I won’t cry…I won’t cry…I won’t cry.
Daphne repeated the words in her mind all the way home and was grateful that she succeeded in holding back the tears. Tears of anger, not heartbreak. Heartbreak might follow but now all she felt was fury and indignation.
How dare he follow her into that shop and speak to her? He’d used her most despicably. Kissing her the way he had when he was engaged to marry another woman. It mattered not to her that he’d apologized. All these weeks in Bethlehem Springs and not a word to anyone that he was promised in marriage to a woman in St. Louis.
She pictured Mary Theresa Donahue in her mind. The lovely red hair peeking out from beneath an emerald-green hat. The rich flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. The warmth in her voice when she’d said Joshua’s name. The possessive way she’d touched his arm.
Daphne dropped onto the sofa. How could he have done this to her? She’d thought—
Oh, it didn’t matter what she’d thought. Besides, it could have been so much worse. Joshua Crawford could be a charlatan for all she knew. What if he’d been after her money, as others had been before him? Or perhaps he had fiancées in several towns, never intending to marry any of them. How did anyone in Bethlehem Springs know who he really was?
Good heavens! He could be an exact replica of Rawhide Rick.
She got off the couch, hurried into her office, and began writing as fast as she could.
Joshua requested a table for two in the corner of the restaurant near the windows. Thankfully, cousin Blanche had not thought it necessary to join them for lunch. He hoped that would make it easier to say what he must to Mary Theresa.
She looked particularly fetching in a reddish-brown dress that complimented her hair and eyes. His mother—a painter of landscapes and still lifes—would have called the color burnt umber.
More than one man in the restaurant watched Mary Theresa as she and Joshua were taken to their table. He couldn’t help wondering when she had blossomed into a true beauty. Years ago, no doubt. Why hadn’t he noticed before? The answer was easy: because his mind had been filled with memories of her as a chubby toddler, as a schoolgirl in red pigtails, and as a skinny teenager with a figure as straight as a pencil.
After they were seated and the waiter took their orders, Mary Theresa leaned toward Joshua and said, “I spoke with Mama this morning on the telephone, and she reminded me that we really must settle on a date.”
He drew in a breath and blew it out through his nose. “Mary Theresa, do you love me?”
“What?” Her brows arched and her eyes widened.
“Do you love me? It’s a simple enough question.”
“And a silly one. Of course I do.”
Despite the correctness of her words and the speed with which she answered, Joshua wasn’t convinced. “Do you find the idea of sharing my bed and having children with me an inviting one?”
“Joshua!” His name escaped on a whisper as her face turned scarlet. “That isn’t the sort of thing one speaks of in a public place.”
“Perhaps not, but we must talk about it anyway. You know that I’m fond of you, Mary Theresa, and I know our families have wanted us to marry since the day you were born. But is marriage to me what you want? Truly?”
“Joshua, what are you saying? Are you breaking our engagement?” The flush drained from her cheeks.
He wanted to remind her that he’d never proposed, that everyone had assumed he had when he hadn’t, that she’d assumed he had when he hadn’t. But he swallowed the words. They would only serve to hurt her and that wasn’t what he wanted. Besides, as much as he would like to place the blame elsewhere, he bore responsibility for the situation.
“Grandfather will be disappointed if we don’t marry,” she said softly.
“I know. My grandfather would feel the same.”
“Mother’s counted on a spring wedding.”
“Mmm.”
She shook her head. “I never expected this to happen when I decided to visit you in Idaho. I thought it was all settled between us.
“I…I’m not asking the question in order to hurt you, Mary Theresa. That’s the last thing I want to do. But I need to know how you feel. Do you feel any…passion when you think of me?”
She was silent for a long while as she stared at him. Different emotions flickered across her face. Hurt. Disappointment. Confusion. And finally a look of discovery. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”
“Don’t you think you should?”
“I thought I would learn to love you that way. That’s what everyone always says. That a couple grows to love each other as they live together.” She turned her gaze out the window while worrying her lower lip. When she looked at him again, she said, “And you don’t love me that way either. Do you?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t love you the way I should, Mary Theresa. Not as a husband should love the woman he marries.”
“Then I guess it would be for the best that we call off the engagement.”
Surprise and relief mingled together as Joshua leaned against the back of his chair. He’d braced himself for a scene, for tears, for fury, and he wasn’t sure what to do now, what to say next, when none of those things happened.
The corners of her mouth curved slightly upward. “Grandfather may throttle you when you return to St. Louis.”
“Probably.” He returned the smile, his body relaxing. “But I’m not sure I will return to St. Louis.”
“Not return? Joshua, how can you say that?” Mary Theresa reached across the table and took hold of his hand. “Even if we don’t marry, you belong in St. Louis. Grandfather won’t throttle you. I was joking. What about your mother and stepfather? They would miss you. And what about your friends? You can’t possibly think of staying in this little burg longer than necessary.”
He squeezed her fingers. “I might stay. I like it here more than I thought I would.” He pictured Daphne as he spoke. Unfortunately, he also pictured the coolness in her eyes the last time they’d met. But perhaps he could change her mind about him. He at least had to try.
Rawhide Rick had a new sidekick, a character as wicked as Richard Terrell ever hoped to be. Daphne named the character Josias Crenshaw. She wasn’t at all surprised to discover he looked a lot like Joshua Crawford—light brown hair, striking blue eyes, a dimple in his chin. Handsome enough and charming enough to fool unsuspecting, honest folks.
Daphne wrote as fast as her fingers could strike the keys of her Royal typewriter. She cared little about accuracy at this point. She merely wanted to get the story down on paper as it came to her.
A vile ruffian, Josias didn’t hesitate at any terrible deed. Not if it would further his purpose. And this day he saw no reason to give a mayor’s daughter a go-by. There wasn’t a man in town who would stand up to him, no matter how ill he used the fair maiden.
Oh, the scoundrel. As his creator, Daphne would make certain he received his just desserts before the story ended. She would punish him until he begged for mercy—and she would take great pleasure in his suffering. Perhaps Miss Danforth would stab him. Several times. No, shooting him might be better. In the thigh, so he couldn’t run away. Hadn’t Griff told her about a bank robber who was shot in the leg and bled to death before anyone could bring the doctor?
Yes, a slow and painful death was in order for Josias Crenshaw.
She was enjoying writing more today than she had in ages.
January 4, 1873
Samuel and I became good friends over the next year. And those “God talk” conversations I mentioned before, they often turned into spirited debates. Samuel wasn’t afraid to challenge me, my ideas, or my actions. He spoke the truth. Hard truth, plenty of the times. Yet I can’t say that I felt judged by him. I think more often than not he pitied me. Me, the wealthiest, most influential man in Bethlehem Springs, pitied. Made no sense to my way of thinking.
And yet it did make sense. Somewhere along the way, I began to see myself the way Samuel saw me
. The way God saw me. My heart was black as pitch. My mind had been the devil’s playground for four decades.
Seeing the real me, I began to change, although I didn’t realize it at first. I’m sure others must have noticed. The judgments I passed down from the bench became more fair and honest. I was kinder to folks too. Not that I couldn’t still be bribed or didn’t think of myself first more often than not. An unregenerate heart still beat in my chest. But God was working on me, little by little by little.
Christmas of 1870 (a Sunday) arrived, and I was invited to dine with Samuel and some friends of his (mere acquaintances of mine), as well as his parents, who were visiting from Chicago. I’d paid no attention to the Christian calendar in my adult life. Christmas and Easter and such were just other days in the week to me. I don’t recall buying gifts for anyone. Maybe as a young boy I made something for my parents for Christmas, but if so, the memory is too distant.
I believe it was curiosity that caused me to accept the invitation to spend Christmas Day with the Kristofferson family and friends. Mostly I wanted to meet the folks who’d raised a man like Samuel. Of course, I didn’t choose to join them for the service at church. I waited until after that.
I’m not sure I can put into words what happened to me that Christmas afternoon as I sat around the table with those people who seemed unusually happy and contented. Certainly I couldn’t explain it as it happened. It was as if the heavens opened up and poured love over me, and the power of it broke me somewhere deep on the inside. I always prided myself on being a strong man, but I wasn’t strong enough to withstand the all-powerful love of Jesus Christ.
Two weeks later, on the eighth of January 1871, I accepted another invitation from Samuel. I went with him to church, and it was then that I surrendered my heart to the Lord. I walked into that church the blackest of sinners. I walked out white as snow.
Only the Grace of God could work such a miracle.
TWENTY-FIVE
Big flakes of snow drifted lazily toward earth as passengers boarded the train on that Thursday afternoon.
“Is there anything you’d like me to tell your mother when I see her?” Mary Theresa looked up at Joshua from beneath a wide-brimmed hat, her left hand gripping his right.
“Only that I send her my love.”
“You aren’t going to change your mind as soon as I’m gone, are you? About marrying me, I mean.” Her smile was teasing and without a trace of regret.
“No, Mary Theresa.” He returned her smile. “We know this is the right decision for both of us.”
She nodded, then released his hand, took hold of his shoulders, and rose on tiptoe to kiss him on the lips. When she stepped back, she said, “I hope we shall always be the best of friends. You’re like a brother to me…only you’ve never been the pest Harry and Kenneth are.”
Joshua chuckled, remembering some of the many ways her older brothers used to torture her when she was a child.
“Mary Theresa, come along,” Blanche called from the steps of the passenger car. “It’s time to board.”
The two women were leaving Bethlehem Springs earlier than originally planned. There were no reasons for them to stay, Mary Theresa had told him yesterday, once the decision not to marry had been made.
“I’m coming.” Mary Theresa grabbed Joshua’s right hand one more time and squeezed it. “Please do write to me. Even if we aren’t engaged, I’ll still want to know what you’re doing and if you’re happy.”
“All aboard!” the conductor shouted.
She rose on tiptoes again, but this time she didn’t kiss him when he leaned toward her. Instead she said near his ear, “I hope she loves you in return. The way you want to be loved. The way you deserve to be loved.”
He straightened, surprised by her words. He hadn’t told her about Daphne. He’d never even hinted that he’d given his heart to another.
Speaking louder, Mary Theresa continued, “I’m going back to St. Louis to find the man who’ll love me that way too. Who knows? Someone may already love me that way, and I’ve simply never noticed.”
“Who?” Joshua asked.
But Mary Theresa only grinned, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she released his hand and followed her cousin into the passenger car.
Joshua watched as the two women found seats on the platform side of the train. He continued to wait, ignoring the snow collecting on his coat shoulders and hat brim, until the whistle blew and the train jerked into motion. Mary Theresa waved and he waved back. Only then did he turn and stride away from the railroad station.
Ravenous, Daphne sat down at the table with her cold meatloaf sandwich and a glass of milk. She’d been up and at her desk hours before dawn, and the writing had gone so well that she’d forgotten to stop to eat. Thank goodness she’d had leftovers in the icebox.
She shoved her unruly hair away from her face, then held her sandwich with both hands and took a big bite.
“Mmmm.”
Another day or two, and the first draft of her novel should be done. Finally! It seemed all she’d needed to bring the story together was to introduce a new villain into the series.
A strong dose of self-righteous anger hadn’t hurt either.
She took several long sips of milk and began mulling over what she should do with Rawhide Rick. She would need a villain in future books, and if she killed Josias before the end of The Dilemma of Marjorie Danforth, she’d best keep Judge Terrell around. But she was having a hard time making him as disreputable as he’d been in previous books. She kept imagining the transformation she could take him through were he to surrender to Christ. After all, the real Richard Terrell had been the worst kind of rogue, but God had converted him into a stellar citizen and a wonderful father and grandfather. At least that’s what Joshua had told her.
Joshua…
Her heart fluttered.
Oh, no. She wasn’t going to let the mere thought of his name make her feel anything other than anger, indignation, or irritation. Better yet, all three. No sympathy. None. Not now. Not ever. She was done with tears, done with wondering what might have been between them if he weren’t engaged to another woman. Her life without him had been and still was full and satisfying. She didn’t need a man—and certainly not one such as Joshua Crawford—to make her feel complete.
She finished eating her sandwich, drank the rest of her milk, and then carried her plate and glass to the sink, where she washed and dried them and put them away. A glance out the window revealed a wintery scene. What had been large lazy snowflakes drifting to earth as she prepared her sandwich had become a thick curtain of white. There must be another two inches of snow on the ground since the last time she’d looked outside.
“Maybe I need a holiday.”
Yes, that was a good idea. A trip someplace warm and sunny with a crystal-blue ocean and sandy gold beaches. As soon as this book was finished and mailed to Elwood Shriver at Shriver & Sons, she would make plans to leave. She would go after Christmas, though. She couldn’t be away for the holidays. Her young nephew was old enough this year to take great delight in wrapped packages and a big Christmas tree, and she didn’t want to miss that. But right after Christmas, she would go away. Perhaps she could get together some of her old friends from her college days—
No. She shook her head. Her friends were all married. She was the only one without a husband, and most of them had a child or two already. Who could she ask to go with her?
A knock on her front door interrupted her as she mentally ran through a list of people she knew.
If that was Edna Updike with the black-and-white kitten again—her neighbor had been over twice this week, trying to convince Daphne to give it a home when weaned—she feared she would shut the door in her face. She wasn’t in the mood to—
The open door revealed Joshua on the other side of the screen.
He removed his hat, sending a flurry of snow onto her front porch. “Daphne, may I speak with you?”
“You’ll have my co
lumn tomorrow.” She started to close the door.
“No. Wait. Please.”
Close the door…Close the door…Close the door…
“I need to explain.”
“No explanations are necessary.”
“You’re wrong. Hear me out, Daphne.”
Close the door…Close the door…Close the door…
“Please. Give me five minutes.” He held up his right hand, his thumb and fingers extended. “Just five minutes.”
Against her better judgment, she stepped back from the door and allowed him to enter. Memories of the last time she’d stood in this spot—in his arms, kissing him, him kissing her—flooded her thoughts as she turned and walked into the kitchen, putting plenty of distance between them.
Turning to face him once again, Daphne grasped the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “Say whatever it is you need to say and then leave. I’m busy.”
“I came here from the train station. Miss Donahue and her cousin have returned to St. Louis.”
“That’s of no concern to me.”
“We’re not engaged, Mary Theresa and I.”
Her heart leapt with hope. An unwelcome sensation.
“I could give you a long explanation about my relationship with Miss Donahue, but I won’t. I’m not sure you’d believe me, even if I did.”
She steeled herself against listening to him, against forgiving him. “I’m quite sure I wouldn’t believe you.”
“Daphne—”
“Mr. Crawford, if you have nothing else to say, I believe you should go.”
He set his hat on his head. “I have plenty more to say to you, but I’ll go, as you wish.” He turned and opened the door, then glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not a bad man, Daphne. Just a flawed one. I shouldn’t have kissed you when I did, and I’m asking for your forgiveness.” A hint of a smile curved the corners of his mouth. “And I’ll kiss you again, but only when the time is right.”
The door had closed behind him before she could form a retort.
Oh, that insufferable man! As if she would allow him to get close enough to kiss her. That would never happen. Not a bad man? Ha! Scoundrel. Cad. Villain. Liar.
Robin Lee Thatcher - [The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs] Page 19
