“Louise claims she telegrammed to tell us she was coming. But I didn’t see it.”
He places the potatoes into a pot, running water over them, his forearms flexing as he works. I remember what it felt like to have those arms wrapped around me that morning in the rain, wearing nothing but his shirt. I’d been soaked to the bone, but his scent and warmth had enveloped me. Sheltered me from shame.
“Beckett ... shouldn’t we talk? About what’s happened between us?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“We can’t keep ignoring one another. Even Marguerite’s noticed the tension between us.”
He sighs, leaning against the countertop. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what to say. You started sleepwalking again. Slipping away, like before. You’ve thrown yourself at me, several times. You might not remember it, but you did, thinking I was him.” He clears his throat and studies his boots, his ears growing red. “Marguerite doesn’t want me to, but I’m going to have to build a fence. You almost fell from the bluff the other night.”
My words rush out, filling the awkward silence. “Marguerite told me. I’m sorry for anything I might have done, in that state. You’ve been keeping me safe. Protecting my dignity. Thank you for watching out for me.”
“Any decent man would do the same.”
“Well, I haven’t known very many decent men in my life, I’m afraid.” I wipe my hands on my apron, suddenly shy. “I’ve not had the best history, Beckett. I tend to attract men who are less than ... honorable. I don’t know why. But you should know I’m in my right mind again, and I’ve gotten rid of that painting.”
“What?” He lifts his head.
“Weston’s portrait. I tossed it over the bluff. You were right. I was beguiled, just like Sybil. Aunt Marg warned me, too. Told me what I had with him wasn’t real. That it was dangerous, and I believe her. I believe both of you.” I shake my head. “I was foolish. Reckless.”
“Sadie ... you don’t have to ... you don’toweme any explanation.”
“But I do. Because I’ve come to realize I care a great deal about what you think of me, Beckett. You’re a good man. I’ve watched you, with Marguerite and just now, with my little cousins. I’m so sorry I ever doubted you.”
I rush from the kitchen before he can respond, before he sees the unexpected tears brimming in my eyes. I don’t stop until I’ve reached my attic room, where the horrific sight of Weston’s portrait greets me, propped proudly atop my dresser, unblemished, his sardonic smile mocking me.
Chapter 20
I’m shaking when I come back downstairs. All through dinner, I think of Weston’s portrait, dread filling my gut. His image looks slightly different since I last saw it—there’s a crueler turn to his lips, a malicious gleam in his eyes that wasn’t there before. I’m glad, suddenly, that it won’t just be Marguerite and me alone in this house tonight, that we’ll be surrounded by the bustle of my family. I’m afraid. Terrified. What was I thinking, all those nights, when I gave myself to him, when I took anentityfor my lover?
The thought of it sickens me now.
I raise my wineglass to my lips—from a bottle of 1918 merlot I found in the kitchen pantry and eagerly uncorked—my food barely touched. Beckett looks at me from across the table, his forehead creased with worry. I’ve never had a poker face. I should tell him about the portrait after dinner. Have him help me destroy it.
Later, while Beckett resumes entertaining my little cousins, I air out two adjoining bedrooms on the second floor, the largest for Louise and the children and the smaller for Pauline. I open the windows and shake out quilts as Pauline watches from the doorframe.
“I saw that man looking at you, at dinner,” she says. “Beckett. Do the two of you have something going on?”
“No. We don’t. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Pauline frowns. “I just worry.”
“Why?” I fluff the pillows, ignoring the implication in her words.
“Because I know how youare, Sadie.”
I whirl on her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugs. “You should be more careful, is all. With your reputation. It reflects poorly on your family.”
I laugh. “I’ll never go back to Kansas City. You needn’t worry about my reputation soiling yours.”
“But people stilltalk, Sadie. I haven’t had a single suitor since things came out about you and Ted.”
I smooth the coverlet over and over with my palm, considering my words carefully. I could choose to be as petty as her. I could cut her in any number of ways—from insulting her looks (which she can’t help) to criticizing her abhorrent personality (which she can) as reasons for her lack of suitors, but I choose not to. Instead, I smile at her. “It’s just a matter of time, Pauline. The right one will come along. You’re still quite young.”
“I’m twenty-five. They’re already calling me a spinster.” She crosses her arms in front of her, her frown deepening. “Do you know what Aunt Laura told Mama, the week before she died? She said she was ...” Pauline pauses, eyes searching the corners of the room. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t tell you.”
