Siri Mitchell

by Unrivaled

  The clerk nodded and pulled it from the case, box and all.

  “But I don’t think—”

  “I’ve spent enough time as it is. Besides, I don’t think she’ll complain. There are five carats of diamonds in that ring.”

  What could I say? It was nice. And expensive. But was as unlike Lucy as Evelyn was.

  I walked around the store, looking into the cases, as Alfred paid for the ring. Lucy wasn’t going to wear it. She wouldn’t even like it. Shouldn’t he know that about her by now?

  What if—what if I told her I loved her?

  This wasn’t a contest. And if it were, then Alfred would win.

  Would win? He’d already won! They were getting married.

  And anyway, why would she want to marry a man like me?

  Because I knew her. I knew her in a way Alfred Arthur never had and never would. And I would never see another woman the way he’d been seeing Evelyn. I nearly laughed. Since when had I become such a choir boy? It’s true I wasn’t the man I used to be. Since coming to St. Louis, I’d become downright respectable.

  I’d never be able to make up to Micky Callahan for what I’d done. There was no one I could tell I was sorry. No matter how hard I tried, I’d never be able to make it better.

  Winnie’s words came back to me. “You’re not good enough and you never will be.”

  That was the truth.

  But what else was it she’d said?

  “It’s about God. So it doesn’t matter what you believe, does it? It’s not about you and how you believe you have to make things right.”

  I wish I’d listened to the preacher the past few weeks. Then maybe I’d understand what Winnie’d been trying to say.

  So what was it about?

  God. That’s what she’d kept saying. It was about God and what He’d done for me, not about what I was trying to do for myself.

  I was a coward and a rotten friend. I stood by and watched while a man was killed. I was doing it to save myself, but it turned out the joke was on me. All I’d done was realize I wasn’t worth saving.

  But what if Winnie was right? What if the problem wasn’t God? What if the problem was me? If that were true, then that was good news. I couldn’t hope to change the way the world worked, but maybe I could hope that He could change me.

  “You ready?”

  I jumped as Alfred clapped me on the shoulder. “Sure.”

  “You thinking of getting married yourself?”

  “What?”

  He pointed to the display case in front of me. It was filled with engagement rings. “I can tell you it’s a trying business.”

  “Don’t you like Lucy?”

  “I like her fine.”

  Fine? “If I were marrying a girl like her, I think I’d be feeling more than fine.”

  He shrugged as he stepped past me toward the door. “I proposed. I can’t back out now.”

  I hadn’t suggest that he should. But . . . “What if you could?”

  He paused and gave me a long searching look. And then he sighed. “I can’t. It’s not done. And even if it were . . . it wouldn’t be right . . . would it?”

  Confound loyalty and honor! But how could I tell him to do something that would only end up hurting her? “No. It wouldn’t.”

  He patted the box he’d put into his pocket. “Then the best thing to do is get it over and done with.”

  41

  It was the first of February, three weeks to the day of our wedding. I was trying hard not to think about it, but the note I held in my hand made it difficult. I couldn’t quite make sense of it.

  The maid who had handed it to me had already gone back to sweeping the front hall, but she straightened and paused for a moment. “Did you . . . want anything else, miss?”

  “Hmm? Oh. No. Nothing. Thank you.”

  The note was written on electricity company letterhead in a bold but regular hand.

  Meet me at Union Station. Leaving town on the 11:15 train for Memphis.

  AA

  Mr. Arthur had never sent me a note before. I hadn’t thought him the type of man to write love letters, but I hadn’t ever expected to receive anything like this either. He wanted me to meet him at the train station?

  Why?

  Did he want to . . . elope? Mother’s comments about Julia Shaw echoed in my head. I could only imagine what people would say about me, the Queen of Love and Beauty, running off to get married. My cheeks burned. Maybe . . . he just wanted a small wedding. Nothing wrong with that. It’s what I wanted too. But wouldn’t it be better just to go to the courthouse? Surely people wouldn’t be half so scandalized about that.

  Leaving town on the 11:15 train.

  Eloping was supposed to be . . . well . . . it was shameful, but it was also supposed to be romantic, wasn’t it? It had to mean that he couldn’t wait one day more to make me his bride. Why else would he be in such a hurry? And didn’t that imply something about me? I should be flattered, really. I was quite sure that I wasn’t supposed to feel trapped and panicked and . . . and shamed.

  It was probably due to the shock of it all. If I had woken knowing that today was to be my wedding day, I would be feeling differently. I would feel excited and happy. Perfectly blissful. I folded the note and put it into my pocket, sliding my hand along the banister as I walked up the stairs.

  I was to be married. Today.

  I had known I was going to be married. That’s what it meant to be engaged to be married. But somehow I’d never actually thought of becoming married. Of the actual being married to Mr. Arthur.

  Alfred.

  I’d have to call him Alfred now. I felt my chin start to pucker as I walked into my room. I shut the door behind me. I would not cry. There was absolutely nothing to cry about.

  Meet me at Union Station.

  I knelt beside my hope chest and pulled a package of caramels from its depths, peeled the cellophane wrapper from one of them, and thought about it all as I sucked on it. I couldn’t back out. Not now. He’d given me the chance, and I’d refused. I couldn’t change my mind.

  Could I?

  I trembled as I thought about it.

  No. I couldn’t. Breaking the engagement at this point would be even worse than eloping. So that meant I was going to be married now. I swallowed the rest of the caramel, then looked around the room that had been my own for nineteen years. I had no idea what to do. There was a difference between thinking about getting married and going to get married, and I hadn’t understood that until right this minute.

  I wished Sam were here.

  But what could he do? Except tell me not to go?

  In spite of all reason, I had a peculiar longing for Charlie Clarke. For a person who would, even for a moment, hide me from the world and hold me in his arms as if he treasured me. As if he cared for me. Understood me.

  But that was foolish.

  If he knew about Mr. Arthur’s note, he’d probably offer to drive me to Union Station himself.

  I was caught between ruining my reputation or breaking an engagement . . . which would in turn ruin my reputation. I unwrapped another caramel. Really, they were some of the best caramels I’d ever had. They didn’t stick to my teeth, and once they had warmed in my mouth, they melted into a delectable cream. I plucked another from the package and popped it into my mouth as well.

  If I wanted to slip away unnoticed, I couldn’t take too much with me. I tiptoed down the hall and up the back stairs to the attic. There I wrestled an old Oxford bag from a heap of luggage in the corner. Back in my room, as I opened it, the handle slipped its fittings. I pushed it back into place while I contemplated what to pack.

  I didn’t have much time.

  A second dress, surely, for the wedding. I wouldn’t want to wear the one I’d traveled in. I’d wear my coat, but I’d need a pair of fresh stockings and extra shoes. Another pair of gloves. And something to sleep in. I grabbed my favorite nightgown, but then thought the better of it. Hadn’t I ought to take someth
ing better? If Mr. Arthur were going to see it?

  Mr. Arthur was going to see it.

  Alfred.

  Alfred, Alfred, Alfred. I needed to call him Alfred now.

  The thought made me want to hide in the closet.

  Married people had to do . . . what they did . . . once in a while. A cold sweat prickled at the backs of my ears. I hoped it wouldn’t be too often. But how bad could it be? Rapturous embraces, passionate kisses, and that sort of thing. It must be pleasant or people wouldn’t do it, would they? Although . . . I could think of quite a few things people did that weren’t pleasant at all. They just did them because they had to.

  My knees began to shake.

  I stuffed another pair of stockings into the bag. It wouldn’t do any good to think about things too much. There would be time for all of that later. I fastened the bag, took one last glance around the room, and then tiptoed down the hall.

  I paused as I passed Papa’s room. Should I . . . ? No. I’d only start to cry. I was going to be married. I was supposed to happy. And I would be . . . just as soon as I could. Once I got on the train, probably. Hopefully. Soon.

  When I got to the platform, Mr. Arthur was already there. He was pacing in front of one of the cars. I faltered in my step for just a moment. Every girl should be happy on her wedding day, so I put a smile on my face, clasped the bag in front of me with both hands, and continued on toward him.

  A look of relief crossed his face when he saw me. “Thank goodness! I didn’t think you’d make it.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the train. “There’s not much time.”

  “I’m ready.”

  An odd look crossed his face. “Well . . . that’s . . . good. That’s good.” He cocked his head as a frown creased his forehead. “Ready for what? Exactly?”

  I raised my satchel. “For the train. The 11:15 for Memphis. That’s what you said.”

  “Oh. Oh! You thought you . . . and I . . . ?”

  What else had I been meant to think?

  “The thing of it is . . .” He paused and licked his bottom lip. “The thing of it is, I can’t marry you.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t marry you because I’ve decided to marry someone else. We’re eloping. Today. Right now, as a matter of fact.”

  “You can’t marry me.” I tried to make sense of what he was saying.

  “I . . . don’t think it would be appropriate. Considering.”

  He’d had me worry about extra stockings and nightgowns and then come all the way down to Union Station just to tell me he didn’t want me? “You couldn’t have written me a note?”

  “I did.”

  “Or stopped by the house on your way here?”

  “I . . . couldn’t . . .”

  “I thought we had an arrangement!”

  “I know. I just—I didn’t know—I really have to go. The train’s about to leave.”

  “You’re leaving me?”

  “I’m sorry to be so rude about it all. That’s why I’ve put it out that it’s all my fault. I hope you’ll forgive me. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of shoulders to cry on once everyone hears how I’ve jilted you.”

  I was being jilted?! “But I don’t—what am I supposed to do?” How was I supposed to marry the most eligible bachelor in town if he was eloping with someone else? “What happened to being agreeable? And thinking that we would come to care for each other? That love might grow with time?”

  “I found that love, Lucy. Only . . . it wasn’t with you. I’m sorry. I would have sworn to you that it didn’t matter—but I’ve found, in fact, that it does. And it wouldn’t be fair to marry you if my heart belonged to someone else. Someday, I know you’ll understand.”

  Understand!

  “I hope you’ll forgive my leaving. I can’t stay, not after breaking our engagement. Society wouldn’t be very accepting.”

  “But—but—” What was wrong with me? That’s what I really wanted to ask him. I didn’t like him, not in that way, but I wanted him to like me. So what was it about me that wasn’t worth jumping on a train to elope with? What couldn’t he bring himself to love?

  He glanced over his shoulder at the train. “Don’t worry. I had a word with Charles. He’ll see that your prospects aren’t tarnished. He’s good at getting the word out.”

  “Charlie Clarke?” Did he want me to thank him for that?

  The train hissed a cloud of steam as the conductor walked the platform, shooing passengers onto the train.

  “I really have to go. You’ve been wonderful about all this. Thanks.” He gave me a salute and then hopped onto the train. And not once did he look back.

  42

  “Lucy!”

  She turned away from me, dropping her head, causing her hat to shield her face.

  “Lucy Kendall!” I stood on the running board of the car as I hailed her outside Union Station. I couldn’t keep the dimples out of my smile. Alfred was out of the picture. Now was my big chance.

  She stalked on, as if she was determined to ignore me.

  I told Nelson to follow her.

  Cupping a hand to my mouth, I shouted toward her. “Don’t worry. Alfred told me everything.”

  As she came to a halt, her bag swung back to whack her in the knees. She staggered. “What exactly did he tell you?” Her face flushed an angry red.

  I sprung down off the running board and took her by the hand. If she’d get into the car, then I wouldn’t have to shout at her. “He told me how he’d decided to elope with Evelyn. And how he was going to break the engagement.” She wasn’t looking at me quite the way I’d hoped she would. “I was . . . I was thinking you might not want to walk home alone.”

  As she stood there, glaring at me, her mouth fell open. She gasped. And then her eyes narrowed. “Who is Evelyn?”

  I winced.

  A shout went up from the steps of the station. “Yoo-hoo! Lucy Kendall—is that you?” Winnie Compton was waving a handkerchief in our direction.

  Lucy started and lunged toward the car before I even had the chance to move. She threw the bag at me, ducked beneath my arm, and burrowed into the bench.

  I told Nelson to drive on up to Vandeventer. As I put the bag on the floor and settled in next to her, she glared at me.

  “You knew about this? About her?”

  “I . . .” didn’t know what I should say.

  She gasped and put a gloved hand to her mouth. “You’ve met her, haven’t you?”

  “Really, I don’t think—”

  She pierced me with a look. “This is all your fault.”

  I put up a hand. “Now, wait just a minute—”

  “Before he met you, Mr. Arthur was a nice man! He would never have snuck around with some—some other woman.”

  “I’m not . . . not nice!”

  “It’s not bad enough that you people steal our candy? You have to steal my fiancé too?”

  “It’s not like that, Lucy. In fact, I thought it was good of him to warn me about this.”

  “You would!” She sat there for a minute, mumbling to herself beneath that huge feathery hat of hers. “So tell me: Why did he tell you?”

  I shrugged. “He saw the work I’d done with Royal Taffy, and he knew if anyone could advertise it around the city that he was the one to blame, I was the man for it.”

  “So you’re going to advertise me? As if I were . . . some piece of candy?”

  “Don’t worry. It shouldn’t be too hard. You’re much sweeter than a piece of Royal Taffy.” I tried out a wink on her.

  Her mouth clamped into a scowl as she clasped her hands around the handle of her bag.

  “Listen. I’m really sorry, Lucy.”

  She threw a look toward me. “You . . . you are?”

  “Of course I am.” Though I was happy about the way things were turning out, that didn’t mean Alfred hadn’t done a bad thing by running off the way he had. Although her question seemed odd. “Why? Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?”

 
; “I just thought . . .” Her glance grazed my lips, then shot away. “Never mind. Just . . . don’t talk to me.” She made a point of staring out the window.

  “We should be friends, you and I.” We should be more than friends. “Especially since Alfred’s not here anymore.” I took her hand in mine.

  Nelson pulled up to her house. For a moment her hand went limp in mine, but then she pulled it away. And her lips collapsed into a firm, thin line.

  I put a hand to her cheek. “Tell me . . . can I hope there’s a chance for me? Now that he’s gone?”

  She didn’t pull away from me, but I didn’t like the gleam in her eyes either. “Are you willing to stop trying to put us out of business?”

  Business. For one blessed minute, I’d forgotten about all of that. Why did she always have to hold it over our heads? “I have to be honest with you, Lucy. There’s nothing you can do or I can say that will stop our fathers’ rivalry. At this point, don’t you think the best thing to do is just . . . get out of the candy business? While you still can?” There was nothing to be gained by holding out anymore. I’d seen the figures. I’d read the reports. I’d walked the streets. There was hardly a packet of Fancy Crunch to be found in the city.

  “So you think that just because my father’s dying you can—”

  “No! It’s not like that.”

  “Then you think the only way your father will be proud of you is if you destroy a dying man’s dream?”

  “You’re not listening!” I only wanted to help her. I only wanted to have her. And I couldn’t do either of those things as long as she kept being so muleheaded.

  “I’m trying to.” Her shoulders dropped as the corners of her eyes drooped.

  I reached out to cup a hand to her face.

  She put a hand to my chest as she looked up into my eyes. When she spoke next, it was in a whisper. “I want to know how a man who makes me feel the way you do can treat my dreams so poorly.” She closed her eyes. “But the only thing I understand is that your father matters more than mine does and that your wishes are more important than my dreams.”