by Jody Hedlund
Higgins let loose a slew of curses, but Reinhold cut them off by shoving the empty crock into Higgins’s chest.
“What?” Higgins said, glancing at the crock. “I didn’t drink your stash of whiskey, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“You stole my money!” Reinhold roared. “Again!”
Water dripped from Higgins’s face. Slowly, understanding dawned in the man’s dark eyes. He started to laugh, a chortling sound that was clearly intended to goad Reinhold.
Reinhold could only think of the months of hard work he’d endured. The hours of sweating and hurting and saving. In a single moment it was all gone, and he was back to being a penniless pauper, always dependent on someone else for his survival.
That thought more than any other stirred rage deep within him, a rage that had swirled in his gut from time to time but that he’d hoped would never surface. He expelled a breath and tried to clear his mind. He released Higgins with a shove that sent the man falling back into the wash bucket, causing it to topple over.
“Tell me where you put it,” Reinhold demanded, trying to keep his voice level.
“Or what?” Higgins sneered. “You gonna beat me up since you’re so mean and tough?”
Reinhold’s hands closed into fists, and he fought back the anger that was rising in a powerful surge.
“You’re too nice to do anything,” Higgins taunted, standing. “If you were half the man you think you are, you could have kept Liverpool under control.”
Reinhold could feel his blood pumping faster. His thoughts raced to the last time he’d seen Liverpool the day of the trial, when he’d gone to say good-bye before the sheriff escorted the boy to prison in New York City. He’d wanted to encourage him to take responsibility for his part in the murder, but Liverpool had blamed everything on Ned.
Reinhold stared at Higgins, who’d always relished riling him. Of course, Higgins was trying to irk him again, but maybe Higgins was right. Maybe Reinhold was a weak man. Maybe he’d tried so hard not to be like his father that he’d ended up being too soft.
He took a deep breath and tossed aside those kinds of thoughts. “All I want is my money. Just give it back and I won’t hold it against you.”
Higgins wiped his hands on his trousers, which were covered with a fine gray metal dust. He beckoned Reinhold with his fingers. “Come on. Come get me. I dare you.”
Reinhold’s biceps contracted into bricks, but he held himself back. “Give. Me. My. Money.” He ground out each word in a low growl.
Higgins laughed. “If you fight me, then I’ll give you the money back.”
Reinhold’s fingers closed around the crock—the empty crock. He glared at Higgins for a long minute, wanting to rush at him and pummel him the way he deserved. “Tell me where you put it.”
“You might talk tough,” Higgins spat, “but you’re nothing but a weakling.” With that, he began to saunter toward the barn.
As Reinhold watched him walk away, heat rushed to his chest, arms, and legs. He tossed down the crock and hoe and lunged after the skinny farmhand, reaching him in several long strides. With a roar that came from deep within, from all the anger and frustration he’d been holding in, Reinhold spun Higgins around. Before he could stop himself, he slammed a fist into the man’s gut.
Higgins’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Well, well, well—”
Reinhold swung again, this time punching Higgins in the mouth, cutting off his words. Blood oozed from his split lower lip, and the sight of it seemed to heat Reinhold’s blood all the more.
Higgins stumbled backward, but Reinhold followed after him, hitting him in the nose and then stomach. Each punch brought a strange surge of satisfaction that only fueled his thirst for more.
“Okay!” Higgins cried out. He crossed his arms in front of his head in self-defense. “You made your point. You can fight.”
“Where’s my money?” Reinhold’s voice was strangely raspy. He could hear Mrs. Turner scolding him, but it was hollow as though from a great distance away.
“I don’t have your money!” Higgins shouted.
Reinhold grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it. Higgins squealed like a baby pig. “Tell me where it is.”
“I swear!” Higgins fell to his knees, his face contorted with pain. “I don’t have it!”
Reinhold kept hold on Higgins with one hand and swung at him with the other. He slammed and slammed, over and over, ignoring Higgins’s cries of protest. Reinhold’s thoughts blurred, and all he could think was that he was tired of being bullied, tired of holding back, tired of being weak.
A gunshot broke through his haze. His fist froze in midair.
Silence descended. It was so heavy, so terrible that Reinhold blinked his eyes as if waking up from a nightmare. The first thing he noticed was the blood. He lifted his hand and stared at it. Blood covered his knuckles and ran down his fingers. It was splattered on his sleeves and across his chest.
“Step away from Higgins nice and slow” came a hard voice nearby.
Reinhold took a step back and realized his chest was heaving as if he’d been running. He took a deep shuddering breath, and his head began to clear.
Why was Mr. Turner standing a dozen feet away and pointing his hunting rifle at him?
“That’s right,” the farmer said as he stared down the barrel at Reinhold. “Step away.”
Mrs. Turner was cowering behind her husband, clutching her wooden spoon. Lucinda stood on the front porch step, wringing her hands, tears running down her thin face.
Reinhold lowered his hands to his sides. What had he done? Lying on the ground in front of him was a body covered in blood, motionless.
His heartbeat slowed to a deathly crawl.
It was Higgins, facedown in the grass, his arm twisted at an odd angle behind him. Had he killed the man? Reinhold took several more steps away from the body and sagged to his knees, hitting the ground with a jarring force.
He couldn’t breathe, could only stare at Higgins. Oh no . . . what have I done? In one moment of insanity, had he become his father? “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse.
As if he’d been waiting for the apology, Higgins grunted and lifted his face out of the grass. At the movement, he cursed profusely and cradled his arm.
Higgins was alive. Tears burned at the back of Reinhold’s eyes, and he buried his face into his bloody hands, wanting to weep with relief.
“I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you,” Mr. Turner said, “but I won’t have any more trouble like this.”
“You need to fire Reinhold,” Mrs. Turner declared in her no-nonsense tone. “I don’t want a dangerous man like him living here. He would have killed Higgins if you hadn’t come along.”
Reinhold held his hands out in front of him. His knuckles were raw and bleeding. The truth of Mrs. Turner’s words stabbed him to the core of his being. He was dangerous. He hadn’t killed Higgins, but he’d come close. And he probably would have if Mr. Turner hadn’t intervened.
“I want you to send Reinhold on his way, tonight, right now,” Mrs. Turner continued. “I don’t want him around here another minute.”
“No!” came a shrill scream.
The sound was so loud and startling, Reinhold turned toward the source of it to find Lucinda wide-eyed and red-faced on the front step, covering her mouth, as though she too was surprised by her outburst.
“Young lady,” started Mrs. Turner angrily, “how dare you—”
“You can’t send him away,” Lucinda said forcefully. From a woman who rarely spoke above a whisper, and even then only briefly, the protest was startling and left Reinhold as speechless as Mr. and Mrs. Turner.
At the sight of their gaping, Lucinda ducked her head. She was twisting her hands together again, this time so tightly Reinhold thought she might twist them right off.
“Higgins didn’t take Reinhold’s money,” she said more quietly.
Higgins had rolled to his side. His eyes were swollen and tur
ning a shade of purplish-black. His nose was bent and still bleeding. His lips were busted and bleeding too, but still he managed a sneer at Reinhold. “Told you I didn’t take it.”
Reinhold shook his head, and the rage inside surged easily this time. “You’re a liar.” He had the overwhelming urge to kick the man until he couldn’t move.
“I took it.” Lucinda raised her voice, her declaration ringing out and echoing in the silence that followed.
Reinhold sat back on his heels. He stared at Lucinda, unable to formulate a response. She looked at the ground, the lines in her face taut, her lips pursed and almost white. She refused to meet anyone’s gaze.
Lucinda had been the one to steal from him? How? When? And more important, why?
“I took it all,” she said again, digging her hand into her apron pocket. When she lifted it out, she held a bulging leather pouch.
Mrs. Turner gasped. “You wretched, wretched child! What came over you to do something so evil?”
“I thought if Reinhold didn’t have any money to buy his farm, then he’d want to stay here.” Lucinda’s confession dropped to a whisper.
“I should have known you’d do something like this,” Mrs. Turner said. She lifted the wooden spoon and smacked it against her hand. “You’re a worthless and wicked girl. All you do is embarrass us.”
Lucinda’s chin dropped against her chest.
Reinhold could only stare at the bag of money in the young woman’s hand. She’d taken his earnings because she wanted him to stay here? But why?
Liverpool’s teasing rose up in answer. “She’s practically throwing herself at you.” His mind flashed to all the times she’d slipped him an extra piece of cake or packed him a special lunch pail or offered to patch a hole in his trousers. She’d even sewn him new shirts.
Had Lucinda been attempting to win his affection? Maybe Liverpool had been right.
Mrs. Turner huffed and started toward Lucinda. “You’re not only going to repay Reinhold every penny you took from him, but I’m going to give you a thrashing you won’t ever forget.”
Mr. Turner stopped his wife with a touch to her arm. The motion was unexpected, because she stumbled to a halt and turned to look at her husband with an open mouth.
“Give him the money, girl,” Mr. Turner said to Lucinda.
She nodded mutely and rushed to obey. As she approached Reinhold, he couldn’t make himself rise to meet her as he knew he should. Tentatively she held the pouch out to him.
He took it. The familiar weight of the bundle should have made him happy or at least relieved. Instead his stomach churned, and his head ached. He felt like he might throw up.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She didn’t immediately back away from him. When she lifted her head, her eyes held a tiny flicker of hope. “I wasn’t planning to take any more, but once you asked Miss Neumann to marry you, I just wanted to try to find a way to keep you here.”
Keep him? Did Lucinda think if he stayed long enough working for her father, that eventually he’d want to marry her? That was ludicrous. And he wanted to tell her so. She had to know he’d never consider marrying a woman he didn’t love.
But even as the words rolled through his mind, he realized that was exactly what he was doing with Marianne. He was marrying her even though he didn’t love her. Even though she was in love with another man. He’d seen how she looked at Drew during the trial and afterward. He’d wanted to ignore it, wanted to believe she’d eventually love him instead, wanted to hold on to her because he needed her.
Essentially he was using her. Perhaps it was for a worthy cause, but he was using her nevertheless.
Suddenly he was disgusted with himself for how low he’d sunk. Not only had he nearly beaten an innocent man to death with his bare hands, but he’d also intended to marry a woman for what she could do for him.
He shoved the heavy bag into his pocket and stood to his feet unsteadily. He’d turned into a monster, the kind he vowed he’d never become, the kind his father had been. No matter how hard he’d tried to be different, somehow he’d ended up there anyway.
“I’m sorry too,” he said to Lucinda before lurching past her toward the barn. He’d barely turned the corner before he doubled over and vomited.
As he straightened and wiped the bitterness from his mouth, he knew it wouldn’t be so easy to get rid of the bitterness that filled his soul. But there was one thing he could do to make things right. And tomorrow he’d ride into town and do it.
Chapter 28
Marianne stiffened as the front door of Elise’s house opened and ushered in excited voices. The clock above the mantel signaled ten minutes until the top of the hour. Ten minutes until the wedding started. Ten minutes for her to figure out some way to get herself out of the current mess.
Coming from the hallway, she heard Jethro’s excited nonstop chatter, followed by Drew’s laughter.
“You seem more nervous this time,” Elise said, straightening the lace on another new gown she’d had made for Marianne. This one was especially beautiful. It was white with a full skirt and had silk roses of varying colors of pink sewn into the waist and at the sleeves.
Earlier that morning, a local farmer had delivered an enormous bouquet of fresh-cut roses that matched the roses on the dress. And now Marianne buried her face into the soft petals to soothe the heat that climbed into her cheeks whenever she thought about the charade.
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Marianne said. She’d waited for Elise to join her in the big bed, kept telling herself she’d confess the truth about Reinhold and Drew when Elise came in. But as the hours ticked away with no sign of Elise, Marianne had finally fallen into a restless sleep.
“We don’t need to worry about any interruptions to your wedding today,” Elise said with a laugh. “I’ve instructed the servants to send away anyone who knocks on the door.”
Marianne tried to muster a smile. This time she desperately needed an interruption, a way to extricate herself from marrying Drew. She couldn’t go forward with the plans. But with each passing minute, it was becoming more impossible for her to back out.
She hadn’t had the opportunity to talk with Drew privately again since they’d departed from the train. He’d been gone most of the evening, helping with the construction of the new doctor’s home. When he’d returned to the depot with Thornton, the two had been inseparable, laughing and talking like they were long-lost brothers.
She’d thought when they tucked Jethro into bed, she’d have a private moment with him in the hallway, but Mrs. Gray had insisted on laying Jethro down so she and Drew could have more time together with Elise and Thornton. It would have been a lovely evening of talking if she hadn’t had the constant thought at the back of her mind that everything was a sham and Elise would be angry with her when she discovered she’d been lying again.
“Miss Neumann!” Jethro exclaimed, running into the parlor. His hair had somehow been combed into submission and lay in neat waves. He was wearing one of the new suits the Children’s Aid Society had given him, and it was washed and ironed. “You look mighty purty. Don’t she, Mr. Brady?”
Drew stepped into the room behind Jethro. At the sight of her, he came to an abrupt halt. His smile faded, his eyes widened, and his Adam’s apple dropped like a bundle of dry hay into a trough.
“Why she’s prettier than a princess,” Mrs. Gray said, slipping past Drew and grabbing on to Jethro’s hand in time to keep him from touching a small porcelain plate with gold trim that decorated the pedestal side table.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Drew managed, swallowing hard again. “You take my breath away.”
Thornton appeared behind Drew and with a laugh clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Spoken like a man in love.” Thornton was attired in a finely tailored gray suit that contrasted his dark wavy hair and suave good looks. He was sleeker and slimmer than Drew and more refined-looking, but standing side by side, they made a handsome pair.
As the reverend entered the room along with Mr. Gray, Marianne’s chest squeezed with anxiety. She needed a moment with Drew alone, but the men surrounded him, patting his back and teasing him mercilessly for his reaction to seeing his bride.
As Jethro and Mrs. Gray and Elise gathered around her, the quiet panic inside began to swell. When a few short minutes later the mantel clock chimed ten o’clock, she found herself stationed next to Drew and standing before the reverend.
“Dearly beloved,” the reverend began, “we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of these witnesses, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate, instituted of God.”
How had this charade gone so far? She glanced up at Drew and tried to catch his eye. But he was looking at the reverend and not paying her any heed.
She shifted so that she brushed against him and attempted to elbow him. Only then did he glance down at her, but only for an instant before closing his eyes as the reverend led them in prayer.
“Drew,” she whispered. They had to stop the wedding now.
He pried open one eye and peeked at her.
She raised her brows and cocked her head toward the hallway. She needed to speak with him alone. Now.
He smiled and closed his eyes again, apparently not understanding her silent message.
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. He squeezed back. She jerked on his arm, but he only tugged back playfully. She frowned, but he continued to smile throughout the entire prayer as though everything was perfectly okay.
But it wasn’t. And he clearly wasn’t planning to cooperate with her.
When the reverend said “Amen,” Marianne took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak. Before she could get a word out, the reverend had already launched into his reading of Genesis, chapter three, and the uniting of the first man and woman as their example for matrimony.
I’m sorry for lying, Lord, she silently prayed. I knew it was wrong. And I’ve done it again. I’ve allowed myself to believe a small deception won’t matter. But it does. And now it’s become a big mess. Forgive me and help me to tell the truth, even though it will be hard and will hurt the people I care about.