Watching her exit, Devlin cleared his throat and turned his pale face to her father. “If I might speak to you a moment longer?” he asked.
Devlin was not at church the following Sunday. Prudence squirmed in her seat as they sang a new song that was passing around the brotherhood. The song was called “Angry Words,” and its lyrics convicted her, especially the second verse.
“Love is much too pure and holy,
Friendship is too sacred far,
For a moment’s reckless folly
Thus to desolate and mar.”
Devlin had been a good friend to her, and she had destroyed that friendship with her own angry words. He had only been trying to protect her.
“Love one another, thus saith the Savior,
Children obey the Father’s blest command.”
Before the melancholy song was finished, she knew she would have to apologize—and the sooner, the better.
When Prudence arrived home, Constance informed the family that she would be out until that evening. Thinking she was meeting Devlin, no one said anything about it being the Sabbath Day. Her parents, though, gave her disapproving frowns.
Prudence hoped to see Devlin to apologize, but Constance ran out to meet the carriage when it arrived, and they drove off too quickly for Prudence to do so. Disconsolately, Prudence retired to her own room, throwing herself across her bed. If only she had had the time to apologize.
Getting up, Prudence quickly crossed to her wardrobe and pulled a small box from the bottom. This was her keepsake box, and it held the few mementos she held most dear. Pushing aside the other items in the box, she pulled out the valentine she had received almost four months ago. It still gave her heart a little thrill when she read the verse: Her eyes like stars. What a beautiful, romantic thought.
Frowning, she searched her mind for an elusive memory. Eyes widening, she remembered something Devlin had said to her. He had once told her that her eyes shone like starlight.
He had laughed, and so had she, for it was shortly after he had started to court Constance that he had said it, and in such a way that Prudence had felt he was complimenting a child.
Could the card have come from Devlin, and if so, why? There were times she had noticed him pensively watching her, and her heart had thundered in response, but other than those two unforgettable times, he had never kissed her, had never shown her even the slightest romantic interest. He had treated her gently and protectively, true, but she had attributed that to his own gallant nature.
Of course it was not proper to do so but, nevertheless, Prudence had yearned for him to kiss her. She stopped in wonder. Yes, she had wanted Devlin to take her in his arms and kiss her even when she thought he had belonged to her sister. Shocked, she realized she was in love with Devlin!
Sighing, she dropped to the chair at her dressing table. If only he could return her love. But what about Constance? If only Constance could love someone else and Devlin could love her. She snorted. And if only pigs could fly.
When everyone gathered for supper that evening, Constance was still missing and Mr. Hilliard was growing angry at the delay of his meal.
“Let’s eat,” he told them. “I’ll deal with that young woman when she finds her way home.”
But two hours later, she still was not home and anger turned to worry. Mr. Hilliard had left the house some time earlier for a business appointment and had as yet not returned. Prudence paced the parlor until finally her mother suggested she might like to go to her own room. Prudence knew her own agitation was not helping her mother, so she agreed.
At 8:00, Prudence was about to suggest sending word to their father when Jessica entered her room, a sheet of paper clutched in her hands. Her face was as white as the paper.
“Here, read this,” she told Prudence, thrusting the paper into her hands. “I found it in Constance’s bedroom on her dressing table. It’s addressed to you.”
The color drained from Prudence’s face as she read the note. “It can’t be! Whatever would make her do such a thing?” Prudence dropped to her bed, her jellylike legs refusing to hold her. “Why would she run away to get married? Father likes Devlin.”
“What do we do?” Jessica wanted to know.
Prudence thought a moment before rising to her feet. Lines of determination settled across her face. “I’m going to try to stop them. Have Sims bring the carriage around. It’s time I made a call on Mr. Devlin Drake.”
Devlin stared into the fire, thinking about Prudence. He had never seen her so angry, but then he had never been so angry himself. Not since the war had he felt such a desire to kill someone. He was not sure what would have happened had the three boys who accosted Prudence not fled.
He had been able to explain the situation to her father, but it had taken a lot of persuasion to convince the older man to allow Prudence to continue her work at the school for the deaf.
Deciding to give Prudence time to herself, he had refrained from going to church, though the desire to be with her had been strong.
He finally admitted it to himself: he was in love with Prudence Hilliard. How had it happened? When had it happened? He supposed he should not be surprised. Hadn’t he bristled whenever anyone had slighted her? Even his own cousin, Terence, had almost felt his wrath.
She was so beautiful. He was astounded that others could not see it for themselves. In her presence, the sun seemed a little brighter, the air a little sweeter.
He smiled wryly to himself. Boy, he had it bad.
When his doorbell rang at half past eight, he frowned, wondering who would be calling at this late hour. He opened the door and stared in astonishment at the object of his imagination, as though his own mind had conjured her up.
“Prudence! What are you doing here?” He glanced past her shoulder to see if her father was with her. He scowled at her. “Are you alone?”
“I have to talk to you.”
Eyebrows rising, he stepped back to let her pass. She turned to face him, the lights from the hall shining softly on her brown curls.
“Since you are still here, and it is almost time to retire for the night,” she blushed, but went on determinedly, “I assume Constance is not with you.”
Closing the door, he frowned at her. “Constance? What are you talking about?”
Prudence handed him her sister’s note. “Jessica found this in Constance’s room. She is missing.”
Devlin read the note, his face going blank. “It’s not me she’s referring to,” he told her absently. He looked down at her. “Wait here while I change my clothes, and we’ll go see Gaylord Fyfe.”
“Gaylord knows nothing about it,” she told him.
One eyebrow flew upward. “How do you know?”
“I’ve just come from there. I thought perhaps he was performing the ceremony, but he hasn’t seen Constance since church this morning.”
Brushing a hand across his face, Devlin tried to think of what to do. Suddenly, he went very still.
“What is it?” Prudence demanded. “What do you know?”
“Wait here,” he told her, disappearing upstairs. He was back in a moment, a sheet of paper gripped tightly in his hand. Silently, he handed it to Prudence.
She took the paper and read it. For a minute, she thought she was going to faint. “It can’t be!”
Devlin grabbed her as she swayed, helping her to a chair in his den. He seated her near the fire, rubbing her hands briskly. Her face was whiter than he had ever seen it.
Prudence shook her head. “I just can’t believe it! Terence and Constance!”
“Prudence, I’ll take you home. Then I’ll see if I can find them before—”
He did not finish but quickly left the room only to return moments later ready to leave. He helped Prudence into her own carriage, climbing in beside her and instructing the driver to return home. Devlin held her close, trying to soothe her trembling, and Prudence allowed herself to relax slightly. Whatever happened, Devlin was still here. Selfishly, she
was glad.
When they reached the house, they found it in total confusion. Prudence’s father had returned home only to find two of his daughters missing. He had been on the verge of searching for them himself when Prudence walked in the door. He angrily berated Prudence until she showed him Constance’s letter.
Sinking to the settee, he buried his head in his hands. “I can’t believe it. Why would she do such a thing?” Prudence, watching Jessica, had a pretty good idea.
Devlin handed him Terence’s letter. “I think this will explain.”
Prudence watched with sympathy as the message was read and Jessica’s face went pale. Without a word, she flew from the room. Only Prudence had any idea how much Jessica had been affected. For the first time in her life, she had given her heart to a man, and he had rejected her.
“Shall I try to find them?” Devlin asked Mr. Hilliard.
He shook his head sadly. “No. She has been gone since early this morning. If they had this planned all along, they are probably halfway to England by now.”
Mr. Hilliard helped his distraught wife to her feet and took her along to their bedroom.
Devlin watched them leave before he turned to Prudence. “I’m sorry,” he said.
She shook her head but did not look at him. “You couldn’t have known.”
“True, but that’s not what I’m apologizing for. I’m sorry for the other day when, in a moment of anger, I betrayed your trust.”
She smiled at him, her eyes reflecting the amber light of the fire, making them seem more brown than green. “I am the one who should apologize.”
He came to her then, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Prudence, I have something I need to tell you. Perhaps now is not a good time, but I can’t wait any longer. I love you—” He was interrupted by a shrill laugh behind them. Dropping his hands, he quickly faced the open doorway.
Jessica stood there glowering at him, her angry eyes still shining with tears. “So now that your cousin has taken Constance away from you, you’ve decided to turn your attention to Prudence.”
Flinching, Prudence moved away from his side. Devlin’s face hardened. “I understand your feelings, Jessica, but don’t try to make me the ogre. What happened had nothing to do with myself or Prudence.”
“No?” She went to Prudence. “Can’t you see how he’s trying to use you? I told you men weren’t to be trusted.”
Prudence shook her head sadly. “No, Jess. You can’t blame Devlin for what’s happened. Even if Devlin had been jilted, do you think a man as handsome and wealthy as he is would need to console himself with someone like me?”
Angry at Prudence’s disparagement of herself, Devlin turned to Jessica. “Jessica, why don’t you ask yourself why Terence turned from you when he was so obviously smitten with you in the beginning? What could have turned him away? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you constantly criticized him for being the man that he is.”
“Devlin!” Prudence admonished.
“No, Pru. Jessica needs to see how her own actions have affected the result of this strange proceeding. Terence wanted a woman who could love him for what he is, as Constance obviously does. Not a woman who wanted him to be less than the man that he is.”
Jessica glared angrily at him. “I think I hate you,” she hissed between her teeth. She glared from one to the other before leaving them, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Oh, Devlin. How could you? Can’t you see she’s hurting enough already?”
He smiled at her without humor. “Like the South.”
Confused, she looked at him strangely. “What?”
He came to her then, folding her into his arms and tucking her head beneath his chin. She hesitated only a moment before relaxing against him and wrapping her own arms around his waist. “Do you remember how you said God didn’t create the evil?” he asked.
He could feel her nod her head. “Well, Jessica helped me realize exactly what you were trying to say. She chose the path she wished to tread and she has to pay the consequences. No one but herself and her selfishness caused her pain. We all make our own decisions, foolish or not.”
Placing his palms against her cheeks, he forced her to look at him. “Just like I decided long ago that I wanted a woman who was more than beautiful. I wanted a woman who loved God and lost little boys, who helped deaf children, and who took in stray puppies.” His eyes darkened perceptibly. “My darling, could you, would you, take in another stray?”
She could only stare up at him in happiness, her eyes sparkling with her joy. “I knew in my heart it was you.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“The valentine. It was you, wasn’t it?” she asked.
For answer, he pulled her closer and kissed her with all the warmth he had longed to show her for some time now.
Prudence clung to him, returning his kisses with increasing ardor.
When Devlin pulled away, there was a fire in his eyes. “Your eyes are like stars, and they are only for me.”
Prudence sighed as she gave her lips up to his kiss.
It had been less than a year. The Italians were right, after all.
FROM FAMINE TO FEAST
by Pamela Kaye Tracy
Dedication
To the food service workers who worked alongside me when we’d really rather have been someplace else! In so many cases, you were family more than friends! From Mr. C’s Steakhouse in Omaha, Nebraska, during the ’70s and high school.
My busgirl buddies: Patty McCoy, Julie Livingston, Robin Martin, and Sammi Lambertson.
From Red Lobster in Abilene, Texas, during the ’80s and college.
My waitress and cook buddies: Kelly Musick and Greg Stockard.
From Red Lobster in Lubbock, Texas, still the ’80s and yet another college.
My waitress and cook buddies: Monika Rogers, Tom Cryer, plus Jeff, Don, and Candy.
Oh, to be young again!
She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made.
LUKE 10: 39–40
Chapter 1
Topeka, Kansas, 1906
What do you mean Prescott, Kansas, is no more?” Olivia Prescott took a step backward, almost tripping on her satchel. “That’s impossible. I live there!”
If she thought it would do any good, she’d stamp her feet. In the last four weeks, she’d been on an ocean liner and two trains and now hoped to board the stage that serviced her hometown—a hometown she hadn’t seen in almost a year. All she wanted was a giant hug from her father, a taste of Mrs. Baudouin’s cooking, a bath, and a bed. If the phone lines had reached Prescott, she’d demand the agent call her father, but since Prescott wasn’t a railroad stop, it was always last to get the latest gadgets. “Call my father’s lawyer, Jasper Ennis,” she demanded.
The agent disappeared into a back room, and Olivia leaned over the counter. His voice was muted, but she could hear about every other word. The gist of the conversation implied that Ennis was out of town and wouldn’t return until Monday.
“Sorry, miss, but Mr. Ennis—”
“I heard,” Olivia interrupted. “You’ll just have to get me to Prescott.”
“Factory closed down two months ago. We kept a stage going for a while, but now there ain’t no need.”
Olivia leaned on the counter again—this time to keep herself from falling from shock. “Look, there must be some mistake. The factory couldn’t have closed down.”
The agent spat into a jar in the corner. “The schedule’s written on the board right behind you. I erased the Prescott route myself.”
“Sir, I had a letter postmarked ‘Prescott’ dated January third, just three months ago!” Anger, so tangible she could almost touch it, swelled in her bosom. “It existed then!” She brushed at the dusty fabric of her gray traveling dress and reminded herself to keep calm—as the headmistress at Grace School for Ladies insisted
—and ladylike. It meant so much to her father—her being a lady. He had some mistaken idea that being raised by an old curmudgeon—his words, not hers—might limit her social graces. He certainly blamed himself for her habit of fidgeting. So she’d gone off to school.
“Stage don’t go there no mores,” the agent repeated. “I’m sorry, miss.”
“That’s impossible. I’m Olivia Prescott. The town is named after my father. I’ve lived there all my life. I’d know—” But would she? During the last year, after she graduated high school, she’d been overseas, traveling with a school friend’s family. Papa had hated the thought of so much time apart but said the experience would be good for her. Her mother had always dreamed of taking Olivia overseas, but pneumonia had other plans for Grace Prescott. Ten years ago, she’d been the first Prescott buried in the local cemetery.
Olivia headed for the hard wooden bench and sat down. She hadn’t received a letter from Papa in well over … How long had it been? She shuddered.
Papa wasn’t much of a letter writer. Still, Mrs. Baudouin would have tried—
Oh no! Mrs. Baudouin had the itinerary, but the Fremonts had deviated from their plans during the last few months. Mrs. Baudouin wouldn’t have known where to look. If anything, she would have sent correspondence to France, but Olivia had wound up in Spain instead.
Dread pricked Olivia’s heart. She slowly headed back to the counter. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. It’s just … I live there. And you’re telling me everybody left. They couldn’t have left without me. I’ve got to get home.”
She’d been born with blond curls and blue eyes and had mastered the distraught look at birth. It worked on everyone but Mrs. Baudouin; it worked on the tobacco-spitting agent, too. He disappeared to make another telephone call.
Tapping her foot impatiently, Olivia studied the room. Wanted posters graced the far wall. Another wall boasted a chalkboard with the times and routes of the stagecoach. The final wall had job postings. The biggest advertisement depicted a woman, dressed in black and white, holding a tray of food. The caption read: YOUNG WOMEN 18–30 YEARS OF AGE, OF GOOD CHARACTER, ATTRACTIVE AND INTELLIGENT, NEEDED TO WORK IN THE WEST.
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