Morgan was glad that Angelina was nowhere around to protest the decision being made without her. She was off bathing in one of the icy streams while poor Jackson stood guard in the distance. Morgan pitied anything or anyone who tried to harass Miss Turnquist. The woman was an absolute storm waiting to unleash its fury. He grinned as he thought of her, however. She had a spirit that pleased Morgan through and through. It was probably why he’d fallen for her upon first sight. Now if he could spend the winter cooped up with her at the Diamond V, he might be able to convince Angelina to feel the same way.
“We can head out right away. We’ve got good weather so far,” Morgan reminded. “We can put a good ten miles under our belts if we hurry.”
Marley sighed. “Yup. Guess that’s what we’ll do. Sure hope you’re right about your sister. My wife would never take to uninvited visitors wandering in.”
“Dianne loves uninvited visitors. You just wait and see.”
Dianne couldn’t have been happier at the prospect of having Morgan home all winter. Zane’s decision to remain in Butte had been such a disappointment, but this clearly made up for it.
Now that the Indian troubles had diminished somewhat and folks had begun to relax again, everyone at the ranch had gone back to his own quarters. The only remaining houseguest was Portia Langford, and even she was slated to leave after Christmas. Sam Brady, Portia’s father, had written to say he would come and take her back to the fort two days before Christmas. Dianne planned to encourage Sam to stick around until after the holidays so the old soldier could have time to rest and enjoy family life away from the fort. Dianne didn’t know if he’d go along with the idea, but she certainly hoped he would.
Portia pulled on stockings and secured them with a garter. Her thoughts were on her future. Her father was coming soon to take her back to Bozeman, only now she wasn’t so sure she wanted to go. Living with the Selbys was convenient for her plans, and Mr. Lawrence had proven quite helpful.
She slipped her feet into delicate brocade shoes and grimaced. These were the last truly nice shoes she had. She thought of the trunks of beautiful clothes she’d left in Baltimore. If only old Mr. Langford hadn’t been so difficult. His letters questioning Ned’s death and demanding to have her relive Ned’s suicide were most maddening.
“Stupid man,” she muttered to herself.
Ned had been much too controlled by his father. She hadn’t seen this early enough, unfortunately. Life in Baltimore had been a series of confrontations, but not between Ned and old Mr. Langford. Rather they had been between Portia and Ned’s father.
He had constantly accused her of being a seeker of fortune. Portia had pointed out to him on more than one occasion that she was situated quite nicely in regard to financial need, but Langford never seemed convinced. By the time she found out he’d hired a man to investigate her and her bank account, Portia knew she was going to have to do something about her husband.
“Weaklings. All of them. Stupid and weak, just like all of the men in my life.”
Trenton Chadwick came to mind. Now there was a useful man. Unfortunately, he hated her. Still, he was the kind of man Portia could at least admire. He hadn’t cowered at her threats, but had countered with his own. For now, she would let him be. In fact, it might be fun to see what would develop.
Of course, there was that silly little Turnquist woman to deal with. She certainly had decided quickly enough to attach herself to the eldest Chadwick son. But it was of no concern. Portia knew that if she decided to take Trenton for her own, it would only be a matter of time until she had him. No one ever told her no—at least not for long.
But Chester Lawrence was proving to be beneficial, and in him, Portia saw a comrade-in-arms. He hated the Selbys, and so did she.
“I’m sure we can be mutually helpful to each other,” she said as she took one last look in the mirror. She smiled in approval. “Very helpful indeed.”
The weeks went by in pleasurable planning for Christmas. Dianne watched with a hopeful eye at the way Morgan had taken to the young Miss Turnquist. It was evident that he had strong feelings for the pretty blonde, but it didn’t appear Angelina felt the same way. In fact, if Dianne didn’t know better, she’d think that Angelina was far more interested in Trenton.
“I sure hope we aren’t putting you out, ma’am,” Marley Turnquist said as Dianne came into the kitchen with a stack of table linens.
“Not at all, Mr. Turnquist. As you can see, we have plenty of room and we very much enjoy the company. It can get very lonely out here at times.”
“I can well understand that,” the man said as he turned back to the stove where he had been about to pour himself a cup of coffee. “I lived a good part of my life in the big city, however, and it can be very lonely there as well. There were times, in fact, when I was the most lonely of all sitting right in a room full of people.”
Dianne placed the linens on the table. “Nevertheless, we’re glad you could spend Christmas and the winter with us. It affords me a chance to see Morgan, and since he went away to partner with you and Mr. DeShazer, I haven’t had that opportunity.”
“We do keep busy,” Marley said, turning with his cup.
“Well, you just make yourself at home,” Dianne assured. “I’m especially enjoying the company of your daughter. It’s always nice to hear the news from back East and know what fashions are being created. We get newspapers here and an occasional periodical, but it’s been more fun to spend hours over cakes and Tea discussing such affairs, pretending we’re completely up to date.”
“I believe Angelina is enjoying herself as well. She’s always been an unconventional child. I hold myself to blame for that. I wanted a son, and when my firstborn was a girl child, I was disappointed but held to the dream of a boy. Then Angelina came along and the doc said there’d be no more babies. I figured I could make a son out of a girl just as well as a boy.” Marley grinned. “Guess I made a wild cat instead.”
Dianne laughed. “She has a zest for life that will keep her strong out here. You have to have that passion—that enthusiasm—or the country will devour you whole.”
“Angelina wouldn’t stand for it.”
Dianne picked up her linens. “No, I don’t imagine she would.”
Sam Brady showed up a few days before Christmas as promised. Portia made a show of being ever so happy to see the man. In truth, she’d grown weary of even bothering to wait for him. The respite on the ranch had given her a time of freedom, however. She wasn’t forced to spend money—money she didn’t have, thanks to Ned’s stingy father. She didn’t have to work all that hard, although she knew far more was expected of her than she delivered.
Frankly, Portia had a very acceptable situation with the Selbys, though she didn’t like them—not a single one. The children were irritating. Dianne was too demanding, and Cole had proven unaffected by her flirtatiousness. The rest of the household was equally bad. Portia abhorred the Negro family, and the Blackfoot squaw and her children were no better. It had been a great relief when they’d all gone back to their appropriate homes.
“You hiding in here?” her father asked as he approached her in the front sitting room. She’d chosen this room because it was generally cooler—almost chilly. Others would gather in the main room with its large blazing fire, but not her. Not unless she had to.
“Oh, Father. You know better. I simply enjoy this room. It’s very restful.”
Sam Brady looked around and nodded. “I suppose it is.”
“You’re welcome to join me.”
Her father rubbed his chin for a moment, then pulled up one of the horsehair chairs. “I figured I might. With the others occupied in decorating the Christmas tree, I thought I might get to the bottom of what’s going on with you.”
Portia put aside her book and feigned a look of surprise. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Why are you here?”
His question took her aback. She’d been so confident of her performance. She’d done
nothing to give herself away—to suggest to him or anyone else that her motives were less than pure.
“I told you I wanted to make amends. Goodness, do you honestly believe I’d sequester myself away out here in the Montana Territory if I weren’t sincere?”
Sam shook his head. “Frankly, Portia, I’ve seen you endure a great many torturous things in order to have what you want. I seem to remember you eating nothing but the tiniest bowls of vegetables for months on end in order to have your waist measure the size you desired for your wedding.”
“Oh, Father,” she giggled. “How you do go on. Any girl would do that. It’s a matter of wanting to look pretty for their husband. Mother understood.”
“Yes, your mother always understood you better than I did.” His serious tone set Portia’s teeth on edge. He had always taken this tone when he meted out discipline or correction. She hated it.
“Perhaps that’s because mother was around and you weren’t,” she said, trying a different tactic. She forced tears to come to her eyes—a technique she’d learned early in life. “Other children had a father under the same roof. Other children were blessed to grow up seeing their fathers on a daily basis.”
“Perhaps other children’s fathers didn’t have to fight wars or defend liberties to keep folks safe.”
Portia wanted to reply with a snide comment but held her tongue. “Oh, you have no idea how hard it was to be without you. Mother suffered terribly. So did I. We were often frightened and so very alone.”
“That’s why I wanted you to move to the fort with me when I took that post in Kansas. Instead, you up and declared that you’d fallen passionately in love with William Travers, and scarcely before you turn seventeen, I’m walking you down the aisle to be his bride.”
“Well, I had lost my heart to the only man who was there to share my love with,” she said softly. “I only married William because he showed me the affection I so desperately needed from you.” She dabbed at her eyes and got to her feet. “This conversation is making me very sad. I hope you’ll excuse me.”
She had to leave. It was almost more than she could bear. If she had to sit there for another minute and look into her father’s stoic face, she would scream. The man had no idea of the scars he’d inflicted on her heart.
“But he will,” she muttered as she headed to the sanctuary of her room. “He will.”
Trenton saw Portia exit the parlor and head upstairs. He knew she’d been talking to her father, as he’d seen Sam go into the room only minutes before. Sam seemed like the balanced and thoughtful sort of man that Trenton could trust, and because of R. E. Langford’s letter, Trenton intended to enlist Sam’s help. If he’ll hear me out .
“I hope I’m not intruding,” Trenton said as he came into the room. He noted that Sam looked to be very deep in thought.
“No. Not really.”
“I wonder if we might talk. Maybe on the porch, where we will have more privacy. Of course, it’s cold out there,” he added with a smile.
“Cold doesn’t bother me, son. I’ve slept outside in worse than this. I’m sure your brother must have told you about times when it was thirty and forty below zero and we had nothing more than a tent to protect us from the elements.” Sam got to his feet. “I believe my coat is on the back porch.”
“Mine too,” Trenton said.
They made their way outside, where Sam immediately packed a pipe. “Do you smoke?” he asked, offering Trenton the pipe.
“No, it’s one practice I never took up.”
Sam shrugged and lit the bowl. “I find it a comfort at times. I suppose it’s a habit that helps me in times like this.”
Trenton frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Portia. I’m certain she’s lying to me, but I can’t for the life of me figure her game. Never could.”
This was an unexpected blessing as far as Trenton was concerned. Perhaps if he allowed Sam to talk about his concerns, Trenton could bring up the Langford letter without feeling like a complete cad.
“Why do you say that?” Trenton asked softly.
“Portia has spent her entire life caring only for one person: herself. She loved her mother, but even that relationship was strained by Portia’s inner demons.” Sam shook his head. “That girl has never been entirely satisfied with life. Nothing ever seemed to line up exactly the way she wanted it to, so she started forcing pieces into place. If friends offended her, she got rid of them.”
“How would she do that?”
Sam shrugged. “In whatever manner she felt served her purpose. She once had this friend—probably the closest thing to a friend she’d ever had, at any rate. The girl was lovely and sweet, and several of the local boys were taken with her. One in particular thought himself ready to court her, but by this time Portia had decided she wanted the boy for herself. She arranged to put the other girl in a bad situation so that she had to marry another man to save her reputation. Keep in mind the girl was barely sixteen and Portia only fifteen.” He shook his head. “It was ugly, and the girl died a very unhappy young woman.”
Trenton perked at the mention of death. “How did she die?”
“Childbirth. She died without being able to pass the child, and the doctor had been detained elsewhere. I honestly thought Portia might be contrite at her passing—might be moved enough to change her way of demanding things and forcing them to happen.”
“But she didn’t?”
“No. In fact, she kept manipulating lives and people until she’d convinced a wealthy young man to marry her and leave for Europe, where the threat of service to the war couldn’t touch him. Portia seemed happy with the arrangement. William Travers was a man of some social standing, and when they went abroad, they did so in style.”
“What happened to her husband?” Trenton asked, driven to know the truth of Portia’s past.
“He died. Strangely enough he was run down by a freighter. It was barely dawn in London and William had passed out cold in the middle of the street. The driver didn’t see him until it was too late, and the wheels crushed his skull. I never would have expected such an ending for Travers.”
“Why not?” Trenton asked, feeling disappointed that the death hadn’t been more mysterious.
“He wasn’t a drinker when he was here in America. In fact, the man was something of a staunch teetotaler. He completely supported the temperance movement. In fact, his father or grandfather was one of the original founders of the British Association for the Promotion of Temperance. When the family came to America, they furthered the cause. The family was quite firm on the issue of liquor. I guess Portia must have driven him to drink. I can’t imagine spending four years with her, day in and day out, and not coming to the same conclusion.”
Trenton grinned but turned his face upward, as if star-gazing, in the hopes that Sam wouldn’t see his reaction. “She does weary a fellow,” he said, hoping Sam wouldn’t find it offensive.
“She especially seems to hold you a grudge,” Sam said, surprising Trenton. “I’d watch out for her if I were you.”
Trenton turned and stared at the man. The light from the house windows reflecting off the snowy ground gave Trenton a decent view of Sam’s face. The man was serious. “Why do you say that, Sam?”
“People have a way of suddenly dying when they’re around my daughter. Travers, then McGuire.”
“He was her second husband? The Scotsman?”
“Yes. He was quite a bit older, but healthy as a horse. At least that was the way I always heard it told. The man was a landowner—raised sheep and such. He didn’t strike me as the kind of fellow who would fall over dead from pneumonia. But that’s what Portia told me. I just don’t believe her.”
Trenton realized his moment had come. “Sam, I need to ask you something—and I need you to keep it in the utmost confidence. Given what you’ve already told me here, I have to believe you share some of my same concerns.”
“What concerns?”
Trenton drew a deep b
reath. “I had a letter from Ned Langford’s father.”
“Go on.”
“The man believes Portia had something to do with the death of his son. He’s asked me to gather information to try and prove it.”
Sam was silent for several minutes. He sucked on the pipe and blew a ring of smoke toward the starry sky.
Finally he withdrew the pipe and said, “I’ve no doubt she killed him. I’ve no doubt she killed them all.”
“But why, Sam? Why would she kill any of them? They were wealthy. They had the ability to give her anything she wanted. Ned had trouble with the Panic of ’73, but his family’s fortune wasn’t hurt that much. He was still a rich man.”
“Portia cannot abide being controlled. My guess is that in each case, something happened to cause her husbands to tell her no. It’s just that simple. She probably figured that if they were to die, she’d inherit their wealth and be able to control her own purse strings. That’s my guess. Portia’s never abided anyone who got in her way—not even me. It’s one of the reasons I was glad to marry her off.”
“What are you saying?” Trenton asked, studying the man intently.
Sam met his gaze. “I’m saying that I felt certain Portia was out to kill me as well. Matter of fact, I’m still convinced that’s her plan.”
Trenton had been cold prior to this, but at Sam’s declaration a chill like none he’d ever experienced—not even when awaiting his execution for a murder he didn’t commit—coursed down his spine, nearly paralyzing him. “Sam, are you sure?”
“She’s got no other reason to be here, Trenton—and certainly no other reason to wait out an entire year and then some. She’s up to something. It’s either you or me—or maybe both. IDon’t know what she holds against you, but it’s clearly there.”
“She holds the truth against me,” Trenton replied flatly. “I’ve known her to be an actress playing a part since the first day she pretended to faint, hoping Ned Langford would catch her. Instead, I got the job. I knew from the get-go that she wasn’t any more unconscious than I was. I tried a couple of times to confront her, and I definitely tried to change Ned’s mind about marrying her. Portia hated me for that. I almost convinced Ned to at least wait a spell, but Portia managed to spin a bigger web than I could knock down.”
To Dream Anew Page 13
