Love's Silver Lining

by Julie Lessman

  A soft grunt escaped as she shook her head, silver-white wisps dancing with the motion. “But it certainly wasn’t Horace’s, much as suffrage wasn’t Finn’s at the time, I suppose. But oh my, how I pleaded and begged, telling him I was certain it was what God wanted us to do, but all to no avail.” One edge of her mouth tipped. “That bullheaded man flat-out said no, that he was the head of the house and his decision was final. ”

  “So, what did you do?” Libby chewed on her thumbnail, her body abuzz with curiosity.

  She gave a short nod. “Why I stormed through the house and called him a bully, that’s what, then flat-out refused to make his dinner.”

  Libby bit back a smile, unable to imagine sweet Mrs. Poppy causing such a stir. “But I’ll bet you didn’t throw a teapot,” she said with a shy chew of her lip.

  “Oh, good heavens, no!” the silver-haired imp said with a gleam in her eye, “I threw an iron, and a mighty hefty one at that, putting a dent in the door if not in his head.”

  Libby’s jaw dropped a full inch, her smile sliding into a grin. “No!”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am, and I surely thought that would do the trick, but that mule of a man just packed up his things and slept in the church.”

  “Oh my goodness, what did you do?” Libby gaped with a hand to her mouth.

  Shimmying deeper in her chair, Mrs. Poppy lifted the cup to her lips with a pert thrust of her chin, a squirm of smile teasing her mouth. “Why I called out the big guns, of course. Locked myself in the bedroom and got on my knees. Told God flat-out that if He wanted us in Virginia City, He had some mighty fancy footwork to do with one of his own.”

  Libby grinned outright.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she continued with a mock scowl that quickly slanted into an off-center smile. “Only problem was, the fancy footwork He had to do was on me, not Horace.”

  “What?” Libby sat straight up in her chair. “But he was bullying you, Mrs. Poppy, while all you were trying to do was the will of God!”

  “Ah, yes, the will of God,” she said with a chuckle, “a seemingly nebulous thing about which most of us have no earthly idea. But the truth is, God’s will is as simple and succinct as a single word.” Halting, her voice seemed suspended in air, right along with Libby’s breathing. A sparkle lit in eyes quickly awash with moisture as she leaned close, as if to whisper a coveted secret. “God’s ‘Word.’”

  Head cocked, Libby studied the old woman’s face with a pucker in her brow. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, my dear, that God made no bones about it—nailed my hide to the wall with His Word. Ephesians 5:22 — Wives, submit yourselves unto your husband as unto the Lord.”

  Libby gasped. “No!”

  “Yes indeedy, but He also assured me in Psalm 37:4-5 that if I committed my way to Him and trusted Him, He would give me the desires of my heart even if Horace wouldn’t!” A pixie grin eased across her weathered lips as she gave Libby a wink. “But my favorite Scripture He gave me was 1 Peter 2:15, which cinched the deal.”

  “And what was that?” Libby asked, her curiosity definitely piqued.

  Mrs. Poppy giggled as her gaze darted to the baseball game and back, cheeks as rosy as the mountains awash in the colors of dusk. “For it is God’s will that by doing good you should silence the ignorance of foolish men.”

  A giggle spilled from Libby’s mouth that unleashed an onslaught of chuckles from both women, drawing curious looks from the men on the lawn.

  “And although I wasn’t sure I could do it, mind you, Hebrews 10:36 promised assurance that when I have done the will of God, I would receive what is promised. And you know what?” She sent Libby a puckish wink that set off another round of giggles. “I did! So you see, dear Libby, application of God’s precepts is not to bully us; it’s to bless us.”

  Libby glanced at Finn, ribcage constricting with doubt she could ever trust him with her passion for women’s rights.

  And how can I trust Finn if I don’t even trust God?

  “You know, Libby,” Mrs. Poppy continued, almost as if she could read Libby’s mind, “trust is not only a gift to those we love, my dear, it’s a gift to ourselves as well. I know you’re afraid to trust Finn, but he loves you and I believe he always has. And you love him.”

  Libby chewed on her lip. “But I don’t trust him, Mrs. Poppy, and I don’t know how to change that.”

  “No, but God does if you’ll let Him. You see, my dear, love is the soil in which trust flourishes, but trust is the seed that allows love to bloom. Which means the more you realize just how much God loves you, the more you will trust Him. And the more you trust Him, dear girl, the deeper your love. It’s no different with Finn, Libby. The more he loves you, the more your trust will grow, deepening your own love beyond anything you have ever dreamed.”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Poppy,” she whispered, her heart in a cramp, “I’m just so afraid …”

  “Fear will tell you it’s not possible,” Mrs. Poppy said softly, “but fear is one of the most potent reasons to forge on, because not only does perfect love—God’s love—cast out fear, but it nourishes trust and peace and hope.”

  Perfect love. God’s, not hers. Could she do it? Could she trust Finn? A shiver skittered through her mind as memories flashed of her father’s control, stealing her freedom, thwarting her dreams. Her father loved her, she knew, but she never trusted him. Could it be different with Finn?

  Shaking her anxiety off, Libby reached to clasp Mrs. Poppy’s hands in her own, gratitude welling in her eyes that God had brought this amazing woman to Virginia City. “Well, the important thing is that you won, Mrs. Poppy, and so did Virginia City.”

  “Oh, I most certainly did! A very hard-won lesson that has served me well all the days of my life.” She patted Libby’s hand, fragile fingers gnarled and bent from a lifetime of righteous living. “And that is, my dear child, that one’s heart’s desires belong at the foot of the throne, where a Father who truly loves us can give them their flight.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  “Whoa, boy.” Finn slowed his prized Hooker phaeton at the corner of B and Union Streets before giving Lightning a tug in front of the brand-new Piper’s Opera House. Dressed in his best three-piece suit, he hopped out and tied the reins to the post alongside a long line of other horses and buggies, all owned by patrons attending John Piper’s summer ball.

  “In case I haven’t told you, Libby,” he said as he reached up to assist her from the carriage, “you look absolutely beautiful tonight.” He clasped her tiny waist before sweeping her down, reluctant to let go. She was breathtaking in a green satin dress trimmed with cream lace, the scent of lilacs teasing his senses as much as her V-necked bodice teased his body, a dangerous hint of creamy breasts he hadn’t seen in far too long.

  “Uh, not in the last five minutes,” she said with a smile in her voice, a stray auburn curl grazing her alabaster neck like he so longed to do. “But I do thank you, sir.”

  His heart sped up as he offered her his arm, wishing this ball was for a far different reason than celebrating his bid for mayor.

  Like a renewal of vows.

  “’Evening, ‘Mayor.’” Propped against the brick archway with hands in his pockets, Finn’s good friend, Milo Parks, flashed a welcoming grin as he nudged up his best Stetson. “Fashionably late for once.”

  Finn scowled, the idea of arriving late as uncomfortable as this confounded high-standing collar and silk necktie he was forced to wear. “Sorry about that—Shaylee took sick.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.” Milo’s perennial smile faded.

  Finn’s mouth quirked. “Nothing an early night’s sleep can’t cure,” he said, still smiling over the ladies’ hysterics when they discovered Shaylee had lost her pet tarantula, Annabelle. In the house and against Finn’s orders.

  Along with Annabelle’s egg sac.

  “Good to hear. And sweet thunder—Libby! Why, we haven’t seen you in—what’s it been, Finn—ten, fifteen years?�
�

  “Seventeen,” Finn said with a slant of a smile, shaking hands with the boyhood friend who was now editor of The Territorial Enterprise. “Come October.”

  Milo grinned, affording Finn a quick nod before he tipped his hat to Libby. “Heard a rumor this old fox was keeping you holed up at the ranch, probably under lock and key since we haven’t seen hide nor hair of you, ma’am.”

  Libby slid Finn a nervous smile before reaching to give Milo a hug, the man who had once been her employer. “The lock and key were all mine, I assure you, Mr. Parks,” she said, the tease in those remarkable green eyes, causing Finn’s rib cage to expand with pride.

  And hope.

  “Well, I can certainly see why, Miss O’Shea,” Milo said with a sly wink at Finn.

  Mrs. McShane, Finn wanted to growl as Milo held her at bay to assess head to foot a little too thoroughly. But as far as Virginia City was concerned—and his best friend—Libby and he were no longer married. That had been Libby’s one stipulation when he’d driven her to the ranch that night—the botched annulment was to be kept a secret to everyone but the immediate family.

  Milo slapped Finn on the back with a wicked grin. “Well, you’ve never looked better, Libs, so I’m pretty sure a lock and key would be most essential to keep this one away.”

  “You the welcoming committee, Parks?” Finn said in a dry tone, “or has Bettie finally come to her senses and thrown you out on your ear?”

  “I am, as a matter of fact, Mr. Mayor, dispatched by John Piper himself to haul you in as soon as you arrived. And I assure you Bettie is waiting inside at our table, as lovesick as ever along with Jo Beth and her escort for the night.”

  Finn stopped short. “Jo Beth is here? What the devil for? And does her father know?” He gaped at Milo, both shocked and annoyed his opponent’s daughter—and the woman he nearly courted before Libby—would be attending Finn’s support function.

  Smile zagging toward dry, Milo opened the intricately carved wooden door with great fanfare, pushing it wide to usher them in. “You know why she’s here, Finn,” Milo said with a heavy sigh. “She’s still smitten, my friend, so she asked Bettie if she could come as our guest. And, no, I’ll wager her father would have a fit if he knew.” He shot Libby a wink. “Besides, both she and Bettie are most anxious to see Libby again after all these years.”

  I’ll bet. Especially Jo Beth. Finn didn’t miss how Libby stiffened at mention of the woman Finn had once stepped out with before her. Ushering Libby into the cozy candlelit foyer that led to the main theater, he was pretty sure Jo Beth Templeton Morrissey—now a wealthy widow—was the last person Libby had wanted to see when she came to Virginia City.

  His smile took a tilt. After me, of course.

  “Right this way, folks,” Milo said with an outstretched arm. He guided them to the gilded double doors that led to a three-story theater transformed into an elegant ballroom for this evening’s function. Milo opened the doors, and Finn heard Libby catch her breath. And with good reason. The magnificent theater owned by his good friend John Piper had just been rebuilt in the spring for the third time after two previous fires, and John had certainly outdone himself.

  Dark walnut flooring gleamed to a shine, providing the perfect complement to walls of cream French provincial wainscoting on the proscenium and elaborate balcony boxes that circled the room. A Virginia City landmark since 1863, Piper’s Opera House boasted the best entertainment money could buy, from lectures by Mark Twain and social reformer Henry Ward Beecher, to performances by Shakespearean thespians and top theatrical names such as Lily Langtry, W.F. Cody, and John Philip Sousa.

  For this evening, however, theater seating gave way to linen-clad tables arrayed in flowers and china, where silver candelabras flickered and glowed as much as the guests arrayed in satins and silks. The soft strains of a string quartet drifted through the crowded room while waiters in coat and tails served soup from silver tureens.

  “Oh my, I had no idea it would be so grand!” Libby whispered, her once vocal “cow town” opinion of Virginia City obviously no match for the bustling city it was today.

  Finn leaned close with a smile, voice lowering for her ears alone. “‘It’s not New York, I know, Libby, but even ‘cow towns’ enjoy culture and refinement.”

  She had the grace to blush, and he gave her arm a playful squeeze to let her know he was teasing, remembering all too well how shocked she’d been the summer she’d graduated from Vassar to discover she loved the rustic appeal of Virginia City. No matter how much culture or refinement New York City had provided, Libby had settled into the West—and into their marriage—as if she had finally come home. And she had as far as Finn was concerned, her contentment as satisfying as the rosy glow of her cheeks or the frequent laughter that bubbled from her lips.

  Till I stepped on her dream.

  Well, he’d certainly learned his lesson there and had every intention of restoring that dream. But to do that, he needed to be elected Mayor of Virginia City first, his stepping stone to senator of the great state of Nevada. His ribcage tightened, stifling his air as much as the confounded collar. On a platform Libby would not understand.

  “Trust me on this, Finn—you cannot tell her,” Aiden had warned in a private meeting with John Piper and other supporters just last week. “So, it’s best to avoid talking about the election altogether until it’s over.”

  Finn had scowled, the idea of keeping Libby in the dark until after the election not settling well. “That’s just it, Aiden—trust is the issue with Libby. If she finds out I am on the wrong side of the suffragist movement in this election—whether inheritance rights, women voting on city issues, or even the right to be a school trustee—she’ll blow like a powder keg if I don’t tell her, and I’ll lose her.”

  “And you’ll lose the election if you do tell her, Finn, it’s that simple,” Aiden had emphasized, the conviction and concern in his eyes mirroring that of every man at the table. “All we’re asking for is your commitment to avoid the subject with Libby until after the election. Templeton has already been spreading rumors that you’re soft when it comes to women’s rights. Claims that housing two suffragists is turning you into a radical who plans to toe the suffragist line, and you can’t afford that, Finn—not in Virginia City.”

  Finn glanced around the table, lips compressed as he considered their argument. “I think you underestimate your daughter, Aiden. The only way I can effect positive change on behalf of women is in the legislature, and I can’t get there touting women’s rights. I think Libby will understand that. I believe she’ll see forfeiture of local women’s issue a necessary evil, both in this election and during my term as mayor, in order to position me for the greater good.”

  “Do you, now?” Aiden leaned back in his leather padded chair, palms resting on its arms as his gaze bore into Finn’s. “Did you know I overhead her telling Maggie and the girls that they needed to establish a suffragist club? And that if she lived in Virginia City permanently, that’s the first thing she would do?”

  Finn swallowed hard, the very idea causing sweat to dampen his collar. One whisper of a rumor like that, and he’d be dead in the water.

  “Look at it this way, Finn,” John Piper said calmly, “the election is only a little more than two months away, so you won’t have to keep quiet for long. Let’s just get through this till then.” He put a hand on Finn’s shoulder, his fatherly manner easing some of Finn’s strain. “And by all means, let Libby know that you agree with her on women’s rights. But all we’re asking for, son, is for you to keep a lid on your platform till after you’re elected mayor. Then you can explain to her what you just told us—that you have every intention of pursuing the suffragist agenda in the legislature, but she’ll just have to trust you till then.”

  Trust him.

  Like she had before.

  Before he let her down.

  Aiden struck a match to light his pipe. “Once you’re mayor, Finn, Libby can spout her suffragist s
piel all she likes because your record will immunize you against it, helping to ensure an easy election in two years when you run for Senator Stewart’s seat.” Aiden offered a tight smile as he puffed on his pipe, sympathy clouding his gaze while smoke clouded the room. “Easy as the slide of barrel-aged whiskey, my boy.”

  The five men around the table mumbled and nodded their agreement.

  “So, what do you say, Finn?” John Piper had said with a firm grip of his shoulder. “Do we have your word?”

  Finn repressed a groan. Yes, unfortunately. Practically signed in blood.

  More of which would be spilled if Libby found out.

  “Attention, everyone—the guest of honor has arrived,” Milo announced at the door, and the crowd broke out in applause that heated Finn’s collar, burnishing the back of his neck along with Libby’s face.

  With a smile and a wave, Finn followed Milo to their table at the front of the stage, shoring Libby up with a hand to the small of her back. “Nervous?” he whispered in her ear.

  She peeked up with a chew of her lip. “Terrified! I still can’t believe I agreed to accompany you. I must have been out of my mind to say yes.”

  “Or tipsy,” he replied with a smile, reminding her of their trip to Carson City where he’d taken full advantage of her embarrassment over her inebriated state to ask her to the ball. Not the gentlemanly thing to do, he supposed, but then he figured he was due after his gentlemanly restraint while holding Libby all night in his bed.

  “Finn—welcome, my man!” John Piper rose from a scarlet brocade chair to pump Finn’s hand with the same vigor with which he did everything. A shrewd businessman who rose from alderman to mayor to state senator, John now devoted his time to what was touted as one of the “most significant theaters in the West,” giving it—and anything he put his hand to—his all.

  Including Finn’s political career.