Liz Ireland (9 page)

No, that was ridiculous. She was being foolish. And yet, Mr. Reed’s letter was so vague. She would have to write to this Jake Reed....

No, she thought, that would be especially foolish. If Eugene was dead, Mr. Reed would think her a lunatic for not believing his first letter. Besides, if foul play was involved, who could she trust—a complete stranger Eugene had met in a saloon?

She quickly did some math in her head. On top of the forty-seven dollars Jake Reed had sent, she had nearly thirty dollars of her own saved, not to mention whatever she could get for bits of jewelry that had no sentimental value to her. That would be more than enough money to get her to Texas!

For one riotous moment, her life seemed to explode with possibilities. But what would she tell her aunt? Patrice would think she’d lost her mind. After all, she had no proof that Eugene was still alive—to the contrary, all she had was an eyewitness account that he wasn’t. Using that as evidence that her brother was still living would sound like the most twisted kind of logic.

And perhaps it was. She paced the room and stopped to give herself another good look in the mirror. The face that stared back at her was that of a thirty-one-year-old woman. A spinster. Nothing anchored her to this city, really. But she was a lady, and ladies just didn’t run off to the frontier. The idea was absurd! How would she even know how to start looking for Eugene? She’d never taken a trip farther west than Pittsburgh, and that was traveling with Aunt Patrice.

If it had been in her to slump, Rosalyn would have at that moment. She walked back to her bed where the horrid letter still lay, taunting her. Something about all this just didn’t seem right to her. If she wasn’t going to Texas, and she wasn’t going to confront Mr. Jake Reed, she had to at least do her best to investigate in the only way she knew how.

Her back rigid with determination, she walked over to the small escritoire by the window, brought out a sheet of paper and dipped her old pen. In her elegant practiced hand she began to write to the one person she hoped would know of her brother’s fate.

Dear Mr. Watkins...

It was strange, indeed, if something had happened to Eugene, that she hadn’t heard from his old college acquaintance before now. Eugene had given her Watkins’s address, just in case of an emergency.

Which this might or might not be.... She decided not to tell Mr. Watkins of her suspicions. It would just be a nice friendly letter, an older sister asking a man to look after her brother. One that the man would feel bound to answer—she hoped with news of whether Eugene had ever arrived in Annsboro.

* * *

“Today we spelled.”

“Hmm,” Cecilia said. She and Beatrice stood by the water pump to the side of the school for their fourth meeting in almost two weeks. Beside them, Mr. Wiggles was stretched out beneath a mesquite tree. If anyone happened to see them, it would seem perfectly natural that Cecilia was fetching herself a pitcherful of water.

“What else?” she asked Bea.

“That’s all.”

Cecilia took in this information with amazement. Pendergast had the darnedest ways of teaching that she’d ever heard of. A whole day of spelling?

Of course, what else was he to do? Bea, with much prodding from Cecilia, had let slip to her father about the absence of readers at school, and Lysander Beasley had marched down to the school to investigate. When he learned that Pendergast didn’t know where they were, he’d almost hit the roof. About town, speculation was high that one—or all—of the older boys had taken them as a prank, but even if the blame was being misplaced, it still left Pendergast with nothing to do all day.

Except spell, she thought with an evil grin.

Bea tossed her thick braids proudly. “Of course, I’m the best speller in the class. I won five spelling bees in a row, so Mr. Pendergast let me ask the questions for the rest of the day.”

Cecilia didn’t like the sound of that. It wouldn’t do to have Pendergast muscling in on her source. “Of course you’re the best speller, Bea. You always were,” she said, stroking the child’s ego. She brought out the stick candy she had purchased at Beasley’s that very afternoon. “Before I forget, here’s something for you. You know how much I appreciate what you’re doing, don’t you?”

Bea took the candy and inspected it. “I guess it must take women longer to fall in love in real life than it does in books.”

“Much longer,” Cecilia said. She couldn’t afford to have Bea let up her vigilant watch just yet.

“Well...if that’s so, do you think we could devise a different form of appreciation?”

This request took Cecilia by surprise. “What do you mean?”

Bea grew bolder. “For instance, it might not be a bad idea if you varied the candy a little. It wouldn’t do any harm to bring licorice every once in a while, instead of the same old peppermint time after time. Since my father owns the store, I know for a fact that they’re the same price.”

Cecilia crossed her arms and looked at Bea with a new caution. What a little operator she was turning into! Still, Cecilia knew she herself wasn’t much of a role model. And Bea had her over a barrel. “Okay, okay, you’ll get your licorice,” she said.

Bea’s face paled and the little girl nodded her head, indicating that someone was approaching. Cecilia didn’t have to turn to know it was Pendergast. His reflection showed in Bea’s glasses.

“Mr. Pendergast,” she said, turning.

Bea began to edge away from them. “I...I guess I’ll be going.”

Before trotting off toward her father’s store, she sent Jake a wink, making him feel somewhat relieved. She’d persuaded Cecilia to bring licorice, then.

“I just love talking to Bea,” Cecilia said cheerfully, as if that explained the reason she was here.

Jake wondered how fast she’d change her tune if she found that her spy was a turncoat. After each meeting with Cecilia, Bea reported back to him, then presented him with most of whatever candy she’d garnered. Jake in turn parceled out the candy to his class in return for some semblance of obedience. So far the setup was working out quite nicely for everyone—with Bea, of course, coming out slightly ahead—except some of the older boys had insisted they preferred licorice to peppermint. Hence the change.

“I guess you must like talking to her, since you come so far out of your way to do it,” Jake said.

“But you see, I was just passing by and decided to fetch some water.” The excuse sounded lame even to her own ears, especially when she looked down at the pitcher she’d been hauling around. Empty. She quickly began pumping the handle to fill it.

Pendergast stopped her arm in mid-pump by placing a firm hand over hers. But it wasn’t so much his touch as his words that made her freeze. “I know what you’re doing, Miss Summertree.”

“You do?” A chill went down Cecilia’s spine. Had he found the readers? Had Bea snitched about their secret meetings?

“Indeed I do,” he said in his suspicious drawl, a broad smile on his face, “and I think I should warn you against it.”

“And just what do you think I’m doing?”

“Falling in love with me, of course.”

Cecilia’s jaw dropped open, but words failed her. She pulled her hand free.

Jake let out a smug chuckle. He didn’t mind playing Pendergast one bit when he was able to annoy Cecilia.

“I can assure you, Mr. Pendergast, I am not falling in love with you!”

“Then may I ask why you’re following me around all the time?”

“Following you!” Cecilia huffed. “Where did you come up with that absurd idea?”

Jake rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Maybe the day I noticed you peeking around the corner of Beasley’s when I went in to buy some tooth powder.”

“I just happened to be there!” Cecilia protested.

“And then, at church last Sunday, I noticed that you switched seats to get a little nearer to me.”

Cecilia rolled her eyes. “That’s because I accidentally sat down next to Mr. Whitman, whom I cannot abide. It’s trying enough to sit through that long service without someone snoring in my ear the whole way!”

“Come now, Miss Summertree,” Jake cajoled.

“I am
not
in love with you!” Cecilia blushed furiously at the position she was in, which of course made it appear that she was lying. She let out an exasperated sigh. At least the man didn’t know what she was really up to. “I’m not in love with you,” she repeated, and like the poor madman who jumps up and down swearing he’s not insane, she knew she sounded less than convincing.

“Isn’t it a coincidence that you took a job at Mrs. Hudspeth’s boardinghouse when I arrived in town?”

“Not when you consider that I had just lost my other job when you came to town, which was no coincidence at all.”

“Your father’s ranch would be much more comfortable for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Not that my comfort is any of your business,” Cecilia said snappishly, “but I hate ranches. I prefer to be near people.”

He grinned. “Especially certain people?”

Cecilia gritted her teeth in annoyance. “For the last time, I swear you mean nothing to me.”

“I think the lady protests too much, as the old saying goes.” At least, Jake hoped that was how it went. He felt nervous, as though he’d just spoken a foreign language off the cuff. Now he had to wait to see if it translated.

What could she say that would convince him? Cecilia wondered. Having Pendergast start spouting Shakespeare at this late date wasn’t a good sign, either. She felt her shoulders sag with hopelessness. It seemed that nothing was working out for her these days.

Still smiling, he sidled nearer and leaned leisurely against the pump. “I’ll admit, I was bowled over by you at first, Cecilia. You don’t mind if I call you Cecilia, do you?”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Cecilia mumbled. Was there no deterring this man?

“Cecilia...” He looked dreamily off into space. “It has a downright persnickety sound to it.”

“What!” Cecilia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Well, I beg your pardon,
Eugene!
”

He grinned triumphantly. “By all means, call me Eugene, Cecilia. I want us to be friends.”

“Friends, ha! I’d rather be friends with a sidewinder.”

He frowned with concern. “But I’m afraid friends is all we can be. As I was saying, at first I was flattered by your obviously amorous intentions, until I realized you were just a young thing, and probably not ready for a deep, mature love.”

Cecilia saw red. “I’m almost nineteen. And when I go looking for a deep, mature love, Pendergast, you can believe I won’t be knocking on your door to find it.”

“No, I would think you would be more the type to leave notes.”

“I would never—”

He leaned closer still and said conspiratorially, “Or maybe you’d just send Bea to tell me.”

So that was it! Bea had obviously let on to Pendergast what she was doing and had spilled the ridiculous business about her being a woman in love. Well, no harm done, as long as Pendergast didn’t find out she was spying on him so she could get him tossed out of his job. She didn’t want him to change his behavior. In the end, she was going to have the last laugh.

“Tell me something,” Pendergast asked, “do those little scorch marks you always put on my shirts have any special significance?”

Cecilia bit back a hoot. Those little scorch marks meant she couldn’t iron worth a flip. “My mind wanders,” she said through clenched teeth. To have to stand here while this man insinuated that she was sending him little love messages through the laundry was almost unbearable.

“Ah, I see.” He winked at her—as though her mind was wandering because of
him.

She wished she could slap his smug grin clear off his face. Instead she said, “Just out of curiosity, Pendergast, why are you warning me from falling in love with you? You haven’t left an abandoned family back East, have you?”

That would be too good to be true!

“Good heavens, no,” he said. “I told you. You’re a child, if not in years, then emotionally. It’s obvious you’re not ready for a real man.”

“And I suppose
you’re
a real man!”

“Judging from your reaction to our innocent little kiss, it’s obvious that you think so.”

Outrage seared through every vein in her body, chased furiously by bewilderment. That kiss was supposed to have been
innocent?

“I can see by your silence that you agree with me,” Pendergast said. “Which is for the best, I can assure you. I wouldn’t want you getting your hopes up.”

Cecilia was sure she would explode with rage if she heard any more, but she had to ask, “Hopes?”

Jake chuckled. The woman was about to burst. Looping a thumb into the pocket of his strangling vest, he opined, “You little ladies think one tiny kiss means everything. What you don’t understand, Cecilia sweetheart, is that men are sort of like trees. There are saplings who can be bent to your will, and then there are mighty oaks, which don’t bend at all, and take a lot longer to chop down.”

Why was she listening to this drivel? Cecilia lifted her chin haughtily and leveled a withering gaze on him. “Believe me, Pendergast, I wouldn’t take an ax to you if you were the last tree on earth and I was about to freeze to death!”

With a final huff of dismay, Cecilia turned and stomped off down the road toward the boardinghouse. Jake laughed out loud at her retreat, just to annoy her even more. And then he sighed. Much as he enjoyed sparring with the county’s worst laundress, there was no denying the relief he felt to have survived another encounter. Insisting that she was in love with him had been a good strategy. He wanted to devil her any way he could—especially since he had more than a hunch she had had a hand in the disappearance of those schoolbooks.

He worked the pump handle until a stream of cool water spewed forth. Annsboro was as dry as the devil’s tongue on Judgment Day. Looking around and seeing no one, Jake undid his collar button and dipped his entire head beneath the spigot. Lord, he couldn’t remember early October being this hot—just his luck that it would be steamy when he was stuck wearing some Yankee’s winter suits. Probably by the time it actually turned cold enough to make them bearable, he wouldn’t even be in Annsboro anymore.