A Daughter's Place, page 10
The real McCoy stood in the corral just beyond the party setup. Posh’s and Sporty’s manes had been braided with ribbons, and children were already forming lines for rides. Allie’s grandfather was in charge: he lifted the girls up into the saddle and led the more nervous riders around in a tight circle.
As Nicole rushed to join the queue, Libby glanced around. People were everywhere, all talking to someone, all busy doing something, except her. She eyed the gift in her hand and thought that she could look for someplace to put it. After that, she could find herself a drink. Then maybe she’d watch the children on the ponies for a while.
It seemed like a safe plan. But then she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Nice hair, Libby.”
She recognized his touch before she heard his voice. Turning slowly, she saw the sun shining off his golden hair, his blue eyes fixed on her.
“You’ve been busy.” She scanned the lavish decorations.
Gibson appeared sheepish. “Well, I’m finished seeding. I needed something to occupy my time. Allie’s out of her mind with excitement. She’s been waiting for Nicole to get here. See—they’re lined up together for a pony ride.”
Libby drew in her breath at the sight of Allie in a beautiful cotton chintz dress, her blond hair curled in a mass of perfect ringlets. “She looks like a doll, Gibson.”
“Doesn’t she? Mom did her hair.” He watched Allie for a few moments before he turned back to Libby. “But you need a drink, and I can take care of this.” He took the gift and gently guided her with a touch on her back toward the kitchen. Moira was doing bar duty, serving wine, soft drinks, beer and punch to the adult guests.
He looks gorgeous, Libby thought, shooting sideways glances at Gibson as they walked. His skin glowed with health; his body was muscular and strong beneath a pair of stiff black jeans and a crisp white shirt with black detailing. Rolled-up sleeves revealed the strong muscles of his forearm.
Suddenly the kiss they’d shared was all she could think about, and when he asked her what she’d like to drink, she found herself unable to tear her eyes from his lips, remembering how they’d felt brushing hers.
As if he could read her mind, he whispered, “You’ll have to stop looking at me like that Libby, or I’ll be forced to kiss you. Again.” He leaned in close to pass her a glass of punch. “And that’ll really get the neighbors talking.”
Nothing could have grounded her more quickly. She figured there was already enough gossip circulating about her in the close-knit community. No need to give people something else to talk about. While sipping her punch, she checked out the crowd. More mothers had brought their children than fathers, and on average they were probably five to ten years older than she. As she surveyed the faces she realized, with great amusement, that many of these women were former girlfriends of Chris’s.
“What’s so funny?” Gibson edged nearer.
Her host was eminently kissable, no doubt about it. “So let them talk,” she said softly. Saying the words felt like a dare. Right away she knew she was in trouble. Gibson never backed down from a challenge.
“All right, I will,” he said. Then his eyes began to close and she realized he was going to kiss her despite the fact that people—his neighbors and friends—were standing all around them. He was going to kiss her, and God help her, she was going to—
“Daddy! Daddy!”
Libby heard the words at the same moment as Allie pulled at Gibson’s arm.
“Everyone’s had a pony ride. Can we do the scavenger hunt now? Please, please, please?” With every please she pulled harder on her father’s wrist.
“Calm down, pumpkin. Of course we can.” Gibson gave Libby a rueful glance before allowing his daughter to tug him toward the group of children standing expectantly beside the patio table.
Libby watched him go, not sure whether to feel sorry or grateful.
“Gorgeous, isn’t he?”
A trim woman with short dark hair, wearing nicely fitted dark jeans and a beautifully embroidered denim shirt, stepped up beside her. She looked familiar, but Libby couldn’t remember her name.
“Tobey Stedman,” the woman said, eyeing her up and down. “I’m Ardis’s aunt.”
Libby spotted the little, dark-haired girl in the crowd. For once her long brown hair was not in braids but cascaded freely down her back, well past her bottom. “Yes. I know Ardis. She rides my bus.”
“And you’re Libby, of course. You look a lot like your brother.”
“So I’ve been told.” Libby gave a slight shrug. She remembered the woman now. Chris had brought her home for Sunday dinner once. Tobey had spent the entire meal pointing out the character flaws and beauty imperfections of the other girls around Chatsworth, and after Chris had taken her home, their father, who usually kept his opinions to himself, had said, “Do me a favor, Chris. Don’t invite that one back.” And amazingly, for once, Chris had complied with his father’s request.
Tobey’s eyes were back on Gibson, who was handing out lists to the girls.
“You can work in pairs,” he told them. “Once you’ve collected every item report back to me for your prize.”
Immediately Allie linked hands with Nicole, who was reading intently. “A handful of hay,” Nicole said. “We need to go to the barn.”
The two girls were about to run off, when Ardis came up beside Allie. “I want to be your partner.”
Allie shrugged. “I’m partners with Nicole.”
“But we were always partners before.” Ardis crossed her arms and fixed Nicole with a stare. “Before you had to move here.”
Libby was about to intervene, but she stopped herself when she realized Nicole had the situation under control.
“We could all three work together.” After a bit of haggling and negotiating they finally agreed, with Allie walking in the middle between Nicole and Ardis.
Libby refocused on Tobey. She was oblivious to the girls’ exchange; her attention was still on Gibson, who was now starting up the barbecue.
“I can’t imagine why we didn’t all go crazy over him when we were in school,” she said, more to herself than to Libby.
“Because we were too busy chasing after Chris.” Another woman came up from behind Tobey, and this one Libby recognized right away.
“Garnet!” Libby smiled at the redhead with the pretty face and animated expression. Chris had dated Garnet longer than any other girl she could remember, and her parents had both hoped that he would eventually settle down with her. But at about the same time that Gibson had married, Garnet had announced her engagement to a successful farmer several miles closer to town.
“Hi, Libby! Great to see you back in Chatsworth. I know Violet’s enjoying Nicole at school.” Garnet tugged at the bottom of her short, bright-purple skirt, which she was wearing with an equally vivid turquoise-and-pink top.
“Violet is your daughter?” Libby scanned the farmyard, looking for a likely candidate.
Garnet pointed to a red-haired girl directing another girl who was attempting to climb an old poplar tree by the barn. “There she is. Violet’s in grade three, but she usually hangs around with Allie and her friends.”
“You may have been interested in Chris,” Tobey said, ignoring the discussion about the young girls and returning to Garnet's opening line, “but I never was. At least not seriously.”
“Really?” Garnet pursed her lips, and when she looked at Libby, devilment flashed in her emerald-colored eyes. “Then it's a pity you missed out on Gibson, as well.”
“It’s not too late. Why do you think I volunteered to take my niece to this party? Not that Gibson seems at all interested. Do you know he hasn’t dated any women since his wife died?”
“Not true,” Garnet said. “He went out with a lawyer from Yorkton for a while.”
“Really? I hadn’t heard about that. Is he still seeing her?”
“No. I don’t think he’s seeing anyone right now. Unless...” She raised an eyebrow at Libby, a gesture that Tobey didn’t pick up on.
“He hasn’t been at any of the town dances, or even at the bar, in ages. Doesn’t he ever go out?”
“I haven’t seen him around lately, although Mick and I used to socialize with him and Rita quite regularly.” Garnet turned to Libby. “We curled together. I don't think Rita enjoyed the sport very much, but she loved the social activities that went with it. You know, the potluck dinners and the smokers—not that very many people smoke anymore, but somehow the name seems to stick.”
Libby wanted to hear more about Rita, but Tobey commandeered the conversation again. “So do you and Mick still curl?”
“Sure. We’ve partnered up with Darren and Christy.”
“Darren?” Libby couldn't stop herself from asking. “Darren O’Malley?”
“Yes. Do you remember him? He was a few years older than you, wasn't he? He married a good friend of mine from high school.”
“Do they live in Yorkton?” Libby prayed the other women couldn’t see how her heart was pounding. She held her drink down so they wouldn’t notice her trembling fingers.
“No, they stayed on Darren’s farm, just south of Sledgewood. I suppose you remember what an athlete Darren was.”
Libby nodded, feeling a bitter taste fill her mouth. She remembered, all right.
“Once they were married he kept bragging that he was going to raise his son to be the next Sydney Crosby. So what happens?”
“Four girls,” Tobey said, finally demonstrating a sense of humor. “Serves the guy right. Always was a little too cocky if you ask me.”
“Oh, he’s not that bad,” Garnet said, defending him. “And he adores those girls.”
Tobey shrugged, then turned to Libby. “So what brought you back to Chatsworth? I gather you and Owen have split?"
Libby had been dreading this question, or one much like it. But before she could come up with her prepared answer, Garnet came quickly to her rescue.
“And why shouldn’t she come back? It’s her home, isn't it? I’ll bet her father is delighted."
“I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say delighted.”
Not to be put off, Tobey angled in for another question. “Did you and Owen get married after you ran off like that?"
“Tobey!" Garnet exclaimed, but her disapproval didn’t erase the expectant look on Tobey’s face as she waited for Libby’s answer.
“No. We never married." Libby was determined not to tell an outright lie if she didn’t have to.
“Excuse me, ladies."
With perfect timing, Gibson stepped between her and Garnet and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. His touch was casual, but there was something solid and reassuring about it that helped to work the tension out of her body.
Tobey’s attention shifted from Libby to Gibson, as Libby was certain he’d expected it to. He gave them all an apologetically charming smile, letting go of Libby’s shoulder to hold out his hand. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need help with the barbecue. Got a second, Tobey?"
“Of course I do." A pleased smile spread across her face as she held out her arm to him.
As they walked away Gibson turned back and gave Libby a quick wink, and she smiled in return, a private thank-you for a much-needed rescue. Except not that private, because Garnet witnessed the entire exchange. She apologized for the other woman.
“Don’t pay any attention to Tobey. You remember what she’s like.”
Libby sure did. Even though she’d hoped people would accept her and Nicole, no questions asked, she’d always known it would never be that simple. There was no concept of minding your own business in a small town, where folks felt their neighbors’ affairs were their legitimate concerns.
Eventually she would set the record straight where Owen was concerned. But she’d prefer to wait until she and Nicole were long gone to do it.
What really worried her was the possibility she would run into Darren one day. He’d always been so full of big plans and dreams, she’d been shocked to hear he’d married and settled only fifteen miles away in a town even smaller than Chatsworth.
It was only a question of time before their paths crossed. Which only underscored how important it was for her and Nicole to leave as scheduled in the fall.
Eight
Tobey’s question about Owen played through Libby’s mind over and over the next morning. She told herself not to worry. Even once people knew Owen wasn’t Nicole’s father, no one would link her with Darren O'Malley. Garnet hadn’t even realized they’d known each other.
After driving the kids to school on the bus, she stopped at the hardware store to pick up a couple of industrial-size pails of paint—pale yellow for the house, barn red for the outbuildings. At home, she changed into an old pair of Chris's work overalls and pulled her ponytail through the back of a baseball cap.
She planned to begin with the house, but it would require a good scraping first to prepare the surface for the new paint. The tools she needed were in the machine shed. She walked over to the shed and got the ladder, then lugged it to the front yard, anticipating the day's hard labor ahead of her.
It was a bright, glorious morning, signaling a day meant to be spent on outdoor pursuits. The sun was warm on her as she settled the ladder against the wall of the house. She thought about her garden, all the seeds tucked into the moistened earth. If the weather continued this nice, they’d soon be sprouting, just as the crops in the field had begun to do. All the way to town this morning, she’d seen the light dusting of green that signaled successful germination. Soon the grain would be shooting skyward.
She wasn’t sure what her father had planted this year. Probably canola in the field next to Gibson’s. It would make a fine sight come mid-summer when it bloomed brilliant yellow, especially in contrast to the lavender-blue flax Gibson had seeded next to it.
The sound of her scraper dragging along the old wooden boards soon filled her ears. When she paused she could hear the swallows and the robins bickering overhead, and beyond them nothing except the peaceful quiet of a country morning. How nice not to have the incessant drone of city traffic, the high-pitched squealing of air brakes, the inevitable loud music or sounds of arguments from next-door tenants.
Did you and Owen get married? The fragile peace of the morning evaporated as Tobey’s phrase resurfaced in Libby’s consciousness. If it hadn’t been for Nicole, it would have been so tempting to blurt out the truth. Owen and I didn’t run off together. After Darren raped me, my father kicked me out of the house. She would have liked to see the look on Tobey’s face then.
But she’d never have that satisfaction, because it was too late for the truth. The proof of what had happened was long gone. The bruises had healed; the torn clothing had been burned.
A few mental scars remained, Libby acknowledged, but it didn’t matter much as she’d never dated since. She’d had no time; she’d had no money for sitters. And the few men she’d met in Toronto who’d seemed interested had always left her cold. It didn’t help that she knew nothing about them. Her mother hadn’t gone to church with their mothers; they couldn’t laugh about their funny grade six teacher or reminisce about learning to swim at the local pool.
Those small common interests were what Libby had missed most in the city. Everyone was separate and distinct, and glad to be so. Not her. As a schoolgirl, she’d liked knowing that she, as well as most all of her classmates, had been born at the Yorkton Hospital. It made her sad that Nicole hadn’t been.
Nicole herself asked few questions about her father. She knew he was a boy Libby had once dated. Libby had described him but had never told Nicole his name. One day the whole truth would have to be revealed. But not yet. It had been hard enough for Libby to reconcile her daughter’s existence with the brutal assault she’d suffered from Darren O’Malley. How could a seven-year-old child come to grips with such a thing? Nicole didn’t even know what the word rape meant, for heaven’s sake!
Flakes of faded yellow paint rained to the ground as Libby scraped hard and fast. The muscles in her fingers and forearm ached with the constant effort of pushing the metal scraper back and forth over the old wood. She switched hands and thought about the way Gibson had appeared at just the right moment to waylay Tobey’s inquisition.
He must have overheard at least part of their conversation. And he must have been curious. After all, Tobey was essentially voicing the same questions he’d been asking ever since Libby had returned. Had he been tempted to remain quiet and listen to her answer? If so, she was glad he’d resisted the urge.
A glance at her watch had Libby panicking. It was well past the family’s normal lunch hour. Soon her father would be coming inside for the sandwich she always left on the counter. She dropped the scraper on the ground and ran to the kitchen, where she hurriedly slapped slices of cheese and tomato inside whole-wheat rolls. She was just pouring a glass of water, when the back door opened.
She couldn’t see him, but she felt her father’s presence behind her. What would he do? Would he finally say something to her?
The moment stretched, and Libby’s tension mounted. She stood with her hand poised over the cold-water faucet, the water running uninterrupted into the sink, the empty glass in her other hand. At the kitchen window a horsefly buzzed angrily, throwing his round black body into the clear glass, again and again and again.
Then she heard her father rub his work boots against the bristles of the mat by the door, followed by a series of heavy thuds as he walked past. When he stopped, just a foot or two from where she was standing, she finally turned to face him.
He’d been looking at her, all right, but now he pivoted and disappeared into the bathroom.
Coward! Libby could have screamed, although she didn’t. Would it kill him to speak to her? One little sentence, say, thanking her for the sandwich...
