by Kaki Warner
“You’ve already made many friends in Greenbroke.”
“I’m trying.” With a falsely bright smile, she straightened in the chair. “I could use a cup of tea. How about you?”
After tea and scones and lighthearted gossip about the storm and Sally’s baby and Fanny Seaforth’s supposedly secret courtship with Ralph Krebs, the owner of the dry goods store, Lottie left Jane sweeping up broken glass and headed across the hall to Briggs’s office with the excuse that she needed to work on the accounts.
He wasn’t there. Which was probably for the best. She was bursting with curiosity, even though she knew that whatever scandal had driven Jane from England, and whatever reasons Briggs had for wanting her to go back were none of her business. Besides, confronting Briggs would only get his back up and might make things worse for Jane. She didn’t want to risk that.
Baby Anna continued to thrive. As Sally improved, she spent more and more time at the Spotted Dog with Tim, who had quit the Bar M in anticipation of their move to San Francisco. Becky insisted that a smoky, noisy, whiskey-stinking saloon was no place for an infant and happily volunteered to watch Anna while they were out—which was most afternoons and into the evenings. Lottie worried that her friend’s attachment to the baby had grown so intense that when the time came for Sally and Anna to leave, it might be too strong to break without breaking Becky, too.
It all came to a head in early April when Sally announced that she and Tim were getting married and would be leaving the following week. “Tim won big at the tables last night,” she told Lottie and Becky as she sorted through the clothing she wanted to take—Lottie was relieved to see she was leaving her more garish outfits behind. “He made enough to get me this nice valise and pay for train tickets for the three of us all the way to San Francisco.”
“You’re taking Anna?” Becky shot Lottie a stricken look. The last they had heard, Sally hadn’t yet decided if she would take the baby with them.
“Tim insisted. With that red hair, he’s pretty sure she’s his, and he’s determined to be a good father. Isn’t that sweet?”
“But it’s too soon for her to be traveling,” Becky argued. “Trains are filthy. She might catch something.”
Sally waved the objection aside. “It’s been almost a month. Doc said she should be okay. Could I have one of your old work dresses, Lottie? You hardly wear them anymore, and I need something that won’t be ruined by soot or cinder burns.”
Lottie nodded, glad she’d used some of her earnings to spruce up her wardrobe. She’d had no idea her made-over work dresses were such an eyesore.
“Why don’t you leave Anna here?” Becky pleaded. “Once you’re settled, you can come get her. Or I could bring her to you.”
Sally wouldn’t hear of it. Apparently, her maternal instincts had finally emerged, and she couldn’t bear the idea of being without her “sweet little Anna.”
Lottie had her doubts. But unwilling to stay for a continuation of the argument, she went to the Spotted Dog, hoping to convince Juno to do something.
“Like what?” he said sullenly, after she had cornered him at his desk in his office. “Steal the baby for her?”
“It’s killing her, Juno.” Lottie slumped into the chair across from him. “She cries all the time, she hardly eats, she’s a mess.”
“She’ll get over it.”
That got her back up. “Like you got over the loss of your son?” She could tell by his expression that she’d hit a nerve but she didn’t care. “She loves that baby as much as you loved him. Lord’s sake, Juno! Have some compassion!”
“I do have compassion! But what can I do?”
“You can give her hope.”
“Of what?”
“Of something better than what she’s got now. Just talk to her. She needs you. And if you let her down, you’ll never forgive yourself.” Without waiting for a reply, she rose and stomped from the office.
Sally and Tim were married two days later. They celebrated with a rowdy send-off at the Spotted Dog, which neither Lottie nor Becky attended—Becky, because she was watching Anna, and Lottie, because she was watching Becky. Also, Mrs. Brackett would have been scandalized if she’d found out they had attended a party for a whore. Lottie preferred not to add fuel to that smoldering issue.
The day of departure dawned with cloudless skies and gentle breezes. A betrayal, Lottie felt, considering her dark mood. But she kept a cheerful countenance as she walked with the newlyweds and Becky down to the depot.
It was a heartbreaking leave-taking. Not that Becky made a scene, but Lottie knew she was crumbling inside. After the last good-byes were said and the train began to pull away, Becky still stood on the platform, staring blankly after the last car, tears streaming.
“Come along.” Lottie tried to lead her away.
Becky dug in her heels. “I-I don’t want to go back to the house right now. It will seem so empty without her.”
“You’ll have to go back sometime.”
“I know. But not now. Not just yet.”
“Okay. Then we’ll go to Juno.” About time the man saw what a shadow of herself Becky had become. Maybe then, he would relent enough to offer solace. Or if not consolation, at least a shoulder for Becky to cry on.
The moment they walked into his office and Juno saw how broken Becky was, he rose and silently held out his arms.
Weeping soundlessly, Becky stumbled toward him. “Sh-she’s gone, J-Juno. Anna’s gone . . .”
“I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered against her hair. “Let it go. I’ve got you.” As he wrapped his arms around the sobbing woman, he closed his eyes, but not before Lottie saw the mixture of pain and confusion and defeat reflected there. Yet she also saw tears, and knew she had done the right thing in bringing Becky to him.
She didn’t know if Becky went home that night and she didn’t ask. She had never suffered the loss both Juno and Becky struggled with, and knew she had nothing to offer that they couldn’t find in each other.
In some odd way, their troubles brought up thoughts of Grandpa. What she’d felt—and still felt—about his passing was all twisted up in guilt and duty and confusion. She might never come to terms with what she’d been required to do, but she was learning to move past it.
Maybe with time, Becky and Juno could move past their pain, too.
The next morning, another letter came from the law offices of Ridley Sims of San Angela. Just seeing the return address made Lottie queasy. This time he wrote about back taxes. Lottie hadn’t even thought of taxes. How much did she owe? After the usual salutations, he wrote . . .
I do not know if you are aware, but prior to his death, your grandfather had the foresight to pay the taxes on your land three years in advance. However, the three years have passed, and now payment for the current tax year is past due. If left unpaid, this will put the property in jeopardy of foreclosure. I have enclosed the amount you owe, should you wish to pay it, and the county offices where it should be sent. I also wish to inform you that several people have been seen around the property. I do not know their intent, but if they express interest in purchasing the aforementioned tract, I will be happy to handle the paperwork in your absence. Please advise.
Panic swamped her. Had Grandpa confided in Sims? Did the lawyer know what her grandfather had asked her to do? And who were these people nosing around the home place? What would they find?
She bent over, gasping, yet unable to draw a full breath. Regrets that had plagued her for weeks rose to the fore. She should have stayed to make sure the fire destroyed everything. She should have changed her name. She should never have answered Sims’s first letter.
The urge to run sent her circling the storeroom on trembling legs. She had to do something. She had to leave. And go where? How could she give up everything she’d worked so hard to build, and start all over again?
&
nbsp; Sudden nausea sent her grappling for the chamber pot.
After she’d emptied her stomach and the mindless terror had passed, her first thought was to tell Mr. Sims to sell the property for whatever he could get. Then she thought of the tombstones by the creek that marked the resting places of her mother and grandmother. It shamed her that she hadn’t put her grandfather there beside them. But she’d been barely fourteen, and heartsick at losing Grandpa, and so horrified by what she had done she had been desperate to get away.
She looked at the letter crumpled in her shaking hand. But she could never get away, could she? The past would track her down. This letter was proof of that.
Once she got her thoughts in order, she wrote, thanking Mr. Sims for notifying her that the taxes were due—which she paid—and repeating what she had written before: that at this time, she had no interest in selling the property.
Yet, even as she posted the letter, the terror persisted, and she knew no matter how fast and far she ran, she could never outdistance what she had done.
Becky dropped by just before noon. She looked weary, but more settled.
“I’m still afraid to go back to the house,” she said.
Which answered the question in Lottie’s mind about where she had spent the night.
“I’ll go with you,” Lottie offered. “If it’s still all right that I move into Sally’s bedroom, I could take some things over when we go.”
“Oh, I definitely want you to move in with me. I couldn’t bear staying there alone.”
Which answered Lottie’s next question about what future arrangements she and Juno might have made. None.
“What do you want to take?” Becky asked. “I’ll help you pack.”
An hour later, they were hauling boxes up the walk to the clapboard house Becky rented. It wasn’t much different from other homes in the area, with a wide, covered front porch that butted up against the front bedroom on one side, and was open on the other. If it had belonged to Lottie, she would have livened it up with window boxes in the front bedroom windows and rockers on the porch. The inside was filled to the point of being crowded, since Mrs. Ledbetter’s brother hadn’t removed any of the old lady’s furniture or her lifetime accumulation of knickknacks.
“Not in there,” Becky said, when Lottie started toward Sally’s bedroom in back. “You take the front bedroom.” Seeing Lottie’s look of surprise, her gaze shifted away on a shaky laugh. “After I thought about it, I realized her room is all I have left of Anna. You’ll probably think it silly, but I’ll feel closer to her if I stay where she did.”
“Okay, then,” Lottie said with determined cheer. “Let’s get your things moved. These boxes are heavy.”
It didn’t take long. Neither of them had a lot of possessions. Lottie would continue using the office at the market so she didn’t need to move the ledgers or boxes of receipts. Once everything had been put away, they went into the kitchen for a late lunch.
Becky ate little. When Lottie joked about that, saying Juno wouldn’t want her to turn into a bag of bones, the blonde gave a wry smile. “You probably think since I didn’t come home last night, we were busy knocking boots.”
“I thought no such thing,” Lottie lied. “Juno is too honorable to take advantage of your grief over Anna.”
“It had nothing to do with honor. I wish it did. But I’m beginning to think he just doesn’t find me attractive.”
“He called you ‘sweetheart,’” Lottie reminded her. “When he hugged you. And he wasn’t wearing the face of a man comforting someone he didn’t have feelings for. It hurt him to see how upset you were.”
“I don’t remember much about that. What I do remember is that after I quit crying, we talked a lot. Or rather, I did. He mostly listened while I babbled. Until I asked him about his wife and son.” Her gaze took on a pensive, faraway look.
“What did he say?” Lottie prodded.
“They married as soon as he came home from the war. He was nineteen, she was seventeen. They barely knew each other, and both had changed a lot during the war years. But promises had been made, so they stuck it out. Within a year, their son, Jacob, was born. Juno adored him. He was determined to give him a good life and worked hard to do that. When Jacob was six and Juno was out of town, setting up his railroad freight company, their house burned down. No one was hurt, but his wife and son spent several nights in the barn waiting for him to get home. They caught influenza. Right after he arrived, they died. I think there might be more to it, but that’s all he would say.”
Lottie blinked back tears. “Poor Juno. How sad for him.”
“It was.” Becky still had that distant look in her eyes. “But I think he was saddest about Jacob. He didn’t say much about his wife. Never even mentioned her name. But he really loved that boy.”
Later that afternoon, when she returned to the market to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind, she found Mrs. B. waiting for her.
“I can’t believe you’ve left us,” she accused with ominously damp eyes.
Lottie put an arm around the older woman’s ample waist. “I haven’t left you, Mrs. B. I’m just across the street in back. And I’ll be here every day to do my chores and work on my bookkeeping.”
“It won’t be the same.”
“I know.” A quick hug, then Lottie put some space between them. “But Becky can’t stay there all by herself. She’s taking Anna’s leaving hard, and I don’t think she should be alone right now.”
They had discussed her move to Becky’s several times. Lottie had made it clear she was anxious to trade the storeroom for a real bedroom of her own. Mr. B. understood. But Mrs. B. had never taken to the idea. Which was part of the reason Lottie wanted to do it. The dear woman was becoming a bit too involved in Lottie’s business. Especially her growing relationship with Ty. Lottie appreciated the concern. She dearly loved the Bracketts, and owed them so much. But she was over eighteen now, and after eight years without a mother’s guidance, she’d grown accustomed to making her own decisions.
“Go on then and get the rest of your things.” Mrs. B. dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her apron. “And remember the storeroom will always be here if things change or you want to come back.”
“I’ll remember. And thank you.” She kissed the older woman’s cheek then headed toward the back.
“Stop by the counter before you go,” Mrs. Brackett called after her. “I’ve packed a box of groceries for you to take. No telling what you’ll find at Becky’s.”
Chapter 13
After fourteen years of having her sleeping area defined by a ratty blanket tied across a corner in their cabin, then three more years sharing a drafty storeroom with a family of mice, having a bedroom of her own was heaven for Lottie. And living with Becky was a whole lot easier than having to account for everything she did to the Bracketts, God bless them. She wondered if this was what normal people felt when leaving their parents—delighted to be free but sad to go, even if it was only a street away.
Becky was a wonderful housemate—neat, a good cook, quiet when she came in late, and crying for only about three hours a day. Lottie was there when needed, but mostly she let Becky work out her grief on her own.
Slowly, they adjusted—Lottie got over her guilt at leaving the Bracketts and Becky recovered her spirits enough to resume dealing at the Spotted Dog. Since their work hours were opposite, they rarely saw each other except at supper, which became a treasured time for Lottie, having someone to talk to while they shared kitchen and cooking chores.
Juno, on the other hand, was elusive as mist. Every time Lottie went to collect receipts, he managed to be gone. Probably afraid she would pester him with questions about him and Becky. Which, of course, she would have.
When Lottie commented on his absences over supper one evening, Becky said he was always around when she was there and seemed the same, although
he did hover more. “I think he’s worried I’ll have another crying fit and scare off the customers.”
“So nothing has changed?” In almost two weeks? Did the man need a slap upside his head?
Becky thought for a moment. “The other night, I noticed him glaring at something behind me. When I turned to see what, I found a cowboy standing at my shoulder, trying to see down the front of my dress. I thought it was funny. Juno didn’t. I’ve never seen him look so fierce.”
That sounded promising. “Did he say anything?”
“Oh, yeah.” Becky made a face. “He told me to wear high-collared dresses from now on.”
“That’s it?”
“I know, it’s ridiculous. A saloon full of half-dressed whores strutting around, and he’s worried about my dresses? Ha!”
“I hope you didn’t do anything rash.” For all her kindness, Becky had quite a temper. Lottie had seen her call to accounts more than one pushy cowboy.
“I laughed in his face, is all.” Seeing Lottie’s look of disappointment, she sighed. “I know you’re trying to read romance into all this, but I doubt he was doing anything more than looking out for me. He’s still too stuck in the past.”
Dimwits, both. Lottie mentally washed her hands of the two of them. She had enough to worry about. Like what was going on between Jane and Briggs, and how she could keep dear Mrs. B.’s nose out of her business without causing offense, and figuring out who was sneaking around her old home, and why she hadn’t heard from Ty in almost a month.
Things at the Social Club didn’t improve. Unsure what to do about it—other than punch Briggs—Lottie pretended all was fine, and that Jane’s strained smiles and her English bulldog’s morose silences didn’t keep her constantly on edge. But in the back of her mind, she had that sense of change coming, and feared her happy life in Greenbroke was beginning to crumble.
