Once in a Blue Moon (36 page)

You know me well
enough to sense I have news to impart. I have met a woman here in
need of help. Her name is Janie Taggart and she is a woman of loose
morals + has a husband newly returned from the war who is abusive
to her person. She has no family to help her + is fearful for her
very life. I have purchased a stage ticket and am sending her to
you. I hope you can overlook her unfortunate circumstances and be
of some help to her. If not, see the woman settled elsewhere. I
will write again in a few days if I can get a chance + write you a
long one.

I never wanted to see
you half as bad in all my life as I do now. Please write soon. We
don’t get enough news here--do not know what is going on in the
outside world.

Goodbye my own sweet
wife,

As ever your devoted
and loving husband,

Andrew Sullivan

Huh. Sweet. Apparently,
Sully had hidden depths. And he wrote better English than he
spoke.

Melissa scanned the
letter again, her eyes drawn to the part about the woman. Sully was
a nice guy and she could see him helping the girl even if she had
loose morals, or in other words, was a prostitute. He’d helped
Melissa’s family, hadn’t he? She shook her head in pity for the
unknown woman. This was a hard time to live in.

Janie Taggert. Why did
that name sound familiar? Melissa would swear she’d heard it
before. But where? Back in the future, or more recently? In
town?

Her
eyes widened and blood surged to her head in rush.
The photo in the widow’s front
parlor
. The photo of the widow when she
was young. Janie was the widow, Jane MacPherson!

She shook her head,
blew out a breath and chuckled at her own thoughts. No way would
the widow ever have prostituted herself. It was absolutely
impossible. She had way too much pride. Melissa couldn’t believe
it. There must be another Jane Taggert from Arizona Territory.

But what were the
chances? The widow did owe Sully a favor; a big one, or their
family would have been straight out on their ears. Couldn’t this be
the favor? Unbelievable or not, it had to be true. They took her
in. They knew she was a prostitute. Perhaps everyone in the entire
area knew.

No. Sully and his wife
had never told anyone. In this time and place the widow would be an
outcast if the truth were known; and there was no question she was
well thought of and had a sterling reputation.

Melissa smiled, folded
the letter and replaced it in the book. Wouldn’t the widow hate it
if that were to change? What Melissa could do with this
information!

Her heart beat hard in
her chest, and she glanced up to see the foreman walk by. She could
pay that witch back for her cruelty; expose her, or threaten to.
The widow deserved anything she got and more. Melissa could demand
more money for Richard. Granted, they wouldn’t be here much longer
to enjoy it, but that wasn’t the point. What was important was that
the tables were turned!

* * *

The next morning,
Melissa felt slightly indecisive, which ticked her off. The widow
deserved anything Melissa chose to dish out.

Didn’t she
?

Melissa’s boots tapped
out a sharp rhythm on the dirt path. Yes, she did. Melissa was
getting a raise for Richard. She was going to show that woman, once
and for all, that no one messed with Melissa Kendal. Not for long
anyway.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Melissa would ever actually ruin the
woman’s life. She’d just threaten to. But Richard
was
getting a raise out
of this.

She slowly mounted the
steps to the ranch house porch, took a deep breath, and knocked on
the door.

The widow answered
immediately, lifted her chin in that snooty way she had and
snapped, “What do you want? How many times do I have to tell you to
stop pestering Hannah? Leave her alone!”

A sting of hurt ripped
thorough Melissa and she embraced it. See? She was perfectly
justified in what she was doing. After being attacked like that,
her decision was made. “What I want is a pay raise for Richard.
Twice the money, effective immediately.”

The widow looked at her
like she was crazy. Her face crinkled in distaste, emphasizing her
wrinkles, and she shook her head. “No.”

Melissa gathered her
courage. “Hmm. Well then, shall we talk about something
interesting? How about your days as a, let’s see...” Melissa tapped
a finger to her chin. “How was it phrased...a loose-moraled
woman?”

The widow stilled.
“What are you talking about?”

Melissa folded her
arms, smiled, and played her trump card. “Mrs. Janie Taggert of
Arizona Territory.”

The widow’s mouth
parted. She lifted a hand to blindly grab at the doorframe and
seemed to slump, looking suddenly older. “Sully?”

Melissa immediately
grasped her meaning and shook her head. “No, of course not. Sully
never breathed a word.”

At the widow’s stricken
expression, Melissa suddenly felt ashamed and some of her momentum
faded, but she plowed forward anyway. “Give Richard a raise, or I
will expose you to the entire community.”

Melissa wasn’t sure the
woman heard as she stared blindly, face slack, almost seeming to
look inward.

Melissa was starting to feel
very
ashamed of herself, but she was
now in this up to her eyeballs. Besides, the widow deserved it,
didn’t she? She treated Melissa like dirt, didn’t she? Underpaid
her employees? Right?

Regardless, Melissa
felt horrible all of a sudden; sick to her stomach. There was a
dirty name for what she was doing: blackmail. She winced inwardly.
Back at her job, she wouldn’t have felt a twinge of remorse for
using dirt on someone, but now, well, apparently the past had
changed her.

She thought of her
family and couldn’t believe was standing there, doing this. Richard
would die if he knew. Her children would be mortified. She felt
ill.

“I can’t believe Sully
told you.” The widow mumbled the words, practically whispered them.
“He’s the only one who could have.”

This was just getting
worse and worse. Melissa didn’t want Sully blamed. She didn’t want
Sully to find out what she’d done. Too late she faced the ugly fact
that she’d used him. If he knew, that sweet old man would look at
her with contempt.

“Sully didn’t say a
word.”

At this point, Melissa
couldn’t believe that she’d said anything herself. What had she
been thinking? She was blackmailing an old lady. What was the
matter with her?

The widow shook her
head. “There is no other way you could have known.”

Melissa sighed. “If you
must know, I found a letter his wife saved.”

Sudden heat seared the widow’s cheeks, giving her some color.
Her eyes went stormy and her lips tightened. “
That woman
!” She lifted her jaw and
straightened her spine. “Mrs. Kendal, do your worst.”

“Fine.” Shame warred
with intense relief and Melissa quickly turned, stumbled down the
steps and walked away. She wanted to put as much distance between
herself and the widow as possible. She was actually relieved the
old lady had called her bluff. All she wanted to do was get out of
there and forget about the whole thing. She wished she’d never done
it in the first place. What had she been thinking?

“What are you going to
do?” the widow called out.

Melissa stopped,
turned.

The widow’s face was
gray once more and she clung to the door frame.

The sick feeling in
Melissa’s gut intensified and she felt as ill as the widow looked.
If the woman dropped dead from heart failure, Melissa would never
forgive herself. The least she could do was put the woman’s mind at
ease.

Melissa walked back a
few steps. “Nothing. You called my bluff. You win. End of story.
I’m not going to do a thing.” Apparently a career as a blackmailer
wasn’t going to pan out. Melissa started to turn away, just wanting
to get out of there, but sighed, stopped and swung back. She had to
make this right somehow. Perhaps she owed the widow an apology?

Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Melissa
studied the porch stairs. “Look.” She clenched her hands together
wondering exactly how a person
did
apologize; she hadn’t had a lot of practice. “I
just want you to know that I...well, that I regret bringing this to
your attention. I should have minded my own business. I don’t know
what got into me.” Melissa glanced up, hoping she’d said
enough.

The widow scanned the
area. “Come inside.”

Melissa hesitated, then
followed, aware that the widow didn’t want anyone to overhear.
Melissa had more power than the lady would like to acknowledge or
she wouldn’t have called her back; she wouldn’t have invited her
in. Unfortunately, Melissa no longer had the cutthroat desire to
follow through and do anything about it.

She sighed. That
cinched it. She’d definitely lost her edge and could only hope it
was temporary, like being in the past. Unwillingly, she followed
the widow into the house and into the parlor. Melissa just wanted
to leave and forget she’d ever instigated this. If only she could
rewind the last fifteen minutes and start the morning over.

Melissa sank onto the
Victorian sofa.

The widow paced to the
window, stiff and formal as always; not exactly the picture of a
loose woman.

Curiosity gripped
Melissa. “Why were you ever a prostitute? I just don’t see it.”

The widow turned to
stare, her gaze diamond hard.

Melissa cringed
inwardly. And why couldn’t she keep her big mouth shut? Apparently
she didn’t know when to stop.

The widow sucked in a
harsh breath. “But then you’ve never been desperate before, have
you? Hungry? Without any prospects of any kind?”

Melissa thought to
protest. She’d been desperate before, all right. She’d grown up in
a trailer. Her mother was a drunk who died at age forty-two. She
didn’t have a father; didn’t even know who he was. She’d been
taunted, belittled and humiliated as a child.

Her brows furrowed. As
poor as she’d been, there had always been food. Granted, it had
often been a handout from welfare, but food nonetheless. And as an
adult, she’d always been able to work hard and get what she wanted.
No, she’d never really been in desperate circumstances. Even in
this time and place, she’d had Richard to depend on.

“What happened to you?”
She didn’t really expect an answer and was unsurprised by the long
silence that followed.

The widow stared at
Melissa. “I hate that dress more than I can say.”

Surprised, Melissa
glanced down at the orange outfit. There was no question the dress
was ugly, but the hostility in the widow’s voice surprised her.

“I hated Louisa
Sullivan. Hated her! I hate her still. That’s why I gave you the
material, so you could make yourself something else to wear. I
couldn’t stand to so much as see her old dresses. Yet here you are,
still wearing them. Every day you wear those dresses, like a ghost,
sent to haunt me. You’re almost as contrary as that woman was.”

“Sully’s wife?”
According to Sully, his wife was a paragon.

“I don’t understand.
Why did you hate her? Didn’t she end up helping you? Did she turn
you away when you came here?”

The widow stood and
paced to the window. She crossed her arms, running her hands up and
down her sleeves as if she were cold. “I married quite young, but
we were never blessed with any children. My husband had such grand
ambitions. He started out a dreamer, but as we got older and
circumstances didn’t work to his favor, he became disillusioned and
angry.” She paused and shook her head. “Oh, but he’d get so
angry.”

Melissa wondered what
this had to do with Louisa Sullivan, but went along with the change
of subject, fascinated despite herself. “Some people think the
world owes them a living. I used to see people like that at work
all the time.”

The widow turned to
stare at Melissa pointedly, her lip curling.

Melissa lifted her chin. Surely the widow wasn’t
implying
Melissa
was such a person?

The woman lifted a
shoulder and stared out the window. “Yes, well, then the war came.
My husband was full of anticipation when he left. He thought he’d
make his fortune and come back a rich man. He left me with two
black eyes, a lame wrist and a strong hope that he wouldn’t
return.”

Her gaze remained
unfocused. “As the war continued, and the years went by, my
situation became more wretched. I was a hard worker, but there was
no more work to be had.” She paused. “Believe it or not,
twenty-five years ago I was an attractive woman. And I was proud. I
was so proud.”

Melissa glanced at the
photo of young Janie Taggert on the table. She had to agree. She’d
thought it before; the woman could have made a fortune as a runway
model.

“I was thirty-two years
old and starving; barely feeding myself. Other husbands returned
from the war, but not mine. Most times I was glad, but I also felt
desperate. There were a few men in town who would occasionally help
me, but not without extracting a high price.”

Her crossed arms
tightened as she seemed to hug herself. “Then one day I caught the
eye of a Colonel from the nearby fort and my situation improved. He
was married, his wife back east, but he treated me well and I loved
him for it.”

She smiled humorlessly.
“It was quite a scandal in our small town. I was with him for over
a year before my husband returned. He was meaner than ever, and
more destitute than ever. He beat me soundly, almost killing me.
The Colonel deserted me. No one in town would offer aid. Then Sully
came and helped me get away...to Louisa.”