Margaret Brownley - [Rocky Creek 02] (23 page)

Her joy was short-lived. As much as she wanted to believe that she and Kip were meant to be together, she was overcome with doubts. She had always done what everyone wanted her to do. It was how she won approval.

The problem was that, deep down inside, she knew the compliments and praises were not directed at her but, rather, at the person she tried to be. The person who, in reality, didn’t exist. And that was the source of her emptiness. It wasn’t until she met Kip that she learned the wondrous joy of being herself, being loved for who she was, not who she tried to be.

The question was, did she have the courage to stand up to Jenny and follow her own heart? Would Jenny still love her if she did?

The doors to the church burst open and children poured out, running in all directions. It was the end of the day for Rocky Creek’s unofficial school.

Children laughed together and no one seemed to notice race or skin color. Boys chased each other, their young voices bouncing off the hills and trickling into the valleys below. The loose pants worn by Chinese and Mexican boys provided an odd yet pleasing contrast to the knee pantaloons worn by others.

Girls in ankle-length dresses or native costumes walked to the waiting carriages or stood in little knots to share the day’s events.

Brenda envied the children. Envied the way they accepted each other. She never knew that kind of happiness as a child, that kind of acceptance. There was always someone trying to shape her into something she was not.

Kip wasn’t like that. With him, she felt free and the world seemed like a brighter place.

“I better go,” she said, rising. “Jenny will wonder where I am.”

The pastor stood. “Think about what I said.”

“I will,” she promised. “I will.”

Whether she could find the courage to act on his advice hung heavy on her mind all the way back to town.

Twenty

A love letter should be written with great dignity and reserve,
especially when written to a gentleman of brief acquaintance.

— M
ISS
A
BIGAIL
J
ENKINS
, 1875

M
ary Lou walked up and down Main Street, her gaze swinging back and forth like the pendulum on a clock.

She wasn’t looking for Jeff Trevor; she wasn’t. Of course, if she should
inadvertently
bump into him, she would have no choice but to speak to him, particularly if he spoke first.

Miss Jenkins devoted an entire chapter in her book to the subject of conversing with a man in public. She wrote that it would be the height of rudeness not to speak when addressed by a man—unless, of course, he was inebriated or possessed criminal tendencies.

Mary Lou never paid much attention to the endless rules of etiquette Miss Jenkins, and therefore Jenny, advocated unless it suited her purposes. This was one of those times that it did—or would, if only Jeff would show his face.

Spotting a man in cropped pants and a red cap, her heart skipped a beat. Hastening her step, she soon realized her error. Up close, the lumberman didn’t even look like Jeff.

Mr. Applegate watched her pass by the general store for the umpteenth time. The old geezer did nothing but sit on his creaky old rocking chair and glare at her every time she walked by. It was all she could do to keep from sticking out her tongue at him.

She sighed. Everything irritated her lately, even an old man. He wasn’t the only one. She snapped at Jenny, growled at Brenda, and scowled at everyone else. She was so on edge it was all she could do not to fall apart completely.

Ever since Jeff kissed her she’d hardly been able to think of anything else. The memory of his kiss was her first thought in the morning, the last thing she contemplated at night.

Sleep offered no escape. Dreams of being in his arms plagued her. Every night she woke in a tangled knot of bedding.

Brenda and Jenny complained that she was keeping them awake. By the third such restless night, they made her sleep on the floor.

Adding to her misery was the heat. Though it was only June, already the town sizzled beneath what everyone called a hot wave.

The sun felt like a torch on her back. She longed to find someplace cool and strip off her layers of clothing. Back home in Haswell, she loved nothing more than to swim naked in the nearby lake. Had she not gotten that awful sunburn, Jenny would never have found out her secret. Naturally, Jenny had a fit and insisted that in the future she wear suitable swimming attire. Modesty being more important than practicality, the swimsuit consisted of bloomers, stockings, and drawers. She almost drowned the first time she wore the blasted thing.

The memory only worsened her mood. She was hot, she was bored, and she was sick and tired of this awful town.

Adding to her irritation was Brenda. Where in the world did she go? It wasn’t like her to take off without telling anyone.

Not knowing what else to do, Mary Lou returned to the hotel more depressed than she’d ever felt in her life.

The lobby offered relief from the sun but not from the stifling hot air or her dismal mood. Four men sat around a table playing whist, but otherwise the lobby was deserted.

As usual the hotel clerk was asleep, his head resting against his shoulder. She tiptoed past him on the way to the stairs. What she wouldn’t do to see Jeff Trevor again.

A thought suddenly occurred to her, a thought so daring it made her tremble. Maybe there was a way. It took her a moment to work up the nerve, but she finally walked back to the reception desk and rang the bell for service.

Startled, the clerk’s eyes flew open. He made swimming motions to regain his balance and rose from his chair. “Miss Higgins.”

“Would it be possible to have a message delivered?”

He nodded and reached for a piece of hotel stationery and a pen. “I’ll see that it reaches the right person,” he said.

“Thank you.” She hesitated. She picked up the pen, dipped the metal nib into the inkwell, and began to write.
Dear Mr. Trevor
.

That part was easy. Now for the rest. Jenny never wrote a letter without first consulting
The Worcester Letter Writer
, a book that showed the correct form for addressing everything from accepting a marriage proposal to discouraging an unwanted suitor. Mary Lou doubted a model letter existed that would apply to her current situation with Mr. Trevor. She was definitely on her own.

Since he couldn’t read, he’d have to ask someone to read it to him. That made choosing tactful wording even more imperative.

After much thought, she wrote,
Perhaps I was a bit hasty in judging your—

Was there another more discreet word for
kiss
?
Peck
or
buss
wouldn’t do. Nor did such words describe what transpired the night Jeff took her in his arms. She racked her brain for more judicious verbiage.
Performance? Amorous act?
Oh, dear. Blushing, she glanced up, but the clerk had already resumed his nap.

In the end, she settled on the word
test
. An inadequate substitute to be sure, but a third party reading the letter would have no way of knowing what it meant.

She read the sentence under her breath.
Perhaps I was a bit hasty in judging your test
.

The rest of the letter came easier.
Would it be possible to try again?
She signed it,
Respectfully, Miss Mary Lou Higgins
.

Heart pounding, she folded the paper in two, creasing it carefully, then palmed the bell again to wake the clerk. She handed him the letter and drew a coin out of her reticule.

“I’ll see that it’s delivered,” he said.

No sooner had he taken the letter from her than she had second thoughts. Would Jeff think her forward and bold? Would he laugh at her? Before she could retrieve the letter, Brenda burst through the door of the hotel like she was being chased by a pack of wolves.

“Brenda, stop!”

Mary Lou hurried across the lobby to join her sister, who looked flushed and bothered. Her bonnet dangled down her back and the ringlets that Jenny had taken such pains to achieve were in wild disarray. The hem of her skirt and her high-button shoes were covered in dust.

“What’s the matter with you? Where have you been? I looked all over for you. And why are you in such a hurry?”

Instead of answering her questions, Brenda blurted, “I’m not marrying Mr. Hampton. I’m not! I’m on my way upstairs to tell Jenny.”

Shocked by Brenda’s sudden assertiveness, Mary Lou eyed her with suspicion. “You’ve never stood up to Jenny before.”

“I’m only doing what God wants me to do,” Brenda said with a determined nod of the head.

Mary Lou looked her sister up and down. It was Brenda all right, but it sure didn’t sound like her. “If you’re bringing God into it, you
must
be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.” Brenda glanced at the men playing cards and lowered her voice. “I’m marrying Kip instead.”

Mary Lou gasped, hand on her chest. “The barber?”

For answer, Brenda turned and bounded up the stairs.

“The barber?” Mary Lou shouted after her, forgetting to lower her voice. Not wanting to miss the fireworks that were sure to occur, she picked up her skirts and hurried after Brenda as fast as her feet could carry her.

They reached the hotel room at the same time, but Mary Lou pushed through the door first. Jenny was on the floor kneeling over a trunk that looked woefully inadequate to accommodate the pile of clothes on the bed.

Mary Lou stared at her. “What are you doing?”

“Packing,” Jenny replied without looking up. “We’re leaving Rocky Creek.”

Brenda let the door slam shut, rattling the window. “What do you mean, leaving?”

Jenny picked a hat off the bed and carefully placed it in a round hatbox. “There was a misprint in the article about Rocky Creek. It should have read
Rockland
Creek. That’s why I’ve had so much trouble finding appropriate husbands. Other than Mr. Hampton, there simply have been so few to choose from. I should have known a mistake was made. I can’t believe we’ve wasted all this time and money for nothing.”

“But—”

Jenny cut Brenda off. “Just so you know, I already informed Mr. Hampton of our departure, and he accepted my decision with remarkable grace.” She looked straight at Brenda. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

Brenda shook her head. “I—”

“Good.” Jenny resumed stuffing clothes into the trunk.

“We can’t leave,” Brenda protested. She poked Mary Lou with her elbow. “Say something,” she mouthed, her eyes round.

Mary Lou’s mind spun. If they left town, she would never see Jeff again and she wanted to, she wanted to so much it hurt. It was the first time she dared admit it, but she could no longer deny what she knew in her heart to be true.

“We . . . we like it here,” she said, dismayed by the inadequacy of her words.
Think, think!

“We
both
like it here,” Brenda added.

Jenny reached for a lace chemise and stuffed it into the trunk without bothering to fold it. “You’ve done nothing but complain about this town since we arrived.”

“I changed my mind.” Mary Lou crossed her arms. “And I’m not leaving.”

“Neither am I,” Brenda said.

Jenny glanced up but appeared unmoved by her sisters’ united stand. “We’re leaving,” she said firmly.

“What if Brenda agrees to marry Mr. Hampton?” Mary Lou blurted out.

Brenda’s jaw dropped. “Why don’t
you
marry him?”

“I’d rather die first,” Mary Lou added with equal vehemence.

Jenny gave Brenda a sharp look and tossed a pair of stockings into the trunk. “You needn’t worry. I decided Mr. Hampton isn’t as qualified as I previously thought.” She straightened and reached for her reticule.

“You two can finish packing. I’m going to the train station to inquire about tickets to Rockland Creek. I believe one leaves in the morning.” Without another word, she hustled out the door.

“What are we going to do?” Brenda wailed. “We can’t leave. We can’t!” She flung herself across the bed, sending the hatbox flying.

Mary Lou covered her ears to drown out Brenda’s wails. How was a person to think? It wasn’t like Brenda to be so melodramatic. She was always the calm and reasonable one. Brenda really must be in love with her barber.

Brenda sat up and rocked back and forth. The wails subsided, but not the tears that continued to roll down her cheeks.

Hands on her waist, Mary Lou stood at the bottom of the bed, her thoughts spinning. “You’ve got to agree to marry Mr. Hampton.”

“Never!”

“It’s the only way.”

“I won’t do it.” Brenda said. A sob shuddered through her. “Besides . . . you heard what Jenny said. He’s no longer suitable.”

Mary Lou paced back and forth. “She didn’t mean that. How could she? He’s rich. She was just saying that.” She stopped at the foot of the bed. “Come on, Brenda. I don’t mean that you actually have to
marry
him. You just have to pretend like you’re going to.”

Brenda shook her head. “I’m not going to lie to Jenny. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Mr. Hampton to make a promise of marriage I don’t intend to keep.” Another wave of sobs escaped and she dabbed at her eyes with a balled handkerchief. “You’ve got to come up with something else.”

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.” Mary Lou held her head with both hands. Who or what would make Jenny stay in town?
God, please, please help us
.

She paced around the room then stopped to glance out the window at the marshal crossing the street toward his office. Turning away, she was struck by sudden inspiration.

“I have an idea. Quick, pull yourself together.” She picked up her skirt with both hands and danced around the room. “I know how to make Jenny stay,” she shouted, gaily. “I do!”

Rhett looked up, surprised to see Jenny’s sisters walk through the door of his office. He greeted the girls with a nod of his head. “Mary Lou. Brenda. What can I do for you?”

The secret glances the two exchanged told him it wasn’t a social visit. Mary Lou gestured to her sister, who shook her head. There was obviously some disagreement as to which of them would speak first.