Martha lounged, hip atop a satin covered chaise. Hot tea at her lips, she looked at the fifth dress to grace her little protégé. “Now that is beautiful.”

Charlie did not agree. The country girls would think her a floozy to dress so lewdly at her own wedding. “I could never wear a dress this elegant in Monroe.”

“Well, good thing you’re getting married in Chicago.”

Not rising to the bait, Charlie ignored Martha and explained, again, to the dressing assistant, “Please bring something demure.”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.”

It was corny, that fake accent, and Charlie couldn’t help but shoot Martha a smirk before ushering in the greater issue, “Don’t wheedle Matthew tomorrow. Neither of us wants a big wedding. After all, I have no family but you?”

“You are my niece, darling,” Martha pronounced the endearment with her own phony French twist. “It is who I would invite.”

Unmoved by the attempted emotional manipulation, Charlie stepped out of her dress, tossing it atop the growing pile of white fluff in the corner. “Small ceremony. Dinner after.” Blue eyes met brown. “In Monroe.”

Cool as a cucumber, Martha said nothing.

The attendant returned, Charlie too busy staring down a woman just as stubborn as she was, to pay any attention to the new garment buttoned up her spine. It was not until the attendant cleared her throat for the third time that Charlie glanced towards the mirror.

One look and Martha’s machinations were forgotten. Every bit of white lace was perfect, turned Charlie into something pretty, transfiguring the spitfire into a bride. Smiling at her reflection, Charlie breathed four happy words. “I like this dress.”

Purring, Martha agreed with her stupefied ingénue. “I would say so… And the veil? Do you want something long or just a cap?”

Stupidly, Charlotte nodded.

“You must carry delicate flowers en masse, Lily of the valley or something equally fragile. Not those god awful calla lilies that are so popular with brides these days.”

“Uh huh.”

Wicked, Martha continued, “And of course you must ride an elephant through town while men dance naked before you.”

Charlie muttered, nodding, “Whatever you say.”

Martha and the attendant, burst out laughing.

Confused, Charlie glared over her shoulder. “What?”

Martha eased up behind the bride and met the attendant’s eyes in the mirror. “We’ll take the dress.”

Easter came. At the Radcliffe’s estate, Matthew sat puffing a cigar beside Beaumont - Martha and Charlotte chattering like magpies across the room.

Beaumont seemed to find his guest’s behavior, the way Matthew stared at his woman, rather funny. “You been enjoying your time in town?”

Matthew bit down on his cigar, unhappy to look away from Charlotte, and less than happy to feign small talk. “Listen, we can cut the chit-chat bullshit.”

Beaumont reached for a bottle of nearby whiskey, laughing under his breath. “I like you, Matthew. Straight to the point.” He poured them both a measure, glancing towards the scowling visitor in the lush chair at his elbow. “So I’ll return the favor. The man you been looking for, I got a few of my boys with their ear on the rail.” Beaumont offered the glass and took a hearty gulp of his own. “But no word yet.”

Evaluating the offered liquor, Matthew studied the quality, unsurprised it was superb. “Is that so?”

“In my humble opinion, whoever hired him wasn’t too pleased with the outcome - cleaned up the mess, so to speak. Your man is probably lying in an unmarked grave.”

Matthew frowned.

Loud laughter, Martha and Charlotte beyond caring what the men were up to, made a ruckus across the room.

“Look at them.” Radcliffe cocked his chin. “Happy as two parakeets.”

Charlie did look damn happy, leaving Matthew a little jealous.

Martha seemed to sense they had an audience, capitalizing on the opportunity by raising her voice enough the men might hear. “What do you mean you won’t have a housemaid?”

“Okay, my cooking might be terrible, but,” Charlie, full of pride, glanced at her man, “Matthew is teaching me.”

“But who will do the wash and tend babies?” The hostess turned to her husband. “Tell her, Beau.”

The look the gangster gave his wife was dismally sarcastic. But he acquiesced and followed Martha’s lead. “Lottie is not the domestic type, if you get my drift, Matthew. For your own sanity, hire a maid.”

Charlotte snorted, offended, “I can learn.”

Of course she could, but Charlie wouldn’t like being tied to a kitchen or being made to sweep floors all day. Also, Matthew would be damned if he couldn’t make her a lady of standing in their county. Speaking above his normal drawl, he spoke his piece. “When the house is finished, plenty of Monroe women will come knockin looking for work. Hire whoever you like.”

Charlotte pursed her lips and dragged down her brow. “My cooking really that bad?”

The smallest of smirks and Matthew smoothed it all over. “No.”

The topic was dropped, Martha far more intrigued with what she’d heard. “You’re building her a house?”

“Actually,” Charlie beamed, squaring her shoulders, “we’re renovating a house I found in the woods. Well, it needs a lot of work, but by the end of the year, it should be a grand ol’ manse by the lake.” Clearly excited, she took Martha’s hand. “Once it’s done, I think it just might be up to your standards.”

Martha pouted. “You make me sound so spoiled.”

“You are,” Beaumont stated dryly.

Charlie tried to say more, eager to talk all about it, only to be cut off by her hostess, “Did I mention we found her bridal gown yesterday, Beau?”

The question didn’t need an answer. Martha was building up to something, ready to strike home while she had her audience in her palm. “Now we just need a venue and a date.” Before Charlie could argue or Matthew could intensify his scowl, Martha preached, “Weddings are important affairs - A social necessity where more than just the vows of husband and wife are made. They’re good for business.”

Matthew sipped his whiskey and said nothing, refusing to be browbeaten by Charlotte’s aunt.

“Fine.” Martha threw her hands up in surrender. “But you can’t deny me throwing her a bridal shower.”

Charlotte didn’t seem at all amused at the prospect. “Bridal shower?”

Martha held her thumb and forefinger fractionally apart. “Just a little party at Lucia’s. Bring your country friends and I’ll invite some of the more intimate women of my acquaintance.”

Beaumont knew his wife would get her way, and the look he threw at Matthew warned arguing was pointless.

But Charlie couldn’t have a party. “There is only one girl I would invite, and I guarantee her daddy would never allow it.”

Martha smiled, stiff. “If you agree, it would make me very happy.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Charlie muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Language!” Martha smacked her arm. “You have always had such a mouth on you.”

Matthew grunted, nodding in agreement.

Throwing him a glare, Charlie cooed, “That’s easy for you to say, you hardly talk at all - Took me months to decipher the difference between your scowls and glares.” Pointing, her lip curled, she added, “That one, for example, means you think I am funny… or not funny. I can never tell.”

A knowing look was the only response Matthew offered Charlotte, choosing to address Martha instead. “She’ll go to your party, Mrs. Radcliffe. And she’ll behave like a lady.”

Victorious, Martha purred, “I am liking you more and more, Matthew Emerson.”

Before Charlie could cook up something smart to say, a maid entered the room announcing, “Mr. Kennedy is in your office, sir. Says it’s important.”

Beaumont made no excuses, just stood and left the room. Not five minutes later Tommy came in, Beau at his back.

Grinning like a Romeo, Tommy greeted the ladies, “Must be my lucky night to see the two prettiest ladies of my acquaintance.”

Martha offered her hand, Charlie only sent a wave. But that had been enough for her sleeve to slip and the scar to show.

Tommy reached for her arm, frowning over the red puckered wound running from wrist to elbow. “I’d heard you’d killed some men. I didn’t realize you had been hurt, Lottie.”

Uncomfortable, Charlie pulled back her arm, turning it to hide the mark. “Oh… I shot him. I shot them all.”

“When you going to wise up and come home? Being embroiled in some redneck squabble is beneath the Blackbird I know.” Tommy’s eyes flew to where Matthew sat comfortable in the guest chair. “And you-”

Radcliffe spoke up, a warning hiding under his honeyed voice, “I don’t think Mr. Emerson appreciates you trying to woo his fiancée back to the city.”

Outright disgust sat on Tommy’s pretty face. “Fiancée? You let that country boy knock you up? Don’t you have any shame?”

She was out of her chair before he’d finished, snarling, “For a man who’s stuck his pecker in more women than Al Capone keeps whores in the city, you got some nerve.”

Matthew hadn’t said a word, he just unrolled from his seat, moving to stand between his woman and an armed man.

Martha tugged Charlie’s wrist, urging her to take a seat. But it was Beau’s warning glare that buckled Charlie’s unwilling knees and put her ass back on the couch.

Matthew moved, breathed, so slowly it was frightening to see how saturated he was in anger. “Out of respect for the Radcliffes, I am not going to knock your fuckin teeth in and get blood on Martha’s fine carpet.” Shoulders hunched lower, a gritty voice turning nasty. “But you listen good, you two bit sack of shit. If I ever find you disrespected my wife again, you won’t be walking away. You’ll be lucky if you’ll still be breathin.”

Glad Easter was at an end, Matthew took his woman home. Charlie had been happy as a clam, so happy she practically floated around the grill for weeks.

So when he come home to find Charlotte sitting on the porch, staring forward as if looking down the devil, Matthew was concerned.

The sun was sinking in a pretty orange sky. Since he’d known her, more than once he’d caught her taking a moment to enjoy such a view. Yet her attention was not on the horizon. It was on nothing. Charlotte didn’t even acknowledge that he and his brother had returned. She just sat, an almost empty jar of applejack at her lips.

Nathaniel offered a cautious, “Howdy, Charlie.”

“Howdy.” Wasn’t nothin nice in her reply.

Climbing the porch steps, Nathaniel gave her a good once over. Finding her drunker than a boiled owl, he clicked his tongue. “Damn, Charlie, if I’d known you wanted to get three sheets to the wind, I’da joined ya.” Plopping down in the rocking chair beside her, Nathaniel reached for her jar. “What’s the matter with you?”

Charlie jerked her arm away, grumbling that she didn’t want any company.

Leaving his brother to waste time asking questions he knew Charlie wouldn’t answer, Matthew took himself inside where he cornered Eli and dragged out an explanation.

All the kid knew was that the sheriff had come, telegram in hand. In response, Charlie had started drinking.

Pushing open the screen, Matthew walked right up to her. “Where is it, Charlotte?”

Smacking her lips, Charlie brushed him off. “Where’s what?”

Calm, Matthew gave his brother one warning. “Nathaniel, get inside now.”

Nathaniel did just that, looking worried, but wise enough to mind his own.

Matthew tried again, keeping his voice low. “Where is it, darlin?”

Bleary, bloodshot eyes lost just enough edge to well. “If I give it to you, will you leave me alone?”

He nodded and held out his hand. A crumpled ball of paper came from her pocket, Matthew standing to read the telegram by the porch light.

Evangeline Elliot passed away in her sleep yesterday. Cremation took place this morning, ashes spread in the garden as requested. We are exceedingly sorry for your loss.

His scowl deepened, Matthew folding the Western Union missive. Knowing both Nathaniel and Eli were watching from inside, Matthew crouched before his golden girl and cupped his hands to her cheeks.

Her lower lip trembled and Matthew could see she was fighting with every fiber of her being to keep her expression angry.

She whispered, “You said you’d leave.”

“There ain’t nothing that could keep me from you right now.”

That was all it took. Charlotte began to bawl, trying to hide her face from the man stroking warm thumbs over her wet cheeks. When he put his arms around her, she clung to him, and sobbed all the harder. Ignoring the worried looks of his kin, the gawking patrons, Matthew picked her up and carried her upstairs. He got her out of her dress and put her to bed.

Climbing in beside her, Matthew gave her time, held on tight, and stroked her until Charlotte passed out dead drunk.

It was midday before Charlie groaned into her pillow. A shuffling noise near the door let her know Matthew waited. Peaking open an eye she found he was already moving his ledger from his lap, reaching towards the bureau where a glass of water waited. Dropping in two Alka-Seltzer, he offered it up.

Taking the medicine, cotton mouthed and ill, she thanked him. “I’m sorry, uhhhh, about last night.

“Ain’t nothin to be sorry for.”

“…Yeah there is.”

“No, Charlotte,” Matthew’s voice came harder, “There ain’t.”

Too tired to argue, horribly embarrassed, she swallowed all the liquid and let him take the glass away.

Walking out the door, Matthew said, “Get dressed. There’s something I wanna show you.”

After Charlie stumbled into a dress and made her puffy face look somewhat decent, she found Matthew waiting downstairs. Without a word, he took her hand and led her outside, walking them both straight into the woods.

Ten minutes later they stood inside her wreck of a house.

Light filtered in where portions of the roof and walls were missing, plant life grew out of the floor. But between faded wallpaper and cracked masonry, it was still beautiful.

“Here’s how I see it,” Matthew looked around the parlor, nodding to himself. “You lived your life for your mama, made sure she was well-tended. Because of you, she was blessed enough to pass in her sleep, real gentle.” Pale eyes darted down to find Charlotte gnawing her lip.

Charlie could see what he was not saying, what he was trying to show her. This house he was going to build for her was the symbol of the future she once never thought was possible. There was hope and a whole world just waiting.

“When I was sitting on the porch…” Charlie swallowed, took a shaky breath, and continued her confession, “…When I was sitting on the porch, I was numb at first. Then I felt this odd wave of relief. A part of me was glad she was dead, Matthew.” Forcing herself to look him in the eye, Charlie asked, “What kind of woman does that make me?”

“I won’t act like I know what you been through - what you denied yourself or how you struggled to care for your mama. But I do know that you felt liberated cause that’s what you were. God set you free when he set her free. You don’t have to live in your dead brother’s shell no more. She is at peace, you can be too. In the meantime, grievin is natural.”

Her fingers tightened in his, Charlie nodding sadly.

“I got men coming to start work on the house tomorrow.” Matthew surveyed bracken and rotting walls. “They’re gonna need direction from you. You can change whatever you don’t find pleasin, arrange the rooms to suit you.”

This was her fresh start to choose whatever future she wanted. “Careful what you offer, Matthew, I might just get carried away.”

Threading his fingers through her hair, Matthew rubbed where he knew her head must ache. “It will be a fine house, Charlotte.”

Back at Devil’s Hollow, Charlie flipped through the paper, reading yet another article featuring Gangster Tommy Kennedy’s Rising Fame. Matthew, at her elbow, tallied accounts, Nathaniel staring off into space at his side.

Charlie was far less distraught, had even smiled once or twice since their return. But when the screen door swung and Eli pranced into the room with something tucked under his coat, Matthew glared.

The last thing he needed was something stupid coming out of Eli’s fool mouth setting her off again.

Eli, oblivious to the outright growl coming from his cousin, stood proud as a peacock. “Put that paper down and hold out your hands, Miss Charlie.”

Before she knew what was what, Eli stuffed a striped kitten into her palms.

Unsure what the hell to do with it, Charlie dangled the tiny animal at arm’s length. The kitten stared at her, Charlie stared right back, both creatures confused.

The scrawny thing made a little mew.

Her scowl faltered. When it began to purr, a slow spreading smiled brightened Charlie’s face.

Eli, certain down to his bones the kitten would cheer her up, grinned. “Miss Miller’s house cat had a litter few weeks back. What you gonna name him?”

Charlie pulled the kitten to her breast. “Aren’t you just the fluffiest little baby kitty. You’re so cute with your big ol’ eyes and blue bow round your neck.”

Matthew’s shocked scoff caught the kitten’s attention.

In response, Charlie fawned all over the purring cat. “Don’t worry about big bad Matthew, Gus. He’s harmless.”

Knowing better than to keep a cat at the table, Charlie moved to her rocking chair, where she cuddled up close to her kitten.

Nathaniel, just as surprised to see Charlie act so girly, found himself amazed Eli had done something right for once. Funnier still was the look on his brother’s face. Watching Matthew just about jump when Charlie let out a girlish giggle, required a proper smart-ass response.

“Damn…” Nathaniel slapped a wicked leer on his face. “If she goes all soft over one mangy, flea-bitten mongrel, imagine what she’ll be like cooing over your first baby.”

It wasn’t even hard for Matthew to picture it - a tiny infant in his golden girl’s arms, her face soft as she smiled down. His scowl vanished, Matthew liking the image before Nathaniel ruined the moment by adding, “And the way you been ruttin after her, big, bad Matthew, it’s safe to say you’ll be building a cradle come Christmas.”

Ignoring Eli’s laughing snorts, Matthew looked to his older brother and leveled him with a glare, shocking his kin by agreeing. “I imagine you just might be right.”