Three Redeemable Rogues

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Peter couldn’t contain his smile at his son’s bravado. “I’m certain you will,” he told him. “I’ve never had any doubt you could.”

  Christopher beamed with pride. He smiled so widely Peter thought his face would split. “So now I’m not scared anymore, Daddy.”

  “Good for you!” Peter exclaimed, and resisted the urge to tackle him and steal another hug. Christopher seemed to be getting too big for them of late, and though it was what Peter had hoped—that he would feel independent enough—it gave him a little twinge of regret to see his only son growing up so swiftly.

  “How would you feel about a little brother or sister, Christopher?” he asked suddenly, surprising even himself with the question.

  Christopher’s expression became animated. “Really, Daddy?”

  “Really, son.”

  “A brother! Oh, yes!”

  Peter smiled, picturing a house full of children... In addition to the brother for Christopher, he saw little girls with dark hair and blue eyes as deep as the sea and temperaments as fiery as their mother’s.

  “Is Miss Sarah going to be my new mommy?” he asked, and Peter had to catch himself from answering yes. He damned well hoped so, but he was well aware that he couldn’t force her.

  “I hope so.”

  Christopher nodded fervently. “Me too, Daddy!”

  “I’m glad we both agree,” Peter said, laughing, and reached out to pat Christopher’s leg.

  “Can we go ask her now?” Christopher pleaded at once. “Please, Daddy, please!”

  “It’s not so simple as that, son,” Peter said, and then a wicked idea entered his head.

  Perhaps it was.

  Who could refuse that little face?

  Who could look at his son and not feel a tug in their heart?

  It wasn’t quite the fair thing to do, but then, as he’d already determined, he wasn’t going to play fairly.

  He wasn’t going to lose her—not if he could help it.

  “Why don’t you do that, Christopher!” he suggested, his eyes narrowing mischievously.

  Christopher had fallen back on the bed, bouncing up and down. “Do what, Daddy?”

  “Ask her,” Peter proposed.

  Christopher stopped bouncing and went still. “To be my mommy?”

  “Yes, sir!” Peter exclaimed, suddenly excited by the prospect. “Listen... you go and find her and ask her, and then come back and tell me what she says to you.”

  “All right, Daddy,” Christopher agreed, and crawled off the bed. “I’ll go ask her.”

  Peter grinned, wishing he could somehow eavesdrop on their conversation. “Just don’t tell her I sent you,” Peter told his son. “And ask her as nicely as you can.”

  “Yes, sir!” Christopher disappeared an instant as he knelt to retrieve his little cane from where he’d obviously left it on the floor. He rose and hurried to the door.

  “And if she says yes, son, you can have all the taffy you want!”

  “Oh, yippeee!” Christopher exclaimed, and did a slightly awkward leap of joy. “I’ll be right back!” he swore, throwing his hand into the air, and Peter grinned as he watched his son go.

  He lay within the bed long after the tap-tap of Christopher’s little cane vanished down the hall. Crossing his arms behind his head, he considered dressing and following behind him to hear what was said, but decided against it, because he knew his son would fare better without him.

  Still, he’d like to see the look on Sarah’s face when Christopher asked.

  What would she say?

  The image made him smile.

  “Sarah Woodard,” he whispered, “you’re not going to walk away from us so easily.”

  Chapter 30

  What a mess Sarah had created for herself.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to find the clarity of mind she needed to unravel her way out of her tangled life. She’d sat alone in the library since leaving Peter’s bed, trying to make sense of the myriad feelings she was experiencing.

  She fumbled with a forgotten button she’d found on the floor, tossing it from one hand to another, trying to determine her best course of action.

  Should she go?

  Or should she stay?

  Could she walk away?

  She sat there contemplating those things until the soft tap-tap of a cane alerted her to Christopher’s presence in the corridor.

  “Christopher,” she called out as he passed, dropping the button on the floor. It landed with a faint clatter on the hard wood.

  He paused in the doorway.

  What time is it? Sarah wondered. Was Peter still abed?

  “Miss Sarah?” he called out a little uncertainly.

  “Good morning, Christopher,” she said, smiling at the silly grin that appeared on his face. She took a deep breath and invited him in, determined to begin setting things right at once.

  Christopher was foremost on her mind, after Peter.

  He turned to enter excitedly, swinging his little cane before him. He was dressed still in his nightgown, had obviously come straight from his bed. Sarah had never seen him look quite so adorable.

  Her arms ached to hold him.

  “Christopher,” she said, “would you mind very much sitting in my lap... just this once?”

  “No, ma’am!”

  “C’mere then,” Sarah urged him, and he did. She lifted him onto her lap, but he didn’t release his cane at once. Sarah let him keep it, though it smacked her on the forehead as he settled himself.

  Rubbing her head, she tried not to laugh at his oblivious expression. He was just too excited this morning, and she was flattered to think it might be because he was happy to see her.

  “I’m glad you came to me this morning,” she said, “because I have something I wish to tell you.”

  “Me too!” he replied at once. “I have something to tell you too!”

  Sarah laughed softly at his unbridled enthusiasm.

  “You want to go first?” she asked. “Or would you like me to?”

  “Ladies first! My daddy always says that,” he told her, nodding. “You can if you wanna, Miss Sarah.”

  “Very well, then... in that case...” Sarah inhaled a breath, uncertain how to proceed. “Well, I have a few confessions to make...”

  “Confession?”

  “Yes,” Sarah explained, leaning forward and putting her arms around him. “You see, a confession is when... well, in this case it is when you have not quite spoken the truth about something... and you wish to set it right.”

  Christopher thought about that a moment, and commented, “Like when you say you like rice but you really don’t, ’cause you think they feel like too many bugs in your mouth?”

  Sarah wrinkled her nose at the image. “Well... yes,” she said, “somewhat like that, Christopher. You don’t like rice?”

  He shook his head and made a disgusted face. Sarah nipped her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

  “Well, then! Why don’t you speak up and say something?” she suggested. “I’m certain your father and Aunt Ruth wouldn’t force you to eat bugs! Yuck!”

  His little brows drew together. “Well, I did tell my aunt Ruth,” he said, and pouted. “But she said I shouldn’t waste my food.”

  Sarah lifted her brows. Ruth was, indeed, somewhat of a battle-ax, she decided. Old biddy. “Well!” she exclaimed. “Next time, if I am with you, I promise to stand up to Aunt Ruth for you.”

  He smiled.

  “That is... if you think you’d still like to have me around after I tell you my confession.”

  “Oh, I will!”

  Sarah inhaled a breath. “Well, we shall see...”

  “In fact,” he added, sounding entirely too much like a little old man again, “me and my daddy would like you to marry us!”

  Sarah drew back in surprise. “Marry you?”

  “Uh-huh!”

  He nodded, looking so earnest that Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. “He said that? Christophe
r,” she urged him, “tell me what exactly did he say?”

  “Ummmmm.” Christopher made a face that seemed suddenly uncertain. He stuck a finger in his mouth. “Well, I think I’m not supposed to tell you that part,” he explained.

  Sarah lifted her brows in surprise. “You are not supposed to tell me?”

  Could he be speaking the truth?

  Could Peter truly wish to marry her?

  He shook his head, and seemed reluctant even to speak now.

  “I see,” Sarah replied, and then added, regaining her composure, “Well, if your father would like to know what I think about that, Christopher, then he will have to ask me himself. Don’t you think?”

  He nodded, and Sarah decided not to pursue that particular topic, because she suddenly couldn’t bear to discover they were nothing more than the fancies of a little boy. “Christopher,” she prompted, “about my confession...”

  He waited patiently, but Sarah had a difficult time putting the confession into words he might understand. She decided the best course was simply to say it.

  “Remember I told you I was a teacher?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, I’m really not a teacher, Christopher.”

  His little brows drew together into a bewildered frown. “You’re not really my teacher?”

  “Well, I have been teaching you, yes,” she amended, trying her best not to confuse him.

  “Then you are my teacher!” he replied, with irrefutable logic.

  Sarah sucked in a breath. “Well, yes, in this instance, but it’s not what I do for a living... teach, that is.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No,” Sarah replied. “I don’t.”

  “All right,” he said, and Sarah waited for him to say something more.

  When he didn’t, she continued. “And remember when I said my last name was Hopkins?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, that is not the truth either.”

  He was frowning now, his little brow furrowing. “What is it, then?”

  “Woodard.”

  “All right,” he said, and shrugged.

  “Does that name seem familiar to you at all?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well,” Sarah continued, disappointed though she had no reason to be, “I suppose it wouldn’t be.

  At any rate, I knew your mother well.”

  His little face lit up. “You did?”

  Sarah nodded, smiling. “Yes, I did,” she affirmed. “In fact,” she continued, “I knew her very well.”

  “Was she very nice?” he asked, nodding still.

  Sarah smiled fondly at the memory of her cousin. “Oh, yes! Very nice!” she exclaimed. “And I loved her very much. She was my cousin, you see.”

  “Cousin?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said. “Somewhat like brothers and sisters, except not so closely related. My mother and her mother were cousins. Understand?”

  He nodded. “I wish I had a baby brother,” he lamented, changing the subject. “But maybe when you marry my daddy you can bring one home?”

  Sarah blinked at the innocent request.

  She grinned, but didn’t dare reply. She didn’t wish to encourage him needlessly.

  “Your mother was my best friend, too,” she said, returning to the discussion.

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” Sarah answered, and sighed. “She was.”

  “Well, I don’t really have a best friend,” he said. “’Cept maybe my daddy.”

  “He’s a very good best friend to have,” Sarah assured him.

  “Somebody killed my mommy when I was just a baby,” he added matter-of-factly.

  Hearing it so frankly from his lips gave Sarah a start.

  “You know about that, Christopher?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, his expression saddened now. “I think that was a mean thing to do!”

  Sarah hugged him a little tighter. “Yes, me too,” she agreed, and leaned her cheek against his head. “You know... we had a big fight before she died, your mother and I...”

  “You did?” he asked her, leaning into her embrace.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “Why were you mad?”

  “That story will have to wait until you are grown, I think, but it really wasn’t your mommy’s fault,” she assured him. “It was mine.”

  “It was?”

  That he seemed surprised by that made Sarah smile a bit. “Yes, it was, I’m ashamed to say. And the worst part is that I never, ever got to tell her I was sorry.”

  He nodded. “I bet she was really sad about that.”

  “Yes, I think so,” Sarah agreed. “But I hope and pray she knew I loved her, anyway.”

  He nodded. “I think maybe she did, Miss Sarah.”

  Sarah kissed his head and closed her eyes, praying it was the truth. “You think so?”

  “Yes, ma’am—but I know what you can do, if you wanna.”

  “And what is that?” she asked him, opening her eyes, realizing the hardest part of her confession was yet to come.

  “Well,” he began, “my daddy says she went to live in Heaven, and that Heaven is a place where you talk with your hearts. And I think if you talk to her like that, she will hear you, Miss Sarah. Have you said I’m sorry really hard?”

  Sarah smiled at his description of Heaven. “Yes, I have. I have said it with all of my heart, Christopher.”

  “Then she knows,” he said with certainty. “My daddy says she hears everything now—sorta like God, ’cept she’s not God, you know?”

  Sarah laughed softly. “Yes, I think I do. You know what else I think?” she told him, squeezing him gently.

  “What?”

  “I think your mother would be very, very proud of you, Christopher.”

  He beamed.

  “But, Christopher,” she continued, taking in a fortifying breath, “there is something else too.”

  “All right.”

  “You know when I said I couldn’t see... that I was blind?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well... I really can see.”

  He cocked his head a little in confusion. “You mean the doctor fixed you?”

  “No,” Sarah said. “You see, I was never blind.” His little brows drew together in confusion, but he said nothing.

  “I’m sorry for the lie,” she offered him, hoping it was enough, and feeling it was inadequate. “Do you hate me now?”

  He shook his head. “No... but I don’t really know why you would wanna say you were blind if you wasn’t.”

  “Well, I had a very good reason,” she said, “but it was still a lie, and for that I apologize, Christopher.”

  “All right,” he said, and then added, “but I don’t really care about that, ’cause I’m glad you’re not. I don’t like it much,” he disclosed.

  Sarah’s heart went out to him. “I’m certain you don’t, darling, but you know what?” She lifted her hand to his cheek and hugged him to her.

  “What?”

  “I think you are the bravest person I know,” she told him with certainty.

  He pulled away. “You do?” he asked in surprise.

  Sarah smiled. “Yes, I do!”

  “Well,” he told her, nodding once more, “I am pretty brave.”

  Sarah laughed. “Are you now?”

  “Uh-huh, wanna know why?”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I scared away the boogeyman last night!”

  Sarah blinked, not quite understanding. “You did what?”

  “Scared him away from my room! My daddy says he is just a nightmare, but I can really smell him, and he smells like a smelly girl,” he added with a scrunch of his nose.

  Sarah’s heartbeat increased its rhythm. “You mean to tell me someone comes into your room at night?”

  He nodded soberly. “Uh-huh, the boogeyman.” Her brain tried to focus on what he was telling her, but confusion muddied her thoughts. Her heart pounded.
“Why do you think it’s the boogeyman, Christopher?”

  “’Cause I thought it was my aunt Ruth, but I asked her and she said no, it was the boogeyman, and if I didn’t stay asleep, he might take me away.”

  Terror swept through Sarah. Why would anyone tell a child such a thing?

  “Your aunt Ruth told you that?” she asked, wanting to be certain she hadn’t misunderstood.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And why did you think it was her?”

  “Because it smells like her. Yuck!”

  “Christopher?” Sarah began, shuddering at the thoughts that passed through her head suddenly. “Does this ... boogeyman... ever harm you?”

  He shook his head. “No, ’cept he used to scare me, but not anymore.”

  Sarah swallowed the knot that rose in her throat. “You are such a big little boy,” she told him, but her mind was racing with the possibilities.

  Could Ruth possibly be Mary’s and Mel’s murderer?

  But why?

  It didn’t make sense, but then, murder was not a sensible crime.

  “Has this boogeyman ever spoken to you, Christopher?’ ‘

  “No, ma’am... but he cried last night.”

  “Cried?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sarah tried to imagine what possible reason Ruth might have to wish Mary dead. And then Sarah, too—not Mel because it hadn’t been Mel who’d been the intended victim. It had been Sarah all along... the fire... the carriage... and Mel had been in her bed, too.

  “Christopher?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “What does this boogeyman do when he’s in your room?”

  “I dunno,” he said, “but I think he lives in my closet.”

  Sarah inhaled a breath. Her heart began to pound a little harder. “Your closet?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chills bolted down Sarah’s spine. “Why... why do you think this, Christopher?”

  “Because I found a book there one time,” he said. “It’s smelly just like him.”

  Dear God! Could this be the missing journal? Had Ruth hidden the incriminating evidence in his room, knowing that he would never understand its contents?

  Sarah’s heart leapt into her throat. She gasped and stood at once, sliding Christopher from her lap. She took him by the hand. “Show me, Christopher!” she demanded.

  “I din’t know what it was!” he swore, sounding terrified all at once. “Did I do somethin’ wrong? I din’t touch it again, Miss Sarah!”