by Rachel Bird
“Great thunder, Red John. You’re going to get yourself killed one day.”
She did seem to care about him, but in the way of a sister more than a sweetheart.
Gah! Rafe had to put Charity out of his mind. And he had to get Naomi alone so he could tell her the truth about himself. It looked like tomorrow night at Calico Manor he’d finally have the opportunity.
A child’s scream pierced the air, coming from the direction of the river. Sally Overstreet came tearing through the scrub brush, babbling incoherently, her little brother echoing her noise. This time, Rafe didn’t think melodrama had any part in it. Luke Steele was with them, quiet and pale as a ghost.
“My darlings, what is it?” Mrs. Overstreet went down on one knee and took her stepchildren into her arms. “What’s happened?”
Neither child could form an intelligible word.
“There was boot,” Luke said. The boy was trying to be brave, but his lip quivered and he shook his head as if to force his words to be untrue. “Damon picked it up and it came apart and there was a foot sticking out of the sand.”
Faith and Charity Steele shared a stricken look, and Charity whispered, “Pa…”
“What do you mean?” Rafe asked.
“Our parents drowned near here.” Charity hugged her shaking brother, her eyes wild. “We buried our mother, but we never found Pa’s body.”
She was distraught, and Rafe wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and console her.
“It could be him,” Red John said. “This time of year the river gives up some of those it took in the spring thaw.”
“I have to see.” Charity started off toward the riverbank. “I’d know Pa’s boots.”
“No, Charity. Don’t go.” Deckom blocked her way. “Whatever’s there, you don’t want to see it.”
Charity didn’t think of him as her man, Rafe was sure of that now, but John Deckom definitely thought of her as his girl.
“I have to know,” she said.
“And you will. But you don’t have to look.” Deckom held her arms and made her look at him. “Please, Charity. There’s nothing you can do for him now, and the sight would haunt you forever.”
Rafe ached to go to her, to be the one to comfort her. It was insufferable that fate had given Deckom that privilege.
She blinked and relented. Silent tears splashed down her cheeks, and Deckom awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Stay here. Let the men—and Deputy Faith—go find out what’s what.”
A crowd had again gathered, enticed by the children’s cries, and Faith Steele started organizing a search party. “Cyril,” she called out to a short, dapper-looking fellow with a long blond braid draped over one shoulder. “You and Mr. Grayson fetch a load of shovels.”
The man looked to the bawdy house manager as if for permission, and it was granted with a nod. Other men gathered to be given an assignment. Faith Steele had obviously earned the town’s respect. No one questioned her authority.
“Mr. Morgan, if you’d help with the shovels?”
“Glad to oblige.” Rafe touched his hat to her.
“Sally, you and Luke run to the infirmary and tell your father and Mayor Gensch to come when they can.”
“And Sheriff Polk?” Sally said.
Faith sighed and nodded. “And Polk.”
Whether from civic duty or morbid curiosity, most of the able-bodied men of Break Heart volunteered to excavate the foot. Charity remained with the picnic things. She couldn’t bear to leave until she knew. She sent Luke to town to tell Naomi and Hannah of the development and told him they should await news of any further discovery at Calico Manor.
Two bodies were recovered from the sandy crypt that day, but neither was Mr. Steele. They were a Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon, who’d perished with the elder Steeles on the rapids—identified by Faith Steele from their clothing.
“You should go home,” Rafe told Charity. “There’s nothing you can do for the McKinnons now, and your family will be anxious for news.” Also, she looked dead tired, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.
“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.” She touched his arm, and it sent a thrill of happiness through him that he didn’t deserve.
Rafe offered to help bury the dead, and when Charity expressed her appreciation, Deckom also volunteered.
The light of the summer day began to bend. Homesteaders with cows to milk and stock to feed departed. Faith and Polk rounded up the befuddled revelers who’d taken their celebrations too seriously and hauled them up to the jail to sleep it off overnight.
In the churchyard, with the help of Cyril from Sweet Dee’s and the younger Mr. Grayson, they set to work digging a single grave for the two bodies, wrapped in winding sheets and placed together in Grayson’s cheapest box.
Working in silence, they made good progress while the sun slipped behind the mountains. It was nearly past dusk and the church, parsonage, and churchyard were dark when they lowered the box into the hole—Hood’s sister must be with him at the infirmary. Light from windows in the house up the lane gave the scene an oddly cozy feeling.
“I see the home fires are lit at Calico Manor.” Grayson straightened and wiped his brow. “We’re nearly finished here. If you gentlemen don’t mind, I’ll be off. The children like to see their papa when they say their prayers.”
He left them, and the three bachelors carried on.
Dirt made one kind of sound hitting the box, and a duller, sadder kind when it became earth falling upon earth. Rafe’s thoughts drifted, and he wondered what Charity was doing. This is what it’s like, he thought, acutely aware of the glow from the windows of Calico Manor, for a man to be at his work, knowing his wife, and perhaps children, are waiting, eager to see him at the end of the day.
Forget about Pres! Until this moment, Rafe hadn’t realized how lonely he was. If his brother was too dull to realize a good thing offered up on a silver platter, then more the fool he.
Suddenly it didn’t feel like mere duty to take Pres’s place with a mail order bride. No, by God, it felt like his great good luck. He wanted home fires to be lit for him.
Deckom kept giving him the side-eye.
By now it was clear that John Deckom, like everyone else, was operating under the impression that Rafe was Pres. He still couldn’t set anybody straight until Naomi knew the truth. Until then, Rafe felt as though his every breath was a lie.
He’d tell her tomorrow. She expected to be married the day after, and if Parson Hood was this side of snakes, Abigail Vanderhouten would have him carried to the church if need be to perform the ceremony.
They’d nearly filled in the grave when two female forms left Calico Manor, one carrying a lantern, and headed toward the churchyard. As they drew near, Rafe saw it was Naomi with the lantern and Charity had a basket that gave off a wonderful aroma. Deckom’s stomach growled mightily, and they all laughed.
“We thought you must be plenty hungry by now.” Charity handed John Deckom a hot pasty, then gave one to Cyril. When she gave Rafe his, her smile, illuminated by lamplight, made his heart sing.
“Oh,” Rafe bit into the pie with heartfelt gratitude. “That’s real good.”
“None of us can cook like our sister Belle,” Naomi said. “But Charity’s beef pasties are delicious.”
“Faith isn’t here?” Charity said. “We were going to insist she come home.”
“She’s up at the jail.” Deckom stepped between her and Rafe. “Making sure the inmates have an evening meal, if I know Faith.”
“She’s had a long day.” Naomi glanced at the grave.
“We didn’t let her see the bodies,” Rafe said. “I showed her some items of clothing that were recognizable.”
“I’m glad,” Charity said. “I worry sometimes that Faith sees too much.”
“It was my idea.” Deckom shot Rafe a resentful look.
The man was nowhere near good enough for Charity, but Rafe took his point. Charity Steele was off-limits to him. It was wrong to take notice of
her when he was going to marry Naomi. He couldn’t allow himself to like her so much. A real man would stuff any such feelings.
There was plenty to admire in Naomi Steele, and Rafe would do her the courtesy of admiring all.
“Thank you for the food and the light,” he told his intended. “That was mighty thoughtful. I’ll set the lantern on your porch when we finish here.”
About an hour later, they did finish the awful chore. Grayson had left behind a simple cross, and Rafe stuck it into the ground at the proper place.
“Well, that’s that.” Deckom looked a little lost. Rafe had the impression he’d enjoyed the novelty of being a part of something that wasn’t for a nefarious purpose and was sorry to see his bout of good citizenship come to an end.
On a whim, Rafe said, “I’m going up to the livery to check on my horse before I turn in. If you’d like to put Argentino up there for the night, I’ll have the stablemaster give him a good grooming and new shoes, on my account.”
“That’s… I don’t know…”
“It’s not”—Rafe stopped himself from saying charity. “You’ve earned it, the way you helped today with these two poor souls. I’d tell Polk to pay, but I doubt he has the authority. I’ll get my money back when Fontana returns.”
“There’s a room waiting for you tonight at Sweet Dee’s too.” Cyril put on his bowler hat and carefully arranged his braid. The man dressed like a dandy, but he could pass for a real tough back in Albany. “Lily Rose said to tell you.”
“Well, then.” Deckom cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. Had no one shown the man a kindness in his life?
“I’d take her offer, Red John.” Faith Steele’s voice rang out as she entered the churchyard. “You don’t want to stay at Hotel Fontana tonight. The scamps in the cells are full as ticks.”
“You’ve had a long day, Deputy.” In the lantern’s dim light, Rafe could see she was tired. Polk took advantage of her diligence.
“And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” She winked at him as she yawned. “I was on my way home, but since Parson Hood is laid up at the infirmary, I thought I’d say some words over Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon.”
The Steeles were all good people, from Naomi to her little brother. Rafe would be proud to call them family.
Walking back to the Lilac Hotel, he saw a light on inside the Break Heart Clarion. Callahan was still at it, likely setting the type for tomorrow’s edition. He surely had some stories he hadn’t expected to tell.
Rafe stopped in and sent a telegram to the Morning Star.
getting married stop send good suit care of lilac hotel break heart stop immediately stop
Chapter 26
Stock must be fed when hungry, cows must be milked when full, and crops must be harvested when ripe, the trials and tribulations of mortal men notwithstanding. And on Thursday morning at the appointed hour—the boy being a boy, with the marvelous regenerative powers of a healthy, well-fed child—Luke set off to pick his share of ripe cherries and blueberries at the Overstreet orchards.
The customers of Tagget’s General Store, on the other hand, being well past childhood, having reveled with appropriate patriotic gusto the previous day, and having no requirement to shop on any particular day of the week, on Thursday chose not to.
Charity finished rearranging the items on one set of shelves and moved the ladder to the next.
“Where is everyone?”
Aside from her and Mae, there hadn’t been a soul in the store all morning.
“Recovering, I’d imagine.” Mae chuckled. She stood at the counter, polishing a fancy silver tea service that hadn’t sold so quickly as she’d expected. “It happens every year. Independence Day is the biggest holiday in Break Heart, and it wears everybody out.”
“Bigger than Christmas?”
Independence Day in Break Heart had been exciting, Charity would grant that, and without the gunplay and dead bodies, she’d be ready for it again in another year. But Christmas! That was when the whole family gathered together and sang carols, and there were oranges for the children and Christmas dinner was the best meal you’d had all year, no matter what was on the table, because everyone you loved was there to share it.
“Oh, you know.” Mae’s smile faded. “On Independence Day, the whole county celebrates together. The whole country, if it comes to that. Christmas is quieter. For family.”
Poor thing! Last year must have been terrible for Mae, the first Christmas after losing her husband. Charity pulled out a coffee mill, checked behind it, and put it back. “This year, I hope you’ll celebrate with us.”
“I’d like that, my dear.” Mae looked at her strangely. “But what are you doing? It looks like you’ve been rearranging everything in the store with no rhyme or reason.”
“I’m looking for the brooch again. But it’s a lost cause.” Charity descended the ladder. “I must have lost it walking home.”
“Is Naomi still angry with you?”
“No, but she should be. I had no right to take it.”
“You didn’t mean to lose it.”
“I never do. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Mae. Sometimes, I just get an idea into my head to do something or take something, and I can’t stop myself. I’m not a good person.”
“Enough of that.” Mae clucked her tongue. “You’re a very good person. Nobody’s perfect.”
“Naomi is.”
“Poor Naomi! What a burden that must be.” The front door bells jingled. “Oh goody, something to do.”
“Bonjou!” Gil Breaux breezed in, set the mailbag on the counter, and gave Charity a strange look. “I have something outside for you, chèr. Something big. But the address must be mistaken.”
She and Mae followed Gil outside, where six large boxes were tied to the back of his celerity wagon. While Charity helped him take them down and stack them on the sidewalk, Hannah, Jane, and Abigail emerged from the modiste.
“We were watching from the window,” Hannah said. “What’s all this?”
“They were at the station when I picked up the mail for my route. Arrived by express,” Gil said. “They’re all addressed to Miss Charity Steele, in care of Abigail Vanderhouten, Modiste.”
Each box was stamped in large stenciled letters: Grand Union Hotel, Saratoga Springs, New York.
“They must be from Belle.” Charity thought back to the telegram she’d sent last week. What was in it that could have resulted in this?
They carted the boxes into Abigail’s shop. She did have more room on her floor than Mae did. Maybe that explained the address. The lids were securely nailed, and it took some time to pry them open.
“Oh!” Jane Stedman took a step back when the first lid came off. “I can’t believe it.”
The next lid came off, and she fairly flew over to view the box’s contents. “I don’t believe it,” she said again, her voice tinged with wonder and awe. She reached in for one of the smaller objects and popped it open with a smart snap—a pink-and-white-striped parasol with white lace trimmings.
“There’s a whole season’s wardrobe here,” Hannah said, examining a fourth third box. “Dresses, undergarments, shawls, stockings and gloves, hats, parasols—even handbags.”
“Not quite a season’s worth.” Jane smiled as if her apprentice was hopelessly naïve.
Charity finally pried off the lid of the final crate, which had been especially resistant to her efforts. “Great thunder.” It was filled with an abundance of white silk embroidered with decorations in white satin thread. An envelope rested on top of the fabric. “It is from Belle.” She recognized the hand.
“It’s addressed to you.” Jane handed her the letter.
Charity proceeded to read aloud:
“Dear Charity,
I received your tantalizing telegram—”
She felt her cheeks redden under questioning gazes, but she plowed on.
“—which, though brief, raised so many pro
vocative questions. I can’t wait to find out their answers.
Meanwhile, Brady says Mr. Preston Morgan is one of the finest men he’s ever met and he’d be proud to welcome him to the family.
As to the contents of these crates, when I mentioned that my sister was to be married, my friend Evangeline insisted on sending these dresses—the wedding dress is for the bride, obviously.”
“Belle’s friend must be very rich indeed,” Hannah whispered.
“Evie says you will do her a great service in taking them off her hands. It’s a long story, and I’ll tell it all when I get home.
In the meantime, Hannah and Jane Stedman should be able to alter the dresses to suit. Evie hopes Jane will take an outfit of her choosing as payment for her work.
With much love, your sister,
Mrs. Belle Fontana”
“These are from Paris,” Jane murmured reverently, looking at Hannah. “They’re from the House of Worth.”
“We need Naomi.” Hannah bounced on her toes. “We’ve got to start now if we’re going to have her gown fitted by tomorrow.”
“Ah, as to that,” Abigail said, “tomorrow isn’t going to work for the wedding. I spoke with Dr. Declan this morning. He says the swelling in Parson Hood’s leg is still worrisome and absolutely forbids him to leave the infirmary until Saturday.”
“Oh.” Hannah frowned—then brightened. “Good! We’ll have time to fit the dress properly.”
Jane lifted out an expanse of scarlet taffeta embroidered with black satin roses. “This I want to see on Faith. With her hair and eyes… gorgeous!”
“Getting Faith into a ballgown?” Hannah snorted. “I wish you luck.”
While Hannah rushed home to fetch Naomi, Charity went to the sheriff’s office, but Faith wasn’t there.
“The mayor got up a crew of volunteers to search the riverbank where the kids found those bodies yesterday,” Harman Polk told Charity. “I sent the little lady, since she’s so eager to do a man’s work.”
“I see.” Inside, Charity fumed on Faith’s behalf.
Yes, it would be a blessing to find those still missing and give them a Christian burial, but it was rotten of Polk to make Faith go. She prayed if Pa’s body was found, that someone else made the discovery.