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“What about it?”
“She has to get married or she loses her house,” he admitted reluctantly.
“But that’s terrible! Poor Miss Brown! She must feel really awful. Willow Run’s so cool.”
He felt a flicker of surprise. “You’ve been there?”
“Sure. Me and Sarah go visit sometimes. Miss Brown likes us to come. She’s all alone, you know.” She stared at him meaningfully. “Remember how lonely you were before you had me to keep you company?”
Great It wasn’t bad enough that until a few minutes ago he’d been totally ignorant of a significant part of his daughter’s life. Now he was supposed to feel guilty about Norah’s solitary status, too. “Maybe we could get her a kitten,” he murmured.
“Eli!”
“Let it go, Chelse,” he said, starting to get exasperated. “Miss Brown is planning to ask someone else, so there’s no reason to get all worried.”
“But, Eli! I don’t think she’s ever even been on a date. What if she picks somebody awful?”
The specter of Nick Carpetti rose up to haunt him. He pushed it away. “That’s not any of our business.”
“But she’s my friend,” Chelsea said stubbornly. “And you always say that if you want to have a friend, you have to be a friend.” She squared her deceptively dainty shoulders and stood even straighter. “As Miss Brown’s friend, I think we ought to marry her.”
Eli shook his head. “No way.”
“But you always say—”
“Forget it, baby. No matter what I said, I’m not getting married.” He made a vow then and there to keep his mouth shut in the future.
Chelsea gave him a long, indecipherable stare, then slowly transferred her gaze to the floor. “Okay,” she said sadly. In a gesture strikingly similar to Norah’s earlier one, she let her shoulders slump before she turned and began to walk dejectedly away.
“Hey.” He followed as she trudged to the minuscule bedroom. “Where are you going?”
She sighed. “To lie down. I don’t feel very well.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What about the kitten? Don’t you want to call Sarah and give her the good news?”
“I’ll call her later. I don’t feel like it now.”
“Now listen, Chelse—”
“It’s okay. I know you’re only doing what you think is best. But it just wouldn’t be right for me to be happy when poor Miss Brown is going to feel so bad.” Refusing to look at him, she picked up her one surviving teddy bear and curled up on the bed with her back to the door.
Eli’s heart squeezed, even though logic warned that she was playing him like a violin. “Aw, jeez. Come on, baby. It’s not like she’s going to be homeless or something.”
Chelsea shrugged. “I don’t know...she is all alone in the world, you know.”
He was not going to let her make him feel guilty. After all, despite what his daughter seemed to think, he was not some sappy romantic hero who had nothing better to do than marry women to keep them off the street. Not that Norah was in danger of having to live on the street. No way. Although if she was, he supposed he would at least have to consider—
He caught himself. “Forget it,” he said loudly. “It’s not going to work.” I’m not marrying Bunny-Boo Brown and that’s all there is to it.
He sounded so convincing he almost believed it himself.
Two
“Well, my dear, I’m afraid that does it.” Ezra Lampley, the patrician old gentleman who was Norah’s attorney, closed the file on his desk with a look of intense regret. “I’m sorry there’s been no word from Mr. Wilder. You’re certain there’s no one else you might ask?”
Norah shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
“You looked through the personal column in the Sunday paper as I suggested?”
“Yes.”
“And you looked at your school yearbook, as well as the library cardholder list, and still couldn’t come up with anyone?”
She gave an apologetic shrug. “It’s...a small town.” She saw no reason to mention Nick Carpetti. After all, Mr. Lampley had looked frail ever since his mild heart attack last winter. Why upset him by revealing that her only other candidate was out of the running because his parole had been revoked?
The attorney sat back in his big leather chair, his thin face pensive. “Then we’re truly out of options. Which means,” he said heavily, “that sometime next week, Judge Martin will issue a decree and soon after that, Willow Run will go on the market.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Norah tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach. “It’s all right. Really. I know you did your best.”
His narrow mouth lifted in a caustic smile. “My best? I don’t know about that. It seems your grandfather has won after all.”
Norah was silent. After a few seconds, though, she hesitantly gave voice to the thought that had been bothering her for weeks. “Perhaps he was right,” she said quietly. “Not that women, in general, are incapable of taking care of themselves,” she hastened to add, “but that I’m not suited for such responsibility—”
“Nonsense.” The attorney wagged his finger at her. “Don’t forget who was really making the decisions the last few years of your grandfather’s life—and who did a fine job of it, I might add. No, my dear. This is merely another example of Arthur’s pigheaded insistence on having his own way, no matter who it hurt. And I, for one, think it’s a damn shame.”
“Yes, but...it is—or was—Grandfather’s property, to do with as he wished. And it’s not as if he’s left me penniless—”
“Hah! A trust. As though you’re a child, instead of a fine, responsible young woman who has turned out far better than the old coot deserved.” Lampley shook his head. “Don’t start making apologies for him, Norah Jane. Not after all the years you took care of him. And don’t sit there and try to make me think you don’t mind losing your home. I know very well you never would have agreed to my idea of an expedient marriage if it didn’t matter to you a great deal”
Norah bit her lip, not bothering to deny it. She did care. Yet she also knew that in his own way, her grandfather had trusted her to do the right thing. He might not have thought she was as competent as a man, but he’d expected her to be as honorable as one.
And up until last week she had been. She’d resisted Mr. Lampley’s advice that she marry now and divorce later. She’d been resigned to losing her home, had even convinced herself that it was probably for the best—until Chelsea’s disclosures about the Wilder finances made her think that a marriage of convenience might be justified if it helped someone other than herself.
Not that it mattered now, she thought with a sigh.
The sound was echoed by Mr. Lampley. Then, as was happening more and more often lately, the attorney’s eyes took on a distant look. “Arthur always was difficult, you know, even when we were boys. Brilliant with money, of course, but so stubborn, so autocratic, so full of himself. He had no talent for people. He got lucky when he married your grandmother, who was a truly exceptional woman. But when he lost her and Clayton and Jeanine in that auto accident, it soured turn for life. He was never the same. And you, dear child, have unfortunately paid the price.”
Norah nodded. She’d heard the tragic tale so often that sometimes it was almost as if she could remember the grandmother and parents who’d died when she was still an infant.
The lawyer suddenly straightened and sent her an apologetic look. “Forgive an old man, my dear. When one gets to be my age, the past sometimes seems more real than the present. And I must say, as much as it galls me to see Arthur win, it’s probably for the best under the circumstances. Despite your assertion to the contrary, Mr. Wilder was hardly a suitable marital candidate. I’m sure I’m not the only one who remembers the uproar over his relationship—” he grimaced with distaste “—with that teacher.”
“Nothing was ever proven,” Norah said earnestly.
Mr. Lampley made a tsking sound. “Need I remind you that both of them left town right after graduation? Proof enough, I should think, of their guilt.”
“So it would seem. On the other hand, there was no reason for him to stay. Not after his uncle threw him out.”
“Be that as it may, it hardly speaks well of his character that he returned to Kisscount without a wife but with a child.”
Norah couldn’t help it, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t agree,” she said quietly. “These days, so many men simply walk away from their responsibilities. I think it’s...admirable that Elijah has his daughter with him. It can’t be easy for him, even though Chelsea is a wonderful little girl. And she adores him, so he must be doing something right.”
The old man’s face softened. “You’re too kindhearted by far, my dear.”
“Oh, no. Not really.” Embarrassed that she’d revealed such intimate feelings, she glanced at her watch. “Oh, my, look at the time. I really should get back to the library.”
“Very well.” Mr. Lampley cleared his throat. “However, I would like to say that I know the next few weeks won’t be easy for you. If there’s anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
Norah summoned a smile. “Thank you. But you’ve already done so much. Unless...” She bit her lip, wondering if she dared to ask.
“Yes?”
“I was wondering...that is...” She took a deep breath. “Do you think you could call Security-TrustCo Insurance and see if anything can be done to expedite the Wilders’ claim?”
He frowned. “Well, yes, of course I can. But are you sure? You certainly don’t owe it to Wilder, and it might take some tune, which could prove expensive.”
“That’s all right.” It wasn’t for Eli, she told herself. It was for Chelsea. But Norah didn’t explain, unwilling to reveal her private fear that she’d gotten the child in trouble by telling Eli that they’d talked. She knew how angry her grandfather would have been if she’d ever confided family business to an outsider; she would have been confined to her room for months.
And she was painfully aware that Chelsea hadn’t been to the library for summer reading sessions since she had been to see Eli last week.
Norah swallowed. As much as she dreaded the idea, she’d already decided that after work she’d go apologize to Eli—and Chelsea—for putting them in such an awkward position. Her request to Mr. Lampley was simply another way to make amends.
“Very well. Is that all?” the attorney said, interrupting her troubled thoughts.
“Actually, I...I would prefer to remain anonymous, if that’s possible.”
The attorney gave her a searching look, then nodded. “Very well.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lampley.”
The old man nodded, they said their goodbyes, and minutes later Norah found herself out on the sidewalk in the bright afternoon sunshine.
Despite her philosophical words to Mr. Lampley, her heart was heavy as she set off on the three-block walk to the library. She took no pleasure from the bright awnings and cheerful window displays that were the hallmark of Kisscount’s cozy downtown area. Instead, as she walked along the tree-lined street, her attention was focused inward, on her own uncertain future.
She would just have to be brave for a change, she told herself sternly, as she considered leaving Willow Run. People moved all the time, and not just to a different house in a different neighborhood, but to new cities and states and even countries. And though many probably did it because they wanted to, an equal number no doubt did it because they had no choice. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she ought to be grateful that she had a good job and didn’t have to worry about money.
Besides, this might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Perhaps being torn away from her comfort zone would force her to become more like the bold, self-reliant heroines in the books she adored. Maybe she would finally be able to become the woman she longed to be deep down inside: kind but confident, not afraid to stand up for what she believed in, the sort of woman who wasn’t afraid to wear red, or take vacations alone, who had a man’s name tattooed on her thigh, who lived instead of merely existing—
Reason returned with a crash as she caught sight of her reflection in a shop window. Her gaze went from her severe hairstyle, to her skinny body in its demure, calf-length dress, cotton anklets and sensible tennis shoes.
She sighed. Who was she kidding? A tattoo? Not likely.
She resumed walking, surprised to realize that she was almost at the library, a large single-story building on the edge of the downtown business district. Although done in post-Modernist style, with low, angled walls and vast expanses of glass, the interior was surprisingly homey, with many unexpected nooks and crannies.
It was not the library’s architecture that endeared it to Norah, however; it was the central role it had played in her life for almost as long as she could remember. As the only place other than school where her grandfather had allowed her to hang out, she’d spent hours here as a child. Happily for her, she’d loved to read, and the books she found had opened up an entire new world of ideas and adventures
She stooped to pick up a candy wrapper that someone had tossed in the flower bed, then rose and pulled open the heavy glass door, feeling a sense of homecoming as she was enveloped in the familiar hush.
Andrea Rand, the young blonde who had taken over for the summer while Norah’s regular assistant librarian was on maternity leave, looked up from the fashion magazine she was reading. “Thank goodness. You’re back.”
Norah swallowed a sigh as she saw the other woman’s mournful expression. “Is something the matter?”
“It’s just so dead today.” Andrea gave a sigh. “Nobody wants to be in here when they can go to the pool or he in the sun or do something fun.”
“Nobody” clearly included Andrea, Norah realized as she came around the end of the counter and saw the pile of books the other woman had haphazardly tossed on the return cart. Not for the first time, she wondered what on earth had possessed Andrea to apply for the job when she was so obviously unsuited for it.
“Now that you’re finally back, it seems silly for both of us to be here,” the blonde went on. “It’s certainly not as if we’re overwhelmed with customers. And the thing is...” She dredged up an ingratiating smile. “Don called, and we made plans to celebrate the two-week anniversary of our first date tonight. So I was really hoping I could leave a little early so I’d have time to stop by McGuire’s and see if I could find a new dress....”
Norah thought guiltily about the stack of paperwork waiting for her in her office. “How early?”
“Well, actually, I thought I’d leave now. You don’t mind, do you?”
Norah knew she should. After all, Andrea had already left early eight times in the past two weeks, leaving Norah with enough work for...well, for two people.
“What about the returns?” Shelving them was supposed to be one of Andrea’s daily duties.
The blonde gave a sad little sigh. “My wrist hurts. That’s another reason I ought to leave. I’m sure you wouldn’t want it to get worse.”
Norah knew she should put an end to this conversation right now. Yet she really wasn’t in the mood to endure an entire afternoon of Andrea moping, which was what would happen if she said no. And the library was her responsibility ..
Coward
“How about if you left in about an hour? That way, I could get some work done on the budget—”
“Oh, pooh. Can’t you work on it at home tonight? I mean, it’s not as if you’re likely to have a hot date or anything.”
Although Norah was sure Andrea didn’t mean to be cruel, her thoughtless words stung. She swallowed. “Well, yes, that’s true—”
“Great!” In her first show of energy since Norah had arrived, the younger woman snatched up her purse, bounded around the end of the counter and bolted for the door. “I knew I could count on you.”
“Oh, but—”
“By the way, Mrs. Carpenter called about the library fund-raiser. She said to tell you they’ve finally settled on a date—August first—and she’s looking forward to seeing you.” With that, Andrea yanked open one of the heavy doors as if it weighed nothing, bolted through the opening and disappeared from sight.
Norah’s shoulders drooped as Andrea’s last shot hit its mark. Could it possibly be time for another library fund-raiser? She gave a little shiver. It was the one part of her job—other than dealing with difficult assistants—that she disliked. Not only because she never seemed to know what to wear, or what to do with her hair, or even how to let loose enough to drink a glass of champagne, but because she always seemed to wind up either standing alone in a corner drinking punch, or listening politely to someone else talk, afraid to offer her opinion. As for taking a turn on the dance floor—forget it.
Still, her presence was expected, and the fund-raiser was some time away. And when compared to losing Willow Run, it did seem like a minor inconvenience.
Sighing, she went to get her paperwork from the office.
At least Andrea had been right about one thing. It was quiet Over the next hour, only a handful of people came in, and Norah was able to get a surprising amount of work done. By the time she finally looked at her watch, she was surprised to see that it was only half an hour to closing time.
She stretched, then set about organizing the day’s returns, knowing she would feel better if the books were back on the shelves when she came in tomorrow morning.
Twenty minutes later she had only two books left on the cart. Both belonged in the travel section, so she picked them up and walked to the appropriate aisle, snagged a rolling stool and climbed up. She was just sliding the volumes into place when a low, familiar voice sounded close behind her.
