Weeping Angel

by Stef Ann Holm

Cobb said nothing further.

  Amelia stared at him, waiting for him to state his business. The initial shock of discovering him on her doorstep after his unending ringing of her bell was wearing off. In its stead, curiosity was getting the best of her. Had Frank sent him over to speak with her? She shouldn’t have concerned herself at all about Frank Brody. Thoughts of him should have been pushed to the back of her mind. Too bad she couldn’t take her own advice.

  She’d lain awake most of the night doing just what she was reprimanding herself for doing now. It would have been easy to shove Frank aside if she hadn’t loved him. That was the hardest part. When Frank hadn’t come home last night, she’d hated herself for worrying about him. She started watching for him from the bedroom window around two in the morning. By four, she knew he wasn’t coming home.

  What did she expect? She’d told him not to. But he’d said he would. A piece of her, that part of her heart that was still hanging on to her love for him, had hoped he would come home. That the whole horrible mess would go away and they would be happy again. Just as they’d been on their wedding night.

  Amelia blinked back her tears, fighting not to cry again. She’d done enough of that, and she especially didn’t want to in front of Cobb.

  “Is there something you wanted?” she finally asked when he remained speechless.

  “Ah, yes, Miz—I mean, Amelia, ma’am.”

  “What is it?”

  “I was hoping . . . that is . . . I was wondering . . .”

  Amelia could swear he blushed, but wasn’t altogether sure because of the hair covering his cheeks. “Would you like to come in, Cobb, and have a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Amelia let him in and showed him to the parlor. He stood in the middle of the room looking like an out-of-place bear amongst her delicate curios and finely upholstered furniture.

  “Please sit down,” Amelia offered. “I’ll get the coffee.”

  “No need to, ma’am. I just had a cup with Frank.”

  She froze. “Oh.” Her heartbeat picked up its pace. “Did he send you over here?”

  Cobb’s thick brows rose. “How did you know?”

  Her knees weakened, and she lowered herself onto the edge of her pink tête-à-tête. “I . . . didn’t. Not really. I . . . Forget I said anything.”

  Cobb didn’t sit, despite the fact she had. “You see, t’other day when you said you were in love, it stuck in my craw.”

  “Well, things change.”

  “You mean, you ain’t in love no more?”

  Amelia sighed. “I’d rather not discuss my affaire du coeur.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” Her fingertip traced the scroll-effect pattern on the divan. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a . . . have a pie that I need to bake.”

  “I won’t keep you, but I was hoping . . . that is . . . well, you see . . . the thing of it is . . . I been doing like you and Frank said. I got the shirt and I got the candy, but I ain’t having no luck with Miz Shelby and I was hoping . . . wondering . . . if you could oblige me and tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

  Amelia thought a moment, not in the mood to play Cupid when her own love life needed a shot with an arrow. But seeing Cobb’s hopeful expression made her think twice before refusing him. “Perhaps it’s nothing that you’re doing, Cobb. Perhaps it’s your appearance that’s putting her off. I know you for who you are. I find you . . . attractive because I know you. Reverend Thorpe says, ‘Everything has its beauty, but not everyone sees it.’ I’d quite agree in this instance.”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  Amelia tried to think of something resourceful to say, but her ingenuity was sorely taxed by her own crisis. She had three weeks to come up with a mortgage payment, and she had no more income. She would never go to Frank and ask him for the money. She’d been half hoping the ring of the bell was her lady friends come to say they still believed in her and wanted their children to continue with their lessons on Dorothea’s piano.

  Early this morning, Amelia had had a heartfelt talk with Narcissa about the events of the past twenty-four hours. Narcissa had spoken in Frank’s defense, which had surprised Amelia. Her friend related the conversation she’d had with Frank before the wedding, and Narcissa was fairly certain Frank cared very much for her. Be that as it may, their marriage was in a shambles, and Amelia had no bright ideas for the future. Narcissa had confirmed the ladies were not easily appeased by her new status as a missus. It didn’t matter to them that she’d married Frank. They considered her a bad influence on their children and meant to keep them at arm’s length.

  Right now, Amelia was devastated by many things. But she’d always been able to count on the steadfastness of the Thursday Afternoon Fine Ladies Society. They’d deserted her, and she realized just how hypocritical they really were. With no one to turn to other than Narcissa, Amelia needed to focus on something besides Frank, the ladies, and her finances, or she would go crazy. Even if it was just for an hour, she had to look for the bright things in life.

  She felt a spark of purpose flickering inside—slightly, then with more intensity. She considered Cobb Weatherwax a friend, and though Emmaline Shelby might not be a tried and true friend, there had been a time when they’d been civil to one another. There might come a day when Emmaline would thank her for sending Cobb her way.

  “I think,” Amelia said at length, “that you should start by cutting your hair.”

  Cobb’s eyes went wide as supper plates. “Oh, no, ma’am. I couldn’t do that.”

  “Oh, come now.” Amelia was already on her feet. “I used to trim my aunt’s hair, and I can trim my own. I’m certain I can cut yours, too.”

  Cobb started edging toward the door. “Well, thank you Miz Brody—ah, Amelia ma’am, for the advice. I don’t think I’ll be taking it none . . . ah, no offense.”

  She took him by the wrist. “Do you want to get Emmaline Shelby to notice you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then a change is in order. While we’re at it, you can shave your beard and mustache.”

  “No, no, no,” he stuttered. “I don’t think you understand the relationship a man has with his facial hair.”

  She disregarded his protest, beginning to get caught up in the idea. “I’ve never shaved a man before. But I can pare the skin off an apple in one long ribbon.”

  “I don’t want my beard peeled off in one long ribbon, Miz Brody!”

  “Then you’ll have to do the shaving yourself while I get my scissors.”

  Before Cobb could object, she was hauling him up the stairs.

  * * *

  Frank let himself into the house without having to use his key. The foyer was bathed in patterns of color from the open transom window above the front door. Floorboards creaked under his weight as he entered the parlor. A breeze stirred the sheer curtains in the oriel, the glossy leaves on her spotted pink orchids flitting silently, gently. The clock on the mantel chimed the hour. One toll.

  He went toward the kitchen. On the way, he deposited the box of baseball gear and fishing tackle he was carrying on top of the dining room table. The sound of his boot heels was muffled by the braided throw rug in front of the pantry.

  The back door was open, and Amelia’s voice drifted through the screen mesh. “There really isn’t much to trimming a man’s hair.”

  Frank cut his steps, feeling like he’d just walked into a brick wall.

  “You’re being a good sport about this,” she said with a trace of laughter. “Just wait until you see yourself.”

  Jealousy sliced him to the quick like the blunt edge of a knife sinking into his skin. He’d come home to settle things with Amelia. His lack of sleep last night had shortened his fuse, and the foremost question sizzling inside him was: Who the hell was his wife talking to?

  Frank approached the screen door. He could see Amelia. Her back was to him, the fullness of her skirt blocking his view of whoever she wa
s speaking to. All he could see were the arms of the green wicker lawn chair, not the occupant.

  She held a comb and scissors; her hand was steady as she moved sideways to trim the brown locks from above an ear.

  Frank put his nose close to the screen. He still couldn’t see a face. He searched his mind, trying to place the shade of hair. Nothing matched up. Frank struggled with the uncertainty, swearing in his head.

  “I’m almost finished,” Amelia said. “When I’m done, I’ll let you look in the mirror. Oh, don’t nod. I don’t want this side to be uneven.” She clipped some more, brushing the flyaway strands off the man’s broad shoulders with her fingertips.

  Frank clamped his jaw together so tight, his teeth hurt. Who the hell was he? Jesus, she was touching him. Touching him! Resentment burned in his belly worse than One-Eye Otis’s red bean pie.

  The snip-snip of the scissors carved notches in Frank’s pulse. He was just about to go outside when Amelia exclaimed, “There! I didn’t do too bad.” She leaned over to grab a mirror from the rattan table. Holding her arm out, she let the man take the handle so he could view his face. “I can’t believe it,” she beamed with joy, clasping her hands together. “Why, you look so handsome, you take my breath away.”

  Frank’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Amelia, sweetheart,” he ground between his teeth. “I’m home.” He shoved the screen door open with both hands; the frame bounced off the back wall.

  “Frank?” she gasped, turning abruptly.

  Frank shot his gaze past Amelia, staring hard at the man who’d stood from the chair. He had eyes the color of a pond, and a complexion browned by the sun everywhere but the lower half of his face. He looked vaguely familiar, but he was outfitted in Cobb Weatherwax’s buckskin pants. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing wearing Cobb’s clothes?”

  “I am Cobb.”

  The voice was Cobb’s, but Frank was still doubtful. He took a hard look, sizing up the man’s features, most notably the eyes and the wind-weathered crow’s-feet at the corners. It was the craggy brows that betrayed him. “Jesus, Cobb. You don’t look like you.”

  Cobb smiled, and for the first time, Frank could see the outline of his lips and all his front teeth. “No, I reckon I don’t.” He held the mirror up to his face. “I surely don’t recognize myself.”

  “What are you doing here?” Frank asked.

  “I took your advice.”

  “What advice?”

  “To talk to someone who knew about love.”

  Frank darted his gaze to Amelia.

  “I think,” Amelia said, not acknowledging Frank, “Emmaline would be a fool not to encourage your company, Cobb. Why, you’re a very smart man. You know more about beavers than anyone I’ve ever met.” She lithely put her hand on Cobb’s shoulder, a show Frank didn’t need a ticket to see. “And,” her voice went sugary sweet, “you’re very handsome. If I weren’t married, I would certainly be proud to have you as my escort to the Chuckwagon for supper.”

  “But you are married,” Frank observed, his tone gritty.

  “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  Cobb’s fingers grazed his bald chin; he was oblivious to the dissension around him. “I’m liable to wake up tonight and wonder who the stranger is in my bedroll. I think I’m going to have to sleep with a beaver pelt so’s I can feel like I still have hair.”

  Frank sent Amelia a private message that said he wanted to speak to her, but she didn’t reply. The aloofness in her eyes told him everything she felt.

  “Too bad you have to be leaving, Cobb,” Frank said, nudging Cobb away from Amelia’s hand. “You better go try out your new face on Em before she closes the laundry.”

  A faint thread of panic laced Cobb’s voice. “Is it almost five?” Then he immediately cast his gaze toward the sun with a belated frown. “No, it ain’t.”

  “Close enough,” Frank insisted.

  Cobb shrugged. “I’ll just get my hat and be on my way.”

  “I’ll show you to the door,” Amelia offered.

  Frank put his arm around her waist to prevent her from leaving. “Cobb knows what a door looks like. I think he can figure out how it works. Right, Cobb?”

  “Ah . . . yes, sir.”

  “Good. See you around, Cobb. Stop on by the Moon Rock tonight and let me know how it all went.”

  Cobb put his hand on the screen handle. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be beholden to you if this works. I guess if it don’t . . . I can always grow everything back.”

  “I’m sure you’ll make some progress, Cobb. You may keep me informed if you like.”

  Cobb nodded, then opened the door and let himself into the house. As soon as he was gone, Amelia shrugged away from Frank.

  “Really,” she chided. “You might as well have given him a kick in the behind with your boot. You were as obvious as a newspaper headline.” She moved to the table and began gathering her haircut implements.

  Frank stood over her, feeling general resentment over Cobb’s visit. “Do you like Cobb?”

  “Of course I like him.”

  “How much?”

  “A lot.” She turned to face him, her brows furrowed. “Are you implying something?”

  Frank gazed into her eyes, trying to read them; he couldn’t make out a thing. “Pap told me Cobb thought of you as more than a friend. I didn’t believe him. But now I’m not so sure. Maybe Cobb’s trying to impress you instead of Emmaline.”

  Amelia had the gall to laugh at him. “Well, I like that! You are so wrong. I was helping him spruce himself up to catch the eye of another.” Her gaze grew accusing. “Does it bother you he’s interested in Emmaline Shelby?”

  “No,” he shot back. “I hope Emmaline finds someone. It’s not her that I’m worried about. I saw the way you were around Cobb.”

  “The way I was?” she parroted.

  “Yeah, real friendly like.”

  “I’m always friendly to Cobb. I like him. My goodness, Frank. You sound as if you’re . . .” Her brown eyes widened, and she didn’t finish her thought. Walking around him, she entered the kitchen.

  He followed her, intent on making her see that their marriage was no sham on his part. But as soon as he saw her, he kept quiet. Her hands were gripping the edge of the sink counter, her profile pensive and fragile. “What did Pap mean when he accused you of marrying me right out from under him?” She looked at him, her expression somber.

  “Pap thinks he’s in love with you.”

  She didn’t act surprised. “It dawned on me sometime around three o’clock in the morning that he felt that way. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. You tried to tell me.”

  “Yeah. I guess I did.”

  She stared out the window. For a long moment, neither one said a word.

  “How come you came back?” she asked softly.

  “I couldn’t stay away.”

  Turning her head, she gazed at him.

  “I want things to be the way they were on our wedding night, Amelia. I want you in my arms again.”

  Her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks when she looked down. “Did you reconsider and send those girls away?”

  Her question burned him at the stake. “No.”

  She raised her eyes. “Then how can we talk about anything?”

  “We can, and we will.” He moved toward her. “Right now.”

  Chapter

  22

  I wanted to talk the afternoon you proposed,” Amelia said, “but you coaxed me into making a decision right then and there. Well I did. And you married me. Now I can’t figure out the real reason why you did. There seem to be several possible ones, none of which I would have ever based a lifelong commitment on.”

  Frank stopped shy of the sink. “If I hadn’t been sure I was the right man for you, I wouldn’t have stood before the Rev and spoken those vows,” he remarked in a low, composed tone. “I can’t deny I was there in haste because of what the gossips were going to say. If I had told you about the boys spying o
n us and running to their mothers, would you have become my wife?”

  She struck hard and immediately turned the tables on him. “If the boys hadn’t found us, would you have made me your wife?”

  “I wouldn’t have rushed to get to the altar, no. But I wouldn’t have ruled out the possibility in the future.”

  Amelia’s eyes came up to study his face, but she said nothing.

  Sighing, he said, “I care very deeply for you, Amelia. I thought I showed you on our wedding night and the morning after.”

  Her voice grew wistful. “I’ve told you I loved you, but you . . .” Her words trailed, but he knew what she was getting at.

  “Saying three words can’t express what’s in my heart. It’s not that easy.”

  “It’s easy for me to say them.”

  A flat silence rang through the kitchen. Amelia stayed by the window, and Frank remained where he was. She bit her lip, then asked, “What were you thinking by bringing those girls to town?”

  “All I wanted to do was improve my business.”

  “But what about my business?”

  Frank’s response held a note of disbelief. “I thought you’d have a piano in your house by the time they arrived. I didn’t know your New American would be wrecked in a train pileup. Things have happened that I can’t control. But we are married now, and I think that’s the most important issue.”

  “Of course it is. I didn’t take my vows lightly either.” She fought the tears in her eyes and rapidly blinked. “So what do we do now?”

  “You said yourself, we have each other. I’ll take care of you, Amelia.” He covered her hand with his. “Let me be your husband. You don’t need to give lessons anymore, for fun or otherwise. I make a good living at the Moon Rock and with the addition of the—”

  She slipped away from him, and met his eyes. “I thought you knew about Jonas Pray . . . about everything. You said Pap told you.”

  “Pap told me Pray ran off with Silver Starlight.”

  “Then you should understand,” she said quietly.

  “I fail to see the connection here. I’m not going to run off with anyone.”

  Anxiousness clouded her expression. “I didn’t think Jonas would run off either, but a spitfire dancing girl is a temptation obviously too strong for some men. Especially when their other choice is a prude like me.”