Flirtation Walk

by Siri Mitchell

  “Here?” My uncle’s voice was explosive.

  My father winked at me.

  In the past I might have responded with a wink of my own, but my stomach had clenched and my lungs didn’t seem to be working.

  Boots scraped against the floorboards to the accompanying staccato of my aunt’s footsteps. My uncle soon appeared in the doorway, where he paused, hand at his hip, pushing back his long coat.

  My father rose and moved toward him, hand extended. “Richard. Good to see you again.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot say the same.” My uncle ignored the offer of a handshake and pushed past him to stand beside Phoebe’s chair. He lobbed an accusatory glance at me. “Lucinda said you were dead.”

  “Happily, that isn’t true.”

  “She assured me that it was.”

  My father extended his arms as if inviting us all to acknowledge that he was, indeed, among the living. “And I can assure you that she was quite mistaken.”

  My uncle faced me directly. “Were you mistaken? Or was this some scheme of yours?”

  I stood, wringing my hands in violation of all my finishing school training. “I thought it was true. I was told that he’d died.”

  “And I told you I wouldn’t countenance any deceit in my house.”

  “I haven’t deceived you. I didn’t! If I’d known he was alive, I wouldn’t have come.”

  The eyes that were usually alight with intelligence and interest had gone cold and flat. “Well, he’s here now. So you can both leave.”

  My aunt started toward me, her face stricken.

  Phoebe gasped. “Leave? She can’t leave!” She half rose toward her father, waving her arms, looking for him. “Papa, please!”

  I couldn’t bear it. I moved toward her and placed her hand on my uncle’s arm. “I didn’t know.” I whispered the words, imploring him to believe me, but fearing any goodwill I earned over the past few months had abruptly expired.

  Phoebe took up my cause. “She didn’t know, Papa. I know she didn’t.”

  “Be that as it may, I cannot abide either of you under my roof.”

  My father stepped toward him. “Richard, this is all a misunderstanding. Can’t we let bygones be bygones?”

  “If you’re asking whether I’ve forgiven you for what happened during our academy days, be assured that I have. That doesn’t mean, however, that I can trust you. Or that I can allow my family to suffer from your misdeeds.”

  “That’s too bad. I’d hoped for a friendly sort of greeting because I’ve decided to stay in Buttermilk Falls for a while. Seems a shame to turn around and leave when I’ve just gotten here. And winter isn’t the best time of year to travel.”

  “I hope you’ll understand when I ask that you not associate with us in any way.” He swept an arm toward the front hall. There was no mistaking his intent.

  But my father didn’t move. “That’s the thing about family that I’ve always admired—they take care of each other. You’ve accepted my daughter into your household as a niece. Your niece if I’m not mistaken. I don’t see any reason why you can’t accept me as your brother.”

  “Because I despise everything you stand for.”

  “You despise everything John Barns stood for. How embarrassing for you if he were to show up on your doorstep. I wouldn’t blame you for not being able to accept him into your family. But I can assure you that your new brother, Christopher Hammond, is a different man entirely. You’ll find him quite affable. Quite willing to fit into the community. To take advantage of all that Buttermilk Falls has to offer. I think if he found himself accepted . . . or at least not ostracized, he’d be happy to leave John Barns in the grave.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “You?” Father laughed. “Of course not.” His smile vanished. “I’m threatening your sense of propriety. And your precious career. Those very fragile, very important things that might just dry up and wither away at any hint of scandal.”

  “What is it that you want from me?”

  “I just want to be allowed to live here, for a while, in peace, as I pursue some opportunities in the city. Is that too much to ask?”

  “You can do anything you want as long as you and your daughter never darken my door again.”

  I went upstairs and gathered my things as Father waited in the street for me. Phoebe came up the stairs, felt for the bed, and sat down upon it. “I wish you wouldn’t go.”

  “Your father made it quite clear that I can’t stay.”

  “I don’t understand why—”

  “If you knew my father, then you would.”

  “Then ask my father to let you stay. Just tell him you won’t have anything to do with your father.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my father’s threatened to do to me the same thing he threatened to do to your father.”

  “But what is that, exactly? Tell the truth? Why not do it yourself?”

  “And let it be known that he—”

  “Let it be known that you’re nothing like him.”

  “But that’s just it!” My voice caught on the tears that clogged my throat. “I’m exactly like him. And I don’t know how to be anyone else.”

  “You’re not. You’re not like him.”

  “I most certainly—”

  “You’re not, Lucinda. I know you. But what will you do now? Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know.” But that was a lie. I knew exactly what I’d do. I’d do anything my father said. I’d keep trying to interest Mr. Conklin. I’d probably accompany my father to New York City this winter in order to help him run a swindle or two. And in June I’d marry into the Conklin family and help my father gain access to greater power and influence. But Phoebe didn’t need to know any of that. “When the weather is fit for travel we’ll probably move on to somewhere else. That’s what we’ve always done.”

  “But your home is here with us.”

  “Your home is here, and I’ve enjoyed sharing it, but it’s not mine.”

  Her chin began to tremble.

  “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

  “I never had a friend before you. It won’t be the same.”

  “It will be even better—you can have your bed to yourself again.”

  She laughed through her tears and reached both arms toward me.

  I moved into her embrace.

  She hugged me and then patted the sides of my head with both hands. “Hush, now. Dry your tears. Everything is going to be all right.”

  How had she known I was crying?

  “It’s going to be all right. I know it will.”

  42

  Seth

  That Saturday afternoon, as I was passing the hotel on my way to the river during recreation, I saw Lucinda standing on the porch. I lifted my hand in a wave, and her face went white.

  Bounding up the steps, I reached out to grab her arm.

  She intercepted my hand, cast a harried glance behind her, and pulled me toward the corner of the porch.

  “I’m so glad to see you, Lucinda. I’ve been wanting to tell you . . . I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what you said at the hop.”

  “What did I say?”

  I couldn’t help smiling at the fear on her face. I covered her hand with my other one. “Nothing so bad as all that.”

  “I’m sorry. I just—”

  “It was about not being able to find that Pennyworth fellow. The thing of it is, what if he has died? What if I can’t find him?”

  “That’s something I was wanting to talk to you about as well.”

  “I’ve decided that you’re right.”

  “I’m right?”

  “You are. He’s probably long gone. And maybe that’s for the best. Why should I waste my time trying to track him down?”

  Lucinda tugged her hand from mine. “I need to tell you something.” She was glancing beyond my shoulder. “But not here.” She moved around the corn
er, and I hurried to keep pace with her. As I looked back to the front porch I noticed a man who seemed to be following us. “I need to tell you that . . . Seth?”

  I swung my gaze back to her. “Pardon me?”

  “I want to tell you about my father.”

  “There’s no point in bringing up bad memories. I was thinking, maybe it’s best for both of us if we can just leave them in the past.”

  “Normally, I would agree with you. But my father isn’t a good man.”

  “Wasn’t.”

  “What?”

  “He wasn’t a good man. But he’s dead now. You can leave the past behind.”

  “But that’s what I need to tell you. I can’t. And neither can you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my father is Mr. Pennyworth.”

  “Your father . . . Mr. Pennyworth?” That couldn’t be what she’d just said. “There’s no way your father could be as bad as Mr. Pennyworth.”

  “He is as bad, because he is Mr. Pennyworth.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Seth. Listen to me.”

  I just couldn’t quite get her words to make any kind of sense.

  “It was my father who swindled your sister. As soon as you told me his name was Pennyworth, I knew it was him.”

  “Your father? But then . . . That’s why you said he was a bad man?” I was beginning to understand everything. “And that’s why you said all that. About him being dead and everything. Why didn’t you just tell me that night at the hop?”

  “Because I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to think that he’d done that to you. I’m so sorry. I should have—”

  Comprehension slammed me in the gut as everything shifted. But one thing remained unchanged. “It’s still not your fault. What he did doesn’t have anything to do with you. His past died with him.”

  “But—”

  “You weren’t there when it happened were you?”

  “No, but—”

  That man who had been trailing us was now quite close. I stepped in front of Lucinda to shield her from his gaze. “It doesn’t change anything about what I feel for you.”

  “Seth, listen! That’s not all. He’s—”

  I glanced behind me and saw the man smile in our direction. Did I know him? I glanced back down at her just as the man spoke. “Lucinda?”

  He knew her name? “Do you know that man?”

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you. I . . .”

  At that point, he had almost reached us. “There you are.” He was nodding at Lucinda and he’d crooked his arm . . . for her?

  She stepped past me and took it up.

  He smiled at me with friendly interest as he glanced between the two of us. “Is this a friend of yours?”

  Her gaze almost intersected with mine, but then it dropped toward the floorboards. “Yes.” It came out in a whisper.

  He patted the hand that curled around his arm. “Then aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  I didn’t like the way he seemed so possessive of her. Something was wrong. And sometimes the best defensive move is to step forward instead of back. I put out my hand. “Seth Westcott.”

  He took it in his. “Mr.—”

  Lucinda completed the introduction herself. “This is my father, Seth.”

  She couldn’t have stunned me more if she had taken my saber and stabbed me with it. “Your father?”

  “The name is Hammond.”

  “Hammond?”

  “That’s right.” He looked at me as if he weren’t a thieving, cheating, lowdown scoundrel.

  “I was under the distinct impression that you were dead.”

  He laughed. “It was a simple misunderstanding. Fortunately, for my sake, I’m not.”

  “You haven’t, by any chance, been in Nebraska Territory, have you?”

  “Nebraska? I’ve never been there.”

  “How about Texas?”

  “I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

  Liar! He’d changed his name. Now he was changing his story.

  “This is what I was trying to tell you, Seth. My father’s returned.”

  It took everything I had to shift my attention back to Lucinda. She had been trying to tell me about her father. About his return. “You must be very happy, Miss Hammond.”

  She shook her head. A small, hardly discernible motion.

  Did she want me to do something? Was she in danger? “Would you care to keep our plans to meet tomorrow afternoon?” We had no plans to meet, but her father didn’t know that.

  “I think, in light of my father’s coming, perhaps we should save our meeting for a different occasion. Maybe we could make a different plan?”

  A different plan? We didn’t even have a plan to begin with. Her uncle had forbidden her to speak to me. “Did you have a suggestion?”

  “Not at the moment.” She tried to smile. “But I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

  What was she trying to say? Why was she throwing it all back on me? “If you’ll excuse me. I need to go.” Before I did something I might greatly regret.

  43

  Lucinda

  Father and I watched Seth walk away. I hoped he understood what I’d been trying to tell him. We needed to meet. We needed to come up with a plan to get his money back.

  My father was watching him through narrowed eyes. “I wonder why he asked about Nebraska?”

  I smiled as if I hadn’t a care in the world. “That’s where he’s from. He seems quite proud of the territory, doesn’t he?”

  “Sorriest excuse for country I ever saw.”

  “You have been there?”

  “I sold some deeds out that way back at the beginning of summer. Did rather well at it too.”

  My father and I had spent the day at the West Point Hotel, trying to determine what sort of clientele they had. He was always ready to gamble on cards or dice or horses if he could find a willing party. Though tourists had come by the boatful in the summer, their numbers had decreased quite noticeably with the coming of winter. We’d eaten in the hotel’s dining room, listening to conversations, lingering as long as we possibly could. After speaking with Seth, we walked back to Buttermilk Falls.

  We could have taken rooms at the hotel, but my father was loath to spend money he didn’t have to. We’d taken two rooms with a widow, Mrs. Holt, instead. Her boardinghouse was up the road from my uncle’s house, in the direction of the church. My father had smiled and winked and cajoled her into a discounted rate.

  As I settled myself into a chair in the front parlor, he worked on lighting a cigar.

  “I figured I’d go into the city this week. I got lucky on my way east. Took a pile off a man on the train to Cleveland and a small fortune from a man on the steamboat to Buffalo. We’ll add to it this winter in the city, and in spring we’ll be ready to travel again.”

  Travel again? Maybe he’d forgotten about Campbell Conklin.

  “I figure if you play the Conklin cadet right, by Christmas he’ll be ready to propose. If I take you away for a few months before graduation, it will make his heart grow fonder. Isn’t that what they say? With his family’s connections and the territories growing, without too much trouble, I should be able to get myself appointed a federal judge or a territorial secretary even. When I head back west, this time it will be in style.” He smiled. “Nice work you’ve done. Couldn’t have managed better myself.” He took a puff on his cigar. “Think I’ll go outside for a smoke.”

  I’d come to Buttermilk Falls wanting nothing more than to make a respectable life for myself. But everything I’d done had only served to prepare the stage for my father. He was right. He couldn’t have done it better himself.

  There was no way out, nowhere I could go that he would not find me.

  I had tried. I had come here intending to leave everything behind, to take up the name Lucinda Hammond, but even that had damned me. There was no escape. Not for me. But there could be for Seth. I co
uld help him get his money back. It was the fair and decent thing to do. Only . . . I couldn’t quite figure out how to do it. That’s why I needed to talk to him.

  If he was still willing to speak to me.

  I sat on the bed that evening, arms wrapped around my waist. It had been useless to wish for a different kind of life. This is who I was. This is what I had been trained to do. And trained so well that it was quite apparent I couldn’t do anything else. But it was time, now, to ask some questions. It was time to find out why.

  When I heard my father come up the stairs, I opened my door. “I’d like to know about my mother.”

  He paused, hand on his doorknob. “What is there to know?”

  Everything. “She wasn’t blond, was she?”

  He dropped his hand and turned around. “That’s her locket you always wear around your neck. I told you that.”

  He hadn’t answered my question. “My aunt told me I was the image of my mother. So who was the woman with the blond hair?”

  He said nothing.

  “That woman wasn’t my mother.”

  “That woman might as well have been your mother. She took care of you like a mother.”

  “Did she have a name?”

  “Cora.”

  Cora? It sounded familiar.

  He sighed. Fiddled with his cane. Then he looked up at me from beneath his brow.

  The gestures were familiar. I’d used them before. He was trying to gain my sympathy.

  I steeled myself.

  “She took care of you while I traveled. When you were still too young to go to school.”

  “You left me with her?”

  “She didn’t mind. She looked after you as if you were her own.”

  “So you . . . you were married?” Had Cora been my stepmother?

  “No.”

  “Did you love her?”

  He smiled, amusement flickering in his eyes. “It wasn’t like that, Lucinda.”

  “Then what was it like? Tell me.”

  He tilted his head, pursing his lips, as he seemed to consider. “She lived in Memphis. It was convenient. I couldn’t very well take a child with me on the riverboats. How would I have been able to gamble? How would I have been able to do anything? I got her a place so I could stop in on my way up the river and on my way back down.”