The Deputy's Duty

by Terri Reed

  “I’ll just have to dock your pay. Again.” Geneva’s shoes hammered across the room as she stalked in fury toward the window, still continuing her tirade. “This is intolerable, Lanna. I ought to let you go.”

  Ignore her. She dunked the brush into the bucket and dowsed it well. She stole a glance at Geneva—was she done blustering? The older woman was glaring out the large Palladian windows toward the carriage house. Lanna silently thanked heaven for the kindness of distracting Geneva. It was enough time for Lanna to draw in a steadying breath, remind herself that she had rent to pay and that jobs were scarce in these hard times, and reapply herself to the floor.

  This will all be over soon, she thought and kept scrubbing. She had done a good, fast job, even if Geneva did not think so.

  It was not easy being a maid for the Wolf family. Lanna tried not to look at the wall, where she knew several expensive photographs of the family hung. It was hard knowing that better times and the chance for love were behind her. Lanna ignored the burn of wood against her knees and inched forward, scouring hard with both hands.

  She heard Geneva suddenly let out a gasp. “Oh! This is a surprise!” Geneva had the knack of sounding harsh even when she was happy. Lanna looked up, only to see Geneva bearing down on her. “I must go see to my visitor. And you. You make sure to finish this by the time I return or it will be your job, I’ll promise you that. I shall give you no more chances, Lanna. Now take my advice and earn your pay for a change, girl.”

  Lanna squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the hurt like a kick. Thankfully the other woman was already heading out the doorway, heels knelling her path. Lanna sent a prayer of thanks heavenward and crept forward, swiping the brush in hard, wide circles, working fast. She thought of her mother and stepfather and pushed herself harder. Yes, she needed this job.

  Then she heard a different, heavier set of footsteps just down the hall. Her brush stilled. Tingles inched down her nape. She recognized that measured, confident gait. Even before she heard his low, rumbling baritone, her heart was already squeezing in painful memory. Joe. Why was Joe home?

  “Hello, Mother! I wanted to come and wish you Happy New Year in person.”

  The air stopped in Lanna’s lungs, and she realized that her brush had stilled. She could not make it move. All of her had frozen: her muscles, her thoughts, her heart. Especially her heart. And all of this from simply hearing his voice.

  “It’s good to see you, dear boy.” Geneva sounded surprisingly strained. “Although I did not expect you home until after your summer trip. Had I known you were coming, I would have made, uh, certain arrangements.”

  As in sending me home early, thought Lanna.

  Six years ago she had been sweetly and wholly in love with Joe Wolf. Life had been perfect then. Seeing Joe every day in school. Stealing moments to be with him and share secrets and hold hands. He had been courting her and she had been blissfully happy. Until his father had been elected territorial governor and moved the family to Helena.

  She’d had to say goodbye—the hardest thing she had ever done.

  And now, here he was, just on the other side of the wall. Close enough that she could hear that soft, warm chuckle of his—it still sounded like home and full of character, although his voice was deeper, manlier. More mature.

  Every fiber of her being strained to hear more of it.

  “Mother, I told you I wasn’t going on that trip. I have no need for your kind of ‘culture.’ Traveling abroad would be a waste of time. I’m done with school and I wanted to come home.”

  His voice still had that smile in it. That cozy cadence that made her want to lean closer, just to hear what he would say next. A sigh escaped her as time spun backward to sweeter memories, when life had been kinder and full of possibilities.

  What kind of man had he grown into? How had time changed him? Surely life had been good to him. Though Lanna had worked in his mother’s house, Geneva had taken care to say little about Joe.

  His steps stopped just outside the door. “What I am interested in is the kitchen. I’m half-starved.”

  “No! Not through there. The maid has not finished with the floor, the lazy thing. You had best come this way to the kitchen.”

  “Mother, that is no way to talk.” His voice was reproachful now, the smile gone.

  She glanced over her shoulder. There was Joe, facing his mother. Geneva was barring the door. Lanna’s pulse skidded to a halt. All he had to do was to look up and he would see her. So much time had passed he probably didn’t even remember her. But what if he could? She did not want him to see her on her hands and knees, no longer the girl she once was. Now nothing more than a wash woman. Her fingers tightened on the brush. He won’t notice me, she thought as she bent to her work. Please, Lord, don’t let him recognize me.

  She took care to inch around so that she was facing away from the door. If by chance he glanced past his mother into the dining room, then he would only see the back of a hired girl in a blue dress and a white apron and cap, kneeling at her work. That was all.

  “All right, Mother, if you insist. I’ll use the other kitchen door,” Joe was saying, although she was trying not to hear.

  It was that voice of his, so deep and strong and masculine that if the great Rocky Mountains had a voice, his would be it. She could still hear his heart in that captivating baritone, rich with kindness. Maybe that was what she had always loved about Joe Wolf—his strength, his goodness and his kindness. It sure sounded as if time and his fancy education away from the simple Montana life had not changed him.

  Longing crept into her soul, but she clamped her jaw and ignored it. She tried not to listen to Geneva’s footsteps padding away and to the whispers of all her lost dreams. Dreams that had to stay forgotten. She scrubbed harder. Tiny soap bubbles lifted into the air. They vanished with rapid little pops, just like her long-kept dreams.

  “Lanna? Is that you?” His baritone rumbled like far-off thunder through the stillness.

  She started. The brush slipped out of her hand and skidded halfway across the drying floor to stop in front of his boots. She stared at those boots, her pulse echoing in her ears.

  So, he did recognize her. It took all her strength to draw in a deep breath and pull herself to her feet. Her skirts, damp from her work, twirled around her ankles and she wiped her hands on her apron folds. She lifted her gaze slowly, fighting for what dignity she could.

  Joe. She saw his tailored black suit and rugged build and recognized the manly look of him. He’d grown taller and broader. His kind brown eyes still reminded her of cinnamon.

  “Lanna. I—I didn’t expect to see you here of all places. And working for my mother.”

  “Y-yes.” She swallowed hard, finding her voice unnaturally thick and her mouth as dry as a summer draught. “It’s good to see you again, Joe.”

  Is that all she could say to him now? The last time she had seen him, she’d dissolved in heartbreak and tears. She had known Joe the schoolboy so well, but this man, wide of shoulder and radiating a sense of accomplishment, may as well have been a stranger to her.

  The past was truly gone. She forced her feet forward, bringing her closer into the light where he could see how time had changed her. Her face was not soft with youth. Her blond curls had grown darker. She no longer wore velveteen dresses and pearls.

  He knelt and handed her the brush. “You have never looked lovelier,” he said.

  TWO

  Lanna stared at the man standing in the doorway, feet braced like a Western hero in fine, black wool. Somehow she found her voice. “You have turned into quite a charming gentleman, Joe Wolf. And, I’m afraid, a terrible fibber.”

  “Me, tell a fib? Never. You’ll have to accept the compliment, Lanna, for I meant it. It’s good to see you.” His eyes warmed to a friendly deep brown and
the smile that had been in his voice softened the rugged edges of his face. “You are still the loveliest woman to me.”

  “Right now I am the only woman around, so there’s not much to compare me with, I’m afraid,” she quipped. Lanna fought to keep her tone light, but her spirit felt as heavy as a blacksmith’s anvil, carrying the weight of life’s disappointments. She was no longer that carefree, ringlet-haired girl—but wasn’t that just like Joe, always seeing the best in everything?

  Lanna touched the side of her face, severe, because of the tight bun she wore in accordance with Geneva’s requirements. Her boxy dress and starched apron were about as complimentary as a burlap sack. He bent down to pick up the brush from the floor and she ached a little, knowing he must be trying not to notice her worn shoes and once-soft hands, now red and horribly chapped from hard work. No, she was far from lovely.

  He held out the brush to her but she merely stared at it, afraid to come closer. She had not guessed that seeing him again would pain her like a badly healed bone in mid-winter.

  Somehow she was going to have to take back the brush. She had the floor to finish or it would cost her the best paying job she had been able to find. She thought of her ma and stepfather at home, probably bundled up by the stove and took another step closer to him. To Joe. To the man whom she had been praying not to see since she’d taken this job last August.

  “How is it that you’re working here? Mother hasn’t said a word.”

  “No, I doubt that she would. I’m a maid, Joe. Somehow I don’t think you talk about the household help.”

  “That’s true,” he laughed.

  She was close enough to feel the force of his smile. It was like a sun break through winter snow, just like she had remembered. Her chest gave a funny quiver, as if her heart was getting ready to tumble. She reached out for the brush, keeping her gaze down. Snowflakes were melting on the sleeves of Joe’s wool coat, and his hands were still big and strong. City life had not changed that. But surely it had changed him?

  She reached out to take the end of the brush, avoiding his fingers, but he moved to place the flat of the wooden handle against her palm and his touch whispered against her skin. She trembled. Like a dam breaking, old memories rushed unstoppable to the surface: the warmth of his laughter, the tenderness of his baritone as they talked in the schoolyard, the bright joy that lit her up whenever they were together. That joy sputtered to life within her now, forcing light into places that had known too much defeat.

  Shaking, she took the brush and stepped back. “I—I’m glad life has been good to you, Joe. You look well.”

  “Now how do you know that? You have yet to look me full in the eye.” His baritone dipped gently, laced with tenderness. “What has happened to you?”

  This was what she had been dreading and why she was always grateful that Geneva had given her leave over the Christmas holiday when Joe had been in town. She was not ashamed of who she was—she lived honestly and worked hard at her life and at her faith.

  But the fall from happiness was hardest when she was reminded of all that she had lost—and what she could never have hope of again. She had always known Joe would come back to Angel Falls when his schooling was done. But she was no longer the kind of girl who would fit into his life. No longer a woman he would want.

  There was no point in sugarcoating her situation. “My stepfather came down with a hard case of scarlet fever,” she said simply, turning her back and swirling away. “He refused to listen to the doctor, went back to work too soon and fell sick again. His heart was greatly weakened and he never fully recovered after he was fired.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Lanna. You must have been afraid of losing him.”

  “We nearly did.” She squeezed off memories of that dark time. “My mother had fallen ill too and then me as well. With none of us able to earn any money, we lost the house. We lost everything.”

  “And now you are supporting them?”

  “Yes.” That she was proud of. But she didn’t expect Joe to understand that. Even if God had spoken to her at the time of her stepfather’s illness and given her a choice, she would have chosen this path. She loved her family—she would choose love. That was her life. That was her value. Although the loss of what could have been still stung from time to time. Like now.

  She blinked hard and knelt back on the floor. She dipped the brush in the water and began scrubbing. “It was good seeing you again, Joe. Excuse me, but I must get this finished for your mother.”

  “Yes, I understand, Lanna.” He sounded so sad. “But you still didn’t even look at me.”

  His words were like an arrow piercing deep and she grimaced at the pain of it. How could she tell him that she was afraid? Afraid of the damage he had already done by bringing to life those forgotten places within her that now glowed like a faint star in the dead of night. Just that one touch had done that. A touch of tenderness. If she had needed proof that her love had endured all this time, this was it. Her love, but surely not his.

  With effort, she kept her head down, his retreating steps striking like nails through her heart.

  * * *

  Joe found his mother in the kitchen hovering over the cook’s helper who was preparing a tray. “Why didn’t you tell me about Lanna?” he demanded.

  “Why, you were in the middle of courting Adrianna Beauchamp. I did not think you would care.” Geneva bustled away, the teacups on the tray clattering. “Now come have a snack. Cook made you a nice roast beef sandwich.”

  Wasn’t that just like his mother? Joe huffed out a sigh, trailing after her. “And why are you taking this to the day room?”

  “I thought you would be more comfortable here,” said Geneva, entering the room. “There’s a fire going quite nicely and we should not be disturbed in here. Shame on you for surprising me like this. I don’t have a single thing ready for you.” He took the tray from her and set it on the small table next to the sofa. “The fact that Lanna Gibson is now farther down the hall has nothing to do with your room choice?”

  “Why would it?” Joe’s mother cast him an innocent look.

  She truly believed it—he could see that plain as day. He shrugged out of his coat. “You know very well that I’m not—nor have I been—beauing Adrianna Beauchamp.”

  “But your uncle said she was quite smitten with you.”

  “I was not smitten with her.” He said it firmly, so his dear mother would understand—if she decided to actually listen. He could only pray she would this time. There had been only one woman for him, and ever would be. He had lost her once when his family and pressured him to move. He had only been seventeen and had little choice. But the years had passed and he never forgot Lanna. He had grown to manhood, went to college, studied law and had the chance to beau beautiful women, but none of them had ever held his interest. The moment he had spotted Lanna kneeling at her work, he knew why. His heart and his soul had been waiting for her.

  “All right, son, I shall refrain from commenting further, although now I will have to cancel my invitation. I had asked Miss Beauchamp and her aunt to come and visit us in late January.”

  “Mother…” He dropped onto the much-too-fancy sofa. “I’ll find my own bride in good time, don’t you worry.”

  “Tonight might be the perfect occasion. My annual New Year’s Eve ball. Surely you haven’t forgotten.” Geneva lit up like the sun at full zenith. “I’ve invited the finest families in the county. The Worthingtons will be there. And the Bells.”

  How did he tell his mother that he hardly cared about some fancy party? He couldn’t seem to get his mind off of seeing Lanna again. A year and a half ago his family had moved back to Angel Falls after his father’s term as governor was over. He had remained at school, but every time he visited he had dreaded the moment when he would see Lanna again. She had
never returned his letters. She hadn’t cared enough to keep in contact. Hadn’t he wanted their romance to continue? What was distance compared to the deep love he’d once had for her? He told her years ago that he intended to come back for her. She knew that. He had his degree now and the means to offer her all that she deserved. Why hadn’t she wanted to wait for him?

  Or maybe, he thought, glancing at his mother, there had been another reason why. Maybe he ought to find out.

  A movement in blue and white caught his attention. There, outside the window, was Lanna, rinsing out her wash buckets at the outside pump. She was bent over her work, scrubbing and washing away, still tall and dainty, the way he remembered her. Warmth flooded his heart along with emotions too vulnerable to name. Time had changed her, just as it had changed him. Quick, easy smiles no longer softened her face. Happiness no longer twinkled in her jewel-blue eyes.

  That saddened him. But it was more than sympathy that warmed his heart. More than caring for an old friend. Strange that his old feelings had come back to life after seeing her just once. Sweet memories had also been revived—the exhilaration of taking her on a sleigh ride and being swept across the snow while at her side. The sweetness of her voice, the way she smiled up at him as if he were her dream. The way they talked about everything and nothing at all. She made him feel ten feet tall. He had been endlessly devoted to her—and that devotion had never died.

  He remembered the night he had fallen in love with her. She had been wearing a yellow gown and looked as delicate as a yellow rose in wintertime. He had asked her to dance, and when he took her hand, she had taken his heart.

  Oh Joe, she had laughed at something he’d said. I could laugh forever with you. You make me feel like I’m waltzing even when we are standing still.

  Me, too, he’d said, too full of love for her to say more.

  Could he love her still? Or was it too late?

  It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t let it be. Joe shot off the couch and out the room, not even taking a second to look over his shoulder when he told his mother he’d be back. He was already out in the hallway toward the back door before his mother had a chance to stop him.