"How did you find this?"
"The box fell over and it came out."
Marian pursed her lips, then she bit her lower lip.
"Is he a relative?" Hannah asked.
"No, he's not a relative," Marian replied. "He's a man I knew a long time ago. Please return it to the box, dear."
Marian handed the photograph to Hannah and continued to extract items from her dresser. Hannah knew from her mother's demeanor that the conversation was over. She left the room and returned the picture to the box, but not before studying the man's face.
She had a beau before father, Hannah thought. The idea of her mother having a secret beau tickled Hannah. She smiled.
"Hello, Hannah," Sophie Liberty said.
Hannah looked up and saw Sophie walking up the walkway. She was smiling and waving, and Hannah took in a deep breath.
"Oh, it's so sad seeing all these boxes on your porch. I just can't bear the thought of you leaving."
Hannah stood as Sophie climbed the stairs. She then came to Hannah and threw her arms around Hannah's slight frame and pulled her close. Sophie's generous proportions swallowed up the tiny girl, who fought to keep her nose above Sophie's arms. She then pulled away and looked into Hannah's eyes while she held the girl's hands.
"I've never had a chance to tell you how utterly sorry I am for John's behavior. I was so looking forward to having you as my daughter. I shall never forgive him."
"I'm all right, Mrs. Liberty. I've forgiven John and now I'm looking forward to going to Colorado."
Hannah hoped her tone would persuade Sophie that she was, indeed, all right. Hannah had been upset when she heard of John's nuptials, but she had been so busy with moving she hadn't had time to think of him. Now that she did, she found she truly had forgiven him.
"Oh, my dear, I'm so happy to hear that. I will sleep better knowing you have moved on. I just know you will find a wonderful man of your own someday."
Hannah's sudden desire to strike the older woman surprised her. She smiled and wished Sophie would leave her to finish her packing.
"Hannah," Becky shouted. "Will you come and help me?"
"I have to go, Mrs. Liberty," Hannah said. She took her hands from Mrs. Liberty's and went to the kitchen.
"I wanted to rescue you from that woman," Becky said.
"Oh, she's not so bad. She just thinks her son is the sun and the moon."
"And she was willing to let you marry him."
"I don't think it was quite that bad. She always treated me well."
"There's just something phony about her that don't sit well with me," Becky said.
"Do you really need my help?" Hannah asked, changing the subject.
"Can you take some of the smaller boxes to the porch?"
"I can," Hannah said.
She stacked one small box upon another and picked them up. As she was taking them to the porch, she saw Mr. Rousseau standing in the doorway with his hat in his hand. When he saw Hannah approaching, he smiled.
"Good morning, Hannah," he said.
"Good morning, Mr. Rousseau."
"Oh, please call me Pierre. I am no longer your teacher and Mr. Rousseau is so formal, don't you think?"
Hannah set the boxes down and straightened up.
"I prefer Mr. Rousseau," she said. She crossed her arms over her chest.
"I was wondering if I might speak with your mother," he said.
"She's upstairs. Let me fetch her for you."
Hannah counted the stairs as she climbed them. She wasn't sure what Mr. Rousseau wanted to talk to Marian about, but she felt very uncomfortable in his presence. Since the night of the ball, she had been aware that his feelings for her were more than platonic. Also, Louise had warned her not to be alone with him. She wouldn't elaborate when Hannah asked why, but she trusted Louise and knew her friend would not advise her needlessly.
Marian was closing a box when Hannah came to the door.
"Mama," Hannah said.
Marian straightened her skirt and ran a hand over her hair.
"Mr. Rousseau is on the porch. He wants to see you."
"Mr. Rousseau? Did he say why?"
"No, but..."
"But, what, Hannah?"
"Louise told me...she said I should be careful around him."
Marian walked to her daughter and put her hands on Hannah's shoulders.
"Why would she say that?"
"She thinks he...has designs on me."
Marian raised her eyebrows. "You've never mentioned this before."
"I didn't think it was true. Then at the ball, he danced with me and it felt...it didn't feel good."
"Well, let's see what he wants, shall we?"
They walked down the stairs and Hannah stayed in the foyer as Marian went to the porch. She could see Marian shake Mr. Rousseau's hand, then she heard her invite him to the parlor.
"Hannah," she said. "Would you ask Becky to bring us some tea?"
Hannah went to the kitchen and Marian led Mr. Rousseau to the parlor. She sat on the settee and he sat on the wingchair.
"Becky," Hannah said. "Mama wants you to bring tea to the parlor. My teacher is with her."
"Which teacher? That old woman with the yellow teeth?"
"No. It's Mr. Rousseau."
"The Frenchman?" Becky's eyes lit up. He was a handsome man, that Frenchman.
"Yes."
"What kind of tea do you think he likes?" Becky said.
"I have no idea. I just know I don't like him."
"Why? What happened?"
"He danced with me at the ball and it wasn't pleasant."
"Why didn't you say something to me?"
"I didn't think it mattered. It was one time."
"What did the scoundrel do?"
"Nothing. He just danced with me."
"That's all?"
"Yes, that's all. But it was the way he looked at me."
"You can't fault a man for looking. You're a cute one, Hannah."
"But it made me feel strange."
"Well, he can't do anything while I'm in the house, so relax and take some more boxes to the porch."
Becky put the kettle on to boil and Hannah picked up a large box. As she passed the parlor, she saw Marian nodding her head. Mr. Rousseau was talking. He could be very charming and Hannah worried her mother would be taken in by his words. She placed the box on the porch and stood by the parlor door to listen.
"I'm sure you are aware that Hannah only just turned eighteen, Mr. Rousseau. I'm sure you are also aware that we are going to Colorado next week."
"Yes, I know, but I wanted to let you know that my intentions regarding Hannah are honorable."
"I'm sure they are, Mr. Rousseau, but I must tell you that she has recently broken off her engagement and I don't think she's interested in embarking on another relationship at this time."
"I understand completely, Mrs. Dawes. I merely wanted to let you know that when the time comes, I would like to be considered. I would be grateful if you would give me an address where I may write to Hannah."
"As I said, Mr. Rousseau, Hannah has just turned eighteen and..."
"She is over the age of consent," he said.
"Yes, but she is still very young."
Becky saw Hannah standing by the parlor door when she brought the tea tray in and placed it on the table in front of Marian.
"Thank you, Becky," she said.
Becky rolled her eyes toward the door. Marian understood that Hannah was listening.
"How do you take your tea, Mr. Rousseau?" Marian said.
"Sugar, please," he replied.
Marian poured the tea and added one teaspoon of sugar. She handed the tea to Mr. Rousseau. Becky was still standing next to her.
"You may leave, Becky."
Becky hesitated before leaving, and when she did, she stood on the other side of the door and frowned at Hannah, but Becky didn't leave.
"I will tell Hannah what we discussed, Mr. Rousseau. If, after we
arrive in Colorado, she would like to pursue a relationship with you, she has my permission to write to you."
Mr. Rousseau's face darkened. Marian could tell he hadn't expected her resistance and he didn't like it. She had only seen him in his capacity as Hannah's teacher where he had been cool but unthreatening. Now, she understood Hannah's concern regarding the man. There was something unsettling about him.
"Very well," he said. "But tell her I am certain of my feelings for her."
"I'll tell her what we discussed," Marian said as she sipped her tea.
Marian was the consummate hostess. She plied Mr. Rousseau with idle chatter about her trip to Colorado and how much she would miss her home of twenty years. There was no more talk of Hannah. When his teacup was empty, Marian stood to signal the visit was over and Mr. Rousseau followed her to the front door. Hannah had retreated to the porch and Becky to the kitchen before they left the parlor.
He bowed and kissed her hand before leaving. Marian gently wiped the back of her hand on her dress when he was out of sight. Hannah noticed her mother's gesture and smiled.
She knows, Hannah thought.
"The men will be here in the morning to take these boxes," Marian said. "Where's Jimmy? We could use his help."
"I think he's playing with his friends. I felt so sorry for him. He's going to miss them so I said he could go."
"What about your friends?" Marian asked. "Don't you want to see them?"
"There's only Louise, and she's coming over later this afternoon."
"Then we'll have to get moving."
Marian went back upstairs and Hannah sat on one of the trunks. She glanced over at the Liberty house and the memory of John sitting on the porch railing came to her mind. He must have been fourteen at the time, and he smiled at her. She felt a tug in her chest and felt a tear sting her eye. It was only six years ago, but it seemed like a lifetime.
Chapter 22
High Bend, Colorado
Work on the house had gone well and James was satisfied with Miles design. The house had two floors. The first floor had a parlor, a dining room, a kitchen, a pantry, a mudroom, and a study. The second floor had three bedrooms and a bathroom. As he walked through the empty house, he wondered how a woman would fix it up.
He hadn't wallpapered it or painted it yet. He wanted Marian to choose her own decorations. He knew she had furniture and he'd paid for it to be delivered from New Jersey. It had cost a pretty penny to have it come on the train, but it was better than buying new when she arrived. This way, it would be here before she was and she could arrange it anyway she liked.
He hadn't seen his sister in twenty years. She had been a girl of seventeen when he saw her last. Now she was a middle-aged matron. No, she was a widow. He kept forgetting that Randall had died.
He had placed the picture of Hannah in a frame on his parlor mantle and, out of respect for his sister, put the boy's picture in a frame, too. He wasn't sure where the boy came from, but if he was hardy, James would put him to work on the ranch. He could always use a hand.
The train with the furniture was due in Denver at noon tomorrow and he had hired a big wagon and a driver from the livery in High Bend. The town was small, but more people moved in every year and the main street, Ludlow Avenue, was filling up with businesses.
The livery had come in last year. Now the dry goods, which had been there since James moved in, was surrounded by other shops and a hotel. The railroad had come, too. James had foreseen a boom and he owned property in town. He was hoping to see a huge profit as speculators came to High Bend.
Adam Cobb, his hand, was coming with him to Denver to help load the wagon. Adam had been with James for nine years and had proved to be a trustworthy employee. He was loyal and respectful toward James, and inspired trust in the other hands in James' employ. James had built a room in the barn for Adam.
Adam was twenty-five. He'd been put on the train to Denver from St. Louis by his uncle when he was sixteen. His uncle's wife was tired of supporting his late sister's boy and believed the boy could find work in Denver. He gave Adam a five dollar bill and wished him well. When Adam got off the train in Denver, a man swindled him out of his five dollars and left him for dead in an alley behind a saloon.
Adam woke up with a face full of dried blood and a broken rib. He staggered out of the alley and James, who was leaving the dry goods store, saw him and came to his aid. After the doctor in Denver fixed him up, James put him in his wagon with the rest of his supplies and brought him home. The "boy" had worked for him ever since.
Adam was a quiet man. At first, James wondered if the beating had caused some brain damage, but over time he learned that Adam only spoke when he had something to say. He was smart and didn't miss a thing. Adam understood people well and he would warn James when he felt someone was trying to put one over on the older man.
James came to rely on Adam's intuition when it came to dealings with other ranchers and as a competent weather predictor. Adam always knew when bad weather was coming and if he told James it was time to bring in the cattle, James sent the boys out to bring in the cattle.
"We'll leave early in the morning," James said.
"I'll be ready," Adam said.
James and Adam were sitting on his porch smoking their pipes. Adam had been to town for a haircut. Over the winter, his straight brown hair had grown to his shoulders. He'd had a shave, too, and without the facial hair, Adam looked five years younger.
He had a gentle face, but James knew that underneath his soft features lay a strong, stubborn will. When Adam made a decision, he didn't change his mind. He was thoughtful and pondered things a long time, but once he was sure, he was sure forever.
"My sister has a daughter," James said. "I haven't been around women in a long time."
"The only woman I knew was my aunt, and I haven't been around any since," Adam said.
"Then we're both in for it, I'm afraid."
"How different can they be?" Adam remarked.
"Son, have you ever wondered why I live alone?"
Adam shook his head.
"Well, you're about to find out."
Chapter 23
Cherry Hill, New Jersey
Evan Morgan sat at his kitchen table reading a newspaper called the Red Bank Register. He'd sent for it as part of his ongoing investigation regarding Jean-Pierre Renault, a thief who had given Evan a concussion and left him for dead after he had tracked Renault to Toms River. Evan had subscribed to several newspapers across the state of New Jersey hoping to find information about Renault. One of his deputies had lived in Monmouth County and mentioned the Register to Evan.
Seven years ago, Renault stole two silver candlesticks from Moss Morgan's house. Moss, Evan's brother, discovered the theft upon returning home from church and called the sheriff's station. The candlesticks were a wedding present their mother brought with her from England when she came to America. The family heirloom was precious to the boys, and their theft infuriated Evan. He left Moss's house and followed the trail of footprints, half-eaten food, and extinguished campfires the thief left on the road. He tracked Renault to Toms River, where he saw the candlesticks in the window of a pawnshop. The pawnbroker told him where Renault was staying and Evan took him into custody.
A hurricane blew up the coast from Atlantic City and the local police force was called to help evacuate the area. Evan, unaware that the police station was unmanned, took Renault there. Before he could get Renault inside, he got the jump on Evan and escaped. Evan chased him and saw him turn into an alley between two brick buildings. He caught him, they fought, and Renault knocked him out by slamming Evan into the wall. Evan's head hit the wall hard and he fell unconscious. Renault, hoping Evan would die, took off.
When he woke up in that alley, Evan crawled to the street and was found by a man who was helping police evacuate the village. He took Evan to the local clinic, where a young doctor examined his head and said he had a bad concussion, but it would heal. When he got back to Ch
erry Hill a week and a half later, he was called to the mayor's office. Evan had taken off after Renault without telling anyone. The mayor told him he was lucky he still had his job. One more stunt like that, and he'd be fired.
Chester whimpered. The red Irish Setter had to go out and he'd been waiting for his master to notice him.
"What is it, Chet?" Evan said.
The dog whimpered again.
"All right. Give me a minute."
He had finished reading through the paper and was about to put it aside when something caught his eye. The small town of New Beach had held an art contest sometime in September of last year. A girl named Louise had won the top prize. There was a picture of Louise, a mousy girl with limp hair. Standing next to her was her teacher, Pierre Rousseau. A shiver went through Evan as he looked at the teacher's face. He suddenly remembered that miserable day in 1890 and the Frenchman he was transporting to jail. He remembered Jean-Pierre Renault, and he was standing next to Louise.
Evan stood and went to the telephone on the wall and gave the operator a number.
"I found him," he said to the party on the other end of the line. "No, but I know it's him...why? I have to go get him...yes, fine, I'll be there."
He slammed the receiver onto the hook. Chet whimpered.
"All right, boy, let's go."
He opened the back door and let the dog run out ahead of him. He stood on the porch and clenched his fists. He didn't like being told what to do.
Chester came back to the porch and sat by Evan's legs. He patted the dog's head and went back into the house.
"I gotta go to town, boy," he said. "I can't take you. I'll be back soon."
Old Mike was in his stall in the barn. Evan threw the saddle on the horse's back, climbed up, and rode to town.
He left Old Mike in front of the town hall and went into the big, white columned building. The mayor's secretary, a balding man named Pierce, announced him to the mayor, Jeremiah Bean.
"Come in," Jeremiah said. "Sit. Pierce, bring us some coffee."
Evan sat in a chair in front of the mayor's desk, took off his hat, and waited for Jeremiah to begin.
"So, you think you've found him."
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