Romancing the Rogue (70 page)

Rose left the
Boardwalk with a lighter step than when
she
’
d
entered it.
After
a long day
washing linens
at the hotel, her hands burned. Mrs. Barnes insisted on the hottest water and just the right amount of starch.
T
hen everything needed to be hung outside until dry and ironed to suit the wealthy patrons who came to the Seaside Hotel on the shore. Now that her shift was done,
she
had another long afternoon of washing and cleaning at her own home. Mother did what
she
could but was too fragile for most of the domestic chores.

Instead of walking through the town,
Rose
had
decided to spend a few minutes on the Boardwalk. The calming sound of the waves nearby and the fresh ocean air had indeed lifted her spirits. And then
she
’
d
met that nice man with the paintings. He
’
d been so polite and
,
despite his rough appearance, had treated her with courtesy and gentleness. His speech wasn
’
t rough like most of the working class on the island, though
he
’
d
pronounced certain words with drawn out vowels, as the locals did.
But his manners
were impeccable. He must have
spent some time in polite society.

Her thoughts turned again to the job ahead of her, taking care of her mother. Until that awful stock market crash, Lily Pennington Sheffield had lived a life of privilege, having hired help for everything from laundry to getting dressed.
S
ince
Lily had
married well,
she
hadn
’
t expected to ever have to worry about money. But that day, that horrible day, everything had changed.
Lily
lost her
husband
, and
the
world
as she knew it
had ceased to exist.

Rose had left her studies at Vassar to deal with
funeral arrangements and
financial matters, selling what she could, including their stately home on Long Island
,
and paying most of the creditors. Then she and Mother had moved to their summer home in Wildwood. Though Sheffield Cottage was larger than most of the surrounding buildings, it was much smaller than their New York mansion, and they could live there more cheaply. She
’
d found her job at the hotel, which helped pay for their food, and occasionally rented out their extra rooms.

Pulling
her
serviceable wool coat tightly around
her
slender frame
,
she
noticed a missing button and wondered where it might have gone. There was no money for a new coat, so even though it had seen six seasons, the gray wool would have to do until things started to improve.
S
omeday things will be better
, she repeated to herself. It was the mantra that kept her going.

Letting
herself in
the back door
,
she
paused,
not
ing
the silence. Was Mother napping?

A glance around the kitchen made the hairs on her neck rise. While
Mother
wasn
’
t the most meticulous housekeeper, she would never leave the kitchen like this. A half-eaten slice of bread
and an open package of crackers
lay on the table, and crumbs littered the floor. Cupboard doors stood open as if someone had been looking for something and left abruptly.

“
Mother?
”
Rose called softly.
She
stepped softly across the floor, not wanting to alarm her mother if indeed nothing was amiss.

Hearing
no answer,
she
continued through the kitchen to the dining area. With every step
,
her
heart beat faster, and her footsteps matched the tempo as panic rose. Th
ough she checked every corner, there
was no sign of
Mother
in the
l
arge formal
dining area
.

Walking through the dining area to the foyer,
she
finally spotted
Lily
on the staircase.
At first glance
,
she appeared to be resting peacefully.
She
sat on the third step,
eyes closed,
arms folded under
her
head as it
lay
on the fifth step.

“
Mother?
”
Rose called again. She stepped closer
and
took
Lily
’
s
hand
, intending to check her pulse
.

Long, brown lashes fluttered and wide hazel eyes stared back at her.
“
Rose? What are
you
doing home from work already?
Is something wrong
?
”

“
Mother, it
’
s mid-afternoon. I
’
m finished with my shift. Let
’
s get
you
to the sitting room where
you
’
ll be more comfortable, and I
’
ll fetch Doctor McManus.
”

“
Doctor? Why do
you
need the doctor? Are
you
ill, dear?

“
No mother, I
’
m fine.
You
’
re the one who was unconscious.
”

“
I wasn
’
t unconscious. I was taking a catnap.
”

“
On the stairs? If
you
couldn
’
t make it up
to your room
,
you
could have lain on the settee in the sitting room.
”

Lily
’
s face creased.
“
I suppose
so
.
I
don
’
t know
why I was
on
the stairs. It seems
I can
’
t remember
anything
, not
even what I had for lunch.
”
She groaned as Rose helped her
get
up
and walk to
the sitting room.

“
From the dishes and food left in the kitchen, it appears you had some
bread and crackers
,
”
Rose said
as Lily settled into her favorite armchair.

“
Oh, of course. It was delicious, dear.
”

“
You didn
’
t eat very much of it.
”

“
Oh, I — I wasn
’
t all that hungry.
”

“
Mother,
you
must
eat.
You
’
ve
lost so much weight since
we
moved here. I
’
d be happy to cook all the time, but I
’
ve got to work, otherwise
we
wouldn
’
t have any food to eat.
”

“
I understand, dear. It
’
s just — I don
’
t quite know what to do with myself all day. No committees to chair, no charities. It
’
s like being on an endless vacation, without the friends and family. I
’
ve read every book in my possession, mended every rip and tear in both our wardrobes—
”
She broke off as her gaze focused on Rose
’
s coat.
“
I see you
’
ve lost a button.
”

Rose sighed and handed her coat over.
“
Here. If
you
can find a spare button,
go ahead and
fix this while I figure out what we
’
re having for supper.
”

Noting the lengthening
shadows on the
B
oardwalk, Charlie packed
his
things for the ride home. Ma would be so pleased with today
’
s success. The last few years had been difficult for
her.
Pa
’
s long illness and death had taken a toll. Charlie had sent money regularly while
enjoying
success in New York, but now that
he
was head of the family
,
his place was
here.

Mounting
his
bicycle, he headed north, toward Anglesea.
His
family lived in a quiet neighborhood on the north side of the barrier island known as Five Mile Beach Island.
L
ike most other full
-
time residents of the island,
Ned Brannigan
had been
a fisherman, but
Charlie
had
been
eager
to leave and go to the Big City.
His father
had never understood Charlie
’
s passion for art
but hadn
’
t tried to stop
him
from following his dreams.

Charlie squared
his
shoulders and focused on
the
ride home.
Home. With his family.
He
’
d spent
his youth
working hard to get away, and for several years
,
home had been a little one-bedroom studio apartment in Soho. And now, at almost thirty years of age,
he
was right back where
he
’
d started.
He
shook
his
head at the irony.

A
neighbor st
ood
on a street corner with a bucket of flowers
and Charlie stopped to greet her
. Might as well share a little bit of
the
windfall with a friend.

“
Good evening, Mrs. McIntyre.
”

“
Good evening, Charlie. Have you been over to the Boardwalk today? It must have been windy out there by the water.
”

“
It was, but I managed to sell a few paintings. So I thought I
’
d surprise Mama with a few of your lovely flowers.
”

“
Oh bless
you,
child. What a good son
you
are.
”
She reached down and picked several of
her
best flowers and named
an amount
well below the price on
the
sign.
“
Give her
a few from me
,
along with
my best regards.
”

“
Yes,
m
a
’
am. Thank you.
”

Pulling
his
bicycle up to a neat clapboard
ho
me
,
he
got off and walked
it around
to the back, leaning it against the
house.
Then
he
took
the
crate indoors into the warm, welcoming kitchen.

Susie Brannigan stood at the stove, stirring a large pot bursting with savory aroma. She looked up as Charlie came in.
“
Oh good, you
’
re home. Go and wash up. Dinner will be on the table in five minutes.
”

“
Yes, Ma. But first, these are for you.
”
He presented the flowers to her with a flourish
.

She
dropped her ladle into the pot
and
gasped.
“
Oh my! Where on earth did you get these?
”
She put
her
hands to
her
hips and pierced h
im
with a stern look.
“
You didn
’
t steal them from Mrs. McIntyre, did you?
”

“
No
,
ma
’
am. I paid her for them.
”

“
And why would ye be wastin
’
yer hard earned money on flowers that are only gonna wilt?
”
Occasionally
when flustered
, she
’
d lapse into the brogue of her Irish ancestry
.

“
To celebrate, Ma. I sold three paintings today. I
’
ll give you
some
for the household and keep
some
to buy more materials.
”

“
Three paintings! Why
,
Charlie, that
’
s wonderful!
”
She reached out and hugged him then.
“
I always knew
you
were a special boy.
You
’
ve been working hard at that delivery service, but
you
’
re a painter through and through
. An artist, I mean.
”
She corrected herself before Charlie could protest.
“
And
you
’
re an angel to share the money with us. Someday we
’
ll get back on our feet, and then
you
can go back to painting.
”

“
I didn
’
t think
you
’
d sell anything out there today,
”
Connor, younger than Charlie by four years, teased him as they set the table.
“
I know the Boardwalk has been busier lately, but I figured it was still too chilly for the society ladies to be out strolling.
”

“
I thought so
,
too. In fact, I was ready to come home when this lady came and helped me retrieve one of my miniatures that the wind had blown off the crate. I
figured
I
’
d have to chase it out onto the beach,
so I was glad she
caught it for me just before it blew off the Boardwalk.
She
didn
’
t buy the painting,
but
after
she
set it back, another woman came and bought that very
one
, as well as the
ones
on either side of it.
”

“
Wow, that
’
s a coincidence,
”
agreed eighteen-year-old Katie as
she
entered the dining room.
She
set a serving bowl of steaming beef stew on the table and went back into the kitchen.

“
You must have met
your
Lady
Luck,
”
said Connor.

“
My what?
”

“
Lady
Luck. Remember when Uncle Phineas would go to Atlantic City?
He
’
d
talk about the women in the casinos. If
one of them
happened to be ne
arby when a gambler hit it big
, that
woman
would be his
Lady
Luck and
he
’
d
keep her by his side the rest of the night.
”

“
Lady Luck. That
’
s pretty much how I felt about her.
It was as if she put a
special spell on those paintings and that
’
s what made the next person buy them.
”

“
You
’
d better keep an eye out for
her
. The next time she walks by, ask
her
to touch all your paintings.
”

Susie
entered with a basket of rolls.
Taking their cue from
her
, the three siblings quieted and sat.
At a nod
to Charlie, they all bowed their heads as he offered thanks for the meal. Then they eagerly tucked into
Susie
’
s
famous Irish stew.

“
Now what
’
s this I hear about
you
and
your
Lady Luck, Charles Rowan Brannigan?
You
’
d better not be planning a trip to Atlantic City. Those casinos ruined
you
r Uncle Phineas
’
life. I won
’
t stand for one of my sons having anything to do with them.
”

Connor
’
s
face turned red, and
Charlie felt his own cheeks burn. Beside him,
Katie hid her amusement.

“
I ain
’
t been near Atlantic City, Ma,
”
Charlie insisted, lapsing into the casual speech of his youth.
“
I told Connor about a woman who came by and touched three paintings just before someone came and bought them. It was like she
’
d put a spell on them. So Connor said she was probably my Lady Luck.
”

“
Stuff and nonsense.
”
Susie
’
s distaste for the gambling industry was evident.
“
The lady recognized a good painting, and so did the woman who bought them. Now, let
’
s talk about some of the things I need you two strong boys to help me with around the house.
”

The subject was dropped. But later that night, Charlie took out his supplies and started painting. Lucky or not, he
’
d promised the lady he
’
d paint replicas of the miniatures if he sold them. And something about the woman made him determined not to disappoint her.