“What’s your way?”
“Reading,” I said. “That’s why building a library here was so important to me. I wanted anyone to be able to have what I had when escaping into a book, no matter if they’re rich or poor.”
“It’s quite something—what you did.”
“I had a lot of help from Mama and Papa.” I gave him back the drawing. “Nothing compared to what you boys went through in the war.”
“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d make it home. I’ve never had much luck in life. When we lost so many of the boys that night…I didn’t think it would be me that survived.” He tucked the drawing away inside the inner pocket of his jacket.
“The night Walter died?”
“That’s right. One day you look around and think, how am I still here when the others are gone? I vowed not to be so satisfied with simple survival. Instead, to live life with boldness. Like your father.”
“How so?”
“In your letters, it was apparent he’s not a man satisfied with complacency simply because he could be. He didn’t do what was expected of him, but what he wanted. Coming here and building this town. Making a community. What could be more important than that?”
I nodded. It was true what he said. Papa had given up his title as the eldest son of English aristocracy to come to America and make his own way. “He always says the first time he stepped off the train in what was then an abandoned mining town he knew this was the exact spot he wanted to live for the rest of his life.”
“It’s extraordinary. Reading about him in your letters made me want to be a better man. I’ve spent too long in the background, letting others take what I wanted.”
“What is it that you want?” I asked.
He shifted on the bench as his gaze looked away from me toward the Christmas tree. “In one of your letters, you described when Delphia was born. Do you remember what you wrote?”
I nodded. “I think so.”
“Your described how the doctor said your mother might not make it because of an infection. You wrote how your father wouldn’t leave her side for days, alternating between praying on his knees and wiping her brow with a cool cloth. That image stayed with me as if I’d seen it with my own eyes. I want a love like that.”
My throat ached. I wanted that too. I’d thought I had it with Walter. “Mrs. Wu’s tea did its magic.”
“Mrs. Wu’s tea?”
“She makes this concoction with herbs and other plants—we don’t know what exactly, and she won’t give the recipe to anyone but her grandchildren. We all believed it cured her of the infection.”
“You never mentioned that in your letters.”
I turned my gaze back to the skaters, wishing I could think of a better explanation than the truth. “Oh, well, I didn’t think Walter would understand about the tea.”
“Why do you say that?”
“An instinct I had about him. He said a few things when we were together in Denver that made me think he didn’t like that people who weren’t of European heritage came to America. My family doesn’t think that way. We think what makes our community special are all the different cultures who’ve come here.” I waved my hand toward the pond. “Everyone here came from somewhere else.”
“Was that the kind of man you wanted?”
“It was a small thing. Compromises have to happen.”
He set aside his now-empty cup. “How am I going to get my boots back on?”
I laughed, the tension between us broken. “Are you sure you don’t want to try skating again?”
“If you’re willing to fall with me, then yes.”
Fall with him? Or was it fall for him?
I stood and held out my hand. He took it.
Phillip
I went home in the smaller of the sleighs. The twins were in the front and Josephine and I tucked in the back under a heavy blanket. Lanterns hung from the front of the sleigh helped to find our way in the dark. Above us, the stars twinkled brightly. I stared up at the sky, marveling at the beauty. The plodding noise of the horses tromping through the soft snow was steady as we made our way home. Tomorrow we would return to clean up and take down the tables. For now, however, the sparkle of the night was still upon us.
“You all right back there?” Flynn asked.
“Fine,” Josephine called out to him. “Are you fine?” she asked me softly.
“Better than I’ve been in a long time. I had such fun. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Hopefully you won’t wake in the morning with any bruises.” Josephine yawned. “Is it midnight?”
“A little after.” I’d checked my watch before we loaded into the sleigh.
“I never stay up this late.” She yawned again, then rested her head against my shoulder. “Are you glad you came here?”
“So far, yes.”
“Even after the skating?”
“Yes, even after the skating.”
As we turned a corner, a light in the distance appeared.
“Almost home,” she said.
We didn’t speak for the rest of the way. Flynn stopped the horses very near the house. “Go on in,” Flynn said. “I’ll take care of Lucy and Bell.”
“I’ll help you,” I said.
“As will I,” Theo said.
I threw the blanket off our laps and dismounted from the sleigh and helped Josephine to climb down as well. Our eyes locked for a split second before she looked down at her hands. “Good night, Phillip. Good night, boys.”
I watched her walk away and slip inside the house as I headed to the barn. Each twin led a horse into the barn and got them into their stalls.
Flynn reached into his coat pocket and took out a flask. “Anyone care for a drag before we go inside?”
“Sure thing,” Theo said.
“Me as well,” I said, not wanting to sound unmanly.
We stood just outside the horses’ stalls. Theo handed me the flask. “How was your night?”
“Good, thanks,” I said before taking a swig. “I’ve fallen for Emerson Pass. I knew I would.”
“That’s not all that’s caught your eye,” Flynn said, grinning at me. “You and Josephine seemed chummy tonight.”
“Flynn,” Theo said. “We agreed to stay out of this.”
“You trying to woo her?” Flynn asked.
“What if I was?” I asked.
“Might be rough going.” Flynn took another drink from the flask. “She’s under the impression that Walter Green was her one and only.”
“I gathered that,” I said.
“Declared herself a spinster,” Theo said. “Which we think is ridiculous.”
“You do?” I peered from one twin to the other.
“We weren’t keen on the idea of Walter, if you want to know the truth,” Flynn said.
“May I ask why?” I asked.
“The family—our family—didn’t think she knew him well enough,” Theo said.
“And he promised to marry her but there was no ring, no formal proposal,” Flynn said.
“Which we found suspicious,” Theo said. “Our father wasn’t consulted, either. No letter of introduction or to ask for her hand.”
“We didn’t care for that,” Flynn said. “A lack of respect.”
The way they finished each other’s sentences was like they were one person.
“Our sister has never once done something that didn’t make sense or was impractical or overly romantic,” Flynn said.
“Until Walter Green,” Theo said.
“An outsider. A stranger. Someone she met in the city.” Flynn said city as if it were a bad word.
“We have a theory about why she says her heart’s closed forever,” Theo said. “She doesn’t want to risk losing anyone again.”
“And she believes Walter to have been the only one for her,” Flynn said.
“As well as the finest man in the world,” Theo said.
“The likes of which does not exist.” Flynn rolled his eyes.
“He wasn’t a fine man.” I hadn’t meant to say this out loud, but there it was.
The twins watched me with their pairs of identical eyes.
“Go on,” Flynn said.
“Yes, please tell us what you know,” Theo said.
“Why do you think I know something about Walter?” I asked.
“Instinct,” Theo said.
“I hate to speak ill of the dead.”
“Go on,” Flynn said.
“Walter Green had more women than Josephine writing to him. All five of them with expectations that when he returned, he would marry them. Like your sister, the other ladies were from wealthy families.”
By the time I finished my diatribe, both men’s complexions had reddened.
“You were witness to this?” Theo asked.
I nodded. “We were together every day. Not much escaped notice.”
“You must tell her,” Flynn said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Causing her further hurt is the last thing I want. She has an idea of him. One that gives her comfort. Shouldn’t I let well enough alone?”
The twins looked at each other, then back to me.
“This would be the unselfish thing to do,” Flynn said. “But self-sacrifice doesn’t get the girl.”
“I’m sorry to say, I agree,” Theo said. “As her brothers, we’d rather have her know the truth about someone she’s foolishly closed her heart over so that she might be happy with someone else.”
“A man worthy of her love,” Flynn said.
“A man like you, for example,” Theo said.
“You don’t know me,” I said. “What if I’m the same as Walter? Here for the money.”
“Are you?” Theo asked.
“No. I came to see if the girl I fell in love with from her letters was real. Or if my feelings were only a romantic ideal.”
“And?” Flynn asked.
“I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to win her heart. Also, to convince your father and the two of you that I’m worthy of her.”
“Well, all right then,” Flynn said. “Let’s get on with it.”
We were quiet as the twins and I entered the house. No sooner had we taken off our outer jackets than I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. Josephine stood in the entryway of the sitting room.
“Jo, you’re still up?” Theo asked.
“Yes, I wanted to have a word with Phillip,” she said.
“I’m tired and headed to bed,” Theo said.
“You two behave yourselves,” Flynn said.
Flynn shot me a look before heading toward the stairs with Theo at his heels.
I followed her into the sitting room. The fire had died down to embers. A lantern shed a yellow light.
She stood in front of the fire with her arms crossed over her middle. “I’ve something to ask you, and it can’t wait a moment longer. I want to know how Walter died.”
I inwardly cringed. Knowing few details of his death would certainly frustrate her, as it had me. “What do you want to know?”
“Were you with him when he died?”
“No. That day we fought hard, pushing the Germans farther north. By the time darkness fell, we’d successfully taken back some of the French territory previously lost.” The day had been rife with casualties on both sides. Good men—soldiers who had become brothers-in-arms—had fallen before my eyes. “I lost track of Walter sometime during the battle. When the fighting was done, he wasn’t one of the survivors.”
Josephine’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “So you don’t know if he suffered or exactly what happened to him?” She moved to the chair, sitting on the edge of the seat.
“No, but I doubt he suffered. The bullets flew fast. Most men never knew what hit them.” This wasn’t exactly true. I’d held too many men in my arms and watched the life drain out of them. Almost always their last words were of their mama or wife. The last thoughts not of enemies or wars but of the women they loved. “The battle was brutal and confusing. We weren’t sure who we’d lost until it was over. There weren’t many who survived that day. I knew only that he was somewhere in the piles…of dead men.” My voice grew raspy with the effort it took not to break down in front of her. I didn’t want to describe the horrors of that day or so many others. In fact, I didn’t want to remember them. I did what I could to forget. That was my idea of survival.
Some of the men had been taken away by ambulance in the hopes they would live. Most were buried where they fell.
“There were men who came after the battles to bury the soldiers where they were killed. We weren’t expected to do that.” As those who fought, we weren’t asked to bury our fallen friends. An unfortunate group came after each battle to do so.
“I expected him to be there at the end,” I said. “He was tough. Strong and scrappy. Tougher than most, other than me.”
“Why? What do you mean?” The way she asked in a small but desperate voice, wanting to know more, broke my heart.
“I guess because of the ways we grew up. For me, being raised in the orphanage and Walter living as he did. On his own so young.” How much did she know about Walter’s past? I knew there had been lies or omissions by the questions she asked in her letters.
“I have something for you.” I reached into the breast pocket of my jacket and pulled out her photograph. I leaned forward to place it on the arm of her chair.
“Why was it in your pocket?” Her tone sharpened.
I flooded with heat. How did I explain that? I hadn’t thought that through, anxious to change the subject from the battle. “For safekeeping?” It came out as a question. “I’ll sound creepy but I wanted to make sure nothing happened to it until I could give it back to you.”
“How kind of you.” She brought the picture onto her lap and stared at the photo with such intensity I half expected it to catch on fire. “It wasn’t on him when he died?” Her chest expanded as she drew in a deep breath.
“No.” I hadn’t thought she’d ask that particular question.
She looked up at me. “Where was it?”
“It was in the box with the letters. I was the one who took it out of there. I’m sorry. I know it didn’t belong to me.”
She was quiet for a moment as she drew a handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress and pressed it against her mouth. “He said he kept my photograph in his pocket. The one next to his heart.” Her words were wooden and strangely calm.
I hesitated, unsure what to say. “He sometimes stretched the truth.”
Her head snapped up. “Why would you say that? What do you mean?”
“He used his charm to his advantage.” Leave it at that, I told myself. She doesn’t need to know about his deceit. Not yet. Not until she trusted me more.
“Do you mean he lied to me?” She set the photograph on the table next to her chair. “He did lie to me. This was not where he said it would be. If it had been, you would not have found it with the letters because it would have been with him when he died.”
“Maybe he was worried that it would be harmed.”
“No, he said specifically that it would be near his heart for protection. But why would he lie about such a thing? Numerous times.”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do. There’s more you’re not telling me. Your eyes are evasive.”
Feeling trapped, I muddled through, babbling like a brook after a storm. “He was captivating and smart and he used that to his advantage. His charm was intoxicating. To me, too, in the beginning. But his intentions were not always pure.”
“Say what you mean,” she said.
“You were not the only one who wrote to him. Or that he wrote back to.”
She stared at me. Her bottom lip trembled. “How many?”
“I’m not sure. Four, I think,” I said. “Actually, I know. There were five. All with the same expectations as you.”
“Why would he do such a thing?”
“He was interest
ed in moving up in the world. In fact, that was his main goal. He targeted women he thought could bring him social standing and wealth.”
Her bottom lip trembled as if she might cry, but instead she seemed to gather herself. A tone eerily calm but with unmistakable anger delivered the next words. “Why should I believe you?”
My answer came quickly and surprisingly articulately. “Why did you believe him? You knew him for two weeks before declaring yourself in love with him. Did you truly know him, or was he merely someone you wanted him to be?”
“I’m not that kind of person. I’m not a romantic fool.”
“You can choose what you believe or not, but I’m incapable of lying. Even small fibs.” I bowed my head in deference to her. “Anyway, I’ve no motive for lying to you.”
“You carried my photograph in your pocket.” She said it matter-of-factly while staring right at me with eyes that bored into me.
I swallowed as a wave of heat flooded through me. What defense did I have? She’d understood my reasons only too well. “Yes, I did.”
“Perhaps your reason for telling me these astonishing things are to make him look bad so that you might…might try to make an argument for yourself.”
“Yes, my intentions were selfishly motivated, but I ask only that you examine what you thought you knew about him carefully. Go back over the conversations and his letters as if you’re a detective. You’ll see gaps and lack of details in his stories. Read him like you would a book. After tonight, I’ll leave you be, but I’m pleading with you not to ruin the rest of your life over a false promise. He didn’t have the photograph in his pocket like he said he did.”
“Your reasons for coming here and telling me this were purely selfish,” she said.
“Regardless of my feelings that are not completely benevolent, I’m telling you the truth about Walter. Yes, I fell a little in love with you in the pages of your letters.” I raised my arms over my head and let out a deep breath. No more dalliances in the vague shade of gray. I would tell her the exact truth. “Actually, I fell deeply in love with you. So much so that I risked your wrath by coming here and telling you what I know to be true. A truth which will surely get me cast away. Don’t you see? I had to take the risk. To find you here pining away for a man who was no better than a charlatan—that’s reason enough for me to tell you. You’ve given up the possibility of happiness with a man deserving of your love for the memory of a man who lied to you. I can’t leave here thinking you’ll choose spinsterhood for that man.”
The Spinster (Emerson Pass Historicals Book 2) Page 8