by Renee Ryan
Hannah sighed and continued her inspection.
Although the pattern was unique, the brocade upholstery on the furniture matched the colors on the walls seamlessly. The sturdy mahogany chairs and tables, brushed golden from the firelight, brought to mind permanence. Stability. Reminding her of—
The door to the office swung open, and Hannah jumped.
As both men approached, Hannah desperately tried to calm her nerves. She looked from Beau to her father and back to Beau again.
Although they were smiling, there was something in their expressions, something a little too arrogant and a little too masculine, that sent trepidation hovering at the back of her throat.
Beau’s eyes danced with an unreadable look as he took her hands in his. She hated that he was so inscrutable all of a sudden. Something deep inside her, something inherently female, warned her that the ensuing conversation was not going to go well. “Beau? What is it? What’s happened?”
His expression transformed, and he gave her the lazy O’Toole smile that should have warmed her heart. Dread settled hot in her chest instead.
“As soon as I can make the arrangements, we’ll break ground on my new church.”
Hannah’s stomach pitched at the news.
No, Lord, please no. Not this.
She stole a glance at her father, who was watching them with an air of satisfaction.
Oh, Lord, no.
Beau had settled. In spite of what he’d said earlier tonight, he’d settled for a life that would eventually suck his passion for the Lord dry. And yet, his eyes gleamed with joy. She tried to be happy for him, tried to understand. “I…That’s wonderful.”
But it wasn’t wonderful. It was awful.
She loved Beauregard O’Toole, and silently wept over the mistake he was making. Her heart broke a little and she selfishly mourned the loss of her own dream.
Because, no matter what words came out of his mouth next, that new church of his would not include her. Beau might be able to settle. She, however, could not.
“And now, Hannah, your future will be safe, as well,” her father said.
Switching her attention to him, Hannah pulled free of Beau’s grip. “My future?”
She tried to sound haughty, but her voice held a hollow edge even to her own ears. Her world had just turned crooked and off balance, and she had no idea how to set it right again.
Clearly unaware of her disappointment, Beau continued smiling. “What your father is trying to say is that you don’t have to worry about your future ever again. You’ll never be scared and alone.” The look in his eyes was possessive.
And broke her heart a little more.
“But I’m not alone now.” She glanced toward her loyal chaperone, who was stretching and blinking herself awake. “I have Mavis.”
Mavis smiled at her. “That’s right, dearie.” She pounded her birdlike chest with a fist, then released a round of harsh coughs. “You’ll always have me,” she declared once she had herself under control again.
Beau touched Hannah’s arm, and she turned to look at him again. “That’s not what I meant. With me, you’ll never end up like Jane.”
Of course she wouldn’t end up like Jane. She’d already taken care of that herself. But the inflexible look in Beau’s eyes hiked her chin a little higher, and the first threads of despair roped through her blood. Beau looked as though he’d just given her the greatest gift in life—male protection.
Her heart pounded thick with fear.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want his protection. She didn’t need it. Why didn’t he understand that essential truth? After everything they’d been through, Beau didn’t know her. He didn’t know her at all.
Her father cleared his throat and gave her the smile he usually reserved for Rachel. In fact, he looked like the happy patriarch presiding over his brood. “And best of all, you’re going to be a minister’s wife.”
“That’s right,” Beau said. “We’re getting married.”
She opened her mouth, closed it and then said, “Who’s getting married?”
But she knew what he meant. How could he believe all was settled when he hadn’t even asked her the question?
As though she hadn’t spoken, her father added, “Of course you have my blessing.” He turned to Beau. “I think you will make my daughter a fine husband.”
Mavis gasped. Loudly. Then she snorted. Then she mumbled something that sounded like “idiot men.”
At least one other person in the room understood.
Beau couldn’t be doing this to her. He respected her too much not to properly ask for her hand in marriage.
Too stunned to do much more than stare at them both, Hannah responded with a growl in her throat, a furious shake of her head and a narrowing of her eyes.
Still, the idiot men forged ahead.
“Your father will perform the ceremony, of course.”
She gawked at him, terrified of how easy it would be to break down and cry. But the vicious stirrings of pride began weaving through her, and she promised herself she would never cry in front of Beauregard O’Toole. Never.
As though sensing her mood at last, Beau’s shoulders stiffened in alarm. “Hannah?”
She tried to speak, she could even feel her jaw working, but discernible words eluded her. Finally, she said, “Let me see if I have this straight. We’re getting married.” She pointed to her and Beau. “And he’s performing the ceremony.” She pointed to her father.
She held the pause, praying, wishing, hoping either Beau or her father would redeem themselves at any moment.
Which, of course, they didn’t. They both stared at her, eyes blinking in identical displays of confusion.
The ticking of the mantel clock mocked her. Tick, tick, tick went the pendulum. No, no, no went her heart. Wrapping her dignity around her like a shield of armor, she set her chin and held to her silence.
When Beau scrunched his forehead, indicating he was deep in thought, Hannah prayed for a miracle.
Mavis came up next to her and clutched her hand. Hannah held on for dear life. Tears pricked in her eyes. The tears were more from loss of pride than pain, or so she told herself, and that made controlling them so much harder.
In slow, clipped tones that would have sent a sane man running for cover, Hannah broke the silence. “And you two have planned all of this so I won’t end up like Jane.”
Beau’s eyes narrowed, and she saw the exact moment when understanding dawned. His face instantly fell and he raked a shaky hand through his hair. “Hannah, I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, but you did.” Seething anger replaced the hurt. His apology had come too late. The damage had been done. “I thought you said you were sorry for the way you treated me at our first meeting. But I see you truly believe that I will fall into a life of sin without you guarding me against that terrible fate.”
Oh, but this time, this time, he’d hurt her deep at the core—where she trusted most.
“I am sorry. You are a kind, compassionate, Christian woman. You are—”
“A woman who will end up like Jane if left to her own devices?”
Obviously stunned by her vehemence, he blinked. Then blinked again.
Didn’t he understand? “There is no shame in what I am, in what I do. I am a successful actress,” she shouted. “Do you hear me? An actress.”
Mavis snorted. “I certainly heard you.” She clutched Hannah’s hand tighter. “And I don’t blame you for being angry. Not one bit.” She glared at Beau with disappointment in her eyes. “You should know better, boy.”
“You stay out of this,” Reverend Southerland said.
“You stay out of this, as well.” Hannah jabbed a finger in his direction. “This isn’t about you, either.”
Her father lifted himself to his full height. “You are my daughter. And that makes this my business. I’ve turned my back on you for five years. I was wrong to abandon you. You could have been hurt—” he shuddered “—or worse. I
can’t allow you to walk out of this house unprotected again.”
“Oh, Father.”
His eyes looked so somber, so full of pain and regret. “Beauregard can protect you as I never did,” he said.
Hannah stared at her father in awe. Wisps of childhood memories flitted across her mind. But tonight, she didn’t see the unforgiving preacher who’d condemned her for her sins. No, tonight, she saw the grieving widower unprepared to care for two young daughters. One too wild for him to handle, the other too weak and needy. She saw a man who had escaped in the safety of the rules and rituals of his religion.
He hadn’t been a bad man. Just a hurting one.
He’d done the best he could. And now, in his own, arrogant way, he was trying to make up for his mistake.
She took a deep breath. And forgave.
“Father, I understand your concern.”
She stopped, shook her head, suddenly very tired, and frightened, and confused. But then, she did something she never thought she’d do in this lifetime. She rushed to her father and hugged her arms around his waist.
He stood rigid at first. With awkward movements, he finally returned her embrace. “I’m so sorry, Hannah.” His voice hitched with emotion.
“Me, too. But, Father, you don’t have to worry about me. I have money. Lots of it. And I own property. And stocks and bonds, too.”
She swung around to glare at Beau, pinpointing all of her turbulent emotions into one seething spark of anger. “When your mother took me in, do you think she only taught me about acting?”
“I—”
“No.” She cut him off. “Patience taught me how to save and invest and manage my money properly, once I started making more than I knew what to do with.”
“I don’t understand.” There was such male confusion in his eyes that Hannah almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
His arrogance had cut her too deeply to stifle her pride now.
“I am a wealthy woman in my own right, Beau. So, you see, I don’t need you.”
Oh, but she lied. She lied, lied, lied. She did need him, needed him like air. But stubborn pride, that evil, evil character flaw that ran deep and wide within her, wouldn’t let her take back her words.
His face collapsed and he reached out his hand to her. All facades were gone. He wore no mask. And no O’Toole charm softened his features. All that was left was raw exposure. “But, Hannah, I need you.”
She lowered her head, unable to bear the pain in his eyes. Her pride wouldn’t release her enough to give him the words he wanted. “Maybe you do need me,” she whispered. “But not enough to ask me to marry you.”
“I did.”
“No.” She sighed. “You told me.”
When he stared back at her and didn’t declare his love for her right away, Hannah knew she’d lost him. No, she thought, she couldn’t lose something she’d never had.
He might think he needed her. But it wasn’t her he needed. It was some ideal woman who would smooth his rough edges.
“Come on, Mavis,” she said, her tone flat. “Let’s go.”
Beau found his voice then. “That’s it?” he asked, a hard steel of anger edging his words. “That’s how this ends? You just walk out on me? Don’t you want to know the particulars of my new church?”
“No.” She turned her back on him, felt his hand hover near her shoulder but then drop without making contact. She desperately wanted to swing around to face him, but she was too proud to let him see the helplessness in her eyes. “It would break my heart.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The Grand Opera House, Chicago, Illinois
Six weeks later
Shakespeare’s Hamlet progressed toward its dramatic conclusion. Crimes were exposed with the perfect blend of shock and retribution. Schemes and false loyalties were revealed at a precise, well-rehearsed pace.
Unfortunately, Hannah no longer found joy translating every nuance found on paper into a memorable performance onstage. The irony of playing Ophelia, an obedient young woman dependent on men to tell her how to behave, brought back poignant memories of her last meeting with Beau.
If only that night had been a dress rehearsal, she would have played her role differently in the final performance.
After tonight there would be no more performances for her. Fitting, perhaps, that her last play was a tragedy.
With nothing left to do but take her bows, Hannah stood poised in the shadows offstage. She tried to contain her nerves, but she was impatient to move on to the next chapter of her life.
At first, when Hannah had returned to Chicago with Mavis in tow she had craved the escape of her profession. Needed it as much as breath itself. In the end, she’d only found loneliness. Guilt.
Regret.
Unwanted memories slid into her mind, playing out as strangely real as the last moments of the play. She’d been so angry at Beau for his high-handed treatment of her. All because he’d chosen to ally himself with her father. Looking back now, she realized she’d felt betrayed by them both. Yet it had been easier to forgive her father than Beau.
Why was that?
Because she’d allowed fear and pride to dictate her actions. She’d overreacted, jumped to conclusions and had cowardly disappeared before the final act.
Well, Hannah would make it right. All she had to do was find Beau and then ask for his forgiveness.
With that thought, Hannah leaned slightly forward, her eyes searching for the woman positioned in the wings off the opposite end of the stage. Mavis waggled her fingers at her, and then pointed to their packed trunks behind her.
Tonight they would leave the theater forever.
Hannah’s hands started to shake again, threatening her outward calm. A deep, driving urge to leave now, before the play was complete, washed through her. Hannah roped her fingers together and clutched her palms tightly against one another. In this mood, her mind wandered back in time, back to that dismal night in her father’s parlor.
Why hadn’t she asked Beau about his church? Why hadn’t she loved him enough to support his dream?
Because she’d been afraid. Afraid she’d turn into an Amelia. And because of that fear, she’d allowed pride to rule her heart.
Unable to bear her own emotions, she shifted her gaze toward the audience. Hannah squinted deep into the shadows until her gaze focused. Countless faces stared at the stage with their usual rapt attention.
Tonight, however, their willingness to accept the lie grated. Why were so many hungry for an illusion? Hannah no longer wanted the deception herself.
From this day forward, she wanted nothing but truth in her life.
Taking a deep breath, Hannah turned her attention back to the stage. The actor playing the Norwegian prince, Fortinbras, had just demanded Hamlet be carried away in a manner befitting a fallen soldier.
Hannah sighed in relief. A few more minutes and she would be free.
At last, Hamlet’s body was carried offstage.
A hushed pause filled the theater.
Then…
The audience surged to its feet. Applause thundered. And the curtain began its slow descent. Chaos instantly erupted behind the delicate veil between audience and actor.
“Places, everyone,” yelled the director. He turned to Hannah and motioned her forward.
Hannah wove her way through the labyrinth of rushing humanity, gliding toward her spot on the far edge of the troupe.
Once in place, Hannah rubbed her tongue across her teeth before turning her head to seek out Mavis once more.
Hannah’s breath backed up in her lungs.
Mavis was gone.
In her place stood…
Beau.
With greedy eyes, Hannah looked at him. He’d grown thinner, a bit worn, but was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. For once in her life, she ignored pride. She ignored obligation. And broke formation in a run.
“Hannah,” said the director. “Where are you going?”
She flicked her wrist at him. “I’m through.”
“You can’t do this,” he called after her. “You must take your bows.”
Speechless with frustration, she turned back. One step, two, and then she hesitated, poised between her past and her future.
She chose the future.
Shooting the director an apologetic shake of her head, she swung her back to the stage and rushed toward Beau.
Eyes focused on him, and him alone, she ignored the director’s howl of outrage.
With each step, Hannah noted the conflicting emotions on Beau’s face, love overriding everything else.
She picked up the pace, but was suddenly jostled by an actor on her left. Beau’s eyes filled with alarm, but Hannah caught her balance and continued forward.
At last, he smiled at her.
Fear gripped her in response. She couldn’t lose him again.
Lord, fill me with a humble heart, she prayed. Fill me with the courage to ask his forgiveness.
How easy it would be to allow pride to keep her from admitting her share of the guilt.
Hannah pressed her lips together, realizing she’d missed the point all along. What did it matter if they lived in a church in the meadow or in a mining camp or a saloon? Life with Beauregard O’Toole, wherever it took them, would hold the perfect blend of Christian grace, charity and hope.
With a shake of her head, Hannah smiled at her astonishingly handsome costar in life.
Golden, spectacular, filled with charm, Beauregard O’Toole was everything she wanted in a man. Three priorities ruled his actions. God. Family. Ministry.
She stopped in front of him, suddenly unsure where to begin. She looked at his chiseled, handsome face. What if he didn’t want her? What if she’d misread the love in his eyes?
A knot of anxiety twisted in her stomach. The noise of the theater became a dull drumming in her ears.
He reached for her hand, bent at the waist and dropped a kiss onto her knuckles. The gesture brought tears to her eyes.
Everything would be all right. As long as they were together.
“You were breathtaking tonight, my dear.” His voice was a little shaky, and the most beautiful sound Hannah had heard in the last six weeks.
