Jane Goodger (8 page)

“If it wasn’t for that, I would go completely mad with worry,” Edward said. “Why won’t the women in my life simply stay at home sewing, or some such thing?”

“Why not simply tie us up and not allow us out at all?”

“Grand idea,” he said, not seeming to detect Maggie’s obvious sarcasm.

“All this worry could be for nothing. What if she finds him? What if he does love her and they are already married?” Maggie placed her hand on his, which clutched the railing in a death grip, no doubt meant to be in lieu of choking Carson Kitteridge.

“Then there is nothing for us to do but wish them well. But do you really think that is what has happened?”

Maggie pressed her lips together. “No. I don’t. I think, if Small Fork does exist and Carson actually lives there, he’s no doubt thinking of ways to send her back home.”

“The hell he will,” Edward said.

“You’re not thinking of forcing him to marry her?”

“He proposed to her. He asked my permission. If he doesn’t, she’ll be completely ruined. Can you imagine what she could face if she returned to England after this? All hope of any kind of good marriage is gone.”

“Times have changed,” Maggie said. “This isn’t the 1850s, after all.”

“Rules for the aristocracy have not loosened to the point that a girl can go running after a fiancé in another country and think she can come home to resume her life unscathed. She told everyone she knew what she was doing. Everyone. She must have written a dozen letters before she left, gushing about her new life in Texas and urging everyone to visit her when she was settled. Good God, what a mess.”

Maggie laughed. “For all we know, they could be a happily married couple by now, living in complete bliss. Like us.”

“Yes,” Edward said rather grumpily.

“That wasn’t very convincing.”

His face softened as he turned to look at his new wife. “I’m sorry. My life is bliss. Or would be if not for this mess.” He kissed her softly on her lips. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d be a miserable old wretch,” Maggie said sternly. “There’s no sense worrying about a dozen different scenarios when we don’t know what has happened. We’ll find Amelia. I know we will.”

“I wish I could be as certain as you are.”

“I wish so, too,” Maggie said, smiling up at her handsome husband. The wind had turned his cheeks ruddy, making him look younger than his twenty-seven years. “We’ll be in Texas within three weeks.”

“Three weeks,” Edward said, as if it were a lifetime. “She damn well better be happy, or else Mr. Kitteridge is going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

“She will be,” Maggie said, even though she didn’t believe a word of it. Carson Kitteridge was one of the most charming men she’d ever met. He could make old ladies blush and young women become fools over him. She only wished he could make Amelia happy.

At the end of the first day working in the store, Amelia was thoroughly exhausted. Her face actually hurt from smiling so much at these strangers who came to gawk at her.

“I’m heading home,” Agatha called, wiping her hands on her apron. “There’s some cold ham and such in the kitchen if you get hungry.” Agatha looked like she was about to say something, but clearly didn’t want to. Amelia was so tired, she was tempted to let the older women go home without another word.

“I know it’s none of my business,” Agatha started.

“I’m certain it is not,” Amelia said, smiling.

“Don’t you sass me,” the older woman said in mock anger. “Just because you’re all fancy doesn’t mean you can’t learn a thing or two from an old lady.”

“You’re hardly old.”

“There you go, sassing me.”

“Please go on,” Amelia said, slightly exasperated.

“I know your heart’s broken, but I also know that someday you’ll realize you’re better off without a man like Carson in your life.”

“I think I already realize it.”

Agatha nodded, as if she’d managed to solve all the world’s problems with a single sentence. “You’re all right, then?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Agatha began to leave, and suddenly Amelia didn’t want to be alone. Dulce had determined that with Boone and Carson both gone, she had no need to be there, which was actually a relief to Amelia. She was unused to such hostility directed at her; it simply was completely foreign to her to have someone so obviously dislike her.

“I do have one question.”

“Oh?”

“It seems so unlikely to me that Carson and Boone are brothers. They seem completely different from one another.”

Agatha chuckled. “About as different as two brothers can be.”

“How is that possible?”

“We weren’t in these parts when they were boys, but I do know they were raised by different folks, at least part of the time. That could explain a lot.”

“You seem doubtful that it does,” Amelia said, slightly amused by the woman’s mysterious tone.

“Sometimes people just come out bad.”

Amelia stiffened. “Carson is hardly bad.”

“Now, how’d you know I was talking about Carson?” she asked, cackling theatrically like an old witch. “Oh, goodness.” She apparently found herself quite amusing. “Boone’s just dependable and Carson, he’s his daddy’s boy through and through.”

“What was their father like?”

“He could surely put on the charm, but he was a mean drunk. Meanest I’ve ever seen. Mean to everyone but Carson.”

“Boone?”

“Like I said, Boone didn’t live with his father. I don’t know the particulars of it, but there’s surely a reason for that.”

Amelia bade her good night, and found herself quite alone in the store. It was closing time, so she lowered the shade and locked the door, looking about the store to make certain everything was where it ought to be. Boone was more nervous about leaving the store than leaving any possible patients. In the days she’d been in Small Fork, the only patient he’d had was Julia. It seemed strange that a town without a telegraph office or electricity would have a doctor.

She went about straightening shelves, as she had noticed that Boone liked things just so. She smiled, remembering him going around the store, moving items a tiny bit so that they were perfectly aligned. When she came to the small vase that Julia had touched, she impulsively picked it up and wrapped it in some cheesecloth. Then she took a bit of ribbon and tied it, creating a pretty little package.

All women should have pretty things, she decided.

The outside looked like a shack, a squat little building in the middle of a field. It could have been an overlarge animal pen, but it was Julia Benson’s home.

The twenty-six-year-old woman had not lived there with her husband, the man who’d shot her in the face, then made her try to cook his supper until she collapsed in a bloody heap on the floor. Afterward, he’d gone to the saloon, covered in her blood, startling even the hardened men who sat there night after night drinking their cheap whiskey.

“Ain’t my blood, you goddamn idiots. It’s Julia’s. She had an accident with my shotgun.” Then he’d laughed. Carson Kitteridge hadn’t been too drunk that night to realize the implications of what he’d said. Julia was hurt, pretty Julia Shaddock, that quiet little thing who used to share her sugar cookies with him when they were both just kids. He hadn’t thought about her in a long while, but he knew who she was married to, and sometimes felt a twinge of sadness that she should be tied to such a terrible man. He wondered how someone so sweet and pretty could have ended up with a man so hard and cruel.

And so Carson had staggered out of the bar and gotten Boone, the one man he knew who could help Julia and protect her from a man like Sam Benson.

After Dr. Kitteridge saved her life, she moved in to her little shack and created her own world of magic and beauty. No one bothered her, except the occasional boys who threw rocks at her house. They were too afraid to get close, and so never did any real damage.

Sometimes she wished Boone Kitteridge hadn’t saved her, hadn’t been able to stop the blood that seeped from her skull, had let her fade away and die. More than sometimes. But he had, and she lived and lived.

It had been three years since Sam had shot her. She was still married to him, and knew that someday he’d come back and finish her off. She hated him. She’d always hated him. But her daddy had caught him in her bed, even though she hadn’t invited him there, and she had to get married. No one believed her when she’d said Sam had been trying to force himself on her. They believed him. And no one believed she hadn’t deserved what she got. Not even her mama. She hated her, too. She hated everyone except Boone and Carson Kitteridge.

And that day, she added Lady Amelia to her short list of people she didn’t hate.

Amelia stared at Julia’s home, uncertain whether she should announce her presence before knocking. From what Boone had told her about the woman, she knew Julia was a rather private person, almost a recluse. Suddenly, she was uncertain whether she should have come at all.

It was such a squat little structure, completely uninviting. And it looked as though a strong wind would blow it over, making it tumble like the strange bushes that sometimes rolled through town. Agatha had called them tumbleweeds, a name, Amelia thought, that was perfectly appropriate.

She needn’t have worried about knocking, for the door opened long before she reached the house.

“Lady Amelia. Is something wrong?” Julia was in the shadows of her house and not yet visible, but for one pale hand braced against the door.

“No. I’ve come for a visit if that’s all right. I’ve a present for you.” Silence. “I’d like to give it to you, if you don’t mind.”

“You can leave it outside the door.”

Amelia nearly did just that. But she’d always been a bit stubborn about such things, and instead said, “I could hardly allow you to be so rude. So if you don’t mind—” And she walked toward the door with determination. Julia let out a sound, and backed away. But she’d left the door open.

Amelia braced herself for what she was certain would be a poor little place, but as soon as her eyes adjusted, her mouth opened in awe and she stared about in complete wonder. The room sparkled, rays of light bursting from tiny crystals that seemed to hang in the air like magic. Brightly colored feathers, pretty rocks, and even tiny bits of bleached bone covered nearly every surface of the home.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Simply exquisite.” She quickly realized that the “crystals” were really nothing more than bits of broken glass suspended by delicate threads from a beamed ceiling. Still, the effect was stunning and whimsical.

“It’s pretty this time of day. And in the firelight,” Julia said, coming toward her as she finished tying a scarf around her face.

“I’m afraid my gift will seem rather dull now,” Amelia said, laughing and handing the woman the vase.

The one room was all there was to the home. A bed covered with a patchwork quilt filled nearly a quarter of the space. The only other furniture was a small table and a single chair. Julia motioned toward the chair, and Amelia felt a stab of sadness for this woman who’d likely never had a need for a second chair until this very moment. Julia sat down on the bed, the gift in her hands, and slowly pulled on the ribbon until the small vase was revealed. With a single finger, she traced the curves of the vase as if she were holding a priceless item.

“Thank you.”

“You were the only person in Small Fork who didn’t come to stare at me,” Amelia said. “Boone has gone to Abilene to send a telegram for me, and I’ve been minding the store. I do believe every resident of Small Fork has suddenly run out of flour and cornmeal.”

“We don’t get many strangers here,” Julia said, still holding the vase in her hands.

“Next time you come by, I’ll get some flowers for you from Dr. Kitteridge’s garden.”

“Oh, no, you can’t do that.”

“Why ever not? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Then you don’t know Dr. Kitteridge.”

Amelia smiled. “Don’t tell me he’s as particular about his garden as he is about his store.”

“Even more.”

Suddenly, a memory flooded her, of Carson snapping off a rose from someone’s Mayfair garden without a second thought and presenting it to her with a flourish.

“We’ll simply have to get him to change his mind. There’s no sense having a vase if you cannot put flowers in it.”

Julia stood and placed the vase in the center of her little table where it looked rather forlorn, in Amelia’s opinion. “I don’t think you should,” she said, staring at the vase as if she were trying to picture flowers in it.

“I suppose he does like things just so,” Amelia said.

“He doesn’t like my house. It’s too cluttered, he says. I think it makes him nervous.”

“He’s very different from his brother. Have you known them long?”

Even though most of her face was covered, Amelia could tell the other woman smiled. “Oh, yes. I’ve known Carson since we were children. Boone was always more serious. But Carson was…”

“Special,” Amelia supplied. And then, without even knowing that she was feeling sad, she burst into tears. Embarrassed, she recovered quickly, laughing at her foolishness, but the damage had been done. Julia stared at her in dismay, clearly uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” Amelia said, still laughing. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.” And then she spilled her entire story to Julia, ending with her opening up her trunk and finding her money gone. “And that’s why I’m still here. If it wasn’t for that, I’d be on a train home by now.”

“You traveled all the way from England for
Carson?
”

Why was everyone so shocked, Amelia thought with a bit of irritation. She supposed if she had met Carson for the first time here, she wouldn’t have looked at him twice. Or if she had, she likely would have wrinkled her nose at the wild-haired giant whose clothes were stained, and whose breath smelled like sour whiskey. “In hindsight, traveling here was a mistake.”

“And then he lit out?”

“Yes. Which is why I’m returning home. I do believe he never intended to marry me. I was simply a diversion for him during his stay in England. He
can
be charming,” Amelia said, looking down at her lap.

“It was a terrible thing to do to you.”

Amelia darted a look at the older woman, realizing there were much, much more terrible things a man could do to a woman. “Yes, it was. But I’ll get over it. I’m going home as soon as my brother sends me funds, and then this will all become just a grand adventure, something to tell my grandchildren one day.”

“And I can tell everyone about the time an English lady came to my house,” Julia said.

“And watered your floor with her silly tears,” Amelia added, laughing.

Soon after, Amelia said good-bye and promised to visit again before she left.

“Maybe you can tell me about England. I don’t know anything other than Small Fork. I’ve never been anywhere.”

Amelia agreed and walked from the small house feeling lighthearted for the first time since her arrival.