Speak Easy Speak Danger

by Sharon G Clark

  She took a step back again, taking one of Fiona’s hands in hers, and bumped into the workbench. Margaret turned toward the items on top, making sure she hadn’t damaged anything. When her gaze fell on the music boxes, she picked up a finished one, the intricate carvings of Celtic design. “When did you start making these?” she asked. “They’re gorgeous, but I don’t remember you creating anything this small in previous woodworking ventures.”

  Fiona blushed, focused on the box Margaret held. When her eyes clouded, she cleared her throat, while balling her fingers into fists, Margaret realized the inquiry brought on a painful memory. Fiona suffered so much already. Margaret felt guilty for bringing her wife more discomfort. “Sorry, honey. You don’t have to answer.”

  Sucking in a shuddering breath, Fiona said, “My mother’s necklace used to rest every evening in a music box her mother gave her. She cherished that music box. It was the only personal possession, other than the pearl necklace, my mother owned.”

  “Was it lost in the fire that took your mother and brother?”

  Fiona nodded. “Yes. I’d have lost the necklace too, but Quinn had that in his pocket at the time of the fire. He intended to pawn it.” Margaret nearly growled at the name.

  Quinn was Fiona’s father, even if he also used to be the scum of the earth. Luckily for everyone, he no longer breathed. He’d been killed in Boston by a small group of women devoted to Fiona. Quinn had watched while Jimmy Bennett shot, beat, and savagely raped his daughter, claiming it the only way to show her how to be a normal woman and man-loving. His murder was a secret Margaret would harbor with her dying breath. Not because he hadn’t deserved it, but for her part—her lack of intervention—in his demise. She had remained hidden away from sight while Fiona’s friends beat him, while one of the women had delivered the blow that subsequently killed him.

  “The music boxes are the only work I feel safe doing when blind.”

  “But how? These are much too incredible.” Fiona chuckled. “That came out as an unintended insult. I would never insult you.”

  “I believe you, sweetheart, no offense taken.” Fiona leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Margaret wrapped her in a tight hug. “They surprised me too,” Fiona said, her breath warm against Margaret’s ear. “Had a carving tool in my hand when one of the episodes hit. At first, as usual,” she said, giving a self-deprecating laugh, “I panicked. Then, I carefully used my tool and the wood, feeling the carvings with my fingers and thumb. It soothed me some, to be doing something productive, especially should anyone find me while blind. They’d believe me lost in thought, rather than darkness. When I remembered my mother’s box, I concentrated my focus on picturing it.”

  She snorted. “Jo saw the work and told me it looked great, except for the splotches of blood, which I should refrain from adding to any future projects. Later, we cut up a bunch of soft-wood pieces, and I keep them close by to calm me during the episodes. I have at least one thing I can continue to do if I’m rendered entirely blind.”

  As always, Fiona’s resiliency and determination impressed Margaret. One point nagged at her. “Honey, how often are you having these blinding episodes?”

  Fiona pulled away. “Margaret—”

  “Please, Fiona, honesty. Don’t I have a right to know?”

  A fresh flow of tears fell from Fiona’s eyes. “Yes, of course, you do. And I intended to tell you. I just needed to wait to make certain.”

  Margaret got a flash of understanding. Fiona had wanted to come to her with not only the problem but with a credible solution. “You needed to find something you could do in the events of your blindness, to relieve us of your perceived burden on us.” Fiona couldn’t lose the one thing identifying her as a woman of means, a livelihood which had become her banner of a supportive member of the family, of society. “Well, honey,” she said, clasping Fiona’s hands in hers. “I wish it hadn’t taken so long, or that you hadn’t felt you couldn’t come to me without the solution, but I understand.”

  Her steady, strong wife crinkled her nose. “Do you understand enough not to be too angry with me?”

  It had been a while since the playful side of Fiona made itself known in Margaret’s presence. She’d missed it, unaware how much until this moment. Fiona had always been her support, the indefatigable foundation in the storm. How many other troubles had Fiona weathered on her own? Had Margaret been so wrapped in her job and comfort with their life together, she’d missed moments Fiona needed her? Had their marriage, their partnership, really turned into give-and-take—her taking while Fiona gave? “I couldn’t be angry with you, Fiona. At least not for long. But maybe you should be angry with me?”

  “Whatever for?” Fiona asked, brow knitted in confusion.

  “For not holding up my end of this marriage. I should’ve seen the signs broadcasting that all was not right with you. I should’ve pressed for answers sooner. Have I failed you too badly, irreparably?”

  Fiona shook her head vehemently. “You could never fail me. You are my everything, Margaret. Without you, I would have given up long ago. You keep my nightmares at bay. Keep my heart full.” Fresh tears flowed from her caramel-colored eyes, and she took a ragged breath. Margaret worried how long Fiona had kept these emotions bottled up. “I’m nothing without you and everything when with you. I love you.”

  The honest conviction in Fiona’s words had Margaret crying, and she pressed her face against Fiona’s. “Oh, my dearest Fiona. I love you, too—more with each beat of my heart. You needn’t keep things from me. I’m here for you in good or bad. Nothing will ever change these feelings for me. It is you who inspires every breath I take.”

  Fiona gave her a crooked grin and a watery chuckle. “We better stop this.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Let’s just say, if we get any sappier, Jo will have to pry us from the floorboards.”

  The visual made Margaret chuckle. “You might be correct.” Margaret brushed tears from Fiona’s cheeks with the pad of her thumb. Fiona returned the favor. “Sappy or not, every word is true. You believe me, right?” Fiona nodded. “Good, because I don’t think it’s appropriate to start proving it by making love to you in the woodshop.”

  In a teasing tone, Fiona asked, “Not a fan of wood chips stuck to your bum as I take you here on the bench?”

  Matching her tone, Margaret said, “If you remove them with your teeth, it could have some merit.” Margaret had to laugh at the look of surprise on Fiona’s tear-stained and flushed face. “And that, my beloved Fiona, is why I’ll always and only love you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was an average mid-May early evening, not too warm, and even boasted a slight breeze. Not as windy as most. Excited about tonight’s dinner with Tessa, Jo’s nerves had her stomach in knots. Please don’t be sick, please don’t be sick, she silently chanted. Her heart hammered in her chest as she knocked on the downstairs door of the outer stairwell. Jo hoped the knock was loud enough to hear, not so loud as to startle Tessa.

  In her hand, Jo held the gift for Tessa, a thank-you-for-dinner, and welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift. Though customary to bring sweets or flowers, she wanted this to be special and hoped it would be. She had agonized over what to bring until finally enlisting Margaret’s help.

  Jo found Margaret in the workshop with Fiona, both an emotional mess. Fiona must’ve finally told her about the illness. Jo hadn’t expected this scene, or she wouldn’t have announced her presence by shouting, “Hey, I’m stuck and need help,” as she walked through the open door. She spun around to return them to their privacy.

  “Don’t go, Jo,” Margaret said. Reluctantly, she twisted around. Poised to apologize, Jo swallowed the redress when Margaret shook her head. There would be no apology or questions. “What are you stuck with?”

  “When you go to your girl's place, cause she’s making you dinner, you bring a gift, right?” Jo shoved her hands in her pockets. “I don’t know what
to bring, but I wanted something special, not just what anyone else would bring.”

  “Aw, sweetie.” Fiona shook her head and chortled. “You have it bad.”

  Margaret smiled and bumped a shoulder into Fiona’s. Silent rebuke to stop teasing. “Quite the quandary.”

  Jo rolled her eyes. “That’s what I said, and why I’m asking you for help. I want Tessa to know I’m serious—short of proposing—and still show her she’s special.”

  Fiona picked up one of the finished music boxes from the bench beside her. The box had carvings of Celtic design, Fiona’s mother’s favorite. Jo had placed the inner workings inside the box just this morning. “It’s nothing fancy, but it might be a nice housewarming gift, and thank you. Different enough gift, I think, while still making your intentions clear.”

  Jo’s eyes widened. “But, Fiona, you worked so hard on it.”

  “Not that hard.” Fiona shrugged. Margaret took the music box from Fiona and placed it in Jo’s hands. “Tessa will appreciate you see her as an individual worthy of something unique.” Margaret tapped a finger under Jo’s chin. “Unique and special, just like you are.”

  She wanted to cry, her heart filled with the love of and from these two women. Jo had never felt less-than with Margaret and Fiona. Hoping to interject a bit of levity to break the earlier emotional tension, and the emotions she felt now, Jo said, “Thank you both. But if she accepts this and believes we’re engaged, it’s all on you two.” Jo wouldn’t mind at all if Tessa reached that conclusion.

  The door opened, and Tessa stood before her in a pink shirtwaist with puffy sleeves at the shoulders and long gray skirt with pink pinstripes. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun, a ringlet of hair on either side of the temples. She was breathtaking. “Jo, come on up,” Tessa said, turned and then rushed upstairs, saying over her shoulder, “I don’t want to leave the food unattended too long.”

  “Hasn’t Warren arrived yet?” Jo asked.

  Tessa laughed. “Warren is never on time, always between five and ten minutes late. Probably afraid he’d get wrangled into helping set the table or something.” In the apartment, soft, instrumental music played on the radio, a delicious aroma wafted in the air, and tapered candles burned on a table neatly set for three. “I hope his bad habit doesn’t interfere with your timetable for the evening.”

  “No, no timetable here,” Jo said. Tessa moved into the small kitchen area, and Jo closed the upstairs door and followed her. A quick peek in the oven, and Tessa turned toward her. Hands shaking, Jo extended the butcher paper wrapped present. “Um… Thank you for inviting me to dinner.” Tessa took her offering with wide eyes.

  “Jo, you didn’t have to bring anything. I’m excited you’re here. That was enough for me.” Tessa blushed. “I’m just sorry we had to include my brother.”

  Jo stepped closer and brushed a kiss across Tessa’s lips. “Me too, but there will be other nights—solitary ones—for the two of us, I hope.”

  “As do I,” Tessa said. “May I open it now?” Jo nodded. Tessa removed the ribbon (Brigid’s donation) and carefully removed the paper. When her eyes glistened with the prelude to tears, Jo panicked. Had this not been the right thing to bring? Tessa ran a finger across the carvings and slowly raised the lid. The soft, tinkling tones of Beautiful Dreamer broke the silence. Jo was about to apologize and offer to bring whatever Tessa wanted as a replacement. Tessa, music box clutched in her hand, and launched a hug at Jo. Whispering in her ear, “This is the most precious gift I’ve ever received in my entire life.”

  Jo sent a silent prayer to the heavens. She’d give a verbal one to Fiona and Margaret later. “Your life is young, yet, which gives me plenty of chances to do better.”

  Tessa pulled away, blushing. “You’re younger than I am, Jo. A prettier girl will catch your eye before long.”

  Yes, she may be young, but sometimes it felt like she’d already lived a thousand lifetimes. Moreover, how could Tessa doubt her attractiveness? “Don’t know what you have and haven’t been told before now, but believe me when I tell you that you are beautiful to me.” Jo leaned in and gently kissed her lips, placed another on the spot just behind her jaw, and below her ear. “And irresistible.” Jo felt Tessa shiver. She could have gone in for another deeper kiss but heard the turning of the doorknob.

  “I’m putting bells on all the doors,” Tessa grumbled softly, pulling out of their embrace and placed the music box on the counter.

  “I could change the locks for you,” Jo offered quietly.

  Warren walked in, scowling as if this was the last place he wanted to be. He could’ve canceled, Jo thought bitterly.

  “When do we eat?” he asked, stomping to the table and blowing out the candles. “That’s a foolish waste.” He plopped into a chair.

  If she didn’t believe it would upset Tessa, Jo would berate him for his rudeness and lack of manners. He didn’t acknowledge the effort Tessa put into this evening, he criticized her attempts for atmosphere, and no brotherly hug or kiss. She couldn’t remember a time she came or went from the house that someone present within didn’t verbally or physically acknowledge her. It must be standard for the Langford’s because Tessa turned her attention back to the meal preparation. Warren sat impatiently at the table, drumming his fingers.

  “Anything I can do to help?” she asked, moving closer to Tessa.

  Tessa blinked rapidly. Was she surprised by the offer? “No, thank you. Have a seat at the table, and I’ll be right there.” Jo sat across from Warren warily. “Here we go,” Tessa said. She placed a serving platter in the middle of the table. On it was a beautiful steaming roast Tessa had thinly cut, surrounded by potatoes, pearl onions, and carrots. The divine smell, when she entered the apartment, was proving better this close. Then, Tessa retrieved the gravy bowl.

  “If it tastes half as good as it smells, I’ll be in heaven,” she said to Tessa. Again, rapid blinking from Tessa. “I appreciate the invitation and the effort you made for this meal tonight.”

  Warren snickered. “Laying it on thick, aren’t you?” Jo stared at him. “She needs to eat, so how hard is it to make more? You haven’t tasted it, so complimenting her now is pointless. She wouldn’t have invited you if she didn’t like you. Not that I haven’t tried to discourage the ridiculous behavior of what you both call a ‘friendship.’”

  “Warren,” Tessa said sharply.

  “It’s okay, Tessa,” Jo said. She glared at Warren. “I’m curious, is it only me, my entire family, or anyone who breaths that you dislike so much? What reason could you possibly have since you barely know me, or the rest of us?”

  “Don’t need a reason.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you do. Although gauging from the loutish way you treat your sister, I’m not at all surprised.” Tessa sat at the table, slow and silent, and picked up plates and filled them. Maybe it was best to have a silent meal anyway.

  Silent and strained is what transpired. The only sound came from the clicking of utensils on plates and against teeth, the sounds of chewing and swallowing. Jo fought the urge to toss Warren out on his ass but didn’t wish more strain on Tessa. The meal tonight meant a lot to Tessa, and he purposely made it uncomfortable for her, his flesh-and-blood. Despite the tension making swallowing difficult, Jo ate her fill, not in solidarity to the cook, but because the food truly tasted as wonderful as her baking. Jo made sure to tell her so, with an accompanying squeeze to Tessa’s hand.

  “Shit. Give it a rest,” Warren snapped, pushing his chair from the table. “It’s bad enough she has these…these…tendencies toward disgusting liaisons, doesn’t mean I have to suffer through it.”

  Jo grit her teeth to control an outburst. “We haven’t done anything for you to suffer through, Warren. This wonder meal doesn’t fall near the realm of disgusting liaisons.”

  “What the hell? ‘Course you have, all the dumb compliments, handholding.” He paused, a glint in his eyes. “How ‘bout the candles?”
>
  “You’re angry, Warren,” Tessa said softly, “because you saw us kissing yesterday. There is no other reason for your extra hostility.”

  “This isn’t supposed to happen to my sister. Why can’t you just like men? It’s unnatural.”

  “It’s not like we’re flaunting ourselves in public. But it’s the way I am and natural to me. I can’t change me, even for you.”

  Warren snarled and faced Tessa. “Fine, but why her? Did you know the Cavanaugh’s left Boston to run away from trouble with gangsters?”

  The statement startled Jo. She stood from the table, picked up the platter to take to the kitchen counter. Jo hoped to control her temper, knowing she would explode soon. With her back to them, Jo said, “We left for a new life, not because of gangsters.” She spun around, extending arms behind her to grasp the counters’ edge to ground herself.

  “Really? I heard that’s how your sister got her disfiguring scars. What went on in Boston? Why the need to change your name, Sunny?”

  Tessa inhaled sharply.

  The comment rattled Jo, but she didn’t want him to know. She shook her head and plastered on a tight, strained grin instead. “Fiona isn’t disfigured. Only an ass would look at her and see just scars. Whoever gave you your information is gravely mistaken.”

  Tessa rose from her chair and glowered down at him. “Enough, Warren. You're hurtful on purpose.”

  “Ethel told me. But only after Brigid told her,” Warren said, a smug expression on his face.

  Confused about why Brigid would do such a thing, panicked about how much Brigid may have shared—about all of them—Jo’s attention locked on one minor and inconsequential point. What purpose or opportunity provoked Ethel to tell Warren these things?

  Warren crossed his arms over his chest. “If you plan to continue this debauchery of my sister, I believe I have a right to know about the people in her life.”