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"I'm taking her shopping tomorrow after school," Powell said. "We'll get
some new stuff for her to wear out."
Mrs. Bates was fascinated. In all the years she'd worked here, Powell Long
hadn't taken his daughter anywhere if she wasn't in trouble.
"I know," he said, reading the look accurately. "But there has to be a first
step."
Mrs. Bates nodded. "I guess so. For both of us."
Antonia just smiled. Progress at last!
Powell felt out of place in the children's boutique. The saleslady was very
helpful, but Maggie didn't know what to get and neither did he.
They looked at each other helplessly.
"Well, what do you want to buy?" he demanded.
She glared at him. "I don't know!"
"If I could suggest some things." The saleslady intervened diplomatically.
Powell left her to it. He couldn't imagine that clothes were going to do
much for his sullen child, but Antonia had insisted that it would make a
difference if he went with her. So far, he didn't see any difference.
But when the child went into the dressing room with toe saleslady and
reappeared five minutes later, he stared at her as if he didn't recognize her.
She was wearing a ruffled pink dress with lace at the throat, a short-skirted
little thing with white leggings and patent leather shoes. Her hair was neatly
brushed and a frilly ribbon sat at a jaunty angle in it beside her ear.
"Maggie?" he asked, just to be sure. The look on her dad's face was like a
miracle. He seemed surprised by the way she looked. In fact, he smiled. She
smiled back. And the change the expression made in her little face was
staggering.
For the first time, he saw himself in the child. The eyes were the wrong
color, but they were the same shape as his own. Her nose was going to be
straight like his well, like his used to be before he got it broken in a fight. Her
mouth was thin and wide like his, her cheekbones high.
Sally had lied about this, too, about Maggie not being his. He'd never been
so certain of anything.
He lifted an ironic eyebrow. "Well, well, from ugly duckling to swan," he
mused. "You look pretty."
Maggie's heart swelled. Her blue eyes sparkled. Her lips drew up and all at
once she laughed, a gurgle of sound that hit Powell right in the heart. He had
never heard her laugh. The impact of it went right through him and he
seemed to see down the years with eyes full of sorrow and regret. This child
had never had a chance at happiness. He'd subconsciously blamed her for
Sally's betrayal, for the loss of Antonia. He'd never been a proper father to
her in all her life. He wondered if it was going to be too late to start now.
The laughter had changed Maggie's whole appearance. He laughed at the
difference.
"Hell," he said under his breath. "How about something blue, to
match her eyes?" he asked the saleslady. "And some colorful jeans, not
those old dark blue things she's been wearing." "Yes, sir," the saleslady said
enthusiastically. Maggie pirouetted in front of the full-length mirror,
surprised to see that she didn't look the way she usually did. The dress
made her almost pretty. She wondered if Jake would ever get to see her in
it, and her eyes brightened even more. Now that Antonia was back, maybe
everyone would stop hating her.
But Antonia was sick, and she wouldn't be teaching. And that was still
Maggie's fault.
"What's the matter?" Powell asked gently. He went down on one knee in
front of the child, frowning. "What's wrong?"
Maggie was surprised that he was concerned, that he'd even noticed her
sudden sadness. He didn't, usually.
She lifted her eyes to his. "Miss Hayes won't be teaching. It's still my fault."
"Antonia." He corrected her. "She isn't Miss Hayes anymore."
A thought occurred to her. "Is she...my mom, now?"
"Your stepmother," he said tersely. She moved closer. Hesitantly she
reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. It barely touched and then
rested, like a butterfly looking for a place to light. "Now that she's back, you
don't...hate me anymore, do you?" she asked softly.
His face contorted. With a rough sound, deep in his throat, he swept her
close and held her, standing with her in his arms. He hugged her and rocked
her, and she clung to him with a sound like a muffled sob.
"Please don't... hate me... anymore!" She wept. "I love you, Daddy!"
"Oh, dear God," Powell whispered huskily, his eyes closed as he weighed his
sins. His arms contracted. "I don't hate you," he said curtly. "God knows, I
never hated you, Maggie!"
She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her own eyes, savoring the
newness of a father's arms, a father's comfort. This was something she'd
never known. It was so nice, being hugged. She smiled through her tears.
"Say," he said after a minute, "this is nice."
She gurgled.
He put her down and looked into her uplifted face. Tears were streaming
down it, but she was smiling.
He dug in his pocket and cursed under his breath. "Hell. I never carry
handkerchiefs," he said apologetically.
She wiped her eyes on the back of her hands. "Me, neither," she said.
The saleslady came back with an armload of dresses. "I found a blue
suit," she said gaily, "and another skirt and top in blue."
"They're very pretty!" Maggie said enthusiastically.
"Indeed they are. Why don't you try them on?" he said invitingly.
"Okay!"
She danced off with the saleslady and he watched, astonished. That was his
child. He had a very pretty daughter, and she loved him in spite of all the
mistakes he'd made. He smiled reflectively. Well, well, and they said miracles
didn't happen. He felt in the middle of one right now. And somehow, it all
went back to Antonia, a cycle that had begun and ended with her in his life.
He smiled as he thought about the process that had brought them, finally,
together and made such a vital change in the way things had been. He glanced
at himself in the mirror and wondered where the bitter, hard man he'd been
only weeks before, had gone.
Chapter Eleven
Maggie ran into Antonia's bedroom ahead of her father, wearing the blue
dress and leggings and new shoes.
She came to a sudden stop at the side of the bed and seemed to become
suddenly shy as she looked at the pink-clad woman in the bed. Antonia's
blond hair was around her shoulders and she was wearing a pink lacy gown
with an equally lacy bed jacket. She looked fragile, but she also looked
welcoming, because she smiled.
"Oh, how nice," Antonia said at once, wondering at the change in the child.
"How very nice! You look like a different girl, Maggie!" Maggie felt breathless.
"Daddy got me five new outfits and jeans and shirts and sweatshirts and
shoes," she sputtered. "And he hugged me!" Antonia's face lit up. "He did?"
Maggie smiled shyly. "Yeah, he did!" She laughed. "I think he likes me!"
"I think he does, too," Antonia said in a loud whisper.
Maggie had something in her hand. She hesitated, glancing warily at
Antonia. "Me and Daddy got you something," she said shyly.
"You did?" she asked, too surprised to correct the child's grammar.
Maggie moved forward and put it into Antonia's hands. "It plays a song."
It was a small box. Antonia unwrapped it and opened it. Inside was a
music box, a fragile, porce-iain-topped miniature brass piano that, when
wound and opened, played "Clair de Lune."
"Oh," she exclaimed. "I've never had anything so lovely!"
Maggie smiled crookedly.
"Did your dad pick it out?" she asked, entranced by the music.
Maggie's face fell.
Antonia saw the expression and could have hit herself for what she'd asked.
"You picked it out, didn't you?" she asked immediately, and watched the child's
face brighten again. She would have to be careful not to do any more damage
to that fragile self-esteem. "What wonderful taste you have, Maggie. Thank
you!"
Maggie smiled.' 'You 're welcome."
Powell came in the door, grinning when he saw Antonia with the music box.
"Like it?" he asked.
"I love it," she replied. "I'll treasure it, always," she added with a warm
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