Squire's Quest (43 page)

He wanted to tell Silas that mostly he'd been sober as a judge, but the words fell into the
maelstrom and were lost.

* * * *

Emmet took charge. "Let's get to the hotel. We can sort this out then." He and Silas
handed the women into the buggy.

"We had a couple of trunks shipped. Even if they came in on our train, they'll wait for
morning." Silas paused, his hand on the door handle. "I handled this poorly."

"Even though I've only a suspicion what 'this' is, I have to agree. Why'd you spring a
surprise on him?"

Silas waited until they were both mounted on the high seat. "I guess I'd hoped seeing her
would make him remember."

"It still could, if she's who I think she is."

"She is."

"Where...? No, let's wait. The little girl looks asleep on her feet. Let's get her and Merlin
into bed, gather in the lobby. I'll have Hat see if they'll make us a pot of coffee."

Once at the hotel, he let Silas take care of Merlin while he unloaded the women and
drove the buggy to the livery stable. As he walked back, he wondered what sort of woman
Merlin's long-lost--and very much alive--wife was.

And why she had never come looking for him.

The women were on two facing settees in the lobby Hattie and Regina on one, Soomey
and the woman she'd brought on the other. They all looked stiff, as if posed for a
photograph.

Soomey beckoned when he started their way. "Come and meet your daughter-in-law,
Emmet."

She went to stand, until he said, "Don't get up." Putting on his company manners, he
bowed. "I'm pleased to meet you, ma'am, and a little discombobulated that nobody's told me your
name."

"I'm Callie...ah, Calista Ev--"

"She is Callie Lachlan, Merlin's wife. Sit down, Emmet. You are making her
afraid."

Without looking away from the young woman whose green eyes were wide and scared,
he said, "Soomey, you and Silas must have had good intentions, but it might have been kinder all
'round if you'd given us some warning."

He took the chair next to the woman who claimed to be his daughter-in-law. "Ma'am, it's
late, and you've had a long journey. Right now I'm more worried about my boy than anything
else, so I'll ask you to wait until tomorrow to tell us why it took you more than eight years to
come lookin' for your husband. So let's all go to bed and get a good rest. Come morning we'll
have some questions for you." He turned his head. "No more tonight, Soomey. You've managed
this affair so far, if I know you. Now I'm takin' over. He is my son."

To his very great surprise, she nodded meekly and rose. "Come Callie. I will walk with
you to your room."

When they were gone, he sat beside his wife. "Well, Hattie, what do you think?"

"I think there's no question the little girl is Merlin's child. She's the spitting image of my
sister Sarah, the one I always said he took after. But she's her mother's child too. No mistaking
that black hair or those long legs."

"I was thinking the same. But what if Merlin can't--or won't--accept her?"

"We'll worry if it happens. Right now, more than anything else, I want to know why she
never came looking for him." Her sigh went right to his heart. "Oh, Emmet, so many years
wasted. My poor boy."

* * * *

A knock woke Merlin. Before he could say a word, his father entered and sat on the
edge of his bed. "You doin' all right?"

He took stock. Aside from a feeling like he'd been on a week-long drunk, he was in
pretty good shape. "I think so."

"Did you recognize her?"

"Who?" He was pushing himself up to lean on the headboard when the night's events
came back to him. "Cal," he whispered. "Was she really there?"

Pa's expression was intent. "You haven't spoken her name, to my knowledge, since you
came home eight years ago. How much do you remember?"

"I-- Oh, God, Pa, it's all a muddle." He buried his face in his hands. "I think... I need
time to sort it out."

"I reckon you do. Want company?"

"No, I don't think so. But coffee would be good. I feel like my head's stuffed full of wool
batting."

"I'll have coffee and some food sent up." Pa stood, but stayed standing beside the bed.
"It's eight-thirty. We've got business to take care of this morning, so I'll leave you alone. But
come noon, you'll either have to have everything straight in your head, or put it off. We need to
get on home."

Despite his confusion, Merlin had to smile as his father left. Wasn't it just like pa, to tell
him, in a roundabout way, that he had only so much time to wallow in his miseries before he had
to stand up and face them.

While he waited for the coffee, he pushed all his questions and confusions to the back of
his mind. The water in the ewer was still warm--
I've never slept through a maid coming in
before
--but too cold to shave with. He washed the sleep from his eye and called it good. He
put on yesterday's clothes, even though he'd packed a clean shirt, and flipped the bedclothes
up.

All too soon it was time to face the turmoil in his mind. Time to look at the long-buried
memories that still circled like puzzle pieces that wouldn't fit together.

Time to accept that the woman he'd married eight years ago was still his wife--and a
total stranger.

He had the door half open when he remembered.

I have a daughter.

A daughter. A notion he couldn't get his mind wrapped around. One so far fetched it felt
like a fairy tale.

So often lately he'd been thinking of the future. Of what he would leave behind. His
thoughts had grown more solid over time, until he'd almost convinced himself that there'd be
none of him left when he departed this earth. A man who'd let one wife be killed wasn't a good
candidate for taking another, nor for fathering children.

His life, his mundane, every-day-the-same life, had turned upside down. He had a wife.
He had a child. He had responsibilities, and he wasn't sure he was man enough to live up to
them.

What kind of man would let his wife--albeit one who'd he'd thought dead--raise his child
alone? In a whorehouse? A man who wasn't fit to be a husband or a father.

Once he'd heard Pa use those very words about a fellow who spent his time and his
meager pay in a saloon.

What would his father say about a man who'd never even thought to go looking for a
lost wife?

For a lost child?

A child I didn't know I had.

Did that matter? The girl was his, no doubt about it. And he'd not taken a single step to
be a father to her. Hadn't made a home for her.

He forced himself to step into the hall, to close the door after himself. At the top of the
wide stairs, he paused, looking down into the lobby. Ma and Pa were just walking into the dining
room. The girl walked quietly beside Ma, holding tightly to her hand.

She is my daughter.

Her grin was his, even though her coal black hair came from Cal. He'd bet it was as
straight as his, though, from the look of those long braids.

My daughter. Mine.

And Cal's.

Merlin descended the stairs, knowing where his duty lay. Even though he hadn't yet
entirely sorted out his memories, enough were in place that he no longer had a blank hole in his
life.

To his relief, no one was in the hall and only strangers in the hotel lobby. When he
entered the dining room, Ma and Pa were just joining Regina at a table near the windows. He
made his way to them. "Where are Silas and Soomey?"

Pa took out his pocket watch, his movements deliberate. "They went up to fetch..."

"Callie. Oh, Merlin, you'll never guess what Gwen's whole name is." Ma's smile was the
one she pasted on when being polite to folks she didn't think much of.

His gut tightened. Maybe Ma was just worried about what he'd do. "No, I reckon I
won't. What is it?" He took the chair next to Regina, turned his cup over, caught a waiter's
eye.

"Guinevere. Isn't that just perfect?" she smiled across at the girl, who hadn't yet taken a
chair.

Ma didn't usually gush. He turned to stare at her, and saw, just entering the dining room,
his wife.

Great God, she doesn't look a day older.
Familiar heat pooled in his gut and he
felt himself growing hard. He snatched his napkin and dropped it into his lap. When Soomey and
Cal reached the table he stood, but held the napkin where it would do the most good.

Pa held a chair for Cal between his and Ma's. Soomey sat beside Silas, and the little
girl--Guinevere--came over and put her hands on the empty chair to Merlin's right. "Can I sit
here?"

He had sisters, so why did she make him skittish? "Sure." He held the chair like Pa had
taught him to do.

"Does it hurt?" she said, as soon as he'd seated himself.

"Hurt? What?"

"Your eye. Does it hurt?"

Reminding himself she was just eight, and as curious as any kid that age would be, he
said, "There's no eye there to hurt. And no, the place where it was doesn't hurt. It hasn't for a long
time."

Big brown eyes--his mother's eyes, and his--inspected him. "The scars don't hardly
show. I thought you'd be really ugly, but you're not. I like your face." Her smile flashed, and he
found himself smiling back. Talking to her was probably the easiest thing he'd do all day.

"I like yours too. Are you hungry?"

"Like a bear." She giggled. "Mama says I have a hollow leg."

Merlin lifted the edge of the tablecloth and pretended to look underneath. "Doesn't look
hollow to me."

"Silly! You can't see. It's under my skirt."

Waggling his eyebrows, he looked again. "Oh, yes I can. Hollow legs show right
through clothes. My little brother had one, and I could always see it, no matter how heavy his
britches were. I can't see yours."

"Gwennie, do you want pancakes?"

It was the first time he'd heard her speak and the sound sent tingles up and down his
spine. Her voice still had a husky edge to it, a tone that had once--and still--held a promise of
passion.

The conversation became general, except for him and Cal. Neither of them spoke more
than necessary. She was watching him, though. Every time he looked her way, she'd duck her
chin and pretend what she was pushing around on her plate was real interesting.

He glanced her way a lot, unable to look anywhere else.

At last everyone was finished eating. With relief he stood when his father and uncle did,
followed them to the lobby. Silas and the women headed for the door, but Pa put a hand on his
arm. "Hold on. We need to sort this out."

"Sort what out? I thought we were going home."

"We are. Your ma's decided you and your-- And Callie need time to talk things over.
We'll take the girl and go home. You can stay here or go to your place, or whatever. Just do it
together. Maybe you won't be able to decide what you want today. You've been apart a long time
and are as close to being strangers as makes no difference. The rest of us being around will only
make gettin' reacquainted harder."

"Pa--"

"Merlin, I haven't told you what to do since you went off on your own at sixteen. But
this time I'm doin' it. You and that woman you married need to decide what to do. And while
you're decidin', remember you've a child to think of."

His father had that dangerous look about him, the one that used to scare Merlin when he
was little. "Yes, all right. But what about the chores?"

"I'll send Abel and the oldest Sylvester boy out. They can stay 'til you're ready to take
over."

He made one last attempt. "What about Guinevere? She'll miss her mama."

"After a day or two, maybe. Right now she's tickled pink at having a grandma and
grandpa and a pony to ride."

With a snort, Merlin said, "You don't fight fair."

"Fightin' fair never won no battles." Pa clapped him on the shoulder and strode to the
door where the others waited.

Cal was standing apart from them, wearing a set expression.
She's no happier about
this than I am.

He waited until she was alone before joining her. "I reckon we've been given our orders.
Do you want to stay here or go to my place?"

He'd never seen green ice, but if there were such a thing, it would look just like her eyes.
"Here. It's neutral territory."

"I'll get us rooms then."

"Two rooms."

"I never thought anything else." But he darned sure was going to get them next to each
other, with a connecting door.

* * * *

They ended up with the hotel's only suite. It had two bedrooms and a sitting room, so
they had their neutral territory. When they'd moved their things, Merlin suggested they order up
some tea. "And begin negotiations," he ended, with a smile he knew was as humorless as he
felt.

"You must have found your memory," she said, once they were seated opposite each
other at the small, round table.

"Some of it. Not everything."

"How convenient. Too bad it didn't happen sooner. Or was it more convenient not to
have a wife?"

"I always knew I had a wife. Abner told me, and so did that woman--what was her
name--the one who stood up at our wedding. The sheriff told me you were dead. He gave me
this." He tossed the ring, with its cracked emerald, on the table. "I couldn't remember you, had to
be told my own name, but I mourned you, Cal, along with everything else of my past."

She reached for the ring, and then drew her hand back. "They took it from me. They put
it on the finger of the woman they'd left in the cabin. She was a whore, and they killed her, just
so you'd think I was dead."

He leapt to his feet, leaned across the table. "Your father did that?"

With closed eyes, she said, "My own father would have sold me to the highest bidder,
sooner or later."

Merlin cursed, using words he'd never thought to speak. When he realized Cal was
staring at him in shock, he forced himself to sit, commanded his fight-ready body to relax. "I'm
sorry. I should never have spoken so in your hearing."