A Time Warner Company
LARKSPUR. Copyright © 1997 by Dorothy Garlock. All rights reserved.
For information address Warner Books, Hachette Book Group, 237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017, Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.
A Time Warner Company
A mass market edition of this book was published in 1997 by Warner Books.
The “Warner Books” name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-7595-2247-3
First eBook Edition: April 2001
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Epilogue
Author's Note
“Finished LARKSPUR and loved it. I love
western historicals and I love Montana.
When you add the fact that I have always
been a Dorothy Garlock fan, it gives
LARKSPUR a winning combination.”
—Janet Dailey
“Please, Kristin. Please stay here at Larkspur with me.”
His words echoed to the core of her being. What did he mean? She summoned all her determination to ask. Her voice came out thin and weak. “As housekeeper?”
Without conscious effort he was drawing her closer to him. Finally his hands slid behind her back and she was leaning against him, her head pressed against his shoulder. Buck turned his face into her hair.
Lord help him say the right words. Happiness such as he never dreamed of having was right here in this sweet woman. Somehow he had to make her see him as a man who needed love and who had love to give . . .
“HER BOOKS ARE PRECIOUS KEEPSAKES.”
—Romantic Times
“For those who like their romance dark,
emotionally complex, and brimful of grit,
Garlock holds the reins masterfully.”
—Publishers Weekly on Sins of Summer
Books by Dorothy Garlock
Annie Lash
Dream River
Forever Victoria
A Gentle Giving
Glorious Dawn
Homeplace
Lonesome River
Love and Cherish
Larkspur
Midnight Blue
Nightrose
Restless Wind
Ribbon in the Sky
River of Tomorrow
The Searching Hearts
Sins of Summer
Sweetwater
Tenderness
The Listening Sky
This Loving Land
Wayward Wind
Wild Sweet Wilderness
Wind of Promise
Yesteryear
Published by
WARNER BOOKS
This book is dedicated to
MARCIA VOLK
a friend for all seasons
LARKSPUR
Larkspur, larkspur, growing free
Purple, pink or pearly white,
What will your petals bring to me
As I contemplate the empty night?
Is that poison in your bloom
More deadly than the life I lead
In my brother’s house: my lonely room,
My servile state, my soul in need?
You bear a claw beneath your flower
It warns of danger lurking there.
A challenge! Shall I cringe or cower?
No—this time I need to dare.
Larkspur, larkspur, magic weed,
You haunt me, taunt me, call me west
To where the earth supports your seed,
To where, at last, my heart can rest.
I’ll journey to that far-off place
Where one whose face I do not know
Has willed to me his stake, his space,
His “Larkspur” land. Oh, yes, I’ll go!
—F.S.I.
Chapter One
1883
River Falls,Wisconsin
“You will not go! I forbid it!”
Ferd Anderson went to the fireplace and leaned his arm against the thick oak mantel. His narrowed, angry gaze fastened on his sister’s face.
“I’m not a child, Ferd.” Kristin spoke calmly despite her nervousness. “I’m twenty-three years old and—”
“—A twenty-three-year-old spinster—” he interrupted rudely, “who has enjoyed the hospitality of my home for the past ten years and who has never been more than thirty miles from the place where she was born.”
Kristin refused to allow her brother to see the hurt inflicted by his remark.
“—And you expect me to allow you to travel alone to some godforsaken, uncivilized place called Big Timber in Montana Territory.”
“Mr. Hanson at the Sentinel wrote that Montana will become the forty-first state soon.”
“I don’t give a damn if it’ll be the first state! And what does that crackpot Hanson know about anything? You’re not going there. That’s my final word.”
“Women have more freedom now. This is the 1880s, not the Dark Ages. I’m no longer a child. Technically you have no say in the matter.”
“Don’t I? Don’t I?” he repeated, pushing himself away from the mantel. Outrage reddened his face, sparkled in his eyes and compressed his lips. “Who in thunder has been taking care of you all these years? Who put food in your mouth, clothes on your back and coal in the furnace to keep you warm? Huh?”
“You did, brother, and I’ve worked here in your home for my keep.”
“—And as soon as the opportunity comes for you to pay me back, you get it into your head to leave my protection, grab an inheritance from a ne’er-do-well uncle and squander it.”
“He couldn’t have been too much of a ne’er-do-well. He acquired property.”
“I remember my ma saying he was too lazy to spit.”
“My mother liked him. Uncle Hansel told Gustaf that Uncle Yarby was a good-hearted man with an adventurous spirit who wanted to see some of the world before he settled down.”
“Uncle Hansel!” Ferd snorted in disgust. “He left his sons nothing but a half dozen cows, a span of oxen, and a farm with a mortgage. He also left them a houseful of womenfolk to feed and a do-nothing dawdler like Gustaf who refuses to stay home and help ease Lars’s burden.”
Kristin was quiet for a moment. It would do no good to argue that Gustaf was not a do-nothing dawdler. Ferd had always resented him for his good looks and charming ways.
“I didn’t realize that you considered me a burden, Ferd,” Kristin said, in an effort to move the subject from Gustaf. She moved around the chair and straightened the white crocheted doily that lay on the back. “When my mother died, you insisted that I come here. And when you sold the farm, it was my understanding that my part of the money would go to pay for my keep.”
“How long do you think that lasted? It was used up long ago.”
“I’ve been an unpaid housekeeper, Ferd. A nursemaid to your children, a seamstress—”
“
Oh . . . oh—” The trembling words came from Ferd’s wife, Andora. “That’s not true and it’s mean of you to say so. You . . . came here and just took over. We gave you a roof over your head and—”
“Be quiet!” Ferd snapped; and when Andora began to cry, he shouted, “Stop that!”
Andora gave a tiny scream, fell back on the couch and assumed her best pouting position.
Ferd turned back to the mantel again, breathing heavily. He was a big man; hardworking, prosperous, ambitious. His lumber business was growing along with the population increase in Wisconsin. He had planned to open a branch in a neighboring town. The money from the inheritance would have made it possible.
Fourteen years older than his half sister, he had paid scant attention to her other than to be aware that she was there, looking after the girls, tending the house for him and his wife, who was beautiful and as irresponsible as a child and would always be.
Andora suited Ferd admirably. He could dress her up, show her off to his business friends and be certain she would reveal nothing of consequence because she knew nothing. She had been trained to compliment the right people and to gush at the right moment. The fact that she was a failure in bed meant nothing. There were others far more capable and willing to satisfy his sexual needs.
“I don’t understand. I just don’t understand.” Ferd’s jowls quivered with agitation. “Why you, for God’s sake? Yarby had three brothers beside Pa. All of them are dead now, but he had ten nephews. If he didn’t want me to have it, he could have left the land to Sven, Lars, Karl, James—”
“—And four nieces,” Kristin amended. “And I don’t know why he left it to me.”
“If Yarby Anderson had the brains God gave the rest of the family, he’d have known that women are not supposed to clutter up their minds with business matters and decisions,” Ferd continued his tirade as if Kristin had not spoken.
“I can’t believe you’d just up and leave us,” Andora whimpered. “As soon as you get your hands on a little money you go away so none of us will know what you do with it, and after all we’ve done for you.”
“I’ve done just as much for you, Andora,” Kristin said, trying not to show her frustration. “Ever since you married Ferd, you’ve had a maid who worked for room and board. You’ve never had to cook the meals, wash or iron, or get up with the children in the middle of the night.”
“I’ve . . . cooked—”
“Something fancy you wanted to show off.”
“Ferd paid you to cook!”
“A dollar a month.” Kristin’s patience was strained, and her voice rose angrily.
“You’d not have had a roof over your head if not for Ferd. If you had an ounce of gratitude, you’d give the money to him. You’re . . . selfish and mean and you’ve turned the girls against me!”
“You’re spoiling them rotten, Andora. They’ll grow up to be just like you.”
“What’s wrong with that? They’ll not be old maids like you!” Andora retorted nastily.
Kristin looked down at her sister-in-law, who had sunk back down on the couch and was dabbing at her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief—one that Kristin had made.
“I didn’t realize this before, but maybe I have been selfish, Andora. I loved doing for the girls, but I hate seeing them grow up to be so self-centered and unlovable. I liked keeping the house and took pride in it. In doing so, I may have fostered your irresponsibility and contributed to your uselessness.”
“Hold your tongue! You have no right to chastise Andora,” Ferd shouted, and gave his thigh a terrific slap with the palm of his hand.
“I have as much right as she has to chastise me.”
“Oh! I’m not . . . useless. Ferd loves me the way I am! You’ve ruined everything. Who’ll take the girls to their music lessons and . . . how’ll I get my dress finished before the Fourth? All the seamstresses worth their salt have been engaged by now.” Andora burst into tears and ran from the room.
Kristin sighed. “You might try doing it yourself, Andora.”
“Stop this bickering!” Ferd shouted, then turned on his sister with a brutality he seldom showed. “Papa pampered you from the day you were born. His big mistake was having you educated. Mine was continuing on with it after he died.”
“Only for part of a year,” Kristin reminded him. “After you married Andora, you soon learned that though she was pretty, she wasn’t capable of running the house.”
“If you’d been walking behind a plow these past ten years and milking cows like your cousins, you’d not have your head crammed full of fancy notions.”
“Ferd, I don’t want to leave with hard feelings.”
“You’ll not leave.”
“Ferd—”
“—I’ve had my say and you’ll not defy me. Besides, I’ve already sent a letter off to that lawyer fellow who has someone who wants the land. I told him to get an offer. Not that I’ll take the first one he makes, but it’ll give me an idea of what the land is worth.”
“You had no right to do that without consulting me.”
“As head of this family, I made it my right. Now I’ll hear no more about it.”
“And you won’t.” Anger straightened Kristin’s back and put a fighting spark in her eyes.
“I thought you’d be sensible about it.”
“Ferd, it isn’t that I don’t appreciate what you’ve done for me. It’s just that this is something for me, not you, to decide. I’m leaving for Montana Territory in the morning.”
Ferd looked stunned. His raised brows wrinkled a forehead made high by his receding hairline. He was taller than his sister, but his rounded shoulders and paunch made him seem shorter. He set himself solidly, legs well apart, and pushed out his chin.
“And where did you get the money for a train ticket?” he asked in a voice that was deceptively calm.
“Cousin Gustaf lent it to me. He’s taking me to Eau Claire to catch the train.”
Ferd said nothing for a long while. Then, noting a ripple of movement that revealed a tightening of every muscle in his body, Kristin put her hand to her throat and stared at him. Never before had she seen such pure rage in her brother. His fists were tightly clenched, his mouth clamped shut. His face was red, and violence roiled in his eyes. For a moment she feared that he would strike her.
“Gustaf,” he spat. “I’m not surprised that that hornswoggler stuck his bill in. If he wasn’t going to get Yarby’s money, he intended to make sure that I didn’t.”
“It isn’t cash money,” Kristin said patiently. “It’s . . . land called Larkspur. It may be worthless.”
“You would take that light-foot’s advice over mine, and, like a common slut, travel alone to some godforsaken place where you will more than likely end up in a whorehouse! You’ve not got the brains to take care of yourself.” By the time Ferd finished speaking, his face was crimson and he was shouting.
“You don’t have much confidence in me, do you?”
“You will embarrass me before this whole town. Everyone will think I’ve lost my mind, allowing you to go willy-nilly out to this wild unsettled place.” Ferd was so angry that he never heard a word she said. “If you go, after all Andora and I have done for you, never darken my door again.”
“I’m sorry you said that, Ferd.”
“And never show your face in this town either. It will be hard enough for us to live down the shame of your betrayal.”
“You’re my closest kin. I don’t want to leave with this between us.”
He turned to the door.
“Ferd.”
He didn’t answer.
“Ferd?”
Without a look or a word he went quickly up the stairs.
Kristin stood for a long moment with her head bowed.
Betrayal could mean only one thing: Ferd had bragged to his friends about the land he had inherited in Montana, and now everyone would know it had been left not to him but to his sister. Pride stiffened Kristin’s back. She refused
to take blame for taking charge of her own future. If Ferd suffered a loss of esteem, it was of his own doing.
Moving slowly, knowing it would be for the last time, she closed up the house for the night, as she had done for the past ten years, and went to her room adjoining the kitchen. As the family had increased, it had become necessary to convert the large pantry into a bedroom, and Kristin had willingly left the children’s room for the privacy of this small space.
The gray dress she planned to wear for the trip hung over the back of a chair, her good black shoes sat under it. On the seat were her undergarments, her hat and a dark shawl she thought wise to wear because Cousin Gustaf had said the train would be smoky and dirty. Her clothes were in the trunk along with family photographs Ferd did not care for, personal items, sheets and towels. On top of all were her sewing equipment and writing materials. Everything she owned was in the trunk, the box, and a tapestry bag containing toilet articles and a pistol Gustaf had given to her and insisted she carry. He had taken her out to the woods and shown her how to load and shoot the gun. He cautioned her to keep it with her at all times.
“If you need it, it’ll be there,” he had said. “And don’t be afraid to use it. If a man comes at you and refuses to back off, he’s going to hurt you. It’ll be you or him.”
“I don’t know if I could shoot anyone, Gus.”
“You could if you had to. Keep the gun loaded. Unloaded, it’s no use at all. Hold it straight out and pull the trigger slowly.”
They had practiced until Gustaf was satisfied she at least knew how to handle the gun. Now Kristin felt safer knowing that she had the weapon. And Gustaf was right; she would use it if she was forced to do so to protect herself.
Kristin had planned to have a tub bath, but after the unsettling set-to with Ferd and Andora, she decided to carry warm water from the kitchen and wash in her room. Afterward she put on her nightdress and, standing before the small mirror above her washstand, looked at herself. She didn’t think she was pretty, but neither was she ugly. Kristin took the pins from the braids that wrapped around her head. She had washed her hair that morning in fresh rainwater, not knowing when she would have the chance again. Silvery blond hair was not unusual in this Swedish community, but it was her most startling feature. Her eyes ran a close second. They were large and blue-gray, deep-set, under well-defined brows only a shade darker than her hair.
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