Chapter Thirteen
Clara
“Get me another, wench!”
The slap on her bottom was customary but it seemed intensified that evening, as though the unruly patron had sent shockwaves through her body with the mere touch of his hand.
“At once,” she murmured, turning away from the table of rowdy drunks.
“You need to move faster than that, Clara,” Edward, the barkeep, snarled. “You is a pretty thing but you ain’t making us any money this way.”
He leaned in conspiratorially.
“I keep telling ya—if you want to make a pretty nickel, you need to work upstairs with the others.”
“Another pint for Roger,” she muttered, blinking away her humiliation. She asked herself how, after six months, she had not grown accustomed to the abuse of the regulars at the Sunset Tavern in Rochester, a sleepy town north of where she had run from her husband.
She had considered going to Canada but had never made it past the border, despite her initial resolve to run. The winter had hit hard and fast, the snow keeping her close to a warm fire and the unsettling security of the Sunset Tavern, despite its unsavory characters.
Yet if Clara were to consider it, she knew it was something more than the icy winter which had caused her to stay. Something inert had kept her near Darkbrook as though she might deign a return one day. It was a ridiculous thought, of course, but as spring showed itself tentatively, she remained on Edward’s land without the overt desire to move along.
Again, she had fallen into the hands of men hellbent on destroying her, yet Clara held her head up with quiet dignity and maintained her composure, even when she wished to dissolve into a puddle of tears. It was amazing to her that she had any remaining, after all she had endured in her short life.
At the end of a long night, when dawn was peeking its head over the horizon, she tried to sleep but her mind instantly brought forth the image of Desmond in his beastly form.
It was every bit as unsettling as the moment it had happened and yet Clara could not leave New York.
Of course, there was the matter of money. Although she was being paid for the first time in her life, the wages were meager, hardly enough to sustain herself even when her room and board were covered by the inn. She also shared her living space with the brothel run upstairs from the tavern but oddly, Clara found friendship in the prostitutes, who were the most real people she had ever known.
Unlike the gypsies who had flimflammed their way from one meal to the next, the whores were forthcoming about who they were and what they wished for.
“There ain’t no shame in gettin’ money for somethin’ everybody does, is there?” a ginger-haired girl named Holly demanded. “Sure, them town ladies look down on us but we ain’t ashamed.”
It was refreshing to see women so strong, so empowered and yet…
They are still under the thumbs of men.
It seemed to Clara the only time she had not felt repressed was in the arms of her husband.
But he was no man at all.
“Are you going to take this, Clara, or are you gonna stand about daydreaming?” Edward barked and she realized she had fallen off into a reverie. It seemed to be happening more and more lately, her mind wandering in the midst of a work night. She was feeling more sluggish, lethargic, and she worried that she might be taking ill.
Edward will not stand for a sick woman on his watch. He will throw me out into the cold before I can cast a sneeze in his direction.
“Honey, you sure do look peaked,” Holly commented as she delivered the ale to the waiting customer. He thanked her with yet another slap on her rear before turning back to his companions.
“Have you been sleepin’ well?”
Clara could not help but laugh at the question, shaking her blonde head tiredly.
“I daresay there is much too much activity occurring in these parts for a proper night’s rest.”
Holly studied her face closely and suddenly her blue eyes widened in shock.
“Come with me.”
Before Clara could protest, the girl snatched her by the arm and yanked her into the back room before she could protest.
“Where are you going?” Edward called after them but Holly paid him no mind, slamming the door.
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Holly hissed, her eyes narrowing. “You cannot stay here in your condition! It is terrible for business and when Eddie hears about this—”
“What in God’s name are you talking about, Holly?” Clara demanded, genuinely confused. “I am not ill.”
“You may as well be, honey.” Holly looked at her meaningfully but Clara did not understand. Holly’s eyes grew larger and she gaped at Clara in shock.
“You mean you don’t know?” she choked. “How can that be?”
Without warning, she seized Clara’s waist and gasped.
“Oh, dear Lord in Heaven… you are over halfway done, Clara! How can you be so careless? Is it a john’s? Have you been makin’ money on the side? Oh, Eddie is gonna beat the tar out of you…”
Suddenly, Clara understood exactly what Holly was implying and she gasped in shock.
“I am not with child!” she denied. “I have not been… intimate with anyone…”
“You have unless you’re the Virgin Mary and somethin’ tells me you ain’t due on Christmas, Clara.”
Holly reached for Clara’s hands and pressed them against her stomach.
“You mean to tell me that you haven’t felt that baby growin’ in there? Honey, you are clearly far along. Did you come to us with a baby in your belly?”
A hand flew to Clara’s mouth and she gaped at Holly in sheer panic. “Oh!” she gasped. “What am I to do?”
“Honey, whose baby is it?” Holly demanded. “You said you came from across the pond but where did you really come from?”
Clara sank back against the wall, her pulse roaring in her ears.
“Honey, you need to talk to me because you can’t stay here, I promise you that. You need to go back to wherever it is you came from and tell the daddy at once!”
Clara shook her head vehemently. “I cannot,” she muttered. “He will not…”
She choked on the words as she realized what the pregnancy might mean.
“Who is the daddy?” Holly insisted. “You march up to him and demand he do right by you.”
Clara closed her eyes. “My husband,” she murmured. “The father is my husband.”
“Oh dang, honey. You’re on the run from some bastard husband. I had no idea…”
Holly sighed deeply and sank back against the wall with her but Clara barely noticed. Her mind was racing with the gravity of what she had just learned.
“Does he beat you?” Holly demanded.
“No…”
“Does he starve you?”
“No… it is nothing like that,” Clara replied quietly. “It is much more complicated a matter than all that.”
Holly clearly did not understand, her expression deadpan.
“Well, honey, I only know that you need to get out of here before Eddie finds out because Lord only knows what he will do to you.”
Clara looked at her in fear but Holly turned her comely face away, the regret evident.
“I suggest you return to your husband, honey. He doesn’t sound so bad compared to some that I’ve encountered in my time.”
Will he kill me even if he realizes I am with his child?
Clara had no way of knowing but she also realized that Holly was right—she could not risk Edward learning about the baby.
It was time to return to Darkbrook and face her demons.
~ ~ ~
She waited until the calmest point of the morning before leaving the tavern behind and as she exited the inn which had been her home for almost half a year, she did not feel the dread she expected.
There was a reason I stayed so close to Darkbrook, to Desmond. I knew I would be back for him.
There was just enough money to hire a local to take her the two hours south to Desmond’s land and he was a chatty man who seemed to know a great deal about the husband she had left behind.
“He is not the same man he was before he got married,” the old-timer explained as they drove. “Ever since that pretty wife of his left with that no-good attorney, Mr. Waters had fallen into an abyss. Lost several of his businesses. Last I heard, his property was being leaned on quite heavily.”
“What?” Clara gasped. “That is impossible! He is wealthy and enterprising! He would never permit himself to fail.”
The man smiled at her warmly.
“You are too young to know a broken heart, child, but when a man loses his wife, the desire to live is lost too. He must have loved her a great deal.”
A pang of guilt and sadness burst through her chest, tears welling in her gentle brown eyes.
I thought he wanted to kill me but was he protecting me all along?
Darkbrook came into view and Clara was taken aback by the disarray of the land.
“I doubt very highly he is looking for servants, miss, but best of luck to you,” the old man called to her.
“Thank you,” she whispered, running toward the door, her heart thumping in anticipation of what she might find.
“Desmond?” she cried, entering the front hall. “Bridget?”
She heard no sounds of movement in the halls and her throat constricted. Was she too late? Had he lost the land already?
The idea filled her with such deep regret, she was almost brought to her knees.
“Bridget?” she called softly, her hands caressing her swelling belly protectively.
If they were gone, if there was nowhere to live, where would she go? How would she live out her days with her baby?
The questions swept over her in a torrent and Clara sat on the stairs, burying her face in her hands.
I have made such a terrible mess of my future. I had a man who adored me, one who killed to protect me, and I ran from him, throwing myself into more trouble, more torment. I deserve everything I get going forward.
She was so involved in her self-pity, Clara did not hear the sound of footsteps approaching above her.
“Who is there?”
She almost did not recognize the sound of his voice, the timbre gravelly as though he had not spoken to anyone in a long while. Slowly, Clara raised her head and looked back at her husband, her eyes growing wide with surprise.
His face had grown fully over with beard, but his blue eyes penetrated through the darkness and into her soul as they always did when he looked at her.
“Clara…”
He seemed dumbfounded to see her, stepping down the stairs in a slightly unsteady manner.
“Am I dreaming or is it you?”
“It is me, Desmond,” she whispered, gathering the hem of her worn dress to meet him halfway. “I am home now.”
He froze before they met, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“No,” he said curtly. “No, I am not good for you. You must leave here and get away from me before you are infected with the curse.”
“You are drunk,” she breathed.
“He has been drunk since the day you disappeared, Mrs. Waters.”
Bridget appeared on the bottom landing, shaking her head.
“But you are here now. Mr. Waters, she has returned to you.”
“How can I know she will not go again?” Desmond insisted. “No, she should not be here. She should go while she can save herself.”
“I did save myself,” Clara moaned. “When I was in your arms.”
She covered the distance between them, cupping his face with her open palms.
“I made a mistake when I ran from here,” she told him, her own voice laced with deep melancholy. “I was scared for myself but I know now that I have never been safer than when I was with you, Desmond.”
He stared at her uncertainly.
“You… you will change your mind,” he growled, but she shook her head, tears slipping along her face.
“I will not,” she promised, kissing his lips softly. “I am here to stay with our child in my belly.”
He reeled backward in shock.
“That is impossible!” he gasped. “You cannot have a child by me.”
It was Clara’s turn for confusion.
“I have been with no other, Desmond,” she told him earnestly. “The baby is yours.”
His eyes darted toward Bridget and then back toward his wife.
“I believe you,” he told her and she knew he did truly. “I do not understand how but I do believe you.”
Her shoulders sagged with relief and she dropped her head against his chest, relishing the sound of his heartbeat in her ears. For months she had longed to hear nothing but that sound.
“You are where you belong now,” he promised, embracing her tightly. “I will never let you go again.”
“You will never have to worry for I will never again leave,” she replied and for the first time in her existence, Clara knew she had a home.