by Merry Farmer
The question was far more dangerous than Pearl knew. In her heart of hearts, Bonnie hoped and prayed that he would. She would have given anything for him to come running after her, for him to demand that she do her wifely duty by him. Even if he was furious, she would have welcomed the sight of him with open arms.
If it hadn’t meant disaster for her girls.
If he would come in the first place.
But no, she’d burned that bridge good and proper. Leaving him once was horrible. Leaving him twice was unforgivable. Rupert would never forgive her now. That hope was dashed.
“I suppose this is an answer,” she said, barely above a whisper, blinking rapidly. “No one would ever know the truth.”
“You can still marry Rex and figure out how to give him that heir he wants.” She leaned closer. “And I have some ideas about that.”
Bonnie looked up at her so fast her neck hurt. “You do?”
Pearl shrugged. “It’d be easy as pie to adopt a wee little baby from one of the charity orphanages that caters to our sort. You just need to get Rex to agree, make the announcement, wear some padding for a while, then go away just around the time you’re supposed to be due, adopt whichever baby Rex likes the look of, then come home and claim it’s yours.”
Something about the plan made Bonnie vaguely sick. Maybe it was the knowledge that it just might work. She swallowed hard and stared at the divorce decree. “All I need to do is take this up to George and get him to file it with whatever authority he files the marriage licenses with, and we’ll be home free.”
She and Pearl exchanged looks. Pearl’s grin of triumph turned wistful. She shrugged. “I don’t think we have any better options.”
Bonnie huffed an ironic laugh. “That’s the story of our lives, isn’t it? I’m sure there are countless men and women out there who would like to condemn us straight to hell, but what they fail to understand is that sometimes there really are no better options.”
She headed for the door, squeezing Pearl’s arm as she passed. Pearl followed her as far as the party, still in full swing in the front room. A few of the girls called for Bonnie to come and join them, but the sooner she went over to the church to give George the decree to file, the sooner she could move on with her sad, sorry excuse for a life.
Haskell’s church was always the center of attention on weekends. Aside from services themselves, the town had a long-standing tradition of a community potluck just afterwards, and when weather permitted, a baseball game after that. But on weekdays, especially near suppertime, it was eerily quiet.
Bonnie walked around to the back of the church, knocking on the door to Rev. George Pickering’s apartment. She took a step back and chewed her lip as she waited for him to answer. She and George might have shared the most pivotal moment of each of their lives, but since then, their friendship was strained at best.
Her stomach fluttered with anxiety as he opened the door. The cheery smile he’d put on for his visitor hardened to a stiff, blank expression at the sight of Bonnie. The delicious scent of roasting meat and baked bread wafting from the apartment was a strange contradiction to the look that settled on his face.
“Good evening, Bonnie,” he greeted her.
“Evening, George.” She stared at him, praying for the words she would need to finish the task in front of her.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked when she said nothing.
Well, she wasn’t going to help more girls like Samantha start new, clean lives if she didn’t take this horrible first step. She cleared her throat and handed the divorce decree to him. “I need you to file this wherever you file the marriage certificates you take care of.”
George stared at the paper, brought his eyes up to meet hers again, then took the paper. His blank expression fell to a disapproving frown as he unfolded it and discovered what it was. He glanced up to Bonnie again. “Come in.”
“I’m not here to make this a social call, George. I just need you to—”
“Come in,” he repeated, slower.
Bonnie’s heart sank like a rock in her stomach. She sighed and picked up her skirts to cross George’s threshold.
George shut the door behind her then turned to face her. His apartment was more or less just two rooms, the main room and his bedroom on the other side of a closed door. Another door led to his office, which led to the church proper. On all of the other, rare occasions Bonnie had been in the apartment, it had felt cozy and snug. At the moment, it felt stifling and overbearing. Or perhaps that was the way George stared at her in disappointment.
“What is this?” he asked.
She wasn’t going to play games. “You can see what it is.”
He pursed his lips before going on. “Is this the same document from four years ago?”
Bonnie hesitated, unable to meet his eyes. She’d enlisted his help in the early stages of getting the divorce decree all those years ago. He should know better than to ask now. “You know I had to get that signed if I’m going to marry Rex.”
“I can’t believe you would actually go through with it.” His frown deepened.
“What, filing for the divorce or marrying Rex?”
“Take your pick.” George crossed behind her to toss the divorce decree on the table. He then stepped over to the small stove to take his cooking supper off of the fire. “I can’t believe you’re stooping this low.”
“Well, what would you have me do?” she fired back.
Instead of answering her directly, he said, “I can’t believe you would turn to a man like Bonneville for help.”
Something slippery clicked into place in Bonnie’s mind. “Why? Would you have me turn to you for help?”
His head jerked up as he scowled at her. “I think I’ve helped you enough.”
“I wasn’t talking about the girls or the money.” She crossed her arms. “Don’t you think it’s time you stopped hoping and praying that I’ll see the light and realize that you’re the perfect man for me?”
His cheeks flared red and he looked away. Jaw tight, he answered, “I stopped chasing that foolish fancy years ago. But if you still think that I refuse to help you because I’m secretly in love with you, it only proves my point about why I can’t, in good conscience, give you any more money.” He looked back at her. “What you’re doing is wrong, Bonnie. All of it.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she burst, reaching the end of her patience. She took a step closer to him. “Can’t you see that every choice I have in front of me is the wrong one? It’s nice to be able to stand at the front of your church every Sunday, talking about all the ways that good people can follow God’s will, but some of us don’t have that choice.”
He shook his head. “I disagree.”
“Do you? Then try living in my shoes for a week and see how that makes you feel.”
As soon as the words were past her lips, she wished she could take them back. Even uneasy friendships were still worth nurturing. Whatever else had happened, she and George had shared a momentous experience the night of the fire in Denver. He was the reason she was able to do what she had. Offending him was never her intention.
With a supreme effort of will, she steadied her emotions and took a deep breath. “Could you please file that document?”
He stared at her for several long, uncomfortable moments. At last, with a sharp exhale and a shake of his head, he said, “I’ll do what I can.”
Bonnie’s moment of relief quickly evaporated into guilt. Knowing that Pearl had signed Rupert’s name was almost like asking George to lie for her, but it was a lie that needed to be told. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed a hand over her roiling stomach. She was doing this for the girls. If she could keep Rex happy, they had a chance. Every one of the girls back at her Place celebrating would have a chance to celebrate even more thanks to the sacrifices she was willing to make.
“Thank you,” she said when she opened her eyes. George still didn’t look even a little bit happy. �
��Thank you for helping my girls find better lives for themselves.”
That seemed to have some impact. George’s stern frown melted into weary concern. “Bonnie, it’s not just those girls I’m concerned for. Whether you believe me or not, I really and truly want you to find happiness and forgiveness for your sins.”
“I’m sure you do,” she drawled, hiding her sorrow with sarcasm.
He let out a breath and crossed his arms. “I only met Rupert Cole that one time, but it was clear as day the man loved you.”
“He still does,” Bonnie muttered.
“What?”
She shook herself. “Nothing. Thank you. Your concern is touching.” Again, she sounded like she was disagreeing with him instead of agreeing. “Just let me know when that thing gets to the proper authorities.” She nodded to the divorce decree on the table, then headed for the door.
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” George followed her.
She stopped in the doorway, turning to him. “I’ve got a house full of girls that are throwing a party for Samantha Philips right now. She’s off on tonight’s train, starting a new life that will take her far, far away from the ghost of her abusive daddy, far from the pain of being sold away at age fourteen, far from the years of abuse and neglect at the hands of scoundrels who never thought of her as human. Even if Samantha was the only girl I was able to give a new life to, I’d still sell everything I had to do it. But lucky for them, your God has given me the tools to help even more girls the way I’ve been able to help her.” She shifted her weight to her other leg. “Are you asking me to reconsider that mission?”
George blew out a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “No. I just wish there was a better way for you to do it than marrying Bonneville.”
Heart twisting in her chest, Bonnie said, “So do I, my friend, so do I.”
Chapter 8
Staying up all night pacing was probably not the best idea, but there was no way Rupert would have been able to sleep, knowing that the next train to Haskell would come through in the morning. He’d been all energy when he rushed aboard and plopped in his seat as soon as the train arrived. By the time it lurched to a stop in Haskell, however, his lack of sleep, worn-out nervous energy, and general uncertainty about what he was doing had taken its toll.
“Whoa, careful there!” The smiling, stocky stationmaster reached out and caught Rupert as he stumbled on the last step down to the platform. The stationmaster had a sweet, harmless look about him, but the strength in his arms was obvious in the way he helped Rupert get his balance.
“I’m all right,” Rupert insisted, switching his suitcase to his other hand. He hesitated, wincing slightly. “Is Bonnie’s Place still up at the other end of Main Street?”
The stationmaster’s brow flew up and a bashful, knowing grin spread across his round face. “Why, yes, it is,” he answered with deliberate politeness. “But if you spend some time there, you’d better treat those girls nicely.”
“Um…”
“Bonnie will have your hide if you’re cruel to them.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Just last month, she threw a man out into the street—without his clothes—for pulling Della’s hair when she didn’t want it pulled.” The stationmaster laughed. “The fellow had to search through town for someone willing to give him a stitch of clothing, hands cupping his—you know—as he scurried around. Folks around here are as protective of Bonnie’s girls as she is, so it was a good half hour before anyone gave him something to wear, and that turned out to be a frilly pink dress!”
The stationmaster’s laugh was so free and happy that Rupert found himself chuckling along, though his insides quivered. If Bonnie would do that to a complete stranger, what would she do to him?
“I’ll be careful,” he assured the stationmaster. He gripped his suitcase tighter, then headed off the platform and up Main Street.
Haskell had changed considerably since the brief visit Rupert had made four years ago. It was twice the size it had been with even more buildings under construction further from the center of town, though still nothing on the far side of the train tracks. The part of his brain that handled business perked up, wondering if there was room for King Cole Construction in the town’s boom. He shook that thought away as fast as it came. As much as Haskell was thriving, that wasn’t why he was there. Although it was interesting to see new shops, a recent-looking newspaper office, and two entire new streets full of houses.
His footsteps slowed as he approached Bonnie’s Place. It was one thing that hadn’t changed. The otherwise modest house was still painted a lurid shade of pink. A pair of girls in clothes that managed to display their wares while also keeping them bundled up against the autumn chill sat chatting and laughing on the porch railing.
“Well, hello there, handsome!” one of them—a redhead—cooed as she noticed him. “You looking for someone to warm you up on this chilly afternoon?”
“We’ve got hot cider inside,” the other—a blonde with a sweet voice—added, leaning forward enough so that Rupert could see her apples.
All he could think about was that Bonnie was somewhere inside that house. Maybe she was the one who’d made the cider. Maybe she was sitting by the fire, sipping it and worrying about what she could do for money since he’d wrecked her plans. Maybe she was contemplating joining her girls out there on the porch, her own top cut low enough to show off what he’d worshipped so passionately less than two days ago.
He cleared his throat and pushed on. “Let me just check into the hotel first.”
“You come back now, you hear?” the redhead called after him.
Rupert’s cheeks flared hot. Did running away to The Cattleman Hotel make him a fool and a coward or a wise man avoiding temptation? He didn’t have the energy to answer the question. All he could focus on for the moment was checking into the hotel, getting a key from the young man on duty behind the desk, and tossing his suitcase into the cozy room with a view of the garden in back of the hotel. He took a few minutes to breathe and steady himself, contemplated getting a half hour or so of sleep, then gave up on that idea. He needed to confront Bonnie, demand she come back to him, and he needed to do it now.
But as his steps took him out onto Main Street again, his stomach began to wobble. Bonnie’s Place was on one corner of the main intersection in town, directly across the street from The Cattleman Hotel—whether by accident or design—and the ten or so long strides it would have taken to get there were in no way enough to settle Rupert’s nerves or give him the courage to do what he so badly wanted to do. He paused in the street.
“You ready to come play?” the blonde girl with the childlike voice called out to him with a giggle.
“Uh…”
“I think he needs some encouragement,” the redhead said. She exchanged a glance with her blonde friend, glanced around to see if the coast was clear, then the two of them took hold of their skirts and pulled them up far enough to show their shapely legs up to their knees. They giggled as though showing their legs were a joke they shared.
The effect on Rupert was probably the opposite of what they expected. He pivoted and marched straight across the street from Bonnie’s Place and into The Silver Dollar Saloon, eyes wide in alarm. It was ridiculous to be chased away from his mission by two pairs of perfectly formed calves, but distractions like that were definitely not going to help him stay focused. Beyond that, he couldn’t shake the raw guilt of knowing that his own, dear Bonnie had been forced to behave exactly like those girls all those years ago.
“Whiskey,” he croaked as he leaned against the bar, hoarser than he wanted to be.
“Coming right up,” the bartender answered with a nod.
Rupert breathed a sigh of relief and turned to study the rest of the saloon. A dark-skinned beauty that had to be one of Bonnie’s girls leaned against the other end of the bar, practically falling in the lap of a man in a traveling suit. A table full of men who appeared to be friends—
one of them a black man in an expensive suit, another wearing a sheriff’s star, with a distinct scar across his face—sat nearby. Another woman who must work for Bonnie sat at the front of the room, playing expertly on the piano, while yet another immodestly dressed woman with dark hair and olive skin served drinks to a bunch of card players in the corner. It was like every other saloon Rupert had ever been in, except it had the air of being tame under a freewheeling surface instead of pulsing with danger under a calm façade.
“George can play shortstop,” one of the men at the closer table said, snagging Rupert’s attention. Could he mean George Pickering?
“No, no.” The black man shook his head. “George has been asked to umpire the game. We’re going to have to convince Aiden Murphy to play short-stop. He’s got the best arm of any of us.”
“I take objection to that,” the sheriff protested, smiling.
“What, Trey, you think you can throw faster?” one of the others, whose hands were stained from leatherwork, ribbed the sheriff.
“I wasn’t talking about me,” Trey laughed. “I was talking about Albert here.” He gestured with his thumb to the man on his right.
That man, Albert, a blacksmith, judging by the way he was dressed and the size of his arms, roared with laughter. “That’s why I play first base. So Bonneville’s thugs will think twice about trying anything funny.”
Bonneville. Rupert’s senses were immediately on alert.
“Here you go.” The bartender returned with a small glass of whiskey. “That’ll be thirty-five cents.”
Rupert reached for the change purse in his trouser pocket. “Who’s this Bonneville?” he asked as he paid the bartender.
The bartender’s brow went up. “Rex Bonneville? If you haven’t heard of him, you must not be from around here.”
Admitting that he knew of Bonneville, even if he didn’t know much, wasn’t going to get him what he needed, so he said, “I’m new in town.”
The bartender nodded. “Rex Bonneville. One of the two biggest ranchers around here. Well, three if you break Paradise Ranch up into Howard Haskell’s portion and Virginia Piedmont’s bit.”
