Free Wanton Angel by Linda Lael Miller

Marie was a cherub with wheat-gold hair and pink cheeks, and just the sight of her somehow made every annoyance unimportant. She set the lamp down on her bedside table, bending to kiss Rose Marie’s forehead and tuck her blankets securely into place.
    Bonnie turned from the crib with reluctance, went to the bureau to pour water into the basin and wash the paint from her face. That night she couldn’t bring herself to meet her own gaze in the small mirror affixed to the wall above the bureau until she’d taken the fancy clips from her hair and brushed away the flamboyant coiffure.
    Her gown was cut low against her bosom and Bonnie drew in her breath at the sight of herself. She had always been able to justify dancing the hurdy-gurdy, but that night her doubts were more difficult to settle. She cast anotherlook back at the slumbering Rose Marie and for the first time it occurred to her that, knowing the child was his, Eli might well lay claim to her. He might try to take Rose away.
    Of all the dangers that confronted Bonnie, this newest was by far the most frightening. Trembling, she struggled out of her dancing gown and put on a long flannel nightdress. She kissed Rose again and got into bed. As she lay there thinking of all the things Eli could offer their child that she could not, Bonnie’s fear deepened until it was nearly unbearable, and the heavy quilt that covered her could not keep her warm.
    Eli had not slept well, for there were too many apparitions haunting Genoa’s house, and not all of them were specters of the departed. He heard and saw his parents everywhere, remembered the pain of losing them. He was thirty-three years old and still bewildered that his mother and father had left their children and gone off to Africa, seeking souls to save.
    But the ghost Eli found most difficult to confront was Bonnie’s. She was everywhere in the house, that younger, laughing, less confident Bonnie, the girl who had been his bride.
    Needing space, needing air, Eli left the house as soon as he’d washed and dressed. He stood beside the pond, flinging small stones into the water. It was as though his grandfather stood with him, so he had not really escaped, but Josiah’s presence was one he could deal with.
    His mind slid back to the day his parents had announced their intention to leave “the things of this world” behind. He’d stood just here that day, ten years old and stricken to the core of his soul, and Josiah had joined him.
    “It’s a sad day for the McKutchens, boy,” Josiah had said. “You go ahead and cry if that’s what you feel like doing. I know I feel like it.”
    The young Eli had held himself in iron control. “These rocks won’t skip,” he’d said. “They just sink to the bottom.”
    Josiah had bent and searched until he found a flat stone; when he’d offered that, the sobs Eli had been holding backhad broken free and the boy had flung himself into his grandfather’s arms.
    Eli wrenched himself back to the present, missing the old man no less for the effort. He was almost relieved to see Genoa standing a few feet away, watching him with mingled love and caution in her eyes.
    For a time, brother and sister stood in silence, bound in spite of longstanding differences by their affection for one another.
    It was Eli who broke the stillness. “If you’re going to tell me again that I should have been here, Genoa—”
    As his words fell away in midsentence, Genoa approached and took her brother’s hand. “You’re home now, that’s what’s important.” She drew a deep breath and sighed. “What are you going to do, Eli? About the problems at the smelter, I mean?”
    Eli was tired. He’d traveled cross-country on a train, after all, and then spent half the night dancing with Bonnie and the other half mourning the loss of her. Before he could make any intelligent decisions regarding the smelter works, he would have to talk to the workmen, to Seth, and to Forbes Durrant. In addition, he