by Jo Goodman
"I have some of my wages left," Skye told her. "It isn't much, but I'd rather you had it." She opened her beaded reticule, extracted a small change purse, and handed her sister some bills and coins. "If I had lasted longer, I could have actually paid off the greengrocer."
"It seems to me you did the right thing, leaving when you did." She put the money on the stack of bills. She studied her youngest sister frankly. "We don't have much time. Tell me why you've come. Donating the scarves was a very nice gesture, but it could have waited."
"How did you—" There was no sense in finishing the question. It didn't matter how Mary Francis knew; she just did. "I've met someone," Skye said, after a moment. "His name is Walker Caide."
The story came out haltingly in the beginning and breathlessly at the end. In between were Mary Francis's thoughtful questions to bridge the gaps in Skye's account.
Mary Francis was silent for a long time after Skye finished. "Are you going to tell him about the baby?"
The question startled Skye. "He asked me that, too. I can't think that far ahead. I don't even know if I'm carrying a child."
Mary Francis had dark red eyebrows. One of them lifted now as she gave her sister an arch look. "There's a family history to consider here," she reminded Skye. "Michael and Maggie and even our own mother. Fertility doesn't seem to be a problem with Dennehy women. I don't think you can count on being slow to start, like Rennie. I imagine she's the exception. Had I made a different choice, I'd probably have half a dozen children by now."
All but groaning, Skye crossed her forearms on the table and laid her head against them. She felt Mary Francis lightly stroke the back of her hair. Her voice was muffled. "I don't think I wanted to hear this," she said.
"I know."
"Maybe it won't come to pass."
"Maybe it won't."
Tilting her head, Skye examined her sister with a single eye. "You could be more optimistic."
Mary Francis shrugged, but her touch continued to soothe. "What is, is," she said gently. "Just don't think you have to handle it all alone."
"You'd think I'd have learned from their mistakes."
"It's hard to know if they made mistakes. Mama has Jay Mac and she's had him for the better part of her lifetime. Which one of us do you think was a mistake?"
"Rennie," Skye said immediately.
Mary Francis smiled. "Do you think Michael regrets Madison's birth or that Maggie regrets Meredith's? And what about the love they found with Ethan and Connor? I imagine there were times when they thought they were making a mistake, but now, who's to say?"
Skye raised her head and looked at her sister with interest. Mary Francis sounded almost wistful. "What about your choice? Do you ever regret it?"
Mary Francis's hands went to her rosary. Her long, graceful fingers slipped over the cool ivory beads. "We're talking about your choices," she said.
Skye allowed her sister to avoid answering the question, in part because she wasn't certain she wanted to know the answer. Mary Francis had always seemed so strong, so certain in her opinions, in her decisions. Knowing that she was struggling had the power to rock Skye. It was humbling to realize how little independence she actually exercised. "I'll talk to you before I make a decision one way or the other."
"I don't have your answers, Skye."
"But you'll hear me out and I'll be able to hear myself. I couldn't think clearly at all around Walker."
"Is that a good sign or a bad one? I'm never quite sure."
Skye could hear the amusement in her sister's voice. "It doesn't seem very funny to me."
Mary Francis never found it easy to be contrite, but seeing Skye's distress, she did her best now. "Of course it's not funny. I only wish I could be more help. Are you going to see Walker again?"
"I don't know. I suppose it's up to me. I know how to find him, but he can't reach me."
"You made certain that was the case."
She nodded. "I had to. I still don't know why he was following me. I'm fairly certain it was prompted by his work for Parnell more than a desire to know where he could find me."
"He's something of a mystery, isn't he?"
"Yes. I don't know very much about him. He's always had the advantage there."
"Did he press his advantage unscrupulously?"
"No. Quite the opposite."
"Then perhaps he followed you from Baileyboro to protect you."
"From what? Parnell remained behind. He was the only danger."
"Are you certain?" Mary Francis asked. "What about the ghost?"
"That's not amusing, either. I blame Rennie and Maggie and Michael and you—"
"Me?"
"Yes, you. All of you had some part in those horrible ghost stories when I was a child. It was cruel. I can't help but think that that experience made me more willing to suppose I was being accosted by Hamilton Granville's ghost."
"Are you saying now that it didn't happen that way?"
"Mary Francis, please. Don't pretend you accepted that part of my story. I'm saying now that I don't even know if it happened at all. You can't imagine how real it seemed at the time and how unreal it seems to me at this moment. I didn't have the slightest difficulty sleeping last night and I don't expect I'll have trouble tonight."
"You think Rennie and I put the idea in your head all those years ago?"
"Michael and Maggie, too. You all planted the seed. Some of you fertilized it a little better than others, but you all had a part." She let herself enjoy Mary's stricken face for a moment. "Oh, don't take it too badly. I'm plotting real revenge when you least expect it."
"Well, that eases my mind," Mary Francis said drily. "I won't even warn the others."
"Good. They don't deserve a warning." Her smile contradicted her words. She stood. "I suppose we should find Mama."
Mary Francis slipped off the table and wrapped her arms around her sister. "I'll support you, Skye, in whatever decision you make. And I'll pray it will be the right decision for you."
Skye returned the hug, then let her hands slip along Mary's forearms until she was holding her sister's hands. Her eyes searched Mary's features. "And I'll do the same for you," she said. "I want to say that now in case I don't have the chance again. We all lean on you so much, Mary, perhaps it isn't fair. Who do you lean on?"
Mary Francis's answer was profoundly simple. "God."
* * *
Skye and Moira had their fill of shopping by the time they returned home. Mr. Cavanaugh required two trips to the carriage to bring everything inside and there were still items that Stewart's would be delivering in the morning.
"I think your father's already home," Moira said. She was looking at the closed study door. Generally, it was kept open when the room wasn't occupied. She hesitated on the stairs and glanced back at the grandfather clock in the foyer. It was just after six, but that was early for Jay Mac. "Odd. He usually attends the city meeting tonight." She shrugged. "Perhaps he sent someone in his place. See if he wants to eat early, Skye, and then ask Mrs. Cavanaugh if she can accommodate him. I just want to freshen up a bit." She smiled and confided, "I like to look nice for your father."
Skye grinned as her mother blushed at her own admission. Even after all these years, she thought wonderingly. She watched Moira climb the stairs. Her mother was humming to herself. Mary Francis was right to think that perhaps there hadn't been so many mistakes, after all. If the Dennehy women sometimes put the carriage before the marriage, at least they loved wisely and well. Surely there was something to be said for that.
Skye found she was humming as she opened the door to her father's study. Jay Mac was sitting behind his desk. He was leaning back in his chair and wiping his spectacles with a monogrammed handkerchief. Skye recognized her own embroidery work. Her heart swelled. She had done that handkerchief and five others as a Christmas present ten years ago. She had had no idea until now that Jay Mac still carried them.
Her smile was brilliant as she fully entered the room. "Papa,
" she said in greeting. "How good it is that—"
Jay Mac was getting to his feet. So was someone seated in the wing chair in front of his desk. Skye felt as if the breath was being squeezed from her lungs. Her father's voice was coming to her from a long way off. She had to strain to hear the words, concentrate to understand them.
"Mary Schyler," Jay Mac was saying. "This is Mr. Walker Caide. He says you're already acquainted. Is that true?"
Chapter 11
She stared at Walker. Her legs were unsteady. Skye found she was thinking more about sitting down than about answering her father's question. "We've met," she said. It surprised her that her voice could capture such cool, neutral tones. Her palms were sweating and she suspected there was a bead of moisture on her brow and upper lip. She was melting but composed about it. The realization that she could simultaneously accommodate both elements brought her close to hysterical laughter.
"Sit down, Mary Schyler," Jay Mac said. He pointed to the chair beside Walker's.
Skye stayed her ground. "Mama would like to know if you want to eat dinner early. I'm supposed to give Mrs. Cavanaugh instructions."
"It can wait." He hadn't raised his voice, but there was an edge to his tone.
Skye was better at defying her father when she wasn't sharing a room with him. She didn't want to embarrass him in front of Walker by ignoring his order, but then, neither did she want to be embarrassed. It was Walker himself who came to her aid.
"Perhaps it would help if she relayed the instructions now," he said, "to save us an interruption later."
Skye looked at her father, wondering if he would back her into a corner or allow her a graceful exit. She drew in her breath, the lightheadedness fading as he nodded shortly. She needed only a few moments to compose herself. "Will you want to eat early?" she asked.
"No. The usual time will be fine. And tell Mrs. Cavanaugh that Mr. Caide will be joining us."
Skye had been afraid that that would be the case. She didn't show her displeasure until she was on the other side of the door. That's when tears gathered in her eyes. What was he doing here? How had he found her? It wasn't fair. The next meeting should have been on her terms.
Mrs. Cavanaugh took the news of a guest for dinner in stride. Skye went to her mother's room to give her the same information.
"Who is he?" Moira wanted to know.
"Just a man I met while I was working at the Granville place."
"And he's come here?"
Skye nodded, unaware that she was blinking back tears.
Moira rose from her vanity and came to Skye's side. She drew her daughter over to the bed and urged her to sit down. "What's this about, Skye? What haven't you told me?"
It was what she hadn't told either of her parents. "I need to go back downstairs," she said, begging the question. "Jay Mac wants to talk to me."
"Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"No," she said. "No, I'm not."
Moira looked at her daughter hard, searching a face that was as familiar to her as her own. She patted Skye's hand. "All right. Talk to your father. Don't let him bully you. This was his idea, after all. Perhaps he needs to be reminded of that."
Skye couldn't remember ever receiving advice from her mother on how to deal with her father. Moira's interference, if she chose to interfere at all, was much more subtle than what had just occurred. Most often Skye suspected that Moira simply told Jay Mac what she thought. She certainly wasn't in the habit of using her daughters to relate what was on her mind.
Skye leaned toward her mother and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Mama. You always know just the right thing to say."
* * *
The second time she entered her father's study, it was Skye who was prepared with a question.
"I was correct about your motives, wasn't I?" she asked Jay Mac. "I simply mistook the target."
Jay Mac frowned. Creases deepened along his broad forehead. "You'll have to explain yourself, Skye. I'm afraid I didn't understand a word of it."
Instead Skye turned to Walker. "Please, sit down." She took a seat herself. "I don't blame you," she said. "Jay Mac can be extremely persuasive. It's not so difficult when one has millions to pad the argument."
"Mary Schyler," Jay Mac said warningly. "I think you should stop. If you're heading where I think you are, I'm going to let you hang on that limb all by yourself."
Walker held up his hand. "Oh, no, please let her go on. This is absolutely fascinating."
What Walker said gave Skye reason to pause. The way he said it, with that dry intonation that was at once amused and patronizing, prompted her to plunge ahead. "Jay Mac's paid other men, you know. Not for me, at least, not that I know of, not before now. Jarret Sullivan was given ten thousand dollars to stop Rennie's wedding and take her for himself. Maggie was sold for the deed to a Colorado ranch. My father's bound to feel generous if you can take me off his hands, so I hope you held out for something valuable. After all, I'm the last Mary."
"The last Mary?" Walker asked.
Skye held up one hand and ticked off the names on her fingers. "Mary Francis. Mary Michael. Mary Renee. Mary Margaret. And me."
"Mary Schyler," he said.
"Yes."
Regarding her with interest, Walker shook his head slowly. "Mary Schyler," he said again. This time when he invoked her name, he let her know she was in trouble. "What's it like out on that limb?"
Skye's eyes darted uncertainly between Walker and her father. "I don't know what you mean," she bluffed.
Jay Mac leaned back in his leather chair. "Let her get out another foot or so," he said to Walker.
"I don't think this is very amusing," she told Jay Mac. "You paid him, didn't you?"
Jay Mac's hands were folded and he tapped his thumbs together in an absent gesture. "I paid him." It wasn't a statement so much as a question.
Exasperated, Skye asked, "Did you or didn't you?"
It was Walker who interjected with a question of his own. "What is it exactly that I'm supposed to have been paid for?"
"To show an interest in me."
Walker's brows rose and his head tilted to one side as he considered this. "There's money in that?"
She gave him a sour look before she turned her attention back to Jay Mac. "Once I agreed to go to Baileyboro, you hired Mr. Caide to make certain no ill befell me."
"I have to tell you, Skye," Jay Mac said, "that I'm wishing I had hired him. You need a keeper."
Out of the corner of her eye Skye saw Walker's smug smile. "It's been said before," she admitted. Her comment only made her father look to Walker with new respect.
"Is that right?" Jay Mac asked Walker.
"Yes, sir."
"Are you volunteering?"
Walker pretended to think it over. He studied Skye's flushed cheeks, her angry eyes. She hated that they were talking about her as if she weren't in the room. "I might have volunteered earlier, Mr. Worth, but since I learned there's money in it, I can't say that taking the job without compensation interests me."
Jay Mac approved of that answer. His smile broadened.
Skye stood. It was difficult to talk through the ache in her throat. "I'll let the two of you work out the details," she said stiffly. She turned and headed for the door.
Her father came to his feet. One of his arms extended over the desk as he tried to stop her. "Skye. Wait."
She didn't turn back.
The study was silent for a long moment after she was gone. Jay Mac sat down slowly. He stared at the closed door, sighed, and shook his head. "Perhaps we left her out on that limb a little too long."
Walker wasn't so sure. "Perhaps," he said, noncommittal.
"Are you going to go after her?"
"I'm thinking about it." He got to his feet. "Trouble is, I haven't decided what I want to do once I get her."
Jay Mac watched him go. "I know just how you feel," he said softly. The door closed and Jay Mac leaned back in his chair. The back of his head rested heavily aga
inst the soft leather. His hands curved around the arms of the chair. His legs were stretched out under the desk. He remained in just that posture, reflecting on the discussion that had taken place, until the door opened again. This time it was Moira who intruded on his privacy.
She looked around, saw he was quite alone, and entered. "I've met the most interesting man," she said. "He was in the hallway just now, looking for Skye."
"You gave him directions, I hope."
"I did. Though I'm not certain that I should have. He seemed rather angry."
"He is. Skye accused him of taking money from me to show an interest in her."
Moira's lilting brogue softened her words. "Did she now? Is it true?"
"I suspect he has an interest her. He followed her from Baileyboro, didn't he?"
"Don't be deliberately obtuse, Jay Mac. Did you give the man money?"
Jay Mac gave his wife his full attention now. "Before today, I never met the man."
"Which doesn't precisely answer my question."
Wounded, he looked at her sharply. "I don't think I'm flattered by your doubt."
Moira skirted the desk and came to stand at his side. She dropped a kiss on his forehead to banish the hurt. "I didn't intend to flatter you, dear. I just want to know if Skye's suspicions are right. In her place, I'd harbor the same ones."
"I never offered Mr. Caide anything," he said after a moment. "No money. No property. I certainly didn't offer him your daughter."
Moira smiled gently. Skye must have pricked his pride a little if he was referring to her in that manner. "I'm very glad to hear it, Jay Mac." She picked up one of his hands and squeezed. "Very glad."
* * *
Skye was flagging a hansom cab on Broadway when Walker caught up to her. Ignoring him completely, Skye began to climb in when the driver stopped. Walker simply took her by the waist, lifted, and set her on the sidewalk. "We won't be needing your services," he told the driver.
