Chapter 2 #2
He stands abruptly, and I register his tall, looming frame beside me in seconds. I adjust myself so that he is forced to lean beside Henrietta.
I nudge her arm from the other side, and she pivots her head in my direction.
Good. He should catch a whiff of her light floral perfume.
When she looks at me with concerned eyes, I encourage her with a smile and a tilt of my head in Frank’s direction, where he has already whipped out his phone and is scrolling through his camera roll.
As he begins to show us pictures of the city, Henrietta comes alive, shedding her nerves and stepping into the lovely, down-to-earth woman I’ve grown to know and admire.
By the time I edge away, the two of them are laughing, making pleasant conversation, and immersed in talks of urban life compared to rural life.
I finally allow Knightley back into my frame, tossing a smug look of “told you so” in his direction, where he still hovers at the bylines of the room like a gothic hero awaiting to insert himself where he doesn’t belong.
I waltz over to him while humming to myself, and when I’m near enough, I stand on my toes and ruffle his hair. “See? I know what I’m doing, Squire. Don’t doubt my abilities again.”
He sighs in a tone that says I’m-so-over-you, Emma Jane, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you have a sick, sadistic wish to see your close friend suffer?”
“Pft. What are you going on about?”
Knightley glares at me, searching for any hint of understanding.
When I raise my eyebrows, he runs his hand through his hair, turns his back to me, and then immediately spins to face me again, leaning down so that he’s inches from my face.
“Frank Weston is here because he went bankrupt in New York. He’s manipulating his father into selling the family farm and land.
And here you are trying to set a pure, innocent soul up with the devil himself. ”
My brain doesn’t compute, and I continue to search his eyes for any detection of deceit.
Knightley, however, has never been one to lie no matter how impossible he can be toward me.
“Why is that not reported in the news? I did a thorough internet search on him days ago when I learned he was coming down. No one has even whispered about this.”
“Do you think every single investment banker on Wall Street is reported about?” Knightley laughs without mirth as he stands to his full height. “Frank’s a big deal, but he’s a small-town big deal. Not a national big deal.”
We both snap our attention to the gasp coming from the other side of the room. Henrietta is on her feet, staggering backwards from where Frank is kneeling down beside the chair she was sitting in.
“I can explain…” he says before drifting off then standing and turning to face me.
“He has pictures on his phone, Emma Jane.” Henrietta’s disgust rings deep as she points an accusatory finger in Frank’s direction. “Of nude women! Doing things.”
“And there’s reason number five thousand and fifty-four that Frank Weston is a rotten soul,” Knightley mumbles under his breath.
The room is blanketed with quiet, only the crackling fire breaking the smothered silence.
Frank laughs stiltedly, bouncing his gaze from his father to me and then beside me to Knightley. Then, a slimy smirk snakes across his face. “I’m a twenty-six year old self-made man.” He shrugs as if that excuses his actions.
“Self-made, my—” Knightley curses. I watch as his naturally red-tinted face turns to a deep maroon as anger engulfs him. “Grant, do you know why your son is home? Truly?”
Grant’s wide eyes flicker to his son. “To celebrate my marriage?”
“He’s here to take your farm from you and sell it to the highest bidder back in New York. He’s broke, Grant. Not a penny left to his name. Your son is as corrupt as they come on Wall Street.”
“You have no idea what you’re mouthing off about, Knightley.” Frank’s booming voice is full of rage. “How dare you accuse me of such actions.”
Without retaliating, Knightley walks to the corner of the room, grabs a manila folder from a side table, and brings it to Grant.
Hesitantly, Grant takes the folder from Knightley and pulls out a hefty stack of papers.
After several prolonged moments of papers flipping, Frank protesting, and Father sitting in the corner with his nose in a newspaper, Grant stands.
“We will talk about this at home, Son.” He takes Halle by the hand, says his goodbyes to all of us, then leaves.
“I think you should follow them out,” I say, moving to stand beside Henrietta, who still looks shell-shocked.
“I will happily escort you,” Knightley says, already approaching Frank. Frank snarls and curses at Knightley the entire way through the hallway and out the door, and once we hear the click of the lock, Henrietta crumbles into my arms, a sob breaking out.
I pat her back as Father stands, likely going to look through the window to make sure everyone is good outside. I take advantage of the moment of privacy.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I peel Henrietta off my shoulder.
She shakes her head, wiping at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Do you believe me now? That a girl like me has no business remotely entertaining a guy like him?”
“Henrietta, listen to me.” I pat her cheek. “You are not at fault, okay? None of us knew—well, except Knightley—what type of man Frank Weston is.”
“No, Emma Jane. I mean that he is awful and I am good. I want a good man. And while I know city men can be good, I prefer someone I know and closer to home. Someone I can easily vet myself.”
“Noted.” I let her cry on my shoulder as she mumbles about the images on Frank’s phone, things I will never repeat.
Father comes back into the room, stating Knightley followed Frank home and won’t be back because he needs to tend to primary election matters.
At least I won’t have to face his unbearable gloating.
For a brief moment, I wonder how I could have been so wrong about Henrietta and Frank when my first match—his own father—was perfection.
Father’s phone rings. “Reverend Philip. To what do I owe this pleasurable phone call?”
Reverend Elton Philip…
Local, single, handsome, kind, and well-known…
Wouldn’t have abhorrent pictures on his phone.
“Henrietta, I’ve got a new plan.”