She stopped and tugged at her ear. If no one was meeting tonight, why bother going to town? But maybe Adam was there somewhere. If he wasn’t working in a field, there was a good chance—
The hairs on her arms tingled. Someone was standing in the corner of her sight. Someone she hadn’t noticed before. He was nearly hidden in the branches of the oak tree, but there he was.
“Adam?”
The sun’s rays hit beneath the boughs and washed him in gold. “It’s me.”
“What are you doing in there?” She didn’t see his horses or machinery. No sign that he was doing anything other than loitering on the road.
“I’m waiting for you. How was the exam?”
“Wonderful. I did wonderful.” She wished he’d come closer, wished he’d take her in his arms, but he seemed rooted to the spot, determined not to step away from the oak of shame.
“I’m proud of you. And you, no doubt, saw the conclusion of the threshing contest?”
“You could’ve beat Pa by a mile, but what you did was even better.”
“And what he did was just as fine.”
What was wrong with him? Why didn’t he offer to walk her home, or walk her to town, or something? “I guess everything worked out satisfactorily.”
“Not yet.” His countenance fell. “Something has been bothering me for a spell, and I won’t rest easy until it’s fixed.”
Bella arched her eyebrows. Had something happened that her parents hadn’t told her about? Had the school board already determined to send for the student teacher?
But instead of allowing her to ask, Adam stepped back, holding one of the low limbs of the oak tree aside. “After you,” he said with a bow.
What was he up to? Another jab at her past? Another reminder of her failures? No, they’d grown past that. It had to be something else.
“I have a school board meeting to attend,” she said.
“There isn’t a meeting, not with them. Just with me.”
“But Pa said . . .” Then, seeing his smile, she said, “You put Pa up to that, didn’t you? Alright. What do you want me to see?”
She stepped past the low-hanging branches and into the airy shelter beneath, and then Bella caught her breath. Beneath the canopy of green hung dozens of paper hearts suspended on strings. They spun with the leaves, fluttering like butterfly wings. She lifted one in her palm and laughed. It was covered in her penmanship. “Are these my practice tests?”
“I told you I wouldn’t leave them for the students to find.”
“You cut them all?” Her grin was so big her cheeks were getting sore. “And the thread . . .” She ran her fingers up the strand, then looked at the other hearts and the variety of colors that held them aloft. “I’m sorry for refusing your gift. The thread is beautiful, Adam. You created a true fairyland. Better than I could imagine.”
“There’s more.” With his hands clasped behind his back, he leaned forward, his face full of eagerness.
“What? What are you hiding?” She grabbed his arm, thinking he was holding a present behind his back, but he spun around, and she found herself face-to-face with the trunk of the old oak.
The marks of three years ago were still there—the heart with her initials—but there was an addition. Bella pressed her finger into the first stroke of the A, then traced every inch of the carefully carved message.
“AF & BE,” Adam said. “It took me long enough, but it’s there for good. Nothing is going to erase the message that I love Bella Eden.”
Bella’s heart felt near to bursting. Adam was everything she’d been looking for, but God had waited until just the right time to remove the blinders from her eyes.
“There’s only one thing lacking—that kiss you were hankering after. Now, I’m no Jimmy Blaggart—”
“Don’t you ever say that name again,” she warned.
“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes held her warm and secure while paper hearts danced around them. “I’ll just say your name, Bella, and I’ll endeavor to have either you or your name on my lips as often as possible.”
His fingers brushed her cheek, making her yearn for more. Before she could turn toward his touch, his mouth captured hers—sure, joyful, and more intoxicating than she’d imagined.
After a hearty kiss, Bella laid her head on his shoulder and watched the paper hearts spin in the breeze.
“It’s this tree that brought us together,” Adam said, “and I’m going to predict that our love will be as rooted and strong as it is.”
“The oak of shame?” she asked.
“Oh no. That episode is forgotten. As of today, it’ll have a new name.” His gaze darkened as it met hers. “This oak is now known as the Kissing Tree.”
Bella smiled. “Then it had better start living up to its name.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. He bent his head and kissed her again, like he’d never stop. But stop he must, for as fine as his kissing was, they had fields to harvest and a future to plan.
And Bella was already imagining what romantic adventures lay ahead.
Sneak Peek of
Courting Misfortune
by Regina Jennings
one
1898
CHICAGO
“You want me to work for Jinxy Seaton?” Calista York dropped her handbag onto her desk and reached up to remove her hat pin from her heavy swirl of brown curls. “The last I heard, we had scruples against helping criminal gangsters who corrupt Chicago with their nefarious—”
She was interrupted by the clatter of a letter opener skittering across the desk and landing on the floor. Calista froze, hands above her head, gripping her hat pin in case it was needed for defense. One look showed her that her boss, Robert Pinkerton, was the offender, and it wasn’t advisable to poke him with a hat pin, no matter the provocation.
“I’m talking about Mr. Jinxy Seaton,” Mr. Pinkerton said, his voice a growled whisper. “The man who risked his life to double-cross the unions for this agency and who is now sitting in my office.” With a jerk of his grayed head, he motioned to the open door.
Calista leaned to peer around the doorframe. While she couldn’t exactly see Mr. Seaton, she did get the definite sense of a dark mass in the chair opposite Mr. Pinkerton’s desk. She was paid to be observant, but she’d missed that?
Sorry, she mouthed as she lifted her hat off her bouffant and deposited it next to her bag.
“What I was telling you is that our good friend Mr. Seaton is requesting our help.” This time Mr. Pinkerton’s voice echoed through the office as if he were giving another speech to the Railroad Loss Prevention Board. “Why don’t you join us in my office, Miss York?” He widened his eyes to emphasize the importance of her cooperation.
Bending, Calista swept her hand beneath the desk until her fingers hit cold metal. “You seem to have misplaced your letter opener,” she said and dropped the utensil into his palm as she walked past him.
Jinxy stood when she entered. Two hundred and fifty pounds of sausage and cannelloni stuffed into a striped suit. She dipped her head to avoid a handshake and took a station in the corner behind Mr. Pinkerton’s desk.
Calista had worked undercover for five months. When she applied for the job as a Pinkerton agent, she’d understood there would be danger and intrigue. She’d anticipated that there would be distasteful assignments, or at the very least, ones that required her to don a wardrobe that was particularly loathsome. If she was going to enter Jinxy’s world, she had to prepare herself for even greater indignities. But seeing a wrong righted would always be worth it.
“Miss Calista York has joined our staff since your earlier association with our company.” Mr. Pinkerton pushed his chair to one side so he could view both Calista and his client as Jinxy took a seat. “She is our youngest female operative and has just returned from Emporia, Kansas, where she helped bust a smuggling ring on Mr. Buchanan’s railroad. Before that she was instrumental in obtaining a confession from an embezzler, but she has
no experience with kidnappers.”
Calista shot a sideways glance at Pinkerton. Despite her success in her last case, Pinkerton still expressed misgivings over her skills. He thought she was overconfident and naive. Her partners worried that she wasn’t discreet enough. She had to convince them that she could do better if she wanted a permanent spot with the agency.
“I’m not interested in stopping any smuggling or embezzlement,” Jinxy said. “A man’s got to earn a living. All I’m interested in is finding Lila. Just knowing she’s alive . . .” He pulled out a crisp handkerchief and blew into it like a foghorn. “Ever since Florence was killed, we’ve kept an eye on Lila. Somehow even that wasn’t enough.”
“Remind us about Florence. Was your daughter’s killer ever found?” Pinkerton asked.
“No, but my gut tells me the same people took Lila. I didn’t think we’d ever see her again, but now, eight months after she disappeared, someone spotted her six hundred miles away.” Jinxy wadded his handkerchief and shoved it into his vest’s inner pocket. “But who has her? What are they doing with her? She was at a place . . . a place she shouldn’t be. My own flesh and blood being exploited. I can’t bear it.”
Mr. Pinkerton rubbed his brow. “I wish you would reconsider and use one of our male operatives. Mr. Sampson is available, and he’s got a strong record of—”
“Absolutely not. Lila’s barely twenty years old, and just think what she’s been through in the last eight months. The thought of a man going after her . . . absolutely not.” His jowls quivered, and he swung his arm in Calista’s direction. “This gal will do. She looks like a reassuring sort.”
Pinkerton looked anything but reassured. “You say we have a witness who saw her, and with that information, we have every hope that this case will be resolved speedily and your daughter will be returned to you soon, even without the assistance of Mr. Sampson.”
“I sincerely hope so.” Jinxy leaned over the desk, his fists clenched. “Those goons with the union know I helped you. My life and my business have been wrecked since then. At the very least, you can do this for me. If I don’t get my daughter back, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Beneath the veiled threat, Calista sensed a father genuinely concerned about his daughter. She leaned against the wall and studied him. If knowledge of his double-crossing the union had gotten out, that was incentive enough to murder his family. Florence was already one innocent casualty, but it sounded like Lila’s suffering had just begun.
“Do you have a photo?” she asked.
Mr. Pinkerton raised an eyebrow at her interruption but remained silent as Jinxy shoved his hand into his vest and produced a bent photograph. Calista stepped up to the desk as he dropped it in front of them.
“That’s her a year ago. Her mother had that dress made special for the Spring Ball. I couldn’t believe how grown-up she looked.”
Lila was striking, posed as she looked over her shoulder, her thick, dark hair pulled back from her high forehead and arranged like a cloud. And although one had to ignore the hand-tinting on the photograph, the rosy cheeks didn’t seem out of place with her porcelain complexion. Beautiful wasn’t the right word . . . maybe haunting. Haunted. Calista leaned forward for a better look. Yes, there was fear in her eyes.
“Someone saw her?” Calista asked. “They’re sure it was her?”
“Yes, ma’am.” His nose wrinkled as he spat out the words. “It was a brothel in Joplin, Missouri. The House of Lords.”
At the name of the city, Calista’s attention snapped to Mr. Pinkerton. Her Granny Laura lived outside Joplin. Joplin was practically Calista’s second home. Mr. Pinkerton knew that, but his ever-so-slight movement toward his letter opener warned her to keep that information to herself.
Calista backed away from the desk until she felt the wall behind her. Work in Joplin? Was it possible? She’d assumed that secrecy was required with all cases. Although she’d grown up in Kansas City, which was one hundred and fifty miles from Joplin, her family’s presence would make it impossible for her to work there incognito. On the other hand, she’d have connections available that she’d never had before. Working in Joplin would change the game.
As Mr. Seaton elaborated on the events that led him to them, Calista couldn’t tear her eyes from the picture of Lila. According to her father, Miss Seaton had gone on a shopping excursion with her mother and an aunt. One minute she was trying on hats in a crowded haberdashery, the next she’d vanished. For weeks the Chicago police had taken notes, patrolled neighborhoods, and questioned Jinxy’s foes, but they hadn’t found anything. It wasn’t until a business associate—Calista knew not to inquire as to what kind of business—told Jinxy that he’d seen Lila inside a Joplin brothel that they knew she’d survived and was still in danger.
“Who was this witness?” Mr. Pinkerton leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers over his chest. “Can we interview him?”
“He’s not keen on talking to detectives. Besides, he’s currently unavailable.” Jinxy lowered his eyes.
Calista shot a glance at her boss before asking, “If she’s alive, why doesn’t she contact you?”
“She’s kept captive,” Jinxy replied. “What else?”
“In Joplin, Missouri?” Pinkerton raised an eyebrow. “Compared to Chicago, that seems as wholesome—”
“You don’t know Joplin,” Calista interrupted. Joplin was a mining town that had sprung up out of the dirt. The quick money had attracted the most unsavory of characters and industries, creating a wild reputation in the region. Now, decades after the first zinc was discovered, the newly wealthy were trying to create a society out of rough parts, yet many of the homes considered respectable were funded by others’ miseries.
As a child, Calista had spent every summer at Granny Laura’s ranch, but when they went to town, Granny Laura guarded them like a mother hen marching her chicks through a snake pit. Calista would admit that her head got turned by the luxurious clothing the fancy women wore as they paraded right down Main Street, but she would never forget the girls tucked away in darker alleys. No one would voluntarily submit to the anguish she saw on their faces. If someone was going to profit from Lila’s capture, Joplin was the logical place to take her.
“You know it will take time,” Mr. Pinkerton said. “Our operatives have to create their characters. They have to integrate into society. Miss York won’t walk into town, announce that she’s a detective, and pass your daughter’s photo around. Our methods yield results, but you must be patient.”
“When I think of what she’s enduring . . .” Mr. Seaton reached for the photo but stopped short, resting his hand on the desk. “I’ll be as patient as I’m able. I just want her to know that no matter what she’s done, or what’s been done to her, we love her and want her to come home.”
An admirable sentiment from a despicable character. But Lila was no gangster. She was an innocent girl, and she needed help.
And despite Mr. Pinkerton’s misgivings, Calista considered herself the perfect person to rescue her.
JOPLIN, MISSOURI
If a young lady had been forced into a life of depravity and bondage, she wouldn’t be staying at the Keystone Hotel. The six-story luxury hotel at Fourth and Main was respectable, which meant Calista had to get away from her apartment to search for Lila. But she didn’t have to go far.
In the shadow of the great hotel was the most notorious establishment in town. The House of Lords purported to be a café. That was what was on the ground floor, but everyone knew what went on upstairs. Calista had only arrived yesterday, but she was ready to storm the castle. She’d never heard of a case where they’d gotten such specific information about a missing person. If Lila was being held at the House of Lords, that was where Calista would start looking, albeit carefully. If the people holding her got spooked, the girl could disappear again, never to be found.
Calista cruised by the brothel’s building again, wondering how to proceed. Before she’d left Chicago, Pinke
rton had extracted a promise from her that she wouldn’t pose as a soiled dove to get inside, that she wouldn’t overestimate her skills, and that she would tell no one about her mission. If she didn’t succeed within the month, he would insist that Jinxy replace Calista with a more experienced operative. In fact, Pinkerton was already making arrangements for her failure.
One month. If she couldn’t find Lila Seaton by then, Calista would be recalled in disgrace, and her probation period with the agency would come to an end. She held her head high as she passed the shoeshine boy for the third time. Perhaps she should have thought up a strategy before leaving her apartment that morning.
Since this was only her third case and her first as the primary operative, her briefing with Pinkerton had been thorough. Together they pondered the inconsistencies of Jinxy’s story. How could Lila be held in plain sight? Why hadn’t she asked anyone for help? The kidnappers must hold some power over her. Maybe they’d drugged her until she was reliant on them, or perhaps mere threats against her family were enough to keep her compliant—her sister’s recent murder made such threats believable. Whatever the situation, Calista would be dealing with dangerous men, but she had faith. God had called her on this path. Whatever she faced, it was better than her pointless existence as a debutante in Kansas City.
She needed to do the job and find Lila before Pinkerton talked Jinxy Seaton into replacing her.
But she couldn’t bring herself to cross the threshold of that demon’s lair. Once, when she was young, she’d asked to eat at the restaurant, and Granny Laura had said she’d rather Calista eat cold beans out of a tin can than give Rahn’s House of Lords a dime of her honest money. Now that she understood, Calista wholeheartedly agreed with Granny Laura, but her personal preferences had to be set aside for the greater good. If she wanted to keep her job, she had to swallow her disgust and play the role.
Broken Limbs, Mended Hearts Page 8