The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “You said that when you are with me you cannot be unhappy. Did you mean it, Cleo?”

  “Of course I meant it.”

  “Could you be happy away from the ranch?”

  For a long while after he asked the question, she said nothing. Simply stared at him with those beautiful blue eyes of hers—eyes that revealed her fervent search for the true answer in her heart. And he knew the moment she’d found it. He saw the unspoken questions leave her gaze as the smallest of smiles curved her mouth. “I reckon I could learn to be happy anywhere, as long as you were with me.”

  He almost asked her if that included England, but he stopped himself short. Before he could ask her to marry him, he had to write to his father. Like it or not, without the duke’s approval, he would have nothing to offer a bride. No money. No home. No position. Nothing.

  “If we don’t hurry, I’ll be late for my appointment.” He kissed her lightly one more time, then turned forward on the seat and slapped the reins against the horse’s rump.

  While Woody was with his therapist, Cleo went into the lodge to pay a visit to Morgan. But it turned out her brother-in-law wasn’t at the resort that afternoon, so she decided to walk about the grounds until it was time for Woody to be finished.

  Gardeners had been busy since the opening of the resort. Many varieties of flowers and shrubs were on display, a colorful feast for the eyes. Dozens of rose bushes had been planted along the front of the chapel. Later in the summer, what a sweet fragrance would hang in the air to greet the guests who went there to pray.

  Cleo went inside and sat on one of the wooden pews. Light filtered through stained-glass windows, and several lamps, turned low, burned near the altar. The peaceful atmosphere invited her to bow her head.

  She began with prayers for the resort, for Morgan, for the people who would find relief there. She prayed for her sister and for the baby she carried, that all might go well in bringing the child into the world. Then she prayed for Woody, for an even greater healing than he’d experienced already. And finally, she prayed for the two of them.

  He hadn’t said he loved her. Not yet. He hadn’t asked her to marry him. But she believed that was what he’d meant when he’d asked if she could be happy away from the ranch. Of course she didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to be separated from her father or her sister. But could she ever be happy again if she were separated from Woody? She feared not. A life in England with him would be better than a life here without him, wouldn’t it? Yes, her heart told her. Yes. Yes. Yes.

  “Mrs. Sherwood Statham,” she whispered and felt her pulse quicken at the sound of the words.

  Was it possible for love to multiply in intensity with each passing day? It seemed so to Cleo. It seemed that she loved Woody twice as much today as she had yesterday, and she was certain she would love him even more tomorrow.

  Father, I want to be his wife more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I don’t want him to go back to England and leave me here. Please let it be Your will for us to be together. She drew a deep breath and released it. I reckon I could even take to wearing dresses and letting my hair grow, if need be.

  She sat in the stillness for a long while after that. Not praying. Not thinking. Simply being quiet. Waiting for an answer. But this was not a day when she heard God speaking in her heart, and so finally she rose and quitted the chapel.

  Shadows had lengthened while she was inside. Woody’s session must be over by now. If so, he would want to leave. She hurried toward the lodge, and when she rounded the corner of the building, she saw him standing beside the buggy. But he wasn’t alone. There was a woman with him. A rather pretty one.

  Cleo felt a stab of jealousy. So strong it stole her breath away. Mercy. She inhaled while forcing herself to walk more slowly, to appear unconcerned. When she drew near, both Woody and the young woman looked in Cleo’s direction. Their reactions were quite different. As her eyes traveled the length of Cleo, the young woman’s expression was one of surprise, followed by dismissal.

  Woody’s expression was one of welcome. “Here you are. I was about to come looking for you.”

  The warmth of his smile and the tone of his voice caused Cleo’s jealousy to evaporate.

  Woody held out a hand and she took it, letting him draw her to his side. “Cleo, may I introduce an acquaintance of mine, Miss Marjorie Lewis. We met when she visited England a number of years ago. Miss Lewis, this is Cleo Arlington. I work with Miss Arlington on her father’s cattle ranch.”

  “You work together? How interesting. I suppose that explains your unusual attire, Lord Sherwood.”

  “I assure you, my attire is not at all unusual in Idaho.” Woody glanced at Cleo. “Miss Lewis was here for the opening of the resort, and now she and her family have returned for a longer stay.” To Miss Lewis he said, “Cleo is Morgan McKinley’s sister-in-law. As a matter of fact, she and Mrs. McKinley are twins.”

  “Good heavens. Twins? I would never have known you were related.”

  “Most folks don’t see the family resemblance,” Cleo answered.

  “You’ll have to excuse us,” Woody said to Miss Lewis. “Cleo and I must be on our way. I hope you enjoy the remainder of your stay at New Hope.” He turned and continued to hold Cleo’s hand as she stepped into the buggy.

  Cleo didn’t need his help, of course, but she liked that he gave it, instinctively knowing it was for Miss Lewis’s benefit, that Woody was saying, I’m with Cleo. She’s my girl.

  Hope for the future sparkled in her heart.

  Sherwood tried several times to write to his father, but each attempt ended up in the waste bin. It had never been easy to communicate with the duke. Not in person. Not in letters. He was always conscious of his father’s quick disapproval of him. In the end, he wrote to his mother.

  Dearest Mother,

  I hope this letter finds you well. I trust you will be pleased to know that my health is much improved. I am now able to ride for long periods on horseback, and the pain I once suffered

  is greatly reduced.

  It has been three months since I was last at Dunacombe Manor. England seems almost another world, and America is no longer such a strange place as it once seemed to me. I have become accustomed to the different way these Americans speak, and I enjoy new friendships with a number of people in the area.

  It is one special friendship that I write to you about today. I have grown fond of a young woman named Cleo Arlington. She is the daughter of my employer, Griff Arlington, and her sister is married to Morgan McKinley.

  The truth is that I’m more than fond of her. It is my desire to ask for her hand in marriage. Cleo is an unusual woman, to be sure, but I know that when you meet her you will like her as much as I do.

  Mother, Cleo is not a woman of great fortune or one of what Father would consider proper society, but she is the one I want to be at my side for the remainder of my life. I love her, and she will make me happy as I hope to make her happy. Will you help me prepare the way with Father? I know it is a great deal to ask, but with so much distance between us, I don’t know how else to do this.

  Give my regards to my brothers. I will write again soon.

  With deep affection, your son,

  Sherwood

  It was cowardly of him to send such a letter, to leave it to his mother to tell the duke about Cleo. Like a schoolboy instead of a man. He might as well be back at Dunacombe, walking that hallway to the library, expecting another dressing down.

  He was tempted to wad the letter into a ball and toss it in the trash along with the previous attempts. Instead, he folded it and placed it into an envelope. Better not to delay. Better to make at least this small effort. He knew his mother would do as he requested, that she would speak to the duke on Sherwood’s behalf. And perhaps, given a few more months, his father would resign himself to an American daughter-in-law.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Every woman should fall in love in the month of June Cleo decided. The weather wa
s warm without being miserably hot. Most days were sunny with crystal blue skies and the occasional cotton ball clouds. The mountains and grasslands sported wildflowers in an array of colors—royal purples and cobalt blues, sunshine yellows and passionate pinks. Colts and fillies and young calves cavorted in the fields. Puppies ran and tumbled in the barnyard, and kittens meowed in the hayloft. It was a time of new life and happy spirits. A glorious time of year to be in love.

  Such were Cleo’s thoughts as she lay on a blanket on a hillside, staring up through the tree limbs at the sky. Beside her, Sherwood reclined on his side, bracing himself with his left elbow while he read to her from a book of poetry.

  “‘It is not Beauty I demand, A crystal brow, the moon’s despair, Nor the snow’s daughter, a white hand, Nor mermaid’s yellow pride of hair…’”

  Cleo smiled to herself as a wave of contentment washed over her. Woody still hadn’t said he loved her. Not in so many words. But it didn’t worry her. He told her with his actions, even with his choice of poems, and that was enough for now.

  “‘Tell me not of your starry eyes, Your lips that seem on roses fed, Your breasts where Cupid trembling lies, Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed…’”

  She closed her eyes, warmth rising in her cheeks. She longed for the day when they might marry, and Woody would take her to his bed.

  What sort of wedding would they have? A simple affair here in Bethlehem Springs? Or would the son of a duke be required to marry in England? England. A place so far from home. But home would be wherever her husband was. Cleo wasn’t like her mother. She wouldn’t run away. She would adapt. She would put down roots in a foreign soil. She would be happy as long as she was with Woody.

  Once they were living in England, he wouldn’t wear the blue jeans, plaid cotton shirt, and boots that he wore now. He would once again wear the attire of an English gentleman, a lord of the realm. And she would have to wear fashionable dresses and shoes that weren’t as comfortable as her boots. Would she be called Lady Cleo? Gracious. She wouldn’t care for that. Not at all. Only for Woody would she consider it.

  “‘Give me, instead of beauty’s bust, A tender heart, a loyal mind, Which with temptation I could trust, Yet never linked with error find. One in whose gentle bosom I Could pour my secret heart of woes. Like the care-burdened honey-fly That hides his murmurs in the rose…’”

  He could pour his secret heart of woes into her. She would take them and hold them and pray about them. She would—

  “I say. Have you been listening?”

  She opened her eyes to find him watching her over the top of his book. “Yes.” It was only a small lie. She might have missed a few stanzas while her thoughts wandered.

  He closed the book. “I believe I shall leave off there. You’ll have to wonder how Mr. Darley ended his poem.

  “I love to listen to you read. You make every word sound elegant. ’Course, maybe all poetry sounds elegant, even without a British accent. I can’t say I’ve read much of it myself.”

  “You’re too busy breaking horses.” He smiled as he leaned in to kiss her.

  Cleo doubted there was much call for wranglers in England, especially not a female wrangler. What would she do with her days? As he hadn’t proposed, she couldn’t very well ask him that, and so she asked him something else. “What will you do when you return to England?”

  “Do you mean as a profession?”

  “Yes. Will you become a lawyer?”

  “I think not.”

  “Why’s that? It’s what you’ve trained for. Right?”

  “I fear I would make a very poor one. I am not a great orator, nor am I particularly persuasive when trying to influence others.”

  Some men of the upper classes, Cleo understood, did little with their time. Would Woody be one of those? Would he be satisfied to be idle, day after day? She could be wrong, but she didn’t see him that way. He’d worked too hard, done too much around the ranch, for her to think him a wastrel by nature. As for herself, doing nothing would drive her crazy.

  “Thankfully I don’t have to make a decision yet. There is still time to consider my options. But for the next nine months, I am content to be a ranch hand.” He lay on his back beside her and stared up at the heavens as she had done a short while before. “And a very lazy one at this moment.”

  “We all deserve a brief respite now and then. Even you.” Her hand slipped into his as natural as you please.

  He turned his head, his face close to her own. “Isn’t it fortunate that you deserved a respite, too, Miss Arlington?”

  “I reckon it is, Mr. Statham.”

  His kiss this time was slow, long, sweet. It made her want to write poetry of her own, sonnets of love that would go on for pages and pages, words that would make other hearts soar as high as her own. Cleo wished they could remain right there forever, perfectly happy on that glorious summer day.

  Sherwood wanted to take Cleo into his arms and drink more deeply of her love for him. But they had already strayed into dangerous waters. She might be too innocent to recognize the hazard, but he was not. Wisdom required that he end the kiss and put some distance between them.

  He withdrew and rose as quickly as his right leg would allow. “Perhaps we should start back.”

  “So soon?” She sat up, disappointment visible in her gaze.

  “We have been gone several hours.”

  “There’s still some food left.”

  He patted his stomach. “I couldn’t eat another morsel.”

  She sighed as she stood. “I suppose you’re right.” She leaned down and picked up the blanket.

  There was a rare and beautiful innocence about Cleo, he thought as he watched her fold the blanket. An innocence that made him all the more determined to remain on his guard. When the day arrived that they married, she would come to him sweet and pure. He couldn’t claim the same. What a hedonist he’d been. It was a wonder his own mother loved him, let alone that Cleo did.

  God was indeed merciful. It was enough to make him thankful for the injuries he’d suffered in the war. Without them, he wouldn’t have sought oblivion in drinking, gambling, and women, and as a result, he wouldn’t have been sent to America. Without them, he never would have known Cleo, might have continued to turn a blind eye toward heaven, might never have come to the moment of wanting to change, of wanting to be a better man.

  “Cleo.”

  She turned from putting the blanket into the saddlebag.

  “I love you.”

  The smile came slowly to her lips. “I know. I reckon I knew it before you did.”

  He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t. Not yet. At present, he was a man without prospects. He needed the blessing of his father before he could marry. Otherwise, he would have no income, no way to support a wife and family. Here in America things might be done differently, but in England, among the nobility…No, he had no choice but to wait awhile longer.

  But waiting to marry Cleo Arlington could be the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do.

  TWENTY-SIX

  It rained again for the first few days in July, but the Fourth dawned with clear skies, promising a perfect day for the Bethlehem Springs Independence Day celebration. There would be a band playing in the band shell, dancing on a wooden floor made for the occasion, lots of games in the park, and all kinds of food to eat. There would even be fireworks after darkness fell, although those would be kept to a small area, far away from the forest and underbrush. No one wanted to risk another fire.

  Cleo loved the Fourth of July. It was the sort of holiday where everyone seemed in perfect spirits, ready to smile and to laugh. And this year, she would attend with Woody and people would see they were a couple. Being with him was almost enough to cause her to put on a dress. Almost. But how did a woman run a three-legged race in such feminine trappings? Maybe some could, but she couldn’t. She would end up tumbling to the ground with her skirts up over her head. Now wouldn’t that be a fine kettle of fish? No, she wo
uld save her dresses for Sunday services.

  But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to look nice for the festivities—and for Woody. She wore a new pair of denim jeans with a blue-and-white shirt and her best pair of boots, nicely polished. And she donned a white Stetson that had been a gift from Gwen on their last birthday.

  The Arlingtons, their ranch hands, and Cookie left for town in the early afternoon. Cleo’s dad and Cookie rode in the wagon, the bed holding several blankets, jars of lemonade, and boxes holding two cakes and three pies. Cleo and the rest of the cowboys rode on horseback. The merry mood of the company made the journey into town pass quickly.

  Not long before they reached Bethlehem Springs, Stitch looked over at Woody and said, “Is it legal for you to join us today, you being English and all? You do know that what we’re celebratin’ is our freedom from British rule.”

  “I believe I have heard that somewhere before.” Woody’s tone was droll.

  “Well, just didn’t want you gettin’ into trouble once you’re back in England. Could be viewed as consortin’ with the enemy.”

  “Cleo tells me there will be games at these festivities. Perhaps the Brit will whip a Yankee or two in one of them.”

  Stitch protested that such a thing would never happen while everyone else laughed.

  “This oughta be good.” Cleo grinned at Woody.

  He leaned sideways in the saddle and said in a low voice, “Perhaps I shall even beat you.”

  “Ha!”

  He straightened. “We shall see.”

  “You bet we will.” She might love him to pieces, but she would never enter a game that she didn’t want to win.

  The town park, located on Shenandoah Street between the boarding house and the Methodist church, bustled with people. Tables had been made from sawhorses supporting planks of wood, and onto those tables folks were placing their contributions to the celebration—fried chicken, biscuits, salads, fruits and vegetables, cakes, pies, cookies, donuts, and plenty more besides.