Cinderfella

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Nathan returned his smile. “I know. Never again doubt the works of the master, my boy. Never again.”

  In a matter of minutes he was cleaned and changed and headed back down the stairs with an unnatural spring in his step.

  Charmaine seemed to be holding the rest of the household at bay until he arrived. Only then did she allow anyone into the kitchen.

  There was a feast on the table. A huge roast, creamed potatoes, biscuits, peas, and corn. And on the stove he spied two pies. Apple, if his nose didn’t lie.

  “I didn’t know you could cook,” he said as he held Charmaine’s chair for her.

  “Neither did I,” she admitted softly.

  Verna was reserved, but Nathan and Oswald were as obviously delighted with the meal as he was. After Verna’s cooking, this was a spread fit for a king.

  Everything was perfect. The biscuits were flaky and the vegetables weren’t overcooked or undercooked. There were no lumps in the potatoes, and they didn’t run all over his plate, either. And the roast, it was nicely seasoned and so tender it all but melted in his mouth.

  There was a rousing round of compliments from the men at the table, and even Verna was not so spiteful as to ignore the food in front of her.

  Nathan studied a forkful of roast. “I do believe this is the tastiest beef I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

  Charmaine blushed. “Mother gave it to me this morning, and then she told me how to prepare it and shared a few seasonings.”

  “This is Haley beef?” Ash asked.

  Charmaine’s smile faded, just a little. “Yes, isn’t that all right?”

  He placed a forkful in his mouth and savored as he chewed and swallowed. “Makes it taste all the better.”

  Charmaine smiled again, Nathan laughed, even Oswald grinned.

  The dishes were done, the pie they hadn’t eaten stored away for tomorrow, and Charmaine settled in a chair by the fire. Goodness, she’d had no idea cooking was so tiring. It was worth it though, to see Ash’s face as he’d surveyed the table, to see him eat a decent meal.

  Actually, she enjoyed cooking. It was rather a surprise to find that she enjoyed such a domestic chore, but it was gratifying to watch everything come together neatly. The lessons, given with great enthusiasm by Charmaine’s mother and the never-failing Jane, had gone well. Jane had even declared that Charmaine had a gift.

  Oswald was reading, Verna was mending a skirt, and Nathan had closed his eyes but was surely not asleep in his chair. Ash was sitting on the floor by the fireplace, apparently lost in thought, and Charmaine left her chair to join him there.

  “What are you thinking about?” she whispered.

  He answered softly in her ear. “I don’t think I’d better tell you right now, not with all these ears around.”

  “How rude,” Verna snapped. “If you have something to say, kindly say it loud enough for the rest of us to hear.”

  “Just complimenting Charmaine on that pie again,” Ash said with a smile. Verna snorted, and Oswald added his mumbled agreement.

  How ironic that after spending so many hours railing against a life of servitude, she found such joy in something so simple as preparing a meal. How ironic that after railing against physical subservience, she found it wasn’t subservience at all, but a shared pleasure that didn’t seem to affect Ash’s brain adversely at all.

  She turned her head to find Nathan staring at her with a small smile on his face. He was always watching, it seemed, and he saw more than most, she was certain.

  He was holding that stare, eye to eye, when he made his announcement. “I have enjoyed my stay here more than you’ll ever know, but it’s time for me to move on.”

  Verna sniffed. “I’d begun to think you’d moved in permanently.”

  Oswald didn’t lift his nose from his book.

  “Where will you go?” Ash asked softly.

  “Kansas City, to start,” Nathan said, and she was sure there were stars in his eyes. “There’s an investor there who’s expressed an interest in supporting the arts by assisting me in getting back on the road. We’ve been in communication for quite some time, and he’d like to have the show in tip-top shape for a Christmas gala in Kansas City. To start I’ll put a troupe together, arrange a few performances, and in a matter of months I’ll be on my feet again.” He grinned widely at Charmaine. “Sure I can’t interest you in a starring role, my Juliet?”

  “No, thank you,” she said sternly.

  “What about you, Oswald?” Nathan asked, turning his attention to the man, who lowered his book slowly.

  “What about me?” Oswald asked suspiciously.

  She could almost see Nathan’s mind at work. “Ever thought about becoming an actor?”

  Oswald scoffed, giving the suggestion his disdain, and returned his attention to the book.

  “You’re probably right,” Nathan said with a touch of melancholy in his voice. “Not everyone can take the late nights, the senseless adoration, the constant excitement.”

  Oswald lowered the book and actually closed it. “I’ve never acted before.”

  Nathan grinned. “I’ve seen you reading Shakespeare.”

  “Of course.”

  “We’d start you off with a few small roles, of course, but with a little training, you’d make a magnificent Hamlet.”

  Oswald grinned brightly. “Do you really think so?”

  “I’m sure of it,” Nathan said stoutly.

  “I will not watch another of my boys wander off to the big city and . . . and leave me here all alone.” Verna insisted. “Oswald’s not going anywhere!”

  Oswald grimaced. “I don’t think I can take another winter here, Mother. Last year, during that big snowstorm, we were stuck in this house for days. I’m not a farmer, I hate those blasted animals, and . . . and there’s no treasure to look for anymore. At least that was fun. Even knocking down fence posts on occasion to keep Ash away from the house for a few hours was mildly entertaining, but there’s no need to do that, now.”

  Ash stiffened, and Oswald looked his way. “Sorry, Ash.”

  Nathan jumped in. “That’s right, my boy. You’re not a farmer, you’re an actor.”

  “You stop that,” Verna insisted. “He’s not going anywhere. I won’t allow both my sons to desert me within the span of a week!”

  Nathan leaned back in his chair. He looked as if he had the situation well in hand. “You know, I’ll need a new wardrobe mistress,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Someone to help the actresses dress quickly and make alterations and plan the overall color scheme that’s presented on stage. It’s an extremely important job.” He looked squarely at Verna. “Would you be interested?”

  She puffed a little, but didn’t say no.

  “It’s an undertaking that requires extensive travel. We usually find ourselves in a different city every week,” he said. “But . . . we stay in the finest hotels, we eat in the finest restaurants. Why, you’ll likely never have to cook a meal again.”

  Ash’s hand tightened at Charmaine’s side. She could feel it, the tension as he waited for an answer.

  “It’s tempting,” Verna admitted. “When will you be leaving?”

  “In the morning.”

  “Tomorrow?” Verna shouted. “Why, I can’t possibly. . . . ”

  “We move on at a moment’s notice,” Nathan said in an enticing whisper. “No ties, no responsibilities but to the play and the audience. What lies beyond the horizon, Verna?” His voice remained soft. “Have you forgotten?”

  “Tomorrow,” she repeated, but in a hoarse whisper.

  Nathan leaned forward, tense yet smiling, with just a hint of a mercenary twinkle in his eye. “What do you say?”

  Seventeen

  It was a grand morning, bright and cold, as Oswald and Verna loaded their belongings into Nathan’s wagon. Of course, if they’d been in the midst of a tornado Ash would have thought this particular morning grand.

  Once Verna had made up her mind she didn’t seem
to have a single second thought. With the truth of the Montgomery treasure revealed to her at last, she wanted off this farm as much as Ash wanted her gone. And evidently the idea of living in hotel to hotel from one town to the next appealed to her, as it obviously did to Oswald.

  Verna and Oswald were seated up top, while Nathan loaded the last of his own belongings into the wagon. Ash stepped quietly to stand behind his godfather, until he was close enough to whisper and be heard.

  “I owe you for this.”

  Nathan glanced over his shoulder with a wide smile. “That you do, my boy. That you do.”

  “This is above and beyond your duties as a godfather, Nathan, and I’ll never forget it. Do you really think Oswald will make an actor?”

  Nathan closed the squeaking wagon gate and turned to face Ash. The smile faded. “Yes, I do actually. If he’s willing to learn. God knows he’s got the ego of a star performer.”

  “And Verna?”

  “Verna will no doubt have husband number three snagged before spring rolls around.” Nathan reached up and placed his arm over Ash’s shoulder. It was an awkward position for the shorter man, so Ash leaned forward slightly. “I’ll work her hard enough until then.”

  “Good luck.”

  At long last, the house without Verna and her boys underfoot, without the nagging and the whining and the insults. It would be just him . . . and Charmaine, for as long as she stayed.

  “Don’t waste this opportunity, my boy,” Nathan whispered, and at that moment Charmaine stepped onto the porch. “You’ve got her all to yourself, now. Make the best of it.”

  “Charmaine’s not going to stay.” Ash said this as much to himself as to Nathan. Believing otherwise was dangerous. “She never intended to and nothing’s changed.”

  She was looking to the wagon with a rather forlorn look in her eyes. After her difficult weeks here, she couldn’t possibly be distressed about the departure of Verna and Oswald. Maybe it was more than that. Maybe, in spite of the truce they’d come to, she was dreading the prospect of sharing the house with him alone.

  “Ha!” Nathan scoffed softly. “Even I can see that everything’s changed. She milks cows and feeds chicken, she learned to cook for you. . . . ”

  “She’s just killing time until her father cools off and she can slip away without worrying about him coming after her.”

  “No. . . . ”

  “She told me so herself.”

  “If you tell her that you love her. . . . ”

  “Forget it,” Ash said sharply.

  “But it’s true,” Nathan hissed. “Don’t lie to me, because I know you better than anyone else, and I can always tell when you’re lying. It’s in your eyes . . . Lila’s eyes. I can see even when you’re lying to yourself.”

  It was the truth, and Ash didn’t waste any more breath denying what Nathan saw. “Sometimes I look at her and it hits me like a thunderbolt. This woman is my wife. And then it hits me again, the knowledge that she never wanted to be and she’ll leave in a heartbeat when the opportunity rolls around.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Nathan said stubbornly.

  Ash glanced at the woman in question, as she paced the front porch with her eyes on the wagon. She really did look distressed. Charmaine didn’t belong here, she belonged in the city, with her seminars and her manuals and her. . . .

  “What do women do in Boston . . . for entertainment?”

  “They have oyster parties and go to the theater, for the most part.” Nathan said with a grin.

  “What else?” Ash asked seriously.

  Nathan hesitated. “Sleighing and ice skating in the winter and picnicking in the summer. Games played after dinner, a buggy ride in the park. Poetry reading and musical events great and small. What exactly are you up to?”

  “Nothing,” Ash said softly.

  He gave Nathan a hearty hug and another soft thanks, and then Charmaine came down the porch steps to say her own good-byes. Verna and Oswald were as cool to her as they’d been to Ash when he’d said good bye, but Nathan insisted on a hug and a kiss from his Juliet.

  As they watched the wagon pull away, there was a tear in Charmaine’s eye.

  “What’s wrong?” Hell, he knew what was wrong. She didn’t want to be alone with him any more than she wanted to be married to him.

  But she surprised him with her answer. “I’ll miss Pumpkin.”

  This couldn’t be right. Doc Whitfield had made a mistake, a terrible, terrible mistake.

  She almost ran over Sarah Lewis, as the woman exited the Markam mercantile.

  “Why, good afternoon, Maureen.”

  “Ha!” she said without looking at the woman, without even slowing her step.

  Behind her there was a muffled and indignant, “Why, I never. . . . ”

  Doc Whitfield was wrong, he had to be. What he suggested was impossible, preposterous. But even as she denied what she’d heard, she knew it was the truth.

  Forty-five year old women didn’t have babies. Well, perhaps they did, but she didn’t. It was ludicrous.

  More than fifteen years ago, Doc Whitfield had told her she wouldn’t have any more children. She remembered that horrid meeting as if it were yesterday, and she’d reminded him of it just a few minutes ago. He was certain his diagnosis had been that it was highly unlikely that she’d conceive again, not impossible . . . but as far as Maureen was concerned that was splitting hairs.

  Stuart was just riding in as she approached the house, and she changed course to intercept him. He gave her a wide smile as he dismounted and tossed the reins to the waiting stable boy, but that smile faded as she came near.

  “What’s wrong?” He reached for her, but she snatched her arm away.

  “How could you?” she whispered.

  “How could I what?”

  He was truly puzzled, looking so innocent and concerned. Ha! He wasn’t the one who was pregnant. He wasn’t the one who was tired all the time and nauseated most every morning and already getting fat.

  “Men!” she said, and then she spun on her heel to walk away.

  He followed closely, around the house and up the stairs, through the front door and finally into the parlor. She tried to shut him out there, but he squeezed in before she could close the door in his face.

  “What is going on here?” he demanded, tossing his hat aside. “Have you been talking to Charmaine?”

  Maureen sat on the sofa and tried to gather her composure. She was going to have to tell him, sooner or later.

  “I saw the doctor this afternoon.”

  He paled, and she could actually see the fear in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  The tears welled in her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. She was a grandmother, for goodness sake. “I’m going to have a baby,” she wailed.

  Impossibly, Stuart went even paler. “A baby?”

  Maureen nodded quickly.

  When he smiled she wanted to punch him in the mouth. “A baby,” he whispered. “After all these years.” He sat beside her and placed a long arm over her shoulder. “Why are you crying? This is wonderful news.”

  “Wonderful news!” She tried to edge away from him, but he held tight. “I’m too old to have a baby! My daughters should be having babies, not me!”

  “Did the Doc say you were too old?” he whispered. “Does he expect problems?”

  Maureen shook her head. “He said I’m disgustingly healthy for a woman of my age, and I should have no complications.”

  “Good,” he sighed with relief.

  “But what does he know?” she snapped. “He’s the one who told me there would be no more children!”

  Stuart laid a hand against her face, a hand that was surprisingly gentle. A tear fell, and he brushed it away with his thumb. “You know, we always wanted more babies. So maybe we’re a little old. . . . ”

  “A little old!“

  He grinned, a wide smile that deepened the wrinkles on his face and made her heart beat faster. “I couldn
’t be happier.”

  “Of course you’re happy.” She tried to sound stern but fell far short. “You don’t have to carry this child and give birth in the spring. Oh, and what will people say?”

  “Who gives a —”

  “Stuart.”

  “Who cares?”

  Maureen gave in and fell against him, burying her head against his chest. “I’m scared,” she whispered, admitting it for the first time. “I’m not a young woman, and. . . . ”

  He wouldn’t allow her to say it. “I’ll take such good care of you,” he said, “you’ll wish you were pregnant all the time.”

  She sniffled.

  “We’ll hire extra help, and I’ll stay home more. Hell, what’s the good of having all this money if I can’t spend it?” His hands brushed her hair. “I love you too much to allow anything to happen to you.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “And another thing,” he said, ignoring her. “When the girls were little I missed so much. Getting the ranch started, chasing rustlers, cattle drives, I was away from home more than I was here. This time, I don’t want to miss anything.”

  Maureen lifted her head to look at him. Maybe this was not such a disaster after all. Maybe everything would work out for the best. Stuart was certainly happy about it. Didn’t he realize that a child in the house would turn their comfortable world upside down?

  The constant demands, the sleepless nights. The inevitable dilemmas of growing up. The heartache and pain, when the child suffered heartache and pain.

  A child’s laughter and tears. The unconditional love that comes only from a child. Another child to love and raise. Maybe this would be another beautiful daughter, and then again maybe it would be the son Stuart had always wanted. She was afraid to mention that possibility aloud, afraid she’d jinx whatever chance they had.

  “You need a nap before supper,” he demanded, rising and taking her hand to pull her gently to her feet, surprising her by sweeping her up and into his arms.

  “What are you doing?”

  “There will be no unnecessary walking in the next six months or so.”