Angel's Embrace

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “So now he’s meaner than a stirred-up snake,” Billy murmured. They were walking the horses now, far enough behind Mama that she wouldn’t sense their presence.

  “Which was why I already had my men surrounding the grounds, not knowing you’d show up before Virgilia did,” Harte continued. “And that’s why I slipped inside to cover her at close range while she was sweet-talking Wesley.”

  “He sure wasn’t sweet-talkin’ her back.” Billy’s grip tightened on his reins as he recalled his twin’s malicious threats. From their vantage point behind some trees, he saw Mama’s wagon stop just before the Massena place.

  “That’s why we’d better wait at the hotel. Virgilia’s putting on a good act for Eve, but she’ll be upset once she’s alone.”

  Billy nodded, pondering what he’d heard just now—piecing it together with Eve’s stories in Abilene. “I don’t understand how Mama got here so fast, though—and with Olivia,” he mused, watching the sunlight glisten in Eve’s upswept hair. “After all, she had to go back to Abilene to fetch the baby, and—”

  The detective’s low laugh riffled his mustache. “Never underestimate your mother,” he said proudly. “Her keen intelligence was what first attracted me to her. The way she puzzled things out faster than anyone else.

  “I wasn’t surprised when Virgilia insisted on going straight to Richmond, instead of home from the Malloys’, but I did not expect to see several telegrams she’d decoded. Telegrams about Wesley’s dealings with Leland Massena.”

  Billy considered this carefully. “So she already knew my brother was holed up at home.”

  “But knew better than to go there alone,” Carlton confirmed. “And when we saw you and Eve at the Abilene train station without the baby—”

  “Mama went back for her.”

  “And we were on the next eastbound train. She’d threatened to blow my cover—to inform Wesley we were on his trail—so I had no choice but to swear I’d stay back in town.”

  A grin twitched at Billy’s lips. “Sounds like Mama, all right. I don’t know what they’re doin’ in the back of that wagon,” he added, nodding toward the two women, “but Eve and her mother don’t stand any more of a chance against Mama than you do.”

  Carlton turned his horse down a side street. “Might as well get some dinner uptown and then wait for her. She’s sly and she’s strong, but Virgilia’s got a chink in her armor when it comes to her boys. Might take us both to smooth her ruffled feathers—and dry her tears.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eve climbed carefully over the back of the buckboard seat, envying Virgilia Harte’s agility. The woman in purple might be dressed in her Sunday best, looking like the prosperous rancher’s wife she had been years ago, but Eve sensed Billy’s mother always hid a proverbial ace or two up her stylish sleeve.

  “I thought we were taking Olivia to see my mother.”

  “And we are,” Mrs. Harte replied as she took the lid from a large box in the back of the wagon. “But no girl should meet her grandma without being properly dressed for the occasion.”

  With a flourish, Virgilia lifted layers of tissue paper to reveal a collection of little dresses—some plain, and some frilly, and trimmed with lace. She took out a calico dress with a yellow rose design, and then her eyes widened in delight. “This lavender satin one is so gorgeous! Where on earth—?”

  “Mercy Malloy wants you to have them,” came the pleased reply. “Her little girls outgrew these long ago, but they’re still serviceable.”

  “Serviceable? They look new!” Eve blinked back tears, riffling carefully through the box, which contained more than twenty dresses.

  “Mercy and Temple sewed most of them, and Agatha Vanderbilt tatted the lace accents you see.” Virgilia looked up with the fondest smile Eve had ever seen—but of course, it was really for the baby in the basket.

  With a girlish giggle, Mrs. Harte lifted Olivia to her shoulder and then pointed to the box of clothes. “You choose, Livvy! So many pretty dresses you have now. Some to grow into, but several are just right, aren’t they? Show your mama what you want to wear, sweetheart!”

  As Eve held the colorful dresses up before her, Olivia gurgled happily. She was secretly pleased that her little girl let out a loud “Aah!” for the lavender satin dress. Who knew if she was choosing or just making new noises? But it was enough to satisfy her and her grandma.

  As Virgilia laid the baby on the blanket from her basket, changed Olivia’s diaper, and then slipped her chubby arms into the lace-trimmed sleeves, Eve once more envied the ease with which the redheaded woman handled her grandchild. Her own mothering skills lagged so far behind. . . .

  But when Virgilia held the baby up to show her off, Eve’s joy wiped away her misgivings. “What a pretty girl!” she cooed, holding out her hands. “Mama’s little angel! And you’re growing so big, so fast!”

  When Olivia flapped her arms as though she had wings to fly, Eve’s heart rose into her throat. What an amazing feeling, to see this child so excited about her! Wanting her—even though she’d left Olivia behind for a trumped-up mission. Why had she wasted a single moment trying to get even with Wesley, when this precious little girl needed her so much more?

  Precious. Now there was a word that seldom popped into her mind!

  Something shifted inside Eve. As she took Olivia to her shoulder, she wanted to laugh and cry and rock her daughter and tell her so many things—

  But first they must see Mother.

  Eve sighed—although the sound was more content, more confident than before. “Thank you, Virgilia,” she breathed, nuzzling Olivia’s downy head. “I can’t thank you enough for bringing my little girl to me.”

  “Well, I had to coax her away from Mercy and Temple Gates,” Billy’s mother admitted with a grin. “The Malloys just dote on children. Goodness knows I owe them a tremendous debt for the way they took Billy and Christine in when I—when I did some very unmotherly things myself. We all make our mistakes, Eve. There’s just no getting around that.”

  Eve nodded, swaying with the baby. She hadn’t always liked this woman when she was Mrs. Bristol. But then, maybe that was because her own mother had felt Virgilia acted uppity and superior back before the war.

  That was a long time ago. Right now, as she gazed toward her mother’s more modest home, Eve realized that she, too, had some fences to mend—and if her mother rejected Olivia, she would make a new home for this baby somehow. When it came right down to it, she was the only person on the face of this earth in whom little Olivia could put her innocent trust.

  What an unexpected revelation. And as Eve climbed down from the wagon, taking her little girl from Virgilia’s firm, gloved hands, she felt the weight of that responsibility in a deep, deep way.

  Virgilia stepped to the ground, smoothed her hat, and squared her shoulders. With a resolute smile, she strode toward the front door. “No time like the present,” she murmured. “And no present like a grandchild.”

  How did she do it? Eve dared not lag behind this woman who, an hour ago, had withstood a malicious rejection from the son she’d thought she’d lost. Somehow Mrs. Harte had endured the ultimate disappointment while Wesley pelted her with his pointed, poisoned words.

  Yet here she was, rapping smartly on the tarnished knocker while radiating an aura of confidence and the supreme belief that her mission with Olivia could not fail.

  From the front parlor came strains of piano music, and her mother’s clear, high soprano:

  There were ninety and nine that safely lay

  In the shelter of the fold,

  But one was out on the hills far away,

  Far off from the gates of gold.

  Eve sighed at the words of the familiar song, noting how that voice didn’t sound quite as strong these days. Had Mother heard their knock? Or was she ignoring it? Eve hoped she would cooperate, because Florence Massena could load up her temper and shoot off angry words like ammunition—words that would never completely lose th
eir sting.

  But all through the mountains, thunder riven,

  And up from the rocky steep,

  There arose a glad cry to the gate of heaven,

  “Rejoice! I have found my sheep!”

  And the angels echoed around the throne,

  “Rejoice for the Lord brings back His own!

  Rejoice for the Lord brings back His own.”

  Virgilia knocked again, more insistently. The music stopped.

  Behind the door they heard quiet footsteps. They stood taller, smiles fixed on their faces. When Olivia let out a wail, Eve realized how tightly she was holding the poor child.

  Mother opened the door. For a few painfully silent moments, she glared at them.

  “Miss Olivia has requested the honor of making her Grandmother Massena’s acquaintance,” Mrs. Harte began boldly. “Have you ever seen such a princess? She—”

  “I don’t know what you’re up to, Virgilia,” Eve’s mother replied tightly, “but from I’ve heard about your adventures, you and Eve—and Wesley!—are three of a kind. I won’t have you contaminating my home!”

  “Don’t be a fool, Flo!” Virgilia shot back, grabbing the door before the other woman could slam it. “This baby—and the daughter you’ve denied—need you. More than you know!”

  Tears prickled in her eyes, but somehow Eve stood firm, rocking Olivia. She’d anticipated such humiliating words from her mother, but she was nonetheless hurt by them. Yet beside her, Billy’s mother held herself regally erect; proud, but not haughty.

  “Why do you want to live alone, in a house haunted by a painful past,” she asked quietly, “when you could welcome a whole new life? For yourself, as well as for Eve and your grandchild.”

  Florence tossed her head, her nose aimed at the ceiling. “Is that what you were doing—welcoming a new life?—when you abandoned your children so you could run wild with that—that rapacious Englishman?”

  Virgilia Harte cleared her throat, her gaze still fixed on the woman standing before them. Mother showed no signs of letting them in, so Eve held her baby close, as much to protect Olivia from such ugliness as to draw comfort from her solid, warm body.

  “I admit that I wasn’t thinking clearly after my husband was killed,” Billy’s mama replied. Her words were measured, chosen so Mother couldn’t miss the parallels. “I made some outrageous mistakes after I lost my home, Flo—all in the name of enjoying myself and the attentions of a handsome man.”

  Her mother started to protest, but Virgilia held up a slender, gloved hand with the bearing of a queen.

  “I realize now that Leland foreclosed on our home because of political pressure and the unfortunate financial effects of the war,” she went on. “I’ve let that go, Flo. Tried to put it behind me, that one of our family’s closest friends betrayed us so grievously.”

  Virgilia held Mother’s gaze, ever the mistress of the purposeful pause. “And because I, too, have lost a husband—the mainstay of my family at that time—I’m sincerely sorry for your loss, Florence,” she said softly. “We flounder beneath such a heavy burden, and your disowning Eve is every bit as wrong as my galavanting around the West after deserting Billy and Christine.”

  Were those tears shining in Mother’s eyes? Eve, too, felt like crying at Mrs. Harte’s touching confession, but she clenched her jaw. She stood taller, facing Olivia out, so she could see her grandmother’s face and hear her voice. Just in case she never met this thin, weary woman again.

  “I will also admit that while I chided Christine for chasing after me, demanding the reasons for my behavior, it was the daughter I’d abandoned who saved my life.” She paused again, letting her words soak in. “You see, Flo, had Christine not searched so persistently for me, I’d have rotted in a Chinatown alley. That high-toned—rapacious—Englishman left me for dead when I no longer met his nefarious needs.”

  The pale face before them lifted in surprise, but Mother kept her hand on the door as though she might slam it anyway. “Why are you telling me this?” she rasped. “Why would I care what happened to you, after—”

  “Because you’re doing yourself and your family a horrible disservice, Flo!” Virgilia cried. “Perhaps my son and your daughter have done wrong in your eyes, but it’s a far greater mistake to widen this rift when Olivia needs a family! The Florence Massena I know held her standards higher than most, but she was not self-righteous to the point of being cruel. She put her family first. She was the mortar that held her home together.”

  When a little sob escaped her mother, Eve stepped forward to slip an arm around her. But Mother stiffened. When her expression changed from sorrow to disdain, Eve let go.

  “How can you expect me to welcome a child who looks exactly like the beast who ruined my daughter?”

  Eve’s mouth fell open. And as though little Olivia had understood every word, she began to squirm.

  “Mother, I can’t believe—how can you blame Olivia for her looks?” she demanded. “Didn’t you always dote on the way I so closely resembled my father? Do you think you’re the only one who’s been wounded by his betrayals?”

  Her pulse was pounding, but for a different reason now. She’d had that commandment—honor your father and your mother—drilled into her from her earliest days. She knew the consequences of disobeying it, even if her father was gone now. But she could take no more of this!

  “Do you think I like it that Daddy committed such heinous crimes against our friends and then killed himself, rather than face his shame?” Eve cried. It tore at her heart to say these things, but they must be heard. “You can sing your hymns about lost sheep, but it’s another thing entirely to welcome one home, isn’t it?”

  Never had she dared to condemn her mother in such a tone, with such pointed accusations. But the time for prim-and-proper behavior was long gone. Her child deserved a future that matched her sunny disposition and sky blue eyes. Not the shadows of this family’s past.

  Eve stood taller. The proud look on Virgilia’s face bolstered her courage. It felt good to express her anger, and to ask the questions her mother had always refused to answer.

  But if this was to be the last time she stood in this doorway, Eve had a few other things to say, as well. Olivia was squealing now, so she turned the baby to her shoulder, swaying side to side.

  “I’m sorry for the way I disgraced this family, Mother,” she breathed, although she felt sure she’d suffocate any minute. “And I’m sorry for my mistakes in judgment, and for falling prey to my need for attention and—and for what I thought might be love.”

  Eve looked away, blinking rapidly. Determined to finish what she’d started, she rocked Olivia faster, even though it only upset her child more.

  “Turns out I was just as full of myself as Wesley was, and I’m paying for it now,” she confessed above the baby’s wails. “But I will not subject this innocent child to your judgment, Mother. If you can’t accept my apology—and meet your granddaughter—well, I won’t bother you again. I’ll find a way to make a life for the two of us without you.”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, dear,” Billy’s mother said, slipping an arm around her. “Carlton and I are returning to Richmond. You and Olivia have a place with us as long as you need one.”

  Eve’s mouth fell open. She searched Virgilia’s face—was she saying this to goad Mother into accepting her and the baby? Surely this woman wasn’t returning here thinking she could reclaim her outlaw son! The parts of their conversation she’d overheard had not sounded promising.

  Yet Eve saw determination in those deep green eyes—determination mixed with pride and joy, and maybe even love.

  Eve blinked, holding Olivia closer. What had she done to deserve such acceptance? She fully realized what she’d lost today, but somehow she’d gained, as well. Just like that sheep in the song, who’d been reclaimed by one who went looking for a soul gone astray.

  Maybe Mother’s hymns had some relevance, after all. Who could have guessed Billy’s brazen
mother would be her personal shepherd?

  Virgilia Harte opened her arms, and Eve handed her the squalling baby. The red-haired woman began to coo and kiss and cuddle her granddaughter as though she had no mission in this world other than Olivia’s happiness.

  Didn’t everyone need such a guardian angel?

  “Thank you,” Eve breathed, smiling at Billy’s mama through her tears. In the length of a sentence, she’d been offered a place to stay: hope for her future, and her child’s.

  “Quite all right, dear,” Virgilia replied, smiling at the baby all the while. “We should be getting back so Miss Olivia can nap. Poor thing! Any girl would be fussy after traveling so far, only to be the subject of such unfortunate conversation.”

  Without another glance at Mother, Mrs. Harte swung around, swooping Olivia up and down as she headed toward the wagon. Etiquette dictated that Eve should at least say good-bye to her mother, but she could think of nothing more to say.

  They were halfway to the wagon when a quavering voice stopped them.

  “Eve! Virgilia, I—why don’t you come inside?” Florence called out. “The house is cool and quiet. Olivia can nap while we catch up on a few things.”

  “Well, now!” Virgilia whispered smugly. She glanced back toward the doorway, and then, of all things, she winked at Eve. “Let’s go in, before she changes her mind.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Billy stood at the registration desk of the Richmond Hotel, gazing at the fancy wallpaper and ornate chandelier that hung in the dining room. Carlton rang the desk bell, which brought a slender cleaning girl around the corner with her broom and dustpan.

  When she saw Billy, her eyes widened. “Why, Wesley Bristol, look at you! After what we’ve heard lately, I never figgered on—mighty fine to see you up and walkin’—and comin’ here—”

  “Beggin’ your pardon,” Billy muttered, “but I’m the other Bristol. Wes’s twin brother.”