Beauty From Ashes

by Lynnette Bonner

  She stared at the bare finger on her left hand, hardly able to believe that in a little less than a week she would be waking up as Mrs. Joseph Rodante. And she was happy about it. That was actually almost more of a miracle than anything.

  The Bible on her nightstand caught her eye, and she traced her finger over the cover.

  God had indeed taken her ashes and supplied beauty in their place. Where she previously had felt terrible dread at the thought of a man’s touch, now she looked forward to each gentle brush of Joe’s fingers. Each quick wink he sent her way. Each soft kiss that he trailed across her knuckles.

  Last night when he had come in for dinner, there had been so much appreciation in the gaze he swept over her that she’d felt like the last dark room of her past had just had the shutters thrown wide open. She had blushed and spun away from him, but he caught her hand and gently tugged her back against his chest, wrapping her in the safe cocoon of his arms. His lips found the soft spot just behind her ear.

  She giggled when his lips descended to the curve of her shoulder and his whiskers tickled the sensitive skin of her neck. She smacked his arms and spun away from him, shaking one finger. “Behave yourself, Joseph Rodante.”

  He spread his hands with an unrepentant grin. “What?”

  “You know exactly what. I called you in for dinner and not a thing more.”

  He folded his arms and leaned into his heels. “Disappointing. Mighty disappointing. I’m sure there’s got to be something I could do to change your mind.”

  He crooked one finger at her, gesturing her closer.

  Liora giggled. Tempted. Oh so tempted. But instead of giving in, she gave him a look. “Rory’s right in the next room.”

  His brows lifted. “Oh, so am I to understand that if Rory wasn’t in the other room things might be different?”

  Liora had felt herself blush to the roots of her hair, because she knew that the answer to that question was in fact an emphatic yes.

  Aurora came around the corner. “Did I hear my name?”

  Liora started to deny it, but Joe interrupted her with a distinct gleam in his eyes.

  “You did in fact hear your name, Aurora. I was wondering if you would mind taking that bucket of oats there out to my Paint. After all his running the other day, I’ve been pampering him a little.”

  Aurora glanced back and forth between them, confusion wrinkling her brow. Joe had never asked her to do his chores before. It was only a moment before realization dawned on her face. Her brows shot up and her face turned pinker than spring cherry blossoms. “Oh! Yes. Of course. I can do that.” She scurried outside so quickly both Joe and Liora were left chuckling in her wake.

  Even now as Liora remembered the incident, she felt her face heat. Because Joe had taken distinct advantage of Aurora’s absence. And a very pleasant time had been had by all. Well, except for maybe Aurora who’d only been afforded the pleasure of feeding the Paint oats.

  Liora giggled and pushed back the covers. Much as she would like to lie about and dream of Joe all day, she had things that needed tending.

  She had just slipped on her day dress and done up her hair when a knock sounded on the front door. She frowned and glanced out her window again. The sun was barely up. Joe never came to the house this early. Who could be at the door? She hurried through the chill of the living room and cracked the door a little to see who would be on the porch.

  To her surprise it was Joe. But he wasn’t alone. Behind him stood three women.

  Liora opened the door farther.

  Joe gestured to the women with a sweep of his hat. And there was a light of something gleaming in his eyes. Was it pride? “Came out of the lean-to, right as they walked into the yard. Seems they were employed by John Hunt up till a couple days ago. They want out of that life. They heard about your place, and wondered if you had room for them?”

  Liora covered her mouth with one hand, blinking back tears. All she could think about was something Tess had said to her just a few days ago.

  Them other whores back there workin’ for Mr. Hunt? If I could sacrifice somethin’ to give them a chance to have a better life, I would want to do that too. Like you done for me.

  These women would not be free from John Hunt had Tess’s death not happened. Had Tess not had that very attitude—one willing to sacrifice herself for others—she would be here today, but these women likely would not.

  Beauty from Ashes…

  Father God, I lack so much faith.

  She stepped back and swung the door wide, smiling at the women through blurred vision. “Of course I have room. We’ll make room. Please, come in. I was just about to start breakfast. I’m sure you are all hungry.”

  EPILOGUE

  Charlotte couldn’t help but grin at Reagan and Jacinda who were both pacing the train platform like caged tigers. Due to Father’s previous banking commitments, he and Mother had not been able to get away from Boston until this week. So now, here they stood, the night before the wedding, waiting for the train to arrive.

  Charlotte wasn’t sure who was more nervous, Reagan or his mother. And that didn’t even take into account the jitters squirreling through her own middle. She hadn’t seen her parents since she had left Boston over two years ago. Well she remembered her first impression of Wyldhaven, and she so wanted her parents to love her new home and the man that she would spend the rest of her life with. Would her parents be able to let go of their citified expectations with only a few hours before the wedding? Her mother was nothing if not set in her ways, and Charlotte feared that the culture of Wyldhaven might just be too much of a shock for her system.

  Charlotte flipped open her fan and tried to cool herself, even though the day had not been overly warm. She knew that her stresses were likely partly responsible for Reagan and Jacinda’s edginess.

  Reagan was doing his best not to look nervous. But the tapping of his boot toe gave him away.

  In the distance, the train whistle pierced the air. Reagan glanced over at her and smiled. But it was a bit strained around the edges. Stepping to his side, she looped her arm through his and looked up at him. “They’re going to love you.”

  He grinned. “Of course they are. I’m the hero who saved you from that fiend Patrick Waddell! It’s you I’m worried about. You’ve changed a lot since coming to town, you know.”

  She slapped his arm in accompaniment with Jacinda’s chuckle. “Oh do get on with you. Now you’ve made me even more tense than I already was!”

  Reagan covered her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You can’t be even half as nervous as I am. Is my tie straight?”

  Charlotte paused in front of him and patted his perfectly tied bow. “You look just as handsome as ever.”

  “As do you.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss against the back of her fingers.

  “Here they come.” Jacinda tapped Reagan on the shoulder in indication they should pay attention.

  They all turned then to watch the train glide into the depot. With a release of steam, it came to a halt. And only a moment later, Mother and Father descended the train steps.

  Mother held a handkerchief to her nose and glanced the length of the platform and back, eyes wide. Charlotte grinned even as she hurried towards them. If she thought this was a backwater, wait till she arrived in Wyldhaven. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself.

  Mother saw her, and her eyes widened and burgeoned with tears. “Charlotte! Oh, Charlotte!” Her hanky waved like a white flag of surrender. Mother hustled toward her and threw her arms around her neck. “Oh, my baby, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte chuckled a little and patted Mother’s back. “Hello, Mother. I trust that your journey has not been too tiring?”

  Father approached more sedately. But Charlotte could tell by the gleam in his eyes that he was just as happy to see her as her Mother was. She released Mother and held her arms out to her father, relishing in the strength of his embrace as he tugged her close and wrapped his strong arms around her
. The familiar combination of his cologne and the soft whiff of cigar smoke washed her with a melancholy longing.

  “Ah, child. ’Tis so good to see you again.”

  Charlotte stepped back, laughing at herself as she dashed tears from her cheeks.

  Both her parents were looking at Reagan now and she realized that she hadn’t made introductions yet. “Mother, Father”—she slid her arm through Reagan’s—“I’d like you to meet Reagan Callahan. And this is his mother, Mrs. Jacinda Callahan. Reagan, Jacinda, my parents, Bertrand and Etta Brindle.”

  Father reached out a hand to Reagan, while Mother and Jacinda shared an embrace.

  “I trust that I don’t have to tell you what I will do to you if you ever hurt my daughter?”

  Charlotte gasped. “Father!”

  Reagan didn’t even chuckle. He shook his head. “No sir. You sure don’t.”

  Charlotte reached over and slapped her father’s arm. “You stop that.” She laughed. “There’s no fear of Reagan mistreating me.”

  Father gave her a rapid-fire wink. “I figure with only a few hours till the wedding, I better make myself plain and clear right up front. I would hate to have to deny my permission when the minister asks for it.”

  Reagan’s feet barely had time to shuffle in consternation before Father broke out into his signature belly laugh and socked Reagan in the arm. “I’m only funning with you, son. Lord knows my Charlotte has had plenty of beaus in her day. And if you’re the one that makes her happy, then I’m happy.”

  Charlotte felt her face flame. “Father really!” The way he said “plenty of beaus” made her sound like a downright floozy. And now there was a slight furl between Reagan’s brows. She gave him a shake of her head and a subtle eye roll.

  And when Father turned his attention to Jacinda, Reagan leaned close to whisper in her ear, “We’re going to have to talk about all these beaus of yours someday.” His quick kiss of her cheek let her know where he really stood. “I’ll fetch the carriage.”

  He was off before she could even get a word in edgewise, and she grinned as she watched him go. Life with that man would certainly never be boring.

  Reagan was only a little way down the platform when Charlotte heard someone call her name, and her heart went cold in her chest. It couldn’t be! But when she looked up, her fears were confirmed.

  Kent Covington scurried toward her from the rear of the train. He wore a white linen suit with a crisp square of red silk peeking from the pocket. He brushed past Reagan, who stopped where he stood and spun to watch Kent rush toward her.

  Charlotte squeaked as Kent fell to one knee before her and clasped her hand. His coat was cut so long that the hem brushed the depot platform, and with one hand he kept his light gray bowler pressed to his chest.

  Jacinda took a step back and flapped her fan.

  Mother and Father gasped.

  “Covington, what under all of heaven are you doing here?” Father demanded.

  Charlotte tried to step back and withdraw her hand, but Covington held on and scooted after her awkwardly on his knees. He tossed a glance at Father. “I followed you.” With his gaze fastened to Charlotte, he beseeched, “Charlie, please, when I heard you were getting married, I just had to come. You can’t do this. You know we were meant to be together. You’ll never be happy if you marry this western fool, whoever he may be.”

  Beside them, Reagan cleared his throat. Loudly.

  Charlotte glanced up. He’d returned from down the platform and now stood just behind Kent. Nudging his Stetson back and raising his brows at her, he folded his arms and leaned into his heels.

  Charlotte was still so in shock that all she could seem to do was stand there and gape back and forth between the two men. Everything seemed to slow. Each breath took forever to fill her lungs. Each beat of her heart took minutes.

  She looked first at Kent, with his pale city skin and his bowler pressed to his chest, so much entreaty in his eyes. His waxed mustache quivered in anticipation of her answer.

  Her gaze next fastened on Reagan, who towered over her, broad, brown and muscled, his expression demanding to know what was going on here.

  The moment of suspended time snapped, and Charlotte forcefully withdrew her hand and backed away from Kent.

  “Kent—Mr. Covington. No! Stop!” She held out a finger when he crawled forward to recapture her hand. “Mr. Covington”—she deliberately emphasized the formality which put distance between them as she looked down at him—“I fear you have made this journey in vain. I left Boston to escape you, and I’ve never for even one moment regretted it.” She looked over to find Reagan smiling at her, a good deal more relaxed in his stance. She couldn’t pull her gaze from his. “God knew just the man for me and I found him when I came to Wyldhaven.”

  Without caring that they were standing on a public platform for all to see, she stepped around Kent, wrapped her arms around Reagan’s neck, and kissed him full on the lips.

  He grinned down at her. “I’m mighty glad to hear you say that. But”—his gaze hardened just a touch and he held up one finger—“there’s one thing I need to do.”

  Before Charlotte could react, Reagan drew his pistol and leveled it at Kent’s chest.

  Everyone gasped including Kent, who scrunched his eyes shut, bowler still clutched to his chest.

  For all the world, down on his knees like that, he looked like a man about to be dispatched to meet his maker.

  “I’m not going to kill you!” Reagan’s tone conveyed disgust. He leaned down and hauled Kent to his feet. “But the train’s about to leave and we don’t want you to miss it.” The words left no room for negotiation. Reagan escorted him to the nearest passenger car and handed him on board. Then he gave the conductor a few bills from his wallet. “For his ticket back to Boston,” he said. With that, he spun to face Charlotte, with a huge grin on his face. “Right, I guess I’d better fetch the carriage now. Unless you have some other beau that’s about to hop off the train? Am I going to have to challenge someone to a gun battle before the day is through?”

  Mother gasped and Jacinda, who had started to laugh at Reagan’s joke, quickly smothered her humor. “It was— He was joking.”

  “Oh,” Mother forced a smile, but put her hanky to good use blotting at moisture on her face and throat. “Oh dear, Bertrand, I think I’m might need my smelling salts.”

  Charlotte felt her face heat. She gave Reagan a pointed look. “Just fetch the carriage, would you?”

  The morning of the weddings dawned with gorgeous sunshine that puddled rectangles of warmth through Liora’s window. With her quilt wrapped around her shoulders, and a warm cup of coffee in her hands, she hunched her shoulders into the wonderful feel of it and eyed her dress hanging from the hook Joe had put in for her the day before.

  Jacinda had outdone herself. The gown was all creamy silk, and lace, and pearl buttons, and gleaming beads. It filled Liora with awe that she should be privileged to wear such a concoction. And she couldn’t imagine the late hours Jacinda must have put in to complete the dress on time for her.

  Joe had very reluctantly agreed to stay in town last night. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, but all the men who had been a threat had been sentenced just a few days previous—most of them, including Burt Pike, to several years in McNeil Island Prison. John Hunt and the man who had planted the nitroglycerin in the church had both been sentenced to hang for their part in Tess’s death. It had been small consolation, but Liora was at least thankful that she didn’t have the dread of Hunt getting out of jail in a few years hanging over her head.

  Ewan had rented out his room above the alehouse already, so Joe had stayed with the parson and Kin.

  Zane Holloway was supposed to arrive in a couple hours to pick her up and take her to the church.

  Her stomach swirled and dove like a veritable butterfly garden.

  A knock sounded at her door.

  “Come,” she called.

  Rory poked her head in. “Ready t
o start getting dressed? Ruby is cooking breakfast. She says for you to just relax and she’ll take care of everything. And I’m here to do your hair.” Rory blushed and ran a hand over her short mop. “You wouldn’t know it to look at me, but Mama taught me quite a lot about hairstyles and I know just the one that will be perfect for your wedding day.”

  Wedding day…

  Liora smiled. “I’d like that very much.” She tugged the girl into a one-armed embrace. “I’m so glad both you and Dixie will be standing up with me today.” She would have asked Charlotte too, but of course Charlotte would be a little busy.

  Charlotte had also asked Dixie to stand with her, along with Jacinda. She had claimed that she never would have stayed in Wyldhaven were it not for them, and she wanted them to have the best view of what their friendship and encouragement had brought about.

  The morning passed in a flurry of hot hair irons and button hooks, and before she knew it, Zane had pulled the wagon right up to the porch.

  He clapped his Stetson to his chest and smiled at her, one hand extended to help her climb aboard. “Joe is sure one lucky man, Miss Liora. One lucky man. Mind now that we don’t muss your dress or Jacinda will have my hide. I’ve laid out a clean blanket. Just sit down right there and I’ll get you to the church, before you know it. Joe, he’s already pacing like a caged tiger. Don’t suspect he’ll be able to stop till he sets eyes on you and sees you survived the night without his protection.”

  Liora smiled and thanked him, settling her skirts around her as Aurora and the other newly arrived women climbed onto the back seat.

  Zane would drop them off on the way into town before they stopped to pick up Charlotte and her family.

  Liora inhaled deeply and tipped her face into the sun. She was on the way to her wedding!

  “Charlie, baby, are you certain this is the man you want to marry? The place where you want to spend the rest of your life?” Mother’s words were almost a whimper. She stood at the window of Charlotte’s room on the upper floor of Jacinda’s house. With the curtain slightly parted, she stared down at the gaping hole that was all that remained of the near side of the jailhouse. The explosion that had freed Pike and the other men, had demolished nearly the entire back wall of the jail and had even broken out one of Jacinda’s front windows. It was a miracle that none of the men in the cells had been killed.