by Lily George
They sat quietly for a minute. The saddle leather creaked, and the bobwhite quails sounded their calls across the pastures. In this moment, he felt closer to his daughter than he ever had except in the moments after she was born. She had curled her fingers so tightly around his index finger that it had turned purple. Then she had looked at him with those big blue eyes, and he was a father. Just like that. It was an instant, but that fleeting second had made him a father.
He needed to be that father now, and always.
“Well, if it’s not all bad, what do you like about it?” He turned to watch her.
“Aunt Pearl, Ada, the sweet well water, the wind blowing across the pasture, being the smartest in my class and the sound the cows make when they are heading across the range,” she replied, as though ticking off a list in her head. “Oh, and being here with you, of course.”
The last bit sounded somewhat tacked on, and he laughed. “Glad to hear I made it, behind the cows.”
“Oh, Father.” She giggled and rolled her eyes. “Don’t be mad.”
He shrugged. “What? I am truly thankful that I am right up there with cattle lowing in your mind.” He leaned over in the saddle and patted her arm. “Just kidding, chickadee. Here’s what I think we should do. I think you oughta pray on it. I did, and that’s what moved me to have a good old-fashioned talk with you about it. Now it’s your turn. You need to talk to God and see what He tells you to do.”
She nodded at him, her eyes widening. “I haven’t heard you talk like that before.”
“Well, let’s just say that I finally understand the power of prayer,” he admitted. “Now, it’s important that you know that you don’t get a final say, missy. There are grown-ups involved, which means your granddaddy and me. We all get a say, and your grandpa probably has some things he would like to clarify.” He held back saying anything more definite than that, but the effort caused him to grind his teeth a little. “Okay?”
“Sounds all right.” She sounded uncertain. “Does Grandfather get to have that much of a say?”
“Of course,” he answered lightly. “He speaks for your mother, since she’s not here to.”
“Well, isn’t Ada my mother now, too?” Her blond eyebrows drew together over her blue eyes. “Won’t she have a vote?”
“Ada confers with me,” he responded. “Now, come on. I’ve gotta get you to school. Let’s ride over together, and I’ll lead Blue home.”
She lapsed into silence and followed him. As they rode, a strange peace settled over Jack. He wasn’t sure why he felt so peaceful; after all, Laura hadn’t told him exactly what he wanted to hear. If she had, there would be no question that she would stay in Winchester Falls, and he’d dare old St. Clair to try to change her mind.
Even so, it felt good because they hadn’t shouted, hadn’t yelled, hadn’t ridden away from each other in anger. He’d asked Laura for her opinion, and she’d told him. And he had conducted himself as a man should. That was the truth of the matter. Instead of acting like a petulant boy, he had acted as a wise father ought to behave. There was something to be proud of in that.
As they drew to a halt in front of the school, Laura leaped easily from her mount and came over to him. “Goodbye, Father,” she said, and reached up to give him a hug.
He bent down from the saddle and hugged her as best he could, given the awkwardness of still being in the saddle. Then, her blond braid whipping behind her, she was gone in a flash.
He sat back in the saddle for a moment, savoring the morning.
This was the first time in forever his daughter had embraced him of her own accord.
He must never lose that feeling. Even if it meant compromising with St. Clair for all eternity, he would never lose his daughter again.
*
Ada glanced at Jack over the rim of her coffee cup. He was silent this morning, as usual, but there was something deeper going on. He had already accompanied Laura to school, which in and of itself was unusual. Most mornings, he had far too many chores to attend to and could not see his way clear to take Laura to the schoolhouse. That he had arisen and escorted her there was quite odd. Whatever had transpired, though, he was not angry. In fact, he seemed more at peace than ever before.
Jack glanced over and caught her looking at him. He smiled. “I’ll ask Pearl when the preacher is scheduled to arrive in Winchester Falls. I was about to head over to check on the work crew for the morning. They might be able to hang doors today. We’ll see.”
“Hang doors?” Ada looked at Jack, bewildered. “But it’s not even finished. The walls are just beams.”
“Doors have to be the strongest part of a building, so they’re built first. Walls and roof and ceiling come afterward.” He drained the dregs of his coffee and rose.
As he stood, the front door banged open and Macklin came striding in. “Mail call early this morning, Boss. Pollitt just came by. There’s a telegram for you, and the Fort Worth newspaper just came out with the article about Winchester Falls. I thought you’d like to read it.”
Ada took the paper from him, nervousness breaking over her like a wave. With trembling hands, she smoothed the pages out, glancing first at the photographs. Ledbetter had done a good job with them. The pictures showed people toiling, repairing damaged roofs and rebuilding homes.
She scanned the article quickly as Jack tore open the telegram. Mr. Starr had done a fairly decent job. He’d made some sneering asides about how small the town was and about how rough and ready life seemed on the prairie, but he did not poke fun at the hard work or can-do spirit of Winchester Falls. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was all right. Not the best, most glowing article one could ask for, but better than she had secretly feared.
“Did you read the article, Mr. Macklin?” She glanced up from the paper. “It’s pretty good, considering how awful it could have been.”
“Yep. I read it outside the post office. The papers came in on last night’s train, and Pollitt put them out this morning. There was a whole crowd of people gathered there this morning. I’ve got to say, a lot of them were relieved. It did us all a power of good to see Winchester Falls portrayed as a hardworking group of folks instead of a lot of no-accounts to pity.”
“I agree.” She glanced over at Jack, who was staring at the telegram. His face had lost some of its peacefulness. Panic seized her. “Jack? What is it?”
“It’s from St. Clair.” He handed it to her.
With a shaky hand, she glanced over the scrap of paper.
HEARD OF DESTRUCTION IN TOWN STOP ALSO MY ATTORNEY TOLD ME OF CONDITIONS THERE PRIOR TO STORM STOP LAURA TO RETURN TO BOARDING SCHOOL WITHOUT DELAY STOP
ST CLAIR
Ada crumpled up the telegram, her eyes filling with tears. “That’s it, then.”
Her marriage was over.
She had no way to care for her sisters.
“Yep.” He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, honey.”
Macklin cleared his throat. “Listen, I know y’all are busy now, so I’ll just take my leave. See you later, Boss.” With heavy footsteps, he left the dining room and let himself out the front door.
Ada waited for the door to slam shut behind him, her heart heavy in her chest. “I failed. I’m so sorry. You wanted me to do one thing, and I made a miserable wreck of it. Now you’re losing your daughter.” And she was losing her husband. A lump rose in her throat, making further speech impossible for the time being.
“You didn’t fail.” He came over beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “You made this house a home. I talked to Laura this morning, and I know she’ll be happy with this decision. I suppose it’s the right thing to do.”
So that’s why they had ridden out together? That he had spoken to Laura and still remained calm was absolutely astonishing. “I don’t know what to do.” Utter hopelessness flooded her soul. How would she possibly flounder her way out of this mess? “It sounds as if St. Clair wants us to put her on the next train. Should I go to the depot and buy a ti
cket? Shall we take her there ourselves in the car?” Normally, in moments of disaster, she was the one who did all the planning. She took control and made order out of chaos. The certainty of her own feelings of anguish was too crushing. She could not act. She could only feel.
“We are not going to step lively and break up our home just because St. Clair ordered us in a telegram.” Jack’s voice, strong and purposeful, broke through her miserable haze. “If you can spare the time today, go by the post office and send St. Clair a telegram that we are making plans. We need more than a few hours to figure out what to do. Besides which, I have a chapel to build and cattle to run, and you’ve been bringing the whole town together. We’re busy people. We’ll accommodate him when we can.”
“All right.” She dried her eyes on her handkerchief.
She gave Jack a tremulous smile as he left the house. Then she sat, slowly stirring her cold coffee. They hadn’t spoken about the most obvious problem facing them if Laura left.
They wouldn’t need to be married anymore.
What would happen now?
Jack had wed her just so she would be a mother for Laura. If Laura returned to boarding school, the very purpose behind their marriage would be gone. They could split up. She could move back to New York. Maybe she should try to seek work with another family.
Pain and panic seized her. She didn’t want to lose Laura or Jack.
She rose from the table and put on her hat with hands that refused to stop trembling. Jack had asked her to send a telegram, and she would do so without delay. At least in that way, she could be a help to him.
The morning drive to the post office passed in a strange sort of haze. Time slowed to a crawl, and yet everything from the waving of the prairie grass to the jumping grasshoppers in the roadway seemed sped up, like in a lantern show. Tears flowed freely now that she was alone. This felt so wrong. How could she stay married to Jack when she had failed him and Laura so completely? How could they be a family if Laura was away from home, growing up among strangers in St. Louis?
She couldn’t stay married to Jack. She had failed him. If there was any hope of Laura staying or of prevailing on St. Clair just once more, she might be able to remain in Texas. But as matters stood, she could not.
As she neared the post office, she dried her tears and struggled to compose herself. There was a small knot of people standing outside, and she couldn’t very well say hello and smile and nod pleasantly if she was weeping.
“There she is,” someone called as Ada pulled the gig up to the hitching post.
What was happening? Did they know what a sham of a wife and mother she was? Could they possibly be offering sympathy?
She tied Blue to the post and was going to politely brush past the crowd, when one of the women broke away and called her name. Ada paused. The woman was one of the denizens of the shantytown they were rebuilding. She remembered her from the trip around the town with Starr and Ledbetter.
The assembled group broke into a smattering of applause. Ada looked around her in amazement and even a little fear. What was happening?
“Mrs. Burnett,” the woman called, beckoning Ada over. “You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Stella Cotton. I met you the other day when you came by with those men from the papers.”
“Yes, Mrs. Cotton. I remember you. How do you do?” Ada gave the woman a faint smile.
“Very well, thanks to all your hard work.” The woman, who must have been her same age or even younger, beamed. “We’ve all been talking.” She waved her hand to indicate the assembled crowd. “You did a mighty fine job handling those reporters.”
“Why, thank you.” She gave them a pale smile.
“Just about everyone in the town’s been by here to get the paper,” Pollitt added, stepping out of the doorway. “You worked so hard to get us to pull together as a town after a disaster—and helped manage the press so that our little town got a nice write-up. You are a model citizen.” He beamed at her, the morning sunlight reflecting off his spectacles.
“Thank you,” she replied distractedly. Compliments were fine and dandy, but she knew how terribly she had failed in her private life. “I need to send a telegram. Mr. Pollitt, can you help me?”
“Sure thing.” He motioned for her to come inside. The cluster of townspeople parted so that she could walk inside the post office.
With Pollitt’s help, she was able to compose a sensible enough telegram for St. Clair.
RECEIVED YOUR MESSAGE STOP AM MAKING PLANS NOW STOP MORE TO FOLLOW
ADA WESTMORE BURNETT
She could have saved money by not signing it, or by signing it with just her first name. Somehow, though, she needed to let St. Clair know that she recognized her fault and that she was seeking to rectify the matter.
She thanked Mr. Pollitt and waved goodbye at the few townspeople still gathered outside the post office.
How she had changed since coming to Winchester Falls. A year ago, she would have been thrilled at the write-up in the newspaper. How often had she worked to get the cause of women’s suffrage, for example, to be front-page news? Reporters had laughed at her or turned her away at every turn. At least now, she had made enough headway with the press to help them write a flattering article about the town she had grown to love.
Victory was ashes, though. It didn’t matter. The article hadn’t changed St. Clair’s mind, and her life was headed toward upheaval. She no longer cared about the press. All she cared about was her newfound family.
Chapter Nineteen
Ada glanced around the Burnett family train car as they prepared to disembark at the St. Louis station. On the last trip to St. Louis she had been a new bride, and they had come to bring Laura home. Just two months later she was returning and bringing her stepdaughter back to boarding school. Through the journey north, she kept a brave face on, but it was difficult. Laura was leaving, and her absence would now throw their lives into uproar.
“What time is Grandfather meeting us?” Laura peeked out of the heavy draperies covering the window. “Is he here?”
Jack consulted his pocket watch. “I reckon so,” he said, his voice tight. “It’s nearly noon. We arranged to meet for dinner—or lunch, as you big-city folks call it.” He reached over and rumpled his daughter’s hair.
Laura ducked, giving her father a pouty look as she righted her hair bow. “Really, Father,” she scolded.
He chuckled softly, and Ada smiled at them both. Whether any of them was willing to admit it or not, an intense connection existed among all of them. She had not spoken to Jack about what would happen to their marriage since that fateful day. They had too much to do to prepare for the trip. After Laura was safely settled in her boarding school, then she would talk to Jack. Some small part of her kept thinking that if she never mentioned it, maybe he might just stay married to her anyway.
Who would have thought it? She would have laughed at the mere mention of it a year ago. Proud, independent Ada had fallen in love with a cowboy. This would be a stunning moment, if not for the fact that she would surely lose him in the next few weeks. It was far better to focus on Laura and Jack than on her sham marriage.
Perhaps, after she left Texas, she could continue to try to nurture the bond between Jack and Laura. A thoughtful, well-written letter might help.
How profoundly depressing.
After a small eternity, the conductor opened their door, and they stepped out into the milling throng of passengers on the station platform. Jack took both of their arms in his, and they walked together, creating a small phalanx of three to break through the crowds. He steered them along the platform and into the station, where they managed their way at the fringes of the multitude. The tall stained glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors onto the marble floor, adding to the hectic, carnival-like atmosphere.
They made it to the restaurant, but not before Laura’s hat was knocked off once by a passerby, and not before Ada was jostled by a passing porter with a cart full of luggage. Ju
st as before, St. Clair was standing in the doorway, his ebony walking-stick in his hand. His gray hair gleamed as sleekly as ever, and his mustache twitched when he caught sight of his granddaughter. “Lolly,” he called, his arms outstretched.
“Grandfather.” Laura broke free of her father’s hold and ran to embrace St. Clair.
“My, you’ve been growing like a weed.” St. Clair set her away from him and glanced up and down. “I was expecting you to come back brown as a nut from that Texas sun.”
“Don’t be silly,” Laura rejoined. “Ada and I wear hats. Gloves, too.” She pirouetted and then pointed to Ada. Ada gave her a wan smile.
“Ah, yes, Mrs. Burnett.” St. Clair bowed low over her hand. “How do you do?”
“Very well,” she replied quietly, “given the circumstances.” It wasn’t going to help matters, but she couldn’t resist adding it. Everyone else seemed entirely too cheerful.
“Naturally.” St. Clair gave a sage nod and turned to her husband. “Burnett.”
“Hello, Mr. St. Clair.” He held out his hand and St. Clair accepted it, looking at him strangely. “Thank you for meeting us here. I know it’s a long trip from Charleston.”
Ada raised her eyebrows. Jack was actually being affable to his father-in-law. Never before had she heard him speak of or to St. Clair with such a degree of cordiality.
If St. Clair was nonplussed by Jack’s civility, he was too well-bred—or adept at deal making—to show it. “Anything for my granddaughter. Lolly-doll, Grandfather missed you so much. I know Mrs. Erskine will be happy to see you again.”
Laura smiled. “I missed everyone, too.”
St. Clair guided them to the same corner table of the restaurant where he had held court before. He held Ada’s chair first and then Laura’s. He made the same joke about ordering dinner so as to save them all from a luncheon of chili and corn bread. Jack accepted the barb at his expense without showing his temper.
What had come over her husband? Normally Jack would be drumming his fingers on the table right now, itching to escape. Yet here he was, listening and speaking, jesting at himself and offering tense but genuine smiles to his daughter.