KeepingFaithCole

by Christina Cole

  Of course, the fire had not been intentional. If Charlotte wanted her dead, the woman wouldn’t have come to Lucille’s rescue. She would have left her locked in the storeroom while the shop burned to the ground.

  So spoke logic, but Lucille’s heart said otherwise. She didn’t want to believe it, but nothing good came from denying the truth. She turned to look at the remains of Miss McIntyre’s Dressmaking Establishment, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her dreams had gone up in smoke, right before her eyes, and Charlotte Henderson was responsible.

  The woman wanted her dead. Charlotte had killed before, and she’d all but gotten away with it. Self-defense, she’d claimed in the case of the man she’d murdered. An accident, she’d told the judge. She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.

  Although they’d convicted her and sent her away, she was free again now. Free to hurt more people, to destroy more lives.

  Lucille shuddered.

  Charlotte reached out and took hold of Lucille’s hand.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Word of the fire quickly reached the J Bar K ranch where Tom was working that afternoon, helping Joshua Barron repair some of the outbuildings. The day was far from done, but who gave a damn? He saddled up and headed for Sunset, spurring his horse into a reckless gallop. Long before he reached the town, he could already smell the smoke clinging to the air, along with the odor of charred, burned fabric.

  A man had to keep his wits about him, had to keep his head even at the worst of times. As the roan’s hoof beats echoed over the hard earth, Tom fought past his emotions, struggling for the comfort reason alone brought to a man’s mind.

  Alarms had been sounded and the fire crew had been alerted. Lucille and his mother would be rescued. He would find them both safe and well.

  Tom’s fingers tightened on the reins. He couldn’t lose Lucille now. Not now. Not ever. She’d become his life, as important to him as air and water, as necessary as the food that nourished him and the dreams that sustained him.

  Frightened by the smell of smoke and by the noise and clamor coming from town, the roan turned skittish. Somehow Tom kept the horse under control, finally reining up at the livery, several blocks away from Miss Lucille’s Dressmaking Establishment. He turned the horse into the corral, hollered for one of the stable boys, then broke into a run. When he spotted his mother and Lucille huddled together, he nearly collapsed with relief. Weak and shaken, he forced himself to stay afoot, to keep running.

  “Lucille, are you all right?” He rushed to her. He dropped to his knees, gathered her close to him in a possessive embrace, then held her away to look her over. “Are you hurt? Were you burned?” He held up her hands, turning them over to inspect them.

  “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. Her eyes were red, her lips parched. She’d obviously inhaled a lot of smoke. But otherwise she seemed unhurt. “Your mother—” Before she could utter another word, she lost consciousness, sagging into Tom’s arms.

  “We need a doctor!” he shouted. Earlier, he’d seen Caleb among the men fighting the fire. He spotted the sheriff and called out to him. “Get Dr. Kellerman. Get Mrs. Phillips too. Get somebody here to help, please.”

  Lucille stirred in his arms. “Your mother…”

  “Hush,” Tom crooned, stroking her hair. A pang of guilt shot through him when he glanced at his mother. She needed comfort, too, but he’d put Lucille first. Wasn’t that how it was when a man loved a woman?

  But a man was supposed to love and honor his mother above all others. Even if she didn’t deserve it.

  “What happened, Ma?” he asked. “Are you all right.”

  She nodded and looked away.

  “Ma? Is something wrong?” A stupid question. Lucille’s dressmaking shop had been reduced to a pile of ashes, she lay unconscious in his arms, and he felt helpless to do anything. Worse still, a horrible suspicion had crept into his brain. He wanted to push it aside, but he couldn’t. Had his mother, in any way, been responsible for this awful event? Was that why she refused to look at him? “Is there something you need to tell me?” he asked. Never mind trying to be gentle. He needed answers. Now.

  Lucille stirred in his arms. Her long, tangled tresses smelled like smoke and charred wood, and her body shuddered against him. Whatever had happened, she had every right to be frightened. He wanted to hold her close to him forever. He’d make sure nothing bad ever happened again. He’d find a way to keep her safe.

  Both Amanda Phillips and Abner Kellerman arrived at the same moment. Amanda rushed to Tom and Lucille; Kellerman went to Charlotte and drew her away from the crowd.

  “What happened?” Amanda asked, already pulling vials from the black leather bag she carried. “Bring me a wet rag, Tom,” she instructed. “Let’s clean her up a bit.”

  As Mrs. Phillips patiently worked, Lucille’s eyes opened. She seemed confused and disoriented at first, then when she caught sight of Tom, a hesitant smile crossed her face.

  “You’re going to be fine,” he assured her, kneeling down beside her.

  Amanda smiled at him. “I know you’re worried, but it would probably be best if you stepped aside, give me a chance to examine her.”

  He nodded. “I’ll check on Ma.”

  Reluctantly, he left Lucille in Amanda’s care and crossed the road. His mother seemed to be in fine shape. Maybe he could find out from her exactly what had happened.

  “It was an accident,” she explained. Quickly she filled him in on the events that had taken place. “I felt really bad for Lucille, getting herself trapped inside that little storeroom, then seeing her shop go up in flames. She didn’t want to leave. I finally had to drag her out.”

  Tom’s breath wouldn’t come. He looked at his mother, then turned his gaze toward Lucille. Both looked as if they’d come straight from the gates of hell.

  “Well, go on,” Ma said, waving him away. “Go be with her. That’s what you’re wanting to do.”

  When he returned and knelt down beside Lucille, she gripped his arm. “Your mother tried to kill me,” she whispered. No one but Tom heard the ugly accusation.

  He shook his head. “It was an accident.” Not wanting to hear more, he turned toward Amanda Phillips. “Is she going to be all right?”

  Amanda Phillips gave her a careful once-over, then nodded. “She’s very fortunate. She might have a bit of trouble breathing, so see that she gets plenty of fresh air.”

  “Can I go home now?” Lucille asked, her voice raspy. She held a hand out, and Tom helped her to her feet, holding her close as she struggled to keep her balance.

  “Yes, go home, get some rest.” Mrs. Phillips advised. “Send for me if you need anything.”

  Tom pulled off his jacket and threw it around Lucille’s shaking shoulders. “Is your wagon at the livery?” He slowly guided her in that direction.

  She took only a few steps, then stopped. “Tom, I don’t know what to do. I’m scared. Your mother tried to kill me.”

  “I don’t think your mind is too clear yet. It was an accident, honey.”

  “No, it wasn’t an accident.”

  “Ma saved your life.”

  “What are you talking about?” Lucille pushed away from him. “She locked me in the storeroom, and then she deliberately set fire to my shop.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she’s jealous because you’ve found someone to love.”

  An absurd thought.

  “Let’s not talk about it right now,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you home. Your mother’s probably heard what’s happened. We need to let her know you’re all right.”

  He swept her up into his arms. With long strides, he pushed through the crowd, making his way to where his mother and Abner Kellerman stood. He stopped before them.

  “Tommy, it was an accident, I swear.” She clutched at his sleeve, then pointed to Lucille. “You’ve got to believe me. I never meant…”

  “We’ll talk later.” Pulling Lucille close to kee
p her warm, he carried her away from the dismal scene.

  * * * *

  Lucille awakened later that evening, only vaguely aware of a large, dark shadow looming over her bed. Several moments passed before the confusion cleared. At once, memories rushed in, flooding her mind. She cried out. Her eyes flew open.

  The shadowy form came into focus. Tom sat at her bedside, a worried look upon his face. His eyes held too many emotions for her to decipher.

  “You’re awake,” he said.

  The words rumbled up from his throat, leaving her strangely frightened. Suddenly she wished she were alone. Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned her face away, embarrassed for him to see her crying.

  “Do you want to talk?” Tom scooted his chair closer.

  When he’d carried her away after the fire, she’d shared her suspicions with him, but he refused to believe her. She had nothing more to say to him.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll do the talking. You’ve been through an ordeal today, and I know it’s going to take a little time for you to get over it. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these last few hours—”

  “About what?” Her fingers tightened on the edge of her coverlet.

  “I think we should call off the wedding.”

  Lucille tried to catch her breath, but couldn’t. Her lungs ached, but even more, her heart hurt. Tom had changed his mind, she realized. He no longer wanted her for his wife. Not that he’d ever really wanted her. He’d only gone along with her plan for Faith’s sake.

  But she was the one who truly stood to lose. Tom had a court decree giving him legal custody of his niece. She had nothing more than Tom’s fervent desires to do the right thing. He’d placed Faith in her care, but he could take her back any time. Lucille could do nothing to stop him.

  “You can’t change your mind now. It’s too late, Tom. We’re getting married, just like we planned.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

  Tom leaned forward and brushed the tear away. “Is this what you really want, Lucille? Marriage isn’t easy under the best circumstances. I don’t want to push you into something you might later regret.”

  Closing her eyes, Lucille felt a deep, abiding peace come over her. Tom had not changed his mind. He’d talked of calling off the wedding for her sake, because he wanted her happiness.

  “No regrets,” she assured him, reaching for his hand. His fingers felt warm and strong as they entwined around hers.

  * * * *

  Lucille had never been so confused as on the day of her wedding. Nothing was the way she’d imagined it. As a little girl—and as a young woman, too—she’d often daydreamed about getting married. Of course, those childish dreams had always begun with falling in love. The reality of life was much different.

  She stared down at the dress she’d chosen to wear for her wedding day. A good choice, she thought. A fancy ivory gown, not quite white, but close enough that it wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows, she hoped. How unfair that after designing and sewing wedding dresses for most of the brides in Sunset, she would now walk down the aisle in a frock that she’d had hanging in her wardrobe for over a year. With everything lost in the fire, there hadn’t been time to order new fabric, to design and stitch a new dress. This one would have to do. The bodice sported neat tabs at the lower edge, and her mother had taken time to add a few seed pearls. It had a pleated peplum in back and short, full sleeves. The skirt had a draped front panel with swags of white silk and glass bead fringe, a draped apron front and a full skirt in the back. She’d borrowed her mother’s wedding veil. Fitting, really. A bride was always supposed to carry something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

  Her dress was old, the ribbon in her hair was new. She had her mother’s veil, and as for blue, that’s how her heart felt now. Not that she didn’t want to marry Tom. She did want to be his wife, but it was all so different from how she’d hoped it would be.

  Tears streamed across her cheeks as she walked—alone—toward Tom. If only her father could have been with her, if only she could have held his hand and felt his strength, she could have drawn courage. Her father would have given her hope, would have assured her that she’d made the right choice.

  Marriage wasn’t about love. It was about growing up, accepting responsibilities, and above all, doing what was best. Tom would be a good husband. Despite the unkind thoughts she’d had about him in the past—and the unkind words she’d uttered—she knew in her heart what a good man he truly was.

  To those looking in, their marriage would appear genuine, but so many things weren’t real—like fancy flowers made from colored paper, or artificial pearls. Every year new merchandise became available. Imitations. Fakes.

  She sighed as the music from the old organ rose and swelled, then faded away. A poignant silence filled the little church. Blinking back a tear, Lucille accepted Tom’s outstretched hands.

  “Dearly beloved…” Reverend Gilman’s deep voice wrapped itself around Lucille. Tom’s arms went around her waist, and she felt safe, secure.

  Lucille barely listened as the minister’s voice droned on. Tom would take good care of her, and in return, she would take very good care of Faith. Together, they would weather whatever storms life brought their way.

  She became aware that the voice had stopped. An expectant hush hung in the air. Everyone was looking at her.

  Lucille choked back her apprehension, and whispered the words that would change her life forever.

  “I do.”

  * * * *

  The celebration at the social hall lasted throughout the afternoon and most of the evening. It was well past sundown when the newlyweds arrived at their home. While Tom tended to the horses, his blushing bride hurried inside, wondering why she should be such a bundle of nerves on their wedding night. She and Tom had shared intimate pleasures before.

  As she stripped off the ivory gown, her cheeks burned with thoughts of those wickedly sinful moments. Now, she and Tom were wed and could freely share their passions. A fire of pure desire spread through her body.

  Her yearning grew stronger as she prepared for his approach. Lucille washed with scented water, then dabbed a spot of eau de toilette at her throat. The rapid beat of her pulse pounded against the tip of her finger. Would the sweet floral fragrance entice her husband? Or should she have chosen something more exotic?

  What of the gossamer-thin nightgown she’d chosen? Would he like the way she looked in it, the way it revealed her dark nipples and the thatch of dark hair at the apex of her thighs?

  With growing anticipation, she wet her lips and waited for him to come to their marital bed. Her mother had kept Faith, and there would be nothing to disturb them. The long winter night belonged to them alone.

  Lucille sat on the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her lap. When at last Tom opened the door, she clasped her fingers tightly together and looked up. The lamp burned softly from atop a small bedside table, filling the room with a warm, golden glow. Her breath caught in her throat as the sight of the strong, powerful man who’d become her husband, hers to have and to hold, forever.

  “Tom,” she whispered, rising to greet him. In her heart, she had so many words of love she wanted to share. Being married was still too new, and she didn’t know when or how to let her feelings come out. Better, perhaps, to take things slow, to let this moment happen in its own way. She held her hand out to him.

  He took hold of it and gazed down into her eyes. Instead of desire, Lucille saw only disappointment.

  “What is it?” she asked, not sure she could bear to hear the answer. She wanted so much to please Tom and be a good wife to him. Although they’d been married only a few hours, he had already found her lacking.

  “When we agreed to get married, we never talked much about…” He shrugged and let go of her hand. “Well, to be honest, we never really talked at all about…sleeping arrangements.”

  Lucille found it hard to swallow. “Naturally, I—” She’d assumed that slee
ping arrangements would take care of themselves. Husband and wives were expected to sleep together, to share the same bed…and all that went with it. An awkward embarrassment washed over her, and she looked away.

  “I won’t demand any marital rights of you.” His voice sounded flat and totally devoid of emotion. He might as well have been talking about the price of grain or the cost of a new rope. Most likely he’d show more passion for either of those than he did for her.

  Pressing a hand to her mouth, Lucille willed herself to stay strong, even as the last of her hopes crashed down around her. Clearly Tom felt no desire for her.

  “As far as anyone knows, of course,” he said, “we’ll pretend our marriage is real.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “We’ll take good care of Faith, she’ll have all she needs, and nobody will ever take her away from us.”

  Lucille lifted her chin. “Right. That’s what this is all about, after all. We’re doing this for Faith.” She swallowed back the last of her regrets. Tom spoke the truth. Their marriage assured Faith of a home, a family, and the secure future she deserved.

  “I figured I’d take the upstairs bedroom. You can have this one since it’s close to where Faith will be sleeping.”

  “Are you sure? The ceiling there is so low, and you’re so tall. You’ll be ducking your head every time you set foot in that upstairs bedroom.” What she really wanted to say was you belong here, with me. But those thoughts remained locked within her heart.

  “While I’m sleeping, I won’t notice how big or small the room is.” Tom grinned. “And this way, I won’t disturb you when I get up each morning. Goose and I are going to be doing a lot of work in the next few weeks. It will be good for us to get an early start each day.”