The Spinster (Emerson Pass Historicals Book 2)

by Tess Thompson

  All color had drained from her face. Her eyes were wide and glittery, almost as if she had a fever. “Is that why you came here? To win me? Is it some sick game to beat Walter?”

  “God, no. It’s about you, not him. I fell in love with you.” I hung my head. “But I’ve done nothing but hurt you. I’m sorry I’ve caused you pain.”

  “You didn’t do this.” A tremor in her voice made my chest ache with guilt. Why hadn’t I left well enough alone? I was an awful, grasping man who deserved to be alone and isolated. “It was Walter who lied, not you.”

  “Still, I hate to see you hurt. It’s the last thing I would ever want.”

  She jerked to her feet and went to the fireplace. With her back to me, she used a poker to spread out the embers, then with a quick movement grabbed a skinny piece of wood and hurled it into the fire. “How did you know how many women there were?” She whipped back round. The color had returned to her cheeks. “How did you know about them? Did he brag? Did he laugh at me?”

  “No. A man like that—the way he’d had to scrape his way along to keep himself from starvation—this was a means of survival. He thought of it more like an investment in his future. The outcome he wanted was more likely to happen if he had more than one woman in love with him.”

  She bit out the words. “By tricking women into thinking he was in love and wanted to marry them? Marry us? Yes, I suppose it’s an us. Five of us. There are other ways to get what you want out of life. Opportunities that come along for honest, hardworking men.”

  “Which he wasn’t.”

  “I believed every word out of his mouth. Every word in his letters.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I said as gently as I could. “He was good at the art of seduction.”

  “I’ve prided myself in being practical. Not like some of my girlfriends, so quick to declare themselves in love when really it’s just an idea they’re attracted to. What a fool I was. I did exactly as they had. Papa was right.”

  I watched her helplessly. What did I do now? She believed me, yet I’d hurt her. Secondarily, she now understood my reasons for coming here.

  She stumbled back to the chair and sank down into the cushion. “Do you think I could have a small glass of whiskey? Pour one for yourself, too.”

  I sprang to my feet to retrieve her request. My hands shook as I poured us each a tumbler. “Here,” I said. “Sip, though, so you don’t choke.”

  She mumbled a thanks as she stared into the glass.

  “I’ve hurt you. That was never my intention. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  The anger seemed to drain out of her along with a sigh. “Don’t be sorry. Despite my reaction, you’re right. The truth is better. Pining away for a mendacious ghost is not the way to live one’s life.”

  “I’ll go if you want me to,” I said.

  She looked up from her glass. “Did you truly think you were in love with me? From letters?”

  “I did. I do.”

  I held my breath as I waited to hear what she said next.

  “You couldn’t have. I’m not that good a writer.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  Josephine

  I stared into the fire as the pungent scent of whiskey tickled my nose. The log had caught, giving the dim room additional light and warmth, but I shook as if I were outside without a coat.

  I hadn’t expected any of what had transpired. Now, faced with this earnest man’s eyes staring back at me, I didn’t know what to do or think. I hadn’t wanted to believe what he’d said was true about Walter, but the evidence was right here in front of me. The photograph told the story of a man who’d sworn he kept my image close to his heart, day and night. Only a fool would deny what was obvious.

  Everything I’d thought I’d known was now in question, especially about myself. Was it true that I’d made Walter into the person I’d wanted him to be? If so, what did that say about me? Had I been so desperate for love that I’d concocted a story around a man who was essentially a charlatan?

  Instead of taking Phillip’s advice, I downed my glass of whiskey. The alcohol caused my eyes to tear up, and I coughed. He got to his feet. “Are you all right?”

  I waved him back to his chair. “Yes, yes. I’m fine.” I turned away, trying to gather myself. In love with me? How perfectly ridiculous.

  Who was I to judge him? My heart had been given to someone with complete abandon. I’d mourned a man for years who didn’t exist. A sudden urge to explain myself to Phillip surged through me. “I’d never been in love before. I had no experience with men. Nothing that would tell me if he were lying or not.”

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  His kind blue eyes stared back at me with so much sympathy I had to turn away. “I’ve wasted years of my life.”

  “No, don’t think that way,” he said.

  I observed him for a moment, trying to see what was beneath his angular features. “If you had been there and seen what those two weeks were like—how utterly charming and clever he was—you would see how it happened.”

  “I know, because I was charmed by him once, too. When we were kids, I thought we’d be great friends forever. He had this way of making you seem like you were better than you really were, which, for a boy like me all alone in the world, made him seem very shiny.”

  I barked out a bitter laugh. “Shiny. That’s a good word for it.” The other women. Had they sent their pictures, too? What were they like? How had they been fooled?

  Did they know the truth now?

  I returned my gaze to Phillip Baker. “Did you tell the others the truth about Walter?”

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t sure I was even going to tell you.”

  “I wonder if you should. Perhaps they’re wasting their youth away as I was.”

  “I could, I suppose. Maybe they’ve all married someone else by now? And, as you said, my reasons for telling you were selfish.”

  I blushed. Don’t think of it, I told myself. This is just a nice man who thinks he’s in love with me. He’s come all this way under that assumption, but it can’t possibly be real. He’s a romantic. That’s all.

  “What made you wait so long to come see me?” I asked.

  “When I got back to the States, I didn’t feel well. Not like some of the boys with the shell shock, mind you. Not that bad. Just uncertain about everything. And the noise. Every horn or crash caused my heart to beat faster. Then I became ill with the Spanish flu. I nearly died. Recovery took longer than I’d wanted.”

  “But you’re all right now?” I very much wanted him to be all right.

  “I’m fine. When I started feeling strong again, I thought about my life. What I wanted. The thing first on my list was to finally meet you. It took me this long to have the courage to write you.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Even though I’ve brought unwelcome news?”

  “My parents always say the truth is what matters most. I’ve made decisions based on what I thought to be true. It will take some time to recover from that and to examine exactly what it is in me that allowed that to happen.”

  “You’re not angry with me?”

  “I was for a second, but it makes no sense to kill the messenger. You didn’t do anything wrong. Other than read letters not written to you.” I smiled to let him know I was teasing. “But seriously, you must stop all this nonsense about being in love with me. People can’t fall in love over words.”

  “I disagree.” He gave me a slight smile. “You’re not inside my mind.”

  “Is it all sunshine and roses inside there?”

  “It’s actually a bit cloudy. I’m roaming around half-blind, unsure where I’m going or what I’m doing. But there’s one thing I know for sure, and that is how I feel about you.”

  I turned away from his gaze, shy. Could it be possible? Was there a chance I could feel the same way?

  “No one’s loved me for a very long time,” Phillip said. “But I remember
what it was like to bask in the glow of my mother’s love. I know it’s the only thing worth fighting for. It’s true that I don’t have much in the way of worldly goods, but my heart’s pure. I’m going to work like the dickens to make a life I could offer to you.”

  “I don’t care two figs about money,” I said. “My father’s set it up for me to have a comfortable life whether I marry or not.”

  “The success would not be for you but for myself. A man has to feel worthy of the extraordinary woman who chooses him.”

  “I see.”

  “If you’ll allow me to spend time with you over the winter and perhaps into the spring, you’ll know by then if there’s the slightest chance of falling in love with me. My intention is to win your heart.”

  “You must believe there is or you wouldn’t have come here.” I chuckled to myself. The whiskey had warmed me and loosened my inhibitions. “Which shows an arrogance and boldness that reminds me of my father.”

  “All my life I’ve only had myself to rely on. Not many things have gone my way, which makes it easier to come for what I want. Nothing good ever came from timidity.”

  “Well, I shall sleep on all of this and we can talk tomorrow. In the meantime, I need to go to bed or I’ll turn into a pumpkin by morning.” I needed out of there. To think through all that he’d told me tonight. And to keep myself from giving him too much hope. I didn’t know him. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake I’d made in the past. Be guarded and wary, I told myself. Even though he seems like the most sincere man in the world.

  He rose to his feet and offered his hand. I allowed him to help me up out of the chair even though I was perfectly capable of doing so myself. A tingle ran up my arm. We stood there, staring into each other’s eyes for at least three seconds before I removed my hand from his. “Good night, Phillip.”

  “Good night, Josephine.”

  I walked out of the room knowing that his gaze traveled with me. When I got to the doorway, I didn’t look back for fear that if I did, I might run straight into his arms.

  The next morning, it was only Papa, Mama, and my younger sisters at breakfast. Flynn had taken Phillip and Cymbeline into town to help clean up after the festival. There was no sign of Theo, but he must have decided to sleep in after our late night. All of which gave me the perfect opportunity to tell Mama and Papa about Walter.

  Surprisingly, I’d slept well. After I’d parted from Phillip the night before, I’d been so weary from the emotions of the day that I’d fallen immediately asleep. I was refreshed in the morning. Strangely, lighter too, as if a burden had been lifted. This was not the reaction I thought I’d have upon learning my love was not my love after all.

  I waited for Fiona to take the little girls upstairs for some playtime before addressing Mama and Papa. He was reading the paper and sipping another cup of coffee. Mama was nibbling on one of Lizzie’s biscuits while taking surreptitious glances in my direction.

  “You’re awfully quiet, Jo,” Mama said. “Is everything all right?”

  Papa put down his paper and fixed his gaze upon me as well.

  “I’m fine.” My voice wobbled, which did nothing to convince them. “It’s just that I’ve learned some things from Phillip. About Walter.”

  “About how he died?” Mama asked. “Did you get the answers you were seeking?”

  “Not exactly.” Again with the shaking voice. I swallowed and took in a deep breath. “He wasn’t who I thought he was. There were other women. Five, to be exact, from whom he received letters. They all thought he would come home to marry them.”

  “I don’t understand,” Papa said. “How could you all think he was to marry you?”

  “Because he told us all the same thing,” I said. “We’re all from wealthy families. Phillip said he was interested in marrying someone with money to secure his future. I guess because he grew up all alone, his main goal in life was to have wealth and lead a life of leisure.”

  Mama’s eyes had turned a deeper shade of brown. “He lied to you?”

  “Why so many women?” Papa asked. “Why not just one wealthy one if that was his goal?”

  I almost laughed at Papa’s obvious naivete. “Phillip said he was hedging his bets, so to speak. Hoping one of us would come through after the war. The more he had lined up, the more likely it was to lead to marriage.”

  Papa was shaking his head. “If he weren’t already dead, I’d kill him.”

  “Alexander, no,” Mama said. “But thank God he didn’t come back. You would have married him.”

  “How do you know Phillip’s telling the truth?” Papa asked.

  “Because he brought my photograph back to me,” I said. “Walter had promised to keep it close to his heart for good luck. But it wasn’t on him when he died. Phillip said it was in the box with the rest of his things. Just tossed in there with the others.” I paused for a moment to gain my composure. Saying all this out loud was harder than I’d thought it would be. “He told me in every letter that he kept it in his inside jacket pocket. He lied to me about that over and over again. He ended every letter with the same sentence. ‘I keep your image in my pocket next to my heart.’ If he lied about that, it means he lied to me about other things too. I’ve no idea if any of his feelings were genuine.”

  “And you shouldn’t care,” Papa said. “Not after learning this.”

  “I feel like a fool.” I hung my head. “You were right. I didn’t know him well enough. I should have known better. I was too blinded by love—infatuation—to see it clearly.”

  “Thank the good Lord for Phillip Baker,” Mama said. “Or you might have pined for Walter the rest of your life.”

  “He was very brave to tell you,” Papa said.

  “He had a motivation of his own. He thinks he’s fallen in love with me through all those letters I wrote to Walter.”

  “He read them?” Papa asked.

  “Again and again. He said that’s why he’s here. To win my heart. His words.”

  “How romantic,” Mama said.

  Papa’s mouth was twitching as if he were trying not to laugh.

  “It’s all quite ridiculous,” I said. “I’m not the type men fall in love with. It was only my writing that gave him a false sense of me. Now that he’s here, he’ll see that I’m the spinster type. Perhaps I should stick to writing and come up with a novel.”

  “Why would you say such a thing?” Mama asked.

  “I’m boring and bookish and no fun at all. I think that’s why I fell so hard for Walter. He seemed to see me differently than I did myself. But I was right all along. He was only interested in my money.”

  “Is that really what you think of yourself?” Papa asked.

  I didn’t answer, merely looked down at my plate of food I’d hardly touched.

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about because it’s not my clever, beautiful, kind, and funny Josephine,” Papa said.

  “He’s right, darling,” Mama said. “No one sees you that way. Everyone in this town adores you, and I’m quite right in saying you could have your pick of eligible men. The only reason why no one’s approached you is that you made it quite clear you had no interest in anyone but Walter. Before and after his death.”

  “I don’t want to hear you ever talk that way about yourself,” Papa said, gruffly. “I won’t have it.”

  “I’m sorry, Papa.”

  “Is there any part of you that thinks you could fall in love with Phillip?” Mama asked.

  I smiled, remembering our argument. “As you say, there is the way I look at him.”

  “Well, yes, there’s that,” Mama said. “But it would be unkind to point that out again.”

  “And, as you said, we have a lot in common,” I said. “He’s easy to talk to, and I like how he is with the little girls. He’s a hard worker. Honest and kind. I didn’t want to admit any of those things to myself because I didn’t want to be disloyal to Walter.” I choked up. “Aren’t I pathetic?”

  “D
arling, no. You’re not the only one who has believed someone’s lies,” Mama said. “The only thing that matters is what you do now that you’ve learned the truth.”

  “There’s a fine man right in front of you,” Papa said.

  I laughed as I wiped away tears. “Not you, too?”

  “Have you seen his eyes?” Papa asked.

  “Like sapphires,” Mama said.

  I looked at him and then to Mama. Their love wrapped me in a warm cloak.

  “He is handsome,” I said. “And has very nice manners. Best of all, he likes books.” I was too shy to say anything more. I wouldn’t have been able to explain how he touched a place deep inside me with his earnest heart.

  Again, my parents exchanged a glance. This time they kept their thoughts to themselves.

  Phillip

  We’d just finished sweeping up the last of the debris left from the party and returned the bales of hay to the livery when Mrs. Johnson brought out a jug of hot apple cider for the helpers. The morning was cold but sunny, taking an edge off the frigidity in the air. Someone had added logs to the embers of last night’s firepit. Some of the young people were gathered around warming their hands over the flames while laughing and talking.

  I noticed Cymbeline was sitting alone on the bottom step of the gazebo. I grabbed a steaming cup of cider for myself and one for Cymbeline.

  “I brought you some cider,” I said as I handed her the cider.

  “Thanks, Phillip.”

  “May I sit with you?” I asked.

  “Please do.” She peeked up at me from under a red cap.

  “You don’t want to join the group by the fire?” I plopped down next to her.

  Cymbeline had dressed in boys’ overalls for the occasion, but that hadn’t seemed to distract the young men and boys from staring at her. Never having been an older brother, this feeling of wanting to throttle all of them was new to me.