Left at the Altar

by Margaret Brownley

  Judge Lynch did grant Tommy a ten-day extension to get his money together and pay the Lockwoods, and the judge had also surprised Grant with a proposal. He’d asked if Grant would be interested in serving on a committee to form a Texas bar association to promote the uniformity of legislature and uphold the honor of the legal profession.

  It was an intriguing idea and one that Grant would normally jump at, but he wasn’t sure how long he planned to stay in town. He had a better feeling for Two-Time since the train wreck, though on the surface nothing had changed. Daily disputes with fists, firearms, or bluster were the norm.

  Still, knowing how everything—even feuds—was forgotten in the face of trouble made the town’s peculiarities easier to bear.

  As for Meg…

  No matter how hard he tried putting her out of his mind, memories kept popping up with annoying regularity. Sometimes he woke in the dead of night to the sound of her laughter. At other times he’d be thinking of something else entirely when a vision of her suddenly clouded his thoughts.

  He grimaced as he recalled the last words she’d said to him. I do love him, you know.

  He couldn’t imagine anyone throwing that love away for a bunch of tropical isles. Tommy Farrell was a fool. But then, so was Grant for pining after a woman who had made it clear she had no interest in him whatsoever.

  Business had started booming, and he was tempted to stay, but how could he? Every time he gazed out the window, he searched for her. Even worse, the hourly ring of the Lockwood bell reminded him of New Year’s. Staying in this town would be nothing short of torture.

  The door swung open, bringing him out of his reverie, and in walked Tucker.

  Grant turned his swivel chair around to face the boy straight on. “Hi, Tucker. What can I do for you today?”

  The swelling had gone down on Tucker’s forehead, and only a slight blue mark appeared between strands of hay-colored hair. “I want to sue the railroad.”

  Grant folded his hands across his middle. Tucker had no way of knowing he would be included in the collective lawsuit. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah, and since you’re my lawyer, I figured you’d know what to do.”

  “Your law—” Grant rubbed his chin. He did say once he was the boy’s lawyer, no denying that. He pointed to the chair. “Sit.” The boy had gumption, that’s for sure. In some ways Tucker reminded him of himself at that age. He waited for Tucker to be seated, then replied, “I’ll handle your case.” And because the boy looked so earnest and determined to file the lawsuit himself, Grant added, “But it’ll cost you more than a quarter.”

  Tucker dug into his pocket. “That’s okay. I can afford it. See…” He held out his hand. “This time I have two quarters.”

  *

  Meg arrived home after work to find Josie waiting on the Lockwoods’ front porch.

  “Everything all right? Is Mama…?”

  “Mama’s fine. Papa home?”

  “No, he’s still at the shop. Why?”

  “I need to talk to you and Amanda. Is she here?”

  “I don’t know.” Meg walked into the house and called up to the second floor. “Mandy!”

  Amanda appeared at the top of the stairs with a mop in one hand and a kerchief on her head. Meg couldn’t recall ever seeing her sister look so domesticated. Since Mama left, it had fallen to Amanda to tackle the regular household chores, which put her in a perpetually bad mood.

  “What is it?” she snapped.

  “Come on down. Josie’s here.”

  Meg led Josie to the parlor where Amanda joined them, mop still in hand. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “When’s Mama coming home?”

  Josie sighed. “I don’t know. She still refuses to talk to Papa. She won’t even talk to me about it.”

  Meg felt wretched, the burden of guilt almost too much to bear. If only she’d kept her big mouth shut.

  “I have something you both need to see.” Josie waved an envelope. She opened it and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. The paper crinkled as she unfolded it and began to read.

  “Dear Miss Lonely Hearts…”

  Amanda tossed the mop to the floor. “I’m working my fingers to the bone, and you come over here to read a dumb letter?”

  Meg didn’t blame Amanda for being upset. With their family falling apart, why should they care about some stranger’s stupid problems?

  “Hear me out,” Josie pleaded and continued reading.

  “Dear Miss Lonely Hearts,

  “The love of my life has left me, and I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid I might have lost her for good. I’ve begged for forgiveness, but she won’t listen. She won’t even talk to me. I’ll do anything you say to get her back.

  “Sincerely,

  “An Old Fool.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “Old fool, indeed! Anyone who writes to strangers for advice should be shipped off to the lunatic asylum.”

  Josie waved the letter in both her sisters’ faces. “Do you know who wrote this?”

  Meg shook her head. Why was Josie being so persistent? “No, and I don’t care—”

  “Papa.”

  Meg’s back stiffened. “That’s…that’s ridiculous. He would never write such a letter.”

  “Take a look.”

  Snatching the letter from Josie, Meg read it for herself while Amanda peered over her shoulder. “It can’t be…” But it was. She would recognize her father’s big, bold handwriting anywhere.

  For several moments no one spoke, the silence broken only by the steady cadence of ticking clocks.

  “Do…do you think he knows you’re Miss Lonely Hearts?” Meg asked at last.

  Josie shook her head. “There’s no way he could know unless one of you told him.”

  “Not me,” Amanda said.

  “Me neither,” Meg said. “What are you going to do?”

  Josie plucked the letter out of Meg’s hand. “Answer him, of course.”

  Meg chewed on a fingernail. Papa writing to Miss Lonely Hearts? That was crazy. It could only be the act of a desperate man. That just underscored the seriousness of the problem.

  Amanda pulled the scarf off her head and tucked it into her apron pocket. “But how will you answer him? What will you say?”

  “That’s why I’m here. I was hoping between the three of us we could come up with the right words.”

  Meg frowned. Josie had never before asked for help with wording. She always knew what to say, what to write.

  Amanda placed her hands on her hips. “Papa won’t even take advice from us. What makes you think he’ll do anything Miss Lonely Hearts tells him to do?”

  Josie tucked the letter into her purse. “Like I told you before, people who write know in their hearts what they have to do. They’re just asking for permission to do it.”

  “Is that what you think Papa’s doing?” Meg asked. Asking for permission from someone didn’t seem like something he would ever do, but then, he hadn’t been himself since Mama left.

  “I’m willing to bet on it,” Josie said. “All we have to do is figure out a way to give it to him without making it look too obvious.”

  “How are we going to do that?” Meg asked. “We don’t even know what he wants permission to do.”

  “That’s why the wording has to be vague, yet clear.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “No contradiction there.”

  Josie pulled a pencil and notebook out of her purse. “We know that the only way Papa can get Mama back is to end that stupid feud. That’s what we have to give him permission to do. The rest is up to him. So put on your thinking caps.”

  Meg plopped herself down on the sofa and crossed her arms. Something told her it was about to be a very long night.

  Thirty-five

  Jacob Kidd looked up from his jail cell and greeted Grant with a grunt. “’Bout time you got here.”

  Noticing another prisoner in the next cell over, Grant did a double take. He recognized Meg’s younger sister,
Amanda, even before he got a good look at her face. She didn’t look much like Meg, except for the turquoise color of her eyes, but that was enough. More than enough to trigger the painful memories as well, and take his mind to places he didn’t want to go.

  Banishing his wayward thoughts, he doffed his hat. “Miss Lockwood.” He then turned and focused on his client. “Got here soon as I could. What’s so urgent?”

  Every time Kidd was scheduled to hang, something happened to postpone it. The man had more lives than an alley cat.

  “I wanna sue the county.”

  “Sue the count—” Grant lifted his eyebrows. Suddenly everyone in town was sue-happy. All this sudden interest in litigation was turning Two-Time into a miniature version of Boston. Even shopkeepers had queried him about the possibility of suing the railroad for crash-related loss of business.

  “What for?”

  “Breach of promise.”

  Grant glanced at Amanda Lockwood sitting on the edge of her cot. “Are you saying that someone promised to marry you?”

  Kidd looked perplexed. “Marry me? Whatcha talkin’ about? They failed to hang me. That’s what!”

  “Let me get this straight.” Grant rubbed his chin. “You want to sue the county for not hanging you?”

  “And for undue duress. That’s a legal term, right?”

  “Are you saying you were mistreated?”

  “Of course I was mistreated. They walked me clear to the gallows, blindfolded me, put me in a necktie, and then took off.”

  Grant shook his head. “So what you’re saying is that they left you hanging, so to speak.”

  “Yeah, and it coulda caused me great throat trouble.” Kidd pushed his lips out in disgust. “By the time the sheriff came back, no one could find the hangman. So they hauled me back to jail.”

  Grant rubbed his forehead. “You are aware that there was an emergency. People were hurt.”

  “Heard something about that, but that don’t change nothin’. When they say they’re gonna hang a body, that’s what they oughta do.”

  “It could take weeks before your case comes to trial. Months.” Grant wasn’t even sure he would still be in town.

  “Months, eh?” Kidd’s eyes glittered, and Grant could almost see the wheels turning in his grizzly head. “Are you saying you don’t want to handle a lawsuit for a condemned man?”

  “Unless you have family, I don’t see the point,” Grant said. “Win or lose, you’ll still be dead.”

  “Hmm. I see what you mean. Guess the judge is gonna have to give me one of those whatchamacallits.”

  “Do you mean a stay of execution?”

  “That’s the one. So whatcha say?”

  Grant had successfully initiated such stays, but filing one so the prisoner could sue the authorities? No judge in Boston would allow such a thing. But this was Texas, and that was a whole different animal.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You do that,” Kidd said and smiled.

  Grant started to leave, but then stopped. “What are you in for this time, Miss Lockwood?” he asked.

  “Theft.”

  Grant lifted his eyebrows.

  “She let all of them dogs loose,” Kidd said.

  “Dogs?”

  “The ones in the dogcatcher’s wagon.”

  She sniffed. “Yes, and I’ll do it again if I have to.”

  Even in her indignant state she reminded him of Meg, and it wasn’t just the color of her eyes. It was the way she wrinkled her nose and moved her head. He could almost hear Meg’s voice, see her dancing, imagine her in his arms. Happy New Year, Grant.

  “Mr. Mutton has no right locking up licensed dogs!” she added.

  Startled out of his reverie, Grant rubbed his chin. “I quite agree.” He hesitated. “Gather up your belongings. Soon as I post bail, you’ll be free to go.”

  Kidd gazed through the bars at Miss Lockwood. “See, whad’ I tell you? For a big-city lawyer, he ain’t so bad.”

  *

  Meg whisked her feather duster from clock to clock with a worried frown. She eyed the morning newspaper still on the counter where Tucker had left it earlier. Today was the day that Papa’s letter to Miss Lonely Hearts was scheduled for publication.

  Usually her father had read the paper by now. What was taking him so long? And what if, for some reason, he neglected to read it?

  With a quick glance in back where her father was working, she opened the morning paper and quickly turned to Josie’s column. Papa’s letter was there all right, in living black and white.

  Her gaze scanned down to Josie’s reply.

  Dear Old Fool,

  It sounds like your ladylove needs more than mere words. She needs to hear the bells of sincerity, but only you know how to ring them. He who rules time has the power, and the power is in your hands. As Lord Byron so wisely said, “Time is the corrector where our judgments err.”

  Meg refolded the paper and laid it back on the counter. Was Josie’s message too subtle? Papa wasn’t one to pick up on nuances. Still, Josie insisted that Papa knew what he had to do, but did he? More importantly, could he?

  She reached for her feather duster.

  The door swung open to a jingle of bells. Grant strolled into the shop, his presence affecting every cell in her body. Mouth dry, she laid her duster on the counter and wiped her damp hands on her skirt.

  She hated, absolutely hated, that despite everything that had happened, he was still able to control her breathing—control her very heartbeat. If that wasn’t bad enough, he invaded her deepest thoughts. Even sleep offered her no relief because he was a constant presence in her dreams.

  Grant pulled off his hat and acknowledged her with a wary nod as Tommy entered behind him.

  Grant looked very much the eastern lawyer today, smart, clever—a man who would do whatever necessary in a court of law to wield his idea of justice. Use whatever means…

  How he must resent the way things had turned out with Tommy, resent her for ruining his clever plan.

  Such were her thoughts that she hardly paid any attention to Tommy until he slapped something on the counter, startling her.

  It was a check for ten grand. “Right on time,” he said.

  Meg stared at all the zeroes on the check. “Where did you get that much money?”

  Tommy’s lips thinned. Dressed in his usual dungarees, red hair standing on end, he didn’t look like the same man who’d sat in court or waited for her at the altar.

  “Pa mortgaged the house and took loans out on the business.”

  Meg’s heart sank. “Oh no. Tommy, I’m so sorry. I never meant…” Her eyes filled with tears.

  Tommy never did like seeing her cry, and today was no different. “It’s okay, Meg,” he said, dropping the accusatory tone of his voice. He reached across the counter to take her hand in his. “I don’t blame you.” With his free hand, he checked his pockets for a handkerchief and, as usual, came up empty. “I’ll find a way to pay Pa back. I will. I’ll even pay back the money borrowed from Mr. Garrison.”

  Sniffling, Meg pulled her hand from his and palmed away a tear. Grant had loaned him money?

  Grant appeared by Tommy’s side with a clean handkerchief. Taking it from him, Meg quickly looked away. She wanted nothing from Grant, but declining his handkerchief seemed rude.

  “Thank you,” she said, her cool voice hiding her inner torment.

  Grant stepped back without a word and resumed his stance by the door.

  Dabbing at the moisture on her cheeks, she stared at the check on the counter. “Oh, Tommy. That’s a lot of money. It will take years to pay it back.”

  “Maybe not. There’s gold in Alaska. Heard there’re riches to be found. Lots of them.” He was obviously trying to make her feel better, but the thought of him working as a miner had the opposite effect. Tommy avoided physical labor like smallpox.

  As if guessing her thoughts, he added, “It’s not exactly the Pacific Islands, but it’s someth
in’.”

  “I feel terrible.”

  She glanced at Grant, but his stoic face gave no clue to his thoughts.

  Tommy said something, but when she failed to respond, his glance swung back and forth between her and his lawyer. “Meg?”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry…”

  He gave her a funny look. “I said I need a receipt to show the judge.”

  “I’ll write you one,” Papa said, emerging from the back of the shop. He then pulled a receipt book from a drawer, along with a pen and bottle of ink. After scribbling out a receipt for ten grand, he signed and dated it and slid it across the counter.

  Tommy took the receipt without a word and tucked it into his pocket. “Meg, don’t look like that. It’s not the end of the world. Honest. I’ll write and let you know how I’m doing. Bet you never got a letter from Alaska.”

  “No, I never did. And I’ll write back. I will, Tommy. I promise.”

  He gave her a lopsided grin and turned to the door where Grant stood holding it open for him.

  “Wait,” her father called. “You forgot something.”

  Both men turned, Grant with his hand still on the doorknob. Eyebrows arched, Tommy tossed a questioning glance at Meg before switching his attention to her father.

  “What did I forget?”

  “This.” Papa tore the check into a dozen pieces and tossed them into the air. The little scraps of paper fluttered to the floor like falling snow. Meg’s mouth dropped open.

  Tommy stared at the scraps of paper, his eyes round. “Does this mean…?”

  “You’ve got your receipt,” Papa said. “That’s all the judge needs to see. Now get out of here. We’ve got work to do.”

  Tommy turned to Grant. “Is…is this legal?”

  Grant shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Never saw a thing.” With that, he walked out of the shop.

  “Whoopie!” Tommy leaped up and slapped the doorframe before racing outside. “Pacific Islands, here I come!”

  Grinning, Meg flung her arms around her father’s neck. “What is this?” he asked, his gruff voice belying his pleased look.

  “This, Papa, is my way of saying I love you.” She pulled back. “That was a very good thing you did. I’m sure Mama would agree.”