons for leaving George, they don’t matter now. He’s dead, and I’ll not burden you with more of his issues. It’s not your job. Maisie is your priority. But if the last few days have reminded me of anything, it’s how short and precious life is. Too short to lie to oneself. Too short to lie to anyone else. So if you’ve already accepted a job elsewhere, I understand, though I do have a proposition I hope you’ll consider—”
“I haven’t—”
“Please,” she said before he could deny or confirm that he’d taken another job. She needed him to hear her plan before he shared any plans of his own, especially if it was to confirm he’d gone job hunting the last week. “I found the lease agreement you had with George, and I want you to know that I intend to honour it. I’m going to have a new cottage built where the old one stood, for you and Maisie to live in. For all your lives, should you wish. Sugar Hill is the only home she’s ever known, and I know you love it here. You two belong here, but...” She inhaled, and thrust out the next words before she could second-guess herself. “I don’t. And that is why I’ve decided to return to England. I have friends there, and I know how to get along—”
“No.” He shook his head. “This is your home. George gave it to you—”
“I’m lonely, Mr. Banner,” she said. “And I believe you are, too. But we both deserve to not be alone. We deserve to be happy. And I think you can agree that we would each find it difficult to attain that here, after all that’s happened between us. So now that my ownership of Sugar Hill is no longer in question—”
“It’s not?” He frowned. “Why? Did Barrister finally give up his fraudulent claim?”
“No.” She lifted her chin. “Judge Fairview ruled in my favour. It’s all very legal. Sugar Hill is full
y mine. So I get to choose what happens with it, and I’ve decided—"
“Whatever it is you think you’ve decided...” He put his drink on the rail and then took hers and set it aside to grasp her hands. “You can’t leave—”
“Please, Mr. Banner.” She slipped free of his hold and fisting her hands, held them close to her body. “Don’t make this harder than it is. This is the best thing for me and for you—”
“But—”
“It’s all right,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You don’t need to try to assuage my feelings. I’m fine. Or I will be. In time. You’ve been nothing but fair and honest and truthful about your and Maisie’s needs from the outset. It’s me who chose to ignore the warnings you offered—”
“I love you.”
She blinked, uncertain if she’d heard correctly or if the hoarse, near-choked declaration she’d heard was a manifestation of her very active, over-hopeful mind.
Then he raised his hands to her face and, holding her fast, looked into her eyes. “I love you, Margaret Sweeney,” he rasped. “I think I’ve loved you almost from that first day, when you understood Maisie. Understood her needs, her limitations, and without asking or being told, encouraged her to trace your face, let her know you in a way you let very few people know you.”
He skimmed a thumb over the crest of her cheekbone.
“I fell in love with you again when you wept for poor Rose, and again when you put Barrister and Esther Griffiths in their place. Every day, every moment I’ve spent with you as you learned your way around here, asserted your purpose and will... Your kindness. Your integrity. Your passion and desire to make Sugar Hill and everyone on it, including me, better.” He bowed his forehead to hers. “I can’t imagine my life without you. I can’t imagine Maisie’s life without you. We need you, but—”
But?
Her ribcage creaked with the strain of holding her breath while her legs quivered with the effort of holding herself on tiptoe, afraid to speak or move—not for fear he wouldn’t finish the sentence, but for fear he would.
My One True Love Page 35
