Authors: Chanse Lowell
“St. Valentine’s day is the day of love, so one can only assume you come here to piss on it by spreading your misery and heaping it upon my head.” His father dismissed the man signing documents at his right so there would only be him, Clarissa and William in attendance.
“I paid no heed to the day it was—I only knew I needed to see you,” William began, clearing his throat after he said this.
He shifted in his spot. Had Clarissa known this was the day of love? Had she expected him to do something grand to woo her? Was this her gift to him—a resolution with his odious father?
She was sweeter than he could possibly fathom.
His gaze flicked over to her, and she only gave him a look of encouragement with a soft smile and warm blue eyes.
When his eyes moved back over to his father, it was an entirely different experience. Penetrating, dark eyes like coals pitted at his gut, making his throat close off.
His father glowered with his hands gripping the edge of his desk, leaning forward, spewing what amounted to toxic venom with every breath he released. “Do it then—tell me once more you are to forever be a noxious thorn in my side and refuse to give me this place, when it’s rightly mine. I built most of it with my own money, and yet you think to—”
“Have it. All of it. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want anything that has to do with you.” William took two bold steps forward. “I will give it for a fair price, and you can call off Miller. There will be no injunction issued to me by the court of law.” He bowed his head. “I freely admit I took hold of this place as a means to torment you, but I don’t have it in me to be vindictive anymore. Not with this woman at my side. She shows me there is much good to be had in this world. And I truly pray you find some measure of peace and happiness like I have.” He waved at the door. “So call your notary back in here. Let me sign the deeds over to you, and let’s have done with this feud. We can pretend we never knew each other and forever part ways.”
His father bared his teeth. “You and I will eternally be bonded at the hip, and that is my cross to bear. You are my own flesh and blood, though I wish it otherwise, and you take my name upon you.” He tipped his head back and groaned, clenching his teeth. When his head fell back down, he wore an expression of anguish. “William Berling Ferrismore the first was a great man. I emulate him in every way, building an indestructible empire, and you do nothing but play a farce. This happiness you think you’ve acquired”—his father flung his hand at him—“it’s a charade. You only think it’s love, son. There is no such thing. Your mother never loved me. She refused me her heart, so of course I went in search of one elsewhere, but there was none to be had. She was a sadistic witch, and I was glad she left when I realized years later what she truly was—a heartless whore who bedded me and got with child all to steal my money in a way I would not suspect. You were the result of my own stupidity, and I cannot stand to look at you.” His face reddened.
“In all your life, have you ever had a moment of tenderness?” William turned to Clarissa, but still spoke to his father. “I think not. And I pity you.”
“Sign this blasted infernal thing, then be off!” his father nearly shouted. “I’m ready to be rid of you!”
He rummaged in a desk for some papers and then called his notary back in.
Moments later, William the third signed over his portion of the rail station to William the second, and it was as if two worlds had turned against each other.
They couldn’t even look at each other as they both signed the paper and then stood straight directly after.
Without a farewell or any other sentiment, William took Clarissa’s hand in his and left, never to return again.
His shipments would arrive some other way.
And he would be done with his nightmares, too. They could stay at the station with his demon father—to rot for all eternity.
Chapter 21
“What has happened? You look as if a ghost has landed in your lap!” Clarissa rushed to William’s side at the breakfast table.
The newspaper fell out of his flimsy grip and onto the table.
“Read it,” he said.
She swallowed down her insecurities, picked it up and slowly pieced together the words.
It took her a while to work her way through the article, but when she got to the end, she dropped the paper, too, and choked on her breath.
“This cannot possibly be real,” she whispered, dropping her head and forcing her lungs to move and accept the air she gave them.
He gripped her arm and took her down to his lap. “I’m afraid it’s very real. Many will be ruined by this.”
She sat in his lap, stiff and unseeing. “How could this have happened? I thought signing it over was—”
“Yes, we’ve been trying to prevent this, and I backed out so my father’s plan went forward, but I knew it was imminent. There was no way to stop the dam from breaking.”
He sniffed.
She turned in a flash. Was he crying?
She searched his eyes he kept off her.
“What do you think your father will do now?” She cupped his cheeks and turned her body to face him while balancing on his lap.
“I am sure he’ll make do. He usually does.” Another sniff.
“Oh, William, I am so sorry this happened to him.”
“Why?” His eyes pierced into her at last. “Why should we care what happens to that miserable excuse for a man?”
She stroked his jaw and then her fingers flitted into his hair. “Because even if he is a miserable man, he’s still your father. We cannot help but love our own flesh and blood. It’s how we’re created to be.”
He picked up the paper, and as if he was a robot, he read it aloud.
“New York Times, February 17, 1907. The New York Central Railroad Company recently initiated electrified rail service, and it was to the delight of local travelers everywhere, even though some complained the speed was too fast.
“Last night the Brewster Local left Grand Central using that electrified track and at Woodlawn, at six forty in the evening as it took a corner in the Bronx, it flew off the tracks and completely derailed. Engineers have stated it might have been due to a flaw in the engines.
“Twenty people were killed in the five passenger cars that were involved in this disaster, and one hundred fifty were injured with the debris and wreckage spanning for over a mile.
“The rear car tipped first, and then the others toppled afterward like dominoes. Shrieks from passengers as they were dragged for two hundred yards over the ties were heard by distant neighborhoods. Once it was brought to a standstill, the cries of anguish continued.
“The tangled wreckage was nothing but a mass of mangled bodies in each crevice of the twisted, broken cars.
“When reporters tried to reach William Berling Ferrismore II, he said it was not a design flaw, but that the tracks had been tampered with by disgruntled employees, and he even hinted it might be the schemings of his son who recently relinquished control of his shares on the railroad.”
“Stop, sweetheart. This does no good. There is no need to go on about the awful things he said and the descriptions of these bloodied corpses. He has no evidence you were involved, and people will decipher quickly he’s a madman.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, and as he sat there stiff and cold, her heart yanked. “Please. How can I help you? I want to make this better.”
He pushed her off his lap and up to standing. Without a word, he took her hand and marched her out to the garden.
“Strip,” he said.
“Here? What of the servants?” She glanced around.
“You said you want to help me. Strip.” His eyes hardened, and his hands flexed.
“But I . . . This wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”
He prowled after her, backing her toward the big tree. “Exactly.
That’s
what I want. I
want
them to see what a monster I am. Then they can tell the entire world.” He turned his head and growled, looking completely disgusted with himself. “If my father said those things, what’s to stop him from telling them about my sordid past?”
“Nothing. But does it matter?” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Look at me, darling.”
He slowly turned his head, and his jaw tightened. “I’m looking. I see a frightened, trapped animal that I’ve put here in this position.”
“Does it matter what he tells them, honestly? We’ve found each other. We’ve all made mistakes. You don’t have to acknowledge them—you don’t even have to read what the paper says. Why torture yourself that way?” Her hand moved and grasped his. “Please, Will. He does not know you. He does not know all the goodness you possess in your heart. He’s a jealous, embittered old man.” She swallowed, and her eyes welled up. “He sees that you have all he wished he had possessed. Take comfort in knowing you are happy here with me. There is nothing to prove. Nothing to say. The past is dark, but there is light ahead of us. You just told me you tried to warn him about the electric rails, but he obviously did not listen. What else could you have done? This is his attempt at placing blame elsewhere, because that is what a coward does. And you, brave man, did the right thing. You stepped away. You let him take it and learn the hard way. There is no shame in that. You are the best son any man could have.”
He flinched as if she’d struck him. “Don’t say that. I am not a son to be admired.”
She stepped into him, refusing to be plastered against the tree. “You watched out for him when you were there, even if he couldn’t see it. You kept him safe, kept others out of danger as well. Those are actions to be admired until my dying breath. I love that you care so deeply even when he has wounded you repeatedly beyond repair.”
He crushed her into his chest, slammed them up against the tree and kissed her with the fiercest tenderness she’d ever experienced.
Her arms were around him as a frenzy built with his hands and mouth. He gripped her by the waist, picking her up a little so she was his height.
She squeaked at the sheer power of his hands holding her up like that and pinioning her against the tree. “My God, Clarissa—you have a way of making me believe I can be redeemed yet.” His eyes roamed over her face as if searching for an answer.
“You are redeemed already. There is nothing to hide from anymore. I am here, and you are the love of my heart.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and exhaled.
He allowed her body to slide down his and then he held her in silence, rocking her with slight hip sways.
It was all they needed. A moment of silence. A moment of reflection.
A moment of well-earned peace.
* * *
William was restless. Clarissa tried to stroke his ego as much as his body, but he’d have these despondent moments where nothing she did seemed to help.
She considered her options.
Without realizing what she was doing as he sat at his desk, unmoving, she stepped inside and announced, “We are going to a club tonight.”
“We are?” He barely looked at her.
“Yes. I’ll be dancing and singing, and you will box. You need it.” She set her hands on her hips.
“You think so, do you?”
“Yes. You’ve gone from assaulting me every second with sexual aggression to barely noticing me. I am not what you need to get through this anymore. You need to be who you are entirely, with or without me.” She tapped her right toe and inclined her head at him. “I want you to box first. I will sing for you afterward.”
“Fine,” was his meager response.
She cleared her head. “Will . . .” She paused on her way back to the door. “Your father is a rotten bastard, and I have seen to it with your money that the press has shut him down. He won’t speak another ill word about you.”
“What the hell?” He stood, and his eyes shot into flames of fierce fire. “Why did you do that?”
“You needed help. I may not be the best swimmer, but I could see you were drowning. I cannot stand by and allow it. Your head is at least above water now.”
“Says the woman with no notion of how the banks continue to deteriorate.” He pushed a paper off his desk. “It’s all for shit!”
“That may be. And I am beyond in the dark on these matters, but I know this”—she pointed at him with a shaking index finger—“I love you, and I cannot abide to watch you crumbling when I can take some of your money and at least give you a temporary reprieve.”
“Cherry, if you touch my money again without my express permission . . .” He sucked in a tight breath, and his chest lifted and seemed to just stay there—stuck. Like him.
“I will touch whatever I need to in order to save you. Where is the man that yanked Miller off me and beat him into a sack of bloody meat? I want that man back!” She stomped her foot and left.
He would see. Money was worth nothing if he was starving inside emotionally.
She intended to feed him the bloody meat his body craved.
He would have his own meal of broken bones and beaten flesh. Then maybe, just
maybe
—he’d live again.
* * *
“Tyrone, please . . . I have promised to be on your stage, but that is all I do,” Clarissa said, pushing him aside.