An Unwilling Husband (32 page)

Cattle didn’t care about his wants though.

Barely avoiding the telltale whistling that always gave away the best of his moods, he strode to the barn. The bulk of the supplies he’d picked up on his way in from town still lay in the wagon. They’d needed unloading the night before but he’d been too tired and anxious to see Maggie to finish the job, and now set to work on the task. Having caught himself looking toward the front of the barn for the tenth time, he laughed at himself. What an old fool he was. One satisfying night with his wife and he couldn’t think of anything else.

“There’s somethin’ different about you today, boss.”

Garret jumped. He hadn’t noticed Burke mucking out stalls.

His friend leaned on a pitchfork and stared at him intently. “You musta had some night last night,” Burke drawled with a knowing grin.

“Shut up,” he said, unable to contain a smile. “Get to work.” Returning to the task at hand, he tried his best to ignore Burke, who spent much of the early morning throwing sly glances and rude innuendos his way.

Morning passed with no sign of Maggie, so he checked the cattle with the hands. The herd would need to be worked soon, and he wanted to haul feed and get a rough head count. He swung a glance to the house one more time and headed out. She would find him if need be, no doubt about that, but what the hell was keeping her?

Midday ebbed into a cool evening, and he headed for home and a warm dinner with the men. As he pulled the door to Rooney’s stall closed, movement in the barn doorway caught his eye. Maggie stood there, watching him. Smiling, he advanced on her. Framed in the dusty sunlight, her face looked as if she’d been crying.

He halted. “What’s wrong?” He searched for the object causing her despair, ready to snuff out such an intruder.

“I was going through your clothes. I thought I would wash them after your long trip, and found this in your pocket.” She held out a letter, folded several times over.

His heart dropped to the barn floor. She’d never been meant to see the letter. At least, not until he figured out what to do with the information. Now she would hate him. “I can explain—”

“Please do explain how you knew my uncle! And then explain how you knew he was dead and didn’t tell me!” She flung the letter at him and stormed out of the barn.

Leaving the letter and the tragic news it bore on the dirt floor, he rushed after her. Sobbing trailed her flight, and the sound of her quiet agony tore at him.

“I didn’t know he was your uncle. Not until you told me his name. Right after Wyatt shot you. Then it never seemed the right time— Hey!” Caught up to her, he pulled on her hand to turn her around.

Maggie flung him off and rounded on him, fire in her eyes.

“Please. Just give me a minute to explain.”

Arms crossed, she waited, tears streaming down her face.

To steady himself, he took a deep breath. “When I was a boy, I received a letter from a man I’d never heard of. Your uncle, William Hall. In his letter he said he had no children of his own, and was unable to give his ward schooling due to complicated circumstances. It was something he regretted, he said. He wanted to be my benefactor and send me to school. Whatever I wanted to study was fine, and he said paying for my education would help him to feel he made up for failing his ward. I didn’t understand when I was young, and didn’t ask too terribly many questions. He kept up with me through the years. Wrote me often, and I replied.”

“So all the years I waited for letters from you, they were coming to my home, just not to me?”

“I didn’t know, Maggie. You have to believe me. I didn’t know.”

“The letter, Garret,” she reminded him, fury dripping from her tone.

“When you were sick, I mean bad sick, your family’s lawyer notified me that William Hall died. Took ill and died of the fever. Struck the whole house, from what I understand. How could I say you’d lost the last of your family? That you’d lost the last person who mattered? How could I put such a weight on you when I thought you would die?”

He took a step toward her, but she backed up, keeping the distance between them.

His hand hung in the air between them. Cold emptiness and her retreat stung him. “I waited on a letter for you. Surely the lawyer would notify you of his death and then it wouldn’t be my job. And the more time I sat with this information, the harder it got to talk to you about it.”

“That letter said there was a problem with the estate and my aunt is requesting my presence. Were you never going to tell me? She’s gravely ill and asking for me to visit Boston, and you were going to keep it to yourself?” Maggie frowned at the ground and then at him, green eyes widened. “Was that why you slept with me?”

He shook his head. “I love you, Maggie. Can’t you see that?”

“You didn’t answer my question. Tell me! Is that why you made love to me last night? To keep me?”

“No.” Even he couldn’t convince himself it was the truth, and the word had sounded false as soon as it left his tongue. “Not the only reason. I thought you would leave if I gave you the letter. That I could wait until things blew over and let you have it when they didn’t need you in Boston anymore, like a coward! I’m a coward. You happy?” he asked, angry with himself, with her and the way she made him feel...everything. “I hated keeping anything from you. It got out of hand, and I handled everything wrong, but I knew,
knew
, if you went to Boston you’d never come back. What is there to come back to? I hurt you most of the time and don’t have the money to give you the life you deserve. And dammit, I don’t want you to go! I want you to stay here. With me.”

She was quiet for a long time as she wiped her eyes and tried to regain her composure. “I understand you’re scared of me leaving, Garret. You’ve made it clear from the day I saw you again it was something you would take as a betrayal. But you betrayed me by keeping this secret.”

“Maggie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be on the first train out in the morning. I’d tell you I’m coming back, but you wouldn’t believe me anyhow. I’ll write you after I arrive in Boston.” She turned and strode to the house, leaving him to watch after her, numb with grief.

Chapter 22

Garret,

I have only just arrived at my late uncle’s estate, as weather has delayed my travels. All the time waiting out the rain has given me ample time to think of our last moments together. Regrettable moments, that will forever tear at my heart.

Maggie scribbled out the words of the letter. One of many she’d started and thrown away. What a waste of such fine paper. As she’d done time and again, she crumpled the page and tossed it into the ivory trimmed waste basket.

That stupid, gaudy trash bin. How much food and supplies would such a fine piece be bargained for in Rockdale? She snorted. Probably not much. Who in their right mind would trade for such a useless trinket there?

She sighed and began again.

Dearest Garret,

I’ve arrived safely and am writing as promised. I hope this letter finds you well. I’ll be home soon.

Yours,

Maggie

There was simply too much to convey on a piece of paper. And with any luck, she would return around the same time as her letter arrived in Rockdale.

She jumped when the door swung open and a massive woman barreled toward her.

“Miss Margaret!”

Laughing, she braced herself for Berta’s hug. Then Berta’s arms came around her and squeezed her. She’d thought never to see her dear friend again in her lifetime. “Berta! Oh, it’s so good to see a friendly face.”

“When have you arrived, then, Miss Margaret?”

“Only an hour ago, and I’m convinced Jacques has become ever more stern in the short time I’ve been away. He let me in without even the slightest hint of recognition or pleasure.”

“Oh, you’d be right, for sure, mum. He’s been a horrible oaf since you’ve been gone. Things are so solemn around here, what with everything that has happened.”

Berta had come to work for the Hall family before Mother passed. She was older, and roughly polished at times, but had become a friend. Or as much a friend as one could secretly be, away from the ever-judging eyes of Aunt Margaret. Berta had been the one to encourage her to find her happiness and seek out Roy.

“Well, so tell me what has happened, then, Berta.” She motioned for the woman to take a seat in the cushioned chair near her writing desk. Berta took off her cloak and draped it over the back of a chair in haste, glanced at the door and sat down. The chair creaked under the strain.

“I’ll tell you, it was the saddest day when Mr. Hall passed. He had been sick for a time. We all knew it was bad, and your aunt stayed by his side until she caught the fever too and was ordered to bed.” Berta sniffled.

Immense sadness washed over her. Until this moment, his death hadn’t been real. She’d done a job of keeping her thoughts from the loss. First Mother then Roy, and now Uncle William? It was too much to process. “I didn’t get to say goodbye,” she whispered.

“Well now, girl, does anybody really get to say goodbye? Death works on his own clock now, doesn’t he? Don’t fret, dear,” Berta said, glanced at the door and leaned toward her. “Mrs. Hall,” she said in a whisper, “went to hiding your letters as soon as they came, but I grabbed up the last two and read them to Mr. Hall when he was so ill. And Mrs. Hall couldn’t stop me, on account of being ill herself. I tell you, it brightened his last days to hear from you, to hear of your happiness and your marriage, and everything. I like to think it gave him peace.”

“Aunt Margaret hid my letters from him? Why would she do such a thing?”

“Of course she hid them. Have you met her?” Berta snorted to cover a giggle. “She don’t like you none too much, I’m afraid. Never has, if it wasn’t obvious.”

“Yes, well the feeling is mutual.”

Berta became serious again. “She wants to see you, you know? Been asking for you.”

“But why would she want to see me?”

Berta shrugged. “Who knows why that woman does anything? I’d better get back to work. I’ll send for you when she is ready enough to receive you.”

“Oh, could you be a dear and give this letter to Jacques?” Maggie sealed her message to Garret quickly and handed it over. “I need it sent out with the post.”

“Of course, mum.” Berta took the letter and curtsied, gave her a wink and bustled out the door with the same fervor with which she had arrived.

The small luggage case stood in the corner. She really should unpack it but would not, on principle. Ambling around her old room, she touched pictures and trinkets. At the exquisite full length mirror framed in polished dark wood, she stopped. In the simple dress with her hair pulled neatly back, she looked gaunt from her recent recovery, and her freckles stood out in contrast against her blanched skin. Her hair color, which so offended Aunt Margaret, hadn’t changed.

She’d always wished her mother had stood up for her, even if only one time. Aunt Margaret’s sharp tongue had whipped her, made her uncomfortably aware she never did anything right. Not after having the audacity of her first unforgivable mistake, which was to be born, naturally.

This place had crossed her mind so blissfully little since she’d started her new life. Never in a hundred years would she have imagined being back in her prison after so short a time. She’d fancied she’d be dead before that happened. She hadn’t planned, however, on the death of Uncle William. How could one ever fathom losing the one light in life? The only person in all those years to give her kind words without apology. A sweet word from Mother had always come with a disclaimer she was never to tell Aunt Margaret of it. That it would be their little secret.

Her silver brush set lay where she’d left it on a small table. Uncle William had given it to her when she was young. He even had her initials engraved in the handles, but she’d never thought to bring them to Rockdale with the rest of her belongings. Her mother had tainted the gift by sighing in misery every time she brushed Maggie’s fiery colored hair with it. Not that her mother might have hated her hair color. Mother had likely been upset about the color simply because Aunt Margaret was.

Oh, if only once, her mother had one day had enough and told her aunt how beautiful she really thought it to be. One day of courage to change a life. Maybe that failure had been the reason for the wafting sadness in her mother’s face whenever she’d brushed her hair.