Christmas Pie Page 16

  “Perhaps we should do something to rectify that situation, Miss MacNamara.”

  Polly had been so involved in scrutinizing her neighborhood and thinking that James’s voice surprised her. Before she could ask what he was talking about, though, he spoke again.

  “Are those men approaching your door, Miss MacNamara?”

  There was a shade of worry in his words. Polly looked up quickly.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Fear slammed into her so hard it robbed her of breath. “Oh, my goodness.”

  As though he understood, James quickened his pace and hurried her toward her home where three gentlemen, clad in the uniform of the United States Navy, were climbing the front steps.

  Chapter Nine

  James felt anguish shiver in the MacNamara parlor when Lillian MacNamara read the telegraph she held in a trembling hand. He wanted to throttle the three men standing grim-faced and rigid in front of her. He wanted to wrap Polly in his arms and hold her, let her weep hot tears on his breast, comfort her.

  Since he had no earthly right to do any of those things, he stood still and watched, aching with the certainty that the telegraph message boded tragedy. Damn. Helplessness was not a new sensation for James, but he couldn’t recall ever having felt it for another human being until now. He’d made a career of fixing things, but he couldn’t fix this.

  “You understand, Mrs. MacNamara,” the navy chaplain said in a high-pitched twang, drawing James’s swift gaze, “that this information is preliminary. Nothing can be certified and there may still be hope.”

  “Although,” the vice-admiral intoned, his deep voice sounding much more like that of a preacher than the chaplain’s, “the facts are such that we felt it best to prepare you.”

  “What does it say, Mother?”

  Polly’s eyes were as round as dinner plates and her whisper quivered in the heavy atmosphere. James realized with a powerless ache that all of her considerable vitality seemed to be channeled into dread.

  He could almost feel Polly’s mother fight for composure as she cleared her throat. “It says wreckage from the U.S.S. China Seas has been located near one of those nameless Philippine Islands, Polly. Several islands have been searched, but no survivors have been discovered.”

  Lillian lifted her head and looked at her daughter. “They fear Stephen is dead, dear.”

  Lillian’s voice broke and Polly abandoned her stoic pose next to the door and flung herself onto her knees in front of her mother. She shook her head violently.

  “No, Mother. No, don’t believe it. Please don’t believe it. They don’t know. He might still be found. I’m sure I would feel it if Stephen were dead, Mother. You know how close we are.”

  “Oh, Polly.”

  Polly put her head in her mother’s lap, gave up her fight for poise, and wept. Lillian finally stopped trying to be brave, too. James saw her shoulders shake for a moment. Then she laid a hand on her daughter’s head and succumbed to tears of her own.

  Unable to stand idly by while these usurpers shattered the lives of two women for whom he’d begun to care a great deal, James pushed himself away from the wall and spoke softly to the vice-admiral. “Will you please give me the particulars, gentlemen? My name is James Drayton.”

  He pulled out his engraved gold card case and handed the gentleman an embossed business card. “I’m a friend of the family, and perhaps I can be of some help.”

  The vice-admiral looked at James with interest. “Drayton? Are you perhaps related to J. P. Drayton, the shipping man?”

  James felt his jaw tighten. “J. P. Drayton is my father, gentlemen. This matter does not concern him, however.”

  Shaking his head sadly, the vice-admiral said, “Never hurts to have others watching, Mr. Drayton. It’s a sad case.”

  James lowered his voice when he said, “Did you have to bring this news today? On Thanksgiving?”

  The chaplain answered him. “There is no good time for a message of this nature, Mr. Drayton. Our purpose is to tell people what we know as soon as possible. In this case, there are many families to visit. China Seas was a heroic vessel with a heroic crew, and we felt it imperative that relatives be notified immediately.”

  “It’s still possible some of the men may be found,” offered the third man.

  “Well, I would appreciate being informed of any progress you make.”

  “Are you the family’s attorney, Mr. Drayton?”

  Making a swift decision, James said, “Yes.”

  “Mr. Drayton?”

  Lillian’s gentle voice jerked James around as surely as if she’d shouted at him. He took a step toward her and then stopped, unsure of himself. In all his years of giving alms and sprinkling his wealth judiciously on the heads of his impecunious fellows, he’d never encountered such an immediate problem. All of his good works were done behind the scenes. He’d never seen the victims of tragedy face-to-face before; he didn’t know what to do.

  Wiping her eyes with a lacy handkerchief, Lillian said brokenly, “Can you please help Polly, Mr. Drayton? I feel the need to ask these gentlemen a few more questions.”

  Her hand stroked her daughter’s head. Polly’s usual austere reserve seemed to have crumbled under the weight of her shattered hopes. Her despair ripped at James’s heart with razor-like talons.

  “She and Stephen were—are—were—Oh dear.” Lillian took a shaky breath. “She and her brother have always been very close. I’m afraid . . . I’m afraid Stephen was more a parent to her than a brother. Than Frank and I were.”

  Another of Lillian’s ragged breaths nudged James to action. “Of course.”

  Without another word, glad to have been offered the task, he knelt next to Polly. Wrapping one arm around her back and supporting her shoulder with his other hand, he urged her to rise. She didn’t resist. Nor did she demur when he guided her to the sofa and sat with her, holding her against him, pressing her face to his shoulder. He shut his eyes, wishing he could do something to ease her grief.

  Time seemed such a variable commodity sometimes. The day until now had sped by, full of happiness and discovery. The few minutes since the naval contingent arrived at the MacNamara home seemed much longer than the rest of the day. Minutes slogged past, and Polly still cried.

  Defying censure, at last James quit being formal. He hugged her close, willing her burdens to shift to his own, much broader, shoulders.

  “Polly? Polly, I’m so sorry. I’ll do everything I can to help.”

  His voice seemed to penetrate her misery and also to remind her in whose arms she was weeping. James was sorry when she stiffened and tried to draw back. He didn’t want to let her go and loosened his arms only after a momentary struggle with his better nature. Pulling his monogrammed pocket handkerchief out of his pocket, he eased her back against the sofa cushions. Then he tried to dry her poor cheeks, but she forestalled him.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Drayton.”

  Her eyes had the look of wet copper pennies. Her nose was pink and her hair, neatly arranged for the festive day, now sported escaped, bedraggled wisps at odds with her usual cool demeanor. For all that, she was the most attractive woman James had ever seen, and her less-than-perfect appearance struck him as appealing.

  Lord, he wanted to help her, to help them both. To make everything all right again. She looked uncertain and a little afraid, and James heaved a big sigh.

  “At least take my handkerchief. Please.”

  “Thank you.” She accepted his offering and dried her cheeks. Since her eyes still leaked, the hankie was soon soggy. Her hand gripped the fragile cloth as though it was a lifeline, and James was glad. A handkerchief seemed of pitiably small support, but at least she could use it.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Drayton. I don’t usually fall apart this way.”

  Her contrite expression, her obviously bruised pride, nearly broke his heart. In spite of convention and propriety he squeezed her shoulder.

  “I know that, Miss MacNamara. You have every reason to
be sad, but please don’t give up all hope. I have connections with people in the shipping business. Perhaps I can help.”

  “Oh!” For the first time in what seemed like hours, she brightened a fraction. “Do you think you can—can get information? Anything? Any information at all would be welcome.”

  With a smile he hoped didn’t convey the turmoil in his breast, James said, “Of course. I’ll do everything I can.”

  Even ask my father.

  Since the significance of the act would be lost on Polly, and since he couldn’t believe he meant it, James didn’t tell her about it.

  Leave-taking was awkward. Lillian was as gracious as circumstances allowed. Polly saw him to the door, leaving her mother to deal with the navy.

  “I’m terribly sorry you had to be here during this—this revelation, Mr. Drayton.”

  “Not at all, Miss MacNamara. Until this evening, the day was glorious, and I’m glad I was here when the unhappy news arrived. There may be nothing I can do to help, but I’m certain that through my connections, I can at least discover everything there is to discover about the matter.”

  “Thank you.”

  Polly couldn’t seem to meet his gaze, and James felt a painful tightness in his chest. Nudging her under the chin, he made her look him in the eye.

  “Please promise me you’ll let me help you,” he whispered. “Please let me help.”

  For several moments Polly only looked at him. Then she gave him a tiny nod and said, “Thank you.”

  The last of James’s determination to be a proper gentleman dissolved under the weight of Polly’s unhappiness. He murmured, “Oh, Polly,” and drew her into his arms. When his lips captured hers, he felt as though he’d found the one thing he’d been searching for all his life. She melted into his embrace, unresisting. He tasted her salt tears and ached to ease her sorrow.

  She was sweet as honey, hot as fire, and a balm to his soul. She fit his arms perfectly. Her untried ardor blossomed under his touch. He longed to hold and pet her, to soothe her worries with his kisses and caresses.

  His kiss was neither chaste nor carnal, but was, rather, a promise. James had never kissed a woman for whom a kiss was a promise before, had never wanted to. But he meant this pledge. No matter what it took, he would keep it.

  Although he wanted to keep kissing her, to kiss her again and again, to assuage her misery with passion, he knew better than to try it. Very gently, he broke the kiss and looked down at her face. She seemed dazed. He smiled and put his hand to her cheek, cupping it tenderly.

  “I’ll come by tomorrow, to let you know if I’m able to discover any more information about the discovery of the China Seas’ wreckage. There may be information these men don’t have or aren’t telling you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Drayton,” Polly whispered, obviously bewildered by everything that had happened during the last hour or so. Most particularly during the last few minutes.

  She watched until James cranked up his horseless carriage and drove off into the star-spattered night, fingering her medals the whole time. Closing her eyes, she made a conscious decision not to think about the many times she’d wished to receive information about Stephen’s whereabouts. Then she heaved a deep sigh and turned to brave the heavy, disconsolate atmosphere of her home.

  She and her mother sat and talked after the chaplain, vice-admiral and the third man—whose name and rank they never did learn—left them.

  “Please try not to give up hope, Mother.” Polly offered Lillian the advice she was herself trying desperately and without much success to follow. It was hard, hanging on to hope when every circumstance seemed determined to grind it to dust.

  “I am trying not to, dear.”

  “Mr. Drayton said he would attempt to discover any information about the ship those men might not have known or might have kept from us. I guess he has connections.”

  “How very kind of him. He seems to be a very nice man, Polly.”

  Polly couldn’t quite withstand her mother’s steady gaze. She said, “Yes. Yes, he does seem to be,” into her lap. The feel of James’s lips still lingered on hers, and she could feel the warmth of his arms yet. She wished she could still be within the sweet cocoon of them.

  “He seems to be taking a great interest in our affairs, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “Polly—” Lillian stopped, unsure how to phrase her next sentence, her expression troubled.

  “What is it, Mother?” Polly asked softly, almost afraid to know.

  “Oh, Polly, I don’t know. I just—I just don’t want you to be hurt, dear. Mr. Drayton is an important man of business. Although I can certainly understand why he seems to be interested in you, because you are a girl of rare character and beauty, still—still, Polly, please be careful.”

  On top of the dreadful news regarding China Seas, and especially after the beautiful kiss James had shared with her, Lillian’s warning about him was almost too much for Polly to bear. Her heart felt like lead, and she could only stare at her mother for a moment, unable to speak for the sorrow lumping up in her throat.

  At last she said, “If there is one thing I never lose sight of, Mother, it is that James Drayton and I occupy vastly different stations in life. He has been kind to me.”

  She dropped her gaze. “I am absolutely certain that Mr. Drayton harbors nothing but benevolent interest in a common type-writer employed by his law firm.” The bleak truth emerged taut and strained, quivering with suppressed emotion. It took a great deal of Polly’s fortitude to say the words aloud, because they hurt so much.

  Feelings jangled in the room. To Polly it felt as though invisible waves of pathos jolted through her like painful electrical charges.

  Neither woman spoke for a moment.

  Then Lillian reached for her daughter’s hand. “Oh, Polly, I wanted so many things for you and Stephen. When you were little I didn’t realize how fragile life could be, or I never would have left the two of you so often and for so long. I’m sorry, dear. I’m so awfully sorry.”

  “Oh, Mother.” Polly squeezed Lillian’s hand and couldn’t say more.

  The MacNamara ladies remained together in their warm, once-cozy parlor until very late. Polly needed to be near her mother that night, and apparently Lillian felt a similar need. They didn’t talk much. Polly tried to concentrate on the book she held in front of her face, and Lillian pretended to embroider.

  When they finally did go to their separate bedrooms, Polly lay on her bed with her hand pressed to her Saint Christopher medal and her old coin for a long time. Just feeling the medal Stephen had given her made her feel not quite so alone, although there were moments, too, when the loss of her brother was so acute, it seemed to tear at her very soul.

  James Drayton’s face haunted her as well, and the way she’d melted when he held her. She felt almost worse now for having received such comfort from him. She wondered if she was beyond hope for ever being other than a complete fool. When she slept, her dreams were filled with loss and abandonment.

  She awoke in the morning red-eyed and groggy, her heart heavy, her head aching. Nevertheless, she dressed and prepared to go to work.

  “But, Polly, I’m sure Mr. Drayton doesn’t expect to see you at work today.”

  Polly had anticipated her mother’s shock, and felt guilty about leaving her alone. But she couldn’t bear to be trapped in the house today, mourning. “I can’t not go, Mother. If I stayed home from work today, it would be—it would be as if I believed Stephen to be dead. I won’t do that. I won’t believe he’s dead until I see his body!”