Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(53)

“What happened?” Katie asked quietly, easing her plump body onto the bed and folding her hands on her lap. Although her skin was lined with age, her brown eyes were youthful and warm. A halo of soft white curls framed her face becomingly.

“What about your guests—” Sara began.

“Oh, they’re perfectly happy to listen to your father telling his ancient jokes. We’ve finally reached the age when they all sound new again.”

They chuckled together, and then Sara shook her head miserably. “I think I may have made a mistake,” she confessed, and told Katie about the scene with the Kingswoods and the ultimatum she had given Perry afterward.

Katie’s forehead was wreathed in concern. She held Sara’s hand comfortingly. “I don’t believe it was a mistake, Sara. You did what you felt was right. You won’t go wrong by listening to your heart.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sara said ruefully, dragging her sleeve across her wet face. “My heart was telling me some very strange things a few days ago.”

Her mother’s hand loosened slightly. “About your Mr. Craven.”

Sara glanced at her, startled. “How did you know?”

“It was the way you talked about him. There was something in your voice I’d never heard before.”

Although Sara had mentioned just a few scant details about the gambling club and the man who owned it, she should have known her mother would sense the things that were left unsaid. She lowered her head. “Mr. Craven is a wicked man, Mama,” she whispered. “He’s done terrible things in his life.”

“But you found something in him to care about, didn’t you?”

A few tears splashed into Sara’s lap. “If he’d had someone to teach him about right and wrong, someone to love and care for him as a child, he would have grown up to be a fine man. A very fine man.” She wondered what Derek Craven might have been like if he’d been born to one of the families in Greenwood Corners. He would have been a handsome little boy with innocent green eyes and a sturdy, well-nourished body, running through the meadows with the other village children. But the image dissolved, and she could only see him as a scrawny climbing boy, choking on soot as he crawled upward through chimney stacks. Sara twisted her fingers together in agitation. “The club factotum told me that Mr. Craven is a man of ruined potential. He was absolutely right.”

Katie watched her closely. “Sara, did this man admit to having feelings for you?”

“Oh, no,” Sara said hastily. “At least…not the kind of feelings you and Papa would approve of.”

She flushed, while her mother took unexpected amusement in the comment. “Of course I approve of those feelings,” Katie said, chuckling. “Within the bonds of matrimony.”

Sara dragged her fingers through her own hair, ruining the smooth coiffure and pulling out the pins that seemed to jab into her scalp. “There’s no point in talking about Mr. Craven,” she said dully. “Perry is the only man I want, and the only one I was likely to get, and it’s possible I’ve just ruined all chance of marrying him!”

“No one can know for certain,” Katie mused. “But I think you might have given him the prodding he needed. Deep in his heart, Perry doesn’t want to be alone with his mother forever. He can never really be a man until he leaves her and begins to make decisions for himself—and she’s made that well-nigh impossible. In a way she’s created a prison for him. What worries me, Sara, is that instead of escaping the prison, he may want you to join him there.”

“Oh, no.” Sara’s chin wobbled. “I couldn’t bear a lifetime of being under Martha Kingswood’s thumb!”

“It’s something you should think about,” Katie said gently. “Lord bless you both, it may be the only way you can have Perry.” Giving Sara’s arm a squeeze, she smiled warmly. “Dry your face, dear, and come out to visit with the guests. Mrs. Browne has been asking about Mathilda again, and I never remember what I’m supposed to tell her.”

Sara gave her a dark look and obediently followed her to the front room.

The following day was spent washing clothes and preparing a “pepper pot” for supper. Cutting carrots, turnips, and onions into small pieces for the stew, Sara talked and laughed with her mother. As they worked, they sang a selection of the love ballads with sweetly tragic endings that were so popular in the village. Finally Isaac called to them from the parlor, where he sat on the floor fixing the cracked leg of a chair. “Don’t the two of you know any songs in which no one dies or loses his sweetheart? I began the day in a happy mood, and now after these dirges I’m hard-pressed not to be wiping a tear from my eye!”

“Will hymns do?” Sara asked, scraping the vegetables into a pot of boiling water. Later they would add equal parts of mutton and fish, and season the whole with cayenne pepper.

“Aye, something to uplift the soul!”

They launched into a vigorous hymn, pausing to giggle as they heard Isaac’s off-kilter baritone join in. “Your father has his share of faults,” Katie murmured to Sara in the lull after the hymn was finished. “He gave me a trying time, to be sure, especially in his youth. He had a quick temper back then, and a tendency to brood.” A reminiscent smile curved her mouth. “But that dear man has loved me every day of his life. He’s been true to me all these forty years. And after all this time, he still makes me laugh. Marry a man like that, Sara…and if it pleases God, you’ll be as happy as I’ve been.”