by Kari Trumbo
He stood and made his way down the stairs. He hadn’t eaten in a day but the bread his mother was cutting for them held no appeal. “She’s gone.” He couldn’t say more.
“I know. She left a note. I’m so sorry Clive.”
“If I’d have kept a handle on my temper last night, it wouldn’t have happened. My actions pushed her away.”
“She isn’t far, only about three and a half hours by the Rapid Canyon line, if a passenger route is going that way.”
“Why would she leave without making sure what the paper said was true?” He slid the pages he’d been holding across the table.
“Because she wasn’t sure of herself, as I said this afternoon. She’s young, but strong. She just needed a little encouragement that she was going about things the right way.”
“Instead, she found a newspaper article that confirmed her worst fears. She should’ve known it was a lie, Dunworthy can never be trusted.” But Dunworthy wasn’t the real problem, no matter what he said. He’d chased her away by his own fear to commit anything to words. The wordsmith had lost because he hadn’t said the words he’d needed to.
“An open heart believes what you give it. It will take on pain and suffering, or love and affection, all dependent on you. Had the first thing she heard been that you loved her, or even that you cared for her, she would’ve stayed here to fight.”
Mother had always been firm about honesty, and her words pegged him. “I don’t know what to do. Will her family accept my suit?” What if they didn’t? Could he face life alone? There would never be another Frances.
“I’d wager you won’t know until you go find out. You’d planned to go and look for a job there, anyway. I guess this is goodbye, just a little earlier than we first thought.” She shoved a thick slice of bread in his hands. “Tonight, you eat with me and then go home to pack your things. Tomorrow, you go courting.”
“I’ve already courted. I already know I love her. And judging by her words, she loves me too. The only one left to convince will be her brother-in-law, Beau.”
“Convincing people of things has never been a problem for you, son. You are a reporter.”
A reporter, a seeker of truth. The truth never mattered quite so much as it did right then.
Frances swung down from the buggy and led Pastor Ira to the front door. She could already hear the squeals of little Joseph playing. At three years old, he was an active and precocious member of the family, keeping Ruby busy all the time. Frances pushed open the door and Lula jumped from her seat on the sitting room couch.
“Frances is home!” Lula rushed to her and crushed her in an embrace that left Frances breathless. Lula was always moving. Excitement, noise. She was bubbly, sharing her laugh with everyone. “Oh, Pastor Ira, it is so good to see you mid-week!”
Pastor Ira stepped through the door and bowed his head slightly in greeting. “Thank you, dear Lula. I only meant to deliver Frances home and make my way back to Deadwood. No need to fuss.” He waved as he backed out the door.
“Frances, where is your trunk? And your eyes, have you been crying?” Lula wrapped her arm around Frances and led her to the couch, drawing her own handkerchief from her skirt pocket and handing it to Frances. “Do tell me what’s the matter. Have you had a misunderstanding with Constance?”
A misunderstanding would be the easiest way to put it without having to expose her heart to all her sisters. She could hide her pain behind the loss of a friend until her heart mended and she could be whole again. Frances managed a nod. “She wasn’t who I thought she was.”
“I’m so sorry, Frances. I don’t know why things like that happen, but I know you and Constance were so close, sending letters all the time. You always did put a lot of stock in written words.”
But no more. “I don’t think I have much interest in writing or reading much anymore. I just want to rest, to forget the last few weeks.”
“I don’t think you’ll be able to do that...” Lula bit her lip and turned away, avoiding Frances’s gaze.
Worry skittered up Frances’s neck. “Why is that?”
“Remember how Beau used to work for the paper in Deadwood? Well, Mr. Carmichael at the Deadwood Times is good friends with Mr. Marksman of The Rapid City Union. He recognized your last name in the Rapid City paper and remembered Beau saying you were going to be there. He brought the paper for Beau to see this morning...”
Frances groaned. How could she explain herself? Beau had trusted her. She was only eighteen and he’d let her go to Rapid on her own with the understanding that Jacob Charity would act as her guardian. She’d either have to make Mr. Charity look like the worst guardian ever or fess up to being out when she shouldn’t have been.
“How did Beau take it?”
Lula raised her eyebrows and her deep blue eyes grew huge. Her tight curls bobbed as she backed into the seat. “Well, he acted as he usually does when something about his girls comes up. He’s worked himself to the bone all day. He was planning to ride to Rapid tomorrow if he didn’t hear from you or Mr. Charity by the end of the day.”
“We’d best get this over with. Can you go see if he’s in the barn?”
Lula stood and gripped her shoulder, waiting for Frances to look up. When she met her gaze, Lula’s tenderness almost undid her. “Just be honest with him. He cares about all of us so much. If you love this Turner fellow, just tell him.”
“That’s the problem, Lula. I don’t love him. I don’t even like him.” Her lip trembled. If only she’d been more assertive with her ‘no’. She shouldn’t have let anyone convince her to go back once she’d decided not to. But regrets were like week old milk, they tasted sour, turned your stomach, and weren’t much good for anything but tossing out.
Beau strode in and nodded to Lula. “Saw Johnson before he left, said he brought Frances home. Lula, can I have a minute alone with Frances, please? Take Joseph to the barn. Ruby’s out there.”
“Yes, sir.” She scooped Joseph up and plopped him on her hip, leaving silence in her wake.
Beau sat on a chair across from her. His face was slick with perspiration, proving Lula had been right. Beau had put himself to work to keep from worrying about her. He drew his hat off his head and rested it on his knee and waited. Beau’s silences were legendary. He wasn’t a talker, using most of his daily words on his wife. Yet what he lacked in verbosity, he made up for with listening. He knew everything that happened, just because he used his ears more than his mouth.
“I didn’t do what the paper said, sir.” Though it was hard, she looked him right in the eye so he could see the truth of her words.
“I was out with Constance and two men, but nothing happened. I left to get some air and he followed me. He tried...” She swallowed and Beau’s eyes turned hard.
Beau gripped the chair, his worn fingers clenched tightly, turning his knuckles white. “He tried what scoundrels do when they are out with a woman whose parents don’t know where she is.” He filled in for her.
“Yes, but it ended before anything could happen.” She turned her head to show the slight bruise by her left ear, the only physical mark left from the week. “He hit me, and I screamed. The newspaper man came along and saw what had happened, well, two newspaper men actually. One chose to write about it, one chose to help me, which is why nothing else happened.”
“That was two days ago. Word travels fast around here. Didn’t you think I’d find out? That I’d worry? I didn’t know it wasn’t true. I was ready to race over there. To throttle this Turner.”
“I dawdled only for one extra day, but then I came home. I’m sorry. I should’ve come home right away.”
“A telegram would’ve been sufficient. I’m a little surprised Charity didn’t send one.”
The closer Beau came to the truth, the harder it would be to make herself look innocent. While she didn’t want to bring up what she’d done that week, she hadn’t done much. “He assumed the paper was telling the truth and asked me to leave his home. I spen
t that night at the hotel.”
Beau gripped the chair tighter. “But...it’s been two days. If he put you up in a hotel, that would’ve been the first night. Where did you spend last night?” Beau’s eyes took her in from head to toe. He had to see her red eyes and roughly braided plait.
“I stayed with the mother of a friend and left her a note when I decided to leave. She still has my trunk. We’ll need to send for it.”
He nodded, but the set of his jaw said he knew there was more to the story. Frances had no other friends in Rapid City. At least, she hadn’t when she’d left.
“The whole reason you went to Rapid was to sell your story. Did you?”
He’d known? She’d never mentioned it. Had never even told him she’d written a story. But then, Beau knew everything. Always had. Her shoulders drooped to a painful angle and she sucked in a breath. “No, and I’ve also realized that writing them isn’t for me anymore. You won’t find me hiding away to read anymore. I’ll do what you ask.”
Beau’s eyebrow rose and she almost laughed.
“Well, I’ll be as good as I can be, anyway.”
Chapter 21
The shirt fit just fine, but it felt too small, tugging at Clive as he ran his finger under the collar yet again. He’d worn his Sunday best for the ride to Deadwood because he’d go to the newspaper first. After he left an inquiry there, he’d rent a buggy and bring Frances’s trunk to her. His mother had made sure everything was packed for him. He didn’t have much to bring. Who knew, he just might have to go back to his empty life in Rapid if Frances didn’t want to see him. If she wouldn’t listen to what he had to say.
He’d start over if he had to. It might actually be best. Show her from the start that he was only interested in her. Not Constance, not her story, not what he could gain by her help, but just her. The newspaper was in a squat storefront that would be easily missed if he hadn’t known what he was looking for. Mr. Carmichael was a good man, known in the area as being honest, and working to bring the right people to Deadwood. After fire and flood had almost wiped the town off the map twice, there was talk of Deadwood being like Gomorrah of the Bible, but he knew it was just the way of things in the hills. Dry timber meant fire, rushing rivers meant flood. Hardy people meant the town would survive.
He squinted into the sun along the street and watched for any sign of Frances, but she would’ve arrived the day before. She would have no reason to still be in town. He pulled open the door and stepped inside the small front area of the newspaper. It was nothing like the cluttered newsroom at The Union in Rapid City. In fact, he didn’t see any space for reporters at all. A large man came through the back entrance, wiping his inky fingers on his apron.
“Good afternoon. May I help you?”
Clive stepped forward and offered his hand. “Clive Davidson, reporter. Was wondering if there were any openings here with the Times?”
The man eyed him for a moment as he shook Clive’s hand in a strong grip. “Marksman finally let you go, huh? I’ve been asking him to send you my way for near on five years.”
Clive held his shock in check. His boss had never mentioned such a thing. “I find myself recently available and I do have references.” He pulled Jacob Charity’s letter from his vest pocket.
Carmichael waved it away. “Your reputation precedes you. I don’t know that I’ll be able to pay you what you made at The Union, but I’ll do my best to keep you here. You can have a few days to get lodging and situated. Why don’t you come in Monday morning?”
It had been the easiest job to get so far. He wouldn’t ask for more. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be ready to start then.” Clive glanced quickly around the small space. There had to be more in the back, but he’d get to know the office on Monday. It was Friday, so he needed to find lodging right away, then skedaddle out to find Frances. He’d have to ask just where her ranch was. There couldn’t be all that many. There just wasn’t that much flat land for ranching.
The lady at the boarding house let him sign on a week at a time, until he could get paid regularly enough to pay for a month. Now, he just needed to rent a rig and collect Frances’s trunk from the rail station. Nerves tightened every muscle in his arms and legs until even walking was uncomfortable. He hadn’t lied to Frances, but he hadn’t been honest either. He’d let himself play along without investing himself, and before he’d even realized what had happened, the treasure had disappeared.
The livery owner had known just the place and told him it would be easy to find. The trail was well marked as Brody Ferguson, the owner of the ranch, came into town frequently. The man at the livery had been right. The path was easy, and now a small house appeared at the bottom of three hills. If the liveryman was correct, that house should belong to Aiden and his wife, Jennie, Frances’s sister.
Just thinking about Frances’s family brought him a sense of urgency, nearness, familiarity. He had to see her. It had been less than two days since he’d sat with her, discussing her book, but it felt like a lifetime. He pressed further and a blonde with a striking resemblance to Frances, only a little older, stepped out onto her porch. Her belly was round with child and she waved a greeting. He pulled up on the lines and waved.
“I can assume this is the Ferguson place?” he called from his seat.
She shaded her eyes with her hand and nodded. “Yes, sir. You here to see Brody?”
He ducked his head, hiding behind his wide-brimmed hat. He should at least speak to Mr. Ferguson if he was on his land. He glanced back at her and she’d moved a few feet closer to him. “I’m sure I’ll speak to him, but I’m here from Rapid City, bringing Miss Arnsby’s trunk back.”
“That’s a mighty long way just to bring a trunk, mister.”
Hadn’t Frances told him that Jennie liked to mother everyone? Bossy, she’d said, didn’t like to trust anyone. Frances would know. He smiled. “To be fair, I brought it on the train. I didn’t drive the whole way.”
Her eyes were wary of him, but she nodded. “You follow the trail up the hill. Be careful a little over halfway up, it’s steep.” Jennie turned and made her way back into the house and shut the door. He hadn’t earned her trust yet, but he’d do his best to win over the whole family. Starting with the one he’d come almost forty miles to see.
Lula buzzed around her like a hungry bee on the scent of pollen. She’d been unwilling to give her a moment of peace all morning. Frances had gotten accustomed to sleeping in her own room. Sharing would take getting used to again.
“Frances, I could get you something cool to drink, perhaps something to eat?”
Frances sighed. Lula was only trying to be her sweet self, but even the girl’s helpfulness was a strain. “No, I haven’t become parched in the last few minutes since you asked me last. Really, Lula, I’m fine. You don’t have to stick so close to me.”
Lula plunked down on the bed. “It’s just that...there’s no one else to talk to. I didn’t realize it until you were gone, but the others are so young. Without you, it’s lonely here.”
Frances turned to her sister, feeling a new kinship with her younger sibling that hadn’t been there before. “I understand. I used to follow Eva around like she was so amazing and could teach me everything. She knew about the world, had read everything. Then, she met George and suddenly she was gone. I didn’t know what to do without her. With her married, I became the oldest sister, the one who had to do the majority of the chores, had to watch Joseph when Ruby was busy. I agree, it was lonely. I’m sorry you’ve been feeling that way, Lula.”
“I know you’ll leave to get married too someday. But until you do, I want to cherish the time I have with you, because I just never know when it could end.”
The jingle of traces announced someone’s arrival. Lula ran to the window and drew back the lace curtain. She gasped. “My, he’s handsome. I wonder who he is.”
Frances’s heart skipped a beat, then drummed in her ears. She stood and moved behind Lula. It took less than a moment to recognize
his build, his movements, the way he carried himself. Why was Clive here and where was Constance?
“It looks like he’s brought the trunk back! How gallant of him!”
“Lula, you know nothing about him. He could just be some delivery man.”
“But he isn’t. He’s wearing a suit and a man from the railroad would be wearing his blues.”
She’d noticed his suit, how it had fit nicely across his shoulders. His hat covered his glorious black hair. She wondered what it would feel like under her fingers.
“You sighed just now. What are you thinking, Frances?” Lula again invaded her thoughts.
“I think you’re right, he’s quite handsome. But he doesn’t belong here.”
Frances left the room and climbed down the ladder. She’d just fixed her skirts when the knock she’d been waiting for came. She held her breath and strode to the door, unwilling to run and throw herself at him. He was a married man, after all. She opened the door and his wide smile stole her breath right from her lungs.
“Frances. My, you’re a pretty sight.” Clive moved to step in the door and she shut it in his face. What could he possibly be doing? The paper had said he was getting married. They’d used his full name, there could be no error. She understood him bringing her trunk, but what kind of a man married one day and flirted with another woman the very next? And how did her heart rejoice at it?
Ruby strode in from the back door. “I thought I heard a knock. Won’t you let them in?” She wiped her hands, dirty from the garden, on her apron.
“I’d rather not.” Frances’s insides trembled.
Ruby bent over the basin and washed her hands, then wet her cheeks, finally drying them both with a towel. “Frances, you’re being terribly rude. Open that door this instant.”
Frances steadied herself and opened the door once again. The smile had slid off Clive’s face, leaving a wounded boy on her front porch.
“Come in, won’t you?” She found her own voice subdued.