The Way Home (48 page)

No, she wasn’t much in the mood for church. But staying home would have created a fuss. Her mother-in-law would have muttered about her poor upbringing and what other people would say about her son marrying a girl who couldn’t even be bothered to attend church, like a decent, God-fearing citizen.

Meg could have turned a deaf ear to the other woman’s complaints. But she couldn’t ignore the concern in Ty’s gaze. If she said she didn’t feel like going, he’d probably want her to see Doc Corey again. And Doc Corey would come out and look at her and tell her it was time to get on with her life. And she’d nod, even as she wondered how she was supposed to go about getting on with her life when she felt so completely dead inside, when she couldn’t even bear to look at Ty without nearly drowning in guilt.

So, when Ty asked if she felt up to leaving the house, Meg lied and said it sounded like a fine idea. She knew she’d made the right decision when she saw the relief in his eyes.

He was solicitous of her, holding her arm as they walked up the few steps to the church, as if he thought she might slip on the perfectly dry ground. Meg found herself resenting his concern, resenting his kindness. She knew he must be angry with her, must blame her for the miscarriage, yet he treated her as if she were one of his mother’s precious figurines — fragile, helpless. Useless.

Meg paid little attention to the sermon. She sat stiffly upright in the pew, her hands neatly folded together in her lap, her eyes on the pastor, and wished for nothing more than to be somewhere else. If the future of Ty’s immortal soul had depended on his attentiveness to the sermon that day, he would have been in trouble. His attention was more for his wife than for the pastor’s talk of the Lord’s goodness. To tell the truth, at the moment he wasn’t in the best of charities with the Lord. Not when Meg was sitting next to him like a statue and holding just about as much life.

In the almost two weeks since the miscarriage, he hadn’t seen more than a flicker of emotion from her. He knew that she mourned the loss of the baby, knew she’d wanted it as much as he had. But she hadn’t cried, not in front of him, anyway. And he was willing to bet that she hadn’t shed any tears when she was alone, either.

Ty glanced at her, wondering what was going on behind the still mask of her face. She must have sensed him looking at her, because she turned her head. Their eyes met for an instant before she glanced away, leaving Ty with the impression of empty blue pools that revealed nothing of what she was thinking, feeling. As if the Meg he knew had gone away, leaving a hollow shell behind.

After the sermon, the worshipers slowly filed out, pausing to talk with the pastor before drifting out into the sunshine that bathed the grassy area in front of the church. Once outside, Ty drew a deep breath and reached up to loosen his tie. It seemed as if spring had finally managed to elbow aside winter’s chill.

He glanced at Meg to see if she felt the warm promise in the air, the soft renewal of life to come. But she gave no sign of noticing a difference. She walked beside him, her gloved hands neatly clasped in front of her, her face half shadowed by the brim of her hat. He doubted she’d have noticed anything less than a marching band stopped directly in their path.

He started to make some comment about the weather but he felt Meg stiffen. Her hand came up to take hold of his arm, her fingers tense against his sleeve. It was the first time she’d voluntarily touched him since the miscarriage, and Ty might have taken it as a positive sign if he hadn’t followed the direction of her gaze.

Harlan Davis stood just ahead of them. It was the first time Ty had seen him since their return to Iowa, and he was half surprised by the rage that swept through him just at the sight of the other man. Looking at that round face, with its small, pale eyes, Ty had a sudden flash of memory — Meg, shivering with cold and fear, the marks of her stepfather’s brutality starkly visible on her pale skin, her eyes dazed with shock. Now, as then, Ty felt an overwhelming urge to feel the other man’s bones crunch beneath the impact of his fists.

So focused was he on Harlan that it was a moment before Ty noticed Ruth Davis standing next to her husband. Her eyes, a washed-out version of her daughter’s, were fixed anxiously on Meg. It was obvious she longed to speak to Meg, equally obvious that she would not make the first move, whether out of concern for Meg’s feelings or out of fear of her husband, Ty neither knew nor cared. His only concern was for Meg.

To get to the car, which was where they’d been going, they’d have to walk right past the Davises. He slowed his pace, aware that half the town of Regret was within view. No one appeared to be paying them any attention, but one of the inexorable facts of small-town life was that someone was always paying attention. If he and Meg walked past her family without speaking, there’d be gossip burning up the party lines by nightfall. And as his mother was so fond of pointing out, his marriage to Meg had already caused more than enough speculation. For himself, he couldn’t have cared less what people said, but he didn’t want Meg to be the subject of any more gossip.

Trying to look casual, he glanced over his shoulder to where his parents stood talking to Edwina Vanderbilt and several other of their friends. He put his hand over Meg’s and started to turn her in that direction. They were still far enough from the Davises that it would look as if their paths just hadn’t crossed.

But it was too late. Apparently Harlan did not share Ty’s reluctance for a meeting. He may have thought that his all-important good name would suffer at even a hint that his stepdaughter and her new husband were avoiding him. He hurried forward, pulling Ruth with him as he stepped directly into Ty and Meg’s path.

Ty felt Meg’s fingers tremble under his. To hell with gossip. He wasn’t going to subject Meg to exchanging polite greeting with the man who’d tried to rape her. He started to walk around them, but Meg tugged on his sleeve, stopping him.

“It’s all right,” she said quietly.

“You don’t have to talk to him,” Ty said in a low voice that failed to hide his anger.

“It doesn’t matter.”

The hell it didn ‘t.
But they were now standing directly in front of the other couple, and short of making a scene, there was no way to avoid exchanging greetings.

“Hello, Mama.” Meg’s voice was steady, but Ty could feel the tension in her fingers. He’d wanted her to come out of her shell, but this was hardly what he’d had in mind.

“Meg,” Ruth whispered. Her eyes darted to her son-in-law. “Tyler.”

“Mrs. Davis.” Ty’s greeting was terse but not hostile. No one spoke to Harlan. Out the corner of his eye, Ty saw the other man flush at being so pointedly ignored.

“How are you, Mama?” Meg asked quietly.

“I’m fine.” Ruth was gripping her handbag so tightly that her knuckles showed white beneath the skin. “I — I heard that you’d lost the baby. I’m sorry, Meg.”

“I’m young. There’ll be other babies,” Meg said, parroting what she’d been told, in a flat, emotionless little voice.

Ruth frowned and started to say something, but Harlan spoke first.

“The sins of the parents are often visited on the child,” he said in a sharp, carrying voice. “Even on the unborn child,” he added self-righteously.

Perhaps he was counting on Ty’s natural, civilized desire to avoid a scene. Or that, with so many people around, he could say what he pleased without fear of repercussions. He may even have believed what he said and thought that the truth would protect him. Whatever his thinking, Ty proved him wrong on all counts.

As if watching from outside himself, Ty saw his left hand come out, his fingers closing on the front of Harlan’s neatly pressed white shirt. He saw the shock in the smaller man’s face, heard Meg say his name, whether in protest or encouragement he couldn’t have said. And then his right fist connected with Davis’s nose, feeling the satisfactory crunch of breaking cartilage.

The impact of the punch was like a stone falling into a pond. Silence rippled around them in little waves as the churchyard became dead silent, and all eyes turned to the tableau of the four of them. Everyone seemed frozen in place. Then Harlan cried out, one hand coming up to cup his nose, staggering a little as Ty released his hold on his shirt and the spell was broken. Suddenly there was a babble of voices, exclamations, cries of shock.

“You broke my nose!” Harlan wailed, groping for a handkerchief to stem the flow of blood that dripped onto his pristine shirtfront.

Ty leaned close, taking a savage pleasure in the way the other man’s eyes widened over the handkerchief, his cheeks blanching.

“Next time I’ll break your miserable neck. I told you once to stay away from Meg. I won’t tell you again.” His tone was quiet but left no doubt as to his sincerity.

“What have you done?” That was his mother’s voice, a quiet wail of horror from behind him.

Assured that Harlan had taken his warning to heart, Ty deliberately turned his back to the older man, dismissing him with unmistakable contempt. He reached out, taking Meg’s hand and setting it on his arm, feeling the trembling of her fingers. But there was no time to reassure her, not with his mother standing before them like the wrath of God personified.

“Have you gone mad?” she demanded, careful to keep her voice low. Aware of watching eyes, she arranged her face in a tight little smile, though Ty couldn’t imagine how she could think that a smile would help to smooth over the scene he’d just caused. “You just hit your father-in-law.”

“Yes, I know.”
And it had felt damned good.
But he could hardly say as much. He put his hand over Meg’s where it rested on his arm. She was taut as a bowstring and he could sense that she was near the breaking point. “I think it might be best if we went home now.”

“Now?Now?” If a whisper could be a shriek, then Helen McKendrick managed it. “Why couldn’t you have decided that five minutes ago? Before you hit someone right here in the churchyard.” She caught a movement out the comer of her eyes and moaned softly. “And Edwina Vanderbilt watching.” Ty wasn’t sure which upset her more, the possibility that God might be watching or the fact that Edwina Vanderbilt definitely had been.

“I think it’s time we left.” That was Elliot McKendrick, as always the voice of calm reason. “We’ve provided enough entertainment for one day, don’t you think?”

Helen nodded weakly and took her husband’s arm. “I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to my friends,” she said, moaning softly as the four of them made their way to the car, the ripples of speculation and gossip already cresting behind them.

Ty knew he should feel regretful about having caused a scene. But all he could think of was that slamming his fist into Harlan Davis’s pale face was the most satisfying thing he’d done in a long time.

CHAPTER 21

Though she’d disapproved of Meg’s pregnancy, the miscarriage, in some perverse way, served to confirm Helen McKendrick’s opinion of Meg’s unworthiness. Her sympathy was perfunctory, at best, offered because it would have been ill-mannered to do otherwise. As far as she was concerned, the blame for the miscarriage could be laid firmly at Meg’s door. Meg had failed in the most basic of feminine duties, and that failure deserved neither sympathy nor compassion.

Now, surely, Ty must see what a terrible mistake he’d made and could be persuaded to rectify the situation. Ordinarily she didn’t approve of divorce, but there were exceptions to every rule. She had no desire to see her son waste his life digging in the dirt just because he’d had the poor judgment to marry Meg Harper.

But she knew that Ty’s sense of honor and responsibility would never allow him to suggest a divorce, no matter how unhappy he was. So the suggestion would have to come from Meg. Helen considered it her maternal duty to help her along in making that choice. The scene in the churchyard only served to strengthen her determination.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell people,” Helen said plaintively.

Meg looked up from where she knelt on the floor, partway through rolling up the living room rug, preparatory to dragging it outside to be thrown over the clothesline so that the dust could be beaten from it. Her mother-in-law had decreed that spring cleaning was to begin immediately, and, faced with the daunting amount of physical labor that went into the job, she’d deigned to allow Meg to help.

“Tell people about what?” Meg asked.

“About what?” Her mother-in-law’s voice rose on an incredulous note and she turned to stare at Meg. “About that terrible scene at church yesterday. That’s about what!”

“Oh.” Of course that’s what she was talking about. Meg brushed back a loose strand of hair and bent down to push the rug another half turn.

“Oh? Is that all you have to say?” Helen demanded. “The most humiliating moment of my life and all you can say is ‘Oh’?”

Meg didn’t really see why the other woman should feel humiliated over a scene in which she hadn’t even participated, but there was no reason to point that out.

“I’m sorry,” she offered, hoping that was the desired response. It wasn’t.

“Sorry?” Helen sniffed. “I suppose I should have expected no better. Someone from your background could hardly be expected to understand how mortifying a scene like that is to people raised in a more refined atmosphere.”

There didn’t seem to be any appropriate response so Meg said nothing, concentrating instead on rolling the rug a little farther. It was starting to get heavy and took considerable effort to turn it. It would have been a lot easier with two people, but though her mother-in-law wore a floral-patterned smock donned to protect her neat housedress, she showed no inclination to get the garment dirty.