Saturday Mornings (The Mississippi McGills)

by Peggy Webb

  She was thirty-two years old, but in many ways she was still sixteen. She supposed her cloistered youth had contributed to her naivete. That and the guidance of her Aunt Bertha.

  I'm your mother. She covered her ears to shut out the sound of the voice. Then slowly she took her hands away. She couldn't run from the truth forever. She had to face Bertha. But first she had to tell Tess.

  o0o

  The phone rang at five a.m., waking Andrew from a restless sleep. His first thought was of Margaret Leigh. Fully alert, he picked up the phone.

  “Andrew, this is Colter.”

  Andrew dragged his hand through his hair, wondering why his brother-in-law was calling so early. “Colter, there's nothing wrong with Jo Beth, is there?”

  “She's great. I'm great. We're all great.” Colter's deep laugh sounded over the line. “We have twins, born twenty minutes ago. My son weighed five pounds, and my daughter weighed four pounds six ounces. She's blond and beautiful, just like her mother.”

  “Twins! That's fantastic. You're sure everybody is okay?”

  “Absolutely. The birth was perfect. You should have seen it, Andrew. Jo Beth and the babies all performed like champs.”

  “Spoken like a doctor.”

  “Spoken like a proud father. Can you tell Silas and Sarah? I didn’t want to wake them. I’m going to call Rick.”

  “Wait until the sun comes up. Waking up his children would be like setting loose a hornet's nest in a brass band.”

  “Tell Silas and Sara we'll be home for the christening as soon as Jo Beth and the babies can travel.”

  “I will. Give her my love, Colter. Tell her I'll talk to her as soon as she's regained some of her strength.”

  After Andrew hung up, he went into his kitchen, popped the cap on a root beer and sat at the kitchen table in the predawn gloom, drinking it warm straight from the bottle. Brooding was not his style, but now he brooded. Alone in the dark with nothing to comfort him except the familiar sweet taste of root beer, he thought about his lost love. He'd lost Margaret Leigh. The previous night he had destroyed any chance he might have had with her. She would never believe that his motive was love instead of a desire to teach her a lesson. She wouldn't even believe he'd done it out of a desire to protect her.

  He slumped lower in his chair in an uncharacteristically dreary mood, never noticing when the sun came up. If his dogs hadn't howled to be fed, he wouldn't have known how long he stayed in his chair.

  Knowing how sensitive his dogs were to his mood, he tried to cheer himself up by thinking about his sister's new babies. He didn't want any anxiety or negative feelings to interfere with his dogs' training for the national field trials.

  His dogs wiggled and thumped their tails and licked his hands in joyful greeting. By the time he left the kennel, he was almost cheerful. Then he thought about the babies again. That cheered him even more. Thinking of them reminded him of the role he had played in getting Jo Beth and Colter together.

  “A McGill never gives up,” he had told her when she thought she had lost Colter.

  “You're darned tootin', a McGill never gives up.” His shout startled a squirrel coming down from a nearby oak tree. It gave a squeaky bark and scuttled back up the tree.

  Whistling now, Andrew went around to the front of his house where his do-it-yourself flower beds were ablaze with mums. The beds hadn't been weeded in a while, but that hadn't kept them from producing some spectacular blooms. He picked an armful and went into his cabin, still whistling.

  There was only one thing to do, and that was to go courting. And this time, he would do it right. First he had to undo all the harm he'd done by taking Margaret Leigh into his bed. Then he had to convince her he loved her. And he could do it. By George, he would do it.

  But first he would keep his promise to Colter. He had to visit his parents and tell them about their new grandbabies.

  o0o

  By the time he arrived at the little house on Allen Street, the sun was high and his huge bouquet of mums was looking a little bedraggled. He tried to rearrange them.

  “Plump yourselves up, boys. We're going courting.”

  He left his truck, whistling. Bertha came to the door. She had dark circles under her eyes, and she looked as if she had lost ten pounds. She stood in the doorway, clutching the knob so hard, the blue veins stood out in her hands.

  “She's not here,” Bertha said, even before he could ask.

  “She's already at work?”

  “No. She called the library director early this morning. She asked for some time off.”

  “May I come in, please?”

  “You might as well. You already know all the family scandal. I guess it won't hurt for you to know the rest.”

  Andrew squeezed the bouquet and bronze mums tumbled to the floor.

  “Has anything happened to Margaret Leigh?”

  “I reckon she's gone wild. Staying out all night, coming in looking as if she'd been in some man's bed—'“

  “She was in my bed, and she was there because I love her.''

  “You promised no harm would come to her.”

  “I believe the harm was done to her long ago.”

  “Oh.” Bertha's hand flew to her chest. She'd always been able to retreat behind a faulty heart, but there was no retreating from Andrew McGill. He had the look of a man who would tolerate no nonsense. “I loved her. I only did what I thought was best for her.”

  “So did I. It seems we've both made mistakes. I'm ready to correct mine. Can you tell me where she is?”

  “Gone to Chicago. She called the airport early this morning.” Bertha stood up. “She'll be with Tess. I’ll get the address.”

  She disappeared and came back with a piece of notepaper bearing the address of Tess Jones Flannigan Carson O’Toole. She handed the paper to Andrew.

  “Tell her I love her,” Bertha said.

  “I will.”

  o0o

  When the intercom buzzed, Tess and Margaret Leigh were dressed for bed, their feet up on Tess's brass-and-glass coffee table, watching the play of Chicago's lights over Lake Michigan.

  “Who is it?” Tess asked.

  “Andrew McGill.”

  Margaret Leigh jumped off the sofa, pulling her robe high around her throat. “Tell him I'm not here.”

  Tess studied her sister's face a second before she responded into the intercom. “You can come up, Mr. McGill.”

  “Why did you do that? Tess, what are you doing to me?”

  “You're in love with him, Margaret Leigh.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn't have to. I saw it. I see it.”

  “I wouldn't fall in love with Andrew McGill if he were the only man on earth.”

  Tess stood up and put a comforting hand on Margaret Leigh's shoulder. “You don't have to see him if you don't want to, but I want to see the man who stole my sister's heart and her virginity.”

  “Tess!”

  “Look. I consider myself a pretty good judge of men.”

  “You don't know squat about men.” Anger and fear made Margaret Leigh say things she would never have dreamed of saying a few days before. “Three husbands, and all of them Lord only knows where.”

  Tess tossed her red hair and laughed. “I do believe you're getting some spunk, sister.”

  “I told you. We're not really sisters.”

  “Circumstances don't change who and what we are. We’ll always be sisters, no matter who gave birth to you.” She put her arm around Margaret Leigh and led her toward the bedroom. “You can hide in here, and I'll handle everything. But I'm warning you, Margaret Leigh, I'm not going to let you hide forever. You've got to face this silly business with Aunt Bertha.”

  “Silly business!”

  “Yes. Silly business. It's no more than a tempest in a teapot. She practically raised us. She loves us. What does it matter whether she's your aunt or your mother? That doesn't change the fact that we were and always have been a family unit.”
She gave her sister a gentle push toward the bedroom. “Shush, now. I hear your man at the door.”

  “He's not my man.”

  “Shh

  As Margaret Leigh scuttled toward the bedroom, Tess let Andrew McGill in.

  “You must be Andrew McGill.” She boldly assessed him. “I approve.”

  “Margaret Leigh has told you about me?”

  “Enough.” She took his arm and led him to the sofa. “Sit beside me and tell me how you feel about my sister.”

  Andrew didn't answer directly. Instead he leaned back and studied Margaret Leigh's sister. She was a stunning woman with exotic green eyes and abundant red hair. Every line of her body exuded self-confidence. There was an arrogance about her, too, a devil-may-care attitude that told the whole world she'd do as she pleased whether they liked it or not. But she had heart. Andrew was certain of that. Living close to nature deepened his intuition and honed his instincts. Tess Jones Flannigan Carson OToole was a woman who loved her sister. He'd bet on that.

  He leaned forward so he could maintain eye contact.

  “I can tell you that my intentions are strictly honorable.” Behind the bedroom door, Margaret Leigh covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her gasp of outrage. “But I'm not going to tell you how I feel about Margaret Leigh. Second-hand communication has a way of causing misunderstandings, and I'm not about to risk any more misunderstandings with her.”

  “I can assure you that my intentions are honorable as well, Andrew McGill. I would never misinterpret what you said to Margaret Leigh. She's my sister, and I love her.”

  “Good. But my position is still the same. When I say how I feel about Margaret Leigh, she’ll be the first to hear it.”

  Tess's laughter was full-bodied and uninhibited. And after she had finished, she wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. “I like you, Andrew McGill.”

  “I like you, too, Tess.”

  “Not many men stand up to me.”

  “I don't doubt that.”

  “Only Flannigan...” Her face clouded briefly, then she put on a sunny smile. “She's here, you know.”

  “I thought so.”

  Tess's green eyes danced with devilment. “I suddenly remembered that I promised to run down the hall and see Patsy's new wing chairs. You don't mind if I leave you alone for a while, do you?”

  Behind the door, Margaret Leigh balled her hands into fists and muttered, “I'll get you for this, Tess.”

  “Not at all.” Andrew smiled at her. 'Take your time.”

  “I will. Looking at Patsy's new furniture has been known to take hours.” She belted her robe tighter, gave him a jaunty salute, and left the apartment.

  He sat on the sofa, waiting for Margaret Leigh to come out of hiding. He even whistled a tune while he waited.

  Margaret Leigh was furious with both of them. She wished he would stop that infernal whistling. Her stomach lurched, and her legs got cramps from standing so still behind the door. She was determined to wait him out.

  Fifteen minutes passed, and he was still out there. The whistling had stopped, but she knew he was there. For one thing, she hadn't heard the door shut.

  “I know you're not in the kitchen, Margaret Leigh.” She jumped at the sound of his voice. “I've checked the bathroom too. I guess that leaves the bedroom.” There was a long silence, pregnant with memories; then he started talking again. “I’ll be glad to come in there. Do you want this confrontation in the bedroom, Margaret Leigh?”

  “Don't you dare come in here.”

  “You'll come out, then.”

  “I didn't say that.”

  “You leave me no choice.” She could hear his footsteps on Tess's parquet floors.

  “Wait. I'll come out. Just...” She paused, thinking of a way to buy time. “Give me time to change.”

  “Fine.”

  She didn't want to face him in her bathrobe anyhow. She took her time going to the closet. She'd been too upset when she arrived to do more than flop onto the bed and start talking. Tess had hung the clothes in the closet every which way. They were full of wrinkles.

  She took down a navy skirt and white blouse then changed her mind. She didn't want to face Andrew McGill looking like somebody's maiden aunt. She reached for jeans and a sweatshirt then decided that was too casual. She didn't want to give him the idea she was comfortable around him. Finally she selected a soft, blue-violet wool dress.

  She tried to shake the wrinkles out. It was hopeless. Reaching onto the top closet shelf, she pulled down Tess's iron and table top ironing board and set them up on a flat-topped desk.

  Anxiety and the steam from the iron made her hot. She slipped off her robe and continued her pressing.

  “You look pretty in your slip, Margaret Leigh.” She whirled around, holding the iron out like a weapon. Andrew laughed. “Is that thing loaded?”

  “Get out of this bedroom. I'm not dressed.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “Haven't we gone beyond being shy about our bodies?”

  “I'm not being shy. I'm being selective.”

  She put up no resistance when he unplugged the iron, took it from her, and set it on the ironing board. Then he took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look into his face.

  “Margaret Leigh, I'm too old and too impatient for games.”

  “The games were your idea.” She tried to twist away. “Kidnapping me on your horse, ruining my date at the carnival, taking me to your bed.”

  “You said yes.”

  He had her there. Not only had she said yes, she'd enjoyed every minute of it. But she'd be darned if she'd let him know.

  “You said yes, Margaret Leigh.” His voice had grown softer, and he began to caress her bare shoulders. “I told myself I was protecting you. I pretended I was your knight in shining armor, saving you from the real scoundrels of the world.” He paused, looking deep into her eyes. “It wasn't like that at all.”

  “Don't tell me what it was. I know.”

  “What do you know?”

  “I was a diversion for you, a change of pace. A shy little virgin in need of a few lessons.”

  “Dammit, Margaret Leigh—”

  “Well, I'm not that little virgin anymore, thanks to you—”

  His mouth slammed down on hers. She clamped her teeth together and tried to resist. But the old familiar feelings stole over her, and she was his. She knew it and he knew it. The precise instant she responded, he changed the tone of his kisses. Where he had been fierce and demanding, he became tender and persuasive. Where he had been ruthless, he became passionate.

  She laced her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, molding her body to his.

  He lifted his head a fraction of an inch, his eyes gleaming with triumph. She didn't care. She was beyond caring about anything except being in Andrew's arms once more.

  “You 're right.” His voice was soft, silky, seductive, as he caressed her cheeks. '“You're not a shy, scared woman: you're full of fire and passion. And I intend to claim it all.”

  She fell under his spell. His name on her lips was little more than a sigh. “Andrew.”

  “Yes, my sweet?”

  “I said yes,” she whispered. “That night in your cabin, I said yes.”

  “And now. What do you say now, Margaret Leigh?”

  Caught up once more in the heady sensuality of being in his arms, Margaret Leigh could hardly think. Andrew had freed a passionate side of her that she had never dreamed existed. That side of her wanted to say, “Take me. Now. Under any circumstances, under any conditions.”

  If he had continued kissing her without saying a word, she would have fallen into bed with him and damned the consequences. But he was asking her. What now?

  She tipped her head back and looked straight into his eyes. Lying was hard looking into those brilliant blue eyes, but she wasn't about to be the victim again. His or anybody else's.

  “Now, Andrew, I say you're dealing with
a different woman. A wiser woman. I'm not gullible enough to fall into your bed just to satisfy your male ego.”

  He crammed his fists into his pockets and clamped down on his control. “Have I already been tried and found guilty, or are you wise enough to give me a hearing?”

  “Talk, Andrew. But the minute you touch me again, I'll send you out the door.”

  “It takes two to touch, my love.”

  “It only takes one to maul.”

  Andrew reined in his impatience. Margaret Leigh was a woman suffering great pain. Everything in her life had been turned upside-down by Bertha Adams's revelation. He'd have to remember that.

  “This is not about touching.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and held them out to her, palms up. “I promise that I won't touch you again, Margaret Leigh. I will never touch you again unless you want me to, unless you ask me to.”

  “Don't hold your breath.”

  “Waiting with bated breath is not my style, Margaret Leigh.” He got her robe off the chair and handed it to her. “Put this on. You distract me in that slip.”

  She took the robe, and their fingertips touched. She jerked her hand back, and he smiled. While she got into her robe, he crossed the room and straddled one of Tess's Victorian chairs. Margaret Leigh smiled at the picture he made; a big, virile male dwarfing the tiny, fragile chair.

  “That smile is a good start, Margaret Leigh.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed, catching the ends of her robe and covering her legs the way she'd been taught. Andrew was enchanted. He'd never imagined that one day he would fall in love and want to settle down. And even if he had, he would never have imagined he'd fall for a woman like Margaret Leigh, a very proper lady with starch in her collar and fire in her veins. He laced his hands together on the carved back of the chair and smiled at her.

  “Do you remember the night we went dancing, pretty one?”

  How could she ever forget? She took her time answering, not wanting to make any more mistakes with Andrew McGill.

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “I think that's when I fell in love with you.”

  “Ohhh.” She covered her mouth, and her cheeks went rosy.

  Andrew considered that a good sign.

  “It was the blue taffeta dress, I think. I fell in love with that dress first, and then I fell in love with you.”