KeepingFaithCole

by Christina Cole

  Small price to pay, he figured, counting the coins out. As she reached to wrap the ribbons in tissue, he put his hand on hers. “No need. They’re yours.”

  Her chin came up. “Mine? Well, that’s foolishness if I’ve ever heard it. I don’t need you buying hair ribbons for me, Tom. Or doing anything else for me.” She bustled out from behind the sales counter and pointed to the door. “Really, you need to go. This is a dressmaking shop, and I don’t think you have much use for fancy skirts.” She eyed him up and down.

  Tom noticed the way her gaze lingered on one certain part of his anatomy. He liked the hungry way she looked at him, and he took a step closer.

  “You’re sure in an awful big hurry to get me out of here, and I think I know why.”

  “I already told you. I’m busy.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re scared.”

  “Scared?” Her voice rose an octave on the single syllable. “Scared of what? You? Not in the least.”

  “You’re scared of yourself. Scared of what you’re feeling right now.”

  “You’re talking rubbish.”

  He moved closer still, reached out, and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “You know, your skin’s as smooth and soft as that velvet ribbon, and every bit as pretty.”

  Her breath caught, but she didn’t move away.

  “Whether you admit it or not, you are afraid. You’re afraid of all those crazy feelings stirring inside you right now. Afraid that if you don’t get me out of here real quick, you might do something crazy, something you might later regret.”

  “Like what?” She looked at him with hope in her eyes and an invitation on her lips.

  “Like let me kiss you.”

  “You’ve kissed me before. It wasn’t anything—”

  He silenced her as he pressed his lips to hers. The pleasure of her hot mouth was almost too much for him to bear. His arms closed around her and she moved easily into his embrace. Waves of desire undulated through him. He tightened his hold, and her body responded at once, yielding to him, pressing against him. Tom groaned. He wanted to hold Lucille forever, to make her part of his world, part of his life, part of his future.

  No woman had ever affected him the way Lucille did.

  When she fought against him, it made him stronger. When she showed kindness, it made him proud. With Lucille at his side, he could be a good man, a wise man, a man whose life was truly worth living.

  He felt her shudder. The way her body moved against his sent quivers down his spine, rippling through his muscles and arousing him.

  Her hands went rigid against his chest. She tore away, her breathing ragged. “Please, stop.” With her hand pressed to her mouth, Lucille staggered away from him. Shaking her head back and forth, she gasped. “Tom, we mustn’t do this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Things between us are too complicated, that’s why.”

  Raking a hand through his sandy-blond hair, he fought to regain control. “It’s only complicated because that’s how you’re making it. Why don’t you just admit the truth?”

  “About what?”

  “About us. About kissing. You like it, Lucille. I know you do.”

  The flush on her cheeks gave her complexion a soft glow. “Oh, all right. Yes, I like it when you kiss me.” A sigh fluttered from her lips. She moved closer and held her hands out to him. “I like it a lot. Maybe you’re right. I am scared, Tom.”

  He held her hands in his, glad for the chance to provide a moment’s comfort and reassurance. “No reason to be frightened. I’ll never do anything to hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”

  Sagging against him again, she nodded. “I know.”

  Her hand in his felt good. He drew in a deep breath. “Honestly, I didn’t come here to cause any problems or upset for you. I need to ask a favor.”

  “Go on. I’m listening.” She seemed content to stay close beside him, resting her head on his chest.

  “Ma needs someone to look after her. Not for long, just until she regains her strength.”

  “So? What’s that got to do with me?” She suddenly pushed herself away from him and looked up. He could tell when she figured it out. At once, she shook her head. “No, if you’re thinking I should be the one to take care of your mother, you’re wrong. She hates me. She wouldn’t want me around.”

  “She would if you brought Faith with you.”

  “Tom, no. I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve got a shop to run. Am I supposed to shut down my business and lock the doors?”

  “What business?” He turned in a slow circle, carefully surveying the empty shop. “I hate to break it to you, but you’ve got no customers, Lucille. When Ma was working here, you couldn’t even afford to pay her for her time, and I suspect you’re probably behind on payments to at least a few of your suppliers. Am I right?”

  Tears welled up in Lucille’s dark eyes making them look larger and more luminous than ever. “Yes, of course, you’re right. I’m losing money trying to keep this place open.”

  “Sometimes best thing to do is cut your losses, or so I’ve heard,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not much of a gambling man, but fellows at the saloon say that a lot.”

  “Are you willing to pay? For someone to stay with your mother, I mean?” The words came out stiffly, as if she were embarrassed to have to ask.

  “I can’t pay much, but, yes, I’ll make it worth your time and trouble.” He wasn’t sure where he’d get the money, but he’d find a way. Doing what needed to be done was a big part of being responsible.

  “I might as well be realistic.” Lucille walked to the sales counter and picked up the lavender ribbons. “This was the first cash sale I’ve made in days.” She stared at the ribbons, running a finger over the soft velvet. “The only real business I have is doing a bit of mending for the men out at the mining camp, or sometimes patching something up for one of you rowdy cowpokes.” She smiled up at him. “I love sewing, but other than the occasional wedding gown, there’s not much call for fancy dresses around Sunset.” She leaned back against the counter. “Of course, I don’t need a shop with a high overhead. I can do mending and sew dresses just as well at home with Mama. That’s what I ought to be doing, she says.”

  “You could do your mending and sewing while you visited with Ma.” Sensing that victory might soon be his, he sauntered toward Lucille. “Please, help me. Come stay with Ma during the days. Bring Faith, too. If Ma could be near her grandbaby, it would help her a lot.”

  “You think it would keep her sober? Is that what you mean?”

  “When we had Faith with us before, Ma didn’t touch a drop of that devil’s brew.” True, indeed. She’d only begun drinking again after Tom had placed Faith in Lucille’s care.

  “Well, it’s something to think about, I’ll admit. I mean, I would like to help.”

  He stood close beside her now. “Please,” he whispered, opening his arms for her. “Come take care of Ma. It would mean a lot to me.”

  She stepped into his embrace and snuggled against him. “I suppose it would be the right thing to do. Reverend Gilman preaches every Sunday about the importance of good works.”

  “Hallelujah.” Tom whispered the word against her neck as he nuzzled her ear lobe.

  “Tom Henderson! How am I supposed to think with you doing that?” Lucille laughed and shoved him away.

  “No need to think. Just say yes.”

  “Oh, all right. Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll visit your mother. I’ll stay with her during the day, and I’ll do whatever I can to help her while she’s recuperating.”

  Tom smiled. Another moment of triumph. Lately, he seemed to be having a lot more of those, and he liked the way it felt.

  * * * *

  At the end of the day, Lucille posted the CLOSED sign in the shop window, locked the door, and walked away with no idea when she might return. She doubted anyone in Sunset would notice—or care—whether she opened the dr
essmaking establishment again or not. Like Mama said, they could do sewing and mending at home, and now, she’d be earning a few pennies by helping out with Charlotte. Whatever Tom paid her would go toward settling accounts with her suppliers.

  As promised, she visited his mother the next day. She did not bring Faith with her.

  “A bit too chilly this morning to get her out,” Lucille explained when Charlotte inquired. She sat stiffly at the woman’s bedside, unsure what was expected of her. She and Charlotte had nothing in common. What were they supposed to talk about?

  “Tell me about Faith,” the woman suggested. “Is she turning over now? You are keeping an eye on her, I hope. You don’t want her rolling off the bed, you know.”

  The woman’s obvious interest in her grandchild’s well-being and development set Lucille’s mind somewhat at ease. Although Charlotte had lived a life of shame and sin, she did possess a loving, caring heart. If given enough kindness from others, shown even a modicum of respect, she might yet find her own inherent goodness. At heart, everyone had an inherent goodness. Lucille clung tenaciously to that belief.

  The following day, Lucille came alone again. Faith had been fussing the night before. Probably best not to get her out. Charlotte listened and nodded in agreement, but her lips thinned into a hard line. Her disappointment showed.

  The third day and again on the fourth, Lucille found other reasons not to bring Charlotte’s grandbaby with her. The woman’s displeasure grew, but Lucille paid no heed to it. Faith had been entrusted to her. She would continue to do what she felt best.

  Their mornings and afternoons together were passed in feeble attempts at conversation, punctuated with sullen silences. Clearly, Charlotte didn’t want Lucille there, which made them even. The last thing Lucille really wanted was to spend even a single moment keeping the disagreeable woman company, but service to others was a fundamental tenet of being a good Christian. Of course, honesty was also a fundamental tenet of Christianity, but Lucille chose to overlook that fact.

  The real reason she was there, of course, had nothing to do with serving others, and everything to do with her growing interest in the woman’s son. She wanted to please him, wanted to know she was woman enough to win the affection of a man like Tom.

  While she was visiting with his mother, they had resumed his lessons. Each evening Lucille eagerly awaited his return, then sat in the little parlor with him, patiently sounding out words as he ran a big, callused finger along the lines of print, reading the headlines from the weekly Sunset Gazette. She sometimes sensed an uneasiness from Charlotte, as though the woman didn’t quite approve of Lucille’s determined efforts to help Tom. She chose to ignore those feelings.

  By the fifth day, Charlotte was well on her way to making a full recovery from her bout of pneumonia. Although still a bit weak, she was out of bed, moving around the cabin when Lucille arrived. As on each previous day, her disappointment showed when she opened the door.

  “Mama said maybe I should wait another day before I bring Faith. Since you’ve been ill, you know. We wouldn’t her to take sick.”

  “No, of course not.” She sighed and nodded. “You’re probably right, but you’ll bring her tomorrow, won’t you? As you can see, I’m feeling fine now, back on my feet. I want to see her.” Charlotte’s eyes glowed whenever she spoke of her grandchild. “I’ve got lots of quilts I can lay out on the floor. And I made something for her.” The woman ducked into the back bedroom, returning a few moments later with a tiny rag doll. “I used to make dolls like this for Sally.” She pressed her lips together and looked directly into Lucille’s eyes. “I know I wasn’t a very good mother, but just so you know, Miss McIntyre, I did my best. I’d like to think that counts for something.”

  * * * *

  The following morning, Lucille approached the cabin with trepidation. She knocked on the door, already rehearsing what she would say.

  “Where’s Faith?” Charlotte cracked open the door enough to peer out, but not enough to let Lucille step inside.

  “She was still sleeping when I left.” The lie came out as smooth as spun silk. “I didn’t want to disturb her.”

  The door didn’t budge. Charlotte squinted against the harsh rays of the morning sunlight. Her brow furrowed. “You said you’d bring her. You promised to bring me my grandbaby.”

  “Are you going to let me in?”

  “All right.” She swung the door open and stepped aside. “Lucille, you can stop lying to me. You’ve got no intention of bringing Faith with you. I know that.” She gestured toward the table. “Please, sit down.”

  Surprised by the woman’s kindness, Lucille took a seat. “Charlotte, I—”

  The woman didn’t let her finish. “It’s because of how I acted that day at the mercantile. I don’t blame you,” she added.

  “I’m glad you understand.”

  “I baked sweet rolls this morning.” Charlotte held the pan out to Lucille. “Help yourself.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I fixed a pot of tea. Would you like a cup?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The scene was surreal. For several moments, Charlotte and Lucille chatted pleasantly. Seated across from one another, they might have appeared to be good friends enjoying a morning cup of tea, had anyone stepped in to see them.

  “Tell me more about her, Lucille. Did you give her the doll I made?”

  “Yes. She loved it. Her eyes lit up and she got this huge smile on her face.”

  Charlotte listened with keen interest as Lucille shared other anecdotes about the cherubic six-month-old. The woman smiled, brushed a tear from her eyes, and showed the genuine concern any grandmother would demonstrate.

  Lucille responded to each of the woman’s questions with a lilt in her voice. Honesty was a good thing, she realized. Now that the air had been cleared between them, she felt much more comfortable around Tom’s mother.

  Maybe tomorrow she would bring Faith with her. Certainly, Charlotte deserved to see the child.

  Lucille leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands in her lap. “The sweet rolls were delicious, Charlotte, and you fixed a fine cup of tea, as well. Would you like for me to clean up the kitchen for you? I could wash the dishes, put things away in the cupboards, and sweep up the floor.” She pointed a scolding finger toward the woman. “You’re supposed to be resting, you know.”

  “Supposed to be, yes, but I don’t always do what I’m supposed to.” Charlotte laughed. “Can’t say that I’ve ever been too good at following rules.”

  “Rules have a purpose,” Lucille countered. “Without them, society couldn’t function. We’d be reduced to nothing more than a band of lawless heathens.”

  At once, Charlotte’s hands tightened around the cup she held, her tension so real it seemed to fill the air, engulfing both her and Lucille.

  She’d said something wrong, Lucille realized. She’d somehow touched on something sharp and painful. Suddenly nervous, Lucille fiddled with the pearl necklace at her throat. Imitation pearls, of course. She could hardly afford the real thing. Her father had purchased a dozen of the necklaces from a peddler passing through who’d brought them from the orient—a dazzling display of the proper use of man’s intellect combined with the simple beauty of nature. That was the spiel the salesman used. Pearls, he’d gone on to explain, were looked upon as signs of wisdom, beauty, and purity. According to the enterprising vendor, even the genius, Leonardo da Vinci declared that anyone who wore pearls possessed virtue and truth.

  Thoughts of her father filled Lucille’s mind now. Suddenly her heart swelled with sorrow and tears flooded her eyes.

  “What’s got into you now?” Charlotte asked. She shifted about on her seat. Any sense of comfort or familiarity they’d established between them had dried up and vanished, like morning dew disappeared in the heat of the day.

  “Memories, that’s all.” Uncertain how to proceed, Lucille clutched at the pearls as if touching them might somehow impart the wisdom s
he lacked. Her stomach churned as scenes of the past crept into her mind. “My father,” she said in a strangled voice. “I miss him, you know.”

  “How long’s he been dead?”

  “Almost a year.” She lowered her gaze, glancing down at the swirling floral pattern of her skirts. Shame overwhelmed her. She should be dressed in mourning clothes. She should be honoring the man who’d raised her, the man who’d taught her right from wrong. Instead, she’d allowed Tom Henderson—no, rather, she’d allowed her own lustful desires—to dictate the style she wore. A fine one she was to speak of rules! She’d broken one of the most meaningful traditions that had ever existed. A frantic wail escaped her throat. “A year in December,” she choked out. “I can’t bear to think of it.”

  Growing more frantic by the moment, Lucille flew from the chair. When she’d first arrived, she had placed her pocketbook on a small table. Now, she dashed across the room, snatched it up, and rummaged inside, desperately in need of the lavender-scented, lace-trimmed handkerchief she carried. An expensive bit of frippery, a throwback to happier times.

  “Get hold of yourself, girl.” Charlotte got to her feet. Taller than Lucille by a good six inches, the woman’s presence alone was enough to intimidate. Her strident voice, rough demeanor, and most of all, the hardness in her eyes all worked to make her a formidable figure, an object to be feared.

  Lucille dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. She hadn’t meant to lose control, but memories held such power—the power to reopen all the old wounds, the power to take the sufferer back in time, back to those most dreadful moments that marked the course of life.

  “I’m sorry to be so emotional,” she said, unable to look directly at Charlotte. Instead, she focused on the delicate lace of her handkerchief. “You don’t understand,” she went on. “I was the one who found my father. The one who found him dead.” She lifted her chin. Even though she turned her face toward Charlotte, her eyes saw only emptiness as she stared blankly ahead. “You have no idea how awful it was.” Her voice turned quiet, the words coming out in a dull monotone. “I was so excited. Christmas was coming, and I was going to the mercantile to help my father that afternoon. The store would be filled with shoppers buying last-minute holiday gifts.” Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Getting the words out of her mouth had become difficult. “He was lying there, sprawled out on the ground in back of the store with his neck broken. He’d fallen from the rooftop, you see. All he’d wanted was to make the store look more festive. He must have lost his balance…lost his footing…” Her voice trailed off as the awful scene replayed inside her head. She twisted the lace-trimmed handkerchief.