by Isabel Morin
Of course, she didn’t have much to compare these days, as she hadn’t seen him since that day in the study two weeks ago. Their encounter was beginning to seem like something out of her imagination, which was all for the better, as her imagination was dangerous enough.
Which was why she needed to find out who killed her father before things got even more complicated.
A rare opportunity finally came her way. She was on the second floor replacing rugs she and Lydia had enthusiastically beaten outside when she heard Mrs. Fletcher address Mrs. Craig.
“I need a message sent to Mr. Fletcher at the office. The Willoughby's shall arrive earlier than expected. Please convey this note to Mr. Fletcher as soon as possible so that he may come home early and greet them with me. I would hate for it to look as if he thought work more important than our old friends.”
“Yes, ma'am. I'll send someone straightaway.”
Rose caught up with Mrs. Craig as she descended the stairs.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I overheard Mrs. Fletcher say she needed a message sent. Shall I go? I've just finished the carpets.”
“Very well. I'll have Charlie bring the wagon around. Mrs. Beech needs some things for tonight's dinner as well. Get the list from her and you can stop at the market on the way back.”
Quickly Rose retrieved her bonnet from her room before stopping in the kitchen for the list of ingredients. Mrs. Beech scowled at her, but then, she scowled at everyone.
It was a comfortable day for early July, hot but without the stultifying humidity they’d had all week. The sun shone and a soft breeze blew through the trees. Gratefully she sat on the rough wood seat behind Charlie, the two of them enjoying the break away from the house. It was good to be outside, good to be off her feet. It felt like she hadn't drawn a deep breath since her visit with Vivian several days earlier.
She closed her eyes for a moment and could almost believe she was back home, riding with her father to visit a neighboring farm or buy supplies. Though she and her father had always talked easily to each other, they had also enjoyed the quiet of their own thoughts, the creak of the harness leather and occasional snorts from the steady team of horses. If only she could keep her eyes closed forever and go on imagining her father next to her. But it was no use. It merely reminded her of his absence.
The houses stood closer together and traffic grew heavier as they neared town. Riders on horseback vied with carriages and pedestrians for the road, and the air was full of noise – greetings and shouts, stamping hooves and the more distant screech of one of the local trains braking.
Charlie maneuvered the cart through the crowded streets, just barely avoiding a collision with a cart full of chickens. Soon he pulled up before an impressive brownstone on Beacon Street. Next to the door a plaque read Western Railroad Company. For a moment Rose could not move. So long did she hesitate that Charlie looked over at her, one eyebrow raised in question.
“Something wrong, Rose? If you’re nervous I can bring the message to Mr. Fletcher.”
“No, I’m fine. I’ll manage,” Rose sputtered, moved to action by his look of concern.
Taking a deep breath, she headed up the brick walkway and mounted the steps. Pausing a moment before the door, she put her hand on the knob and turned.
The interior of the building was even more impressive than the exterior. The shiny wood floors with their plush Turkish rugs spoke of money and success, and bronze sculptures scattered about on delicate tables lent the room an air of elegance and sophistication. Behind a desk a young man in eyeglasses, brown vest and matching coat frowned down at a sheaf of papers.
For a moment, Rose was so terrified she could neither move nor speak. Then the clerk saw her and blushed furiously, standing up so quickly he upset a jar of pens. Somehow his nerves eased her own distress and she was able to approach his desk.
“May I help you, miss?”
“I've come to give Mr. Jonas Fletcher a message from Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Of course. Yes. Do let me take it for you. I'll be sure it reaches him.”
Rose had not foreseen even this simple obstacle. Quickly she recovered with a lie.
“Oh no. Begging your pardon, Mrs. Fletcher said I must deliver it myself and wait for his reply.”
The young man came around the desk.
“Very well, I'll escort you to his offices.”
Rose followed the clerk down the hallway, her heart hammering so loudly she feared he would hear it. Offices opened up on both sides, the low hum of voices emanating from inside. At the end of the passage they turned left into a room richly decorated in shades of blue and dark wood. On the walls hung maps of Boston, both older and more recent. The clerk gestured for her to sit.
“Please, wait here. It won’t be long. Mr. Fletcher left half an hour ago for an appointment at Town Hall. He should be back shortly.”
He hesitated, looking for all the world as if he longed to stay with her, before dropping a self-conscious bow and leaving.
On the wall to her left was a door that she guessed led to Mr. Fletcher’s office. Surely a trip to Town Hall would require longer than half an hour, in which case she had time to search it.
Entering his office was terribly risky, but if she wasted this opportunity she would never forgive herself. When the clerk's retreating footsteps had died away she went and pressed her ear to the door. All was silent. Nearly faint with anxiety, she opened the door and stepped inside.
At one end of the large room sat a desk of heavy oak; on it were stacks of paper and what appeared to be ledgers. Tacked up on all four walls were maps detailing different sections of the railroad line. Scanning them quickly, Rose found one showing the most western part of Massachusetts. A thick black line traveled across the state from Boston, breaking right at the boundary of their farm.
She could see that they would have to lay track in another section entirely now that they couldn't run it through their property. She couldn’t imagine how it was even possible to lay track through the those mountains, but these men seemed to think they could do it if only they had access through Aunt Olivia’s land.
Going to the desk she paged through the ledgers but could make no sense of the figures. It would take much longer than she could spare to decipher them, so she quickly moved on.
Opening a drawer, she flipped through the files until she came to one marked “Land Offers.” Inside were letters from landowners all along the route, some of them refusing to sell, others agreeing. She recognized a few names of farmers she'd met or heard mentioned, but there was nothing pertaining to their farm. Disappointed, she replaced the papers. Then her eyes fell on a file labeled “Harris.”
With shaking hands and racing heart Rose opened the folder. Inside were copies of the letters Jonas Fletcher had sent to her aunt. Also enclosed were her aunt’s replies, including her response to the last offer made for the farm. In it she thanked Mr. Fletcher for his generous offer and said that neither she nor her brother wished to sell. On it Mr. Fletcher had written a note indicating that Mr. Byrne would handle the matter going forward.
A hurried look through the rest of the papers revealed several letters from George Washington Whistler, the engineer responsible for finding a way over the mountains. Whistler mentioned the anticipated arrival of Luke Fletcher, noting that his expertise would be greatly appreciated on such a difficult endeavor.
How strange that all this mapping and planning and focus had been on their part of the world, and they had known so little about it.
Someone was coming down the hall. With her heart in her throat Rose replaced the files and slipped into the next room. She had just taken her seat when Mr. Fletcher entered.
“Good afternoon, Rose. I hear you have a message for me. What has Mrs. Fletcher to say?”
Rose stood and silently offered up the note, her eyes on the floor. Her thoughts were spinning so out of control, she was afraid something of her confusion would show on her face.
Mr. Fletche
r read the note with a smile.
“Please assure Mrs. Fletcher that I shall return home by four o'clock.”
Her task completed, she should have taken her leave. Instead she stood there, unable to move. She wanted to cry, wanted to demand he tell her what had happened to her father.
“Is that all, Rose?”
Schooling her expression, Rose forced herself to meet his gaze. “Yes, sir, that's all. I'll relate your message.”
Dropping a curtsy, she left the room. The clerk jumped to his feet at the sight of her, but Rose merely walked passed him, her head down, a terrible weight in her chest. What was she to make of all this? Was Mr. Byrne the one responsible? And if so, would anyone care? The Lenox sheriff had already dismissed her once. Would the Boston police be any better?
Outside, the bright sun momentarily blinded her. She stood on the top step until her eyes adjusted, and when they did, she grew even more confused. Gone were Charlie and the cart.
“What the devil am I to do now?” she stormed aloud, not expecting a reply.
“Don’t blame Charlie. He was merely following orders. I told him to go.”
Rose’s breath caught at the sound of Luke Fletcher’s voice, and she turned to see him coming through the doorway behind her, her marketing basket in his hand. His hair had grown longer since she’d last seen him and now curled over the collar of his shirt. He hadn’t shaved in several days and his hat and shoes were dusty. He must ridden straight to the offices without even stopping at Cider Hill.
Heat flooded her at the memory of their last encounter, and she grew too flustered to say anything. And yet she felt caught in that heated look, trapped by her warring emotions. Suspicion of his family and mistrust of his motives vied with an attraction she couldn’t control. She could feel his nearness, the warmth emanating from him carrying with it the memory of that shattering kiss.
But she would not be made a fool of.
“Why did you tell him to go? How am I to get back to the house?” Rose demanded, the quiver in her voice betraying her reaction to him.
“When my father and I returned from Town Hall he was here, complaining that he'd been waiting for ages. So I told him I would take you back.”
“How could you?” Rose exclaimed. “Already everyone suspects the two of us.” She flushed at the realization that this assumption was no longer entirely inaccurate.
Luke ran a hand through his thick hair as if in frustration.
“I hadn’t considered that, but no doubt you’re correct.” He gave her a piercing look. “Are any of the men in the house giving you trouble?”
“You and your stepbrother are the only ones who’ve made advances,” she replied, hoping he saw the absurdity of his righteousness.
But he was not amused. Rather his expression turned thunderous. He approached her, stopping only when he was a foot away.
“What has Nathan done?” he ground out. “I’ll kill him if he’s laid a hand on you.”
Rose stared at him, shocked at his unexpected ferocity.
“It was nothing you need worry about. Please promise me you won’t say anything. It will only make things worse for me if you say something on my behalf.”
Luke looked aggrieved that he couldn’t defend her honor, but finally nodded in agreement. He continued to look troubled, however, and there was something pained in his expression. “I didn’t force myself on you, did I, Rose?”
A hot flush raced over her at this, and she knew without a doubt that her face was flaming.
“No, of course you didn’t,” she replied, her voice nearly a whisper. “But it mustn’t happen again.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
A man hurried by them into the building, looking at them curiously as he went by. Luke took a step away, breaking the unbearable tension.
“Come, let us take care of your errands,” Luke said.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than see me home?” Rose quipped, her nerves already frayed.
“In fact I don't,” replied Luke, smiling down at her. “I’m completely at your disposal.”
It wasn’t fair. No man should be allowed to smile like that. His eyes crinkled and his white teeth flashed and he was so handsome it simply hurt to look at him.
At a loss as to how to respond, she took refuge in practicalities.
“Very well, then. I must stop at the market before we return. Shall I meet you back here?”
“No, you shall not. I'm coming with you. It's a lovely day for a walk to the market.” So saying he placed her hand in the crook of his arm and started off.
Rose glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t understand him. Here he was, escorting her through town as if he were her beau. There was nothing in her experience to prepare her for the likes of Luke Fletcher. Nevertheless, she swore she wouldn’t let her guard down again. She simply couldn't afford to.
The streets grew more crowded as they neared Fanueil Hall marketplace, and Rose found she was grateful to have Luke by her side, as she quickly became confused in the maze of stalls and shouting vendors. He guided her to each item she needed – a sack of cornmeal, tea and honey – and carried the increasingly heavy basket.
He seemed in no hurry and led her through the commotion at a leisurely pace. So at ease did he make her that she soon forgot all about not letting down her guard, forgot who they were to each other and simply enjoyed the warm sun and pleasant conversation. He even began to point out buildings and explain their uses before she could tell him there was no need.
“Oh, I know the city well, though it’s changed since I left. I lived here until I was fifteen years old. I attended the Temple School on Tremont Street.”
“That explains it,” he said, looking intently at her.
“What does it explain?”
“Why you’re so well-spoken and poised, why you're not like any maid I ever knew.”
“Oh, and have you known many?” Rose asked, giving him an arch look.
“Not in the way you mean, Miss Stratton, no,” he replied, causing her to blush once again. “What happened when you were fifteen to make you leave here?” he asked.
“My mother died of consumption. My father couldn’t bear to stay in Boston without her, so we moved back to the farm he grew up on. But now he’s gone too.”
“I’m so sorry.” He paused a moment. “I lost my mother when I was seventeen, just before I went to university in England. I can’t imagine losing my father as well.”
They stopped in the street and looked at each other with understanding, and Rose felt another wave of awareness wash over her, this one more profound than before. Then Luke took her arm and they began walking again.
“Did you miss Boston?” he asked.
“I did miss it, very much at first,” she reflected. “I missed my friends terribly, and there was always something new to see and do in town. But my father was much more at peace on the farm, and my aunt needed us after my uncle died, so it was best all around.”
“Was it best for you?” Luke asked, his voice quiet and serious.
Rose thought a moment before replying.
“The land is beautiful out there, and I learned to love what it has to offer. I wasn't unhappy, but somehow I always felt that I wasn't meant for that life. I suppose I was like many girls who think they’re meant for something greater. Farm life is much the same day after day, and one is so tied to it. I dreamed of getting away and seeing new places …” Rose broke off, embarrassed at how much she’d revealed.
“No, you weren't meant to be a farmer's wife,” he said. It should have sounded presumptuous, given how little he knew of her. Instead he sounded thoughtful.
“Meant for it or not, it’s what I shall be one day,” she said, knowing she sounded resigned to her fate rather than excited to be marrying the man she loved. She could feel Luke’s gaze on her but looked straight ahead, unable to meet it.
How far she’d come from her ideas of travel and excitement.
Her life would be spent working just to put food on the table. There was no shame in that. Maybe someday it would even bring her pleasure.
They were both quiet as they reached the livery, where Luke arranged for a buggy and team of horses. Before long they were on their way back to Cider Hill, the top down in order to enjoy the pleasant breeze. Rose settled back for the ride, conscious of the new ease she felt with Luke. How unexpected, this new sense of friendship between them. It felt strange to tell him details of her life, and yet not wrong. She hadn't given anything away, but more than that, she felt understood.
What a shock it had been to exchange the sights and smells of Boston for life on a farm. She could see it when she closed her eyes – how the woods bordered their spread on all sides, and in the middle the gold of fine hay, flecks of color from the vegetable garden, horses and pigs, the dairy cows and chickens. Even now it was a constant battle to keep the land clear. Always there was the forest wanting to take it back.
Yes, she had grown to love the land, but somewhere in the back of her mind she had always planned to leave it. Since agreeing to marry Will, the life that awaited her seemed more trap than blessing.
But she was too relaxed, too tired, to examine her feelings any further. Instead she closed her eyes and let herself sink into the seat, her body rocked by the gentle sway of the carriage.
***
Luke let the horses slow to a walk when he saw that Rose had fallen asleep. There was something new and intimate in seeing her like this – the whisper of her breath, the unguardedness of her lovely face as she slept.
She stirred beside him, her body curling into the side of the buggy for a more comfortable spot. Her long auburn lashes fluttered against her cheeks, her soft lips turning down at the corners as if she dreamt of something sad.
She must be exhausted. Six days a week she worked from sun-up until sundown, and on the seventh day she walked for hours. He hated that she worked for his family, that she worked for anyone. Though her tasks now were better than what he had seen her doing the first day, that wasn’t saying much.
