16. Chapter 16 #2
Muriel had only met Zane's grandfather briefly, but the twinkle in his eye when he'd passed her on his way out of the parlor had lifted her spirits.
He'd been dressed in much simpler garb than the rest of the Ericksons, and looked as if he'd be right at home sittin' in a pew at Grace Church or eating supper in her da's kitchen.
She hoped he'd be joining them tonight. She sensed he'd be an ally, and heaven knew she needed all the friends she could get.
Zane drove the buggy around to the carriage house where a groom came out to tend the horse.
After climbing down, Zane came around to her side and took her hand as he helped her down.
A little tingle ran up her arm as she slid her fingers into his palm.
So strong and steady. Dependable. And the way his eyes latched onto hers?
She didn't want to look away. But she did.
It wouldn't do for her to misjudge the step and take a tumble in the dirt before dinner.
Zane tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her up the stone steps to the front porch.
The butler opened the door as they approached, and Zane nodded his thanks to the man.
Muriel exhaled a nervous breath as the door closed behind them, but Zane turned one of his adorable smiles on her, and she couldn't help but smile back.
"It'll be fine." He leaned close and whispered in her ear as they made their way to the parlor. "Grandpa Clem is salt-of-the-earth, and Mother is as worried about making a good impression on you as you likely are of her."
Muriel seriously doubted that, but it was sweet of him to say so.
"Father might seem intimidating, but disapproval is his natural temperament, so don't let him get under your skin. He's more concerned with work than entertaining anyway, so he'll likely disappear into his office after dinner."
Muriel heard the pain behind the words and ached for him. She and Da might not always agree, but they always loved and supported each other. 'Twas what family was all about.
Zane led her into the parlor. Mrs. Erickson smiled and welcomed her into their home.
Mr. Erickson didn't smile but dipped his head in a perfunctory bow that would have been mannerly if not for his scowl.
Grandpa Clem had dressed up a bit for the occasion, adding a jacket and string tie to the plain shirt and trousers she'd seen him in last time.
His eyes twinkled just as much as she remembered, though, and this time he added a wink for good measure.
"You play checkers, Miss Quinn?"
Not the usual greeting, but his grin was so infectious she couldn't help but nod enthusiastically.
"Excellent!" He clapped his hands then rubbed them together. "I'll challenge ya to a game after supper."
She raised a brow, and he cackled.
"Ah ha! Think you can beat me, do ya? We'll see about that. I ain't gonna take it easy on ya just because you're a guest."
Oh, she and Grandpa Clem were going to get along grand.
"Zane, dear," Mrs. Erickson said, a slightly pained look on her face. Did the woman not like checkers? "Why don't you give Miss Quinn a tour of the house? Cook should have supper ready by the time you've finished."
A tour of the house? The joy of the promised checkers game withered with the reminder of her assignment.
Zane dutifully took her through the house, entertaining her with family tidbits and stories as they toured his mother's sitting room, the music room that doubled as a small ballroom during parties, and the office where his father worked.
The office. The most likely place for Mr. Erickson to hide Mrs. Underhill's journal.
Zane had no love for the place, however, and moved them out of the room before she could do more than scan the bookshelves and eye the large desk.
He took her upstairs and showed her each of the five bedrooms along with the tin-lined bathroom with the biggest copper tub she ever did see.
What a marvel! Even her da would be able to stretch out in it.
When they returned to the parlor, Mrs. Erickson ushered them into the dining room. Zane's father sat at the head of the table with Mrs. Erickson to his right and Zane to his left. Muriel sat next to Zane, and Grandpa Clem took the chair at the end of the table.
"Let's thank the Good Lord for our meal, shall we?
" Grandpa Clem bowed his head, and Muriel quickly followed suit.
"Lord, we thank thee for your abundant provision.
For the delicious food we're about to eat and for the family sitting around this table.
We thank you for bringing Miss Quinn to join us tonight and ask you to help her feel at home. "
A grumbly sound vibrated from the head of the table, souring Muriel's pleasure over Grandpa's Clem's thoughtful words. It seemed someone wasn't all that eager to put her at ease.
"Lord, none of us deserve your grace and favor.
We're all sinful, pitiful creatures in need of your redemption.
May we walk through life with humility as grateful children who recognize we're nothin' without you.
In the name of your holy Son, Amen." He lifted his head, grinned as if he hadn't just taken his son to task in the middle of his prayer, and picked up the bowl closest to him. "Who wants taters?"
God bless Grandpa Clem. She beamed a smile at him, and he returned it with another wink.
Dinner began well enough. Food made it onto plates.
Muriel remembered not to start with the dessert fork.
And Zane's mother guided the conversation in pleasant directions, urging Zane to talk about the veranda he was designing.
She made a point to involve Muriel by asking her a couple questions that could be answered with a yes or no, then told a story about Zane from his childhood.
This led Grandpa Clem to set his napkin aside and get into serious yarn-spinning position.
The story he told about three-year-old Zane being chased by a family of frogs had to be exaggerated, but it was so hysterical, no one minded.
Least of all Muriel. She found the story and the man utterly charming.
A clatter of knife on china from the head of the table killed the laughter in an instant. All eyes turned to Horace Erickson.
He braced his wrists on the table and leaned forward, his pointed glance jabbing at Muriel. "Tell me, Miss Quinn. Were you raised in Galveston?" His voice sounded polite enough, but the heat of his glare scalded.
"Father . . ." Zane's warning tone had no effect.
Mr. Erickson speared his son with an authoritative glower that brooked no opposition. "It's a yes/no question. The girl can answer for herself." He raised a brow. "Well, Miss Quinn? It's an easy enough question. Were you raised here?"
Feeling like a freshly caught fish floundering in a net, she squirmed in her seat and sent Zane a sideways glance. He nodded then reached out and clasped her hand in full view of his father. Showing his support.
She'd promised to be honest with him, and she'd not degrade his trust in her by lying now. Forcing her chin up, she looked at his father and nodded.
"Interesting. You see, I asked about your kin among my connections at the Lodge last night, and none of my contacts had ever heard of a family named Quinn owning a shipping venture operating out of our bay."
Trembling seized her limbs, but Zane tightened his hold on her hand.
"However, Mr. Roper, the chief exporter of cotton in this port, did recognize the name Quinn. Apparently, there's a Patrick Quinn who manages a crew of dock workers on the Central Wharf. A widowed workingman with four daughters. Is that your father?"
Muriel froze, not knowing what to say, what to do. To say yes would prove her an unsuitable match for Zane. To say no would perpetuate a lie and dishonor her da.
At her hesitation, Mr. Erickson rose from his chair and pounded a fist against the table. "Admit it! You're a gold-digging Jezebel with nothing to offer this family but a bucketful of lies!"