Love and War

by Peg Sutherland

  “It’s about Clarence,” said Bea Ferguson, who was a good deal younger than the rest of them and possessed much better hearing.

  Emma nodded her iron-gray head. “I told you so. I knew as soon as word got around that he’s back that Clarence Stirling was all we’d hear about for weeks.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that cad,” Mag said, still struggling with her thread.

  Taking the needle, Sandy slipped the thread through the eye and handed it back to her. “Well, I do. It’s causing me problems at work.”

  “I warned you about that Stirling man.”

  “After the way Clarence treated your grandmother, I should think you’d have the good sense to listen to what she’s telling you,” Emma said.

  Sandy felt her irritation rising. “Okay, Emma. Why don’t you tell me how he treated Gran?”

  Emma arched a brow at Mag and waited for her quilting partner’s curt nod. Then she jabbed her needle into the fabric to hold her place and sat back comfortably in her chair.

  “I remember it very well because I was new on the social beat at the time, of course,” she said. “And this was one of the biggest stories of the day. I had to fight to keep that lowlife Medgar Wojhoski from stealing it for his business pages. In those days, men were inclined to treat women shabbily in both personal and professional situations. Am I right, girls?”

  Everyone nodded gravely, except for Martha Bauer.

  “When I heard about Margaret Ingalls, I was crushed, because I knew I could never print that, not in those days. And I knew the chances were very good that I’d never get the chance to do the wedding story, either.”

  “Margaret Ingalls?” Sandy said. “What about Margaret Ingalls?”

  “Well, you’ve heard the stories about her, I’m sure. Judson Ingalls’s wife was quite the femme fatale. If she saw a man, she wanted him. Or at least she wanted to make sure he wanted her. Clarence didn’t stand a chance.”

  “Don’t excuse him,” Mag protested. “He was as culpable as that floozy.”

  “Well, of course he was. All I meant was the flesh is weak, especially if it’s male flesh.”

  Sandy sighed. That explained the teary, reluctant bride at the seamstress shop. “So he was fooling around and you backed out.”

  Emma straightened abruptly. “Oh, my stars, no! Mag didn’t suspect a thing. Nobody would have dreamed of breathing a word to her face, not in those days. Why, she didn’t know anything about it until she was standing there in the church in that ivory lace gown and discovered there was no groom to be found.”

  Emma sighed and retrieved her needle. “I must say, that was my personal favorite of all the stories I wrote—no offense intended, Mag. But the town was in an uproar over it, and I got the scoop.”

  * * *

  THE CONFRONTATION CAME at lunchtime, in the dining room at Worthington House. How they had managed to avoid each other until then was a mystery to Mag. All she knew was that her luck had run out. There she stood with her teacup and saucer in hand, on her way to join a friend at another table, and there he sat.

  And half the occupants of the Worthington House dining hall seemed to freeze in place as she and Clarence came face-to-face.

  Mag remembered distinctly the last time she had been the object of such undivided attention. She had behaved with dignity then and she intended to do so now. With a nod, she smiled at Clarence and prepared to sweep past him. But as her crinkled rayon skirt brushed his chair, he said, “You’re prettier than ever, Magdalena.”

  Delight bubbled up in Mag’s heart, instantly followed by outrage at how easily she had allowed him to manipulate her emotions. The scoundrel, thinking he could get her to come around by flattering her! The anger almost spewed out before she caught herself.

  Dignity, she reminded herself. The one thing he cannot rob me of without my permission is my dignity.

  She stopped and looked directly at him, which was more disconcerting than she had imagined. His gray eyes were still so clear and bright, sparkling with the same vitality he’d had fifty years ago. Oh, she saw the lines on his face and the gray that dominated his hair. But somehow she saw most clearly not with her eyes, but with her heart. And her treacherous old heart still saw him the way she’d seen him then. When she had loved him.

  How could that be? Unless she loved him still?

  Ignoring the churning in her breast, she said, “How gentlemanly of you to say so, Clarence.”

  She turned away then, hoping that would be the end of it. She didn’t feel confident she could keep up this civility for long. But before she could take a step, he spoke again.

  “Could I ask one favor, Mag?”

  His nerve astounded her. It shouldn’t have, she supposed. “And what would that be?”

  “Call off your granddaughter.”

  Suddenly Mag wanted to grab him by the scarf knotted casually at his throat and drag him up to eye level. How dare he mention Alexandra! Her teacup began to rattle in its saucer as her hands trembled. “What are you insinuating?”

  “That you’ve set her after my grandson. The same way you launched yourself at me once upon a time.”

  That was it—the final straw! Mag slammed her teacup on a nearby table, effectively drowning out the ripple of reaction that traveled through the lunchroom. “That may qualify as the most despicable thing you’ve ever said, Clarence Albert Stirling.”

  He had the nerve to chuckle. “But I’m right and you can’t deny it.”

  She started to do exactly that, but reminded herself of the importance of dignity. “Such an absurdity needs no denial.”

  “I don’t know if your perfidy runs in your granddaughter’s veins, but I don’t want Drew finding out the hard way. Is that clear enough?”

  Mag had never before punched anyone in the nose, but she looked down at her oversize emerald ring and allowed herself a momentary fantasy. If it had been a real gemstone, she might have risked it. But with her luck, the green glass would crack all over the place and simply embarrass her.

  “My Alexandra’s only interest in your grandson is in trying to save him from his own professional incompetence,” she retorted. “And you may share that information with him at your earliest convenience.”

  Then she decided to hell with her dignity. She dumped the contents of her teacup into his lap and left the dining room. The roar of reaction as she exited was most satisfying.

  * * *

  DREW HEADED DOWN the darkened hallway, drawn by Sandy’s murmuring voice.

  He had seen the light on at Yes! Yogurt’s headquarters as he drove back from another evening visit checking on the progress on his house. He had told himself he simply needed to make sure there was nothing amiss at the office, but the truth was he had known what he would find.

  Having worked like a fiend to get her next survey ready, Sandy had begun the calls that would help them develop a strategy for reaching their best audiences. For the rest of this week she would be on the phone late into the evening, talking to people all over the country who fit the profile of health food consumers.

  He reached the door to her office and looked inside. She sat at her desk, telephone pressed to one ear, looking as crisp and professional as she had at eight o’clock that morning. The only concessions she had made to the long day and the late hour were removing her earrings and draping her suit jacket over the back of her swivel chair. Even her voice didn’t sound weary, as might be expected after a workday this long. No, Sandy Murphy still managed to sound upbeat and enthusiastic as she queried the person on the other end of the line.

  Were there no chinks in her armor? No human failings to bring her down to the level of mere mortals?

  She didn’t even hang up when she finished the survey, but depressed the disconnect button, released it and began to dial the next number on her l
ist. Only a long sigh signaled her weariness.

  “Sounds like break time,” he said. “What do you think?”

  The expression on her face was wary when she looked up. “What are you doing here?”

  “I drove by and saw the light.”

  She kept her finger on the next name on her list. “Well, I’m not a burglar. But thanks for checking.”

  “Haven’t you been at this long enough for one night?” Why couldn’t he let it go? Drew wondered. Why couldn’t he wish her luck, tell her he’d see her sometime tomorrow and leave? How she chose to do her job was none of his business.

  The truth was, now that his grandfather had assured him there was no chance he and Sandy were related, he felt the last reason to distance himself from her had been removed. He was attracted to her and she to him. They were consenting adults. Where was the problem? “I won’t tell the boss if you call it quits.”

  Ignoring his weak attempt at humor, she shook her head. “I need to complete four more surveys before I call it quits tonight.”

  He knew enough about market research to know that completing four more surveys could easily mean dialing another thirty or forty numbers. And that the reason she was doing this herself instead of hiring a few college kids was because he’d made such a big deal about the budget.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Why don’t we talk to Jake tomorrow? As long as we’re making a commitment to Tyler’s economy, we might as well hire a crew to do some of this research for you.”

  She replaced the phone in its cradle. “Training them will take time.”

  “Even so, you can wrap up the project quicker with some assistance.”

  She nodded. He could almost see weariness envelop her as the awareness sank in that she might not have to do all the work herself. Knowing that caring too much would be a mistake, Drew walked over to her desk, picked up her jacket and took her by the hand.

  “Come on. You’re beat. Let’s get you home.”

  “I really should—”

  “No, you shouldn’t.” And she acquiesced as he helped her into her jacket.

  The gesture was a mistake. Her nearness was disconcerting. Wanting her was still out of bounds for so many reasons. Way out of bounds. But some part of Drew wasn’t processing that information. Some part of him insisted on wanting her anyway. He thought of how she would feel, leaning against his chest, her hair against his cheek.

  He stepped back.

  He didn’t help her into her overcoat when they reached the front door. He didn’t open her car door.

  “Drew?”

  The uncertainty in her voice tugged at him. He took one more step in her direction. Moonlight cast a silvery glow on her skin, her eyes. Oh, Lord, why her? Why now? Why not a dozen other women in Tyler instead?

  “Drew, I think I owe you an apology. Maybe.”

  “For what?”

  “For the things I said about your grandfather.”

  Drew’s spirits sank. Actually, he had just about decided that he was the one who owed her an apology. But he’d hesitated to bring it up, reasoning that it would be better all around to leave this personal issue outside the walls of Yes! Yogurt.

  “Maybe not,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I talked to some people today.... Well, the truth is, they talked to me.”

  “They do seem eager to talk about it, don’t they?”

  She looked surprised, then amused. “You, too?”

  “Afraid so.”

  She sagged against her car. “And what did you hear?”

  How could he explain that what he’d heard had raised more questions than it answered? “Judson Ingalls...he was the best man.”

  “Was supposed to be the best man.”

  Drew grinned. “Right. That was the plan, anyway. Judson said Grandpa was touchy about his injury. He’d been wounded in the war, was having a hard time thinking of himself as anything but a permanent cripple. That’s why Grandpa backed down, according to Judson. He didn’t want to saddle your grandmother with half a man.”

  The revelation didn’t seem to please Sandy. In fact, her usually cheerful expression grew glum, when he’d thought she would be delighted to have her grandmother’s version of things confirmed.

  “So I guess you’re right,” he added. “Which is beginning to be the story of my life. I do need to talk to Grandpa about all this, see if he can’t be persuaded to smooth things over with your grandmother.”

  Hugging her coat more tightly around her, Sandy shook her head. “Something really screwy is going on around here.”

  “What?”

  “Well, Annabelle Scanlon told me Gran locked herself in her room the day of the wedding and refused to come out.”

  “Mrs. Scanlon must’ve been a child then. She probably doesn’t remember.”

  “No, she seemed pretty sure of herself.”

  “Well, maybe that is what happened. After Grandpa—”

  “There’s more.”

  “Oh?”

  “Emma Finklebaum remembers the day, too.”

  “Who?”

  “From the Tyler Quilting Circle. She was social columnist for the Tyler Citizen at the time.” Sandy put her palm to her forehead, as if combating the pressure of a headache.

  “And?”

  “She said your grandfather... Well, apparently there was some talk about him and Margaret Ingalls.”

  “Judson’s wife?”

  She nodded. “And that’s why he never showed up the day of the wedding.”

  Drew automatically wanted to deny the implication. But deep inside, he knew his grandfather had always viewed himself as a charmer, an enthusiastic—if harmless—ladies’ man. “Seeing as it was fifty years ago, I guess anything’s possible.”

  “The point is nobody’s telling the same story. So where does that leave us?”

  Drew studied her, a pastime that was rapidly becoming one of his favorites. With her brow furrowed in worry, she looked younger and more defenseless than ever. But at the moment that didn’t trouble him. He wanted to brush his thumb over the crease in her forehead, erasing the sign of anxiety. He wanted to kiss the corners of her lips until they turned up in her usual smile.

  Maybe Grandpa was right. Maybe the Stirling women did exert some kind of powerful hold that wasn’t entirely normal. And maybe Drew himself was crazy.

  Nevertheless, if he didn’t see her smile before she got into her car and drove away, he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. A desperation play, that was what he needed. “Maybe we should encourage them to elope.”

  She looked suddenly alert, her eyes wide. But she didn’t smile. “What?”

  “You know—elope. Do you think your grandmother could make it out the window and down a ladder before old Cecil Kellaway caught them?”

  That did it. She laughed, a rich, infectious sound. Drew felt the tension in his chest melt away.

  “Oh, yes, I think she could make it. But I think a much more likely scenario is her throwing your grandfather out the window.”

  “I don’t know. If they’re still this angry fifty years later, I’d say they never got over each other. Yep, I suspect they could be convinced to bury the hatchet.”

  “In your grandfather’s back, maybe.”

  He laughed at her wry statement and decided he didn’t care what kind of black magic was at work here, he was falling for Sandy Murphy. Heck, he might as well enjoy the process. He leaned an elbow on the roof of her car and inhaled her scent. She wasn’t a perfume kind of woman. All he breathed in was her skin, her hair, her essence.

  “That much anger hides a lot of emotion,” he said.

  “She hates him.”

  He shook his head. “She only thinks she hates him. Don’t you ever watch the r
omantic movies, where they think they hate each other but everybody else knows it’s only because they’re so attracted and fighting it tooth and nail?”

  “No.”

  “No? Oh, Sandy, you’ve obviously experienced a misspent youth.”

  “I like courtroom dramas.”

  “It’s all the same. What do you think drives people to murder and mayhem?”

  “Greed.”

  Again he shook his head. “Grand passion.”

  She looked away. “I wouldn’t know.”

  He took a chance. After all, how many chances did a guy get in one lifetime? He touched her cheek with his knuckles, her soft, cool cheek. Need became an insistent ache. “Find out.”

  “I’m not a motivated buyer,” she said, her voice suddenly lower and deeper. She didn’t back away from his touch.

  “I think you are.” Her eyes met his again, and he saw reflected there the tug of war going on within her. He leaned closer, felt her breath mingle with his. “Maybe this is just an impulse purchase.”

  “You’re crazy,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  And she moved the inch closer he’d been waiting for. He touched his lips to hers, waited for the next signal that she was willing. Her lips moved, the beginning of a soft, slow mating. He took her head in his hand and pulled her close, deepening the kiss, finding her tongue, drinking in her heat. Her body pressed closer to his, although her curves were hard to find beneath her overcoat.

  But he wasn’t in any hurry. He figured this was madness, and madness wouldn’t last long. He needed to savor each minute.

  By the time she pulled away, her breath was coming in short, uneven gasps. “We’re both crazy,” she said, backing away.

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  He followed her home, a silly urge to make sure she made it safely. He figured she wouldn’t like it, but at the moment, he was operating solely on gut instinct. Reason was not part of his mental software just now, not where Sandy Murphy was concerned.

  Apparently his grandfather was right. The Murphy women were dangerous. And Drew jumped into the fire willingly.