Yours Truly, Thomas

by Rachel Fordham

  “I’m so glad you bought the old Dawson farm.” One of the three women who surrounded him put her hand on his arm. “You’ll make it into the best farm around. I just know you will.”

  “I’m going to do what I can.” He took a step back, freeing himself from her touch. “It’s certainly not the finest farm around.”

  “All it will need now is a woman’s touch.” They all giggled.

  He cleared his throat. “Well . . .”

  The tallest of the three stepped forward. “I hear you have a woman you write to. But now that you’ve been here and seen all we have to offer, you aren’t still waiting for her, are you? She let you leave after all. I can’t imagine she’s a very loyal woman.”

  “I can’t rightly say.” He shifted about. Were all country women so bold?

  “Do you dance?”

  “I do,” he said, “but my leg is paining me at the moment.” He slapped the side of it. “Strangest thing, it just started acting up. I hope it passes quickly.”

  “I’ve watched you about town. You don’t move like you’re in pain.” The tall one stepped even closer to him. “I think you’re being coy.”

  Margaret must have sensed his needs. Someday he was going to thank the woman for being there for him during his many trials. She walked up beside him and winked discreetly.

  “Anna, Alene, Leah, it’s lovely seeing you this evening. You’ve all blossomed overnight.” They laughed on cue. “I believe I heard the pastor asking for volunteers to help with the children’s games. I’ve seen you three with the youngsters before. I told him I’d come get you. You don’t mind taking a turn with them, do you?”

  Thomas watched as the women looked at one another.

  “Well,” one of them said, “I guess we could.”

  Another shrugged and turned to Thomas. “Mrs. Anders is right. We do love the children. We are happy to help however we can. We are always helping with something.”

  “That’s very selfless of you.” He smiled. “The children will be lucky to have you.”

  “I guess we’ll go, then,” the tallest of the three said as she took a reluctant step away. “We’ll come back, though, so we can get better acquainted later. And so we can dance.”

  He nodded but said nothing. Only when they were well out of earshot did he speak. “Thank you. I used to be so comfortable in large groups, but I find I’m a bit unsettled tonight.”

  “Maybe the new you is still getting his bearings.”

  Now that he was free of the women, his eyes wandered to Penny.

  “She’s something, isn’t she?” the overly presumptuous woman asked.

  “Her looks are unique.”

  Margaret Anders rolled her eyes. “Unique. She’s gorgeous. Look at her black hair and fair skin. And her curls are staying in, just like I’d hoped they would. She’s more than that though. Something about her is endearing. There’s a good soul inside that beautiful woman and plenty of spirit to go with it.”

  “I think you’re right. I’ve been to parties with beautiful women before. There’s something else about her.” He leaned against the wall. “I’ve never met a writer before. I had no idea they’d travel so far to work on a story.”

  She turned and watched Penny dancing. “I’m not sure.”

  “You don’t think she’s a writer?”

  Margaret watched Penny with intense eyes. “I just think there’s more to her than she’s told me. Something she’s not ready to share yet. You run a boardinghouse long enough and you realize most people have something they keep to themselves. Hers is different though. I don’t think it’s a dark secret. I sense genuine goodness in her. I can feel it when I’m around her. Her secret is something else.”

  “I suppose we’re all entitled to a few secrets.”

  “Secrets and heartache. We all seem to have them.” She rubbed her upper arm. “I believe I said we were to talk of happy things tonight, and didn’t we agree we were going to dance?”

  “I believe you told us we were going to.”

  “Of course I did. Come, then.” She held out her hand. “Dance with me. I love a good partner, and I can tell from the way your foot’s been tapping to the music that you know your way around the dance floor. And don’t you dare tell me your leg’s paining you. I won’t believe it. I’m not one of those young spring chicks.”

  “I’ve not danced since I left Alexandria.”

  “It’ll do you good,” she said.

  Thomas took the hand of the widow woman, who had to be twice his age, and led her to the floor.

  “How do you do it?” he asked as they began to move to the music. “You claim to have heartbreak in your life, and yet you are always happy.”

  “No, I’m not always happy. I allow myself to feel the pain too. When I need to and when I believe it will help me. Otherwise, I choose happy because I prefer it.” She tilted her head toward him. “Wouldn’t you rather smile than cry?”

  “I would.”

  “Then smile. And lead us over to that green-eyed girl so that when the music stops you can dance with her through the next number. She’s caught your eye. It won’t hurt to find out why.” Margaret grinned. “Try to pry a secret or two from her. I haven’t wanted to scare her off, but I’m more than curious what her story is.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” He took the older woman in his arms and began moving to the music, each step taking him closer to the intriguing Penny.

  When the music stopped, Margaret patted his arm and stepped away. He was near Penny. So near he could have reached out and touched her. Instead, he waited. His breath caught in his chest as he stood in the center of the dance floor, hoping she would turn in his direction. Time moved slowly as he waited for her partner to end the dance.

  And then it happened. She was without a partner. He was as well. She looked over her shoulder. A smile spread across her face. Then she turned and approached him.

  “Dance with me?” He reached out a hand to her.

  “Yes.”

  15

  Dear Dinah,

  I have danced with Thomas Conner. He is a fine-looking man. I am not prone to fainting, but when I saw him walk into the social with his freshly shaven face I very nearly did. He was handsome before, but now he’s ever so much more. If propriety would have permitted me to do so, I would have reached out and touched him. You will be proud to know I did not act on that impulse. He’s more than a dashing physique though. He’s funny. Not in a loud way, but subtly. We shared a laugh over the pies. For the first time in a long time, I felt young again.

  And later we danced. Never could I have imagined a man could be so skilled on the dance floor. I’ve danced with so many partners but no one has ever been like he was. I felt like the belle of the ball when I was in his arms. I may sound as though I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. The crowds parted for us. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. But then I looked into his eyes and all others were forgotten. He moved so smoothly. Every moment of the dance was one I wish I could live again and again.

  I came here to see for myself how he was faring and to have time to decide my fate. Truly, that was my intention, but I find myself wishing I would cross paths with him every day. Every moment of every day, if I could. We spoke often throughout the social. Over the food and later while I was in his arms. Our conversation was so easy, so natural. Not a bit like the conversation I shared with my other partners. I felt as though I’d known him for months, years even.

  But I do sense a sadness about him. His heart, I fear, may still be wounded beyond repair. His eyes grow dark from time to time, but I believe he is seeking the light and I can’t help but hope I’m here long enough to see him truly embrace it. I suppose it’s only normal that the news of his lost love is hard for him to recover from. It’s a blow I can only partially empathize with. I know the loss of a parent but not of a love. He fares better than I had expected, and for that I am grateful. Everything about him is better than I could have hoped for. Oh, Dinah, is it wrong
that my heart flutters when I see him? All night my gaze wandered back to him. Wrong or not, I couldn’t seem to stop it. When he touched me, I was certain fire would burst from within me. I am a glutton for punishment. I know I am. But it feels good to be living a life of freedom even if it’s short-lived.

  Azure Springs has not been disappointing. It’s small and quaint but friendly. I’ve been welcomed by everyone from the shopkeeper to the ticket man. I feel at home here in a way I haven’t felt in Washington, DC, for so long. There I feel like I don’t fit in. I’m no longer wealthy, yet I’m not entirely accepted among the working class. You being the exception, of course.

  At the social I watched as farmers with dirt-stained hands danced with the schoolteacher and then with the mayor’s daughter. I don’t doubt there are sour grapes among them—there must be. But I can feel the camaraderie. There is a warmth here that soothes my aching heart.

  Tell me all the news from back home.

  Your dancing friend,

  Penny

  She folded the letter, put it into her reticule along with a brief note to her mother assuring her of her safety, and set out for the post office. Her steps were light. If no one had been around, she’d have danced her way there, the music from the night before still so fresh in her mind. The sun was shining and the air was warm and inviting. Her spirits felt lighter than they had in so very long.

  I leapt, she whispered as she walked. Father, I leapt and you were right. I feel better for it.

  “Ah, Miss Ercanbeck. What can I do for you today?” the postmaster asked when she stepped through the door.

  “I’ve two letters to mark,” she said as she pulled the letters from her reticule and placed them on the counter.

  “Florence Ercanbeck? That must be your mother. And another for Dinah.” He looked closely at her letters.

  “You’re very observant.” She refused to let his prying bother her, despite the fact that she knew postal workers were not to comment on the mail that passed through their hands.

  He took the letters, then looked past her toward the door. “Thomas. Another letter?”

  She turned to look behind her. His eyes met hers. She thought he was going to speak to her, but he did not. The letter in his hand shook slightly as he neared the counter. Was it Clara he had written to? Even now, after the news of her death?

  “Just the one.” He held out the letter to the postmaster. Penny looked at it as discreetly as she could. Clara’s name was written across the front. His penmanship as neat as always.

  “Who’s the gal you keep writing to?” The postmaster took the letter. “I’m not supposed to ask, but we aren’t one of those big towns. Here we like knowing about one another’s families and whatnot.”

  “A woman from Alexandria,” Thomas said in a low voice. “It’s nothing anyone would want to know about.”

  Penny fiddled with the button on the cuff of her blouse. She kept her eyes down, but her ears were alert. This didn’t make any sense. Why was he writing to her?

  “I haven’t seen a single one come back to you. She angry or something? Seems strange to send so many letters to someone if they don’t even care enough to write back. We got girls here. Why keep sending these letters?”

  Thomas leaned forward and snatched the letter out of the man’s hand. “You’re right. I don’t need to send this.”

  It was the first time Penny had ever heard anger in his voice. Surprising even herself, she stepped closer, wishing for a way to calm him. “Let him mail it if he wants,” she said. “It’s his letter and he’s paying for it. It’s not our business who he writes to or whether they write back. I believe you’ve taken an oath to deliver the mail. Honor it.”

  “No.” Thomas crinkled the letter. “It’s a waste of time and postage. It’s not worth sending.”

  “I didn’t mean nothing by what I said.” The postmaster looked visibly distressed. He tried reaching for the letter, but Thomas pulled it away. “I can mail it. I was just wonderin’, that’s all. I was just making conversation.”

  “No harm done,” Thomas said through gritted teeth. “It’s about time someone told me how foolish I’m being.”

  Penny watched as Thomas turned to leave.

  She put money for the postage on the counter and followed Thomas out of the post office without waiting for her change.

  “I’m sorry I said anything about your letter,” she offered as she approached Thomas. “I shouldn’t have pried. He should have mailed it. It wasn’t right of him. I wanted to help.”

  “He’s just being like everyone else in town. They’re all curious. I can hardly blame him. I showed up out of nowhere and bought a house. Of course they think I’m odd.”

  “I doubt he’ll ever question a customer again,” she said. “He shouldn’t have even asked you about it. It was wrong of him. You should be able to mail your letters or buy a house, for that matter, without anyone getting in the way.”

  Thomas slowed his pace, took off his hat, and brushed his hair from his face with his forearm. “When I got here, I started seeing the world a bit differently. My whole life had been about having more and being more. But when I came here . . . that didn’t matter as much. One night I woke up in the middle of the night and I had this pressing memory.”

  “You did?” she asked when he grew quiet.

  “I remembered being a boy and having my favorite aunt leave. She was the only one who spoke to me like she cared about me. She promised she’d write. I waited for days and then weeks for a letter to arrive. I knew if a letter came, it would be filled with kindness, and that wasn’t something I had experienced much of. With my father and mother, it always felt like I was simply a product, something to be molded and shaped. I was the son destined to take over their shipping empire and that was all that mattered.”

  “I can see why you wanted to hear from her. What happened?”

  “She never did write.” He looked down at the ruined letter in his hands. “I’m trying to find myself all over again. I suppose I’m trying to discover the sort of man I am for the very first time.”

  With his head down and shoulders stooped, he didn’t speak for a long time. Penny could almost see his pain.

  “Your aunt should have written.” Penny’s voice quavered as she spoke. “I’m sorry she didn’t. Every child should feel loved.”

  “It was a long time ago.” He straightened his shoulders a little. “I didn’t think of it again for a very long time. Not until I left that world behind and came here. I decided I wanted to be the type of person who would write. There’s so much I can’t undo, so many regrets, but I thought I could at least write a few letters.” A terse laugh escaped him. “It doesn’t matter if the letter is sent or not. No one will ever read it.”

  “I think sending letters can matter a lot.” Your letters brought me here. She longed to say the words aloud. They touched my heart and soul. “I like to think my letter will make my friend smile when she reads it. Surely, someone from your hometown would like to hear from you.”

  “If you were to go to Alexandria, you’d soon learn that not a soul misses me. I left for the West and there was not a tear shed.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. It’s my past. I brought my problems upon myself.”

  Sensing his vulnerability, she reached out her hand and rested it on his arm. “We all have a story. I’ll listen. And if I could, I’d share the burden. If not, at least tell me about your farm. Tell me something.”

  They walked together away from the post office, stopping when they were in front of the stables. He laid the letter on top of a hitching post. “It’s a beautiful place. My farm is peaceful. There’s a gentle rise in the land. If you walk up the path, you get just high enough that you can see miles in every direction. I go there sometimes when the sun is setting and the whole sky lights up in color. It’s like a painting. It’s so vibrant. I believe the good Lord took mercy on me when he landed me there.” Thomas took a deep breath, then let it out
slowly. “I’m behind in my planting and fully expect the harvest to be abysmal, but I’m learning from the land and the solitude. I see the world differently now. I’d never noticed the colors of the setting sun before.”

  “It sounds beautiful.”

  He leaned over and put a hand on the gray mare tied there. She moved her head away. “This animal doesn’t like me.”

  “She’s stunning. I’m hardly a horsewoman. I used to think dogs were more my expertise, though more and more I’m realizing I still have much to learn about them.” She reached toward the horse and stroked her mane. “I think she’s lovely. Don’t you think she looks like a storm?”

  “She acts like a storm too. Unpredictable and destructive,” he said. “I can’t seem to win her affections.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “I haven’t given her one.” He folded his hands across his chest. “She’s just been ‘the horse’ to me. Sometimes I call her ‘the beast’ or ‘the blasted animal.’”

  “I think she needs a better name than that. How can you win her affections if you don’t even know her? She’s not going to be impressed by your good looks or big-city manners. She’s not one of those young girls from the dance. No, this horse needs to trust you and know you.” She leaned over the post and cooed at the mare. “Hello there. Tell me, pretty girl, what name would fit you?”

  “I didn’t realize you spoke horse.”

  “I’m only just now learning horse.” She mimicked a whinny, earning her a laugh from Thomas.

  “You’ve a gift with languages.” He tried to make the noise himself, but it didn’t sound a bit like a horse. “I concede you speak horse far better than I do.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “It’d be easier if she were one of those young girls from the dance and would follow me around no matter what I did.”

  “My father liked to tell me life wasn’t meant to be easy. He was forever saying that the best things in life require time or sacrifice. I think an animal, or a woman for that matter, ought to take a bit of effort to woo.” She rested her arms on the hitching post. “This horse will come around.”