Harold gripped his arm. “I’ve heard all that. And I’m sorry, Ewan.” He closed his eyes. “It’s not just random men.” After a long pause he said in a low voice, “Ezekial. Ezekial from the Boudoir visits her every night for the past week or so.”
“No,” Ewan rasped. “She wouldna. No’ with that sort of man.” He rubbed at his chest over his heart and then sat on a stool, nearly toppling over as he landed without much thought. He steadied himself, his expression lost as he stared with an unfocused gaze. He battled visions of his beautiful wife with the brutal henchman from the Boudoir and shook with impotent rage. “Why would she?” His voice cracked. “I’ve never treated her with anythin’ but love and respect.”
Harold sat again on his stool, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees. “I don’t know, Ewan. There are always mysteries in any marriage that are impossible to understand.”
Ewan focused on his friend. “Thank ye for tellin’ me. Thank ye for sparin’ me hearin’ it from some vicious ol’ biddy, intent on watchin’ my reaction.” His gaze was devoid of all emotion.
“What will you do?” Harold whispered.
“I dinna ken. Not now.” Ewan sniffed and swiped at his nose. “But I’ll know soon enough.”
Jessamine sat at her desk as the late afternoon light filtered into her shop, her fingers caressing the letter from her husband she had found on her desk that morning. All day she could only think about what he had written. She stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of her, exasperated at her inability to write anything of meaning to him. She closed her eyes as she remembered how he had looked when holding Catriona. The joy and pride in his gaze. She blinked away tears, setting down her pen with a sigh.
At the knock on her print shop door, she looked up from her desk to see Tobias Sutton hovering at the entrance. At her nod, he entered. “Tobias,” she said with a frown, as she looked at the owner of the largest mercantile, the Merc, in town. “What brings you by?”
Standing tall, with his well-trimmed beard and hair, his black wool coat shone as though recently brushed, and his piercing stare appeared more filled with concern than judgment. He looked at her for a long moment and then set a round tin on her desk. “I know you’re involved in an activity you don’t want the entire town to be aware of.” He met her worried gaze and nodded at the tin on her desk. “That was ordered and never picked up by another customer. I suspect you could find it useful.”
Jessamine blanched as she looked at the object on her desk and rose so quickly that she knocked her chair backward to the floor. “How … who’s been talking?”
He shook his head. “No one. But things are easy to figure out when one is observant.” He paused with a meaningful look. “And not a husband.”
She snatched up the tin and held it to her chest, her gaze roving around her workspace, as though searching for a place to hide it. “Thank you, Tobias,” she whispered as she moved to the back of her shop, where a small sink area and a pallet were hidden from general view, both near the back door. She emerged from the back to find Tobias still standing inside with his hat in his hands.
“I know I have no right to offer advice. I’ve made a mess of my life, as you know better than almost anyone.” He gave her a searching look. “Even though you are a newspaper woman, and the urge to reveal what you know must be hard to ignore, I thank you for keeping the rest of my secrets.”
He paused and then firmed his shoulders. “Whether or not you have another man in your life, which is what the majority of the townsfolk believe,” he said as he watched her pale and stumble to a chair, “what matters is what you and your husband know to be true. Don’t allow the gossip of this town to sully what you have.”
“Tobias,” she whispered. “I … I …” Her voice broke off as she looked at the older man, who had always been rude and cantankerous until recently. However, now she saw through to the kindness and empathy he had worked so hard to hide.
He shook his head. “You don’t have to explain to me, Jessamine. Soon enough you’ll have to make amends with your husband. You must pray, as I had to, that the one you love is forgiving.”
Chapter 4
Ewan stood outside the Stumble-Out, watching the front porch to his wife’s newspaper office. Lights shone from within, as though a beacon to him to journey forth out of the cold. He shuffled his feet to keep their sensation and glared at her brightly lit office as though it taunted him. As the temperature dropped further, he was on the verge of entering the Stumble-Out to join associates in an attempt to drown his regrets, when he saw a black-cloaked shadow slip between the bank and her shop.
With righteous indignation and a growing sense of unease in his gut, Ewan bolted off the boardwalk, skidded on a patch of ice, and raced across the street. He pulled out his key and slipped inside her office, moving with catlike stealth as he listened intently for voices. He heard hushed murmurs in the back of her workspace, near the pallet she kept there. Near the pallet they used to have their romantic rendezvous on. He flushed red with rage as he turned the corner to see her speaking with a man he thought she loathed. He listened in as the man said, “I’ll return later, when I’m free.”
“Jessie?” Ewan rasped, watching as she spun to face him with a horrified gasp. “How could ye, lass?” He barely spared her a glance before he leaped to attack the man inching out the back door. “Ye defiler! Come back here, Ezekial!” Ewan bellowed. Ezekial escaped into the night before Ewan reached him, and Ewan stood on the back step, panting and fighting the urge to chase after the man.
“Ewan!” Jessie admonished. “There’s no need to inform the entire town of our affairs.”
Confusion, hurt, and anger warred for supremacy as he beheld her watching him with indignation, her hands on her hips, her red hair falling from pins. “How could ye, Jessie?” he asked again as he shut the door and faced his wife. “With such a man.” He rubbed at his temples, and, when she reached forward to stroke a hand down his arm, he took a step away from her. He bumped into a pile of papers, causing them to cascade unheeded to the floor. “Nae, dinna touch me, woman. I canna stand the thought of ye touchin’ me.”
He looked at the rumpled pallet and at the basket filled with clothes at her feet, and he rubbed at his heart. “Did my letter mean nothin’ to ye? Was I too late?” When she stared at him with her gaze filled with yearning and remorse, he cleared his throat and firmed his jaw. “Were ye plannin’ on leavin’ tonight? Did I interrupt ye?”
“No, Ewan, no. It meant everything,” she said in a beseeching whisper, as though not able to speak any louder. She reached for him again. “If you’d only let me explain.”
“Explain what?” he asked, evading her grasp, his anger and righteous outrage masking his soul-shattering grief for a moment. “That my wife prefers the comfort of a man like Ezekial? A man who cozies up to the Madam and her whores? How can ye believe I’d ever trust ye again?” He shook his head as her eyes filled with tears as though he had hurt her. “Ye canna make this out to be my fault, Jessie. Ye canna. Ye played me false, and ye were caught.”
“No!” she cried, her voice breaking. “I never—”
He reached for the rear door. “Share your denial with someone who cares. For I dinna. No’ any longer.” He slammed the back door shut, a momentary desolation overcoming him before he rekindled his rage to protect him like a shroud.
He stormed to Betty’s Boudoir, Bear Grass Springs’ house of ill-repute, and barged inside. A thick haze of smoke, perfume, and cheap cologne wafted over him, and he sneezed. Although the Madam had discussed the need for refurbishment for years, little had changed in the Boudoir since Ewan had arrived in Bear Grass Springs. The walls were still painted a garish burgundy, although it had begun to chip, while the armless chairs were covered in a red velvet. The bar in the corner of the parlor served drinks to miners awaiting their turn with one of the Beauties.
Ezekial, who usually manned the front steps, was nowhere to be seen. Ewan panted, from his
quick sprint from his wife’s print shop and from his excess of emotion. He saw the men in the parlor, flirting outrageously with the few women present. He watched as the Beauties attempted to entice men upstairs to their cribs. However, after he had calmed a moment, he sensed an undercurrent of despair. Although a whorehouse, despair was not a sentiment so readily displayed. The girls had been trained to hide all emotions except false gaiety.
Ewan’s anger spiked when he saw Ezekial stride into the front room from the rear hallway. With what Ewan liked to believe was a Highlander battle cry that would have made his ancestors proud, Ewan screamed a garbled mess in Gaelic, launching himself at Ezekial.
He caught the large man off guard, and Ezekial did not have time to extract his billy club. The momentum from Ewan’s leap forced the two of them to the ground, and they scrappled on the floor, rolling to and fro as they kicked, hit, and gouged at each other as much as possible. The miners and townsmen present formed a circle around them, egging them on with glee, cheering on each pummel and grunt as a punch landed and each groan as a blow hit.
The men encircling them quieted, and suddenly Ewan was yanked off Ezekial by the scruff of his jacket. Ewan continued to kick out with his legs, swearing in Gaelic, as blood trickled from his split lip.
“Quit acting like an idiot,” Warren snapped. He pushed Ewan behind him and spun to face his irate friend, his piercing blue eyes flashing with displeasure and warning. After ensuring Ewan would not leap forward to again attack the Boudoir’s henchman, Warren faced Ezekial, who stood tapping his billy club. “You’d better think twice before using that on me or my client,” Warren said in a voice laced with warning. As the town’s resident lawyer, few ignored his advice.
“Why are you here?” Ezekial rasped.
“My wife is seeing to a patient. I had thought to escort Helen but was detained by my Scottish friend’s … exuberance,” Warren said, with a quelling glance over his shoulder as Ewan made a low sound in his throat.
Ezekial had frozen at Warren’s first words. “Your wife is here?” His eyes flashed with concern. “To attend … Tranquility?” When Warren nodded again, Ezekial took a step toward the stairs.
“Ezekial!” the Madam yelled in a voice laced with steel as she entered the room from the back hallway. “Where are you headed?” She looked around the room filled with men and Beauties, her hardened gaze seeming to inform him that he was to man his post.
In an instant, he hid any emotion in his expression, his eyes cold and calculating as he looked around the room. The men, realizing that any chance they had at mischief had just been snatched away from them, returned to their drinks or to flirting with the Beauties present.
The Madam put a hand on her curvy hip. as though to show off her finely made dress of turquoise satin. “I’m surprised to find you here, lawyer.” She sniffed in disapproval at the bleeding, battered Ewan and didn’t bother to lower herself to speak with him.
Warren pointed at Ewan, who continued to pant after his exertions. “We are going upstairs to find Helen.” He smiled at the Madam and tugged on Ewan, who followed him with little protest, his indignation having faded into exhaustion. “Come, you idiot.”
“I’m no’ an idiot,” he hissed under his breath as they ascended the stairs. “If ye’d found Ezekial speakin’ with yer wife, plannin’ to meet later, ye would see red too.”
Warren looked at him with the gaze of an inscrutable lawyer who had the unenviable task of guarding too many secrets. “I fear you will need to apologize to your wife,” he murmured as they made their way down the hallway containing the cribs the girls worked in and slept in. He unerringly found Tranquility’s and poked his head in. “Helen?” he asked. Every woman who worked at the Boudoir had what Warren preferred to think of as a stage name. Helen’s current patient’s real name was Beth, although all the men and the Madam called her Tranquility.
Helen sat with her shoulders stooped, holding Beth’s hand. As the town’s midwife, Helen was often called to help with minor ailments when the doctor was away on distant farms or up at the mining camp. “She’s gone, Warren.”
Ewan peered into the room, blanching at the sight of a motionless Beth. “What happened to the sweet lass?” he whispered. He crossed himself, and his lips moved as though saying a quick prayer for her. Ewan had had Beth aid him this past summer with a plot to rid the town of Ben’s gambler cousin, Justice. Ewan had always thought Beth too sweet for a life spent at the Boudoir.
“Oh, my love,” Warren whispered. He moved into the room and wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders as she silently mourned. “I know you did everything you could for her.” He held Helen for a long moment before focusing on Ewan. “You need to get out of here. Take the back stairs and leave. Go to your brother’s or Bears’s but be away from anywhere Ezekial will seek you out. He’ll be on the rampage.”
Ewan shook his head in confusion. “I dinna understand.”
Helen’s hazel eyes shone with compassion. “You will soon enough. Heed Warren.”
Ewan’s gaze darted from the motionless woman to Warren and then to Helen before he nodded his agreement. “Aye.” He slipped down the hallway to the back stairs, his boots nearly silent on the rough wooden stairs that creaked and felt as though they’d give out in places. The women used these stairs that led them to the kitchen in the rear of the building during their breaks from working the Boudoir. The Madam cared for appearances only in the areas where her paying customers would see.
As he entered the kitchen, he paused to find the Madam standing by the rear door.
She glanced up the stairway, as though expecting someone to follow him.
“Madam,” he said in a deferential manner, glowering at her when she refused to move aside to let him pass.
“Do you think I’m so muddleheaded as to allow you and your friends to steal away another of my Beauties?” she asked with a scorn-laced voice. She glared at him as he rolled his eyes.
“First, I dinna steal Fidelia. I won her freedom in an honest hand of cards. It was yer choice to bet her. And it was her choice to leave, an’ she’s enjoyed her life away from the Boudoir.” He smiled in a taunting manner. “Ye ken she has a wee bairn now.”
“Women and their babes!” she hissed. “All they do is cause problems.” She pointed a finger at Ewan, and her gaze turned maniacal. “You won’t steal Tranquility from me! She’s the best girl I’ve had since I lost Charity,” she said, referring to Fidelia by her Boudoir name.
Ewan’s gaze sobered. “I fear ye an’ the rest of us will be denied her sweet presence. Tranquility—Beth—died. Helen couldna save her.”
“No!” a deep voice roared behind him.
Ewan raised his hands in defense as he spun to face Ezekial, expecting to bear the brunt of the big man’s attack. Instead Ezekial raced up the shoddy stairs. Scratching at his head in confusion, Ewan turned to see the Madam’s gaze had hardened into hatred. “I’d no’ want to leave the front without ye or Ezekial for long,” he murmured.
His words seemed to lift her out of a trance, and she jerked forward a few steps, leaving the rear doorway free. He watched her for one last moment before he slipped away to seek shelter and counsel from someone he could always count on.
Jessamine watched Ewan slam the back door to her print shop, her hand outstretched toward him in supplication. Her hand dropped to her side as tears slipped from her eyes. “Oh, what have I done?” she whispered to herself. Her mind raced with numerous ways she could have informed her husband of what she had truly been doing the past few weeks. However, she feared he would not agree with her plan. She wrapped her arms around her waist as she sobbed, the scene continuing to play over and over again in her mind. Finally she stiffened her shoulders, swiped at her cheeks, and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, although tears continued to course down her cheeks.
Knowing she had limited time, she moved to the miniscule kitchen area where she had a small pan near boiling. She lifted the pan and p
oured it over a bottle and a rubber nipple in the sink and then set them aside to dry. She then placed a small portion of Mellin’s powder in a glass and whisked it together with water and cow’s milk as per the instructions on the box. She poured the prepared mixture into the now-cooled bottle and attached the rubber nipple.
With a sigh, she set the bottle on the table by the pallet. She removed the exterior blanket covering the basket Ewan had mistakenly believed was filled with clothes, revealing a slumbering two-week-old baby. “Hello, my darling,” she whispered as she ran a finger in a featherlight touch over the girl’s cheek. “Aren’t you a little angel?”
She rested on her side on the cot, her gaze never leaving that of the baby. Her heart filled with momentary joy as she beheld this baby and yearned for what she would never have.
Ewan knocked on his brother’s door, waiting a few minutes before pounding again. He shifted from foot to foot in an attempt to keep his feet warm and kept his hands tucked under his armpits. When the door wrenched open, he attempted a lopsided grin, grimacing as it tugged on his split lip.
“Ewan?” Cailean rasped as he opened the door farther so Ewan could slip inside. “What did you do to yourself?”
“If ye think I managed to beat myself to a bluidy pulp, ye’re delusional,” he said as he moved to the kitchen stove that always remained warm, even in the middle of the night. He held his hands over it, only moving aside when Cailean pushed him back so he could add more wood.
“Ewan?” Annabelle asked and then yawned. “Forgive me,” she murmured. “What can I do? Make coffee?”
“No,” Cailean said.
“Aye,” Ewan said at the same time. He met his brother’s glower before addressing Annabelle. “If ye could make coffee an’ then go back to bed, I’d appreciate it. I need Cail’s counsel.”
Exultant Montana Christmas: Bear Grass Springs, Book Nine Page 4
