Suddenly a wave of homesickness washed over her, a desire to be back in England where she at least knew her place in the scheme of things. And Gerald was there, and he claimed she was perfect and he loved her no matter what anyone else said.
Chapter Six
The past two days had gone by so quickly. They’d had a wonderful lunch at Sarah’s. Milly’s sister was every bit as down-to-earth and friendly as Milly was, though in looks and manner they were as different as night and day. Sarah’s darling baby daughter was at the age where she was shy around strangers, but by the end of the visit she had warmed up to Violet enough that Violet could hold her without causing the baby distress.
The following evening, when Sarah and her husband came for supper, Violet found Dr. Nolan Walker congenial and possessed of a dry New England wit. She could see immediately Sarah and her husband were very much in love, just as Nick and Milly were.
It was such a contrast to the restrained, formal marital relationships she had observed in English society. Violet thought she rather preferred the American way of love, at least as much as she’d observed in her relatives’ relationships.
And now it was Saturday afternoon and time to say goodbye to Edward until she returned to England.
“Violet, I trust you won’t give Nick and Milly anything to worry about,” Edward said Saturday afternoon. “I expect your behavior to be exemplary.” He had already thanked Milly for her gracious hospitality and was about to join Nick on the driver’s perch of the buckboard.
“Of course it will be,” Violet said stiffly. Couldn’t he say how much he was going to miss her? Nick and Richard were so much more demonstrative in their affection.
“She’ll be just fine,” Milly assured him. “Don’t you fret—unless you want to worry that Violet will come to love Texas so much she may never want to go back to England,” she added with a mischievous wink in Violet’s direction.
Violet smiled back. Edward had already told her more than once that coming to Texas had been the smartest choice Nick had ever made. He had made a fresh start in Texas, married a wonderful woman and was now a respected rancher in his adopted country. But Nick had not left his true love in England as she had....
Edward’s expression was enigmatic. “Very well, then. I’ll leave her in your care. Goodbye, Violet.” He kissed her cheek.
“Might I...” She hesitated to ask, but she had to know if he would answer as vaguely as he had on shipboard. “Might I ask when I will be allowed to return home?”
“I haven’t decided, Violet,” Edward said in that maddening, toplofty way he affected sometimes. “Much will depend on your actions, of which Nick will keep me informed.”
* * *
“Let’s get to work on the dress now, while Nicky’s still napping,” Milly said after the men had driven off. “I don’t know how much we’ll be able to get done once he wakes up since he’s so fussy with that earache.”
Even with the preparations for the Walkers coming to supper the day before, they’d managed to cut out the pieces of the dress. Today they had planned to start basting the seams, but the toddler had awakened screaming and pulling at one ear this morning, and he’d been inconsolable unless Milly was rocking him.
* * *
Raleigh, sitting in his usual back pew, knew without even turning around when Violet entered the church. The sun, which had been hiding behind clouds, now chose this moment to shine through the east-facing windows as if to herald her presence.
Don’t look around yet, Raleigh ordered himself. Don’t let anyone see that the sight of her is exactly what you’ve been longing for.
“Violet, I’d like you to meet our preacher, Reverend Chadwick—we call him Reverend Gil, though, since his father was our preacher before him,” Raleigh heard Nick Brookfield say.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Violet,” Reverend Gil said. “I’d like you to meet my father and my wife, Faith.” He nodded toward a pretty woman who approached, pushing a wheeled chair in which sat an elderly man with silver hair. The old man raised a hand and smiled faintly. “My father’s suffered an apoplexy, so he doesn’t find speech easy, but that’s getting better all the time,” the young preacher explained.
“Welcome, Miss Violet,” Faith Chadwick said. “I’m so sorry I missed seeing your brother while he was here. I met him the last time he visited and thought he was so distinguished-looking, yet so approachable. Not at all as I imagined an English nobleman.”
Faith Chadwick must have seen a side of him that he hadn’t shown him, Raleigh thought. Distinguished-looking, sure, with that aristocratic face of his. But approachable? Not on your tintype!
Violet must have found the thought amusing, too, for her laugh was immediate and silvery. “I’m relieved to hear he was on his good behavior, then. He can be rather...fearsome.”
Raleigh heard Faith Chadwick chuckle.
“Maybe we should find our seats,” Nick said when the first few notes of the opening hymn floated through the air.
Raleigh finally allowed himself to look as Nick led the family past him to a pew.
She was glorious in a dress the color of rich cream, a color that might have washed out any other woman’s complexion, but it was the perfect backdrop to Violet’s coloring. She looked like a royal princess. And she carried herself like a queen.
He hadn’t paid much attention when, a few minutes ago, Kate Patterson and Ella Justiss sat down in the same row, a few feet from him—other than to bid them good morning, of course. But now, beneath the hymn everyone was singing, he heard them murmuring.
“Guess she didn’t get her dress finished,” Kate whispered to Ella. “Shucks. I wanted to see how it came out.”
“Maybe she ruined it,” Ella hissed back. “Or maybe she’d rather show everyone up with her fancy English clothes. I told you she thinks her clothes are more ‘modish’ than everyone else’s here.”
He heard Kate give a scandalized giggle. “Ella, you shouldn’t say mean things in church.”
Inwardly, Raleigh agreed, and added, Or anywhere—especially about Violet.
“I think she’s so pretty,” Kate Patterson said. “And she was very friendly to me when she was in the shop. Just like regular folks, she was.”
“Pshaw, you wouldn’t like her so much if she was to steal your beau away,” Ella retorted.
“Beau? I don’t have a beau,” Kate Patterson said. “So how could she steal him?”
“Thought you said Owen Sawyer from the Parker ranch was sweet on you,” Ella said.
“I thought he was, when he bought my decorated box at the box social a few months ago. But he hasn’t come calling since then.”
“Well, if you had a beau, would you trust him to keep his eyeballs in his head with a female like that around? I sure wouldn’t.”
Kate said nothing. Raleigh wasn’t sure if it was because Ella had made her think, or if she’d noticed Mrs. Detwiler looking balefully over her shoulder at them from the pew in front. Either way, he was glad. He looked forward to his Sundays in church as a time to join with other believers in worshipping, and he didn’t like to be distracted by gossiping.
He was a little surprised at Ella’s vehemence against the English girl, come to think of it. She’d always seemed right friendly when he’d stop at the hotel restaurant for a cup of coffee. He hadn’t done that since he’d been back from the trail drive, though, and maybe she’d changed in the interim.
Then Reverend Gil invited the congregation to pray, and Raleigh bowed his head with the rest of them and forgot about the two women next to him.
* * *
Violet had spotted Raleigh, or at least she’d thought it was Raleigh—he looked different without his ever-present wide-brimmed hat—when she’d walked into the church. It had taken all her self-control not to let her gaze stray to him while she�
��d been talking to the preacher and his wife, and she’d darted a glance at him as she passed just as he looked away.
Yes, it was Raleigh, and he was sitting next to Ella, that waitress from the hotel. Next to Ella, but not overly close to her. Did they just happen to be sitting in the same row? It was none of her concern, she reminded herself. Violet quickly looked away, but she could feel Ella’s glare like a tangible touch. Goodness, she’d hoped not to run into that girl again, but it seemed she was to dog her steps every time she came into town.
She wasn’t about to let the chit spoil her day. Not knowing the hymn being sung, Violet studied the sanctuary. Her brother had told her the place would be much humbler than the ancient Norman chapel at Greyshaw with its ornate stone columns and tall, magnificent stained-glass windows, but it had a certain simple beauty to it with its whitewashed walls and pews. It was rather like a Dissenters’ chapel at home, though it did boast a stained-glass cross behind the pulpit and the small rose window over the entrance.
The congregation looked very different from the one at home, too, being of all ages and walks of life. There were weathered ranchers and their plain-faced wives, and others who looked like they tended shop the rest of the week. Many couples were accompanied by sets of children like stairsteps, the boys with cowlicks firmly plastered down, the girls with matching dresses all out of the same fabric.
Milly’s sister Sarah caught her eye and gave her a discreet wave from the piano after sounding the closing notes of the hymn. Then Reverend Gil strode to the pulpit and said a prayer, not one read from a book of prayers, but a spontaneous one, thanking God for the good weather, then blessing the congregation and, in particular, their visitor from England, Miss Violet Brookfield, who was staying with Nick and Milly.
She was astonished, touched and a little embarrassed to be singled out this way. She felt all eyes were on her after the amen, but the faces she could see from her pew looked kindly and smiling.
The topic of Reverend Gil’s sermon was God’s love for everyone. His preaching seemed to come completely from his heart, free of the high-flown rhetoric, flowery oration and quotes from ancient literature with which the vicar at home loved to pepper his endless, droning sermons. Here, Violet was amazed to find she was actually listening, rather than woolgathering or studying who was wearing what. This was a God she might believe in, she thought, a Deity who cared deeply about each and every one of His people. As the sermon drew to an inspiring close, Violet decided her morning had been well spent.
Afterward, no one seemed to be in a hurry to go home, and gathered on the lawn to catch up on the news with their fellow worshippers. As she descended the steps behind Nick and Milly, Violet searched the milling throng with her eyes, looking forward to an opportunity to say hello to Raleigh.
She finally spotted him talking to a couple of ranchers. Between introductions to various members of the Simpson Creek community, she tried to catch his eye. She was hoping they could ride together sometime, and she could glean more details about the life of a cowboy.
Ah, he had seen her, and was making his way toward her. Violet’s heart skipped a beat like a horse in midcanter pausing to kick up its heels. Just then, however, a redheaded, green-eyed lady came up to Violet with a broad smile.
“Miss Brookfield, I’m Maude Harkey. I know Nick and Milly are purely tickled pink to have you come visit, and I wanted to meet you, too.”
“How nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Harkey,” Violet said, while out of the corner of her eye she saw Raleigh halt, obviously not wanting to interrupt the introduction. Hoping he would wait, she turned her full attention back to the woman in front of her.
“Call me Maude,” the other woman said with the frank openness Violet had begun to associate with Texans.
“Then you must call me Violet,” she responded with a smile.
“Violet, Maude’s the current president of the Spinsters’ Club,” Milly said.
“Indeed? I’ve heard all about that group, of course, since my brother met my sister-in-law because of it,” Violet said to Maude.
“Milly’s been responsible for quite a few weddings since she started the club. I hope you will join us while you’re visiting, Violet?”
“Oh, I...” Violet was at a loss. She didn’t want it to appear she was husband-hunting, since she was in love with Gerald—especially not with Raleigh within earshot. She leaned closer to Maude, and lowered her voice. “Actually, there is a gentleman back in England...” she murmured softly, letting her voice trail off, and hoped Maude would be able to guess the rest.
Glancing away from Maude, she saw the waitress edging closer to Raleigh with a purposeful gleam in her eye. What was Ella about?
Maude missed the hint. “Oh, it’s not all about matchmaking with us spinsters—we have a lot of fun,” she said, as loudly as before. “Please come—the more, the merrier, we always say! In fact, we’re having a tea tomorrow afternoon to plan the next party. Perhaps you can add some ideas. The meeting will be at one, here at the church social hall,” she said, nodding toward a rectangular structure that joined one side of the church at a right angle.
“Hmm...” Drawn by the woman’s friendliness, Violet wanted to attend, but she didn’t want to take Nick away from his ranching chores to escort her. She suspected he had put off several chores to spend more time around the house while Edward was here. But was it the “done thing” to ride into town alone? If she rode any distance from Greyshaw, she was always accompanied by someone, if only a groom. The road from the ranch was winding, but there were no confusing forks, so she had no doubt she could do it. Still, it was a good five miles to Simpson Creek.
“Violet, Nick can bring you in the buckboard—he’s got a town council meeting at the same time,” Milly said, perhaps sensing the reason for her hesitation.
“Very well, then. Yes, I’d love to come, Maude.”
“I’m so glad! Until then...”
As Maude moved away to exchange greetings with someone else, Violet saw Raleigh cross the distance between himself and Violet. Yes! Milly had stepped away to speak to the old preacher, and Nick had gone off to join the pair of ranchers Raleigh had recently left. Violet wanted to ask Raleigh if he’d be out riding anytime soon.
Except that Ella was trailing after him as if attached by an invisible string.
“Miss Violet, happy Sunday to you,” Raleigh said, hat in hand. “Have you met Miss Ella Justiss?” he said, acknowledging her presence at his side.
“Yes, we’ve met,” Ella muttered, as if to say, And that’s all that needs to be said.
If Raleigh was aware of the tension between the two women, he didn’t show it. “Did your brother head back to England?”
The lines at the corners of Raleigh’s eyes, formed by a life outdoors in bright sunlight, crinkled most delightfully when he smiled, Violet thought. “Yes, Edward departed yesterday afternoon, though he won’t be going directly home. He has business in New York.”
“I hope he has a good journey,” Raleigh said. “What did you think of the service?”
“You took the question right outta my mouth, Raleigh Masterson,” said an elderly, hefty woman with a hat overloaded with dried flowers. She had approached unseen and stood now on Violet’s other side.
“Hello, Mrs. Detwiler,” Raleigh said. “You’re looking like life agrees with you today. Have you met Miss Violet?”
“No, that’s what I came over here to do, boy,” she said, giving him a playful tap on the wrist before turning to Violet. “Howdy. I’m Mrs. Detwiler. My late husband was the preacher here before Rev’ren’ Gil’s papa yonder.” She nodded toward the white-haired old minister.
“How do you do, Mrs. Detwiler?” Violet said, wishing she could make both the other women disappear.
“Yes, I was about to ask the very same thing,” Mrs. Detwiler repeated. “Reckon our c
hurch is a sight differ’nt than your churches back home. I imagine they’re very grand, aren’t they? Hunnerds of years old, I hear?”
“Yes, our chapel back at Greyshaw Hall was built by the Normans back in the twelfth century, and in the same stone as the old castle.”
“A heap a’ stained glass, too, I ’magine? I love stained-glass winders,” the old woman confessed. “We didn’t have any when my late husband was preacher here....”
“Yes, there are a half dozen in all, all medieval, as well,” Violet said. “It’s a miracle they survived some eras in our history, but they really are glorious.”
“And your preacher—are his sermons as good as our Reveren’ Gil’s?” Mrs. Detwiler asked, her pride in the local minister evident.
“Well, they’re quite different, your preacher’s style and that of our vicar,” Violet explained. “Our vicar speaks in an elaborate oratorical style, full of literary allusions. Whereas your Reverend Gil—”
To her annoyance, she saw Ella tugging at Raleigh’s sleeve.
“Raleigh, walk me back to the hotel, won’t you? I have to git t’ work,” the waitress said, her tone just short of wheedling.
Violet saw a quick flash of something—regret? impatience?—flash in the cowboy’s dark eyes before he nodded to Ella. “I suppose I could do that, Miss Ella,” he said politely, then said, “Mrs. Detwiler, Miss Violet, y’all have a nice day.”
“Oh, Raleigh, you’re so nice,” Violet heard Ella purr as she put her hand on Raleigh’s arm. “Why don’t you stay and have dinner at the restaurant? Cook’s got chicken and dumplings on special today.”
Evidently Ella the waitress was Raleigh’s sweetheart, Violet thought with an unwanted feeling of dismay. Well, there’s no accounting for taste, she thought. Apparently he found the waitress’s waifish, you’re-my-hero manner appealing.
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