Ice Queen (27 page)

“Have you ever noticed that children Natalie’s age almost never ask that question?” She cast an affectionate look at Natalie, sitting quietly now, listening to every word.

“Maybe it’s because at this point, everything is new, something to be learned that you didn’t know. Your mind is this lovely open meadow, waiting to be populated with blooms of knowledge, in so many shapes and colors.” Her voice was captivating, like a storyteller’s. She’d nearly hypnotized Brendan with the modulations of that sultry cadence the night she branded him. Now as Tyler glanced around the room, he saw they were all equally drawn in. Of course as far as he was concerned she could read the phone book and have his complete attention.

“As we get older, I think we forget about that meadow. There are so many flowers, we could live a thousand years and never discover them all.” Her eyes became more somber. “Learning something new, unexpected, introduces a new bloom to that garden.

Do you ever go into your room and put on your headphones to listen to your music, closing out everything? Parents, even friends?” She waited until she got a reluctant nod from the girl. Tyler saw from Debra’s expression that she was somewhat taken aback to be getting an answer instead of an admonishment. “You may not realize it but you’re seeking the silence in your soul, a place where you go to find the best of yourself. Learning a simple and beautiful skill, like choosing a teapot, that’s seeking that silence, creating rituals where that silence may be found and nurtured. As long as you have that place, you’ll never lose yourself, who you are, what you want. But you have to remember to keep bringing flowers into your meadow, always one at a time, to appreciate each blossom, to honor its contribution to your character. It helps make you into the person you were meant to be.”

“But Miss Marguerite, there’s a really pretty purple flower in my mother’s garden but she says it’s a weed.”

“So why doesn’t she pull it out?” Marguerite asked.

The little girl, a black child with large brown eyes and a wealth of pigtails tied with tiny lavender bows, thought it over. “I dunno—”

“I don’t know,” Marguerite corrected kindly.

“I don’t know,” she repeated. “She says it’s pretty, though.” 174

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“Well, another lesson, then. One person’s weed is another’s flower.” She lifted the teapot, glanced at the older girl. “This may be a weed to one person. That’s up to you to decide. But for another, it may be a rare blossom.”

“Or a weed you like, like a flower.”

Marguerite’s lips curved, a soft glow in her face that Tyler felt even in his far corner.

He thought that rare smile could be the sunshine in any man’s meadow, keeping all the flowers cultivated there blooming year long.

“Precisely. The philosophy of one’s life is never a straight line. And sometimes, you can overthink things. When that happens there’s only one thing to do. Do you know what that is?”

She winked at Chloe and the hostess went to the private tearoom. Drawing back the curtain, she revealed two open chests overflowing with oversized hats, fat, serpentine boas, faux pearls, costume jewelry and high-heeled shoes, all draped artfully over the chests like a pirate’s treasure.

“Shopping.”

There was a clamor of cheers and agreement and the girls scrambled toward the chests. Chloe supervised them as Gen began pouring out small portions of tea into the cups on the tables and putting tiny cakes on each pretty plate.

When Debra hesitated, Marguerite beckoned her forward, lifting a hat from the wall near her Victorian-period display. The hat was red felt with black chantilly lace and red roses on the brim, the lace forming a veil down the back. “I think you would look lovely in this. It’s an original, as you can see by some of the fading. The lady who first bought it was married young, had three children and died at the age of nineteen, complications to the third birth. Whenever I hold it, I wonder what she might or might not have done if she’d known she was going to die so young. What things would have been the most important to her.”

“You sound like you’re lecturing.”

“No, I’m not. I’m telling you something I’ve learned. What you do with it is entirely up to you.”

She arranged the girl’s hair for the hat, using a couple of pins from her own hair, which dropped her braid, pinned in a coil on her neck, down her back. When she was done, from the neck up Debra had gone from a slovenly looking teenager to a lovely young lady, although she seemed a bit baffled.

Marguerite turned her toward the other girls, clustered around the chest. “Now, if you can wade in there, there’s a pair of ruby ear clips that look perfect with this hat. But that’s just a suggestion. You choose what you like best. I suspect you’re a very special young woman, Debra. I hope you’ll consider coming to my tearoom again, because I’m glad you’re here today.”

Tyler watched his angel encourage her forward with a nod. The little girls, many now under the floppy brims of the large reproduction hats piled high with flowers, feathers and other trim work, admired the beautiful hat she was wearing. They teetered 175

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around her on high-heeled shoes, surrounding her with the heroine-worship preadolescents had for girls who had achieved double-digits in age.

“She’s got a gift, doesn’t she?” Tina was sitting within speaking distance at the other table. Tyler courteously came and sat at the adjacent table so he was facing her, since at the moment the proprietress and her staff had everything well in hand, occupied in the small confines of the private tearoom.

“She appears to have so many gifts, I don’t believe I’ll ever discover them all.” Tina cocked her head, studied him. “If you’re the real deal, she needs someone like you.”

“And if I’m not?”

“She’ll get you out of her life easily enough. But she has friends who will help. She only needs to ask.”

The blunt response took him by surprise. He took a second look at Tina Moorefield, seeing a different woman from the one who had blushed at his regard. The set of her mouth also made him notice something else, something that caused his eyes to narrow.

He leaned forward, touched Tina’s chin, startling her. “Who broke your jaw?” At her sudden discomfiture, he shook his head. “I apologize. Let me ask it another way. Is he gone? He’s not part of your and Natalie’s life anymore, correct?” As Tina looked at his resolute expression, she realized that this man would take steps to rectify that situation if her answer was no. Though she’d seen it too rarely in her life, she recognized the signs of a man who felt it was a male’s responsibility to protect women and children,
any
woman or child who needed it, regardless of whether or not he knew her personally.

“He isn’t. And I didn’t think it showed so much anymore.” Her hand almost rose self-consciously to her cheek, then she made herself put it down, meet his questioning gaze.

“It doesn’t. You’re a lovely woman but I’m familiar with how facial bones mend. I apologize if I upset you.”

“No.” She shook her head. “At the Helen Center, where I’m a volunteer board member, we do all sorts of outreach programs to teach people that they have to get involved if they think a person is being abused. We tell them that they might be that person’s only hope for a decent life, a life without fear.”

“That’s how you met Marguerite, then.”

Tina nodded, assuming from the question that he knew of Marguerite’s involvement in the Center. “I don’t know what we’d do without her. She’s a life sponsor, practically pays most of the utility bills from month to month, renovations, supply needs. If we ever run short on donations to keep the shelter going, we can depend on her to make up the shortfall. She was already involved there when Natalie and I checked in, as victims.” Her chin tightened. “I hate that word but that’s what we were at that point. Marguerite, the Center, they helped us remember we were more 176

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than that.” She blinked, waved when he reached for his handkerchief. “No, I’m fine. I keep telling Marguerite I’m going to learn to be as strong as she is. She always tells me it’s healthy to cry but I never see her do it. Whatever happened to her to make this such an important cause to her, she must have shed her tears years ago.” The mother’s gaze went to her child, who was trying on a hat with a deep purple and blue flower arrangement on top of the black felt. A crescent of netting formed a veil over her eyes, which shone through the gauzy fabric like brown jewels. “When something evil is done to your child, you think the whole world must be evil. Those first nights, when Natalie was in pain and my injuries were too severe for me to hold her, Marguerite would put her in her lap, rock her to sleep, sing to her, tell her she and her Mommy were going to be all right. And she has this voice, when you hear it, you just know you can believe it.”

“What did he do to Natalie?” Tyler’s eyes shifted to Marguerite as she straightened from arranging Natalie’s hat properly. She looked at him, her chin lifted, the cool reserve in place.

“Broke her arm in two places when she tried to stop him from beating me. He twisted it—that was the first break—then he knocked her down and stomped on it with his work boots. That’s when I knew I had to do something. I left that night when he was drunk. Thank God he died less than six months later, driving into a tree. I leave flowers there all the time. To thank the tree for killing him.” She shook her head. “God, I’m sorry. You didn’t need to hear all that. You just…” As he turned his head toward her, Tina couldn’t finish the thought.
You just have the
face of a man who can handle hearing anything. Who would take care of anything.
And she suspected, for all her reserve, that Marguerite could use that. Maybe every superhumanly strong woman could.

“Take your seats, ladies.” As she stepped out of the private tearoom, Marguerite noted with some concern the conversation going on between Tina and Tyler. She raised her voice high enough to interrupt it. “If you can be patient another moment or two, we’ll talk about the tea ceremony and then start our tea.” The children moved as a herd, swarming around the three tables.

“Miss Marguerite?”

She stopped, her hands on the spindles of her chair. She realized that while she’d accomplished her objective of cutting short the possibility of Tina sharing information about the history of her relationship with Marguerite that Marguerite did not wish Tyler to know, she’d also drawn his attention back to her. She eyed him warily. “Yes, Mr. Winterman?”

“With all due respect, I think you overlooked one very important point of etiquette for a tea party, if a gentleman is present.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to indicate that one was not. The message must have clear on her face, for Tina coughed over a laugh. Marguerite schooled her expression to polite impassivity. “And that would be?”

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“If a gentleman is in the room, he should assist the ladies into their chairs.” And to demonstrate, he stepped to Debra’s chair and pulled it out, gesturing to her to take her seat with a flourish. She blushed but complied, sitting down and looking self-conscious but pleased as he brought her up to the table.

“Me, me!” He honored the clamor, repeating the act for each child present, as well as Tina Moorefield when the children demanded she stand back up so he could go through the same ritual. He saved Natalie for nearly last. The birthday girl gave him a beatific smile, spread her skirts out and perched. She’d donned a pair of ruby slippers with two-inch heels and now she hooked them on the top rung of the chair’s frame to accommodate herself in the adult-sized chair.

“Miss M, you have to wait, too. He said it’s etket. Et…”

“Etiquette.”

Marguerite stopped, caught in the act of trying to seat herself before he noted that she was the last one standing. As if he had not been aware of that all along, she reflected, with an irritated glance at his amused expression.

He moved behind her with an exaggerated reproving look that made the little girls giggle and pulled out the chair for her.

Marguerite turned her head toward him in a gracious movement but the look she shot him once she wasn’t looking toward the girls was pure venom. He seemed unperturbed, his fingertips caressing her back, the tips of her hair as he guided her into the chair. Marguerite took her seat, felt his warmth and strength behind her as he guided the chair up to the table. “Thank you,” she said.

“I know who you think is the prettiest girl here,” Natalie announced, pinning him with a knowing look.

Tyler grinned. “That would be the birthday girl, of course.” Natalie shook her head, her curls swinging. “You’re just saying that because it’s my birthday. You think Miss M is the prettiest, because you’re in love with her.” There was a clatter as Marguerite knocked one of her fortunately empty teacups across the table. She grabbed at it but it rolled over the edge, skittering away as if possessed. Before she blinked, Tyler had caught it in his open palm.

He brought it back to the table, sitting it down next to her hand, meeting her flustered gaze. “I handle delicate objects very well,” he said, low, as the girls exclaimed over the fortunate catch.

She stared at him. He passed a knuckle over her cheek. “All right?”

“Fine.” She drew her head back. Cleared her throat. “Thank you for that important lesson, Mr. Winterman. If you could take your seat now, we’ll go on with the tea.” Marguerite waited until he found his chair, trying to still her racing heart, chastising herself for being so ridiculous about his presence here, the amused and knowing looks Tina and Chloe were exchanging, the intuition of the children. She was feeling invaded on all sides and she placed the blame squarely on his shoulders for 178

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appearing in her day when he had not been invited. But this was Natalie’s party, she reminded herself. That was her focus and her salvation. Just like with Brendan.

Immerse herself in the details and the seas moving turbulently within her would calm, even under the unsettling gaze of Tyler Winterman.

“Now, girls, let’s talk a little bit about the tea ceremony itself. The chairs we are sitting in were made in 1850 by a master craftsman, Thomas Wilkenson. He put his initials in the design work of each one, in the left arm. You can run your fingers over it, feel it, his promise that each one was hand-crafted. His wife did the brocade work which, while it eventually had to be replaced, was reproduced as she did it. By hand and with the same pattern, by her granddaughter. That’s what a tea ceremony emphasizes. The detail and perfection. The care. Imagine it’s a hundred years ago and there’s so much going on in your daily life. Well, even now. You have very busy days, don’t you? Tell me what you do all day.”