Texas Rose TH2

by Patricia Rice

  Evie panicked, but Tyler placed his hand across hers and held it to the table, steadying her.

  "My wife has always wanted a family, sir. She has none of her own, so she is being honest when she says it has been a pleasure. We can't help but be worried over the children's future. I know this has come as a surprise to you, and you'll need time to make plans. We'll be happy to stay until you say otherwise."

  Peyton looked relieved. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, and his paintbrush rattled to the floor. He looked at it with bemusement, then leaned over and tucked it into his pocket again. Absentmindedly, he tucked the handkerchief back in without using it, either.

  "I'll admit to a certain amount of consternation on my part. I'm a bachelor with no children to my name. Angelina was all the family I had left. I'll make provisions for them one way or another. There isn't as much money as there used to be, but I suspect it's cheaper living here than San Francisco, and I've got a little land nearby. We'll make it work." He smiled at Carmen, and she gave him one of those grave little looks of hers.

  Evie clenched her fingers in disappointment at the mention of his lack of progeny, but he hadn't said he was taking the children away yet. She tried to keep her voice even. "I'll be happy to look after them in any capacity. Carmen is very good, but she is too young to shoulder all the responsibility of her younger brothers and sister."

  Peyton leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingertip on the table as he watched the anxious faces around him. He cast a speculative glance at the boy with spectacles in his pocket and a crutch leaning against his chair, then to the young girl who sat close to him. But his gaze most often came back to the woman with the thick chestnut tresses of a woman he had known too long ago.

  "You're quite right, of course. If it is no inconvenience to you, I'll ask you to go on as you are. I'll take a room at the hotel while I take a look around, reorient myself as it were. Tell me, Mrs. Monteigne," he couldn't help asking, "are you from around here?"

  Tyler crushed Evie's fingers against the table to keep her from answering. "My wife was born in St. Louis. She never knew her parents, but it seems they come from these parts. That's not something we speak openly about, if you understand me."

  Peyton drifted off on a memory of his own. "I used to hate this town. My mother was half Mexican, half Indian, and people around here despise what they call 'breeds.' It's a hard enough life without having your neighbors hate you. But I can remember one little girl who wasn't from around here. She went to school in St. Louis, and she didn't have the same kind of prejudices. She made me see that the rest of the world was different and that I could go out and find my own place in it. She probably saved my life, 'cause I was an ornery cuss back then. Mrs. Monteigne reminds me a little bit of her."

  Tyler's fingers squeezed warningly around hers, but Evie was tired of waiting and being cautious. Jerking her hand free, she said, "Elizabeth Howell. Her name was Elizabeth Howell, wasn't it?"

  Peyton jerked back to the present with a start and a sudden guilty look that he quickly erased. "Maybe so. Well now, I suppose I'd best go back to the hotel and see if there's room for me. It was a mighty fine dinner, Mrs. Monteigne. I'm obliged to you."

  Evie rose with him. "My name is Evangeline Peyton Howell, sir. That's the name on my baptismal certificate. Would those names mean anything to you?"

  "Evie!" Tyler stood up and grabbed her shoulders, but he knew better than anyone that there was no holding her back once she got rolling. She was throwing months of caution into the lap of a stranger, but he couldn't help but be curious at the stranger's reaction.

  Peyton stared at Evie for a long time, then shook his head. "Elizabeth Howell married Randall Harding while I was in California looking for a gold mine. That's the last I heard of the lady. Perhaps you ought to talk to her." He pushed his chair under the table and gave the door an uneasy look as if he wished to walk out and keep on walking.

  "Elizabeth Harding is dead, sir," Tyler said gently, pinching Evie on the arm to keep her quiet.

  The man looked shocked, and the hand around the chair tightened until the knuckles whitened. He stared at the young couple on the other side of the table, then shook his head in a gesture of despair. In a moment's time, he seemed to wither into an old man. "I see." Without another word of explanation, he picked up his bag and walked out.

  Tyler pulled Evie around and held her. She buried her face in his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist, but she didn't cry. She had cried those tears long ago. There weren't any more to shed.

  "He's had a lot of nasty shocks, Evie. Let him go." Tyler rubbed her back gently.

  Daniel couldn't hold his tongue any longer. "If they weren't married, Evie, he couldn't say anything that would jeopardize her reputation. He loved her. Anybody can see that."

  That was true. James Peyton had known Elizabeth Howell a lot longer than he had known one Evangeline Howell Monteigne. His loyalty would lie with the woman he had loved. Evie straightened her shoulders and offered Daniel a small smile.

  "My uncle is a very famous painter. Did you know that?" And with those enigmatic words, Carmen picked up the coffee cups and went to the sink.

  * * *

  "Excuse me, Mrs. Peyton, may I have a word with you privately?" Jonathan Hale lifted his hat and fell into step with Evie as she hurried from the schoolhouse to home.

  "Why, go right ahead, Mr. Hale. I doubt that anyone will hear us as we walk. And the name is Monteigne now." Still annoyed with this little man for having called the sheriff the day she had gone to Tyler's room, Evie hurried along the boardwalk, her stiff pongee skirt sweeping over several layers of petticoats. She had needed lots of fortification when she had dressed this morning.

  "Excuse me, Mrs. Monteigne, but that is precisely what I wished to talk with you about. It doesn't seem at all politic to be discussing your marriage on a public street."

  "It doesn't seem at all politic to be discussing it at all, Mr. Hale," she rebuked him. She wasn't certain why she was feeling so irritated at the man. He had given her loads of invaluable information, and she really shouldn't provoke him. She was quite certain he had much more information if she could only pry it from him. The letter she had sent supposedly from St. Louis might have reached him by now, but there hadn't been time for a reply to go to her St. Louis address and return here.

  "You are quite right, of course, but I can't help taking an interest in your behalf. As a good friend of Miss Howell's, you are my best connection with the lady. And I can't help feeling protective of any innocent woman."

  Evie sent him a doubting gaze. "How very thoughtful of you, sir, but I am in something of a hurry. We will be at the house shortly, and there will be no privacy there at all."

  "Very well. I understand that you and Mr. Monteigne were married by Mr. Cleveland?"

  She didn't know how he'd come across that piece of knowledge, but she supposed the record had to be on file somewhere. "You understand correctly, Mr. Hale."

  He sighed heavily. "I was afraid of that. I don't know how to put this delicately, my dear lady, but Cleveland is not really a minister. I have checked his credentials before. He has a large following on his circuit, but the man is a complete impostor. He will do anything for a dollar."

  Evie felt a quiver of fear, but there had always been a question about the legality of their marriage. She kept walking. "How unfortunate. Well, then we shall just ask Mr. Brown to repeat the ceremony for us. We have been attending the Presbyterian church anyway."

  Hale coughed and hurried to keep up with her. "Pray, think a moment before you do so, my dear. There will be those who will be scandalized that you and Mr. Monteigne have been living in sin all this time. It is quite common knowledge in these parts that Cleveland isn't the man to go to for a marriage. They will think the worst."

  Rather than being shocked or fearful, Evie was getting angry. She sent Hale a baleful look. "People always do think the worst, don't you agree, Mr. Hale? They haven
't a great deal better to do, I suppose."

  "Quite often they have very good reasons, Mrs. Peyton. I know it must be difficult to be an unprotected widow in this world, and you are probably very grateful for the care of Mr. Monteigne, but you need an older and wiser head to guide you. Mr. Monteigne may be very handsome and charming, but there is much you don't know about him. Men have ways of knowing more about other men than the ladies do. I would advise you to think twice before making your marriage legal."

  That was certainly a shocking statement. Evie looked at him incredulously. "You are asking me to live in sin?"

  Hale choked on her honesty, turned red about the ears, and hastened to say, "Of course not. It is well-known that Mr. Monteigne has his rooms at the hotel and that you live with the children. I'm certain you can arrange something."

  Arranging something had been precisely their difficulty, but not in the way that Hale meant it. Sneaking out at night to stay with Tyler and then coming back in the morning to look after the children had a certain lack of propriety to it that rankled. Tyler hadn't pressed her last night, but she hadn't liked sleeping alone, either.

  Before she could respond appropriately, a familiar figure walked out of the hotel as they passed. Nervously, Evie halted to greet Mr. Peyton, but she wasn't too nervous not to note the shock on Hale's face when she made the introductions.

  "Peyton?" he inquired cautiously. "There haven't been Peytons hereabouts for years, aside from this dear lady." He nodded at Evie.

  "My sister's been here," Peyton responded wryly, giving the lawyer a quick once-over. "Don't suppose you're related to that pompous ass, Andrew Hale, are you?"

  "My father, sir." Hale nervously fiddled with the brim of his bowler. "He was a bit of a stickler, but we shouldn't speak ill of the dead."

  "Not as long as they're dead, I reckon." Satisfied on that account, Peyton offered his arm to Evie. "I was just going around to see to the children now that school is out. Will you accept my company?"

  Politely, Evie turned to Hale. "Was there anything else you wished to discuss? Have you heard from my friend, perhaps?"

  "Yes, yes, I've heard from her. It's just as you said. She's going to be married and would like to know more about her parents. I will be in touch with her guardian, of course." He sent Evie a suspicious look, but refrained from voicing his doubts about the letter's authenticity.

  She didn't want him writing to her darned guardian, but Evie hid her displeasure, smiled, and took Peyton's arm. "Well, thank you very much for our informative discussion, sir. Good day."

  As they strode rapidly down the alley, Peyton glanced at her curiously. "Hale made you mad, did he? Elizabeth often threatened to kick his father. All lawyers aren't alike of course, but there seem to be a damned lot of pompous asses among them."

  Evie smiled at that. "Well, I suppose donkeys have to live, too."

  "Donkeys?" His startled look received no answer as Evie hurried up on the porch and into the house.

  "Jose went out in his good clothes," Carmen reported as soon as they entered.

  "Well, then, we'll make him wash them when he comes back in." Evie lifted her hat and went into her room to set it on the dresser. "Give Mr. Peyton something cool to drink," she called as she checked her hair in the mirror.

  "They'll have to start calling me Uncle Jim, I reckon." Peyton watched her carefully as Evie sailed out of the bedroom tying an apron around her waist.

  Carmen had already rescued Maria from the neighbor's, and Evie swept the child into her arms and gave her a hug, then presented her to their guest. "This is your Uncle Jim, Maria. Say hello."

  She stuck her thumb in her mouth and said "hewwo" around it.

  "It's an honor and pleasure, Miss Maria. Will you let me hold you?" Peyton offered his arms.

  Maria looked uncertain for a moment, then finding something of interest, she eagerly went into his arms and pulled at his beard.

  "Umph. I guess I asked for that." Peyton wrapped his long fingers around the child's smaller ones and gently untangled his goatee. He propped Maria where he could see her face more clearly. "You have eyes and hair like your mama's and grandmama's." He informed her with a smile.

  Then he turned to Evie who was watching this display protectively. "And you have eyes and hair just like your mama's and grandmama's, too."

  Chapter 34

  Evie couldn't believe he'd said what he had. She'd never had a family to be compared to. She stared at him with a glazed look on her face, waiting for the punch line. When Peyton didn't say more, she didn't know where to look. She wiped her hands nervously on her apron, then turned to see what Carmen was doing.

  The younger girl was listening unabashedly. Shaking her head to herself, Evie gestured at the rocking chair. "Won't you have a seat, Mr. Peyton? I have to start dinner. Tyler and Daniel will be home soon."

  Peyton gave her a look of exasperation and still carrying Maria, walked in the direction of Evie's bedroom. "Your husband mentioned your interest in painting, Mrs. Monteigne. Are you working on anything now?"

  Evie swung a frantic look to Carmen at the stove, then back to the stranger disappearing into their bedroom. She had spent too many years hoping. She couldn't believe her prayers would be answered so easily. She needed time to think, time to formulate questions, but her mind was a blur of madly spinning wishes and hopes and cries, and she could only follow the man who might hold her secrets.

  He was studying the canvas propped on the easel by the window. Maria was swinging her chubby fist at the picture and saying "Tywer" over and over, to make sure the stranger got the point.

  "It's a very good likeness of Tyler, my dear," Peyton informed the child calmly. "Your Miss Maryellen is a very talented young lady." At Evie's appearance, he swung around questioningly. "Why on earth do you call yourself that awful name? You did say your mother named you Evangeline, didn't you?"

  "She also named me Peyton and Howell, but those names don't belong to me any more than any other. Maryellen had a nice, sweet sound to it, like someone who had a loving family around them." Now that she had come to accept that this man knew some of the answers, Evie calmed down. She would remember Jane Eyre and behave sensibly.

  "Evangeline was your mother's middle name, and it was her mother's name before her. It's a good old-fashioned family name. Elizabeth must have wanted you to have your family if in name only. I still can't believe she did that." He shook his head and put down the child who had begun to wriggle to get loose.

  "Can't believe she did what?" Evie stood there helplessly, watching this stranger who was examining her canvas with a professional eye and telling her the things she had always wanted to hear.

  "There's no proof, I suppose." Sadly, he looked up from the painting to examine Evie in the same way he had examined the canvas. "But I don't know where else you would have come across such a name. Or those looks. And this." He gestured at the half-finished painting of Tyler and Maria.

  "Perhaps, if you would explain?" She wasn't following all this. No one else had ever commented on her looks. And she didn't know if he meant the painting itself or Tyler. She knew what she hoped he meant, but Texas had taught her a thing or two about reality. She wasn't going to daydream the most important story of her life.

  "I don't suppose you would have any wine, would you?" Peyton turned to stare out the window at the narrow, dirty alley.

  "I can send for some. The mercantile might have a bottle."

  "It's no matter. I just thought we both could use a drop of something strong." He looked over his shoulder. "You ought to take a seat. I'm not sure I should be saying anything at all, but you have more suspicions than I have answers, and we need to sort through them."

  Evie obediently dropped to the edge of one of the beds. "What did you mean about my eyes and hair?"

  "You have eyes like mine, like the children's, like my mother's—your grandmother's. Rosita Peyton was a lovely woman, but you look nothing like her except for the eyes. My father used to call the
m Spanish eyes. I never met Angelina's husband, but I suppose he had dark eyes, too, and the same coloring as my mother. That's why the children look Mexican, I guess. My sister Angelina was a lot like our mother, too. I was the different one; I looked more like my father. He was an Irish-American with a big laugh and a talent for trouble. He wasn't tall, but his hair was auburn and he never could stay out in the sun much. Neither can I. Do you find you have the same problem?" He turned to look at her.

  Evie nodded. "I turn red quickly, but I try to wear a hat and carry a parasol. There's not much call for me to be out in the sun."

  He nodded and turned back to the window. "I hated farming. My father claimed his father felt the same way and that he died a terrible death in a barroom after he lost his farm while frittering his time painting silly pictures."

  Silence fell, and not knowing what else to say to get him speaking again, Evie said, "Carmen tells me you are a famous artist."

  Peyton's smile twisted. "I once sold a portrait for two thousand dollars. Money was plentiful back then. I made a lot of it. I don't know if that makes me famous. Anyway, fame—like money—is fleeting. My eyesight is going bad, and my hand is developing a tremble. I can't do as well as you have done there anymore." He jerked his head toward the easel. "I can teach you a few techniques, I suppose, but it looks like you've had some professional training."

  "An artist from Paris stayed in St. Louis one year. Nanny insisted that I study with him. He said my work was too feminine, not strong enough. I asked if he thought a woman ought to paint like a man, and we had a terrible fight, but I tried to learn everything he knew."

  Peyton chuckled and turned around, leaning back against the windowsill and crossing his arms over his chest. "You sound just like your mother. She once told her father that she wasn't a man, she didn't want to be a man, and if he wanted her to think like a man, then he'd better find her a man's head. Until then, she was doing things like a woman, which was a hundred times better than any man could do."