Left at the Altar

by Margaret Brownley

  “Much obliged,” she said.

  “My pleasure.” Catching himself staring, Grant mounted and touched the brim of his hat. “See you in court.”

  “Yes, you will, Mr. Garrison,” she said. Her gaze clung to his as she ran her hand along Chester’s neck. “Take care of your wound.”

  “So you are worried about me,” he said.

  “Just want to make sure you’re still around when the judge rules in my favor. I wouldn’t want to miss seeing your face.”

  “Oh, I’ll be there, all right, Miss Lockwood. I just hope you’re not too disappointed by what you see.” Tugging on the reins, he rode away.

  He kept his hat pulled down low and his gaze straight ahead. If Mrs. Rockwell was planning on moving again, he didn’t want to know. And he most certainly didn’t want to know whether Miss Lockwood was still watching from her sister’s porch.

  *

  “How did you think it went?” Josie asked moments later as the three sisters gathered around her kitchen table.

  Meg lifted her face out of her hands to find Josie and Amanda looking at her with furrowed brows. Good thing they didn’t know what was really on her mind. She couldn’t stop thinking about her latest encounter with Mr. Garrison.

  How handsome he was; how dashing. He looked nothing like the serious-minded lawyer who’d appeared in court. And the smile! Oh my! Was there ever a more attractive dimple? Or a more intriguing chin cleft?

  “Meg?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  Josie frowned. “I asked you how you think the day in court went.”

  “I suppose it was all right,” Meg said. Mr. Barnes had done an adequate job, but it was hard to compete with Mr. Garrison’s commanding presence.

  Josie exchanged a worried glance with Amanda. “It didn’t help that Mr. Barnes lost his voice, but it was only the first day.”

  Meg’s heart sank. If Josie couldn’t think of an encouraging thing to say about the start of the trial, then it was worse than she’d thought.

  “I still don’t know why you allowed Mr. Barnes to get his hands on the hope chest.”

  A pained expression crossed Josie’s face. “I didn’t, Meg. That was Ralph’s doing, but don’t blame him. He had no idea what was inside. When Mr. Barnes asked for it, Ralph thought you had approved.”

  Amanda frowned. “Mr. Barnes must have known what the hope chest contained. Why would he want to embarrass you like that?”

  Josie shook her head. “It was locked when Ralph gave it to him. I was out at the time, and Ralph didn’t know where I kept the key.”

  Meg rubbed her forehead. “Papa must have given him the spare key.” No doubt Papa would be shocked to learn what was really in his daughter’s hope chest. That would only add to his idea that she was damaged goods.

  Thank God Mr. Garrison had objected. Still, as grateful as she was to Tommy’s lawyer, Meg hated being beholden to him. Hated even more the way he kept intruding on her thoughts in ways that were…disturbing. He made her think about things that no lady should be thinking. Things like…

  “Did you know that whales are mammals?” she blurted out.

  “For goodness’ sake, Meg,” Josie said, looking startled. “What are you talking about? Whales…”

  Meg dropped her gaze to her lap. “I just thought it was interesting,” she murmured.

  “Does Papa still have to testify?” Amanda asked, bringing their attention back to the trial.

  “I’m afraid so,” Josie said.

  “I dread him taking the stand.” Meg heaved a sigh. It was hard to know what worried her more: his heart or what he might say. Once Papa started talking, he often got carried away, and there was no telling what would come out of his mouth.

  “If you ask me, that’s Mr. Garrison’s doing,” Amanda said. “He wants Papa on the stand and doesn’t care a fig about his health.”

  “That’s not true,” Meg argued. “Mr. Garrison is a very caring man.” How could she forget his kindness to Tucker?

  Both sisters stared at her.

  “Why are you defending him?” Amanda asked.

  “I’m not defending him.” She wasn’t, was she? “I-I was simply stating a fact. Not all lawyers are manipulative—or pettifoggers.”

  Amanda looked dubious. “We’ll see if you still feel that way after you take the stand.”

  The very thought made Meg’s blood run cold. Even Barnes had been surprised by the judge’s decision to allow Tommy and her to testify.

  You can be as rough as you wish with me.

  Now there’s an intriguing thought.

  Meg was so caught up in the memory that it took a moment to realize her older sister was talking to her. “I’m sorry, Josie. What did you say?”

  “I asked what Papa said about having to bail you out of jail.”

  Meg shrugged. “He didn’t say much of anything. Just that he should have been a chicken farmer.”

  Josie frowned. “A chicken farmer? Papa?”

  Amanda laughed. “He doesn’t even like chickens.”

  Josie stood and reached for the heated teakettle on the stove. “Meg, do you remember the time you brought home that rooster with the broken leg?”

  “I remember,” Meg said, grateful for the chance to talk about something other than the trial. She couldn’t have been more than nine or ten at the time, and after fitting the fowl’s leg in a splint, she’d nursed him back to health.

  Josie poured hot water into a porcelain teapot. “I still laugh every time I think of how that rooster followed Papa around.”

  Amanda nodded. “He kept telling the rooster to go away.” She giggled. “That silly bird thought Go Away was his name.”

  The memory brought others to the fore. Meg and her animal hospital were the butt of many family jokes. At one time Meg dreamed of becoming a veterinarian, but no college would allow a woman to study the veterinary arts. It was one of many dreams to fall by the wayside, including, now, her dream of marriage and children.

  Their girlish laughter brought Josie’s husband, Ralph, into the room. A quiet, unassuming man, he was ten years older than his wife. He had brown hair, blue eyes, and an easygoing smile. A mustache adorned his upper lip. No one could tell by looking at him that he had a breathing problem that caused him to tire easily and miss out on many family gatherings.

  “It does me good to hear you all in such good spirits,” he said. “Have you told them the news, my dear?”

  “Not yet,” Josie said.

  Meg held her breath. Could this be the news she’d been waiting to hear? Were Josie and Ralph going to have the child they so desperately wanted? Please, God, let it be so.

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” Meg coaxed with a stealthy glance at her sister’s middle.

  “I have a job,” Josie announced.

  Meg blinked, not sure she’d heard right.

  Amanda frowned. “What are you talking about? What kind of job?”

  “I’m working for the newspaper,” Josie said, barely able to contain the excitement in her voice.

  Meg and Amanda stared at her, neither saying a word.

  “I thought you’d be happy for me,” Josie said, sounding hurt. “I expected more from the two of you. You know how much I like to write.”

  Meg did know. When they were growing up, Josie would regale them for hours with her stories of beautiful princesses sailing the seas and traveling to faraway places. “But I never thought you’d write for that awful newspaper.”

  The Two-Time Gazette was better known for its gossip than news. On the few occasions a newsworthy article appeared, it was so riddled with opinion that fact was hard to separate from fiction.

  “No, no, you don’t understand.” Josie exchanged a fond look with her husband. “You’re looking at the new Miss Lonely Hearts.”

  Meg blinked. “You’re writing a column for the lovelorn?”

  “I am.” Josie laughed. “Don’t look so shocked. The original writer was, believe it or not, a man, a
nd he has retired.”

  Amanda shook her head. “You’re married. What do you know about lonely hearts?”

  Josie laughed before growing serious. “Most people who ask for advice already know what to do. They just want permission to do it.”

  “Papa will have a fit,” Amanda said. “You know what he thinks about women working outside the home.”

  “And marching down the middle of Main Street,” Meg added with a meaningful look at her younger sister.

  “I’m a married woman,” Josie said. “I don’t need Papa’s approval.” A dimple appeared on her cheek. “I also don’t intend to tell him.”

  Meg turned to her brother-in-law. “How do you feel about Josie’s new job?”

  Ralph gave his wife’s shoulders a loving squeeze. “I encouraged her to take it. A talent like hers shouldn’t be kept hidden. And who knows? Maybe this will lead to something else.”

  Meg chewed on her lower lip. Did this mean the two of them had given up hope of becoming parents?

  “I was hoping you’d be happy for me,” Josie said.

  “I am happy for you,” Meg said, reaching for her sister’s hand.

  “Me too.” Amanda stretched her arm across the table to take Josie’s other hand.

  Later, Josie walked Amanda and Meg to the door and waited for them to don their wraps. A cold wind greeted them outside.

  Josie hugged Amanda and then turned to Meg. “Don’t worry. The trial will soon be over.”

  “I sure do hope so.” Meg loved seeing her sisters happy, and Josie was practically floating on air. “Ralph is so supportive of you. You’re lucky to have found him. Do you think there’ll ever be anyone like that for me?”

  Josie patted Meg gently on the cheek. “I think that’s a question you should send to Miss Lonely Hearts.”

  Meg laughed and hurried down the porch to catch up to Amanda. “Maybe I will,” she called over her shoulder. “Maybe I will.”

  Nineteen

  Following a brief warm spell, a blue norther swept through town, stirring up dust and lifting shingles off rooftops. The temperature dropped so quickly that the owner of the coal company had to scramble to meet demand.

  Head lowered against the wind, Meg held on to her hat with one hand and held a basket over her other arm while she waited for the mule-driven coal wagon to rattle past.

  Judge Lynch had some legal business to attend to, so court was in recess. That meant that the trial would drag on for yet another week—a prospect she dreaded.

  The bitter cold nipped her cheeks and cut through her woolen skirt. Upon arriving at the sheriff’s office, she reached for the handle with a gloved hand. The door flew open to her touch and banged against the wall. A gust of wind lifted a whirlwind of papers off the sheriff’s desk and ripped Wanted posters off the walls.

  Meg’s hat blew off as she tried closing the door, and Sheriff Clayton hurried around his desk to help her. It was like trying to push a locomotive uphill, but they finally managed to battle the door shut.

  “Whew!” She retrieved her hat and arranged it on her head again, pinning it in place.

  “What brings you out on a blustery day like today?” the sheriff asked.

  “I came to see Mr. Kidd.”

  If the sheriff thought anything odd about her wanting to see the prisoner, he kept it to himself. He slanted his head toward the door leading to the jail cells and bent to pick up the Wanted posters from the floor.

  Meg stepped through the open doorway and suddenly couldn’t breathe. “Mr. Garrison!” What was Tommy’s lawyer doing here?

  Mr. Garrison turned and doffed his hat. “Miss Lockwood.”

  Despite the tempest outside, he looked as well put together as a fine Waltham watch. He was probably the only man in town who hadn’t lost his hat to the wind.

  “I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. “Am I interrupting something?”

  Kidd motioned her over to his cell. “Nah. My lawyer just stopped by to tell me the good news.” Today was the day he was scheduled to hang, but you would never know it from his toothless grin.

  “I didn’t know you were Mr. Kidd’s lawyer too,” Meg said.

  “My services are in much demand of late.” Garrison’s dimple deepened, and suddenly, she had a hard time breathing.

  “I believe I owe it all to you,” he continued, locking his gaze with hers. “I see you’re here strictly as a visitor this time.”

  “I am.” She gave him a slanted look. “I guess that means you won’t be able to use this against me in court.”

  “Looks that way.”

  The shadow of his smile made her heart jolt. The moment shimmered between them like morning dew and might have lasted longer had Kidd not intervened.

  “Ain’t you gonna ask what my good news is?”

  Pulling her gaze away from the lawyer’s, she turned toward the cell. “Oh yes, of course. Do tell.”

  “My necktie party has been postponed on account of the wind.” Kidd laughed as if he got some perverse pleasure from having the weather determine his fate. “Last week, I got me a reprieve on account of the sheriff bein’ called out of town. Now this week, the wind…”

  “That is good news.” Feeling self-conscious beneath Mr. Garrison’s steady gaze, Meg pulled a small package out of the basket. “I brought you something. I baked it special for you.” She handed the wrapped tart though the bars, a small token of appreciation for his kindness during her short stay in jail. “You said you liked blueberries.”

  “That I do,” Kidd said, grinning. He lifted the package to his nose and sniffed. “Hmm. I think I died and went to heaven.”

  “Time’s up,” the sheriff called from the doorway.

  “But I just got here,” she protested.

  The sheriff shrugged and vanished.

  “I’ll walk you out, Miss Lockwood,” Mr. Garrison said, “but only if you promise not to take advantage of my kindness.”

  “Why, Mr. Garrison. Whatever do you mean? Take advantage?”

  “I wouldn’t want you to try and influence me in any way. Into taking your side, I mean. Like you tried to do that day on the train.”

  She smiled at the memory. “If you insist upon putting such limits on me, I’ll see myself out. But thank you anyway.” With a wave to the prisoner, she started for the door. “Good day, Mr. Kidd.”

  “Same to you, Miz Lockwood.”

  *

  On Monday, Barnes rested his case, and a collective sigh worked its way across the courtroom. Having to shout for the judge’s benefit had left him with only a low, gravelly rumble that no one could make heads or tails of.

  The judge peered at Grant. “The defense may present his case.”

  Grant rose and buttoned his frock coat. His list of witnesses was considerably shorter, and he expected to wrap things up by tomorrow at the latest, if not by the end of the day.

  “I call as my first witness, Mr. Henry Lockwood.”

  The crowded courtroom grew quiet. From the corner of his eye, Grant saw Miss Lockwood sit forward. She was dressed in a subdued blue frock today, but the combination of resolve and concern on her face as her father lumbered toward the witness stand touched Grant to the core.

  Again, he was obliged to remind himself which side he was on.

  Lockwood spoke in an uncommonly soft voice as he took the oath, stretching each vowel to ridiculous lengths.

  “No tears,” the judge reiterated. It was an unnecessary reminder, because the only one who looked close to tears was Grant’s own client.

  Grant faced the witness. “Mr. Farrell asked for your daughter’s hand in marriage, is that correct?” Though he addressed the witness, he kept his voice directed to the judge’s hearing horn.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “And what was your reply?”

  “My reply?”

  “How did you respond to Mr. Farrell when he asked to marry your daughter?”

  Lockwood cleared his throat and ran a finger along his upper lip. “I can
’t say that I recall.”

  Not for one moment did Grant believe this witness lacked in memory. “Would you say that you were delighted at the prospect of your daughter marrying Mr. Farrell?”

  “Well, I…um…”

  Miss Lockwood suddenly had a coughing fit. The woman’s timing was impeccable. She took after her father in that regard. A certain skill was required for interrogating witnesses. Even a seemingly innocent question required much in the way of preparation. It also meant having to maintain control, and Miss Lockwood had effectively and momentarily shifted that control away from him.

  The bailiff handed her a glass of water, and her attorney popped a hard candy into his mouth. Feet shifted. A buzz of voices rose from spectators. Seated in the gallery, the newspaper editor scribbled something on a yellow pad. Next to him, T-Bone had dozed off, his head wobbling back and forth like a marble circling a hole.

  Grant waited until Miss Lockwood had recovered before turning his attention back to Lockwood.

  “I’ll repeat the question. How did you respond to Mr. Farrell’s request for your daughter’s hand?”

  “Like I said, I can’t recall.”

  Grant let Lockwood’s answer hang for a moment for effect before continuing. “Permit me to refresh your memory. Isn’t it true that you were against the marriage from the start?”

  “Grrughshun!”

  All heads, including the judge’s, turned to Barnes, the source of the inhuman sound. “What did you say?” the judge asked. “Speak up.”

  Lockwood’s lawyer coughed in an effort to clear his throat, but it did no good. His voice came out in a series of croaks. To move things along, Grant interpreted.

  “Whether Mr. Lockwood did or did not agree to the marriage has no bearing on the case,” he said on the plaintiff’s behalf.

  The judge blinked. “Does this mean you’re objecting to your own question?”

  “No, I’m simply stating Mr. Barnes’s objection.”

  After several tries, Grant finally got the judge to understand who was objecting to what. He then offered his own rebuttal. “I believe Mr. Lockwood’s opinion has a bearing on the case. A father’s disapproval could put a terrible strain on a marriage. It would certainly give a man second thoughts about the wisdom of following his heart’s desire.”