The Bitter and the Sweet (Kansas Crossroads Book 9)

by Amelia C. Adams

  If she ignored all the lies and dishonesty, he’d been a perfect gentleman. “He just wanted a different answer than the one I gave him.”

  He shook his head. “Poor Miss Palmer. You’re really having a rough time of it, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. I rather think I deserve all sorts of pity,” she said lightly. “And the worst part is that I asked Aunt Clasby to teach me how to embroider. I honestly don’t know how this could possibly get any worse.”

  Stephen gave a slight cough. “You might be about to find out.”

  “Oh, dear. What, Mr. Howard? Is the house on fire, and you’ve come in here to save us? You’re taking a long time to get the job done, if that’s the case.”

  “No, but when I tell you what it really is, you might wish your house were on fire.”

  Sarah closed her eyes for a moment. No matter what she imagined, the truth was probably going to be worse. “Just tell me. Quickly. No sense dragging it out.”

  He did speak quickly. “My mother is having a luncheon tomorrow, and she would like you to come.”

  Her eyes flew open, and she couldn’t help it—she just stared. “What? I must have misunderstood you.”

  He chuckled. “I know—it’s a very odd request, considering everything, and I don’t blame you at all if you want to throw me out of here for asking. I argued with her when she asked me to come. She says she would have paid a call herself, but she’s sending me as an ambassador of sorts to smooth the path toward our reconciliation. Those are her words, by the way, not mine.”

  Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Just what sort of reconciliation did she have in mind? Is there an apology forthcoming? Some way to make up for my total and complete humiliation the last time I was at your house?”

  Stephen shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know about an actual apology. This invitation might be as close to one as we’ll see. She’s not really the apologizing type.”

  “And why did she send you? I thought you and your family had parted ways.”

  “I had a row with my father, and I no longer live at the house or work with him. But I do stop by and see my mother. As far as why I was sent . . . well, Mother figured I’d be the only Howard you’d listen to.”

  “And she’s probably right.” Sarah couldn’t believe this was happening. Being invited to the Howards’ was almost like being summoned to court—if Colorado had royalty, the Howards would be it. But she wasn’t in the mood for bowing and scraping and all the other things that along with coming into the presence of such greatness. Such fluffed-up, pretend greatness.

  “So, now that I’m listening to you, tell me. Why do you think I should go to this luncheon? Will my life be changed in some amazing way, and I’d be a fool to miss it?”

  Stephen grinned. “You don’t already know that a Howard luncheon has the power to completely alter the course of destiny?”

  Sarah couldn’t help but chuckle. He was all too aware of his family’s claims of superiority, and felt like she did about it.

  He settled back and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. “Frankly, I don’t think you should go. You’re here to see your aunt, not to be put on display and possibly humiliated even more. If it were up to me, I’d tell you to stay far away.”

  “And it’s not up to you?” Sarah shook her head. “You’re an adult. You can choose which messages to deliver, can’t you?”

  “Yes, but . . .” He let out a puff of air. “I do believe that she’s sorry, in her own way, and she’s reaching out the best she knows how. By inviting you into her inner circle, she’s extending an olive branch. I think that should be rewarded, don’t you?”

  “I beg your pardon? She should be rewarded for inviting me to lunch? She’s hardly crawling here on her hands and knees or putting any real effort into it. And I’m sure you drove here in comfort in one of your many carriages. I don’t suppose you walked.”

  “No, I didn’t. And you’re right. True effort should be rewarded—not fancy gestures.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Mother doesn’t know anything about true effort, Miss Palmer. This is the most contrite I’ve ever seen her. I know it’s shallow and not at all what you’d hoped for, but please, consider it.”

  Sarah studied his eyes. He seemed earnest, as though he had some personal stake in this. “And what do you get out of my coming?”

  “I . . . beg your pardon?”

  “You seem awfully determined to get me over there when just a moment ago, you said I shouldn’t. Why have you changed your mind?”

  He glanced down at the floor, then back up again. “I’ve felt terrible ever since last summer. I can’t believe how poorly you were treated, the things people said all over town, the way you were mocked. It was wrong and unfair. If there’s anything I can do to mend some of that, of course I want to do it.”

  “That’s quite generous of you, but why?”

  Stephen gave a nervous chuckle. “You don’t let things go easily, do you?”

  “I can let things go when they make sense, when I can put them away in my mind with some kind of explanation. But when they don’t make sense, I keep trying to figure them out. I like organized packages, Mr. Howard. I like to look at the world and understand how it works and where I belong in it. Your family . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t belong in the same circles as your family, and it makes no sense that I’d try to fit. Seems like wasted effort.”

  “You won’t even try?”

  “Gracious! Now who’s having a hard time letting go?” She shook her head. “Why can’t we just let bygones be bygones? It happened. It was a long time ago. I’m sure Gilbert has had many other relationships and friendships since then and doesn’t even miss the time we spent together. I know I’m certainly doing well—I’m busy and happy. I did let go of it. It’s your insistence that we revisit it that I can’t figure out. The Howards don’t need me. Why are you trying to convince me otherwise?”

  Stephen stood up. “I thought you’d be more agreeable than this, Miss Palmer. I didn’t think you’d be so unforgiving.”

  Sarah nearly spluttered. What on earth . . .? “Unforgiving? Have you not been listening to this conversation? I’m more than willing to stay away and move forward. You’re the one who wants to keep dragging me backwards. Forgiveness doesn’t mean continuing to subject oneself to the same situation over and over again. Forgiveness means being willing to put it to the side, which you won’t let me do!”

  “But doesn’t making peace mean coming face-to-face and being cordial?”

  “Oh, Mr. Howard, you have a great deal to learn about women. They can look each other right in the eye, be as sweet as honey, and swear their undying devotion, but beneath it all, they can be ready to stab each other at the first chance they get. I don’t like that kind of pretend civility. I’d rather know when someone doesn’t like me. The relationship I have with your mother right now suits me better because it feels honest.”

  Stephen gave a sharp nod. “I’ll pass along your regrets. Good day, Miss Palmer.” He strode from the room, leaving Sarah to wonder what on earth had just happened. He knew how his family was. She’d explained her feelings. Why couldn’t he see what she was trying to say?

  She looked at the ceiling and shook her head. Humans were so complicated. Maybe she should get a cat. Cats were much easier to figure out.

  Chapter Nine

  Denver, Colorado

  1875

  Stephen climbed into his carriage and snatched up the reins, squeezing them between his fists. He couldn’t explain why he felt so irritated. He’d told Miss Palmer not to come to the luncheon, after all. She was only taking his advice—or rather, his advice happened to go along with what she’d already chosen to do. Why, then, did he feel so . . . irked?

  He flicked the reins, and the carriage began to move. The air was much colder than it had been on his drive over, and he pulled his scarf higher on his neck. It wasn’t like him to become so agitated without a good reason. It also wasn’t like him to
snap at a lady, and despite everything his family said to the contrary, Miss Palmer was a lady.

  He mulled it over as he drove. Finally, just about the time his face was so cold, his forehead hurt, he realized what it was. He’d said almost as much to Miss Palmer, but he hadn’t realized how deeply he felt it. Miss Palmer, for her own good, should stay away from the luncheon, but he hoped she would come because it would remove some of the guilt he felt. He’d driven her home that night, and his family knew how he felt about the whole ordeal, but he’d never done anything to try to make it right. He’d felt that it was his parents’ duty, or Gilbert’s. He’d been the hero. He’d been the listening ear. He’d rescued her and taken her safely to her doorstep. What more could he have done? And while in reality, there wasn’t much more he could do, he had felt ever since that he should have done more. If she came to the lunch, if fences were mended, then that heavy weight would be removed from his chest.

  He shook his head at himself. What sort of ridiculous thinking was that? He’d been right the first time—he’d done everything he could, and it was up to the rest of the family to make amends. They, on the other hand, were just as convinced of their rightness as he was of his. What a mess.

  He glanced up and realized that he had reached his parents’ home—the horse knew where it lived, even though he’d been too distracted to guide it. He hopped down and handed the reins over to the groom, glad that his mother had lent him the rig to run her errand. Walking that distance in this snow would have been miserable.

  After taking a moment to knock the snow from his feet, he went into the parlor and stood in front of the fireplace, warming his hands and thawing his face. His mother entered a moment later, imposing in burgundy velvet.

  “There you are. Tell me, how was your visit?”

  “Pleasant, until I mentioned the luncheon. She’s unable to attend.”

  Millicent Howard sat in the chair closest the fire and scrutinized her son. “She’s unable, or she refuses?”

  Stephen flexed his fingers a couple of times. The blood flow was returning almost painfully. His stylish gloves were obviously not right for such weather, as he’d suspected when the clothier had insisted he try them. Why must practicality so often go on the chopping block?

  “Stephen, you’re not answering me.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother.” He turned to face her. “It seems that her aunt is quite ill, and she’ll be spending her day helping to care for her.”

  Millicent raised an eyebrow. “I never thought you’d underestimate my intelligence, Stephen. Come on now and tell me what happened.”

  Stephen drew in a deep breath. “She says she rather likes how things stand—you don’t like each other, you both know it, and there’s no false pretense. She wonders why that should change.”

  Millicent looked startled, but then she laughed. “Oh, she does, does she? Straightforward girl. I can’t say as that I blame her for being suspicious. I don’t suppose she’d accept a simple explanation such as, I enjoy my popularity, and I dislike it when there are those who don’t care for me.”

  “Meaning that you want everyone to worship at your throne?” Stephen said good-naturedly. He’d often heard her say exactly that over the years.

  “Of course! I enjoy walking down the street and knowing that I’m respected by everyone I see. Perhaps she wouldn’t accept such an obviously shallow explanation as that.”

  “If she knew you were sorry for the bad blood—”

  “Sorry? What on earth have I to be sorry for? I’ve done nothing wrong. I simply spoke the truth.”

  And there it was—the thing that made dealing with his family so unutterably hard. They saw an entirely different reality. They believed themselves to be right, and everyone else to be wrong. He would have loved to blame the money, but he knew many wealthy people who were exactly the opposite. No, this was his parents’ true nature, as unpleasant as it was to admit.

  Millicent peered up at him, waiting for his reply. He knew she wanted him to agree with her, but he couldn’t. Finally, she let out a sigh.

  “If I were to write her a note and apologize, would you deliver it? I simply must have her at this luncheon.”

  “But why does her opinion matter so much, Mother? So what if one girl in all Denver doesn’t like you?”

  Millicent shook her head. “You don’t understand, Stephen. If she comes, all the women in town will be quite impressed to see her here.”

  “And you’ll be the heroine for letting the events of last summer remain in the past.” Suddenly it all made sense. His mother didn’t care at all what Miss Palmer thought of her—she cared what the other women in town thought Miss Palmer thought of her. What a convoluted scheme. She would be seen as the gracious, benevolent hostess, and Miss Palmer would be what she had been all along—a destitute waif bent on taking whatever she could from those charitable enough to offer it.

  “I won’t deliver that note, Mother,” he said, taking the seat across from her and looking her in the eye. “I won’t play a part in whatever game you’re playing now.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. Gilbert will be home soon, and I’m sure he’d be more than glad.” Millicent stood up and went over to her writing desk in the corner. “It’s nicer to send a family member than a servant, don’t you think? It’s so much more personal.”

  Stephen pressed his lips together. He loved his mother. She had moments of true generosity and kindness that stood out in his memory like rays of sunshine. If only her other attitudes weren’t like clouds that blocked the light. At times, he felt as though he didn’t even know her.

  “I’ll take it,” he said at last. If Gilbert delivered it, the harm done to Miss Palmer would be so much worse, but his mother didn’t need to know that’s why he’d changed his mind.

  Millicent cast a smile over her shoulder. “Thank you, Stephen. I knew you’d see the wisdom in my plan.”

  He didn’t. Not at all. But he wasn’t about to tell her that—if anyone was to deliver that letter, it would be him, and if he had to pretend to be on her side to make sure that happened, that’s what he would do.

  Chapter Ten

  Denver, Colorado

  1875

  Sarah had tried to move past her conversation with Stephen, but it wouldn’t let go of her, and she found herself feeling more agitated by the minute. She needed to do something to calm her nerves.

  “Mind if I made dinner?” she said at last.

  Felicity looked up from her mending with a surprised expression on her face. “Do I mind? Heavens, no. By all means.”

  “I also thought I’d mix up some bread for tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you.”

  Sarah smiled and moved into the kitchen, where she found a clean apron and got to work. Her cousin’s kitchen wasn’t nearly as well appointed as the kitchen at the Brody, of course, but she found everything she needed quickly enough and got chicken and dumplings started. Then she set some bread dough to rising. The familiar tasks were so comforting to her, she decided to whip up some corn bread, and while she was at it, she might as well make a pie.

  When John came home a short time later, she was covered in flour, but happy. He took one look at her, shook his head, and went to find his wife, who was much cleaner.

  Sarah washed up the dishes she’d used and was sweeping the floor when John and Felicity came into the kitchen.

  “My wife tells me you’ve had a few more adventures,” John said, helping himself to a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove.

  “That’s right. I’m just keeping things lively around here.”

  “That you are.” John plopped a little sugar into his cup and then took a seat at the kitchen table. “I’m sorry that your visit hasn’t been more restful. The thing that concerns me most out of all of it, however, is Dr. Ridley. Is your aunt getting the proper care? If he asked you to come out here on false pretenses, is he practicing his medicine with integrity?”

&n
bsp; “I’ve wondered that same thing. I’ve just been too distracted by other things today to bring it up.” Sarah put the broom away and poured herself some coffee, then joined the other two at the table. “What do you suggest?”

  “She mentioned having a regular doctor in Topeka—I believe she said his name was Wayment.”

  “That’s right.”

  John took a sip before continuing. “Do you think Dr. Wayment would be willing to come out here and examine her? He would know her history better than anyone, and he’d be able to tell us if she’s receiving the proper care. I hate to cast aspersions on any man’s profession, but if Ridley’s dishonesty bleeds into everything he does, we can’t take the risk of hurting Eugenia in some way.”

  “I agree,” Felicity said. “Do you think he’d come, Sarah?”

  “We would, of course, pay for his ticket,” John added.

  “I believe he would,” Sarah replied. “He’s a very kind man. I think it would all depend on his current patients, if any of them were in a state of crisis.”

  “I would expect nothing less,” John replied. “It would be a shame for him to neglect those under his care if they were more in need. I’ll head down to the telegraph office before it closes and ask if he’s available.” He swallowed the rest of his coffee in two gulps, kissed Felicity on the cheek, and headed back out into the freezing air.

  “You chose a good man,” Sarah said, moving back over to the oven to check on dinner. It would be ready in about twenty minutes, and she hoped she’d be able to keep some hot for John when he returned.

  “He is very good.” Felicity cocked her head to the side. “If you’ll excuse me, I think three wild animals have somehow gotten into the boys’ playroom. I pray they don’t wake the baby.”

  Sarah smiled as she watched her cousin leave the room. Motherhood came so naturally to some.

  When she heard a knock on the door, she knew she was the only adult in a position to answer it. Covered in flour and wishing she didn’t look like a mess, she turned the handle to see Stephen on the porch, the brim of his hat dusted with snowflakes.