Caught in the Middle (Ladies of Caldwell County Book #3)

by Regina Jennings

  “Considering all I’m facing, Ophelia doesn’t seem that scary.”

  “And as far as Sammy goes, I’ll stand by your decision. You’ll make the best choice for both of you. I know you will.”

  If only she was as confident. Anne wished she could reassure him. She wished she had the words to ease his haggard countenance, but she could barely hold herself together. “I’ll go with you to the Stanfords’ dinner.” What all that entailed, she couldn’t fathom, but she wanted to promise him something. “If you don’t mind, though, I’d like to be alone for now.”

  “Of course.” He wriggled his hat down tight over his head, his mouth pulled into an uncharacteristically grim line. “Send for me if I can assist.”

  He waited, but she had nothing left to say. With hands thrust into his pockets and shoulders hunched he trudged away.

  Anne started forward and felt his absence. She looked for Nick, but he had already jogged out of earshot. Probably for the best. She couldn’t rely on him indefinitely. Yet, with all her misgivings over her future, she still wasn’t convinced that gaining custody of Sammy was a disaster. With everything that had happened in her life, she’d kept hoping that somewhere it would all make sense. Somehow it would all match up and she could see that her suffering had a purpose. She wasn’t there yet. She didn’t see any divine justice, and the offenses had piled higher and higher, but Sammy might be the turning point. Would everything now fall into place, or would this be just another calamity God was forcing her to endure?

  And she still didn’t know how to respond to God’s interference. The way these people talked, God required a heap of meekness, surrender, and sacrifice—but she rarely witnessed any. And she couldn’t afford to be weak if she had Sammy. She needed to be ready to fight, not go belly up and surrender. She wouldn’t lose this child. Not again.

  She needed to carry on just as she’d been doing. Every time she felt herself settling into the Pucketts’ household, she told herself that she hated Garber, that she would soon return to the countryside, where she would be free, unshackled by responsibility. But the gentle routines had molded her. Could it be that her earliest desires hadn’t been misinformed? Were there really homes like the Pucketts’ everywhere? Was her husband, Jay, the exception rather than the rule?

  Her desire to stay meant forming attachments that could be broken. It’d mean giving part of herself to people who could betray her, but Sammy deserved her love. She would have to change for him, and loving the boy would affect her other relationships, too. Her cup already brimmed with feelings that she’d denied, and caring for Sammy could be the droplet that caused it to spill over.

  Well, she’d take her fences one at a time. She had enough to sort through before complicating matters further.

  13

  The humid night air stifled Anne’s cry when she rolled to her side. Her arm. She’d forgotten how badly it hurt when she lay on it. Gently she lowered herself onto her back. She mustn’t wake Jay, especially whining over an arm he swore wasn’t broken.

  Sweat dampened the back of her neck and her forehead as she searched for something to look forward to with the sunrise. Some reason not to end her misery. Maybe Jay’s chores would keep him away from the house. Maybe he would allow her to scrounge the thickets for blackberries and mulberries. They had to eat, after all. At least, he did. Whether there was enough left for her didn’t matter.

  Silently she slid her hand over her tattered nightgown. It did matter. She remembered now the reason she must survive. Why she must stay strong and healthy. She carried a child. His child. Perhaps becoming a father would change Jay. Perhaps he’d be pleased with her and would treat her like he had in the beginning. This child would be their fresh start.

  Anne must have drowsed, for a movement startled her awake. She tensed, prepared for anything from a brutal caress to an outright strike, but instead, someone snuggled against her.

  Her eyes darted around the room. Where was she? This wasn’t her home. She turned her head to see an infant curled against her.

  Her child? She touched her flat stomach and the memories returned. The brutal beating that led to her miscarriage. Jay’s death. Buffalo hunting in Pushmataha. Tessa’s desertion.

  Anne rose on her elbow. The springs on the iron frame squeaked beneath her. The lemon scent from the sachet that Mrs. Puckett stored with her linens wafted off Anne’s sheets. Calm. Safe. Sammy’s blond locks were matted to his wet head. He’d left his trundle to find her sometime during the night. Anne untangled the blanket that was wrapped around him and fanned him with its corner, her present catching up with her.

  With the death of Finn Cravens, no one else could lay a claim on Sammy. She’d wanted to be a mother, to know the maternal bonds that had been denied her in her childhood, but Jay had stolen her baby from her. And Sammy had lost his family, as well. But perhaps it accomplished a purpose. Anne wrapped a blond curl around her finger. Didn’t she deserve something good after the shabby way she’d been treated?

  She would start small, ease into this new role. Instead of ridiculing the sermons on Sunday, she would give the pastor a chance. Praying would be a good start, and she could learn the language of faith that everyone around her spoke so fluently. If it paid off, then maybe she’d trust God with a little more. Selling her buffalo equipment to Anoli would give her some funds, so it wasn’t like she was expecting God to handle it all on His own. She wanted to be fair. They shouldn’t expect too much from each other starting out.

  So she and God were good. She hadn’t foreseen being a mother in this way, but she was ready. Somehow she would manage to give Sammy everything he needed. He belonged to her and no one would take him away.

  Anne’s half day at the office had flown by. Nick had seemed relieved that she’d decided to stay in town with Sammy and even referred her to a solicitor who might have advice on taking custody of the boy. Now, in her bedroom mirror she watched her jaw harden. She’d do whatever it took to see that Sammy was a permanent part of her family, but her time at Nick’s office was temporary. Harold’s recovery would soon bring her employment to an end, and she’d need to find another way to support herself. Of course, neither Nick nor she broached the subject, and Anne was glad to save that conversation for a later date.

  What she couldn’t delay was dinner with the Stanfords that night and her absolute dread of getting into a dress again, but she’d given her word.

  Mrs. Puckett bent over a trunk, flinging wads of fabric in every direction.

  “Mary wore this dress at her coming out, so it wouldn’t be appropriate for a widow. Caroline’s dress here is bound to be too short. Here’s one of Sadie’s. You’re about her size. It looks nice enough and the mice haven’t been in it.” Mrs. Puckett lifted the gown out of the trunk and shook it, letting the protective tissue paper float to the attic floor.

  “No, no.” Anne pried a sheet out of Sammy’s hand before he could rip it further. She went to her knees to collect them and give herself time to collect her own thoughts. She hadn’t worn a dress since Jay died.

  She closed her eyes. Not just died. That wasn’t the whole story. Anne hadn’t dressed like a lady since she’d killed him. She’d shot him dead. Even through all the beatings she’d endured, all the losses, she’d never considered shooting him before. He was her cross to bear. She deserved her punishment the way she’d dressed up to be alluring. She’d wanted a man’s attention, and she’d gotten it. Vanity had earned its just reward.

  Could this dress undo all the independence she’d won? Was she any stronger than when she’d stepped into a feminine role the first time? She watched as Mrs. Puckett held the dress against herself and smoothed the wrinkles. It wasn’t a cursed gown that would carry her off to a dank underworld. It was just a dress, worn by the fearless Puckett girls who’d gone on to marry happily and give their mother grandchildren, albeit at an unsatisfactory distance.

  Anne would wear it to a dinner to see her old friend Molly. Nothing could happen there, cou
ld it? And besides, if she was dressed nice, Mrs. Stanford would have to allow her in. The woman had probably been salivating all day—if the lady made spit—waiting for the opportunity to turn Anne away at her doorstep, but she wouldn’t get it.

  Anne could do this. Mrs. Puckett cooed and awed as she held the navy wool dress against her. She had to take care of Sammy. No longer could she ignore etiquette and convention. What kind of life would her boy have if his mother was an outcast? Until she thought of something better, working for Nicholas and living with the Pucketts was the safest place for them. And if her attendance could improve Nick’s relationship with his employer, then it wouldn’t kill her to share a meal with them.

  Sometimes it wasn’t about winning or losing. Sometimes it was about living to fight another day.

  “You knew I couldn’t stay in Prairie Lea when there was so much drama taking place here in Garber. Besides, you were so good to send us business when Bailey and I were getting started at the sawmill that we wanted to come applaud your success.”

  In her usual fashion, Nick’s sister insisted on having two escorts. Her husband had her left arm and carried their son on his other side. Nicholas had her right and hauled their bag—allowing Molly to promenade down the big city streets with her new gown on full display. Garber might be more cosmopolitan than little Prairie Lea back in Caldwell County, but his sister could teach these women a thing or two about presentation. He couldn’t wait to hear her opinion of Ophelia Stanford.

  “And to see Anne,” Bailey said. “Molly’s just itching to hear the latest on the mysterious Mrs. Tillerton.”

  “I haven’t mentioned your association to Mother. Can you imagine what Father and she would say if they knew you were socializing with Anne?”

  “I don’t think anyone would accuse Anne of socializing, but she’s a special lady—definitely more interesting than anyone else I’ve met here. Besides, I thought our parents had finally learned not to meddle.”

  Molly laughed. “If they objected to Bailey . . . But please tell me Anne isn’t wearing her hideous buckskins here in the city. It was one thing when she was hunting . . .” Molly shook her head. “I guess that’s how she wants to present herself, but I wish she’d reconsider.”

  “She promised me that she’d come tonight.” Nick tipped his hat to some ladies as they passed. “Believe me, if I knew the key to helping her ease back into polite society I’d turn it.”

  “That’s the problem, though,” Molly said. “I don’t think she’s ever been in polite society. She went from the backwoods to being imprisoned, and then she was ostracized as a woman who had killed her husband. It’ll take more than a new outfit to civilize her. But tell me about this baby she has. Is he the same age as Carter?”

  They reached the hotel with plenty of daylight remaining. Their early arrival would give them time to talk before they had to guard their conversations with the Stanfords. Molly toured the lobby of the hotel admiring the décor while Bailey plopped in a chair and stretched his long legs.

  “I got you a room on my floor,” Nick said, “although those are usually reserved for long-term residents.”

  Bailey bounced his son on his knee. “I don’t know that you’ll want us close to you. Carter throws a fit at bedtime. If he gets going—”

  “Hopefully, he’ll be fine,” Molly said. “Look, there’s another infant. They’re probably used to children.”

  Nick saw the lady with the little boy standing at her knee. He nodded a polite greeting and stepped up to the clerk’s desk. “I reserved a room for—” He blinked.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Wait a minute. It couldn’t be. Nick didn’t want to turn around, for he was fairly certain what he’d just seen, and if it was her, then he’d snubbed—

  The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he prayed Anne hadn’t bolted for the door after his insensitivity. Nick turned to search the room, but she had fled. He ran to the heavy double doors and threw them wide, looking down the road in both directions.

  There. No mistaking Sammy’s blond head or Anne’s curly hair, although it was twisted up, leaving only a few corkscrew tendrils dangling. Lengthening his strides, Nick caught up with her before she reached the first crossroad.

  “Good of you to make an appearance.” He fell into step next to her. “I don’t wish to correct you, but you do realize that you’re going away from the hotel?”

  She arranged Sammy up higher on her waist—a waist he couldn’t help but notice now that there was no canvas duster or bulky pants to cover it.

  “This isn’t going to work,” she said. “I’m exposing myself for no reason. I surely don’t want to go to the Stanfords’, so if you and Molly are going to cut me in public—”

  “Molly didn’t see you, and I . . . I . . .” He stepped in front of her. “Please come back. You look very nice.” He kept his eyes on her face, completely ignoring the compulsion to step back and appreciate the changes the somber dress worked on her. No, he had to walk a fine line. If he made his true evaluation obvious, she’d feel uncomfortable and want to hide. He dispensed praise easily. It was hard to remember that she didn’t know what to do with it.

  “I did want to talk to Molly . . . and that was Bailey, wasn’t it?”

  Nick held out his arms to Sammy, who, with a lunge, fell against his chest. “That’s a good boy. Maybe Uncle Nick needs to come visit more often. You’d be glad to see me, wouldn’t you?”

  Anne followed him toward the hotel, steps only dragging a bit. “Uncle Nick? When did that start?”

  “My nephew is here, and I like the sound of it.”

  She shook her head. Nick smiled. Anne could grouse all she wanted. She was there and she was dressed respectfully. He wouldn’t expect much more from her. Incremental change, gradually increasing the grade—that’s how trains got from swamp to mountaintop. You couldn’t go steep, especially carrying a load as big as the one Anne toted.

  Nick ushered Anne to a private alcove in the hotel lobby and was met by Molly, who immediately embraced the reluctant runaway. “Anne, how beautiful you look. Buffalo hunting has been kind to you.”

  Bailey nodded. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Tillerton. Been killing any rabbits lately?”

  Anne’s brow lowered with mock ire. “No, I haven’t. Been confessing any fool nonsense in front of the whole church?”

  Bailey threw back his head and laughed. “Should’ve known you’d set me straight. Molly sees that I behave myself, so no more fool nonsense. Did she ever tell you how you scared her with those rabbits you left on the porch?”

  Nick set Sammy next to Carter, who was tugging at the fringe of the rug, eager to know every memory they shared. “I didn’t hear about that.”

  “It was when Molly was living at the parsonage. She found dead rabbits on the front porch and thought someone was making a threat.”

  Anne put a hand to her hip. “Really, Molly? They were a gift.”

  Molly fiddled with her earbob. “It does seem silly, but it never occurred to me that dead animals could be a friendly gesture. I didn’t have the first idea what to do with them. But how did you come to be in Garber? Nick says you were hunting buffalo in Indian Territory.”

  A wildness clung to Anne—even in a dress —delicate but untamed. She was a prairie flower that might wither the moment it was put in a vase. Her time indoors had lightened her naturally fair complexion, and the dark gown contrasted, making her skin glow. Had Nick not seen her shooting the toe out of a gunman’s boot, he would’ve suspected her of concocting her hunting stories.

  Nick directed her to a chair. Anne glanced nervously around the room as they took seats. “I came here to haul our cook back to Pushmataha, but she gave me the slip. Left her little boy behind, too. Then we found out that his father’s dead and the boy has no one. Not where I expected to be.”

  Bailey’s eyes held his for a long moment. Nick felt the weight of responsibility that Bailey was bestowing on him. Yes, back in Prairie Lea you didn’t
allow womenfolk to face challenges alone. He drew in a long breath. She was his responsibility. Even if she didn’t have any kin to hold him accountable, his own family would. They were all the family she had left.

  His family and Sammy.

  Molly leaned forward to smile at Sammy. “Happy boy. It’s hard to believe he’ll never know his family.”

  “But he’ll know me, and I can keep him safe as well as anyone.” Anne crossed her arms.

  Nick felt the shock of surprise. Where was her gun? No doubt she had one. Her skirt was draped too tightly over her hips for a holster under there. Probably had one hidden in her boot, but how quickly could she get to it? Knowing her . . .

  Bailey cleared his throat and Nick realized that he’d been caught staring. Anne blushed, but she didn’t run this time. She ducked her head to fuss with Sammy.

  “Let me tell you about my current projects with the railroad,” Nick diverted. If there was anything that Molly liked more than fashion, it was industry. She wouldn’t leave town until she had a chance to look over all his paper work, which was fine with him. She had a good eye for business, as her and Bailey’s successful handling of his father’s sawmill proved.

  By the time he’d answered all her questions, Anne and Bailey had about exhausted themselves entertaining the two young ruffians.

  “It’s almost time to go to the Stanfords’.” Nick stood.

  “Can we wait a little longer?” Anne asked. “Mr. and Mrs. Puckett were going to meet us and take Sammy home. He’ll be ready for bed soon.”

  Before Nick could give his consent, Molly spoke up. “Do you think she’d mind watching Carter, too? He spent two days on a train. I hate to hold him still all evening.”

  Anne bit her lip, but Nick could answer with confidence. “The Pucketts will be thrilled. Their grandchildren don’t live close—a lament I hear frequently.”

  Molly giggled. “Well, Mother and Father don’t have that complaint. They watch Eva and Carter for a couple of hours every day while I go to the mill to help Bailey. And they begged for me to let Eva stay with them. You should see her, Nick. So much energy. I’m glad we didn’t have to wrestle her the whole trip. One was enough.”