Missouri Magic

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “I was thinking we might play it together,” he said softly.

  “Oh, do!” Katherine piped up. “The dishes can certainly sit for a new song.”

  “Yes, that would be lovely,” Justine agreed with unusual enthusiasm. “Probably a lot more fun than those waltzes you play for Katherine.”

  The sparkle in Katherine’s eyes, the smug challenge that sounded like Justine used to—Damon had her cornered and he knew it! But what a cozy trap, to be the source of her aunts’ excitement while she saw herself mirrored in Frye’s adoring eyes. As always, Celesta took the left-hand part, and when her partner nodded the beat, she vowed to show him just how competently she could sight-read this new piece.

  The bass line was relatively easy, a steady four beats to the measure, and after the first page she was too enthralled by Damon’s playing to worry about her own. The melody was a sassy thing that danced all over the keyboard beneath his agile fingers, singing a playful, syncopated song that had her laughing by the time they reached the second section. She suddenly realized that her foot was tapping and her head was nodding, and once again the rhythmic rubbing of their shoulders and the subtle power that surged between them was working its magic.

  The piece ended with an emphatic chord, and Damon grinned at her. “What do you think?”

  “It’s wonderful,” she said with a giggle. “So many little melodies and—”

  “Oh, just play it again! Don’t talk it to death.”

  Celesta blinked at Justine, who was approaching the baby grand to watch them. “A command performance, Mr. Frye. Shall we?”

  “Of course. But this time we’ll play it up to tempo rather than being so ... sedate.”

  Her eyes widened, and then Celesta looked at him accusingly. “You’ve played this before.”

  “Well, maybe a couple run-throughs, just to—”

  “So do it yourself! You’re a much finer pianist than-”

  “Nope,” he said, grabbing Celesta before she could escape from the bench. “I asked the lady’s fingers to dance, and mine don’t want to perform without them. Set the speed. Challenge me.”

  It was the most sultry dare she’d ever heard—right here beneath her aunt’s pointed nose!—and the electricity that passed between them made her flex with anticipation. “All right, Mr. Frye. I hope you’re ready.”

  “Try me.” Lord, she was a minx, sitting against him with those sly eyes and the pink spots in her cheeks! He suddenly wanted her, audience or not, and he laughed low in his throat when Celesta took off at a trot. She was now embellishing the bass line, putting in the accents and playing it as though it were its own melody—edging the tempo toward a heart-pounding pace that told him she was as exhilarated by their music as he, and that she craved a much more physical duet later on.

  How did he do it? She was pushing the speed relentlessly, yet still his quick, powerful hands executed the runs and accented chords with breathtaking precision—and he was grinning at her all the while! Even when their fingers fought for the same keys, Frye never missed a beat, and when the song climaxed in two loud, emphatic chords Celesta squealed with delight.

  Katharine was applauding wildly beside Justine, who was saying, “Bravo, bravo! By God, that was the best—”

  Damon’s kiss blocked out all but his raw determination to possess her, and Celesta’s mouth met his with equal fervor, sealing their fate as though God himself were binding them for eternity. When he eased away, she clutched at him to regain her bearings, betraying her desire with a telltale gasp.

  When Frye saw the two sets of wide eyes watching them, he chuckled sheepishly. “Excuse me, ladies. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Justine’s brow arched, yet her lips hid a grin. “Seems to me that’s the only reason to kiss her. I believe we have dishes to wash, Katherine.”

  “Yes, I believe we do,” her sister-in-law replied wistfully.

  And as her aunts left for the kitchen, Celesta could only stare at the man who still held her. “How do you do it?” she breathed. “How do you hypnotize us all into accepting such rakish behavior?”

  Laughing aloud, Damon pulled her close for a lingering kiss that honed his need for her into a sharp, desperate edge. “Come downstairs tonight after they’re asleep,” he murmured against her sweet-smelling hair. “It’ll be a night we’ll neither one forget.”

  Reality returned with morning, and as Celesta carefully stayed several paces behind Justine, she felt torn in two. Again and again Damon had made her passions soar last night—and her heart with them—and now she felt more confused than ever about the staid old maid whose approval had been so evident at the piano. Before breakfast Justine was talking to her father’s portrait in the library, muttering about the moral decay of today’s young people. Now she was going from shop to shop, to places she hadn’t frequented before, not buying anything. Just wandering in and out, her empty basket on her arm.

  And yet, when Celesta ducked into Pickford’s and Birmingham’s she learned that her aunt had indeed ordered the lavender wallpaper and the lace curtains and counterpane for her room. How on earth could anyone know when Justine was in control of her faculties and when she was drifting along in delusion?

  It was causing talk among the shopkeepers, who’d endured her dickering for too many years to let this situation go undiscussed. And when Celesta saw Eula Perkins approaching her with a purposeful stride, her stylish magenta bonnet bobbing above her patronizing smile, she knew she was in for an earful.

  “How is she today?” the stout little woman whispered, looking back to where Justine was entering Settles and Sievers—the undertaker’s! “I heard about the fire, and I’m so sorry! It must be ghastly to see the devastation and know it was her cigarette that caused it.”

  Recalling the snuff tins Mrs. Perkins hid in her vanity and sideboard, Celesta smiled wryly. “Our habits get the best of us at times. I only wish we could wipe away the shock it gave her as easily as we can repair her room. I’m sure you’ve heard about her mental state.”

  Eula’s smile dripped honey. “You know, I was wondering if perhaps she was slipping before the fire. Justine’s barely acquainted with Patrick, which made her outburst during our last visit seemly highly uncalled for and . . . suspect. You know?”

  “We’ve all wondered about her from time to time,” she agreed, yet it was hard not to laugh when she recalled Patrick’s humiliated flush. “How is he? I haven’t seen him lately.”

  “Constantly busy! Working hard to make his father’s mill the biggest and best,” she replied with a flutter of her hand. “Such a perfectionist he won’t tolerate poor work from others—which is why he dismissed our latest housekeeper. Good help, like you and your mother, is impossible to come by these days.”

  It was an invitation Celesta was pleased to decline. “Oh, I can’t even consider coming back now,” she said. “These latest events have given Katherine a real turn—”

  “Poor dear, how is she?” Eula bleated. “I’ve been meaning to come see her, but frankly . . . well, her sister-in-law doesn’t exactly welcome us with open arms.”

  “Justine can be pretty blunt,” she agreed, still amazed that her aunt watched last night’s kiss as though she were witnessing wedding vows. Then she chuckled, whetted by a challenge. “I never knew you to be cowed by anyone, though. And I think it was your son’s behavior she objected to, not yours.”

  Mrs. Perkins studied her for a moment, shifting out of the doorway to allow a customer into the millinery shop. “If Patrick’s not welcome, I prefer not to—”

  “You don’t take him to Ladies’ Aid, or board meetings at the Home,” she said with a shrug, “so think of this as a mission of mercy for Katherine. Justine’s not one to chat over tea, and with Patrick gone you and my aunt could have a lovely afternoon. She’s starving for gossip, afraid to go to her meetings because there might be another accident in her absence.”

  “Why don’t you like my son, Celesta?”

  Eula’s expressio
n resembled a she-bear’s, fiercely protective of her errant cub, and too late Celesta realized she’d overdone it. “Like him? We’ve been friends all our lives,” she insisted. Then she sighed, hoping she sounded reluctantly honest rather than flippant. “But you and I both know Patrick could find a more . . . suitable wife. He wasn’t the least bit interested in me until Damon came back to town.”

  “And how is Mr. Frye these days?” she asked dryly.

  “Fine. Once he repairs Justine’s room, he’ll start on the two bathrooms. Hard to believe what a difference paper and plumbing will make at the Manor.”

  Mrs. Perkins let their conversation sink in, relaxing somewhat as she moved away from the milliner’s door. “I suppose you should be watching for Justine. God knows what could happen if she has matches in her pocket.”

  “You’re absolutely right. It’s been good to—”

  “And tell Katherine I’d like to visit next Tuesday afternoon, unless I hear it’s not convenient,” Mrs. Perkins continued in a slightly condescending tone. “And you’re perfectly welcome to join us, dear. It’s not like you’re an outcast or a poor relation.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Good day, Celesta. We’ll chat soon.”

  She watched the magenta-clad socialite sway down the sidewalk, fearing she’d done more harm than good. Katherine would welcome the chance to chat over tea, yet now that her feathers had been ruffled about Patrick, Eula was undoubtedly arming herself with pointed comments and questions for her Tuesday visit—a visit Celesta was obviously expected to attend.

  “Maybe by then I’ll be as batty as Justine,” she muttered, and then went to find her wandering aunt.

  Chapter 19

  By the time they were expecting Eula, Celesta was all nerves. Why had Damon chosen today to finish Justine’s wallpapering? The spinster was so excited that after her morning shopping she walked upstairs and then down, checking his progress and then flitting from room to room plumping settee pillows and straightening mirrors, until no one could stand to be around her.

  “What will Eula think?” Katherine whispered as they prepared cakes and tea in the kitchen. “I’m afraid to tell Justine to stay upstairs for fear she’ll disrupt Damon’s work—or get belligerent and intrude upon us.”

  Edgy as she was, Celesta was almost hoping for the distraction of an insane aunt, because the more she thought about baiting Eula in town last week, the more she feared her former employer would retaliate out of maternal protectiveness. At least Patrick wouldn’t be coming—

  But a glance out the window sent her heart plummeting. Mr. Perkins, resplendent in a blue plaid suit, was helping his mother from the carriage while glancing toward the house with a decidedly get-even grin. Celesta felt ill. There was no graceful way out of this situation because she’d brought it on herself.

  Eula entered first, her gaze roving around the vestibule. “I just can’t get over the change in this house! So good to see you, Katherine, dear.”

  As the women hugged, Celesta closed the door behind Patrick—who stood so she had no choice but to brush against him. “Don’t start with me,” she muttered. “I assumed you’d be so busy at the mill—”

  “Never too busy to call a truce in a skirmish that shouldn’t have happened,” he replied suavely. He was carrying a small box under his arm, regarding her with blue eyes she couldn’t read and looking as playfully handsome as he always did when he was up to something. “If there’s not enough tea, you and I can go—”

  “I’ll brew some more,” Celesta replied, and then she quickly retreated to the kitchen. How dare he show his face! Or had Eula put him up to it? There was no anticipating what she might say this afternoon, because she would delight in discussing the rumors about Justine’s insanity, just to upset Katherine while pretending to sympathize with her.

  And there was no sanctuary in the kitchen, either, because Damon was sitting at the table, his hand in the cookie jar. “Had I known you were entertaining Mr. Perkins, I’d have dressed for the occasion,” he teased.

  Celesta glared at his bare shoulders and overalls, “Don’t you start! The last thing I need is—”

  “Relax, sweetheart. I’ve suggested to Justine that we have our own little tea party, to keep her from ruining yours. She’ll be here in a moment.”

  “Well, I—” She set the water on to boil and smiled gratefully at him. “That was thoughtful. Thank you.”

  Frye nodded, amused. “No sense in getting all rattled about Patrick, putting him at an advantage. Think of him as an adoring puppy, Celesta. The worst he can do is wet on your shoe, as long as I’m around. Right?’’

  She chuckled, suddenly seeing this visit for the farce it was. And as Justine entered from the back stairway to sit down beside Frye, Celesta carried the laden silver tray to the music room, feeling supremely confident. Damon was right: what could Patrick Perkins possibly do to her while she was surrounded by all the people she loved?

  The conversation remained polite during their first cup of tea. Celesta sat a comfortable distance from Patrick on the settee, listening to his mother bemoan the inefficient housekeeper they’d just dismissed and then extol her son’s long hours at the lumber mill.

  If he’s so industrious, why’s he here at two in the afternoon? Celesta mused, but she nodded at the appropriate spots in Eula’s patter. The man beside her was indulging in lemon tarts and iced cakes as though that’s what he came for, so it seemed the afternoon might pass without incident after all.

  But during a lull in the conversation, Patrick leaned down to pick up the box he’d brought. He cleared his throat, glancing at his mother and then at Katherine. “You know, I—I feel badly about the fire, and now that Justine’s not herself, I regret the trouble I caused last time we were here,” he began quietly. “I understand she lost some of her Edison records in the accident.”

  “Why, yes, she did,” Katherine responded hesitantly.

  “Do you suppose I could apologize to her? Give her these new ones?” he asked. He appealed to Celesta with eyes the color of the summer sky, his tone as contrite as she’d ever heard it. “You and I can settle our differences easily enough, but your aunt—well, I want her to have these while she still understands why I’m giving them to her. May I see her for a moment?”

  “What a thoughtful—”

  “I’m not sure it’s a good time,” Celesta interrupted with a warning glance at Katherine. “She’s been agitated today, and now that Damon’s got her settled in the kitchen. ...”

  It was the wrong thing to say, and her heart pounded during the lengthy pause that hung over the music room.

  “If she can tolerate Frye’s company, surely she could have a word with me.”

  She closed her eyes and heard Katherine walking to the kitchen, dreading the coming moments, though she wasn’t sure why. Justine would be delighted with new records; she listened to the ones Damon gave her for hours on end. And there was no polite way to deny Patrick an apology, when he sounded so ashamed . . . and Lord, the vicious stories Eula would spread if her son’s heartfelt request was refused!

  When Celesta looked up, her aunts were framed in the doorway, two aging ladies holding hands, one’s withered face more anxious than the other’s. The sight squeezed at her heart, and she prayed this wasn’t a powder keg waiting for a match.

  Patrick rose from the settee, smoothing his suit, watching Justine as though she might run berserk around the room. He walked over to within a few feet of her and then held out the box, smiling gallantly. “I heard you lost some Edison records in the fire, Miss Ransom. I enjoy listening to the phonograph myself, so I thought you’d like some new ones.”

  Her eyes met his briefly, without registering recognition. “Thank you.”

  He watched her open the box and run a finger over the round tops of the cylinders. “I—won’ t you join us for tea?” he asked awkwardly. “Every time we come, I feel we’re leaving you out—”

  “No, thank you.”

 
; As dry as the autumn leaves her response was, and her second glance at him was no more encouraging than the first. Katherine patted her arm, gesturing toward a chair. “Perhaps you’d feel better if you talked awhile, dear,” she suggested quietly. “This is Patrick and Eula Perkins, here to see how you’re doing.”

  “I know very well who they are, and they only came so they can spread stories about me,” Justine replied tartly. She removed her arm from Katherine’s grasp, eyeing their guests. “Thank you for these records. Now go on with your gossip and I’ll return to the conversation Damon and I were—”

  “But I’m not finished! I’m trying to apologize,” Patrick said impatiently. “I’m sorry I was—”

  “You’re a sorry one, all right,” the spinster interrupted, her color rising with her voice. “And quite the actor, pretending it’s Celesta’s affections you want. But your motives are clear as glass to me, young man!”

  Perkins tugged at his shirt collar as though it were the old woman’s neck he wanted to grab. “I beg your pardon, Miss Ransom. Since you’ve barely given me the time of day over the years, you can hardly understand my—”

  “Well, then, it’s time we talked, isn’t it?” she asked, her face hardening. “Now that my niece is no longer your maid’s daughter—now that I’m old and will soon leave my family fortune behind—you come sniffing around here—”

  “Aunt Justine! I think we should—”

  “You’ll not talk to my son as though—”

  Everyone gasped when Justine let the box of records clatter to the floor so that she could point at Eula and Celesta, who froze in their tracks. The room got deathly quiet.

  “I’ll say what I please in my own home, Mrs. Perkins, and you’ll sit and listen to me. Then you can go spread whatever stories your vapid little mind can spin, and I’ll have had my say. Sit down. All of you.”

  Celesta’s heart was pounding rapidly as she took her seat with the others. What her aunt was implying was probably closer to the truth than any of the polite chitchat she’d heard today, but where would it end? She sensed Justine had been saving up for just such a moment, using the rumors of her insanity as a soapbox to speak from. Damon had come through the dining room and was standing in the vestibule, watching from behind her aunt, his finger on his lips as he shook his head at Celesta.