by Kari Trumbo
He took a tentative step forward, then another. When she didn’t fling the door at him again, he stepped over the threshold.
Ruby approached him and held out her hand. “Good afternoon, what can I do for you?”
“Good afternoon, ma’am.” His voice vibrated through her and Frances found she’d missed it much more than she’d allowed herself. “I came to return Frances’s trunk and to speak to her for a minute, if she’ll let me. I’d also like to speak to Beau Rockford, if he’s available.”
Frances couldn’t breathe, the thrumming of her heart had to have made her deaf. She hadn’t heard him properly...or she was daydreaming the whole thing. She pinched her arm as hard as she could, and her squeal made everyone in the room turn to her. Hot embarrassment flowed over her. Clive took her hand. “Can we talk? On the front porch? Please?”
Was her hand trembling, or his? She let herself be led out to the front entrance by a man she was sure she’d lost forever. How had the Lord returned him to her? It could only have been a miracle.
Chapter 22
Frances’s hand was as soft as silk in his own. How long had he waited to just feel her skin against his, her pulse beating in time with his? She thrilled him, this one woman above all others. There was a bench situated in front of a window. He hated to but let her hand loose while he waited until she sat, then took his seat next to her. Words flashed and disappeared from his mind like a firefly on a hot night. He scraped his clammy hands up and down his thighs and took a deep breath. He could do this. His job made him good with words, so why couldn’t he pull two together when he needed them? Frances’s mouth turned down, then she faced him.
“Why are you here, Clive, and where’s Constance?”
He closed his eyes. Always Constance. He’d be so thankful when he never had to hear that name again. “I told you before, and I need you to believe me once and for always. It was never about Constance. Ever. I don’t even respect her or feel sorry for her anymore. She’s ruined even that.”
Frances shifted on the seat and he had to open his eyes, had to make sure she wouldn’t leave. “I’m here because I should’ve been a man. If I wanted you to experience romance, I should’ve been the one to show you. I wish I had been, that I’d been there instead of Turner. I wished I’d believed in romance...believed in...love. I wish I’d been your first kiss, and not him.”
Frances’s eyes widened but she pinched her lips shut.
He reached for her hand and she let him pick it up and run his fingers along hers. He reveled in her little shiver as it echoed through his soul. She was so beautiful next to him, her lavender eyes searching his. “I was angry with you. If you take on a man’s name, even a fake one, I wanted it to be mine. It was a foolish thing to be angry about. But when you’re in love with someone, and you’re afraid they’ll never love you, you do dumb things.”
She opened her mouth to speak up and he covered her beautiful rose-colored lips with one finger. “Just wait, let me finish. If I don’t tell you now, I may never have the gumption to.” She nodded and he pulled away his finger, then thought better of it and brushed the tips of his fingers over her cheek. His heart ached at her sigh as it poured from her lips. She closed her eyes and he fought the urge to pull her closer.
Clive took a deep breath. He had to finish, had to tell her everything, get it out in the open. “When I left, I went for a walk to think. I should’ve gone home to pray about what I should do, but I didn’t. I wanted to fight, to do something to release the built-up anger inside me. As I walked by the creek, I came upon Constance and Reginald. They were having an argument. She’s having a baby and he doesn’t want it, or her.”
Frances squeaked and blushed a pretty pink, but kept her word, she didn’t speak.
“I tried to do the right thing and intervene when it looked like he might manhandle her. Instead, she trapped me. Dunworthy showed up, because I’m pretty sure he never sleeps, and they are better friends than anyone knows about. I wanted to come back to the house, wake you up and just explain before you saw anything in the paper, but I was arrested on my way home.” He sighed and glanced at her. “I know it’s a lot, and maybe you don’t believe me, but that’s what happened. I don’t want Constance. I never did. From the moment you walked up to my desk, I thought you were beautiful. I can’t explain why I couldn’t just let you be. I had to follow you when you were with Turner, even after only knowing you for a day... I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t willing to examine it. Sometime, during the last week, I’ve fallen for you Frances. If you don’t believe me, if you think it’s too fast...we can start over. But there isn’t another woman for me. You taught me that it’s real, Frances. Not lies. Will you let you prove it to yourself, too?”
She touched his lip as he’d done to her and a jolt ran through him, right down to his toes. She held it there for just a moment, but long enough for his skin to remember the faint touch long after she drew away. He took her hand in his and waited.
“How can you know it’s real?” she whispered.
Her quavering voice took the air right from him. “Can’t you feel it?” He drew her hand to his heart and pressed her palm where his heart beat against his ribs, and prayed she felt the erratic rhythm beneath.
She shook her head and a deeper blush stole over her soft cheeks. “No, I mean, how do you know romance isn’t a lie?”
He grinned, understanding what she was asking of him. She knew that love existed, she’d seen it with her sisters. What she wanted to know was if he believed in romance and could he show her. By gum, he sure wanted to.
Someone over his shoulder cleared his throat and Frances gasped, pulling her hand back into her lap as she turned from him to sit rigidly straight. Her lip quivered ever so slightly. “Good afternoon, Beau.”
Beau rested his foot on the porch and leaned against his knee. Trying to seem relaxed, but Frances could see the coiling fury in his eyes. “Afternoon. Didn’t realize we had company.”
Frances stood and Clive followed suit. She clasped her hands in front of her to keep from reaching out to touch Clive again, to feel that electricity flow through her. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt, and she needed to feel it once again, to memorize it to recall it whenever anything went wrong.
“Beau, you remember I told you about the two newspaper men? One that helped me, and one that wrote about me? This is Clive Davidson, he’s the one that helped me. He brought my trunk back from Rapid.”
She moved out of the way so Clive could step ahead. “Clive, this is my brother-in-law, the man whose been my father for the last six years, Beau Rockford.”
Beau held out his hand and the two shared a measuring handshake, taking stock of one another. Beau didn’t say a word. He waited and Clive cleared his throat. “Sir, I came to do the right thing. I’ve spent the last week with Frances and her friend Constance. I’ve never met anyone like Frances. I’m here to ask permission to court her.”
Beau crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know how much Frances has told you about her past and I won’t go into it too much, but the reason I’m her guardian was to give her the choice to marry who she wanted, not who anyone chose for her.” He turned his gaze to Frances. “Franny-girl. You know I love and trust you, even after the last week. If you’d like to see more of Mr. Davidson, my front porch is open all summer.”
Frances couldn’t hold in her laugh. She’d been too young to understand what her father had done to Ruby, how he’d married her off to a drunk. Ruby had gotten free of him and no one talked about that anymore. She was with Beau and happy now, so it didn’t really matter. Beau and Ruby had always said they’d give the girls their choice, and prayed they made good ones. So far, they had. Clive was another right choice, Frances felt it down to her toes.
“I’d like that, Clive.” She reached for his hand and he took it, pulling it gently to his lips and brushing her knuckles softly. Would she never know what a real kiss felt like? Would she ever finish her story? Her story!
“Did you bring it?” He couldn’t possibly know what she meant, no one could. Speaking had always been harder than writing. She opened her mouth to explain.
“Yes, I put your story all in order. It’s in your trunk. It’s how I knew I had to come for you. That I wasn’t the only one that felt something.”
She stepped closer to him, unable to stay away a moment longer. “Two days away from you was far too long.”
“I can’t deny it. The last two days were horrible.” He brushed his lips over her forehead, and she’d been right, he didn’t have to stoop at all. It was as if they fit perfectly together.
The scratch of Beau’s boots as he walked away had her relaxing into Clive as his arm encircled her, pulling her close. His scent, now so familiar, took her breath away. “I can’t believe you’re here. You’re really here.”
He tipped her chin to look at him. “Frances, not only am I here, I’m never leaving. I stopped at The Deadwood Times before I came out to see you. I have a job and a place to stay, at least temporarily.”
If she were Maxine, she wouldn’t let this time slip by, she’d make use of it and get closer to Steve. She searched his dark eyes and found welcome there, but more, she found heat and longing...and home. “Will you be the hero of my story?”
He leaned down and whispered in her ear, sending a sweet tingle through her. “Only if you’ll be my heroine.” He pressed his lips where Turner had hit her on her temple, then her cheek. Just like in her stories, her heart beat so quickly it ached. She closed her eyes and his lips found hers. For a moment, there was nothing but the gentle firmness of his lips, his arms holding her close, his body steady and solid, and her heart beating, fit to burst. Her very soul soared like an eagle. It was nothing like any author had ever written. They could never do it justice. She clung to his lapels, begging for more without words.
When he parted from her, he drew her close, nuzzling her neck. “So, is romance a lie?” His voice was gravelly, and she smiled, knowing he was just a smitten as she was.
“Yes, I’m afraid it is. There are no words quite good enough to describe it, but I’ll spend my life trying.”
“And I’ll spend mine reminding you, every single day.” He cupped her cheek and drew her in once more. His kiss chased away every thought, every doubt, every worry. There was only them, the way it was meant to be.
Chapter 23
Four months later
“Frances, look!” Lula waved a letter at her and slid the envelope across the table. “It’s my acceptance letter!”
Frances flipped open the hastily ripped flap and pulled the single sheet from inside.
Dear Miss Lula Arnsby,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to the Spearfish, South Dakota Normal School for the fall term. You will complete your last two years of primary education with us, at such time you will start our teaching program. We pride ourselves in teaching young men and women the practice of good habits...
Frances stood and rushed around the table, wrapping her arms around Lula’s small shoulders. “Oh Lula, that’s wonderful! Congratulations!”
“I’ll be the first Arnsby to have a certificate beyond primary school!” She clapped her hands together and twirled.
Frances chuckled to herself. Lula would have to learn how to calm herself. She’d always flitted through life like a butterfly. It would be sad to see that quenched, but a teacher had to be firm, tough, and strict to get through to boys who were often unruly. And the oldest ones could be intimidating. If she didn’t learn how to keep control at all times, she’d never keep a position. At least she would have two years of strict education before she began her teaching certificate.
“I’m going out to the barn to show Beau and Ruby. Oh!” She dug in her knit bag. “You got this, as well.” She handed her a letter and scrambled off, letting the door slam behind her.
Frances sat on a chair in front of the window, looking out the front of the house. Clive would be arriving any minute for his nightly visit. Her skin tingled in anticipation. She peered over the edge of the mountain as far as she could see, but he wasn’t coming yet. Turning over the letter, it read in bold letters: Street & Smith. She gasped, and her fingers fumbled with the flap.
She reached inside but waited. What if they didn’t like her story? The old doubts still lingered. Would she be a failure at writing? What if she was still infantile as Clive had called her at first? He couldn’t look at her work objectively anymore and she couldn’t keep from letting him help her. They were a team and she didn’t want her writing any other way.
A knock on the front drew her out of her thoughts and she rose to answer it. As she opened the door, Clive stepped in and she stepped into his waiting arms. He kissed her even before any words fell from his lips.
He sighed and tucked her close to him, breathing deeply. “I’ve waited all day to do that.”
He held her close until she backed away. “Here, you read it. I can’t.” She handed him the envelope.
He regarded the front and a smile broke over his lips. “Shall we find out if Misty Davidson will have her day?”
“You look. I simply can’t force myself to.” Frances turned from him and he laced his arms around her waist and held the letter out in front of her, resting his chin on her shoulder. His warmth and a sense of protection filled her from all sides. “We read it together.”
He pulled the slip of paper from the envelope and unfolded it.
Dear Miss Misty Davidson,
We have reviewed your novel, Maxine vs. The Lawyer. We have submitted it to our editorial staff for review and it has passed the first stage of publication. Your agent-in-fact, Clive Davidson, has received a copy of this letter, as well. He has been in contact with me, via the telephone, on your behalf and speaks quite highly of you.
Along with our temporary offer of publication, only rescinded if the editor should find fault, Mr. Davidson would like to extend the offer of his hand in marriage and hopes that you would be so gracious as to accept both offers. Do let us know, as both are generous.
Marcus Standby
Acquisitions, Street & Smith
Frances held her breath and Clive swung her to face him, his eyes bright and a smile covering his face. “What say you, Franny?”
His face begged for her hands and she gave in without thought, fitting her palms to his cheeks, rough against her skin.
“I don’t know what to say. The last few months have been wonderful. Do I need to send a letter, or can I answer you here?” She laughed at the absurdity of being asked to wed from someone else entirely.
“I spoke to Beau before I ever spoke to Marcus, and once he said your manuscript was good enough, I asked him to help me. I didn’t want my proposal to come with a rejection letter.”
“It still could be a rejection.”
He blinked and his hands loosened around her waist, his shoulders went slack and he started to pull away from her.
She held fast to his face, cradling it in her hands. “Not your question, Clive. My book could still be rejected. I’d never reject you, dear one. You’re my world.”
He pulled her in close and his lips came down on hers, sweet yet possessive. She’d never tire of kissing him. The flutter started in her belly and wove its way to her heart.
He brushed his thumb over the lip he’d just tasted. “If they reject you, we’ll just find another. I’ll always be your most adoring reader.” He nibbled on her ear, sending a pleasant shock through her.
“How long before we can marry, Clive?” Now that he’d asked, she didn’t want to wait. She wanted to be his wife and never leave his side.
He nipped at her tender lobe one last time. “How about, tonight.”
She gasped. “I don’t think even Ruby could pull together a wedding that fast.”
He straightened to his full height, an impish grin on his face. “Fine, you talked me into it. Tomorrow.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And Ruby certainly ca
n, because she’s been planning for two weeks.”
“You told Beau and Ruby and not me?” She tried to look hurt, but her heart was just too happy.
“I couldn’t tell you or it would ruin the surprise, and you are surprised, aren’t you?”
She pushed on to her toes and kissed him. “Yes, love. Yes, I’ll marry you and, yes, you surprised me.”
“Good, Mom is coming on the stage and I didn’t want to send her back home without seeing a wedding. My Frances, I can’t wait to see the story we write together.”
Historical Elements
Rapid City, known as Rapid by those from South Dakota, was a little more difficult to write than the other stories thus far. While Deadwood, Keystone, and Lead still retain some of that feeling of yesteryear, Rapid City refuses to look her age. I ordered many books with pictures of historical Rapid City to get a feel for it, and I pray that I got it right for you, dear reader.
Some of the places mentioned that did actually exist were the various mercantiles and stores mentioned. We often think of western towns as being small and having one of this shop and one of that, but my research tells me that Rapid City had many mercantiles, more than one livery, more than one place to buy cigars, etc. The town started out as a square mile plot and the people aimed to fill it!
Another fascinating building is the Buell building with its onion-shaped copper dome. The building was used as many things over the years, including as a weather station at one point.
Parts of this story had to be re-written as I’d found misinformation on the size of Rapid Creek. To this day, I still don’t know if there is a park by that river, but in my mind there should be. I love the sound of water rushing, it makes the words flow for me, so putting some scenes near the water helped me do that.
Speaking of water… I mentioned Canyon Lake as a place of a future resort, built from the flood of ’72 (which did happen); that lake is now called Crystal Lake, and the resort was never built, but the cottonwood lined road is there and you can drive down it toward the lake to this day.