Smile affixed to her face, Marigold held the box aloft like a holy grail and headed down the corridor to Rose’s room, from which the laughter and chatter rippled like reflected sunlight on waves.
It ceased the instant Marigold appeared in the doorway. Rose, three of her friends, and Momma swung away from a pile of beautiful dresses and undergarments spread across the bed. Rose’s trousseau, of course. No, the dresses were all alike. They must be bridesmaid dresses.
Marigold’s head lightened. She clutched at the door frame. Of course she was in the wedding. Rose’s sister was expected to stand up with her. Stand up in front of everyone, a bridesmaid instead of a bride.
“When did you get home?” Momma asked, smiling and striding across the floor to hug her daughter. “You look exhausted.”
“I was up late packing.” Marigold made herself return her mother’s smile, and her sister’s, and those of the friends in the room, as though she didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m home for good.”
“Eeee!” Rose squealed. She bounded off the end of the bed and dashed forward.
“Careful.” Marigold held the wooden box over her head. “I brought this to you.” She looked past her sister’s shoulder. “It’s yours.”
“The goldfinch!” Rose’s gray-green eyes widened then began to sparkle with tears. “Oh, Mari, it should be yours, not mine.”
Marigold’s lips felt stiff. “You’re the first one to marry, and this was created for the lady Colin Grassick loved. So it’s yours.”
“But you’ll get married.” Rose exchanged a glance with Momma.
“Someday,” one of Rose’s friends murmured.
“God knows my future.” Marigold’s face felt hot.
“Take it, Rose.” Marigold held out the box.
“But—”
“Take it,” the Marsh sisters overrode Rose’s protest.
Rose took the box, her face pink with pleasure, her eyes bright with tears but dancing. “I never thought I’d marry, let alone first.”
“So,” Marigold said with too much briskness, “what can I do to help?”
Nothing, apparently. Momma, Rose, friends, and cousins had taken charge of all the wedding preparations from finding housing for the guests coming from long distances, to cooking, to decorating the church for the ceremony or the yard for the reception. Marigold did have to have her bridesmaid dress, purchased in the event she could participate, altered because she’d lost weight sometime in the past year.
It was a bright blue silk confection that brought out the green of her eyes when she took off the hat that matched. But she wouldn’t. This was Rose’s day to shine.
And shine she did. No stunning white gown sewn with seed pearls and handmade lace compared to the glow of joy radiating from every fiber of Rose’s being. Her face, her eyes, even her hair shimmered with a sparkle that brought tears of joy to Marigold’s eyes. She was so happy for her sister.
She wanted that joy for herself.
Pleasure in Rose’s happiness held Marigold up throughout the day in which she had nothing to do but watch others work. After fifteen months of rarely sitting down except to read to the children or mend, idleness made her want to run up and down the steps for exercise. But she didn’t want to disturb her carefully coiffed hair, the dress, or the masses of flowers. . . .
She’d wanted her bridesmaids to wear rich, rose pink. Roses bloomed in June.
And dreams died.
No, she mustn’t feel sorry for herself. Tears would ruin her face and her dress and Rose’s joy.
“It’s time to go,” Momma called from the foyer.
Carriages decorated with white satin ribbons stood waiting in front of the house to take them to the church. Momma, Father, and Rose climbed into the first one. Marigold joined the bridesmaids in the second one. Whips cracked. The horses tugged the vehicles forward and through the streets to the church, its bell announcing the happy occasion.
“Lucian’s here,” Priscilla pointed out.
Marigold tried not to look or ask.
“He’s with Carrie Grassick,” Priscilla added. “Look.” She pointed out the window.
Carrie, like all the Grassicks, was lovely, with her smooth black hair and brilliant green eyes, fair skin, and a willowy figure. Like everyone else still outside the church, she and Lucian turned toward the carriages. Her left hand rested on Lucian’s arm.
Even from twenty feet away, Marigold couldn’t miss the sunlight sparkling off the diamond ring displayed outside Carrie’s glove.
Eleven
The knock sounded on the front door too early for a social call. Gordon rose from behind the desk now void of ledgers, of business correspondences, or invitations. Only a map of Alaska spread out before him so he could dream over its mountains and uninhabited spaces. He should answer the door. Mrs. Cromwell was busy helping the girls dress for the day and the new nurserymaid applicant was due to arrive at eleven o’clock.
“And if she’s arrived at eight o’clock instead,” Gordon grumbled, “I’ll send her packing. I won’t have a female around who can’t listen to instructions.”
Jaw set, he yanked open the door.
“Good morning,” Marigold said with too bright a smile to be anything but forced and brittle.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“You advertised for a nurserymaid. I thought I’d apply for the position.” The smile cracked, and her lower lip quivered. “I don’t have anything else to do.”
“I’m fairly certain that the position’s been filled.”
And his heart shouldn’t be leaping about like a fish joyous to find a multitude of flies skimming over the surface of its pond, without a one being attached to a hook.
Or was it?
Gordon looked at Marigold’s face, the eyes shadowed, the skin pale, her hair in disarray. In the morning sunshine, she glowed like a precious statue, beautiful and rare.
And the hook drove deep, its barbed end driving deep into his heart.
“Come in,” he said.
Go away! his heart shouted. For your own sake, go!
He stepped back and allowed her to enter. She carried only a small valise.
“Your luggage?” he asked. “Or is this a brief visit?”
“I never even unpacked and brought a few more things.” She set down the valise as though it weighed more than she did. “It’s at the station. I walked here.”
“After you must have traveled all night.” Gordon clasped his hands behind his back to stop himself from reaching out and embracing her. He shouldn’t be happy to see her. He’d told her to go. He’d told her to resume her normal life, so he could resume his without her standing about, judging him on his actions.
Yet there she stood, fatigued, a little grubby, smelling of coal smoke from the train and the coffee staining the front of her ugly gray gown.
Marigolds should never be gray. They should never droop with tiredness. Their eyes shouldn’t convey sorrow, nor their lips curve any way but upward.
His fingers twitched with the urge to tug a corner of her mouth upward until she smiled again. Or if he kissed her. . .
He curled his hands in on themselves to make them behave. She was a maidservant in his home.
No, she wasn’t. She was a young lady with no business standing in his foyer. And he had no business being so happy to see her, to feel like a prayer he hadn’t uttered had been answered.
“I’ve made arrangements to borrow the Morrises’ coachman when necessary, so I will send him for your trunk.”
“Then I may stay?” Her face lit with that smile he so wanted to see. Her curls bounced. “Thank you. It’s only been three days, but. . .Mr. Chambers, I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Your family didn’t want you?” He let all his incredulity at that ring through.
“No, I mean, yes. That is—”
“Miss Marigold!” Ruby’s cry rang loudly enough to be heard all the way to the beach. Her footfalls thund
ered down the steps.
Gordon stepped out of the way just in time to avoid being bowled over as his niece charged for Marigold, arms outstretched. Marigold dropped to her knees in time to catch the child in full flight.
“You came back.” Ruby wrapped her arms around Marigold’s neck. “I told Beryl you would. She said you wouldn’t ’cause you were going to a wedding and would get engaged again, but I said you’d come back ’cause you promised never to leave us alone.”
“She didn’t leave us alone.” With more dignity, but considerable speed, Beryl descended the steps. “Uncle Gordon is here.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t have time for us and doesn’t help me with my arithmetic or piano.” Ruby shot Gordon a glare that stung. “He wants us to go away to school.”
“A school will have more girls your age and better teachers than I am.” Marigold released Ruby to hug Beryl. “Don’t you want that?”
“I have to stay here for Mommy and Daddy.” Ruby stuck her fingers in her mouth.
Beryl sighed and pulled them out again. “You’ll be here until you die, too.”
Marigold laughed. “I’ve missed you.” She cast Gordon a sidelong glance. “All of you. It makes me happier than I’ve been since I left.”
“The wedding?” He began to inquire.
“Have you girls gone for a walk yet?” Marigold broke in. “I hope not. I missed the sea.”
“We haven’t done anything since you left,” Beryl announced. “Uncle Gordon is too busy trying to get rid of us, and Mrs. Cromwell is too busy interviewing people for your position.”
“Oh, of course she is.” Dismay tightened Marigold’s face. She glanced at Gordon. “I’m intruding, aren’t I? You’ve likely found someone.”
Gordon opened his mouth to repeat that he was fairly certain he would offer the job to the woman coming in three hours, but the words wouldn’t come. “I have an interview or two with candidates Mrs. Cromwell finds acceptable.”
“What’s acceptable?” Ruby asked.
“Good enough.” Marigold tugged on one of the child’s braids. “Like your hair isn’t. It looks as bad as mine.”
“She doesn’t have a stain on her dress,” Beryl pointed out. “You do.”
“Oh, dear.” Marigold flushed nearly as red as her hair. “Should I go change?”
“You look like you should rest.” Gordon wanted her out of his vicinity before he hugged her like the girls and told her how much he’d missed her, too. The house no longer echoed as though empty of even the children. It rang with Marigold’s sparkling voice, vibrated with her energy. “I’m leaving for the boathouse.”
“You found something?” Marigold gave him her full attention.
“No, I have a potential buyer and need to inspect the boats before I can think of selling.”
“You’re going to sell the boats?” Beryl asked.
“As soon as I can.”
“Can we go out on them before you do?” Beryl persisted.
“No.” Ruby backed to the steps, her fingers in her mouth. “No, no, no. I won’t. I can’t—”
“Ruby.” Gordon and Marigold reached the child at the same time.
Gordon crouched before her and took her hands in his. “Sweetheart, the boats won’t hurt you.”
“They hurt Mommy and Daddy. They went away because of the boat.”
“No, Ruby.” Gordon caught a tear on her cheek with the knuckle of one hand. “The storm made the boat go down. It was a squall that took them by surprise.”
“Mr. Tripp told them not to go out,” Beryl announced.
Gordon swung around to face her, nearly losing his balance. “What do you mean? I thought he’d been dismissed.”
“He got dismissed a few weeks later,” Marigold said.
Gordon’s stomach twisted. “I’m not sure I like the sound of this.”
“The ledgers—”
“Not in front of the children.” Gordon cut off Marigold’s question.
Beryl scowled at him. “People never say interesting things in front of us. You’d think we’re babies.”
“We don’t want to say anything bad if it isn’t true.” Gordon tried to smile at her. “Let’s talk about taking that boat ride soon. Right now I have business to conduct, and Miss Marigold needs a nap. Where’s Mrs. Cromwell?”
“She’s in the kitchen,” Beryl answered.
“She said she needs a cup of tea after getting us ready.” Ruby giggled. “She wants me to dress just like Beryl, but she has new shoes and I don’t.”
“And your hair won’t stay braided.” Beryl tossed her head. “Mine never comes undone.”
“Pride goeth before a fall, Beryl,” Marigold said, then grimaced and raised a hand to her eyes. “I do believe I will take that nap.”
“Did you leave right after the wedding?” Gordon couldn’t stop himself from asking.
She nodded. “I left as soon as my sister and her new husband departed for their wedding journey. I couldn’t. . .stay.” She yawned, perhaps the reason for the hitch in her voice, but Gordon didn’t think so.
With all his heart, he wanted to know what was wrong, why she looked so sad, why she had come back when he’d said he didn’t want her there, why home had become so onerous to her. He opened his mouth to ask her to take some refreshment in the library before she went to her room, a room still ready for her, but snapped his lips together without speaking.
Concern for others led to trouble. He was better off alone and praying for them.
“I’ll be on my way,” he said and swung toward the door. “I must be back by eleven.”
“When is the boat trip?” Beryl asked.
“There’s room for us on a boat tomorrow.” He tossed the answer over his shoulder. “We’ll go tomorrow.”
“No.” Ruby’s protest was the last thing he heard as the front door clicked shut behind him.
He wished his heart would click shut with so little effort. For ten years, he’d managed to keep the door on caring too much for others firmly closed, usually locked. If he saw others in trouble, he prayed for them and moved on. He did not get involved. Doing so had cost him too much in the past. Yet his niece’s fear of going on the water disturbed him. Marigold’s reappearance and obvious unhappiness tore at him.
“God, I need to get away sooner than later.”
A passerby on the sidewalk gave him an odd look. Gordon smiled. He must remember that he was in the middle of a town, a small town bursting at the seams with summer visitors. Praying out loud wasn’t an option for him.
Nor was a peaceful walk. He passed too many people. Most of them knew him by now, or knew who he was. He passed the eyesore of the derelict elephant and wished he could still climb to the top. Even with others there, he had felt alone when he gazed out to sea, imagined sailing over the horizon.
He’d sailed over that horizon and back again. He’d climbed over the mountains and back again. Alaska was the closest thing to a frontier left for him to discover. It was the last place where he had a chance to build his own fortune, to prove to his father that he would amount to something.
He’d done a poor job of it so far. Every penny he’d earned had gone into his next excursion. The sale of the boating business would go into his next excursion. This time, he wouldn’t fail. He would be properly equipped. He’d planned.
And his brother’s death had interrupted those plans. Marigold threatened to interrupt those plans.
He stopped in the middle of the boardwalk and stared out to sea, wondering where such a notion had come from. Marigold might help him make his escape. He could trust her. If she truly had nowhere else to go, she could stay at the house once he left. He could hire a companion for her, to make things respectable. They could keep the house for the girls, the girls would have a place to return for holidays, and someone who loved them with whom they could stay.
Excited with his idea, Gordon hastened his steps to the boathouse, secured a place for them on the boat for the following day, and
headed home to talk to Marigold about her future.
About her present. As much as he told himself he needed to know because what had happened at home impacted her ability to continue working for him, he admitted to himself that he wanted to know because some of her sunshine had clouded.
His wanting to know was good reason for him to be gone as soon as possible.
Piano scales and the aroma of baking gingerbread greeted him when he entered the house. Moments later, the applicant arrived, fresh-faced, cheerful, and far too young.
“I’m sorry,” he told her, “I need someone more. . .matronly.”
The young woman glanced at Mrs. Cromwell, who had joined him for the interview. She shook her head. Neither female knew what Gordon wanted in a woman he hired. He didn’t either, not until he talked to Marigold.
Once the girl left, he followed his ears to the sound of the piano and found Marigold presiding over Ruby’s practice.
“Miss McCorkle?” he asked.
She glanced up.
Ruby slid off the stool and raced across the room. “I can do two octaves without making a mistake. Do you want to hear?”
“Of course I do.” He couldn’t say anything else.
Ruby demonstrated her growing skill. Then Beryl showed him how she had improved, playing a simple piece.
“Now you play, Miss Marigold,” the girls urged.
Gordon didn’t encourage it. Nor did he discourage it. Marigold’s playing was worth listening to. By the time she finished the sonata, Mrs. Cromwell entered with milk for the girls and coffee for the adults, gingerbread and cookies for everyone.
So the day went. Every time he tried to talk to Marigold, she vanished behind the girls’ needs to eat, to practice, to go play with the cat in the yard. Not until after supper, when the girls settled down to read or draw on their own in the parlor, did he track her down in the kitchen, where she was washing dishes.
“Why did you come back?” he asked without the preamble of social niceties.
She rinsed a plate before setting it in the rack to dry and turning to face him. “My father doesn’t need me working in the business. He’s an exporter, you see, which is how I met my fiancé—my former fiancé. I’m afraid he thinks I’ll fall for someone else, who–who’s unsuitable. I find my mother’s charity work tedious, and—and—” She snapped her teeth together and returned to the washing up.
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