Olivia crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin and stared up at the copper tin ceiling in the master bedroom. She wondered about this room’s occupants and what their lives had been like.
From the letters Christopher had written to her, he and Tessa were happy—blissfully so—until the day Tessa died. How sad that must have been for Christopher, to lie here at night alone after Tessa was gone. The pain he must have endured.
She rolled on to her side and peered out the big stained-glass window Christopher had made with his own hands. It was beautiful and it depicted his and Tessa’s life from their wedding day to the birth of their fourth child. She noticed there was no addition of Tessa’s death to the window. Christopher must have put the window in before that tragic event. She wondered how he must have felt lying alone in this bed thinking of all he had lost after his wife’s death. How lonely he must have felt. Perhaps it was better to never love someone so much you felt the sting of pain at their loss. She shuddered and snuggled deeper into the blankets.
Her thoughts wandered back to the many letters she received from Christopher. Why had he never said anything to her about his money? She shook her head in annoyance. Why on earth would he tell a stranger he had never met he was wealthy?
It hurt a bit to think Christopher hadn’t totally trusted her, but again, why should he? People could hide their true selves between the lines of carefully written words. She had seen it done before.
She wasn’t a blind fool either. She knew she had taken a chance when she accepted Christopher’s marriage proposal. And he on her. Did it matter that he kept a part of himself from her? Not really. She had wanted his friendship and her school. Nothing more.
The clear glass at the top of the window was a deliberate artistic move on Christopher’s part to illuminate the midnight blue of the Colorado night sky. Stars twinkled in the deep inky darkness and she thought about her friends, Nellie, Phebe and Quinlan. What were they doing right this minute? Were they looking at those same stars? Were they happy with their new lives? Were they lonely? She wished she knew.
Tomorrow she would sit down and write them all letters in hopes they would write her in return. She would also write to Wiggie too. Olivia prayed the woman wasn’t as ill as all the girls thought her to be. It would be like Madame Wigg to pretend illness to push her foundlings out of the nest. The woman was the wisest person Olivia had ever—
A soft sob interrupted her thoughts. It was coming from down the hall. The children’s bedroom? Which one? Olivia slipped out of bed and pulled on her soft white robe, tying the satin sash tight around her waist. She slipped her feet into her slippers and stole out into the hallway to listen.
More sobs hiccupped in the darkness, but which room? The girls’ room or the boys’ room?
She tiptoed down the hall and the closer she got to their rooms, the clearer it became that it was coming from Charlie and Evan’s room. Poor little lads. They must miss their father so much.
Olivia pushed the door partially open and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. The light from the moon filtered through the lace curtains covering one of the windows. A sob floated through the darkness and landed heavy on Olivia’s heart.
She rushed into the room and lit the lamp on the bedside table between the two boy’s beds. As soon as they heard her movements, the sobbing stopped. The light chased away the shadows and there, in the darkness, two little boys huddled together in one bed and held each other, their faces wet with tears.
Olivia had lots of experience with little boys in the school who cried for their mothers when no one could see. It was always their pride at being caught during a moment of weakness that made them lash out against anyone and everyone who saw them.
She sat quietly on Charlie’s empty bed and waited for the two boys to make the first move. Five minutes. Ten minutes. The clock downstairs struck eleven when finally Charlie spoke up. “Evan was having a bad dream and I—”
Evan rounded on his brother. “Huh uh, I did not have a bad dream. You had the bad dream and you jumped into my bed—”
Olivia wanted to help Charlie save face. “It’s okay, boys. It doesn’t matter who had the bad dream because we all have bad dreams sometimes. It’s the way our brains work out our problems while we sleep.”
She scooted over on the bed and patted the spot next to her. “Come here, Charlie. Let me tuck you back into bed. I want to tell you both a story about a little girl I knew once who had bad dreams too.”
Charlie scooted off Evan’s bed and crawled back into his own. Once he settled beneath the covers, Olivia took her time plumping his pillow and tucking him in, careful to not make him feel like a baby, but giving him the attention a six-year-old child deserved.
She kissed him on the forehead and turned to do the same for Evan. Once he was settled and tucked in as well, she sat on his bed and faced Charlie. “Now, are you ready to hear my story?” she asked, hoping for their interaction. They did not disappoint her.
“Yes, we want to hear about the little girl. Did she lose her mother and father too? Is that why she had bad dreams, Miss Palmer?” Evan asked.
Olivia smiled at the boy. “Remember, you must call me Ollie now because I am your friend. And, yes, Evan. She did, but she didn’t have a loving father like you did. She didn’t even know who her father was. And her mother, well, she was so sick, she couldn’t take care of the little girl. Then, one day the little girl’s mother died and left the little girl all alone with not a single relative to take her in.”
“What happened to the little girl, Miss Palmer—I mean, Ollie?” Charlie was very interested too. He turned in the bed to face her, his head resting in the palm of his hand as he listened intently.
“Well, she spent nights sleeping on the streets under newspapers to keep warm and she scrabbled through the garbage to find enough food to eat.”
Evan’s little face crumpled in empathy for the little girl in the story. “That must have really been awful for her. Was she scared, Ollie?”
Charlie sat up and hung on Olivia’s every word. “Well, of course she was scared, Evan. Wouldn’t you be if you were all alone on the streets at night?”
Olivia rose and re-tucked Charlie back under his covers and took her seat again at the foot of his bed. She answered Evan’s question. “Yes, Evan. She was very frightened. And hungry. And cold. And all alone in the world—until one day a man found her in the streets and took her to a very special place—a school that welcomed her inside.”
“She went to live in a school?” Charlie asked. “That’s kinda strange, don’t ya think?”
Olivia smiled at the boy and patted his feet under his covers. “Yes, it was very strange. At first. But it wasn’t long before the little girl was warm and fed and wore new clothes. Then, the school taught her to read and write.”
“Did her bad dreams go away, then?” Evan wanted to know.
She smiled at the little boy and sadly shook her head. “No, Evan. She still had awful dreams about losing her mother and being alone to fend for herself.”
“What did she do?” Charlie asked. She could tell he really wanted to know.
“Well, late at night, when everyone was asleep and the darkness crowded around her and made her feel afraid, she tiptoed out of her bed and looked out the window at the stars in the sky. Then, she would pretend that the biggest, brightest one was her mother looking down on her. And when she was lonely, she would talk to the star, telling it all the good things that were happening to her.”
“Did the girl stay at the school forever and ever?” Charlie asked.
“Yes, she did. Well, until she was grown and ready for a family of her own. You see, she loved learning so much in that school, she decided to become a teacher herself.”
“Just like you, Ollie?” Charlie asked.
Olivia thought for a moment before she answered. “Yes, Charlie. She was exactly like me.”
Chance had stayed much longer at the tables
than he’d planned. It was well after eleven when he paid for his food and whiskey and walked the short distance to his new home.
What he wanted now was a thorough washing to remove the smoke and whiskey smell from his clothing. If he were still at home in his home in Boston, he would call for his manservant and have the tub and water delivered. As it was, this late hour forced him to be content with a dip of cold water out of the pitcher in his room. He would manage tonight, but tomorrow there were gonna be some changes in this household. Miss Palmer could bet her last dollar on that fact even though he was still convinced that last dollar belonged to his brother.
He took his shoes off and tiptoed up the stairs. He wasn’t sneaking in, he reminded himself. He simply wanted to avoid another confrontation with his new wife. Their marriage contract didn’t require him to report in to her nor she to him. Where he spent his time, and with whom, was nobody’s business but his own.
Chance rounded the second story landing on sock covered feet and saw the master bedroom door open and the bed empty. What was Miss Palmer doing skulking around the house late at night? She was up to something. He knew it! Perhaps she had an accomplice and they were plotting everyone’s demise.
The sudden thought of Miss Palmer alone with a man punched him in the gut. She might even be cavorting with her lover right this minute. His ire hitched up two more notches. He told himself he was protecting his brother’s memory and his brother’s children from the devious machinations of this conniving woman. He pushed the possibility he was acting out of jealousy to the back of his mind. He wasn’t the jealous type, he told himself.
Well, he was going to put a stop to this right now. How dare that woman behave in such a manner under his brother’s roof with those innocent young children sleeping a mere—
He paused his incredulous thoughts a moment. Where exactly was she having this sordid affair if not in the master bedroom?
The only other bedrooms on this floor were the boys’, the girls’, and his room. It was then he heard voices coming from his nephews’ room.
She must have gone out then, leaving these poor little children to fend for themselves. Well, he would make note of her untoward behavior and report to Hiram and Liam in the morning that this was unacceptable. And from now on, he would be home at night to tuck them in and whatever other activities they required of a father. Miss Palmer wasn’t the only one who could play the parent card.
Tiptoeing down the rug covered hardwood hall, he stealthily maneuvered the dark hallway until he reached the door of his nephews’ room. He could see the lamp’s illumination of the room through the partially opened door.
He heard Charlie and Evan speaking. And then he heard Miss Palmer’s voice. He leaned his ear against the door jamb and openly eavesdropped. After all, he had a responsibility to those children and no one really knew much about this woman school teacher, did they?
He listened for a good five minutes before his guilt made him feel like an interloper. He gathered from the conversation that either Charlie, or Evan, he wasn’t clear which, had had a bad dream, and Miss Palmer had come to comfort them.
Miss Palmer’s voice drifted out into the hall. “Now, it’s getting late, boys. Why don’t you both snuggle down real deep and I’ll tuck you in again, nice and tight, will that be okay?”
Chance could see by the lamp light both of his nephews’ dark heads poking out from the covers. And they were grinning from ear-to-ear waiting for her to tuck them in. His heart punched his ribs at the pain these children were dealing with. They missed their parents so much.
He watched her tuck the bed covers around their little bodies and kiss them both on the forehead. “Okay, boys. Now off you go. Sweet dreams. If you need anything at all, I’m right down the hallway, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” both boys said in unison.
Chance watched her blow out the lantern and walk toward the bedroom door. He backed across the hall and into the darkened doorway of his own room, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the woman in the flowing white nightgown and the waves and waves of long, dark hair hanging down her back. His fingers itched to invade its silky depths and—
“Remember, you are to call me Ollie. Doesn’t that sound much more fun than Miss Palmer or ma’am?” she said to the boys from the doorway.
“Yes, ma’am.” He could hear them giggle in the dark and then both boys answered in unison. “Yes, Ollie.”
Chance stood in his darkened room and watched the vision in white move about the dark hall. She reminded him of a bridal ghost he suspected haunted the halls of some great manor somewhere.
He watched his new bride partially close his nephew’s bedroom door and lay her ear against it to listened for signs the boys were not going to settle in. It gave him the most magnificent view of her backside hiding beneath the very thin layers of her gauzy cotton nightgown.
His fingers itched to divest her of that flimsy nightgown and kiss her senseless until she begged him for something more. The thought punched through the hot wave of desire. He had lost his mind. He knew from experience this woman would not beg for more, but instead, would probably hit him over the head soundly with an iron skillet.
Standing in the shadows of the night, he watched the ghostly apparition of his new bride float down the hall and disappear into her own bedroom, the soft click of the door’s latch was followed by the solid clank of the bolt set firmly into place. Yes, the woman would not be receptive to his advances.
He shook the cobwebs of exhaustion and whiskey from his addled brain and quietly, but firmly, closed his bedroom door between him and the woman who slept down the hall.
Chance slipped off his clothes and lay back on his bed. He replayed Miss Palmer’s words to his nephews.
Questions plagued him. If she just wanted money, why not take the money Chris gave her over the past six months and disappear? Why show up in Creede at all? And once she discovered Chris’s death, why sign a new agreement with a total stranger? It didn’t make sense. She had the money. Why not just—go back home?
Could it be she really is who she claims to be? A school teacher? A woman with a nurturing soul who longs for a family? His mind spun inside his skull. He needed to get some sleep.
As exhausted as he was, his nervous energy pulled at him, making sleep impossible, so he gave in to it. He rose from his bed and walked across the large bedroom to the single window facing south. A pull at the intricate lace curtains that covered the windows revealed a brilliant star-dotted Colorado night sky.
His tired eyes searched and found the brightest star. Thoughts of his brother hit him hard, the pain making it almost impossible to breathe. Miss Palmer’s story of talking to her mother resonated with Chance. He wanted so badly to hear his brother’s voice.
Impulse made him search out the stars again. “Chris, I miss you so much. I never imagined I would ever be here—without you.”
Tears stung his eyes and he tried to shove his grief down deep where he could hide from it a bit longer. It didn’t work and tears bubbled up, pooling until they ran down his whisker-roughened cheek. He stared at the brightest star through his shimmering tears and wished for answers to his questions.
Why had fate played such a cruel trick on him and his brother? Why had their parents been taken from them so young? What was he supposed to learn from these lessons? He wished he knew.
Exhaustion pushed him toward the bed. He didn’t bother with his nightclothes. He climbed into bed naked and covered himself against the night chill with the blankets on the bed.
Soon, he drifted off into a fitful sleep where visions of his brother’s face was replaced with waves and waves of dark, thick curls across soft white pillows. His fingers reached out and touched warm creamy skin. He felt some measure of peace inside this mystical place. If only it would last—
Chapter 10
Olivia worked as hard as she could ever remember. Between her meetings with the carpenters, the mercantile store who ordered her school
supplies, and the lumber yard promising to produce the lumber on time that she needed to build the school, she also cooked, cleaned, washed, shopped and cared for her four children.
Every night for the last three weeks, her tired aching body fell into bed. She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow. And she was grateful. It left her no time to ponder the whereabouts of her husband and with whom he might be spending his time.
The faint light of dawn seeped into the stained-glass window and created colorful prisms of light across her room. She lay in bed for a moment ticking off the many tasks she needed to finish this week, because next week was Creede’s Fourth of July celebration and she promised the ladies of the Auxiliary Club she would provide a large batch of cinnamon rolls for their fund raiser.
The unexpected sounds of giggles pulled her from her thoughts. She sat up in bed and listened.
Out in the hallway just outside her bedroom door, she heard the soft muted sounds of little bare feet running across the rug covered hardwood floor.
She grinned at the delightful sound of children laughing and playing. As much as she wanted to lie in the warm layers of her bedcovers, she had an obligation to care for these children. And yet, it was more than an obligation now. In the three weeks since she’d arrived in Creede, she had spent almost every moment of her time getting to know her children. And it had taken much less time than that to fall in love with them.
Joy filled her heart with a gladness she had never known. These were her children. This was her house. And this town was now her home. She belonged somewhere. And she was needed. Thoughts of the children’s uncle, her husband, punched through her contentment. She pushed them aside. There was no point in wishing for something that was never going to be. She knew what kind of man she had agreed to marry. And his nocturnal activities had proven her right. So far, he had kept his promise to keep his amorous meetings discreet. She wondered though just how long he could tomcat around town without someone noticing.
Olivia's Obligation (The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides Book 15) Page 9
