“And I just can’t leave these children—”
“Who are more important than I am.”
“No, no, Mr. Chambers wants me to leave.” Marigold swallowed against a rising lump in her throat, took a deep breath against the band that seemed to tighten around her chest. “I’ll be home for Rose’s wedding. I–I’ll stay home then.”
“Do what you like.” Lucian strode to the porch steps. With his back to her, he added, “I just came calling tonight to tell you I’m seeing someone else.”
❧
With two clean hands in his, Gordon walked to the nearest ice cream parlor amid a throng of other families bent on the same enjoyment. Though many people smiled at him and nodded, he knew none of them, and they seemed not to know Gerald. None of them spoke to him.
Strawberry ice cream for Ruby and vanilla for Beryl obtained and consumed, Gordon took two sticky hands in his and returned home. Ruby chattered the whole way, as though she’d never shed a tear in her life.
Beryl said little beyond thanking him for the dessert. He wondered if he’d said something to upset her now. But when they reached the house, she ran halfway up the steps, then turned around and blew him a kiss. “You’re a good uncle,” she announced, “even if you took too long to get here and want to leave us again.”
“You can’t leave,” Ruby wailed.
At that moment, with her big blue eyes gazing into his, he thought she was right.
“We won’t worry about that now, Ruby.” He patted her head. “Go on up and get your hands washed before you stain your dress.”
“All right.” She, too, blew him a kiss and raced up the steps like an awkward colt.
Out of sight, the girls grew out of mind, or at least sentimental feeling. His brother might have made Gordon their guardian because he was their only living relative, but Gerald wouldn’t want Gordon to raise them. Gerald had known his brother seemed to only hurt those he cared about, whatever his good intentions.
Gordon supposed Marigold McCorkle could stay on and see to the majority of their upbringing. That wasn’t unusual. Perhaps it was even better than sending them to a school. But that meant he would have to stay, and Alaska called. Gold called. The wild aloneness called. A man could think in air that fresh and clean and devoid of people. He didn’t want to worry about anyone else’s troubles. His own had consumed him long enough. Right now, working out if anything was wrong with the business consumed him.
Wednesday morning he went down to the boathouse and inspected the crafts bobbing at their moorings along the pier. All appeared clean and shiny. Paint gleamed white; the names in gold leaf caught the sun and the eye. Brass shimmered. But fresh paint was easily applied and could merely be an illusion of good repair.
Yet why should he believe this Dennis Tripp, a man dismissed from his job, over a longtime and reliable employee like Lawrence Randall? The answer was simple—he shouldn’t. Tripp merely wanted revenge against the man who’d sent him packing. Still. . .
Gordon knocked on the office door then pushed it open.
“Mr. Chambers.” The clerks greeted him cheerfully. “We have your ledgers ready for you.”
“Well, uh, thank you.” Gordon felt a flush of embarrassment for his doubt of the manager creeping up his neck. “That’s thoughtful of you.”
“It’s not a problem, sir. Do you want someone to carry them back to the house for you?”
“No, thank you, I can manage.” He lifted the stack of account books from the clerk’s arms. “I’ll bring them back as soon as possible.”
“No hurry.” The clerk smiled.
So did his companions.
Gordon frowned on his way out the door. Though fifty pounds of ledgers filled his arms, uneasiness nagged at his middle. Yes, Randall had voluntarily given up the books, yet not wanting them back immediately struck a discordant note in Gordon’s mind. This made no sense. An accountant should want the books back immediately. He should need them to refer back to and add on to, as the business was still open and current—
Ah, that was it. Gordon hadn’t received the current books.
Jaw set, he marched the rest of the way home and slammed the books onto the desk. A gasp caught his attention. Marigold, her hair restrained by a lacy cap—that would have looked better on Mrs. Cromwell—and wearing a gown that made her skin look the color of a fish’s belly, knelt in front of one of the bookcases, a heavy tome in her hands.
“Did I startle you?” he asked.
“Yes.” She rose. “I didn’t expect you to slam those books down.”
“I didn’t slam—” He stopped and scowled.
He didn’t need to explain or apologize for his actions. It was his house, until the girls turned twenty-one. This was his office and his desk. Females wanted to interfere, introduce themselves into a man’s life even when he didn’t need one, and make him feel like he’d done something wrong because he made a little noise.
He glanced at her book. “Isn’t Elizabeth Gaskell’s work a little old for my nieces?”
“It’s not for your nieces. It’s for me.” That said, she turned on her heel and stalked from the room.
Gordon stared at her. He’d never met such an uppity female, not even in the West, where women tended to have freer spirits than in the East. She had no right—
Well, he’d just dismiss her. Finding someone else to look after the girls was going to be difficult and cause yet more delays, but Marigold McCorkle had to go. He wanted a female who moved around unobtrusively like Mrs. Cromwell, one whose company he could seek out, if he wanted it.
Which he wouldn’t. He never sought out anyone’s company. He had in the past and caused too much trouble.
Shoving the ledgers to one end of the desk, Gordon rounded the massive structure and dropped into a chair. He found paper and a fountain pen in one of the drawers. After filling the pen, he composed an advertisement for the local paper. He also found the name of an employment bureau among some of the household books stashed in the desk. That might be easier than advertising. They would be able to send qualified candidates without him having to interview a dozen females to discover if they were suitable to care for his nieces. Perhaps he should ask the pastor.
Messages to the agency and pastor composed, Gordon pulled the top book from the stack of ledgers and began to work. He worked until his eyes burned and his stomach growled. Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed just once. He didn’t know if that meant a half hour or one o’clock. As if in response, the library door swung open and the smell of mushroom soup preceded Marigold into the room.
“I brought you your lunch.” She set the tray on a table before the empty fireplace. “Would you like coffee afterward?”
“I would, thank you.” Gordon rose.
Marigold started for the door.
“Miss Marigold?”
She stopped, didn’t turn, but tilted her head in a listening attitude.
“Why are you wearing that cap all of a sudden?” he demanded.
Her hands flew to the unbecoming headgear. “Mrs. Chambers had all of us wear caps to keep our hair out of the food and from falling over the house. I stopped after she. . . It’s hot and I hate it, but it’s disrespectful not to wear it.”
“And when”—he closed the distance between them—“did you start worrying about being disrespectful?”
She raised her gaze to his, and he flinched at the sadness that clouded their bright color. “Since I realized that perhaps I’m better off staying here with the girls than going. . .home. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll fetch that coffee.”
Before he thought up an appropriate response, she whisked from the room, the full skirt of her dress lingering behind her like the tail of a gray mouse.
Not that anything about Marigold was mousy. She could wear all the gray dresses and caps she liked. A girl with her demeanor could never come across as timid.
Gordon found himself smiling as he carried his lunch to the desk and continued running his own cal
culations through the books. A few more hours of the work, and he wasn’t smiling at all. The walls closed in on him. The air stifled him. He yawned and longed for a long ride in the open, or perhaps a sail across the bay and back.
He would take one, a moonlight sail. Someone should have a boat he could rent.
Hearing the girls playing the piano, he made his way to the music room and tapped on the door.
“Uncle Gordon.” Ruby slid off the bench and raced to hug him. “I haven’t seen you all day.”
“I’ve been busy.”
And he shouldn’t feel a pang of guilt.
“And now I’m going to leave for a few hours,” he told her.
“You’re not dressed for a dinner party,” Beryl pronounced.
“I’m going sailing.” He addressed this to Marigold, who stood behind the piano.
“Sailing?” Ruby clutched his hand. “You can’t go sailing, Uncle Gordon. I was naughty today.”
Eight
Marigold stood at the front parlor window and pounded her fists against her legs. She should have been down on her knees praying for her soul, for forgiveness, for the ability to like Mr. Gordon Chambers. But at that moment, watching him stride toward the house at nearly two o’clock in the morning, she wanted to yank open the front door and shove him down the steps.
“If you want to be alone,” she mouthed to the fluid shadow of the man, “then leave. Give us access to money this time, and we’ll do just fine without you.”
If Mrs. Cromwell weren’t so determined to leave New Jersey for a warmer climate, Marigold would have said that. Now she had no reason to go home. Lucian had betrayed her. He hadn’t waited as he promised. Going home meant facing people’s pity, the kind of sympathy she’d witnessed in Mrs. Morris’s eyes.
Except Marigold had to go home for her sister’s wedding. The pity would be rampant there. She was the daughter who’d gotten engaged first. She should have wed before Rose. She should have the family heirloom now residing in her dresser at home. But because of the man now climbing the front steps, Marigold was a spinster too angry to sleep or pray or even speak to the man.
“But you could have stayed home for Ruby’s sake.” She ground her teeth and drew into the shadows of the parlor so he didn’t catch a glimpse of her and feel inclined to speak. At the moment, she intended to practice the premise that if she could say nothing nice, she should keep her mouth shut. Let Ruby make him feel his guilt.
Not that the child had been able to when he announced he was leaving. She’d started crying too hard to have any of her words coherent. When Gordon tried to comfort her, she’d turned her face away from him and reached for Marigold. She caught a glimpse of hurt in his eyes—or thought she did. The fact that he’d simply said, “I’ll be late,” and departed made Marigold doubt her own judgment in what she’d witnessed of his expression.
After a few moments of Ruby crying, Beryl announced, “She’s afraid of water.”
“And Uncle Gordon’s going on the water,” Ruby said through hiccups.
“He’ll be all right.” Marigold made the promise, knowing too late what would follow.
“Mommy and Daddy weren’t.” Ruby stopped crying but grew quiet and ate little dinner.
Afterward, Marigold took her into the garden to play with Dahlia, the kitten, and a ball of yarn. When both child and kitten flopped onto the grass exhausted, Marigold settled beside them and asked why Ruby told Uncle Gordon not to leave because she’d been naughty.
“You weren’t even naughty,” Marigold concluded. “All you did was drop your slate and break it. We’ll get you another one.”
“But you told me to be careful and I wasn’t.” Ruby played with the kitten’s pointed ears.
Marigold tugged one of Ruby’s pigtails. “I know. But it was an accident.”
“But what if Uncle Gordon has an accident?”
He’ll deserve it. Marigold asked for immediate forgiveness for such an uncharitable thought. She didn’t need to concern herself about him except where his actions affected the girls.
“What does breaking your slate have to do with your uncle having an accident?” Marigold asked.
Ruby shook her head and didn’t answer. She probably didn’t know any more than Marigold did. Yet somewhere in the child’s head, she connected the two.
Ruby could be a little naughty. Beryl might have a rough tongue on her, but she never got herself dirty, did all her lessons with care and precision, and did what she was told. Ruby, on the other hand, got restless and fidgeted, didn’t always obey, and got dirty just looking at the yard. She was a sweet and precious child, though. So was Beryl. How Gordon Chambers could dismiss them—
Marigold waited for his footfalls to grow silent on the steps then the upper floor, before she slipped down the hallway to the back stairs and on up to the nursery wing at the rear of the house. In the morning she could reassure the girls that their uncle was all right.
❧
Except, in the morning, because she’d waited up half the night, Marigold didn’t wake up. Two hours past her usual waking time, she roused to the girls giggling in the schoolroom and the smell of coffee. Snatching up her dressing gown, she stumbled through the doorway.
Breakfast lay spread out on the worktable. Her breakfast of toast, eggs, coffee, and an apple.
“Mrs. Cromwell helped us,” Ruby announced.
“Uncle Gordon thought you might be ill.” Beryl tilted her head to one side and inspected Marigold’s face. “Do you have a cold? Your eyes are kind of puffy.”
“Not enough sleep.” Marigold hugged the girls. “And look at the two of you all dressed. Did Mrs. Cromwell help you?”
“We helped ourselves.” Beryl picked up the coffeepot. “I’ll pour. It’s too hot for babies like Ruby.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“You cry like one.” Beryl sent a jet of dark brown liquid arcing into the cup as though she did it every day.
“Very good.” Marigold applauded.
“I buttered your toast.” Ruby held up the plate—and sent eggs sliding down the front of her pinafore.
“You are such a slob!” Beryl cried.
“I didn’t mean to.” Ruby’s eyes grew huge with tears.
“I told you to leave it—”
“You leave it, Beryl.” Marigold took the plate from Ruby before any more harm occurred. “Ruby, you need to be more careful, you know that. And, Beryl, don’t ever call your sister names again.”
“She needs to read the Bible about love,” Ruby declared.
Marigold managed not to smile. “And you need to read about forgiveness.”
Her own words sent a stab of pain through her conscience. Ruby wasn’t the only one who needed to read about forgiving one another. Marigold had a lot of people to forgive—Gordon, Lucian, the young lady who had accepted Lucian’s advances. . . .
“After I eat this delicious breakfast,” Marigold said, “we’ll go outside and read, all right?”
“Uncle Gordon went down to the beach,” Beryl announced. “I want to go. We never go with you.”
“It’s too crowded right now.” Marigold grimaced over the notion of keeping track of the girls amid the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people on holiday.
“Then let’s go to the lighthouse,” Beryl persisted. “You said we could go.”
“So I did.” Marigold perched on her chair and picked up the coffee cup. “Ruby, change into a clean pinafore and fetch your bonnets. I’ll be ready in a trice.”
She was, wearing one of her cotton day dresses instead of the ugly gray things. The lighthouse was one of their favorite places. As little as she was, Ruby managed all the steps to the top then stood in awe of the panorama of sky and sea spread out below.
On top of the world like that, Marigold gloried in the beauty of the Lord’s creation and managed to push thoughts of Lucian and the upcoming humiliation of her sister’s wedding aside. Change seemed possible amid light and beauty. Lucian would see her a
nd remember that he made a promise to her. Despite the harsh words they had exchanged over the back gate, they would mend their fences at the wedding.
She supposed she should mend her fences with her employer, but he seemed preoccupied with ledgers and sailing and business meetings. She supposed she should be pleased that he seemed to be making friends with gentlemen in Cape May. Perhaps they would convince him to stay. Yet the more time he spent with others, the less he spent with his nieces, and that she couldn’t abide. Her conscience pricked her a bit over that last. She should care about Gordon leaving for the girls’ sake, not her own. They needed him, if they couldn’t have her.
She supposed something rang falsely in that thought, too, but found herself too preoccupied about the upcoming party to think about it. Gordon didn’t know she was invited, and she didn’t want to tell him. He might forbid her to go, and she didn’t want another reason to find him annoying.
Sometimes she found his presence in the house an irritation. She no longer felt free to play. The Chamberses had asked her to play, but Gordon closed the library door every time his nieces began work on their scales and simple melodies. Marigold didn’t know if their beginner efforts bothered him, or if he didn’t appreciate music. She didn’t want to find out, so she avoided one of her pleasures in life—playing the piano.
One more way he had harmed her life.
“I should play in the hope it annoys him,” she grumbled as she sorted through music. “Something loud and obtrusive.”
No, no, she shouldn’t think that way. God wouldn’t want her to be mean.
“But, God, I can’t forgive him for the harm his actions have caused me. What if Lucian is seriously attached to this niece of Mrs. Morris? What if—”
She made herself think of the flashes of pain she’d seen on Gordon’s face when the past came up through conversation, a photograph, or an old landmark. He might have good reason for staying away, and she should have compassion.
But to go home without a fiancé stung without having yet done it.
She managed not to think about Lucian when teaching the girls, when reading, when concentrating on her anger with Gordon Chambers. Dressing for a dinner party, the first one she’d dressed for since the Chambers’ deaths. Her thoughts turned to the one her parents held to announce her engagement to Lucian.
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