Beauty for Ashes (3 page)

Charleston was a magical place then. But that life was over and done. He eyed the banker across the desk. “Where do I fit in?”

“It’s clear that you have a way with horses. And given your background, I’d say it’s a fair bet you know something about racing.”

Griff nodded. “I’ve trained and raced horses since I was a boy.”

“I need a good trainer to work with Majestic and ride him on Race Day. I’ll pay you to train him. And if you win, I’ll throw in the prize money to boot.”

“I see.” A recent run of bad luck, coupled with complications at his bank in London, had rendered him temporarily short of funds. The money he’d put away for safekeeping after the war had been invested overseas and was proving difficult to extricate. “What’s in it for you?”

“Bragging rights. And the satisfaction of helping my town onto her feet again. If our race is a success, every business from the mercantile to the inn to the barbershop will benefit. If people have a good time, they’ll want to come back to Hickory Ridge next year. Race Day could become an ongoing event, bigger and better every year. One day we might even outshine the Derby. What do you say?”

“I’m intrigued. But I need time to think it over. I haven’t yet had a chance to pick up my bags from the train station.”

The banker rose. “Fair enough. But don’t keep me waiting too long. Majestic’s a natural on the track, but he’s a handful, and the trainer I hired last fall up and quit on me a few weeks back. It’ll take a lot of work to get this colt ready. I want to get him back into training as soon as possible.”

“Understood.” Griff shook Gilman’s hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

He left the bank and headed for the train station, turning the offer over in his mind. According to the report he’d received two weeks ago from the Pinkerton Detective Agency, the person he’d come here to see appeared to have settled in for a while. He could afford to take his time. If he stayed on in Hickory Ridge until after Race Day, he could sail from San Francisco afterward and arrive in Australia just as spring was unfolding. The most hospitable time of year down there, if the newspapers were to be believed.

At the railway station he claimed his bags from the agent and walked the short distance to the Hickory Ridge Inn. After signing for his room and obtaining his key from the pale-faced clerk, he headed up the carpeted stairs to his room, surreptitiously taking in the gleaming woodwork, wide windows that let in the clear spring light, tasteful paintings adorning the long hallways. He fitted his key into the lock and entered his room. Though the carpet was worn in places and the bed sagged a bit in the middle, the inn was more elegant than he’d expected to find here in the middle of nowhere. He set down his leather bags, opened the curtains, and raised the window, letting in the sounds from the busy street below.

Maybe he would stay awhile. Figure out what he really wanted to do in New South Wales before heading off to the unknown.

He scanned the street. Two gray-bearded men sat on the porch outside the post office, whittling. Farm women in sunbonnets and calico dresses came and went from the mercantile. An empty freight wagon rumbled over the brick street. Outside the bank, Majestic tossed his head and strained in his harness. Griff massaged a knot at the back of his neck. Training that magnificent colt, riding him in front of a crowd sounded more appealing than anything else he’d done lately. That, and attending a wedding as the guest of the lovely Carrie Daly.

He turned from the window and stretched out on the bed, lacing his fingers behind his head. Nothing much excited him anymore. A restless life that took him to every city worth the name had also left him jaded and dissatisfied. But now he found himself looking forward to the prospect of working with Majestic. And to Saturday.

He grinned to himself. How odd that here in Hickory Ridge he’d found the only two things that were beyond his power to resist: a spirited horse and a beautiful woman.

TWO

“Missus Daly?” Libby Dawson bent to retrieve another tray of cookies from the oven. “Mister Henry said for me to ask is you about done with that weddin’ cake.”

Carrie pushed a wayward curl back under her kerchief and set a heavy pan on the stove. “It’s all done but the boiled icing. And the decorations.”

Libby transferred the cookies from the baking pan to a blue enameled serving plate. “These sure do smell good. You the best baker here’bouts, I reckon. Better’n the bakery in town is what folks say.”

Carrie smiled. “I don’t know about that. But I do enjoy baking when I’m not rushed.” She looked pointedly at the young woman. “Tell my brother everything will be ready in time.”

She glanced at the clock. Though it was only eight o’clock, she felt as if she’d been up all night. At first light she had walked up the trail to the waterfall at the back of the farm and filled a clear glass jar with bright orange butterfly weed, wild iris, and delicate Virginia bluebells. The Dawsons—Libby and her mother, Cleo—had been busy all morning preparing food for the wedding celebration, setting out bowls and platters on the table beneath the hickory trees in the yard. Carrie’s bouquet of wildflowers occupied the center.

Carrie stirred the icing until it thickened. While it cooled, she washed and hulled a bowl of plump strawberries and rearranged the cinnamon cookies on their plate. She finished the cake and headed upstairs to dress for the wedding.

She stepped into her new dress and fastened the tiny buttons, pinned her hair, and donned her hat. The little silk toque was several years old now, but thanks to Ada Caldwell’s skill and good taste, it was as stylish as ever, and it matched her new dress perfectly.

Eager for Ada’s arrival, Carrie peered out the window. Several of Henry’s friends from the mill had arrived, including Sage Whiting, the foreman. Sage’s wife, Mariah, stood beneath the trees chatting with Dr. Spencer and his wife, Eugenie. An unfamiliar rig drove into the yard and Carrie’s stomach fluttered. Had Griff Rutledge arrived? But it was a friend of Mary’s who emerged from the rig. Carrie shook off a vague feeling of disappointment. Why should she care whether or not the horse tamer showed up? After all, she was practically promised to someone else.

Carrie turned from the window and gazed around her bright, airy room. Had it really been fourteen years since Frank Daly lost his life at Bloody Pond? Though she had finally made the decision to set aside her widow’s black, she missed her husband still.

And she thanked God every day for Henry. Since Frank’s death her brother had been her only family. Together they’d added a parlor and a second floor to their family farmhouse, built a new barn and tool shed. Thanks to Henry’s extra income working at Wyatt Caldwell’s lumber mill, they lived more comfortably than most. Her life wasn’t exciting, but she had grown content keeping house for Henry, attending church, reading by the fire on cold winter evenings. Now, everything would be different.

“Carrie?” Henry knocked on her door. “You dressed?”

“Come in.”

He entered the room, a shy smile lighting his tanned face. He took her hand and spun her around. “You look pretty, little sister.”

She smoothed the folds of the dress. “Jeanne Pruitt did a wonderful job. But honestly, Henry, it’s too fancy for me.”

“You deserve it. I wanted you to have something nice.” He reached into his pocket. “Look what I found.”

“Papa’s watch fob.” She ran her fingers over the worn leather. “I thought it was lost.”

“I thought so too, but Caleb and Joe unearthed it, playing in the attic.”

Caleb and Joe. Ever since Mary had accepted her brother’s proposal, she and her boys had spent nearly every Sunday at the farm, and Carrie always dreaded their arrival. The boys were dirty, noisy, and rude beyond measure. So far, for Henry’s sake, Carrie had held her tongue. But once they were all living together, things would have to change. She sighed. Perhaps Henry was right and a man’s influence would shape them up.

“Anyway, I’m glad they found it,” Henry said. “Ma and Pa were a good match. Maybe it’ll bring me some of their good luck.”

“I hope so.”

He stuffed the watch fob into his pocket. “You know what I was thinking about last night? That summer right after Ma and Pa died, when we were visiting with Aunt Maudie and them and we went swimming one night to cool off. Two stars came out, and Aunt Maudie told us they were Ma and Pa, keeping an eye on us from up in heaven. You remember that, Carrie?”

“Barely. Mostly I remember cousin Althea trying to drown me.”

“She was just fooling. Besides, I was right there. I wouldn’t let anything hurt you. I still won’t. You know that.”

She nodded. He had always been her best friend, her protector. She watched her brother smoothing his hair before the mirror. No one in Hickory Ridge, least of all Carrie herself, had ever expected Henry to wed. After all, he was long past the age when most men had taken a wife. And he seemed content with his lot until the unfortunate day that Mary Stanhope set her cap for him.

“I’ve been thinking about Ma and Pa a lot lately,” he said. “I sure hope they know we turned out all right.”

The sound of hoofbeats on the road drew her to the window again. A handsome couple in a gray rig pulled into the yard. The man got out and turned to help the woman out of the buggy. Carrie’s heart lifted. After four years in Texas, the Caldwells finally were back in Hickory Ridge.

All thoughts of Mary and her two ruffians evaporated. Carrie grinned at Henry. “Ada and Wyatt are here.”

“I reckon we’d best get down there then.” He held the door for her.

Their eyes met. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “Good luck, Henry. Be happy.”

“I intend to be.”

She picked up her fan and raced down the stairs and into the yard.

The other wedding guests swarmed around Wyatt and Ada, offering words of welcome. Bursts of laughter filled the air.

“Carrie.” Ada Caldwell broke away from the crowd and enveloped Carrie in a warm embrace. “How
are
you? And what a darling hat.” She cocked her head, studying her friend. “It still suits you perfectly.”

“I think so too.”

Ada looped her arm through Carrie’s. “It’s so good to see you. You can’t imagine how much your letters meant to me. Especially that first year on the ranch. Wyatt was so busy building his herd and getting the ranch going that I hardly saw him. I don’t know what I’d have done without your long letters and without Sophie for company.”

“I missed you too.” Carrie squeezed her friend’s hand. “And our quilting circle. Though it was never the same after Lillian passed on.” She smiled, thinking of Wyatt’s beloved aunt. “So, tell me, is your millinery business still going strong? You’ve scarcely mentioned it in your last letters.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much time for hatmaking these days. Now that Sophie is away at school, Wade takes more of my time. Not that I mind.”

“He’s a darling boy,” Carrie said. “The photograph you sent was quite the talk of the town.”

Ada’s gaze sought Wyatt in the crowd, standing near the table. A tender smile lit her face. “Wade looks just like his father. They’re quite a pair.”

Henry stepped off the porch and rang a bell, summoning the guests for the ceremony. Mary Stanhope, who had sequestered herself in Henry’s bedroom on the first floor, stepped outside. Widowed years earlier, she was still a young-looking twenty-eight. She wore a dark blue lace skirt and matching blouse. Her blond hair was piled into a mass of curls atop her head and held in place by two silver combs that caught the morning light. Carrie suppressed a sigh. If only Mary’s spirit were as lovely as her countenance.

Mary crossed the porch and took her place next to Henry. Her sons, in stiff new clothes and slicked-back hair, stood beside her.

The guests made their way across the yard, the ladies’ skirts bright bursts of color against the pale green grass. Ada squeezed Carrie’s hand. “We’ll talk more after this is over. I can’t wait to hear all the latest news.”

“All right.”

“Carrie?” Ada studied Carrie’s face, her wide gray eyes full of concern. “Where’s Nate? And why do I get the feeling you’re not happy about this marriage?”

“Nate’s on his way back from Nashville. He went to look at some more books. Though I have no idea where he’ll put them. His shop is full to bursting already.” She glanced toward the road. “I’m sure he’ll be here in time for cake.”

“You’re avoiding my other question. Do you think this marriage is a mistake?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. Of course I want Henry to be happy. He deserves it more than anyone I know. I only wish that—”

“Dearly beloved.” Reverend Daniel Patterson, the pastor of the church in town, smiled at the assembled guests. “We’re here on this fine spring morning to join Henry Bell and Mary Stanhope in holy matrimony. Anybody has an objection, best to say so now.”

Carrie looked up at her brother. Henry winked at her and reached for Mary’s hand. The two young hooligans poked each other and giggled. Carrie looked heavenward. Did Henry Bell have any idea what he was taking on?

“There being no objections, we’ll proceed. Henry, Mary, hear these words of God.” Mr. Patterson opened his Bible and in a strong solemn voice read from 1 Corinthians: “Charity . . . beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.”