The Willows

by Mathew Sperle

  All easily said, but following Michael to his boat, her misgiving grew. All patience and humor in the world wouldn’t help her when he was in such a black mood.

  “What are you doing out here?” he snapped.

  “I came to talk to you.”

  “Oh? Leave something out of your lists?”

  Swallowing hers, she kept to her tone even, “Why are you being so rude? You made quite a scene in front of the poor children.”

  “Ah, so now there poor children, Seems only yesterday you were calling them brats.

  She felt her control slip. “What would you know about yesterday? You were not even here. You are never here.”

  His voice went dangerously low. “No, I’m not. I’m out trying to amass funds, so you can drink your chocolate and stage your tournament and play your games with my children.”

  “Forget the cocoa then. Forget the tournament, too.”

  “Is it really that easy for you to forget? What about those poor children?” He pointed to the cabin. “You’ve dangled visions of grandeur before their eyes, my lady. Haven’t they had enough pain, without you filling their heads with useless fantasy?”

  “There’s nothing with dreaming.”

  “Dreams are for rich children with rich daddies. Better to grow up knowing that.” He grabbed a bottle from his boat and took a large drink.

  “You’ve been drinking.”

  “Damn straight I have,” he said after another gulp. “And I plan to drink a whole lot more.”

  “What will that solve? Drinking just encourages a man to stop fighting and give up. Or get nasty, like you did tonight.”

  “Nasty? I am being realistic for a change. Failure tends to do that to a man. Nothing like having your nose shoved in the dirt to force you to take a good long look at reality. A bank clerk in New Orleans very kindly explained it. You see, my kind can’t be trusted with a dream. To borrow money, you must have money. He called it collateral, but it’s more a matter of having the right name. Even you’re precious Lance, doing nothing with that rotting hell he calls a plantation, can get a loan before me.”

  Gwen felt the anger leave her. That was why Michael had gone to the city? For a loan? If he’d been turned down, no wonder he was so bitter.

  “I heard the children,” He went on angrily, “Telling you why they brined the roof. Turning lead into gold. And still you try to tell me there’s nothing wrong with fantasy?”

  “They were only trying to help.”

  “They could have killed themselves. How do you think I’d feel, coming home to a burning cabin, knowing they died trying to help me? No dream is worth that.” He sighed, and the sound seemed to reverberate in the air. “It’s all over,” He said wearily. “No more dreaming, no more tournaments. As soon as I tie up loose ends, I’m sending you home.”

  Home? The word overwhelmed her, for she no longer knew where home was supposed to be. As she thought of saying goodbye to the children, her heart she’d to lodge in her throat. “You can’t do this,” She found herself fighting. “The children can’t be left alone.”

  “Thanks for the expert advice on child care, but I don’t intend to leave them alone. I’ll…” He hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair, “I’ll sent them to my mother’s family on New Orleans.”

  This was the first she’s heard of any family. “If all along you’ve ha family somewhere to send them,” She yelled, “Why risk kidnapping me?”

  “Things have changed.” He grimaced, then took another gulp from the bottle. “Ah, what does it matter?”

  “I will tell you what matters.” For some reason, she found herself fighting him after all. “The children are happy hear, with their fishing and exploring and building that mysterious fortress. You can’t uproot them and expect them to adjust to close quarters in a city. You’ll break their hearts.”

  “What do you care? You’ll be safe and sound at the Willows.”

  “The children are safe and sound now, here in that shack,”

  “It’s a cabin, dammit.”

  He was right. All at once she understood why he corrected her. Shack was too impersonal a word to call where people lived, where they loved, just when had she started thinking of it as a home?

  Unnerved by their observation, she continued to argue. “Whatever you call it, the fact remains. You asked me to do a job, and you’re not giving me the opportunity to do it.”

  He lowered the bottle to look at her. “Aren’t you listening? I said you could go home to The Willows. You are the one who wanted to leave after a month. Aren’t you happy to be getting your way?”

  She should be, but gazing at Michael, adding him to the list of those she must say goodbye to, Gwen felt an ache in her chest. Standing before him, suddenly overwhelmed aware of his sheer physical presence, she remembered being held against this man with nothing but her underwear between them. How incredibly wonderful it had been to simply kiss him, with no bitterness, no thoughts of the past to soil things. Just the two of them communicating the only way they knew how.

  Something sparked in his eyes, as if he too recalled the moment. “Damn it,” He said, “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “She blinked. “Like what?”

  “With your big, wide eyes and pouting lips. Don’t tell me you don’t know what it does to a man when you turn on the charm, my lady. You’ve been using your looks to get what you wanted for years.”

  “No. I-“

  “I won’t be manipulated.” He gazed at her face, her lips, before tossing the bottle into the water and grabbing her by the arms. “I’m sick and tired of you coming at me, blowing hot one minute, then going cold enough to leave a man freezing. Of your eyes making promises your body has no attention of keeping.”

  She burned with humiliation. Was that what he thought, that she’d been deliberately teasing him? “You don’t understand-“

  “No, no more. I’m going before I do something we both regret.” Roughly releasing her, he went to his boat. “But be warned,” He threw over his shoulder, “The next time you start something with me, I aim to finish it.”

  A quick thrill pulsed through her veins. She need only smile and step forward to force the issue, and he’d the decision from her hands. Yet as much as she longed to be in his arms, she knew in her heart that is she went to him now, after he’d so distinctly warned her, she’d be to blame for whatever happened. She might just as well deliberate seduce him.

  Not that he gave her the opportunity. Digging his pole into the mud, he pushed off down the bayou, never once glancing back.

  Gwen hugged herself, fighting frustration and disappointment. She had such plans, such enthusiasm, and just like that, he meant to send her away? Turning back to the cabin, she tried to find solace in the fact that she’d soon be at the Willows, but all she could think of was the cake she and Jude planned to bake, the stories she hadn’t yet read to Chris.

  “He sure was angry, huh?” Jude stood on the porch steps, her brothers gathered behind her.

  Wondering how much they’d heard, Gwen studied their faces. From their anxious expressions, she feared it was more they should have. She prayed they hadn’t understood Michael’s words. “It will be all right,” She said. “He’ll come around.”

  “We’re not babies. You don’t need to lie to use.” Jude stood stiffly, hands crossed her chest, more than ever like Michael. Both seemed to think the best defense was to come out fighting.

  Jude used belligerence to hide her softer emotions from the world, while Michael protected himself with anger.

  “It wasn’t so much lying,” Gwen told her, “as hoping out loud.”

  Jude tilted her head, eyeing Gwen’s with a puzzled expression. “What are you hoping for?”

  What indeed?

  “You heard her, Jude.” Chris ran down the stairs to stand beside Gwen. “She told uncle she wants to stay here.”

  “You won’t let him send us off, will you?” Paul asked, joining them.

  Gwen
liked to reassure them, but she knew Jude was right; they’d be better served with the truth. “Your uncle is your guardian. If he decides to send you away, theirs little I can do to stop him.”

  “We don’t want to go to these people.” Peter followed his twin down the steps. “They are mean and nasty.”

  Startled by the resistence, Gwen turned to the two still on the porch. “What is wrong? Why don’t you want to go to your grandmother’s family?”

  With a shrug, Patrick descended the steps. “They weren’t very nice to mom and Michael,” He explained as he joined them. “They wouldn’t have gone there, if there had been anywhere else to go.”

  “At first, Mama was excited,” Paul added. “She didn’t know why her mother dreaded it, since her folks had a big old house and lots of money.”

  “Yeah, that changed when she met them.” Peter nearly spat out the words. “Her grandparents were so awful, mother had to marry father to escape them.”

  Jude spoke from the porch, her tone flat. “She knew it was the only way Michael could get away, too. He only stayed to protect her.”

  In the terrible quiet, Gwen felt pity for Jeanette. It must have been awful indeed, if life with a man like Jacques Morteau seemed an improvement. And poor Michael. Knowing him, he probably felt guilty, convinced that his freedom had cost his sister her life.

  But by all that was sane, how could he justify-or even consider-condemning the child to similar fate?

  The bank loan, she realized. Disappointment had him lashing out; pride kept him realizing what truly mattered.

  “You’ll talk to him, won’t you, Gwen?” Patrick asked softly. “Make him see we can’t go there.”

  And why would he listen to me? Was her first thought, but her gaze settled on Jude, and her hopeful expression made Gwen paused. It wasn’t precisely trust, but the girl wanted to believe in her. For that matter, Gwen wanted to believe in herself.

  Couldn’t she at least try? Is she got him to talk about his hurt and pain, maybe he would see he did not want to give up on the children, or even his dream. “No promises,” She offered, “but I will talk to him and see what I can do.”

  “That would mean you would have to stay longer,” Jude warned, her pose once again stiff and wary. “You ready to do that?”

  Suddenly lighthearted, Gwen gestured around her. “Where else can I fight alligators? Or sleep with snakes? My dear girl, you can’t find this kind of excitement at the Willows!”

  She was rewarded by the laughs of from the boys and grudging smile from Jude. “You might be better off fighting gators,” the girl told her. “Michael’s just liable to bite your head off.”

  Gwen thought that was very likely. “Let him,” She said defiantly. “He just might find he’s bitten off more than he can chew.”

  “Does that mean you will stay and be our mother?” Chris asked hopefully. “Forever and always?”

  Conscious of the need for truth, she shook her head. “Oh, sweetie, I can’t say what life has waiting around the corner. All I can promise is that I’ll do my best to convince your uncle to keep you’re here. Past that, well, he and I don’t exactly get along all too well.” His frown reminded her that this was her problem, not the children’s; they had enough to worry them. “Why don’t we take things one step at a time? Right now, I think we have to worry more about planning his party. Why, we have less than two weeks to go.”

  “There might not be one, if we have to go to the city.”

  “Don’t be so gloomy, Jude.” Herding the boys up the stairs, Gwen hooked her arm in the girl’s. “We will have our party, and we’ll make it so special, no one will want to leave. I think it’s especially important now that you show your uncle how much you care about him.”

  AS the boys shuffled into the cabin, Jude eyed her speculatively. “What about you?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be thinking and planning, too.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Don’t you think Michael needs to know how much you care about him, too?”

  “I-“the denial froze Gwen’s lips.

  Slipping her arm free, grinning smugly, Jude turned to go.

  Standing alone on the porch, Gwen feared she would spend the rest of the night pondering that question.

  Just how much did she care about Michael?

  Chapter 18

  Edith watched her father enter the room, wishing she had the courage to order him away. She’d tried to explain that Uncle John was getting some rare and much-needed rest, but father merely brushed past with preoccupied from.

  She knew that the note he clutched in his hands must be bad news, otherwise he’d have shared it with her. Guessing further, she imagined the news was about Gwen, since her cousin’s disappearance seemed to be all the menfolk talked about these days. That, and John’s condition

  Too late. With a pang, Edith eyed her uncle, looking smaller and more lost than ever on the huge, four-poster bed. He’s wasting away, she thought, and this business with his daughter wasn’t helping him. Father daily reports did little to help; his doom and gloom hastening her uncle’s death.

  “It’s come” Jervis announced with preamble, crossing the room to his brother’s side, waving the paper in his hands. “The enemy has shown his face at last.”

  Uncle John roused slowly, his confusion plain. Curious in spite of herself, Edith moved closer to the bed.

  “What is it?” John asked testily, showing a bit of his former self. “Damn it, can’t you see I was asleep?”

  Father hesitated, momentarily unsure of himself, and in that instant, Edith saw her father too clearly, Jervis might pretend to be in charge, but even deadly ill, John would remain the strong one. As long as his brother live, Jervis must live in his shadow.

  Her father’s frown proved how much he resent the fact. Don’t listen to him, she had the sudden urge to warn her uncle.

  “I knew you’d want to see this.” All smiles now, Jervis could hardly contain himself. “The ransom note has come at last.”

  There was a gasp. It could have been Uncle John’s or even her own, for she couldn’t have been more shocked. A ransom note? She’d truly believed Gwen hadn’t been kidnapped, that she might be in actual danger from the dark stranger, and would come home to them all in her own good time. The thought that she might be in actual danger mate Edith feel suddenly ill. In all her craziness she had it expected anything truly bad to happen to her cousin; she just wanted Gwen out of the way, so she could have Lance.

  “”Who?” Edith found herself asking. “Who is the kidnapper?”

  “Same one who tricked her into a fake marriage of course.”

  John started to smile, then apparently thought better of it.

  “John, you’re not to be worrying about this.” Father went on, too preoccupied to notice. “Lance is out searching the countryside for Gwen. I have every confidence that he will find her and bring her home.”

  He took a deep breath. Watching him, Edith saw he was so preoccupied. He was gearing up for the chair through reason he had comment into the room.

  “In the meantime,” Jarvis continued, his sincerity striking the wrong note. “I think it maybe a good idea to make your preparations. You won’t want to leave your state in disarray should… Well should the worst happen. I really do think we should call the lawyer.”

  “Why not just pay it?” Seeing their blank expression, a flustered Edith was forced to explain “the ransom note, I mean. With all the money made at the tournament, surely there is no need to risk when his life?

  Father scouted her fiercely. “Can be catering to every thug that makes it the man on us,” he said. “Who is to say Lance will return her even after we given him the money? He could kill your cousin. Is that what you want?”

  She shook her head, appealed, but not by the picture he painted. He had hit her, with the force of a blow, that Jervis would actually prefer her cousin dad. He would find it a convenience.

  Sick at heart, knowing she’d helped her put
her cousin in this position, she turned to her all goal of some vague idea of apologizing. Uncle John gave her a reassuring smile. “Your father’s right, of course,” he said, turning to his brother. “Very well brother, bring the lawyer. It is time I changed my will.”

  Father cannot quite the room fast enough, in seeing his bold victory, Edith felt it physically ill. Her father had let envy and ambition overrun his conscience, but she now realize how deeply, she stumbled into the same self the occupied state.

  Talking her uncle in, encouraging him to sleep, she followed her father out of the room with a worried frown. Surely it wasn’t too late to men her ways. Jervis would not stop his plotting, but his daughter could do her upmost to minimize his success.

  From now on, there would be no more blindly following her father’s orders, and no more trusting Lance to find her cousin, either. Clearly, neither man cared about reuniting father and daughter before all good John lit this earth; both were two busy trying get their hands on the Willows. She alone seem to notice the only affairs the man needed to get in order were emotional ones. Nursing him every day, Edith knew her uncle needed to talk to Gwen, to get things resolved before them, so he could die in peace.

  Uniting them might be the one way to make amends. If she did no other good indeed in this life, she would somehow get father daughter together. In all honesty, she might not be stronger bold enough to openly battle her father, but maybe her good friend, Hamilton, would help. At the least, he could help find Gwen and bring her back.

  But they have to hurry, she thought, glancing over her shoulder to the room she just left. John’s time was running out

  ***

  Michael banked his boat, half relieved to see no one stirring about the cabin. He had put off this visit for three days, making one excuse after another, until this morning he got tired of playing the coward. He would have to face Gwen eventually, he reason. Better to just get it over with and done.

  Yet he felt vastly on easy as he approached the cabin. It still embarrassed them, how truly he lost control. True, he’d been drinking the night, making the situation more volatile, but when had he ever remained in control with that woman? She had a way of warming under his skin, burrowing in under his defenses, until all that stood between them was his anger.