Prairie Moon

by Maggie Osborne

  “Did you see her?” Della asked, her voice breathless. She wet her lips and lowered her spoon.

  “I didn’t see anyone.” He leaned back in the dining room chair and studied her. A decent bed didn’t seem to have helped much. Dark circles smudged the area beneath her eyes, and her face was too pale. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “It was a difficult night. Bad dreams and bad thoughts.” Giving up on breakfast, she pushed a cereal bowl aside and frowned. “I keep wondering . . . what did they tell her about me?”

  Cameron considered what he’d learned about the Wards from Della, their previous neighbors, and the church secretary. The Wards didn’t strike him as people overburdened by kindness or generosity. He doubted they would have told Claire anything pleasant or flattering about a daughter-in-law they had not approved or liked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well, guess, can’t you?”

  It was a flash of the temper he’d seen the first night he met her. And he couldn’t help her now any more than he’d been able to help her then. “No,” he said finally, keeping his voice level, “I’m not going to guess what people I don’t know might have said to someone else I don’t know.”

  She looked down and shook her head. “I’m sorry. Crazy things are spinning through my mind. My nerves are jumping around under my skin, and all I want to do is run away and forget about this.”

  Some of the foreboding she’d mentioned reached out to Cameron, and he wondered suddenly if coming to Atlanta had been the right thing to do. He hadn’t expected Della to be as ambivalent, filled with dread one moment and excited the next. “Have you considered how you’ll approach your daughter?”

  She lifted her head. “Well, I don’t plan to knock at their door and demand to see her.”

  “What do you intend to do?”

  She raised a hand, started to say something, then watched her hand fall back to her lap. “I don’t know. Every time I’ve tried to imagine today, my mind veers away.” She bit her lips and twisted her hands. “In fact, I don’t have to approach her. I only want to see her, that’s all.”

  “I understand.”

  “There’s no reason to actually talk to her, so I can remain at a distance. She doesn’t need to learn that I’m alive—in case they’ve told her that I’m dead. I mean, it would probably be better for Claire if she went on believing that.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “It is. So . . . I guess I’ll go to the house and wait and hope Claire comes outside so I can see her.”

  “Do you want me to accompany you? Or is this something you need to do by yourself?”

  It made his chest ache to witness her look of shock. “It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t come! This was your idea.” Impulsively she reached across the table and gripped his hand. “James Cameron, you can’t bring me this far, then abandon me at the last minute!”

  “I’ll be there.” The agitation in her voice and eyes alarmed him. He stroked her hand and tried to think of some way to help her. “Della . . . I know you detest me, and rightly so . . .”

  She nodded, seeming to read his mind as she sometimes did. “But could we put all that aside for a day or two? I need a friend so badly, Cameron. I need you to catch me when I fall.”

  “You won’t fall,” he said softly. “You’ll know what to do when the moment comes.”

  “I just want to see her, that’s all,” she said.

  And she said it again when they were parked in a carriage across from the Wards’ house. Crisp winter sunshine warmed the bricks and flashed off the window panes. In summer, tall water oaks would shade the side porch.

  Della inhaled the steam from the coffee Cameron had brought. “It’s a nice house. A good place to grow up.” She stared out the window. “I’m sure Claire has all the things that little girls need. Pretty dresses, and ribbons, and shoes for every ensemble and event. She probably has her own room.”

  Cameron would have bet on it. He had a feeling the house was too big for its residents. Not many people lived here. Servants and a very small family was his guess. His gaze shifted to the carriage house. He didn’t sense emptiness, but he’d known last night there were no animals on the premises. Ward either boarded out his horses or rented carriage animals from the stable two blocks down the hill. In either case, the dusty windows on the carriage house suggested the Wards seldom required a carriage.

  “Did you see the curtains twitch upstairs?” Della clutched his arm. “The third window from the right on the second story.”

  “I didn’t notice anything.”

  “Oh. Then I probably imagined it.” She drew a long breath. “Maybe Claire and Mrs. Ward went somewhere before we arrived. If they return while we’re here, Mrs. Ward will recognize me.” Her hands flew to pat the hair coiled on her neck, then she adjusted the angle of her hat, smoothed her lapels. “I’ve changed, but not that much. She might cause a scene. She might say, There’s the mother who abandoned you!”

  “I doubt it.” He didn’t know what else to say.

  An hour later the front door opened, and a woman wearing an apron stepped outside and swept off the porch and front steps.

  “I don’t know who that is,” Della whispered, both hands pressed to her chest. She closed her eyes. “Suppose Claire went somewhere by herself, and she returns in the next few minutes. She’ll see us sitting here and that will seem odd, I’d think. But I can’t decide if I should identify myself or not. I hate this, but part of me wants to tell her that I’m her mother. But if I reveal who I am, it will be a terrible shock. I just know the encounter will end in disaster, and then I’ll have ruined my one chance with her.”

  Cameron took both of her hands in his. “She’s only nine years old. I doubt Claire is allowed to go anywhere by herself.”

  “Of course, you’re right.” Della pulled her hands away and rubbed her cheeks. “Wait. Maybe she went to school. No, the Wards would never send their granddaughter to public school. They would have tutors come to the house. But we haven’t seen anyone.”

  Throwing out a hand, she gripped his wrist with surprising strength. “I can’t do this. It isn’t going to work out. Cameron, I really don’t want to talk to Claire. I don’t. If I talk to her, it won’t go well, so let’s leave. Right now. It’s enough for me to know that she’s living in this lovely house. That’s all I need. She’s safe, she’s living in comfort, she’s probably happy. Cameron, we have to go. Please.”

  He examined her face for less than a minute before he signaled the driver to take them back to town. As soon as the house was out of sight, Della’s breathing slowed and she began to calm down.

  “You’re looking at me like you think I’ve lost my mind.”

  “I don’t think that, but you’re obviously upset. I’m concerned about you.” He held one of her gloved hands and she let him.

  “I can’t explain what happened back there,” she said with a frown. “I don’t know . . . I just felt a terrible pressure inside and knew that coming here was a mistake. All these years, I’ve pretended that Claire is in the next room. I see her in my mind, Cameron. I know what she looks like, I know her traits and her personality. But what if she’s nothing like that?” Her eyes widened and she clutched his hand. “Or what if she guesses who I am? That would be terrible. Or worse, what if she doesn’t see anything of herself in me? Wouldn’t that be more terrible?”

  Cameron didn’t know the answer, but he knew it was good they were returning to the hotel.

  When he had her upstairs, settled in the suite with biscuits and a fresh pot of chicory-flavored coffee, he cleared his throat, hoping to break into her long, silent reverie.

  “I’m behaving badly,” she said quietly. “I’ve never felt so confused in my life. I’m longing to hold my baby in my arms, but I’m afraid of her, too.”

  He sat beside her on the settee and took her hand in his. “May I make a suggestion?”

  “Help me,” she said simply.

&
nbsp; “Maybe we’re going about this wrong. Maybe we should send the Wards a note asking permission to call on them.”

  Della pulled her hand away. “They’ll never agree to receive me.”

  “They’ll guess what you want to discuss. So I’d anticipate that they’ll agree to receive you rather than risk having you approach Claire on your own. From what you’ve told me, the Wards will want to control any meeting between you and Claire. And maybe that’s best. They know Claire’s temperament, they’ll know if and when she should be told that you’re here.”

  “They’ll think I want to take Claire away from them.”

  “Maybe that’s something to consider.”

  “You keep saying that, but you’ve seen where I live, and now you’ve seen where Claire lives.” She turned her head. “She belongs here.”

  “Maybe you belong here, too, Della. Maybe that’s the answer you’re looking for.” When he had observed the longing in her gaze as she watched the Wards’ house, it had come to him that she should stay here. “You could get a place nearby . . .”

  “I can’t afford to live in Atlanta.”

  Cameron felt his eyes go as narrow and hard as his voice.

  “That’s one thing I intend to take care of for you. Mercator Ward has an obligation to his son’s widow and his granddaughter’s mother. Either he recognizes that after he and I talk about it, or I hire an attorney to explore what you should have inherited after Clarence’s death. And while we’re at it, we’ll instruct the attorney to investigate if grandparents’ rights supercede a parent’s right. I doubt it. When Mr. Ward considers the extent of his possible legal difficulties, I suspect he’ll provide an allowance generous enough that you can live wherever you damned well please—and do so in style.”

  A long sigh lifted her shoulders. “I’d love to stand on pride and say that I don’t want Mr. Ward’s money and wouldn’t accept it.” Her steady hazel eyes met his. “But the alternative is worse.”

  The alternative was that Cameron continued to send money each month for her support.

  “Then we’re agreed that I’ll speak to Mr. Ward on this issue. Are we agreed that you’ll send the Wards a note asking permission to call on them?”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “It sticks in my throat that I have to ask their permission to see my daughter!”

  “That’s only the starting point, Della. And you aren’t really asking to see Claire, you’re requesting permission to call on the Wards to discuss Claire.”

  “At least we have a plan.” She touched her forehead, and let her shoulders droop. “Oh, Cameron.”

  Fragile wasn’t a description he would have applied to Della Ward. But at this moment he thought she might break and shatter if he said the wrong word.

  The corners of her mouth trembled when she spoke again. “I have a strong feeling that everything should remain as it is now. That I should leave the real Claire with the Wards and be content with my imaginary Claire. By pursuing this, I feel like I may be opening a box that I don’t want to see inside.”

  Cameron had gotten her to Atlanta, but he didn’t feel he had a right to push further. “It’s up to you,” he said gruffly. “Stay, go . . . we’ll do whatever you want.”

  Silently she moved to the window and stood looking outside for several minutes. “I don’t know if it’s wise to see her,” she said finally. “I’ll make that decision after speaking to the Wards. But I have to speak to them. You’re right about that. I have to know that she’s well and safe and happy.” Nodding, she walked to the desk and removed a sheet of the hotel’s stationery. “I’ll write the request.”

  Cameron stood. “I’ll make some preliminary inquiries about attorneys.” He checked his pocket watch, then touched his tie and cleared his throat. “Shall we have supper together? Or does our truce only apply to the areas having to do with Claire?”

  She tilted her head and considered, not answering immediately. “We could dine together,” she said finally, sounding reluctant. “But make no mistake . . . you did me wrong and I can’t forgive you.”

  “I understand.” But his spirits soared.

  She continued to stare at him. “I don’t think we should tell the Wards exactly who you are. I’ll just introduce you as a friend.”

  “That sounds like a wise decision.”

  “I hate to lie to them.”

  “I am your friend, Della.”

  She turned her back to him and leaned over the desk. “And, Cameron, if ever there was a whisky-drinking occasion, this is it. So pick a restaurant where it won’t embarrass you when I have a whisky before supper and a liqueur afterward.”

  Mr. Ward’s reply arrived as Della and Cameron were leaving her suite. Della accepted the envelope from the messenger, then pushed it into Cameron’s hands. “You read it. I can’t.”

  “Ward invites us for coffee at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.” He glanced up at her. “You must have mentioned me.”

  “I did.” A blush spread over her cheeks. “I mentioned I was traveling with a family friend.” She examined his expression, then lifted her chin. “Well, in an odd way you’ve been a friend to Clarence, too. You’ve supported his wife when his own parents wouldn’t. You’re trying to reunite his wife and daughter.”

  He had also killed Clarence and slept with Clarence’s wife, but Della didn’t let herself think about that right now. Gradually she was reaching an accommodation in her mind. There was the Cameron who had committed unforgivable acts. And there was the Cameron who had let her get close, and whom she loved and missed. She needed that Cameron now, needed his strength to lean on, needed his clear head, needed his friendship.

  Was she using him any less than he’d used her?

  The question came back to her later that night as she lay in the darkness, trying and failing to fall asleep. She didn’t know the answer.

  But she did know that it was a blessing the suite did not have a door that connected to Cameron’s room. She would have done the unthinkable and the unforgivable by going to him tonight. Turning, she pushed her face into the pillow and longed for him.

  Chapter 20

  “I attended a church social a few years ago and met a man there who had miraculously survived being caught in the midst of a cattle stampede.” There was a chill in the air, or maybe she imagined it, but Della felt cold inside and out. “He said he felt the ground shake beneath his boots and heard the sounds of bawling and the animals’ hooves long before he saw the cattle sweeping down on him.” She looked out the carriage window at the homes of the Wards’ neighbors. They were almost there. “I feel the ground shaking.”

  The carriage rolled to a stop before the stone walkway leading to the Wards’ porch. “Are you afraid of seeing Claire? Or are you afraid of the Wards?” Cameron asked quietly.

  Frowning, Della picked at the fingers of her gloves. “Mrs. Ward said awful things to me. When Clarence did come home, she tried to keep us apart. I know she complained about me in her letters to him. Sometimes Mr. Ward was sympathetic, but he’d shrug and say he had to live with her, so he didn’t interfere in how she treated me. She opened and read my letters to Clarence, and she read his letters to me. Once she told me that my mother had sent me to stay with my cousin because my mother wanted to be rid of me so she could chase after men.” Anger pulsed in the hollow of her throat. “She didn’t even know my mother! Putting poisonous ideas in people’s heads was her favorite amusement.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Della tamped down a burst of anger that felt as fresh as when she’d lived with the Wards. She hadn’t expressed her resentment then. She hadn’t stood up to her mother-in-law, had never raised her voice or responded rudely. She had wanted to, but from the day of her wedding, she had reminded herself that Enid Ward was her husband’s mother. No matter how shrewish or hurtful she might be, she was also the woman who had raised the man that Della married. For that, she would respect Mrs. Ward and would always turn the other cheek.

  But in doing so, she had made
herself an easy victim and let herself be overpowered, overwhelmed, and ruthlessly bullied. She’d had no foundation of strength when the Wards stole Claire and forced Della to leave Atlanta.

  “It’s different now,” Cameron said, his fingertips grazing her throat as he reached to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve grown up. You won’t be manipulated or controlled.”

  “And I have you this time.”

  He nodded. “And you have me.”

  “Cameron?” She stared into his tanned face and piercing blue eyes and felt her heart turn over in her chest. From the moment she had first seen this man, she’d loved the lean, hard look of him. “Will it be awkward for you to meet the Wards?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing is the way it’s supposed to be, is it?” She was so glad he was here today, but she was supposed to hate him. And part of her did, she hastily reminded herself. If the Wards knew who Cameron was . . . Della pressed her lips together and shook her head. Sometimes the world was so confusing and unfair.

  “Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Was anyone ever ready to walk into the unknown? Cameron jumped out of the carriage, put down the step, then handed her to the ground. She straightened the skirt and jacket of her traveling suit, recalling Mrs. Ward’s interest in fashion. A decade had elapsed since Della had cared about fashion.

  Frowning, her gaze on the house, she squared her shoulders and lifted her head. The Wards must have sent Claire away for the day. If Claire had been in the house, Della was positive that she would have sensed her daughter’s presence.

  Cameron extended his arm. Della hesitated, then wrapped her hand around his sleeve. She made herself place one foot in front of the other and then do it again, kicking at the hem of her skirt as if she were angry.

  “They can’t keep me away from my daughter,” she said, sending Cameron a flashing glance and hoping bravado would squash a rising tide of apprehension and dread. “If I decide to see and talk to Claire, they can’t stop me.”