Meg’s breath caught. Mama and Mr. Farrell? It didn’t seem possible. “But…but she married you.”
“Only because…she had to.”
It took a moment for the meaning of his words to become clear. “You mean you and Mama—”
When he made no effort to correct her, she shook her head in disbelief. Mama was so upright and moral—the perfect lady. Never had Meg heard her say an unkind word or known her to do anything improper. It was unthinkable.
“Don’t blame your mother,” her father said as if guessing her thoughts. “In my youth, I was quite irresistible.”
“You’re still irresistible today, Papa.” The hair at his temples was more white than brown, and his waist was as wide as his shoulders, but he still cut a debonair figure, especially today in his dark suit.
This brought a shadow of a smile to his face. “Ah, dear daughter. And I thought you would hate me if you knew what I’d done.”
“I could never hate you, Papa.” Her mind whirled. “Does…does Josie know?”
A shadow of regret crossed his face. “I’m in the clock business. How can I tell my oldest daughter that her father timed her birth so poorly?”
“So your feud with Mr. Farrell started over Mama?”
“Once your mother found out she was in a family way, she had no choice but to marry me.” His voice broke, and a look of unbearable pain etched his face.
Meg had always felt closer to her father than her mother—it was easier to relate to her father’s many faults than her mother’s calm perfection. But now she felt her alliance shift. Had her mother really loved another man all her life? Did all that grace and loving devotion hide a broken heart? Had her mother sacrificed her happiness for the greater good? Much as Meg was about to do…
“I love your mother very much,” he said, as if guessing her thoughts. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her.”
“But Mr. Farrell is married. He would never… Mama would never—” Something suddenly occurred to her. “That’s why you’ve kept this town divided all these years. To keep Mama away from Mr. Farrell.”
It was hard to believe that a forty-minute time disparity could create such a wide gap between people, but it had worked like a charm. Small differences often led to great disputes.
“I’m not perfect.” He suddenly looked every bit his age. “I know that’s hard to accept.”
“It’s not as hard as you might think, Papa,” she said without irony.
He shrugged. “Now that you know, does it change anything?”
Yes, it did. It changed everything. It was like waking up and suddenly finding out she belonged to a different family. She looked at her father now like one might look at a stranger.
“Papa, you agreed to put the feud to rest as a wedding gift.”
“I agreed to standard time. That’s all I agreed to. I won’t have my daughter living under Farrell time.”
“Please, Papa. We need to bring the town together. The only way we can do that is by putting all the clocks in synchrony. The emotional ones as well as the physical ones.”
“Sorry, Meg. What you ask of me…” He shook his head. With that, he turned and left the room.
Twenty-seven
Shaken by the conversation with her father and all he’d revealed, Meg slipped out through the side door of the church. She needed air. More than that, she needed to think. Mama and Mr. Farrell? She still couldn’t believe it.
The bare-limbed trees offered no reprieve from the white sun that glared down on her like a scolding parent. The brisk air did little to cool her flushed face. In the distance, a train wound its way to the depot like a metal snake, the shrill whistle echoing the silent cry of her heart.
She walked out of the church to the cemetery, holding the hem of her wedding gown just above her satin slippers. Everything she’d thought she knew about her parents was false. It was as if her whole world had been turned upside down.
Her eyes filled with tears as she stumbled blindly between the headstones. Her mother had done the noble thing by marrying the father of her child. But was it the right thing to do? Might not the town have been better off if her mother had followed her heart instead?
The thought held her frozen to the spot. How could something that happened more than twenty years ago have such a profound impact on the present?
A sob rose in her breast. Not that long ago, she had wanted to marry Tommy. It seemed like the natural progression of a friendship that had spanned almost a lifetime. But now marrying him seemed so terribly, utterly wrong…
For most of her life, she’d done what was expected of her. She seldom felt compelled to fight convention. Not like Amanda. So why did she feel this sudden need to flee? Maybe…she was still angry at Tommy for leaving her at the altar the first time. Yes, that was it. That had to be it.
But he was there at the church now, waiting for her. That had to count for something, didn’t it? She loved him before, or at least thought that she had. Maybe in time she could learn to love him again.
Moving blindly along the path, she ended up in front of a gray headstone. It marked the grave of Grant’s sister.
She blinked away the vision of Grant standing here the day they’d first met, but that only left room for other visions of him. Other memories.
So what do you say about celebrating New Year’s with me a second time?
Oh, how she wished she’d followed her heart. Things not done were always the most regretted. The words not said to a loved one. A missed opportunity for kindness. An action not taken.
She imagined herself in her golden years rambling on about the kiss that got away, much like Old Man Johnson and his fish tales. Wondering, always wondering—would Grant’s second kiss have been as delightful as the first? Would it have lived up to the promise in his eyes or satisfied the gnawing hunger inside her?
In an effort to bury her thoughts once and for all, she stared at the simple gravestone. The inscription read: Mary Garrison Simpson—beloved wife, daughter, sister.
On impulse, she pulled a flower from her hair and placed it on the grave.
Beloved wife.
Would anyone ever think that of her? Would Tommy?
“Meg?”
Recognizing Grant’s voice, she looked up, and it was as if the earth suddenly stopped turning.
No, no, no. She had no right to feel this way—as if the very heavens had opened up. Not after the trick he pulled in the courtroom. Not while another man waited for her in the church.
He glanced down at the flower on his sister’s grave, and his gaze traveled up Meg to meet her eyes.
It was then that she noticed he was carrying a carpetbag, and her heart sank.
*
Grant stared at the vision in front of him and felt a squeezing pain in his chest. Had his heart been caught in a vise, it couldn’t have hurt more.
Meg looked even more beautiful than she had the day he’d first set eyes on her all those weeks ago. She wore the same dress—the dress that cost an astounding two hundred and fifty-nine dollars and was worth every penny.
She had been angry when first they’d met. Today he saw…what? Not happiness. Not joy. Not like when she had danced in the street. Or on the night he’d taken her in his arms and kissed her. Instead he saw hurt, confusion, maybe even panic, and his heart jolted with alarm.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She blinked as if holding back tears. “I’m fine,” she said with a wave of dismissal. Her gaze dropped to his carpetbag, and he heard her intake of breath. “You’re leaving?”
He nodded. “On the next train.”
Her eyes sought his, and he detected accusatory lights in their depths. “B-but why? Is it because you miss Boston?”
It’s because I had the misfortune of falling in love with you. But he couldn’t say that. Not while she stood in her wedding gown ready to marry another man.
“I don’t think this is the place for a big-city lawyer like me.”
Meg moistened her lips, and he recalled the taste and feel of those lips on his.
“I guess you never did find out what your sister saw in the town,” she said.
His gaze dropped to the single white flower on his sister’s grave. “Nope, never did.”
For a moment they stared at each other without speaking. Grant’s mind traveled back to New Year’s Eve. Did he really hold her in his arms? Devour those pretty, soft lips? Did she really kiss him back? The memory felt so real and yet…it also seemed like a dream.
“I wish you and Tommy much happiness.”
She looked at him through misty eyes. The words trembling on her lips remained unspoken until at last they fell away, never to be revealed.
Organ music drifted through the open door of the church. Buggies, carriages, and wagons were parked on the street in front. No doubt the church was packed with wedding guests.
A distant train whistle reminded Grant of the time. “I better go. I have a train to catch.” And if I don’t leave, I’m likely to do something completely off limits… Something that both of us will end up regretting.
Her sister Josie beckoned from the steps of the church. “Hurry, Meg. It’s almost time.”
“I’ll be right there.” Meg turned back to him. “I guess this is good-bye.” Her voice was cool, distant, so unlike the warmth he remembered from other occasions. From New Year’s Eve…
“Guess so,” he said, unable to say anything so final.
He watched her walk away, and it felt as if she had taken a piece of his heart with her. “Meg!”
She stopped and turned. She stood a short distance away in a cloud of satin with the sun at her back, in her hair. The vision would forever be engraved on his heart. Whether that would be a curse or a blessing, only time would tell.
Grant took an unsteady breath. The three little words he wanted to say stuck in his throat. “Be happy,” he managed at length.
There was nothing left to say; nothing else he dared say. With a heavy heart, he placed a hand briefly on his sister’s tombstone. Part of his past was dead to him, and at that moment it seemed like the future was too. He started along the path leading out of the cemetery, the longest walk of his life.
“Grant!”
He whirled around, and his heart thudded.
“I almost came back,” she called softly. “On New Year’s Eve. I almost came back to celebrate a second time.”
He stared at her. Why was she telling him this now? To punish him for kissing her? To torture him? To make him feel worse than he already did?
“I’m glad I didn’t,” she said, the words like arrows to his heart.
Her gaze locked with his just as the church bells pealed from the tower. And just like that she was gone—gone to become another man’s bride.
Twenty-eight
Meg stared in the mirror while Mama fussed over her, but all she could see was the look on Grant’s face when she told him she’d almost returned to him.
He’d looked stoic, unmoved, as if she had simply pointed out the weather. If she hadn’t believed it before, she now knew it without a doubt—she meant nothing to him. The kiss they’d shared held no meaning. At least not for him.
At that moment in the cemetery, she’d hated him. Hated him for making her feel things she never wanted to feel. Hated him for fooling her with his kindness. Hated him for making her feel more like herself in his presence than she had ever felt before.
And so she’d lied. Said she was glad. Yes, she’d wanted to hurt him. Hurt him like she was hurting. But he didn’t even offer her that satisfaction. Instead, he’d just gazed at her, seemingly indifferent and unaffected.
“Hold still,” Mama said. “You’re as wiggly as a kitten.”
Mama caught Meg’s gaze in the mirror and frowned. “Why so sad? You should be happy.”
Not wanting Mama to worry, Meg forced a smile. “I’m just nervous.”
Mama put the hairbrush down. “That’s how it should be.”
Meg frowned. “How can you say that?”
Mama ran a knuckle along Meg’s cheek. “Nervousness shows how deep your feelings are, and that you’re taking this marriage seriously.”
Meg grimaced inside. Mama always assumed the best in people, the best in her daughters, and turned a blind eye to another’s faults. No doubt she would be shocked if she knew the real cause of Meg’s misery.
Mama stepped back and reached for the wedding veil. Lifting it over Meg’s head, she lowered it gently onto the floral wreath and fluffed out the Brussels lace. “There. You look perfect. Don’t you agree, girls?”
Amanda made a face. “If you don’t mind looking like frosted cake. As for me and Josie”—her mouth puckered as she stared down at her own rose dress—“we look like we’re wearing lampshades.”
Mama frowned. “Amanda, of all the things to say.”
“It’s true, Mama. I don’t know why women dress in silly gowns and veils just to get married.” She glowered at Meg. “And insist that their sisters do likewise.”
“It’s tradition,” Mama said.
“Tradition has nothing to do with it.” Amanda rolled her eyes. “They’re simply doing what Queen Victoria did. I guess we should be glad she didn’t marry in the altogether.”
“Amanda, really,” Mama scolded. “Such talk. In a church, no less.”
Josie tucked a curl behind her ear. “And what, may I ask, will you wear on your wedding day?”
Amanda gave her head a toss. “If I were to get married—which of course I have no intention of doing—I would walk down the aisle in a cracker barrel and insist my bridesmaids do the same.”
Normally, such silly chatter would make Meg laugh, but not today. She didn’t feel much like laughing or even smiling. If only her heart didn’t feel so heavy. If only she could breathe… Whoever invented the corset deserved to be shot. Whoever invented love…
She closed her eyes. Not love. What she felt for Grant couldn’t be love. She refused to let it be love. Yes, she was sorry to see him go. Yes, she had hoped for a different reaction when she called out to him. Certainly she didn’t expect him to just stand there and stare.
Had he given the slightest indication he regretted how the trial ended, regretted the part he’d played in her unhappy ending, she would have…what? Thrown herself into his arms? Forgiven him?
As much as she hated thinking herself capable of leaving Tommy at the altar as he had left her—and letting down the whole town to boot—she would gladly have done so and more. All it would have taken was one encouraging word from Grant.
She cringed. Oh dear goodness. What a thought. On her wedding day, no less. A knot formed in her throat, and her corset cut into her as she tried to inhale.
A knock at the door brought her back to the present. Papa popped his head into the room. “It’s time,” he announced.
Mama checked Meg over once again, straightening the satin bow on her bustle and smoothing her veil. Meg watched her like one might watch a stranger. Oh, Mama, did you feel like this on your wedding day? Were you in love with another man? Did it feel like your heart was breaking? Did you think you wanted to die?
Mama stepped back, her eyes misty. “You make a perfect bride,” she said.
No, not perfect. She was anything but perfect. Oh, Mama, if you only knew…
Josie and Amanda reached for their bouquets. Luckily, the pink and white ranunculus and dianthus from Mama’s winter garden were in full bloom. The flowers were tied with a pretty white bow.
Papa walked up to Meg. With a gentlemanly bow, he crooked his elbow. “Ready?”
Meg gave a slight nod. Holding her own bouquet in one hand, she slipped her other hand through the circle of his arm. Her corset squeezed her middle and her shoes pinched her feet, but nothing hurt as much as the stabbing pain in her heart.
Josie stepped out of the room first, and Amanda followed.
Walking by her father’s side on wooden feet, Meg closed her eyes. I love
Tommy, I do. Everything will be all right, and I’ll be the best wife I can possibly be—just like Mama.
If it kills me!
*
Papa led Meg out of the anteroom and walked her to the chapel. Her legs threatened to buckle, and she felt sick to her stomach. Worse, her lungs battled with her corset for nearly every breath she took.
The organ music swelled as they drew closer to the open doors of the sanctuary. Never had the church been so packed. The trial and all the publicity that followed had made Meg’s second wedding a not-to-be-missed event. Even people who wouldn’t normally be caught dead in a house of worship were on hand, sitting on the edge of their seats as if the pews were made of nettle.
In contrast, Sallie-May looked perfectly at ease, batting eyelashes and all, having planted herself next to one of the richest cattlemen in Two-Time.
The organ played the “Wedding March,” and rising, the guests turned to face the back of the church. Meg entered by her father’s side.
Reverend Wellmaker and Tommy stood in front of the altar. Tommy made a handsome groom in his black suit, even with his crooked bow tie.
“Here we go,” Papa said, patting the arm clinging to his. They started down the aisle, and the slippers on Meg’s feet felt like they were cast in steel.
Halfway to the altar, she pulled her arm away. “Stop, Papa,” she whispered.
He froze in his tracks. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?”
“I need to talk to Tommy.”
“Now?” Her father stared at her. “You need to talk to him now?”
“It’s important.” She needed Tommy’s assurances that this was the right thing to do. Was he having similar feelings of hopelessness? The same growing panic? Was this how he’d felt when he left her at the altar that first time?
“Great thunder, can’t it wait until after you’re man and wife?”
“No, Papa, it can’t wait. That would be too late.”
“What could possibly be so important?”
“I can’t tell you. I just need to talk to Tommy.” Maybe she just had cold feet. Perhaps every bride felt this way walking down the aisle. Maybe nervousness was a good thing, like her mother said, but she had to make certain.
Left at the Altar Page 18
