A swift and unforeseen irritation rose in Kit. He’d grown up in the shadow of a shiftless and irresponsible father, so he attributed the reaction to a desire to protect Annie from her mother’s reputation.
He swallowed the weak tea and waited for his hostess to continue. People like Mrs. Brockhurst—people who claimed not to believe in rumors—always continued, until others knew every sordid detail.
She shrugged as if to dismiss whatever gossip she intended to pass on. “Some people believe Mrs. Stewart’s sorrow over her husband’s sudden and unexpected passing was inadequate for a grieving widow. She displayed no tears during the funeral or in the days that followed.”
“People show grief in different ways, Mrs. Brockhurst. Perhaps Mrs. Stewart is not one to cry openly in public.”
That had not been the case when Kit left her years ago. She had wailed and begged him to stay. How different might their lives have turned out had he given in to her then as she had given in to him an hour before?
“My concern comes from perception, Christopher—the perception which an unemotional young widow leaves, especially when a handsome stepson is involved.”
Perry’s affection for Joanna was obvious, but Joanna’s for him hadn’t been as evident, not to Kit’s notice on Friday.
“It led people to wonder if … well …” She left the rest of her statement hanging in mid-air.
“Wondering what, Mrs. Brockhurst?”
Her brown-eyed gaze bore through him. “People wonder if Clayton Stewart died a natural death.”
Kit sank against the back of the chair. He had expected her to talk of adultery on Joanna’s part, but murder? Ridiculous.
Lucinda Brockhurst waved a fan in front of her face. “Frankly, I’m afraid the purchase of that particular property may alienate other donors who feel Mrs. Stewart should not profit from—at the least—apathy toward Clayton’s death.”
A financial threat? Kit brandished the grin meant to charm the beholder. “Then, Mrs. Brockhurst, I’m glad to know you take no stock in whatever rumors are circulating about Mrs. Stewart. A woman such as you wields the influence among your peers. No doubt you’ll persuade them that the Stewart property is the best possible location for the Spencer Brockhurst House, regardless of who owned it in the past. In the long run, what is more important, the men involved or a rumor?”
Her stare and the twist of her lips told him she saw through his attempt at flattery. She answered his question with a stilted smile.
***
After leaving the telegraph counter at the railroad depot, Kit dreaded a return to the emptiness of his hotel room, so he strolled down side streets and then Broad.
He had sent Ben a telegram but included nothing more than that he’d signed an agreement to buy Mrs. Stewart’s house. He also requested that his partner return to Banesville within the week. There would be plenty of time to tell the rest of the story after Ben arrived and before the final papers were signed. They’d both need to work hard to prepare the house for opening on schedule.
Although he’d never confessed to Ben the details of his relationship with Joanna, he had admitted to being the cause of ruining his brother’s hope for a future with her. The preacher would be surprised to learn she was the seller. Yet, his friend’s surprise could not possibly outdo Kit’s.
His steps slowed as he approached a man and woman blocking the walk ahead of him. She was on the young side of sixty and faced Kit. The deep orange day dress she wore flaunted white polka dots, and her voice carried for a good half a block. “What do you mean you have no idea who is responsible?”
Kit stopped behind them. Should he step into the street and go around? Neither looked destined to move soon.
“What do we pay you for if you can’t find a simple burglar? I heard he nearly put poor Mr. Jackson in his grave on Friday night. Lands sakes, it’s gotten to be a body can’t feel safe in her own home.”
Though eavesdropping was frowned upon by polite society, the subject of their conversation caught Kit’s interest. He pretended to study the advertisement for a new wonder cure displayed in the drug store window to his right.
“I assure you, Mrs. Chandler, the rumors of Mr. Jackson’s brush with death are false. He slept through the event. Still, the sneak thief left no clues behind.”
“What do you need with clues? Everyone knows he’s one of those drunkards from the saloons.” She shook her finger at the deputy. “If you were on your toes, you would search those places first.”
Her comment froze Kit’s feet to the boards. Over a year ago, the Pittsburgh house had been subject to scrutiny when a rash of burglaries involved one of the men staying there. The investigation forced Kit and Ben to consider closing the ministry. Fortunately, they proved themselves innocent of participation in the crimes without permanent harm done to their cause. What if Mrs. Chandler was right? A similar situation here could cost them dearly.
“Assign men to guard our neighborhood until you find the scoundrel.”
“I have men already set to watch the west side, ma’am.”
The west side? The wealthy side of Banesville and Mrs. Brockhurst’s neighborhood. Was Mrs. Chandler one of the temperance women who had agreed to help fund the house?
“See to it you remain vigilant.”
The deputy eventually calmed her but failed to convince her of the proficiency of his office. The two of them parted, and Kit tipped his hat to the woman as she passed him.
He said a silent prayer that Mrs. Brockhurst had as much influence as he’d given her credit for earlier. If the rest of his donors were as starched and difficult as the two he’d met, the project could be doomed before it started.
Kit also asked God’s forgiveness for slipping back into his old character long enough to try to beguile his benefactress. These days, he sought to atone for his sins, not to practice them.
Mrs. Brockhurst had gotten in the last say, though. With one breath, she spoke of hosting a lavish reception in honor of the opening of the Spencer Brockhurst House. With the next, she made it clear no residents would be invited to attend.
He entered the narrow building that housed Medford’s Ice Cream Parlor, a side shop of Medford’s Mercantile, and pulled out a chair from the table nearest the front window. This was the only kind of saloon he frequented nowadays. When concerns overwhelmed him, sweets helped to alleviate the desire for something stronger. Today was a two-scoop day, and he ordered one each of vanilla and chocolate.
The frozen cream cooled his tongue and coated his throat. As he sat there, the noise and street traffic outside the window vanished, replaced by scenes from his visit to the Stewart home. He’d told Joanna she hadn’t changed, but that wasn’t true. The romantic overtures of a young lady had been replaced by the sober and mature air of a sophisticated widow.
Perry said she preferred to remain at home rather than venture out. Again, it was a trait so unlike the woman he knew in Philadelphia. Back then, she flitted from house to house like an iridescent hummingbird sticking her beak into one flower after another and savoring the societal nectar.
What had Joanna seen in him in those days of hedonism? The ice cream curdled in his stomach. He had never been blind to her interest in him or her flirtations—only deaf to the crying afterward. In those days, he was his father’s son, and he’d spend the rest of his life making up for it.
Had the rumors Mrs. Brockhurst mentioned been the catalyst that forced Joanna into the reclusive state Perry claimed? From what Kit gathered, Clayton Stewart died almost three years ago. Joanna no longer wore the dreary colors of mourning. If the rumor of an adulterous relationship was correct, what stopped the two Stewarts from marrying after the older man’s death?
Laughter drew Kit’s attention to a pair of children seated across the room. The girl with her caramel-colored hair reminded him of Annie. Did Joanna ever bring her daughter here? His daughter?
Kit dropped his spoon in the bowl and pushed it away with half his ice cream uneaten an
d melted into a lumpy, brown pool. He left the building and ambled down the street toward his hotel. If Annie was his child, how could Joanna have dared keep her from him?
What if it were true and his donors found out? His senses reeled. How could he acknowledge Annie as his without risking the loss of donations from those who would condemn him for his former moral failure? Regardless of his present lifestyle, if that part of his past became public knowledge, he doubted Mrs. Brockhurst wielded enough clout with her peers to help him, nor would she attempt to use it for his sake. No donations, no ministry.
He approached a narrow building that housed a saloon. Raucous laughter burst through the open windows, and the smells of beer and tobacco smoke reeled him in. His steps slowed and his hands trembled as he fought the hook that dug deeper into his craving.
The past days had taken a toll. It had been a shock to discover the house belonged to Joanna and to learn of Annie’s existence. Now, the threat of losing his benefactors hung over him.
Shouts and laughter echoed in Kit’s ears. His mouth watered, remembering the smooth taste of bourbon. His breathing deepened. His heartbeat accelerated. His hands curled into fists, and his soul cried out, Father, I can’t battle this temptation alone.
Someone bumped his shoulder. The blow knocked him sideways, and he stumbled, but that one moment’s distraction freed him from the lure of the saloon.
He glanced at the man’s back as he staggered down the street. Donovan. He should follow and help him, but his own fight with liquor’s enticement was too raw. What good was a blind man in helping to guide another blind man? They would both land in the proverbial ditch. He must wait until his vision cleared.
Minutes later, he entered his hotel room and glanced at the bed. A tremor ran from head to toe at the thought of how close he’d come to falling into the hole he’d crawled from years ago.
He pulled the leather bag from under the bed. Ben could handle the preparations for this mission.
Kit never made a secret of his alcohol-related past, but his relationship with Joanna was best left a private matter … best for him, best for her and the child, and best for the men he tried to help. By staying in town, he risked the revelation of that secret and the failure of the House.
The image of Joanna gazing upon Annie with love and concern stopped him in the middle of opening the bag. He and Ben taught the men they worked with to face their problem with alcohol and not run from it.
Maybe God provided this opportunity for Kit to meet a child he’d known nothing about, and allow him to face the past. He slid the bag back under the bed, unable to go anywhere until he learned the truth. He would trust God to help him deal with the consequences.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Here I come. I’m going to get you.” Joanna trotted through the yard behind the house in pursuit of Annie. She reached out as if to grab the girl, but held back.
Annie shrieked and ran faster. “You can’t catch me, Aunt Jo.”
“Is that right?” She swept the child into her arms and planted a kiss on her hot cheek.
Rose walked onto the ground-floor veranda running along the back of the house. She placed a chocolate cake on a table they had moved there for the summer. Glasses for lemonade and two paper-wrapped packages covered the rest of the table’s surface.
Joanna set Annie on her feet, took her hand, and led her to Rose. “I’ve brought you the birthday girl.” She poured each of them lemonade and closed her eyes in bliss as the tart liquid flowed down her dry throat.
Annie drank half her lemonade and turned to Rose. “Let’s jump rope.”
Rose issued a playful groan. “I think this girl intends to make the most of growing a year older, Jo.”
“And tire us in the process.” Joanna set the glass down. “All right, let’s see how much you and I remember from our childhoods.”
Each woman held an end of the rope as it swayed with gentle back and forth motions. Annie called out rhymes in a sing-song voice and tripped more often than not. After a while, she fell on purpose. All three laughed, and the child rose to do it again.
“Your turn.” Annie grabbed the rope from Joanna.
Joanna lifted her skirts and hopped from one foot to the other as the rope swung in uneven motions. One way or another, she managed to keep her feet from tripping her up while all three of them laughed at her efforts.
Without warning, Annie dropped her end of the rope and stood motionless, her eyes as round as the daisies blooming behind her. Joanna halted. Her heartbeat—already racing from the exercise—could outpace a bicycle. Had Liam returned? Would the man ruin their party when he cared nothing for the girl?
She inched around with a sense of dread. Not Liam. Nevertheless, the pulse in her neck continued to throb. “What are you doing here, Kit?”
He stood at the back corner of the house and offered a smile meant to cajole a glacier to sing. It certainly tempted her to burst into song. “I understand someone celebrates a birthday today, and I found a present she might enjoy.”
A gift? What possessed Kit to bring Annie a birthday present?
Joanna gripped her hands in front of her. Did he think that by charming a child she adored he could worm his way into her life again? Why would he want to? She had signed the contract and had given him no indication she planned to back out of their agreement. In another week, she would be gone, and the place would be his to do as he wanted.
He approached them with nothing in his free hand. The other was tucked inside his coat. A bulge under the material moved, and Joanna drew back.
A muffled and pitiful meow brought Annie from her hiding place behind Rose’s skirt. “What is that?”
Kit struggled to keep his gift from escaping. “What is what?”
She pointed to the bulge. “That. It’s moving.”
He looked down with exaggerated surprise. “Oh, this. Let’s see, shall we?” He knelt in front of her. With both hands and a good deal of effort, he freed the stubborn animal’s claws from the linen material of his coat and paid for it as the kitten dug dagger-like teeth into his skin. “Well, what do you know, a cat.”
Annie gasped. “A kitty. An orange kitty.”
The ends of a yellow ribbon tied around the squirming animal’s neck were frayed from the same sharp teeth that now pierced Kit’s flesh.
“So it is.” Kit held the cat toward Annie, and she shrank back. The kitten clawed what was left of the unmarked skin on his hands. “It won’t hurt you.”
Joanna snorted. “Yes, we can see by the scratches.”
Rose crouched in front of Annie. “What is it, Mr. Barnes? A him or a her?”
“Definitely a female. I have the claw marks to prove it.” He held out his hands and smirked. “She didn’t appreciate my method of surprise.”
A female not appreciating your surprises. Fancy that. Joanna pinched her lips together to keep the comment from spilling out. It was a waste of breath to compete with his sarcasm.
Kit placed the cat in Annie’s arms and looked up. “On the way to the hotel earlier, I passed a group of boys pleading for homes for a litter. This one caught my eye. Do you mind?”
Annie planted kisses on the kitten’s head and stroked the fur, enraptured by the gift. How could they say no, now?
“It’s a bit late to ask.” Joanna smiled at Annie and scratched the kitten between her ears. “What will you name her?”
The child thought only a moment before saying, “I’ll name her Jelly, ’cause she’s orange.”
Rose cocked her head. “Jelly?”
“Like what you make.”
Joanna chuckled. “I think she’s referring to your orange marmalade.”
“Ah.” Rose swiped her hand over the cat’s fur. “Well, just keep Jelly out of my kitchen, hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Annie hugged the kitten. “Thank you, mister.”
Kit reached out as if he wanted to pat her head, but withdrew his hand. “You’re welcome, Annie.”
Ros
e climbed the back porch steps. “We were about to cut the cake. Would you like a piece, Mr. Barnes?” She glanced over her shoulder but avoided the glare Joanna sent her.
Kit eyed the dessert on the table. “How can I resist, Miss McCall?”
“It’s Mrs. McCall. Rose is …” From the corner of her eye, Joanna caught her friend’s grimace. “It’s Mrs. McCall.”
“I’ll get another plate and glass.” Rose walked inside the kitchen, leaving Joanna to entertain Kit. Annie sat in the grass, playing with her birthday gift, one that overshadowed Joanna’s present of shiny, new boots.
Kit whipped off his hat. A tiny rivulet of blood from a long scratch oozed and mixed with the light brown hair on the back of his hands. The teeth and claws must have been painful, but he never flinched whenever the kitten attacked.
“Those scratches should be cleaned.”
Kit gave the rising welts a momentary glance before his gaze fixed on her. “You’re probably right.”
Neither of them moved. In the silence, Joanna’s conscience prodded her to volunteer to clean them for him. Instinct told her to ignore the urge.
“If I could use the pump inside …?”
Allow him inside her house again?
Oh, for heaven’s sake, he’d own the place soon. She pointed to the door leading into the kitchen. “In there. While you clean up, I’ll find the yarrow salve.”
When she returned, Kit sat at the table on the porch. He held the backs of his clean hands toward her and waited. Oh, how she despised that enticing grin.
Joanna paused near the door, suddenly afraid to get too close. One bite from the snake’s charms had proved one too many. If she’d learned nothing else in her life, it was to be cautious when around Christopher Barnes.
She danced from one foot to the other.
He meant nothing to her.
She stepped forward.
Kit no longer possessed any power over her emotions.
Another step closer.
Anyway, with Rose and Annie around, why worry?
A Reluctant Melody - Will she risk losing everything … including her heart? Page 7