Honoring Her Heart

by Amelia C. Adams

  “Delicious, but you know it’s the pie I was looking forward to most.”

  “Yes, I know that about you.” She turned to Christopher, her auburn hair glinting in the light coming in through the window. “I think the deputy is keeping our business running just with his pie orders alone.”

  “He’s a growing boy,” Christopher said with a chuckle, making the thirty-year-old deputy grimace.

  Mrs. McRae laughed and moved on to the next table, and the men fell back into their discussion.

  “Well, for what it’s worth, let’s give it a try,” Ranse said. “You’re right about the risks involved, and I certainly can’t think of a better idea.”

  Christopher nodded. “I’ll talk to Thurgood first thing on Monday. He’ll need to be the one to place the ad—until we know if Wells has an employer, we won’t know who we can trust, and I won’t blow my cover by placing the ad myself.”

  Ranse picked up his fork. “And in the meantime, that gives us a few more days to live like normal people and do normal things—like eat pie.”

  “Indeed.” Christopher bit into the flaky crust and grinned. If he lived in Creede, he’d probably spend a fair portion of his wages on pie too.

  If he lived in Creede.

  Now that was an interesting thought.

  He’d been giving some thought to retiring. He hadn’t been required to ride a horse for quite a while, thank goodness—he could if he had to, but he’d prefer not having to. There were other things that were making him consider stepping down. He was just as mentally acute as ever, but he was growing weary as he observed the way people treated each other, the crimes they committed, the way they could do the most horrible things and then act as though they were somehow in the right. He’d looked into the eyes of killers and seen nothing there that resembled remorse, and it sickened him.

  Perhaps he really should take up birdwatching. It would be so much more relaxing.

  And there were plenty of varieties of fowl in Colorado.

  “Christopher?”

  He looked up and realized that Ranse had been trying to say something. “Sorry. I was thinking about something.”

  “Yes, that was obvious.” Ranse’s lips twitched, but he didn’t say what he found so amusing. “I was just telling you that I need to get back to the station, but I’ll look forward to hearing how things go on Monday. I’ll have those men ready when you give the word.”

  Christopher nodded. “Thank you. We’ll catch this man—this case has become somewhat of an obsession for me, and we won’t give up until it’s closed.”

  Ranse dropped enough money for his portion of the bill on the table, then stood. “Giving up isn’t in my vocabulary. See you later.”

  Christopher finished his pie, then looked up with a smile when Mrs. McRae came around to gather up the dishes. “I wonder if you could tell me what sorts of birds are indigenous to this area.”

  ***

  When Christopher came in from his walk, he was whistling, and Mary looked up from her mending with a smile. “You sound as though you enjoyed your outing.”

  “I did indeed. I had some delicious pie at the Hearth and Home—am I allowed to say that under Patty’s roof?—and I met a man named Otto Clay who allowed me to ride with him a short distance as he went to exchange horses for his livery business. He let me off near a delightful stream, and I sat there and listened to the running water and watched the clouds float overhead. I’m quite a new man.”

  “You must have needed that moment out in nature.”

  “More than I realized. And then, when I returned to town, I happened upon some very happy news.” He sat down on the parlor chair across from Mary’s. “There’s a dance being held this next Tuesday night. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been to a dance, and I wondered if you’d like to go with me.”

  Mary’s breath nearly stopped in her chest. “You’d like me to go to a dance?” she asked when she was finally able to speak. She must have misunderstood.

  “Yes, I would. I’d enjoy it very much.” He paused. “But not if the idea makes you uncomfortable.”

  It made her more uncomfortable than she would ever dare admit. “I’ll be honest with you, Christopher,” she said, forcing the words out. “When my husband died, I believed I’d never dance again. It was something he enjoyed, something we did together, and the thought of dancing with someone else . . .”

  Christopher held up a hand. “I understand, Marigold. Believe me, I do. When I lost my fiancée, many parts of my life went missing as well. I won’t bring it up again.”

  His words had a curious effect on her. She was relieved, and yet, she also felt a sharp pang of regret, which she hadn’t expected at all. “I’m not saying I’m unwilling,” she rushed on. “I just need time to think about it.”

  “The real question is, do you want to think about it? Is it time? We all grieve in our own ways, and no one should tell you the best way to go about it.” He motioned toward her. “You’re still in mourning. I shouldn’t have suggested dancing—again, I apologize.”

  She glanced down. Yes, she was wearing black, something she did quite often. She’d put on brown or navy from time to time, but she’d found little joy in choosing out things to wear, and she’d stopped putting any thought into it. “My clothing is more a matter of habit than anything. I don’t object to wearing other colors—I just haven’t done anything about it.”

  “It’s as though everything has frozen in time for you, allowing you to breathe in and out, but not allowing you to move forward.” His voice was soft and sounded very far away.

  “That’s it precisely.”

  He stood and gave her a smile. “Think about it. If you decide you’re ready to take this brave step, I would love to escort you. If you decide you’re not ready, I promise, I’ll understand—we could go on a buggy ride instead, if that suits you better. I admit, my real motive is to spend time with you, Marigold. I don’t care what we’re doing as long as we have that chance.”

  Once again, she found it difficult to breathe, but she managed to smile and give him a nod as he left the room.

  That wasn’t an offer of courtship, but it certainly sounded like it might be a distant cousin to one.

  Was she ready for that? After her talks with Patty and then Mercy, she should have expected any number of things to happen—she shouldn’t be surprised. And yet she was. She’d pushed aside the hopes her friends had built within her and refused to believe they could become possibilities, and now . . . now she felt as though she’d been pushed out onto the stage at the theater and asked to sing an aria with no practice whatsoever. She felt vulnerable and scared, and yet exhilarated and alive. Christopher Hoffman, the most fascinating man she’d met in a long time, wanted to take her to a dance.

  Or on a buggy ride. He didn’t care which.

  He just wanted to spend time with her . . . Her. Simple Mary Olson . . . but to him, she was Marigold.

  She lifted a hand to her cheek, finding tears trickling down it. He called her Marigold, as though he found her unique and special.

  “Patty?” she called out, her voice tremulous.

  “Yes?” Patty bustled out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She stopped mid-step when she looked at Mary’s face. “Gracious. Are you crying?”

  “I believe I am,” Mary replied. “Are you up for a bit of shopping?”

  Patty raised an eyebrow. “Shopping? I’ve already been to the mercantile this morning—what more do we need?”

  “A dress. To wear to a dance. Something not black or blue or brown.”

  Patty’s hands flew to her chest, still clutching the towel. “Oh, merciful heavens, thank you. She’s finally taking off that horrible black dress. Of course we’re going shopping. We’re going right now—if we hurry, we can catch Mrs. Deveraux before she leaves her shop for the day.”

  “Mrs. Deveraux? But I thought something ready made at the mercantile would do . . .”

  Patty gave her a look. “Y
ou’re going to a dance, your first in years. I’m not letting you step foot out of this house in something that wasn’t made for you. Now, grab your hat. I’m going to set this bread to rising, and then we’ll be on our way.”

  Mrs. Deveraux was overjoyed to hear that Mary needed a dress for the dance. “Oh, my dear, I’ve longed to make you a dress for simply years now,” she said, taking Mary by the arm and leading her toward the clothing racks. Mary thought that was a bit of an exaggeration considering that she hadn’t even known Mrs. Deveraux for simply years, but she smiled and allowed herself to be led. “We don’t have time to start something completely new, considering that the dance is Tuesday, but I do have several dresses here in various stages of completion, and we’ll see if there’s something here that will suit. Oh, my—yes. Yes!” She pulled a dress from the rack and held it up, her chin quivering in her excitement. “This is the one!”

  The dress in question had a maroon bodice accented with ivory sleeves and a full ivory skirt. Beautiful maroon embroidery edged the sleeves and the skirt, making the whole thing look as though it had come from an old Italian painting. “I . . . I don’t know,” Mary faltered. “It’s so elegant.”

  “And what did you have in mind? A kitchen dress?” Patty shook her head. “I think it’s perfect. Try it on.”

  “You want me to put it on?”

  Patty turned to Mrs. Deveraux. “I try to keep her inside when she’s being this daft. She’s not usually like this in public.”

  Mrs. Deveraux laughed. “She’s just surprised at what I chose, I’m sure. Come now, Mrs. Olson. There’s a room to change in just over there. Put the dress on, and let’s see what alterations need to be made before Tuesday.”

  “I still don’t know . . .”

  “If you hate it, I promise to find you something else. But you won’t know if you hate it until you put it on.”

  The woman did have a point. Mary took the gown and stepped into the changing room, regretting everything. Why had she even entertained the thought of going to the dance? She hadn’t given Christopher an answer yet, so she could still decide not to attend, but she didn’t want to try on the dress, either, and the whole thing was giving her a headache.

  With a sigh, she took off what she was wearing, then stepped into the new creation.

  The seams weren’t finished on the sides. She guessed that was to allow Mrs. Deveraux to adjust them for a custom fit. When she had everything in place, she stepped out to meet the curious eyes of the ladies who were waiting for her.

  “Did I tell you, Patty? Did I tell you?” Mrs. Deveraux grasped Patty’s arm as though she’d fall over if she didn’t support herself immediately. “I knew as soon I pulled that dress from the rack that we were going to make magic.”

  “You did tell me,” Patty said, sounding a bit dry. “And I have to admit, you were right.”

  Mrs. Deveraux took Mary by the shoulders and turned her toward the mirror. “There, my dear,” she said. “See for yourself.”

  Mary blinked. Could that possibly be her? The dress had taken fifteen years from her age, and she hardly recognized herself. It was like the moment when she’d had her portrait taken and saw herself in a new light. She’d decided that day to begin living life more fully, but she had to admit, she hadn’t done much to keep her promise to herself. Standing there in front of that mirror was a reminder to her that she had let herself down, that she needed to make good on her vow and stop living in the shadows of the past.

  “I hardly know what to say. It doesn’t seem real.”

  “That’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for.” Mrs. Deveraux gave her arm a little squeeze. She seemed rather fond of grabbing arms that day. “Let me pin up the sides and give you a perfect fit, and I guarantee I’ll have this ready Tuesday afternoon.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Deveraux,” Mary said. She couldn’t believe her own audacity—she was going to take off her mourning, put on a beautiful dress, and attend a dance with an escort. Chills ran down her arms at the thought. It was terrifying, and yet so exciting.

  “It’s my pleasure, my dear. I honestly can’t think of anything that would make me happier than doing this for you.” The dressmaker had Mary raise her arms, then lower them, as she worked her way around, placing the pins in all the right spots and making sure the dress would fit as it should. “Now, you go ahead and change so I can get to work. I don’t think you want me stitching while you’re still wearing it!”

  Mary smiled at the attempted joke, her hands shaking as she took off the dress. What was she doing? How much would this cost? Was she about to make the most utter fool of herself? She’d heard about Seffi Morgan’s dances at the Tivoli Ballroom, but she’d never imagined going there. She wondered if Christopher would allow her to peek inside for a moment before making her final decision to attend.

  And then she decided she was being ridiculous and should stop it.

  She put on her clothes and carried the gown out to Mrs. Deveraux. “Thank you for having this done in time. What will I owe you?”

  The amount was more than she’d spent on a dress . . . well, in her entire life, but it wasn’t as expensive as she’d allowed herself to fear. She swallowed, then smiled, refusing to show her nerves.

  As they left the dress shop, she spoke out of the corner of her mouth. “I’m being brave, Patty, I really am—but that’s certainly a lot of money.”

  “Everything will be all right,” Patty soothed her. “And it’s about time you had something nice. You live so frugally as a general rule, I think an occasional splurge is perfectly all right.” She nodded toward the mercantile. “What do you think about getting some fabric for new everyday dresses? Toria was showing me their new selection of blue, yellow, green . . .”

  “One change at a time, please,” Mary said with a laugh. “I’m not sure I could handle more than that.”

  “You’re probably right. I’m proud of you, though—I saw how hard it was for you to buy that dress.”

  Mary exhaled. “It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. I was raised to be practical, not to spend money on frilly things.”

  “And you did it anyway.”

  “Yes, I did. I feel so rebellious.”

  The women laughed as they made their way home, arriving there just in time to slip the bread in the oven and finish putting together a simple dinner. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the one they’d eaten the night before, but she had a feeling that once Christopher knew they’d been dress shopping for the dance, he wouldn’t mind a simple meal at all.

  Chapter Six

  “Are you a churchgoing man, Mr. Hoffman?” Patty asked as she removed his plate from the table.

  “Yes, I am, although the sort of church varies depending on where I am,” he replied. “I have Jewish ancestry and I enjoy attending synagogue when I can find one, but that seems to be a rather tricky undertaking when I’m traveling.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Mary said from the other side of the table. “You don’t mind attending Christian services, then?”

  “Not at all. The various religions of the world have one thing in common in that they all encourage us to do better. That’s a lesson I need to hear whether from a rabbi or a priest or a pastor—I will take good advice no matter where it comes from.”

  “You’ll come with us in the morning, then?” Mary didn’t often invite her boarders to church, but she felt compelled to in Christopher’s case. Perhaps she was just using it as an excuse to spend more time with him, but whatever the reason, it worked because he nodded.

  “I’d be glad to. Goodnight, ladies. I’ll see you bright and early.” Christopher rose, pushed his chair back into place, and climbed the stairs to his room, smiling all the way. Marigold had commented rather casually that she’d decided to attend the dance, but the pink in her cheeks gave her away—it was anything but a casual decision. She was making a deliberate choice to go out in public with a man who was not her husband—that was a big step, and he felt honored to
be the man she would take it with.

  He just hoped he could be worthy of the trust she was placing in him.

  As he pulled off his shoes, he thought about the case. He wanted to tell Marigold why he was really in town. He didn’t think that his small deception would hurt her, and there wasn’t an actual need to tell her—he just wanted to share that part of his life with her. He wanted to speak freely about anything and everything without filtering his words and being careful not to let something slip. Perhaps someday he would have that freedom. If his idea worked, they could have Thomas Wells in custody in a matter of days, and then he could think about all the things that might come afterward—including retirement.

  For now, though, he had to stay focused. Christopher Hoffman, the Mountie, and Christopher Hoffman, the investor, had to remain separate.

  When he came downstairs the next morning, he saw that Marigold had done something different with her hair. He had no skill at identifying what it might be, but she did look nice, and he told her so. The way she glanced down at the floor and then back up again made her seem like a schoolgirl, and he was overcome by a desire to compliment her hourly so she would never again feel the weight of her life pressing on her shoulders.

  “Sometimes we drive out to Bachelor and attend church there to hear Reverend Bing speak, but most Sundays, we walk to the church in town and hear Reverend Theodore,” Marigold said as she pulled the front door closed behind them. “They’re very different in their preaching styles, but we enjoy hearing from both of them.”

  When they walked into the church, Christopher noticed dozens of heads turn their direction, and the whispering started up almost immediately. “I think perhaps you’d best sit next to Patty,” he said to Marigold. “We’re causing quite a stir.”

  “I can’t imagine why—everyone here knows I take in boarders, and they do occasionally attend church with me.”

  Christopher didn’t comment at that. She likely brought boarders to church, but they likely weren’t developing feelings for her, and he wasn’t sure he was doing a good job at hiding his admiration for her. Rather than saying anything, he held out his arm and motioned for Patty to follow Marigold, and he sat down a respectful distance from them both. Heads were still swiveling, though, and there really wasn’t anything more he could do about it.