Read Online Beloved Counterfeit by Kathleen Y'Barbo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathleen Y'Barbo
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answer?
“I see this is a question I’ve obviously no business asking.”
She dropped her things on the nearest chair. “Oh, you can ask. Doesn’t mean I have to respond.” Viola paused. “Yes,” she said with a sigh, “there is a man, though I’ve grown weary in trying to figure out whether he’s actually in my life or merely just in the neighborhood.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he’s spent much time courting and little time considering what comes next.” Viola leaned against the door frame and watched her brother heave the heavy trunk about as if it weighed nothing. “What of you? You’ve certainly grown up. Is there some woman pining away back in New Orleans while you’re away?”
Remy raised a dark brown eyebrow in response as he walked to the other side of the room. He picked up the worn copy of Paul Clifford , the book she’d left on the table when Mrs. Vincent’s husband had fetched her to deliver little Arabella in the wee hours, and opened it to the first page.
“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind.” He looked up. “Brilliant novel, though it always intrigued me how this fellow Mr. Clifford could live a dual life as a criminal and a gentleman.”
Viola strolled over to take the book from his hands. “Surely a dual life isn’t all that difficult, though I’d not recommend it. Now what of your lunch? Are you hungry? As I recall—”
A ring of the bell stopped her, and a moment later she opened the door to find the eldest of the Vincent girls on the porch. “Is it time?” When the girl nodded, Viola sent her off to let her mother know help was on the way. “It appears you will be left to fend for yourself for a while,” she said to Remy as she reached for the bag she kept nearby.
“How long do these things take?” he called from the door.
“Things? Oh, babies?” She shook her head. “There’s no predicting. Would you like to come along?”
Remy’s stunned expression made her chuckle even as she turned her attention to the task ahead. The last time she’d delivered a baby at the Vincent home, things had not gone well.
“Vivi?”
She turned to see Remy standing in the doorway. “Miss me already?” A poor joke, she realized as soon as the words tumbled out.
* * *
Ruby let her spoon fall into the bowl and swiped at her eyes. Had she not a full day’s work still ahead, she might have leaned her head against the porch post and claimed a quick nap. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Emilie Gayarre watching her and resumed eating.
It seemed the only way to avoid conversation, at least for the moment. The stew—stewp—was good but might have been better had she a slice of bread to go with it.
She took another bite. Maybe later she’d find time to start another loaf. Yes, with her dinner plans all but done, she could surely do that. Another bite and then one more, and the bowl began to empty.
A pie, perhaps. Yes, she’d serve the pie instead.
“I don’t know how you do it all.”
“Oh,” she said with a start as she set the bowl aside and scrambled to her feet. “I’m terribly sorry. I’d all but forgotten you were here.” She smoothed her apron and offered a shrug. “My mind tends to wander sometimes, though I never let it go any farther than the kitchen.”
“There’s no need for an apology.” Emilie shrugged as she rose and reached for the bowl. “Actually, I rather enjoyed the quiet. It’s lovely here.”
Before Ruby could protest, Emilie had deposited the dishes inside and returned to stand in the open door. “I wonder if perhaps I’ve chosen the wrong time to discuss the girls with you, Ruby. I can surely wait until you’re not so. . .” She paused, and Ruby figured her to be weighing her word choice against her upbringing. “So tired,” Emilie finally said.
“Best we talk now,” she said, even though dread snaked up her
“I see this is a question I’ve obviously no business asking.”
She dropped her things on the nearest chair. “Oh, you can ask. Doesn’t mean I have to respond.” Viola paused. “Yes,” she said with a sigh, “there is a man, though I’ve grown weary in trying to figure out whether he’s actually in my life or merely just in the neighborhood.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he’s spent much time courting and little time considering what comes next.” Viola leaned against the door frame and watched her brother heave the heavy trunk about as if it weighed nothing. “What of you? You’ve certainly grown up. Is there some woman pining away back in New Orleans while you’re away?”
Remy raised a dark brown eyebrow in response as he walked to the other side of the room. He picked up the worn copy of Paul Clifford , the book she’d left on the table when Mrs. Vincent’s husband had fetched her to deliver little Arabella in the wee hours, and opened it to the first page.
“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind.” He looked up. “Brilliant novel, though it always intrigued me how this fellow Mr. Clifford could live a dual life as a criminal and a gentleman.”
Viola strolled over to take the book from his hands. “Surely a dual life isn’t all that difficult, though I’d not recommend it. Now what of your lunch? Are you hungry? As I recall—”
A ring of the bell stopped her, and a moment later she opened the door to find the eldest of the Vincent girls on the porch. “Is it time?” When the girl nodded, Viola sent her off to let her mother know help was on the way. “It appears you will be left to fend for yourself for a while,” she said to Remy as she reached for the bag she kept nearby.
“How long do these things take?” he called from the door.
“Things? Oh, babies?” She shook her head. “There’s no predicting. Would you like to come along?”
Remy’s stunned expression made her chuckle even as she turned her attention to the task ahead. The last time she’d delivered a baby at the Vincent home, things had not gone well.
“Vivi?”
She turned to see Remy standing in the doorway. “Miss me already?” A poor joke, she realized as soon as the words tumbled out.
* * *
Ruby let her spoon fall into the bowl and swiped at her eyes. Had she not a full day’s work still ahead, she might have leaned her head against the porch post and claimed a quick nap. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Emilie Gayarre watching her and resumed eating.
It seemed the only way to avoid conversation, at least for the moment. The stew—stewp—was good but might have been better had she a slice of bread to go with it.
She took another bite. Maybe later she’d find time to start another loaf. Yes, with her dinner plans all but done, she could surely do that. Another bite and then one more, and the bowl began to empty.
A pie, perhaps. Yes, she’d serve the pie instead.
“I don’t know how you do it all.”
“Oh,” she said with a start as she set the bowl aside and scrambled to her feet. “I’m terribly sorry. I’d all but forgotten you were here.” She smoothed her apron and offered a shrug. “My mind tends to wander sometimes, though I never let it go any farther than the kitchen.”
“There’s no need for an apology.” Emilie shrugged as she rose and reached for the bowl. “Actually, I rather enjoyed the quiet. It’s lovely here.”
Before Ruby could protest, Emilie had deposited the dishes inside and returned to stand in the open door. “I wonder if perhaps I’ve chosen the wrong time to discuss the girls with you, Ruby. I can surely wait until you’re not so. . .” She paused, and Ruby figured her to be weighing her word choice against her upbringing. “So tired,” Emilie finally said.
“Best we talk now,” she said, even though dread snaked up her
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