“You’re right. About the criminal part. But you’re not to worry over them. Henry is doing his best. He’ll find ’em. Until then, you let that go. If not, it’ll eat you alive.”
“It’s difficult.”
He nodded, looking at her hand still on top of his own. Slowly, she drew it away and folded it with her other. “Will you tell me more about my father? All we have are Mavis’s memories. And mine, which are few and vague. We were so young when we left Eden. When I think back, I don’t know if what I’m remembering is real or fantasy. We’re desperate to know more about him. The man he was, the husband, the father. Please, Blake. You knew him so well.”
Blake stared off into the darkness—the street was quiet, and the businesses closed. “On long winter nights, John shared a lot with me. It was his way to relive the memories. Keep them alive. I was only ten when I came to the ranch, and you all left a few months after I arrived, but I have all kinds of stories I think you’ll enjoy. I’ll be happy to pass on anything you’d like to know. John would want me to.”
Excitement swirled within. She stayed the impulse to jump to her feet and run for her sisters. For now, she’d let Blake tell what he wanted. She’d pass on the information later. A warm feeling of home wrapped around her, and she didn’t want to break the spell.
He glanced at her and then away as if deciding how much he should say.
“Please, don’t spare my feelings.”
“At times John would look so unhappy. And as a kid I didn’t know any better than to ask him why. As far as I knew, he had a roof over his head and beef on the table. In my boy’s mind, I couldn’t conceive what he had to be sad about.”
“What did he say?”
“‘On occasion sadness, seriousness, or melancholy are better than carrying on and making jokes. It’s when a person’s deep in sadness that his heart’s growing wiser.’ I don’t know if he read that somewhere or what. After he’d said it, he smiled and ruffled my hair, but I could tell his heart wasn’t there. He was smiling to make me feel better.” Blake’s gaze softened. “Don’t get me wrong, he was a happy man too. He wasn’t always remembering back.”
Belle wiped tears from her face.
A dog barked and then ran into the street on the heels of a scraggly cat. That was enough to lift the blanket of sorrow that had draped itself over her soul. “Do you know how he met my mother? Did he ever tell you?”
“You sure you want to know? It’s sort of a sad story as well.”
“I do—we all do. We’ve speculated many times.”
“All right. I’ll tell the story just like he told me. We were out minding the herd on a cattle drive. The coldest August I remember—a night so dark, with hardly a star to find, the campfire a bed of coals. I was grown by then, ’bout eighteen. He got talkin’, more to himself than to me, and let the whole story roll off his tongue, loosened by a tin cup of whiskey. He’d been down all day, and I later learned that day was his anniversary. Sorry, I don’t remember the date, but Henry might know.”
Belle closed her eyes as she listened to Blake’s velvety, deep voice. She could imagine her father opening his heart to the prairie sky in mourning for his lost family.
“Your grandfather Brinkman started the ranch but died when John was almost twenty. Eden was little more than a dot in the sand. About six or seven years later, I think, one day in late fall, a few settlers came along in a handful of wagons on their way to Oregon. They’d gotten lost and were hundreds of miles south of the usual trail that crossed the Wyoming Territory. Fearful of being caught in a snowstorm, they trudged on even though they said they had a wagon lagging behind. They were right. An early storm hit that week, bringing two or three feet of snow. Out checking the cattle one day, John found the stray wagon. Its driver, your other grandfather, Cranston Field, was deathly ill, and his daughter, your mother, frightened. John drove the wagon back to the ranch and tended Mr. Field for several days, doing his best to keep him alive. He fetched the doctor, but nothing could be done. Before the man died, he begged John to care for his daughter. Said they didn’t have any other relatives that he knew of, or anyplace to send her. Well, your mama was a pretty young woman. John said she was tall and carried herself with dignity. She had an oval face with large blue eyes, hair the same color as yours, and a smile that would melt the snow. John was lonely, already liked her, and was on his way to falling in love. So they married.”
Belle sat up. Just like that? Mother had hardly known Father a few days, and she’d had no other option but to become his bride? This was the first she’d heard of any of this, and the hasty union didn’t sound romantic at all. It sounded scary. “How old was she?”
“I’m not real sure. Henry might know. Young, though.”
“How young is young?”
“If I were to guess from the stories I’ve heard, I’d say sixteen or seventeen.” He shook his head. “That’s just a guess.”
“And Father? How old was he?”
Blake chuckled. “I knew that was coming.”
“And?”
“Twenty-six? Twenty-seven? But like I said, check with Henry. He has more of the facts written down, whereas I have more of the memories in my head.”
Well, their meeting wasn’t the romantic story Belle had imagined, but it did, in a way, explain how her mother could go off and leave their father, taking her daughters away. From what she’d just learned, her mother had never chosen to live in rustic Eden in the first place. Maybe didn’t even want to marry John Brinkman—or anyone. She’d said her vows out of necessity, with nowhere else to turn. Still, she’d borne five daughters with their father. Didn’t that mean anything? Hadn’t they fallen in love after six years?
“You’re awfully quiet,” Blake said, breaking the silence.
She played with the tassel of her shawl. “Their marriage sounds like a business deal. We’d heard from Vernon how deplorable Father was, and so we all just thought . . .” She glanced up at him, feeling like a child who believed everything was meant to be a fairy tale, when she knew, especially after this month, there wasn’t such a thing.
This time it was Blake who reached over and placed his hand on hers. “We can’t know everything about the past, so best not to speculate. It’s fine to have your musings. Nothin’ wrong with that. But you’re pretty fast to write love off.”
What does he mean? She studied his face, trying to find the answer.
“Who says they weren’t in love?” His coffee-scented breath brushed her face. “How does having to wed out of necessity change anything? Maybe in the beginning . . .” He looked off into the street. “That sweet union between two people, when it’s done right—and what I mean by that is it’s wanted by both parties, given and taken in gentleness and openness—is mightier than any sword of the strongest steel, and possesses the power to accomplish anything in the world. If that love is nurtured, there’s no stopping . . .” He swallowed and glanced down at the boardwalk.
Of course he’s remembering his wife, Ann. How much he must have suffered.
“According to your father, he and your mother had a bond of love that would last forever. I believed him—and you should too. I don’t even remember my mother.”
“Tell me, Blake. I’ve been wondering about your family. Please.”
He withdrew his hand and stood. “That’s a story for another night. I need to get back to the ranch, so I best get movin’.”
She surged to her feet, missing the warmth. “But I have so many more questions!”
“There’s plenty of time. You’re not leaving tomorrow, are you?”
She shook her head.
His little-boy grin said he’d known all along she wasn’t going anywhere, but she didn’t care. She smiled back. He’d already given her, them, so much.
“Take good care of Katie.” His eyes searched hers. “I’m sorry she had to go through such a frightening ordeal. The thought of what could have happened still raises the hair on the back of my neck. Watch her close
so she doesn’t become fearful of everything, like—”
He snapped his mouth closed and looked away, breaking their gaze.
“Like? Like who? My mother?”
“I didn’t mean anything. I’m just rambling. I need to get to the livery, hitch up my team, and get movin’. I’m my own worst enemy, relaxing all evening.”
She gave a soft laugh. “I’m sorry I backed out on helping at the roundup. I know how shorthanded you are, but I don’t want to leave Katie. Not just yet. We’re all so close that when one hurts, we all do as well. I think tomorrow we’ll spend a quiet day in the hotel not doing much of anything.”
“That sounds like a worthwhile plan. Don’t worry about the ranch. We’ll get through fine. I have the men . . .”
“But not Moses.”
Blake shook his head. “Nope, not him. Not riding yet, anyway. Takes a little longer than that for ribs to heal. But he’ll help with the cooking. He’s a hard man to keep down.”
There was a history between Blake and Moses, but she didn’t quite know what. Later, when she and Blake had another chance to talk, she’d ask him. And about his life with her father, and before. And what wound could have caused such a scar.
The scar. It’s practically invisible to me now. Tonight had been all one-sided.
The hotel door opened and Henry stepped out, his gaze tracking back and forth between them. “Belle.” He dipped his chin. “Blake. You have a nice talk?”
“I’m just heading out,” Blake said, stepping around the question nicely. “I’ve things to get done before the rooster crows tomorrow.”
She reached out and touched Blake’s sleeve. “Thank you for sharing your memories. It felt like Christmas tonight, the best Christmas I’ve ever had. I look forward to hearing more when you have the time. I’ll pass on everything you said. You’re going to be an extremely popular man around the Brinkman girls.”
He dropped his gaze to the boards under Henry’s feet.
She didn’t want him to leave. Is the reason because he’d known Father so well? Shared quiet talks, worked over problems, shared the secrets of their souls? Or is it more than that? Her heart felt full and warm and overflowing with wonder. She liked the sensation and wanted to keep it forever. Still, she knew that was silly and impossible. “Have a safe trip back to the ranch.” She turned to Henry. “It is safe for him to drive the wagon at night, like he’s going to do? He wouldn’t tell me the truth if I asked, I’m sure.”
Henry laughed, a warm expression moving over his face. “Sure it’s safe, Belle. Should I head out to the ranch with the contractors tomorrow, or after today, are we putting the construction on hold?”
Both men stared a hole through her forehead.
“Considering the circumstances, Henry, it’s best we wait.”
Henry nodded and started across the street toward the mercantile and his upstairs office. “Thought as much. Good night, you two.”
“Good night,” she called to the attorney’s retreating back.
She thought she and her sisters had already made the tough decision, but now it had to be discussed some more. If she had anything to say about it, nothing bad would ever befall them again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Henry looked at the clock on his bedroom highboy. Seven o’clock. Was that too late to call on Elizabeth? He needed to speak with her. He’d been circling the situation for hours, even during his ride back from Dove Creek. Any chance at sleep tonight depended on whether he was able to put a few of his ducks in a row.
He grabbed his hat and went out the back door. The boardinghouse, simply named The Boarding House, was two streets over, between the livery and the Hole in the Floor Saloon. Not the best side of town, to say the least, but that was why the rates were affordable. Unlike the smaller shops and businesses, which sat on one side of the street or the other with an alley behind that backed up to another business, the boardinghouse was a large, freestanding building, three stories tall, and took up two lots. It was squarely set in the middle of the parcel of land, and accessible from either Falcon Haven or the Old Spanish Trail.
Henry had offered to pay so that Elizabeth could stay in the hotel until the matter had been resolved, but she’d flatly refused. What matter? Even if Johnny were John’s son, nothing in the will provided for him. He couldn’t change that. The Brinkman sisters and Blake weren’t obligated to do a darn thing if they chose not to, but knowing them all, he felt pretty certain they would. She’d said the boardinghouse suited her fine and that she’d pay him back just as soon as she was able. She wasn’t looking for charity.
No, just an inheritance. Which could rightly be her son’s, his mind countered. Could be, but might not be. John had never mentioned his liaison with Elizabeth once in the last four years, which a lonely man might do at one point or another, one would presume. There are so many ifs, ands, or buts with this predicament.
Arriving at the boardinghouse, Henry’s resolve began to melt. He’d never been shy before, so why now? Striding up the dirt path to the wraparound porch, he mounted the steps. Not needing to knock, he quietly stepped inside and went directly to the parlor, but found it empty.
I should’ve known.
Henry pushed through the kitchen door. Sebastian, the widower who owned the place, came in through the back door at the same time. The man was tall and thin; the only hair left on his head was a line above his ears. “Henry, hello. What can I do for you?”
Now he was stuck. He’d wanted to get in and get out unnoticed, but that game was up. “I was hoping to speak with Mrs. Smith, but I see she’s already retired. I’ll come back in the morning, which I should have done in the first place.”
“She just turned in not three minutes ago. Would you like me to knock on her door?”
“No. Her son may be asleep. I wouldn’t want to wake him.”
“Actually, I’m here.”
He turned. Elizabeth stood in the doorway, clutching the curved handle of a blue-and-white porcelain pitcher. The pottery appeared heavy as she rested the bottom on her other palm. He swept his hat from his head.
“I’ve come for fresh water. I spotted several ants floating in this,” she said in explanation. “Did you need to see me, Mr. Glass?”
“I did. I mean, I do. If you can spare a moment.”
Her light-brown hair was swept up in a messy bun on the back of her head, and she looked tired. He wondered what she’d done all day.
“I have time. Let me dump this and take some fresh water back to the room.”
He nodded, still holding his hat. “Of course. I’ll wait for you on the porch.”
The two men stood in silence as she worked the pump, refilled her pitcher, and then disappeared in the hall as quietly as she’d come.
Sebastian leaned back onto the counter. “Business?”
“Isn’t it always?” Henry replied a bit defensively. Everyone knew he was married to his work, obtaining a good amount of his clientele from the railroads, as well as the several mines and ranch owners around the area. He never socialized or had female companions, so Sebastian’s comment struck a nerve.
“Fine, then,” Sebastian replied curtly. He’d received the message loud and clear. He started for the doorway between the parlor and the kitchen. “I’ll just be off myself. I presume you’ll make sure Mrs. Smith is safely inside once you’re finished with your jawing?”
“I will.”
“And put out all the lanterns except the one by the front steps?”
“Yes.”
Sebastian left the room. Henry started for the front door, wanting to be outside, in the cool air, before Elizabeth reappeared. He walked around one side of the porch and then settled on the north side of the building, which faced the Toggery across the street.
Henry stood when Elizabeth came out the front door. She’d added a shawl across her shoulders, and he couldn’t discern the look in her eyes. He didn’t know her well. She approached rather slowly, and he realized the last few days
must have been strenuous for her.
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.” He waited as she took a seat. “I understand it’s late, but I’ve been gone all day. I have several matters I’d like to clear up, but first, how’s Johnny? Is his fever gone?”
Her face softened. “Much better, thank you. He sat up most of the day. Seeing him so sick gave me a fright. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him too.” She gave a wobbly smile.
Henry didn’t miss how she’d tacked on the word too. She’d lost John and now didn’t want to lose his son as well. That was understandable—if she were telling the truth. He hated feeling so hard-hearted, but he had an obligation to John. To Blake and the girls. He had to have the truth.
A wagon rolled by, moving toward the edge of town and the cantina. The driver glanced over, nodded to Henry, and then looked back at the two donkeys pulling his wagon.
Henry adjusted his posture. “I don’t mean to rush you, Mrs. Smith, but I need a few questions answered. I sent a telegram today to a friend of mine in Denver. He’s a judge who knows many people. I went to our neighboring town of Dove Creek to do it so nobody here would be alerted. I want proof of who you say you are before I tackle your case. I hope you can understand my reasoning. John Brinkman was a good friend of mine. I’ve been his attorney for years. What you claim is quite difficult to prove, especially since he’s passed on. What I’m leading up to is this: I’m going to need answers from you tonight to a handful of personal questions. In all honesty, I don’t know you from Adam. It’s time to dig deeper into your claim. And too, even if what you say is true and Johnny is John’s son, I’m not sure that will result in any type of monetary compensation for him. What is it you hope to accomplish here? I can’t bring John back from the dead.”
For one instant, her nostrils flared the tiniest bit. Did I strike a chord? If yes, what had it been?
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Henry gave Elizabeth time to gather her thoughts. She looked rattled, and he didn’t blame her. He didn’t want to know the details of John’s and her private affairs, but he had a responsibility to get to the bottom of Johnny Smith’s paternity. Elizabeth was the one who had opened the can of worms, but he was the one who would have to sort through the facts.
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