“Of course.” What else could he do? He moved around the counter. “Miss McKinley, may I present Miss Mary Theresa Donahue from St. Louis? Miss Donahue, this is Miss Daphne McKinley. She writes—” He stopped himself before he mentioned D. B. Morgan and The McFarland Chronicles. “Miss McKinley writes a weekly column for the newspaper.”
The two women acknowledged the introductions with nods of their heads and polite smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. Joshua felt as if he were drowning in quicksand.
Finally, Daphne broke the silence. “I hope you enjoy your stay in Bethlehem Springs, Miss Donahue.” She glanced at Joshua. “Please ask Mrs. Patterson to call me.”
“I will.” He wanted to take hold of her arm, stop her from leaving, try to explain. But he couldn’t. Not until he’d spoken with Mary Theresa. And so he watched her leave, a cold wind swirling into the office before the door closed behind her.
“She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?” Mary Theresa said softly.
He turned toward her. “We need to talk.”
“I know. There’s ever so much to decide.” Her eyes brightened and her cheeks grew rosy. “First we must choose a date for the wedding. Mother thinks early spring would be the best. Surely you’ll be able to return home by then.”
To be honest, except for his job at the newspaper, there might no longer be any reason for him to remain in Idaho. It seemed there wasn’t much more he could learn about his grandfather’s past. And if the look on Daphne’s face and in her eyes had told him anything, it was that she would prefer never to see or speak to him again. If that were true, he might as well go back to St. Louis and marry Mary Theresa.
Might as well…but he wouldn’t.
TWENTY-FOUR
For two more days, Joshua tried to find a time and place where he could speak with Mary Theresa privately. But each time he thought he’d found his chance, she seemed to slip away from him, the opportunity past. In the meanwhile, people kept dropping by the newspaper or stopping him in the street to congratulate him on the impending nuptials. All he could do was respond with a smile and a “thank you,” hating himself a little more by the minute.
On Wednesday, with only two days remaining before Mary Theresa and Blanche were scheduled to leave on the morning train, he made up his mind that he would tell her what he thought when they met for lunch at the hotel, even if he had to do it in the dining room with her cousin at the same table and townsfolk and other guests seated around them.
After leaving the newspaper office, he walked along Main and was nearly to the corner at Washington Street when he caught a glimpse of an orchid-colored coat disappearing into the hat shop. Daphne. How many other coats of that unusual color could there be in this town? Had she seen him? Had she gone into the small shop to buy a hat or to avoid meeting him on the street?
Without a plan in mind, he opened the shop’s door and entered. Daphne stood at a display, holding a black fur hat in her hands.
A clerk came out of the back room. “May I help you, Miss McKinley?”
“No, thank you, Miss Overgard. I’m just looking.”
“And you, sir?”
“Thank you, but I’ll wait.” His words drew Daphne around. “Miss McKinley.” He tipped his head.
“Mr. Crawford.” Her expression revealed nothing to him.
“I like the silver one you’re wearing better.”
She waited a heartbeat, then held out the hat to the clerk. “I’ll take this one. Please put it in a box for me.”
Ah, that revealed plenty. She was putting him in his place. She didn’t care what he thought.
As the clerk returned to the back room, Joshua lowered his voice. “Daphne—”
“How is your fiancée? I hope she has changed her mind about Bethlehem Springs now that she’s been here a few more days.” Although she smiled a little as she spoke, the look in her eyes was as cold as the wintery day outside.
“Mary Theresa is fine. But I’d like to explain about—”
“There’s no need for explanations, Mr. Crawford.”
“But there is.”
Several quick steps took Daphne to the doorway to the back room. She swept aside the curtain. “Miss Overgard, I have some other errands I must see to. Would you please have my purchase delivered to my home?”
“Of course,” came the answer from the other room.
Daphne faced him again. “Good day, Mr. Crawford.”
He stepped aside and allowed her room to pass. The door closed behind her with hard finality.
She was angry. Very angry. He took a measure of hope from that discovery. Surely it meant she still cared for him, at least a little.
He left the hat shop and hurried on his way to the hotel. God willing, this lunch with Mary Theresa would be the first step he took toward setting things right.
I won’t cry…I won’t cry…I won’t cry.
Daphne repeated the words in her mind all the way home and was grateful that she succeeded in holding back the tears. Tears of anger, not heartbreak. Heartbreak might follow but now all she felt was fury and indignation.
How dare he follow her into that shop and speak to her? He’d used her most despicably. Kissing her the way he had when he was engaged to marry another woman. It mattered not to her that he’d apologized. All these weeks in Bethlehem Springs and not a word to anyone that he was promised in marriage to a woman in St. Louis.
She pictured Mary Theresa Donahue in her mind. The lovely red hair peeking out from beneath an emerald-green hat. The rich flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. The warmth in her voice when she’d said Joshua’s name. The possessive way she’d touched his arm.
Daphne dropped onto the sofa. How could he have done this to her? She’d thought—
Oh, it didn’t matter what she’d thought. Besides, it could have been so much worse. Joshua Crawford could be a charlatan for all she knew. What if he’d been after her money, as others had been before him? Or perhaps he had fiancées in several towns, never intending to marry any of them. How did anyone in Bethlehem Springs know who he really was?
Good heavens! He could be an exact replica of Rawhide Rick.
She got off the couch, hurried into her office, and began writing as fast as she could.
Joshua requested a table for two in the corner of the restaurant near the windows. Thankfully, cousin Blanche had not thought it necessary to join them for lunch. He hoped that would make it easier to say what he must to Mary Theresa.
She looked particularly fetching in a reddish-brown dress that complimented her hair and eyes. His mother—a painter of landscapes and still lifes—would have called the color burnt umber.
More than one man in the restaurant watched Mary Theresa as she and Joshua were taken to their table. He couldn’t help wondering when she had blossomed into a true beauty. Years ago, no doubt. Why hadn’t he noticed before? The answer was easy: because his mind had been filled with memories of her as a chubby toddler, as a schoolgirl in red pigtails, and as a skinny teenager with a figure as straight as a pencil.
After they were seated and the waiter took their orders, Mary Theresa leaned toward Joshua and said, “I spoke with Mama this morning on the telephone, and she reminded me that we really must settle on a date.”
He drew in a breath and blew it out through his nose. “Mary Theresa, do you love me?”
“What?” Her brows arched and her eyes widened.
“Do you love me? It’s a simple enough question.”
“And a silly one. Of course I do.”
Despite the correctness of her words and the speed with which she answered, Joshua wasn’t convinced. “Do you find the idea of sharing my bed and having children with me an inviting one?”
“Joshua!” His name escaped on a whisper as her face turned scarlet. “That isn’t the sort of thing one speaks of in a public place.”
“Perhaps not, but we must talk about it anyway. You know that I’m fond of you, Mary Theresa, and I know our families have wanted us to
marry since the day you were born. But is marriage to me what you want? Truly?”
“Joshua, what are you saying? Are you breaking our engagement?” The flush drained from her cheeks.
He wanted to remind her that he’d never proposed, that everyone had assumed he had when he hadn’t, that she’d assumed he had when he hadn’t. But he swallowed the words. They would only serve to hurt her and that wasn’t what he wanted. Besides, as much as he would like to place the blame elsewhere, he bore responsibility for the situation.
“Grandfather will be disappointed if we don’t marry,” she said softly.
“I know. My grandfather would feel the same.”
“Mother’s counted on a spring wedding.”
“Mmm.”
She shook her head. “I never expected this to happen when I decided to visit you in Idaho. I thought it was all settled between us.
“I…I’m not asking the question in order to hurt you, Mary Theresa. That’s the last thing I want to do. But I need to know how you feel. Do you feel any…passion when you think of me?”
She was silent for a long while as she stared at him. Different emotions flickered across her face. Hurt. Disappointment. Confusion. And finally a look of discovery. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”
“Don’t you think you should?”
“I thought I would learn to love you that way. That’s what everyone always says. That a couple grows to love each other as they live together.” She turned her gaze out the window while worrying her lower lip. When she looked at him again, she said, “And you don’t love me that way either. Do you?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t love you the way I should, Mary Theresa. Not as a husband should love the woman he marries.”
“Then I guess it would be for the best that we call off the engagement.”
Surprise and relief mingled together as Joshua leaned against the back of his chair. He’d braced himself for a scene, for tears, for fury, and he wasn’t sure what to do now, what to say next, when none of those things happened.
The corners of her mouth curved slightly upward. “Grandfather may throttle you when you return to St. Louis.”
“Probably.” He returned the smile, his body relaxing. “But I’m not sure I will return to St. Louis.”
“Not return? Joshua, how can you say that?” Mary Theresa reached across the table and took hold of his hand. “Even if we don’t marry, you belong in St. Louis. Grandfather won’t throttle you. I was joking. What about your mother and stepfather? They would miss you. And what about your friends? You can’t possibly think of staying in this little burg longer than necessary.”
He squeezed her fingers. “I might stay. I like it here more than I thought I would.” He pictured Daphne as he spoke. Unfortunately, he also pictured the coolness in her eyes the last time they’d met. But perhaps he could change her mind about him. He at least had to try.
Rawhide Rick had a new sidekick, a character as wicked as Richard Terrell ever hoped to be. Daphne named the character Josias Crenshaw. She wasn’t at all surprised to discover he looked a lot like Joshua Crawford—light brown hair, striking blue eyes, a dimple in his chin. Handsome enough and charming enough to fool unsuspecting, honest folks.
Daphne wrote as fast as her fingers could strike the keys of her Royal typewriter. She cared little about accuracy at this point. She merely wanted to get the story down on paper as it came to her.
A vile ruffian, Josias didn’t hesitate at any terrible deed. Not if it would further his purpose. And this day he saw no reason to give a mayor’s daughter a go-by. There wasn’t a man in town who would stand up to him, no matter how ill he used the fair maiden.
Oh, the scoundrel. As his creator, Daphne would make certain he received his just desserts before the story ended. She would punish him until he begged for mercy—and she would take great pleasure in his suffering. Perhaps Miss Danforth would stab him. Several times. No, shooting him might be better. In the thigh, so he couldn’t run away. Hadn’t Griff told her about a bank robber who was shot in the leg and bled to death before anyone could bring the doctor?
Yes, a slow and painful death was in order for Josias Crenshaw.
She was enjoying writing more today than she had in ages.
January 4, 1873
Samuel and I became good friends over the next year. And those “God talk” conversations I mentioned before, they often turned into spirited debates. Samuel wasn’t afraid to challenge me, my ideas, or my actions. He spoke the truth. Hard truth, plenty of the times. Yet I can’t say that I felt judged by him. I think more often than not he pitied me. Me, the wealthiest, most influential man in Bethlehem Springs, pitied. Made no sense to my way of thinking.
And yet it did make sense. Somewhere along the way, I began to see myself the way Samuel saw me. The way God saw me. My heart was black as pitch. My mind had been the devil’s playground for four decades.
Seeing the real me, I began to change, although I didn’t realize it at first. I’m sure others must have noticed. The judgments I passed down from the bench became more fair and honest. I was kinder to folks too. Not that I couldn’t still be bribed or didn’t think of myself first more often than not. An unregenerate heart still beat in my chest. But God was working on me, little by little by little.
Christmas of 1870 (a Sunday) arrived, and I was invited to dine with Samuel and some friends of his (mere acquaintances of mine), as well as his parents, who were visiting from Chicago. I’d paid no attention to the Christian calendar in my adult life. Christmas and Easter and such were just other days in the week to me. I don’t recall buying gifts for anyone. Maybe as a young boy I made something for my parents for Christmas, but if so, the memory is too distant.
I believe it was curiosity that caused me to accept the invitation to spend Christmas Day with the Kristofferson family and friends. Mostly I wanted to meet the folks who’d raised a man like Samuel. Of course, I didn’t choose to join them for the service at church. I waited until after that.
I’m not sure I can put into words what happened to me that Christmas afternoon as I sat around the table with those people who seemed unusually happy and contented. Certainly I couldn’t explain it as it happened. It was as if the heavens opened up and poured love over me, and the power of it broke me somewhere deep on the inside. I always prided myself on being a strong man, but I wasn’t strong enough to withstand the all-powerful love of Jesus Christ.
Two weeks later, on the eighth of January 1871, I accepted another invitation from Samuel. I went with him to church, and it was then that I surrendered my heart to the Lord. I walked into that church the blackest of sinners. I walked out white as snow.
Only the Grace of God could work such a miracle.
TWENTY-FIVE
Big flakes of snow drifted lazily toward earth as passengers boarded the train on that Thursday afternoon.
“Is there anything you’d like me to tell your mother when I see her?” Mary Theresa looked up at Joshua from beneath a wide-brimmed hat, her left hand gripping his right.
“Only that I send her my love.”
“You aren’t going to change your mind as soon as I’m gone, are you? About marrying me, I mean.” Her smile was teasing and without a trace of regret.
“No, Mary Theresa.” He returned her smile. “We know this is the right decision for both of us.”
She nodded, then released his hand, took hold of his shoulders, and rose on tiptoe to kiss him on the lips. When she stepped back, she said, “I hope we shall always be the best of friends. You’re like a brother to me…only you’ve never been the pest Harry and Kenneth are.”
Joshua chuckled, remembering some of the many ways her older brothers used to torture her when she was a child.
“Mary Theresa, come along,” Blanche called from the steps of the passenger car. “It’s time to board.”
The two women were leaving Bethlehem Springs earlier than originally planned. There were no reasons for them to sta
y, Mary Theresa had told him yesterday, once the decision not to marry had been made.
“I’m coming.” Mary Theresa grabbed Joshua’s right hand one more time and squeezed it. “Please do write to me. Even if we aren’t engaged, I’ll still want to know what you’re doing and if you’re happy.”
“All aboard!” the conductor shouted.
She rose on tiptoes again, but this time she didn’t kiss him when he leaned toward her. Instead she said near his ear, “I hope she loves you in return. The way you want to be loved. The way you deserve to be loved.”
He straightened, surprised by her words. He hadn’t told her about Daphne. He’d never even hinted that he’d given his heart to another.
Speaking louder, Mary Theresa continued, “I’m going back to St. Louis to find the man who’ll love me that way too. Who knows? Someone may already love me that way, and I’ve simply never noticed.”
“Who?” Joshua asked.
But Mary Theresa only grinned, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she released his hand and followed her cousin into the passenger car.
Joshua watched as the two women found seats on the platform side of the train. He continued to wait, ignoring the snow collecting on his coat shoulders and hat brim, until the whistle blew and the train jerked into motion. Mary Theresa waved and he waved back. Only then did he turn and stride away from the railroad station.
Ravenous, Daphne sat down at the table with her cold meatloaf sandwich and a glass of milk. She’d been up and at her desk hours before dawn, and the writing had gone so well that she’d forgotten to stop to eat. Thank goodness she’d had leftovers in the icebox.
She shoved her unruly hair away from her face, then held her sandwich with both hands and took a big bite.
“Mmmm.”
Another day or two, and the first draft of her novel should be done. Finally! It seemed all she’d needed to bring the story together was to introduce a new villain into the series.
A strong dose of self-righteous anger hadn’t hurt either.
The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection Page 62
