Page 27 of Silver Lining
She felt his stare like a scald on the side of her face. "It ain't my fault that I don't have a grandfather who founded a town. Or that I can't play the piano."
"Louise—"
"I am what I am, and damned if I'm going to apologize for it! I don't care what you or your family think of me." As always, her beloved proverbs came to her rescue. "Every tub must stand on its own bottom.
That's how I've always lived, standing on my own bottom." She was working herself into a respectable state of anger. "I don't need you or your judgmental family."
"You may not need a family," Max said in a resigned voice, "but there they are, waiting for you on the porch. Someone must have seen us coming down the road."
"What?" Her head jerked up, and she discovered they were approaching a sprawling two-story house with a multitude of outbuildings scattered behind. An enormous elm shaded a veranda that skirted the front of the house like a ruffle.
Low Down's gaze lifted to the gingerbread cutouts adorning the eaves, noted freshly painted green shutters framing the windows, then she drew a deep breath and forced herself to examine the people waiting on the veranda. They looked back at her as the wagon turned into the yard.
As she'd guessed, the McCords were a good-looking family and as impressive as the house. Gilly, small and pretty and stylish, stood beside a handsome sandy-haired man who must be Dave Weaver, her husband. Between them was a tiny version of Gilly, holding her mother's hand. To the left was a shorter, softer version of Max. That would be his brother, Wally. And standing apart from the others was a ramrod-straight woman, still handsome, wearing an expression that revealed no hint of her thoughts as she watched scandal spin into her yard and draw to a halt.
No one moved or spoke as Low Down swung down out of the wagon, forgetting to wait for Max to come around and offer his assistance. Abruptly aware that she hadn't behaved like a proper lady, she froze beside the wagon in a flutter of uncertainty, returning the scrutiny of her new family. Wally and Dave gazed at Max with sympathy narrowing their eyes. Gilly stared straight at Low Down, her eyes wide with—what?—curiosity? Dismay?
Then Max appeared beside her as his mother came marching down the steps, an ice-blue gaze fixed on her son until she reached the wagon. She examined the pox marks on Max's jaw, but she spoke to Low Down first.
"I'm Livvy McCord, Max's mother. And you must be…?"
Livvy McCord loomed large. There wasn't a doubt in Low Down's mind as to who ran the McCord household and probably always had. This was a formidable woman. Not a single wrinkle creased the woman's stiffly starched white blouse or her plain black skirt. And though a light breeze stirred the roses climbing the veranda trellis, not a strand of Livvy McCord's gray and auburn hair dared stray from the tidy bun crowning her head.
"I'm called Low Down." Though she cleared her throat, her voice emerged a mere degree above a whisper.
"Not here you're not," Livvy McCord said sharply, her eyebrows coming together. "You must have a name. What is it?"
"Louise Downe."
Not many women stood as tall as Low Down, and Max's mother reached only to her eyebrows.
Nevertheless, she would have sworn that Mrs. McCord towered over her.
Still not looking at Max, his mother took both of Low Down's hands in hers. "First, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving my son's life. In his letter, Max said you were the only person willing to nurse the men who fell ill with pox. They would have died without your care. Is that true?"
Low Down cleared her throat again. "I guess it is." She cast a glance toward Max, who focused on the people still waiting on the veranda. Knots ran along his jawline.
"We have an unfortunate situation here," Livvy McCord said, speaking slowly, "and a lot of people will suffer for it. But you earned the right to ask for whatever you wanted, however ill-advised your choice might be. And you," she said, turning finally to Max, "did the right thing, regardless of the consequences.
No honorable man could refuse to draw a marble from the hat, not after you agreed to repay this woman for your life by granting whatever she wanted. You did what you had to do."
Mother and son gazed at each other, then Max enveloped his mother in a hug. Their embrace broke the paralysis of the people on the veranda and the rest of the family spilled into the yard.
Low Down met Gilly and Dave Weaver, who regarded her with frank curiosity and expressions that reserved judgment. Their daughter, Sunshine, smiled shyly and peeked up through long, dark lashes. And she met Wally, who gave her a solemn nod before he pounded Max on the back in a roughly affectionate greeting.
"You sure did it this time," he said, giving his brother a rueful grin.
Max returned a weak smile, then stepped forward to embrace Gilly and Sunshine and shake Dave Weaver's hand.
When the introductions and greetings ended, Livvy McCord sent the others inside but kept Max and Low Down beside the wagon. "We need to talk." Her eyes, as blue as Max's, steadied on Low Down. "I apologize for the necessary bluntness of this conversation. But time is of the essence. If anything is to be done about this situation, a solution must be found before Max speaks to Mr. Houser tonight."
"Bluntness ain't going to offend me. Hell, speak as freely as you want." After all the polite greetings, some plain speaking would be welcome.
Livvy McCord studied her for a long moment, and Low Down realized she'd said "ain't" and "hell." A suspicion that she wasn't making a wonderful first impression tugged her spirits down.
"As Max described the circumstances of your marriage, I sense the ceremony occurred quickly and impulsively. Correct?"
"Yes, ma'am." Low Down decided she could be blunt right back. "I wanted a baby, not a husband.
