by Gina Welborn
It wasn’t his character. It didn’t fit his values.
That he’d taken out a loan from her, Emilia agreed. The money had to have come from somewhere. Where was Finn’s copy of the deed—the one that didn’t include the terms of selling her and Luci into prostitution if he couldn’t make payment?
Someone was lying, and she’d stake her life that it wasn’t Finn.
“The lack of customers is because of Mr. Hendry’s article,” she said to break the silence. “Don’t say it isn’t.”
Mr. Gunderson paused, clearly debating his response. “Once the shock is over, everything will go back to normal. The Independent publishes stories like this all the time.”
“Helena has had more than one deceased rancher swindling women into prostitution?”
He grinned. “Epidemic proportions.”
Emilia wanted to smile. She wanted to laugh and not feel as if weight upon weight was being laid on her shoulders, but her mood matched the melancholy sky. So she lifted her cup to her lips, pausing before drinking to say, “And if life doesn’t return to normal?”
“You could marry me.”
Emilia spit the tea onto his shirt. “I’m sorry.” She patted her mouth dry. “I don’t know why I . . . That was . . . uh . . . I’m so sorry.”
He blinked a few times, looking down at the spatters on his abdomen and then at her. “I have now reached the ranks of Windsor Buchanan. He will be impressed.”
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated again. Emilia looked around, mortified. What type of woman spits on a man? Mr. Buchanan must have done something to deserve it. Or the woman’s spitting had been accidental, like now. Finding nothing to dry Mr. Gunderson’s shirt, she set her cup and saucer on the counter and untied the apron over her gray work dress. “Trade?”
He exchanged his cup and saucer for the apron. He patted his abdomen.
“I’ll wash it for you,” she offered and hastily added, “Your shirt.”
“No need.”
“I appreciate your attempt to ease my doldrums.”
He looked up. Frowned. “My proposal was not meant in jest.”
“Dear God, why?” tumbled from her lips before she could stop it.
He neatly folded her apron and offered it back. “Would you be more convinced my intentions are sincere if I got down on one knee?”
Emilia stared at him. He looked sincere. He sounded sincere, too. But so had Mac. Both men genuinely cared about her and about the ruination of her reputation. Because they knew their names could be her shield. She’d married Finn for similar reasons. A shield against the grinding poverty and stench of Chicago rather than her tattered last name.
“I appreciate your offer.” She looked to the door. A wagon rolled past. She turned and took back her apron. “It is unfair of people to think less of me for something I didn’t do, or to think less of Luci for stepping inside a brothel.”
“I agree.” The phone rang and he stepped to the counter to answer it. “The Resale Company. How may I—” Pause. “She’s here instead of out at the ranch. Luci’s spending the day over at the Truetts’ house.” Pause. “I’ve read it.” Pause. “Jakob, don’t—” He growled. “Then grab some for four people and head over.” Pause. “That’s fine.” He rested the headset in the cradle, then said to Emilia, “Jakob and Roch are back from Fort Missoula. They’re bringing lunch.”
Emilia waited a moment, then said, “All right,” because, literally, no other words came to mind.
“If marriage isn’t an option for you . . .” Isaak cleared his throat. “My father and I would like to offer you a full-time position. Monday through Friday, a dollar fifty a day, plus an extra fifty cents on Saturday.”
“Is this because you think Finn’s creditors will refuse to continue to work with me?”
“The decision to offer you the job was made the day before Luanne and Roy’s wedding.”
“Why didn’t you offer it back then?”
“Mac.”
Emilia gasped. “He asked you not to?” She wouldn’t put it past Mac and his belief that he knew what was best for everyone.
Mr. Gunderson shook his head. “I chose not to say anything because I didn’t want to interfere with what was happening between the two of you.” Something in her expression must have prompted him to add, “Doc Abernathy likes to gossip. He’s had a pool going for weeks now on who and when you’ll marry.”
Emilia drew back in surprise. “Doctor Abernathy is one of the kindest souls in town.”
“He’s also a sporting man.”
People placed wagers on when and who someone married? What was next? Betting on when people died?
She hesitated then asked, “Have you ever placed—”
“No.” Mr. Gunderson reclaimed his saucer and teacup. “You could start working here full-time after you’ve sowed the alfalfa. Think about it.”
As he sipped his tea, Emilia picked up the dustpan and emptied it in the trash basket beside the counter. She had one day left of work at Mr. Inger’s boot shop and Dr. Abernathy’s, and five days left at The Resale Co. If she worked here full-time, and at greater pay, she could pay down Finn’s debts to Mr. Cannon and Mr. Hess in half the time. With Da not being able to leave Chicago until the end of July instead of the beginning as planned, accepting Mr. Gunderson’s offer was the most practical decision.
“I see the merit in your offer,” she admitted, “but in good conscience, I could only do this if Misters Cannon and Hess agreed to renegotiate our contracts.”
“You go talk to them.” He collected her cup and saucer. “I’ll go home and change shirts. By the time we return, Jakob and Roch will be here with lunch.”
* * *
As Emilia neared Cannon’s General Store, branches of lightning brightened the sky. One. Two—A long, low rumble of thunder cut off her counting. Suddenly dozens of rain droplets hit her. She dashed to take cover under the shop’s tin awning, silently praying for Mr. Cannon to be more amiable than Mr. Hess had been. The blacksmith’s response—“The next time I see you, I want my money!”—continued to ring in her ears. Emilia caught her breath. She wiped her face and smoothed back the wet hair. First the article, then Mr. Hess’s yelling, and now she looked like a drowned rat.
With a weary sigh, she pushed open the door. The bells on it jingled.
A trio of ladies turned from the bolts of cloth. Their eyes widened. The tallest of the three swiveled around, grabbing the other two’s arms, huddling them together. Because of her sodden appearance? More likely because they knew she was Finn Collins’s widow, the woman he’d all but sold into service to Madame Lestraude.
“Oh, Mrs. Collins. So good to see you again.” Mr. Cannon set a box on the service counter. His smile looked kind. “Can I help you find something?”
Emilia walked to him and spoke softly to keep their conversation as private as possible. “I’d like to renegotiate our contract.” She withdrew her journal from her haversack and turned to their original contract page, where she’d written notes before leaving The Resale Co. “Of the one hundred and ten dollars and sixty-two cents my husband owed you, I’ve paid down four dollars and sixty-five cents by bartering eggs. Our current contract accounts for twenty-two weeks of work at five dollars a week, rendering the debt paid by mid-November.”
She glanced up to see he was nodding.
“Mr. Gunderson has offered me full-time employment.” She pointed to the new figures. “Accounting for the increase in pay, I can retire the debt in mid-September, eight weeks sooner than we originally agreed. Would this revised plan be acceptable to—”
The door slammed open, bells banging against the wood. “You don’t have a lick of sense, do you?” Roch yelled. “Why did you turn down Mr. Gunderson’s proposal?”
The trio of ladies gasped.
Emilia swung around to see her red-faced, water-drenched brother leaving muddy footprints across the floor. She’d never seen him this angry. “Roch, can we, uh, talk about this at another time?”
He stopped in front of her and jerked off his hat, giving it a good shake to rid it of the water. Right into her face. “I understood why you refused those first eight men who proposed ’cause they only wanted you for the ranch . . .”
She took the kerchief Mr. Cannon offered.
“. . . but then you refused Mac’s proposal.” He looked heavenward and groaned. “Why, Emilia? He’s the best you’d ever hope to marry. If that wasn’t bad enough, you said no to Isaak Gunderson, too, because you’d rather work for him than be his wife. Why?” he yelled, leaning close. “He could have paid off that stupid mortgage your stupid husband made with that stupid madam. What’s wrong with you?”
Emilia nervously glanced about. This was neither the time nor place for this discussion. Their audience had tripled. Where had the customers been hiding when she walked in?
“Calm down.” She touched his arm, but he jerked back.
“I promised Da I’d protect you and Luci.” He pointed his hat at her. “I’m done helping you. I’m done letting you pull me into another mess. I’m done with you. As soon as Luci can pack, we’re going home to Da. Have fun paying Finn’s debt to the madam.” He slapped his hat on his head and followed his muddy footprints. He opened, then slammed the door.
Silence.
Emilia neatly folded the damp handkerchief. She laid it on the counter, then reclaimed her journal. “Mr. Cannon, if it’s all right with you, could we resume the negotiations on Monday?”
His brow furrowed, and then he nodded.
Chin held high, Emilia walked out of the general store and into the pelting rain. Her life couldn’t possibly get worse.
Circle C Ranch
Wednesday, June 1
Emilia held her apron over her nose as she tossed the remnants from dinner into the slop bucket. Mama sow snorted twice. “You’re welcome,” Emilia responded and instantly regretted opening her mouth. She gagged tasting the air. She hooked the bucket onto the pen. Why did Finn buy a pig? And a pregnant one at that? Any day now they’d have piglets. No matter how cute, they stank. Even Needles had enough sense to stay away from the pig pen.
Leaving the sow to eat, Emilia walked around the barn. Roch and Jakob were tying their horses to the hitching post. Needles barked and bounced up and down on the porch in utter delight.
“Evening,” Jakob said as Emilia approached.
“Evening. I can’t tell which one of you wears more dirt.” She looked to Roch. “Did you eat?”
Roch continued on into the cabin without a glance in her direction.
“I fed him.” Jakob rested his shoulder against the porch post, giving her a look of concern. “I thought his anger would cool after he had time to think. Since Saturday all he’s talked about has been leaving. Today—nothing. Not one peep.”
“Luci hasn’t spoken either.” Emilia wrapped her arm around the other post, then rested her head against the rough wood. “Something happened at school today. Luci went straight to your brother’s office without saying a word to me.”
One of his brows lifted. “Did she talk to Isaak?”
She shook her head. “Mrs. Truett came by just before he locked up for the day. She was in tears, kept apologizing.”
“For what?”
“That’s just it.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure. From the little bit I could understand, Mrs. Truett said it was best Melrose and Luci had some time apart.”
Jakob nodded, then looked to the cabin door. “Think Luci will talk to me about it?”
Emilia sighed. “You’re welcome to try. None of my siblings want anything to do with me.”
Jakob stretched his hand out to her, in obvious expectation she would grip it. Emilia hesitated. She was grateful to him for all he’d done for her family. If she could have an older brother, she’d want it to be him. And his brother.
Were it not for the Gunderson twins bookending her on the pew, she would have walked out of church last Sunday, after those sanctimonious glares from the Watson family and the cold shoulder from half the congregation, including the mayor and his wife, who had no logical reason to attend. There was no charity event to support and they were members of another church. The Gundersons, the Palmers—save for Yancey, who was feeling under the weather—the Truetts, Mrs. Hollenbeck, Miss Pope, and Reverend and Mrs. Neven were the only ones who’d welcomed them to the service. She supposed she could add Mr. Gunderson’s friend, Mr. Buchanan. The bladesmith hadn’t spoken a word to her prior to the publication of the article, so she couldn’t count his lack of conversation now as shunning.
Emilia gave Jakob a weak smile, then gripped his hand. He walked with her into the cabin. Roch was up in the loft, whispering to Luci.
“Would you two come down for a minute?” Jakob asked.
The whispering stopped.
Roch looked over the edge. His gaze shifted to where Jakob held Emilia’s hand. “Sure,” he muttered. “But first Luci and I have something to say.”
Jakob gave Emilia’s hand a squeeze. She broke free and, while Roch and Luci climbed down the ladder, dragged the rocker in from off the porch. Emilia sat. Jakob pulled out the chair from the table, turned it around, and sat, resting his arms on the backrest. He looked at them expectantly.
Roch leaned close to Luci. “You need to show them.”
Her eyes welled with tears. Chin trembled. She turned around, unbuttoned her dress, and lowered the back to expose her chemise. Emilia dashed to her. Four bruises showed through the thin fabric.
“Who did this?” she demanded.
Luci pulled her dress up. “Some older kids.”
“She’s been bullied all week”—Roch glared at Emilia—“because of you.”
“Me?”
“They hit Melrose, too,” Luci whispered.
“Why didn’t you tell a teacher? Or—or Mr. Tate?” Emilia yelled, her heart pounding against her chest. She was angry, beastly angry. “He’s the principal. He should know about things like this happening in his school. He needs to punish the ones who—”
“Emilia, calm down.”
She glared at Jakob. This wasn’t the time to be calm.
His gaze shifted to Luci, and Emilia turned to see tears streaming down Luci’s face.
“Oh, Luce.” Emilia hugged her sister. “I’m so sorry. Shh. We’ll find out who did this. It’ll be all right.”
“All right?” Roch roared. “Emilia, are you out of your mind? It’s not going to be all right as long as we stay here.”
Emilia pulled back from Luci. “This is our home now.”
“Your home!”
“Fine, mine. I don’t want to leave. Luci doesn’t want to—”
“Oh, she does,” he argued.
She looked at Luci. “Do you?”
Her lips pursed, tightened, shifted. “I want to go home.”
“Why?” When Luci didn’t respond, Emilia whispered, “It’s something else, isn’t it? What happened in the brothel?” Nothing, please say nothing. “Did Madame Lestraude hurt you?”
Luci stared at the floor. Her head shook. “She saved me.”
Emilia turned to Roch, who didn’t appear to know any more about what their sister was talking about. Neither did Jakob. He looked confused. Stupefied.
“What do you mean, she saved you?” she asked Luci.
Luci gripped the sides of her dress, her gaze still on the floor. “I went to see Mac like I always do, but Mr. Dunfree told me he wasn’t there.” She cleared her throat. “I just thought—I didn’t know—” She twisted her dress. “He was always nice to me whenever I went to see Mac.”
Dunfree? The city clerk?
“He said God blessed me with such pretty hair and that it was too lovely to wear in braids. He grabbed one. I couldn’t move . . .”
Jakob stood so abruptly the chair tipped over.
“. . . but then Madame Lestraude was there,” Luci continued, although her voice had weakened. “She—she said he’d better get his sick, da—um, his hands off me or
she’d cut—” Luci looked up. “She said lots of bad words. Do I have to repeat them?”
“No,” Jakob said in a hoarse voice.
Emilia couldn’t speak. Shock—dread—horror had ripped all words from her throat. Who—? Why hadn’t Madame Lestraude said anything? Mac would have understood—no, he would have been grateful she’d come to Luci’s rescue before . . . before . . . Good heavens, she couldn’t imagine. She didn’t want to imagine what could have happened to her sister if Mac’s mother hadn’t gone to City Hall to talk to him.
Emilia studied Jakob, who had yet to speak. He looked torn between heartbreak and rage. “We need to report this to—”
Roch jerked on Emilia’s arm. “We’re not reporting this to anyone.”
“Yes, we are,” she shot back. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“That reporter will hear all about it.” Roch’s grip tightened on her arm. “Do you want this in the paper, too? Do you want people thinking even worse of Luci?”
“She did nothing wrong!”
Roch shook his head in disgust. “You are so naïve.” He released her arm, then hugged Luci. “Don’t cry, Luce. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”
Emilia looked to Jakob and Roch and back again. “Tell him we have to report this.”
Jakob stood there, frozen.
“I want Da,” came Luci’s whispered voice.
Tears pooled in Emilia’s eyes. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t. They couldn’t leave. Finn’s debts had to be paid. One dollar here. Ten dollars there. One hundred dollars to Cannon. Then there was the deed of trust Madame Lestraude bandied about, as if it were Holy Scripture giving her ownership of them. How could the woman rescue Luci in one breath and claim she’d paid Finn for Luci and Emilia in another? It made no sense.
Jakob broke the silence. “Roch’s right. You three should leave Helena.”