Love's Sweet Beginning

by Ann Shorey

  Rosemary laid her hand over Cassie’s. “You don’t believe that.”

  “No. I don’t.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “I’m sure I love him, but when he acts the way he did, I don’t believe he loves me. With Garrett, everything unfolded as though it was meant to be. Mother was happy. Garrett was happy. I was . . . content.” She paused to draw a shallow breath. “But with Jacob, Mother doesn’t like him and I don’t understand him. How can he be happy to see me in the morning and accuse me of deception that same afternoon?”

  “Maybe he has reasons to fear being deceived. When you’re well, perhaps you can ask him.”

  “Do you think he’d tell me?”

  “If he loves you, he will.”

  After Rosemary left, Cassie burrowed under the blankets as though she could hide from thoughts of Jacob. Her entire body ached—her heart most of all.

  She wished she hadn’t told him to go away.

  The following Thursday, Cassie took extra pains with her hair and dress before leaving for work. A week at home, coupled with Rosemary’s soups and tinctures, had vanquished the grippe’s worst symptoms. Despite an occasional cough, she felt eager to return to the restaurant—and Jacob.

  She tucked the letter she’d written into her handbag. Somehow she’d find a way to leave it on his office table when he was busy elsewhere. By this time, surely he’d gotten over his anger and would be willing to listen to reason.

  Excitement fluttered in her stomach when she pictured his response. His rumbly voice would express his regret at hurting her feelings and he’d take her in his arms and . . .

  She gave herself a little shake. First things first. Put the letter on his desk.

  The July morning promised a hot, humid day. By the time she reached the kitchen, perspiration dotted her forehead. Pausing outside the screen door, she took a deep breath, savoring the fragrance of coffee boiling on the stove. Then she stepped into the kitchen and took several quick steps with her arms outstretched toward Jenny and Becca.

  “I’ve missed you both.” She glanced at the worktable where the pie plates were stacked in their usual place. “I’ve even missed baking pies in this heat.”

  “Sure glad you’re back, missy.” A smile wreathed Becca’s face. “I’d rather chop potatoes any day than fuss with them pies.”

  Jenny drew Cassie close with a one-armed hug. “I’d rather have Becca chop potatoes too. Cooking three meals a day is getting to be too much for me. ’Course, I agree it’s mighty good to have you back. We all missed you.”

  “Mr. West, too?” She hated herself for asking, but he hadn’t come to see her one time since the day she took sick. Her imagination had traveled down many lonely roads wondering why he hadn’t visited.

  “Him, too, I’m sure.”

  “Is he here yet?” If he wasn’t, she’d go lay the letter in the middle of his table where he’d be sure to see it first thing.

  Jenny and Becca exchanged surprised glances. Jenny spoke first.

  “He’s been gone since last Friday. Didn’t say where he was off to, just that he’d be away for a couple of weeks. Thought maybe he told you.”

  “No, he didn’t.” Cassie frowned as she tried to comprehend his absence. Did he leave because of her? She leaned against her worktable. “But . . . what about orders for pies? And who’s taking care of his ledger?”

  “Timothy takes the orders and brings them to us each morning. Reckon he’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  “The ledger? Surely he wouldn’t expect Timothy to handle that too.”

  Jenny grinned at her. “Nope. That’s your job. Mr. West said you’d know where to find everything.”

  Cassie blew out a relieved breath. So Jacob still trusted her with the accounting. She hoped that meant he still thought of them as partners—in the business at least. She’d have to wait to learn whether he wanted her as his partner in life.

  32

  Jacob stepped off the train into the humidity of a Boston summer. His gray suit was rumpled from long days riding one train after another to reach his destination. The first thing he’d do after collecting his valise would be to locate a tailor’s shop and hope for ready-made trousers and a jacket that fit. He wanted to look his best before making any calls on former associates.

  Since leaving Boston eight years ago, he hadn’t returned and had no desire to do so. Until Byrne and Ruggero paid him a visit. Then everything changed. He had to protect his future in Noble Springs by neutralizing the threat the two thugs represented, regardless of the cost.

  He gazed around the tile-floored station until he spotted a baggage claim sign toward the street exit. Joining a line of fellow passengers, he shifted from one foot to the other, the pistol in his boot bumping against his ankle. Once he retrieved his valise, he straightened his shoulders and strode through the double glass-paned doors out to the city of his birth.

  Horses and buggies moved both ways along the cobbled street. Pedestrians crowded along the walks, everyone going someplace as fast as they could travel. The noise of hoofbeats and shouted conversations sounded much louder than he’d remembered. Too much time spent in the quiet of West & Riley’s, he thought with a wry grin.

  Once he’d been part of the bustle, welcomed the noise as a distraction that prevented his activities from being overheard. No more. Not for seventeen years. Long enough that he’d grown complacent.

  A cab driver hollered at him from the curb. “I can take you wherever you’re going, mister.”

  Jacob lifted his chin. He’d stay in the fine hotel that had been constructed while he worked for Colin Riley in the North End. “The Parker House, please. It’s on School Str—”

  “You don’t have to tell me where the Parker House is. Everyone in Boston knows that hotel. You must be from out of town.”

  He smiled inwardly while he handed the driver his bag. Apparently his time in Missouri had been sufficient to soften his accent. “Yep, I’m visiting for a week or so.”

  The carriage jolted over the uneven pavement as the driver guided his team away from the train station and into the flow of traffic. Jacob rested against the seat back and surveyed his surroundings. Boston looked just as he remembered, a teeming city filled with bitter memories.

  He wondered what Cassie would make of his hometown. She’d lived in St. Louis, but Boston’s energy far exceeded that of Missouri’s largest city.

  Cassie. Loneliness stabbed at him. If not for her, perhaps he wouldn’t have decided to take the steps he had planned. He thought he could stand up under Byrne’s threats, but he couldn’t risk dragging a lady like Cassie into his troubles. One whiff of scandal and that mother of hers would snatch her away like a mama bear protecting a cub.

  “Here you be. Parker House.” The driver jumped down and handed Jacob his valise.

  After he paid the man, Jacob took a moment to admire the multi-storied hotel that dominated the area. “Jake Westermann, staying at the Parker House,” he whispered to himself, then shook his head in disbelief and entered the plush lobby.

  When he reached the registration desk, the clerk gazed down his nose at Jacob’s wrinkled suit. “What can I do for you?” His voice held disdain.

  Aware that his mother’s Italian heritage showed in his skin’s dark tone and his wavy black hair, Jacob met the man’s eyes without flinching. “A room for the week, please.” He reached in his pocket and splashed a handful of gold coins on the marble counter. “I’ll be paying in advance.”

  The clerk snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.” He pushed a register toward Jacob. “Please sign here. I’ll have the bellboy show you to your room.”

  “Thank you.” After pocketing his change, he leaned on the counter. “Can you tell me where I can find a tailoring establishment nearby?”

  “Yes, sir. Indeed I can. Markham’s is but a block away. He’s quite popular with our local politicians.”

  Jacob thanked him again, then leaned on his cane as he followed the bellboy up two flights of stairs to his room.
His thrifty nature chided him for the amount of money he was spending. Maybe the hotel laundress could brush and press the clothes he wore. And yet . . . if he wanted to be seen as successful, he needed to look the part.

  When they reached the third floor, the lad flung open a door and placed the valise on a bench at the foot of the brocade-covered bed. A carved mahogany bureau and matching chair occupied the facing wall. The window was draped in the same moss-green brocade as the spread on the bed.

  “There’s fresh water in the pitcher,” the boy said, pointing to a washstand stacked with thick white towels. “You need anything else, just ask for Rob.”

  “I’ll do that.” Jacob handed him a tip, then turned the key in the lock after Rob left.

  He settled in the chair and admired his surroundings. A far cry from his boyhood home in the tenements of the North End. His errands would take him there soon enough, but for now he’d enjoy the quiet serenity of this room.

  Two days later, Jacob hailed a cab and asked to be driven to the Charles Street Jail. The driver studied Jacob’s fawn-colored trousers and black frock coat with raised eyebrows.

  “Going to visit a prisoner? Better watch yourself, dressed like that.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be careful.”

  The carriage wound around Beacon Hill and rolled toward the Charles River. Within minutes a walled-off granite building came into view. As memories swamped him, Jacob fought a desire to flee. Coming here had been a poor idea. He could do what had to be done without calling on Warden Dwight.

  “Driver, I changed my mind. Please take me back to the hotel.”

  The carriage stopped in front of a high iron gate topped by a stone arch. “You’re here now. I’ll wait if you want.” He rested a sympathetic gaze on Jacob. “Got a brother in there myself. Know how hard it is to go in. Them prisoners are a sorry lot.”

  “All right. If you’ll wait.”

  A voice in his head screamed “hypocrite.” In his new clothes, he looked like the respectable citizen he’d become. He wondered how the driver would treat him if he knew why Jacob wanted to visit the jail. The man probably would have refused the fare.

  Gripping his cane, he paced to the entrance. A uniformed guard stepped out of a shelter when he approached. “You a lawyer here to see a prisoner?”

  “N . . . no.” He cleared his throat. “Is Warden Dwight here today? He’s the person I’m looking for.”

  “He retired a couple years back. Want to talk to the new man?”

  “No thanks.” Relieved, Jacob turned toward the waiting carriage.

  “Don’t be in such a hurry. Warden Dwight comes in on Tuesdays for a checker game with one of the guards. You’re in luck.” The guard drew a ring of keys from a peg inside the shelter and opened the gate.

  The creaking hinges sounded like the opening of a cell door. Jacob shuddered.

  Inside the compound, a stone path led to another guard shack outside the main prison doors. As he walked, he tried to remember what he planned to ask the warden. His thoughts were clearer at the hotel. Now he couldn’t think over the pounding in his ears.

  The second guard left him standing in the octagonal rotunda while he sent a clerk to find Warden Dwight. Light from the high atrium flooded the area but couldn’t conquer a prevailing smell of damp stone and iron bars.

  As he waited, a jailer led a group of men from one wing toward a flight of stairs leading to the basement. The men wore black-striped prison uniforms and walked with their heads down, each person with his hand on the shoulder of the man in front. Jacob backed away until he stood pressed against a wall. His heart thudded.

  “Westermann?”

  Jacob startled and fought the impulse to duck his head to avoid notice.

  Warden Dwight approached with his hand extended. The buttons on his vest strained over his belly. “Most of you fellows don’t come back—at least not voluntarily.” He chuckled and pumped Jacob’s hand. “Last time we shook, you were leaving.”

  “Never figured to return, but you and this place have been on my mind lately.”

  “That so? Well, what can I do for you?” He put his hand on Jacob’s shoulder and guided him toward a bench.

  “I have a question.” One question, but the answer would affect his decisions from this moment on.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Do you—that is, does the jail—let anyone see your records?”

  “Records of what?” The warden frowned. “Our expenses? Prisoner totals?”

  “Prisoner names and offenses.” Jacob blurted the words, then braced himself for the response.

  “Ah. Those records.” He shook his head. “You can rest easy. Our goal is rehabilitation. You stay out of trouble, no one will ever know you were here.”

  Jacob realized he’d been holding his breath and released a long sigh before standing. “Good to know. Thank you.”

  Jacob left his room the next morning, rested and ready for the next phase of his plan. Vehicles jammed the street in front of the hotel. Delivery wagons, carriages, and horse-drawn carts jostled their way back and forth on the wide road. The sound of hoofbeats echoed between the buildings.

  Jacob scanned the line of cabs and drivers waiting at the curb, hoping to see the man who’d taken him on yesterday’s mission. After a moment, he spotted him at the far end of the conveyances.

  The driver noticed him at the same time and hopped down from his perch. “I remember you. Where to this morning?”

  “The North End. Riley’s Grocery.”

  “You sure you got the right address? Not the best part of the city for a gent like yourself.”

  “I’ve been there before. I’m not worried.” He dropped his cane on the seat and climbed into the cab.

  Once they pulled away from the curb, Jacob bent forward and patted his left boot to reassure himself of the presence of his pistol.

  As he rode, the streets grew narrower and the buildings more run-down. After traveling for fewer than ten minutes, the driver stopped.

  “The store you want is a block or two that way.” He pointed down a street crowded with peddlers’ carts, shoppers, and loiterers. “You’ll have to walk from here.”

  Jacob paid him and made his way into the maelstrom of humanity. The once-familiar smell of rotten garbage and human waste wrinkled his nose. Thankful the walk would be a short one, he pushed past shawl-draped women picking over contents on the carts. Children chased each other up and down narrow stairs leading into the shoulder-to-shoulder brick tenements.

  As he neared Riley’s Grocery, he picked up his pace. Colin’s business occupied the first floor of a building that was in better repair than its neighbors. Jacob bypassed the entrance and instead stepped through a narrow doorway and climbed a steep flight of stairs to the second floor. His right leg throbbed from the extra walking he’d done since arriving in Boston.

  Three closed doors lined the hallway, but Jacob would never forget which one belonged to his former partner. He knocked on the first door on his right.

  Soon he heard footsteps. A voice called, “Who’s there?”

  “Jacob West. Jake.”

  A key turned in the lock. A skinny man with thistledown white hair and piercing blue eyes beamed at him.

  “Saints alive. I thought I’d never see you again.” He gripped Jacob’s shoulder, then threw his arms around him and thumped his back. “Come in. Tell me what brings you to Boston.”

  Jacob took in the familiar furnishings in Colin’s sitting room. Round tables draped with lace coverings, armchairs upholstered in faded red plush, ornate lamps flickering against the dimness. The apartment smelled of tea and pipe tobacco.

  In a blink he felt himself to be twenty-one again and being taken to Colin’s lodgings above the grocery for the first time. He gazed at his old friend through a film of tears.

  “I should have come back long ago. Thanks to you I have a good life now. I can’t think what would have happened if you hadn’t seen somethi
ng in me that no one else did.”

  Colin waved a dismissive hand. “Helping you blessed me. You know what the Lord said about helping ‘the least of these.’”

  Jacob remembered hearing those verses when he attended Reverend French’s church. If Colin could forgive him, maybe the Lord had too.

  His friend’s next words drew him back to the present.

  “I miss getting your monthly letters since Byrne bought my share in your business.” Colin lifted his bushy white eyebrows. “Tell me, did he change the name to West & Byrne?”

  “Hah. Not likely. You’re the man who gave me a chance. Your name will be on my store as long as I own the place.” He settled onto one of the chairs. “In fact, that’s the main reason I came to Boston.”

  “To tell me my name will remain on your sign? I doubt that.” His gaze sharpened. “Knowing you, there’s more to the story.”

  Jacob drew a deep breath. He didn’t know what he’d do if Colin refused his carefully rehearsed proposal. Leaning forward, he rested his moist palms on his knees. “First, I have to ask an unmannerly question.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Did Byrne buy your share in West & Riley’s outright, or does he still owe a portion?”

  “I wouldn’t answer such a question from anyone but you. Byrne is paying me monthly.”

  “How much is his debt?”

  Colin pushed his hands against the arms of his chair and stood. “I’m ready for some tea. Want to join me?” Without waiting for an answer he entered the adjoining kitchen. Metal scraped against metal as he dragged a kettle to the front of the stove. He reached into a cupboard and placed two mugs on a tray beside a teapot, then added an open biscuit tin along with a sugar bowl.

  The abrupt change of subject left Jacob wondering whether his former partner had lost some of his acuity over the years. A case clock ticked in the corner while Colin waited for the water to boil. Neither man spoke.

  Once steam issued from the kettle, Colin measured leaves into the pot and poured the boiling water over them. “Important discussions can’t take place without a cup of tea,” he said as he carried the tray into the sitting room.