She considered that. “Well, maybe that’s what makes it so special.”
He regarded her, his eyes filled with determination. The unadulterated devotion there struck her, stealing her breath.
Even hotheaded Annie, who made a habit of plowing through life without ever stopping to think, would have to notice a look like that.
“Would you like some tea?” he said.
She nodded. “Thank you, honey. I believe I would.”
***
Annie and Sophia tumbled in with the first drops of rain.
At the bar, Temperance sipped from her steaming cup. “How’d it go?” She tipped the last of the bitter liquid into her mouth and savored it.
Annie said, “The Reverend kissed Sophia.”
Shock sent liquid straight down Temperance’s windpipe. She coughed for what felt like forever, then set the cup on its saucer. In the ensuing silence, drops chimed against the windows.
Glancing at the Professor, who was polishing tumblers behind the bar, she chose her next words carefully. “Let’s discuss this upstairs, ladies, shall we?”
***
Furtive hope blossomed before Sophia even finished her story, somewhere around the part where the Reverend traded five hundred dollars for a kiss.
Temperance forced her hands into her lap, determined not to show her growing excitement. When Sophia went quiet, she didn’t move. Enthusiastic rain drummed against the glass, adding to the thrum in her chest. “So the Reverend’s in love with you?”
Sophia grimaced. “Holy hell, no. He’s just acting like it. He probably thinks he can use me. Turn me against you.”
Temperance leaned over Irene’s desk. Surely even angel-eyed, devil-kissed Reverend Gray wouldn’t throw away five hundred dollars on a gamble. “Or he’s telling the truth. You said yourself, he’s never actually lied.”
“Well, he never said he loved me, either. And he’s emotionless. I doubt he’s even capable of love.”
“No one’s emotionless. Besides, a woman as beautiful and strong-minded as you might turn even the coldest heart.”
To Temperance’s deep surprise, a furious blush transformed Sophia’s face—two roses blossomed on pale cheeks, chased by a hint of smile.
Maybe she doesn’t hate me, after all.
Annie cleared her throat. “Gut-churning obsession with Sophia aside, we didn’t learn much about what Gray’s up to. Least not anything we can use.”
Sophia shook her head. “We did, though.”
Annie cocked a brow. “Oh, yeah?”
“The church tithes go into the rectory’s safe, but Henry moves that money weekly. Before the sermon today, the safe was empty, right? So Henry moves cash every Sunday morning. And that fellow, George, who stood up in church and told everyone how rich he was? Way too convenient.” The muted light painted Sophia’s cheekbones silver. “His name bothered me, at first. Then I remembered. The second man who gave the Reverend’s alibi was called George Carmichael.”
Annie gaped. “Damn. I missed all that.”
Sophia nodded. “George must be working for the Reverend. Planting himself in the congregation, pretending to’ve gotten rich to drive up the tithes.”
A hollow contraction gripped Temperance’s chest—she couldn’t bear to think of God’s word twisted like that.
“Gotta be bigger than all that, though,” Annie said. “The Corporal said Gray was selling worthless claims. So what’s that gotta do with church tithes? How’s it all connected?”
Pattering rain heightened the silence. Temperance racked her brain but found no logical link. Neither did Sophia—she lapsed into a frown.
“At any rate,” Annie said, “we only got six days ‘til he comes back. How short’re we?”
Temperance sighed. “Six thousand, six hundred dollars.”
Sophia withdrew a heavy pouch from the front of her dress, staring at it for a long time before setting it on the desk. “Here’s five hundred.”
Temperance’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected that.
“And I won two grand the other night.” Annie shrugged. “Y’all can have it.”
Sophia unleashed a shy smile, almost warm. “If we get back to work…two girls, six days, four thousand dollars. That’ll buy us another week. It can be done, can’t it?”
Outside, the rain lessened. Drops pinged half-heartedly against the glass, but the light shifted, brightening to soft gold.
Amid the sudden warmth in the room, Temperance spent a few moments searching for her voice. “Three girls,” she corrected. “Even the Madam pulls her weight.”
***
The Scarlet Blossom reopened at five o’clock. Within minutes, men streamed inside, tracking mud on the carpets, overpowering the jaunty piano with their laughter.
At the bar, Temperance poured from the bottle with the chipped bottom and tried to sort through her knotted web of emotions. Hope rose—both that the Blossom might become legally hers and that she might lay the Reverend low.
Yet as night approached and the sidelong sun set the chandeliers ablaze with ten thousand crystal flames, she knew she wanted even more.
She thought back to the prayer she’d offered as Palmer had wandered into her room. Father, I ask not for retribution, but for redemption. Forgive the Reverend Gray as you forgave Jacob the deceiver—as you forgave me—and lift him up. Let us together open his heart.
Sophia’s story had only propelled her hope to greater heights. Now, she had cause to believe Gray human, after all. And if that was true, she didn’t want to destroy him at all.
She wanted to save him.
JULY, 1898.
26. Temperance.
Smoothing the black velvet over her ribs, Temperance gazed at her reflection in the boudoir’s standing mirror. The bodice of Irene’s dress thinned her waist to a narrow column and the peacock-feather skirts swirled around her legs in a storm of lavish color.
She wasn’t entirely sure what had prompted her to don the dress, but the moment she had, Madam’s soft presence had whispered somewhere nearby. Even now, hushed memories slid across the boudoir’s walls like shadows, eliciting a smile.
A soft knock fractured Temperance’s thoughts. She turned to find Sophia standing in the open doorway. Raucous laughter leaked in, along with the distant piano.
“Nice dress.” Sophia eyed her, appraising. “The Corporal’s here. Out back. He’s asking for you.”
Those simple words stopped Temperance’s breath. A moment later, she recovered, though she didn’t hide her surprise. “Thank you, honey. I’ll be right down.”
***
She hadn’t seen Connor since the day they’d buried Madam. Then, in his uniform, he’d looked so straight-backed and proper that she almost hadn’t recognized him at first.
Yet now, as he waited in the muddy yard behind the kitchen, his vulnerability struck her anew. Without the armor of his scarlet tunic and wide-brimmed Stetson, grief and torment permeated the very air around him.
Nothing had changed, then. She’d hoped telling him about Peony would help, but the tight cast of his mouth and the lines creasing his brow said otherwise.
“Connor.” Sympathy warmed her tone.
“Miss Hyacinth. My apologies for interrupting your evening. I only…” His gaze roamed over her absurdly lavish peacock-feather dress. He flushed, no doubt assuming she wore such things for the customers’ sakes.
“It’s no trouble, honey.” She nodded her encouragement. Beneath her tangled mess of still-raw grief and hope for the Blossom’s future, the steady drumbeat of her need to help him still sounded. She latched on to it, surrendering to the all-encompassing desire to fix this broken man. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you have a horse?”
She blinked, surprised. “Yes. Why?”
His gaze veered toward the paddock. “It’s a bad night for me. Whiskey usually helps, but not tonight. I’m needing to get out of town for a bit. Only I’m afraid if I don’t take someone with
me, I won’t bother coming back. So here I am, asking for your company.”
Her surprise deepened, even as she wavered. Five days had passed since the Blossom had reopened, and while she’d hardly taken a breath between customers, she wasn’t sure they’d earned enough to ensure the house’s safety.
And the Reverend arrived tomorrow.
Yet her chest fractured when she contemplated leaving Connor alone with his pain, so she cast a glance back toward the house. The back door stood open, offering a glimpse of the hazy parlor beyond the kitchen. Annie and Sophia weren’t among the crowd—probably upstairs.
She could only hope they’d understand. “Let me get my cloak.”
***
Temperance hurtled through the valley, Bea’s hooves thundering beneath her. At her side, Connor crouched low over the neck of his black bay, his ultramarine gaze fixed ahead.
They tore toward the horizon, where the sun wheeled over glittering peaks. The world streamed by, drenched in midnight’s sunset palette of violet and gold. The Klondike’s shimmering strand snaked along beside them, then fell away as they careened up into the foothills. Fireweed blossoms whipped at Temperance’s legs, kissing Irene’s feathered skirts with a dusting of pink, and she imagined Madam could see her in the ridiculous dress. She smiled at the thought, even as her cloak reared up like wings and the ground raced away.
When Connor pulled up short at a sprawling lake, Temperance skidded Bea to a stop, her chest heaving. He dismounted and ambled toward the water, then cupped his hands for a drink.
Temperance swung down. Smooth stones clacked beneath her boots.
She stopped at the lake’s shoreline, letting the view swell in her blood until it hummed beneath her skin. Mirrored water reflected the lilac expanse of the sky, while ice-kissed mountains fringed the distant shore. A breath of breeze swished through the few proud trees, sweetening her nostrils with the scent of pine.
“Marvelous,” she said. “I’ve never been here before.”
Connor ran wet hands over his head, sending his coal-black hair in all directions. “I come here to think, sometimes.” Taking a seat at the water’s edge, he stared into the infinite distance.
She studied his profile. Such a straight nose, such sad eyes…
A spear of compassion lanced her heart. Connor O’Cahill might be a Mountie and she might be a fairy, but for all that, they weren’t so different. The shame written in the cast of his shoulders felt achingly familiar—because she’d carried it herself, once. Even now, if she looked deep within, she found traces of its passing, like the trail a comet burned into the sky.
The desire to help a kindred soul flared brighter than ever, racing to life like a flame over hot oil. She needed to. For Peony’s sake, for her own, and not least of all, for his.
Connor’s somber expression echoed the amethyst prism of the sky. “Will you sit with me?”
“Of course.” Shrugging off her cloak, she spread it on the stones and sat.
“You’ll be wondering why I asked you to come.”
She squinted. “So you don’t lose yourself out here. Right?”
“There’s more.”
His ominous tone quickened her pulse, and she steadied herself by watching an Arctic grayling dart through the sparkling shallows. “Do you mean to arrest me?”
Connor’s mouth quirked. “It’s an odd position I find myself in, Miss Hyacinth. I should be bringing a criminal to justice, and yet I haven’t. The very thought has kept me awake these many nights.”
So he’d decided to take her to jail.
Dismay crept in—the others would be on their own. Worse, she’d miss the court hearing in two weeks. The Blossom would fall to the Reverend, and—
“I mean the Reverend Gray,” Connor said. “I don’t know precisely what he’s doing, but I’m nearly certain he’s a criminal. A much more dangerous one than you.”
Her heart rebounded, buoyed by relief. “But you can’t pursue him. Sophia told us your Superintendent forbade you.”
“So he did. Yet the law exists to protect you and every other citizen. And I’m a lawman. I should be upholding the law.”
She waited, but he didn’t say more. “Gray came to see us, you know.”
Connor’s eyes found hers. “Tell me.”
She hesitated at first, loathe to burden him with anything more than he already bore. Yet once she began, his solemn silence invited her confidence, and the words gathered momentum until they flowed from her like rain.
As she spoke, Connor’s face changed, darkening at the destruction of Irene’s will, growing pensive over the confrontation in the parlor. Eventually, he propped his elbows on his knees and let his forehead sink against laced fingers.
When her words dried up, soft silence swirled, intensified by the timid lap of tiny waves.
Head bowed, he said, “So he’ll be blackmailing you, now, every week?”
“Yes.”
“Or he’ll be burning your home?”
“Yes.”
“Which he intends to take from you, anyway.” Connor looked toward the tranquil lake as the Irish lilt grew more pronounced. “I should be undoing him.”
“That would cost you your position.”
“So it would.” He turned, anguish shimmering in his gaze. “Your Madam died in my own jurisdiction. Yet I’m unable to bring your man Gray to justice, as I should. Nor did I confiscate Sophia’s firearms, though I knew she had ‘em. She’s offering you more protection than I, so I flouted the law. What’s more, she told me she’s a whore. Her very own word. I did nothing. Now, what kind of officer does that make me? What kind of man?”
Tenderness spread from her center, warm and sure. Still, she waited, giving his words free rein.
“When I came to the Klondike, I told myself I’d honor Maggie and Justin by devoting my life, such as it is, to justice. Yet here I am, failing to do even that. I never dreamed my own Superintendent might tie my hands behind my back. Or that I’d find myself unable to distinguish right from wrong. How can my commander be so blind? And the Reverend…how can a man of God be filled with such devilry?”
She ached for him. “Connor…”
“And you.”
“What about me?”
“I should arrest you.” His brows knitted. “Yet I can’t help feeling that such a thing would be wrong. Even though you break the law a dozen times a day.”
She reached for his hand. “You could. I wouldn’t hold it against you. But it won’t make things any clearer, and it won’t bring your family back.”
He clutched at her fingers as if they offered a lifeline. “What will?”
Temperance smiled gently. That, at least, she could answer. “Oh, honey. You’ll see them again. They’ll be waiting for you when you pass from this life to the next, and you’ll have all eternity to spend by their side.”
“Do you truly believe that?”
“I do. Don’t you?”
“Perhaps.” He squeezed her hand. “So I only have to die first, then.”
Temperance frowned. “That’s not—”
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ve thought on it. The end doesn’t scare me. If Maggie and Justin are there, I’ll be welcoming it, when the time comes. I only wish I knew what to do with myself in the meantime.”
“Mourn,” she said, after some thought. “Grieve. But then…forgive yourself. And, once that’s done, find a purpose, some reason to be here. Otherwise, you’re wasting this gift of life the good Lord gave you, and believe me, He wants you here for a reason.”
Connor nodded slowly. “Is that what you did? Forgave yourself?”
“Yes,” she breathed. When her thoughts brushed against memories of Peony, love and grief and regret all welcomed her with open arms. “After she died, I offered my life to the Lord. I promised Him I’d spend my time here helping others.”
“People like me?”
“Yes. People like you.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmu
red. “The way she died.”
Temperance didn’t answer right away. Instead, she gazed out over the lake. Beyond the unruffled expanse of water, the frosted mountains stretched icy fingers upward, grasping at gilded clouds forever beyond their reach. Those shining peaks seemed to whisper their longing to the sky, their silent voices rumbling in her bones. “It was. Without question. But I forgave myself, anyway. I only hope you can do the same, someday.”
“You don’t even know what I did.”
“Would you tell me?”
His jaw worked. “Not yet, I don’t think. It’s a hard tale.”
She nodded, content for a moment to lose herself in the silence and the memory of Peony’s sweet smile.
Eventually, Connor broke the quiet. “What you said about finding a purpose…I thought I had. The law, justice—it’s my only absolute in life, aside from the way I felt for Maggie. Yet now I’m questioning even that.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t. It’s a noble calling.”
He frowned. “Would you have me arrest you, then?”
She wrestled her pulse into submission. This was dangerous territory, especially when the Blossom’s future rested on her freedom. Yet her need to help Connor twined with her need to keep the Blossom. The two became inseparable, joining together in a complicated and precarious dance. “You should do whatever you feel is right.”
He stared.
She watched as he waged an inner war with himself. All around, the shining lake and glowing sky blurred, melting together into a kaleidoscopic whirlpool of violet and gold.
“I don’t think I’ll be deciding just yet,” he said.
She nodded, swallowing past the relief in her throat.
Connor looked down at their joined hands. “I miss my Maggie more than I can bear. Her warmth. Her touch. Her honey voice. I even miss the way that same stubborn curl always escaped from underneath her bonnet.”
“I know you do, honey,” Temperance said. And then, because she suspected that the heat of her fingers was the most human warmth he’d experienced in weeks, she reached out.
To her surprise, Connor yielded to her touch. She drew him toward her and he melted into her embrace, tucking his head beneath her chin while his arms stole around her waist.
The Wildflowers at the Edge of the World Page 14