Dinah’s eyes danced. “Or perhaps she’s been eaten by a giant sea monster. I think you ought to give up your job here and take up writing dime novels. You have a knack for drama.”
“You think I’m jesting, but something truly tragic could have happened.” Penny pivoted away from her friend. “You may not care, but I do. He’s hurting and I could help him if only I could find Clara.”
Dinah laughed. “How do you plan to do that?”
“There’s nothing comical about it.” Penny folded her arms across her chest. “I really do want to help them.”
Dinah stepped closer. “Calm down, Penny. Your determination is admirable. No doubt the department wishes everyone cared like you do. Most of us have become numb to the letters we read. The words mean nothing to us unless they contain clues. We no longer care about the stories or the people. Thomas is lucky his letter fell into your hands. Perhaps it wasn’t an accident.”
Penny felt her temper defuse. “Dinah, you care too. I know you do.”
“Not like you do. I want to do my job well. I care about that.” She shrugged. “I feel good when I can send a letter on its way, but I watch your face when you put a letter in the disposal bin. You look defeated. Every part of you shows how disappointed you are. I don’t feel that way. I toss it in and go on to the next letter. I don’t think of it again.” Dinah brushed her hands together. “You haven’t forgotten that each letter was written by a real person.”
Penny wrapped her fingers around the letter in her pocket. She knew Thomas had written his letters for a reason. He was real. And so was his pain. She wasn’t supposed to take anything from the office, but she couldn’t dump it into the bin. Not this letter. Not Thomas’s letter.
Changing the subject, Penny asked, “Have you seen all Roland’s entries in the blind reading book? He had another one come back yesterday.”
She’d been introduced to the little handmade book when she first began working at the office. Some envelopes were so poorly addressed that no one believed they’d ever be redirected. When a clerk managed to find the intended destination, they often mailed return postage asking if they could keep the envelope as a souvenir of their detective work.
“I heard.” Dinah sighed. “Everyone was talking about it.”
Penny glanced over her shoulder toward the little red book. “I thought having two or three additions in the book was an accomplishment. I think Roland has ten times that many. The man can rehome letters that have nothing legible on them.”
“I don’t have entries yet.”
Penny looked at the letter nearest her. It was a simple mismatch in city and state. “This is an easy one. It won’t make the book either. I don’t know if the book matters as much as I thought it did. It’s what’s in the letters, the lives behind them, that matters.”
3
A loud thumping roused Thomas from a fitful nap.
“Dinner’s in ten minutes. I’m not about to let a man miss a meal on my watch. I’ll bring it up or you can come to the dining hall.” Margaret Anders hollered through Thomas’s bedroom door. The unusual woman, with her wild curls and no-nonsense ways, ran the boardinghouse like a tight ship, as well as the boarders. “You in there?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Of course you are. You spend far too much time inside. Well, you did get out for the barn raising. That sunlight did you good. I saw it in your countenance when you came back. Come out and get another taste of it.”
He groaned as he rolled over. “I think I’ll take dinner in my room.”
“A man can hole himself up for only so long. I think a change of scenery would do you good. Besides, the company in my dining hall is always the best. People travel for miles to eat my meals. Consider yourself lucky you only have to walk the stairs.”
He sat up and the old bed creaked beneath his weight. “I’m not about to believe that lie. I know what kind of company attends your dinners. Remember, I’ve been eating in your hall for days on end now.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “The food is good, I admit that, but the company is in need of some serious reformation.”
“It’ll be worse without you. How dare you leave me to the devices of those unruly men.”
“So, you agree! The crowd’s not as polished as you’d like.”
“I admit it.” She let out a boisterous laugh from the other side of the door and Thomas smiled despite himself. “I’ll see you downstairs in ten minutes. Otherwise, it’s the switch for you.”
Thomas wasn’t sure why she’d even asked where he wanted to eat his meal. There was no use arguing with that woman. He could stand to comply for another week or so before he headed out west again. With any luck, a wagon train would be passing through soon. He’d load up his new wagon and join them. That’d been his plan. It was what he’d clung to when he could find nothing else to reach for. But now a wave of apprehension hit him whenever he thought about setting out again.
He pulled himself to his feet. Back in Alexandria, he would’ve dressed for dinner. His hair would’ve been greased, and his pants creased, and a tie would’ve been knotted perfectly at his neck. Thomas looked down at himself now. His shirt was wrinkled and half unbuttoned. With clumsy hands, he threaded the buttons through the holes. He couldn’t do much to smooth the wrinkles or tame his thick, unkempt hair, which had not been trimmed since weeks before he had left Alexandria.
A terse chuckle escaped. Where was the man who wore three-piece suits? Where was the man who never left home unless his face was shaved? He fingered his long beard. He was hardly the same man. It had been weeks, or was it months, since he’d taken a razor to his face.
Who are you? he asked himself, only to shake his head in utter confusion. Someday perhaps he’d have an answer.
A little mirror hung above the washbasin. He splashed his face with the cool water. Then he ran his hands through his hair, trying to force the obstinate strands down.
He paused and stared at his own reflection. A tightness existed in his features that aged him beyond his twenty-seven years. His brown eyes met the ones in the mirror. They were the same walnut color they’d always been, but they were not the same eyes. The eyes that stared back at him were not the bold, confident ones he’d seen so often before. They were pained, confused. His neglected face—all of it echoed the ache in his soul. Before him was a hurting man. The world, or at least all of Azure Springs, must see it. Was that why everyone had been kind? Because they pitied him?
For years he’d been admitted into the finest social circles in Alexandria. Not merely admitted but sought out. In the elegant ballrooms, beautiful women had surrounded him. What would they think of him now? Would they pity him too? Or merely move on to someone they deemed worthy? Victims of the misguided society he had once ruled as king, they’d likely see nothing of any worth when their eyes roamed over him.
The man looking at him was broken.
He pulled his eyes away from the mirror. Even a broken man knows adding pain to pain serves no use. He wasn’t about to cross Margaret. With two minutes to spare, he slid onto a bench in the dining hall. He sat in the corner as far from anyone as possible.
She stepped near him and gave him a knowing look. “I was about to come up those stairs with a switch and scare you on down here.”
“I thought I’d save you a trip. After all, I’m supposed to be the guest with manners.”
“How considerate of you. Maybe next time I’ll insist you clean up before you come down and see if you’d oblige me then.” She looked him over. “Sure wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I tried.” He ran his hands through his hair again.
She picked up a large bowl and started scooping potatoes onto plates. “We’ve a barber. He moved into the building on the corner. Imagine Azure Springs having a real barber.”
“It’s just hair.”
Margaret moved to his side. “True. But your outward appearance can at times shout to the world what it is you’ve got going on inside. And right now, I see a man who doesn�
�t care.” She scrunched up her nose. “Or perhaps you do but don’t want anyone to know it. Is that what you want us all to think—that you’re a man past caring?”
He didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t. Instead, he focused on the mound of potatoes on his plate. The hills and valleys mimicked the mountain ranges he’d hoped to put between himself and his past.
She bent near him and added another scoop. “You ought to care. Not because of how everyone sees you but because you’re here and you owe it to yourself. You’re young yet. It’s too soon for you to give up on this life. It’s too soon for any of us. Even me and I’m much older than you.” She nudged his shoulder. “You need more days of barn building under your belt.”
“You act like you know my story. But you don’t.” He set down the fork he’d been holding and turned toward her. “I’ve got burdens I’m going to be carrying my whole life. And you think something like my hair matters or that a few more days of hammering nails will fix it? All that hammering did was cover my hands with blisters. You don’t know a thing.” Hurt and anger boiled through his veins. His pain was so real that it tore at him.
“You’re right, I don’t. I can tell you where a barber is and to get down for dinner. I can introduce you to fine folks and point the way to the church. I can beg you to let go of your troubles and reach out to someone. But I can’t fix it at all.” Margaret’s voice was just above a whisper. She spoke for his ears only. “But locking yourself up in your room day after day, that’s what cowards do. Living in a cave pretending none of this exists won’t get you anywhere. Going for a ten-minute walk once a day is not living. That’s just dying slowly.”
She moved on then, serving the men at the other tables. It didn’t take long before the benches filled and the ruckus of the dining hall crowd drowned out the turmoil within him. He shoveled bite after bite of Margaret’s roast and potatoes into his mouth without hardly tasting it. All the while he listened to strangers talk.
A fair-haired man boasted about his fields. Another about his horse. Then a man with a thick mustache and wide girth set his drink down on the table and stood. He belched like a man who had lost his senses to the bottle. No apologies were offered. Thomas wondered if this man too carried a burden. Was there some tragic tale that had led him to darkness? A shiver raced through him. Was he destined to become like this pathetic man? Never had his future seemed so bleak.
“You got your fields and your horses.” The man pounded his chest. His voice was raspy and deep. “I ain’t got either. But last night I went to the saloon and picked out the best-looking gal, a pretty thing with swaying hips and—”
“Enough!” Margaret banged a spoon against the back of a pan. “There will be no talk like that in my dining hall.”
The man staggered toward her. Then he spit, only just missing Margaret. “I can speak any way I want. I ain’t ’bout to let some crazy woman tell me what I can and can’t say. You just jealous no one’s looking at you.”
“In my hall, you will do as I say. And this crazy lady says she’s heard enough.” Margaret, her shoulders square, took a step toward him and stared him down.
He let out another belch, but this time he purposely blew the foul air in Margaret’s direction. Then he laughed in her face. “Don’t like me talking about pretty girls and the things—”
Thud.
Thomas’s fist connected with the man’s jaw. How he’d gotten from the bench to the man, he could not recall. Rage and anger filled him. Long suppressed feelings erupted in that one blow.
“Get out of here.” Thomas’s voice was a low, coarse whisper. The normally noisy hall was silent, so silent that Thomas’s voice boomed like thunder. “You heard Margaret. Your filth is not welcome here.”
Thomas grabbed the man by the collar, pulled him to his feet, and dragged him out the door. “Women, all of them, matter. They deserve to be treated well.” He pulled the man closer so they were face-to-face. “They matter, you disgusting pig.” Then, with a great deal of force, he shoved the man into the dusty street.
With his hands still fisted, he turned and saw Margaret stepping out of the boardinghouse. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
She locked eyes with him, her gaze so intense that he dared not break it. “That man’s had a run of bad luck.” She put a hand on Thomas’s arm, her touch cooling the rage inside him. “He’s not the only one though. We all suffer. We all hurt. But we don’t all have to be like him.”
He broke her gaze then. The words were meant for him and he knew it. But he wasn’t ready to hear them.
Her voice kept coming. There was no escaping it. “He stopped living for the good. He’s been nothing but trouble for years now. It’s a vicious trap he’s been swallowed by. He won’t let it go. He won’t change. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”
It doesn’t have to be that way. It doesn’t have to be that way. Like church bells, the words rang within him over and over again. He felt dizzy and shook his head to clear it.
Margaret patted his arm. “Thank you for stopping him. For defending me and for defending all women. We don’t need his poison. We need honorable men like you.”
“I’m not honorable.” With his knees shaking, he stepped away from her. “I’m not.”
“I’ve watched you.” Her voice followed him as he walked away. “You’re better than you believe. Your true colors shined through the gloom when you were building that barn. And now, tonight, I’ve seen it again.”
“You’re wrong about me.”
“No,” she said as he turned the corner. “One day you’ll see it too. You’re just a man still finding his way. But I believe you’ll find it. You are good.”
“Mother. Honeysuckle,” Penny called as she walked through the door.
“You know I don’t appreciate you using my name in the same sentence as that dog’s.”
“Sorry, Mother. Where is Honey?” Penny asked.
“Billy asked if he could keep her longer today. He has a cousin staying with him. A terribly dirty little cousin who apparently likes dogs. I didn’t think you’d mind. Besides, it meant less time I had to watch the animal. That dog is not meant to live in a space this small. You know that as well as I do. You should have found her a different home when we moved to this despicable apartment, or just set her free.”
“If I could give her a bigger place, I would. But I’m not giving her up. I’ve told you that at least a thousand times. You can’t tell me you’ve forgotten how much Father enjoyed Honey.” Penny set her empty lunch tin on the table. “Let’s not quarrel over Honey. How was your day?”
Florence’s normally stoic face brightened. “I’ve news! Sit. I’ll tell you.”
“What is it?” Penny sat quickly and leaned toward her mother. “Has something happened?”
“I’ve a letter. It came just this afternoon from my brother Clyde. You remember your uncle, don’t you?”
“I do. I remember him scowling at me and the way his forehead became creased with so many lines. I remember him telling me what to do and me never being able to do it well enough for him. I haven’t missed him.” She felt a strange twinge of fear rush through her. “It’s been such a long time. What is his letter about?”
Florence smiled. “Yes, that’s him. Poor man inherited our father’s features—and his temper.”
“What did he say? I didn’t think you’d heard from any of your family in a very long time.”
“I haven’t.” Florence rubbed her forearm as she spoke. “They wrote me off in a sense when your father’s business collapsed and the money was gone. Everyone was so angry about it. I’ve missed them though.”
Penny’s chest tightened. Despite their many differences, Penny did not like knowing her mother had suffered. “Of course you have. They never should have rejected you. Even if they did lose a little money in investments.”
“It’s in the past now. Uncle Clyde is going to save us from this horrid life.” Florence reached behind her and
retrieved the letter. “He says here his wife, Beatrice, has died from pneumonia and his house is far too quiet. He wants us to move there. He’s getting old and wants me to help him manage his estate.”
“Move there? With Uncle Clyde?”
“Beatrice was the one most ashamed of our ruin. She never liked your father much and practically despised him after his death. She tolerated us those first years, but when the investments failed and the money was gone, she became angry and bitter.” Florence hugged the letter to her chest. “It doesn’t matter now. We can have our lives back. This is our new start. It’s what we’ve been waiting for.”
Their lives back . . . but not Father. Not their house. Not even their money. Penny had dreamed of the freedom she’d had before, but moving in with Uncle Clyde did not feel like a ticket to freedom.
Penny straightened in her chair. She stared forward but saw nothing. “When?”
“Soon. He says he needs to ready the house, but he’d like to move us by summer, perhaps sooner.” Florence stood. Her wrinkled hands worked to smooth her skirts. “Aren’t you happy?”
“I . . . I’m surprised. I need to think about it.” Penny stood and put a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “I am happy for you. I know these years have been hard. I’ve wished for something different for a long time. I never expected . . . this.”
“This is a good thing. With your dark hair and fair skin and”—Florence patted Penny’s cheek—“those green eyes, you could still catch a worthy suitor. It’s not too late. We’ll buy you the perfect dress and maybe a lesson or two in decorum, and you’ll be able to secure a husband. All you’ll have to do is let go of the bad habits you’ve acquired and remember who you were born to be. Philadelphia is far enough away that we can truly leave all of this. No one will know we were so destitute. Uncle Clyde will line up the right man.”
Penny put a hand on her dark hair. It was dark like her father’s. She loved her hair because it reminded her of him, not because she could woo a man. She had long dreamed of love, but this talk of securing a husband did not awaken anything in her heart.
Yours Truly, Thomas Page 4