Not, of course, that Bonnie had wanted him to share her bed, the wretch. And if he could be contrary and difficult, so could she.
“I won’t be having breakfast, Martha,” she said loftily. “Please tell my sister-in-law that I’ve got business to attend to at the mercantile.”
Servants in Northridge were not like their counterparts in New York. “Tell her yourself, Miss Big Britches,” Martha replied amiably.
Blushing, Bonnie stormed out of the kitchen, through the dining room and the parlor and out into the garden.
“Good morning, Bonnie!” Genoa sang happily. Bonnie would have given her a set down, and a proper one, but Seth was there and she didn’t want to make a scene in front of him.
Bonnie lifted a squirming Rose into her arms and gave her a hug and a kiss before responding with a “good morning” of her own.
Genoa looked so relieved that Bonnie was ashamed of bearing a grudge against the woman, but bear it she did. “I’ve got to go and open the mercantile,” she said. “I’ll give Rose breakfast there.”
“Open the mercantile?” Genoa parroted, openly shocked. Mr. Callahan, seated on the marble bench beside her, discreetly looked away, pretending an interest in that year’s colorful crop of marigolds and zinnias.
“Certainly. I have a business to run, Genoa. And I must speak with Katie and Mr. Hutcheson.”
Rose was kicking—even as an infant she had not liked being held—and Bonnie was forced to set her down. The child scampered off across the lawn in pursuit of a butterfly, and an obviously relieved Seth followed to make sure she didn’t go too near the pond.
Genoa was pale as alabaster. “I can understand why you would want to inform Katie and Webb of the—the marriage, but surely you know that you needn’t earn your own living any longer. Why, you’re the mistress of this house!”
Bonnie folded her arms. “You, Genoa, are the mistress of this house. I’m merely a fixture.”
As quickly as she’d paled, Genoa flushed. Her eyes danced with sweet secrets, and incredibly she smiled. “Mr. Callahan and I will be announcing our engagement within the next few weeks,” she confided, in a girlish rush of pure glee, holding out her left hand to display a very respectable diamond.
Bonnie couldn’t help softening toward her sister-in-law. Misguided as the effort had been, she knew that Genoa had only been trying to mend her brother’s broken family. No betrayal had been intended. “If I weren’t furious enough to wring your neck, Genoa McKutchen, I’d be happy for you!”
Genoa laughed, and her eyes were bright with joyous tears. “Oh, do be happy for me, Bonnie. It will spoil things if you stay angry.”
Bonnie sat down on the bench beside Genoa and hugged her. She was delighted for her sister-in-law, of course, but she was also sad. “Northridge won’t be the same without you. I don’t know how I’ll cope.”
Genoa sniffled. “Goose. I’m not leaving Northridge permanently—Seth and I are going to build a house just down the road from this one. It should be ready by the time we return from our honeymoon trip.”
Dreamily Bonnie sighed. Unless one counted the train trip across country to New York, she and Eli had never taken a honeymoon after their first wedding. Their second was only a pretense, of course, so there would be no romantic journeys to celebrate it. “Where will you go?” she asked somewhat sadly.
Genoa took Bonnie’s left hand in hers. “We’re going to a marvelous hotel in Canada,” she confided in a delighted whisper. “Oh, Bonnie—a bride at my age! You can’t imagine how nervous I am!”
Bonnie was looking down at her own hand, the hand Genoa still held, and she was near tears. She’d been married in a calico dress and Eli hadn’t given her so much as a wedding band. “I envy you, Genoa,” she confessed. “Oh, I do envy you.”
Genoa patted her hand. “Things will work out for you and Eli, Bonnie. Just you wait and see.”
Bonnie sighed. “I wish I had your confidence,” she said. She wanted to tell Genoa that Eli hadn’t come back to the house the night before, but her pride prevented such an admission, even though Genoa probably knew the truth already.
Seth returned just then, beaming and carrying Rose on his back. Bonnie wondered if the Callahans would have children of their own and smiled at the thought.
“Do let Rose Marie stay here with us today, Bonnie,” Genoa pleaded. “She’s such a joy.”
The coming confrontation with Webb would probably not be a pleasant one. It would be better, Bonnie decided, if Rose weren’t there. She kissed her daughter’s plump cheek. “You be good while I’m gone, sweetness. I’ll bring your dolly when I come home.”
Rose approved of the plan. “Bye-bye, Mama,” she chimed, waving.
Bonnie turned away so fast that she nearly walked into a lilac bush. For some reason, her vision was blurred.
The walk to the store was all too short. Within mere minutes, Bonnie was letting herself in at the front door.
The familiar goods on the familiar shelves were a comfort to Bonnie. She might be trapped in an empty marriage, but at least she still had Rose Marie and she still had this store.
“Katie?” she called, climbing the inner stairs.
There was no answer.
“Katie?” Bonnie repeated.
Susan came out of Bonnie’s bedroom, cheeks aglow, eyes downcast. “Katie isn’t here, Mrs. McKutchen. She’s packed her things and gone.”
“Gone?” Bonnie echoed, stunned. “Where?”
Susan shrugged and rushed into an entirely new subject. “Isn’t it wonderful! The doctor’s just been and he’s given Webb—Mr. Hutcheson—a pair of crutches to get around with!”
Still trying to guess where Katie would have gone without saying a word of farewell, Bonnie walked around Susan to enter her bedroom. Webb was indeed out of bed, his big frame balanced on crutches, struggling into his shirt.
“Are you sure you’re strong enough—” Bonnie began, noting the dearth of color in Webb’s face and the tautness of his jaw.
His blue eyes pinioned Bonnie, accusing and desolate. “I’m strong enough,” he answered in a raspy voice.
“You’ve heard, then?” Bonnie queried softly.
“About your wedding?” Webb’s voice was harsh and hostile, the voice of a stranger. “You might have told me that you’d changed your mind, Bonnie.”
Bonnie lowered her head for a moment, lingering in the doorway, her hands clasping the woodwork on either side. Her position was indefensible; she’d changed her mind a long time before Eli had forced her hand, and she’d put off telling Webb the truth. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I should have listened when people implied that you were warming Eli McKutchen’s bed. I should have been prepared for this.” Webb was hobbling toward the door, forcing Bonnie to step back out of his way.
She stared at him, appalled and furious, even though Webb’s inference was basically true. “Warming—”
“Susan!” Webb roared, determined to ignore Bonnie.
Susan came out of Katie’s room, carrying her baby and wearing a straw bonnet. Patches of pink stained her cheeks and she was very careful not to meet Bonnie’s eyes. “Mr. Hutcheson’s asked me to keep house for him, while he’s on the mend and all. It will give Samuel and me a real home.”
Bonnie’s words were for Webb, who stood with his broad back turned to her. “I hope you’ll be happy,” she said in a small and sincere voice. Her eyes moved to Susan’s face. “Webb has a beautiful house and it will be a pleasure totend. He also has a talent for newspaper work, Susan, and I hope you won’t let him give up on his life’s work.”
There was a silence during which Bonnie looked from Susan to Webb and neither of them looked at her.
“As soon I can walk without these blasted sticks,” Webb replied in raw, distant tones, “there will be a newspaper again.”
Knowing that Webb wouldn’t be able to navigate the stairs without help, Bonnie held out her arms for the baby so that Susan would have her hands fr
ee to aid Webb. Even then, the descent was slow and laborious.
A wagon—Susan had probably gone out to arrange for it earlier—was waiting in front of the store. One of the ferryman’s sons was at the reins, and he tipped his stained hat to Bonnie and grinned. “Mornin’, ma’am,” he called.
Bonnie, surrendering little Samuel to his mother, wondered what Rob Fenwick knew that was making him grin like that and then decided he was probably just flirting. None of Hem’s boys were known for their brilliance. “Has your father got the ferry back in working order?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” was the reply. That rascal was definitely smirking. “Hear you and your man done tied the knot again.”
Bonnie swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment, ready to duck back inside the store. “Where did you hear that?” she retorted, smiling for all she was worth.
Young Fenwick was helping an awkward and roundly cursing Webb into the back of the wagon. “Mr. McKutchen told us all this mornin’ at breakfast. Peculiar thing, him stayin’ at Earline’s on his own weddin’ night, ain’t it?”
Webb shot a stunned, questioning gaze at Bonnie and she thought she’d die of humiliation, right there in the doorway of her mercantile. Trust one of the Fenwick boys to shout out her personal problems to all of Northridge. Soon enough, the story would be all over town.
Bonnie groaned inwardly, her smile fixed on her face, and Webb made his torturous way out of the wagon, the bottoms of his crutches making an angry thump-thump sound on the wooden sidewalk as he approached the doorway of the mercantile.
“What the hell is going on here?” Webb demanded, standing nose to nose with Bonnie, and blessedly making an effort to keep his voice down. “You did marry McKutchen last night, didn’t you?”
Bonnie didn’t trust herself to speak. She bit her lower lip and nodded.
“And he left you alone?”
Again Bonnie nodded. There were tears in her eyes, as if she hadn’t already had enough public disgrace for one day.
Webb looked full to bursting of righteous wrath, and his ears turned bright red. “Of all the—I ought to find that son of a bitch and break his neck!”
Bonnie made an attempt at humor. “It wouldn’t be much of a match, would it, with you on crutches and weak from being flat on your back all this time?”
Ignoring Susan and Hem’s son and all the passersby on the street, Webb cleared his throat. “Bonnie, if there’s still a chance for us—”
Bonnie wouldn’t have imagined that there could be such pain in being loved and not returning that love. Her throat closed tight and she shook her head once, then slipped back inside the store and closed the door.
She stood with her head down until she heard the wagon rattling away, and then she raised the shades that had covered the windows. The store was officially open.
The first customer wasn’t a customer at all, but a very agitated Tuttle O’Banyon. The boy’s Adam’s apple was riding up and down his neck and his eyes were round as pancakes. “Mrs. McKutchen, ma’am, you’ve got to do somethin’—”
Bonnie was alarmed. What more could happen on this awful day? So much of it still stretched out ahead. “Don’t run on, Tuttle,” she said firmly. “Just tell me what’s the matter.”
“It’s Katie—she’s gone and got herself a job in the Brass Eagle, that’s what she’s done!” Tuttle wailed, crushing his big cap in his hands. “I tried to reason with her, ma’am, I really did, but she’s bound and determined she’s goin’ to be a hurdy-gurdy and make her fortune! She figures by the time we’re old enough to get married right and proper, she’ll be ready to buy us a house!”
“Oh, Lord,” Bonnie wailed, rubbing aching temples between thumb and forefinger. “What next?”
“What are we gonna do?” Tuttle demanded, in adolescent hysteria.
Bonnie stomped over to the windows and wrenched down one shade and then the other. She turned the sign in the door from OPEN to CLOSED and stood waiting half inside and half out, the brass key in her hand. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” she said, biting off every word. “For a start, I’m going to snatch Forbes Durrant bald-headed!”
Tuttle just stood there, probably trying to imagine Forbes with no more hair than one of his billiard balls.
Bonnie gestured angrily. “For heaven’s sake, Tuttle, stop standing there like a scarecrow in a pea patch and come along!”
Tuttle’s legs were long, but that day he had to hurry to keep up with Bonnie. Bent on rescuing a lamb from a wolf, she was moving at roughly the same speed as the five o’clock train to Colville and generating almost as much steam.
Part Four
ANGEL OF LIGHT
CHAPTER 24
BONNIE BARELY NOTICED the stream of people falling in behind as she and a gulping Tuttle O’Banyon made their way down the hill. They passed the undertaker’s and Earline’s rooming house and the wreckage of Webb’s newspaper office to climb the mud-stained front steps of the Brass Eagle Saloon and Ballroom.
The double doors stood open to the warm June weather, and inside the sound of hammers and saws produced an industrious cacophony. Forbes, alerted to impending trouble by some mysterious means of his own, stood waiting just inside the entryway, an indulgent grin on his face, thumbs tucked into the pockets of his embossed satin vest.
“I’ve been expecting you, Angel,” he said companionably. His brash brown gaze slipped momentarily to Tuttle, who stood gasping for breath at Bonnie’s side, and just as quickly dismissed him as harmless. “Permit me to offer congratulations on your second attempt at marital bliss, by the way.”
“Your congratulations,” Bonnie ground out, “mean nothing to me. I’m here to bring Katie home and you know it, you degenerate!”
Forbes smiled harder and rocked back on the heels of his costly leather boots. “Ah, yes. The erstwhile nanny. Sorry, my beloved, but you’re too late.”
“I’d damned well better not be too late, Forbes,” Bonnie vowed, in a scathing undertone. “Where is she?”
“Upstairs,” Forbes answered blithely. “She’s being fitted for—”
Bonnie was only too aware of what Katie was being fitted for, and it wasn’t just the silken gowns Forbes had been about to allude to. “That girl is fourteen years old,” she said, starting around her former employer to mount the floodwarped stairs.
Forbes halted her progress with a surprisingly forceful grip on her left elbow. Bonnie was now fully conscious of the crowd of lookers-on clogging the doorway behind her, and the hammers and saws had been stilled as well. Doubtless the confrontation taking place at the base of the stairway was more interesting than the task of laying a new floor in the ballroom.
“Not so fast, sweet thing.” Though Forbes spoke the words in cordial tones, they nonetheless carried a distinct note of warning. “You no longer have the run of this place, and if I have to throw you out bodily,” he paused, smiling dreamily, unable to resist relishing the prospect for a moment, “I’ll do it.”
“Eli wouldn’t like that,” counseled some yokel, from the doorway.
“Somebody go up to Earline’s quick, and fetch Mr. McKutchen,” put in yet another small-town sage.
Bonnie flinched and her reward for the involuntary reaction to Eli’s name and scandalous place of residence was a slow smile spreading across Forbes Durrant’s eminently slappable face.
“Our Mr. McKutchen has more forbearance than I would ever have given him credit for,” breathed Forbes. “Imagine having a legal and moral right to your bed and still managing to resist. The man is either a saint or an idiot.”
“Amen!” shouted one of the spectators.
Various other daring souls shouted out their singular opinions as to whether Eli classified as a saint or an idiot. The final tally was a draw, give or take an idiot or two.
By some miracle Bonnie had managed to recover her composure. She lifted her chin and at the same time wrenched her arm free of Forbes’s grasp. After giving him one defiant look, she sho
uted, “Katie!”
“It won’t do you any good to reason with her,” Forbes said easily. It was obvious that he was enjoying his part in the sideshow, though there was still a certain snapping rancor visible in his eyes. “She’s disillusioned with you, Angel, and the money she can earn dancing the hurdy-gurdy looks good to her. Damned good.”
Bonnie knew that Katie was far too young and too idealistic to deal with the likes of Forbes Durrant and come out of the skirmish with her virtue intact. For all her book learning, the girl was woefully ignorant of the world and its ways.
This was apparent when the child appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a skimpy bit of blue taffeta and wearing a feather boa. As she glared down at Bonnie and jutted out her chin, Bonnie was reminded of her own willfulness at the age of fourteen.
Katie examined her fingernails, making a show of sophisticated nonchalance. Probably because of her theatrical training, a trace of boredom was thrown in for good measure. “What’s all the fuss about?” she asked, almost yawning the words.
Bonnie wasn’t about to give a lecture on the perils of working in a place like the Brass Eagle; she knew that would be a waste of breath. Katie was caught up in the false glamour and the promise of making her fortune, and there was only one way to stop her from plunging headlong into a situation she simply wasn’t mature enough to handle. Fortuitously, the plan brewing in Bonnie’s mind would serve another purpose as well.
Forbes was watching Bonnie’s face and his expression shifted from one of smugness to one of watchful concern. “Get back to work,” he muttered distractedly to the men who were supposed to be replacing the ballroom floor. His worried gaze moved past Bonnie to the multitude pressing into the doorway. “You people—either buy beer or get the hell out of here.”
Grudgingly the spectators went away, and in the ballroom, the hammers thumped and the saws made their rhythmic, slicing sound.
Katie remained on the upper landing, leaning indolently against the balustrade, but she didn’t look quite so blasé now. “You might have invited me to your wedding, ma’am!” she complained. “It wasn’t as though we weren’t friends—”
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