Baby Makes a Match. Arlene James
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their stepfather for hurting their mom; yet, she couldn’t quite bring herself to outright lie to him. Closing her eyes, she whispered another part of the truth, “I didn’t want you to worry about me.”
When she turned her head, she found his piercing blue gaze trained on her from beneath his dark brows. He shoved both hands through his dark, spiky hair. Like her, he had a bit of a pointed chin, but his strong, square jaw was perpetually shadowed with the soot of a heavy beard that he’d struggled to keep cleanly shaved since the age of fourteen. At six-one, he wasn’t as tall as the cowboy, she mused, but Garrett was a bit more bulky. He’d muscled up in prison, but he’d always been stronger than average and of a protective nature.
“If I hadn’t been in prison, you wouldn’t have had to lie to me,” he muttered.
Bethany groaned, feeling lower than dirt. “You’ve got to be kidding! My situation is not your fault. How could you even think it?”
Garrett came up off the steps. Whirling to face her, he thumped himself in the chest. “I was the one in prison! I should have been here for you—and Mom.”
Bethany stood and went to him, placing her hands on the hard bulges of his biceps. “You went to prison because you tried to help Mom.”
Their father had died in a ditch collapse when Garrett was seven years old and Bethany four. Ten years later their mom, Shirley, had remarried. Doyle turned out to be a controlling, abusive brute who regularly beat their mother. Three years into the marriage, he had beat Shirley so severely that she’d been hospitalized for nearly a week. The day that Doyle had gotten out of jail on bail, Garrett had gone after him, giving the brute a taste of his own medicine. The result had been Garrett’s own arrest. Unable to make his bail for himself, Garrett had languished in jail for several months. During that time, Doyle convinced Shirley to forgive him and drop all charges. In frustration, Garrett had pleaded guilty to a reduced charge and gone to prison, telling Bethany that they were all better off that way, for Doyle would surely beat Shirley again and it would be safer if Garrett couldn’t get his hands on the man. He was too right. Not two years later, Doyle had beat their mother to death.
“That doesn’t change the fact that I wasn’t here for you,” Garrett insisted.
“You couldn’t help Mom or me,” Bethany insisted, “and I’m glad you were out of it.” She had escaped herself as soon as she could. Pushing away thoughts of the past, she looked to her brother. “I’m so glad to be with you again.”
He hugged her. “Ditto.” After a moment, he went on nonchalantly, “So, is the cowboy the baby’s father?”
Stunned, Bethany pulled back. Denial leaped to the tip of her tongue, but for some reason she clamped her lips against it. Maybe because she wished the cowboy was the father. At least he was kind to her and true to his word. Better him than a scheming liar and cheat. Besides, it was best to say nothing at all about the baby’s father.
“Tell and I’ll take that kid you want so much. Don’t think I can’t.”
Shivering, she said, “It doesn’t matter who the father is. This is my baby, mine alone.”
“Why’d you break up with him?”
She looked down at her toes. “He doesn’t want to be a father.”
Garrett shifted his weight, his feet scuffing in the gravel. “That why you came here, Bethy?” he asked, using her childhood nickname.
She turned back to him, her eyes filling with tears. “I came because I wanted to see you, and because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t have enough money to get my own place or any way to pay the rent just now. I hoped you’d be able to help us out until the baby comes.”
Nodding, he asked, “When is that?”
“Middle of October.”
“So about three and a half months.”
“Yes.”
“I think we can work out something.” He slipped an arm about her shoulders and walked her across the redbrick stoop and through a bright yellow door into a long, dark hallway.
“The misses will probably be in the front parlor waiting for dinner,” he told her. They walked on to the end of the hall past a TV room on one side and a kitchen on the other, according to the aromas emanating from that room. “Food’s great here,” Garrett told her with a smile. “This is the west hall,” Garrett informed her as they turned right. “There’s a real ballroom off the east hall, along with a music room, library and study. Dining room’s on this side.” He waved a hand.
They came to the end of a broad, sweeping staircase in what was obviously the front foyer of the house. They stopped, and Garrett turned his gaze upward, pointing toward the ceiling. Bethany gasped at the mural overhead and took in the sparkling crystal chandelier. Garrett ushered her through the wide door of a large room crammed with antiques and flowers.
An older woman rose from an armchair placed at a right angle to them. Short and sturdy, she wore a dark shirtwaist dress with penny loafers. Her gray hair hung across one shoulder in a thick braid, the tip brushing a pair of reading glasses in her breast pocket. Her oval face, while wrinkled and sagging a bit, showed a lean strength. She regarded Bethany with bright amber eyes, tilting her cleft chin to one side.
“Hello,” she said, curiosity ringing in her voice.
“Bethany,” Garrett said, “I’d like to introduce you to Miss Magnolia Faye Chatam. Miss Magnolia, this is my sister.”
“Oh, my dear!” Magnolia exclaimed. “What a surprise!” She hurried forward, reaching out for Bethany’s hand and clasping it firmly. “You are as pretty as your brother is handsome.”
Bethany smiled. “Thank you. He says you’ve been very kind to him.”
Magnolia waved that away. “He’s been a great help to me.”
“Ma’am, I already owe y’all more than I can ever repay,” Garrett said solemnly, “but I hope you don’t mind if I ask a favor of you. My sister needs a place to stay. I’d like her to stay with me for a while, if you and the other misses don’t mind.”
Magnolia seemed slightly taken aback. “In that tiny attic room?”
“We can manage,” Garrett insisted. He clasped a hand onto Bethany’s shoulder. “She doesn’t have anywhere else to go, ma’am.”
Two new heads popped up then, and two more pairs of amber eyes turned Bethany’s way. Another woman rose from another wing chair. She turned fully to face them, her manner almost regal. Despite her leaner, paler face, she looked very like Magnolia, her silver hair coiled in a heavy, figure-eight chignon at the nape of her neck. Her collarless tan suit called attention to the strand of pearls at her throat, and she held in one hand a pair of gold-rimmed half-glasses.
The third sister wore a flutter of rainbow organza. Plumper than the other two, she wore her stark white hair in short, fluffy curls with a big, floppy, soft pink bow tied atop her head and a pair of large, brightly colored organza butterflies affixed to her earlobes. It was all Bethany could do not to laugh with delight.
Tearing her gaze away from the butterfly lady, Bethany looked to Magnolia.
“My sisters,” she said. “Miss Odelia Mae Chatam and Miss Hypatia Kay Chatam.” Bethany nodded at each in turn.
“Sisters,” Magnolia said, “I have the privilege of introducing Garrett’s sister, Bethany…” Her voice trailed off.
The moment of truth had arrived, the moment when they would know what a fool she had been. Would they look down on her? Would they judge? She gulped and lifted her chin.
“Bethany Sue. Bethany Sue Willows.”
Not a Mrs. Nor a miss. Just Bethany Sue Willows. And more pain and shame than she knew how to bear.
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