A Promise to Believe In

by Tracie Peterson

  Adrian extended his hand, and Hank shook it. “They did go under for a time, but with a little reorganizing and new bond sales, they’ve regained some ground. In fact, the stronger the economy, the stronger they’ve become.”

  Gwen poured Hank coffee while he reached for the bowl of biscuits. “I’m glad to hear it. Railroads are important to this country.”

  “Indeed, they are. Every community wants a railroad.”

  “I don’t know that I do,” Lacy said. She served a platter of ham slices to a man at the opposite end of the first table. “The railroad would just hurt our business.”

  “Nonsense,” Adrian said with a flash of a smile. “The trains need hotels, same as the stage. Besides, with gals as pretty as you three, the railroad would advertise the spot just to attract customers.”

  Lacy laughed, and Gwen felt her cheeks grow hot as Adrian turned back to her and winked. “Are you all single?”

  “That’s hardly any of your business,” Hank declared with a frown.

  “It could be,” Adrian countered. “I wouldn’t be too unhappy with any one of them for a wife.”

  Beth nearly dropped the bowl of gravy she held. It clattered to the table, sloshing thick white liquid on the polished wood. “Sorry,” she murmured.

  Adrian flashed her a smile. “Never you mind that. These fellows would eat out of your hand if you’d let them.”

  Beth flushed and hurried from the room. Gwen shook her head. “I’ll get more coffee. If you gentlemen need anything more, just ask.”

  “I wouldn’t suggest that,” Hank muttered.

  She wasn’t sure why he seemed so out of sorts, but she left them to their railroad talk. “They certainly are an interesting bunch,” Gwen said as she joined Beth.

  “That’s putting it mildly. I’m sure glad you got back. Were you able to find what Mr. Bishop was looking for?”

  “No.” Gwen went to check on the biscuits she’d left in the oven. “But I do think I understand him a little better.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, I know more about his childhood and about Harvey. Remember all those stories Harvey used to tell us about his friend Aloysius?”

  “Of course. They were best friends.” Beth looked at her oddly. “Why?”

  “Hank is Aloysius.” Gwen pulled the biscuits from the oven.

  “Truly? That’s . . . well . . . unexpected, I would say.”

  Gwen laughed. “That’s putting it mildly. I couldn’t help but think over all the things Harvey had said about his friend, and now realizing it was his brother all along . . . well . . . that makes it very special. He adored Hank. That much is obvious.”

  “Yes, but he didn’t adore his family in general. At least, not enough to be honest about them.”

  Gwen frowned. The nagging doubts that had surfaced in the face of Harvey’s lies were more than a little troubling. “I know. There were a great many problems. I don’t know why Harvey lied. I’ll never know, but I am determined to let it go—to just forgive him and move forward.”

  Beth nodded. “It’s probably for the best.”

  “We need more biscuits,” Lacy announced, bringing the empty bowl.

  “They’re ready,” Gwen said, pointing to the pan. “But this is the last of them.”

  “I’ll take out more potatoes, as well.” Beth reached for the large cast-iron skillet. “Hopefully they’ll get their fill, or we’ll have to charge them four bits apiece.”

  Gwen returned with a fresh pot of coffee to hear that the men were still discussing the Northern Pacific.

  “Things aren’t perfect,” Adrian Murphy told them, “but they’ve improved. I think the Battle at Little Bighorn proved to the country that the railroad is important to the territory. You know, Custer and his men were assigned to guard and protect the railroad surveyors and construction crews in ’75. It was a mighty big shock to hear of his death.”

  Hank held up his cup for Gwen to refill. “I suppose the company must be sufficiently on its feet again, if they sent another survey team out.”

  “They’re definitely in better shape now than four years ago,” Murphy admitted. “They just put Frederick Billings, a lawyer from Vermont, at the helm. He seems to have some good ideas, according to my boss. Wants to build as much track west of the Missouri River as we can get figured out. He has teams out all over the territory.”

  “Sounds like an ambitious goal,” Hank said.

  “Ambitious ain’t the half of it, mister. He’d like to build one hundred miles before winter sets in.”

  Gwen shook her head. “One hundred miles? I can’t even fathom it. The land must be very difficult to cross, and there are still problems with the Indians from time to time. There are the renegade bands to contend with.”

  Adrian nodded and fixed her with an intense gaze. “There are troubles, to be sure, but the railroad is going to change your world, Miss Gallatin.”

  Gwen turned away, nodding. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

  Hank was glad when the men from the railroad had their fill of breakfast and began to clear out. They paid above what the girls asked, so Hank couldn’t fault them for their generosity. He wasn’t all that impressed with their manners, however.

  “Ma’am, if you would just marry me,” one man told Gwen, “I’d be the happiest fellow in the world.”

  “Yes, but would she be the happiest woman?” Beth teased.

  The man looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “I believe she would be. I’d take mighty good care of her. I’d even buy her a new washtub.”

  “Well, that is a high recommendation,” Beth said as she gave the man a nudge from the dining room, “but I couldn’t do without my sister just yet.”

  “You could come along,” the man offered over his shoulder. “I’ve got me a brother who’s lookin’ for a wife.”

  Hank couldn’t believe how brazen the men were. They didn’t seem to care if the girls were embarrassed by their flattery or attention. He finally took a stand.

  “The Gallatin ladies have more than enough work to do in the wake of your attack on their dining room and home. I’d like to recommend you move on.”

  “Mr. Bishop is right,” Adrian Murphy said, raising his arms. “We need to hit the trail. Let’s get on over to the smithy and gather our horses.”

  There were moans and groans, but most of the men moved in an orderly fashion toward the porch. One man approached Gwen with his hat in hand. He looked rather sheepish as he raised his gaze from the floor.

  “Ma’am . . . ah . . . I’m powerfully embarrassed to admit that I ran out of paper in the men’s outhouse and tore off a piece of the newsprint from the wall. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  Gwen smiled sweetly at the man. “It’s not a problem, I assure you. Thank you for letting me know.”

  Another man came up at this point. “I’m afraid I tracked mud on your rug, ma’am. I tried to clean it up, but there’s a stain.”

  Gwen nodded and maintained her gentle nature. “It’s not the first time, I assure you. Please don’t give it a second thought.”

  “Let’s move along, men,” Mr. Murphy called from the door.

  Once the last man was out of the house, Hank turned to find the girls hard at work. He admired the way they shared the responsibilities. It wasn’t long before the mess was cleared away and the dining room was set to rights.

  The girls were chatting in the kitchen, and Hank felt rather the outsider. He had liked being a part of the team earlier. It gave him a sense of belonging he’d not felt in a long time. There was something about this place—this land—that seemed to do that for him, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why.

  With nothing else to capture his time or attention, Hank decided to go for a walk. He whistled for Major and found the dog eager to join him. Hank hoped the girls wouldn’t mind that he’d encouraged Major to leave the cabin. He certainly didn’t want to see the animal get in trouble.

  “It seem
s to be a fine day,” he told Major. “It’d be even finer if I had the certificates I came for.”

  But if he found them, he’d have to leave. Hank frowned at that thought. He didn’t want to leave. He’d found peace here. He’d found hope again. Mrs. Shepard had helped him to understand God better, and while Hank still had a lot of unanswered questions, he knew that his life would be forever changed because of that one event.

  He thought of Gwen and knew she had changed him, as well. He’d never cared about falling in love—about having a wife and family. But now he did. Setting his heart right with God had helped him to set it right in so many other ways. He supposed that was why dealing with the railroad surveyors had made him a bit moody. They had no right to suggest marriage to a woman they didn’t even know.

  “I have no right, either,” he muttered. “I hardly know her any better than they do.”

  Major took off running after a magpie, apparently bored with Hank’s grumblings. Hank looked off toward the east and the range of mountains that marked the horizon. Snow capped their crowns, but the lower elevations were green and tree covered. He felt as though he’d grown to be a part of them.

  But what about Boston? What about Mother in Rhode Island?

  He couldn’t very well leave her to fend for herself. Nor could he just walk away from his business ventures. Or could he?

  He could sell out easily enough, and his mother had plans to travel with her sister. She’d be in Europe, so long as the certificates were found. And if they weren’t found, Hank already knew he could sell the business and give his mother a good portion of the money and pretend he had found them. He could just start over here in Montana.

  I still have to tell Mother about Harvey, he thought, shaking his head. Hearing about the death of her youngest would not be easy. So long as no one spoke the words, a chance still remained that her child was alive and well.

  Hank glanced across the field to where the cemetery stood. He was surprised to see a woman walking beneath the trees. There was a familiarity to her gait, and Hank knew without a doubt it was Gwen.

  Walking slowly so she could spy him and leave if she wanted, Hank made his way toward the graveyard. She didn’t acknowledge him, however. Her back was turned to him, and even as he approached, she didn’t seem to realize someone had joined her.

  She stood staring down, not at her father’s grave, as he’d seen her do on other occasions, but at Harvey’s.

  “Would you rather be alone?” he asked.

  Gwen turned but didn’t appear surprised to see him there. “No.”

  Hank studied her for a moment. His heart stirred with emotion. What could he say? What should he say? The silence hung uncomfortably between them for several minutes.

  “I know you really loved him. I’m sorry I ever accused you of anything else.”

  Gwen shook her head. “I loved the man I knew as Harvey Bishop, but that man lied to me. He wasn’t at all who he said he was. I came to realize the other night that I never really even knew him.”

  Hank felt sorry for her. The pain in her tone was clear. “I’m sure he loved you, Gwen.”

  “I like to think so, but maybe even that was just a game to him. Something to hide behind, in case the past ever tried to catch up with him.”

  “I don’t think my brother would lie about loving you.”

  She turned away from the grave and faced Hank. “Why not? He lied about loving you.”

  “Not really. He told you of his love for Aloysius.” Hank saw the hurt in her eyes as she nodded. “Gwen, time will heal your wounds. That’s all I can say.” He stopped and shook his head. “Well, that’s not exactly true. I guess it took Jesus to help heal mine.”

  She looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I had a long talk with Mrs. Shepard. She helped me to see some things straight—especially where God was concerned.”

  Gwen smiled. “She has a way of doing that. She helped me too, although I’m still not completely sure what it means for my life. I don’t know what my future holds.”

  Hank didn’t want to admit he’d heard the conversation Gwen had shared with Patience. Especially since he had something entirely different in mind. Stepping toward her, he reached out and touched her cheek. “I have some thoughts on what your future might include.”

  Her eyes widened as he lowered his lips to hers. Hank savored the feel of her as she yielded to his touch. She still smelled a bit smoky from the Shepards’ fire, but that only endeared her to him all the more.

  Without warning, she stiffened and pushed him away. “I need to go.”

  “Wait. I know you’re still in mourning for Harvey, and I shouldn’t have done that. Please forgive me. I’m no better than all those lovesick survey men.”

  Gwen looked rather confused for a moment, then shook her head. “I’m not mourning Harvey anymore.” She lifted her skirts and very nearly dashed across the cemetery to cross the distance to Gallatin House.

  Hank had no idea what to think. If she wasn’t mourning Harvey, then why had she pulled away? Why had she submitted to his kiss one minute, then ended it the next?

  Gwen raced into the house, her heart pounding from the run as well as the fear that coursed through her. She had fallen in love with Hank Bishop, and apparently he had noticed it. Otherwise, why would he have kissed her? Why did she always have to wear her heart on her sleeve?

  Her eyes blurred, and her heart felt as if it might break. Hank would leave soon. With or without the certificates, his life was in Boston. Blinded by her tears, she hurried up the stairs and didn’t realize Beth was there until she knocked into her at full speed.

  Beth cried out and grasped for the banister as she began to fall backward. Gwen reached for her sister, but it was too late. Beth crashed against the steps and railing with sickening thuds.

  Gwen screamed, but there was no one and nothing that could stop the tragedy from unfolding before her.

  I’ve killed her. I am cursed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Hank came running at the sound of Gwen’s scream. He couldn’t imagine what would send her into such hysterics. Major passed him quickly and bounded into the still-open front door, barking in a fitful ruckus as he went.

  Reaching the porch, Hank’s feet never touched the steps. He leapt onto the landing and rushed into the house. “What’s wrong?”

  He saw Gwen standing on the stairs, frozen in place with her hands to her mouth. At the bottom of the steps lay Beth, unconscious and bleeding from a blow to the head.

  “What happened?” he asked, kneeling beside the still form.

  “I . . . oh . . . I . . .” Gwen sank to the steps.

  “Gwen? Are you all right? What happened to Beth? Did Mr. Bishop hurt her?”

  Hank threw Lacy a scathing look. “I do wish you didn’t think quite so highly of me, Miss Gallatin. Your sister obviously fell. Is that what happened, Gwen?”

  She seemed to recover some of her senses and rushed to Beth’s side. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. I knocked her down. Oh, Beth! Beth, please wake up.” She reached for Beth’s body and pulled her into her arms. Rocking her back and forth, Gwen sobbed. “Please don’t die. Please, Beth.”

  “I’ll go for the doctor,” Lacy said. She was out the door before Hank could approve her plan or state otherwise.

  “Let’s get her upstairs to bed,” Hank said. “You lead the way; I’ll carry her.”

  Gwen seemed reluctant to let him take Beth but finally yielded and got to her feet. “It’s the last room on the left, once you go down our private hall.” She raced ahead of him and opened the door.

  Hank carefully maneuvered Beth’s petite frame through the door. The bleeding wasn’t so bad, he thought, but the goose egg on her forehead was growing by the minute. “Do you have any ice?”

  Gwen turned at her sister’s bedroom. “I think there’s still a little in the cellar. There won’t be much.”

  “Get what you can. We need to control the swelli
ng on her head.”

  Gwen went first to pull down the covers on the bed. “I’ll be right back with it,” she told him as she raced for the door.

  Hank placed Beth upon the bed and smoothed back her hair. Spying the bowl and pitcher, he took up a nearby towel and dampened it. He cleaned the blood away from the wound, happy to see that the cut was minimal. Hopefully, the blow wouldn’t cause internal problems.

  She moaned but didn’t awaken. Hank shook his head, remembering her innocent act when he’d learned of the red dye she’d used on his shirts. When they’d returned this morning, he’d been happy to find the remaining lavender shirts were now a dark blue. They suited him much better. No doubt Beth had been responsible for this change, as well.

  He smiled. The Gallatin women were certainly an unpredictable and charming bunch. He rinsed the cloth and put it on Beth’s forehead. As he did so, Hank spied something sticking out from beneath her pillow. He reached for it and smiled. It was a dime novel, not unlike the ones he’d found in the shed. This one appeared to be a romance that suggested mystery and scandal.

  The Lost Lady of Malburay. He chuckled and put the book back under her pillow as he heard Gwen approaching down the hall.

  “Here,” she said. “It isn’t much, but I did my best to chop it up a bit.” She handed him a knotted dish towel.

  “It’s plenty,” he assured. Hank removed the wet towel and replaced it with the bag of ice.

  Gwen sat on the opposite side of the bed and took up Beth’s hand. “I can’t believe I was so careless. If she dies . . . if she . . .”

  “She’s not going to die. Look—she’s already coming around.”

  Beth’s eyelashes fluttered and opened. She looked rather befuddled. “What’s happened?”

  “Oh, it’s all my fault,” Gwen told her. “I knocked you down the stairs in my rush to get to my room. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t even see you there.”

  “I hurt. My back feels twisted.”

  “Lacy’s gone for the doctor, but it will probably be a while before they get back,” Gwen told her. “Just lie still and let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”