Forsaking All Others (33 page)

“It is only for one night.”

The clerk remained unflappable. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Mr. Bostwick said, growing in agitation. “Can you recommend someplace else?”

I listened to this exchange feeling numbing fatigue threatening to take over my body.
Home.
That’s all I wanted. No, tonight, even less than that. Shelter. Bed. Someplace to collect my thoughts and pray before tomorrow. This close to my daughters—within a day of holding them again—and I could think of nothing but Rachel and Tillman’s boarded-up home. Mine—or the one I left—could be the same. If it even existed. I had to know.

Even if the Hotel Deseret would rent me a room, I knew I’d get no sleep, being tortured with such a possibility. I could not ride in a rented buggy down into the little valley of our home, only to find it deserted. I had to know, and there was only one way to find out tonight.

“It’s all right,” I said, a quieting hand on Mr. Bostwick’s arm. “You stay here with our bags. I have someplace else I can go. A friend.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mr. Bostwick knew exactly who was on my mind. I’d entertained him and Mama with enough stories after Sunday suppers. “I’m not letting you go out alone at this time of night.”

“I’ll be fine. Look, that young man is just bringing in the last of our things. He’ll take me.”

“Let me go with you.”

“No. It’s bad enough I’m showing up at her door at this hour. I can’t have a strange man with me as well.”

“Pardon me,” the clerk on the other side of the counter interjected. “Sir, will you be taking the room or not?”

“Please,” I said, beseeching, “I’m exhausted. I need a place to sleep. And it’s not far, just a few blocks. Just a few minutes away.”

“You don’t even know if she—”

“Oh, she’ll be there.”

Mr. Bostwick looked past me and got Seth’s attention, pressing yet another coin into his hand, directing him not only to take me to my destination but also to remain until I was safely inside.

“I’ll wait up for one hour,” he said, keeping a firm grip on my arms. “Come straight back here if anything goes awry. If you don’t come back, I’ll assume all is well.”

“That sounds very wise,” the hotel clerk said, and it was then that I realized we’d attracted the attention of every man in the room, with the exception of Seth, who looked like he was beginning to wish he’d never taken our fare.

“I’ll be fine,” I said again, hoping to reassure us both. Then, on an impulse, I fell against him, wrapping my arms as far as I could around his boxlike torso. He hugged me close, and I was reminded of the words he’d said to the hotel clerk just moments before, calling me his client, his daughter. In that moment, I truly believed the lie.

“Give me the address,” he said finally, “and I’ll be there to get you early in the morning.”

I told him, making sure that Seth heard and understood before the two of us walked out of the Hotel Deseret to the waiting wagon outside.

“I’m sorry to be such a bother,” I said once I was seated beside him.

“Likely Pa won’t mind. Business has been slow of late.”

It wasn’t long before we were on very familiar streets indeed, with row upon row of identical clapboard houses, more dire in their need of paint than ever before.

“So you got a friend waiting for you?” Seth asked.

“Something like that.”

We drove past the Square, and though I didn’t want to look, I hazarded a glance to where the temple was being rescued from its grave. Nothing miraculous here; the moonlight shone upon evidence of hard labor—carts of earth sat with shovels still propped beside them, as if the workers had been pulled away with the slap of sunset.

“It’s going to be glorious,” Seth said, following my gaze. “I can’t hardly wait to see it.”

“And I never shall.”

He shrugged and clicked to the horses, and to my surprise they actually picked up their pace. Perhaps they sensed my impatience—or my fear. Either way, the new bounce to their tails was encouraging, and the jostling in the seat made conversation uncomfortable, so the rest of our ride was both brief and silent. In what seemed too soon, we turned onto Evangeline’s street, and to my surprise—and Seth’s—I called out a “Whoa” to the horses.

Seth complied, pulling the reins to bring the team to a halt just down the street from the house I’d taken as a home for a few weeks last winter.

“Is this it?”

“Yes.” I wouldn’t wait for him to help me down from my seat; indeed, he showed little inclination to do so. I thanked him as my feet hit the ground.

“The gentleman told me to wait for you.” He was sitting up straighter, affecting a charming protectiveness beyond his years.

“You’ve done quite enough already.” If I was going to be thrown out on my ear, I didn’t want to burden the poor boy with another destination, especially when I had no idea what that destination would be. It took little more to convince young Seth to agree, and I found myself alone in the dark, in front of the very door through which I’d once escaped.

Looking back, I might have been more reluctant to be left in such a vulnerable spot if it weren’t for the light I saw in the second-story window, from the very room I briefly called my own. Of course, it had been Evangeline’s room long before I could lay any claim to it, and from the soft glow within, it seemed she’d reclaimed it. The thought gave me an odd sense of comfort, perhaps because my memories of her as the miserly spinster curled up on her parlor sofa every night spoke of such hopelessness. Certainly this spoke of a healing to her spirit—a healing that might translate to forgiveness. Or mercy, though I hadn’t resolved whether I was to be on the giving or receiving end of such grace. True, she had given me shelter when I needed it, but she had also openly coveted my husband and covertly wished me harm. But I was here now, in need of not only a bed but also information, for I knew she would never have allowed Nathan to step one foot away from her reach without her knowledge. I raised my hand to knock on the door.

No response.

Patiently, I waited. It was too late in the evening to raise a ruckus by pounding on the door, and while the light in the window indicated that she had not yet retired for the night, it could be that she’d dozed off with the candle burning, or she was looking for a wrap to throw over her nightgown before opening the door. So, after what I estimated to be five minutes, I knocked again more forcefully.

A familiar sound seemed to be coming from inside the house, and I leaned my ear against the door to listen. Soft it was, and muffled, but unmistakable. A child’s cry—more specifically, a baby’s.

Blood rushed to my face and I panicked, stepping away to double-check the number written above the door. There was just enough light to confirm this was indeed Evangeline’s house.

A child? It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. After all, I’d had a child since last living here. She was a young, healthy woman. Perhaps she’d found the love she so desperately sought. Or at least the marriage she fervently desired. Either way, I felt ever more the intruder than merely an uninvited guest, and I was turning to leave when I heard the door open behind me.

“Who are—?” he said, and I might have made my escape if something in his voice hadn’t forced me to turn around. But I did, and there he was, looking just as he did the first time I saw him and, to be truthful, the way I pictured him in every memory—bathed in light. Sometimes from the sun, other times the moon. Tonight it was a single candle held aloft, casting his shadow on the open door.

“Camilla?”

“Hello, Nathan.”

It was all I could say, as a million words—both unspoken and yet to be—nested in my throat. He apparently suffered a similar malady, as he stood, mouth agape, something between shock and a smile. We might have stood there all night, silent as that moment between darkness and dawn, if it weren’t for the intrusion of two other voices. A squalling baby’s cries were every bit as dry and tortured as the shout that came from the darkness. “Who is it at this hour?”

“See for yourself.” And with that wicked grin I knew so well, Nathan swung the door wider and stepped aside, inviting Evangeline Moss into his circle of light. But then, as I saw her small, pointed features unfurl from pinched curiosity to a triumphant sneer, I knew she wasn’t the spinster sister anymore. She sidled up to Nathan’s side, fearless of the candle. Both of them wore an expression of smug victory, nothing like the reception I’d been expecting.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me.” I wavered somewhere between suspicious and sad, but I kept my voice cool as steel.

“We should never be surprised at the work of Heavenly Father,” Nathan said before directing Evangeline to step aside and let me in.

Chapter 28

The baby cried and cried—long, scratchy wails that sounded like tree branches brushing against the wall. At Evangeline’s jostling, part of the blanket fell away, and I could see it was a tiny thing, red and scrunched up like a bean with wrinkled, skinny arms shooting out. The newborn demanded my attention, serving as the center point around which the rest of the picture formed. Slowly, like ripples coming to rest behind a skipping stone, I gained a clear picture of my surroundings. Evangeline’s parlor, yet not hers alone. A neatly folded pile of the
Deseret News
—a luxury she would never have afforded herself. The unmistakable scent of freshly carved wood, assuring me that somewhere—probably at the kitchen table—a project had been abandoned to the night. A few embers still glowed in the little parlor stove, meaning the room had spent the evening in a state of luxurious warmth.

Then, of course, there was Nathan himself, comfortable and authoritative as he touched the candle to the table lamp, filling the room with soft light. My eyes tracked that little light, and my breath caught in my throat as it touched the wick. There it was, a frosted blue globe etched with the image of young women dancing, a length of twisting ribbon linking them. I knew that lamp as well as I knew the man; it had been painted for me by his sister, Rachel, and had been a special gift to me after one of his trips to Salt Lake City.

The light seemed to irritate the baby, or at least magnify its cries.

“Take her upstairs,” Nathan said, and for a moment there was confusion as Evangeline and I looked at each other, wondering exactly which one of us he addressed and just who was to be taken upstairs.

It wasn’t until he snapped, “Go!” that I realized Evangeline’s immobility wasn’t due to confusion, but stubbornness. She jutted her chin and said, “This is
my
house,” heedless of the squalling infant in her arms.

That’s when Nathan softened, reaching out to touch first the baby’s tear-streaked face, then Evangeline’s hollow, freckled one. “Just see if you can get her to settle down.”

“She won’t. I’ve been trying everything.”

“Sounds like colic,” I said, though what possessed me to join in the conversation I’ll never know. I suppose standing there with so many unanswered questions, I felt some need to interject what I did know. “Try rubbing warm oil on her stomach.”

Evangeline’s gaze narrowed and she held the child closer. “Don’t tell me what to do. I’m every bit as good a mother as you ever were. Better, even. I would never—”

“That’s enough.”

Nathan’s voice held the same ability to command obedience and attention it always had. Evangeline and I both cast our eyes to the floor, and there mine stayed until the relative silence assured me she had left the room. When I faced Nathan again, he was gesturing toward the sofa, inviting me to sit, as if this were a social call. Numb, I complied, part of me relieved to have something familiar to do. I smoothed my skirts as I sat, he took one of the high-backed chairs opposite, and when we were quite settled, I cleared my throat and asked the question that had been burning on my tongue since the moment he opened the door. “What has happened here?”

“I’ve taken Evangeline as a wife.”

“Obviously.” Then, curtailing my sarcasm, I gathered my thoughts, my strength, for after all this time, it would take all of my will and wits to maintain the humility Nathan seemed to have grown accustomed to. “I know it’s late, but can I please see the girls? I promise not to wake them.”

“See the girls?”

I couldn’t quite read his expression. Every muscle in his face was perfectly relaxed, not a hint of the tension that so often ridged his jaw, nor the humor that twitched the corners of his lips. His eyes were hooded, devoid of light, and my mind raced with the possibilities in his lack of response.

“I know they must be sleeping, but I could just—”

“They’re not here.”

“Not here in the house?” I fought for calm.

“Not here in the city.” There was the smile I knew—broad and victorious.

My hands clawed at the fabric of my expensive traveling suit, and I willed myself not to rip it to shreds. Every breath strained against the corset that, at the moment, was the only thing holding me upright.

“Then where?”

“They’re at home, Camilla. Where they belong.”

I noticed he didn’t say that I belonged there too. That, coupled with the relief of knowing they were safe, helped me breathe a little easier. I couldn’t imagine Melissa tolerating Evangeline’s narrow permissions, and Lottie would wither away without sunlight and wide, green fields in which to run. I said none of this, however, having learned long ago how changeable Nathan’s humor could be.

One particularly long squawk came from upstairs, and we both winced at the shrillness of it.

“What’s the baby’s name?” I was still in shock at her existence.

“Sophie. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since she was born,” Nathan said.

I removed the pins from my hat and settled it on my knees, hoping he would see me—for now—as an ally. At least until I’d learned all I needed to know. “It gets easier, remember?”

“None of ours ever cried like that.”

“Of course they did. Lottie, especially.”

His smile was dangerously warm now. “I don’t remember.”

“You must have been in your workshop or here in town. She had a terrible time. Kimana used to make me an herbal tea. Fennel, I think. And something else. That seemed to help. Perhaps Evangeline—”