“What shall I put in it?” Every plant in the conservatory was as familiar to her as the pearls on her mother’s pin. Yet, only the most compact ones would have the growth characteristics required for the miniature greenhouse. That still left many choices.
A sudden thought sobered her. “And what about Mr. Moore? He might say I’m taking Mr. Kent’s property if I fill it with plants from here.”
“I thought as much. If you’ll tell me which you prefer, I’ll bring my own over and keep a cutting or two for myself. Yours will be jiggled about if you’re traveling and you need strong plants with good root systems to survive the stress.”
Footsteps crunching on the gravel walkway drew their attention outside. Amelia’s joy fled as her gaze locked with Moore’s sardonic one.
He stepped into the conservatory. “I thought perhaps you’d be out here.”
Woodward turned to Amelia. “I’ll be waiting for your list, miss.” A quick tip of his hat and he strode out the door.
“Woodward doesn’t appear to be worried about leaving you alone with me.”
“Should he?” She raised her brows for effect. “Then again, killing me off would be one way to dispose of someone who’s overstayed her welcome.”
He slipped his right hand into the front pocket of his trousers. “You may choose not to believe me, but the thought never entered my mind.” His eyes widened, giving him the maniacal expression of an asylum patient. “Until now,” he added in a haunting voice.
Her laugh slipped out. “Be warned, Woodward may have left your sight, but you can be sure he’s watching from some corner. It is a glass structure, after all.”
“Speaking of glass structures.” He tapped the terrarium. “Did this shrink?”
She expected a response about stones and people living in glass houses. Instead, he’d tossed out a comment so ludicrous she couldn’t stop another laugh from bubbling out. “Oh dear.” She pressed her lips together before yet another traitorous action escaped, and then sealed them with her cupped hands.
Moore cocked his head, a strange expression on his face. “You seem different today.”
She felt different after her morning’s decision to live each day knowing God had blessed her abundantly. And the terrarium proved it. She opened one side of its roof to expose the emptiness within. If Moore told her to leave today, she’d be ready.
From the corner where she kept her potting supplies, she scooped out smooth pebbles gleaned from a fast-flowing riverbed. After spreading them in a thick later at the bottom of the terrarium, she went back for a double handful of coconut fibers as if Moore wasn’t standing there watching her with his hands tucked into trouser pockets.
“Was this here all along? I don’t remember it from my first visit.”
“Woodward brought it over this morning.” She spread the coconut fibers over the layer of pebbles. If she told him she would use it to carry precious plants for sentimental reasons, how would he respond? A sideways glance proved that he seemed different today as well—more relaxed if that were possible, especially in his face where lines weren’t furrowing his forehead. Quite attractive if she wanted to admit it—which she didn’t.
As she continued adding layers of peat and soil, Moore wandered over to the sorghum seedlings. With the slowest of motions, he reached out and flicked a grassy blade making it sway ever so slightly.
“They’ve grown.”
“Yes, they have,” she admitted, for it was no use denying it.
She closed the lid on the terrarium and stepped back to admire it. All it needed was plants to enhance its beauty.
Moore hadn’t moved from the seedlings.
Amelia wiped her hands on a garden rag. Woodward was the only one who knew the schedule called for them to be planted the next morning. Even Thornby, the estate manager, didn’t know the timing although he’d reported that the trial plot was ready.
Instinct told her not to tell Moore. It wasn’t a matter of spoiling his pensive mood, but if the seedlings were to have any chance of survival, they needed to be in the ground.
Chapter 6
Jeremy dragged his gaze from the grassy seedlings. They reflected hours—weeks—of work that would be lost unless Winston decided to sell them. But who would buy them? Some scientific research university? A botany company? Or would they be allowed to wither and die because they had belonged to someone named Robertson?
The sound of horses approaching the conservatory caused him to look outside, where the lack of condensation due to the open door gave him a clear view of the groomsman riding one horse and leading another.
Amelia rushed outside. “What is it, Jimmy?”
“They’re here, Miss Amelia.” He jumped down, grinning. “I spotted them on the northwest quarter on the other side of the hill. Not sure for how long, though.” Keeping a grip on his own reins, he handed the ones for the other horse to Amelia.
Jeremy didn’t know who they were talking about, but he wasn’t about to let Amelia run off and leave him alone. He strode after her. “Who’s here?”
Jimmy hoisted Amelia into the sidesaddle and then turned away while she adjusted the skirts covering her raised right leg and lower left one.
“Come with me and see.” Her eyes sparkled as she tossed out the challenge.
Jeremy didn’t need a second urging. He slipped his left foot in the stirrup of Jimmy’s horse, grabbed hold of the horn, and swung up.
With a forlorn expression, Jimmy passed up the reins.
Clearly, Jimmy had expected to be part of the adventure. While Jeremy wasn’t about to give up his ride, he didn’t want the lad to carry a grudge over it. “Thanks, Jimmy. I appreciate you lending your horse to me. I don’t know what this is about, but if you’re sorry you’re not going, then it must be someone important.”
“Oh, it is, Mr. Moore. A sight you’ll never forget. Keep your ears and eyes open.”
“Let’s go.” Amelia wheeled her horse on its back hooves and started off at a lope.
They headed northwest through the estate, crossing the prairie and circling the woods. Several times he inquired who they were hoping to meet, but each time she smiled and answered that he’d see.
After a while he heard a croaking sound. Not like a frog, but something strange that reminded him of a dinosaur exhibit that had passed through Chicago the year before. Only a couple of smaller prehistoric creatures had been displayed, one a runner and the other a flier, both with bones missing, but enough in place to give an impression of what may have been. Of course the paleontologist hadn’t known what sound they would have made, leaving it up to the attendees’ imaginations. But the strange croaking hitting his ears sounded prehistoric.
Amelia slowed at the base of a small hill. She tapped her finger to her mouth and he got her message. With diagrams of flying dinosaurs filling his thoughts he wasn’t about to utter a sound and take a chance on scaring off whatever was waiting on the other side.
After tying off his horse, he lifted her out of the sidesaddle. Setting her down, he allowed his hands to stay at her waist while her upturned face caught his attention. Wide blue eyes sparkling and expectant, with a full smile that expressed her excitement.
Her hands were still on his forearms, and she squeezed them gently. “Ready?”
Caught in the moment, he nodded. With her looking at him like that, he would have agreed to anything.
Turning, she grabbed one of his hands and practically pulled him up the grassy hill, lowering her body as they climbed. Near the top she dropped to her knees.
He stopped to watch her crawl forward while tugging her troublesome skirts out of the way. Was she unaware of the soil marks she’d endure? Or that he could see her ankles? Or in this new state she was in, didn’t she care?
She looked back, her face more animated than he’d ever seen, and he knew right then that she didn’t care for convention when it balanced against something better.
Moving quickly, he crept up beside her before dropping
flat. After the frenzy of activity, he was almost afraid to look and instead watched her glee as she looked down on whatever sight was so special that she had held his hand and crawled through grass to get here.
“Look, they’re dancing.” Shining blue eyes cast a quick glance at him. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
He looked down on a swath of large gray birds, bowing and jumping on long legs, and a few bigger white ones with black wingtips. Red patches on their heads flashed with their movement, like beacons beaming out across a stormy sea.
“Over there. Look.” She placed her hand on his and pointed to where one of the large white ones twirled in a circle like a ballerina. “The gray ones are sandhill cranes, and we see lots of them. The bigger white ones are the whoopers, but there seems to be less every year.”
One sandhill stabbed at the ground. Another one tossed a stick in the air as if playing with it. “What are they doing?”
“Dancing. They bob and pose and give each other the eye like roosters do, so I suppose it’s part of their threat stance.” She sighed. “But it’s also a beautiful courtship dance when two of them perform it together. They say cranes mate for life and teach their offspring how to dance.”
“Breathtaking. I’ve never seen anything so inspiring.” As soon as the words were out he regretted them.
Her knowing glance didn’t help.
He couldn’t allow her to think him soft and tender and mooning over some stupid dancing birds. With his gut clenching at the thought, he jumped to his feet.
A tremendous roar resounded through the air as waves of cranes took flight, their white, black, and gray markings mixing in a flapping frenzy, first against the wooded background and then higher against the blue sky. They flew northwest, filling the air with a raucous croaking that stayed with him long after they’d disappeared from view.
Without a word, Amelia shook out her skirt and led the way back to the horses.
Jeremy didn’t feel like talking, either. The beauty of the cranes, their dinosaur-like croaking, the way he’d let his guard down—all emotion-draining events that left him wanting to find a hole and hide from the world. Considering that he was on Winston’s land, he could have done it if he wanted.
Amelia waited by her horse, her expression showing how much she hated having to wait for assistance.
“Will you stay for tea?”
After a quick and quiet return ride, her question was the last thing he expected. He tried to gauge her mood. She had every right to yell at him for scaring off the cranes, and she hadn’t even mentioned it. Probably wouldn’t, as social custom dictated such a response would be unnecessary, yet visiting at such a time would allow the topic to be opened and dissected. “No.”
She dipped her head in response. Williams opened the door for her entry.
“Amelia.”
She glanced back. “Yes?”
“Thank you for showing me. I’m sorry I scared them off.”
She shook her skirt as if to rid herself of him. “We all have to leave sometime, don’t we?”
Her parting shot grated all the way back to town. She didn’t have to tell him that everyone leaves. If no one left, he wouldn’t be in this distasteful predicament.
Later as he waited in line for his mail, memories of the day teased him. The time he’d spent with Amelia in the conservatory had been his most relaxing minutes since arriving in Minnesota. It probably had to do with all the luscious greenery, which seemed to buffer the outside world even with the glass windows, but he had a feeling it was due to Amelia’s presence. And although she hadn’t mentioned why, her new attitude intrigued him.
He’d never been a bird watcher, and yet lying in the grass beside Amelia while they watched the dancing cranes had affected him. For a brief time, they had shared something special. Something so unique he doubted he would ever see it again. And never again with Amelia at his side because just one word from Winston and she would be gone.
“Mr. Moore!”
He came out of his musings to find Rosie marching toward him.
“Here.” She pushed some bills at him. “I don’t want your money.”
A glance told him it was the amount he’d paid for the trunk. “What’s this for?”
With her hands on her hips, she glared up at him. “I never would have sold you that trunk if I knew it was meant for Amelia. That’s dirty money, Mr. Moore. I won’t accept it.” She started to walk away but turned back for more. “You should be ashamed of yourself for what you’re doing to that girl.”
Jeremy’s ire rose. He didn’t need to be whipped in public for reasonable legal actions. And it wasn’t like he was making the decisions. Winston was doing that. He was only carrying them out. Any day there’d be instructions on what to do, and there was just as much a chance that Winston would drop the whole thing as there was that he would pursue his plan to devastate the Robertson holdings. Not likely, but possible.
Despite Rosie’s verbal lashing, he wanted to hold on to the special moments of the day for a while longer, and he wouldn’t be able to do that if he received a letter from Winston. Making a flash decision, he stepped out of the postal line and left the mercantile.
“Mr. Moore.”
Instinctively he looked back.
The postmistress waved a white envelope. “Mr. Moore. A letter came for you. From Chicago!”
The morning after the crane sighting, Amelia awoke thinking of Moore. The way he’d nudged the sorghum seedling. His rapt attention as the cranes danced. Both were tender moments she wanted to keep close to her heart for the times when Winston’s force pressured him to do things against his better judgment.
She didn’t know when, but sometime between the conservatory and the cranes she’d begun to understand that although Moore was Winston’s puppet, tenderness and affection might be the way to cut his strings and free them both. And it would have to start with her.
Right after breakfast she headed to the conservatory to prepare the seedlings for transplant. Once in the ground they stood a better chance of survival than the ones that depended on human care.
In preparation for the task, Woodward had left several shallow basins of water on the potting table. Taking each terra-cotta pot in her hands, she tapped out its root ball and laid it in a basin with its name stake and the rest of its variety. By the time the last pot was empty, the first basin of root balls had started to dissolve in the water. Gently, she teased the roots apart but left them in the water so they wouldn’t dry out.
“Are you ready?” Woodward asked a bit later.
She replaced the final seedlings in their basin. “Yes. Let’s go before it gets too hot.”
Between the two of them, they carried all the bowls outside and laid them in the back of the wagon, up close to the seats where they would receive the least jostling. As she ran back for her wide-brimmed planting hat, Woodward covered them with a blanket to absorb any spillage while keeping the roots moist.
Although the sun was warm on her shoulders, white puffy clouds hung in the distance. “It’s a good day to plant, isn’t it, Woodward?”
“I believe you’re right. Once those clouds roll in, they’ll stop the sun from burning the seedlings. By tomorrow they should be standing as straight as new trees.”
“It won’t get too cold tonight, will it?”
He lifted his nose to the prairie wind. “I don’t believe so, but once they’re in the ground, they’re in God’s hands.”
It was the confirmation she needed. She was like the seedling taken from its home and transplanted in a new place. Yes, she was in God’s hands, but it was up to her to ease the transition and not allow herself to be torn by the experience. Leaving would be hard, but she would find a new home. His love would strengthen her.
She could withstand anything.
Chapter 7
With the letter in his pocket, Jeremy walked to his hotel lugging his feet as if his socks were filled with Amelia’s river-washed stones. Winston had intruded on
his special day, and if Jeremy was right about what the letter entailed, there wouldn’t be any more of them.
In his room, he tossed the envelope on his bed and turned to watch the traffic go by.
Each time he glanced at his bed, waves of turmoil rolled in his gut. He owed Winston for taking him and his mother off the street and giving them a home. Winston had been the father figure in his life, the man who paid for his education, who taught him everything there was to know about life and the law.
But with Winston’s loathing against Henry Robertson and anything to do with Minnesota, Jeremy knew that whatever was in that envelope, it was going to hurt Amelia.
When he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer, he slipped his pocketknife under the fold and cut the envelope open. Six words jumped off the paper.
BURN IT ALL AND WALK AWAY.
He dropped the letter as if it seared his hands, and then stomped on it hard with his right foot. Backing away, he covered his mouth with his hands to stop the roar from escaping.
As his wits returned, he picked up the paper and read it again. This wasn’t simple loathing. This was a huge financial loss and total destruction of property for no reason.
He stooped to pick up the single sheet of paper as his legal training flooded back. No salutation or date. And no signature. He reached for the envelope, noting the lack of a return address. A postmark indicated it came from the city of Chicago but nothing to prove who sent it.
He tossed it on his washstand and began pacing. Winston was crazy to think Jeremy could do something so destructive. It bordered on the workings of a madman. He stopped in his tracks. Had Winston crossed the line between hatred and insanity?
There was only one way to find out. With Winston’s letter safely in his coat pocket, he slapped his hat on his head and rushed out the door.
Minutes later at the telegraph office he tossed a coin onto his newly written telegram. “Send that right away.” He added a second coin to the first one. “I’ll be at the Grand Hotel tonight and the Robertson place tomorrow. Send someone with the answer.” He added a third coin to the pile. “Consider it urgent.”
The American Heiress Brides Collection Page 25