Orville had dropped her from his rented buggy and for an hour Molly paced, concealing her face with her parasol. When she spotted the Burnsfield conveyance, she began walking toward the road with an exaggerated limp, waving frantically. “Yoo-hoo!” she called, reciting her words carefully. “Kind sir, could you give a lady some help?”
The driver slowed, leaning down to talk to someone in the carriage, then came alongside and stopped. Before the driver could descend, the door opened and Reagan stepped out. “May I be of assistance?”
Molly had almost forgotten how handsome the lumberman was. She recalled her pounding heart when she first saw Reagan entering church. From then on, she made a point to sit next to the aisle in the hopes he’d notice her. To her dismay, he never did until that day when she forced the issue.
Reagan seemed to tower over her as she tipped her parasol back. Momentarily speechless, she found her voice when he repeated his query. “Oh-yes!” she breathed. “I was taking my morning walk.” She indicated the intersecting road where several modest homes lined the edge of town. “And, seem to have turned my ankle.” Lifting the hem, she displayed a lot more than just her booted foot.
“Whoa!” Reagan held up his hand, blocking his view. “That’s far enough.”
“Oops,” she giggled. Dropping her skirt, she rested a gloved hand on his. “Would you be so kind as to give me a lift? I’d be grateful if you could drop me off near the dressmakers.”
Reagan led her toward the carriage, considerate of her faltering gait. “Wouldn’t you prefer I take you home? Perhaps, your family is wondering where you are.”
“Oh no,” she hastened to say. “In fact, I’m meeting a-a family member in town. I can go on from there.” With her hand on his arm, Molly couldn’t help but feel if Reagan could’ve seen how she looked now, she might’ve snared the man before he wed the Bruester girl.
By the time they reached the carriage, the driver had the step in place. Closing her parasol, Molly leaned on Reagan’s arm as she ascended the step before suddenly losing her footing. “Oh my!” she cried as Reagan caught her. “My ankle pains me so, I can barely put weight on it.”
Reagan grimaced, hoisting her into the narrow opening. “That’s quite all right. I’m right behind you.” After instructing the driver, he took the seat opposite Molly.
She smoothed her gown before smiling invitingly. “Thank you for stopping. I don’t know how many passed by without a second look. I thought I’d faint from misery.”
“Perhaps you should be taken to a doctor,” he suggested. “Your ankle may be sprained and in need of attention.”
“With rest, I’m sure it’ll be much better.”
“As you see fit,” he said. “However, I think you should see Doc Turner if there’s no improvement.”
Warmed by his apparent concern, Molly tried her best to strike a pitying pose. Her job would be much easier if he remained sympathetic toward her plight. “I will,” she promised.
When Reagan first saw the girl, he had a nagging idea he’d met her before. Yet, he couldn’t recall being introduced, and finally gave in to his curiosity. “Are we acquainted? For some reason, you look familiar to me.”
Molly debated whether to remind him of their brief encounter where he’d barely spoken to her. She decided he would never be interested in her unless she portrayed herself as a woman of means. “I believe I’ve seen you during Sunday services,” she articulated her words carefully, as Orville had instructed. “However, I haven’t had the pleasure of your acquaintance.”
“I see,” Reagan said, smiling politely. “That must be it.” Yet, the notion he’d spoken to her lingered and after a few moments, he began again. “What’s your name? Perhaps, I know your family.”
Molly hesitated. Would he have heard of her father, Phineas? Not likely, as the elder scratched out a living several miles from town. Her mother had died when she was only seven, forcing her to do all household chores until she was old enough to hire out as a laundress. “Molly Carnes,” she said, lowering her lashes. “Miss Molly Carnes.”
Reagan searched his memory to no avail. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I guess we’ve not met, after all. I’m Reagan Burnsfield and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Molly could tell by the passing scenery that they were nearing the dressmakers. She didn’t have long to execute Orville’s plan. If she were going to later accuse Reagan of fathering her child, she needed to bed him at least once. The timing of the birth wouldn’t be as important as the fact he couldn’t deny having slept with her.
“Reagan Burnsfield…” she let the name roll off her tongue, “…there’s one more thing I’d ask of you.”
“Of course,” he said. “What else can I do?”
Using her closed parasol like a cane, Molly switched seats. “I’d very much like to repay your kindness,” she said, laying the parasol next to her feet. She daringly placed a hand on his thigh. “I can be very appreciative and understand what pleases a man.” She leaned forward to let her perfume waft from its liberal application. “As a matter of fact, I have a room at the Rochester. I’ve found it to be convenient whenever I wish to enjoy an afternoon’s repast.” She lowered her gaze to his lips. “We could have a nice visit--in private.”
Astounded, Reagan could only stare agog at the lady’s expectant posture. Never as a bachelor had a woman approached him so boldly. He began to seriously doubt his chivalry, when not once, but now twice, a woman had declared herself willing to bed him with no provocation on his part. “That’s quite unnecessary,” he said, hastily setting her hand aside. “There’s no recompense for what any man would do.”
Molly’s anxiety grew apace with his rejection and her words reverted to her natural diction. “Surely you ain’t afraid of a little gal like me? I wouldn’t keep you none too long.” Leaning against him, she attempted a kiss. “I promise not to tell…”
Reagan jumped up as the carriage came to a halt. With the alacrity of a much younger man he hopped out, setting the step himself. “Madam,” he said as he held out his hand. “Allow me.”
Molly wavered, fearful she’d endure Orville’s wrath if she failed to entice Reagan to her suite. “At the very least, you could walk me to my room. I may not be able to climb the stairs with my ankle painin’ me so.”
When Reagan didn’t respond, she reluctantly accepted his assistance from the carriage. “I-I think it’s hurtin’ a little more…” she said, making as if to stumble.
“My conscience wouldn’t rest unless it was to Doctor Turner’s, I escorted you,” Reagan said, remaining adamant. “His office is nearby. Otherwise, I must beg your forgiveness in not taking you to the Rochester.” He indicated the passersby. “It wouldn’t be seemly for a married man to escort a lady anywhere but the most public of places.”
Molly pressed a hand to her lips, her eyes welling with tears. “Of course,” she murmured as she fumbled for a handkerchief. “I understand.”
“Are you well?” He grew alarmed at her sudden change. “Doctor Turner should be in his office.”
“No, I…” Molly didn’t want another doctor to recognize her condition. “…my brother…will be along soon.” She smiled weakly. “He’ll take care of me.”
“Then, if all is well, I bid you adieu.” As Reagan turned, he nearly ran into a middle-aged, diminutive woman. “I beg your pardon!” he said. Looking into the startled face, he recognized the sharply pinched face of Clara Farrington. Reagan couldn’t believe his ill luck. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Farrington.”
“Hello, Reagan.” She looked at him fixedly before settling her eyes on Molly. By all indications, both had just emerged from Reagan’s carriage and the woman appeared to be weeping.
Clara was in the forefront of organizing the Ladies Aid Society that sewed uniforms for the Army. Daily, she scoured shops for whatever material the merchants would donate, and when forced by necessity, bartered the lowest price for cloth. It was one such mission she was now on.
“I beg your pardon,” Clara said, looking Molly up and down. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
Reagan knew this wasn’t going to bode well, but had no choice in making known the two women. “This is Molly Carnes. Molly turned her ankle while on her morning walk and flagged my driver for help. I’m just now dropping her off so she can wait for her brother.” He turned to Molly. “Miss Carnes, this is Clara Farrington, one of the busiest ladies in town…with her work in the war effort, that is.”
“H-hello, Mrs. F-farrin’ton.” Molly didn’t know what to do with her hands and began worrying her handkerchief. “Pleased-I’m sure.”
Ignoring Molly, Mrs. Farrington turned to Reagan. “Please give my regards to your family. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be about my business.” With that, Clara entered the dressmaker’s shop.
Tears spilled down Molly’s cheeks in sudden trepidation. Orville had told her many times that a woman with red, puffy eyes was unattractive, and lately he’d been reminding her quite often. If he spied her in that condition, he’d accuse her of undermining his strategy. “Please forgive me,” she said, wiping her eyes. “For some reason, I became unnerved when you introduced us.”
“That woman could upset the hardiest soul,” he said trying to sound reassuring. “Why do you think the Ladies Aid uses her to request donations? With one look, Clara can intimidate the stingiest merchant!”
Despite herself, Molly laughed. She couldn’t remember the last time Orville tried making her smile. Rather, he seemed to enjoy pointing out her many faults.
With Reagan’s softening demeanor, she wondered if he would change his mind. “I-I don’t suppose you’d be willin’ to take me to the Rochester? My invitation’s still open,” she said in a hopeful voice.
“I’m afraid not.” Reagan now perceived Molly to be one of the women who earned her living entertaining men. And although he never availed himself of their services, neither did he hold animosity toward those who did. “I must be getting along,” he said. “I’m sure your brother will be along shortly.” With one last nod, he climbed into his carriage and shut the door.
Molly watched as the conveyance pulled away and though she hoped he would, Reagan didn’t once look back. With a sigh, she realized she’d have to face Orville’s anger with another failure. Gathering her skirt, she made her way along the boardwalk.
Unbeknownst to Molly, Clara Farrington was observing her closely through the dressmaker’s window. That Molly now walked rapidly and without the slightest limp convinced her Reagan Burnsfield had lied. Not only that, it confirmed the rumors that his hasty marriage wasn’t all it was purported to be.
Turning away, Clara’s eyes gleamed with righteous indignation at Reagan’s brazen lack of prudence. Obviously, he had no qualms about flaunting his indiscretions.
Clara could hardly wait to disgorge this newly obtained tidbit at her next sewing circle.
Chapter Eighty
In spite of Molly’s failure to entice Reagan into a tryst, Derrick had remained remarkably calm. Having been hired as a mill worker at the Burnsfield mill, he had been recently assigned to the new mill when it opened. After working a few days and having accustomed himself to the layout of the building, he quit. He decidedly preferred the anonymity of hiding in Molly’s room against the possibility of being recognized elsewhere. It hadn’t taken much to convince Molly that he’d be more successful in his mission if he stayed at the saloon with her. Though she never saw them, he had insisted he routinely met with agents who worked to counter acts of suspected espionage. Since his cover portrayed him as a gentleman gambler, he supplemented his wardrobe using her money while reassuring her she would be reimbursed.
With his tie meticulously knotted, Derrick ran his hands over his expensive suit. “What do you think, my dear?” He swiped a finger over the brim of his new derby. “Do I look like a man who’s about to obtain a substantial amount of money?”
Clad only in her nightgown, Molly sat at her dresser looking nervously at a satchel. Derrick had been vague about his link to Reagan Burnsfield, claiming it had to do with his undercover work. “D’ya think it’ll work? I-I mean, you…stole…papers from his office, and all. What I meant,” she said, cringing at his furrowed brow. “He-he won’t throw you in jail, or nuthin’, will he?”
Derrick stared, thinking before long she’d be useless to him. Yet for now, she still provided a safe haven. “Worried, my dear?” he asked, planting a cold kiss on her lips. “You needn’t fret. The last thing Reagan Burnsfield wants is his affairs being exposed.”
Molly absently rubbed her arMs. “But, what if it doesn’t work? I couldn’t get him to the hotel. He’s not so easy to persuade.”
“Our Mr. Burnsfield needs a different kind of persuasion. We’ll see if he disregards what I have to say,” he said, picking up the satchel. “Put something pretty on, because when I return we’re going to celebrate.”
She perked up. “You gonna take me someplace fancy? Or, maybe a drive by the river…” Her voice trailed off as he shook his head.
“You know I can’t be seen with you.” He opened the door, peering out. “I’ll bring back some champagne.”
After he left, Molly stared in the mirror. “Look at you,” she muttered. “You ain’t worth more’n two-bits!” Nothing, it seemed, had gone as she imagined. By now, she had expected Orville to rescue her from her life as a harlot. Instead, she was still no better off than when she came. As a sudden, small kick interrupted her reverie, visions of being alone with a babe in her arms taunted her. Tears formed as she pressed a hand against her side. Since her pregnancy was increasingly apparent, none except the most drunken patrons seemed interested in following her up the stairs for the promise of a romp. More and more, she detested her life, believing Orville to be her only escape. Pushing aside fears he might be a double-dealer, Molly concentrated instead on his promise to take care of her and the babe. “You’ll see,” she crooned to the child within. “Things will get better.”
***
From his days as a mill worker, Derrick recalled Reagan’s penchant for staying in his office while others took their noon break. So with no one to stop him, he entered the outer office and made his way to Reagan’s door. Then, after a terse knock, entered.
It took only a moment for Reagan to recognize the man barging into his office. He remained calm, though clearly irritated by the trespass. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Banning?”
Derrick smiled, clearly in no hurry to satisfy Reagan’s curiosity. “I’ve come to do business with you, Mr. Burnsfield.”
“Business?” Reagan snorted derisively. “What kind of business?”
“That which will be mutually beneficial. Before we start, we’ll begin with the premise you took something that was rightfully mine. Quite unfairly, I must say,” he said, taking a seat.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Reagan said. “I don’t make a habit of taking another’s property.”
“I wouldn’t have thought it necessary to spell it out,” he said. “But if you insist-”
“Then, let’s be quick about it,” Reagan said. “I’ve better things to do than pass time with thumb-twiddlers.”
Derrick ignored the insult while unbuckling his satchel. “Let’s get back to my premise. I was well on my way to obtaining Amanda as my wife. But while I was gone temporarily, you forced her to marry you. Practically destroyed her reputation, poor girl. Had I been there, I could’ve saved her from your schemes.” His lip curled in remembrance. “I’d say that amounted to thievery, pure and simple. Being a businessman, I expect you to understand my losses and make amends.”
“I always knew you were a conniving little weasel. But, even you should recognize it’s too late to dispute our marriage.”
“Any contract can be nullified if fraud is proven,” Derrick smirked as he removed his hat.
“Fraud?” Reagan couldn’t believe his ears. “The only fraud I’ve witnessed is that whi
ch you perpetrated on George while you leeched off his good graces.”
“I had business dealings,” Derrick spat. “If I chose to seek a wife while doing so, what business was it of yours? Amanda was more interested in me before you sullied her name.”
“It’s too late,” repeated Reagan. “So, why are you here?”
“I want Amanda in exchange for keeping me from ruining your precious company,” he said. “Which is fair, in light of what you stole from me.”
“There’s nothing you could do to make me give up my wife,” he said, standing. “It’s time you left or I’ll have the pleasure of throwing you out on your bony little ass.”
“Not just yet. You’re going to be very interested in what I have to show you, especially if you want to keep your marriage intact, as you profess.”
Reagan’s eyes narrowed.
“Come, come,” Derrick said, stroking his mustache. “Do sit down and act civilized. You’ll soon see the advantage of doing business with me. That’s better,” he said as Reagan finally sat. “There’s no reason we can’t resolve our differences like gentlemen.” Pulling out a document, he tossed it onto the desk.
Reagan unfolded the certificate; shocked to discover it was one of his contracts. “How’d you get this?”
“How I obtained it isn’t nearly as interesting as what I plan to do with the other contracts I took. To keep your precious wife, you’re going to recompense my loss.”
“I didn’t steal anything from you. Amanda and I are married because I was the more persistent suitor.”
“You were a wily snake, I’ll admit,” Derrick said, lifting his chin. “Without your interference, I would’ve been the one to procure her assets.” His eyes wandered about the office. “You put it to good use, I see. For that offense, and to keep me from taking my evidence to Mr. Bruester, you’ll have to pay me.”
Threads of Betrayal Page 37
