Cherished (Cutter's Creek Book 9)

by Vivi Holt

  “Hello, Mother,” she said, sitting primly beside her mother on the seat and smoothing her disheveled hair with her hands.

  Her mother glanced at her in disapproval. “Charlotte my dear, you look as though you’ve been run over by a buggy. You might not have the social life you once did, but you still have an image to maintain.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes and fought the urge to poke her tongue at her mother. “Well, I feel like I’ve been run over by a buggy too, if that’s any consolation.” She slumped against the back of the love seat, and sighed deeply.

  Her mother smiled tightly and her eyes fell on Charlotte again. “I thought I might polish your silver for you, dear, after tea this evening – you know, since you still haven’t seen fit to hire servants and Mary is busy scrubbing the floor of that quaint little scullery of yours.”

  Charlotte groaned inwardly. “Mother, we can’t afford servants, as you well know. And we don’t have any silver, so there’s no need. But I do appreciate the offer.”

  Lady Cheryl paused with her needle high above the cloth, her eyebrows arched in alarm. “No silver? How on earth do you suppose you’ll entertain guests properly without silver?”

  “We entertain them just fine, Mother. We don’t have any princes, dukes or duchesses in Cutter’s Creek. Sam and Estelle, Jack and Willow, Amos and Agatha Waverley – none of them have silver, so they certainly don’t mind dining here without it. I know this is completely foreign to you, Mother, but everything here is different. It’s not Beaufort Manor, or Cambria, or England. We’re on the very edge of civilization, and all the graces you’re used to just don’t matter here.”

  Her mother stared at her, her mouth ajar, then resumed her needlepoint with a huff. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to act like you’re still civilized, my dear. Even if all else around you is wild.”

  “Mother! Please don’t come into my home and call me uncivilized. Just because my life is different to the one you planned for me …”

  “Different! Different?! It’s unrecognizable!” Lady Cheryl’s eyes flooded with tears, and she dropped the needlepoint to the floor. “I don’t know what to do, what to say. You’ve changed so much I barely recognize you. Everything I say is wrong, everything I do … you take it all the wrong way. I just want …”

  Charlotte sighed and sat straight, taking her mother’s hands in hers. “What do you want, Mother?”

  “I just want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy.”

  Lady Cheryl dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief she pulled from her skirt pocket. “You are?”

  “Yes. I am. I don’t regret my choices, Mother. As hard as that may be for you to understand.”

  “You just seem so unhappy, my darling. I was worried you’d made a terrible mistake.” She sniffled into the handkerchief.

  She laughed and patted her mother’s hands. “Not unhappy, Mother, just tired and pregnant. I’m happy despite that, if that makes sense.”

  “I suppose it does.” Her mother laughed along with her. “And I’m glad to hear it. Because I have something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Father and I wanted to tell you together, but he’s out inspecting potential investment properties with Harry and I think this is as good a time as any …”

  “What is it, Mother? You’re scaring me.”

  “We’re staying.”

  Charlotte’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “What? What do you mean?”

  “Here, in Cutter’s Creek. Your father and I have decided to stay. We’re not going back home to England.”

  Charlotte’s hand flew to her mouth as she stood . Her throat felt choked, and she sucked in a quick deep breath. “But what about the manor? Who will take care of it? What about your heritage, Father’s lineage.”

  “Oh darling, you are Father’s lineage. And you left. There’s nothing for us there anymore. We rented the manor to that Plimpton fellow who’s always had his eye on the place – he’s living there now, happy as a lark. And we get to go anywhere we like. It’s good for us both.”

  “But Mother, I thought you loved Cambria. I didn’t think you’d ever leave the manor.”

  “Well, things change.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “You, for one. When you left, I realized my whole life was wrapped up in you in various ways. I felt quite empty with you gone. And then … well, I’m sick, my dear.”

  “Sick?”

  “Yes. Dying, actually – that’s what the physician said. So I decided I wanted to spend what time I had left with you, my darling daughter. Your father feels the same. Mary has been a dear, caring for me so well on the journey here. So here we are, and here we’ll stay.”

  Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears, and her chest constricted. She choked back a sob and sat again to take her mother’s hands. “You’re dying?” she whispered.

  Her mother nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Yes, although I still feel quite well at the moment. It comes and goes.”

  “But you can’t die! You look so strong and healthy. And I need you.” Charlotte burst into sobs and threw her arms around her mother’s neck, crying into her shoulder. “Please don’t die, Mother! I just got you back, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I know I’m not a very good daughter, and I get so frustrated with you at times, but I love you, really I do. You can’t leave me!”

  Lord Edward strode into the house through the front door, an empty pipe in one hand. “Have either of you seen the flint … oh!”

  They both looked at him with tears in their eyes and wet cheeks.

  “I see you’ve told her then,” he said, pushing the pipe into his vest pocket and walking to join them. He sat beside Charlotte and patted her hand, his round face full of compassion. “There there, my dear girl. I know how upsetting this news must be to you. It certainly was to me. But let’s try to enjoy this time together, shall we? We don’t want your mother’s last days to be full of tears, now do we?”

  Charlotte couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at her with so much love and understanding. “Yes, Father. Of course – I will do everything I can to make sure this time is as full of joy and happiness as possible. Though I can’t promise no tears.”

  Her mother patted her back, stroked her hair and comforted her. They sat for many minutes with their arms around the other, whispering words of love . And the knot in Charlotte’s stomach grew and grew until she wasn’t sure she could stand it any longer. She knew that she would never see the world the same way again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Winston helped Camilla out of the buggy, and she stopped to straighten her hat. It was pinned into her hair, but several of the hairpins pulled painfully. She adjusted them, sighing with relief as the pain subsided. “So how are the shoats – still growin’?”

  He nodded, grinning, and offered her his arm. “They’re growing like the little piglets they are, eating up a storm. I sometimes think they’ll eat me out of house and home, then I remember they’re what’ll pay for my home. Well, the home I’m planning on building when the time is right.”

  “Oh? You mean the farm house you’re livin’ in isn’t where you’ll stay?” asked Camilla, one eyebrow arched.

  “No. When I marry, I don’t plan on sharing a house with my brother. He can have the farmhouse, and I’ll build another for my family to live in. Something bigger, grander. My fiancée should have a say in how it’s put together, I’d reckon, since it’ll be her home as well come the wedding day …”

  Camilla felt her cheeks flush under his meaningful gaze. He obviously intended to ask for her hand soon and was testing her, trying to ascertain her feelings on the matter. The problem was, she still didn’t know. In her head, she understood Winston was a good match for her and would make a good husband. But there was the matter of her kiss with Clifford the previous day – a kiss she hadn’t been able to stop reliving in her thoughts, and her dreams, since. “Well, that sounds l
ovely.”

  He ducked his head with a grin as they reached the porch of the small cottage behind the chapel.

  “Harry built this porch for Jack and Willow, you know,” boasted Camilla, desperately trying to change the topic of conversation, her eyes flitting over the timber structure – the sturdy railings, intricately carved trim and shining white paint.

  “Oh? He did a fine job on it.” Winston knocked on the door.

  It opened to reveal Willow Carlson, her pregnant belly drooping beneath a full skirt. “Winston, Camilla, do come on in. It’s such a lovely evening, don’t you think?” They followed her into the house, and she took their coats, scarves and hats to hang by the front door. “Fall has finally arrived – I just love this time of year,” she continued as she waddled into the small sitting room where the rest of the Bible study group was seated.

  “Yes, the colors are wonderful,” agreed Camilla, her eyes scanning the group. Willow’s husband Jack sat in an armchair, a smile on his face and a Braille Bible open in his lap. Justin was seated beside Harry. Heath Moore was there with his latest beau, Beatrice Honeywell, whose blonde ringlets fell in cascades down the sides of her face and who giggled for no apparent reason as Camilla and Winston greeted everyone.

  “Where is Molly?” asked Camilla, looking around for the Carlsons’ bright, pretty little girl.

  Willow sighed and sat heavily in a burgundy armchair beside her husband. “In bed, thank heavens. Two-year-olds are a handful and a half, I can tell you.”

  They started on the study, about Daniel’s faith as he waited for God to answer his prayers. It made Camilla think of all the prayers she’d prayed over the years, asking for an escape from the hardship of her life in Greyburn and for a family of her own. It was the first time she considered that God had answered the first prayer, and was about to answer the second. She felt a rush of happiness and peace fill her soul.

  Why am I so quick to remember the things You haven’t done for me, God? she thought. And yet when You answer my prayers, I forget to give You the glory. Thank You for giving me a new life away from the drudgery of Greyburn. I know I asked so many times, but now all I can think about is how much I miss it. How much I miss them - my family, my friends, my home. I’m sorry for being so ungrateful. You answered my prayer, and I praise You for it.

  Tears filled her eyes as she prayed silently. Jack Carlson continued the discussion of Daniel’s faith while her thoughts buzzed around inside her head. God had been good to her. Things may not have worked out the way she’d imagined , but she decided that she would make the most of what she’d been given. After all, her freedom was what she’d longed for, and now she had it.

  Whatever choices she made about her future, whether she chose Winston, Clifford, or someone else entirely to spend her life with, she could celebrate that she was free to choose. That in itself was truly a blessing. There were many times in past years when things didn’t look quite as bright as they did now, even times when she wasn’t sure they’d survive. But here she was, in the warm, inviting home of a friend, enjoying a time of Bible study together.

  Her gaze fell on Winston as her heart surged with gratitude. Perhaps this moment was God’s way of prompting her to consider Winston a blessing from Him as well. He was everything she’d ever asked for in a potential husband and more.

  He looked up and caught her eye. His eyes crinkled, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile as he cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow as if to say, what are you thinking of? She shook her head and returned his smile. Yes, she could imagine building a life with Winston Frank. What about Clifford – could she imagine a life with him as well?

  Her eyes widened and her smile faded as realization dawned. The problem wasn’t that she couldn’t picture marrying Clifford Brentwood. The problem was that she could. They were both good men. And she didn’t know which one to choose.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Clifford watched from the porch of the sheriff’s office as Winston and Camilla returned to Sam and Estelle’s house after the Bible study at the Carlson’s. He sat in darkness, rocking in a timber chair, a lit pipe between his lips, his feet crossed at the ankles and resting on the porch rail. As they reached to the front door, they smiled and laughed together, the low murmur of their voices carrying back to him on the still evening air.

  He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he saw the dip of Winston’s head, and the happy jaunt of Camilla’s gate. She opened the front door, said something to her beau … and he nodded, removed his hat and stepped into the warmly-lit house.

  When the door closed behind them, Clifford stood and pulled the collar of his coat up higher around his neck. He took another puff from the pipe and blew a cloud of smoke into the air, obscuring his view of the Todds’ cozy home. She looked happy, and he was glad for that. But if that were really true, why this tug at his heart? Why did it feel as though he’d lost something?

  He certainly hadn’t lost Camilla, since she’d never been his. He’d been so careful not to get his hopes up about her – until that kiss. Now here he was, pining away for her in the darkness. His breath caught in his throat, and he coughed. It felt as though something had pierced his chest and was cutting deep into his heart – the heart that hammered whenever she brushed close to him, or spoke to him, or gave him that half-smile that made her eyes sparkle and her cheeks dimple.

  He tapped out the pipe over the porch railing, and sighed deeply. You can’t lose what you don’t have. He kept telling himself that, as if repetition would somehow burn it into his brain and he’d be free of her.

  Never mind. He had plenty of work to do to keep himself occupied. He’d heard rumors some members of Wild Clay Craddock’s gang had been spotted in Wyoming Territory in recent days. He’d volunteered to run a criminal from Cheyenne up to Bozeman where the man was wanted for theft and murder, hoping that he could discover something useful about Craddock’s whereabouts at the same time. He hadn’t been able to pin the outlaw down in nearly a decade, and his fingers itched to hold a pistol to the varmint’s head.

  It would be a long journey alone, but he didn’t mind riding, and he didn’t mind being by himself. It’d give him a chance to consider his future with an uncluttered mind, including whether or not he should stay in Cutter’s Creek. He never thought he’d leave the place, since it was where he’d lived the longest since he left Philadelphia all those years ago.

  But now he didn’t know if he could bear to stay. It was only a matter of time until Camilla became engaged to Winston. They’d marry and start a family, and he’d run into her in the street with a brood of younguns buzzing around her feet, and his heart would ache in that horrible way it had just now. He didn’t know if he could stand to feel that ache so often.

  So this trip was his chance to think it through. He’d often considered heading further north to Canada, just to see what was up there. Or perhaps he’d go west to California – he’d heard tales of fertile lands, snow-white beaches, and mammoth veins of undiscovered gold there. But even as the thoughts drifted through his mind, his stomach lurched at the idea of leaving his home and everyone he cared about. He suddenly felt much older than his thirty-two years.

  I’m getting old, he thought with a wan smile in the darkness. Old and sentimental.

  Chapter Fifteen

  November 1871

  Camilla dismounted, tied the bay gelding to the fence post, and lifted her skirts to run to the front door of Harry and Charlotte’s split-log house. Harry had come for her, and she’d ridden Sam’s horse all the way from Cutter’s Creek, bouncing and jouncing painfully on the hard saddle the entire way, holding onto the pommel with all her strength to stop from falling. He strode ahead of her into the house, and she followed close behind.

  The baby was coming!

  Charlotte would need help with the birthing, and Dr. Potter was out on house calls all day. His wife said she’d notify him as soon as he returned, but she couldn’t say when that wo
uld be. Camilla hoped the doctor would get here in time, but for now they were on their own.

  Charlotte lay on the bed, her back propped up against several pillows and her face red. Lady Cheryl stood beside her, grasping her hand firmly, worry on her face. Mary scurried around plumping pillows, fetching water and generally doing everything she could to make Charlotte more comfortable. “Oh Camilla, thank heavens you’re here,” Lady Cheryl exclaimed.

  Camilla’s eyes widened as she caught Harry’s surprised expression. Lady Cheryl had never before indicated that she even remembered Camilla’s name, let alone been glad to see her. “Yes, I’m here. How are you feelin’, Charlotte?” She hurried to Charlotte’s side and kissed her damp forehead.

  Charlotte smiled weakly at her and closed her eyes with a grimace as another contraction took hold. When it was over, she turned her head to look at Camilla. “I need you, Cammie. Harry’s no help, Mother is babbling with worry, and Mary’s never done this before and swears she’ll faint. I need someone who will be calm and help me through this, because I don’t think I can do it otherwise. It hurts so much.”

  “Well, my dear, I’m here. You can do this, I know you can. Just try to breathe deeply when the pain comes. Let’s sit you up a bit straighter. In fact, if you think you’re up to it, how about standing for a little while?”

  Charlotte nodded, and Camilla helped her to her feet. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” fussed Lady Cheryl. “She should lay down.”

  “It’s okay, Lady Cheryl. I helped Mam birth three of my brothers and sisters, and walkin’ sometimes helps with the pain.”

  Charlotte leaned heavily on Camilla’s arm and walked slowly around the room. When the next contraction came, she stopped and cried out, leaning with her hands to her knees.