Cinderfella (23 page)

The concern on her mother's face stole some of the brightness and color. “I knew there was something wrong,” she said as she led Charmaine to the parlor and closed the double doors behind them.

Charmaine sat on the sofa, and removed the hat she'd taken the time to straighten just moments earlier. How best to proceed without giving away too much?

Maureen sat beside her and took her hands, comforting her in a motherly fashion. “What is it?”

She wouldn't chicken out now, not because she was having second thoughts that manifested themselves as knots in her stomach. “I need your advice.”

Maureen nodded solemnly. “Of course.” She took a deep breath and very obviously steeled herself for the worst.

“I wasn't really prepared for marriage,” Charmaine confessed. “In truth, I had decided never to marry.”

“I know,” Maureen said softly.

“My education was superb, and my studies have continued with reading and seminars . . .
 
but there's so much I don't know. . . . ”

Maureen nodded her head and stroked the top of Charmaine's hand. “I felt the same way. So many changes so very quickly. The . . . ” she took another deep breath, “intimate aspects of marriage . . . ”

“No,” Charmaine said quickly, horrified at the notion of having that conversation with her mother. “Not
that.
”

“Then what?”

Charmaine hesitated. This was the biggest and most momentous step she'd taken in her entire life. More important than any seminar or manual, more life-altering than any decision she'd ever made. “I want you to teach me to cook.”

“To cook?”

“Yes.” She couldn't sit still, so she freed herself from her mother's grip and paced in front of the sofa. “I can't even make a decent cup of tea, much less cook an edible meal.” Her education had been excellent in most respects. Domestic arts were not taught, however, not at her exclusive school. And Felicity always had servants to take care of such matters.

“Verna is a terrible cook, and she doesn't feed Ash nearly enough. Why, there are times I can swear I see his ribs.” She could feel the heat of a blush rising on her cheeks. Her and her big mouth. Now her mother would know she'd seen Ash naked.

“I haven't done much cooking lately, but Jane and I together should be able to —”

“And sewing,” Charmaine interrupted before her mother could even finish her sentence. “I was taught about samplers and such, but not practical matters such as mending and darning. I tried, but I'm not very good at it.”

“That will be simple enough.”

“And laundry,” she added. “I think I ruined one of Ash's shirts yesterday, and I can't seem to get
anything
clean.”

Charmaine stopped pacing and looked down at her mother. She was presented with a warm smile.

“I say we start in the kitchen. After all, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

As her mother led her toward the back of the house, Charmaine had a flash of self-doubt. What if she couldn't do this? What if she was a miserable failure?

Ash would never ask her to stay if he didn't think she'd make a decent farm wife.

 

Ash couldn't remember the last time he'd come home at the end of the day with a smile like this on his face. He was cold, he was tired, and every muscle in his body ached.

But Charmaine was waiting for him. A quiet, smiling face over the dinner table, a welcoming, warm body in his bed at night.

It wouldn't last. He had accepted that fact, as well as he could. She wouldn't be happy here for long, and she had her damned ambitions . . . but for now, while it lasted. . . .
 

There was a tantalizing aroma filling the house, and it almost knocked him down as he opened the door. He must really be hungry if Verna's cooking had his mouth watering this way.

Verna was sitting before the fire, the scowl she'd worn constantly in the week since Elmo had left firmly in place. She rocked, short, angry bursts of energy. Whatever he was smelling was probably gone — or poisoned.

She snapped her head around as he closed the door. “I've been running this house two years,” she hissed. “I don't need some spoiled brat coming in here to . . . to take over!”

He didn't need to ask who the spoiled brat in question was. At that moment, Charmaine came to the open doorway between the main room and the kitchen, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted apron. Pale hair that was usually neatly styled fell in tendrils from a bun atop her head, brushing her face and neck, and there was a smudge of something on her cheek. She smiled, and blushed, and she was the most beautiful sight he'd ever laid eyes on.

“You cooked,” he said softly.

She nodded her head. “I hope you like it.”

“I've gotta clean up.” He headed up the stairs for a basin of water, a towel, and a clean shirt. As he reached the top of the stairs he practically ran Nathan down.

Nathan was dressed for dinner in one of his best suits, gray with red trim. His hair was slicked back and he smelled like a barber shop. “What's the grin for?” Nathan whispered.

He couldn't stop it, couldn't even tone it down. “She cooked,” he whispered, giving the words the significance they deserved. “And yesterday I caught her milking the cow.”

Nathan returned his smile. “I know. Never again doubt the works of the master, my boy. Never again.”

In a matter of minutes he was cleaned and changed and headed back down the stairs with an unnatural spring in his step.

Charmaine seemed to be holding the rest of the household at bay until he arrived. Only then did she allow anyone into the kitchen.

There was a feast on the table. A huge roast, creamed potatoes, biscuits, peas, and corn. And on the stove he spied two pies. Apple, if his nose didn't lie.

“I didn't know you could cook,” he said as he held Charmaine's chair for her.

“Neither did I,” she admitted softly.

Verna was reserved, but Nathan and Oswald were as obviously delighted with the meal as he was. After Verna's cooking, this was a spread fit for a king.

Everything was perfect. The biscuits were flaky and the vegetables weren't overcooked or undercooked. There were no lumps in the potatoes, and they didn't run all over his plate, either. And the roast, it was nicely seasoned and so tender it all but melted in his mouth.

There was a rousing round of compliments from the men at the table, and even Verna was not so spiteful as to ignore the food in front of her.

Nathan studied a forkful of roast. “I do believe this is the tastiest beef I've ever put in my mouth.”

Charmaine blushed. “Mother gave it to me this morning, and then she told me how to prepare it and shared a few seasonings.”

“This is Haley beef?” Ash asked.

Charmaine's smile faded, just a little. “Yes, isn't that all right?”

He placed a forkful in his mouth and savored as he chewed and swallowed. “Makes it taste all the better.”

Charmaine smiled again, Nathan laughed, even Oswald grinned.

 

The dishes were done, the pie they hadn't eaten stored away for tomorrow, and Charmaine settled in a chair by the fire. Goodness, she'd had no idea cooking was so tiring. It was worth it though, to see Ash's face as he'd surveyed the table, to see him eat a decent meal.

Actually, she enjoyed cooking. It was rather a surprise to find that she enjoyed such a domestic chore, but it was gratifying to watch everything come together neatly. The lessons, given with great enthusiasm by Charmaine's mother and the never-failing Jane, had gone well. Jane had even declared that Charmaine had a gift.

Oswald was reading, Verna was mending a skirt, and Nathan had closed his eyes but was surely not asleep in his chair. Ash was sitting on the floor by the fireplace, apparently lost in thought, and Charmaine left her chair to join him there.

“What are you thinking about?” she whispered.

He answered softly in her ear. “I don't think I'd better tell you right now, not with all these ears around.”

“How rude,” Verna snapped. “If you have something to say, kindly say it loud enough for the rest of us to hear.”

“Just complimenting Charmaine on that pie again,” Ash said with a smile. Verna snorted, and Oswald added his mumbled agreement.

How ironic that after spending so many hours railing against a life of servitude, she found such joy in something so simple as preparing a meal. How ironic that after railing against physical subservience, she found it wasn't subservience at all, but a shared pleasure that didn't seem to affect Ash's brain adversely at all.

She turned her head to find Nathan staring at her with a small smile on his face. He was always watching, it seemed, and he saw more than most, she was certain.

He was holding that stare, eye to eye, when he made his announcement. “I have enjoyed my stay here more than you'll ever know, but it's time for me to move on.”

Verna sniffed. “I'd begun to think you'd moved in permanently.”

Oswald didn't lift his nose from his book.

“Where will you go?” Ash asked softly.

“Kansas City, to start,” Nathan said, and she was sure there were stars in his eyes. “There's an investor there who's expressed an interest in supporting the arts by assisting me in getting back on the road. We've been in communication for quite some time, and he'd like to have the show in tip-top shape for a Christmas gala in Kansas City. To start I'll put a troupe together, arrange a few performances, and in a matter of months I'll be on my feet again.” He grinned widely at Charmaine. “Sure I can't interest you in a starring role, my Juliet?”

“No, thank you,” she said sternly.

“What about you, Oswald?” Nathan asked, turning his attention to the man, who lowered his book slowly.

“What about me?” Oswald asked suspiciously.

She could almost see Nathan's mind at work. “Ever thought about becoming an actor?”

Oswald scoffed, giving the suggestion his disdain, and returned his attention to the book.

“You're probably right,” Nathan said with a touch of melancholy in his voice. “Not everyone can take the late nights, the senseless adoration, the constant excitement.”

Oswald lowered the book and actually closed it. “I've never acted before.”

Nathan grinned. “I've seen you reading Shakespeare.”

“Of course.”

“We'd start you off with a few small roles, of course, but with a little training, you'd make a magnificent Hamlet.”

Oswald grinned brightly. “Do you really think so?”

“I'm sure of it,” Nathan said stoutly.

“I will not watch another of my boys wander off to the big city and . . . and leave me
here
all alone.” Verna insisted. “Oswald's not going anywhere!”

Oswald grimaced. “I don't think I can take another winter here, Mother. Last year, during that big snowstorm, we were stuck in this house for days. I'm not a farmer, I hate those blasted animals, and . . . and there's no treasure to look for anymore. At least that was
fun.
Even knocking down fence posts on occasion to keep Ash away from the house for a few hours was mildly entertaining, but there's no need to do that, now.”

Ash stiffened, and Oswald looked his way. “Sorry, Ash.”

Nathan jumped in. “That's right, my boy. You're not a farmer, you're an actor.”

“You stop that,” Verna insisted. “He's not going anywhere. I won't allow both my sons to desert me within the span of a week!”

Nathan leaned back in his chair. He looked as if he had the situation well in hand. “You know, I'll need a new wardrobe mistress,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Someone to help the actresses dress quickly and make alterations and plan the overall color scheme that's presented on stage. It's an extremely important job.” He looked squarely at Verna. “Would you be interested?”

She puffed a little, but didn't say no.

“It's an undertaking that requires extensive travel. We usually find ourselves in a different city every week,” he said. “But . . . we stay in the finest hotels, we eat in the finest restaurants. Why, you'll likely never have to cook a meal again.”

Ash's hand tightened at Charmaine's side. She could feel it, the tension as he waited for an answer.

“It's tempting,” Verna admitted. “When will you be leaving?”

“In the morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Verna shouted. “Why, I can't possibly. . . . ”

“We move on at a moment's notice,” Nathan said in an enticing whisper. “No ties, no responsibilities but to the play and the audience. What lies beyond the horizon, Verna?” His voice remained soft. “Have you forgotten?”

“Tomorrow,” she repeated, but in a hoarse whisper.

Nathan leaned forward, tense yet smiling, with just a hint of a mercenary twinkle in his eye. “What do you say?”

 

 

 

 

 

Seventeen

 

It was a grand morning, bright and cold, as Oswald and Verna loaded their belongings into Nathan's wagon. Of course, if they'd been in the midst of a tornado Ash would have thought this particular morning grand.

Once Verna had made up her mind she didn't seem to have a single second thought. With the truth of the Montgomery treasure revealed to her at last, she wanted off this farm as much as Ash wanted her gone. And evidently the idea of living in hotel to hotel from one town to the next appealed to her, as it obviously did to Oswald.

Verna and Oswald were seated up top, while Nathan loaded the last of his own belongings into the wagon. Ash stepped quietly to stand behind his godfather, until he was close enough to whisper and be heard.

“I owe you for this.”

Nathan glanced over his shoulder with a wide smile. “That you do, my boy. That you do.”