30. Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty
A day without Evie had been unbearably hard, but a day avoiding Roger was even more complex. He had lashed out at Margaret, rejecting her love. Her heart had been anguished, suffering from the painful heartbreak that was a side effect of love. In her case, one-sided.
Margaret once believed Roger had loved her, but she had misread it, almost like the lie she endured with Eugene.
She was cursed, never to experience love, and no one to love her for who she was.
What was wrong with her? Margaret had her flaws, but was she that unlikable?
What had she done to be tortured this way?
She had avoided Roger in every possible way—going to breakfast later in the day, reading in her room, and steering clear of his wing of the home.
Margaret couldn’t bear to look upon his face, the face that had given her the look of betrayal and disappointment.
She couldn't get rid of that image, not even for a second.
When she thought of him, that memory replayed.
There were no longer slow dances, picnics, and kisses under the stars.
All had vanished.
Did Margaret feel terrible about what she did?
To an extent. She didn’t regret getting Roger a job offer.
She didn’t regret having him praised. What she regretted was giving her heart away so quickly.
She had only known him for merely five weeks, so it was foolish for her to let herself fall for him.
She wasn’t sure if her heart was truly broken or if it had tightened around Roger, leaving him no room to escape.
He would be forever trapped in her heart, and that, she feared, would be her undoing.
Even though Margaret had tried every plan imaginable to avoid Roger, she couldn’t at dinner.
The evening had been rather quiet, an eerie awkwardness taking root within the very dining room.
Between the sight of an empty chair and the shared grief of Evie’s absence, Margaret couldn’t seem to make conversation.
She stared at her food, abstaining glances from Roger’s eyes.
She couldn’t bear to see them ever again—not even for a split moment.
“This roast is very delicious,” Roger complimented. Margaret cringed, still staring at her food.
“Why, thank you, Roger. I will have to give your compliments to our cook, Mrs. Weston,” Margaret’s mother responded.
“I believe this is the best meal I’ve had in years.”
“Nothing else was as appetizing?” Margaret’s father asked.
“Of course it was,” Roger said, a slight chuckle in his voice. “This roast was just more to my liking. It reminds me of my mother’s cooking.”
“I’m sure she’d take that as a compliment.”
“She would have,” Roger corrected. “My mother was a kitchen maid most of my life. My father was a Scottish immigrant and died when I was seven. My mother passed away five years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Mama said. “That must have been very hard for you. I, too, have lost my parents. There’s always a part of me that misses them still.”
“But she is in a better place,” Roger said with a cheery tone.
Margaret looked up, seeing a smile displayed across his face. She tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help herself. Something was different about him at that moment, something so different that he didn’t seem like the Roger he was the day before—disappointed and angry. He seemed . . . happy.
Roger wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it down. “I do have news I’d like to announce.” He stood from the chair, immediately drawing everyone’s attention—especially Margaret’s. She gripped the tablecloth tightly, her heart thundering.
“I’ve spent the last three years hating myself, believing there was nothing more for me to live for.
That was until I found the Lord last night.
I was raised in church, but I pulled away after the war.
I didn’t believe God could love me after everything, but .
. . He’s shown me I am worth dying for, and I am worthy of His forgiveness. ”
Margaret’s chest warmed at the words she prayed to hear from Roger’s mouth.
From the look on his face, she could tell he was genuinely serious.
Gone was the scowl from yesterday, replaced by a gentle, reassuring smile.
The corners of his mouth curled upward, and those brown eyes of his softened.
He had found peace, true peace through the Lord Jesus Christ.
“Oh, Roger, that is wonderful!” Mama expressed, grinning from ear to ear.
“Congratulations, Mr. McKinley. That is wonderful news. I’m very proud of you,” said Margaret’s father.
Marjorie grinned across from Margaret. “I’m happy for you, too.”
Roger glanced briefly in Margaret’s direction before continuing his speech. The brief eye contact made her stiffen. She wanted to speak, to express her gratitude, but words eluded her. Her mouth dried, and she couldn’t manage to form a single word.
“I am sorry to say that I will be leaving before the end of next week. I plan to move to Boston and accept a job at The Boston Globe. Margaret here was able to get me this job, and I plan to pursue it if all goes well.”
Margaret’s breath caught in her throat. She could hardly believe it.
Roger had accepted the job? He really did?
She felt a wave of relief, but it didn’t change the fact that she was still in pain.
He had hurt her badly, leading her to believe he loved her when he didn’t.
What kind of a man could do that? But he’d be leaving soon and staying out of her life forever.
Their time together had ended, and he could never hurt her again.
“Congratulations,” Daddy said. “I knew you could do it.”
“I plan to return to my studies and work towards my Ph.D. at Harvard. That is, if they accept me. I haven’t attended school in some years, so it will take some time getting used to it again.”
“You’ll do exceptionally well,” Mama praised. “We all believe in you.”
“I started writing poetry again last night. I stayed up until the wee hours and wrote two poems. I plan to present them to my editor when I arrive. I’m a little rusty, so they might despise them.
” Roger chuckled. “But I know deep down this is what I am meant to do. I ran from God for three years, and now I must get right with him. Letting the Lord direct my path is the next step.”
The rest of the conversation faded away as Margaret became immersed in her own thoughts.
She desired relief now that Roger was leaving, but she couldn’t shake the pain away.
Each time she looked into those coffee-brown eyes and saw that smile of his, her heart broke into tiny pieces.
Why did he have to treat her like this? She didn’t want him to go; she wanted him to love her.
But that was impossible. He couldn’t be her captive.
It wasn’t right. He had been caged too long, and now he had found his freedom.
He no longer needed her, and it was time for her to let him go.
Roger’s breath quickened as he stepped into Mr. Nicholson’s study that evening.
The hallway was eerily quiet, each creak of the floorboards echoing through the stillness.
This wing of the house felt worn and weary, seemingly untouched by repairs for years.
Roger delicately knocked at the door and waited for a response.
“Come in.”
When Roger opened the door, Mr. Nicholson sat at his desk, writing in a notebook. He looked up and removed his spectacles. “Ah, Mr. McKinley. What brings you here this evening?”
The room grew hot, making Roger sweat beneath his clothes. He cleared his throat. “I need to speak to you on . . . some matter.”
Mr. Nicholson pointed to the seat in front of him. “Of course. Take a seat.”
Roger took another deep breath as he sat.
Looking up at Mr. Nicholson made Roger feel small and powerless.
It wasn’t that Mr. Nicholson frightened him; it was what he might think about him after he revealed what was on his heart.
It was a matter that would change how the man perceived him—their friendship would either end or become something else.
“What did you need to speak of?”
Roger didn’t know where to begin—let alone what to say. So he went with the easy answer, the straightforward truth.
“I have come to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
The room grew silent, and time itself seemed to freeze, as if the world outside had come to a standstill.
Mr. Nicholson leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple.
Roger’s forehead beaded with sweat, heat rising from his stomach all the way to his scalp.
How foolish it was for him to ask! He hardly knew Margaret.
What man would grant his blessing this early?
“Why do you think you are qualified?”
A blaring pulse reverberated inside Roger’s heart, sweat dripping from his underarms. How could he answer this?
If he answered truthfully, he wasn’t qualified at all—far from it.
He was undeserving of Margaret, and she deserved better, but he couldn’t leave this place without stating his intentions.
Roger couldn’t live without her, and he could never forgive himself or leave without taking a chance to start a future with her.
“I’m not,” Roger answered with great honesty. “I don’t deserve her. She is better off without me, but I love her, sir. More than anything or anyone else in the world.”
Mr. Nicholson sighed, nodding slowly. “I love my daughters—all equally, but I just lost a daughter this week. I’m not ready to lose another.”
Roger’s heart sank. Of course. This is impossible, as I predicted.
“But . . .” Mr. Nicholson began, sitting up straighter. “I care for their happiness, and I understand Margaret loves you dearly, so with a heavy heart, I give you my blessing.”
Roger’s eyes widened. Shock hit him hard in the chest. Did he hear Mr. Nicholson right?
Mr. Nicholson extended his arm. “Welcome to the family, Mr. McKinley. We will be glad to have you.”