“I’m past this. What—you think I’ve been pining away for her all this time? That’s not me—I don’t live my life stuck in the past.”
“I agree with that in every way except for where Miss Pullman is concerned.”
“I’m trying, Carl. I really am. I just don’t know how to go about it. Do you have any suggestions?”
Carl looked thoughtful. “For what it’s worth—and I have been married for a year, so I know everything—if Lydia was just a friend, you would have moved past it by now. You’re not the type to whine about things that didn’t go your way. The fact that you’re still thinking about her tells me that maybe you’re not supposed to be letting her go.”
“I didn’t do it by choice, you know. It was entirely her decision.”
“Yes, it was. And she had every right to make that decision. I do wonder, though, what would happen if you wrote to her. Just to see how she’s getting along. If she’s happy, if she’s married, if she’s acting—any of those outcomes would set your mind at rest. The not-knowing might be what’s making this so hard.”
Bradley nodded. “I think you’re right. If I know she’s settled in well and that her dreams are coming true, that will make it easier to push forward. Thanks, Carl.”
“You’re welcome. My wisdom is why you pay me the big bucks, after all.”
Bradley laughed. There was just enough in the company for them both to live on—big bucks had yet to start rolling in. Carl’s help had always been invaluable, though, and if the company did somehow take off, Carl’s raise would be the first thing Bradley would do with the money.
He still had the address Lydia had given him when she left. At first, he felt awkward about using it—perhaps it was an invasion of her privacy. Then again, she wouldn’t have given it to him if she didn’t want him to use it. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his drawer, penned a quick, cheerful letter, and addressed it. There. Now he’d done everything he could, and it was up to her to decide what happened next.
Chapter Two
Lydia sat up in bed, her ears straining to hear. What was that sound? A footstep, maybe, or just the wind making the old house creak? She gathered her blanket closer around her, as though that would be any sort of protection if the danger was real.
The most logical answer, of course, was that Mrs. North had gotten up for something and was moving around the house. However, she could still hear the woman’s snores through the wall, and this sound was coming from the other direction.
She took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. She’d never been scared of the dark before her abduction, and she felt ridiculous at her reaction now. She was safer here with Mrs. North than probably anywhere else she could be—the woman had neighbors who looked out for her, and they were all armed. The danger was all in her head.
She looked around, still listening, and finally allowed herself to relax. It was so tempting to reach out and light the candle next to her bed, but she was running low on candles, and she wouldn’t be paid until the following Friday. Mrs. North wouldn’t mind at all if she used some from the kitchen, but she was determined to be as independent as possible. Yes, it was likely prideful, but when she’d left Iowa, she’d said she was going to make it on her own, and that was what she intended to do.
Iowa. Bradley Murdoch. She pressed her fingers to her nose bridge as she remembered the look on his face that last day. He wanted her to stay so badly, and it was tempting, it really was. If she was going to give up her dreams for anyone, it would have been him, but she was meant for more than just a house and a dozen babies. She wanted to act, maybe sing—she might even want to write plays of her own. She felt so many things thrumming through her veins, things that would require her to devote her time to a career, not to laundry and sewing and endless diapers. Bradley believed in her talent, but he also wanted to marry her, and that would tie her down far more than she’d ever wanted to be tied.
As soon as she’d saved up enough money here in Creede, she’d be on her way. This was just an unfortunate stopover, and she would have everything she wanted. Another twenty dollars was all it would take, and if she kept being frugal, she’d have that in no time.
Oh, why did her room have to be so dark?
As she often did when Lydia was at her most frustrated, Madeline, her pretend friend, showed up in her imagination and began talking to her.
“You’re doing so well, my dear.” Madeline sat down on the edge of her bed and smoothed back her hair. “You’re so close to being on your way again, and you’ve accomplished so many things. I do wish you’d take more pride in your accomplishments instead of focusing on all the ways you think you should be doing more.”
“You’re right—I really should. I’m just used to a different level of success. I was outgoing and eager for life, and now I feel as though I’m not even a shadow of who I used to be.”
Madeline shook her head. “I wish you could see things from a different perspective. You triumphed over adversity. You survived a horrible ordeal—you and those other young ladies. You were spared from the life your captor would have made you live. You are victorious—you are a champion.”
Lydia smiled. “You always know just what to say.”
When Madeline had first appeared to Lydia, it had been during a particularly dark moment in the cellar. The women knew they were going to be transported to another location where they would be sold to work as prostitutes, and they were all terrified of what their futures held. Madeline had taken Lydia’s hand and soothed her, assuring her that all would be well. She had shown up a few times a week since then, and Lydia had assumed that Madeline was a figment of her imagination, a character she had created in a moment of great upset.
It was nice to have a friend who understood her so completely.
“I need to tell you something.” Madeline looked very solemn all of a sudden, and Lydia blinked. It had just occurred to her that even though the room was quite dark, she could make out Madeline’s features. That just showed what a good imagination could do, she supposed.
“Tell me, Lydia. Who do you think I am?”
That was certainly an odd question. “You’re my pretend friend. I made you up in my mind when I was scared.”
“That’s an explanation that would make sense and would comfort you, but I’m actually not part of your imagination, my dear. I’m very real.”
Lydia blinked. “You’re real? But no one else can see you. How can you be real?”
“Because I was sent to you and you alone. I’m your guardian angel, Lydia.”
“What?” Lydia blinked several times, but the woman sitting on the edge of her bed didn’t vanish. She just sat there, looking thoughtful. “How . . . I’ve never even believed in angels.”
“Well, that doesn’t make them any less real.” Madeline smiled. “You have a true and good heart, and that’s why you’re able to see me. I knew you were suffering during that time in the cellar, so I asked if I could be of some comfort to you. It broke my heart to see your fear, just as it does now.”
“You saw me in the cellar? From . . . wherever angels live?”
Madeline smiled again. “It’s a little more complicated than that, and I’m not at liberty to explain how it all works. But I knew of your need, and I’m honored to be here for you at this time.”
Angels? Walking around in cellars, lowering themselves to chat with regular humans? It seemed impossible—it was so much easier to believe that she’d lost her mind and was seeing things. Certainly she’d been through enough to warrant that.
“My great aunt started seeing things when she was in her eighties—elk flying over her house, for instance. I’m likely just taking after her, only much earlier.”
“No, my dear, you haven’t lost your mind. I’m here in actual fact to help you heal from everything you’ve been through. What you need is time and love.”
“I’ve had quite a lot of time, and as far as love goes . . .” Lydia shook her head.
&nb
sp; With the way the town was growing, there had been opportunities to meet young men—and some not-so-young men. Plenty had shown interest. But marriage wasn’t in her plans, and after being abducted off the train platform, it was even less in her plans. How could she marry a man if she didn’t even trust them?
Madeline patted her hand. “You’re just going to keep rehashing all those old doubts and insecurities, aren’t you? I think you need to be shaken up a little bit, reminded that you survived and that you’re creating your own life now. I wonder what would be the best way to go about that . . .”
“I really don’t think I could handle any more shaking up,” Lydia said. “I’d prefer things to be quiet and mundane for a bit, if you don’t mind.”
“That’s what you say, but I don’t think that’s what you mean,” Madeline replied. “It’s time for you to get some rest. I’ll keep watch—everything’s all right.”
Lydia wasn’t sure how a person who only existed in her imagination could possibly stand watch, but the idea was comforting nonetheless, and she allowed herself to become drowsy. Madeline’s faint glow dimmed behind Lydia’s closed eyelids, and before she knew it, she was fast asleep.
***
Lydia placed four more books on the counter at the front of Mr. Redfern’s store, and he checked the titles with a smile. “Yes, these are excellent choices,” he said. “I just knew you were the right person to help me with my little library, Miss Pullman.”
“I haven’t done much, really,” she said, feeling a little warmth come to her cheeks at his praise. “I just thought about what sorts of books I would find most useful and entertaining.”
“I see that you’ve chosen just one book each by some of the more popular authors,” he went on.
“Yes, I thought that if someone borrowed one of them and liked it, they might then buy more books by the same author. That would increase your chances of selling books and not just lending them.”
“My goodness! That’s very clever of you. I don’t know if I would have thought of that.”
She didn’t think it was all that clever—she thought it was common sense, but maybe Mr. Redfern wasn’t blessed with much of that. Some people weren’t. “What can I do next?”
“I’ve cleared off that bookshelf by the front door for the library, but it needs a good dusting. After you’ve done that, would you please take this pen and write inside each flyleaf that this book is to be lent, not sold? And then you must choose out a book to keep as a thank-you gift for your hard work. Anything you like in the whole store.”
“I don’t consider this hard work, but a free book would be a nice thing to have.”
She wiped down the shelf, marked the books, and then arranged them in alphabetical order. They certainly did look nice, standing side-by-side, just waiting for someone to come along and discover them.
“Marvelous. Have you thought of which book you’d like to take home?”
Lydia turned and surveyed the shop. There were crates of books everywhere still waiting to be unpacked—she supposed it would take another week before Mr. Redfern was truly organized—but she had seen one that had caught her attention. It was a volume that contained selections of plays written by some of her favorites, including Shakespeare.
“That’s a rather interesting choice,” Mr. Redfern said when she handed it to him for his approval. “If you like it, it’s yours.”
“I’m very interested in the theater,” she replied. “I’ve even thought about writing for it someday.”
“Writing for the theater? Another very interesting choice. I don’t see why not, though. Have you spoken with the theater here in Creede?”
Lydia pasted on a smile at the suggestion. Yes, it was a theater, but she didn’t want to stay in Creede. She wanted as far away from this place as she could possibly get. “I haven’t yet, no,” she replied instead.
“You might consider it. A local theater might be the perfect place to start, and then you could work your way up from there.”
She appreciated his belief in her ability, but no. She would start in California, and that was that. “What a good idea. Thank you.”
She thanked him for the book, put on her wrap, and stepped outside. It was nearly full dark now—she hadn’t arrived at the shop until four, and with the change in the seasons, the sun was going down sooner. A nice pot of tea with Mrs. North was in order, and she thought she’d make up some bread and some cookies that night as well. A pleasant way to spend an evening in—and she might even persuade Mrs. North to listen to her read some Shakespeare while the bread rose.
Chapter Three
When Bradley sent off his letter to the playwright’s office in California, he hadn’t expected an answer back so quickly, but there it is, in his hand. The return address was correct, but the handwriting wasn’t Lydia’s. Perhaps she no longer worked there—maybe she’d moved on to the stage itself by this point. He’d be happy for her if that proved to be the truth.
Dear Mr. Murdoch,
Your letter was received this afternoon addressed to a Miss Lydia Pullman. I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of opening it. You see, I had contracted with Miss Pullman for her to come work as my secretary based on her application to an advertisement I placed some time ago, but she never arrived. I hoped that your letter would give me a clue as to her whereabouts, but it appears that you don’t know either. I do wish you the best in locating her.
Linus Freed
Bradley’s hands were shaking so badly, he nearly dropped the letter. Lydia had never arrived? He knew she got on the train—he was there on the platform when she boarded.
Carl looked up from his desk. “Are you all right? You look like death.”
He spoke jovially, but he became serious when Bradley explained what the letter said. “She never got to California?”
“Well, she never checked in with Mr. Freed. She might have arrived in town, but then decided to take a better job with someone else.”
“Or she could have met someone on the train and decided to elope.” Carl held up both hands at the scowl Bradley sent his way. “Or not. It was just a suggestion.”
“A terrible suggestion.” Bradley shook his head, a million possibilities running through his mind. “I knew she shouldn’t have traveled alone. Did you know that I offered to go with her? But she was determined to be independent, and I was determined to give her space. I thought that if I showed her how much I trusted her and supported her, she’d understand how much I truly loved her, and that it would make a difference somehow.”
“And that was the right decision. She needed to choose for herself, and she did.”
“But where is she now?” Bradley stood up and nearly knocked over his chair. “Is she well? Is she happy? I’ve asked myself these things a million times, but I always told myself that it was none of my concern. This . . .” He waved the letter in the air. “Now I believe it is my concern because I might be the only one who realizes something might be wrong.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?” Carl asked.
“That’s just it. I really have no idea. I could talk to the authorities, but she’s of age, and if she chose to take another job or to elope, as you so ungraciously suggested, she’s hardly broken the law.” Bradley walked over to the window and looked out. “And she has no obligation to me, no reason to tell me of a change of plans.” He whirled to face Carl again. “Why couldn’t I have convinced her to stay?”
“Because that’s not what she wanted.” Carl leaned back and steepled his fingers across his chest. “You wrote her because you wanted closure, but now you’re even more frazzled than you were before. I know how you are, Bradley—you can’t sit still when there’s action to be taken. What are you planning?”
“I don’t know if it’s a plan or just a jumble of thoughts, but I believe I’ll send a telegram to the police in San Francisco to see if they have any record of her. If something happened once she arrived . . . something terrible . . . they w
ould know it.” His stomach clenched at the very idea, but it was better to know the truth of it.
“That’s a very good idea. Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes. You can visit the Millers and take the measurements for their new windows.”
Carl pulled a face. “I meant, to help find Lydia.”
“Visiting the Millers will help quite a lot.”
Carl stood up, grumbling. “You know she always wants to serve up that horrible raisin pie.”
“Yes, I do, and that’s why I appreciate your help and friendship so very much.”
Carl left, still grumbling, and Bradley turned back to the window. If Lydia wasn’t to be found on the police records, what would he do next? He had no idea, but he needed to decide. He couldn’t approach this in a panic—he had to be calm and methodical. That was the only way to go about it.
***
“And so there I was, fitting a dress for the Grand Duchess of Wellington, and I had my mouth full of pins and I was down on my knees adjusting the hem when her husband came in to consult with her on a matter of great importance.” Mrs. Deveraux made a grand gesture as she spoke. “It’s quite customary for the common folk, like myself, to bow when someone of such a title enters the room, but I couldn’t. You see, I had somehow pinned my cuff to her hem, so I stayed on the floor. The duke believed I was showing him added respect by prostrating myself on the floor, and because I had pins in my mouth, I couldn’t correct him. He awarded me for my loyalty and deference by giving me a higher seat at the dinner that night.”
Lydia smiled. “That must have been quite an honor.”
“Oh, it was, most definitely. I did feel bad that it came about by accident, but it was lovely to dine with such important people.” She paused in her stroll about the room and examined the hem Lydia was sewing. “That’s quite lovely, my dear. I believe the bride will be very happy.”
“This is the last seam to go,” Lydia replied. “Then she’ll be ready for her final fitting.”
Defying the Darkness Page 2
