Maggie's Dad (14 page)

“I can understand that,” Barrie agreed. “Well, do you have plans for the evening, or do you want to take in a movie with me? That new period piece is on at the shopping center.”

“That might be fun,” Antonia said, looking up at Powell.

“I like costume dramas,” he seconded. “Suits me.”

Besides, he told Antonia later, when they were briefly alone, she wasn't going to be in any shape for what he really wanted for another day or so. That being the case, a movie was as good as anything to pass the time. As long as they were together, he added quietly. If she felt like it. He worried about not keeping her still. She ignored that. She could rest when they got back to Bighorn, she informed him.

Antonia clung to his hand during the movie, and that night, she slept in his arms. It was as if the past nine years had never happened. He still hadn't said anything about love, but she knew that he wanted her. Perhaps in time, love would come. Her real concern was how they were going to cope with Maggie's resentment, especially if their passion for each other bore fruit. It was too soon for a baby, but Powell's ardor had been too headlong to allow for precautions, and his hunger for a child with her was all too obvious. He wasn't thinking about Maggie. He was thinking about all those wasted years and how quickly he could make up for them. But Antonia worried.

 

The wedding service was very small and sedate and dignified. Antonia wore a cream-colored wool suit to be married in, and a hat with a small veil
that covered her face until the justice of the peace pronounced them man and wife. Powell lifted the veil and looked at her face for a long moment before he bent and kissed her. It was like no kiss he'd ever given her before. She looked into his eyes and felt her legs melt under her. She'd never loved him so much.

Barrie had been one of their witnesses and a sheriff's deputy who was prevailed upon by the justice of the peace was the other. The paperwork was completed, the marriage license handed back with the date and time of the wedding on it. They were married.

 

The next day they were on the way to Bighorn in Powell's Mercedes-Benz. He was more tense than he'd been for three days and she knew it was probably because her body was still reeling from its introduction to intimacy. She was better, but any intimacy, even the smallest, brought discomfort. She hated that. Powell had assured her that it was perfectly natural, and that time would take care of the problem, but his hunger for her was in his eyes every time he looked at her. At this stage of their new relationship, she hated denying him what he craved. After all, it was the only thing they did have right now.

“Stop looking so morose,” he taunted when they neared the Wyoming border hours later. “The world won't end because we can't enjoy each other in bed again just yet.”

“I was thinking of you, not me,” she said absently.

He didn't reply. His eyes were straight ahead. “I thought you enjoyed it.”

She glanced at him and realized that she'd unintentionally hurt his ego. “Of course I did,” she said. “But I think it must be more of a need for a man. I mean…”

“Never mind,” he mused, glancing at her. “You remembered what I said, didn't you—that I can't go for a long time without a woman? I was talking about years, Antonia, not days.”

“Oh.”

He chuckled softly. “You little green girl. You're just as you were at eighteen.”

“Not anymore.”

“Well, not quite.” He reached out his hand and she put hers into it, feeling its comforting strength. “We're on our way, honey,” he said gently, and it was the first time that he'd used an endearment to address her. “It will be all right. Don't worry.”

“What about Maggie?” she asked.

His face hardened. “Let me worry about Maggie.”

Antonia didn't say anything else. But she had a bad feeling that they were going to have trouble in that quarter.

 

They stopped by her father's house first, for a tearful reunion. Then they dropped the bombshell.

“Married?” Ben burst out. “Without even telling me, or asking if I wanted to be there?”

“It was my idea,” Powell confessed, drawing Antonia close to his side. “I didn't give her much choice.”

Ben glared at him, but only for a minute. He couldn't forget that Powell had been more than willing to take on responsibility for Antonia when he thought she was dying. That took courage, and something more.

“Well, you're both old enough to know what you're doing,” he said grudgingly, and he smiled at his daughter, who was looking insecure. “And if I get grandkids out of this, I'll shut up.”

“You'll have grandchildren,” she promised shyly. “Including a ready-made one to start with.”

Powell frowned slightly. She meant Maggie.

Antonia looked up at him with a quiet smile. “Speaking of whom, we'd better go, hadn't we?”

He nodded. He shook hands with Ben. “I'll take care of her,” he promised.

Ben didn't say anything for a minute. But then he smiled. “Yes. I know you will.”

Powell drove them to his home, palatial and elegant, sitting on a rise overlooking the distant mountains. There were several trees around the house and long, rolling hills beyond where purebred cattle grazed. In the old days, the house had been a little shack with a leaking roof and a porch that sagged.

“What a long way you've come, Powell,” she said.

He didn't look at her as he swung the car around
to the side of the house and pressed the button that opened the garage.

The door went up. He drove in and closed the door behind them. Even the garage was spacious and clean.

He helped Antonia out. “I'll come back for your bags in a few minutes. You remember Ida Bates, don't you? She keeps house for me.”

“Ida?” She smiled. “She was one of my mother's friends. They sang together in the choir at church.”

“Ida still does.”

They went in through the kitchen. Ida Bates, heavyset and harassed, turned to stare at Antonia with a question in her eyes.

“We were married in Tucson,” Powell announced. “Meet the new lady of the house.”

Ida dropped the spoon in the peas she was stirring and rushed to embrace Antonia with genuine affection. “I can't tell you how happy I am for you! What a surprise!”

“It was to us, too,” Antonia murmured with a shy glance at her new husband, who smiled back warmly.

Ida let her go and cast a worried look at Powell. “She's up in her room,” she said slowly. “Hasn't come out all day. Won't eat a bite.”

Antonia felt somehow responsible for the child's torment. Powell noticed that, and his jaw tautened. He took Antonia's hand.

“We'll go up and give her the news.”

“Don't expect much,” Ida muttered.

The door to Maggie's room was closed. Powell didn't even knock. He opened it and drew Antonia in with him.

Maggie was sitting on the floor looking at a book. Her hair was dirty and straggly and the clothes she was wearing looked as if they'd been slept in.

She looked at Antonia with real fear and scrambled to her feet, backing until she could hold on to the bedpost.

“What's the matter with you?” Powell demanded coldly.

“Is she…real?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“Of course I'm real,” Antonia said quietly.

“Oh.” Maggie relaxed her grip on the bedpost. “Are you…real sick?”

“She doesn't have what we thought,” Powell said without preamble. “It was a mistake. She has something else, but she's going to be all right.”

Maggie relaxed a little, but not much.

“We're married,” Powell added bluntly.

Maggie didn't react at all. Her blue eyes lifted to Antonia and she didn't smile.

“Antonia is going to live with us,” Powell continued. “I'll expect you to make her feel welcome here.”

Maggie knew that. Antonia would certainly be welcome, as Maggie never had been. She looked at her father with an expression that made Antonia want to cry. Powell never even noticed the anguish in it.

Pick her up,
she wanted to tell him.
Hold her.
Tell her you still love her, that it won't make any difference that you've remarried.
But he didn't do that. He stared at the child with an austerity that made terrible sense of what he'd said to Antonia. He didn't know if Maggie was his, and he resented her. The child certainly knew it. His attitude all but shouted it.

“I'll have to stay in bed for a while, Maggie,” Antonia said. “It would be nice if you'd read to me sometimes,” she added, nodding toward the book on the floor.

“You going to be my teacher, too?” Maggie asked.

“No,” Powell said firmly, looking straight at Antonia. “She's going to have enough to do getting well.”

Antonia smiled ruefully. It looked as if she was going to have a war on her hands if she tried to take that teaching job back.

“But you and I are still going to see Mrs. Jameson,” he told his daughter. “Don't think you're going to slide out of that.”

Maggie lifted her chin and looked at him. “I already done it.”

“What?” he demanded.

“I told Mrs. Jameson,” she said, glaring up at him. “I told her I lied about Miss Hayes. I told her I was sorry.”

Powell was impressed. “You went to see her all by yourself?” he asked.

She nodded, a curt little jerk of her head. “I'm sorry,” she said gruffly to Antonia.

“It was a brave thing to do,” Antonia remarked. “Were you scared?”

Maggie didn't answer. She just shrugged.

“Don't leave that book lying there,” Powell instructed, nodding toward it on the carpet. “And take a bath and change those clothes.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said dully.

Antonia watched her put the book away, and wished that she could do something, say something, interfere enough that she could wipe that look from Maggie's little face.

Powell tugged her out of the room before she could say anything else. She went, but she was determined that she was going to do something about this situation.

Antonia and Maggie had not started out on the right foot, because of what had happened in the past. But now Antonia wanted to try with this child. Now that she saw the truth in Powell's early words—that Maggie had paid a high price. That price had been love.

Maggie might not like her, but the child needed a champion in this household; and Antonia was going to be her champion.

W
hen they were in the master bedroom where Powell slept, Antonia went close to him.

“Don't you ever hug her?” she asked softly. “Or kiss her, and tell her you're glad to see her?”

He stiffened. “Maggie isn't the sort of child who wants affection from adults.”

His attitude shocked Antonia. “Powell, you don't really believe that, do you?” she asked, aghast.

The way she was looking at him made him uncomfortable. “I don't know if she's mine.” He bit off the words defensively.

“Would it matter so much?” she persisted. “Powell, she's lived in your house since she was born. You've been responsible for her. You've watched her grow. Surely you feel something for her!”

He caught her by the waist and pulled her to him. “I want a child with you,” he said quietly. “I promise you, it will be loved and wanted. It will never lack for affection.”

She touched his lean cheek. “I know that. I'll love it, too. But Maggie needs us as well. You can't turn your back on her.”

His eyebrows went up. “I've always fulfilled my responsibilities as far as Maggie is concerned. I've never wanted to see her hurt. But we've never had a good relationship. And she isn't going to accept you. She's probably already plotting ways to get rid of you.”

“Maybe I know her better than you think,” she replied. She smiled. “I'm going to love you until you're sick of it,” she whispered, going close to him. “Love will spill out of every nook and cranny, it will fill you up. You'll love Maggie because I'll make you love her.” She drew his head down and nibbled at his firm mouth until it parted, until he groaned and dragged her into his arms, to kiss her hungrily, like a man demented.

She returned his kisses until sheer exhaustion drained her of strength and she lay against his chest, holding on for support.

“You're still very weak,” he remarked. He lifted her gently and carried her to the bed. “I'll have Ida bring lunch up here. Dr. Claridge said you'd need time in bed and you're going to get it now that we're home.”

“Bully,” she teased softly.

He chuckled, bending over her. “Only when I need to be.” He kissed her softly.

Maggie, passing the door, heard him laugh, saw the happiness he was sharing with Antonia, and felt more alone than she ever had in her young life. She walked on, going down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Mind you don't track mud in here,” Ida Bates muttered. “I just mopped.”

Maggie didn't speak. She walked out the door and closed it behind her.

 

Antonia had her lunch on a tray with Powell. It was so different now, being with him, loving him openly, watching the coldness leave him. He was like a different man.

But she worried about Maggie. That evening when Ida brought another tray, this time a single one because Powell had to go out, she asked about Maggie.

“I don't know where she is,” Ida said, surprised. “She went out before lunch and never came back.”

“But aren't you concerned?” Antonia asked sharply. “She's only nine!”

“Little monkey goes where she pleases, always has. She's probably out in the barn. New calf out there. She likes little things. She won't go far. She's got no place to go.”

That sounded so heartless. She winced.

“You eat all that up, now. Do you good to have
some hot food inside you.” Ida smiled and went out, leaving the door open. “Call if you need me!”

Antonia couldn't enjoy her meal. She was worried, even if nobody else was.

She got up and searched in her suitcases for a pair of jeans, socks, sneakers and a sweatshirt. She put them on and eased down the stairs, through the living room and out the front door. The barn was to the side of the house, a good little walk down a dirt road. She didn't think about how tired she was. She was worried about Maggie. It was late afternoon, and growing dark. The child had been out all day.

The barn door was ajar. She eased inside it and looked around the spacious, shadowy confines until her eyes became accustomed to the dimness. The aisle was wide and covered in wheat straw. She walked past one stall and another until she found a calf and a small child together in the very last one.

“You didn't have anything to eat,” she said.

Maggie was shocked. She stared up at the woman she'd caused so much trouble for and felt sick to her stomach. Nobody else cared if she starved. It was ironic that her worst enemy was concerned about her.

Her big blue eyes stared helplessly up at Antonia.

“Aren't you hungry?” Antonia persisted.

Maggie shrugged. “I had a candy bar,” she said, avoiding those soft gray eyes.

Antonia came into the stall and settled down beside the calf in the soft, clean hay. She touched
the calf's soft nose and smiled. “Their noses are so soft, aren't they?” she asked. “When I was a little girl, I used to wish I had a pet, but my mother was allergic to fur, so we couldn't have a dog or cat.”

Maggie fidgeted. “We don't have dogs and cats. Mrs. Bates says animals are dirty.”

“Not if they're groomed.”

Maggie shrugged again.

Antonia smoothed the calf's forehead. “Do you like cattle?”

Maggie watched her warily. Then she nodded. “I know all about Herefords and black Angus. That's what my daddy raises. I know about birth weights and weight gain ratios and stuff.”

Antonia's eyebrows arched. “Really? Does he know?”

Maggie's eyes fell. “It wouldn't matter. He hates me on account of I'm like my mother.”

Antonia was surprised that the child was that perceptive. “But your mother did have wonderful qualities,” Antonia said. “When we were in school, she was my best friend.”

Maggie stared at her. “She married my daddy instead of you.”

Antonia's hand stilled on the calf. “Yes. She told a lie, Maggie,” she explained. “Because she loved your daddy very much.”

“She didn't like me,” Maggie said dully. “She used to hit me when he wasn't home and say it was my fault that she was unhappy.”

“Maggie, it wasn't your fault,” Antonia said firmly.

Maggie's blue eyes met hers. “Nobody wants me here,” she said stiffly. “Now that you're here, Daddy will make me go away!”

“Over my dead body,” Antonia said shortly.

The child sat there like a little statue, as if she didn't believe what she'd heard. “You don't like me.”

“You're Powell's little girl,” she replied. “I love him very much. How could I possibly hate someone who's part of him?”

For the first time, the fear in the child's eyes was visible. “You don't want to make me go away?”

“Certainly not,” Antonia said.

She nibbled on her lower lip. “They don't want me here,” she muttered, nodding her head curtly toward the house. “Daddy goes off and leaves me all the time, and she,” she added in a wounded tone, “hates having to stay with me. It was better when I could stay with Julie, but she hates me, too, on account of I got you fired.”

Antonia's heart went out to the child. She wondered if in all her life any adult had taken the time to sit down and really talk to her. Perhaps Mrs. Donalds had, and that was why Maggie missed her so much.

“You're very young to try to understand this,” she told Maggie slowly. “But inadvertently it was because I lost my job that I went back to the doctor and discovered that I didn't have cancer. Your
dad made me go to the doctor,” she added with a reflective smile. “He came after me when I left. If he hadn't, I don't know what might have happened to me. Things seem fated sometimes, to me,” she added thoughtfully. “You know, as if they're meant to happen. We blame people for playing their part in the scheme of things, and we shouldn't. Life is a test, Maggie. We have obstacles to overcome, to make us stronger.” She hesitated. “Is any of this making sense to you?”

“You mean God tests us,” the child said softly.

Antonia smiled. “Yes. Does your dad take you to church?”

She shrugged and looked away. “He doesn't take me anywhere.”

And it hurt, Antonia thought, because she was beginning to understand just how much this child was enduring. “I like going to church,” she said. “My grandparents helped build the Methodist Church where I went when I was little. Would you…” She hesitated, not wanting to lose ground by rushing the child.

Maggie turned her head and looked at her. “Would I…?” she prompted softly.

“Would you like to go to church with me sometimes?”

The change the question made in that sullen face was remarkable. It softened, brightened, with interest. “Just you and me?” she asked.

“At first. Your dad might come with us, eventually.”

She hesitated, toying with a piece of wheat straw. “You aren't mad at me anymore?” she asked.

Antonia shook her head.

“He won't mind?”

She smiled. “No.”

“Well…” She shifted and then she frowned, glancing up at the woman with sad eyes. “Well, I would like to,” she said. “But I can't.”

“Can't? Why not?”

Maggie's shoulders hunched forward. “I don't got a dress.”

Tears stung Antonia's gray eyes. Hadn't Powell noticed? Hadn't anybody noticed?

“Oh, my dear,” she said huskily, grimacing.

The note in her voice got the child's attention. She saw the glitter of tears in the woman's eyes and felt terrible.

“Antonia!”

The deep voice echoed through the barn. Powell saw them together and strode forward.

“What the hell are you doing out of bed?” he demanded, lifting her to her feet with firm hands. He saw the tears and his face hardened as he turned to the child on her knees by the calf. “She's crying. What did you say to her?” he demanded.

“Powell, no!” She put her hand across his lips. “No! She didn't make me cry!”

“You're defending her!”

“Maggie,” Antonia said gently, “you tell your dad
what you just told me. Don't be afraid,” she added firmly. “Tell him.”

Maggie gave him a belligerent glare. “I don't got a dress,” she said accusingly.

“Don't
have
a dress,” Antonia corrected her belatedly.

“I don't have a dress,” Maggie said obligingly.

“So?” he asked.

“I want to take her to church with me. She doesn't have anything to wear,” Antonia told him.

He looked down at his daughter with dawning realization. “You haven't got a dress?”

“No, I don't!” Maggie returned.

He let out a heavy breath. “My God.”

“Tomorrow after school you and I are going shopping,” Antonia told the child.

“You and me?” Maggie asked.

“Yes.”

Powell stared from one of them to the other with open curiosity. Maggie got to her feet and brushed herself off. She looked up at Antonia warily. “I read this fairy tale about a woman who married a man with two little kids and she took them off and lost them in the forest.”

Antonia chuckled. “I couldn't lose you, Maggie,” she told the child. “Julie told me that you could track like a hunter.”

“She did?”

“Who taught you how to track?” Powell demanded.

Maggie glared at him. “Nobody. I read it in a Boy Scout manual. Jake loaned me his.”

“Why didn't you ask your dad to buy you one of your own?” she asked the child.

Maggie glared at him again. “He wouldn't,” she said. “He brings me dolls.”

Antonia's eyebrows lifted. She looked at Powell curiously. “Dolls?”

“She's a girl, isn't she?” he demanded belligerently.

“I hate dolls,” Maggie muttered. “I like books.”

“Yes, I noticed,” Antonia said.

Powell felt like an idiot. “You never said,” he muttered at his daughter.

She moved a little closer to Antonia. “You never asked,” she replied. She brushed at the filthy sweatshirt where wheat straw was sticking to it.

“You look like a rag doll,” Powell said. “You need a bath and a change of clothes.”

“I don't got no more clothes,” she said miserably. “Mrs. Bates said she wouldn't wash them because I got them too dirty to get clean.”

“What?”

“She threw away my last pair of blue jeans,” Maggie continued, “and this is the only sweatshirt I got left.”

“Oh, Maggie,” Antonia said heavily. “Maggie, why didn't you tell her you didn't have any other clothes?”

“Because she won't listen,” the child said. “Nobody
listens!” She looked at her father with his own scowl. “When I grow up, I'm going to leave home and never come back! And when I have little kids, I'm going to love them!”

Powell was at a complete loss for words. He couldn't even manage to speak.

“Go and have a bath,” Antonia told the child gently. “Have you a gown and robe?”

“I got pajamas. I hid them or she'd have throwed them away, too,” she added mutinously.

“Then put them on. I'll bring up your supper.”

Powell started to speak, but she put her hand over his mouth again.

“Go ahead, Maggie,” she urged the child.

Maggie nodded and with another majestic glare at her father, she stalked off down the aisle.

“Oh, she's yours, all right,” Antonia mused when she'd gone out of the barn and they were alone. “Same scowl, same impatient attitude, same temper, same glare…”

He felt uncomfortable. “I didn't know she didn't have any damned clothes,” he said.

“Now you do. I'm going to take her shopping to buy new ones.”

“You aren't in any shape to go shopping or to carry trays of food,” he muttered. “I'll do it.”

“You'll take her shopping?” she asked with mischief twinkling in her gray eyes.