The Way Home (27 page)

“Meg?” Ty prompted, and her head came up. The judge was looking at her expectantly and she realized it must be time for her to say “I do.”

She swallowed hard, feeling panic rise up inside her. This was it. Unless she stopped this now, in a few minutes the judge would declare them husband and wife. How long after that before Ty started to hate her? Even if they got an annulment in a few months, how could he do anything but despise her for letting him do this?

Her heart was beating much too quickly and she felt lightheaded. This was all wrong. No matter what Patsy said, she could never make this work. She couldn’t possibly go through with it.

She looked at Ty, intending to tell him that she’d changed her mind, that she’d rather do almost anything rather than trap him into a marriage he didn’t want. But in his eyes she read understanding, reassurance, and determination in equal measure. It was as if he’d read her thoughts and was telling her without words that her fears were unfounded. And oh, how she wanted to believe him.

“Miss Harper?” the judge prompted, sounding both puzzled and impatient.

“I do,” she whispered, her eyes clinging to Ty’s, her heart filled with a prayer that she was doing the right thing.

It seemed hardly more than a heartbeat later that the judge was declaring them man and wife. Ty’s expression was solemn as he bent to press a chaste kiss on her mouth, and then Patsy was hugging her, her eyes filled with tears.

“You did the right thing, Meggy.”

Meg only wished she were half as sure.

* * *

After the brief ceremony, Jack insisted that the four of them go out for an early dinner. Meg appreciated his effort to give the somewhat stark proceedings a more festive air, but she found it very difficult to play the role of the happy bride.

It might have been easier to pretend that this was a normal wedding if it hadn’t been just the four of them, but the absence of Ty’s parents made that impossible. His mother had taken to bed with a sick headache the day before when she’d realized that, while Ty had lied to the sheriff about marrying Meg, he planned to make the lie a reality immediately.

Mercifully, Meg hadn’t been there for most of the discussion that had ensued, but she could imagine what Helen McKendrick must have said, how she must have argued against the marriage. When Ty had refused to change his mind, she’d retreated, sobbing, to her room, which she hadn’t left since. There’d certainly been no question of her attending the wedding.

Though he’d chosen to stay home with his wife, Elliot McKendrick had been much kinder, welcoming Meg to the family with a gentle smile and wishing the two of them a safe journey. But she’d seen the worry in his eyes and knew that he thought Ty was making a disastrous mistake.

She was grateful when the time came for them to catch the train that would take them to Los Angeles. It had been Ty’s decision to catch the train from Hemdale, rather than going back to Regret. Jack had agreed to take a copy of their marriage certificate to Sheriff Ben Marlon. He’d also be driving Ty’s car to the West Coast for him.

Saying good-bye to Patsy was bittersweet. Meg felt as if she’d just found her sister again, only to lose her once more. But the physical distance could be bridged with letters in a way the emotional distance could not have been. Standing on the platform, the sisters clung to each other. It would have been difficult to say just who was offering comfort to whom.

And then it was time to go. With a few last minute promises to write and a quick good-bye, the newlyweds boarded the train. Meg settled onto her seat with Ty beside her. Only he wasn’t just Ty anymore; he was her husband now. And she wasn’t Meg Harper. She was Mrs. Tyler McKendrick. Mrs. Tyler McKendrick. If she said the name a thousand times, she still couldn’t imagine it applying to her.

She pressed her cheek to the window to catch a last glimpse of Patsy as the train pulled away from the station. As her sister’s figure grew smaller with distance, Meg felt tears sting her eyes. She was starting off on a new life, one that was, in many ways, exactly what she’d dreamed of. So why did it seem less a dream than a nightmare?

It had been a mistake to accept Jack’s offer to drive her to her old home, Patsy thought. With Eldin not due home for another two or three weeks and her with no car, it had seemed like a sensible idea when he suggested it. After all, the sooner she picked up Meg’s things, the sooner she could get them to California for her.

But she wished now that she’d waited until Eldin could have brought her. If it had been Eldin sitting across from her instead of Jack she wouldn’t have had this nervous lump in her stomach or the niggling worry that she had a smudge on her chin or lipstick on her teeth.

She could have asked one of her neighbors, she thought, exasperated that it hadn’t occurred to her until now. Mr. Reardon was a thousand years old and more suited to controlling a pair of reins than a steering wheel, but he was a sweet old thing and he’d have been more than willing to drive her to Regret.

But it was too late now because Jack was already turning the Studebaker into the driveway. And the nerves in her stomach were suddenly caused by something else entirely. Since her marriage five years ago, she’d come home only a handful of times and not at all in nearly two years. Looking at the small white house, she felt all the old, terrible memories wash over her, all the things she’d almost convinced herself she’d forgotten and put behind her forever.

“Are you all right?” Jack’s question made her realize that he’d stopped the car some time ago. Patsy tore her eyes away from the house and looked at him. The sun was nearly gone but there was enough light left for her to see the concern in his eyes. For a moment she had the wild urge to tell him to start the car and turn it around, to take her as far from this house and the memories it held as it was possible to get.

“I’m fine.” She forced a quick smile. “Just daydreaming.”

“No law against it.”

“I guess not.” She looked at him a moment longer, remembering a time when all her daydreams had centered around him, around a future that held the two of them together. No, there was no law against daydreams, but it was so painful to see them die that perhaps there should be.

He got out of the car and came around to open her door. Reluctantly Patsy stepped out onto ground still damp from the rain of two days before.

“Shall I come in with you?” he asked.

“No.” She saw Jack’s brow go up and quickly softened the abrupt response. “It will be easier for me to do it alone, I think.”

“All right.” Jack shrugged and leaned one hip against the Studebaker’s fender, reaching into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

There was no sense in putting it off, Patsy thought. Straightening her shoulders, she walked up to the house, her heels clicking on the wooden steps as she climbed them. She rang the bell, hearing the echo of it through the door and then hearing the sound of her mother’s footsteps. Though the weather was hardly balmy, the shiver that ran through her had nothing to do with the temperature.

Given a choice, she’d have preferred to walk barefoot through the Arctic rather than return to this house. Just standing on the porch, she could feel the old, suffocating fear rise up in her throat. She wanted to turn and run, to beg Jack to take her away from this awful place.

But she’d told Meg she’d get her things for her and she wasn’t going to go back on that promise. She’d already failed her little sister so many times. This wasn’t going to be another.

The door opened with a mournful squeal of hinges and there was her mother. The two women eyed each other through the screen for a long moment without speaking.

“You’d best come in,” Ruth said at last, and reached down to push open the screen door.

Patsy stepped inside, feeling her stomach roll at the familiar smell of the little house. It wasn’t beeswax or baking or laundry soap, though all of those were there. But for her, those pleasant odors couldn’t banish the smell of fear and despair. She put her hand to her throat, feeling as if she might choke.

“You’ve come about Meg,” Ruth said, the words both question and statement. Patsy dragged her eyes to her mother’s face, struggling to control her emotions.

“I’ve come to get her things,” she said, pleased to hear that her voice was steady. She turned and walked toward the back of the house, pushing open the door to the room she and Meg had once shared.

, Like everything else, it was the same as she remembered it. The same faded wallpaper, the same cheap curtains. Even her bed was still there, still pushed under the window. In the winter, there’d always been a nasty draft through that window, but she’d liked waking up with the sun shining in on her, liked the promise the morning always seemed to hold.

Hearing her mother’s footsteps following her down the hall, Patsy shook off the old memories and turned to the scuffed pine dresser that she and Meg had shared. After pulling open the top drawer, she began to empty it, piling things on the bed.

“Harlan told me about the McKendrick boy saying they were married.” Ruth stopped in the doorway, watching as Patsy emptied another drawer. “He didn’t believe it and neither do I. It won’t do for her to be living in that house with him.”

“It won’t do?”
Patsy felt good, healthy anger bum away the memories. She straightened and looked at her mother.
“It won’t do?
I suppose you think it
would
do for her to stay here? With
him
in the same house?” The contemptuous question made her mother flush and look away. “Meg told me what happened, Mama. If she and Ty were to set up housekeeping and live in blatant sin together, it would certainly
do
much better than what happened here.”

“That wouldn’t happen again,” Ruth said.

“Why not? It’s happened before.”

Silence followed her words, a silence so complete she could hear the rhythmic tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hall.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ruth whispered.

“Don’t lie to me, Mama. On top of everything else, don’t lie to me now.” Hot, cleansing anger boiled up inside her. She’d denied that anger for five long years, but denial hadn’t changed the reality of what she felt. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t.” But Ruth’s protest was weak, her eyes sliding away from her daughter’s face. She pulled her cardigan sweater closer about her thin body. “I don’t know at all.”

“You knew then.” The words were an accusation.

“I didn’t.” Ruth’s eyes slid to Patsy’s and then away. “Not for sure,” she whispered, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

“You knew and you stayed with him anyway.” The old feeling of betrayal made her voice harsh, and Ruth seemed to shrink and age before her eyes.

“I didn’t know for sure. You never said.”

“I shouldn’t have had to say,” Patsy shot back. “And what good would it have done me? Would you have taken me away? Would you have left him?”

She saw the answer in her mother’s eyes and spun away. Jerking open another drawer, she snatched her sister’s clothing out, aware that her hands were trembling, feeling sick to her soul.

“He’s my husband,” Ruth said, as if that explained the choices she’d made. “For better or worse, I promised.”

“Not good enough, Mama.Not nearly good enough.” Patsy didn’t trust herself to look at Ruth. She dragged a cheap suitcase from the rickety chifferobe that stood in one comer and began stuffing Meg’s clothes into it.

“You weren’t the one living the ‘or worse’ part of it. You stayed with him because you were too much of a coward to make any other choice.”

“You’ve no right to talk to me like that.”

Patsy spun to face her, her face twisted with anger and betrayal. “I’ve every right. You’re my mother. You were supposed to keep me safe, protect me. But you protected yourself instead.”

“I made sure you had a roof over your head and food to eat,” Ruth protested.

“There’s more to caring for a child than feeding them and keeping them dry, Mama.” Unknowingly, she echoed Ty’s words.

Ruth flinched but straightened her stooped shoulders, drawing dignity around her. “You don’t know what I’ve gone through — “

“I know what
I
went through. And I know what
Meg
went through. I don’t care what you went through. You at least had a chance to make your own choices. Meggy and I didn’t have that chance, did we?”

Ruth seemed to wilt beneath the fierce demand in her older daughter’s eyes. Her shoulders slumped, age settling on her like a coat, worn and heavy with dust. Watching her, Patsy felt no sympathy, no pity. She turned back to the packing, moving quickly, anxious to get the task done and leave this house. This time she wouldn’t be coming back.

“How — how is she?” Ruth asked quietly.

“How do you think she is?” Patsy snapped.

“Harlan says the sheriff will have to make her come back here,” Ruth said. “I told him it’d be best to leave well enough alone.”

She said it like a child pointing out that they’d cleaned up the glass after hitting a baseball through the window. As if there were any possible way to make up for what had happened — what she’d allowed to happen.