He knew he shouldn’t ask. He knew he shouldn’t make her say it. But he wanted to be clear about what she was saying. Just in case he had misunderstood. “Miss?” Was his voice as hoarse as he feared it sounded?
She raised her head and looked him directly in the eye. But whereas before there was light in her expression, nothing remained but flat resignation. “You didn’t misinterpret what I said, sir. Daniel Bushnell asked me to become his mistress. And though I no longer had stars in my eyes where he was concerned, I knew I had little choice in the matter. I said yes.”
His body protested each word she said. “You were Colonel Bushnell’s mistress?” he said slowly. She’d belonged to Bushnell. One of the slickest, most corrupt officers he’d ever had the misfortune to know.
Pain entered her eyes. “I was. I felt I had no choice. My financial situation was dire. My grandmother and I were literally starving. I had to do something.”
“And that was all you could think of?” he asked, his voice harsh. Scathing.
She drew back. “I had no other options, sir.”
“Really? Or did you not want to be patient? I imagine many a man would have come up to heel in a few months.”
“That wasn’t going to happen. No other man had shown any interest in me, and as I told you, we were already starving. And now I was ruined.” She shrugged. “I don’t suppose it really matters. I entered an agreement with him that morning.”
“You agreed to continue to lie with him for money.” He didn’t bother to hide the disdain in his voice.
“Yes.” Her face was a mask of control now. “He said he’d married young, and neither he nor his wife was happy. He was determined to find happiness elsewhere.”
“And you believed him?”
She lifted her chin. “Do you want the truth, Captain? The truth is no, I didn’t believe him. I thought he’d lied to me, taken advantage of me, ruined my innocence, and erased the dreams I’d had. But I had no choice.”
“What about your grandmother? What about your mother? Your sister? Surely they advised you against it.”
“My grandmother was happy to have food and firewood. I don’t know if she even realized how it had all come to be. If she did? Well, she pretended she didn’t understand. When he was here that night, she was already fading …”
Pain flickered in her eyes. It was obvious she was hurt that he was forcing her to talk more about this. “At first my mother said she understood. Eventually, though, my reputation became too much for her to bear. I don’t know what she told my sister, but I stopped hearing from both of them. I only know they are well through a friend.”
“Yet you continued that alliance.”
“It was a great many things, sir, but an alliance it was not.”
“Perhaps it was more of a dalliance, instead,” he said before he thought better of it.
“Well, I lived here, kept this home afloat, and opened the doors to the colonel whenever he came.” Her voice softened. “With that money, and because that money allowed me to engage Bula, I was able to care for my grandmother until she died, and pay for her funeral as well.”
He knew he was being judgmental. He knew sharing this wasn’t easy for her to do. She could have simply turned him away at her door or kept up a pretense. Yet she’d elected to tell him her true standing.
He should leave, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from prying even further. “Are you still Bushnell’s kept woman?”
She looked surprised. “I am not.”
“What happened?” he asked, hating that he even cared.
“Eventually the war ended. He, of course, went back to his wife.” She looked out the window. “Or maybe he found someone new. A woman younger.”
“So he was the one who ended it.”
“I’m not sure if that is always the case, but yes, Captain, in my case, that is how my ‘association’ with this man ended. He gave me an envelope of money and told me he would not be back.” She sighed and at last looked at him again. “I used part of it to buy sewing supplies and started making clothes for some women in the area to support myself and keep this house in good repair. Even if more women had been able to afford new clothes during the war, I couldn’t sew when my time and energy were reserved for caring for my grandmother. The rest I put away for safekeeping.” She sat back in her chair. “So that is how I came to be living here on my own.”
“Does anyone even associate with you? Beyond your sewing customers?”
She paused, as if she was attempting to regain her composure. When she spoke, her voice was arched. “What do you think, Captain?”
It all made sense now. Why he’d only seen her walking alone, never with other women or companions. The reason she had no other callers and was surprised to see him at her door.
She was nothing like the gentle lady he had imagined. She was used. She had traded in both her respect and her reputation. She said her circumstances had been dire, that she’d only been trying to survive. But was that true? Had Miss Van Fleet simply wanted more comfort while the South was at war?
Suddenly realizing he was sitting in the chair Bushnell had no doubt occupied many times, Devin sprang to his feet.
She watched him with wide eyes.
“I knew Colonel Bushnell,” he said coldly.
With great deliberation, she stood as well. “Then you know what Daniel was like.”
“I know the type of man he was. I not only served under him during the height of the war, but we were interred in the officers’ prison camp on Johnson’s Island together.”
Surprise flickered in her eyes. “He hated that camp so much.”
“I’m sure he did. I certainly hated being stuck there with him.” With far too many memories of the man fresh in his mind, he continued. “He was the worst sort of man. Entitled. Lazy. Mercurial.” He could have gone on and on. Described how he’d used people to his benefit. How he was sure the man would have sacrificed his own mother if it would have benefited him.
Julianne looked shaken, but she didn’t dispute his words. “So you did know him,” she said softly.
“You knew these things too? You knew these things and still allowed him …” He couldn’t even finish his statement.
She reached out a hand and gripped the edge of the chair behind her. Only then did she sit back down. “I came to know more about Bushnell’s ways than either of us would care to discuss. Good day, Captain Monroe,” she said after she arranged her skirts. “I trust you can see yourself out.”
Indeed, he could. He turned on his heel and strode out of the room. He was shutting her front door firmly behind him mere seconds later.
Heading toward his horse, sharp indignation flew through him. After waiting for most of his life to find a prospective bride, he’d centered on the most unsuitable woman.
What a fool he’d been!
He had devoted so much time to her. He’d dreamed about her. Imagined how pure and sweet she was. Had concocted a story in his head about how she’d been waiting for him too. How he hadn’t been the only person to believe in fate and the value of patience.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
This is nothing you don’t deserve, Devin, he told himself. You ignored scores of perfectly lovely women, sure that none of them was the right match. And because of that, you’ve lived alone, only taking comfort in dreams. You should have dreamed less and lived more.
Mounting his horse, Midge, he rode off her street, out of her town. Determined never to return.
He only hoped he could forget Julianne Van Fleet just as quickly.
But just like the worst moments on the battlefield, he had a feeling the moments in her company would be forever seared into his brain. A constant reminder of his faults and the danger in believing in dreams.
7
Julianne was alone in her house once again. Nothing she wasn’t used to.
So why did she feel so lonely?
Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into
the entryway, at the door that had just closed in her face. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still felt like one.
It had been two years since she’d seen Daniel. Two years of blissful freedom.
Contrary to how Devin obviously viewed it, she most definitely had not entered into her arrangement with him lightly. It had been exactly as she’d told the captain—a decision born out of fear and hunger and a willingness to do whatever it took to survive.
Though it hadn’t been what she wanted, she knew women who had suffered far greater pain and injury than she had, especially since she hadn’t seen Daniel all that much.
After entering their agreement, he’d gone back to his regiment, returning to her only a few times. He spent most of the next two years in battle, and then in his confinement on Johnson’s Island.
When he was gone, she didn’t have to endure his abuse.
And she’d tried to make him out to be better than he was. She wanted to believe he was a brave man, responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of men. He’d been captured and then fought for survival while in the hands of the enemy. He deserved her loyalty, didn’t he? Especially since all he asked of her during his absences was correspondence.
She wrote to him. Dutifully, twice a week. Tried to think of entertaining stories about her days, most of which were greatly exaggerated. When he wrote her back and asked if she missed him, if she longed for him, it was easy to lie and say she did. After all, it was because of his funds that she hadn’t starved.
However, she learned something about survival. She learned there was a great variance between being respected and being shunned. As word of her arrangement became public knowledge in Boerne, people of good faith began to avoid her. Eventually decent women wouldn’t even look her in the eye. She didn’t blame them. After all, there had been a time when she would have treated someone like her the same way.
After her grandmother died and she could leave home more often, the minister still permitted her in church. But she felt his disapproval. Once, she was fairly sure she was the subject of his sermon.
It had been hard. At first she’d been bitter. But then, as the months passed, she decided she needed to do something besides sit by herself in her home. She took some of Bushnell’s money, bought chickens and seeds, and planted a large garden. Worked on it painstakingly. Then shared as much of her bounty as she could with anyone else in need. She’d volunteered at the hospital, working with injured soldiers.
By the end of the war, she had no friends, exactly. But she wasn’t nearly the pariah she’d been before. She could go to the mercantile for supplies easily enough. Even sit in the back of the church without others turning to stare.
She almost—almost—pretended she was respectable again.
Then he came back.
She still felt sick when she remembered how awful he looked. He was so terribly thin. His skin sallow, two of his teeth rotten. And he wanted … well, what he came for.
She’d had no choice but to give him that. For one week.
He’d been rough—more than before. He’d hurt her. Scared her. At times he was cruel.
War had changed him, from bad to worse. And by the time he was finished with her, bruised and pale—desolate—she realized she’d been a fool to think accepting that arrangement had been right.
No, it had been everything wrong.
She’d prayed for his abuse to stop. Prayed for any kind of relief. Then, miraculously, her prayers were answered. He told her he had no use for her anymore. He gave her an envelope of money, said he was returning to his wife, and left. She was free.
She didn’t know where he was now, and she didn’t care. All she had known for some time was that she didn’t need much to survive. Until today, when she’d been almost courted by Captain Devin Monroe. That was when she realized she couldn’t have been more wrong. She needed peace and acceptance and happiness. But those things were going to once again be out of her precious grasp. There was nothing she could do about it either.
She never thought her future would be so cruel.
Late the next morning Julianne forced herself to get up and perform her usual preparations. She looked in the mirror and tried to care about the smudges under her eyes and the lines of strain around her lips.
After brushing her hair a hundred times like her mother had long ago taught her, she pinned it up, slipped on a warm dress made of blackberry-colored soft wool that she’d made two months earlier, and then put on her cloak. She needed to get out of her house. More importantly, she needed to banish Devin Monroe and the silly, girlish dreams he’d brought out in her from her mind. He wasn’t going to come back, and he wasn’t going to change his mind about her.
The longer she dwelled on what she couldn’t change, the more depressed she’d be. Deciding that her walk was as much for her well-being as anything else, she left a note for Bula, who was out shopping. Then she set off toward Boerne’s only diner for an early lunch. After all, she hadn’t had any breakfast.
The temperature had dropped overnight, and the cold had made the dirt roads hard and the air crisp. It felt exhilarating, and it improved her mood and outlook. She hoped her brisk pace combined with the cool air brought some needed color to her cheeks.
As she walked the few short blocks to the town square, several people nodded in her direction. A few even stopped to exchange pleasantries. Oh, how things had changed from when she was known to everyone as only Bushnell’s ladybird.
Now, though some sticklers made a great show of walking to the other side of the street when she approached, most folks in town seemed as determined to move on as she was. Time—and the fact that she now lived so visibly alone—had done miracles for her reputation. She might always be whispered about as a woman with a questionable past, but she was no longer treated with overt contempt and scorn. It was a welcome relief—and a welcome reminder after Devin’s departure the day before.
Once she arrived in Bonnie’s Café, she greeted the owner, then walked to her usual spot, the corner booth in the back of the room. She would have some soup and a piece of their roasted chicken, then walk back home, maybe even taking the time to stroll around the town square.
When she was halfway through her bowl of vegetable beef soup, a young man and lady approached her. Well-dressed and extremely proper looking, they were a handsome pair. They also looked apprehensive about speaking to her, but determined too.
She looked up at them and smiled slightly. Perhaps they were lost or needed directions.
“Miss Van Fleet?” the woman said.
“Yes?”
After the man gave what could only be described as an encouraging nod, the woman spoke again. “My name is Abby Bernard. This is my brother, Carl. May we join you?”
“I’m sorry, but you have me at a disadvantage. Do we know each other?”
“We do. Well, we do, after a fashion,” Carl said.
“I’m afraid I still don’t follow.”
“That’s what we want to talk with you about,” Abby said. Gesturing toward the two empty spaces across from Julianne, she said, “May we join you? I promise we won’t take up too much of your time.”
She was curious now. “All right.”
As the pair got settled, she eyed them inquisitively. Upon closer inspection, Julianne realized their clothing wasn’t quite as good quality as she first thought. Miss Bernard’s gown was well fitted, but there were marks from frequent alterations. The ends of the blue ribbons on her bonnet were slightly frayed. Her brother had on a smart-looking brown suit, but it had turned-in sleeves and cuffs.
Her first impression had been that they were in their early twenties, but now she determined their ages were closer to late teens, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. The boy’s build was still lanky, all arms and legs, and the girl still had the full cheeks of youth. Both looked very much like the siblings they were, with fair skin and thick brown hair—only the girl’s eyes were dark blue while the young man’s eyes were a caramel color.
After another moment of awkward silence, the boy spoke at last. “Miss, I’m afraid there’s no delicate way to begin …”
The girl nodded, looking rather embarrassed.
As the time stretched out again, Julianne began to grow impatient. “Perhaps you could simply start at the beginning. That usually works for me.”
“All right, then,” Miss Bernard said. “As you might imagine, we were children during the war. Our parents lived over near New Braunfels.”
New Braunfels was not far, but at least several hours by horseback. “Is that where you reside now?”
Carl shook his head. “When the war broke out, our pa went off to fight. When he left, our mother, well, she had a tough time of it.”
“She was with child, you see,” Abby interjected.
Julianne fought to keep her expression neutral. Though their history was mildly interesting, she could sense nothing that pertained to her. “Ah.”
“She ended up dying in childbirth,” she continued. “God rest her soul.”
“I’m, uh, very sorry. And your father? How did he fare?”
“He didn’t survive either. He died in the war.”
“So you two have had your share of hardship.” Again, she felt sympathy for their past, but nothing in their story was unfamiliar. One would be hard-pressed to find a single person in Texas who hadn’t lost either a parent or sibling.
When they both nodded, she tried to think of another reason why they wanted to speak with her. She couldn’t think of one. Feeling vaguely uncomfortable, she said, “While I certainly feel for your loss, I am not sure how it pertains to me.”
Carl cleared his throat. “Of course not.” He began to speak more quickly. “You see, after our mother passed, we were on our own. So we were sent to live with a relative here. Our aunt, Dora Feldman.”
“Dora?”
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