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"Good
glory! Don't say that in front of your mother. I think she holds him in
slightly higher regard than you do."

"Women,
mothers especially, have a tendency to be blind to a man's faults," he
said without looking up from his work. "Consequently they overlook the
obvious."

One
more thing to overcome. Filed up there with
Women have a tendency to talk
too much, consequently their point is lost; women have a tendency to dress too
warmly in the winter, consequently they become overheated indoors; women have a
tendency to ask for the impossible, consequently they are disappointed.

"Well,
no doubt we'll find out who she is if we offer a big enough reward to come
forward. Of course, I can't guarantee my mother will like it. Nor will you, for
that matter. We might as well start with who rowed them out and back."

"Wouldn't
that be enough?" she asked.

"Not
if I was the DA," Cabot said, and folded his arms across his chest.
"Now you tell me why not."

Charlotte
didn't have to think long. She rose and looked down her nose at Cabot.
"And can you swear, Mr. Witness, that he didn't leave the boat and come
back between the time that you ferried him in and out yourself?"

"Good
girl," Cabot said. "Unfortunately I don't think it will take Brent
any longer to see that than it did you."

"But
your brother would certainly remember the woman, wouldn't he? I mean, he'd know
her name, would recognize her, she'd know him...."

She
could see from the look on Cabot's face that not only wasn't it a surety, it
didn't even appear likely. "I'm sorry, Charlotte, but my brother doesn't
take women very seriously. He'd probably be stoned in Wyoming."

Not
even remember who he was with. She tried to hide the shock that must have been
written all over her face by busying herself with the library ladder that was
resting by the window. Outside a large black man was lumbering up the front
walk. On his shoulder was the biggest, most colorful bird Charlotte had ever
seen. Had it not been flapping its spectacular wings, she'd have supposed that
it wasn't even real. Even Argus, the peacock, was too surprised to make a move.

"Moss
Johnson is here with an enormous red-and-yellow-and-blue—"

"That's
Liberty," Ashford said, coming up behind her to peer over her shoulder.
"He's a scarlet macaw. From Peru. I'll let them in."

"Go
easy on him, Ash," Cabot warned as his brother headed for the door.
"He was only telling the truth."

Ashford
turned to stare at his brother, his eyebrows lowered in question. "Oh, the
statement in court. He must feel bad as"—he paused and looked at
Charlotte—"all get out."

"Mmm,"
she agreed.
"Damned
shame."

"I
think I've some cigars in my luggage," he teased. "Should I pull out
one for you?"

"Haven't
taken to them," she said, pulling at her lapels and standing straighten
"Yet."

He
shook his head at her. "From the looks of my room, it doesn't appear
that's imminent." Then, before hurrying out, he had the audacity to wink
at her.

"Charlotte?"
Cabot had apparently stopped his work to study her, and was staring hard.
"Why, Charlotte... are you blushing?"

Whipping
around so quickly that her skirts tumbled a book off the table, she faced the
window and fought with the lock. "Some fresh air might be nice," she
said, flipping the catch and throwing up the window sash to invite in the cold
wind.

"I
haven't been up in that room in nearly twenty years," Cabot said, his
voice soft and distant behind her. "I suppose it's still too messy for him
to find anything as small as a cigar."

"I'm
sure that's what he meant," she said, willing the flame in her cheeks to
pass. Had they only had some warning, she could have removed her things from
the high room before Ashford discovered her... her what? Treason to her
calling? Her weakness for frills and lace? Her affinity for...

"Oh,
my word!" Kathryn gasped from out in the hallway. "Have you ever seen
anything so lovely?"

"If
you two could come out here for a moment," Ashford asked, tipping his head
into the office and beckoning them with a crooked finger. "It isn't quite
the way I'd planned my homecoming, but I've a few gifts and such...."

Charlotte
tamped down the excitement that bubbled in her chest. Ashford had brought her
presents before. Her wonderful Gladstone from Argentina, a silken nightgown
from China, a beaded reticule of ocean pearls—not much she could use, of
course, but all of them treasures to own. She just hoped that the parrot wasn't
their gift. If Argus the peacock was any indication, birds didn't seem to like
Cabot overmuch.

"You
coming?" she asked Cabot as she came down from the library steps with a
volume of
Black's Law Dictionary
in her hand.

He
backed up from the desk and turned his chair slightly, backed up and turned the
chair again. Charlotte knew better than to offer him any help. She understood
his pride, but it hardly explained why he insisted on keeping the desk at what
he perceived to be a "normal" distance from the wall when it meant
that he could barely maneuver his wheels in and out of the narrow space
intended for an office chair. Without assistance it was difficult, and Arthur
was the only one ever permitted to help him. She supposed it was that Arthur
was paid to see to Cabot, and Cabot respected the man's desire to do his job
and do it well.

When
she'd first assessed the situation, she'd accused him of being stubborn and
pointed out how much simpler it would be to move the desk an extra foot or
eighteen inches into the room. But
no,
he'd told her,
the world does
not adapt itself for a cripple. It would rather inconvenience those who can't,
than remind those who can of our existence.
Quickly she'd learned to allow
Arthur to help or to stand to the side and let Cabot do it himself.

And
so she waited while he extricated himself, hands jammed into her pockets to
keep from
helping him.

"Go
ahead," he said when he was free of the desk. "Let's see what we have
no use for this time."

***

Liberty
hopped happily from Moss's shoulder to Ash's own as Charlotte came into the foyer.
The bird gave out with his usual complimentary whistle that he reserved for
females, and added, "Oooh! Pretty! I want some of that!"

Knowing
the rest of Liberty's vocabulary, Ash considered the immediate removal of the
bird's vocal cords.

"It
talks!" Charlotte said, her normally husky voice coming out a high-pitched
squeal of delight.

"Oh!
Oh! Oh! Don't stop!" the bird said in his best falsetto. Dropping his
voice several octaves, the parrot added, "Shut up, you stupid bird!"
just moments before Ash would have said the same thing. "Don't stop!"

Jeez,
but that bird was looking to be stuffed like some piñata
from
South
America.

"What
does it want?" his sister-in-law asked, craning her neck at the bird and
biting on that little pink tongue of hers.

Ash
stared at her, trying to decide if she was just feigning innocence, while Moss
Johnson coughed loudly and pulled several nuts from his pocket, shoving them at
the bird and encouraging him to eat. "This ought to keep your mouth
busy," he grumbled at the bird. "Don't you know a lady when you see
one?"

"Hats
off," the bird said, taking a peanut in one of his claws and deftly
manipulating it until it was ready to be eaten.

"Oh,
Cabot, come look!" Charlotte said, taking the nut Moss offered her and
holding it out bravely to Liberty. "What do you say?" the bird asked,
still unable to get the idea that
thank you
was the appropriate
response. He took the nut from Charlotte and left a smile in return. For a
moment he was quiet, chewing on one nut, studying the other, until Cabot rolled
into the room and sent the feathered monster into fits of apoplexy. Flapping
his enormous wings dramatically, Liberty set about squawking as if someone had
set his tail on fire.

Now,
even under the best of circumstances Liberty's voice was not what one would
call soothing. He was, after all, a parrot, though Ash had to admit that there
were times the stupid bird did double duty as his priest, his friend, and even
his conscience. But when he was frightened or unnerved, as he was now at the sight
of Cabot's wheelchair, Liberty's call was a deafening caterwaul that went
through a man's head like a toothache.

And
Moss's screaming at the bird to shut his beak wasn't helping matters. Kathryn
had her hands over her ears, motioning for Charlotte to do the same, though his
sister-in-law seemed to be taking her cue from Cabot rather than the older
woman. She took far too many cues from her husband in Ash's opinion, but it
wasn't any of his business what pains she took to hide her lacy stays beneath a
show of manly-looking business suits. Perhaps it was exciting to Cabot to know
that, under it all, his wife was just as feminine as any other woman. But it
surely didn't float Ash's boat.

To
his mind (what there was left of it with Liberty flapping wildly as if he could
get up enough steam in the small confines of the hallway to actually take off
and fly), there were enough tough-minded men in the world going around swashing
their buckles. The fact that a woman could be strong and still be soft, be
worldly without being jaded, that she could see things with equal clarity but
from a different point of view—that was a woman's strength, as surely as a
man's need to protect and guide was his.

In
an effort to prevent them all from becoming deaf, and himself from being
beheaded by one of Liberty's powerful wings, Ash lifted his arm and somehow
managed to get it wrapped around the fully hysterical bird. "I'll put him
upstairs," he shouted over the din while trying to calm the macaw down.

He
was close to deaf, but not blind, and he couldn't miss the panic in those wide
eyes of Charlotte's, or the slight gesture with her hand pointing up the
stairwell and making tiny flapping signs. The little chickadee. He'd forgotten
all about it. Clearly putting Liberty in the same room as that runt would be
the end of it.

"On
second thought," he said, pushing the screeching pile of feathers at his
foreman, "take him out to the kitchen, will you, Moss?"

Moss
took him, the bird turning his head clear around to keep an eye on Cabot, but at
least quieting some so that all they heard now was the ringing in their ears.

"And
tell Mrs. Mason if he doesn't stop that noise she can start plucking him for
dinner," Cabot called after the big man's lumbering back.

"That's
not funny," Charlotte said distractedly. Ash supposed there weren't many
things Cabot said that anyone would consider funny.

"Tell
me that squawking psittacine isn't your idea of a gift," Cabot shouted,
pressing with his palm against his left ear and then releasing it as if that
would restore his hearing.

"We've
hardly room," Kathryn agreed, equally loudly. "Unless, of course, he
could stay in the conservatory."

"Out
of the question," Cabot yelled. "He'd eat my best specimens."

"Aren't
some plants poisonous to birds?" Charlotte was rubbing both her temples as
she spoke. "I've been doing some reading—"

"You
don't have to yell," Ash said softly. "I can hear you just
fine."

"A
miracle you're not deaf," Cabot said. "That bird has got to go,
Ashford. Naturally, I thank you for the thought but—"

Ash
reached down for the sack that Moss had brought in along with the bird and
pulled out a small wooden box. "Cigars," he said, handing the case to
his brother and winking at Charlotte as if they were friends. "The bird's
mine. Lives on the
Bloody Mary
with me and goes with me everywhere since
I won him from a coffee merchant down in the Andes. I expect you to be a good
boy, Cabot, and share these with your wife."

Cabot
left the box in his lap, unopened. Ash knew he loved cigars, especially these
Cuban ones. He also knew his brother was an ungrateful bastard who wouldn't
want Ash to think his gift was truly appreciated and so he tapped the box, said
a perfunctory thanks, and added that Ash "shouldn't have," as if he
truly meant it.

"And
this is for you, Mother." Ash found the small velvet pouch within the
large burlap sack and placed it in his mother's upturned palm. He'd planned
this gift for a long time, ordered it the last time he was in the islands, and
had to wait months for it to be ready. Finding an Italian cameo carver who had
relocated to the South Seas was a stroke of luck, but the design on the piece
of jewelry was quite deliberate.

"Oh,
my!" His mother's eyes misted over. "Look, Cabot!" she
exclaimed, holding out the pale pink shell with four children glistening in
cream on the cameo's face.

"How
lovely," his sister-in-law said as she leaned over Cabot's shoulder to get
a better look. "I've never seen one with any children on it. Wherever did
you find it?"

"Like
a newsman, an importer never reveals his sources," Ash said, sorry he
hadn't brought her back a cameo as well, since she was so obviously taken with
it. Perhaps when he got out of his present troubles and had the chance to
return to the islands he could have one carved for her with a little bird upon
it.

BOOK: Mittman, Stephanie
11.37Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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