A Great Catch (25 page)

Balancing two pieces of chocolate cake, Carter zigzagged through the crowd. He made his way back across the room and out the door to the decking. He spotted Emily at the railing, handkerchief in hand, and came to a halt. His chest tightened. Was she crying? What had happened while he was gone?

He hurried to her side. “Emily? What’s wrong?”

She spun toward him. “Did you ever really love me?”

“What are you talking about?” He stepped back. The two pieces of cake suddenly became a nuisance, so he set them on a deck chair. “Emily?”

Her lip trembled.

He took hold of her bare upper arms. “Emily, I asked you what you’re talking about.”

“My grandmother’s missing money.” She yanked away. “And don’t pretend you don’t know about it.”

“I know about it.” His gut twisted. He did not want to get into this here or now.

“And your brother thinks you did it. He’s launching an investigation at the bank.”

“I knew that too.” He paused. Stupid Nathan. Why did he have to stir up all this trouble? “But what does this have to do with me loving you?”

A tear slid down her cheek.

“Wait. Do you think I’m guilty? Do you believe I’ve been courting you to get to her money?”

“Carter, the charade is over. Why don’t you simply admit it?”

“After all this time, do you honestly believe I could steal from anyone?” Anger burned deep inside him and fanned to a consuming fire. How could she even consider these accusations? “Or that I’d hurt you or your grandmother in any way?”

Her silence and tears shouted she did.

Pain knifed through him. He loved her, and he believed she loved him.

“This is the excuse you’ve been looking for, isn’t it?” He heard the hard edge in his voice. “You think you can push me away before I get the chance to hurt you. You’ll go bury your feelings in a pile of work just like you always do. You’re scared to love me, but you’re too late, Emily Graham. You already do.”

“I never said that.”

His chest heaved. He wanted to hit something or throw something—or someone—over the railing. Scooping up one of the cake plates, he pitched it as far as he could into the water. Two faint plunks told him the cake and then the plate had landed.

Calm, Carter. Think. Breathe. Lord, help me.

“Did you pray about this?” he spat.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with God.”

“It has everything to do with God!” His voice rose, and he knew others were watching, but he didn’t care. “Don’t you get that yet? Don’t you see all the social issues and busyness in the world will never fill the void in your life? I thought I could be the answer to your insecurities, but I can’t. Only He can.”

“This i
s
n’t about me, and it’s not about God.” She squared her shoulders, pain filling her eyes. “It’s about you and your secrets. Take me home, Carter. I knew it could never work between us, and as hard as this is, I think we should end it now.”

Every step of the walk home hurt more. Had Emily made a mistake? No, this wasn’t going to work. And while the pain almost crippled her, how much more would it hurt if she let this go on until the truth came out?

“The game?” she whispered.

“I’ll keep my word. I always do.” Carter stopped within sight of the cottage. “I’ll watch till you get to the door.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I said I’ll watch.”

Fresh tears sprung to her eyes at the hurt and anger in his voice. She wanted to scream it was all a mistake, but it wasn’t. He couldn’t have ever really loved her. Deep down she knew that. Not her. Not clumsy, plain Emily Graham.

With her feet as heavy as anchors, she trod the last part of the path and sank into one of the wicker chairs outside.

In the moonlight, she watched him turn and walk silently away into the night.

The first hot tear rolled down her cheek, and her chest squeezed. She couldn’t breathe. It hurt too much. Like plate glass struck by a baseball, her heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

“She said it was over between them, but she won’t say why.” Kate set her teacup on the outdoor table. When she’d found Emily sobbing on the rocker late last night, she’d barely been able to pry that much from her. It had taken another hour to convince her distraught granddaughter to go to bed. Only the Lord knew how long it took for the poor girl to get to sleep.

“I don’t understand. They left so happy.” Millie speared a healthy chunk of ham.

“Let’s give her some time and space. Perhaps they will reconcile.”

“Or perhaps not.” Ethel nibbled on her toast spread with the thinnest layer of jelly. “You’re not going to let her lie around in her room all day, are you?”

“One day of doing nothing would be good for Emily.” Kate sighed. Her granddaughter needed to let God heal her now.

“Humph. Best cure for a broken heart is work,” Ethel said.

“Or . . .” Millie’s face lit up. “Another man.”

“Oh, you may have something there, Sister.”

“Ethel, Millie, you can’t.”

“Not yet, Kate. When the time is right.” Millie turned to her sister. “Now, where did we put that list?”

The words on Emily’s list swam before her eyes. How could she have any tears left after last night? Her chest felt heavy after all the sobbing, and her puffy eyes squinted in the glare of the morning sun. Even the yellow dress she’d put on didn’t lighten the heaviness in her heart.

It was over.

Carter had used her and stolen from her grandmother.

Emily picked up her to-do list. If she kept busy, maybe the hurt would go away. At any rate, she’d not have time to dwell on it. Tugging on her netted gloves, she glanced over the fifteen things on her list and prayed they’d consume the day.

Her grandmother stopped at her doorway. “Emily, what are you doing?”

“Going out. I have work to do.”

“Dear, you need to give yourself time to deal with your pain.”

“No, Grandma, I have to keep busy.” She pinned her hat in place and pulled down the gauzy veil. “I can’t stay here all day.”

Her grandmother cupped her cheek. “When you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”

Emily covered Grandma’s wrinkled hand with her own, and fresh tears pooled in her eyes. “Thank you.” She gave her grandmother’s hand a final squeeze and rushed from the cabin.

With its rich Oriental rug and polished brass trimmings, the foyer of the Ogden Hotel invited the rich more than any of the other hotels in the city. The gas lights, complete with hundreds of sparkling crystals, glistened in the morning sun. Carter recalled the ballroom with the marble dance floor upstairs. Emily would love—

His chest tightened at the thought of her, and the spot beneath his eye ticked. Raw hurt and anger had battled most of the night in his mind, leaving him unable to sleep. Had she fared any better?

What had possessed him to think two people so different could make a go of it?

Determined to put that part of his life behind him, he approached the front desk and tapped the bell. Seconds later, a clerk dressed in a black jacket with shiny brass buttons asked how he could be of assistance.

“I’m Carter Stockton. Can you tell me what room Mr. Gibbs is in?”

The clerk checked his register. “He’s in room 224. He said to send you right up. His room is at the top of the stairs and to the right, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Carter gripped the carved banister and mounted the marble-topped staircase two steps at a time. If he didn’t get to the room soon, he might change his mind.

And today was a day of new beginnings.

Even from outside, the boat shop reeked of noxious glue. Emily wrinkled her nose and rapped on the door. In less than a minute, sandy-haired Tate opened it.

“Mommy, Auntie Emily’s here!” he called inside. He turned back to Emily and narrowed his eyes, then turned around and yelled again. “And she looks sick!”

“Tate, I’m not sick.”

“Then why do your eyes look all red and spidery?”

Marguerite, catching the tail end of her son’s words, scurried over. “Honey, why don’t you go help your daddy in the shop?”

“You’ll take care of Auntie Emily? Give her some castor oil?”

She ruffled his hair. “I’ll see what Aunt Emily needs first, okay, sport?”

He tipped his chubby cheeks up toward Emily and held his nose. “It’s not so yucky if you do this.”

For the first time all day, Emily’s lips curled. He waved goodbye and grabbed a toy boat from the floor before scampering away.

Marguerite stepped outside and pulled Emily to the bench near the door. “It’s cooler and less smelly out here. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Emily wrung the handkerchief in her hands. “I came to find out how you were doing publicizing the game here at the lake.”

“We’ve been friends for years, Emily. Do you think I’m going to believe that? One look at you and I know it’s not true. Is it Carter? Did you two have a falling out?”

Emily released a long, slow breath, but her voice still broke when she spoke. “Carter and I won’t be courting any longer.”

“Why? What happened?”

Lips trembling, Emily swiped at the tears escaping again.

Marguerite placed her hand on Emily’s arm. “Let me go tell Trip I’m going for a walk with you for a few minutes, okay?”

Emily nodded. She needed to talk to someone.

Maybe Marguerite could explain how Emily had let all of this horrible mess happen.

Carter dropped the ledger on his brother’s desk with a bang.

Nathan jolted, looked at Carter, and scowled. “What’s this?”

“Kate Graham’s records. They’re spotless. If she was losing her mind, they would have shown that long before I took over.”

“I already knew she wasn’t senile.” Nathan picked up his pen. “I spoke to her yesterday.”

“Then you also know the problems were going on prior to my involvement in her financial matters.”

“According to the two of you, yes.”

Praying for a calm he didn’t feel, Carter took a deep breath. “We’ve had our differences, Nathan, but you don’t think I’m capable of stealing from an old woman, do you?”

“I’m not sure what you’re capable of. How could I, since you won’t work here?” Nathan stood. “That’s why I launched the official investigation.”

“With me as a suspect.”

Nathan quirked a mirthless grin. “Well, it appears someone took the money, and as you pointed out, it’s either you or me.”

Skirting her way through the crowd, Emily went over the speech she planned to deliver on the steps of the pavilion in half an hour. Oh, but it was hard to concentrate. Why had she let Carter Stockton into her thoughts and her heart?

While talking to Marguerite had helped for the moment, it did nothing for the Carter-sized wound that reopened whenever something reminded her of him—the Midway, the pavilion, the electric launch. Each place held a special memory.

She inhaled deeply and hurried to meet several other suffragists. Neither Marguerite nor Lilly could come today, and it wouldn’t be the same without them.

Olivia nudged Sally Nesmit out of the way and faced Emily. “I heard you and Carter are on the outs. If you’re not up to this, I can certainly take over.”

Emily swallowed hard. “How did you hear that?”

“I have my ways. You poor dear.” Fake sympathy oozed from her. “No one would hold it against you if you decided you couldn’t speak today.”

“I’ll be fine, Olivia.”

A few minutes later, Emily dragged herself up the steps and slowly turned to address the crowd. Only a handful stopped to listen at first, but more came as she went on. “Half a century ago, in Massachusetts, only properly qualified persons could practice law. The Supreme Court of Massachusetts decided a woman was not a person, and before Miss Leila Robinson could even be admitted to the bar, a special act of the legislature had to be passed declaring women as persons. But times have changed. Women are lawyers . . . and doctors and business owners.”

A man jeered at her from the crowd, but Emily spotted a young woman at the foot of the steps. If only she could reach that one girl.

“In the last half century,” she continued, “boys have been born who have become voters. However, women are still trying to convince men of their fundamental rights. Have our senators and representatives been elected by the people of the state? No. They’ve been elected by the men. Half of this state has not elected those men to represent them. If, in a republic, all are equal, how can this be justified?”

Emily caught sight of something flying toward her seconds before it splattered on the bodice of her dress and splashed wet bits on her cheek. A second red object struck her skirt and its contents burst open. Some crowd members gasped while others laughed. The stench of the rotten tomato made her stomach lurch. She wiped the dregs from her face and scanned the crowd for the culprit. She spotted the heckler Carter had once stopped and glared at him. If only Carter were here now.

Taking a deep breath, Emily focused on the young woman and drove her message home. “As God ordained from the beginning of time, men and women are to go through this world together. They complement one another—in the home and in government. Removing half the population from the decision-making process weakens us all. I urge all of you to sign the petition we have with us today asking our representatives to revisit this topic and give the women of Iowa a vote of faith.”

Emily remained at the top of the staircase until the applause died away. She took a deep breath and joined her suffrage sisters at the bottom.

“Oh, Emily, are you okay?” Sally dabbed at the chunks of tomato clinging to Emily’s yellow dress.

She nudged Sally’s hand away. “I’m fine. I’ll hurry home and change.”

“And I hope wash.” Olivia wrinkled her nose. “I am quite glad you did not take me up on that offer to speak in your stead.”

Sally handed Emily a fresh handkerchief. “And you did such a wonderful job.”

Emily noticed the young woman she’d been so focused on waiting by one of the benches. She excused herself and walked over to the girl, who had to be in high school. “Hello. Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry,” the girl said.

“What are you sorry for?”

She started to speak and stopped. Blonde curls fell forward as she hung her head. “My dad threw the tomato. He got it from one of the lunch counters when he found out you were speaking today. He thinks women are weaker than men.”

“I see.” Emily glanced down at her red-streaked clothes. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t throw the tomato. Besides, there’s no permanent damage—a little smelly vegetable won’t hurt me. What’s your name?”

“Priscilla Sawyer.”

“So, Priscilla, do you think women are weaker than men?”

The young woman shrugged. “Men can lift more, but there are lots of kinds of strong.”

“There certainly are.” Emily smiled. “Listen, Priscilla, there’s going to be a baseball game with women playing men. Have you heard about it?”

Priscilla nodded.

“Good. Be sure to come. Bring your dad too. He might see something that surprises him.”

“Priscilla!” a man bellowed.

Emily whirled to see the burly man barreling toward them. He grabbed the girl’s arm and yanked her to his side. “Don’t be filling my girl’s mind with your nonsense.”

“Giving women a voice is not nonsense, Mr. Sawyer.”

“Well, giving you a voice is. I’m tired of listening to your nagging already. No wonder you don’t have a husband.” He tugged on Priscilla’s arm. “Come, girl. You’re going home.”

Emily watched them go, and her commitment to the cause grew tenfold. There was still so much to be done, and she had to make a difference for all the young girls like Priscilla Sawyer across the country. And without worrying about Carter Stockton, she could press forward unfettered.

The rancid smell of the rotten tomato again wafted toward her. Maybe she should forge ahead after a bath.

By the time Emily approached the cabin, the familiar heaviness of last night had closed in around her. Tears made paths through the tomato smears on her cheeks. Never had she felt more alone.

“There you are, Emily.” Aunt Millie toddled down the path toward her. “Oh my, what happened?”

“One of the men didn’t like the color of my dress today.”

“Oh dear.” Her aunt looped her arm in Emily’s. “We have to get you cleaned up.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“We’re trying to help you ease the torment in your soul, dear.”

Emily raised her eyebrows. “And how do you intend to do that?” Stopping on the path, Emily saw exactly how her two aunts planned to do it, and he appeared to be the town’s undertaker sitting in a rocking chair beside Aunt Ethel.

“Is that—”

Aunt Millie patted her hand. “No hasty judgments, dear. Dudly has an excellent job with a steady clientele, and he’s dying to meet you.”

A moan rose in Emily’s throat. She held out her splattered skirt. “Look at me. Smell me. I can’t meet anyone tonight even if I wanted to, which I do not.”

“Now, dear, you can’t very well turn him away. He came all the way from the city.” She pulled her forward. “Besides, I don’t think the bad smell will bother him one bit. In his profession, I would guess he gets used to horrible stenches.”

What did Emily care if she offended Dudly Lynch? She didn’t want to be courted by him or anyone else, and the sooner he learned that, the better.

With a sigh, she marched up to the paunchy middle-aged man and stuck out her hand. Dudly’s handshake, cold and limp, made Emily wince. And the thick beard hanging off the man’s chin did nothing to compensate for the lack of hair on his head.

“Hello, Mr. Lynch.” Emily squared her shoulders. “I believe women should have the right to vote. I believe they are every bit as intelligent, talented, and able as men, and I believe they should say exactly what is on their minds. Don’t you agree?”

“I . . . uh . . .”

“Good. So, here’s what is on my mind.” She tugged on her shirtwaist, ignoring Aunt Ethel’s glare and Aunt Millie’s gaping mouth. “I don’t want to entertain a suitor right now. I want to go inside and wash away my unfortunate meeting with a couple of tomatoes. Is that all right with you, sir?”

“Uh . . . yes . . . of course.”

“And please forgive my aunts for dragging you out here. I would say I hope this turns into a profitable business trip for you, but given your occupation, please understand although I’d sometimes like to kill these two, I won’t do so today.”