by Karen Kirst
“I feel…angry. Not just at her, but at myself.” He turned to face his father and forced himself to speak the truth. “I could have fought for her. I thought about it so many times. How hard would it have been to get on a train to Houston and have an honest conversation with her? But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not after how she threw me away—threw away the future I wanted us to have together. I thought we were in love. I must have been wrong, if she was able to turn away from it so easily. Since then, I’ve just been numb. I tried to find a girl who would be content with that. No one ever was. But maybe now that it’s truly over, I can finally put it all to rest.”
His father was quiet for a long moment. Right when Chris was beginning to feel uncomfortable for revealing all of that, Olan spoke. “What’s stopping you from fighting for her now?”
Chris gave a short laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. Sanity, probably.”
“Hey.” Olan leaned forward, brow furrowed. “I’m serious. You might say you’re ready to put it to rest, but I can see you still have strong feelings for her. You need those settled before you can move on. If you can move on. Maybe all of this is God’s way of showing you that you gave up too soon.”
“Why would you, of all people, want me to go after her?”
“Does it matter?”
“It really does.”
“I’d hate to see you start your marriage to another girl with this hanging over your head.”
Suddenly realizing he no longer had a buffer to protect him from his father’s attempts at an arranged marriage, Chris tensed. “Is this about Bridget Saltzberg?”
Exasperation painted Olan’s features. “The girl’s name is Britta Solberg. And, no. This is about you and the fact that being in love with someone else is a horrible way to start a marriage.”
“Listen, I never said I was still in love with Adelaide. I’m not. If that’s the only reason you think I should fight for her, then it’s not good enough.”
“I think it is. Marriage is challenging enough without that type of strain. Now, I have an idea and I think you’re going to like it.” At Chris’s doubtful look, Olan shrugged. “Well, you’ll like at least half of it. I’ll agree to see a heart specialist in Houston if you’ll agree to figure out your true feelings for Adelaide while we’re there.”
Chris stared at his father. “That, sir, is blackmail.”
“Let’s just call it…motivation.”
“Unbelievable.” Chris sank into the chair across from his father and shook his head in amazement. “You know there is no way I can turn that down. I can’t even try to stall you because the sooner you see a doctor, the better. I almost can’t even be upset at you for doing it because it’s such a brilliant move.”
Olan patted him on the knee, then stood. “I’ve got to take care of a few things before we leave, but there should be a train coming through about noon tomorrow. Be ready to get on it. And come inside. Your ma has a plate for you.”
He’d been outmaneuvered, outthought, outplanned and there was nothing he could do about it. Not that he felt particularly interested in digging through his feelings for Adelaide. What did his feelings matter when she’d made her own stance perfectly clear? Still, for honor’s sake, he ought to at least be in the woman’s general vicinity once or twice if possible. He’d just have to keep his guard up, because there was no way he was going to get his heart tangled up with that woman again.
*
If a young lady truly loved my son, no one would be able to persuade her not to marry him.
Mr. Johansen’s words reverberated in her head all the way back to Houston. They hurt, not because they had been cruelly meant, but because they were true. They meant her mother must have been right all along. Adelaide hadn’t loved Chris. What they’d felt had been nothing more than a childish fleeting fancy.
It had been odd, though, to stand in the Johansen’s parlor and catch a glimpse of what her life might have been. If she’d loved Chris, perhaps she would have flouted her mother’s wishes. She might have run back to Peppin when she was eighteen to marry him in a ceremony very much like the ones his parents had planned yesterday. She might have lost her mother’s approval but she would have gained his family’s love and support. She’d be much closer to her old friends in Peppin—people who were warm, friendly, and accepting, unlike the society mavens Rose was trying so hard to impress.
It sounded rather idyllic until she remembered that Chris hadn’t loved her, either. He never would have sought out the company of another woman if he had. Adelaide needed to remember that she hadn’t ended their engagement only because she’d doubted the depth of her feelings, but also because she’d feared the life she could see folding out before her the moment she’d read Amy’s letter. It was a life very much like Rose’s had been up to that point—married young to a handsome salesman with a wandering heart. Adelaide could never abide that.
She’d locked away her thoughts of a future in Peppin with Chris and focused on finding some means of supporting herself so that she’d never have to rely on a husband. Thankfully, with Everett’s help, she’d honed her talent for writing. His family’s connections in the publishing world had helped secure her first book deal. She’d managed the rest by herself and was well on her way to fulfilling her new dream. That’s what she needed to focus on, not her trip to the past.
She tightened her grasp on her carrying case as she stepped from the train onto the covered platform. Everett paused beside her and she followed his gaze to the looming three-story brick building that was Houston’s Grand Central Station. He smiled. “As much as I enjoy chasing down a good story, there’s nothing quite like coming home again. Why don’t you go find your mother in the waiting room while I gather our luggage? We’ll meet at the station entrance. That will save us some time, and we’ll be home before we know it.”
She worried her bottom lip. “And I’ll have a few moments alone with Mother to tell her what happened on our trip.”
“Exactly.” He patted her arm and set off in the direction of the baggage claim.
Adelaide sighed, then gathered her courage and slipped through the bustling crowd. In the waiting room, Rose gave her a perfunctory hug, then asked, “Where’s your stepfather?”
“He’s going to meet us at the entrance with the luggage.”
Rose scanned the crowd as they walked. “Well, I’ll have a thing or two to say to him about taking you to Peppin.”
“He didn’t know. I mean, we never told him much about our history there. I…didn’t visit father’s grave.”
“Why would you?” Rose pressed her lips together, then turned to look at Adelaide. “Did you see any of your old friends?”
“I saw Chris,” Adelaide said, because that was really what her mother was asking. “He still works in his father’s store.”
“I don’t suppose he’s married.”
“No.”
“His kind hardly ever does marry, which is a mercy, really.”
Adelaide pulled in a trembling breath. For a moment it was all she could do not to turn on her heel and board a train bound for anywhere out of here. She shook the notion from her head. What was wrong with her? Her mother hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. Yet, for the hundredth time, Adelaide wished she’d never breathed a word about why she’d broken off her engagement with Chris. She swallowed any further details of her time with Chris in Peppin and smiled. “I had dinner with Ellie and Lawson Williams while I was there.”
Rose seemed to relax a little. “Did you? That sounds lovely. Now, tell me, did you get as much writing done as you’d hoped?”
“Yes. Well, almost.” Adelaide had been too distracted to get much written while she was in Peppin. However, the rest of the trip made up for that. “The change of scenery helped me figure out what was wrong with my heroine.”
“Good! Then you’ll have plenty of time for all of our social engagements.”
“Oh.” Disappointment filled her voice, but Rose didn’t seem t
o notice. Adelaide shook her head slightly. Why was it so hard to remember that her mother had no interest in Adelaide’s books? Although Rose had never expressly said so, it was obvious the woman thought that writing dime novels was a waste of time and a borderline vulgar means of making money. Adelaide tried not to let that disdain affect her. After all, her mother had never read a single one of her stories, so Rose was hardly an authority on the subject.
“You do remember that we’re having a garden party at our house this afternoon, don’t you?”
She smiled as pleasantly as possible while wondering if her mother had truly mentioned this before. Sometimes Rose liked to spring things on her at the last minute so that she wouldn’t have a chance to back out. Well, Adelaide could hardly back out of this since it was taking place at their house—no matter how much she might wish she could. As her mother went down the list of eligible gentlemen who were expected to attend, Adelaide stared out the window at the busy street outside the station. The energy of the city could be both exciting and overwhelming. Trolley cars zipped down the street, clanging their approach to each intersection with a jolly bell. The clop of horses’ hooves sounded against brick-paved streets. Grand multistory buildings jutted toward a sky that seemed all the bigger and bolder for the city’s lack of hills.
Everett greeted Rose with a hug and a circumspect kiss on the cheek. He whispered something that made Rose’s tense shoulders ease completely. Finally, Rose laughed, then teased him back. Adelaide blinked at the transformation. Everett’s effect on her mother was truly amazing. Somehow he knew just how to soften her edges and ease her anxiety. Even the cadence of her mother’s voice was calmer now.
Why couldn’t Rose relax that way around her? Adelaide blinked away the prickle of tears that threatened her vision. She had them firmly under control by the time she climbed into the carriage with her family. It wasn’t long before they reached the Holden Mansion. Blossoming magnolia trees shaded the long sidewalk that led to the sprawling green-and-white two-story home. As soon as she entered, a maid rushed her upstairs where a hot bath waited. Adelaide washed away the dust of her travels, then barely had a chance to unpack a few essentials before it was time to dress for the party.
Clad in a mint green walking dress and flowered hat, Adelaide stood beside Rose and Everett on the back patio where they welcomed the guests to their extensive lawn and garden. Most of the attendees were far closer to being acquaintances than true friends. Part of that was her fault. Adelaide focused so much on the imaginary worlds she created with her pen and ink that she didn’t pay much attention to the real one. It didn’t help that she’d never felt as though she belonged in this world. Though society had been polite and welcoming, she was certain they knew it, too. After all, she wasn’t a Holden like her mother. She was simply Adelaide Harper—the daughter of a no-good traveling salesman.
“I think most of our guests have arrived,” Rose said, then nodded toward a small group of young men and women who were laughing together. “Adelaide, dear, why don’t you join that nice group of young people? Try to make some friends and, please, for my sake, don’t mention your books.”
Adelaide stiffened, then watched her mother walk away.
Everett stayed behind to give her arm a gentle squeeze. “She means well, Adelaide.”
Not in the mood for comfort or company, Adelaide shied from his touch and strode toward a hidden corner of the garden behind the greenhouse. This was her safe haven. An oak tree stretched its branches over an extremely comfortable wooden bench that she often curled up on to think or write or daydream. Today she paced in front of it. A familiar, slow-burning anger flickered to life inside her.
Why was it so hard to be the woman her mother wanted her to be? Perhaps it was because Adelaide didn’t like that woman. She was weak, superficial and controllable. She never dared speak her mind. She was boring and vapid. She was nothing like the person Adelaide used to be. The one she’d been in Peppin.
A smile tugged at her lips at the memory of the way she’d behaved the previous day—horribly. She’d kissed the last man on earth she should’ve kissed, right in the middle of his family’s store. She’d put up a fight when he’d dragged her into that alley. She’d certainly had no trouble venting her temper then. She’d come up with the idea to keep the story of their engagement going. And, great day in the morning, she’d enjoyed it—every bit of it. Well, except for the part where it had all come crashing down around her.
“Adelaide?”
She startled, then spun toward the voice to find one of her mother’s guests had followed her. It wasn’t just any guest, though. It was Bertrand Milney, the man Rose had been trying to pair her up with for the last three months. He fit all of her mother’s requirements to a T. He was successful, well-known in Houston’s elite circles, and…well, rather plain. Adelaide might not have minded that so much if they had some sort of innate connection, spark or even common interest. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. However, he’d always been kind and respectful toward her, so she’d done her best to be pleasant without actually encouraging his attentions.
His pale gray eyes latched on to her with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Was there something you needed?”
“Just a moment of your time, if that’s all right.” He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and gazed at the stone pathway beneath his feet in deep contemplation. “You see, there comes a time in each man’s life where he begins to think quite seriously about his future.”
Oh, no.
“That future can never be complete without a proper companion—a wife.”
She sank to the wooden bench and barely held back a sigh.
“I’ve come to regard you fondly.” His lanky form bent down to one knee. “Your mother says that you’ve spoken of your feelings for me—”
“Oh, she did? I see. Did she happen to tell you what those feelings were?” Adelaide had told her mother more than once that she wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship with Bertrand.
“She didn’t have to say anything. I know you care for me, too, but please don’t interrupt.”
Her eyebrows rose. She bit her lip to hold back a laugh. This was the third proposal her mother had managed to procure for her in three years. So far, it was simultaneously the best and worst of the lot.
Adelaide was impressed by her mother’s effort. Only three months into the year and already she’d prompted a suitor to propose. She was far ahead of schedule. At this rate, she might be able to up the average.
Bertrand seemed to realize he’d made a mistake, for he winced. “It’s only that I’ve memorized everything. As I was saying…”
Suddenly, his words faded to mere background noise. Adelaide narrowed her eyes and tilted her head as she watched an intruder climb over the fence behind him, landing in the grass with a loud oomph. Straightening, the man brushed the dirt from his knees and the palms of his hands. She’d recognized him immediately, of course, and the flood of relief she felt upon being in his presence again was downright unsettling. She stood and walked toward him. “Chris Johansen, what in the world? What are you doing here? Why did you jump our fence?”
His blue eyes caught on hers. A sheepish grin tilted his lips. He lifted his chin in a quick greeting. “Hello there, Adelaide. Nice to see you again. Your servants refused to let me into the house without an invitation. My pa and I didn’t hop a train and come all this way to get turned away at the door.”
She shook her head. She wouldn’t allow herself to entertain any silly notions about his intentions—no matter how fast her foolish heart tried to race. “I don’t understand.”
“He wants to apologize, is all. I told him—” The sound of a throat clearing interrupted him. He glanced behind her and lifted a brow. “Am I interrupting something?”
Adelaide whirled to find Bertrand still kneeling before the bench with his elbow resting against his knee. A sapphire ring g
leamed in his hand. Bertrand stood, his chest puffing out a bit. “You most certainly are. You’ve ruined my proposal. I’ve forgotten the entire thing.”
“Honestly, Bertrand, it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, but I wasn’t going to accept your offer of marriage.”
“Of course you were. Your mother gave me her blessing. She said you—”
Chris made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Your mother gave him her blessing. That’s rich.”
“Excuse me?” Bertrand glared at Chris, then turned to Adelaide. “Is he why you’re turning me down? Who is this man to you? Some secret beau? Is that why you were hiding back here? You were planning to meet him, weren’t you?”
“I was…” Her adamant protests died a sudden death at the birth of a new idea. Oh, she shouldn’t. She couldn’t. Well, she could, but she really shouldn’t.
It had worked for Chris, though, for almost four years. Imagine the progress she could make on her career in four long years! She’d be entirely independent by then. All she had to do was put on a convincing show while Chris was here, which surely wouldn’t be for long. When he left, she’d be set. Her mother might not stop throwing other men at her. However, Adelaide would be able to tell those men she was taken, which should keep them from proposing. Rose would be absolutely livid about Adelaide’s choice of beau and possible groom…so much so that having a daughter settled down to the quiet life of a spinster writer would seem far more palatable in comparison.
Doing her best to hide the smile playing at her lips, Adelaide lifted her chin. She allowed the tears she’d held at bay all morning to well in her eyes. That gave her a tragic air as she said, “I’m sorry you found out this way, Bertrand. But, I suppose it’s only right that you know the truth. Just please…don’t tell my mother.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Chris narrowed his eyes and turned to stare at Adelaide in disbelief. Her beautiful green eyes glistened with unshed tears. A cool wind tugged at her copper curls and teased the lace swags of her skirt. She was vulnerability mixed with defiance. It was a downright distracting sight to behold. However, the hint of a smile on her rosy lips told Chris his ears hadn’t deceived him. He knew exactly what she was doing, and he’d have no part in it. “Adelaide—”