by Dorothy Love
The doctor’s wife bustled about in the background while her husband examined Ada’s scrapes and bruises. “I don’t think anything is broken, though you have some nasty lacerations and contusions.” He handed her a small jar of salve. “You’ll be sore for a while, but after a couple of days’ rest you should be fine.”
“Thank you for coming.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry that this happened. I hope you won’t judge all of Hickory Ridge by the actions of a few mean-spirited ruffians.” He snapped his bag shut. “When they set that fire at our place last fall, I was ready to leave, but I’m glad now that we decided to stay. I hope you will too.”
“I’m not sure I can stay.” Ada slumped against the mahogany headboard. “Bea Goldston is intent on getting rid of me.”
“All the more reason to stay.” He grinned. “You can’t—”
“Ennis?” Mrs. Spencer interrupted. “Are you through with the examination?” She placed a soft bundle on the foot of the bed.
“Just finishing up.” The doctor picked up his bag and nodded to Ada. “I’ll leave you ladies alone.”
When the door closed behind him, his wife perched on the edge of the bed. “I heard Ennis say that you’ll be fine. You were lucky.”
Ada shifted on her pillow. “Yes. But I don’t think I can ever feel safe here again.”
“Wyatt is beyond furious,” Mrs. Spencer said. “He’ll get this sorted out—you’ll see.” She indicated the bundle on the bed. “Norah sent these over—new underthings, new dress, new stockings.”
Ada opened the package. The shop owner had sent the dress Ada had recently admired in her window—a deep green silk with a ruffled bodice and a small bustle at the back. She set it aside and ran her fingers over a soft cotton chemise and a pair of fine silk stockings. Norah had even included a new nightdress made of the finest lawn.
Ada sighed. It had been years since she’d worn anything so fine. But the cost of the dress alone would put a serious dent in her small nest egg at a time when she needed to save every last cent. She’d ask Mariah to ride out to Lillian’s and bring her old clothes. “These are lovely, and I thank you for bringing them out here. But I can’t afford them.”
“Norah said to tell you they’re a gift.”
“But I barely know her!”
“She and Lillian were friends for years. And I think Norah still feels guilty for that awful thing she said about Northerners at the Founders Day celebration.”
“Heavenly days! Does the whole town know about that?”
Mrs. Spencer shrugged. “Hickory Ridge is a small town. People talk.”
The doctor knocked on the door and stuck his head in. “Eugenie, we should go. It’s getting late.”
Mrs. Spencer patted Ada’s hand. “Get some rest.”
“I will. I’m grateful to you and your husband. Please tell Norah I’ll be in to thank her as soon as I can.”
The doctor’s wife rose and slipped into her coat. “You’re one of us now, dear. We take care of our own.”
Wyatt left his horse tethered outside the bank and walked over to the schoolhouse. He’d had a sleepless night, owing partially to the fact that he’d bunked in his office so Ada could have his bed, but mostly to the rage that roiled his gut.
Certainly he’d known that Bea Goldston had set her cap for him—just look at that embarrassing outburst during Lillian’s wake—but he hadn’t encouraged her in the least. Beyond the usual social pleasantries, he’d hardly spoken to her more than half a dozen times, yet somehow she’d decided that he was hers. He intended to thoroughly disabuse her of that notion, among others.
Anger coiled inside him like a rattler when he thought of what might have happened to Ada. He loved her with a fierceness that stunned him. He loved everything about her—the way she pinned on her hat, the delicious sound of her unexpected laughter. Her bravery and her vulnerability and even, to his surprise, the slight trace of Boston that sometimes crept into her speech. And now that he loved her, he knew he could never be completely happy, even on his ranch, without her.
He reached the schoolhouse just as classes were dismissed for the day. Standing by the flagpole, he watched the children running pell-mell into the bright February sunshine, coats and scarves flying, their joyous shouts rising into the wind. Robbie Whiting emerged with a couple of other boys. It seemed to Wyatt that the boy had grown at least six inches since last summer. He was quieter now and seemed to have outgrown the serious case of hero worship that Wyatt had found both flattering and embarrassing.
Robbie spotted Wyatt and jogged over to the flagpole. “Hey, Mr. Wyatt.”
“Robbie.” Wyatt moved to clasp the boy’s shoulder, but Robbie stuck out his hand and shook Wyatt’s firmly. “I prefer Rob now, sir. If you don’t mind.”
“Rob it is. How’s school this term?”
“Oh, you know. School is school. Mr. Webster gave me the highest mark in the class for debate. He says I’m a good talker and I could be a lawyer some day. Maybe even a senator or something.”
Wyatt smiled. “He may be onto something there.”
One of the other boys called to him, and Robbie waved. “I gotta go. I’ll see ya.” He ran off to join his friends.
The schoolhouse door opened again, and Bea and Ethan Webster stepped out onto the porch. The sight of her sent a fresh wave of anger through him.
The schoolmaster hurried across the yard to his buggy, his frock coat flapping in the wind, and drove away. Wyatt waited until Webster’s rig was out of sight, then he crossed the schoolyard.
Bea looked up, and he noticed with some satisfaction that her nose was bruised. “Wyatt! What a lovely surprise.”
“Go inside, Bea.” He kicked open the door. “After you.”
“What’s this about?”
“Two guesses.”
He followed her into the schoolhouse. She dropped her books onto her desk. “If this is about that little practical joke from yesterday—”
“There was nothing practical about it.”
“We didn’t hurt her.” Bea grabbed a rag and wiped the chalkboard clean.
“She’s got a cut on her forehead, a swollen lip, her ribs are bruised, her wrists are rope-burned. Not to mention the terror of being bound to a tree and left alone in the dead of winter.”
“I knew you’d find her eventually.” Bea’s voice cracked. She tossed the rag onto her desk. “You’ve got quite a cozy little love nest, haven’t you, now that Lillian is gone.”
Wyatt moved closer until Bea dropped her gaze. “I want you out of Hickory Ridge.”
“What?” She laughed. “This is my home, Wyatt. And no one, not even you, is powerful enough to make me leave.”
“You’re right. I don’t have any legal authority. But Sheriff McCracken does. And Judge Blackburn.”
“McCracken! All he does is go around trying to pin things on innocent people. Charlie Blevins said—” She stopped, clearly worried that she’d said too much.
“What about Charlie?”
“Nothing!”
“Was he part of your little practical joke yesterday?”
Bea glared at him. “You shouldn’t have fired him, Wyatt.”
“That has nothing to do with getting you out of Hickory Ridge.”
Her hands stilled. “What are you suggesting?”
“It’s pretty simple, actually. You’re to plead some dire family emergency, pack up your things, and buy a ticket on Friday’s morning train. Otherwise, we’ll bring charges against you.”
“But that’s impossible! What about the children? I can’t abandon them in the middle of the term. The school board will not allow it.”
“They’ll find a replacement. Mrs. Lowell is accustomed to dealing with children. Or maybe Carrie Daly can take over.”
“Carrie Daly? That little mealymouth? Those boys will have her in tears inside half an hour.”
“Maybe.” He pretended to think. “Ada is well educated, and she’s traveled extensively. The b
oard might be pleased to have someone of her background assume your duties.”
“Ada Wentworth? In my school?” Bea sputtered. “I will not have it, Wyatt. I simply won’t.”
He leaned against the desk, arms and ankles crossed, and waited.
“Besides,” Bea went on, “she doesn’t have the courage to bring charges against me. She’s too much of a lady to stand up in court and admit she elbowed me in the nose like some common street thug. What would her customers think?”
“If she doesn’t bring charges, I will.”
“On what grounds? That I frightened your poor little Yankee paramour?”
“I’m still her employer. By injuring her, you’ve deprived me of her ability to look after my house. And then there’s the damage to my property. Poor old Smoky tore my rig to bits trying to get out of the woods. It’s too far gone to repair. I’ll have to buy a new one.”
Bea sank onto her chair.
“So let’s review.” Wyatt spoke calmly, though he was seething inside. “Just off the top of my head, there’s injury to Ada’s person, menacing, destruction of personal property, and violation of the state law prohibiting Klan activity.” He paused. “I can probably think of a few more.”
“I told you—I only meant to scare her. I’m not associated with the Klan.”
“You wore a robe and a mask, terrorized a defenseless woman, and made threats based upon her conduct with the coloreds. Sounds like the Klan to me.” He headed for the door. “I’ll see you at the station on Friday.”
“Wyatt! Please wait. There’s something I haven’t told you.”
“I doubt that anything you have to say will interest me unless you’re willing to implicate Charlie Blevins in all this. Sheriff McCracken is just waiting to get his hands on him. But go ahead. Make it quick.”
“The land in Two Creeks—it’s mine.”
He turned, his hand resting on the doorknob. She sent him a triumphant little smile. “Finally, I have your undivided attention.”
“Go on.”
“It belonged to Sumner Redmond, one of my mother’s . . . friends. When I was born, he deeded it to her—a consolation prize for not leaving his family to marry her. The price of her silence. When she died, it passed to me.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Your name isn’t on any of the documents my lawyers uncovered.”
“Redmond insisted on that, to keep safe the secret of his affair with my mother. His lawyers handled everything.” Her voice broke. “I hate every blasted acre of it.”
“I would have bought it five years ago.”
Her face flamed pink. “I know. But I was saving it as a . . . a present for you. For when we married.”
“What?”
“I thought that one day, you and I . . . but then Saint Ada arrived, and I knew I didn’t stand a chance.”
“And you thought that if you terrorized her into leaving—with Charlie’s help, I suspect—I’d fall into your arms?” He shook his head. “Even if she hadn’t come here, things between you and me never would have worked out that way. You may as well sell that land to my buyers. You’ll turn a profit, they’ll deed it to the sharecroppers down there, and we’ll keep the peace in the town you claim to care so much about.”
Her dark eyes flashed. “I do care! Hickory Ridge is all I’ve got.”
“Well then?”
“Why did she have to come here and ruin everything?”
He drew a long breath. “Come Friday morning, I expect to see you on that train.”
She crossed her arms. “I’ll be back. This is my town. And not even you can keep me away forever.”
“You don’t have to stay away forever. Only until Ada and I have gone to Texas.”
“So the rumors are true. You do intend to marry that wheyfaced Yankee.”
“If she’ll have me.” He opened the schoolhouse door, letting in a blast of frigid air. “Friday, Bea. And don’t forget to wear your new Ada Wentworth hat.”
She hurled a book that narrowly missed his head.
THIRTY-ONE
Ada stepped off the porch and into the thin April sunshine. Rain had fallen in the night, and the cool spring air was sweet with the scent of new growth. The trees along the road were budding, and the dogwoods were already in bloom. In the garden, patches of wild violets and pale, creamy daffodils peeked from beneath the stones lining the path. May would see the flowering of irises and wood hyacinths and lily of the valley, followed in June by hollyhocks and Lillian’s prized roses.
Helping Wyatt sort through his aunt’s things, Ada had discovered Lillian’s gardening journal. Written in a faint, spidery hand, it chronicled the blooming of the various plants with notes about cuttings and new plantings and the various species she had cultivated with such care.
“Keep it,” Wyatt had said when she found it. “Aunt Lil would want you to have it.”
She crossed the cobbled path to the rose garden. There were signs of new growth here too. Wyatt had planned to transplant a rosebush to Lillian’s grave, but now it would have to wait. According to Lillian’s journal, that was a job best accomplished in late winter, before the bush began to put on new canes. With all that had happened after Lillian’s death, there hadn’t been time.
Ada bent to brush dirt from a daffodil. Above her, a robin darted among the branches of the magnolia tree, building a nest. Building a future.
Ada’s eyes filled. Even here, surrounded by so much beauty and promise, her heart was as heavily burdened as ever. Her injuries had long since healed, but Bea Goldston’s brutal attack had left her feeling more discouraged and fearful than ever. On her infrequent visits to town, she found herself searching every face, wondering who had accompanied Bea into the woods that day.
Like everyone else in Hickory Ridge, Ada had been stunned at Bea’s sudden departure. A dear cousin in North Carolina had taken seriously ill, or so it was said. Then, near the end of March, Charlie Blevins had been arrested for setting the fire at the Spencers’. True to the Klan’s code, he’d steadfastly refused to implicate anyone else. According to Sheriff McCracken, Blevins continued to deny any involvement in Ada’s ordeal, but since his arrest there had been no more intruders at Lillian’s place and no more incidents on the road.
That doesn’t mean there won’t be.
Ada absently brushed a few ants off the fresh new rose leaves and bent to pull a weed, but her mind kept circling around to her dilemma. Soon she would have to give Wyatt an answer to his proposal. Just last week he’d gone to another meeting in Chicago, moving ahead with his plans to sell the mill and buy his ranch. It wouldn’t be fair to keep him waiting forever.
Ada didn’t doubt his devotion to her. The problem was her own inability to let go of all that had happened to her, to put her life in another’s hands. Since the attack, especially, she couldn’t help seeing herself as damaged goods—like a torn bonnet long past mending. She wanted to let go of bitterness and blame, but her raw feelings lodged like stones in her heart.
She didn’t like the person she had become—older, sadder, but not much wiser. How could she promise herself to Wyatt when she felt this way?
The sound of hoofbeats on the road pulled her away from her dark thoughts. It was Saturday, a half day at the mill, and Wyatt had suggested a picnic by the river. Gathering her skirts, she hurried out to the road to meet him.
He reined in Cherokee and slid from the saddle. “Morning, darlin’.”
“Good morning.” Tamping down her misgivings, she smiled up at him. Just for today, she’d concentrate on being happy, on enjoying the day with Wyatt. She waved one hand toward the garden. “It’s starting to bloom.”
“Aunt Lil would be pleased. She always said that flowers were proof God hadn’t yet given up on his creation.”
They went inside. While Ada poured lemonade into a jar, Wyatt loaded a basket with bread and cheese, dried apples, and a small crock of butter.
“It’s a good day to go up to the waterfall,” he said. “I’ve w
anted you to see it since that first Sunday at church.”
She had an instant mental picture of Wyatt sunbathing on the rock in the middle of the stream. That had been the beginning of everything. “I remember.”
“Seems like a long time ago.” He smiled into her eyes. “So much has changed since then.”
Ada wrapped the jar in a towel and set it carefully inside the basket. “The quilting circle certainly has changed. Without Lillian, we seem to have lost our enthusiasm for it. Bea’s gone. Carrie hardly ever comes anymore. But I suppose I can’t really blame her.” She took a couple of napkins from the shelf and tucked them into the basket. “She lost so many years wrapped in mourning. She must feel as if she’s starting life all over again.”
“I kind of feel that way myself. Since you, my love, I feel like I’ve got a second chance too.”
“I know,” she said, her voice soft. She turned away and added a few more things to the basket. “But there was nothing wrong with your old life. Everyone looks up to you. And the mill is the biggest success in town.”
“Success doesn’t make up for loneliness. Life is always better shared with somebody you love.”
“Libby Dawson said almost the same thing just last week.” She handed him the basket.
“She did?”
“What she said was, ‘It sure is a lonesome washing, Miss Ada, without a man’s shirt in it.’ ”
Wyatt laughed. “Ready?”
She waited on the porch while he unsaddled Cherokee and led her to the pasture behind the house. He hitched Smoky to the new rig he’d bought, and they set out for the river.
“You haven’t told me about your meeting in Chicago.” Ada secured her hat and unfurled her parasol as Smoky trotted down the sun-dappled road. Sitting so close to Wyatt, knowing how he felt about her, stirred up so many emotions she’d rather not think about. Better to keep the conversation light.
“We’re close to a deal. They agreed to let Sage stay on as foreman. The sticking point was Two Creeks. I want them to buy the land and deed it to the coloreds who have been sharecropping it all this time.”