Barbara touched her cheek, a silent command to open her eyes. Though Marietta felt like a penitent at the feet of a priest, she obeyed.
The woman let her hand fall back to the cushion between them. “You have changed. He would be so glad to see that light in your eyes.”
“Light?” Surely she was mistaken. All Marietta felt inside was the certainty that she could never undo all the wrongs she had committed.
“You finally believe.” Barbara wove their fingers together and squeezed. “He prayed every day you would, and asked me to pray every day as well. I have been faithful in that.”
They had prayed for her. As cruel as she had been, as stubborn and petty, and they had prayed. She shook her head. “I know all the words. But…forgiveness may wash me clean, but it cannot change what I have been. It does not negate the consequences of my actions.”
“No, it doesn’t. But it gives you the strength to face them.” It was so easy to understand, now, why Stephen had fallen in love with this girl who volunteered beside him at the hospital. How had Marietta never seen the heart that all but radiated from her? It was nearly like having her brother with her again.
She squeezed the slender fingers back. “You need to come with me to see my mother. Please.”
“Sweet Mari.” Sweet? An appellation no one had ever applied to her, even when she was a child. But Barbara looked utterly sincere. “It has been too long. I cannot intrude upon your family now—”
“Would you deny me a friend, a sister, when I need one most?” She gripped her other hand too, certain this was one time she must achieve her goal. If she left her brother’s widow in this house, this rough neighborhood, without a family, she might as well be turning her back on Stephen himself.
But Barbara’s eyes went soft with refusal. “You have never needed anyone, Marietta. It was one of the things I always admired about you, how you knew exactly who you were.”
“You thought that?” She sat back with a shake of her head. “Why?”
Barbara pulled a hand away and gestured, as if to say, Look at you. The fine silk, the fine house, the fine life she had purchased through wile and simmering smiles.
Look, indeed, where it had gotten her.
“I would trade it all. Every last stitch and gem for just one more chance to see Stephen and apologize.”
Her hostess went still. She sat there and studied Marietta’s eyes, the fingers of one hand still caught within hers. Marietta held steady and prayed she saw whatever she needed to see. That the Lord would grant her this chance to make just one thing right.
At length, Barbara’s shoulders relaxed. “I would be honored to be your sister and friend.”
“Then come.” She admired her determination? Then she would taste it in full. Marietta surged to her feet and pulled Barbara with her, out of the minuscule room and back toward the rickety door. “Grab your wrap. Mama will be at Grandmama’s this morning, as it is Tuesday, so we can catch them both together.”
“Oh, I…”
“Ah, I see your bonnet.” She snatched it from the half-broken rack by the door and turned to put it on the woman for her. “The sun is doing a fair imitation of spring today, so I brought an open carriage. This should suffice nicely.” She swung the thin cape from the same wobbly rack and whipped it around Barbara’s shoulders. “There. Pretty as a picture.”
True, even if the words were meant more to overwhelm than bolster. Barbara might not have the kind of cultivated beauty Marietta had so carefully created, but she had never wondered why the girl had caught Stephen’s eye. Something about her open face and that wide, honest smile…
She opened the door and pulled her sister-in-law, agape, into the sunshine.
Walker had been lounging in his seat, no doubt enjoying the touch of early spring upon his face, but turned and greeted their appearance with a grin. “Miss Barbara. Do I get the joy of driving you somewhere today?”
“We’re going to Grandmama’s.” Marietta pulled her to the carriage as Walker jumped down. She delivered Barbara’s hand into his, but when she just stood there looking dazed, he lifted her in. Marietta met his smile when he turned back to help her. “Thank you, Walk.”
He chuckled. “That’s my Yetta. ’Bout time she showed back up.”
Barbara turned back toward escape. “I really don’t think—”
“One thing that still holds true about me, my dear Barbara.” Marietta used Walker’s hand to vault up and settled on her seat with a whoosh of skirts and petticoats, leaving her guest little choice but to follow suit. She grinned. “I never lose an argument.”
Marietta loosed what might have been her first sigh of pure contentment as she watched Mama and Barbara cry and embrace, amidst laughter and reminiscing. There had been, in Marietta’s mind, no question how her brother’s widow would be received. If the Lanes and Arnauds did one thing well, without fail, it was loving.