A Touch of Frost

by Jo Goodman

  “He probably can.” He started to reach over to take Phoebe’s reins when the descent steepened, but he stopped and withdrew his arm when he saw how well she was handling the mare. She was good on her own. “When you say you hope she’ll tell it all, is there something more than we’ve discussed that she should be saying?”

  “You know there is.”

  “So this secret that isn’t yours to reveal and isn’t mine to say actually belongs to Fiona. Is that right?”

  Phoebe nodded. “Yes. It’s hers.”

  “Can we assume that she’s already told Thaddeus and that you’re free to tell me?”

  “I suppose we can assume anything, but that doesn’t make it true.”

  “Let’s call it a premise.”

  “Dress it up, you mean.”

  “Sure. Let’s dress it up, take it out, and see how it does at a social.” He pointed to her and then to himself. “You and me. We are the social.”

  Phoebe did not answer immediately and Remington did not press, which in the end was what tipped the scales in favor of speaking. “I won’t be shocked if you’ve known all along, or at least suspected for some time, but it really hasn’t been for me to say. You asked not long after I met you about the difference in our ages, mine and Fiona’s. I never say exactly. Fiona’s sensitive, you understand. It’s because of her work, and she thinks it is more important to be young than old. The truth is that she is young, and I make her feel old. There were fourteen years between us when I was born, which means she was thirteen when she conceived me. Do you understand?” Phoebe did not wait for him to answer. “Fiona is my mother I’ve never had.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Remington turned Phoebe’s words over in his mind. She had said them with precision and she meant for them to be taken precisely. Fiona is my mother I’ve never had. Not the mother, but my mother.

  “I don’t know what to say, Phoebe.”

  “It’s all right.” Her smile was rueful. “I don’t know myself. She doesn’t forbid me to say so. At least she’s never made me take a blood oath.”

  “Phoebe.” He said her name as a gentle admonishment, but then he imagined that flippancy guarded her heart. “Never mind. Say whatever you like.”

  “No, you’re right to reproach me. I’m too hard on her; I think I always have been.”

  “I did not say that.”

  Phoebe went on as if she hadn’t heard. “I follow her lead. That’s more or less what she expects. When the mood suits her, I am her daughter. And when there are other considerations, such as a new suitor, especially one with deep pockets, then I am her sister. My task is to keep it straight in my mind.”

  “What about the people around you? Members of your company? They must know the truth.”

  “They do. Many of them helped raise me, especially after my grandmother died. I was still an infant when she passed, and by everyone’s account, she had as little interest in raising me as Fiona. To her I was an inconvenience. To Fiona I was a doll.”

  “People told you that?”

  “No, not to my face. No one was that heartless. I learned it just the same. A conversation overheard here and there, and as I got older, I saw things that confirmed it.” She shrugged carelessly. “But to your question . . . yes, they knew, and they went along. It was practical. Fiona was younger than I am now the first time she told someone I was her sister, and she was already a lead performer, much admired and sought after. The troupe supported her story by remaining quiet, and in return, she showed her generous appreciation.”

  “But you always knew you were her daughter?”

  “Yes. It was more difficult to understand what that meant. When I look back on the years before she began introducing me as her sister, I think I was not as much a daughter to her as an afterthought.”

  “What about your grandfather? Was he still alive when you were born?”

  “Yes, but I never met him, at least not that I remember. Fiona says he was there when she buried her mother, but he had moved on, found work elsewhere. He left when he learned Fiona was pregnant. She says he was deeply ashamed.” Phoebe’s slim smile was both ironic and rueful. “I know, given that he was hardly a father to her, it seems hypocritical, but I suppose everyone draws a line for themselves somewhere. That was my grandfather’s.”

  Remington glanced Phoebe’s way again. She was gripping the reins too tightly. Her knuckles were white. He did not comment or correct her. Mrs. McCauley would eventually do that. “There’s no way to ask this, Phoebe, except straight out. May I do that?”

  “He’s not my father, Remington.”

  He was caught off guard when she answered the question he hadn’t asked. “What?”

  “That was what you wanted to know, wasn’t it? Is my grandfather my father? He’s not. I asked Fiona once.” She touched the left side of her face. “She slapped me. Right here. I swear to you I can still feel the imprint of her palm on my cheek.” She lowered her hand and took up the reins, holding them more loosely this time. “Fiona won’t tell me my father’s name. I think that’s because he still works in the theater district. A director perhaps. Possibly a producer.”

  “It was rape?”

  “I think so, but she’s never said. You might expect that when it happened to me, she would have confided, but she never did. She was only thirteen, so even if she was an outrageous flirt, or an ingénue with her eye out for a better chance, someone took advantage. A man took advantage.”

  “Jesus,” he said under his breath. “Fiona.”

  “Don’t pity her, Remington. She’ll sniff it out and dislike you the more for it.”

  “Compassion. Not pity.”

  “I know. It’s hard to spend time in the shoes she lives in. She was tired, Remington. I know that now. Fiona wanted out. She wanted away. She may not have realized it until she met Thaddeus, but once met, he became her whole world. I’m sure of it. I was there. I watched it happen. She loves him, Remington, but she’s lost here, and if a few days and nights in Liberty Junction aren’t enough to help her find her place, she’ll go back to what is familiar. It will be without me. She doesn’t need me to do what’s best for her. She never has.”

  “Pity, Phoebe?”

  She laughed a little unevenly. “Self-pity.”

  “Good to know you’re not above it.”

  This time when she laughed, it was with genuine amusement. “This is why you’re good for me, Remington Frost. You have a gift for not allowing me to take myself too seriously.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But it doesn’t mean that I don’t take you seriously. You have a way of getting me to see things differently, and I appreciate the view even if I don’t always agree with it. I’d say we’re good for each other, but to be honest, I’d feel a mite better if you’d seriously nail down that wedding date.”

  • • •

  Jackson Brewer carried his coffee to the parlor’s wide armchair and made himself comfortable. Remington closed the pocket doors and then sat beside Phoebe on the sofa and took the cup she offered him.

  “It’s disappointing that Thaddeus and Fiona aren’t here, not for them, I’m sure, but for me. And they missed an excellent meal. Ellie sets as fine a table as my wife, and that’s saying something.” He waved away the comment he saw Remington was about to make. “Enough of that. We’re here for business. Miss Apple? Are you certain you want to be here?”

  “Phoebe, please. And yes, I am. Remington asked me, but I would be here without an invitation.”

  The edges of Brewer’s mouth turned up. “Very well. Remington’s told you everything?”

  “I believe he has.”

  “I have,” said Remington. “And Phoebe’s given me something to think about.” He related the conversation and Phoebe’s glib, but insightful, remark that the no chin feature was like a brand. “She’s right, you know. So I was con
sidering her idea of rounding up the clan and cutting out the no chins from the rest of them, and it occurred to me that some kind of family reunion might give us an opportunity to muster the herd.”

  Brewer listened, thoughtful, and when Remington was done, his gaze moved to Phoebe. “Mustering the herd? That’s all you?”

  “I said it, but Remington’s the one who realized it could be important.”

  Remington objected. “She’s being modest. So what do you think?”

  “I think there’s more merit in it than any of the things I was considering on my way out. Frankly, I wasn’t sure where to begin. Have you spoken to Les?”

  “No. Wasn’t sure if I should. I trust him, but family’s family, and the Brownlee clan has considerable sprawl.”

  Phoebe said, “I’ll talk to him.”

  “You?” asked Brewer. “Why?”

  “Because nothing about the conversation I’ll have with him will make him suspicious. I regularly make a nuisance of myself asking questions. Mostly it’s about what the men are doing, how it’s done, why it’s done, what happens if it’s not done. But I’m interested in other things, too. Where they’ve lived. If they have a sweetheart. I’ve asked about family. Les Brownlee is shyer than the rest of them. Most of the time he ducks out of the way if he sees me coming, but I’ve talked to him on occasion. Never about family, though. It’d be a new conversation. I can do that.”

  “And what about this reunion idea? Do you think you can get him interested in that?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to think on whether that’s the best approach. Don’t worry. Something will occur to me.

  Brewer and Remington exchanged significant looks and then nodded in unison.

  “All right,” said Remington. “You talk to Les and we’ll see what happens.”

  Brewer said, “I reckon you’re clever enough to talk a bear out of his honeycomb. Les Brownlee should be no kind of problem for you.” He appreciated that Phoebe beamed at the compliment, but he couldn’t help noticing that Remington beamed a little brighter.

  • • •

  The door to Phoebe’s bedroom opened with a theatrical flourish. Phoebe wished the covers were still over her head, but her very fine dream had come to an abrupt end when she heard the light footfalls hurrying down the hallway toward her.

  She pushed herself up on her elbows in time to see Fiona all but burst into the room. Oddly enough, the first thing she noticed was the change in Fiona’s shape. Gone were the fashionable and torturous curves that Fiona affected compliments of an S-shaped corset that emphasized breasts and bottom and a fourteen-inch waist. Fiona’s rush to greet her had left her slightly breathless, but at least she looked as if she could breathe.

  Phoebe had never done it before, and she could not say why she did it now, except that it seemed that she should, and that it seemed that she always should. She pushed herself up the rest of the way and opened her arms. It was gratifying to see that Fiona didn’t hesitate to rush forward and fill them.

  Phoebe’s head banged the headboard when Fiona bowled her over. She expelled a lungful of air, part groan, part laughter. “Wait. Fiona. Let me sit up.”

  “Oh, yes. Do. Do sit up.” Fiona grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her up as she straightened. “Are you all right?” She searched Phoebe’s face. “You are. Of course you are. And do you know what? So am I. I told him, Phoebe. I told him everything.” She gave Phoebe’s shoulders a small shake. “That’s what he did to me. Shook me. A lot harder than I’m shaking you. Shook me loose of all of it.” She dropped her hands and put one in each of Phoebe’s. “He was so angry at first. So angry but so full of love that it hurt my heart to look at him. And my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth. It’s hard to talk to a man when he’s like that, like he wants to throttle you and kiss you senseless at the same time. So he shook me and it all tumbled out like dice on a craps table, and it wasn’t any prettier than that sounds, but it needed to be said.”

  Tears spilled past Fiona’s lashes in spite of her effort to blink them back. She did not try to brush them away. Instead, she squeezed Phoebe’s hands even tighter. “Thaddeus told me you knew that, and that it was your idea for him to take me away from here. We had a suite at the Boxwood. Plenty of room for pacing and carrying on and making up and carrying on some more. Did you suggest that, too?”

  Phoebe opened her mouth to say she had not suggested an actual room, but Fiona was going on again. “And there was a young scoundrel there who had the temerity to lock us in our suite until, he said, we could conduct a conversation that could not be overheard in the dining room. Naturally I explained to him that I had experience on the stage and knew how to project my voice, and that Thaddeus had a holler that could give rise to a stampede, but he was unmoved.”

  “You didn’t say that.”

  Fiona shrugged. “Very nearly did, but we were locked in by the time I thought of it and he was already walking away. And wasn’t he just whistling to himself?” She added in confidential tones, “I think Thaddeus might have paid him to do what he did, and something about it struck me as romantic.”

  “I’m imagining it.” Phoebe slipped one hand out of Fiona’s clutch and used a corner of a sheet to erase her tears. “Your nose is red.”

  “Is it?”

  Phoebe thought she seemed unconcerned. “And your complexion is a tad blotchy.”

  Fiona sniffed. There was nothing elegant or haughty about it. “It can’t be helped, I suppose.”

  “I used to think differently.” Phoebe finished dabbing at Fiona’s face and dropped the sheet. “So Thaddeus didn’t leave you in Liberty Junction. He brought you back. Imagine that.”

  Fiona nodded and sighed happily. “He did. Nothing’s changed and everything’s changed. He loves me. Best of all, he knows how to love me.”

  Phoebe pointed to herself. “You told him about me?”

  “Yes. He didn’t flinch. He suspected. He presented me with opportunities before to tell him the truth—the last time was the night you and Remington rode out to Thunder Point—but I threw them all back at him. I didn’t trust him. Not enough. You know why.”

  “Ellie.”

  “Yes.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and she glanced over her shoulder before she went on. “He says I’m wrong about Ben, but it’s not because he never slept with Ellie. He believes she would have told him if it were true, which I think is naïve of him, but I have made peace with it. He also said that she might not know the truth. Her husband reappeared around that time. Thaddeus thought she might leave with him, but it never happened. Then Mr. Madison died and there was no question but that she would stay. There has been nothing between them all these years.”

  “And you are satisfied with that?”

  “I am, mostly because of what else he said.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He is giving her notice, Phoebe. It’s because of the money. I told him about that, explained that I wanted to leave, and how she understood that without me ever telling her and offered me the means to go. Thaddeus was surprised, more than that, actually. I think he considered it a betrayal, so he is going to tell her to go. She will be well compensated, but he is firm that she will be leaving, and for everyone’s sake, it will be done quickly. I expect she will be gone tomorrow. You will help me manage, won’t you? It will only be for a few days until I can interview and hire a new housekeeper. I want someone who will help me, and help me learn, not shut me out.”

  Phoebe was too stunned to do anything but nod.

  “Good. I felt certain I could depend on you.”

  Phoebe found her voice. “What about Ben?”

  “Yes. Ben. Thaddeus does not want him to leave and I certainly would not ask Thad to force it. I like Ben. What he does will be his decision. That’s only right.” Fiona tilted her head as she studied Phoebe’s face. “What? What is it? You lo
ok worried.”

  “I am, but perhaps not as worried as you should be. I would think twice about eating anything Ellie prepares for you before she’s gone.” She patted the back of Fiona’s hand. “And no, Fiona, I won’t be your taster.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Ellie Madison sipped tea from a pansy-patterned china cup, but she returned the cup to its saucer when Natty Rahway joined her at the table. The restaurant in the Butterworth Hotel was largely empty in the middle of the day. She thought that perhaps she should have suggested a different time, but the truth was that no matter the time of day, someone would notice her speaking to this man, a stranger to everyone, because it was so far outside the normal course of things.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said. “I didn’t know if you would.”

  “I shouldn’t be here.” He removed his hat and laid it on the seat of the chair beside him. “But I was curious.”

  “I told Mr. Butterworth—he’s the owner—that I was being interviewed for a new position. Was that all right?”

  It was better than he hoped for when he decided to answer her summons. “It’s fine. You talk first.” He raised his hand, gestured to the girl hovering at another table as she talked up a cowboy, and asked for a beer when she came by. “What’s happened?” he asked when she was gone.

  “I was let go. After more than twenty years, Mr. Frost showed me the door. You’re the first person I’ve told the truth. It’s only been a few days, but people around here think Mrs. Frost and I couldn’t get along, which is more or less the way it was. I’m satisfied with folks assuming I left on my own terms, and Mr. Frost is never going to say any different. What I don’t like is anyone thinking his wife got the better of me.”

  “Ben?”

  “He’ll likely go on working at Twin Star. I have no plans to tell him what happened. He thinks the house got too crowded for me what with Mrs. Frost hovering and her sister always trying to be helpful. I took a room here for the time being. Mr. Frost was financially generous in his desire to see the last of me, so I can sort through what I want to do, where I want to go. I don’t see myself straying far, and I already have offers. One of them is here at the Butterworth.” She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Managing a hotel could not be much different than managing Twin Star.”