by Rachel Bird
My strawberry tart, the oaf had called her. No man should be so disrespectful to any woman, but especially to one he claimed to be sweet on. Rafe was glad all over again he hadn’t sold Deckom any horseflesh.
He’d asked, by way of a conversation starter, was that John Deckom?
It was, she’d confirmed testily, in the way a young lady would joke about her intended. But don’t mind him. He’s harmless.
No, Rafe thought now, looking at Naomi’s adorable sister with her wayward curls, sweetly bowed smile, and mischievously sparkling blue-green eyes. I don’t think he is harmless at all.
“So this is the famous Mr. Morgan.” Looking down from the porch was a young lady wearing an open duster, trousers, and an embroidered waistcoat bearing a star that said Deputy.
How long had she been there? Rafe felt like a naughty kid caught in the middle of some mischief.
Her gaze shifted to Charity and back to Rafe. She gave him an astute going-over and started down the stairs. She held another large jug on her hip, which she brought down to the handcart, making no small racket as she went.
Then she grinned at Rafe as if she found him amusing. “Behold, my land is before thee: dwell where it pleaseth thee.”
Chapter 22
Independence Day in Break Heart was a rousing celebration like nothing Charity had ever seen. Before today, she’d met some of the county homesteaders who came into town one time a month for church and another to buy supplies, but Main Street’s sidewalks were already filling up on both sides with far more people than she’d expected. The need for a proper school was even more apparent.
“Charity, dear, you can stow your picnic inside the store for now.” Mae and Abigail were out front, putting up bunting to close off the sidewalk where they would watch the parade.
Charity had thought it unwise to close the store for the holiday. Why pass up the opportunity for so much business? But now she understood. The crowd was already full of vinegar, and the parade hadn’t even begun.
“This is a clever idea.” Mr. Morgan indicated the marked-off space on the sidewalk. “Like having your own box at the opera.”
“You’ve been to the opera!” Charity was brought up short. Mr. Morgan seemed so down to earth. She’d entirely forgotten he was a man of wealth.
“The crowd in the street is going to block our view,” Mae said to Charity. “Why don’t you and Mr. Morgan clear off a couple of the low tables and bring them out for us to stand on?”
“The girls will be here any moment, and I’ll send them in to help,” Abigail said.
Jane and Hannah were down at the churchyard, which was to serve as the staging area for the parade, seeing to last-minute problems with costumes. Faith and Luke had gone to the staging area too, as they’d both been recruited to be part of the parade. Naomi hadn’t yet returned from Nighthawk, but she and Mrs. Tweed were to join them in front of Tagget’s.
Charity held the door while Mr. Morgan pulled the handcart into the store. “You can just leave it there in the aisle.”
He helped her move bolts of wool, calico, and silk from their display to the counter. She suddenly realized they were alone together. To her dismay, she enjoyed the feeling.
“What was it like? The opera house, the singers?” She had to talk about something, anything to distract herself. “Which works have you seen?”
“I didn’t mean to imply a regular familiarity.” He blushed, which was kind of sweet. “About four years ago, I did see an opera at the Academy of Music in New York when I was visiting my brother Schuyler. It was called Aida. Very grand. Very dramatic.” He grinned and rolled his eyes.
His humor was infectious, and Charity chuckled along with him. His company was so easy, so familiar, as if she’d known him all her life. Like a brother, she told herself. She was happy for Naomi.
Charity had no desire for the trappings of money—the traps, more like; Belle had told her how awful it could be to live with rich people—but she sure wouldn’t mind certain experiences that money could purchase. Like going to the opera, and the theater generally. Or having the choice of a thousand volumes in one’s library.
She stole a glance at Mr. Morgan. He was nothing like what she’d expected. He was so easygoing and put on no airs—which was wonderful. No complaints there. But for Naomi’s sake, she’d imagined a man with more… what was the word? Gravitas? No, not weight. Mr. Morgan definitely had a presence that could not be denied.
More maturity, that was it. Mr. Morgan was older than Naomi, and yet he seemed too young for her. Was that an insult to Mr. Morgan—or to Naomi?
Hannah and Jane arrived just as Charity and Mr. Morgan brought the first table out onto the sidewalk. As they propped it against the wall, Naomi and Mrs. Tweed emerged from the crowd on the other side of Mae’s bunting.
“What an adventure!” cried Brady’s British housekeeper, a silver-haired woman whose eyes sparkled with fun. “We left my carriage at the livery, and I must say it was running quite the gauntlet to arrive here on foot. Thank you so much for inviting me to join you.”
No one would dare suggest that the very proper Mrs. Tweed climb on furniture for a better view. Mr. Morgan made a hole through the crowd to secure a prime spot at the front for her and Naomi, and of course he stayed with them.
The Main Street Trio didn’t worry about propriety. Mae, Abigail, and Charlotte scrambled up onto one table, while Charity, Hannah, and Jane commandeered the other. They all waived the little American flags Mae had passed out as the first “float” of the parade approached—Marella Grayson as Columbia, the goddess of liberty.
Excitement thrummed in the air. Marella’s flat wagon was driven by her grandpa, old Mr. Grayson, who wore a comically tall Uncle Sam hat, a long blue frock coat, and striped trousers. Marella’s flowing, bare-armed white gown in the Greek style was cinched to her form with red and blue ribbons. She held a staff bearing an enormous American flag in one hand and an unsheathed sword in the other. Its blade glinted in the sunlight to great dramatic effect. Following her float, a group of boys with fifes and drums gave an enthusiastic rendition of “Yankee Doodle.”
Charity couldn’t help watching Naomi smiling at something Mr. Morgan had just said to her. Her sister looked… happy. It was everything Charity had hoped for.
“There’s Faith!” Hannah cried out.
“Hurray Faith!” Charity swelled with pride as her sister rode by on horseback and everyone in sight cheered heartily.
In the sheriff’s absence, Teddy Gensch, as mayor of Break Heart, had asked Faith to represent the law in the parade. Dodger was draped in white bunting that proclaimed Law & Order in big red and blue letters.
Across the street, Harman Polk shook his head like it was all a big joke, but most everybody applauded. Hannah cried out, “Hip, hip, hooray for the lady lawman!”
Now came Luke, as one of the thirteen original states, portrayed by children of the county. Luke was New Jersey. Sally Overstreet was Georgia, and Damon was Delaware. Little Oralee Grayson, the tiniest child in the parade, was Rhode Island.
It was all so much fun. And Naomi! Naomi had already smiled more today than she had in years. Then when the parade ended and Luke begged her to let him go off with Sally and Damon Overstreet, she agreed!
“Be careful,” was all she said when told they were going to explore. “Don’t go near the water.”
Again with Mr. Morgan’s help, Charity, Hannah, and Jane made fast work of taking the tables back inside, restoring the fabric display, and bringing out the handcart. Then it was less than a five-minute walk to the “public square.”
Near the bottom of Main Street, just past Grayson’s, they turned right onto River Road. Beyond the border of Grayson’s memorial garden, a level and unimproved grassy field extended all the way to the riverbank. One day there would be more streets and businesses here, but for now the area served as a public commons and picnic grounds.
There were stands already set up, sponsored by the Lilac Hotel, to
sell ice cream and lemonade to raise funds for slates, chalk, and incidentals for the planned new schoolhouse. Charlotte went to see that all was in order at the stands and to collect her picnic basket from Carmelita Ramon, who was in charge of the hotel kitchen while Belle was away.
People laid out their picnics on the ground close to the wooden stage where musicians would perform after Mayor Gensch’s speech.
Charity’s people made a good-sized group. Joining the Steeles were Mrs. Tweed, Mae, Abigail, the Gensches, Jane Stedman, and Mr. Morgan. Charlotte’s somewhat damaged brother, Sudsy, and her niece, Roxanna, were helping at the ice cream stand and would join them once the treats were sold out.
Lily Rose walked by—strutted, more like—with Delilah Montgomery and the “doves” of Sweet Dee’s. They were all decked out in promenade gowns so fine Charity was sure Jane Stedman had made them, notwithstanding that Abigail Vanderhouten and Delilah Montgomery despised each other.
Lily Rose winked at Faith as she took Mrs. Montgomery’s arm and guided her group away from the Steeles’ gathering. Occasionally, one of the doves would hand a flyer to a fellow who seemed bereft of female companionship.
“Shouldn’t we be scandalized?” Charity asked Faith. “I do believe they are dragging for business.”
It was the strangest friendship, that between Faith and Lily Rose Chapin, manager of the town’s bawdy house. But no. Faith and Belle had both informed Charity that the place was a “gentlemen’s club,” and quite refined. If they said so!
At all events, Faith and Lily Rose had become good friends, and no one could doubt Faith’s character. If anybody did, she’d shoot his hat—or her bonnet—off!
“Something funny?” Faith gave her the squinty eye.
“Not at all.” Charity must have laughed aloud at her silent joke.
“Doc!” Mae called as Dr. Declan walked by. “What a nice surprise to see you here today.”
“A surprise indeed, for a bona fide misanthrope,” said Jane Stedman.
Wherever there was a crowd, Doc was guaranteed to be absent. He didn’t even attend church. But strange as the town’s physician was, he’d taken good care of Belle when she was injured, so he was on Charity’s good list.
Doc showed his black medical bag. “Last year I was called on so often due to injuries from fights and falls, I figured I’d bow to the inevitable and save time by coming prepared.”
“Come join us. The more the merrier!” Mae directed him to sit between her and Jane, and Charity inwardly shook her head. It was Abigail Vanderhouten’s professional opinion that the doctor and Jane were doomed by their odd characters to live singly all their days whether they liked it or not, but Mae’s heart was set on a romance between the two.
Charity turned away, overwhelmed by good feeling, and hugged herself. She felt all warm and cozy inside. These were her people now, and it was wonderful to celebrate the holiday together.
“Can you help?” Hannah was trying to spread one of their tablecloths over a nice grassy spot while Naomi and Faith spread out the other beside it.
Charity grabbed the opposite ends of Hannah’s cloth, then caught her breath. Oh! The world suddenly closed in on her, along with a sense that all this had happened before. Everybody dies. Matthew’s voice rang in her ears, and she felt like she was losing her balance. Was she awake or dreaming?
“Miss Steele, are you ill?” Mr. Morgan was suddenly there, behind her, supporting her. One hand grasped her forearm and the other was at her back. He turned her and looked into her eyes, his gaze kind and concerned. “Doctor, can you take a look here?”
“No, I-I’m fine.” Those were tablecloths, not rafts. This was grass, not rushing water. “I felt faint for a minute, that’s all.”
Mr. Morgan had meant to steady her—but he’d set her heart to racing.
Chapter 23
Charity stepped away from Mr. Morgan and waved off Dr. Declan. After pretending to smooth a few imaginary wrinkles in her skirt, she helped Hannah distribute food from their basket.
The odd moment had passed.
The world was once again normal.
She would not have feelings for Mr. Morgan.
“I guess it’s time.” Teddy Gensch took off his hat, smoothed back his hair, replaced his hat, then pushed up his spectacles. He took a deep breath and blew it out.
“Good luck,” Charlotte Gensch said, and as he left to take his place on the bandstand, the Steeles and company waved their little flags. With great fervor, the mayor started in on a patriotic barnburner that rowdily twisted the lion’s tail.
I’ll miss the speeches if I’m locked up. Remembering Red John’s words, Charity looked around, searching the edge of the crowd and the fields and wild brush beyond. Would the Deckoms really have the nerve to crash the festivities?
Teddy Gensch had a great time extolling the virtues of the Founding Fathers, the Minute Men, and Paul Revere. He worked up to a real lather with the claim that Uncle Sam would beat the British monarch in a fight any day of the week. But then he noticed Mrs. Tweed sitting with the Steeles, and his face turned bright red. Everybody knew that Hermione Tweed was a perfectly lovely English lady whom nobody would want to insult in a million years.
“Of course the skunk of a British monarch I refer to is old King George!” Teddy sputtered. “Good Queen Victoria is another matter altogether!”
“Hear, hear!” Mr. Morgan waved his American flag.
Mrs. Tweed joined in and waved hers too. Good-naturedly, she cried, “Bravo!” And in a swell of fellow-feeling the Break Hearters gave three cheers for England—then went on to bash the redcoats with riotous passion.
The speech was a rousing success. Long after it was over, people kept coming by to congratulate their mayor on it, including Mr. and Mrs. Overstreet—although Charity had the feeling Jonathan just wanted to show off his new bride. The man was simply beaming with happiness and pride.
“We’re going to get some ice cream,” Lavinia Overstreet said to Teddy Gensch, but I told Mr. Overstreet I had to come by and tell you how wonderful your speech was.”
“I had ice cream once, at a birthday party,” Jane Stedman said, almost wistfully for her. “It was wonderful.”
The momentary glimpse into Jane’s past revealed nothing in particular, but Charity sensed a dearth of comfort and a great deal of loneliness.
Jane’s eyes suddenly widened and she looked away self-consciously, as though embarrassed at having revealed a personal secret.
A funny look came over Doc and he got to his feet. “I haven’t had ice cream in an age.” He extended a hand to Jane. “Shall we avail ourselves?”
She accepted his offer and rose, popping open a gorgeous parasol whose fabric matched the front panel of her promenade gown. What an incongruous picture they made! He, disorderly and disheveled, a mass of conflicting and barely concealed emotion. She, the epitome of self-control, an icon of fashion who might have only just this moment stepped out of the pages of Godey’s Lady’s Book.
“Shall we?” Mr. Morgan asked Naomi, and they all set off, with promises to bring back ice cream for everybody.
Watching the three couples walk away, Charity had never felt so alone.
“I shouldn’t have worried,” Abigail moved over to sit by her. “Happily, your sister took my advice.”
“Doesn’t she look lovely today?” Charlotte said, her gaze following the group. “I told you Naomi’s beauty would be revealed if she’d dress in cheerful colors.”
It was true. Lavinia Overstreet was a pleasant-looking woman, but no one would call her beautiful. Jane Stedman was undeniably handsome and made striking by her fine clothes, but again, not a great beauty.
Naomi stood out as the loveliest. She did look particularly fine today, in a pale blue print dress Charity hadn’t managed to ruin, the colors of her new shawl wrapped around her shoulders emphasizing her lush dark hair and deep brown eyes. She nodded agreement to something Mrs. Overstreet said and again smiled brightly at Mr. Morg
an. She seemed elegant today, a serene picture of civility and grace.
It just goes to show how everybody’s different, Charity thought. Morning Star Ranch would be perfect for Naomi. It would be wonderful to see her with a fine house and servants, an important lady of the town who helped arrange Independence Day celebrations and promoted civic improvements and the arts—maybe the construction of an opera house!
That kind of life, running a Fine House and being an Important Lady, would drive Charity crackers. She enjoyed helping Mae and the Trio, working behind the scenes, but she didn’t want to be Mae or any of the prominent ladies of the town. No, she’d grown comfortable with being the sister in the middle, the one no one noticed (except when she made a bad fist of things).
As for farming or ranching—either was backbreaking, filthy work with never a certain outcome. Even when a person did everything right, Mother Nature always had to have the last word. If it wasn’t grasshoppers, it was floods or fires, a killing frost just when the year’s crops had set on the bud, or an ice storm that wiped out half the stock.
Charity had no quarrel with hard work, but she liked better odds of success. Working at Tagget’s, for instance—not to mention it being cleaner work. And safer. No animals were stillborn at Tagget’s. No little sisters fell in a well and broke their necks. No brother drowned trying to save another drowning brother.
But Naomi, now. Charity could see her fitting in among the ladies of Rosamund. Making friends, the way Abigail, Charlotte, and Mae were friends. It dawned on her suddenly that Naomi had never had friends of her own. At socials she’d always sat with the grownups, had coffee and cake with Ma and the other mothers. Naomi and Belle had been close, but then Belle went off and got married.
Naomi must be lonely. Mr. Morgan seemed to like her well enough. The man was everything Charity could want for her sister. Not only was he tall and handsome, but he was mannerly, kind, and considerate. His wealth wasn’t to be sneezed at either, but it wasn’t his most important virtue. Maybe he’d turn out to be Naomi’s best friend in all the world.