House On Windridge (12 page)

Jessica felt like a lightning bolt had hit her. In all her worry and concern over Devon's whereabouts, she'd sorely neglected the one thing she could do to aid him. Pray. She'd fretted—given herself over to all manner of wild imaginings, talked about his absence—and now fought about it as well. But she'd not really prayed. Furthermore, she'd promised Devon that she would pray for him, and other than a quickly rattled off request for his health and safety, she'd not given the matter another thought.

“That's an excellent idea,” Kate said. “Christian women should be more given over to speaking to God about matters rather than judging them falsely.”

Gertrude glared at her, but Kate seemed unmoved by the obvious hostility that was directed at her.

From that point on, the day moved rather quickly. Jessica found herself actually enjoying the company of the women, in spite of the rather frustrating beginning to their day.

Later that afternoon, Esther stopped Jessica and Kate as they were preparing to leave. “Don't pay any mind to Gerty,” she admonished. “The woman has a bitter heart. First, her daughter disgraces herself the way she did, then Gus refused her advances. She isn't likely to be a good friend to you, Jessica.”

Jessica wanted to ask Esther about her father and Gertrude but decided it would make better conversation on the trip home with Kate. “Thank you for all you did,” Jessica said instead. “I do appreciate it.”

“That's what we older women do best,” Esther said, patting Jessica's arm. “We have the privilege of not caring what others think about us because we're old enough to realize that the truth is more important than opinions. You stick with Kate, and she'll help you through this.”

“I will,” Jessica promised, already feeling much better.

“And one other thing,” Esther added. “Your pa put a lot of faith in Devon Carter, and I put a lot of faith in your pa. He wasn't without his mistakes—sending you away after Naomi died was probably his biggest one. But he had a good heart, and he was smart as a whip. He could judge horseflesh and humans like no one I've ever known. He trusted Devon for a reason.” She paused and smiled. “The reason—Devon is worthy of trust. Plain and simple.”

Jessica smiled and nodded. “Yes, he is.”

❧

Devon pulled up his coat collar in order to shield himself from the cold winter wind. It seemed the wind was worse in the city than in the Flinthills. The tall buildings seemed to force the wind down narrow corridors and tunnels of roads and alleyways. He'd be glad to get home and knew he was long overdue. He'd thought to drop a postcard to Jessica and let her know about his delays, but always he figured he'd be leaving in a day or two at the most and would surely beat the thing to Windridge. What happened, however, was that one day turned into two and then into a week. And now Devon was clearly three weeks overdue and had sent no word to Jessica.

But there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Devon had finally managed to negotiate an order for the furniture needed at Windridge, and he'd arranged for the freighters to take the supplies out come spring. Then he'd taken it upon himself to telegraph his mother and ask her to speak on his behalf to Jeb Williams. This resulted in a telegram from Jeb himself stating he was more than happy to manage a deal between the Rocking W and Windridge. Devon felt as if he had the world by the tail. Everything was going better than he could have ever dreamed.

Now, as he made his way back to his hotel room, Devon decided the cold was a small price to pay. Tomorrow he would go to the train station, where he'd already made arrangements for those supplies he intended to take home with him, and board a train for home. How good it would be to see them all again. Especially Jessica and Ryan. He smiled at the thought of their birthday presents sitting back in his hotel room.

Kate had told him that both Jessica and Ryan shared their birthday with New Year's Eve. So along with baubles for Christmas, Devon had picked out toy soldiers for Ryan and a jewelry box for Jessica. He already imagined how he would place his grandmother's wedding ring inside the box and wait for her reaction when she realized that he was asking her to marry him. Turning down the alley where he always made his shortcut, Devon nearly laughed out loud.
She would be surprised to say the least,
he thought.

Halfway to the hotel, Devon felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He felt with certainty that someone had stepped into the alley behind him, but he didn't want to turn around and make a scene. He stepped up his pace but
had gone no more than ten steps when a big burly man popped out from be
hind a stack of crates.

“I'll just be relieving you of your wallet,” the man said in a surprisingly refined tone.

Devon felt a bit of relief, knowing that his wallet didn't contain much more than a few dollars. He'd secured his remaining money in the hotel safe, recognizing that it was foolish to walk about the city with large quantities of money.

He started to reach into his pocket just as the wind picked up. The gust came so strong that Devon's hat blew back off his head. He turned to catch it before it got away from him, but apparently the man who'd been following him took this as a sign of attack and struck Devon over the head.

Sinking to his knees, Devon fought for consciousness as the men began to beat him mercilessly. He thought of Jessica and how he wouldn't be leav
ing on the morning train. He thought of how worried she'd be when he did
n't come back to Windridge. As his world went black, Devon Carter wondered if this was what it felt like to die.

Chapter 9

C
hristmas at Windridge came as a solemn affair. Jessica had no spirit for the holiday, and even Ryan moped about as though thoroughly discouraged at Devon having not returned. Kate and Buck had to admit that enough time had passed for Devon to have seen to all the responsibilities he'd gone to Kansas City in order to accomplish. They had very few words of encouragement for Jessica, and the house grew very quiet.

Jessica still tried to pray. She worried that Devon might lay ill somewhere in the city with no one to care for him. She fretted that he'd been unable to sell the cattle or that some other catastrophe had befallen him causing him to be unable to purchase the things they needed.

It was in a complete state of anxiety that Jessica decided to do a little cleaning. She started with Ryan's room, thoroughly scouring every nook and cranny in order to make certain it met with her approval. Then she started on her own room. She went through the closet, reorganizing her clothes and even managing to pull the feather tick and mattress from her bed in order to turn them. That was when she found her father's journal.

Surprised that a man like Gus Gussop had been given over to penning any thought to paper, Jessica felt nervous about opening the book. She felt intrusive, almost as if she were committing some kind of sin. Her father had never shared any part of himself with her—at least not in the way Jessica had needed him to share.

Finding Ryan quite content to play in his room, Jessica took a seat near the fireplace and began to read.

“It's hard enough to allow my thoughts to come to mind,” she read aloud, “but to put them to paper seems to give them life of their own.”

These were the opening words of her father's journal. Eloquent speech for a rough-and-ready rancher who'd sent his only child away rather than be faced with raising her alone. Then Jessica had the startling realization that the words written here were to her mother.

Naomi, you should never have left me to face this alone. You knew I wouldn't be any good at it. You gave me a child, a beautiful daughter, and left me to live without you. How fair was that? I never had anything bad to say about you, with exception to this. You were wrong to go. Wrong to die and leave me here.

Jessica continued to read in silence, unable to speak aloud the words that followed.

She's beautiful, just like you. I can see it every time she comes to
visit. I see you in the roundness of her face, the darkness of her brown
eyes. I see you in her temperament when she gets a full head of steam up, and
I hear you in her laughter. How I loved you, Naomi. How I love our little girl.

Jessica wiped away the tears that streamed down her face. Why could
n't he have told her these things? Why couldn't he have been honest with her and kept her at Windridge? The injustice of it all weighed heavily on her heart.

These long years have been like a death sentence to me, and the only reason I write these things now is that the doctor tells me I'll be joining you soon. What glory! To finally come home to you after all of these years. I know a man is supposed to look forward to heaven in order to be united with God, but forgive me, Lord, if I sin in this thought: It's Naomi I long to see.

Twenty-seven years is a long time to live without the woman you love. Others have tried to fill the void, but there is no one but you, my beloved. I tried to take interest in other women, but they paled compared to you, and how fair would it have been to have made another woman live here at Windridge in your shadow?

Jessica bit her lip to keep from sobbing out loud. Ryan would be very upset to see her cry, and with him just beyond the open doors of the nursery, she knew he'd hear her and come to investigate. The words of the journal opened an old wound that Jessica thought had healed with time. She felt the pain afresh, remembered the bitterness of leaving Windridge while her father watched from the porch—no wave, no kiss good-bye, no word.

She saw the devotion he held for her mother, believed that devotion extended in some strange way to herself, but also knew the emptiness her father had felt. An emptiness he imposed upon himself in order to be true to
the memory of someone who had died nearly three decades ago.

It was never fair that I should have sent Jessica away from here. Kate scolded me daily for weeks, even months, and finally she stopped, seeing that I would not change my mind and bring the child home. I wanted to. Once Buck helped me past the worst of it, I wanted to bring Jess here to Windridge, but Harriet would have no part of it. We'd signed an agreement, which she so firmly reminded me of anytime I wrote to suggest doing otherwise.

Jessica startled at the realization that her father had tried to bring her back to her real home. She felt a growing anger at the knowledge that Aunt Harriet had kept her from such happiness. She thought of the years of strange girls' schools, where the loneliness threatened to eat her alive. She thought of her miserable youth and the parties and men who stood at Harriet's elbow, hoping to be chosen as a proper mate for Jessica. If only her father could have found a way to break the contract and bring her home. If only she had known that he desired her to be with him, she would have walked through fire to make it happen. She would have defied Harriet and all of her suitors in order to be back on Windridge permanently.

Naomi, I never imagined you would leave me. I built an empire to share with you. Built you a house on Windridge and planned a lifetime of happiness here in God's country. When you went away, you took all that with you. Took my hopes, my dreams, my future. After that, there was no one. Not even Jessica, because Harriet wouldn't allow her to be a part of my life.

Jessica could no longer contain her sobs. She moaned sorrowfully at the thought that her father had longed for her return.

Then Jessica married. He was nothing, less than nothing. A miserable worm handpicked by your aunt. I should have remembered her choice of husbands for you and realized how far I fell from the mark. How upset she was when you ran off with a cowboy from Kansas. Jessica had no one to fight for her, and she didn't have your strength of mind. She did what Harriet told her to do and married that eastern dandy who did nothing but bleed her dry.]

Harriet died and left them a fortune, but Albright squandered it on gambling and women. I had him watched, knew his every move, but because Jess loved him, I did nothing. I couldn't hurt her more by interfering where I wasn't wanted. Devon Carter helped me to see that it was no longer my place to fret and stew. Devon's a good man. He's a Christian and a finer son a man could not ask to have. I consider him the son we never had. He's there, just two doors down, whenever I need him.

Jessica suddenly realized that Devon had lived in the house prior to her coming to Windridge. She also realized, without having to ask Kate for con
firmation, that Devon had moved out of his own accord in order to maintain the proprieties for Jessica and Ryan. She'd only been coming for a visit as far as they had known. Her decision to stay had caused Devon to have to move permanently from the house. It made her feel bad to realize that she'd sent him off like the hired hand she'd so often accused him of being.

I've given Devon a piece of his own land, some two thousand acres on the south side. I also gave him a bonus of five thousand dollars. I figured if Gertrude Jenkins and Newman Albright could bleed me for funds, I might as well leave money to those I love. Jess will get the house, of course, and all of what remains of Windridge. Although in truth, I've neglected it badly, Naomi.

Several things came immediately to mind. First of all, Gertrude had taken money from her father, and from the sounds of it, she'd taken quite a bit. Jessica had known about Newman's indiscretions from her father's letters, but Gertrude came as a surprise.

But the most important thing that Jessica realized was that
Devon Carter had his own money and his own land. He didn't
need Jessica's pittance. He had no reason to run from Windridge and Kansas. He could have quit his position many times over and headed over to his own land and started a new life, but instead he stayed at Windridge—with her.

Warmth spread over Jessica in this revelation. Devon hadn't run away, taking her last dime. No, the delay was for some reason other than his alleged dishonesty, and with that thought, Jessica really began to worry. Perhaps he
had
fallen ill. Or maybe someone had done him harm. The possibilities were endless.

Wasting no more time with the diary, Jessica lovingly tucked the book beneath her pillow and went in search of Kate. There were several questions burning in her mind, and Kate would be the only one except Buck who could answer them.

Kate was in the kitchen mixing a cake when Jessica came bounding down the back stairs.

“Kate, I want the truth about something,” Jessica announced.

Kate turned and looked at Jessica over the rim of her glasses. “As if I've ever given you anything else.”

Jessica smiled. “I know you've been honest with me. That's why I know I can come to you now.”

Kate seemed to realize the importance of the matter and put the mixing bowl aside. “So, what's on your mind?”

“Devon.”

“Now why doesn't that surprise me?”

Jessica smiled. “Devon lived here in the house when my father was alive, didn't he?”

Kate nodded. “How'd you find that out?”

“My father kept a journal shortly before he died. He knew he was dying and wrote the words as if speaking to my mother.”

“I never knew this,” Kate said in complete surprise.
“Where did you find this journal?”

“Under my mattress,” Jessica replied and laughed.
“Remember how you wanted to turn the mattress last spring, and we only turned the tick and said we'd see to the mattress come fall? Well, I finally remembered it and took it on my own initiative to resolve the matter. When I managed to pull the mattress off, there it was.”

“Well, I'll be,” Kate said in complete amazement. “If I'd just turned that mattress after Gus died, we'd have found it a whole lot sooner. Guess that's what I get for being a poor housekeeper.”

Jessica shook her head. “Don't you see? This was exactly as God intended it. There was a hardness to me when I came to Windridge that would never have allowed me to deal with the words I read in that journal. God knew the time was right and knew too that I needed to read those words.”

“What words?”

“My father talked of how he loved me,” Jessica said, tears forming anew in her eyes. “He talked too of how he loved Devon as a son. How he gave Devon land and money. Devon is considerably better off than I figured, isn't he?”

Kate smiled. “I don't know how much he has left. He took a good deal of his own money and started using it to fix up Windridge.”

“What?”

“He knew he couldn't just offer it to you, Jess. He knew you'd say no. So he just started buying things that we needed. And he figured to add a good portion of his own funds to whatever the steers sold for and just tell you that he got a really good deal.”

“And here I thought Devon was an honest man,” Jessica said, wiping her eyes and smiling.

“He didn't want to hurt your feelings or spoil your dreams. Took a lot for him to accept the idea of a resort ranch, but he did it because he knew what it meant to you.”

“I only wanted to make something of Windridge without relying on others for help. Guess that was my pride getting in the way of reality,” Jessica admitted. “And to think I called Devon the hired help.”

“That was pretty hard on him. Gus had treated him like a son, then you came along and relegated him to one of the hands.”

Jessica shook her head. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Devon made us promise we wouldn't. Made us promise we wouldn't say anything about any of it. As much as I love you, Jess, I couldn't betray that promise.”

“Papa's diary also said that Gertrude Jenkins and my husband had bled him for money. What do you know about that?”

Kate thought for a moment. “I don't know too much about his dealings with Newman. I know your husband would send telegrams asking for money, telling of one emergency or another. Gus always sent whatever he asked for, knowing that even if Newman spent it on something other than what he claimed, it would at least keep you from suffering.”

“It didn't keep me from suffering,” Jessica replied. “But if Papa thought it did, then I'm glad.”

“I think he knew the truth,” Kate replied. “He knew about a lot we never gave him credit for. As for Gertrude, well, she thought she was going to talk Gus into marriage. She's a poor manager of that ranch of hers, and Gus lent her sum after sum, all in order to help her keep afloat. She finally deeded the ranch over to him, although no one was supposed to know that but she and Gus. That's part of the reason why she took off for Europe. She didn't want to face the retribution of listening to what folks would have to say when they learned she'd borrowed against the ranch until Gus owned the whole thing.”

“Why wasn't I told about this?” Jessica asked.

Kate took a deep breath. “Because Devon arranged to buy the land from Gus, and when Gus died, Devon gave it back to Gertrude. It's the reason she hates him so much. He told her he knew he didn't owe her anything, but that he couldn't bear to see her suffer, especially if there was the slightest chance that he had somehow caused Jane to look elsewhere for her happiness. He also told her the truth about finding Jane in the arms of a traveling salesman. Told her how he confronted Jane, agreed to forget the whole matter, and still planned to marry her. It wasn't the story Gerty wanted to hear.”