My Heart's Desire

by Wendy Lindstrom

  He worked his fingers along her shoulders, in the way she’d done to him so many times. “What made you want to learn about the body and herbs and all those concoctions you make?” he asked.

  Desperation. Loneliness. “I tended my mother’s roses with her and discovered I liked growing things. When I realized that some medicines were made from plants and trees I wanted to learn about them, and that fed my curiosity about anatomy.”

  “You know what I thought the first time I saw you?”

  “Nothing. Your mind was blank because you were stunned by my beauty”

  He pulled back, eyes wide in mock surprise. “You knew?”

  She laughed and nudged his ribs. “What did you think?”

  “That you shouldn’t be sad. That your whiskey-colored eyes should shine with happiness, that your beautiful lips should always wear a smile.”

  He’d thought all that? She smoothed her palms over his knuckles, touched by his tenderness. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Being with you is... it’s…I don’t know, I just feel complete in a way I’ve never known.”

  “You won’t want for anything if I can help it.”

  “Neither will you, Duke. If I could give you your heart’s desire, I would.”

  “You have, Faith. You are my heart’s desire. Simple as that.”

  “That’s all you want?”

  “It’s everything I need.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The urgent pounding on the front door brought Duke to full attention. He tossed aside the newspaper, and headed to the foyer. “Adam, stay in the parlor and keep Cora with you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Duke opened the door to find a woman he didn’t know standing on his porch, white-faced and trembling. “I’m Millie, and I’m staying with Anna. Her husband b-broke in and he has a gun.”

  Shock and fury rushed through Duke. Larry Levens was in prison for life. He had killed two men, one of them a deputy sheriff. He’d beaten Anna half to death five years ago and could only be out for revenge now. “Wait here with my wife.”

  The terrified woman stepped inside as Faith hurried into the foyer.

  Duke opened the closet. “Anna’s husband broke out of prison,” he said, wondering why he hadn’t been notified of the man’s escape. He took his gun belt off the top shelf and strapped it on. He opened the chamber, made sure the revolver was loaded, and asked Millie if anyone else was at Anna’s house. It would be safest if it was only Anna and Larry, but Duke half-hoped someone like Boyd, who lived across the street, was there to distract Levens until he could get his hands on the wretch.

  “Dahlia’s there,” Millie said. “Larry hit her with his gun. I ran out the back door like Anna told me to do.”

  Faith gasped and caught Duke’s hand. “Hurry, please! Anna and Dahlia could already be dead.”

  “Stay put, sweetheart. I’ll get Dahlia home safely.”

  He gave Faith a quick kiss then bolted outside, cutting across lots behind several buildings. He came out on Main Street and jogged up West Hill. Slowing his pace, he crept close to Anna’s home, once the Pemberton Inn that had housed his brother’s saloon. He crouched beneath the windows and stayed close to the building, hoping to get into Anna’s home through the small storeroom in the back. Anna’s pained cry, and Dahlia’s vivid, angry curse, bled through the plank walls.

  With light steps, Duke eased inside and crossed the storeroom. He inched open the door that led into Anna’s community room.

  Levens had Anna bent backward over her sofa, with his hand pressed to her throat and his gun barrel planted between her eyes. Dahlia sat frozen at the piano, her face contorted with horror.

  “Please,” Dahlia croaked. “She’s your wife.”

  “Shut up, wench, or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes, too.”

  “Don’t do this,” Dahlia begged.

  Duke drew his revolver. He needed to be fast and accurate. Because Levens would shoot; he had nothing left to lose.

  Gun cocked, breath even, Duke slipped inside, one silent step at a time.

  “Five miserable years I sat in that hole because of you,” Levens said, his nose an inch from Anna’s face.

  Duke raised his revolver and locked his elbow.

  The flash of surprise in Anna’s eyes gave him away: Levens swung his pistol and fired. The bullet shattered the plaster behind Duke’s head. Duke ducked into the storeroom. A second shot splintered the pine door. Finger on the trigger, he leapt back into the room, but the coward was shielding himself with Anna.

  Levens fired again, and the bullet whizzed by Duke’s right ear. The man’s aim was getting hotter.

  Duke angled for a clear shot that could bring Levens down, but before he could squeeze the trigger, a wild screech filled the room as Dahlia swung the piano bench into the back of Levens’s head. The wood cracked on impact.

  The man stumbled forward but didn’t fall. He grabbed Dahlia and slammed her to the floor so hard the windows rattled.

  Now, Duke fired.

  The bullet hit Levens in the shoulder and spun him sideways.

  Lunging like a tiger, Duke dove into the man’s side, taking him to the floor and knocking the gun from his hand.

  Levens scrabbled for his pistol, but Anna kicked it away. With a howl of outrage, he lunged at her, fist raised. “You traitorous witch!”

  Duke hauled him back before the man could slam his fist into his wife’s already-bloody face. Pain screamed through his shoulder as he forced Levens’s arm up and snapped a handcuff around his wrist.

  The man’s enraged howl filled the room. Levens yanked away and lunged at Anna with a vicious growl.

  Duke grabbed the cuff dangling from Larry’s wrist, but before he could haul him down, the crack of a pistol sent Levens to his knees. Blood stained the thigh of his trousers where Dahlia had shot him.

  She stood in front of them, her eyes bleak.

  The man growled like a rabid dog and tried to get to his feet, but his injured leg collapsed and he fell to his knee. Duke slapped the other cuff around Larry’s wrist, binding the man’s hands behind his back.

  “I will not going back to prison!” With an enraged growl, Levens lunged at Dahlia, yanking the cuffs on his bound wrists, and wrenching Duke’s shoulder.

  “Neither will Anna,” Dahlia said. And she pulled the trigger.

  The bullet knocked Levens backward over his boot heels and yanked the linked cuff chain from Duke’s raw hand. Larry’s head cracked on the coffee table as he crashed to the floor.

  The front door flew open, and Duke reached for his revolver hoping it wasn’t one of Larry’s friends coming in to help the man.

  It was Boyd who stormed inside. He gave the room a sweeping glance and rushed to where Duke crouched beside Levens. “What’s happening here?” he asked.

  Duke’s breath shuddered out. “Anna’s husband paid her a visit.”

  “What’s he doing out of prison?”

  “Getting himself killed.”

  Boyd had met Levens five years ago when the man tracked Anna to Claire’s house and threatened both women. Shortly after jailing the man, Duke had taken Anna to Pittsburgh to testify against her husband.

  Levens lay in a pool of blood. Duke checked for a pulse, knowing he wouldn’t find one; Dahlia had shot straight into Levens’s black heart. Levens had fought too hard and pushed too far. Maybe he’d known Dahlia would pull the trigger and end his miserable life. The abusive wretch deserved to be stopped, but Duke felt a crushing weight settle on his shoulders. Dahlia had knowingly and willingly killed a man.

  Faith put the children to bed then waited in the silent parlor with Millie. They were too tense and scared to talk. Duke had been gone for an hour, and Dahlia hadn’t arrived yet.

  Someone knocked on the door at nine-thirty, and Faith’s heart nearly stopped when she found Doc Milton on her porch.

  “Larry Levens is dead.”

  Faith pressed trembling fingers to her dry throat. “Is Duke
... is he all right?”

  The doctor nodded. “Anna and Dahlia are at Boyd’s house. Duke will be home soon to explain what happened,” he said then offered to walk Millie to Boyd’s to be with Anna.

  Shaken and shivering, Faith grabbed a lantern and followed them outside. Alone with her worry, she buttoned her sweater against the chill then sat on the porch swing, listening to dry leaves scuttle across the ground and praying for Duke and Dahlia to hurry home.

  When they finally approached the house, Duke’s stride was shorter, his shoulders stiff. He wore a deep scowl and had his thumb hooked in the front of his gun belt, a sign that his shoulder was hurting. Dahlia was limping, and she pressed her hand to her hip as she slowly climbed the steps ahead of Duke.

  “Thank goodness you’re home!” Faith leapt from the porch swing and threw her arms around Duke. She hugged him hard and then turned to her aunt. “I was worried sick about you two. I’m so relieved that you’re all right”

  “I’m not.” Dahlia stared across the porch, her face ravaged by grief or pain or both. “I killed Anna’s husband.”

  Faith’s heart stopped, and then she saw the anguish in Duke’s eyes and the strain around his compressed lips. Something awful had happened.

  “I had to.” Dahlia clamped her lips together, but couldn’t hold back her tears. “He wouldn’t have stopped,” she cried. “They never stop.”

  Faith pulled Dahlia onto the swing and sat beside her. “What happened?”

  Breathy sobs shook the woman’s shoulders. “I begged Daddy to let me come home. He said, ‘Obey your husband.’”

  Faith frowned, confused by Dahlia’s rambling.

  “I tried, God help me I did. But Carl wouldn’t stop.”

  As understanding dawned, sickness washed through Faith. Dahlia was telling her own story. She said she’d witnessed a woman being beaten by her husband, and that a minister refused to give her refuge. But that beaten woman was Dahlia, and the minister was her own father.

  “Oh, Dahlia....” At a loss for words, Faith rocked her aunt.

  “I didn’t want any man to touch me ever again.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “Your mother let me stay in her house anyhow, and it was a whole year b-before I could work upstairs.”

  Faith’s heart contracted, and she pulled Dahlia close. “Shhh...” she whispered, comforting Dahlia and warning her not to divulge any more in front of Duke, whose bleak expression had changed to a sickly, suspicious scowl.

  Dahlia stiffened and sat up by degrees, as if she knew she’d said too much. “I want go home.” She wiped her palms across her cheeks and looked at Duke. “Unless you’re taking me to jail.”

  “What? Why would he?” Faith pressed her hand to her churning stomach. “Are you arresting her, Duke?”

  His somber look terrified her.

  “You can’t... that man killed people.”

  “I know, Faith, but...” He released a hard, shuddering breath. “Go home and rest, Dahlia.”

  The torment in his eyes killed any relief Faith expected to feel. Whatever had happened at Anna’s was torturing him.

  Dahlia got to her feet. “I’m sorry about everything,” she said, but Faith didn’t know if she was apologizing for saying too much, or for what she had done at Anna’s.

  She walked Dahlia across the street. Tansy was out with Cyrus, but Aster fixed Dahlia a cup of tea, and Iris rubbed balm on her sore back. When Faith returned home, Duke was waiting on the porch. She gave him a hard, thankful hug, needing to touch him to know that he was okay.

  “I was so worried about you,” she said. She sensed he wouldn’t talk about what happened at Anna’s, so she simply held him and listened to the peepers.

  “Faith, what kind of work did Dahlia do upstairs at your mother’s house?”

  Fear drizzled down her body like a freezing rain, coating her with ice. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak.

  “Who are those women you call your aunts?” he asked, his voice flat, controlled, cold.

  This was the moment she would crash to the hard unforgiving ground and everything would shatter: her body, her heart, her life.

  “They’re my aunts, like Rebecca is Evelyn’s daughter,” she said, wanting him to understand her love for them.

  His nod acknowledged her right to claim the women as family, but she could see the truth dawning in his eyes.

  “Your mother didn’t just sell roses, did she?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did all your aunts work upstairs at your mother’s house?”

  She nodded because she couldn’t speak past the shame clogging her throat.

  He inhaled sharply, as if the truth had speared him in the chest, and his appalled expression broke her heart.

  “I knew you would look at me with disgust.”

  “How would you expect me to look?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “For God’s sake, your mother ran a brothel!” He stared at her as if seeing an unwelcome stranger on his porch. “Did you... were you...” His breath rushed out as if he couldn’t bear to ask the question.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I only gave massages.”

  “Stop!” Duke raised his hand, unable to listen to his wife any longer. He couldn’t stomach the thought of her hands on another man. His heart twisted into a painful knot. This was why his gut had kept insisting there was something she was hiding. And he suspected she was hiding more.

  “I had to think of Adam and Cora,” she said, tears brimming her eyes.

  Two hours ago her quavering voice would have wrenched his heart with sympathy. Now it left him cold.

  “Duke, I needed to get them away from the brothel. How could I do that by announcing where we came from?”

  She couldn’t have. He understood that. If anyone had known Faith’s mother ran a brothel and her aunts were prostitutes, Faith and her family would have been run out of town. If anyone discovered the truth now, their lives would be ruined. Her life. His life. His mother’s and brothers’ lives.

  And she’d married him knowing this.

  Her betrayal sliced through him. One slip of the tongue, and Faith’s reputation, and his own, would be ruined. His family’s reputation would be shattered and the sawmill business would suffer as well as Radford and Evelyn’s livery. All because he’d been a blind fool.

  “Who else knows about this?” he asked.

  “My aunts and Adam. We lived behind the brothel.”

  “How could any mother—” He pinched the bridge of his nose, furious that any child was exposed to such a life. No wonder Adam had a worldly look in his eyes. Who knew what the boy had seen, and what he’d shared with Rebecca.

  “I don’t know how she stayed,” Faith said, her soft voice wringing his emotions. “I couldn’t bear raising Adam and Cora there. That’s why I changed my name and came here, to give us all a decent life.”

  “You what?”

  “My last name is Dearborn.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing away the headache throbbing behind his eyes. He understood her need to protect the children, but to lie and change her name and let him walk into their marriage blind.

  Radford had been right to be concerned, and he himself had been a fool.

  He felt deflated and cold and sick inside. And stupid. She had brought this mess to his doorstep, and he, being the fool Radford had accused him of being, had opened the door and welcomed her into his life.

  “I had to do it, Duke. I couldn’t take a chance of having my name being traced back to that brothel.”

  “Then why didn’t you change Adam’s name?”

  “I would have, but...” She huffed out a breath. “He’s a boy. He wasn’t thinking when he told you his name.”

  It sickened Duke that the boy would even have to lie about something like that. “I married a woman named Faith Wilkins, not Faith Dearborn. Do you realize I could annul our marriage on those grounds?”r />
  Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes flooded and she shook her head. “You can’t... Duke, no.” She clutched his hands. “If you annul it... oh, God, think of Cora.” Tears spilled over her lashes. “Please, Duke, you can’t do that. You can’t tell anyone about this or we’ll be driven away in shame.”

  Her tears gouged his heart. His anger choked him.

  “Don’t punish them because of me,” she pleaded. “I’m the guilty one. Don’t cast out two innocent children.”

  “Those innocent children are my responsibility now. How could I cast them out?”

  “Because you hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you. I hate lies. I hate being stupid. I hate being deceived.” He slammed his hand on the porch column. “I hate this burden you’ve put on my conscience!”

  “I had to,” she whispered, killing him with those sorrow-filled eyes. “I’ll get rid of the brothel as soon as I can.”

  His blood ran cold. “You own that place?”

  Her sheepish nod heated his neck and doubled his heartbeat. What she owned, he owned.

  Fury turned his voice to ice. “Do you know what will happen to my job and my family if anyone discovers that my wife, that I, own a brothel?”

  She shivered and clutched her sweater tighter. “I want to sell it, but I can’t find the deed. My mother had no will, and I haven’t been able to talk to a lawyer about this.”

  He gritted his teeth and faced the chill breeze, struggling to control his outrage. “Who was your mother’s lawyer?”

  “I don’t know. None of us knew anything about her affairs. She may not have even had a lawyer.”

  His fists clenched and his shoulder ached deep in the socket. “Where are her papers? Surely she had some?”

  “Just a key and a guestbook.”

  He faced his deceitful wife. “A what?”

  “Mama recorded the guests and their fees in a book. I don’t know what the key is for. It didn’t fit her jewelry box or any locks in the house.”

  Guests? The euphemism repulsed him, and he suddenly hated Faith’s mother. “Get the book.”

  “The deed isn’t there.”