by Annie Boone
When she didn’t say anything, he spoke. “A simple life seems so appealing.”
“What about your work?”
“Does the western part of the country not need publishers?”
She moved her spoon around the soup but still didn’t take a bite. Finally, she stilled it and shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I guess…” She stopped and bit her bottom lip. “I guess one must follow one’s heart. I would move to Montana, though I know I would miss the city.” She looked at him, though she looked bewildered. “Wouldn’t you?”
He didn’t quite know what to make of her answer. The idea of Montana seemed to unnerve her, but resolution filled her posture. Would she give up all, to follow him there? And did he want her to? Because, truth be told, the sad countenance of her face didn’t move him at all.
There was no desire in him, other than mere human kindness, to ensure her happiness, to make sure her dreams came true. Not like with Lana. He’d live in the midst of the Sahara Desert to ensure Lana could have her dreams, and the reality of those thoughts hit him hard. He was fooling with Miss Markson’s heart.
He picked up his spoon and took a sip of the rich soup that tasted stale to him.
“Would you?” she repeated her question, breaking into his thoughts. “Miss the city, I mean?”
He banged his spoon against the side of his bowl, making small splatters on the white table cloth. He lay his spoon down, on the plate, and folded his hand on his lap. All desire for food gone. He bent his head to the side and focused on Miss Markson’s sorrowful brown eyes. “I wouldn’t. In fact, I miss the fresh open air of Montana and the rich greenery. The land is quite beautiful.”
And he definitely missed a blue-eyed, blonde haired woman who still clenched his heart tightly. The fact that she had no desire to hold his heart was not important now. He still loved her.
Miss Markson just nodded and returned to her meal.
They finished the meal in relative silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Miss Markson returned to care for his mentor, and he made his way to his office. He sat in his fine leather chair with his feet propped up on the desk, his gaze locked on the drawer filled with Lana’s letters. Every part of him inched to pull out those letters and read them, trying to find some way to reestablish the connection between them that had been broken.
He knew that would just be torture. He had tried courting someone else, had tried to not think of her, and yet the yearning for her grew stronger. He had no idea what he should do. Or how much longer he could endure this.
Coughing sounds filled the halls followed by a loud wheezing. He closed his eyes. He was trapped. And there was nothing he could do about it. But he needed to figure out how to find peace in his life and an acceptance of what was happening.
He sat up, spotting his mentor’s ragged leather Bible. How many times had Mr. Hightower read to him from that book? Plenty. Maybe he could find answers here. Maybe God would speak to him as he read the Word. Perhaps, he should try to seek God’s will.
He cleared his mind and closed his eyes. “Lord, I don’t know what You plan. I don’t know where You will lead me, but please help. Help me make the right decision. Amen.”
He opened his eyes as a sweet peace swept through him. A peace that told him, that somehow, some way, the Lord would direct his paths. He just hoped his heart didn’t keep getting shattered in the process.
Chapter 12
Lana squared her shoulders and focused on the building at the end of the line of stores in Cutter’s Creek’s town center. A chilling wind passed over her face as a few brown leaves skipped ahead of her on the boardwalk.
She clenched the box with her manuscript in it close to her chest with one hand and pulled her scarf closer to her neck. A small trickle of dread seeped into her. She wanted to mail off her manuscript, but she would have to go to the post office to do that. The post office was the last place she wanted to go.
Over the last week, she had courted Mr. Johnston, having dinner with his parents and hers. They would take walks around her house, but no matter how much time she spent with him, no spark of attraction would ignite. In fact, only discomfort did.
The man obviously had no interest in finding out who she was, what she enjoyed, or what she believed in. All he did was talk about himself. Sometimes he would even interrupt her to talk about himself. She rarely was able to complete a sentence without him cutting her off. She had to find some way to extract herself from this arrangement. But she couldn’t do it until she ensured that he had mailed off her manuscript.
The heavy footsteps made her turn. Matthew Thompson marched towards her with a small box clasped in his hands and a deep scowl on his face. What could be bothering him? His posture looked so stiff. She stopped and waited for him to catch up.
He stopped in front of her and the scent of grease and horse flesh surrounded her. He pushed his lips in a thin line and shoved the box towards her. “He’s fooling with you.”
“Fooling with me?”
“Take this, you’ll see.”
Lana took the box from Matthew's large callused hand. She lay a finger on the bottom of the lid, slightly pushing it up. Curious about what could be in this brown wooden nail box, she shook it gently. It didn’t make a sound.
Lana took a deep breath and slowly released it, but still her nerves shot through her and put her on edge. Did she want to open it? Did it matter what it contained? She looked back at Matthew’s sorrowful brown eyes. Eyes that wanted to soothe her. Something awful must be in this box. Something she was not going to like.
“I just don't want to see Mr. Johnston trick you like this,” he said. “I saw him toss these in the trash heap, and I saved them before he could burn them. Even if you never love me, you shouldn’t be tricked.”
Lana looked back at the box. She had never heard him speak so many words in one setting. Which must mean whatever was in this box was of great importance to her. She slowly lifted the lid, and let it slide to the ground. Her eyes widened and she stumbled back.
Matthew gripped her arm and kept her from falling. Tears gathered in her eyes, as Lana lifted one of the letters, instantly recognizing the smooth script. A letter from Max dated two months ago. She dropped it back in the box, noting several from him and all of the letters she had written to him.
That scoundrel had stolen her letters! How could he? The answer to that question was clear. He could because he was the most selfish man around. And she had been fooled into giving him a chance. Most of the town believed him and his father somehow sifted through the letters, resealing them after getting the gossip. It was no small leap to consider he had stolen her letters to keep her and Max apart.
“Thank you, Matthew. I thank you for giving this to me.”
He smiled weakly and walked back the way he had come.
Lana slammed the lid to the box down with the letters sticking out. She spun on her heels and marched towards the post office. Mr. Johnston had played her for a fool. Well, she was about to let him know in the most unladylike way that his treachery had been found out.
She raced past several onlookers straight to the post office. She threw open the door, letting it slam against the side of the wall. Oliver Johnston’s head snapped up as he leaned over a bag of letters.
She rushed to the counter and slammed the box down making the lid pop off. Grabbing a letter, she shoved it in his wide-eyed face. The color drained from his cheeks.
“Miss Garrett. How did you get those?” he asked.
“Why did you steal my letters?”
He squared his shoulders and planted his hands on the counter. “That high and mighty city fellow was just deceiving you. You couldn’t see it, but I saw it all along.”
“It wasn’t your right to take these letters. You don’t get to make my decisions for me. And anyway, that’s a federal offense! I have a mind to go get the sheriff right now.” Her voice was shrill and loud, but that was just how she wanted it to be. She stomped her foot but had no id
ea if he noticed her physical display of anger or not.
“Now, come on, Lana. It just wasn’t meant to be with you and him. Me and you—now that’s another story.” He chuckled and the confidence never left his face. Her fury didn’t affect him at all.
Tears poured down her face. She tried to stop them, but she was so infuriated she couldn’t help it. “I’d like to smack the pompous smirk right off your face. And don’t you dare use my first name! That privilege is reserved for my friends.”
“Well, my, oh, my. I had no idea you were such a feisty one! That should keep things interesting!”
His smile got bigger and she got angrier.
“Why have you even pursued me? You don’t love me and you never will. You’ll never love anyone but yourself. You’re a self-centered, single-minded, poor excuse for a man.”
“Now, you don’t mean that. You’re just mad. You’ll get over it, though.”
“I never want to see you again. If you show up at my house, my brother will shoot you. If I don’t see you first, that is.”
He stood there looking at her, that smirk still quite visible on his face.
She spun on her heels to find a small crowd of passersby gathered in the doorway. Apparently, she was today's entertainment.
Before she pushed through the people at the doorway, she stopped and turned back to him. “And if you ever do run for mayor, you’d better not count on my vote! I’ll do my best to make sure everyone knows what a louse you are and those votes will go to your opponent, too!”
And that was when the smirk left his face.
She stomped past the people who had watched her lose her temper. They didn’t even know what she was mad about. Once she was on the sidewalk and out of the presence of Mr. Oliver Johnson, she started calming down. And with that came the realization that she had lost two months with Max. She may have lost him forever.
Max had been writing her the whole time. He hadn’t forgotten her. He hadn’t found someone else. She could only imagine what pain his words must be filled with as he continued to write her, wondering why she hadn’t written back. The fear ran up her spine again that he may be lost to her now.
She looked down at the stack of letters. What must he think? That she had abandoned him and found someone else? It had been two months since he last received a letter from her. What if, in his heartbreak, he had found someone else? She had decided to try to move on when she didn’t hear from him, and he may have decided to do the same thing.
She needed to write him a letter, but how long would it take to get to him? Longer than a train ride. Thoughts began to form in her mind. Thoughts that were foolish and would ruin her reputation. But what did she care? What was her reputation worth in comparison to the pain Max must be feeling? All because of some pompous, selfish louse.
Lana rushed to where she had tied her mare. The horse looked to be content as she drank from the trough. As she got closer, she saw the box containing her manuscript on her saddle. Matthew must have placed it there. She hadn’t even realized she had dropped it. She walked to the mare and picked up the package, looking at the dirt and scuff marks.
She’d have to find a lovely and kind wife for Matthew. He deserved someone special and wonderful. Under all that dirt and soot lay a kind man who gave her the letters she so desperately yearned for, even if it meant he would never win her.
Lana placed the letters and the manuscript in her saddle bag and used a nearby stump to mount her horse. She needed to get home and start packaging. She had a train to catch. A train that would take her to New York.
When she got home, Lana wanted so badly to talk to Felicity, but she knew she shouldn’t. So, she walked as quietly as possible up the stairs, hoping to miss anyone who might ask questions. If anyone figured out what she was planning, they’d stop her. She made her way to her room and grabbed her carpet bag filling it with her money, two dresses, unmentionables, and a few toiletries.
She took out a piece of paper and a pen and started her note to her family. She knew this would cause them great pain, but she hoped they would understand. She had to try and salvage her relationship with Max. She hoped it would be possible.
In the other room, she heard a baby’s cry and she listened as her mother sung a hushed lullaby to little Colton. She swallowed hard. A yearning to stay here filled her. That love of her family collided with the yearning to be with Max. She had to go. She had to let him know she still loved him and she needed to see his face to say the words.
Someday, once they wed, she’d come back and see her family. But if she didn’t take this chance, endure this risk, she would always wonder what could have been.
Lana walked out of her room, and turned, taking a step back. Felicity stood in front of her, her eyes latched on the carpet bag. Lies sprang to her lips. Lies she knew her friend would never believe.
“He never stopped writing me. That conniving rat Oliver Johnston stole all the letters. His and mine. There’s no end to Oliver’s wrong-doing. I must get to Max. I have to let him know I still love him.”
Her friend rushed to her and pulled her into a tight hug, holding onto her as if she feared never seeing her again. She then stepped back, stared at her one last time before stepping around, and heading to the nursery.
The Lord had given her a true friend. Lana turned and raced down the stairs. That train left in a few hours and she was determined to be on it.
Chapter 13
Max dropped his pen and jumped from his seat. A loud wheezing permeated the small mansion. This one sounded worse than all the others. He rushed from behind his desk and out the open door.
Miss Markson came running towards him, carrying a pot and a rag. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale with fear. She knew as well as he did this was no ordinary attack. He sprinted to his mentor’s room, threw open the door, and rushed inside. Paul lay tangled up in a blanket on the floor, doubled over as he fought for breath. Several pillows were tossed around him—one clenched in his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Max rushed to this side and rolled him over onto his back as his body wretched, and jerked. A blueish tint began to seep across Mr. Hightower's skin while he continued to gasp for air.
A war of emotions assaulted Max—fear and sadness not the least of them. Could this be the end? He knew the end was coming but didn’t want to accept it. He knelt next to Paul, took his hand and helped him sit up as Miss Markson shoved a mug of steam under his face. But the older man swatted it away. They all flinched as the boiling water splashed them generously.
Mr. Hightower pushed them away, his weak arms barely having the strength to raise them. Then he fell back onto the floor as his eyes focused on the ceiling. His breathing slowed and his chest barely moved.
“Max...” he said, his lips barely moving.
A tear slipped down Max’s face as he leaned closed. Pain slammed into him. A pain worse than any he had ever experienced. The only father he ever known was leaving him.
“Max...” he said again, turning his hollow eyes towards him. The light was already dying from them. “Find your one and only love.”
His mentor closed his eyes and his chest stilled as a sweet peace swept over his face. There was no doubt his dear friend had slipped into his Heavenly Father’s arms.
Max leaned back on his heels and clamped his eyes closed. Tears rushed down his face, keeping time with the stabs racing through his whole body. Memories floated back to him. Memories of sitting on Mr. Hightower’s lap as he told him stories of cowboys and sailors. Stories that had nurtured his imagination. Stories that would never again be uttered by the storyteller. The loss hit him hard.
He finally stood and wiped at the tears falling down his cheeks. He walked down the stairs, feeling the banister, gripping it to keep him steady as he slowly made his way down. He walked to the large oak front door and pushed it open, letting it slam against the wall.
He went to the middle of the front yard and stood there as the cold drizzle
pelted him, making his skin prickle. He would probably catch his death standing out here with no coat on, but he didn’t really care. He had lost his love, and now his father. What else could there be left for him to lose?
He flinched when a blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. He turned to look at Miss Markson who had red-rimmed eyes. She reached up and ran a hand down his face, and not one part of him responded, but at least he wasn’t alone. He leaned his forehead against hers and let her bring him into her arms, the delicate embrace comforting his body but not his heart.
Thunder boomed, followed by streaks of lightning slicing through a dark sky. Lana jumped and clenched her umbrella handle. She took a deep breath and released it, but still her pulse sped through her. This was foolish. She should have waited until the storm cleared, but after a long train ride, where fear seemed to be her constant companion, she couldn’t wait anymore.
She had to get to Max and let him know she still loved him. Her black boots splashed through the puddles soaking the hem of her skirt, and stockings. She would probably be chilled by the time she reached Mr. Hightower’s home but surely Max’s arms would warm her up. Her cheeks became hot with the thoughts of their reunion.
She counted down the brownstones, passing ornate wire fences with ivy weaving through them. She was taking in every detail of the neighborhood as she walked down the narrow sidewalk. Her heart sped up when she passed a brownstone with the number 399 written on it in gold letters. Max’s would be next. She raced to the next and stopped at the gate, skidding to a halt. A pain smashed into her, making her take a step back as the image before her took shape. Max stood in the middle of the yard as rain pelted him. In his arms, he held another woman.
Lana clamped her eyes closed while a turmoil of emotions assaulted her. Emotions of pain, betrayal, and the unfairness of life. The hand carrying the umbrella dropped to her side as the handle slipped from her grasp.
He had found someone else. Someone to love him since he thought she didn’t. And she couldn’t blame him. He probably thought she had abandoned him. Though cold water covered her, she could still feel the heated tears pouring down her face. She opened her eyes and watched as the woman ran her fingers over his face like she had done many times, and he looked at her with such longing.