by Dorothy Love
“Are you all right?” Carrie asked. “You seem upset.”
“I’m fine. A little tired. And I still have some writing to do when I get home.”
Carrie laughed. “You’re just like my husband. Griff can always think of ten things that need doing at the end of the day. Oh, here’s our rig.” She kissed Sophie on both cheeks. “Don’t be such a stranger, my dear. I’d love to have you visit whenever you can spare the time. Promise me you’ll come for tea one day soon.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Carrie got into the Rutledges’ rig and tucked her voluminous skirt around her. Griff nodded to Sophie, picked up the reins, and drove away.
“Here’s your carriage.” Ethan motioned to Sophie and helped her inside. “I hope you had a good time,” he said, his voice stiff, “despite my behavior in the garden.”
“Please, you mustn’t think—”
He rapped sharply on the carriage door and called up to the driver, “The Verandah, Silas.”
She turned around on the seat and watched Ethan walk away. Tears pricked her eyes. Despite the long day, her conscience wouldn’t let her sleep tonight. Well, she deserved an unquiet mind after the untruth she’d just told Ethan. But his question had come from nowhere, leaving her unprepared. As had her strong feelings for him.
Oh Lord, what shall I do now?
In Texas everyone had assumed she was like the Caldwells because that was what Ada and Wyatt thought best. It hadn’t felt like lying—not really. And last year, in New Orleans for the Exposition, she’d noticed dark-skinned white people mingling with light-skinned Africans and folks of every ilk, and no one seemed to give it a second thought. But such was not the case everywhere. And clearly not with Ethan.
She couldn’t forget the thunderous expression on Ethan’s face, the loud exchange with his visitor last night, and the pained look on the olive-skinned stranger’s face as he passed her in the hall. And she understood all too well the reason for Ethan’s question about her family.
He wanted to know whether her blood was pure.
Well, what did she know for certain? Everyone at the orphanage assumed she was of mixed blood and treated her as such. Caught between two worlds and belonging to neither, she would have continued as an outcast if not for the Caldwells. Still, there was no real proof one way or another. Mrs. Lowell had refused to answer any of Sophie’s questions about her parents, and now the woman was dead. She hadn’t really deceived him, had she?
Of course she had.
She leaned against the leather seat and closed her eyes as the carriage rattled down the mountain road. Regret weighed on her heart heavy as stone. She desperately needed to confide in someone, but who?
At last the carriage drew up at the hotel. The driver jumped down and opened her door. “Good night, miss.”
“Good night.” She watched the carriage disappear into the darkness. Somewhere far off a dog barked. A few lights flickered in the windows of shops and houses along the street. A horse and rig appeared at the far end of the street, heading away from the church.
Robbie. Of course. The one boy in Hickory Ridge who had never judged her.
The one person who would understand.
Ethan headed back into the ballroom, where a few guests still lingered over glasses of sherry and port. He smiled and nodded as he passed them but eschewed conversation. He needed to think. Very soon he would have to figure out what to do about Julian, but at this moment he was preoccupied with what had just happened in the rose garden.
He couldn’t blame Sophie for refusing his advances; they were practically strangers, after all. He was not usually so quick to reveal his feelings. But with Sophie he felt as if an invisible thread, woven of their similar childhood tragedies, ran between them, binding them together. He had thought Sophie felt it too. Obviously he’d been wrong.
Even after all these years, he didn’t like to think about what had happened so many years ago. The memories still lacerated his heart. For years he had asked God not for peace or understanding but for justice. He’d received neither. So he’d buried himself in work, in striving for success, in travel—anything to keep the past at a safe distance.
Then Sophie arrived, bringing with her the revival of old memories and old longings. He shook his head. Stupid. No wonder she’d taken off like a scared rabbit.
Too keyed up to sleep, he pushed through the French doors and cut through the deserted gardens. The candles had burned down to nubs; several had gone out. Only a few attenuated shadows danced against the dark walls. He paused to lift a budding rose to his nose. In a few more days, the roses would open in full beauty. He’d send Sophie an armload of them and hope for her forgiveness. Maybe she would give him another chance.
“Heyward!” a voice called from the shadows and Ethan turned toward the sound.
“Yes? Who’s there?”
Footsteps crunched on the graveled walkway and a lone figure appeared on the path. Ethan peered into the darkness. “Is that you, Lutrell?”
“’Is that you, Lutrell?’ Of course it’s me.” The wiry carpenter wove his unsteady way toward Ethan, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand, a pistol in the other.
“You’re drunk, my friend.” Ethan kept his voice calm. “I can see how you and the boys feel entitled to a celebration now that Blue Smoke is finished. But you ought to give me that firearm before someone gets hurt.”
“No, sir. I ain’t givin’ up my pistol till I get my money back from that no-good Irishman that stole it.”
Ethan massaged his aching temples and sighed. “And which Irishman might that be?”
“Sean Murphy’s cousin. Fitz.”
“Fitz Murphy’s never been in trouble before. I’m sure it’s nothing more than a misunderstanding. We’ll get it sorted out in the morning.”
“In the morning, my eye. I already done finished tearin’ down the workers’ cabins like I was told to do, and I’m on my way to Alabama to marry my girl. You said I could have a week to get married and bring her back here.”
“And so you shall.”
“Besides, Murphy’s already gone. Most everybody cleared out of here this morning. And now I got Mary Susan awaitin’ for me in White Oak, Alabama, and no way to get to her.”
Behind them, the lights inside the resort winked out. Suddenly Ethan was too tired to argue. He reached inside his jacket for his wallet. “I’ll advance you the money until we can get to the bottom of this. If you still want to work here, helping take care of the place, you can pay me back out of your first month’s wages.”
“Pay you back?” Lutrell advanced on Ethan, his eyes wild with spirits and anger. “That ain’t fair. I was robbed!”
“Can you prove it?”
“You callin’ me a liar, Mr. Heyward?”
“People don’t always see things clearly when they’re drinking.”
“Well, I saw clear enough who stole from me. Murphy was the only one near my cabin this whole day.”
“Proximity does not equal guilt.”
“Then why’d he take off when I yelled at him?”
“I’d run too if a half-drunk man was pointing a gun at me. It has been a very long day, Mr. Crocker. I’m very tired.” He pressed several bills into the man’s hand. “Go on home and marry your girl. Forget about the money.”
“Onliest folks that say forget about money is the ones got plenty of it.” Crocker took a long pull on the bottle and tossed Ethan’s money onto the path. “I don’t aim to be beholden to you, Mr. Heyward. If you ain’t going to replace the money that no-good Irish devil stole from me, then I got nothin’ else to say to you.”
“Your choice. I appreciate the work you did on Blue Smoke. I’m sorry you won’t be coming back. And I hope you and your bride will be very happy in Alabama. Good night.”
Ethan waited until Crocker disappeared into the darkness, then turned and headed back inside.
TWELVE
Sophie closed her hymn book and pressed her palm to her f
orehead. Was it her imagination, or was Robbie looking in her direction more than was usual on a Sunday morning?
Gillie leaned toward Sophie. “You look a bit peaked this morning. Are you ill?”
“I’m fine.” Sophie forced a smile. How could she ever be fine if concealing the details of her parentage, what few she thought she knew, was to be her daily portion from now on? She closed her eyes. Heavens above, she had been six kinds of stupid to come back here. What had she been thinking? How could she have possibly believed that things would be different this time? That she could build a newspaper and live here and not have to be constantly on guard against rumor and suspicion?
Just last week, coming out of the mercantile, two farm women had stopped their conversation and frowned at her as she crossed the street, disapproval clearly etched on their weathered faces. She didn’t recognize them, but perhaps they remembered her and the gossip that had ensued when Wyatt and Ada removed her from Mrs. Lowell’s. Sooner or later the truth would get back to Ethan, and he would hate her for it.
She thought about last night and the ball at Blue Smoke. The entire night had been impossibly romantic—the dancing, the flickering candlelight, the faint scent of budding roses, the quiet strains of chamber music spilling onto the terrace. No wonder Ethan had gotten ahead of himself. She had felt something for him too, a longing to know more about him and where he came from. What had happened to his parents? Was their fate to blame for the haunted look in his eyes when someone mentioned Georgia?
She shook her head. It didn’t matter now. There could be nothing between them. From now on, she would speak to Ethan Heyward only concerning her printing orders for Blue Smoke. Guard her heart.
She fanned her face and looked around the church. Today it wasn’t as crowded as in recent weeks. Some of the Blue Smoke workers were undoubtedly using this weekend to pack their belongings and head for home. And Gillie had reported that several more families had been stricken with a nasty summer cough. She and Doc Spencer hoped it would not spread even further.
His sermon concluded, Robbie motioned the congregation to their feet and led the final hymn. Sophie closed her eyes as the words of the song washed over her.
Mercy now, O Lord, I plead
In this hour of utter need;
Turn me not away unblessed;
Calm my anguish into rest.
The people gathered their hats and reticules and squirming children and prepared to depart. Sophie still sat there, hungry for that spirit of peace but failing to grasp it.
“Can you come home with me?” Gillie clasped Sophie’s arm. “Mother has invited Thomas Ryden to Sunday dinner. He’s the son of one of her old school friends—a professor of bugs at some college back east and—”
Despite her anguished heart, Sophie laughed. “A professor of bugs?”
Gillie waved one hand. “You know what I mean. He studies insects, though to what purpose I haven’t a clue. Mother claims Tom is just passing through, but I’d wager my last button she has recruited him as a marriage prospect for poor little old me. You must come and save me from death by tedium.”
“I wish I could, but I must speak to Robbie.”
Gillie’s blue eyes held both curiosity and sympathy. “Is everything all right at the paper? Are the Caldwells all right?”
“They’re well, at last accounting. This is a more . . . personal matter.”
“Oh. I won’t pry then, but you do know you can count on me.”
“Yes, and I’m more grateful than you can imagine.” Sophie caught Robbie’s eye and waved. He grinned and waved back.
“If you change your mind, come on out to the house this afternoon. I’m certain Mr. Ryder will be holding forth on the wonders of black beetles for hours on end.”
Just then Mrs. Gilman sailed over, the pink and white silk flowers on her summer hat stirring in the warm breeze wafting through the open windows. “I heard that remark, Sabrina, and I must say I find it most unbecoming.” She eyed Sophie. “I see you’ve settled in, though I can’t imagine why you would want to live in a place where you have no friends. It must be terribly lonely here for someone like you.”
“Mother.” Sabrina frowned. “You’re being inexcusably rude.”
“Sabrina is my friend,” Sophie said, “a very good one. As is Reverend Whiting and his parents. And the Rutledges. And Lucy Partridge. Sheriff McCracken looks out for me as well.”
“Nevertheless,” Mrs. Gilman said, lifting her chin, “it seems to me that you’d be better suited elsewhere.”
“Hickory Ridge needed a newspaper.” Sophie tried to smile, but her throat was tight with worry. Mrs. Gilman was just the kind of woman to foment trouble for its own sake. Why, oh why, hadn’t she listened to Wyatt and started her newspaper someplace else?
“I must speak to Dr. Spencer,” Gillie said. “I’ll see you later, Mother.” She pushed through the door and headed for her rig.
Mrs. Gilman placed a hand on Sophie’s arm. “Our Sabrina does seem to be quite taken with you, Miss Caldwell. All she can talk about is you and that paper of yours.” She frowned. “And her scheme for an infirmary. It’s ridiculous.”
Sophie took out her fan and snapped it open. “I’m afraid I don’t agree, Mrs. Gilman. I hope the mayor and the council will at least listen to her proposal.”
“It’s an entirely unsuitable pursuit for a woman of her station, and I wish you wouldn’t encourage her. She needs to find a suitable match and take her rightful place in society before it’s too late.” With a curt nod, Mrs. Gilman whirled away.
Sophie fanned her face and waited for Robbie to finish greeting his flock. His wife, Ethelinda, dressed in a modest blue frock with lace trim at the throat, stood beside him, talking quietly with two elderly women while Robbie exchanged greetings with the Pruitts. As they made their way up the aisle toward the door, Mr. Pruitt noticed Sophie and offered a brief nod.
“Good morning, Mr. Pruitt,” Sophie said. “Mrs. Pruitt.”
“Look, Jasper,” his wife said. “You see the fabric of her dress? That is exactly what I was talking to you about last week. You need to order some for the mercantile. Now that Blue Smoke is open, ladies in Hickory Ridge will be wanting something a little fancier for Founders Day and the harvest festival, and not all of them can afford to have me make dresses for them.”
Jasper eyed the periwinkle-blue silk frock Ada had sent the week before. “It is right pretty. I will think on it, honeybunch.”
Mrs. Pruitt straightened her hat and offered Sophie a gap-toothed smile. “When he calls me honeybunch, it’s as good as done.”
Remembering the storekeeper’s harsh judgments when she was a child, Sophie tried to hide her surprise. Time had certainly softened Mr. Pruitt’s heart. Or perhaps Robbie’s stirring sermons were at least partially responsible.
The Pruitts and the elderly ladies left. Ethelinda began counting the morning’s offering, the coins spilling into a leather pouch with a faint tinkling sound. Robbie hurried over to Sophie. “I’m glad you’re here today. I wasn’t sure you would be after two nights of festivities up at Blue Smoke. I understand the opening was spectacular.”
Sophie nodded, overcome with the need to unburden her heart.
“I imagine you must be exhausted. I heard the governor was there last night. I was hoping he might turn up here this morning, but I didn’t see—” He frowned. “Sophie Robillard Caldwell. Something is wrong, and don’t bother denying it.”
She twisted her handkerchief into a tiny damp ball. “I’ve done a terrible thing, and I doubt it can be fixed.”
“Our Lord is the master of the impossible fix,” he said. “You want to talk about it?”
“I was hoping for a word with you, but—” She glanced at Ethelinda, who had finished counting the offering and was busy retrieving her gloves and hymnal from the piano bench.
“Ethelinda won’t mind. Wait here.”
Robbie spoke to his wife, who stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear before leavin
g through the side door. Robbie led Sophie to a tiny alcove just off the cloakroom. Barely large enough for a desk and a chair, it was filled to overflowing with books and papers stacked haphazardly on the floor. A narrow window was open to the breeze that drifted across the street, bringing with it the scents of baking bread, leather, and horses.
Motioning her to the chair, Robbie leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. “Now, what’s troubling you?”
“I have told an untruth, and my heart is about to break because of it.”
“Go on.”
Briefly she told him of her encounter with the blue-eyed stranger outside Ethan’s office and of last night’s conversation with Ethan in the garden at Blue Smoke. “He acted almost as if he hated the man, who was obviously . . . like me. When he asked whether my family was Italian, I said yes. Because I didn’t want him to hate me too.”
Robbie sighed. “I don’t blame you for wanting to retain his good opinion. It’s human to want to be accepted.”
“It isn’t only my personal feelings at stake. Ethan is my best customer. I can’t afford to lose his account.” She opened her reticule and dropped her wadded handkerchief inside.
“But, Sophie, haven’t you jumped to conclusions here? You can’t know what the problem is between those two men. Their antipathy might be due to any number of things. And you can’t be sure he’d stop doing business with you because of questions about who your parents were.”
Through the open window, she watched a buckboard rumble toward the railway station. “I suppose you’re right, but I didn’t want to take that chance. And now there is no going back.”
Robbie smiled, his blue eyes glinting with amusement.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking about how God answers prayers.”
She looked up at him, her brows raised, her palms up.
“Just this morning I was trying to settle on the subject for next week’s sermon. I couldn’t seem to decide what I should talk about. And then lo and behold, here comes my oldest friend, wrestling with the question of deceit.”