“Don’t you have something on this floor? Mrs. Halliday can’t walk.”
“Nope. Kitchen, dining room, and private quarters only on this floor.” The man scratched his pencil-thin nose and blinked at them.
Nicholas turned to Claire. Her complexion had grown paler and dark smudges had appeared under her eyes. He couldn’t ask her to go any farther tonight. This would have to do. “Very well, then. I’ll be right back.”
He took the baby, basket and all, from her lap, climbed the stairs and located the first room. He left the now wailing infant on the bed and thundered back down the stairs.
Claire wore a wide-eyed look of surprise as he approached her. Gruver had entered the tiny lobby with their luggage. Nicholas motioned him over and handed him a key. “Carry Mrs. Halliday’s chair, please.”
Nicholas bent toward her. “Lean forward.”
Her eyes widened, but she did as he asked. He slid one arm behind her back, the other beneath her knees, somehow managing her voluminous skirts in the process, and raised her effortlessly, being careful of her injured leg. She didn’t weigh much, but she was an armful, nonetheless. His head bumped her hat, sending it askew, and she caught it before it fell. Her hair tumbled, the soft springy curls grazing his neck and chin, the sweet fragrance touching him somewhere more elemental.
She grasped him around the neck, her hat bouncing off his back, her full breasts pressed against his jacket. He cursed his immediate and unexpected physical reaction, but reined in his distressing response and concentrated on the stairs, one at a time, until they reached the top.
The baby’s cries carried down the corridor, and Claire sucked in a breath, which Nicholas felt to the tips of his toes.
Sarah’s heart beat so swiftly, he must have felt it through their layers of clothing. Against her breast his chest was broad and hard, as hard as the arms banding her back and secured behind her knees. She could smell the starch in his shirt, and the faint smell of shaving soap that lingered about his chin and jaw, masculine features that were close enough to scrape her cheek should she be foolish enough to turn her head.
Her son’s plaintive wails had released a tingling in her breasts, accompanied by a seeping wetness she feared would soak through her clothing to Nicholas’s.
He carried her into the room and paused. Her heart raced as his driver maneuvered her chair through the doorway. The man placed her hat on the seat of a rocker and excused himself.
Gently, Nicholas lowered her into the chair. “May I help you with your jacket?” he asked above the baby’s cries.
“No!” She glanced down, relieved to see her jacket still dry and covering her. “I mean, no thank you. I can see to myself now.”
He straightened and cast a helpless look at the basket “Can I send a servant to help you?”
She nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”
He backed up a step, then turned and left, pulling the door shut. Sarah struggled with the jacket, an awkward situation because of the chair arms, but she finally removed it and unbuttoned her blouse.
The baby rooted for a there second before latching on to her breast and suckling noisily. She had to laugh softly. “You don’t care where we are or what’s happening, do you?”
He’d finished eating by the time a young girl with a dark coronet of braids wrapped around her head brought water and towels. “The gentleman paid me handsomely to help you with the baby, ma’am. I have five brothers and sisters, and I’ve taken care of all of them. Can I bathe him for you? Rock him maybe, so you can rest?”
Nicholas’s thoughtfulness touched Sarah. Gratefully, she allowed the girl, who told her her name was Minna, to change and wash the baby while she raised her throbbing leg on a pillow and leaned back into the mattress.
“He’s a pretty one, Miz Halliday. What’s his name?”
Sarah had been dozing, her thoughts drifting from the stern-faced Nicholas to their mysterious destination, and she opened her eyes, an odd feeling of shame curling in her chest. How could she have overlooked something as basic as giving her baby a name? “Why, I—I haven’t thought of a name for him yet.”
Minna looked at her curiously, but turned back to her task.
“I was in an accident and just came around a few days ago,” she said, by way of explaining her lack of thought.
“Oh. That’s what happened to your leg?”
Sarah nodded.
“Your husband takes fine care of you. I’m sure you’ll be better in no time.”
“Mr. Halliday is not my husband.”
The girl didn’t turn around, but Sarah knew what she must be thinking, and cursed herself for opening her mouth on the subject. “He’s—my brother-in-law,” she said, using the first and easiest explanation that had come to mind. She cringed inwardly and waited for a lightning bolt or the rumble of an earthquake, but the only sound was the gentle lapping of water as Minna rinsed the baby.
A knock sounded at the door. Minna glanced toward it, but her hands were occupied.
“Who’s there?” Sarah called.
“Nicholas.”
“Come in.”
He appeared in the doorway, wearing a fresh shirt beneath his dark jacket. He glanced from Sarah to the girl and back. “Would you care to join me downstairs for dinner, or shall I have something sent up?”
“I’ll stay here with the baby,” Minna offered immediately.
Sarah imagined him carrying her down those stairs and back up again, and thought it would be a whole lot safer to eat in her room. “My head hurts terribly,” she said in excuse. “May I just stay here?”
“Of course. I’ll see that you get a powder for your headache.”
“You’re very kind.”
He gave her a brief nod and closed the door.
“Is Mr. Halliday married?” Minna asked.
Sarah stared at the door, a speculative question forming in her own mind now that the girl had brought it up. She knew nothing of this man or his family. “I don’t know.”
Minna placed the towel-wrapped infant on the bed and dried his flailing arms and legs.
Sarah captured her son’s tiny hand in hers, and watched as the girl skillfully diapered and dressed him. Her own attempts at changing him had been slow and clumsy. Surely she would gain more confidence soon. Thank goodness Nicholas had provided help immediately.
I will learn, little one, she intoned silently. I will be the best mother a little boy ever had.
“He’s a nice man,” the girl went on. “Handsome, too.”
Nicholas Halliday did seem like an admirable man. A man who deserved better than deceit. She hadn’t asked for luxuries, however, hadn’t expected the man to provide elegant new clothing and servants to help her. She looked at the new luggage beside the door, at all the items it took to care for the baby, even at the clothes she wore, and knew at this rate it would take a long while to repay him.
She had no more means to make it on her own today than she had the day her father had turned her out. By leaving with Nicholas, she’d made a decision. Now she had to be Claire Halliday until they reached their destination.
The morning dawned as clear and crisp as winter, though it was early April. The scent of spring floated on the air: freshly turned earth and garden flowers. Nicholas admonished himself to enjoy the scenery and not to regret the working hours he’d lost by not taking the train. He could count on Milos Switzer to handle anything that came up in his absence. The work would be there when he returned.
Relief surged through him that Claire looked a little better today, her face not as pale or as drawn. The long stopover the night before must have done her good. She wore a freshly pressed blouse beneath her traveling suit. And her hat—he noticed when a stiff breeze caught them as they’d stopped for the noon meal—had been safely secured.
He’d paid the proprietor of the eatery to allow Claire to use their private quarters to see to her and the baby’s needs.
They would need to stop one more night before
they reached Mahoning Valley. The stamina of the horses was no concern, and Gruver had driven nonstop day and night many a time. No, Claire was the one giving him concern. She was far more delicate than he’d imagined, more refined, and obviously not accustomed to long travel or hardship. She said nothing, neither in complaint nor observation, and he wished he had access to the thoughts in her curly blond head.
“Stephen said you met last fall,” he said at last.
Sarah’s heart leaped, and her mind raced, searching for a way to avoid any questions she would be forced to answer with lies.
“Where is Stephen’s body?” she asked.
His expression became even more grim. “I had it sent ahead. He’s buried in the family cemetery. We will have a memorial service when you’re well enough.”
What about his beloved Claire? she wanted to ask. They would have wanted to be together. If there had been a way to tell him…an opportunity…she would have. Certainly, she would have. She studied him warily. If he was as strict and unyielding as her father, he would cast her to the side of the road. She couldn’t take that chance; she’d have to wait.
He stretched his long legs to the side, one knee cracking. Claire wondered how old he was. More than thirty probably. She wanted to ask him the question that Minna had lodged in her mind the night before. She studied the landscape for a few minutes, her thoughts streaking forward with uncertainty.
“Where are we going?” she dared to ask finally.
He looked at her as if she’d asked what color the sky was. “You don’t know?” he replied, that resonant voice a low rumble.
Sarah cringed inwardly, regretting her haste. Claire would have known where she and Stephen had been headed. “I only knew his mother lived in Ohio,” she said quickly.
“Mahoning Valley,” he said. “Our forges, factory and home are near Youngstown.”
“Who lives there?” she asked a minute later. “In the house?”
“Mother and I. A few servants.”
He didn’t mention a wife. Why did she care?
“It’s a big house,” he went on. “There’s plenty of room for the two of you.”
She hadn’t been concerned about that. She’d only wondered how many people would be expecting Claire to show up. The fewer she had to face, the better.
They made another afternoon rest stop, then rode as far as St. Petersburg, near the Allegheny River. They could have made it the rest of the way that night, Sarah overheard Nicholas say to the driver, but he didn’t want to push too hard. Meaning her, she knew. The rest of them were holding up beautifully. Even the baby. He ate and slept, oblivious to what was going on around him.
The St. Petersburg Hotel had a cable elevator, sparing them a repeat of the previous night’s encounter. Sarah wondered if Nicholas had known about the elevator and chosen their stop accordingly.
He settled her in her room. “Dinner sent up again?” he asked.
“Please.”
“We’ll arrive at the house tomorrow. I’m wiring ahead to have the local doctor call in the afternoon. The doctor in New York said you have bandages on that leg that will need to be changed, and we haven’t tended to that.” He started to close the door.
“Mr. Halliday?”
“Nicholas,” he corrected, pausing.
“Nicholas,” she managed. “You’ve been very considerate. Thank you.”
His dark gaze flickered momentarily, but his expression didn’t change. “What else would I do for my brother’s wife?”
She didn’t reply. The inflection in his tone was almost…acerbic. Her heart skipped a tiny beat.
But then he wished her a polite good evening, pulled the door closed, and she wondered if she’d really heard it.
Something told her he was skeptical. He treated her politely and provided more than she could ask for, but it was there, lurking behind his eyes and beneath his words. Doubt.
And tomorrow, she would have to face Stephen’s mother and tell her the truth.
Again and again, while picking at her dinner, while feeding the baby and settling him down for the night, she went over her pitiful options. And each time, she came to the conclusion that she had no choice. She would plead her case with Stephen Halliday’s mother and hope for the best.
What was the worst thing that could happen?
Mahoning Valley, Ohio
Leda Halliday, garbed in black, her eyelids swollen, greeted Sarah with welcoming arms. And Sarah knew, in some deep recess of her heart as she pulled herself to stand on her good leg and let the sobbing woman embrace her, that this was the worst thing that could have happened.
The small-statured woman smelled of violets and faintly of camphor. Her ample bosom shook against Sarah’s waist as she cried openly. To her surprise, responding tears came to Sarah’s eyes, and she accepted the violet-scented hankie the maid pressed into her fingers.
Leda pulled away, dabbing at her nose, and let Sarah sit back down but didn’t release her hand. “You are just as beautiful as Stephen wrote us,” she said on a sob. Her fleshy face crumpled, and Nicholas was there to take her in his arms and hold her against his broad chest. When he raised his face from his mother’s silver-streaked dark hair, there were tears on his dark lashes.
Sarah’s heart ached for them both. A pang of guilt shot through her chest like a sword of cold steel. She couldn’t meet Nicholas’s eyes. How was she going to say the words? If only Nicholas would leave them alone.
Finally Leda pulled away from her towering son and glanced toward the door. The driver stood in the opening, the basket firmly in his grasp. “Well, bring him here, Gruver, bring him here,” she said, motioning the man forward.
Her expression held anticipation, as well as curiosity. When she caught sight of the baby, she covered her trembling lips with her fingers for several long seconds. Sarah saw how badly she wanted to see her son in this tiny child, and regret yawned in her chest.
“He’s just beautiful,” she said at last, her voice thick with emotion. “What’s his name?”
Embarrassed, Sarah edged her gaze away from Nicholas and looked directly into Leda’s gray eyes. “I haven’t named him yet,” she said, knowing the older woman would think that as strange as Minna had.
Instead Leda glowed as though she’d been gifted with a king’s ransom. “We can do it together.”
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed, but Sarah wouldn’t lock gazes.
“Your rooms are ready,” Leda announced. “I think you’ll find everything in order, but you need only ask.”
Sarah glanced at the grand curving marble staircase that led to an open hallway above. She met Nicholas’s dark eyes.
“They’re upstairs,” Leda said, and then as if just now realizing, turned back. “Oh dear.”
“Not to worry, Mother,” Nicholas said. “Claire and I have perfected this transportation problem. Gruver, if you’ll just carry the little fellow up, you’ll be dismissed for the rest of the day. Take tomorrow off, too. I’m sure you’ve missed your family.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Nicholas swooped forward and waited for Sarah to reach for his neck. She did so, and he slid his arm beneath her legs, brought her against his chest, and turned to his mother. “See, Mother? All those peas and carrots paid off in the long run.”
“I told you so.” The woman chuckled and followed them up, her skirts rustling. Her small laugh eased some of Sarah’s discomfort, and Sarah was strangely grateful to Nicholas for making his mother smile.
This time Sarah didn’t fight the sensations his nearness created. His interaction with his mother and his treatment of his driver said more than a million words could have. He was a good man. A sincere man. A respected, decent man.
And she was still taking advantage of him.
She rested in the security of his arms for just these few minutes. Enjoyed his strength, the masculine scent of his hair and the crisp, fresh smell of his clothing. And wondered just how long she had before she was truly, deeply, impos
sibly past the point of turning back.
Leda had hired a nursemaid to care for the baby. The woman, a tallish, gray-haired widow who called herself Mrs. Trent, took him while Nicholas and Leda made Sarah comfortable. Sarah sighed in relief when Nicholas finally excused himself and left the room.
“Mrs. Halliday…” Sarah began.
“Leda, dear. Please.” The older woman patted the counterpane into place over Sarah’s good right leg and made sure the other one was settled on a pillow.
“Leda. I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you.”
“I know, darling. We’re going to have plenty of time together. You’re going to be the daughter I never had. And this little man…”
Leda took Sarah’s son from Mrs. Trent and held him to her cushioned breast. Tears ran down her cheeks openly. “This little man is going to keep me from dying of a broken heart.”
At the woman’s anguish, a great suffocating weight burgeoned in Sarah’s chest. “I’m not who you think I am,” she choked out.
“I don’t care who you are,” Leda said on a half sob. “If I hadn’t had you and the baby to look forward to these past few days, I couldn’t have borne the sorrow. A mother should never have to lose her child. Never,” she said fiercely. “You’re what I need to go on living now. You and him.” She nuzzled the infant’s downy head, and Sarah choked on the confession that welled in her soul.
But she didn’t have the courage to say the words that would destroy the woman who’d already lost her son. All her good intentions fled like dry leaves before a storm, and the secret cowered in a shadowy corner of her heart.
Not now. Not just now. She could wait. Until Leda had a chance to get over Stephen. By then Sarah’s leg would be better, and she’d be able to leave. Until then…how much harm would it cause to let the woman think they were her family for just a little longer?
Sarah prayed she wouldn’t have to know the answer to that.
The spectacled Mrs. Trent did as she was bidden, taking care of the baby’s laundry, bathing and changing him with efficiency, but never getting in the way when Sarah wanted to perform the tasks herself. In fact, she was more than pleased to share her knowledge, answer Sarah’s questions and assist her in learning to do what she could herself.
Cheryl St. John Page 3
