The Last Honest Seamstress (39 page)

What else? Her marriage? Con? It hurt too much to think about him. How could she stand it? He was leaving tomorrow. Would he come back? Long ago she congratulated herself on making a wise choice, one that would never affect her heart. She fought falling in love with him, but she had. She sniffed, fighting tears, pushed herself back off the counter and retrieved her gloves. She would leave, without Drew. How could she stand the hurt any other way?

She turned from the counter and noticed the table for the first time. The roses Con had given her were carefully arranged in a vase. She stepped closer to examine them. Con had carefully removed all the damaged petals, somehow making them new and whole again.
 

A note propped against the vase caught her attention. She picked it up and read it.
I'm sorry.
 

She fought back tears and fled the room. As she turned into the hall, she noticed a lamp shining in the parlor. She stepped inside the room to extinguish it and found the Captain asleep on the sofa. The lamp washed him in a soft, almost heavenly, golden glow. His lanky form sprawled over the dainty sofa. His mouth fell open, but his face was not slack. She traced his silhouette from the billow of his hair, past thick curling lashes that should not decently belong to a man, to his feet hanging over the sofa arm.
 

Oh, heaven, he was beautiful. Seeing him lying there like that, she remembered how he seemed at first, honorable, upstanding, heroic. In his presence, she felt safe, even now.

Olive had curled herself into a ball on his chest, as sound asleep as her master, her little cat head snuggled into the hollow of his neck. Fayth's sewing box lay open at the base of the sofa, her needles and threads spilled out beside a badly mended pair of pants.

The wholly pure and unpretentious scene before her brought tears to her eyes. After all the hurtful things she had said to him, she hadn't expected him to stay. The
Aurnia
was certainly as comfortable, more so since he wouldn't have to confront her, and much more elegant than the cottage. Yet Con had chosen to stay, to wait up for her, to mend pants, however badly, to act like they would have a life together. While she busily concocted a plan to run, he pointedly remained.

In that moment, Fayth recognized her first epiphany for what it was and felt as contrite, humble and guilty as Paul on the road to Damascus. She, too, should have fallen to her knees. How had she been so blind? She loved the man that slept trustingly, waiting for her return, and knew that she could not make a life alone, or with another. Maybe it was time to stop running, emotionally as well as physically.

She colored guiltily. What had she done to merit his faith? Listen to and consider another man's adulterous proposal? She hung her head as the disgusting truth of her own actions overcame her. Drew had corrupted her. Hadn't he always?

The words of Con's simple note sang through her head and bubbled onto her lips. "I'm sorry." There was nothing else to say. Her softly spoken words danced through the still air, but to her disappointment did not wake Con.

Life seldom gave one a fair set of circumstances. Con might be all the terrible things she accused him of, but he was not afraid to take blame and responsibility.

She spun on her heel and ran down the hall to her room through a haze of tears. She closed her door and leaned her forehead against it, tears streaming down her face in earnest. Thoughts of a dozen thoughtful and romantic things Con had done came to her. The way he charged through the fire to rescue her, the look of concern on his face. His expression when she first proposed to him. The hurt when she said it was a matter of business only. Why hadn't she given them any credibility before?

Her life came into clarity before her. The picture of Con and Olive on the parlor sofa flooded her mind again. Con, his face firm and handsome even in sleep. The spray of freckles across his forearm as it fell over the sofa edge. She wanted that same man in her bed sleeping beside her. She would accept no substitute.

She pushed aside insecure thoughts of losing the business. The business was only a thing, nothing compared to losing Con. Somehow, together, things would work out.

She would send Drew away. And while Con was gone she would find a way to salvage the businesses. A small nasty thought niggled at her—what if she couldn't?

"The time for negative thinking is past," she said softly to herself. "What if I can?"
 

She turned from the door toward her bed and gasped. Her coverlet and pillows were covered with rose petals. "Oh, Con!" Tears spilled down her cheeks. She didn't bother to wipe them away as she shimmied out of her clothes and curled up on the bed in the midst of the petals, exhausted by the heavy emotions of the last hour. Tomorrow, she would make everything right. Her eyes felt heavy, but her was heart light as she drifted into a perfumed sleep.

Morning dawned too clearly, forcing Con to admit the truth. Fayth didn't love him. Never had, never would. Stiff from a night on the sofa, he rolled his shoulders and shoved clothes into his duffel. He'd made every conciliatory gesture he could think of, and she had ignored every one. This morning he found her door closed. He'd waited up for her and slept on the sofa intentionally, hoping she would see the rose petals and come to him. But she hadn't. It was time to concede defeat. He had been patient, but every man had his limit. If she wanted her freedom, she could have it.

Fayth woke to the sound of the Captain shuffling in the kitchen. He was leaving? He couldn't. Her heart pounded out of control. She had to catch him. By the time she pulled on a robe and raced to the kitchen, he was headed toward the door, his duffel in hand.

"Safe journey." Why couldn't she say what she felt?

He turned, as calm and composed as ever. But something about his stance and lack of expression colored her with a wash of fear. His eyes were blank, a hazel void. Oh, please, let him feel something!

"Godspeed." Where was her tongue?

He nodded and turned back toward the door. Why didn't he say something?

"Wait!" She rushed to his side and took his arm. "I'm sorry."

He grunted an unintelligible reply, started to say something else and stopped himself. "So am I."

She dropped his arm. His words were not a mate of her own, a request for forgiveness. They were an admission of defeat. But how could that be? Where was the romantic who had sprinkled her bed with flower petals? Did a romantic ever lose hope? Stunned, she dropped her hand from his arm.
 

He left without uttering another word.
 

Confused, she stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking at the floor until she heard the screen door bang shut. She hurried to the window in time to watch him walk down the drive with his shoulders set, back straight.

Fayth's heart beat double time as she sank into a chair by the table. With trembling fingers, she picked a fallen petal from where it rested in the shadow of the vase on the table. Tears filled her eyes. She had lost him. No. She couldn't allow herself to think such a thought. She would not lose him. She sniffed, and brushed a tear from her cheek, letting her thoughts wander. Adversity strengthened her will to succeed. What she must do to keep him ticked through her mind like a finely honed battle strategy.

She had to get their business life in order so they could concentrate on their marriage. She would start by repaying Lou, sewing for her if she had to. She grimaced. There was no other way. She must earn the faith Con had in her. Prove him right—that the loan had done her no damage. Besides, how could they ever overcome the hurt of last night's argument with a source of contention between them? The Captain, however misguided, had meant to help her. She saw the love in the act now as clearly as the rose petals in front of her. Fallen love, fallen hope. She picked another petal up. Tears stood in her eyes as her thoughts continued.
 

"And I must send Drew away." The room concurred, echoing her words back to her. Braver, more confident, she raised her arm and dropped a petal, watching it flutter as it fell. There was a time to sever with the past. The time for her was now. Drew would never be other than a thorn in her life, always pricking, never blooming.

The petal landed on the table. She smiled softly, tears of hope brimming in her eyes. It was impossible to undo the acts of the past, just like it was impossible to reconstruct a flower using wounded petals. But like the petals on her pillow, maybe it was possible for her to take her hurtful actions of the past, and use them, if only by way of contrast, to build a new future, and prove a mature love.

An overturned picture frame lying face down at the far end of the table caught her attention. She frowned as she slowly reached for it. When she turned it over, Drew's face met hers. The frame trembled in her hand before sliding from her fingers onto the table with a crash.
 

Her picture of Drew, the one she'd thought she'd lost on Con's ship!

She leaned forward, steadying herself against the table. Con had had it all this time. He knew! He'd known who Drew was all along. That explained his jealousy, but what did he mean now? Was he giving her a choice? Him or Drew?

She should have been despondent, but oddly, a tiny flame of hope flickered inside her. Just last night he had said he loved her. Maybe he still did. She could hope. She would hope. She loved him.

The hall clock struck the half hour. She would start redeeming herself by paying off Lou. A client was meeting Fayth at the shop at nine. But as soon as Fayth could get away, she would be off to call on the madam.

Chapter 17

Con caught Lou alone in the dining room just as she finished her breakfast. He pulled up a chair beside her and pushed an envelope toward her.

"What's this?"

"Payment in full for my wife's debt to you."

Lou cocked an elegantly sculpted eyebrow.

"It's all there."

"I don't doubt that, but why?"

He laughed, hoping he didn't sound as downcast as he felt. His life was in shambles. He'd lost Fayth. Because of Drew, the business, or his own dishonesty, he couldn't say.

Con had spent the evening praying for Fayth's return, futilely waiting for her. He should have gone to the
Aurnia
, but somehow he'd kept thinking she'd come back, make up. He wrote her an apology, rearranged the flowers, and in a stupid romantic gesture, covered her pillow with petals. Still, she didn't come. Hope turned to a need for normalcy. So he tried mending his pants, reading the newspaper, common things. Nothing helped. When strained normalcy turned to desperation he took the picture of Drew and turned it over on the table. Childish, he knew, but even this morning he couldn't force himself to remove it.

Finally, exhausted, Con cuddled with Olive on the sofa, taking comfort from her unfailing affection, and mulled over his life. The business was failing. Con needed cash, more than he'd be able to come up with in time to save it. He had no choice now but to sell it and salvage what he could.

Only his honor remained. In that late hour, with Olive purring on his chest, he'd made up his mind to salvage Fayth's business and leave her to her life. If she wanted, he'd annul the marriage and sail away. Then he fell asleep, still hoping she'd come to him.

This morning he'd been relieved to see that she had come home, eventually.
 

“I'm sorry”, she'd said, and stiffly wished him a safe journey.
 

Sorry for what, their life together?

This morning, for the first time in Con's life, he took money for personal use from O'Neill Shipping. But what did it matter now? He would sell the business, leave Fayth alone to live her life as she wanted.
 

"To appease my wife. Fayth found out about the loan," he said to Lou.

"And she was mad as a hellcat, I don't doubt. You're making amends?"

"Something like that."

"She'll be relieved, I'm sure. She's considered me in the same light as the devil since Coral's come back. Though I had nothing to do with that. If only she knew." Lou swept the envelope up. "She knows she's free of obligation to me?"

"I'll let her know when I get back. For now, it sets my mind at ease. I know I've done the right thing by her. When the time comes it might soften the blow."

"What are you talking about, Con O'Neill? You're not going to take that offer you told me about? You'd be a fool to ignore my advice. And I tell you myself, as someone who has lived both places, Seattle is much the superior city to San Francisco."

He shook his head. "Many would agree with you. But I hear the open waters calling. Been landlocked too long." He stood to leave. "Appreciate it if you would keep what I've told you quiet until everything's official."

Lou smiled graciously. "Con, I am discretion itself. But I do hope you'll reconsider."

Con was gone, but life still went on. Fayth had business with Lou. At the parlor house, Maddie let Fayth in, and showed her to Lou's office. The evening crowd was already filing in.

"Miss Gramm's with the latest professor." Maddie wrinkled her nose. "She's reprimanding him. His skills at the piano aren't up to her standards, and he's been sniffing around a little too close to the ladies. Men!"