“Oh. Well, I do apologize. Now that I think about it, he might not have said Wichita at all. I don’t always remember things the way I should. But you, Miss Markham, are a delightful dancer, and I shall enjoy every minute we’re able to spend together.”
He twirled her around a few times more and then delivered her back to Mr. Perry, who took her for a walk in the gardens, as she requested.
“I’ve just had a curious talk with J.J.,” she said, wondering what Mr. Perry’s take would be on her question. “He says that many of the men in there aren’t married because this country is too rough for a woman. That’s ridiculous. There must be more to it than that.”
Mr. Perry took a seat on a bench near a large bank of rosebushes, and Olivia joined him. The heady fragrance reminded her of Mrs. Cannell, which in turn reminded her of Robert, and she wondered what he was doing that night.
“There is more to it, I’m afraid. J.J. is a tremendous businessman, but he’s not very good at being married, and some of his attitudes have trickled down through his associates. They’ve learned to value money over relationships, and that does not bode well for any marriage, regardless of how much love or mutual regard there might have been at the beginning.” Mr. Perry glanced around as if afraid of being overheard. “It’s one man’s method of conquering the world, and sometimes people get hurt along the way.”
“And yet you called him ‘the salt of the earth,’” Olivia reminded him. “What is your stance on all this, Mr. Perry?” She hoped he didn’t misunderstand her—she wasn’t pushing for a commitment, but merely to understand his position.
“I believe that marriage is a very choice thing,” he said after only a moment’s hesitation—a moment that seemed to stretch on too long. “I look at my grandparents and admire what they have created. I do wonder, though, if that’s really possible in our day and age, or if it was only possible in theirs because things were simpler back then.”
Olivia tilted her head and considered him. “But now they do live in our day and age, and they’re still married, so I find your argument to be a bit lacking.”
“So you’re an advocate of happy marriages, then?”
“I certainly am, and marriages where people have chosen to be happy together whatever their circumstances might be.” Without bidding, her mind went to the Cannells again. He had brought a gun into a church and threatened the pastor because his love for his wife was so strong. Despite his actions, despite the fact that he’d been put in jail for them, their final words to each other were as sweet and tender as anything she’d ever read in the most romantic book. “Life doesn’t have to be perfect to make us happy, Mr. Perry. We choose to be happy, and that makes life perfect.”
As Olivia heard the words coming out of her mouth, she felt the truth of them, and realized how they applied to her own life. She’d been looking for her happiness in all the wrong places. She’d thought that if she could just find a wealthy man to take her out of her circumstances, everything would be perfect, and yet, here she was, surrounded by wealth, and she’d never been so dissatisfied. Standing in front of the choir and listening to them finally understand what she wanted them to do in that last measure—that had satisfied her immensely, and it had nothing to do with money whatsoever.
Mr. Perry looked at her thoughtfully. “Perhaps you’re right, Miss Markham. You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about, at any rate.” The orchestra started a lively tune, and the music drifted out through the doors and across the garden. “You and I haven’t danced yet. Will you do me the honor?”
“Gladly.” The two of them danced out in the garden, along the cobbled paths that led between rosebushes and flowering trees, under the light of the moon. It was a magical moment in every respect except one—Olivia had just learned that this wasn’t what she wanted after all.
Chapter Sixteen
Robert threw his clothes into a satchel, barely paying attention to what he was doing until he realized that he’d packed four shirts and no trousers. That wouldn’t work at all. Taking everything back out, he then repacked, making sure to grab enough of each item.
“I’ll be leaving on the morning train right after I give my sermon,” he told Mrs. Little. “I’ll do my best to be back before Friday. Please take careful messages from anyone who stops by with a need, and I’ll do what I can to address them all as soon as I get back.”
“And Miss Markham?” Mrs. Little asked.
“I’ll try to speak with her before I go.” He hadn’t considered Olivia in his travel plans, but now that Mrs. Little had brought her up—and very perceptively, too—he realized just how much he would miss her. A crazy thought entered his head—he should take her with him. But no, that wouldn’t be appropriate.
He wished he could go over to the hotel and see her, but it was now after ten o’clock at night, and he doubted a visit that late would be appreciated. He also had it on good authority that Miss Hampton was armed, and he’d have to go through her to see Olivia. It was a risk he certainly didn’t want to take—he feared the wrath of Miss Hampton more than he did Mr. Cannell’s gun.
Early the next morning, he rose and prepared for church. He stood at the door of the chapel anxiously, waiting for Olivia to come in. As soon as she arrived, he reached out and caught her elbow. “I’m leaving on the morning train right after the service,” he murmured in her ear. “May I speak with you before I go?”
Her eyes were wide. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll stay in my seat after the closing hymn.”
“Thank you.”
When time came for Robert to address the congregation, he did so in a daze. He didn’t think about the words he would speak—he merely opened his mouth and listened to what came out, as much a hearer as anyone in the pews.
“Christ taught us that He is the resurrection and the life,” he began. “No man who cometh unto Him needs to fear death. This last week, we experienced the loss of Molly Cannell, who was a true believer and had lived the word of the Lord throughout her life. Her passing was sweet. But what of those who die before they have come unto the Lord? What becomes of them? Brothers and sisters, I must say that I’m not entirely clear on that point.
“I know that’s an unusual statement for me to make. When I stand to give a sermon, I like to be sure that I understand my topic as well as it’s possible for me to understand it. I read my scriptures and I study the discourses of theologians and I pray to ask for guidance. On this topic, though, my mind has been somewhat muddled, and I haven’t been able to research it as thoroughly as I would like.
“You see, my father just passed away, and he would be the example of what I mean when I say ‘a godless man.’ He lived his life according to the dictates of his own conscience, but his conscience had been worn thin after years of doing whatever he pleased. Religion was something to mock. The Savior was nothing more than a fairy tale. The commandments were nothing but rules for the weak-minded. And yet, despite all his faults, despite his temper and his abusive ways, I loved him. He was my father.”
Robert paused. He didn’t need to look behind him to know that Olivia paid rapt attention in her seat—he could feel her presence, both warming and sustaining. “What is the state of the wicked? We speak of the hell that awaits them. But how do we determine the wicked? I’ve just painted my father as a very wicked man indeed, but I haven’t yet spoken of the year when he found out that a family in our community was entirely without Christmas—he went down to the general store himself and bought them boxes of groceries and candy, and a few toys to boot. There was the time I sprained my ankle as a small boy, and he carried me over a mile to the doctor because he was afraid I’d broken it. I can’t dwell on his sins or mistakes, as grievous as they might be, because no matter how many errors I chalk up against his name, I always recall some kind deed, some gesture, some glimpse into what lay behind the iron mask he wore. Was he a wicked man? He was a sinner, most certainly, but only God can say whether or not he was wicked.
“And so I
ask, what is the state of my father? I do not know. Of one thing I’m certain—the Lord looks at the heart. He looks at everything. He looks at our intentions as well as our actions, and He weighs them and measures them. He is our judge at the last day, and His judgement will always be fair.
“I say to you what I have said before—I believe that God loves us, that His mercy is pure, that His judgements are fair, and that His hand is generous. Whatever my father receives will be the very best God is allowed to give him according to the laws of justice. Consequences will always exist, as is right and fair, but mercy . . . mercy will always have her place.”
As Robert sat down, tears sprang to his eyes, shattering the state of numbness he’d entered when he had received the telegram, and he sobbed and sobbed as the congregation sang the closing song.
***
As soon as the chapel was clear, Olivia rose from her chair and joined Robert on the first pew, where he’d sat after his customary rounds of shaking hands and so forth. Only a few minutes remained before he had to leave for the station and she had to be ready to serve. She was grateful to spend these minutes with him, however—for some reason she didn’t understand, the thought of him leaving without saying good-bye was devastating.
“I’m so sorry about your father,” she said, touching the sleeve of his suitcoat.
“I had always thought he’d come unto Christ before he died,” Robert replied. “I talked to him about it all the time, sent him letters . . . I thought that someday, he’d listen. But he was a stubborn man, and insisted he had no need for any such thing in his life. Now I’m trusting the Lord entirely to handle this as it should be handled.”
“And you know that He will,” Olivia said. “I heard the testimony in your voice—you have no doubt that God knows best.”
Robert nodded. “It’s the one thing in this world I know I can count on.”
“Then everything will be all right.”
They sat there together and looked up to the front of the chapel. Robert wished the church had been able to afford more stained glass or richer tapestries, anything to show more reverence and respect for the Lord, but even at the thought, he knew that the only offering God really wanted was their hearts. “I told Mrs. Little I’d try to be back by Friday,” he said. “Do you suppose you can handle choir practice without me?”
“I can try, but you know how rambunctious Mr. Andrews gets,” Olivia replied in a teasing tone. She didn’t want to think of him being gone until Friday. Suddenly, the week stretched out before her, long and empty.
“Walk to the station with me,” Robert said, standing and holding out his hand. She rose and grasped his fingers, sad when he let her go to grab the satchel he’d placed behind his chair on the dais.
The walk was over far too quickly. She stood and waited while he purchased his ticket, and then bid him an awkward farewell. “I need to get ready for the meal service,” she said, wishing with all her heart that she didn’t have to leave. “Travel safely.”
“Take care of yourself, Olivia.”
She dashed to the hotel and up the stairs, put on her black dress, and was standing in line when the passengers came in for their meal. The whole time, though, her hands were shaking. He was leaving. He would be getting on the train. It would be pulling out of the station. She spilled a little soup on the tablecloth and apologized, unable to think of anything but him.
As the customers filed out of the dining room and back toward the station, she cleared two tables, but then she couldn’t stand it anymore. She threw the tablecloths on a chair and ran out of the hotel, her apron flapping as she raced to the platform. He wasn’t there—he had already boarded. She clenched her hands into fists, trying to calm herself as she scanned each window. Where was he?
The whistle blew, and the train slowly began to move. It was too late. There was no more time—for what? What was it that she hoped would happen?
Suddenly, she saw him. He had stepped out the back door of one of the passenger cars and clung to the railing of the deck. “Olivia?” he called out, a clear question in his voice.
“Good-bye!” She waved, wishing she had any idea what to say. “Come back safely.”
“Olivia, I love you,” he shouted as the train began to move faster.
Her heart stopped beating for two full seconds. “What?” she yelled, not because she didn’t hear him, but because she wanted to hear him say it again.
“I love you, Olivia Markham. And I will be back before Friday.”
Then he was out of earshot, and all she could do was wave until he was out of sight.
When she got back to the hotel, the other girls had already gathered up the linens, and she felt bad for making them do her work yet again. She went into the kitchen and began drying the dishes without saying a word, not sure how to explain what she was feeling. She’d thought that living in luxury would make her happy, but now she knew that all the money in the world wasn’t enough. She wanted a tall, humble man who had given his life to God and lived in one of the smallest houses she’d ever seen and might not even have room for a wife. She wanted it so badly, she ached, and now he was gone.
***
Robert had no idea what had come over him. He shouldn’t be yelling down the length of a train track, and he certainly shouldn’t be telling a woman he loved her in public. He sank into his seat, wondering what she’d thought, hoping she wouldn’t take offense. After all, the last time he’d shared his feelings in public, she’d ended up in the pond.
He managed to doze off for a while—his sleep the night before had been interrupted at best, and he was exhausted. Even at that, he had a long time to sit and stare out the window until the train finally pulled into his first stop—Kansas City.
As he climbed off the train and looked around, he took a deep breath. This was the town where Johnny lived, the place where his son was being raised and would grow into manhood. Robert took a moment to say a prayer for his son, as he often did, that Johnny would have everything he needed to become a good man. He wished Johnny had a father, but he knew that everything was how Bess wished it, and he wouldn’t interfere.
He strode down the lane that led to Bess’s house. Up ahead, the front door opened, and a little tow-headed boy came barreling out, followed by a dog. They both ran until they reached Robert, and Johnny wrapped his arms around Robert’s legs.
“Hi, Papa! You missed the tadpoles, but I’ve got some great frogs. Wanna see ‘em?”
“Of course I do. I like frogs.” Robert tousled his son’s hair, noting that it felt like corn silk between his fingers.
Bess walked out of the house, wiping her hands on her apron. “Robert,” she said. “We weren’t expecting you.”
“I’m sorry, Bess. I was too distracted to send a telegram.” He waited until Johnny had dashed away with the dog, then lowered his voice. “My father passed away. I’m headed to Jefferson City to see my mother.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Bess’s pretty face was lined with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m saddened, and surprised, but I’m fine.”
“Come in and have something to eat. You look worn out.” She nodded toward the house.
“Thank you, Bess. I am quite tired.” He followed her inside and took a seat at her kitchen table, noting how clean and tidy everything was—as it always was. “Thank you for tolerating a surprise visit. I really should have let you know I was coming.”
“It’s all right, Robert. I understand.” She turned from the stove and set a bowl of stew in front of him, followed by a generous square of cornbread and a glass of buttermilk. “Your father did a lot of good for me and my mother. I’ll always be grateful to him.”
Robert took a sip of buttermilk to keep from retorting. His father had given her mother a job as a madam in his saloon—how could that be considered a good thing? But he must try to see it from Bess’s perspective. They always had a place to live and enough to eat. Perhaps if it wasn’t for the
saloon, they wouldn’t have had even that. He nodded, his ire lessening. For some, a saloon life would be a blessing, however repulsive it was.
He ate while Bess told him about Johnny’s schooling and all the mischief he’d gotten into since Robert’s last visit. He laughed, imagining the mud pies and the snakes the boy brought into the house. “You’re doing a fine job with him,” he told her, as he often did.
“He’s a fine boy,” she replied, as she always did.
Robert wished their conversations could be less strained. They had once talked for hours upon hours, lying in the fields and watching the stars twinkle overhead. She knew everything about him, down to his deepest thoughts. Now they only spoke of surface things. They had not only lost their innocence, but their friendship.
“Bess, I . . .” he said suddenly, wondering if he should say anything at all.
“What is it?”
“I’ve met a remarkable young lady. She came to town a short time ago and works at the hotel near my church.”
Bess’s guarded expression changed to one of interest. “Oh? What’s her name?”
“Olivia. She’s very different from anything I imagined myself wanting or needing, and yet I find that I want her and need her very much.”
Bess leaned on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “Does she know how you feel?”
“She does now.” Robert ducked his head. “I yelled it from the back of the train as I was leaving.”
Bess chuckled. “You did what?”
“The train was leaving and I hadn’t said anything yet, so I yelled ‘I love you’ as it pulled out of the station.”
Now Bess laughed outright. “Oh, Robert. You romantic, you. What did she say?”
“Nothing. The train was too far away by then. But she waved for a while.”
“Well, that’s a good sign.” Bess seemed to consider, and then she reached across the table and touched his hand. “I’m glad, Robert. I want you to be happy.”
A Clean Slate (Kansas Crossroads Book 4) Page 11