The Way Home (26 page)

Her voice sounded brittle, even in her own ears. Perhaps Patsy heard the same thing because she looked as if she were about to say something and then seemed to change her mind. When she spoke, her tone was as light and almost as false as Meg’s.

“Well, I’m glad Ty thought of it.”

“So am I.” Meg turned back to the mirror, keeping her head bowed so that Patsy couldn’t see her expression in the reflection. For an instant she’d had the urge to throw herself into her sister’s arms and spill out the whole miserable story, just as she had when they were children. But it had been a long time since they’d been that close. The Patsy standing behind her was not the big sister she’d known.

“Did Eldin come with you?” she asked.

“No. He’s out of town. He travels a lot, you know.”

“I’d forgotten.” Meg picked up the brush again and began brushing her hair, needing something to occupy her hands. There was an awkward silence.

“Do you have your something old and new and borrowed and blue?” Patsy asked, her cheerful tone forced.

“No. I hadn’t even thought about it.”

“Well, you can’t get married without those things,” Patsy protested. “You want to get your marriage off to a good start, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Privately Meg thought that it was going to take more than a few sentimental tokens to get this marriage off to a good start. But then again, they couldn’t hurt.

“Here. I brought some things just in case.” She began pulling things out of her purse. “I have a pretty hanky that Eldin brought home from his last trip to Chicago. It’s Irish linen and I’ve never used it. That can be your something new.”

“I couldn’t take that from you,” Meg protested, turning to look at her sister. “It was a present from your husband.”

“Don’t be silly. Eldin always brings me a few little trinkets when he comes home from a trip.”

“Oh, but — “

“Please, Meg. I’d like you to have it.”

There was no arguing with the plea in her sister’s eyes. Meg took the hanky, admiring the almost silklike feel of the linen and the delicate lace that trimmed it. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Patsy said with forced gaiety. “I’m not through. I have a pair of earrings for you that can be your something blue. I hope they’ll go with your dress,” she added, looking worried.

“I don’t really have a dress.” Meg took the pretty enameled earrings, curling her fingers around them. “I mean, nothing fancy. There wasn’t really time to get anything.”

“You don’t need a fancy dress to have a happy marriage,” Patsy said briskly, looking as if there were nothing in the least odd about a wedding being arranged so quickly that the bride didn’t have time to get a dress.

“Now, for the something old and something borrowed, I brought this.” Patsy drew a small gold locket out of her purse. “It belonged to Eldin’s grandmother and he gave it to me when we got married.”

“It’s lovely, Patsy.” Meg was surprised to see that her hand wasn’t quite steady as she reached out to touch the locket with one finger.

“Here. Turn around and let me put it on you.”

Meg obediently turned around, watching in the mirror as Patsy set the necklace in place and then bent close to work the clasp. It struck her suddenly as ineffably sad that they’d grown so far apart. She wanted to turn and put her arms around her sister, to try to recapture some of the closeness they’d once known.

“There.” Patsy straightened and gave the locket an admiring look. “Whatever you’re wearing, this will look nice with it.”

“Thank you.”

“Not yet,” Patsy said playfully. “One more thing.” She dived into her purse again, dug around for a moment, and then drew her hand out, a penny triumphantly clutched between thumb and forefinger. “And a penny for your shoe. Now you’re set.”

“Yes.” Meg had to clear her throat to get the word out. “Can I say thank you now?”

“Yes, you may.”

“Thank you.” The words didn’t begin to express how much it meant that Patsy had not only come here but that she’d thought of the old tradition and made sure Meg had the appropriate lucky tokens.

“You’re welcome.” Patsy looked at her for a moment, her eyes, the same blue as Meg’s own, questioning. Then she smiled and reached around Meg to pick up the hairbrush. “Let me do your hair. You never did learn how to put your hair up. If you do it, you’ll put so many pins in, you’ll end up looking like a porcupine,” she said teasingly.

At Helen McKendrick’s insistence, Meg had been moved into Ty’s sister’s old room the night before. Louise had moved to New York City five years before, scandalizing her mother by becoming a career woman. She hadn’t been back since, and the room had the slightly musty smell that came from lack of use. Meg missed the comforting feeling of being surrounded by Ty’s things, but she couldn’t have even hinted at such a thing to her soon-to-be mother-in-law. Now she sat at Louise’s pretty vanity and tried not to think about the step she was about to take.

The feel of the brush stroking through her hair was familiar. How many hours had they spent brushing each other’s hair? Talking of all the small unimportant things that had been so important at the time. Meg closed her eyes when she felt the sting of tears. That all seemed like so long ago.

“You have hair just like an angel in a picture book,” Patsy said softly. “I always wished my hair was like yours, all warm and golden, instead of plain brown. Do you remember the time I bleached my hair with that bottle of peroxide Mama kept in the kitchen for skinned knees?”

Meg nodded, her jaw aching with the effort of holding back the threatened tears. The sound of Patsy’s voice and the slow rhythm of the brush through her hair were like drops of water on stone, slowly eroding her control.

“Mama nearly had a heart attack when she saw what I’d done to my hair. She said I looked like a skunk, the way it had streaked and all. That was the year before Pa died and I thought he’d whale the tar out of me when he got home, but he just laughed and laughed.” Her voice was soft and reminiscent. “Funny, how, when I look back, Pa doesn’t seem so bad, least not when he was sober. And we had some good times together, didn’t we?”

Meg didn’t say anything. Seen through the window of memory, the good times seemed much clearer than the bad. But she couldn’t get anything out past the huge lump in her throat. She clung to the fragile threads of her control, telling herself that no good could come of falling apart now. But she’d forgotten that Patsy had only to look in the mirror to see the struggle reflected in her face.

When the brush faltered and then stopped moving, she opened her eyes, meeting Patsy’s worried gaze in the mirror.

“Oh, Meggy, tell me what’s wrong,” she begged softly. “Why are you and Tyler getting married all in a rush like this? Where’s Mama? Why aren’t you at home?”

Meg started to reassure her sister that nothing was wrong; that there was nothing strange about her hasty wedding; that she was really happy as could be. But when she opened her mouth, what emerged was a sob that seemed ripped from the bottom of her soul.

“Oh, honey.” The brush thudded to the floor and then somehow Patsy’s arms were around her and Meg was sobbing out the whole story. Or almost all of it. She couldn’t bear to tell even Patsy everything.

“So Ty’s marrying you to keep you from having to go home? Because Harlan did this to you?” Patsy touched the tips of her fingers to Meg’s bruised face.

“Yes.” The word came out on half sob. The two of them sat on the edge of the narrow bed, their knees touching as they faced each other. Meg twisted the handkerchief Patsy had dug out of her apparently bottomless purse. “I know it’s wrong to marry him. I shouldn’t let him do this.”

“I don’t really know Ty but he doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d do something if he didn’t want to.”

“Oh, he wants to marry me,” Meg said. “But it’s because he feels guilty about … about Harlan hurting me. He thinks it was his fault.”

“Why would it be Ty’s fault?”

“It’s not. But he was angry because I was seeing Ty. He thought we were … doing things we weren’t,” she finished, flushing at the memory of her stepfather’s accusations.

Patsy sucked in a quick breath, and when Meg looked at her, she seemed paler than she had been. She reached and caught Meg’s hands in hers, her fingers tense.

“Did he — Did Harlan … hurt you, Meg? I mean, did he do anything besides this?” She touched the bruising around Meg’s eye with a fingertip. “Is that
all
he did?”

There was urgency in her voice, tension in the hands that gripped Meg’s. And there was a look in her eyes that seemed to ask Meg to say yes, that the hurts Patsy saw were the only ones. Which was exactly what Meg intended to say, but she hesitated too long. Or perhaps Patsy could read the answer in her eyes.

“Oh, Meg. Not you.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Please, not you, too.”

“Too?” Meg stared at her sister as the shock of realization struck her. “Too? Patsy, did he …”

Tears streaming down her face, Patsy nodded. Seeing the anguish in her eyes, Meg knew, with a certainty she didn’t question, that, for Patsy, there’d been no one to stop him, no one to run to for protection.

“Oh, Patsy.” It was Meg’s turn to put her arms around her sister, to offer her comfort.

Meg had no idea how long they stayed that way, each giving and receiving comfort. They didn’t talk about what had happened. Words weren’t necessary. They simply sat there,

drawing comfort from their shared pain, until the sound of someone tapping on the door made them draw apart.

“Yes?” Meg had to clear her throat to get the word out. “Ty says to tell you he’ll be ready to leave in about half an hour, if that’s all right with you.” Jack’s voice was muffled by the wooden door.

Meg felt her throat close up. Half an hour. She was to be married in half an hour and she still didn’t know if she was doing the right thing.

“She’ll be ready,” Patsy called back, her voice husky with tears but the words clear.

“I’ll tell Ty.”

Patsy stood up and brushed her fingers impatiently under her eyes, wiping away the last of her tears. “Come over here and let me get your hair up.”

Meg rose obediently and went to the vanity, staring at her reflection as Patsy picked up the brush. “I’m not sure I should marry him, Patsy.”

“You love him, don’t you?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in her response.

“And he obviously cares for you or he wouldn’t be willing to marry you to keep you safe.”

“But he doesn’t love me,” Meg protested.

“Love can come after marriage,” Patsy said briskly. “Hand me a hairpin.”

“How do you know?” Meg obediently handed her a pin, watching as Patsy deftly rolled her hair up and began pinning it in place.

“Because it did for me.” She caught Meg’s surprised look in the mirror and smiled ruefully. “Oh, Meg, do you think everyone who gets married is madly in love? I married Eldin because he was a kind man who said he’d love me and take care of me. And I — I had to get away from home.” Her fingers trembled slightly as she smoothed a stray lock of hair into place.

“Do you love him now?” Meg asked.

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in the response. “Maybe not a grand passionate kind of love, but a fond kind of love.”

She smiled, her eyes meeting Meg’s in the mirror. “You marry Ty and be the best wife you know how to be. Give it a little time and he’ll see how lucky he is to have you. Now, what are you going to wear?”

Meg didn’t argue any further but she wondered privately which would be worse: If Ty never loved her at all? Or if he someday felt a “fond kind of love” for her?

CHAPTER 12

It wasn’t exactly the wedding of Meg’s childhood fantasies. No church full of friends, no familiar pastor giving them indulgent looks. No white wedding dress that she’d pack away afterward to save for the day her own daughter might wear it. Instead she was married in a plain room at a courthouse in a town she’d never been in before today. The only witnesses were Jack and Patsy.

Instead of the lace-trimmed wedding gown of her dreams, Meg wore another outfit provided by Jack’s sister. She didn’t know what Jack had told Beryl, but she’d graciously plundered once more and come up with a smart tweed suit in a pale heathery shade of gray. She’d even included a matching hat, a pair of soft kid gloves, and a pair of shoes.

Since they were to catch a train for Los Angeles directly after the wedding, it was a perfect choice. Never mind that the suit was a little too big and so were the shoes, which slipped on her heels, promising to raise blisters by the time she was settled on the train. At least she didn’t have to attend her wedding in her husband-to-be’s pajamas, she thought with a touch of hysteria.

She tuned out the judge’s voice and looked down, focusing her gaze on the small bouquet of roses she held. Edwina Vanderbilt had given the flowers to her, rushing out of her house to catch them before they drove away and thrusting the pink and white blooms into Meg’s hands.

“Can’t lie to the sheriff, you know,” she’d said, puffing a little from hurrying. “I said I’d given you a wedding bouquet and so I have. Now my conscience is perfectly clear.” Her eyes had been bright with laughter, and Meg had felt tears rise in her throat at the small kindness.