So why hadn’t her grandfather warned him that he would find Mary Theresa waiting for him in Bethlehem Springs?
Warned him. Strange choice of words. Only that’s exactly how he felt—as if he’d needed to be warned. Yes, he needed to tell Mary Theresa that his feelings toward her had changed, that he couldn’t marry her, that it would be unfair to them both. But was he ready to do so today, in person, face to face? He supposed he would have to be.
Joshua glanced over his shoulder at Christina, but she was once again reading some papers on her desk. “It seems I must go out again. Is there anything I need to attend to before I leave?”
“No.” She looked up. “Is something amiss?”
“Nothing’s amiss.” He lifted the note in his hand. “A friend from St. Louis is here. The young woman who called yesterday.”
Curiosity was clear in his employer’s eyes, but he chose not to elaborate and she let it pass. He returned to the rack, grabbed his coat, and was out the door within moments. He walked swiftly down Main to Washington Street, then turned and hurried past the post office and into the lobby of the Washington Hotel.
The hotel was one of the oldest buildings in Bethlehem Springs. According to what he’d been told, it had escaped the worst of the fires that had destroyed much of the town back in its heyday. He supposed it had changed little from the years when his grandfather had been a judge here—rococo chairs with French tapestry upholstery, heavy draperies of deep reds and golds, rosewood sideboards and tables.
He went straight to the front desk and asked that Miss Mary Theresa Donahue be advised Mr. Crawford was in the lobby to see her. While he waited, he tried sitting down but found himself too restless to remain inactive. It was a good thing that she’d come for a visit, he told himself as he paced the length of the lobby. He’d wanted to explain to her about his changed feelings face to face rather than over the telephone. Her coming to Bethlehem Springs was surely an act of Providence.
“Joshua!”
He spun around to see Mary Theresa standing on the staircase. A few steps behind her, dressed in a black gown, was her cousin, Blanche. He’d only taken two steps forward before Mary Theresa flew the rest of the way down the stairs and across the lobby. She paused only a second, grinning up at him, before throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him.
For his part, he was frozen in place, taken by surprise. Such a public display of affection wasn’t normal for Mary Theresa. Naturally they had kissed before, but not like this. And not in view of others. Not even when they’d said good-bye in St. Louis.
He took hold of her hands from around his neck and peeled her away, stepping back to look into her eyes. “Mary Theresa, what are you doing here?”
“I’ve missed you, Joshua. You’re a horrid correspondent. You’ve scarcely written to me at all since you left St. Louis.”
He looked around to see if anyone was watching them, then took her by the arm and steered her toward the dining room, the restaurant devoid of other customers at this hour.
“Are you surprised to see me?” she asked. “I knew you would be.”
“However did you convince your parents to let you take this trip?”
She sat on the chair he pulled out for her. “My cousin helped me persuade them.” She looked over her shoulder and motioned for Blanche to join them. “Besides,” she added as she faced him again, “I’m not a child. Even Grandfather thought it a good idea that I visit you.”
“A good idea?”
She leaned forward. “Isn’t it time we begin planning our wedding?”
After looking inside, Daphne closed the door to the bedroom where her nephew and niece were napping. Laughter floated up the stairs from the living room where the rest of the adults—Griff, Cleo, Woody, Morgan, and Gwen—had settled after dinner. Everyone had declared the meal a complete success, and Cleo had glowed with happiness from their praise.
The conversation had drifted from that morning’s sermons at the Methodist and Presbyterian churches to some improvements the Arlingtons had made around the ranch complex before the onset of winter to the physician who had recently come on staff at the New Hope Health Spa, ending with—as Daphne returned from checking on the children—the new rocking chair near the living room window.
“I ordered it from Sears Roebuck,” Woody said. “It’s a gift for Cleo. I thought she might like to have it this winter. And later on too.”
Daphne thought it a strange gift. Cleo wasn’t the sort to sit in a rocking chair and while away the time. She tended to eschew rocking chairs for bucking broncos.
Then Gwen let out a squeal and jumped up to embrace her twin. “When? When is it?”
“In June,” Cleo answered, eyes sparkling.
A heartbeat later, Morgan was out of his chair and slapping Woody on the back. “That’s grand, Woody.”
It was only then that Daphne realized what had gone unsaid. Cleo was pregnant. She hurried to join the other two women. They hugged and laughed and cried, then did it all over again until Woody pressed his way into their midst and claimed his wife for himself. He kissed her cheek and called her beautiful.
Tears filled Daphne’s eyes as she thought of Joshua, imagining a similar scene with the two of them as the central characters. She pictured herself beside Joshua before the fireplace in Morgan’s house, announcing to her family that they were to be blessed with a child. She envisioned the tender look in Joshua’s blue eyes and the strength of his arm as it encircled her shoulders.
She turned and walked to the window, surreptitiously glancing at her watch. It was past time for the afternoon train to have arrived in Bethlehem Springs. Was Joshua back from his visit to Boise? Had he by any chance gone to her house to see her only to be disappointed by her absence?
Let’s go home. She faced the room again, her gaze moving to her brother. Decide it’s time we leave for town, Morgan. I want to see Joshua. Oh, God. Please let Joshua be home again.
“Grandfather has reminded me several times since you left St. Louis that he isn’t getting any younger.” Mary Theresa rolled her eyes. “I think he’ll live to be a hundred, but it does seem he’s impatient to see us married.” Her expression changed, a tiny frown marking her brow. “Aren’t you impatient too?”
Joshua glanced at Blanche, then back at Mary Theresa. “We haven’t ever talked about a wedding.”
“Isn’t he silly, Cousin Blanche?” Mary Theresa laughed. “Joshua, don’t you know we females begin planning our weddings when we’re still little girls? There hasn’t been much need for you and me to talk about it. But I do need my groom to at least agree on the wedding date.”
He’d never asked her to marry him. He’d never told her he loved her. Not once in all these years. Nor, for that matter, had she said she loved him. He’d thought a genuine affection would be enough between them, that love could come later. But if so, why hadn’t he proposed?
Not that Mary Theresa seemed to require a proposal.
“Joshua?”
He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “This is all rather sudden.”
“Sudden? Good heavens, Joshua. How can you say such a thing?”
“I mean, I don’t know for certain how long I’ll be staying in Bethlehem Springs. And I…I’m not even sure I’ll be able to get my job back when I return to St. Louis. I can’t marry if I’m not employed.”
“But there are other newspapers, other jobs. Aren’t you working now as the managing editor of the paper?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then if necessary, we shall remain in Bethlehem Springs until you have sufficient experience to move on to another paper back in Missouri.”
Panic began to churn in his chest. Where was the submissive, eager-to-please Mary Theresa of his memory? Or had she existed only in his imagination?
He cleared his throat. “How long will your visit be?”
“Until the end of the week. That was all my parents would agree to. But it should be ample time for us to settle on
a date for our wedding and make whatever other plans we think necessary.”
Tell her. Tell her you love another.
Mary Theresa took hold of his left hand and squeezed it between both of hers. “Oh, Joshua. I’ve missed you terribly. You can’t know how much. How shall I manage until our wedding day?”
A waiter appeared to take their order.
“Would you like something to eat?” Joshua asked, looking at the two ladies with him.
Mary Theresa shook her head. “We dined less than two hours ago. But I would enjoy a pot of tea. Cousin Blanche?”
“Tea would be lovely.”
“Tea for the ladies,” he said to the waiter. “Nothing for me.”
The young man nodded and walked away.
Joshua racked his brain for the right words to say to Mary Theresa. Could he tell her the truth without hurting her? This wasn’t her fault, after all. It was he who’d had a change of mind, a change of heart.
Voices engaged in conversation flowed into the dining room a few moments before more guests entered. For a heartbeat, Joshua thought he didn’t know any of them. Then he recognized Bert and Helen Humphrey, owners of the town’s mercantile. When Bert saw him, he smiled and walked straight for their table.
“Mr. Crawford. You’re back already. Christina Patterson mentioned to the wife and me that she thought you would return today.” Bert’s gaze flicked to Mary Theresa and Blanche.
There was no way to avoid the introductions. “Mr. Humphrey, may I present Miss Donahue and, her cousin, Mrs. Collins.”
“How do, ladies. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Are you new to Bethlehem Springs?”
“Thank you, Mr. Humphrey. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Yes, we’re new. I came to visit Mr. Crawford…my fiancé.”
The word felt like a punch in the stomach.
“Fiancé? You don’t say.” Bert grinned at Joshua. “Well, aren’t you a lucky man?” He looked over his shoulder. “Helen, come here and meet Mr. Crawford’s intended.”
Joshua needed to get away from here. He needed to talk with Mary Theresa alone. He needed to stop this before it got any worse—if that was even possible.
TWENTY-TWO
Dusk had fallen over Bethlehem Springs by the time the McKin-ley sleigh pulled to a stop in front of Daphne’s house. Lamplight spilled through windows all along Wallula Street. Only her home remained dark.
While Gwen waited in the sleigh with the children, Morgan escorted Daphne inside and stoked the fire in the wood stove for her. Then he kissed her on the cheek and bid her good night. She waited at the open door to wave as they pulled away, disappearing around the corner a moment later. With a shiver, she pushed the door closed.
Two days had passed since Joshua stood in almost this same spot and kissed her. Two days that seemed more like a lifetime ago.
“Oh, Joshua,” she whispered.
Disappointment squeezed her heart. She’d hoped she would be able to see him upon their return from the ranch, but they’d left for town too late. Daphne would have to wait until tomorrow.
A knock at her back caused her to jump. Could it possibly be—
She spun around and yanked open the door. Another wave of disappointment followed when she saw Edna Updike—not her most favorite person—standing on the other side of the screen, a lantern in her hand.
“Miss McKinley, I was so glad to see your return.”
Daphne realized that her neighbor was upset and felt a sting of guilt for her less than gracious thoughts. “What is it, Mrs. Updike? Is something wrong?”
“It’s Gretchen. She’s missing.”
Gretchen. The Updikes’ foul-tempered calico cat.
“We’ve searched everywhere. I thought perhaps she might be in your shed. Would you mind if I looked?”
“Of course not.” She pushed the screen door open. “Come through the house. The walk is swept in the back and it will be easier than if you went through the alley.”
“Thank you. I’ve been so worried. She never runs away, and she hates going out in the snow. I can’t imagine what’s happened to her. She must have slipped outside when Mr. Updike and I left for an early dinner with friends at the Washington Hotel.”
Daphne made a sympathetic sound in her throat as she led the way to the back door.
“Mr. Updike is fond of the hotel’s pork chops, and the chef always runs a special on Sundays.”
“Hmm.”
“He swears Gretchen was lying on the sofa when we left.”
Daphne grabbed her coat and put it on before opening the door and leading the way to the shed. Light from the lantern soon showed that the door to the shed—once used to house Gwen’s buggy horse and now used to shelter Daphne’s motorcar—was slightly ajar.
“Good news, Mrs. Updike. It looks like your cat could have gone in there if she wanted to.”
“Oh, I hope so. Gretchen. Here, kitty, kitty.”
Snow had drifted into the covered area outside the shed, but not so much that Daphne couldn’t open the door wide and allow Edna entrance.
“Gretchen. Here, kitty, kitty.”
There was a moment of silence, followed by a distinctly unhappy meow. Edna pressed her free hand to her chest. “Something is wrong with her.” The look she turned on Daphne was accusatory, as if Daphne had done something to harm the cat.
They found Gretchen underneath the workbench, nesting in a pile of rags, along with three newborn kittens.
“Merciful heavens!” Edna’s eyes went wide with surprise. “I’ve been scolding Mr. Updike for feeding her too much.”
Daphne couldn’t help it. She laughed.
“I thought she was just getting old and fat.”
“Not too old to become a mama.” Daphne reached down and picked up one of the kittens, bringing it close to her face. “Aren’t you precious?” she whispered. The kitten was white and black, teeny ears sticking out from the sides of a head that seemed too large for its rather scrawny body. It began complaining in a high-pitched yowl, so Daphne returned it at once to its nervous mother. “I’ll get a basket for you to take them home in.”
Edna held the lantern closer to Gretchen and her babies. “However did this happen?” she muttered.
Daphne swallowed another laugh. Wouldn’t her neighbor be horrified if Daphne decided to explain how such a thing could happen. She supposed she should be ashamed for entertaining the thought, no matter how momentary.
She stepped onto a stool and pulled a wicker basket from a shelf. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, but otherwise perfect for the task at hand. “This should be large enough for the four of them.”
“I’ll have to find homes for them quickly. Mr. Updike tolerates Gretchen, but he won’t allow me to keep those kittens once they’re weaned.” She gave Daphne a hopeful smile. “Perhaps you’ll want one?”
“Oh, Mrs. Updike, I don’t know. I’ve never had a pet. I’m not sure—”
“A cat is a wonderful companion for a spin—” Edna stopped suddenly, a look of consternation widening her eyes, the unfinished word hanging awkwardly between them. After a few heartbeats, she finished, “For an unmarried woman such as yourself.”
A spinster? My, it was tempting to tell Edna Updike to take her cat and kittens and get out. Get out and never speak to her again. Instead Daphne forced a pleasant expression onto her face—not quite a smile but as close as she could manage—and said, “Let me help you get them into the basket.” She knelt on the dirt floor.
“Thank you.”
A spinster. At one time, the word had meant nothing more than that a woman was unmarried. Two centuries earlier, it had been an official legal term: Daphne McKinley of Bethlehem Springs, Spinster. No judgment. Simply fact. But somewhere along the way, it had taken on a derogatory meaning. A woman incapable of making a match. An unwanted woman. That’s how her neighbor meant it, to be sure.
“Have you ever had pork chops at the Washington?” Edna asked, her desire to change the subject apparent. “They�
��re quite delicious. Oh, you’ll never guess who we saw there. Mr. Crawford, the new editor of the Herald, with his fiancée. The Humphreys were introduced to the young woman and her cousin before we sat down to eat. Helen Humphrey thought Miss Donahue quite charming. Personally, I believe her parents showed an error in judgment, allowing two young women to travel this far alone. The cousin is hardly an appropriate chaperone, even if she is a widow.”
The air in the shed became thick and heavy, and the walls seemed to press in. Somehow Daphne managed to keep moving, to put the last of the kittens into the basket, the bottom of it now lined with the rags that had made up Gretchen’s birthing bed. She stood and handed the basket to Edna. “There you go.” The words came out a whisper.
“Oh, my. Please say you’ll take one of these kittens when they’re weaned. If I can’t find a home for them, I’m quite sure Mr. Updike will drown them.”
Daphne motioned toward the door. “Maybe. I’ll think about it. Maybe the black-and-white one.”
Anything to be rid of the woman before her heart finished breaking in two.
January 1, 1873
Another new year. They seem to pass more quickly all the time.
Angelica Ruth is nearly four months old. She recognizes her mother and me and smiles and coos accordingly. She also rolls from her back to her tummy and over again. Annie and I take inordinate pleasure in these accomplishments. I cannot imagine what we shall be like when she takes her first steps.
God has poured out so many blessings on me since the day I was born again. How could I not choose to serve Him in every way that I can?
Robin Lee Thatcher - [The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs] Page 17
