Heart of Stone

by Jill Marie Landis

  “Can’t we make a room for him in our barn?” Janie asked.

  “I’ll help you build it,” Sam volunteered.

  Brand pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting a headache. Any other time he would see the humor in the situation. Tonight, he just wanted to get to bed and try to get some sleep.

  “I have invited Jesse to stay here,” he told them. “If things don’t work out for him at Mrs. Foster’s, he just might do that, but the choice will be up to him. Locking him in and trying to force him to stay isn’t going to work. You owe him an apology.”

  “Yes, Papa,” they chimed together.

  By the time Brand left them tucked in again, he was dead on his feet. But that night, sleep was a long time coming.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  It was late afternoon on the day Laura’s stage finally pulled up in front of the mercantile. A light dusting of snow covered the frozen ground and Main Street was nearly deserted. Laura roused herself and straightened her hat, then folded the quilt Betty Jean had given her. It had come in mighty handy inside the freezing coach.

  The driver opened the door and helped her down the step before he retrieved her heavy carpetbag. It had been lighter when she left home, much lighter without the Bible. She thought it better that her soul had grown lighter and her bag heavier than the other way around.

  She’d been the only passenger on this leg of the trip. There was no one there at all to greet the stage, no sign of Brand. Because of the weather, her arrival was not only hours, but days behind schedule. She hoped he didn’t think she had broken her promise to return.

  She headed into the mercantile to warm up and say hello to Harrison. If she was lucky, someone shopping inside might offer her a ride down the street.

  She glimpsed Harrison through the front window. He was behind the counter as usual. She waved but figured he hadn’t seen her when he didn’t wave back. The small silver bell above the door tinkled as she walked in, but he took his time looking her way. The polished smile he beamed on customers faded faster than a snowflake in July when he saw her. Gone was his solicitous greeting. He didn’t offer to take her bag.

  She carefully closed the door against the cold and tried to strike up a conversation.

  “How are you, Mr. Barker?” She set the heavy carpetbag down at her feet and folded her gloved hands at her waist.

  “Something I can do for you?”

  No kind word of greeting. No response to her question. He didn’t even ask where she had been or how her trip was. He said absolutely nothing.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked. “I hope your mother is doing well.”

  There was a pause and then, “She’s fine. Thank you.” Still no smile.

  A prickle of concern nagged her. She gave up the notion of trying to cheer him. “Is there any mail for me?”

  Without comment, he walked to the row of small wooden mail slots at the end of the counter. Her box was empty.

  “None in quite awhile.” He turned around and began adjusting perfectly straight canned goods on the shelf behind him.

  His cut was direct and obvious. Suddenly she was even more anxious to get home.

  There was no one around to hitch a ride with, but she could definitely walk. She picked up her bag and was set to leave when a woman Laura had never met hurried in. Frigid air swirled in around her. Dressed for the cold, she carried a large, empty basket. When she saw Laura, she came to an abrupt halt and simply stared.

  Suddenly Harrison’s ingratiating smile was back.

  “Let me help you, Mrs. Simmons.” He took the woman’s market basket from her and set it on the counter. Then he came around the counter and ushered her away from Laura. As they moved on, Harrison said over his shoulder, “You’d best be moving on, Mrs. Foster. We don’t cater to your kind here.”

  It couldn’t have hurt any more if he’d slapped her. Laura blinked and watched him guide the woman across the room, moving quickly away, as if she had the plague. Harrison and the woman had their heads together, whispering.

  So that’s how it is.

  The inevitable had happened. Armed with her newfound faith, she thought she’d been prepared to face this battle, but she wasn’t ready for the pain inflicted by Harrison’s insult.

  If the shopkeep knew, the truth was out. Had Brand told everyone after he had promised to wait until she returned? Maybe he’d wanted to hurry and try to turn the tide in her favor. If Harrison was any indication, things weren’t going very smoothly.

  She kept her head high. She’d suffered disparaging looks and remarks before. She’d seen the condemnation in the eyes of folks who thought themselves above her kind on the streets of New Orleans. But here in Glory she was used to living a lovely charade as Laura Foster. Harrison’s cool dismissal hurt her more than she expected.

  She clutched her bag close and opened the door. The bell chimed above her, the tinkling sound mocked her as the freezing cold outside slapped her in the face. Unthinking, she moved too quickly and nearly slipped on a patch of ice on the boardwalk. She caught herself and slowed down, picking her way along, thankful that there was hardly anyone out today.

  There was no sign of Hank in the Glory Gazette building. A CLOSED sign sat in the lower right corner of the window. No doubt he’d stayed at home to sit by the fire with Amelia. She pictured the two of them warm and cozy inside their little house and tried not to envy them.

  Her toes were freezing inside her black leather shoes as she trudged down the street. When a buckboard driven by a rancher passed, the driver didn’t even look her way. For that she was grateful. Far better to be ignored than openly scorned.

  Brand wouldn’t have told anyone before warning me. Nor would Amelia.

  As she walked alone, shoulders back, spine erect, she knew that there was only one explanation.

  Collier.

  She reached the Silver Slipper and stopped outside. In milder weather, the door was always open. Today it was closed. She tried to peer through the stained-glass design of a woman’s slipper surrounded by garish ruby and garnet glass. The bartender was behind the bar. Rob Jenkins was mopping the floor in back. There was, oddly enough, no one else inside.

  She took a deep breath, opened the door, and stuck her head inside.

  “Could you call Mr. Holloway for me, please?” she asked the bartender.

  Rob stopped mopping and nodded a silent greeting before he went back to his task. No matter how thoroughly he cleaned—which didn’t appear to be that thoroughly—it would never be enough to eradicate the odor of spilled liquor permeating the floorboards or the smell of tobacco that had seeped into the walls.

  “Come on in from the cold,” Denton Fairchild suggested. “No need to freeze while you wait.”

  “I prefer to stay outside,” she told him.

  “That’s up to you, but close the door and keep the cold out.” The bartender rudely eyed her before he went to do her bidding.

  Laura closed the door and waited outside on the boardwalk. Her hands were freezing inside her gloves. She could barely feel her toes.

  Collier appeared in surprisingly good time.

  “Come on in, Lovie.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “If you think I’m going to stand out there and freeze, forget it.” He started to close the door.

  She stuck her bag in the opening. “All right.”

  She glanced around. There was no one on the street to see her enter the saloon anyway.

  “I’m glad to see you,” Collier smiled down at her before he turned to Denton and signaled for the man to bring him a drink. He took her by the elbow and tried to lead her farther into the room.

  She shook off his hold. “You told someone.”

  “I won’t lie to you. After you left town, everyone was talking about how noble it was for the minister to go off looking for you, how wonderful it was that he was so in love that he was willing to run after you and bring you back. Ridiculous, given that I knew why you were running and what
you were running from.”

  “You have no idea—”

  “That he proposed? Not at first, but when he told me, the reason you left became crystal clear to me. You wanted to save him from ruination.” He picked up the whiskey Denton had set down in front of him, threw back his head, and finished it in one swallow.

  She couldn’t deny it so she didn’t even try.

  “Are you ready to give up this charade now?”

  “Actually, I should thank you. I’m glad the truth is finally out.”

  “When you finally realize your business is ruined, I won’t mind taking the place off your hands. That fancy house of yours would make a mighty fine brothel.” Collier ran his finger around the lip of his empty tumbler.

  Without another word, she grabbed her bag, stood, and headed for the door.

  “You think things will just go on as they have before? You think the truth won’t make a difference in this town? You’ve got another thing coming, Lovie. You’re ruined.”

  When Collier didn’t bother getting up to open the door for her, Rob moved with surprising agility for a man who’d been looking at the world through a liquor-induced haze for years.

  “There you go, Miz Foster.” He opened the door with a flourish, ignoring Collier’s dark glance. Unfortunately he didn’t close it fast enough.

  Collier’s parting words rang in her ears as Laura headed home.

  “When you’re out on the street again, remember I told you so.”

  By the time Laura reached her front door, her spirit had sunk as low as the heels of her sodden shoes. She thought the sight of her house would cheer her, but as she walked past the side of the porch on her way to the front door, she noticed the cement birdbath had been knocked over, the bowl was cracked, and the pedestal broken in half. She stared at it for a moment, tightened her grip on her valise, and hurried up the walk to the front door.

  She tried the knob and found the door locked. It wasn’t until she reached for the bell that she realized the oak finish on the front door had recently been re-varnished. There were telltale remnants of paint slashed beneath the surface. She took a step back to study the marks and realized they were not random. The word whore had been scrawled across the front door in bold, black letters.

  Someone, most likely Rodgrigo or Jesse, had tried to remove the damage, but beneath the shiny finish, the word was faint but still visible.

  Like me, she thought. Polished on the outside but forever ruined no matter how hard I try to change, no matter who I become.

  Doubt assailed her as she rang the bell.

  Have I done the right thing by coming back?

  Anna answered, opened the door, and stared until she quickly recovered and reached for Laura’s bag. She stepped back to let her pass.

  “Entra, señora. Entra.” Anna started to usher Laura into the drawing room. The shades were closed and there was no fire burning in the grate. The shadowed room seemed cold and lifeless. Laura’s teeth were chattering.

  “Come. It’s warmer back here,” Anna said.

  It was indeed warm as toast in the kitchen. Laura wasn’t surprised to find not only Rodrigo there, but Richard and Jesse seated at the table. Jesse was sporting a black eye.

  All three men shot to their feet, but she waved them back down.

  There was a moment of shocked silence before Rodrigo said, “Welcome home, señora. Everything is just the way you left it.” He smiled, but it quickly faded. “Almost.”

  “What happened to your eye?” She had a feeling she knew what Jesse was going to say.

  “Nothing.”

  She looked around the table. Four pairs of dark eyes looked back.

  “Tell me,” she insisted.

  Jesse spoke up. “Let’s just say nobody will be trespassing around here again anytime soon.”

  Anna brought Laura a cup of tea. She thanked the woman, doubting even the steaming brew could warm her. She was chilled to the bone and not merely by the inclement weather.

  “We will fix the birdbath, señora,” Rodrigo promised.

  “The door isn’t perfect yet, but we’re working on it,” Jesse told her. He leaned back in his chair and hooked his arm around the top rung of the ladder back. If his shiner bothered him, he didn’t show it. From the way he was smiling a cocky half smile, he seemed to be wearing it like a badge of honor.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d actually show up,” he added.

  “I promised your father.”

  “He’s been trying to second-guess the weather. Figured the storm would hold you up. I know he wanted to be there to meet you so you wouldn’t step off alone.”

  He was watching her closely. She knew why.

  “I received a chilly reception from Harrison Barker as soon as I stepped off the stage.”

  “Amelia figures it was that Holloway fella who—”

  “It was.” She nodded. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

  “You sure it was him?”

  “I stopped and asked. I knew it wouldn’t have been Amelia, and Brand promised he would wait until I returned.”

  “You wanted Brand to tell folks?”

  “I did.”

  When Anna set the tea down, Laura wrapped her hands around the cup to warm them.

  “May I take your coat, señora?” Anna offered.

  Laura shook her head no. “I’m still too cold.” She wondered if she’d ever be truly warm again. “How is Brand?”

  Jesse’s gaze strayed to the window and back before he said, “Handling this better than most men would be about now.”

  She could tell by the Hernandezes’ expressions they knew what was going on. She could only imagine how Harrison was treating Rodrigo whenever he shopped at the mercantile.

  “Would you excuse us for a moment?” she asked the family.

  “Of course, señora. We will dust upstairs now.” Rodrigo left his chair and walked toward the front of the house with his wife. Richard put on his coat and went out the back way.

  Jesse leaned forward and explained, “When we got back from St. Gall, everyone already knew.”

  “How is Brand?”

  “Stubborn as all get out.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He’s bound and determined to state his case to his congregation. He intends to marry you no matter what.”

  “He could lose everything,” she said softly.

  She thought of Collier’s offer to buy her house. The last thing this town needed was a brothel. She sighed, planted her elbow on the table, and rested her chin on her fist.

  It had been a long, exhausting trip across the southwest corner of Texas. She was cold and tired, and all she wanted to do was to drag herself upstairs and sleep for a week.

  “Brand’s not the only one in town who is speaking up for you.” Jesse reached behind his head, laced his fingers together, and stretched. “You’ve got more friends than you thought.”

  “Not that it will do any good.” Not if Harrison’s reaction was any indication.

  Jesse pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. He rapped his knuckles on the wood surface a couple of times.

  “I rode into this town full of hate. I was just as likely to kill Brand McCormick as not—”

  “You don’t have it in you,” she said.

  “Maybe not, but I thought I did. I came looking for revenge.” He spread his arms wide. “Look at me now. I’m still here. I’m getting to know my pa, and I’ve got a couple young’uns who hang on my every word and believe I can do just about anything.”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with my situation.”

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is that life is kinda like riding a buckin’ horse. You just have to relax and hang on.” He smiled one of his rare smiles. “I do know one thing: Brand is still dead set on marrying you. If you were to call it off, you’d break his heart.”

  The deep cold had abated but the night was still brisk as Brand rode through town headed for Laura’s. The boar
dinghouse, always cheerfully alive with light when it was open, was shrouded in darkness except for a single lamp burning in the corner window on the second floor.

  He dismounted and walked his horse up the drive and around to the back door. There was no lamp burning in the kitchen. A light in the carriage house indicated Jesse was home.

  After knotting the reins over the hitching post near the back door, Brand crossed the veranda and pulled the bell, hoping Laura could hear it. He knocked again and was about to walk around to the front door when he saw candlelight moving down the hallway toward the kitchen. He watched through the window as Laura set the candle down on the dry sink beside her.

  “Who is it?” she called.

  “It’s me. Brand.”

  She opened the door. Her hand clutched the lapels of her robe together, just below a band of lace that teased her chin. Her hair was down, flowing around her shoulders.

  She smiled up at him, warming him from head to toe.

  “What are you doing here so late?”

  “I had to see you.” He shuffled from foot to foot and blew on his gloved hands in an attempt to keep warm. She glanced behind him, surveyed the darkness beyond. Her reputation couldn’t get any worse, but there was his to consider.

  She hesitated a moment longer before she said, “Come in before we both freeze to death.”

  He stepped through the door. “I was called out to a ranch twenty miles outside of town. One of the hands fell off his horse and was trampled. I went to console the family and when I returned, I heard you’d arrived this afternoon.”

  “I’m sure that’s all over town by now. It appears I’m quite the topic of conversation these days.”

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “The thing I feared for so long has finally come to pass and aside from worrying about you, I find there are far worse things that could happen to a person than being the object of gossip.” She took his hand. “Losing you would be one of them.”

  “I didn’t want you to hear like this. I went to the mercantile every day, waiting for word, hoping to be there when your stage arrived. I’m so sorry I missed meeting you. The one day I wasn’t there—”