Love Conquers All (Cutter's Creek Book 14)

by Annie Boone

  How could he have moved on so quickly? Found someone else so fast? Hadn't she meant anything to him? Wasn’t his love for her as true as he said it was? She had thought he would at least be sad when she found him. It looked like she was mistaken. Max looked to be a man lost in love.

  Lana pushed a wet curl from her face. She needed to leave though she didn’t quite know where she could go. She had spent almost all her funds to get here. Surely, she only had enough to maybe rent a room for one or two nights but not enough to get back home to Cutter’s Creek.

  What an impulsive and foolish girl she was! She should have known long-distance love wasn’t sustainable. She looked back at the couple who now turned and, arm in arm, walked back into the house, shutting the door.

  Another agonizing thought hit her. They must be married if she lived with them. Lana took a deep breath and looked down the street as the rain intensified and the heavy drops bounced off the pavement.

  She weighed her options and none of them were all that attractive. She could go to the front door and ask to stay with Max. He would probably invite her in because he wasn’t a cruel man. She was sure of that. But then she would have to see him happy with another woman, and that was a situation she couldn’t endure. She’d rather try to find a warm place for the night or even live on the street than endure being in their home.

  Lana turned back the way she came and began walking down the street. She had passed a church on the way here, and maybe someone there could help her. With each step she took, a gnawing grew in her. A gnawing that made her wonder if anything in her life would ever work out. No one wanted her manuscript. That was sad. Losing Max was heartbreaking, though. Especially when she thought of how it had happened. Hatred was a strong word, but she was pretty sure what she felt for Oliver Johnston was close.

  She spotted the church ahead, its steeple slicing into the dark sky. Thunder continued to rumble and the last big boom made her jump. Her hand flew to cover her broken heart. She looked at the stone building with two heavy wooden doors. Maybe the preacher and his family would take her in? Or help her find a place to stay until she could ask her brother to send her a train ticket home?

  With heavy steps, she walked up to the building, clutching the handle of her carpet bag. She pushed open the door and stepped in. Several rows of wooden pews lined the building with stained glass windows depicting different Bible scenes. In the front, a crucifix lay against the wall. She walked to the front as water dripped from her garments. She sneezed unexpectedly and bent over, covering her face.

  “Bless you,” said an elderly woman wearing a habit. A nun. A nun would surely help her. She walked to the woman, wrapping her arms around her waist, to stop the chill that passed through her. The rain had completely soaked through her wool coat.

  “Can I help you, dear?” the nun asked.

  Lana sniffled, as a few tears slipped down her face. “I need to find a place to stay. I don’t have much money, but I’m willing to work.”

  The woman placed a hand on her hip and bent her head to the side. “You’re not from New York?”

  “I’m from Montana,” Lana whispered looking down at the floor, noting a puddle of water had gathered around her. “I came here to get married, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “I see. What’s your name?”

  “Lana Garrett.”

  The woman nodded. “Well, Miss Lana, only the priest lives here, but you can come stay with me for the night and get warmed up by the fire.”

  Lana’s gaze snapped up as hope filled her.

  “But tomorrow you’re going to have to figure out what you’re going to do. Now come along.”

  Lana clenched the handle of her carpet bag and followed the woman out of the church. She said a quick prayer of thanksgiving that she’d have a place to sleep, at least for tonight.

  Chapter 14

  He was numb. Empty. Lonely. Max sat in the parlor of the home that now belonged to him. He held a steaming cup of tea to his lips, the mist from the rain still dampening his face.

  He still couldn’t believe Paul Hightower was gone. But he was, and now once again Max was an orphan. He set the teacup on the table next to him, slouched on the settee, propping his muddy black boots on the table. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes.

  Miss Markson had left to inform the doctor of Mr. Hightower’s death and the butler had promised to see to the burial details. Everyone else was taking care of the chores required and there was nothing for him to do. Nothing but sit and wallow in his own misery.

  A knock sounded on his door. He flinched, and raised his head. He heard footsteps hurrying to answer it. He figured the doctor arrived or maybe visitors to pay their condolences. Neither were people he wanted to see.

  Muffled voices reached him, and he couldn’t make out the words. The door closed and the maid appeared in the doorway to the parlor. She walked in wearing a full-length black dress and white apron. Her light blonde hair was pushed back and tied at the nape of her neck. She gave a small curtsey and held out the letter to him.

  “The post boy said he’s sorry it’s late. It got misplaced at the telegraph office.”

  Max reached for it and lay it on his lap as the maid departed. He couldn’t imagine what this telegram could be about. Probably some business deal that could wait. He reached for his tea and took a sip, letting the lukewarm drink flow down his throat. A tea meant to soothe his nerves as Miss Markson said tasted like river water.

  He set the cup back down and knocked the letter off his lap. How could he think of business when his mentor had just died? It was probably news about the cookbook. Not one part of him wanted to deal with it. He’d rather close his eyes and escape into another world. He reached for a pillow and set it at the end of the sofa. He went to lay down when a word of the telegram caught his attention. Garrett.

  He almost fell to the floor as he yanked the paper off the wool Persian rug. He ripped it open with dread and anxiety. He jumped to his feet as his gaze ran over the words.

  Lana in New York on Dec 1. Arrival 11 o’clock. Meet at train station. Letters stolen.

  Lana was here? December first was today. It was long past eleven in the morning.

  He raced from the parlor to his room. He grabbed his coat and flung it around his shoulders. He spun on his heels and rushed down the stairs, his feet pounding hard on the stairs.

  She had come to New York. But why? Why would she take such a risk to come that distance alone? And what did her brother mean by the letters were stolen? Did something prevent the letters from getting to him? Had she been writing him the whole time? Was there still a chance that she loved him—had loved him the whole time, but something had been keeping them apart?

  He flung the front door open as the rain once again pelted him. It was raining much harder now than before and the drops felt like needles hitting his face. In his haste, he had forgotten an umbrella, but he had no time to go back for it now. He had to get to her.

  He desperately hoped she was all right. New York City was no place for a young country girl to be. But his Lana was brave and, he had to admit, sometimes foolish. He would find a coach to take him to the train station. Hopefully, she was still there. If she was, he’d take her to the nearest preacher, and they would wed. Yes, it would be a rash decision, but he was not about to let her slip from his grasp again.

  Max raced down the cobblestone walkway that led to the sidewalk in front of the house. He through the heavy wrought iron gate and skidded to a halt. A brown opened umbrella lay before the gate. What was that doing there? A puddle filled it, as if it had been there for hours. He picked it up and tipped it over letting the water spill out, splattering his pants.

  Max ran his hands over the smooth wood handle. Who could this belong to? Could it be Lana’s? Had she made it to the Brownstone, but something happened to her? He had heard no screams, and surely he would have. He had sat in the parlor since Miss Markson had come to encourage him back in. Surely if something had ha
ppened to his love, he would have heard it.

  But why would someone accost a lady in the middle of the day? He closed the umbrella and lay it against the fence that surrounded his home. This was probably not hers. She was probably at the train station, waiting for the weather to clear up so she could come to his home and be reunited with him.

  Max adjusted his collar, realizing he hadn’t grabbed a hat, but not one part of him wanted to go back and retrieve it.

  Max made his way down the street, past the Catholic church at the corner. He walked until he left Wells Borough and rented a carriage since Miss Markson had taken his to the doctor’s.

  Rubbing his fingers together, he let thoughts of Lana fill his mind. Soon he would be caressing her soft curls between his fingers, soon he would pull her into his arms, and give her sweet kisses. Soon he’d make her his wife. This day that had brought so much pain to him would end with a sweet reunion. What a bittersweet day it would be.

  The carriage pulled to a halt at the train station. He paid the driver and disembarked. Very few people milled about, sitting on benches, huddled together to fight the chilled weather. He made his way down to the station, looking at every woman he passed, and listening for a familiar voice.

  Tension traveled through his body. There were only a few people at the train station. She shouldn’t be too hard to find. But what if? What if she wasn’t here? What if she had tried to make her way to him, but for some reason never made it?

  He walked all the way to the end of the train station and spun around in frustration. He hadn’t seen her. Had anyone? He rushed to the ticket counter and spoke with the man in the booth, but he hadn’t seen her. He raced to where a man stacked luggage on a cart to be delivered to nearby homes. But he hadn’t seen her, either.

  Max stood in the middle of the train station pressing his hands on his head. She wasn’t here. And no one had seen a pretty girl with bright blue eyes and blonde wavy hair. Fear filled him as thoughts of the abandoned umbrella tumbled across his mind. Could that have really been her umbrella? He let his hands drop to his sides. This just couldn’t be. What should he do? He’d have to go to the police station.

  But would they do anything? They would. Because he was now the owner of the Hightower fortune. Max rushed to where several carriages waited to be rented. He spotted one, and a young man turned to him, tipped his hat, and made his way towards Max. The young boy stopped in front of Max.

  “Are you looking for the pretty girl from Montana? I heard you ask about her.”

  Max gripped the young boy by the arms. Excitement rushed through him. “Did you see her?”

  “Sure did. I helped her get a carriage. She said she was going to Wells Borough, but couldn’t afford the full fair. The driver dropped her a few blocks from there.”

  Max dropped his hands and took a couple steps back. That had been her umbrella and she had never made it to his home. “I need you to take me to the police station. Can you do that?”

  “For the right price, we can.”

  Max paid the driver and climbed into the carriage. He wouldn't stop until he had found Lana safe.

  Chapter 15

  Lana’s eyes opened as the sweet scent of maple floated to her. She yawned and sat up, remembering where she was. Sounds of breakfast being made filled her ears as her eyelids fluttered, but a weight pulled them back down. Though she knew she needed to wake up, she rolled back over and buried her face into the coarse fabric of the pillow. She was used to a soft pillow and a feather-stuffed mattress. The fabric scratched, but she hardly noticed.

  All she wanted was to be wrapped in Max's arms, as he read to her from a Dickens novel. She could still feel the cozy flames of the fire burning in the stone fireplace while they snuggled in front of it. Her head on his shoulder while he twirled one of her curls around his finger. Yes, that was the world she wanted to be in. A world full of him.

  “Wake up now, lamb. Being slothful won’t get you back to Montana.”

  Lana's eyes flew open, and the fear and pain of yesterday slammed back into her, chasing away the pleasant world she yearned for. She rolled over and looked at the stone ceiling instead of the wooden one she was used to. Instead of seeing her vanity table and oak armoire, she spotted shelves lined with black canisters. She was really here in New York, but without Max.

  She closed her eyes, as the pain crushed her. Some other woman had claimed his love. She took a deep breath and rolled over. Black boots and the hem of a black gown crossed her vision. She sat up and watched Sister Mary pour a bowl of porridge into a clay pot before setting it on the table. She was at the nunnery and remembered she’d had to sleep on a cot in the kitchen. Today she needed to figure out how to get home.

  Lana pushed to her feet, smoothing down her shift that had crumpled around her. She reached for her bag and stepped into a washroom to dress. Coming out, she sat at the table, a rumble coming from her stomach.

  Sister Mary and a few other nuns sat around the table, and after a brief prayer, she took her first sip of the porridge with maple syrup. It wasn’t as delicious as Felicity’s, but it would do. At least these nuns didn’t ascribe to the most extreme vows of poverty and the small repast had some flavor.

  Sister Mary set her spoon down and folded her hands on the table. A slight smile crossed her face. “I thought we’d stop by the telegraph office today. That will allow you to send a telegram to your brother.”

  Lana took a sip of her porridge, and then lowered her spoon. “I’d like that very much.”

  “Good. But after that, you’ll help us at the orphanage until we hear back.”

  Lana gripped her spoon. The orphanage? Though she had no problems with helping, she didn’t know if she could endure seeing the lonely lives of these children. Max had explained what their lives were like. He had been an orphan and Mr. Hightower had taken him in. The two men had often volunteered since it was a cause close to their hearts.

  Lana took another sip of her porridge. She would have to help at the orphanage today. These ladies had given her a bed to sleep in, and she was not about to refuse to help them with their work.

  Once her telegram had been sent to Josh, explaining the current situation involving Max and her need for a return ticket to Cutter’s Creek, Lana followed Sister Mary to a two-story stone building in the back of the church. The wind whipped around them and they hurried into the building. The faint, stale smell of lye soap filled her nose.

  “We will start with the infants today,” said Sister Mary.

  Lana followed her down the hall as wails pierced her ears. It sounded as though a cacophony of infant cries waited for her. That just couldn’t be. But one thing was sure, the magnified noise coming from behind the door before her was far worse than what little Colton could ever make.

  Sister Mary opened the door and ushered her in. Her eyes widened as she took in all the cribs, at least thirty. Each contained a squirming infant. A nun rocked one, as it seemed to be sleeping dreamlessly in her arms.

  “There are so many,” Lana said.

  “Yes, and we don’t have as many as other orphanages.” Sister Mary’s eyes looked so solemn, almost as if she had moved from grieving to acceptance.

  “Where do all these children come from?” Lana asked.

  “Mostly from poverty.”

  Lana swallowed hard and watched as Sister Mary walked to one of the cribs, and scooped up a fussy baby. Once in her arms, the child stopped crying. Lana looked around, glancing at nuns holding babies as they fed another lying in a crib. She walked to one with a mound of black hair and almond-shaped dark eyes. Immediately, she thought of Felicity and little baby Colton. This child could be his twin. She scooped the child in her arms, and the little one’s cries faded away as she looked at Lana with wide black eyes, almost as if she couldn’t believe someone held her.

  Another cry caught her attention and Lana walked over to another infant. A little one with a bald head looked up at her. An ache sliced through her heart. A nun approach
ed her and handed her a glass bottle with a rubber nipple on top. She then pointed to the infant lying in the crib. “It’s time for his feeding. You can feed him while holding little Melly.”

  Lana slowly shook her head, not sure how she could accomplish this. Then she sighed, smiled, and adjusted little Melly around to her other side. She took the bottle and put the nipple in his mouth. She giggled as he sucked greedily.

  She blew a curl from her face and looked at the rows of cribs in the room. Max’s description of an orphanage didn’t even begin to explain the heartache she saw around her. She watched as nurses ran from crib to crib, rocking, feeding and burping the young children. No emotions filled their faces. They had obviously become used to this.

  She looked down at the little one sucking on his bottle with full pink lips. There was just no way to give these children the love they deserved. All of a sudden, her love of pretty dresses and Jane Austen novels seemed so selfish. How could she fancy such posh stories when there were so many babies without mothers or fathers?

  She took a deep breath and again blew on the curl that tickled her nose that kept popping against it. Something needed to be done, but she had a feeling there was little she could do. The look on the nun’s faces told her they had tried and had settled for what they could do.

  Maybe that was what she should do. Just try. She thought of the telegram she had sent her brother asking for a way home. She bit her bottom lip. She would have to think about her choices later because, at the moment, part of her didn’t want to ever get a response.