BLOGWORDS – Wednesday 31 January 2018 – WREADING WEDNESDAY – FEATURED BOOK EXCERPT – THE SILENT SONG OF WINTER
WREADING WEDNESDAY – FEATURED BOOK EXCERPT – THE SILENT SONG OF WINTER
#WreadingWednedsay is now dedicated to ‘wreading’ bits and excepts from my books—there’s five now! And because book 3 in my Seasons series, The Silent Song of Winter, releases next month, here is an excerpt.
* not the final cover
COVER REVEAL this Saturday, 3 February
As I turned from Bay Street back onto Barnard I saw him. What was he doing here? Of course, Merkel never stayed in one place long. He was a spy or an agent or some such and followed his assignments. I ducked into The Indigo Café and lost myself in a small crowd of friends. They were making quite a racket, laughing and carrying on; I was certain I’d not be discovered.
But this was Marcus Pierpont Merkel and he had seen me. His large hand found my shoulder and I turned to face him.
“Pearl, my dear.” I was enveloped in strength and warmth and comfortable familiarity.
“Merkel,” I hedged, inching back toward the door. “It’s lovely to see you again but I was just going.”
“Ah.” He guided me to a table. “But you’ve no coffee, Madame.”
The silence between us was louder than the group of whooping and hollering friends on the other side of the room.
Merkel ordered coffee for the both of us, and he offered congratulations on my marriage.
“Though I must say I am deeply hurt that I was not invited to celebrate the nuptials.”
“We…” But the smile on Merkel’s face stopped my defenses. “Merkel! You are a rascal. You’d not have come if we had sent a golden chariot for you…” If he was a rascal, I was just cruel. “Merk, I’m so sorry.”
He covered my hands with his large ones. “Time heals all wounds, Princess.”
But I could tell time had not healed his.
“Now then.” He took a gulp of his coffee, steaming hot with neither cream nor sugar. “Tell me about your young man.” His cup knocked the table quite soundly as he set it down. “And tell me why you ran off like that.”
Sugar swirled in my own cup.
“I think you’ve stirred quite enough.” Merkel took the spoon from me and laid it on the table every bit as gingerly as he’d set his cup.
Still I stalled, taking a most delicate and ladylike sip of my coffee.
“Pearl Marchand.” Merkel leaned back in his chair, dwarfed beneath his large frame, and folded his arms across his broad chest.
“Grüber actually.” I took another sip. “It’s Pearl Grüber.”
He didn’t say a word. He could wait me out, I knew. I had witnessed it countless times when he and Papá were playing pool or cards, or discussing business. Business they thought a young lady mightn’t grasp, but business I surely and fully understood.
“Not here, Merk.” I reached for my purse and my parcels. “Not here.”
I was never more thankful for a motorcar than I was that afternoon. Just moments earlier, I hadn’t cared if I walked home in the rain. But my past, my true life, was colliding with my secret life and it seemed I couldn’t outrun it.
“How did you know where to find me?” We had just had coffee, even if only a single cup, and I felt inclined neither to make coffee nor to offer him any.
“Find you?” Merkel seemed always at ease, unruffled, unflappable. “Why should I be looking for you?”
“But you…”
“Bumped in to an old friend?”
“I am not old.”
“Old enough…” He waved toward my very round middle. “You, however, tried to elude me.”
I had no answer so I said nothing, watched the rain coursing down the window.
“Would you care to enlighten me?”
“Look at me, Merk.”
“Lovely as ever, Princess.”
“I’m pregnant.” I placed my hands on my belly for emphasis.
“I’m at a loss here, Pearl, but I’m not blind.” He winked. “That’s no reason to run away.”
“I met him last spring. We corresponded via post and I visited Charleston a few weeks later—told Papá I was going dress shopping for summer dresses—which I did. I didn’t lie to mon père. He came back with me and stayed in the guest rooms at the townhome.”
“Positively scandalous.”
“Marcus Pierpont!”
“My, my. I’m in trouble now.”
“Feel free to show yourself out.” I went to the kitchen.
“A man might like some coffee before he goes out in that rain out there.” He followed me.
“Help yourself.” But I busied myself with the making of it. “Merkel.” I sighed.
“And just why exactly do you think ton père would disapprove?” I shouldn’t have been surprised. Merkel was most perceptive; it’s what made him good at his job.
“You know, Merk.” I poured the coffee. “I never did know what it is that you do.”
“Sure you do.” He drank this cup of coffee just as he had at the café, and reached to refill his cup. “I save princesses from making terrible predicaments.”
“He’s German.” I sighed and added more sugar to my own cup. Merkel raised a brow. “It’s the baby.”
“You think that’s a reason to leave your home?”
“What will everyone think?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Merk, you don’t understand.” I gulped my coffee, still too hot and far too sweet. “I can’t face people.”
“What people?”
“In Saisons. I can’t live with the gossip and the looks.”
He tilted his head, leveled a stare, and poured another cup of coffee for us both.
“They won’t like me.”
Still he was silent.
“Say something.”
“What’s there to say? You’ve left already. You haven’t given anyone a chance.”
“Meine Liebchen.” Rolf called as he came through the door.
I went to greet him, and Merkel followed. I made the introductions.
“Sorry my good man. I’d invite you to join us but it’s Valentine’s after all.”
“Nonsense. I couldn’t think of intruding.” Merkel reached for his coat on the stand.
“Tomorrow, though. Dinner, my treat.”
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