by AlLee, Jennifer L. ; Breidenbach, Angela; Franklin, Darlene
When a lady hastily removed her half-eaten tray of food from a table and departed, they slid into the vacancy. Across from them, two men with dirty blond hair stared hard, one wiping his greasy fingers across the front of his streaked tan coveralls. They looked to be brothers, with matching squashed noses. One had a bandanna around his neck that might have once been red. The other’s neck sported a nasty faded pink scar, perhaps from a failed garrote attempt. The back of Grant’s neck tightened.
Hudgins bit into the chicken and sighed. “Almost like Mama made.”
“You South—” the stranger across from Hudgins began but then suddenly his chin jutted upward, his eyes fixed on someone in the front.
The other brother whistled. “That’s some kind of woman.”
“Just my type.”
“Yup.” After setting his chicken on his plate, the scarred man motioned his hands into a pronounced hourglass shape and winked at Grant.
Heat crept up his neck. A gentleman didn’t make such lewd gestures nor respond to them. He dipped his spoon into the diced turnips and raised them to his mouth. Foul smelling. He took a bite. Nasty. Like the brothers across from him. Grabbing his tin cup of ginger ale, Grant took a swig.
“You two, take a hike.” The one with the neckerchief jerked his thumb to the end of the table. “We need room.”
“Not a chance,” Lee mumbled around a mouthful of potatoes.
The click of a knife opening got Grant’s attention. Even in this room full of people conversing and the scraping of chairs and tables as they came and went, he’d discerned that warning sound he knew all too well. A man on his own in the world better recognize danger, immediately, if he wished to maintain his life and his wallet.
“My friend can take you.” Hudgins grinned at the brothers, a dimple deep in his right cheek making him look far younger than he was—and deceptively innocent.
The two strangers laughed. “Kin he now, ya heah?” Mocking Lee wasn’t a good idea. The “friend” Lee spoke of meant a combination of fists and his pistol, always strapped somewhere on his person.
Both men ceased guffawing and stared just behind Grant, dual jaws dropping open and then clamping tight.
Someone’s skirt brushed against Grant’s arm. He looked up into the dark eyes of the young lady he’d rescued earlier.
Lee shot to his feet. “Ma’am?”
Exhaling, Grant stood, too. “Miss Richmond.”
Lee poked Grant’s side. “You two met?”
Her face flushed pink. “Earlier.”
When the pretty brunette glanced down at them, the brother with the open knife closed it shut. His leer revealed several blackened teeth. “They’s just leavin’.”
“Weren’t ya, fellas?” The brother narrowed his eyes.
“Indeed we were.” Grant focused his attention on Sarah. “Might you wish to take your meal outside with us, miss?”
She glanced first at the laborers and then back at Lee. “Lovely notion.”
Over the brothers’ protests, Grant and Lee rose.
Outside, Lee located a bench beneath a large maple tree, whose leaves were beginning to change. “Let’s sit yonder.”
“The cafeteria crowd seems a rough sort. They may cause you extreme discomfiture.” Or worse. Grant wouldn’t allow himself to contemplate what devilry these men were capable of.
Sarah was discomfited. “Those men …” She shivered. The way they looked at her, like she was a whole plateful of fried chicken they’d like to consume, had made her skin crawl.
“Not fit company for a flea-infested hound, much less a lovely young lady.”
Mr. Bentley cleared his throat. “Miss Sarah Richmond, this is my friend Lee Hudgins.”
“Nice to meet you. What do you do at the fair?”
“We help.” The way Mr. Bentley’s lips tightened, he appeared embarrassed of their job. No shame in being a groundskeeper.
Dressed in button-up jumpsuits, the two men made a handsome matched set. And far more gentlemanly than she’d have imagined the fair employees would be. Sarah nibbled her lower lip. God was good. She’d been through the loss of two men she’d expected to marry. She’d never fall in love again, not even if the man’s wavy dark hair begged to be pushed off his forehead, not even if his full lips invited her to …
“Miss Richmond?”
“Oh!” She blinked, trying to re-collect herself. She balanced her tray on her lap. “I should say grace.”
Right before she closed her eyes, Mr. Hudgins grinned like her brothers did when they had a secret. Was it he or Grant who had something to hide?
Dear Father, please bless this food, and keep me safe. Thank You for helping me earlier.
“Yoo-hoo!” Striding up sawdust-strewn walkway, Aunt Bonnie waved.
Mr. Bentley leapt to his feet. He turned to Sarah. “Do you know this woman?”
Mr. Hudgins languidly rose and waved.
“There stands the bane of my existence.” Mr. Bentley muttered so low, Sarah almost didn’t hear him.
Chapter 2
Grant forced his teeth to unclench. The whirlwind heading toward them held in her wake the sweetest little girl he’d ever met. Lila Swanson’s temperament resembled a gentle lake breeze, while her mother’s conjured hurricane images.
Keeping his voice low, Grant bent toward the beautiful young woman. “Do you know her?”
“That’s my aunt Bonnie.” A furrow formed between her lovely dark eyes. “She couldn’t possibly be the bane of anyone’s existence.”
Had those words actually slipped from his mouth? He rubbed his thumb over his lower lip.
Serenely, Miss Richmond set her tray aside, stood, and wiped crumbs from her wrinkled dress. If Grant’s sister had ever presented in such disorder, her lady’s maid would have fainted dead away.
“Cousin Sarah!” Lila clapped her hands. “I told you it was her, Mama!”
“Yes!” Sarah laughed.
When the girl prepared to run, Mrs. Swanson grabbed ahold of her daughter’s arm and held fast, preventing her from sprinting toward them. Perhaps Lila was more like her mother than Grant had thought, for she broke free and raced toward them.
“Mr. Grant!” Lila flew past him and launched herself into Miss Richmond’s embrace.
When Mrs. Swanson came within twelve paces of them, she gazed with disapproval at the two men.
“Ma’am.” Hudgins flinched, something he only did when downright aggravated.
“What’re you two doing here?” Widowed several years, Mrs. Swanson touched the side of her head, absent today of her ever-present black mourning hat.
Miss Richmond released Lila. “They’re working here.”
“Are they?”
Sarah swept her aunt into her arms.
What would it feel like to have Sarah Richmond in his arms? Hugging him so close? Focus, Grant.
“So glad to see you out of mourning. Papa will be glad.” Sarah stepped back and took her aunt’s hands.
Sunlight filtered through the oak tree whose red leaves gently drifted down. Nearby a group of acrobats tumbled, threw one another in backward flips, and jumped on top of one another’s shoulders.
A vendor pushed a cart past with hot apple cider, and Lila ran off to it, calling over her pinafore-covered shoulder, “Mama, can I have some?”
Widow Swanson wouldn’t have brought in a crop last summer if Grant’s uncle Franklin hadn’t helped. Grant strode toward the ebony-haired youth who commandeered the cart. “Cider all around, please.”
Charcoal-black eyes met his, and the boy nodded. With a jug of cider left near the day’s end, the vendor might’ve been left with waste and not enough profit to take home. He named the price, in a heavy accent. Grant fished out the money and added a little extra.
Lila grabbed hers and took three long sips before walking slowly toward her mother.
The immigrant boy counted the coins. “Grazie.”
“Prego.” That tour of Europe and all those years of univer
sity hadn’t totally gone to waste.
A grin split the Italian boy’s face.
Lee and Grant carried the tin mugs to the ladies.
“Thank you, Mr. Bentley.” Sarah’s flashing eyes met his with more appreciation than what hot cider should bring.
“At your service, ma’am.” He bowed.
Mrs. Swanson accepted hers from Lee, staring at Miss Richmond, then frowned.
“What is it, Auntie?”
“Sarah Richmond! Where’s your mourning attire?”
Grant frowned. Her aunt could hardly expect this vivacious young lady to still mourn an uncle who’d died three years past.
“Papa didn’t think it was right for me to wear it.”
“But Arnold was your intended.”
How long ago had her fiancé died? A pang of sympathy shot through him.
Miss Richmond squared her shoulders. “Mama said we weren’t yet wed….”
“Pshaw. I’ll lend you some of my black gowns. You’ve a right to mourn properly.”
Had he mourned sufficiently for Jonetta? He’d set off on a cross-country balloon exhibition almost as soon as she’d been laid to rest. So he and Miss Richmond had this awful loss in common. A chill coursed through, recollecting the image of Jonetta dying.
“Love again …,” she’d urged him. But he couldn’t. Had Miss Richmond’s beloved uttered similar encouragement to her? Moisture gathered in his eyes.
Hudgins elbowed Grant. “Best gather up these cups and be moseying along.”
Aunt Bonnie tended to hurry the horses through ruts and then slow the pair on the flat road. But they arrived in one piece.
They approached the white wood-framed farmhouse sitting on over fifty acres, dominated in season by hay, now mown and sold.
An odd, rhythmical series of thumps sounded across the fields. “What’s that noise?” Sarah jumped down from the carriage, straining to listen over the horses’ whinnies.
“One of the Bentleys’ lunatic inventions, I imagine.” Aunt Bonnie sighed.
Franklin Bentley always seemed like a kindhearted and helpful man, when they’d visited. Maybe the loss of his wife brought about this change.
Seth, the hired hand, exited the stable and jogged toward them. At the buggy, he assisted her aunt down.
“Thanks, Seth. Please bring in my niece’s baggage.”
“Sure thing.” He grinned up at her. “Good to see you, Miss Sarah.”
“You, too, Seth.” The man never seemed to grow any older. From the time they first met, he’d worn the same style plaid shirt covered by denim overalls, and farm boots, a perennial red bandanna wrapped around his neck. In the summer, he donned a straw hat.
As Lila ran off, calling, “Mr. Box!” for her dog, the two women strode toward the house.
The square, two-story building was sturdy but plain, with no bric-a-brac nor decoration on the exterior. Inside was another matter. When they entered the kitchen at the back of the house, Aunt Bonnie’s fondness for emulating Good Housekeeping’s décor recommendations apparently didn’t extend to carrying out the recent suggestion that collections should be periodically “culled” to make room for the new. Another layer of lace dripped from her furniture. Fancy teacups filled her glass-fronted case to overflowing. And not one item had been stored since Sarah’s last visit.
The scent of cinnamon and baked apple enveloped the chamber, making Sarah’s mouth water. Her aunt removed her sweater and apron and hung them on the oak pegs by the door. Sarah followed suit.
The door slammed, and Lila carried her beagle inside as Mr. Box licked her cheeks. As a puppy, he’d been housed in a slat box with blankets. Little Lila would point and say “Box” when she wanted the puppy brought out, and the name stuck.
“We’re so glad you can stay with us.” Lila handed her pet over to Sarah.
“Thank you.” Mr. Box squirmed in her arms.
“Lila, don’t pester your cousin with that dog.” Aunt Bonnie pumped water at the sink.
Lila took her dog.
“Have a seat.” Aunt Bonnie retrieved a wall lantern and a match from the engraved metal match dispenser. After removing the glass globe, she adjusted the wick and lit it.
Sarah pulled back a chair from the oval walnut table and sat. Aunt Bonnie placed the lamp in the center on a crocheted doily.
Lila put her pup down and wrapped her arms around Sarah’s neck.
“You gonna be seeing Mr. Grant a lot at the fair?”
“Why?”
“He’s handsome.” Lila sighed.
Sarah’s heartbeat picked up. “Mr. Bentley is attractive. But I’m not here to make men friends.”
“Why not? Ya ain’t got old Arnold anymore.”
Aunt Bonnie’s face blanched. “Lila! Watch your manners. One doesn’t discuss the dead so casually.”
Sarah bent her head over the ginger tea and sipped.
“Sorry.” Her cousin uttered her placating word without the least bit of sincerity, which made Sarah smile.
“Everyone has been tiptoeing around me for so long, maybe it’s best if Lila speaks her mind.” Mama and Papa acted as though saying his name would cause Sarah to burst out crying. And she had, for the first few weeks. But then an icy coldness, like the Straits of Mackinac freezing over in winter, seemed to envelop her heart.
“The Ladies’ Home Journal says one must mourn the dead with great decorum.” Aunt Bonnie bobbed her head in agreement. “Did you have a lock of his hair put into a keepsake, dear?”
Sarah frowned. Perhaps folks who lived nearer the city did have some strange notions, like Pa had said. “No. I didn’t.”
“But a picture of him in his casket?”
Sarah felt her eyebrows rise higher than they ever had before. “Certainly not, Aunt Bonnie.” She slowly took a long sip of tea.
Her aunt’s lips formed a pout. “Well, you know it’s done in the city. They even place the deceased in a chair and take a picture of them.”
Nearly spitting the sweet tea out, Sarah stared at her aunt, but Aunt Bonnie gazed across the kitchen at a framed portrait of Uncle Elwood, who’d passed away years earlier.
“I wish I had more photographs of Elwood.”
Lila rolled her eyes. “I sure wouldn’t be lookin’ at any old picture of Dad after he was kicked by that mule. No, ma’am.”
Aunt Bonnie blinked rapidly at her daughter. “Yes, sweetheart, you’re right. Now, let’s finish our tea and get Sarah upstairs into her room.”
“It’s our best guest room.” The child beamed. “The one your folks always stay in.”
“With the boys off on the lakes, we’ve got it all cleaned up nice.”
Her four cousins, all grown … Thank God, Aunt Bonnie had this little girl to keep her company after her husband died. Bittersweet memories of how her uncle doted on the child rose up, and tears pricked Sarah’s eyes.
“In the morning, don’t expect the rooster to wake you.” Aunt Bonnie’s face crinkled in disgust. “Mr. Hudgins will likely be out there running one of his engines at daybreak.”
How sad that the man possessed knowledge of mechanical inventions yet worked a menial maintenance job at the fair.
“I’m hoping it might be quieter out here with those two working at the fair.”
Lila linked her arm with Sarah’s.
She grinned down at her cousin. “Yes, that sounds very good.” With Grant working at the fair every day, perhaps they’d keep running into each other.
Aunt Bonnie clutched her hands at her waist. “You can use my bicycle to get to the fairgrounds on good days, like tomorrow. But on the rainy days, either I or Seth will drive you to the train station or the fairgrounds.”
“Could I share a ride with Mr. Bentley’s guests?”
“Oh heavens, no!” Aunt Bonnie’s eyes widened. “Far too dangerous!”
Lila tugged at Sarah’s arm. “Don’t ask.”
Chapter 3
What was that infernal noise? Grant struggled to open his ey
es. He inhaled the musty odor in his uncle’s second spare bedroom, rolled onto his side, and rose. He opened the window.
Cock-a-doodle-do carried from across the way. The Swansons’ rooster often had competition from the engines in his uncle’s barn. Not today.
They’d overslept. He and Lee needed to get into the fairgrounds. Quickly, he moved to the washstand and poured water from the blue-and-white porcelain pitcher into the bowl. He washed his face, patted it dry with a linen towel, and then combed his hair. Would the image in the rosewood oval mirror appeal to Miss Richmond? And why concern himself with such things? He grabbed his coveralls, dressed, and hastened down the hall to knock on Hudgins’s door. “Get up!”
From within, his friend groaned.
“We’re late.” Grant emphasized the latter word by clapping his hands.
“It’s Saturday. We’re not on a schedule. Not yet.” Bedsprings creaked, something thumped against the wood floor, then Hudgins threw open the door. “Make coffee. We’ll eat the cake Bonnie sent over for your uncle—he won’t mind.”
“I don’t know about that.” Lately Mrs. Swanson had brought food over with each entreaty that they keep the engine noise down. As if we could do that.
If Uncle Franklin continued to consume the widow’s cakes, he’d soon need several new pairs of dungarees to accommodate his expanding girth.
Presently, Lee and Grant were shoving buttered coffee cake into their mouths, chased down by coffee.
“We should offer her a ride.”
Hudgins didn’t have to specify which female her was. Grant knew. He’d thought of nothing but Sarah all night long, which was why, when he’d finally fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning, he’d not been able to rouse himself at his usual time. Now they were late. And carrying a young lady with them would only slow them further.
“She’s likely already gone.”
Ten minutes later, submitting to Hudgins’s repeated requests they stop at the Swanson’s farm, Grant pulled into their lane and drove up alongside the handyman. “Is Miss Richmond here?”
“Gone.”
“Told you so,” Grant grumbled under his breath to Lee.
Seth waved toward the road. “Took the bicycle to the train station and caught the early bird. Maybe you fellas oughta try it sometime.”