Читать книгу Family Stories - Tessa McDermid - Страница 12

Winston, Missouri

August 1929

Marian raced into the parlor at the sound of her father’s shouting. “Father, what is it?”

He swung around. “You knew what he wanted, didn’t you? How dare you?”

The back of his hand struck her cheek. She sank to the floor. Tears sprang to her eyes and she pressed one hand against her throbbing face. “Daddy?”

The door clicked shut behind them. “Joseph, what’s going on?” Her mother stood in front of them, her hands on her hips. “The door was open and several people were outside, staring at the house. What are you shouting about?”

“Ask her.”

Her mother helped Marian to her feet, exclaiming at the mark on her cheek. She glanced at the man slouched in a chair, then back at Marian. “Well?”

“I don’t know, Mother.” She felt the greatest desire to throw herself into her mother’s arms and cry. Where was Frank? Why was her father so angry? He’d never hit her before.

“One of you knows something and I expect an answer.”

Marian’s eyes widened at the vehemence in her usually quiet mother’s voice. “It’s Frank, ” she murmured.

Her mother urged her onto the sofa. “Frank? That boy who works for Bates? What about him?”

“He came to see Father—”

“He asked for your daughter’s hand in marriage, ” her father snapped. “As if he deserved to even walk on the same path as her.”

“Daddy, that’s not true! Frank’s a good man, you know that. Everyone in town likes him. Why, the Bateses think he’s wonderful!” Especially Sarah Bates. She didn’t add how much the younger daughter’s compliments had worried her over the past few days.

“And what did you say, Joseph?” Her mother sat down next to her and Marian snuggled in her mother’s arms.

“I told him to leave my house and that if he’s smart, he’ll get out of town.”

“Daddy, no!”

Marian sat up but her mother tugged her back down, hands gentle on her arms. “Joseph, why would you do such a thing?”

Her father’s chin jutted out as he stared at them. “To protect my only daughter. What would you do, Elizabeth, give them your blessing?”

“I would talk to the young man and let him visit. If they did truly love each other—” she silenced Marian with a pinch on her arm “—I’d accept my daughter’s choice.”

“You’re a fool then.” He lumbered to his feet, his actions those of a much older man, and reached for Marian. She shrank against her mother, evading his fingers. He grunted, grabbing her arm, hauling her to her feet.

“You will go to your room, Marian, and stay there. Your mother and I will talk about what’s to be done.”

“But, Daddy!”

“Go, Marian, ” her mother said. At the sight of her reassuring smile, Marian shuffled out of the room and up the stairs.

She sat on the edge of her bed. Where was Frank? If she could believe her father, he was on his way out of town. But how could he leave her?

A tear trickled down her cheek and she dashed it away angrily. She didn’t have time to cry. Her father had banished the only man she could ever love. She jumped up and flung open her bedroom door.

She was halfway down the stairs when her father thundered out of the parlor. “I told you to go to your room, young lady!”

“But, Daddy…”

“And stop that sniveling.” Clutching her arm, he dragged her back up the stairs and thrust her into the room with a jerk that sent her tumbling to the floor. Before she could stand up, the key turned in the lock.

She dashed across the room, pounding on the door. “You can’t lock me in here! This isn’t the dark ages! Daddy!”

“I can’t trust you, Marian. I had no idea you were seeing that man behind my back.”

She sat on the floor, resting her head against the door, as his footsteps faded away. Now she couldn’t stop the tears. Her father had never shouted at her or hit her before. And to lock her in her room…

She didn’t know how long she sat there. Brushing away the tears, she crossed the room and knelt by the open window. The sun had set hours before and stars twinkled in the sky above her. A breeze blew across her cheeks, erasing the heat of her crying. Her chin on her palms, she stared sightlessly outside.

“Marian?”

She leaned out the window. “Frank? Where are you?” she whispered.

“I’m in the trees at the edge of your yard. Did your father lock you in your room?”

She nodded, her earlier indignation returning. “He said he couldn’t trust me.”

She heard his chuckle over the cicadas. “Can he trust you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m leaving town, Marian. He threatened me and I’ve decided I’ve had enough of Winston. Are you game?”

Her heart lurched. He was leaving. But wait—what else had he said? She leaned farther over the ledge, hanging on to the sill with her fingertips. “What did you say?”

“Do you want to go with me?”

“How can I? My father hates you.”

“I’m not asking your father’s permission.”

She sagged against the window, the implications of his statement suddenly clear. If she left with him, she would forfeit her father’s blessing. The whole town would know what she’d done.

And if she didn’t? Frank would go away and his pride would keep him away. It wouldn’t be long before some other woman convinced him to get married and then he’d be lost to her forever.

“All right, Frank, what do I have to do?”

She heard a long sigh from the shadows and knew he hadn’t been certain of her answer. A feeling of power fluttered through her. Initially this man hadn’t even wanted to get involved with her. Now he was risking everything.

But he hasn’t said anything about marriage, a tiny voice nagged her.

Why else would he take me with him? she told herself. He had to be planning marriage.

She listened carefully, barely breathing when he paused, both of them attentive to the voices down the road. He would be back at midnight with a ladder. They’d catch a freight train that usually passed through the edge of town around 1:00 a.m. and be far from Winston hours before daybreak.

Her heart was beating so hard by the time the clock showed midnight that she was afraid her parents would hear. They’d come up the stairs hours earlier, separately. Her father had gone into the guest room next to hers. He was usually a heavy sleeper but his tossing and turning signaled that he was as upset by the night’s events as she was. When the iron bed finally stopped squeaking, she swallowed a tiny part of her worry.

A light scrape against the wall of the house announced Frank’s arrival. She flew to the window on silent feet, her hands grasping the top of the ladder. His head appeared in the window a few seconds later.

“Ready?” he asked in a throaty whisper.

She nodded, afraid to speak. He took both her bags without a word and headed back down. She followed him, her hands clamped to the side of the ladder, her feet slowly reaching for each rung.