She drifted a few steps away to plop down on a boulder. “In that case, we’ll never get married. It will never happen.”
Luke hunkered down beside her and reached for her hand. “We have to at least ask,” he said passionately. “The commandment doesn’t order us to mindlessly obey your parents, it orders us tohonorthem. Which means no running away to SanFrancisco or getting married behind their backs. We will give them the respect they are owed.” He swallowed hard, as if bracing for the battle ahead. “That means I’m going to approach Clyde in a civil manner and humbly ask permission to join his family. He may call down fire and brimstone on my head. The last time we saw each other, he punched me in the face and threw me off his property, but I’ll do my best to forge a truce.”
Her gaze trailed into the distance, seeing nothing but problems ahead. She had already consigned herself to walking away from her family and living like Aunt Stella with a new family created from scratch. After all, it would be Clyde, not she, who made it impossible to remain in the family.
But she was the one who bought the ticket out west. She was the one who ran away rather than confront the challenging tangle of family drama at home. The fact that she doubted they could have made much progress was no excuse for not giving her parents the opportunity. Even now, she was certain Luke was heading straight toward a buzz saw in asking Clyde’s permission, but Luke was right.
As was Uncle Joseph, who preached that a life guided by the Christian virtues of love, humility, charity, and forgiveness would be more successful than her intemperate actions of the past. They needed to make this final overture to her parents, even though Marianne feared it was going to be hopeless.
Thirty-Five
It was going to take four days to travel by train to Washington, and Luke spent most of that time sweating bullets. Despite the confident air he tried to project, he was terrified of showing up at the Magruder household on bended knee, but he was going to do it. Marianne would carry a lifelong scar if she turned her back on her parents, and that meant Luke had to reconcile with them.
The long train ride gave them plenty of time to discuss what had happened over the past month. As anticipated, the reviews forDon Quixotewere savage. Up until the date of publication, Luke had harbored a tiny hope it would be hailed as a masterpiece, but reality came crashing in with the first review.
He showed it to Marianne the morning after they’d settled in to their private compartment on the train heading back east. He watched as her eyes traveled over the review that called his translation an abuse of the English language that layered emotion on with a smothering trowel of overblown sentiment.
She scowled as she read, finally dropping the magazine onto her lap. “This is nonsense. Whoever wrote this was probably a fusty college professor who doesn’t have warm blood in his veins. Ilovedyour translation! You should submit a rebuttal tothe magazine. Defend yourself. Fight for the quality of what you produced.”
She continued ranting, but he no longer cared what highbrow professors thought of him. Uptight college academics had a right to their opinions, and people who liked a more passionate style were equally entitled to their view. They were both right, and the novel was selling amazingly well among ordinary people despite the reviews. Besides, he had bigger battles on the horizon.
Like winning Clyde’s consent to their marriage.
He clenched his hands and folded his arms, instinctively bracing himself for the coming implosion.
Marianne noticed and misinterpreted his actions. “Who cares what that reviewer thinks? If I ever meet him in a dark alley, he’d better fear for his life.”
He choked back a laugh, wishing his only challenge was battling the slings and arrows of lousy book reviews. Marianne was the real prize, and the only battle he cared about winning.
Luke held Marianne’s hand as they walked toward the Magruder town house. A chilly gust of wind sent a spray of autumn leaves scuttling down the street, and he sank a little deeper into his coat. He’d faced a lot of challenges over the past few years, but making peace with Clyde Magruder was going to be the hardest.
He released Marianne’s hand when they came in view of the town house. He wouldn’t further antagonize Clyde by flaunting his affection for his daughter.
“It’s a Saturday, so both my parents should be home,” Marianne said for the fourth time. She’d been babbling ever since disembarking at the streetcar stop. It was her nerves talking. Marianne babbled when she got anxious, while he got silent.
Frankly, they were both terrified.
They rounded the street corner and saw a wagon loaded with boxes right outside the Magruder household. A pair of laborers lugged a trunk between them, and Clyde stood on the front stoop, directing another man carrying a rolled-up carpet.
“What on earth is going on?” Marianne asked. “Oh heavens, I hope Mama hasn’t finally thrown him out. She threatens all the time, and that’s an awful lot of trunks. Look! Some of Mama’s hatboxes are stacked on the porch. Maybe she’s the one leaving?”
Luke’s unease grew. Arriving in the middle of a marital dispute would be the worst possible time to make his appeal for Marianne’s hand in marriage.
Clyde hadn’t noticed them yet. He was too busy securing the strap around a trunk on the front porch. Then Vera emerged, bringing Clyde a mug of something hot. Clyde nodded his thanks as he took the mug from his wife and drank. Vera placed a hand on Clyde’s shoulder, then returned inside.
“Okay, they’re not fighting,” Marianne said. “That’s good. I think I’d have to run back to Carson City if they were fighting, because my father can be—”
“Marianne,” Luke interrupted. “It’s all right. We need to take the bull by the horns.”
“Okay, you’re right. Of course, you’re entirely right. I’m just a little nervous and sometimes I babble...”
She jabbered the entire block until Clyde spotted them. He dropped the hatbox on the pavement, his face full of venom.
“Have you been withhim?” he roared, gaping at Marianne in disbelief.
Marianne shook her head. “I went to Aunt Stella’s, just as I said in my telegram. Luke found me there, and we’ve come back home.”
“Together?” Clyde turned and hurled his mug against the side of the house, and coffee dribbled down the bricks. His face was white with anger as he vaulted down the stairs toward them.
