Now, a sense of mingled rage and despair propelled him toward the house, for if he stayed Caleb knew he might say something he’d regret. Reaching the door to the conservatory, he flung it open and entered, stopping to take a breath of the warm plant-scented air.
He glanced out the window at her. Even at this distance, with Maggie framed by the gazebo, he could see she’d remained rooted in place, staring after him.
She caught him looking and, with a flounce, turned away.
His gaze followed the sway of her bottom.
The surge of passion from kissing her, which he’d intended as lighthearted, had almost knocked him out of his boots. Caleb knew he loved her; indeed, he’d believed they’d forged a deep connection. What a fool I was to let our kisses addle my brain so I couldn’t better persuade her.
Now that he was away from Maggie, he could begin thinking about what to do. An answer came to him, and he almost smacked his forehead. Instead of arguing with her, I should have just offered to escort her to the bathhouse. Once Maggie saw the decrepit place for herself, she’d be bound to agree that not only was the bathhouse not worth fixing, it was no place for a woman without a husband to protect her.
Caleb stalked toward his study, making a mental list. First, finish the foreclosure paperwork. Second, he’d go to the bathhouse and serve the papers to Mr. Wood, throwing a bucket of cold water over the body if need be to rouse him from his drunken stupor. Then, he’d supervise the man’s packing in order to see he left the place with only his possessions and didn’t cause any more damage. Finally, he’d escort Wood to the train station and buy him a ticket to Crenshaw, leaving him in the stationmaster’s hands.
Having a plan eased the tension in his chest. He was able to take a deep breath.
I’ll take Maggie to the bathhouse after I get rid of Wood. Once she sees what the place is really like, she’ll put this ridiculous notion out of her mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY
That afternoon, Caleb softly knocked on the open door of Maggie’s bedroom, conscious of feeling both hopeful and anxious. After a more in-depth look around the dilapidated bathhouse, his spirits had risen with the amount of problems he found with the place. If she were disgusted with the condition of the place, then maybe she’d be more amenable to a marriage proposal.
Now, he felt fairly confident Maggie would see reason, and he’d do everything possible to influence her decision. Yet, at the same time, he knew her stubbornness and feared she’d dig in her heels.
“Come in,” she called in a low voice.
He poked his head into the room to see her in the rocking chair, Charlotte sleeping at her breast.
“She fell asleep a few minutes ago.” Careful not to disturb the baby, Maggie stood and carried Charlotte around to the other side of the bed. She turned her back to Caleb and laid the baby in the cradle, pulling her shirtwaist into place and doing up the buttons before facing him.
He stepped into the hall so as not to wake the baby.
Maggie followed him.
“Wood is on the train, and I’ve come to take you to see the bathhouse. It’s in bad shape, and you should know what you’re getting into before you decide to purchase the place. Remember, Maggie, you always have me to fall back on. I delight in caring for you and Charlotte.” He didn’t mention his belief that she’d change her mind. He figured doing so would definitely kick her into contrary action.
Her smile was warm. “I know you do.”
“Edith will watch Charlotte while we’re gone. In fact, she told us to take our time, for she wanted the baby to herself for a while after she wakes up.”
Maggie’s eyes sparkled. “You are so thoughtful to arrange everything.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I’m so glad you’re not angry with me anymore. Give me five minutes, and I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll meet you at the front door. We might as well walk over there.” Caleb wanted Maggie to have the full impact of working and living close to the saloon, which she wouldn’t get if they quickly drove there in the surrey. “I’m going to swipe a cookie from the kitchen. Do you want one?”
“No, thank you, I just had two. Mrs. Graves baked sugar cookies today.”
Their normal conversation was at odds with the tension in his stomach, and he wondered if she felt the same way. He wandered downstairs, stopping in the kitchen. He probably should eat but didn’t think his stomach would accept a meal. He needed this bathhouse situation settled first. A cookie would tide him over.
Mrs. Graves stood at the stove, cutting potatoes into a pot.
The smell of cinnamon baking in the oven wafted his way. Bread pudding, perhaps?
His housekeeper nodded in acknowledgment of his presence but as usual, didn’t make him welcome.
Caleb took a sugar cookie from the jar and waved it in thanks. He didn’t bother with a plate, instead eating the cookie on the way to the door. Might as well be paper from all the enjoyment I’m taking from it.
Maggie hurried to join him. She’d put on her earrings and carried a burlap satchel that he recognized as belonging to Mrs. Graves.
Why does she have that? He was about to ask, and then frowned, seeing she wore her old dress—clean and pressed, but still shabby. He realized she probably didn’t want to worry about getting her new clothes dirty. He gave her the black shawl.
She draped it around her shoulders and stepped in front of the closed door, waiting for him to open it for her.
Caleb smiled at Maggie’s back, recognizing she’d formed a new habit. When she’d first started walking, she’d gone through doors without the pause for appropriate gentlemanly behavior. Obviously, Oswald had never acted the gallant, as a man should with a lady. He liked that he’d helped her learn how she deserved to be treated.
He held open the door and waited for her to step through. Once outside, Caleb held out his elbow and was relieved when Maggie took his arm. They began to walk in the direction of Hardy’s saloon.
“Tell me,” Maggie said. “How did things go with Mr. Wood?”
“About what I expected. He was still passed out when I returned with the paperwork. Before I went, though, I swung by the sheriff’s to pick her up. I thought having her along would be a deterrent.”
Maggie frowned. “But if he’s not breaking the law. . .?”
“Sheriff Granger said the same thing—that she’d stand by and look stern but would not interfere unless he tried to fight me or break something.”
“And did he?”
“I think Wood was too hungover and blurry-eyed, wincing when he moved, shading his eyes from the light. He seemed more inclined to go back to sleep than to protest. I told him he could sleep on the train.”
“Did the sheriff have to do anything?”
“At one point, she told Wood to take the ticket. Said it was a generous offer and more than he had a right to expect or deserved. Told him that now he had a chance to start a new life, and she hoped he’d leave, because she was tired of locking him up to sleep off a bender.”
“So he’s gone?”
“Kit and caboodle. I dumped the contents of all the drawers into an old trunk of his. Took down what was on the shelves or hanging on the walls. Luckily, I’d driven, so I put the trunk in the surrey and the three of us went to the train station, where I bought him a ticket. The stationmaster promised he’d make sure Wood got aboard and didn’t sleep through the train’s arrival.”
Maggie sighed. “I feel for the man, and I do hope Mr. Wood makes some changes in his life.”
“So do I.”
In front of the saloon, a cowboy dismounted from his horse. He saw them, touched his hat to Maggie, and headed inside.
“The bathhouse is on the street behind the saloon. This is the worst area in Sweetwater Springs.” Caleb steered them along the side of the building, past malodorous outhouses. As they walked by, he held his breath at the reek. From the corner of his eye, he saw Maggie do likewise. “You’ll have to be careful not to be out after dark and remain
vigilant during the day.”
She swallowed but said nothing.
Once past Hardy’s outhouses, he guided her toward the bathhouse, a shabby, false-fronted wooden building with a narrow porch. A rickety bench was propped against the wall on one side of the door.
A sign hung crookedly next to the entrance, the letters so faded he could barely see the words, although the last line looked shadowed as if Wood had blackened the letters with ink to make them stand out more.
BATHHOUSE
BILL OF RATES:
BATHS .25
HOT BATHS .50
SOAP .10
TOWEL .10
CLEAN TOWEL .15
HOT WATER .25
TONIC .10
SHAVE .50
CLOSE SHAVE .75
HAIRCUT 1.00
NO MORE THAN 30 MINUTES PER BATH
WHISKEY .50
One of the two windows in the front had cracked glass. Dust coated both panes.
Caleb stepped onto the porch and pulled open the screen door that had a rent in the bottom as if someone had kicked it. He turned the rusted handle of the door and pushed it open, gesturing for Maggie to enter, and then followed her inside.
The first room was set up as a waiting area with a settee with faded, dusty cushions and a desk that held smudged glasses and whiskey bottles, most of them empty. A bentwood chair with a cane seat was pushed into the corner.
“I’ll wait right here while you look around.” Caleb figured Maggie needed to see the truth for herself without having to pretend to him that everything was all right. He also sensed his pointing out all the problems would get her back up. So as much as he wanted to watch her expression, he turned to look out the window, not that he could see much, and listened for the sound of her footsteps as she slowly moved from room to room.
When he’d first moved to Sweetwater Springs, Caleb had rented a small cabin while his house was being built. He’d frequently used the bathhouse and knew how Mrs. Wood had taken pride in the cleanliness and service of her establishment. He touched one of the tattered, dirty lace curtains hanging from the windows, remembering them as crisp and pristine white. The poor woman must be turning over in her grave.
He’d already seen what Maggie would find in the rest of the establishment—a men’s area holding two claw-footed tubs with dirty rings around the sides and a smaller ladies’ room with only one. That tub, at least, was cleaner—probably because any woman who used it tidied up after herself.
He heard the thudding of pipes and the gush of water and knew Maggie was smart to test the plumbing. That feature, fortunately, remained in good shape.
Behind the bathing rooms was the living quarters—one big room, smelling of dust and stale food, with a small kitchen area along one side. The furnishings consisted of a bed with a stained mattress—for he’d sent the bedding along with Wood—and two chairs around a small round table, the surface dusty enough to write on. A pile of graying towels sat next to a wooden washtub.
Rapid footsteps approached. Good. She can’t wait to get out of here. Relieved, he turned.
Maggie wore a serious expression. “How is the water heated?”
“We’re sitting on one of those hot springs I told you about.”
“Ah.” She gave a decisive nod. “This business is in better shape than I thought. Nothing some elbow grease won’t fix—mostly scrubbing and paint. I’ll buy the place from you.”
What? He couldn’t believe his ears.
Maggie smiled, although the wary look in her eyes told Caleb she expected him to challenge her.
Over the next several minutes, he tried to make her budge from her position, marshaling the arguments he’d been thinking of all day.
To each of them, Maggie remained adamant. Finally, she made a slashing hand gesture, cutting off the debate. With a cross expression, she reached up and removed her earrings, holding them out.
“Is there nothing—” he put special emphasis on the word “—I can do to change your mind? Will you not remain under my protection?” My love? He dared not say the words and expose his heart to more hurt.
Maggie would not meet his gaze. She shook her head and left her hand extended.
Defeated, Caleb took the earrings. He lowered his arm and fisted his hand until the metal pressed into his palm.
“I’d best get started cleaning.” Maggie opened her satchel and pulled out an apron. She dropped it over her head, tying the strings behind her back.
He gazed at her, dumbfounded. It was all he could to do keep his mouth from dropping open. She’d prepared for this before we even left the house.
Maggie started to roll up her sleeves. “I want to make the most of the next hour while Charlotte is still sleeping.” She gestured with her chin toward the door. “Go on with you, now, Caleb, and let me get to work so this place is livable by tonight.”
Three weeks later, Caleb sat in his study, drinking tea and staring at the stack of newspapers and letters he’d just collected from the post office at the train station, after being away on the belated visit to Morgan’s Crossing. He took a letter opener from the top drawer and slit the top of an envelope without even looking at the return address. Usually, he enjoyed the ritual of catching up on his correspondence and reading news—local, state, and national. Today, he was conscious of a feeling of malaise, for he’d gone these weeks without speaking to Maggie beyond an exchange of polite greetings after Sunday service.
He’d hoped the reality of fixing up and operating the bathhouse would quickly bring her back to him, but word was, she’d already established a thriving business. He and Sheriff Granger had put out a warning that Maggie was running a respectable establishment, and any man who took liberties would face serious repercussions.
Sheriff Granger had also promised she’d keep a close eye on the place, especially since she was a frequent customer of the bathhouse. She kept him apprised of Maggie’s doings, although she wouldn’t share any confidences. But the lawwoman was grateful to have the place clean and respectable again.
Caleb sorely missed his warm exchanges with Maggie, her commonsense advice, the way they laughed together, her feminine appeal. And oh, how I miss that sweet baby.
He took a sip of tea. I need to come up with a new plan.
The door to the study opened, and Edith rushed in without knocking. She waved a letter.
Startled from his dark thoughts, Caleb was about to give her a sharp reprimand but saw she was as white as a sheet, and the hand holding the letter was shaking. “Sister!” He leaped to his feet and hurried to steady her. “Come.” He walked her over to the wing chair and sat her down. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
She clutched his sleeve, opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“Edith, you must tell me what’s wrong,” Caleb used a tone of command that hid his growing apprehension.
She burst into tears and blindly thrust the letter at him.
He flipped the envelope over to see the missive was from her late husband Nathaniel’s parents. His gut tight, Caleb began to read.
Dear Edith,
It is with deep sadness that we regret to inform you that our son George was killed in a riding accident. As you know, he leaves behind a wife and three daughters. With Julia’s latest pregnancy, we had hopes she’d finally deliver a son, but the stress of George’s death was too much. She miscarried the baby, which turned out to be a boy.
Our granddaughters will receive generous dowries. As our only grandson, Benjamin now stands as the heir to the family business.
Mildred and I know we were not as accepting of you as we should have been. We were stubborn and tried to force Nathaniel down a path of our choosing, and so we lost him long before he passed away. We were wrong and paid the worst possible price for our decisions. Thus, we must ask your forgiveness for our treatment of you.
Over the years, we have suffered from not seeing Nathaniel’s son and watching him grow up. But we were too stiff-necked to bend. U
nfortunately, we did not heal the breach we had caused and were punished for our own pride.
We appreciate that your letters have kept us informed of Benjamin’s progress. Thank you for writing, even though you received no response. Benjamin sounds like a fine young man. I’m sure his father would have been proud. You and his uncle have surely done a good job in raising him.
The passing of George has humbled us. We are brokenhearted by the loss of our two beloved sons. Thus we come, hat in hand, to beg for you and Benjamin to return to live in Boston. Both of you will be most welcome.
Sincerely,
Henry Grayson
Caleb finished the letter and stared at the words a moment longer. The letters were written in a quivery hand and some tiny blots told of the emotion of the writer.
“Humble, indeed.” He dropped the letter and the envelope on the table beside the chair. Setting aside his own sadness, he turned to crouch in front of his sister, taking her hand and patting it. “You’ve had a severe shock, dearest. If I pour you a little brandy, will you take some?”
Still weeping, shoulders shaking, she clung to his hand. Finally, she nodded and released him.
Shaken by the sight of his formidable sister reduced to such a state, Caleb set out two brandy snifters, for he, too, was in need of liquid fortification. He walked back and handed one to her. “Drink this, and then we will discuss the situation.”
Edith sipped the brandy and gradually color returned to her face, but her expression still looked haunted. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, patted her face, and blew her nose. “Such a shock. Both the letter and George’s death.”
Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) Page 26