A Stolen Heart

by Amanda Cabot

  But Aunt Bertha hadn’t been able to keep her daughter safe, and now she was bearing the pain of knowing that Joan hadn’t wanted to give up her own daughter. Lydia’s heart ached for the older woman.

  “I’m afraid tonight’s not a good night for a walk,” Travis said when they’d finished their meal.

  Lydia nodded. The steady rain that had started an hour before they arrived at the inn had intensified, turning the roads into muddy tracks. Perhaps that was for the best. As much as she longed for another of those unforgettable kisses, Lydia felt almost guilty about the smiles she and Travis had exchanged today. It seemed wrong to be happy when Aunt Bertha was heartbroken.

  By morning, the rain had ended and the sun had dried the road’s surface. Aunt Bertha’s mood appeared to have improved along with the weather, and she gave a running commentary on the countryside they were crossing, telling Lydia what she knew about each of the ranches they passed, pointing out the various birds that perched in trees, speculating on the probability of seeing a javelina. Until they reached Cimarron Creek and Travis helped her out of the surrey, the one subject she did not touch was the time they’d spent in Ladreville.

  “Thank you, Travis,” she said as he opened the front door for her. “I won’t pretend the trip ended the way I had hoped, but I’m grateful we went. Talking to everyone and seeing where my granddaughter was born was helpful. Thank you.”

  Though Travis simply nodded, the pain Lydia saw reflected in his eyes told her he too wished the trip had been more fruitful.

  “Would you make us some tea, Lydia?” Aunt Bertha asked when Travis had headed to the livery to return the surrey. She removed her hat and gloves, laying them carefully on the console table in the main hallway. “If there are any chocolate creams left, I’d like a couple of them too.”

  Ten minutes later, Lydia joined Aunt Bertha in the parlor. The woman’s expression was so woebegone that instead of her normal chair on the opposite side of the table, Lydia took the seat next to Aunt Bertha on the horsehair settee and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry we didn’t find any clues to your daughter,” she said.

  Aunt Bertha nodded. “I knew it was a long shot. I wasn’t lying to Travis when I said I was glad we’d gone. The trip made two things very clear to me. First, I won’t see Joan again this side of heaven.”

  Lydia tightened her grip on Aunt Bertha’s shoulders, wanting to dispute that belief. “It’s always possible that she’ll come back to you.”

  Shaking her head, Aunt Bertha said, “If Joan wanted to return, she would have done so by now. I said my farewells to her back in Ladreville. Now it’s time to put the past behind me and focus on the future. I always wanted to plan a wedding.”

  The abrupt change of subject startled Lydia. “Whose wedding?”

  “Why, yours, of course. I may be old, but I’m not blind. I saw what’s happening between you and Travis. My nephew is a fine man, Lydia. More than that, he’s the man God intends for you. That’s the second thing that became clear to me while we were gone.”

  She gave Lydia a look that said she did not want to be interrupted. “I’ve always found Romans 8:28 to be a beautiful verse, and it’s true, every word of it. God does have a plan for us, and he does bring something good out of even the worst times in our lives. I may not have found what I sought in Ladreville, but I heard God’s message. He told me to put the past behind me and think about the future. If I do that, I know the future will be a happy one. I may not have Joan, but you and Travis will be my family.”

  “But . . .” Lydia wasn’t certain what to say. Even though there had been no more kisses, Travis’s hands had lingered on her waist when he’d helped her in and out of the surrey, and his eyes had sparkled when he’d caught her gaze. There’d been a hundred little things that drew them closer, and each of them had made Lydia feel special.

  Aunt Bertha gave Lydia a smile tinged with regret. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. Love is one of God’s greatest gifts. Don’t make the mistake I did with Joan and let it slip away. Whatever you do, don’t waste your chance at happiness.”

  If his smile were any wider, his face would crack, Travis told himself as he drove the surrey back to the livery. He needed to stop smiling or someone would notice.

  Someone did.

  “You look like the trip agreed with you,” Porter said when Travis hopped down from the buggy.

  “It did.” In ways he would never tell Porter. As long as he lived, Travis knew he’d never forget how good—how right—it felt to hold Lydia in his arms. Now they were back. Travis could begin his courtship.

  “And Aunt Bertha got to visit her kinfolk.”

  “Yep.” Visiting Sterling and Ruth had been the official reason for the trip, because, even though it had been twenty years, Aunt Bertha still didn’t want anyone to know what had happened to Joan. “Her cousins are as nice as can be. They made us all feel welcome.”

  Porter looked up as he unfastened the horses’ harnesses. “I don’t understand why Lydia had to go.”

  Because she turned what might have been a chore into the best five days Travis could remember. But that was something else Porter didn’t need to know. He tried to deflect his cousin’s attention with a question. “Did you ever try to figure out why Aunt Bertha does anything?”

  “Can’t say that I have.” Porter chuckled as if recalling at least one incident. “Once she sets her mind on something, there’s no gainsaying her.”

  “Exactly. By the way, that surrey drove as smoothly as you said. I couldn’t have asked for a finer vehicle.” While Porter preened from the praise, Travis’s attention was snagged by the arrival of his cousin’s cat. “Homer looks as sleek as ever.”

  “He’s a good cat. With him around, I never worry about mice or rats spooking the horses. That old tomcat is worth his weight in gold.” Porter shot Travis a speculative look. “You ought to see about getting yourself one. They’re good companions.”

  “I may just do that.” But before he did that, Travis had a different kind of companion in mind. After he paid Porter for the surrey rental, Travis headed home, whistling with each step he took. Aunt Bertha might not have found what she sought on the trip, but Travis had found more than he’d expected. The time with Lydia had shown him that she was the woman he wanted as his wife. But before he asked her to marry him, there was one thing he had to do.

  “It’s about time you got back,” Pa groused as Travis entered the house. “Did Bertha find that daughter of hers?”

  Travis blinked in surprise. He’d told no one the real reason for the trip. “No,” he said shortly, “but how did you know that was why we went to Ladreville?”

  Pa shrugged as if the answer should have been obvious. “Because I talk to Bertha. You don’t think I stay in this house all day, do you? Some days I visit her, and we talk about . . .” Pa’s words trailed off, making Travis wonder if he had been about to say “your mother.” Instead, his lips curved and he snarled, “You’ve got a lot of nerve leaving me alone with those two.”

  While other things might have changed in five days, it was obvious Pa’s attitude toward their guests had not. “I thought you liked Opal’s cooking.”

  “It’s better than yours. The gal wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for that husband of hers.” Pa spat the words as if they were a curse. “That Yankee’s got no right being in this house.”

  Travis tried not to sigh at the memory of how many times they’d had this particular discussion. “The war’s been over for more than fifteen years. We’re all Americans now.”

  “That’s what she said.” Pa thumped the floor with his cane. “It’s easy for young whippersnappers like her to say that. She didn’t watch her brothers in arms get killed.”

  Opal had endured something even worse, but that wasn’t Travis’s story to share. “Maybe not, but her husband was beaten and left for dead by someone who most likely spent his whole life right here in Cimarron Creek.”

  Pa frowned. �
��You don’t know that for a fact.”

  “It’s the only answer that makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is your attitude. Why can’t you admit that the war is over and treat Edgar and Lydia like everyone else?”

  Gesturing toward his missing leg, Pa scowled. “That’s why. I can’t forget—not for a single minute—that the Cursed Enemy took away my leg. As long as I live, I will never welcome one of them beneath this roof.”

  “Then we’ve got a problem.” This wasn’t the way Travis had hoped to introduce the subject, but he couldn’t let it go. “I’ve tolerated your treatment of Edgar because it’s temporary. As soon as he can find a house, he and Opal will leave. It won’t be the same with Lydia.”

  “Lydia?” Pa stared at Travis as if he’d suddenly sprouted horns. “You fixing to marry her?”

  “If she’ll have me, yes. Lydia’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I love her, Pa, and I plan to ask her to marry me. If she accepts, I will expect you to treat her with respect. There will be no more silent treatment.”

  His face mottled with anger, Pa pointed an accusing finger at Travis. “The Bible says to honor thy father.”

  It was a familiar refrain. In the past, Travis had remained silent, but in the past his future happiness had not been at stake. Today he countered, “The Bible also says a man shall leave his mother and father and cleave unto his wife. The choice is yours, Pa.”

  “That’s no choice. You told me I’d always have a home, and now you’re forcing me out.” He thumped the floor again. “So be it. I’ll go back to Austin and live with Dorcas. At least she had the good sense to marry a Texan.”

  “Why don’t you sleep on it? You might feel differently tomorrow.”

  “I won’t. I’ll be on the stagecoach tomorrow.”

  Perhaps it was wrong, but Travis felt nothing but relief.

  25

  The house sure was quiet this morning,” Opal said as she piped a yellow rose on top of a chocolate cream.

  It was the Monday after Lydia and Aunt Bertha had returned from Ladreville, and life had begun to resume its rhythm. Lydia had spent Saturday at Cimarron Sweets, where a predictably larger than normal number of customers had come, ostensibly to buy candy for their families but actually to inquire about Lydia and Aunt Bertha’s trip.

  “I can’t recall the last time she left town,” Mary Gray said as she vacillated between a box of fudge and one of peanut brittle.

  “Everyone needs a change of scenery” was Lydia’s standard reply. Occasionally she would add something innocuous about the pleasure of visiting family, but she said little to satisfy Cimarron Creek’s matrons’ curiosity. She’d known they’d barrage Aunt Bertha with questions after church, and they had, but Aunt Bertha, being Aunt Bertha, had provided so many details about Ladreville itself that by the time she was finished, the women had forgotten their original question.

  Aunt Bertha had been a bit more forthcoming with Catherine when she and Lydia had joined her for Sunday dinner, admitting that she had not accomplished everything she had hoped in Ladreville, but most of the time, Aunt Bertha had chosen not to speak of the trip. Instead, she had continued to sing Travis’s praises whenever she managed to turn the conversation in that direction. Lydia would have appreciated some of the quiet Opal said she’d experienced.

  “Edgar and Travis were out investigating Mrs. Pratt’s missing hog, and Mr. Whitfield—well, he didn’t say a word other than ‘pass the jam.’”

  “Does he usually talk?” Lydia’s limited experience with Travis’s father suggested that a quiet morning would be preferable to a tirade.

  “Oh my, yes. That man could give Mrs. Henderson a run for her money with his talking. Most of the time he’s complaining. He tells me I can’t cook half as good as his wife, and he says Travis is wasting himself as sheriff, but it’s all bluff. The truth is, he’s a lonely man. Reminds me of Jake Haskell. Jake used to come into the Spur just so he’d have someone to talk to.”

  “I wonder if Travis realizes that.” Lydia added a bit more blueberry syrup to the fondant, smiling when it turned the frosting into the exact shade of blue pansies. When Opal had asked for her help in filling an unusually large order of chocolate creams, Lydia had decided to make an extra dozen as a special gift for Aunt Bertha. Though candy wouldn’t assuage the pain of not finding Joan, the chocolates topped with her favorite flower might cheer Aunt Bertha.

  Travis and his father were a more difficult problem. Lydia knew there was friction between the two men and that Travis despaired of ever resolving it. That was one of the things he had talked about on the ride to Ladreville, how he feared that no matter what he did, he would never be able to please his father. But if Opal was right, the angry outbursts might be a symptom of a different problem, one that could be easier to fix.

  Opal shrugged. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t realize it. It’s plain as can be.”

  “To you, maybe, but that’s because you’re a woman. Men are different.”

  “You can say that again.” As Opal waggled her eyebrows, both women laughed.

  “You girls look like you’re having a good morning.”

  Lydia started at the sound of Aunt Bertha’s voice. Trying to act nonchalant, she slid the pansy-topped chocolates into a box. “We are. It feels good to be back to work. Opal did a great job while you and I were gone, but it’s fortunate we came back when we did. Hilda Gray ordered twice the usual number of chocolates for her quilting bee.”

  Aunt Bertha chuckled. “My guess is she found an expensive new dress she wants to order, and half those candies are meant to butter up Porter.”

  Lydia couldn’t help laughing. “So that’s why some people call them butter creams.”

  “I don’t understand it.” Edgar scowled as he settled into the chair across from Travis. “Things were pretty quiet while you were gone, but you sure can’t call today quiet.”

  Travis was equally surprised by the number of problems reported this morning. “At least you found the hog. Mrs. Pratt was counting on that to feed her family this winter.” The missing animal had turned up in a neighbor’s vegetable garden, happily rooting among the turnips. With the gate between the two houses closed, no one could explain how the hog had gotten out, but other than the loss of a few turnips, there had been a happy ending to that call.

  Edgar nodded. “Mrs. Pratt was so glad to have him back that she promised to invite me and Opal for a ham dinner this year.” Taking a slug of the coffee Travis brought to the office each day, Edgar nodded again. “It’s been a mighty strange day. First the hog, then it turned out Mrs. Higgins’s chicken wasn’t missing at all. It was just roosting in the outhouse. Strange place, if you ask me.”

  “It didn’t go there on its own.” Travis knew that Mrs. Higgins, like almost everyone in Cimarron Creek, was careful to keep the door to her outhouse latched. The last thing anyone wanted was to discover a wild animal had decided to nest there.

  “Someone put the chicken there, just like someone moved that hog out of its pen. I wish I knew why.”

  Travis didn’t need another worry right now. He’d talked to Pa again this morning, trying to dissuade him, but his father was adamant about leaving on today’s stagecoach. He’d groused about the fact that the stage only ran on weekdays, forcing him to spend the weekend with his ungrateful son, the whore, and the Cursed Enemy. This morning he’d been uncharacteristically silent, saying only that he’d made up his mind. Though Travis had sent Dorcas a telegram, alerting her to their father’s decision, he still hoped that Pa would decide to remain in Cimarron Creek. It was, after all, his home.

  Before Travis could say anything more, the door burst open. “I’ve got a problem,” Warner said, his voice low but filled with anger. “Can you come with me now?”

  Just what Travis didn’t need: another problem. But as sheriff, he could not refuse. “Sure.” He turned to Edgar. “I know you’ll handle anything that comes up.” He followed his cousin out of the office. “What’s wrong,
Warner?”

  Warner shook his head. “Let’s wait until we’re inside. It’s better if you see it.” Less than a minute later, he ushered Travis into the back room of the pharmacy and pointed toward an empty spot on one of the cupboard shelves. “That was full yesterday. I know, because I checked the supply. Today’s the day I normally dispense some to Aunt Bertha, and I wanted to be sure I had enough for her and the other widows who’ve been having heart palpitations. They don’t take it every day, but I need to have some on hand in case someone has an attack.”

  As far as Travis knew, Aunt Bertha took only one medication. “Digitalis?”

  “Yes. Now I only have enough for a couple days.”

  Staring at the empty spot, Travis shook his head. “I don’t understand. It looks like everything’s gone.”

  “Almost everything. I keep a small supply at home. Ever since the day Aunt Bertha had her attack, I wanted to be prepared. That way if she called me at night, I wouldn’t have to come here.”

  Travis didn’t claim to be an expert on medication, but he knew that his aunt’s life depended on taking the digitalis each day. “Can you get a new supply before what you have at home runs out?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t explain who took the rest.” He pointed to the pharmacy’s rear entrance. “There’s no sign of a break-in.”

  Just like the last time, when the mortar had been missing along with Lydia’s teapot and items from the other shops.

  “I thought you changed the locks.”

  Warner nodded. “I did. Porter helped me like he did all the others. We added a second lock after the rat poison was taken. That one’s a lot stronger than the others. Porter assured me it would be difficult for someone to pick.”