“It’s perfect,” she whispered with misery that struck him like a fist in his gut.

  “Is that them?” Amelia’s voice sounded from around the corner.

  A moment later, she appeared from a doorway at the far end of the room, apron wrapped around her bulging stomach. Her hair was done up in a simple bun and she wore a smile that was at once anxious and excited.

  With a wordless exclamation, she stopped and caressed her stomach.

  “This one is as excited to see you as I am,” she said. “He or she has been rolling around, dancing a jig in anticipation.”

  Eve swayed so heavily that Mark thought she might swoon. He shifted to rest his arm around her waist, not caring what Eric or Amelia read into it. At the moment, Eve was his only concern.

  “Supper is nearly ready,” Amelia went on. She took a few more steps toward them. Her face pinched in confusion as Eve backed away. “I was expecting you sooner.”

  “It’s such a beautiful night,” Mark said when Eve kept her lips pressed firmly shut, her stricken look locked on Amelia’s stomach. “We decided to drive slowly, look at the stars.”

  A long, shaky silence filled the room.

  Eve sucked in a breath as if awaking from a spell.

  “Yes, there are so many stars to see out here. Far more than in the cities I’ve traveled through. Did you say supper was ready? We should go right in.”

  She tugged on Mark’s hand and pulled him back through the living room to the hall.

  “Where are you going?” Amelia called after them.

  “Let me help you bring the food in, sweetheart.” Eric intercepted her.

  “But just because the food is ready doesn’t mean we have to eat right away,” Amelia protested. “I thought we could sit and talk for a while. You built the fire so we could enjoy it.”

  “We will, we will,” Eric said.

  “But—”

  She was silenced.

  The moment Mark and Eve were safe in the hall, Eve whirled to face him.

  “I can’t do this, Mark,” she insisted, face pale and eyes glassy with tears. “I can’t be here. It’s too… too… perfect.”

  The urge to fight something, wrestle something to save Eve from her anxiety, welled up in Mark’s gut but had nowhere to go. He rested his palm against the side of her hot face.

  “What’s wrong, Eve? What is it?”

  She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes.

  “Please tell me,” he said. “Whatever it is, I can help.”

  “No you can’t.” Her voice was small and breathy. “It’s too late for help.”

  “It’s never too late,” he contradicted her with all the gentleness he could summon. “Please, just tell me.”

  “I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t belong here.” Eve squeezed her eyes shut. She swayed toward him. With her head lowered, she said, “This life. I can never have this and I can’t bear it. The baby….”

  Mark blinked, working to puzzle out what she meant. “But I thought you loved children. I know you do; I’ve seen you with them.”

  If anything, his comment sent her closer to tears. The sound of Eric and Amelia entering the dining room from the other end of the hall—of dishes being put on the table, of Darcy chattering and Eric and Amelia murmuring—made Eve lift her head and open her eyes. She took a deep breath. Her attempt to steel her courage was so brave while Mark felt so helpless.

  “I do love children,” she spoke in a broken whisper. “So much. But I… I can’t—”

  “For heaven’s sake, Eve. You were the one who wanted to rush supper. Come sit down before it gets cold.”

  Amelia rounded the corner into the hall from the dining room. She stopped when she saw the state Eve was in, how close Mark stood to her.

  “Oh,” she said, shoulders dropping. “I… I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing at all to be sorry about.” Eve snapped into the role of bright, smiling houseguest so fast she left Mark at a loss. She pulled away from him and opened her arms in a theatrical gesture. “Your house is so beautiful, Amelia. You’ve done so well for yourself. I am simply bursting with hunger and eagerness to sample your cooking.”

  She charged on into the dining room, leaving a startled Amelia in her wake. Mark hurried after her, more anxious over this new, shining Eve than he’d been over the vulnerable one.

  Eric was just finishing settling Darcy in her special chair as Eve asked, “Where shall I sit?”

  The concern on Eric’s face was clear. He straightened to answer, but Amelia beat him to it.

  “Why don’t you and Rev. Andrews sit on this side of the table so that you can see the view outside,” Amelia attempted to resume her role as hostess, one hand rubbing her belly. “It’s mostly dark now, but you can still see a bit of the horizon.”

  “Yes, it’s lovely,” Eve replied, looking out the window instead of at her sister.

  Trying not to frown, Mark slipped behind Eve and held out one of the chairs at the table for her. She sent him a grateful smile that went far beyond his manners. As she took her seat, Amelia removed her apron and circled around the table to where Eric held her chair for her, next to Darcy’s highchair. Amelia sank into the chair opposite Eve with a wince and a sigh, and Mark and Eric took the seats beside the women, opposite each other.

  “It’s getting so difficult just to sit at a table these days,” Amelia opened the conversation with a self-effacing laugh. “I’m so round that I can hardly reach my plate.”

  Eve sought out Mark’s hand under the table. He took hers and squeezed it with as much reassurance as he could muster.

  “When I was in New York City last year, Mr. William Randolph Hurst treated our troupe to supper in the grand ballroom of the Waldorf Hotel. We sat at a table that was twice as long as this house!” Eve exclaimed, her eyes wide.

  She may have intended the look to be one of amazement, but Mark could see only desperation. He burned to know what was upsetting her, so much so that Eric had to clear his throat before Mark realized he was offering him a plate piled with food.

  “Thank you.” Mark recovered and took the plate, setting it in front of Eve.

  Amelia watched the gesture with a frown. “Guests should be served first, Rev. Andrews.”

  “Yes, of course,” he replied, not sure what she meant.

  “That means you,” she said. “Eve is family.”

  “Oh, you know that isn’t really true anymore. You left me and have a family of your own now.” Eve laughed and waved the idea away with her free hand before taking up her fork and focusing on the meal.

  Amelia blanched. “Well! This is exactly what I—”

  “Sweetheart, it’s all right,” Eric interrupted. His expression was as serious as stone as he fixed another plate and handed it to Mark.

  Mark exchanged a look with him that was half an apology and half dread for what was to come.

  “Amelia and I stayed at a nice hotel in New York City when I first brought her over here,” Eric attempted to keep the conversation going. “It wasn’t so fine as the Waldorf, though.”

  “It was a grand hotel,” Amelia added hesitantly when Eric met her eyes. She frowned and pressed her lips together, glancing from her husband to Eve—who had her head down and her full attention on her plate. “That’s where I first met Michael and Charlotte West. I wish you’d let me take you over to their house for tea, Eve. Charlie has done such marvelous things with their new house. Her little Eloise is the most darling toddler and Michael, Jr. is the sweetest baby boy I’ve ever seen.”

  Eve put her fork down so fast Mark wasn’t sure if she had dropped it. Her face was pale. “Mr. Hurst served us lobster for dinner that time,” she said, staring at the window over Amelia’s shoulder with a glassy look. “That was the first time I’d had it. Delicious, if I do say so myself, but of course I managed to spill melted butter everywhere. Silly me.”

  Again the conversation ground to a halt. Eric filled a plate for Amelia and one for himself, then took his seat across from Mark. Darcy giggled and dug a hand into her mashed potatoes, but none of the adults noticed or bothered to stop her.

  “We… we had a beautiful dining room table at our country home growing up,” Amelia tried again to strike up a conversation. “Didn’t we, Eve?”

  “Yes, we did,” Eve answered. Under the table, her hand trembled in Mark’s.

  “Our parents used to host grand parties in the summer,” Amelia said.

  “Did they?” Mark answered.

  Eve added nothing. The conversation died again. Amelia watched Eve, visibly at a loss.

  Eric met Mark’s eyes across the table. He shook his head, cut into his chicken, and grimaced as though they were in for a long night.

  “I wonder if your parents’ parties compare at all to the community picnics that Cold Springs likes to host,” Mark took a stab at lightening the mood. “We sure do like a good get-together.”

  “That’s right,” Eric added as he chewed. He swallowed and said, “You should come back for the Fourth of July to see the fireworks.”

  “I should,” Eve agreed. She picked up her fork but used it only to push food around her plate. “In fact, I’ve been thinking that I should stay in Cold Springs entirely.”

  Mark’s heart leapt at the words. “That’s the most wonderful thing I’ve heard all week.” He failed shamelessly to keep his emotion off his face.

  Eve met his smile with a radiance that could have lifted him off his feet.

  “Are you sure you’re not being too hasty?” Amelia asked with an edge in her voice, glancing between them.

  Mark’s patience with people disapproving of his right to love came to a sharp end. “If Eve wants to move to Cold Springs permanently, why, I’ll support her in every way. She’s been so helpful with the Christmas pageant and so full of ideas for the future. You should get her to tell you about the thought she had about Easter.”

  “You’re too kind,” Eve said, a hint of color rising to her cheeks.

  “Yes, he is,” Amelia mumbled.

  Eve plunked down her fork again. “I’m sorry, Amelia, is there something you would like to say to me?”

  Amelia stared at her across the table. “I said all that I needed to say the other day.”

  Another piece fit into place in Mark’s mind. He swallowed a bite of green beans and frowned. After years of counseling the downtrodden and degenerate, the lost and the lazy, the one thing he had never figured out how to soothe was two women with grievances against each other.

  “Maybe it would help if you shared your thoughts with the two of us?” he said, gesturing with his fork between himself and Eric.

  “No,” Eve quickly squashed the idea. “It would not.”

  “I think Eve has become too attached to you too quickly,” Amelia told Mark.

  “Amelia!”

  “Well, it’s true. You always did give your heart away too readily, trust people too deeply.”

  “And you didn’t?” Eve’s grip on Mark’s hand under the table turned painful.

  “Not the way you did. Why, every time Mother would bring a gentleman over to—”

  “Nick Hayworth!” Eve exclaimed.

  Amelia’s mouth snapped shut and the color drained from her face.

  Eve charged on. “Or don’t you remember the father of your—”

  “All right, that’s enough!” Eric shouted.

  Darcy burst into wails.

  Amelia threw down her fork and stood. “Now look what you’ve done.” She twisted to yank her daughter out of her chair.

  “Me?” Eve exclaimed. She let go of Mark’s hand and stood, pushing her chair back. Mark rose to his feet with her. “You stand there and accuse me of upsetting a child when you were the one to dredge up the past?”

  “You’re the one flinging yourself at the first eligible man you see,” Amelia fired back as Darcy cried louder.

  “I’m not flinging myself at anyone,” Eve argued. “Mark is kind and generous and values me for who I am. If you want to talk about someone flinging themselves at a man, why not talk about the way you threw yourself right into Eric’s arms?” She gestured across the table to where Eric stood, joining the rest of them.

  “He offered to help me!” Amelia yelped.

  “As Mark has offered to help me. Hypocrite!”

  “Eve.” Mark laid a hand on Eve’s arm. He could feel the heat of her anger through the velvet of her dress.

  “Harlot!” Amelia fired back across the table.

  “Amelia, hush,” Eric snapped.

  Eve shrieked in protest. “If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black I don’t know what is.”

  “I was in love with Nick,” Amelia charged on, tears streaming down her face even as Eric struggled to take the now screaming Darcy from her.

  “And I was trapped!” Eve let loose. “I was a prisoner in that life, half mad with desperation. And you walked out on me. You left me alone with Mother and Olivia and their greed and scheming.”

  “I had to get out,” Amelia said, her anger breaking into grief. “I would have died if I hadn’t.”

  “And I almost did die!” Eve said. “I was this close.” She held up her thumb and forefinger, barely an inch apart. “This close. I might as well have died after all that, after what it did to me!”

  “What are you talking about?” Amelia asked, more pleading in her voice than anger.

  For a moment Eve swayed on her spot. Her pale skin had flushed to splotches of red and her dark eyes were red-rimmed with tears. Mark watched her battle with the emotions that towed her under, wishing he could do something. He had to do something.

  “Maybe we should leave,” he said, voice rough.

  “No, you shouldn’t—” Amelia began.

  “Yes, please!” Eve heaved a desperate sigh. “Please get me out of here.”

  She whirled around, nearly knocking over her chair in her haste. Without waiting for Mark, she charged out of the dining room and into the hall.

  Mark sent one final frustrated look to Eric. Eric scowled as though a wolf had invaded his home and he had let it in.

  “I’ll take her home,” Mark promised Eric and Amelia both. “I’ll make sure she’s all right.”

  “You do that.” Eric nodded. As Mark turned to go, he heard Eric mutter, “Hellfire.”

  Hellfire was right. If ever there was a time Mark felt like taking up cursing again, it was now. He marched into the hall, taking his and Eve’s coats from the stand by the door. Eve had fled without hers, leaving the front door open to the cold night. He charged after her, praying that there was some way he could make up this fiasco to her.

  Chapter Six

  Eve couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so miserable. She didn’t care what Mark would think, she wept through the entire ride back into Cold Springs. How could she have been so hurtful, so broken? Amelia had invited her into her home to make amends, and here she had gone and started a fight. But it was just so impossible to be in her sister’s happy, peaceful life, the life she would never have.

  The chill of the night had cut through to her bones by the time Mark drove his wagon into Cold Springs and up to his church.

  “You can drop me at the hotel,” Eve said, her voice strange and foggy.

  “I’m not dropping you anywhere,” he replied.

  She didn’t know if she liked his determination or if it made her shame that much deeper.

  “No, truly, I don’t deserve your consideration after I… after the horrid mess I made.” She collapsed into tears, amazed that she still had any left to shed.

  Mark’s answer was to slide his arm around her back and hug her from the side. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve one moment of the sweet, kind man’s attention.

  He had to let go of her and straighten after only a moment so that he could drive around the corner of the church to the small stable to park his wagon. He helped her down, taking advantage of the quiet moment in the shaded stable to keep his arms around her.

  “It’s all right,” he told her with a certainty she would never feel. “It’s my fault for rushing you into something you weren’t ready for. I should have listened to you.”

  “No, Mark.” She shook her head, which was now starting to ache. “The fault was all mine. Amelia was right. I am impetuous and spiteful and ungrateful.”

  Mark arched an eyebrow. “I don’t believe she said any of those things.”

  “It’s what she meant.”

  He stared at her for a long, painful moment in the dark. What if he was right and Amelia hadn’t meant those things? If that was true, then she was a liar on top of everything else. She lowered her head and swallowed.

  “Stay right here.” Mark let go of her. “I’m going to get the horse settled, then I’m walking you home.”

  He didn’t have to. In fact, Eve wasn’t sure she wanted him to. She would much rather have returned to her room and buried herself in bed under mounds of blankets and never come out again. Instead she nodded.

  She watched as Mark unhitched his horse from the wagon and took care of the beast. She had never had to care for horses in any part of her former life. There had always been someone else to do it, a servant or one of the troupe’s lackeys. Mark was so gentle with the big animal, removing its harness and brushing its coat and doing everything to make sure it was safe and warm for the night.

  He took off his coat to work, and in the dim electric light of the stable she could just make out the firm lines of his arms and shoulders. He may have been a man of God, but he was still a man, a well-formed one at that. She imagined a fine, broad chest and muscled arms under his simple white shirt.

  “You’re looking better already,” he said when he finished with the horse, fetched his coat, and strode back to her. “Your color is better at least.”

  “Is it?” She laid a hand on one hot cheek. If he could see her thoughts, he would be scandalized.

  “Come on.” He offered her his arm. “Time to make sure that you’re unhitched and brushed down and put to bed for the night too.”

  He must have meant his words innocently, but the image of Mark removing her clothes and unhooking her corset and rubbing his broad hands all over her body sent shivers of longing through her.

 

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