Bailey leaned against the glass. He had nowhere but here. As much as he wished he could sink into oblivion, his roots were so intertwined that he couldn’t be uprooted without damaging others. And he wouldn’t do that.
But Molly’s roots were shallow. She’d never had the space, the room that she needed to thrive. Why hadn’t he recognized it earlier? For all her brave words and heartfelt promises, she’d left him as she’d threatened all along. How had he dreamed she could do otherwise?
He pounded the plaster wall with his fist.
“Prue McGraw saw her riding on the road to Luling with her trunks and Mr. Pierrepont,” Stoker said, “but they didn’t go to the courthouse. There wasn’t a marriage license filed. We shouldn’t assume.”
Bailey shook his head. “She’s married. That’s been her goal all along.”
Where was she? What was she doing right now? Bile rose in his throat. Thoughts like these would drive him mad. He pounded the wall again.
“Why don’t you stay here,” Mrs. Stoker suggested. “We can put you up for a spell.”
“I can’t.” He pressed his fist against his head, wishing he could push out the memory of his conversation with Mr. Lovelace. “I’ve got a job at the mill. I gave my word I’d be back tonight.” He faltered as he remembered the last promise he’d made in that parlor. Molly had made it safely home, no thanks to him. He’d do better this time.
The sun was setting on the worst day of his life, and he still had to face Mr. Lovelace and admit that he was correct. His daughter had rejected him. She’d eloped and played him false.
Please, God, working for the Lovelaces is the last thing I want to do. Show me a way out. Don’t make me stay with them. How can I forget Molly while spending every day with her family?
The familiar ride between Lockhart and Prairie Lea allowed him ample opportunity to relive every kiss, every caress they’d shared. He’d thought their intimacy would unite them. He didn’t realize it would leave him broken like the bond they’d had, a bond she now shared with another man.
And it could’ve been much worse.
Throughout his sickness Bailey had sought to justify his attempt to seduce Molly. He loved her. They were meant to be together. They’d marry soon enough.
Turns out she did marry. Without him.
Too soon he reached the Lovelaces’ house. Too soon he found himself before the giant oak door with the door knocker in hand.
Had Molly shared the story of Bailey’s behavior with her husband? Was Pierrepont furious, or were they ridiculing him?
Silently he eased the brass ring down. Images of the innocent girl in the tintype floated before his eyes. The long golden hair wasn’t so beautiful now. More like a net spread to trap the unwary.
Why had she sent the note? Was it a cruel jest? Had she written it for Pierrepont’s amusement?
Bailey lifted his hand to the door knocker for the second time, and for the second time set it gently against its base without making a sound.
He didn’t know if he had the courage to stay and do the work he’d promised. Someday she’d return in a fancy dress clutching her husband by the arm, and he didn’t want to be here, of all places, when it happened.
But his lot was that of a poor man without options. He wasn’t Nicholas, who could turn a piece of tin into a silver dollar. He didn’t have a father like Thomas Lovelace, who ate dinner with the banker and played checkers with the mayor, and honestly that suited him fine. He didn’t want to hobnob, but their worlds overlapped in one place—Molly.
Wanting to forget the whole episode, Bailey dropped the brass ring. Molly’s desertion made him the victim, not the perpetrator. No reason for that night to ever be discussed again. However ill he’d misused her, she’d paid him back. They were even.
OUTSIDE OF DENVER, COLORADO
JANUARY 1880
The snow-covered mountains shimmered under the full moon and grew larger with every passing mile. Although she’d begun her recovery more than a week ago, Molly couldn’t break through the odd layer of detachment that separated her from her surroundings. By the time she and Edward had left San Antonio she was on the mend, although weak, but once she was in no physical danger, they’d pushed on, flying through Texas, Indian Territory, and Kansas. They headed north until they’d reached Salina, Kansas, and then they blazed toward the setting sun, straight at the mountains of Denver.
The scenery flew past the newlyweds watching silently from the square platform of the Pierrepont railcar. Molly held her mouth open and exhaled a warm, damp puff of air. A white cloud appeared but was whisked away by the cold wind rushing around her.
She could imagine Saint Nicholas’s sled gliding over the foothills, but Christmas had come and gone while she recovered in bed. Getting out a week ago was the best gift she could’ve received.
Molly shivered, although Edward was unfazed. He loved the frigid temperatures and claimed to find them invigorating. She’d never been so cold in her life, but her husband did his best to warm her up.
Another shiver and Molly turned her thoughts back to the mountains.
“I can’t believe they’re real,” she said. “You could hide whole cities in a crag.”
“It may appear so, but disappearing isn’t as simple as you might think. Even on those mountain trails it’s likely you’ll cross paths with an acquaintance. Alaska Territory is different. You might be recognized, but who’s to care? No report will make it to civilization.”
“What an odd thing to say.” Molly laughed. “When did this obsession with anonymity develop? You weren’t concerned in Lockhart.”
The train lurched over a rough patch of track. Molly pulled her hand out of her stole quickly enough to steady herself on the rail, but before she could return it, she had to submit to Edward’s ministrations.
“You really should carry your own handkerchiefs.” With bent head, he thoroughly scrubbed each of her fingers that had come into contact with the iron rail.
“I only stepped outside the car. It’s probably healthier out here than in my room after my illness.”
“You, my dear, are spotless. By contrast, the general populace contaminates everything it touches.” He turned her hand this way and that, and finding nothing objectionable, he smiled. Holding the handkerchief at arm’s length, Edward let the wind tug a moment before he released it.
Over the rail Molly leaned and watched the sad white spot abandoned on the dead prairie grow smaller and smaller. Good gravy, she hoped he wasn’t as demanding on the servants. She thought of Lola, capable by all means, but unless she followed Molly’s every move, there had always been a path of destruction delineating Molly’s progress through the house. Discarded jewelry, dropped brushes, half-eaten sweets, misplaced belongings—she rarely went back to retrieve them. Maybe they could afford two maids.
“Edward, where will we live?”
“We’re living now, aren’t we?”
She looked quickly to gauge his temperament, but he looked as eager for her approval as ever.
“You know what I mean. Where will we settle?”
“Together. That’s all that matters.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Your riddles tire me. Be serious or I’ll touch the rail again.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” he laughed. He caught her wrists and playfully pinned them behind her back, pulling her close to him. “I don’t know when or where we’ll settle. There’s so much of the world for you to see. I insist on Alaska first, and then it’ll be your turn to choose.”
Molly tugged her wrists free and wrapped her arms around his waist. He liked it when she was affectionate. “Must we go any further? It’s already colder than I thought possible. My curls might freeze and break off if we don’t turn back.”
“I’ll not deny you often, but Alaska has significance for my family. My father helped broker its purchase, and I want to see if it was worth it.”
She allowed him to wrap his opened coat around her. “Seward’s Folly? I don’
t see what all the hubbub was over. I know land, and the price sounds marvelous.”
“You have no idea how much it cost me.”
Molly lifted her head, confused by his words. His wistful golden eyes bore a fleeting resemblance to those of a young man from Prairie Lea—not the shade, but the emotion, the yearning for something out of reach. But what could Edward long for? He had everything Bailey lacked—connections, money, and her.
Distressed by his sorrow she brushed his cheek with the back of her hand, prompting him to share a warm kiss.
He was nice. He was sweet.
But he wasn’t Bailey.
“Is this enough fresh air?” he asked. “Are you content to retire for the night?”
She released him and tried to hide her hands in her stole, but her new ring of Colorado gold snagged in the fur. Would this disquiet ever be replaced by peace? By her own choice she’d become his wife—legally and physically—but when would the sense of betrayal disappear?
“Go on without me. I’ll visit the dining car for some warm milk first. Maybe it’ll help me sleep.”
“You’ve not disturbed me.”
Molly tried not to. She really, really tried. “But I need my beauty rest. It might be a year before I meet your family, and I don’t want to be wrinkled like a prune by then.”
Edward opened his mouth as if to say something but changed his mind. He helped her over the connection between the platforms and then returned to their home on wheels.
Molly waited until the door closed behind him before she entered the next car. Taking a deep breath she dropped her shoulders and let her head droop forward. Amazing how much effort it took to be presentable around the clock. Now when she could finally shed her miserable stays, she still had to mind her posture and carriage even in her quarters.
The green Pullman sleeper she’d entered was being prepared for the evening. Porters pulled the backs of the benches upward, forming upper beds in each berth while the passengers crowded the aisles, waiting to settle in. She shared a sympathetic grin with a woman holding a lanky sleeping child, who’d no doubt be crowded into the narrow bunk with her. Briefly Molly considered offering her sofa to the harried mother but knew Edward wouldn’t approve. He’d burn all the cushions. She sighed. Maybe she’d rather sleep out here.
For over a week now, she’d gone through the motions. She responded and answered correctly. On the surface she played the role of a newlywed bride, but she felt like a fraud. Even the transitory nature of their quarters contributed to the bizarre. This wasn’t real. The true Molly Lovelace was sleeping off an infirmity back at Mrs. Truman’s boardinghouse. She’d awaken when Bailey bounded up the stairs with her letter in his hand.
Molly bit the inside of her lip in contrition. Sinful. A married woman shouldn’t pine for another man. She’d said “I do.” She couldn’t fault anyone but herself. Well, Bailey could bear some of the blame. He didn’t come through for her, and Edward did.
She turned and jostled her way out of the crowded car toward her duty. No use in crying over spilled milk. She’d made her choice and she’d stand by it. She’d always been a loyal employee.
14
PRAIRIE LEA, TEXAS
JANUARY 1880
The high-pitched buzz ringing in Bailey’s ears had grown familiar. So had the sweet smell of sawdust. He offered a mug of coffee to the local carpenter, Mr. Mohle, while he looked over his invoice once again.
“We’ll have you loaded before you know it. Is there anything else we can help you with?”
“Nope. That’s enough to finish this job. Sure glad you’re helping Thomas out. Right kind of you, especially after that nasty business with his daughter and all.”
Bailey slid the pencils into the trough that kept them from rolling down the slanted desktop. It’d been two weeks since Molly had left, and he still hadn’t thought of a good reply. He couldn’t speak freely while on her father’s payroll, and he didn’t have the heart to defend her, so he let the comment ride.
“Do you want to go out to the yard and count the boards on?”
“I trust y’all.”
But Bailey wanted out of the office. “Come on. We might as well enjoy the sunshine before another storm rolls in.”
“Naw, I think I’ll wait here.” Mr. Mohle lowered himself to the bench with a grumble.
Bailey looked again at the pencils. Usually he had no problem with small talk, but some people were more of a challenge than others.
“Well, looky who’s standing behind a desk.”
George Garner stepped into the office, followed by Bailey’s two younger brothers, Samuel and Tuck. His father was a welcome sight. Mr. Mohle didn’t rise but offered hearty greetings. Thank goodness he shook Samuel’s outstretched hand. The boy still wasn’t sure when to offer it. Tuck ambled to the counter.
“Pa made us finish branding before we could come see you at work. Ma’s at the parsonage now.”
“What’s she doing there?” Bailey asked.
His pa pushed his hat back until it popped up like the lid of a tin can. “She and the girls are working it over so it’s fit for you to live in. They brought you victuals, too.”
Bailey’s eyes brightened. “Sure could use some of Ma’s cooking. I eat supper with the Lovelaces when I take the accounts over at night, but Lola can’t cook like Ma.”
Tuck’s eyes got big. “You eat with the Lovelaces? Even after Molly done runned off on you?”
Mr. Mohle shifted his weight on the pine bench and leaned forward, his eyes alert. George cuffed his youngest on the head.
“Boy, you gotta learn when to keep your mouth shut.”
“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” Bailey said. And would hear again as soon as his mother got ahold of him. “You boys want to see the waterwheel? I was headed out there myself.”
“The waterwheel? Yee-haw!” Tuck cheered. Even mature Samuel couldn’t hide the interest that lit his face. They took out like two freshly branded calves—Tuck running and Samuel walking stiff-legged until he could no longer keep up with his little brother and had to finally break into a trot.
“How are you doing, son?”
Bailey was proud that his demonstrative pa used some restraint. He didn’t need a hug in front of the crew.
“After Mr. Lovelace’s attack, I thought Molly and I had reached an understanding. I don’t get it. Guess I never will.”
“I don’t know, either. To be honest, your ma and I read the note she sent with Rico. We thought there might be a hint as to your whereabouts in it. Ma was of a mind to burn it, but I put my foot down. You’re an adult and are responsible for your decisions—as is Molly.”
“Reckon you should’ve burned it. I’d still be hurt, but maybe I wouldn’t hate her so much.”
“No use in hating. She can’t hurt you again. Take your lumps and learn from them.”
They walked past the piles of planks toward the angular building hugging the riverbank. Perhaps it’d all work out for the best, and if Bailey kept telling himself that, maybe someday he’d believe it. Molly had her flaws and he’d loved her despite them, but now he tried to rehearse them like the catechism to ward off the memories.
“You like this work?”
“Yeah, I do. Mr. Lovelace has noticed that sales are up. Couple that to the river rising and fewer shipping costs, and things are looking good.” He scanned the teams loading, lifting, and sawing. “Could be this was where God had me headed all along. It suits me. I got bored out in the fields, and working in Lockhart had its own problems.”
“I can see why this job appeals to you. You’re getting paid to talk to people. They ain’t looking to fill another position like that, are they?” George’s wide smile stretched from ear to ear.
“It’s not all that simple. Tricky part is to smooth over what the customer expects and what the customer gets. Sometimes that’s two completely different animals. Then I take the books to Mr. Lovelace when Russell has them balanced up. My only paperwork is the
inventory.”
“You haven’t seen James’s son around, have you?”
“Michael? No. I hope he’s staying sober—for Russell’s sake,” Bailey said.
“I pity the man. Can’t imagine what it’d be like to have a son you were ashamed of.”
Bailey had to look away. His father had made some mistakes, but he didn’t deserve a hypocrite like Bailey for a son. Bailey shoved his hands into his pockets. It shouldn’t matter now. As far as his pa knew, he’d kept his promise about Molly. Now that she was married, she wouldn’t tell anyone the truth.
Treading the worn path between the wheelhouse and the riverbank, they caught up with Samuel and Tuck, who’d run downstream for a better look at the revolving waterwheel.
“Incredible what’s accomplished when we use God’s power,” his pa said. “Imagine how many men it would take to saw those planks, day and night. But here’s a river, running like it was designed to, without any effort. You can ignore that power, you can buck against it, or you can see where it’s going and join along.”
Bailey’s eyes didn’t leave the wheel. Didn’t even blink. “We see two different lessons. You see the benefit of submitting to fate. I see a different story. I see those blades go through their cycle. They go up, higher and higher. Then they get cold water thrown in their face and are knocked back down until they’re submerged. If they were smart, they’d stay down, but no, there they go climbing again, hoping that someday they’ll get to stay on top.”
George laid a work-roughened hand on Bailey’s shoulder. “Guess you can tell stories like your old man. Hopefully you’ll find some more happy endings. Are you still helping Reverend Stoker?”
“Yes, sir. It does me good to go visiting with him. Helps me remember my problems aren’t the only thing God’s got to worry about.”
Regina Jennings Page 14