Fortune's Flower

by Mary Ellen Boyd

  “You sent us letters. And money. We always knew you thought of us.” Verbena tightened her hand on her sisters. “I promise you, Father has never kicked me before. How thoughtful of Damon to send for you even if you found things at their worst.”

  “He was very angry.”

  “Father? Or Damon?” Verbena heard her own familiarity and corrected herself, “I mean, Mr. Thern?”

  “Father certainly is angry, but I was speaking of Damon.” Edeline gave her a strange look. “You were given leave to use his Christian name?”

  ‘I was just repeating you.” A sharp pain stabbed her side again and Verbena winced. “The idea to send Father back to sea was very good.” In fact, it was better than good, it was the best of all possibilities. How remarkable that Damon – Mr. Thern, she must remember that – even thought of getting her father out of the way.

  She set a hand carefully on the sore spot on her side again. It did not help. If Da – Mr. Thern had been anywhere near Thomas this morning, there was no way the drunkenness could be hidden. How embarrassing. And confusing. “How did Mr. Thern get involved?

  “He was riding past, he said, and heard a commotion.”

  Commotion. That could mean anything, and since she had rushed out at the gunshot and remembered only turning the corner of the shed, anything could have happened after that. Commotion. Verbena felt red rush up her face. This was far beyond embarrassing. She did not know how she would ever face him again.

  He would undoubtedly keep himself far, far away. His hinted promise of the morning whispered through her memory. You are not alone any more. She had not wanted his interest, but to have it end like this! Really, she told herself, nothing had changed. She did not know him before, she would not know him now. Verbena looked up at her sister. “How long can you stay?”

  Instead of answering, Edeline pressed something cool and wet on Verbena’s cheek.

  “What is that for?” It would certainly not cool the blush.

  “You have a nasty bruise here, and it is swollen.” Edeline’s eyes lit up. “Not that I’m glad you got hurt, but the timing is just too perfect. We can plot and plan all we need.”

  That did not answer her first question but from the other side of the door whispers interrupted them. “Come in, girls,” Edeline called, giving Verbena a wink. “They will come in anyway, better to know where they are.”

  Lizabeth leaned over the foot of the bed, while Annabelle hovered just out of sight. Verbena did not feel up to much movement, and only knew of her presence by Edeline looking at something beyond the door. “You are awake. We were so scared. Damon made us leave when the doctor came. He said to stay out while you slept, but I heard Edeline talking, and I just knew you had to be awake. I like him. He is very nice.”

  This was all very odd. Damon sending Father off on a ship, Edeline sent for to comfort her, and now the little girls were charmed by him. Why was Damon being so gracious to her family? Verbena forced herself to relax. “He has indeed been good to us today, has he not?”

  “He yelled at Father and I thought he might beat Father. He’s handsome, don’t you think so?” Lizabeth looked so very serious.

  Verbena had to bite the inside of her cheek to hide the smile that threatened. “Handsome is as handsome does.”

  “Everybody always says that,” Lizabeth scoffed, “but I don’t think it is true. Trudy’s brother is not nice at all, but all the girls still think he is handsome.”

  “Maybe they don’t know the things about him that you know,” Edeline said.

  “Maybe. I know Trudy tells me things special, ’cause she is my most dearest friend.”

  Annabelle suddenly appeared by Verbena’s side. She poked Verbena’s shoulder, leaned over and whispered, “Bena? Bena?”

  When Verbena turned with care toward Annabelle, her sister’s brown hair shielded her little face. She leaned in close to Verbena, until she was all dark blue eyes and tangled hair, and whispered, “Who is the lady?” Down by her waist, about at the level of the bed, her small index finger pointed toward Edeline.

  Verbena did not look at her older sister. She did not want to see the hurt in her eyes. If Annabelle did not know Edeline at all, what about Lizabeth, who was only slightly older? She had been natural, all lively and talkative, because nothing much stopped Lizabeth. That did not mean she knew her eldest sister. Edeline’s contact had been mainly through letters. Verbena did not want to put a number to the rare times Edeline had managed to actually stay long enough for tea. She now had a better idea of how difficult finding even those infrequent visits had been.

  “Remember, Annabelle? That lady is your oldest sister. Her name is Edeline.”

  Annabelle shook her head. “No. You are my oldest sister. My other oldest sister is Lizabeth.”

  Verbena’s heart ached on Edeline’s behalf. “You were a tiny baby when Edeline got married. She has been living in London, which is a very far away place. But this was originally her home.”

  She realized she had Lizabeth’s attention, too. With her usual openness, Lizabeth turned to Edeline. “Is that true? Are you really my sister, too?”

  In a soggy, wavering voice, Edeline said, “Yes. I really am your oldest sister.”

  “How come you never came to visit us?”

  “Lizabeth!” Verbena thought she had taught the children better manners. Such a question was simply rude. “She has come on occasion.” Her mind counted in spite of herself. Twice? Three times?

  “No, no, it is quite all right, Verbena.” Edeline’s eyes were covered with a sudden sheen of tears. “Lizabeth, it is a long story, one I will share with you another day, but not today.”

  The clearing of a throat from the doorway was a welcome distraction. “My apologies.” Damon sounded stiff and formal. It seemed wrong to put him in the awkward position of guest after all his efforts – and expense – on their behalf.

  Verbena turned to face him, her head pounding at the movement. The blush of embarrassment had faded, but she felt her face heat again, and not just from the strangeness of a man in her room. No, she owed Damon so much for what he had done today, and she had no idea what she could ever do to repay him. “Please,” she said. “Do come in.”

  He crossed the room. Two steps and he was there, tall as ever, imposing in her small bedroom. He was dressed as darkly as Edeline, but even had he not been, his mourning marked his face as it had done hours ago.

  “Thank you for – ” she started.

  “How are you feeling?”

  They both managed an awkward laugh. He waved a hand toward Verbena. “Please.”

  That little laugh cooled her face, and somehow, his mourning attire put her troubles in a different light. “Thank you for all you have done. We are so very much in your debt. And to bring Edeline, it is most kind and I am grateful.”

  “I did not do it for your gratitude.” His mouth curved in a faint smile. He was so elegant in his rich suit, while she was in the same worn, sprigged day gown of this morning’s chance meeting, much the worse for wear after what had happened.

  Verbena covered the sore cheek with her hand, and hoped it did not look as bad as it felt. Tangled hair brushed her fingers. What a mess she must be! She did not have enough hands to cover every imperfection, so she instead plucked at the thin blanket that covered her to her waist. It, like her gown, had lost most of the color it once had, and was now a muddy grey. The whole room was small and sorry, as battered as her poor, aching body. “I’m sorry you had to see us at such a disadvantage.” Just like that, the blush was back, her face seemed hot as a lit candle.

  Damon sobered. “I would not have you feel embarrassed. I am only glad I was around to help.” He looked past her, and a new smile, cheerful and teasing, bloomed on his face. “Hello, young ladies. I hope you are no longer afraid of me. I did not mean to frighten you when I first arrived.”

  Verbena turned enough to see Lizabeth and Annabelle. Lizabeth, as usual, spoke up. “I was not afraid of you.”

>   That was too much for Annabelle. Verbena watched her youngest sister puff up like a banty hen as she turned to Lizabeth. “Yes, you were. You cried and ran away.”

  “I did not run away from him!” Lizabeth leaned forward in her usual fight-starting pose. “I was running after Verbena. I was worried about her.”

  This was all news for Verbena. She had told the girls to stay in the house. Clearly they had not obeyed. There must be another story behind that.

  Her imposing guest took matters into his own hands before she could intervene. “It was very good of both of you to follow your sister. I was worried about her, too.”

  Annabelle actually took one step forward, and actually pulled on his pant leg. “Thank you for helping Bena.”

  He smiled down at her with his charming smile. “You are most welcome, little one.”

  “I’m Annabelle.”

  He bowed to her, something not easy to manage in such a small room with so many guests. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  Annabelle giggled.

  Verbena’s eyes widened as she watched the byplay. Even her swollen eye seemed to open, she felt the skin pull.

  There was one matter that needed to be addressed. Not having been awake and aware during the . . . commotion that Damon had been exposed to, she did not know how bad it became, but she could imagine. Verbena straightened her shoulders as best she could and forced herself to meet Damon’s gaze. “I must apologize for my father.”

  His dark eyes were warm. He even kept his smile in place. “I have not asked for an apology, nor will I.”

  If he could overlook her father, she would have to work at overlooking his family. It took real effort not to look at her sister, much as she wanted to see Edeline’s face. This was not the behavior from a Thern she had been led to expect.

  Damon had been away from his family’s influence for some time. Now that he was back among them, now that he was the new heir – or so he thought – it might not be so easy to hold to his new opinions.

  She would wait and see.

  CHAPTER 7

  Just before the noon meal, Verbena stood at the front door, one arm cradled against the pain in her side and the pressure from the doctor’s tight bindings. Her attention was split between Damon and squat Mr. Dibble, the village carpenter, dressed for work in his worn apron, his leather bag of tools draped over one bulky shoulder. Mr. Dibble always reminded Verbena of a bull, and the resemblance was all the more pronounced today standing next to Damon’s tall leanness.

  “G’day, Miss Verbena. Gud ta see ya.” Mr. Dibble’s eyes were narrow, and he looked from her to Damon and back again.

  “Mr. Dibble?” Verbena felt her own eyes narrow as she turned her attention to his companion. How could he expose their situation to anyone?

  “I can explain, if I may?” Damon’s face was all innocence. He removed his tall hat, ran a hand over his dark hair, and tucked the hat under one arm. He gave a slight bow. “Miss Barnes. If you forgive me my impertinence, I noticed when I came to visit your family” – a polite way of discussing the scene he had been thrust into – “that your parlor doors were broken. I did not think it good for you to be fighting with them, not in your condition.” He quickly corrected himself. “Or rather, with your injury.”

  Damon stepped aside and gestured toward Mr. Dibble. “I believe you are acquainted. He agreed to come and fix them.” That move seemed to put Damon closer to the entryway.

  “I got the time, miss.” Mr. Dibble smiled his broken-toothed smile. “I brung all me tools. I can get it fixed in two shakes. All I needs is a good look.”

  Mr. Dibble did not have the manners Damon had, and started walking, right toward the door and through, leaving Verbena no alternative but to step aside. “Which ones be they?” He scanned the foyer, a totally unnecessary analysis in Verbena’s opinion, with the parlor doors leaning like drunken men. “Oh, I see. If it be worn wood, I can fix it. If the hinges be broken, ye’ll be needin the blacksmith, but let me take a look before we go callin someone else to come stick his nose in.”

  He crossed the small opening and, head cocked to one side, looked at the gap where the door hinges were pulling away from the jamb. “Yessir, Mr. Thern, it be the wood fer sure. I best be off for some new wood from me shop.”

  “Verbena?” Damon spoke so softly that had they been any farther apart she would not have heard. “Perhaps you should sit down.” He took her arm and walked her into the parlor, where he seated her on the settee with as much elegance as if she was a duchess.

  He sat on the large ladderback chair at her side and examined her face. She wondered how she looked in the bright daylight. In the small hand mirror in the dimness of her room, aside from the growing bruise, she had looked pale. With such bright light pouring in on her, Verbena imagined she must look half-dead.

  There was nothing threatening in his actions, but her sister’s secret weighed on her, and surely must show in her face, one more thing to make her look dreadful.

  “I understand the doctor has been here. I apologize if you view all this as presumptuous,” Damon said in a calm but firm voice. “I assure you I only wish to help. Edeline is part of my family, you are her family and this is my privilege.”

  “Edeline might be family – of a sort, but we are not. Not really.” The words were not easy, but they had to be said. They had an audience, after all. She had to keep herself from turning to look at Mr. Dibble as he measured the doors. She wanted those doors fixed and Damon’s offer, however presumptuous, was a terrible temptation. “I am grateful for the doctor. But this – truly, I would be most uncomfortable accepting such an expensive gift from you.”

  He leaned forward and spoke so softly Verbena could hardly hear him. His chocolate eyes were so close that she found herself staring at them, unable to so much as blink. “Do you always argue like this? It truly is a gift. Think of it as helping your brothers and sisters, if you must. I recall you taking me to task once about not paying better attention to the welfare of the villagers. Dibble needs work, I can provide him with that.”

  He did not wait for her to respond, but rose to his feet with that slow painful movement that must be galling for a man who used to be as active as he once was. She found she had a new appreciation for what his injury cost him. In a few days her injury would be a thing of the past and her life would be normal once again.

  Not that normal was a good thing, but at least she knew what it would bring.

  Her gaze followed him. Her neck hurt looking up so far, so she made to rise herself.

  “Do not bestir yourself, Miss Barnes.”

  Miss Barnes? A moment ago she was Verbena. But then she saw Mr. Dibble had gone very still. No doubt everyone in the village would want to know why Damon had hired him. And when the village gossip mongers heard he had been hired, not for Thernwood, but rather to work on the Barnes’ house – well, hopefully they would all remember the family connection. Damon’s formality would at least hold the worst of the rumors at bay.

  Damon gave her another formal bow and walked toward the front door, taking Mr. Dibble with him. Verbena heard them talking.

  “I best fix the whole frame, I’m thinkin and more than this door. I noticed the front door was headin for this same problem. Cain’t have another door go fallin off.”

  The list of things that needed fixing would grow like the weeds in spring.

  Unfortunately, the list might be, if anything, too conservative. The two men closed the outer door behind them, but their words floated through the open window.

  “Will you need help getting the wood here?”

  “Naw. I got me own wagon, cain’t hardly do me work without it, now could I? Me bein a carpenter an all, I kin patch it up much as it needs an keep it runnin. This village would hardly survive without me help.”

  Verbena felt a smile curve her mouth as she listened to Dibble brag. The Therns might own the land, but without simple workers like the village carpenter, even the big hous
es would soon be in as bad shape as her own.

  It was rather a nice leveler.

  *

  Three hours later, over the sound of Mr. Dibble’s hammer, a rhythmic rattle finally drew Verbena’s attention.

  She turned away from the kitchen table, where she sat on the bench washing dishes in her biggest pot so she could rest while she worked. Her hands were getting chapped, and they stung from the lye and the hot water. “Oh, who can that be?” she muttered as she dabbed her hands on her apron, then slipped it off as she hurried over to the door.

  Damon stood there again, the second time in one day. Years when he was only a young girl’s memory and now he seemed to be as ever-present as weeds in spring.

  “Mr. Thern. What a surprise.” She heard the touch of dryness in her own voice. She somehow was not as astonished as she should be. “Did you forget something here?”

  He removed his hat, tucking it under his arm, and that was the only thing he might have left behind. Although if he had, she would have noticed it sitting abandoned right away. A woman stood at his side, dark hair well dusted with grey peeking out from under her worn bonnet. Round from birthing many children, all now grown and married, she was dressed in a blue gingham gown, carrying a basket over her arm. A wooden scrub brush poked its bristly head out of the top.

  Mrs. Downs. Verbena knew her name, but had never had any dealings with her. Her father’s flaws were a constant source of embarrassment. Paying visits was unthinkable.

  She turned back to Damon. It was bad enough the village would learn the inside of the house was in as bad shape as the outside. She could only imagine what salacious news this new visitor would bring back to spread. She raised her brows and waited for an explanation.

  “I noticed you have not been following the doctor’s advice. I asked around the village, and Mrs. Downs came highly recommended. She is known as a hard worker, and a good cook. I want to be able to tell the doctor that you are being careful, and cared for. I do not wish either of us to incur his wrath.” A smile lurked around his mouth, and his dark eyes were dancing with their own humor.