12. Consort Complications

12

CONSORT COMPLICATIONS

All day Saturday at work, Seth kept playing over and over again in his mind moments from his dinner with Deborah — the quick flash of her smile, the way she seemed interested in every single small, silly detail he’d related to her about Cottonwood and Jerome and the Verde Valley in general.

The softness of her skin when he’d reached out to touch her as they said goodbye on Ruth’s front porch.

He probably shouldn’t have done that, but he hadn’t quite been able to help himself. There had been a moment in his car when it truly looked as though she’d wanted him to kiss her, and he’d almost succumbed. Then reason had reasserted itself, reminding him that he hadn’t known her for very long and that it was far, far too soon for a goodnight kiss.

Still.

Lionel Allenby didn’t appear to be at work that day, and Seth found himself grateful for his absence. Having to continually avoid seeing the man was stress he didn’t need, not when he couldn’t be sure of the mine superintendent’s involvement in the bootlegging operation and also didn’t know whether he should try investigating further.

Probably a bad idea. Seth had to admit that he wasn’t philosophically opposed to drinking, as long as it was done in moderation. But with Prohibition the law of the land, it just seemed smarter to play by the rules rather than attract any untoward attention.

At any rate, he’d made something of a bargain with Charles. Not one he was overly happy about, but it was better than nothing, and at least it had a set endpoint. His brother would buy the house on Paradise Lane, and he would woo Mary — and her family back — and then he would have no need to be part of the bootlegging operation any longer.

Problem solved.

However, when he returned to his bungalow at the end of yet another long day, Seth was surprised to see a note slipped under his doormat. His heart began to beat a little faster as he wondered if the note was from Deborah Rowe…but as soon as he picked it up, he recognized his mother’s neat, copperplate handwriting and realized the missive was from an entirely different source than the one he’d hoped.

Only a few short words.

Dinner at seven. The family needs to talk.

He didn’t like the sound of that very much. Had his parents learned of his date with Deborah last night and decided to step in?

That didn’t feel right, though, not when his mother seemed to think Deborah was a nice girl and definitely hadn’t said anything that showed she disapproved of him seeing her.

And he somehow doubted she would have gotten all those clothes together for Deborah if she harbored any fears about her younger son showing too much interest in the pretty newcomer.

Worried thoughts churned in his brain as he washed up and changed into clothes that weren’t covered in rock dust. His wardrobe wasn’t extensive, but he figured he could wear the same outfit tomorrow, a day when he wouldn’t be expected to do anything too taxing. A while back, he’d hired one of the maids from a local hotel to come in and clean the house every Monday, so it wasn’t as though he needed to worry about tidying up.

Doing his best to look as though he didn’t have a care in the world, he left his bungalow and began heading toward Main Street, passing Edgar and Denise Emory and their little boy Ralph as he went. An exchange of waves, and then he was past them and walking up Hull Avenue before turning so he could come in through the rear entrance of the mercantile. At this hour, the front door would be locked, and the family always came and went via the back door when they weren’t there on store business.

The rich smell of beef stew and freshly baked bread drifted down the stairs as he made his way up to the second-floor apartment. Seth breathed it in, knowing his stomach gurgled a little as he inhaled the delicious aroma. It had been a long while since lunch.

He was the last one to get there, since his brother and his father were already seated at the dining table, and his mother was just setting down a basket of bread as he approached.

“Oh, Seth,” she said. “I’m so glad you got my note. We’re just about ready to eat.”

No comment about his almost-tardiness, for which he was relieved. And no one seemed particularly tense, making him think this family meeting was about something other than Deborah Rowe entirely, like the ongoing discussion about whether they should get awnings for the mercantile’s front windows, or whether it was time to retire the Dodge and buy a new truck.

He took his regular seat next to his brother, then put his napkin in his lap and waited for his mother to sit down as well. A glass of water had already been poured for him, so there was no need to ask for something to drink.

Henry McAllister gave his usual brief thanks to Brigid, and then he and Charles passed their plates down so their mother could give them each a large portion of stew, thick with carrots and potatoes and slices of onion, sweet from being cooked at a low simmer on the stovetop for a good part of the day. After that, they all helped themselves to some fresh-baked bread.

During all this, Charles had sent Seth a borderline warning glance from time to time, as if warning him of their agreement and letting him know he would most certainly cut him off if he attempted to bring up the subject at all. Those looks only made him that much more tense, since he’d told Charles he would keep silent until this thing with Mary was settled one way or another.

His brother should have known he would never break his word.

“We wanted to have you here for dinner tonight for two reasons,” their mother said. “Some happy news this afternoon — your cousin Louise just had a baby daughter!”

A new addition to the McAllister clan was always something to celebrate, although Seth wasn’t sure why his parents had seen the need to invite him over to hear the news. He would have gotten the story from his cousin Helen soon enough, since he assumed she would have presided over the child’s birth. Luckily, none of Jerome’s civilian population thought it too strange that a McAllister midwife would be in charge of such operations, not when women often still turned toward female help when giving birth rather than seeing a doctor.

“I thought Louise wasn’t due until later in the month,” Charles remarked, then put a chunk of beef in his mouth.

Molly shrugged. “Well, babies come when they want, no matter what anyone else might have to say on the subject. But little Ruby is perfectly healthy, and it doesn’t seem to have been a problem that she was a few weeks early.”

“That’s not the only reason why we wanted to talk to you, though,” Henry McAllister said. “Mabel called earlier today to specifically remind us that Abigail’s twenty-first birthday is tomorrow, and very soon afterward, her consort search will begin.”

Oh, Goddess. With everything that had happened over the past week — Deborah’s arrival, the discovery of Charles’s connection to a local bootlegging operation — Seth had completely forgotten that his cousin Abigail’s all-important birthday was rapidly approaching…and that, as an unattached, not-too-distant cousin of the proper age, he would be forced to participate in the quest to find her consort.

Even before he’d met Deborah Rowe, Seth hadn’t been terribly thrilled by the prospect of possibly being his cousin’s future match. He supposed it wasn’t Abigail’s fault that she had always been so wan and languid, since he knew she’d battled one childhood disease after another. True, Helen had done her best to attend to Abigail while she fought whooping cough and diphtheria and mumps and Goddess knows what else, but even so, it seemed as though the parade of illnesses had taken its toll regardless of all the magical cures his cousin had been given.

And although no one in the clan talked about it openly, he also knew that the elders had had reservations about designating Abigail as the prima -in-waiting precisely because she hadn’t seemed strong enough to take over the management of the McAllister clan once her mother passed away, and had even gone so far to suggest that they should find someone else of the proper age. This sort of situation cropped up from time to time exactly because of this sort of reason, or simply because the current prima had the misfortune to have only sons.

But Mabel had been adamant that Abigail’s magic was very strong, even if her body seemed somewhat frail, and that it just made sense to designate her as the prima -in-waiting.

Despite all those protestations as to his cousin’s fitness for her future position, Seth hadn’t found the prospect of being Abigail’s consort very appealing, even back before he’d known his heart was given to someone else. She was so very languid and retiring, not the sort of person he could imagine kissing, let alone sharing the sort of activities his father had explained to him when he turned sixteen, spelling out how men had these urges but that it wasn’t safe to indulge them with certain loose women in the town who would be more than happy to take care of his needs…for a certain price.

Seated next to him, Charles looked less than happy as well. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have even been considered for the consort search, since he’d been engaged. Now, though, he was just as much of a free agent as his brother — or at least, that was what their parents must have believed, as they would have no idea that their oldest son was fully determined to get Mary back, no matter what.

Charles was the first to speak. “I’m afraid I can’t participate. I’ve recently begun corresponding with Mary Towne, and I think she and her family are beginning to soften toward me. I won’t jeopardize the current situation by participating in the consort search. If word ever got back to Mary that I’d kissed another woman, my chances would be utterly ruined.”

Both Molly and Henry looked understandably startled by this announcement, since Seth guessed that Charles hadn’t uttered even a hint to them that he was doing his best to reconcile with his former fiancée. In fact, he had a strong feeling that his older brother hadn’t written to Mary at all, and had only attempted such a gambit as a way of delaying the inevitable.

“You didn’t say anything to us about that,” their mother said, confirming Seth’s suspicions.

“Because I didn’t want to mention it until I knew the engagement was back on,” Charles replied, his chin taut. “Before then, there wouldn’t have been much point, would there? But because of that, I absolutely cannot be part of the search for Abigail’s consort.”

His parents exchanged a glance, and Seth watched his father’s mouth thin.

“If you had reconciled,” he said, “then of course your mother and I would make your excuses to Mabel and her daughter. However, since it doesn’t sound as though it’s a settled matter, you will need to participate, just like any other eligible cousin.”

“It’s not anything that either you can avoid,” Molly put in. Although her voice was firm, Seth couldn’t miss the compassion in her clear blue eyes, telling him she knew this was difficult for everyone involved.

He found himself saying, “If that was the case, then I’m surprised you haven’t done more to stop me from seeing Miss Rowe.”

His mother’s gaze softened even further. “Oh, Seth, you know that’s not how these things work. It has never been our way to tell the young men who might be a future consort that they can’t have their own lives and seek out their own wives. We trust the Goddess to guide us to the right place in this, as in all other things. If you were meant to be Abigail’s consort, then you would be utterly free when it came time to find her partner. And that goes for you as well, Charles,” she added, “We have to believe that if you weren’t intended to be a possible consort for our prima -in-waiting, then you and Mary would never have fallen out in the first place.”

These reasoned arguments didn’t appear to have much effect on their recipient. Lip curling, Charles retorted, “And I have to believe that if Father hadn’t shown off in the store that one day, then Mary and I wouldn’t have had our ‘falling out,’ as you put it. I don’t think the Goddess had anything to do with it. Just…bad luck.”

Their father’s eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t ‘showing off,’ Charles,” he said, tone flat. “It was stopping a thief from stealing our hard-earned money.”

“Of course, Henry,” Molly said, laying a placating hand on her husband’s arm. “We all know why you did what you did. But we also can’t deny that if your use of magic hadn’t been witnessed by everyone in the store, then Mary’s family would have had much less reason to make her break off the engagement. At any rate,” she continued briskly, “that is neither here nor there. We are all where the Goddess wants us to be, and that means you will respond to the summons to be Abigail’s possible consort, whenever that happens.”

Seth couldn’t quite stop himself as he reached for his glass of water to soothe his suddenly dry throat. Unlike his brother, he wouldn’t offer any further protests, since he knew they would fall on deaf ears. For uncounted generations, the sons of witch families had always answered the call when it came time to find a consort for the prima -in-waiting. He might rail inwardly against what he thought was a ridiculous custom, and he might privately think that if the Goddess’s hand was behind all this, then She had very bad timing, but he would hold his tongue. While he had absolutely no interest in becoming his sickly cousin’s consort, he would have been far more resigned to the situation if he had never met Deborah Rowe and had no idea what it felt like to be truly attracted to someone.

Charles, on the other hand, didn’t seem willing to let it go. “And if I don’t respond to the summons? If I refuse?”

“You will not refuse,” Henry McAllister replied, his voice implacable.

Their mother’s expression had also hardened, although when she spoke, it was in the same soft, persuasive tones she’d used a moment earlier. “Oh, Charles, that’s impossible. Don’t you know the elders and the prima can compel you to go to Abigail and share the consort’s kiss? Just because they don’t rule this clan with an iron fist doesn’t mean they won’t bring their powers to bear if they believe that’s what’s required.”

Seth slipped a sideways glance at his brother. Charles’s jaw was still taut, but there was also a certain fear in his eyes, a clear worry about what the elders might do if he angered them enough.

Before either of them could speak, though, their mother went on, “Besides, the chances that one of you would be Abigail’s consort aren’t so very high. You’re second cousins, and I’ve found that a prima’s consort tends to be someone more distantly related. I wouldn’t be surprised if our prima -in-waiting found her match among our relations in Prescott or Payson.”

That would be the best possible outcome for everyone involved. Charles could continue in his quest to woo back Mary Towne, and Seth could continue…well, whatever he was doing with Deborah Rowe. Spending as much time as possible in her company, he supposed, knowing that her tenure in Jerome might not be a lengthy one, should her memories return to her and she go back to her people, whoever they might be.

“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see what happens,” Seth said, which was the only real response he could give right then.

“Yes,” Charles said, his tone far more ominous, “I suppose we shall.”

That night, Seth lay awake for a long time, watching moon-cast shadows move across the ceiling. He knew the wise thing to do would be to tell Deborah they needed to spend a little time apart, just until he knew for sure whether he would be Abigail’s consort or not, but he couldn’t think of a single way to articulate the situation without giving far too much away about the McAllister clan’s inner workings. If he was too vague, he feared he might give Deborah the wrong impression…but on the other hand, spelling things out came with its own set of issues.

Whatever happened, he knew he needed to speak to her in person. Merely sending her a note telling her they shouldn’t be in contact for a while seemed too cruel.

Or maybe it was only that he wanted to spend some time alone with her, just in case his life was entirely upended in the very near future.

In a way, as much as he hated the thought of sharing the consort’s kiss with his cousin Abigail…not when he’d secretly dreamed of kissing Deborah almost since the moment he met her…he also thought it might help everyone involved if he was one of the early candidates to be presented to the prima -in-waiting. At least if that were the case, he could get this over with as soon as possible, and would either know the worst or realize he was now free to pursue Deborah without any fear of having all his hopes of a future with her ripped away at the last minute.

And since tomorrow was Sunday and he didn’t have to work, he could spend the afternoon with her…if she was free, of course, even as he guessed that whatever chores Ruth might have dreamed up for her wouldn’t last the whole day…and then he could let Deborah know that family business would consume his time for the coming week or so, but that he hoped she would still want to have dinner with him once the matter was handled and he didn’t have it hanging over him anymore.

What he would do if she started asking probing questions, he wasn’t sure, but he had to hope he’d be able to come up with answers that sounded plausible enough but wouldn’t lead to more queries.

One way or another, he should find out tomorrow.