by Lorri Dudley
Georgia swallowed. Being broken sounded painful. How could God do that to His beloved children?
“God isn’t as concerned about our comfort as much as he is about our character.”
Georgia’s pulse quickened, and she sucked in a breath.
Papa then prayed, thanking God for protecting them from the storm and praising Him in advance for what He was going to raise up from out of the rubble.
When the prayer ended, everyone moved the chairs, stacked the crates back in the kitchen, and settled in the parlor. Aunt Tessa cornered Hattie, and the two discussed possible menus for the week. Harrison sat in a chair and read a book. Max called out to Oscar, and to his delight, the bird landed on the window sill and started squawking.
Georgia searched for something to occupy her time and contemplated heading up to the solace of her room to pen a letter to Mama.
A finger tapped her shoulder, and she turned around. Papa held out a square board. “Care to join me in a game of chess?”
Her heart skipped out of rhythm. Play chess with her father? At one time, she would have twirled with joy at the invitation. But would the thrill of spending an hour basking in her papa’s attention be worth the inevitable pain from losing him all over again?
Papa’s imploring eyes held hers.
She hesitated, wanting to interact, yet afraid. Finally, “Yes.” The word fell from her lips.
A broad smile crinkled the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, and with light steps, he ushered her over to the table. He pulled out her chair, and they sat across from each other. A gleeful chuckle sounded from his lips as he set out the pieces. He let her have the first move and observed her every facial expression as if memorizing them.
Georgia studied the board for the best positioning, then moved her knight to block his bishop. Her lips twitched in satisfaction.
“That’s the same look a little, white-blond girl with missing front teeth used to give me years ago when she sat across from me just like this.”
A smile found its way to her mouth, even as she tried to hold it back.
“You never did do anything halfway.” He fingered a rook and examined the board. “When you played chess, you carefully considered each move. Sometimes strategizing five or six moves ahead.” He shifted the rook into play.
Over the course of the next few moves, she took his pawn and then his knight.
His smile brightened until a cough rose up from deep inside him. He grunted and pounded his chest twice.
She frowned. “Are you ill?”
“It’s nothing. Merely a cough.” He positioned his bishop and confiscated her rook.
She swooped up his bishop.
“You used your rook as bait, and I fell for it.” He laughed.
“I think you’re out of practice.” The old familiar teasing rose up inside her as she taunted him with a smile. “Will no one play with you on the island?”
“Ah, at last I gave up playing against Harrison. He made beating me look too easy. I have my pride you know.” He winked at her. “Max will engage me in a chess match every now and then, but he gets antsy and is off to play something else before the game is through.”
Georgia inspected the board and tapped her lips with her index finger.
“You look so much like your mother. Even sharing the same mannerisms. Nora tapped her lips when contemplating.” He sighed. “I’m so grateful to God for the opportunity to spend time with you, Georgia.”
A rattle sounded in his chest again. This time he pulled out a handkerchief and coughed into it. Then he cleared his throat. “This is a wonderful day, isn’t it?”
Georgia glanced up from the board, his words striking a painful chord in her chest. Was it wonderful, reliving these special father-daughter memories? Need she remind him he was the one who left not her? These moments could have been every day.
Harrison peeked over the pages of his book, and Aunt Tessa stopped mid-sentence and turned his way. The room fell silent.
Her father waited for her response, his eyes more vulnerable than she’d ever seen them.
Georgia broke the quiet with a slow nod. “This is a good day.” She couldn’t seem to stop the way her heart swelled with compassion. Never had anyone seemed so delighted by her presence. Yet, the hurt of his desertion still lingered.
A smile crept over his face as he returned his gaze to the board. “God is a God of second chances. Here I am, sitting in front of my beloved daughter, whom I never thought I’d see again, and we’re playing a game of chess like old times.”
He moved his king across from her bishop.
Her queen swept in from the side, taking his king and putting his queen in check.
Fredrick chuckled, the laugh interspersed with a few coughs.
“You neglected your queen.”
He laughed even harder. “You know what?” he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. “Wellington needs to hire you as his advisor. If he’d had you, Napoleon would have been on his knees in half the time.”
That drew an easy smile from her. She hadn’t smiled often enough over the past few years, unless it was to gain Julien’s attention. She missed the smiles and laughter that had flowed so easily between her and Papa when she was young. A warm wave of contentment settled in her midsection like a pelican ready to roost.
Her father’s chuckle filled the air. “I’m so proud of my girl. I love you, princess.”
Georgia’s smile faded. How long had she ached to hear those words again? How many tears had she shed? How many ballrooms had she entered with shaking knees. trying to make her mother and sisters proud, wishing Papa were there to encourage her, to dance with her? The illusion of what could have been dispelled in a poof. Years of painful hurt flooded into the vacancy. She shook her head and pushed her chair back. “I can’t do this again. I will not love you and have you leave me all over.”
Silence hung heavy in the room.
Fredrick held his hands up and kept his voice soft. “I’m not going to leave you. I’ve lived a life full of regret because of my mistakes. I won’t do that to us again.” Weariness shone on his face. “It will be your choice to leave me this time.”
“You say that,” her voice shook, “but how quickly you forget. You are going to leave.” She fingered the material of Jenneigh’s dress, wishing it were her pink chiffon gown, and swallowed around the lump in her throat. She raised her chin. “I’m not blind. I see what’s coming. I’m going to love you all over again, and then you will die of the ague and leave me, and I’m going to have to grieve you once more.”
“We’re all going to die, Georgia.”
She stood so quick that the table shook and several chess pieces fell over and rolled off the edge. She turned to leave, but he grabbed her hand. “There’s nothing I can do to stop that, but I do know there’s a time for everything, a time to be born and a time to die, a time to sow and a time to reap. My one regret is that I let fear rule me. Because of it, I didn’t get to see you grow into a woman and be the father I should have been for you. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry.” His voice wavered. “I pray someday you’ll forgive me.”
Georgia’s lips trembled, and tears welled in her eyes, but she shook her head. Her voice emerged in a half-croak, half-whisper. “I don’t know if I can.” She closed her eyes. “Please, don’t ask that of me.”
Georgia stumbled away, not caring about the disappointed look from Aunt Tessa or the disapproving scowl from Mr. Wells. Only when she reached the solace of her room, did she let the choking sobs loose.
She paced the length of the chamber with her hands balled into fists. Since the day her papa had left, a fortifying anger had fueled her. It allowed her to get up each day with a purpose. Her hatred of her father for leaving drove her to guard her heart against love. Jealousy for the attention her mother lavished on her sisters but not her, motivated Georgia to prove them wrong, to show she was good enough to be loved.
And she almost did it. If Mr. Wells hadn
’t intervened, she’d have made the match of the season with Lord Claremont.
Never would she allow herself to be hurt like that again.
She stopped her pacing and peered down at her fisted hands. Slowly she uncurled each finger until she faced two open, trembling palms. Her heart dropped, and uncertainty hit her with a wave of nausea. She pressed her palms to her stomach and sank into the nearby bed.
What happens if the anger that sustained me disappears?
Chapter 11
…Please send word of London and the latest happenings. I’m desperate for information from home. Dare I ask about Lord Claremont?
—From Georgia Lennox to her friend, Cynthia Orville
The following morning, Georgia dabbed a napkin at a spot on her gown where she’d splashed tea. She lifted the material to inspect it closer. “Please come off,” she murmured to the empty room.
When she’d opened her bedroom door this morning, there lay her trunk, half filled with gowns. They were still wet, but each had been wrung out and neatly folded. Most had rips or water stains, but one bore only minimal damage. After Jenneigh had pressed it with a hot iron, it was dry enough to wear, and Jenneigh helped her dress.
The gown was still a bit damp, but she felt more like her old self. She touched the heavy pink fabric. Once the sun was high in the sky, she would surely overheat, but it was pink, and it was hers.
A yawn escaped her lips, and she blinked down at her plate. She hadn’t slept well for the second night in a row. The sound of the land pike taunted her sleep. Their shrill cry sounded like laughter. Maybe they too had overheard the outrageous spectacle she’d made of herself during the game of chess.
She stabbed at a piece of ham. All the more reason to be on the next boat leaving for England, or Ireland, or even Spain. Surely, there would be a ship headed for Europe before the end of the week. She’d find a way to get the rest of the distance home.
Mr. Wells strolled into the breakfast room. A simple cream shirt encased his broad chest, and his sleeves were rolled, exposing tanned forearms. He paused when his eyes rested on her, and she could almost read the words running through his mind. Can I avoid sitting with her? How could she refuse to forgive a dying man?
Georgia dropped her gaze, and the seconds ticked by. He muttered a greeting and crossed to the sideboard.
She watched him through lowered lids while he filled his plate. He glanced back, and she quickly grabbed the cream, poured a dash into her tea, and stirred. Maybe he’d take what he needed and leave.
Chair legs screeched across the stone floor, followed by the clink of a china plate being plunked down on the table. No such luck.
Silence loomed between them until her curiosity got the best of her and she peeked over. As if he’d been waiting, Mr. Wells raised an eyebrow and motioned toward her dress.
“Some of the gowns were salvageable?”
She nodded.
“Good.”
He swallowed a swig of black coffee and quiet settled again over the room. She racked her brain for words. Should she apologize for her outburst last night or pretend it never happened? Should she choose a mundane topic like the weather? Funny how she could hold hours of lively conversation with any prominent man in London, but here she couldn’t maintain idle banter with a schoolmaster.
He rested his coffee cup on the table and turned his head to stare out the window. “After surveying the storm damage, I gathered your gowns up as best as I could. A few hung from the tops of palm branches, so I needed a ladder to get them down. Most were in poor condition, but perhaps Jenneigh can repair them?”
“You found my dresses?”
He popped a bit of egg into his mouth and replied with a single nod. She didn’t know why she was surprised. The man had twice gone out of his way to retrieve her clothes.
She’d assumed it was the servants who’d gathered them and placed them outside her door, but apparently not. What was Harrison about? Had she misjudged the man? She eyed him skeptically. Did he want something from her? Why was he being so nice?
“Thank you.” She swallowed and watched the cream slowly dissipate into her tea. “For … um … my gowns.” She dared to peek up at him. “Is there a lot of damage to the house?”
He wiped his mouth with a napkin and shook his head. “No, we were fortunate. Let’s pray the rest of the islanders had similar protection.”
Leaning back in his chair, he stared at her with a strange, questioning expression. “Why pink?”
“Pink?” she parroted back to bide time. What should she tell him? How much should she reveal to a man she barely knew? Would she even be able to convey its importance adequately?
“Why do you always wear pink? And don’t merely say it’s a feminine color. Females wear other colors too.”
Her sister, Ann’s voice rang in her ears. You’re a hopeless case, but if you want to look like a girl, you’ll want to wear pink. Pink is a feminine color.
Georgia had stood before Ann in her muddy overalls, the sound of Papa slamming the door behind him still fresh in her ears. She shifted her feet awkwardly, never more aware of how tawdry she appeared in boys’ garb. Not only did Ann appear beautiful, but self-assured. Everything Georgia wanted to be.
For she was not a boy.
Ann raised her chin with a confident smile and tossed Georgia a castoff gown slated to be handed down to her lady’s maid.
The dress landed at Georgia’s feet, and she bent to retrieve it. Her dirty fingers trembled as she reached out and pulled the dress toward her. She stroked the soft material.
Pink …
Harrison’s gaze measured her in cool silence, waiting for the answer to his query.
Georgia pinched her lips and crossed her arms over her chest.
“What makes a former tomboy wear only pink?”
Her mouth opened, but he held up a hand.
“Fredrick’s stories of you always entailed a girl dressed in boy’s overalls who spent her days hunting, catching frogs, and fishing for a whopper. What would make a girl like that completely turn the other direction and suddenly become the epitome of feminine wiles?”
Georgia stared at him, shocked by his audacity.
He leaned in, his eyes searching hers. “I need to know if there is a heart behind the ice princess façade you put on.”
Anger flared, heating her already warm body and flushing her cheeks. “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”
She pushed back her chair to stand, but he placed a hand on her arm, waylaying her.
“I ask because the pieces don’t fit. It would be easy to think you’re an ambitious social climber, but that doesn’t line up. Fredrick isn’t a blindly devoted father. He sees the faults in his other children, but not in you. So, either you’re a conniving actress attempting to capitalize on your father’s inheritance …”
She tried to yank her wrist from his grasp, but he squeezed tighter, stopping the blood flow to her hand.
“Or you’ve taken husband hunting to the extreme.”
The man had taken leave of his senses. What was he talking about?
His eyes speared hers. “Is it an act?” he demanded through gritted teeth. “I want to believe you’re capable of the good things Fredrick says about you, but you haven’t shown me much.”
“What I do is not your concern.” She tilted her chin higher and peered down her nose at him.
“As Fredrick’s close friend and business partner, I make it my concern.”
“I don’t have to report to you, nor to my father, for that matter. He lost that right when he left.”
He leaned closer. “It’s all about you. Is that it?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Are his stories about you true? Did you follow him around like a shadow?”
“Yes,” she hissed. “I dressed like a boy and acted like a boy. There, does that make you happy?”
“It does, yes.” His gaze searched her features. “Then why the change? W
hy did you go to the other extreme?”
“Because I wasn’t a boy, and no matter how hard I tried to impress my father, I could never be the son he’d always wanted.”
“Did he tell you he wanted a son?”
She wavered. Had he, or did Mama put those thoughts in her head? A collection of memories flipped through her mind, but not one of them was Papa saying he wanted or even wished for a son.
“Fathers have it tough.” Harrison’s grip lessened on her hand, but he didn’t let go. “There’s no guidebook on how to properly raise a child. And I can imagine, it’s especially difficult for a father of four girls. Fredrick told me having girls intimidated him. He was so afraid he’d break them that he often avoided his daughters, but you were different. You dogged his steps and persisted in getting his attention. So he did the only thing he knew to do. He taught you to do the things he’d enjoyed as a child—fishing and hunting.”
Georgia struggled with the meaning behind his words. Had her father truly wanted her? Georgia, not George? Had he loved her all along? She shook her head. It couldn’t be. “You can evaluate my circumstances all you want, but you were not there. You don’t know my family or me.”
“How can I, Ice Princess? You’ve built walls to keep everyone shut out. So much so that now you’re suffocating in your own prison. You can’t keep hiding behind pink dresses and a pretty face. You’ve got to let someone in.” His voice softened. “Yesterday was the first time you let the real you take a peek over your walls.”
“You don’t know—” Her voice cut off, choked out by the worst possible thing that could happen to her at this moment—tears. She didn’t want him to see how the pointed arrows of his words struck and hit center target. She studied the edge of the table to hide her emotions, and her vision blurred.
