His head was pounding and his eye sockets threatened to implode. He hated how he felt when he was hungover, but he hated being sober even more. When he was sober…he remembered. And he’d do just about anything to keep from thinking about that day.
Voices through the floorboards of his upstairs room in the back of the Drunk Horse Saloon, signaled that the proprietor had opened his doors for business. The man flung open his doors every day around noon, and there was never a shortage of patrons waiting to swill down the cheap rotgut whiskey he sold at premium prices.
Colin turned over in his rumpled bed and covered his pounding head with his pillow hiding in the darkness beneath it. The scent of his unkempt body permeated his bed clothing. He probably should let his landlord know he was ready to pay the maid to change his sheets. Even he had to admit they stank. And since he’d been out of clean clothes for the last week or so, he’d also have to ask the laundry woman to wash his clothes.
It had been at least two weeks since he’d had a bath or washed his hair. And he never shaved anymore. There was no need to bother. It was too much trouble to go through the motions of living. He couldn’t care less if he ever opened his eyes again. And yet, each day, he did. It was a curse he couldn’t seem to escape.
His stomach growled and the familiar hollow feeling reminded him he had refused to eat supper again, instead choosing to consume another bottle of cheap whiskey. Eventually, his body always won out and he was forced to eat something to maintain its functions.
He had lost around forty pounds during the last year His once muscled frame no longer filled out his shirts and pants. Instead, they hung off his shoulders like he was a scarecrow with a stick frame. And he had had to punch more holes in his leather belt to keep his pants from falling down while he shuffled from his room to his table downstairs.
A lively tune from the saloon’s tinny piano drilled notes into his screaming brain. He pushed his pillow harder against his ear to drown out the noise, but he succumbed to the scent of his own filth. “Damn it!” He threw the pillow across the room and shoved his soiled bedclothes away. He hated himself and this life, but it was what he deserved.
A sudden knock at his door startled him into complete consciousness. Who the hell could that be? The last time the maid had tried to clean his room, he had ranted and yelled at her until she ran crying down the hall. Ten minutes later, the saloon owner had paid him a visit and told him he would not tolerate abuse of his employees and if Colin persisted with his behavior, he would find himself out on the street by sunset. Colin later apologized to the maid and gave her a two-dollar tip, but told her not to come back to his room until he specifically asked…which he hadn’t. So who would dare to disturb him? He would teach them not to come knocking without an invitation.
The pounding didn’t stop. Who the hell would visit this early in the mornin? And why? Everyone knew to stay away from his door until he stumbled downstairs for his afternoon breakfast. He’d made it painfully clear there would be hell to pay if his hangover was disturbed before he was ready to deal with it himself.
The pounding at the door became more incessant. He wasn’t certain which was more irritating, the pounding on the door or the pounding in his head. Both were excruciating considering his extensive hangover, but he was used to his headaches since he woke up with one every morning.
“Go away.” Colin yelled to the idiot on the other side of the door. When the pounding didn’t stop, he yelled again. “Alright, damn it. I’m coming. Stop the racket, will you?”
What could be so important? A fire maybe? “There better be a damn fire and this building better be burning to the ground for your sake,” he mumbled to his intruder under his breath.
Another barrage of rapid knocks beat against the wooden door pushing him to move. “I said I’m coming.” He managed to swing his legs out of the bed and make contact with the bare floor jarring his body and sending a stabbing pain into his brain that settled right behind his eyes. He closed one eye and focused on the far wall. This kept the room from tilting on its axis and sending him to the floor when he stood.
The pounding at the door fueled his anger and pushed him toward the door. Desperate to stop the noise, he hurried as fast as his abused body could shuffle across the dirty wood floor. The rough unpolished boards snagged and pulled at his filthy socks. He was just glad he wasn’t barefooted. He had learned that lesson the first night he moved in when he obtained a splinter of epic proportions.
The knocking on the door had taken on a life of its own. Whoever was on the other side better have a damn good reason for disturbing his misery. A damn good reason.
He raked his unkempt hair back from his face with trembling fingers. He grabbed the doorknob to steady his shaky legs and threw back the bolt. He was gonna give this son-of-Satan a reminder that his day never started before late afternoon. Everyone around here knew that and he would make certain this intruder remembered the warning.
Colin flung the door wide open intending to give his unwanted visitor a very colorful greeting, but his words died in his throat. Instead, he froze and stared at the man, trying to convince his brain that what his eyes were seeing was a hallucination brought on by copious amounts of alcohol.
“It’s about time you opened the damn door.” His visitor pushed past him and was now glaring at him from inside his room. Apparently the apparition wasn’t a hallucination after all.
“Damn it, Quinn. What the hell are you doing here?” They were the few words Colin could manage through his dry, cracked lips.
“Well, hello to you too. Won’t you come inside and stay a spell?” The man’s words dripped with sarcasm.
Colin’s brain had now done a decent job of convincing him what he was seeing was real and this wasn’t going to be good. “How the hell did you find me?” Colin turned to face his unexpected and unwanted visitor.
“That’s all you’ve got to say to me after all this time of pretending to be dead? How could you do this, Colin?”
“You shouldn’t have come. You should have just let the dead stayed buried.”
“You know I couldn’t do that, Colin. I’m your brother. How could I not have come looking for you when I learned the reports of your death weren’t true?”
“It would have been better for—”
His brother turned on him. “Better for who, Colin? You? Look at you. You look like death the second time around. What the hell happened? Why didn’t you come home after the war ended? Why didn’t you let your family know you were still alive? It doesn’t make sense.” His brother’s anger had turned to frustration and he pleaded for answers. Answers Colin wouldn’t give him.
“Like I said, Quinn, it was better that you thought the reports of my death were true. Why are you here, anyway?” Colin turned away from his brother. He couldn’t stand to see the confusion and disbelief on his face.
“Why am I here? I would think that obvious. I’m here to take you home, Colin. Where you should have been since the war ended. Where people can help you—”
Colin shook his head. “There is no help for me, don’t you understand that? I can’t go home.”
Quinn started toward him, but Colin held up his hand to stop him. “Don’t. I’m not worth it. Just go back to wherever you came from and forget you saw me. Don’t let Momma and Papa know you found me like this, Quinn. Let ‘em think I’m still dead. Please. I’m begging you.”
He saw the look of sadness on his brother’s face. “What is it? What’s happened, Quinn?”
“Colin, Papa died just before I got the news about you and Caleb. Papa was thrown from one of his colts and a week later came the news that Caleb had died from an infection after his right leg was amputated. And then we got news that you…were gone too. Momma just couldn’t handle any more. She stopped eating altogether and slowly wasted away.”
He felt weak and sick to his stomach. He grabbed hold of the only chair in the room and sat down before his trembling legs gave way. Last night’s whiske
y fog had burned away at the appearance of his oldest brother’s unexpected visit and now this devastating news…to learn that his beloved parents were…he needed a drink…now.
Quinn’s hand clapped his shoulder to comfort him, but stopped when he felt Colin’s rail thin shoulders. It embarrassed him. He didn’t need pity. He deserved his self-inflicted punishment and it was nobody’s business otherwise…especially not his brother’s.
Colin shrugged his brother’s hand off his shoulder and stood. “What do you want, Quinn? What’s it gonna take to get you to leave and forget you ever saw me here?” He refused to meet his brother’s troubled gaze.
“You know why I had to come, Colin. I came because I heard that the brother I thought was dead is alive. I came because I was told you were in a real bad way. And I came because…I love you and thought you could use my help.”
Colin shook his head and moved across the small room to put space between him and Quinn. “Then you’ve wasted your time. I don’t need your help because you can’t help a dead man. I may still be among the living but trust me when I tell you—I’m beyond help, so…just go home, Quinn.”
“You know I can’t do that.” Quinn’s whispered words were soft, but Colin recognized the determination behind them. This wasn’t going to end well, but then Colin had known that the minute he had opened his door and saw his older brother standing in the hallway.
“You can and you will because you don’t have a choice. This is my life, not yours.” He turned to give his brother a determined glare of his own, but the look of pity in his brother’s eyes soured his stomach.
“Stop it, Colin. Just…stop it. This talk of being dead is ridiculous. Whatever has happened to cause you to behave this way…think this way…must have been unimaginable…to crush you like this. But you…we…can beat this. You and me. We can face whatever this is together. And if you think I’m gonna leave you here, now that I know you’re alive, you’re touched in the head.” Quinn assured him. “You’ve never been a coward, Colin. You can’t give up.” His brother’s choice of words cut deep even though he should be devoid of any feelings by now. But he’s right. I was a coward. I am a coward.
“I’m not worth the trouble, Quinn. I swear to you I’m not. Now, will you please just go?”
Quinn barked a laugh, but Colin heard no humor in it. “You must have forgotten how determined I can be when I set my mind to something, little brother. Now, there’s nothing more to discuss. Get your belongings together. “We’re leaving on the next stage.”
Colin watched his brother walk across the room and pick up a dirty shirt and a pair of pants off the floor. He wrinkle his nose in distaste as the foul odor of Colin’s unwashed clothes drifted into his nostrils. He dropped them to the floor and threw a confused look in Colin’s direction. “Um…never mind. We’ll buy whatever you need along the way.”
Colin straightened his spine the best he could considering the pains in his stomach had him nearly bent over. “I said I’m not going anywhere. I’m not your little brother anymore. I’m a grown man and you can’t force me, Quinn.” He laced his words with as much determination as his battered body would allow.
A look of pain crossed Quinn’s face. “Of course, you’re my little brother, Colin. You’re the only family I have now besides my wife and children. I don’t want to force you to come with me. I want you to want to come home with me to meet my family. My son and daughter. My wife, Sarah.”
Colin saw the hint of tears in Quinn’s eyes and they gave him pause. He would like to see his brother’s children before he…no, he didn’t deserve to see them. They would be better off never having laid eyes on him.
“I’m sorry, Quinn. I wish I could say yes, but mostly I wish you hadn’t found me. I wish you hadn’t heard that I was alive. We would both be better off if I were still dead. Hell, the whole damn world would be better off if I was dead.”
“That’s not true. You know—”
“I said I’m not going and that’s the end of it. I don’t have the strength to stand here and argue with you. Just leave and forget you ever saw me.”
Colin turned and opened the door to show his brother out. He refused to meet Quinn’s glare because he just didn’t have the emotional strength to withstand another onslaught of his brother’s pleadings. When his brother refused to move, he turned toward the hallway.
“If you won’t leave, then I will. Don’t be here when I get back.” Colin turned to go.
Quinn grabbed his arm to prevent him from leaving the room. “You can’t be serious.”
Colin tried to jerk his arm away, but his brother held tight. He looked down at the place where his brother’s fingers dug into his arm. “Damn it, Quinn. Why can’t you do as I ask and just leave me the hell alone?” He shoved at his brother’s chest, but in his weakened state he was no match for his healthy brother’s strength.
Desperate to make Quinn leave, he did the first thing he could think of…he reared his fist back and punched his brother in the face. Shock and disbelief kept his brother in place…for about half a second. Then his brother pulled his fist back and returned the favor…landing a good solid punch to Colin’s nose.
Bright starbursts exploded behind his eyes followed by a wave of nausea as the pain of his brother’s punch awoke his numbed senses. He grabbed for his nose and staggered toward the wall trying to stay upright…but he didn’t make it two steps before his weakened condition, and his brother’s set of hard knuckles, sent him into blissful oblivion.
Chapter 3
Where was she? Emma awoke from her nap to a sense of confusion. She sat up in bed and then it all came back. She was a guest of Sarah Cassidy and her husband, Quinn.
The sound of cast iron pots and pans clanging downstairs indicated her new friend was busy preparing supper. The least Emma could do was get dressed and go downstairs to help. She didn’t want to make a bad impression on her first day in Angel Creek. It would not bode well for her chances of finding a husband if it got around town she was a lazy woman.
She made her way down the beautiful spindled staircase relishing the feel of the smooth wooden banister under her hand. The last rays of light from the darkening November sky filtered through the stained glass transom window over the door creating a color-infused pattern on the floor.
Just for a moment, she paused under the weight of her homesickness. She already missed Charleston, but it didn’t matter any longer. Charleston was long gone. This town was her home now and she better get used to it. Perhaps if she had a moment with her friends, she wouldn’t feel so lonely. She would seek out Melody and Caroline at the first opportunity.
Shaking off her melancholy, she crossed the main room and moved through the dining room and into the kitchen. There, she saw Sarah and Rebecca laboring over a countertop covered in dough. They were both dusted in white flour.
“What are you making?” Emma asked, and moved closer to see.
“Cinnamon rolls,” Rebecca exclaimed. “Momma is letting me roll the dough and then I get to smear the butter.”
Emma observed the flour-dusted apron, hair, and face of the little girl. “I’d say you are certainly elbow-deep in your work, Becca.” Emma smiled at Sarah.
She watched Sarah cover the dough with another thin dusting of flour and then smooth it evenly with her palm careful to cover all the edges. “Becca, now you can use the rolling pin without worry it will stick to the dough. Roll it thin. As thin as you can.” Sarah pushed her daughter closer to the cabinet to avoid a bigger mess on the floor.
Emma watched Sarah teach the art of baking to her enthusiastic daughter and felt a twinge of regret that Emma’s mother, Hattie, was no longer alive to share moments like this. “I must admit, it’s been a while since I made cinnamon rolls myself. When the northern army stopped supplies from reaching us in Charleston, sugar and spices were the first things in short supply. I swear, those Yankee blues had the biggest sweet tooth ever.” Emma joked as she tried not to think too deeply about those d
ays of deprivation and sadness.
Sarah gave her a sympathetic look. “I remember. Thank goodness those dark days are behind us now. Would you like to help us?” she offered, and Emma sensed she was trying to distract her from thinking about the past.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t want to usurp Rebecca’s job. So, how about I wash the pots and pans instead?” Emma offered and rolled up her dress sleeves.
“What’s usurp?” Becca wanted to know.
Sarah and Emma both laughed. Emma answered her question. “Usurp is when someone takes over your territory without asking your permission. I think that’s the simplest way to explain it.”
The little girl nodded her head in understanding and turned back to the task at hand. She rolled the wooden pin across the dough under her mother’s watchful eye.
Emma pulled an apron off a hook on the kitchen wall and tied it around her waist. “Where can I find a bucket to use for the water?” She asked Sarah.
“Grab that one next to the back door there.” Sarah pointed to a medium-sized bucket.
Emma pumped water into the metal bucket and poured it into a smaller pan and set it on the stove’s hot plate. Small sticks of wood already rested in the firebox so she lit them. Now, she would wait for the fire to build and heat the water so she could wash the dishes.
Dirty mixing bowls, measuring cups, and spoons cluttered the countertop in front of her. Emma grabbed the tin washtub hanging off the kitchen’s back wall and stacked all the dishes inside it sprinkling them liberally with lye soap. “Is there anything I can do to help while I wait for the water to heat up?” she offered.
Emma Page 2
