Rekindled (23 page)

“There you are. I wondered if you were going to show up.”

Her voice halted Larson midstride. His courage fled along with the air in his lungs. Kathryn was stopped about ten paces in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Kathryn. I tried to get here sooner, but . . .”

Larson recognized the voice first, then the man. But the rest of Matthew Taylor’s response was lost in the lilt of Kathryn’s laughter.

Sick-hearted regret twisted his insides until an ache formed in the pit of stomach. He told himself to move, to close the distance between them and get it over with, to expose their betrayal, but his body refused. He stood watching, immobile, as the two of them walked away, arm in arm.

Ashamed of his own cowardice, he turned and walked in the opposite direction, needing to put some distance between himself and Kathryn—and Kathryn with Matthew Taylor.

But her voice, her laughter, played over and over in his mind as the darkened storefronts passed. Hearing it again affected him in a way he’d not expected and that he was loath to acknowledge. Remembering it, a softening somewhere deep inside him unearthed feelings he wished would have remained hidden and revealed a remnant of love for his wife.

But after all she’d done to him, how could he still care for her?

When he glanced up a while later, the faint outline of a white steeple stood out against the dark prairie sky. He walked past the church to the cemetery. Staring down at a grave,
his
grave, he’d never felt so vacant inside. He’d sold his horse two weeks ago, needing the meager funds for livelihood. He had no mount. No place to call home. No family. Nothing. He might as well be inside the pine box buried at his feet.

He stooped and sifted the mounded dirt through his fingers. Since he wasn’t in that coffin, who was?

Moments passed. He finally stood and brushed the dirt from his hands, then stared up into the star-speckled sky. “So what now, Lord?” he whispered, waiting.

Heaven remained silent, but Larson couldn’t. Not anymore.

Tomorrow he would confront Kathryn and find out why she had betrayed him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

B
EFORE THE FAINTEST HINT of light challenged the night shadows, his timidity in prayer ceased and Larson poured out every anguished thought to God.

As the sun rose, splintering multicolored rays through the top of the barn loft, it brought peace with it, though still no answers. Larson likened his experience to the night Jacob had wrestled with the Lord. For the rest of his life, Jacob had borne the physical reminder of that struggle. Larson stood and stretched. Like Jacob, he too asked that the Lord would bless him. Then he smiled wryly, massaging the sore muscles of his right leg. God had already seen to giving him the limp.

He thought of Kathryn and prayed again for His timing in all of this, still not having felt a strong confirmation about facing her. But he was tired of waiting. Isaiah always said God’s timing was perfect. Larson only hoped he was following it now.

Kathryn tossed Annabelle a tight smile as she closed the back door to the haberdashery shortly before noon, her nerves in a jumble. “Thank you for coming over and doing this with me. I feel a bit more prepared for it now.”

Annabelle waved a hand as though to say it wasn’t any big deal. “You’ll do fine. You answered every question perfectly.” Seriousness sharpened her expression and she glanced away before speaking again. “I really am proud of you, Kathryn. Of how you’ve gotten along since they found your husband’s body and all. I know it hasn’t been easy. . . .”

For a woman who had life so easy beforehand
was the unspoken phrase Kathryn heard in her mind. Though Annabelle didn’t say it, probably didn’t even think it, she had a right to. Kathryn had thought about that a lot—about how easy her life had been, and was, in comparison with Annabelle’s. She wished she could change the situation for Annabelle, help her out of the life she seemed trapped in. Kathryn had yet to broach the subject but hoped this morning’s meeting would provide her a way to do just that.

They parted ways, and Kathryn smoothed her hair and black dress, thankful for Annabelle’s mock interview. Kathryn had checked the newspaper on a regular basis and found a position that sounded promising. She had been hopeful when she’d received a response to her inquiry about the possible new employ, and she didn’t want to be late for her interview with Miss . . .

Kathryn pulled the letter she’d received yesterday from her pocket. With Miss Maudelaine. If she made a favorable impression this morning, the position could be the answer to her prayers.

Much better pay. Room and board. No more working two jobs from dawn to well past dusk. And most importantly, a better environment in which to raise her son or daughter. A twinge of guilt chided her conscience. She hadn’t mentioned being with child in her inquiry letter and hoped that wouldn’t influence Miss Maudelaine’s decision.
Lord, open a door for me, please
. Considering the opportunities this job would make in her life and in that of her child, Kathryn’s nervousness lessened. Anticipation quickened her pace.

She cut a path across the busy main street and reached into her pocket to finger the delicate metal box, an ever-present reminder she kept close. After her meeting this morning, she would go by the cemetery. It’d been at least a week since her last visit, and that had been late one evening, with Matthew. He’d insisted on going with her, even though she actually preferred to visit alone.

Donlyn MacGregor hadn’t contacted her since the day he’d sent the flowers. Harold Kohlman apparently hadn’t given him her message. She had roughly three more months before the land would be auctioned in Denver in September; then she would lose it for certain. She decided it was time to seek Mr. MacGregor out on her own.

Crowds of midweek shoppers thronged the plank walkway and trailed out the front door of the post office and mercantile. Fearing she would be late for her interview, Kathryn finally gave up trying to push her way through and made a beeline to cut down an alleyway instead.

And ran headlong into someone standing just around the corner.

Air left her lungs at the impact. Her footing slipped.

But the man caught her and steadied her.

Kathryn finally managed to regain her balance. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I—”

She glanced up, but he turned before she could glimpse his face.

“Sir, my deepest apologies,” she offered again to his back, her heart still racing. “I was in such a hurry.”

The man wore a knit cap and long sleeves buttoned at the wrists, despite the June warmth. He was tall and of thin build, and the shirt he wore looked two sizes too big, the seams passing well below his shoulders. His breath came raspy and quick, and she suddenly wondered if she’d hurt him.

“Are you all right, sir?” she tried again, gently touching his shoulder.

He flinched and sucked in a sharp breath.

Kathryn drew back. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Only then did she notice the scarred flesh stretched taut over his fists clenched at his sides. He turned slightly, his head bowed, eyes closed. Seeing the furrowed white flesh of his neck and upper right cheek, a barely audible gasp escaped her. He winced at the sound, and Kathryn instantly regretted the thoughtless reaction. What had this poor man been through?

She thought of the fire that had destroyed the bank building and the survivors Donlyn MacGregor had told her about. Then her mind flashed to a badly maimed and scarred man she’d seen visiting the brothel one night. “Men like him got damaged in the war back East. Either that or the mines,” Annabelle had stated matter-of-factly. “Nobody else wants them, I guess. They’re still men, though, so they come here to get that need met.”

Determined not to gawk, Kathryn stole a quick glance at the man beside her. Had he experienced that kind of rejection? He turned farther away, as though her presence somehow caused him more pain, but something about him spoke to her heart. Perhaps it was the way his shoulders were stooped, giving the appearance of nearly breaking beneath an unbearable load.

Unable to think of anything else to say, she turned. When she got to the corner, she hesitated, then looked back. The man was leaning against the building, his face in his hands.

Larson’s heart pounded out an erratic rhythm. He blew out a steadying breath.

Kathryn’s gasp at seeing him had wounded him more deeply than he could have imagined. Certain she was gone, he raked his hands over his face. He didn’t know which hurt him more—her reaction to him or the raw truth that she hadn’t recognized her own husband.

But the question lingering in his heart had been answered.

Even if he were to come back from the grave, she wouldn’t want him. Not like this.

He’d been waiting in the alleyway on the chance of seeing her, planned on approaching her sometime before she reached the restaurant. But then he’d lost her in the crowd. And then . . .
Oh, God!
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. With her face so close to his, seeing her eyes in that instant—his mind had gone completely blank. His courage had evaporated.

The scent of lavender, and of her, still lingered in the air around him. Her hair like silk against his face, her body pressed briefly against his in the fall. She was so beautiful.

He looked in the direction she’d gone. Her stride had held purpose. Not knowing what else to do, he headed in that direction.

Larson spotted her minutes later at the far end of the street. She’d stopped at an outdoor cafe
and now stood searching the tables of people. An elderly woman seated alone looked in Kathryn’s direction and arched a brow. The woman’s white hair glistened like morning frost in the sun. She had a regal air about her, and she smiled as Kathryn approached.

Feeling slightly emboldened by his confidence that she wouldn’t recognize him, Larson chose an empty table within earshot of theirs. It was partially obscured by a large cottonwood, but that suited his purposes well. He sat with his back to them and willed his pulse to slow.

“So tell me, dear, what job would you currently be holdin’ here in town?”

Larson leaned slightly backward upon hearing the older woman’s voice. Smooth and inviting, it bore a lyrical inflection that hinted of Irish heritage. He strained to hear Kathryn’s answer above the other conversations drifting around him.

“Well, I’ve been working at Hudson’s Haberdashery for a while now as well as at Myrtle’s Cookery,” Kathryn answered. “Both of my employers said they’d be willing to pen letters of reference for me, if you’d like.”

“So you’re an accomplished seamstress and cook?” The woman’s question carried approval.

“Well, probably a better cook than seamstress, but yes, I have skills at both.”

Larson could well imagine the telling crinkle in Kathryn’s forehead as she answered, and he surprised himself by hoping she actually got the job. Wherever it was had to be better than her current situation at the brothel.

“May I ask why you’re seeking to leave your current employ?”

From the corner of his eye Larson saw a young girl, no more than seven or eight, approaching his table with a pot of coffee. The aroma had already enticed him, but he shook his head. Keeping his face turned, he held up a hand, still trying to follow the conversation behind him. “No thank you, miss,” he whispered. “I . . . I have no way to pay.”