Ben turned to Kit. “You sure you want to go through with this?”
Mr. Culbertson added, “Considering its age, I’d say that, overall, the place is solid.”
If Kit read Ben’s glance at the front door correctly, his friend hadn’t referred to a concern over the condition of the house. He weighed the cost of the repairs with the cost of losing the opportunity to learn the truth about Annie’s parentage.
“I’m sure.”
***
Kit stood across the street from the Moondog Saloon as the sun descended behind the building. On this Saturday night, a clear, twilight sky replaced the earth’s halo of pale yellows, oranges, and pinks—tranquil colors that ran contrary to his mood since conducting the inspection of Joanna’s house yesterday.
Annie’s quiet humor had dispelled his concern over her health. It wasn’t the child’s situation or Mr. Culbertson’s list of repairs that sent his mood south. It was Joanna. With each moment in her company, he felt like a reprobate.
Ben brushed against a young poplar tree he surpassed in height. The tree’s trunk, hardly thicker than a broom handle, leaned toward Kit and knocked his hat cockeyed with its switch-sized branches. “There was another burglary Thursday night.”
Kit moved to stand on the other side of his friend. He straightened his crooked hat. “I heard.”
“It wasn’t too far from the Stewart house. I’m concerned about the ladies living there by themselves.”
“They won’t be there much longer.” Kit’s casual answer ran contrary to the taut muscles running along his abdomen. “No one has been hurt, and from what I’ve seen, Joanna hasn’t much to steal.”
“I keep thinking about the Pittsburgh incident.”
“We proved we had nothing to do with that situation, Ben. If we let fear keep us from helping those who ask, what good is our purpose?”
“True.” Ben ground a heel in the dirt. “I wonder if Mrs. Brockhurst and her friends are aware of what we went through.”
“She’s never mentioned it, and I’m sure it’s not something she would have let pass. There’s no sense in borrowing trouble by bringing it up.”
They both stared at the narrow brick building of the saloon. The inside glow from the gas lighting spilled onto the walkway through open windows. Every now and then, men stepped into the drinking establishment or stumbled out of it. The front room overflowed with a Saturday night crowd. So far, Kit hadn’t spotted the one man he’d hoped to see.
“Sure is a noisy place. Between the banging on the piano, the shouts, and the off-key singing”—Ben rubbed his ear—“it’s a wonder the neighbors’ dogs aren’t taking up the chorus.”
“It’s early. They may yet join in.” At least, with the setting of the sun, the air had cooled to a more comfortable temperature.
“You want me to go inside and see if he’s there?”
“No.” God had healed Ben’s addiction so completely that nothing about alcohol affected him any longer. The Lord worked that way at times, but not for Kit. He checked his watch. Eight-ten. “Let’s give it another twenty minutes. If he doesn’t show, we’ll head back to the hotel.”
“Why are you so eager to meet up with Donovan O’Connor? You told me he showed no interest in changing his ways.”
“I recognized something in him. I don’t know. Call it a melancholy desire for help, even if he won’t admit it. I want to give him a purpose again. I want him to see he’s still a person of worth and that God sees him that way, too.”
Ben smoothed the hairs of his dark beard. “Hmm … I’ve heard those words before.”
“You’ve said them at least once ... to me.”
“Now that you mention it, you’re right. Guess I’m a smart man.”
The heavy mood weighing on Kit lifted long enough for him to grin at his friend. “You’re also a good friend.”
Ben’s brow furrowed. “You’ve come a long way since I found you freezing in that field in ’86.”
Kit nodded. Six months after betraying his brother, he’d been at the lowest point he’d ever been in his life. Numbed by liquor and guilt. Feverish and weak. Only through God’s mercy did he survive that night in late March long enough for Ben to find him and proclaim the news of a blessed and heavenly redemption—news he’d grabbed hold of as if it were the last bottle of spirits on earth.
“People can change.”
Kit studied his friend. Ben often cloaked deeper thoughts in pithy sayings. “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re thinking.”
“All right.” His friend’s glib expression turned serious. “I’d suggest you go easy on Mrs. Stewart until you get to know her better. You’re no more than strangers now.”
Kit turned his focus back to the rowdy saloon, the muscles of his shoulders tense. “I know all I need to know.”
“Do you? Until arriving in Banesville, you hadn’t seen her in years.” When Kit remained silent, Ben huffed. “I’m not aware of the details of what happened between the two of you, but I’m no rube, Christopher. There’s enough friction between you to set every tree afire from here to the Virginia line.”
What would his partner and best friend say if Kit told him it was possible he’d fathered a child—a daughter he’d recently met—with the woman Ben urged him to get to know better?
“Kit, how do you expect to help men in need of extending and receiving forgiveness when you’re not willing to do the same?”
While he wanted to say he had been forgiven already, the words stuck in Kit’s throat. It wasn’t at all what his friend meant. “I understand your point, but Joanna will leave town once the property purchase is complete, so it doesn’t matter.”
Ben frowned but refrained from saying the obvious, that it mattered to God, and it mattered to Kit. Instead, he asked, “Did she say where she’s going?”
“I don’t think she knows where she’s going. Even if she does, I don’t expect her to share the information with me.”
“You’ll never know for sure unless you sit down with the woman and talk to her. Don’t miss this opportunity to clear up the past. What if it’s the only one God gives you?”
Ben was right about his need to talk to Joanna. The Lord had instilled that fact in Kit for days. But how did he initiate the conversation when she was as cold toward him as a Christmas morning in Alaska?
The saloon door opened and the light from inside the building drew Kit’s attention to Donovan O’Connor. He stood in front of the building in the presence of another man.
“There he is.” Kit’s thoughts about Joanna fell away as he tipped his head in the direction of the saloon. The hour was early, but Donovan’s gait was unsteady as the two men staggered east along the paved walk. “He must have started this afternoon.”
Kit crossed the street with Ben at his side, the noise from the drinking establishment growing ever louder. The two of them closed the distance between the former fighter and his companion, remaining several feet back. The bruise on Kit’s jaw had healed, but he didn’t fancy receiving another one.
“Donovan.” He called out the name with only as much volume as required to be heard over the laughter and music.
Through the darkness broken by a streetlight in the distance, Kit noticed the rise of beefy fists. Donovan turned and relaxed his hands. “Preacher.”
“Here’s the preacher.” Kit introduced Ben, then the two of them angled toward the stranger at Donovan’s left. Kit held out a hand in greeting. Though no taller than Kit’s five feet and ten inches, the burly man’s stiff posture warned against expecting too much geniality.
After a momentary hesitation, he shook Kit’s hand. “Name’s Liam.”
The dim light kept Kit from discerning details of the man’s appearance, but the potent smell of alcohol filled the air between them. “Good to meet you, Liam.” He turned back to the man he’d come to see. “How are you, Donovan?”
The fighter elbowed his companion. “The preacher here has a mind to reform me.”
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br /> Rather than take offense, Kit smiled. “I prefer to think of it as forming a new friendship with the hope that I can help you.”
“Yeah, well, it was good to see you again.” Donovan spun on a wobbling heel and began to walk away.
“I’d like to offer you a job.” Even without a flicker of movement from his friend, Kit sensed Ben’s surprise.
Donovan halted but kept his back to them. “We’ve been over this.”
“I told you why Ben and I are here. We’re purchasing an old house that stands in need of repair and renovation.” Kit paused when Liam sniggered. “Would you be interested in helping us?”
Rotating on the balls of his feet, Donovan faced Kit. “And the conditions of taking the job?”
“Three meals a day and a place to sleep.” Knowing his response wasn’t what Donovan wanted to hear, he added, “There will be no drinking at any time whether working or not.”
“Bah.” Rather than walk away, Donovan stared down at his boots. “What makes you think I know anything about construction, anyway?”
“I only know you’re a hard and capable worker when given a worthwhile task to work toward. I trust you to do the best job possible. After all, you once said a man is nothing without his work. It’s up to you.”
Donovan raised his head, and Kit’s chest tightened at the reflection in his watery, reddened eyes. “I’ll ponder it.”
Darkness enveloped the men, and a bawdy tune from the saloon swallowed their laughter.
Ben ran a hand down his beard. “Now I know what you meant by the melancholy in the man. I’ll pray for him. Why didn’t you offer the same opportunity to Liam?”
Had Kit ignored a man God placed in his path to help? Maybe he should have offered Liam a job … if he needed one.
“I think Liam bears watching. His smugness rubbed me wrong.” Kit started in the direction of the hotel with Ben at his side.
“I’m not one to give up on an insensitive character.” Ben gave Kit a good-natured shove sideways. “If I were, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Praise the Lord for that.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“What about Chicago?” From her seat across the dining table, Joanna spread a number of Clayton’s old papers and several photographs over the cherry wood surface. She shuffled through them and waited.
Waiting had become routine each time she suggested a place where they might move after the house sold. “No” to New York. “No” to Richmond. “No” to Timbuktu.
“I’ve never been to Chicago.” Rose picked up the cardboard-backed photograph of Perry as a child. He stood in front of his mother, a lovely woman with ebony hair. A much younger Clayton sat in a fringed, velvet-covered chair to their right. “It’s a big city.”
“True, but that allows us many more options when it comes to employment.”
“It burned to the ground.”
Joanna stared at Rose in disbelief. “That was over twenty years ago. They rebuilt with brick structures to guard against that happening again.”
She picked up a dry goods bill from 1884. With the yards of lawn and taffeta listed, she surmised it was material ordered by Clayton’s first wife. “The Columbian Exposition will be there next year, and we’d be right in the middle of the excitement. People will travel from all over the world for the exhibits. Don’t you want to see the latest inventions and architecture? Think of the glimpse we’ll get into the way we’ll live in the next century.”
Her friend shrugged. “I can only take one day at a time. What would you do in Chicago?”
“I could teach music.” Another possibility rose in Joanna’s mind. “There will be theaters. Do you think it’s naive to believe people might want to hear me play?”
“Not at all.” Rose bit her bottom lip. “You could do that here, you know. I’m sure people would hire you to play for parties.”
“Oh, Rose, what are you thinking?” Joanna crumpled the receipt and tossed it into the trash stack to her left. “You know that would never happen, not while they blame me for Clayton’s death. Anyway, this is not a good place for either of us to remain while Liam lives here. I can tell you from experience that it’s certainly not good for Annie to grow up amid the gossip of a broken marriage.”
Her friend blenched and then raised her chin in a rare act of defiance. “I’m the one to decide what is or is not good for Annie.”
The words as well as the chilling tone caught Joanna by surprise. “Of … of course you are. She’s your daughter.”
“Please, don’t forget it.”
What on earth had gotten into the woman? “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“You never mean to, Jo, but it happens all too frequently.” Rose left her seat. As she walked toward the butler’s pantry with her back rigid, she said, “I’ll give Chicago thought.”
Joanna leaned forward with her elbows propped on the table and her face cupped in the palms of her hands. What had she said or done to anger Rose? Had she exceeded her position when it came to raising Annie or did Rose use that as an excuse to end the conversation about moving away? Clearly, she balked at the idea. But why?
As soon as she paid Liam off, Joanna would board a train departing this town with its rumors and the snide remarks of people who thought they knew everything about her. She’d leave Perry and his constant offers of marriage. Most of all, she’d leave Kit and the memories that swirled around her at all times of the day … and night.
One more week and she’d be gone. Joanna straightened in her chair and cast a glance over her shoulder toward the kitchen. Would she leave alone?
***
Joanna dragged her feet down the stairs and approached the kitchen with caution. She peeked through the doorway. Plates rattled as Rose stood at the sink and washed the breakfast dishes.
Rarely hungry in the morning, Joanna tended to neglect the early meal. Instead, she preferred two cups of strong, black coffee. Today was no exception, but she dreaded walking into the tense atmosphere in the kitchen to face a repetition of last night’s strained supper.
She should apologize, but for what? What had she done other than helping see to Annie’s needs and assisting Rose with her care?
Joanna slipped inside the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee without saying a word. She hastened to the dining room with it. When Rose carried in the pot and refilled her cup, Joanna risked thanking her.
“You’re welcome.” Rose tromped back through the butler’s pantry to the kitchen.
When finished, Joanna wished to leave the china cup and saucer on the table and go straight to the music room, but she carried them into the kitchen. Rose stood at the sink drying a skillet, her back to Joanna.
“Just put them down. I’ll wash them in a minute.”
Like a scolded child, Joanna set the cup and saucer on the edge of the counter. She wanted to walk away, but her feet refused to move, so she stood next to Rose and stared out the window. “It looks like rain today.”
“Mmm …”
Joanna’s heart sank with the non-committal response. This was ridiculous. “At least tell me what I did wrong. Why are you so angry with me?”
Rose set the skillet on the stove with a clang. Her shoulders heaved, and she breathed a long sigh. “I’m angry with myself. I should never have lost my temper and spoken to you that way. It’s just …” She laid the damp flour-sack towel on the counter, flattened it, folded it lengthwise, creased it. Fold, crease, fold—over and over, until it was six inches square and Joanna longed to yank it from her hand. “I couldn’t ask for a better friend, but there are times when you make me feel as if I’m not the one raising Annie.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Is it? When Annie was sick on Friday, I said she should stay in her own bed. You went to the cottage and brought her here against my wishes. When Mr. Barnes brought her Jelly, you accepted the gift without consulting me.”
“But Annie’s always wanted a kitten. You said when she was old enough, she’d have
one.”
“Yes, when I deemed she was old enough. Besides, that’s not the point.” Rose’s voice grew shrill. “Time after time, you’ve taken charge of her and left me out. It has to stop, do you hear me? You are not a mother.”
The breath whooshed from Joanna’s lungs as if Rose had pummeled her chest instead of the counter.
Rose’s eyes grew wide, and she slapped her hand over her mouth.
Joanna reached out to steady herself and her arm bumped the cup. It tumbled off the edge of the counter, hit the floor, and shattered into tiny pieces scattered from one corner of the kitchen to another.
Why had she even sought to discuss this? Why hadn’t she left well enough alone? Rose would have gotten over her pique, and things would have returned to normal between them.
Rose laid a hand on her shoulder. Joanna flinched at the touch. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jo. I’ve been so worried about Liam and the loss of my marriage. I never meant to take it out on you.”
Joanna eased out of Rose’s hold and searched for an excuse to leave, to flee the rooms that once served as a haven for her. “I think I’ll take Perry the photographs I found.”
Bits of china crunched under the soles of her shoes as she trundled from the kitchen. Were all her relationships meant to eventually end like the cup—broken and irreparable?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
At the end of the drive, Joanna glanced in one direction, then the other. Why had she blurted this solution to putting space between herself and Rose? She’d rather suffer slivers under her nails than face the people of Banesville who snubbed her. With the sales of the horse and brougham, there would be no hiding in the cab of a carriage for this trip.
Besides, the late morning was hot as red coals and molasses-sticky. Perry probably didn’t want the photographs anyway. She should return to the house.
A perverse mind-set seized Joanna. Turning right, she hiked down the road. Beads of moisture dotted the skin above her eyebrows and along her chin, and her underclothes clung to her skin. Not far in the distance, thunderclouds rolled up from the southwest to remind her she hadn’t brought an umbrella.
A Reluctant Melody - Will she risk losing everything … including her heart? Page 9
