Cinderfella Read online

  Ash turned from the horse to stare at the little man on the stool. Just like that, Nathan saw what no one else did. “Not too well,” he confessed.

  Nathan’s face was lightened by a coy smile. “You’re much like your father, you know. Your mother Lila, bless her departed soul, told me that when John was tense he would roam through the house half the night. She’d find him in your room one night, on the porch the next, in the kitchen perhaps . . . just wandering. She said she was never sure exactly what he was searching for.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Ash turned back to Pumpkin and began to brush her coat.

  Lila Montgomery, before her marriage, had been one of Nathan’s leading ladies. John Coleman had taken one look at her and fallen head over heels in love. She’d been playing Juliet at the time, in Lawrence. Used to such attentions, she had spurned the persistent man. Ah, but she didn’t know just how persistent this particular man could be. It had taken some courting, on John’s part, but Lila had finally fallen deeply in love with the quiet farmer. Many times Ash had heard this story, from his mother and then from his father and on occasion from Nathan, who still smarted over losing his favorite leading lady.

  All those years ago Lila Montgomery Coleman had given up the stage to come here, to this farm, but she hadn’t left her thespian friends behind. They had visited the Coleman farm over the years, for a few days or a few weeks at a time. Ash could remember his father grumbling over the odd people who’d regularly show up without warning at his door, but he would never think of turning away one of his beloved wife’s friends.

  “So,” Nathan said brightly. “Before I meet this woman who was foolish enough to try to take Lila’s place, why don’t you tell me a little bit about her?”

  Charmaine watched her mother finger the trimmings of the ballgown they’d worked on for the past week. White satin was spread across her bed, and the lights sparkled on its elaborate ornamentation.

  The gown was frivolous, most likely sinful, surely made for nothing but attracting a man and appealing to his lower instincts. Howard would despise it.

  Still, Charmaine couldn’t help but be just a little bit excited at the prospect of wearing such a beautiful garment. All her life, she’d had the best — the best clothes, the best education. The best of everything. But she’d never owned a fine gown like this one.

  She felt a little guilty for allowing herself to get giddy over something as frivolous as a gown. She had to learn to still her excitement, if she was ever to truly become the woman she wanted to be.

  She’d felt a similar guilt after the masked ball she’d attended with Felicity and Howard. It had been thrilling! Bright and beautiful and vibrant. The music, the dancing, the laughter, it was all intoxicating. She’d prattled on for days, until Howard had pulled her aside and explained to her how debasing such an event was, that the waltz was nothing more than a mating dance and that the finery was donned solely to appeal to the baser nature of the opposite sex. That a masked ball, any such grand entertainment, was an unnecessary frivolity, sure to lead to the fall of many a weak soul. He told her the only reason he’d attended, with his wife and sister-in-law in tow, was to appease a generous contributor to his current cause.

  Guilt. She’d had fun at that masked ball, and she was actually beginning to look forward to this one.

  What harm could it possibly do to humor her father?

  “The musicians will arrive from Kansas City on Thursday morning,” her mother said as she turned away from the gown that was spread across Charmaine’s bed, “and your father’s ordered the old cabin aired out and scrubbed down for them, so they’ll have their own place away from the house. Several of your father’s cronies will be spending the night, so every guest room in the house will be filled.”

  “This is too much work for you.” Charmaine took her mother’s hands and squeezed. “You’ve been tired, and don’t tell me I’m wrong. I can always tell.”

  Maureen Haley smiled softly. “You could always see right through me, more easily than your father, more easily than either of your sisters. Yes, I’m tired, but I’m also having great fun. Ruth has been a tremendous help, and I’ve hired two new girls to help Jane full-time until after the ball. Now that everything’s in motion and your gown is finished, I’ll have a few days to sit back and relax.”

  Charmaine knew her mother too well to believe that she would sit back and relax while there was work to be done. Maureen Haley always had to have a finger in every pie. Even if she didn’t do the actual work, she would be there to make certain it was done correctly.

  Her mother didn’t stay much longer, but excused herself and headed for bed. When she was alone, Charmaine sat on the edge of the bed and fingered the heavy white satin and the peach trim, much as her mother had done. A strong wind rocked the limbs of the maple tree that grew just outside her window. Brilliant red leaves brushed against the window, dancing and whispering against the glass.

  In the past week, since her visit to the Coleman farm, she’d found herself often thinking of Ash. Out of the blue there he would be, a mud encrusted hairy man with big rough hands and still, clear eyes.

  Like now, as she fingered the white satin. His face was just there, in her mind, as clear and true as if he stood before her. Not Ash the boy she remembered, but Ash the man, whose bearded cheeks and wide shoulders held no resemblance to the smooth skin and lithe frame of the young man she recalled so distinctly.

  Had time changed him so much, or did her memories lie? Of all her childhood memories, the heartbreaking moments with Ash Coleman were the strongest. Especially the day he’d dried her tears and she’d declared that one day she would be his wife. She’d had a lemon drop in her mouth, and the sun had been shining very brightly. Her dress had been a blue gingham, and Ash had been wearing a new hat.

  Ridiculous! She wasn’t a silly child anymore, she was a grown woman with very definite ideas of her own, and there was no call for her to get sentimental and weepy over a memory that was probably as much false as true. People had a tendency to remember only what they wanted to, and she was sure it was the same with Ash.

  This dose of realism was for the best, she was certain. She could return to Boston after the masked ball and resume her work with Howard. No illusions remained, no childish fantasy. If she ever thought of Ash Coleman again, she would remember him as he really was, a common farmer.

  There was a seminar planned for next month, and she should be back in time to assist. At one time, Felicity had been the one to stand at Howard’s side and support him. It had been Felicity who had handed out manuals and spoken privately with those women who were too embarrassed to discuss such delicate matters as marital relations and contraception with a man. But that had been before Hester’s birth. Motherhood was demanding, and it seemed that Felicity had lost interest in Howard’s important work.

  And so it had fallen to Charmaine to stand at Howard’s side and do her part to convince the uneducated that a woman had more to offer this world than servitude to a man. That a pure marriage was a higher calling, and that baser impulses could and should be ignored.

  Howard and Felicity had a pure marriage. They loved one another deeply, but unless and until they decided to have more children there was no physical relationship. They even had separate bedrooms to avoid the possible excitement of shared quarters. Charmaine knew her parents would be shocked to hear this, and would be even more shocked to learn of Charmaine’s knowledge of such personal matters.

  They should understand. Surely they didn’t have a physical relationship, not at their age.

  They’d settled into married life comfortably, with respect and honor and pure love. If not, there would have been other children.

  Charmaine knew she would likely never marry. Her work with Howard was too important, her beliefs too strong. How could she throw it all aside to become no better than a man’s slave? To offer herself up to his demands and expectations? She couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t.

  Besides, d
eep down she was a little afraid. Felicity had suffered a difficult pregnancy and an even more difficult childbirth. She didn’t only agree to Howard’s insistence on marital continence, she seemed relieved by it. The sexual embrace, Felicity had confided on one cold Boston evening nearly a year ago, was solely for the man’s benefit. It was an act to be endured, to be suffered through.

  Charmaine had never been one for suffering, if she could help it.

  So it was definitely a relief to find that she had no tender feelings for the real Ash Coleman, that her fanciful imaginings were just that. Imaginings.

  Elmo leaned forward in his chair, as anxious as a child. Since their dinner of burned fried chicken and nearly raw corn, Nathan had been entertaining with stories of his travels. Ash listened with interest, Verna was coolly attentive, Oswald was bored . . . but Elmo was fascinated. “You’ve been to San Francisco?”

  Nathan’s demeanor was apathetic, as he looked past Ash and into the fire. “Many times. Lovely city. It was there that my troupe performed for a Russian prince, and it was there that I met Lily Langtry.”

  “Lily Langtry?” Elmo shook his head in wonder.

  Oswald didn’t even lower his book. “Don’t be such a rube, Elmo. That’s Ash’s job.”

  “You can’t blame me for being interested.” Elmo defended himself. “Shoot, nothing ever happens around here.”

  “That’s why I love it here so very much,” Nathan said with a smile.

  Verna was quite put out to have a guest in the house. While her cooking was wretched, and often offensive, she did have to prepare meals when there was company.

  Nathan was comfortably settled in the spare room upstairs, the one Verna had been using to store her seldom used sewing supplies. She had actually suggested that he stay in the tack room in the barn, the room where Ash put up the drifters he hired to help with the wheat harvest in the summertime. Ash didn’t often put his foot down, but he wouldn’t have his godfather sleeping in the barn.

  Nathan was telling his story about the Russian prince, a story Ash had heard a number of times. On occasion the Russian in question was a duke rather than a prince, but Ash believed the story was mostly true. He half-listened, allowing his bones to relax, allowing his mind to wander. It was nice to listen to a voice that wasn’t harping, whining, or insulting.

  “You should’ve seen Lila in those days.” Nathan shook his head in wonder. “She was a beauty, she was, perhaps the greatest of this century.”

  The harrumph that came from Verna’s direction was soft but unmistakable.

  “Why, that Russian prince did his best to sweep her off her feet,” Nathan continued undaunted. “Flowers, confections, jewels . . . she refused them all.”

  Ash loved hearing Nathan’s stories about his mother. All he knew of her was the woman who had kept this house and raised her only child and delighted in her small family. He remembered just as well her heartbreak and her illness, her last days on this earth.

  But when Nathan spoke, Ash saw his mother as she’d been before coming to this place in her life. Talented and sought after, surprisingly adventurous, and wise enough to spurn her many admirers . . . until John Coleman came along.

  “What a foolish woman,” Verna snapped, “to refuse a prince and then turn around and marry a farmer.”

  Nathan’s smile vanished. So did Ash’s rare good mood.

  It wasn’t long before Verna excused herself and took to her downstairs bedchamber. Elmo yawned and climbed the stairs, and even Oswald eventually closed his book and headed for bed. They’d been gone for several minutes before Nathan spoke.

  “How do you stand it?” he asked softly.

  It was a question Ash had asked himself many times. “I have no choice.”

  “I suppose multiple murder is out of the question,” Nathan said dryly.

  Ash smiled. “I’m afraid so.”

  Nathan stood and stretched short arms over his head, yawning with theatrical flair. “Well,” he said as his arms dropped. “If you change your mind and need an accomplice, you know where to turn.”

  “Why, thank you, Nathan, but I think that’s above and beyond your duties as a godfather.”

  After Nathan climbed the stairs, Ash doused the lamps and made sure all the downstairs windows were closed securely. This time of the year it could get mighty cold at night, and icy wind through an open window could make for a chilly morning.

  He didn’t imagine Charmaine Haley had ever been cold in her life. The Haley house probably had a fireplace in every room, and she’d surely have a wardrobe of warm wool and fur wraps and earmuffs. She’d certainly never awakened in the morning and been forced to place her bare feet on a cold floor.

  Oswald would love her lifestyle. Not only was life on the farm distasteful to Verna’s oldest boy, he seemed to think he’d been cheated because he hadn’t been pampered all his life. While Ash dreamed of the simple pleasure of living alone, Oswald probably dreamed of discovering that he was a long-lost prince switched at birth and that his real parents would arrive any day to whisk him away to a life of luxury.

  Ash had thought, often as of late, that Oswald and the Runt would make quite a pair. Pretty and spoiled, they were surely two of a kind. But when he tried to picture them together, when he tried to imagine Charmaine and Oswald standing side by side as a couple — he couldn’t quite make it work.

  She was too good for him. Hell, no woman deserved Oswald March as her husband, not even Charmaine Haley.

  Five

  The last-minute preparations for the masked ball had taken the better part of the week. Charmaine did what she could to help her mother, taking care of the details that inevitably came up when organizing an affair of this size. Making certain that there was a sufficient amount of good silverware and china, hiring extra help for the evening, checking to see that the cabin was prepared for the musicians who would arrive on tomorrow’s morning train.

  Eula, an excellent seamstress since the age of twelve, had taken a hand in preparing the masks that would be handed out at the door. Goodness knows when she’d had the time! All the guests would be in disguise, and if they arrived without a mask, one would be provided.

  Charmaine looked in wonder over the array of fancy masks in the box on the counter. There were feathers and beads of every color, silver and gold thread, the finest silks and velvets.

  “You’ve done a magnificent job, Eula,” Charmaine said as she lifted the mask nearest her hand, of royal blue velvet with a silver feather and blue silk ribbons in varying shades. Beneath the royal blue was a jumble of colors both bright and muted, masks elegantly plain and frivolously extravagant. The sunlight that came through the mercantile window shone on strands of gold. “How will I ever decide?”

  Eula smiled proudly. “You’ll not have to decide at all. Yours was special-made, to your mother’s specifications, and it’s by far the most beautiful of them all. Mrs. Haley had very definite ideas about what she wanted for you.” With that, Eula reached beneath the counter and removed a bundle of brown paper. She handled it carefully, as if what was hidden inside were of the finest and most fragile crystal, and her smile widened as she placed the oddly shaped package on the counter and waited for Charmaine to unwrap it.

  The plain string that held the package together came undone first, the knot plucked loose with anxious fingers. If the look on Eula’s face was any indication of what waited inside, it was sure to be a treasure.

  The brown paper fell back to reveal a white satin mask. There was a touch of peach lace at one corner, resting on a triangular bed of a darker peach silk that would surely match the trim of her ball gown perfectly. And there were pearls everywhere. Seed pearls were sewn around the exotically slanted eyeholes and planted carefully amid the peach lace, and there were larger, oddly elongated pearls that literally dripped from the bottom edge.

  It was decadently beautiful. “Oh, this is magnificent.” Charmaine lifted the mask, carefully and with both hands, and held it against her face. S
he peeked through the eyeholes at a grinning Eula, squealed with undignified glee, and spun around just in time to watch Ash Coleman come sauntering through the door.

  He stopped dead in his tracks. Goodness, he filled the doorway, blocking the sunlight and evidently the air as well, for all of a sudden there wasn’t quite enough to take in a good deep breath.

  “Hello,” she said softly. The mask fell, still protected by two cautious hands.

  Ash simply nodded, to her and then to Eula, and walked to the back of the store to do his shopping.

  He looked a little better today, without the mud covering his face. There was still the bushy beard, though, and the dark hair that was unfashionably long and untended, and while Ash hadn’t recently taken a plunge into the pigsty, he was wearing more than his share of plain Kansas dirt.

  The glee she’d felt upon unwrapping her mask vanished. How silly and unproductive it was to get carried away with plans for this inappropriate masked ball. To become breathless at the very appearance of a man. A man entirely inappropriate for her, in any case. Howard and Felicity would be mortified by her reckless behavior.

  “Can I help you find something, Ash?” Eula stepped from behind the counter and down the center aisle to the rear of the store. Charmaine carefully rewrapped the mask and listened intently to the soft conversation drifting to her from the back of the store. Something about salt and flour and tobacco, evidently forgotten by Verna on her last visit to town.

  The voices came closer, and they were accompanied by Eula’s soft step and Ash’s heavier footfall. Charmaine directed all her attention to the string she was retying. She needed to tie the string quickly, place her mask in the box with the others, and mutter a quick and gracious farewell to Eula and her customer. Her suddenly clumsy fingers refused to cooperate.

  “Here, let me do that,” Eula said as she stepped behind the counter and took the package that was much the worse for wear. The brown paper was crumpled, and the string was in knots. In a flash, Eula had unknotted the string and fastened it securely around the covered mask.