The Scarlet Pen

by Jennifer Uhlarik

  Clay glared at his friend. “Butt out.”

  “What’d she write you today?”

  “Nothing. It was a note from her ma. That’s it.”

  “What’d her ma have to say?”

  “Aren’t you nosy?”

  “S’pose I am. Tell me.”

  Clay heaved a breath. “Apparently, Cynthia and Thomas said they want me to come for Christmas. She wrote to ask if I’d come as a surprise.”

  “See? There’s your chance!”

  “I’m plannin’ to tell her no. I need to find Richards.”

  “Blast it all, Clay. You will not. If I have to, I’ll knock you on the head, hog-tie you, and throw you on that eastbound train myself.”

  Chapter 12

  Mount Pleasant, Ohio

  Christmas Day, 1876

  Emma’s fingers glided over the ivory piano keys as her family sang the last strains of “Silent Night.” In the stillness afterward, she waited for someone to call out another carol, though the quiet was soon broken by a sharp knock at the door.

  Her heart flew into a gallop. Might it be Stephen? His letters had grown sparse, coming once or twice a month, rather than once or twice a week as when he’d first left. He almost never responded directly to the things she wrote, including her repeated requests for him to come visit at Christmastime. Maybe he’d ignored answering so she’d not suspect …

  Thomas and Cynthia rushed to open the door, Cynthia so high-strung, she nearly bounded across the room. Her energy fizzled visibly as Papa’s partner, Olin Berglund, entered with a sealed crate. Emma’s anticipation quenched as well.

  “Merry Christmas, everyone!” The Swede grinned, but as he turned to Cynthia, his expression twisted into concern. “Aren’t you happy to see me, little one?”

  “Of course I am.” Cynthia pushed a smile to her lips.

  Mama crossed to welcome him. “I believe she was hoping it was someone else.” She offered him a hug, whispering loudly enough all could hear. “Mr. Timmons—though I’ve told her not to expect a visit.” She shot Cynthia a stern look as she released him. “He said he wasn’t able to come.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Oh.” Mr. Berglund drew out the word and set the crate on the floor in the foyer. “I am sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Come in, Olin.” Papa beckoned. “Join us.”

  Emma lowered the cover over the keys and slid from the piano bench.

  “You are not done singing, are you? The music was beautiful. I hated to interrupt. Please, continue?”

  Emma turned toward Mama. “Is there time before dinner?”

  “Perhaps for one song.” Mama drew Cynthia and Thomas back to the piano. Emma reseated herself, opened the cover, and rested her fingers on the keys.

  “What should we sing?” Thomas asked.

  “I’ve always been rather partial to ‘God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,’ myself.”

  The familiar Texas twang skittered over Emma in pleasant little shivers, and her deceitful heart ratcheted again into a gallop.

  “Clay!” Cynthia raced across the room, Thomas close on her heels. Emma turned in time to see her sister all but throw herself into the man’s arms. “You did come!”

  “Yes, little lady.” He released her and smiled. “Your ma and pa and I have been plannin’ this for a while now. Mr. Berglund was kind enough to pick me up in Steubenville, and whilst he came in the front, I sneaked in through the back.”

  Thomas crowded in for his turn to greet their unexpected guest. As everyone else gathered around, Emma approached, awkwardness lashing her. Why in heaven’s name was she so pleased to see him again?

  “Miss Emma.” He nodded politely, though his demeanor cooled visibly from how he’d greeted the others. Even Olin seemed to receive a warmer reception than she. “I’ve missed your scriptures lately.”

  Embarrassment and shame bubbled through her. She’d not written him since mailing off the angry note months ago, despite the fact he continued to share a scripture or prayer with her each time he wrote. She’d meant to explain herself, but …

  “I’ll make up for my lapse while you’re here.”

  “I hope so. I’d like that.” He grinned, a faint dimple forming in one cheek. How had she never noticed it before? That small dent in his cheek made him all the more dashing than she recalled.

  Cynthia cuddled up close to him, drawing his attention from Emma. “I want you to sit by me at dinner.”

  His attitude warmed considerably toward her sister. “Well, little lady, I’ll sit wherever I’m told. You name the spot.”

  Within minutes, they were called for the Christmas meal, and conversation flew about Clay’s trip, Papa and Olin’s business, Cynthia’s half-grown kittens, and Thomas’s upcoming departure for an out-of-state preparatory school. The chatter only half registered as Emma warred within, excoriating herself for how pleased she was at seeing Clay, all while she ached for Stephen. He was the one she should be anxious to see, yet having Clay here felt as cozy and comforting as a warm blanket on a cold night.

  The meal complete, they returned to the parlor where they exchanged a few simple gifts. Cynthia fawned over the beautiful leatherbound diary with the tiny locking closure Clay brought her. Thomas’s grin rivaled the Christmas star’s brightness when he unwrapped an authentic Bowie knife with a leather sheath. When all attention shifted her way, Emma self-consciously removed the brown wrapper to reveal a box of pretty pink stationery with a faint rose centered at the top. Tied into the scarlet bow around the papers was an ornate fountain pen.

  “Thought maybe that’d make it easier for you to write me. And, if I could be so bold, perhaps more than just a scripture?”

  The cozy comfort turned awkward, and a knot formed in her throat. Was it purely accidental that Clay bought her the same sort of gift Stephen had? Why would he? Was he trying to prove something? That he was somehow better than Stephen, perhaps?

  “Excuse me, please.” Bolting from the settee, Emma rushed around the staircase and darted into the darkened library.

  Father, is Stephen ever going to come back? And why would You let Clay buy me such a similar gift? For that matter, why would God allow her heart to keep tugging toward Clay rather than remaining true to Stephen? Weren’t faithfulness and loyalty biblical traits to aspire to? Father, it should be my husband-to-be here for Christmas!

  The scratch of a match preceded a sudden burst of light. She spun as Clay stepped into the room.

  “Please go.” Her voice cracked.

  Cupping his hand around the flame, he hurried toward the desk. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Emma.” He raised the glass shade on the lamp, touched the flame to its wick, and once it took, blew out the match. “If you don’t want to write, I’ll understand. I shouldn’t have presumed.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “You don’t understand.” Worse, neither did she. Everything was too confusing. Why did she feel such an affinity toward the wrong man?

  “Please explain. I’d like to know what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours.”

  His soothing-as-honey voice poured over her, sending little shivers dancing across her senses. She turned away and stifled a small shriek.

  “You are the most aggravating man I have ever met.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She faced him again. “You irritate me.” In the most charming, wonderful ways—and her enjoyment only made her angrier.

  A look of pure bemusement creased his features. “Still not sure I’m understandin’ you.”

  “On the day we met, you must have seen, didn’t you?”

  “Seen?”

  “In the store, Stephen bought me a beautiful desk set. A pen and inkwell in a pretty carved holder.”

  His green eyes widened ever so slightly.

  “See? That look right there. You knew about the pen, and you’re trying to needle me by giving me a similar gift.”

  “I’ll get back to the particulars of that desk set in a minute, but
on a broader point, no, I am not trying to needle you. Until this moment, I had no recollection Mr. Richards bought you such a gift, nor that you’d returned it to him.”

  “Returned it? How did you know—?”

  “I gave you that fancy writing paper and a pen because I care about you, and I’d like to hear from you. More than just scriptures. But for some unexplained reason, you cut me off without a word of explanation some months back—except to use a Bible passage to accuse me of lyin’, lettin’ my feet run toward evil, and … so much else.”

  The same embarrassment she’d felt earlier bubbled up again. She’d done that because she and Papa had argued. But without the context of her argument with her father, how would Clay begin to understand why she’d written what she did? Surely that verse must have come as a surprise—and her ensuing silence must’ve been hurtful. How could she make it up to him?

  No! She didn’t need to make anything up to him. Clay Timmons wasn’t her intended, and these conflicted feelings of hers were getting out of hand.

  “I know you don’t like that I’ve been lookin’ for your Mr. Richards, but that is my job, and I take it seriously. I have tried to tread carefully where he’s concerned, not let my feelings for you color my judgment of him.”

  Her mind snagged on the words. “Your what?”

  “If I’ve done something to upset you, tell me. If I’ve offended you, I’ll eat a heap of humble pie to make up for it. But for me to know that, you have to say more than a few Bible verses that leave me nothin’ short of confused.”

  “What do you mean—your feelings for me?”

  “I’ve grown quite fond of you and your family, Emma. You, especially.”

  “Fond …”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he closed the distance between them.

  “Yes, fond. Or to put it more bluntly …” He cupped a warm hand at the nape of her neck and bent to claim her lips. The kiss, soft and gentle at first, showered sparks through her. Her heart nearly beat out of her chest. Off balance, she braced a hand against him, and he edged nearer, pulling her tight. He deepened the kiss, and all rational thought left. She knew nothing but the warmth and nearness of him, the hunger in his kiss.

  They lingered there for seconds before he finally put some space between them. When he did, she held on, wholly unsure her legs would support her.

  “Does that explain it?” he whispered.

  Her tongue unwilling to form a sound, she nodded. Her second kiss had far exceeded her first. The previous one left her wanting—a spark, a connection. This one was filled with—

  She inhaled sharply, then smacked his face so hard her hand stung. Putting even more space between them, Emma glared. “Why did you do that?”

  His own palm went to his injured cheek, and he rocked his jaw from side to side several times before he answered. “Thought I made that pretty clear.”

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as if to rub out her own deceit. “I should march myself into the parlor and tell Papa what advantage you’ve taken of me.” Her stomach knotted. “Or did he put you up to it?”

  “No, darlin’. He didn’t.” Brow creased with pain, he dropped his hand from his wounded cheek and pinned her with a stormy glare. “You want to tell him, you go on. I’ll wait here, and he can deal with me how he will.” Clay brushed past her and sat in the nearest chair.

  Had she truly just smacked the man who’d given her the best kiss of her life? Granted, there were only two of them, but—

  Embarrassment shrouded her, and her eyes stung. “I’m pledged to marry Stephen.”

  He lunged up from the chair. “Stephen Richards is not the right man for you, Emma.”

  “You say that now, after you’ve kissed me.” Her stomach roiled at her faithlessness. How had she allowed herself to kiss another man—and like it?

  “I’d say it even if I hadn’t kissed you.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “He’s not the man you think he is.”

  “How would you know who I think he is?”

  “He’s hidin’ things from you.”

  Her ire flashed. “Oh? Do tell.”

  “You mentioned a desk set.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject!”

  “I’m not.” Clay shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “After I left here months ago, I went to Steubenville. I asked the police chief up there about Stephen and the man I thought he was traveling with.”

  “He wasn’t traveling with anyone.” He would’ve told her if he had been.

  Undaunted, Clay pressed on. “The police chief took me to a doctor’s office and introduced me to a man who nearly died after bein’ stabbed in the belly on the second of February. He’d camped overnight with two men—one matching Stephen’s description. The fella said he was stabbed after he took an inkwell from a man’s pack—a cut-glass piece, part of a set with a red-barreled pen. And he had counterfeit money that he took from the same pack, matching what I was trackin’ here in Mount Pleasant. Stephen Richards’s pack.”

  “You’re lying.” But … how could he know about the pen and inkwell? How could he sound so convincing? This flew in the face of everything she knew of Stephen. “You can’t be right. My intended is a gentle soul.”

  He laughed, the sound harsh and derisive. “I am not lying, and if I have to, I’ll take you to Steubenville to hear it from Chief Petry himself.”

  Her mind snagged on the last part. “Fine, then. I’ll be ready to go first thing tomorrow.”

  Hastings, Nebraska

  Flickering light danced from the roaring fireplace. Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol still lay open in Dolly’s lap where she’d dozed off reading to him. An envelope she’d used to mark the page peeked from the back cover. Stephen tugged her against him a little more, and she snuggled in with a contented sigh, head lolling onto his shoulder.

  He could grow to like this.

  Staring down at her, desire swelled. Dark lashes lay against porcelain cheeks. He’d kissed her already. More than once. But what would it be like to do more? She’d rebuffed his attempts thus far, said they must be married first, though her reluctance was waning.

  He’d eventually whittle away at her defenses. Maybe even tonight.

  Stephen tipped her chin upward and brushed her lips with his. At first, she gave no response. He kissed her again, and this time she roused, smiling as he pulled back.

  “You fell asleep,” he whispered, trailing little pecks along her jaw.

  She didn’t speak, only blinked as if she wasn’t fully aware, though her slight smile and happy moan encouraged him. When he kissed her lips again, Dolly returned the affection, and his heart lurched into a staccato rhythm. He brushed her cheek with gentle fingers and whispered sweet words. As minutes ticked by, his desire grew.

  Dolly didn’t resist when his hands wandered, nor when he pulled her into his lap, though as he did, something clattered to the floor. Startled, she broke his heated kiss and twisted to look.

  “It’s only the book,” he whispered, reaching to turn her back around to him.

  “It’s a sign. We need to stop before we falter.” Her porcelain skin flushed a deep red. Before he could prevent her, she slipped from his lap.

  Anger flared as she bent to retrieve the volume. Alive with desire, he twitched, ready to pull her back, to take what she wouldn’t give.

  “I nearly forgot.” She held something up. “This came for you about three weeks ago, in care of my name.”

  He focused on the envelope, addressed in a familiar hand.

  “Is Emma Draycott one of your sisters?”

  Stephen lurched up and plucked it from her fingers, turning it toward the firelight.

  Definitely Emma’s writing.

  He discreetly felt the flap. Still sealed.

  He breathed a bit easier. Dolly hadn’t opened it to discover the truth. But how had Emma found Dolly? The most he’d ever said was that he’d spent a few days with a friend, Gillis. He�
��d never mentioned it was Dolly Gillis. He looked more closely at the address.

  Mr. Stephen Dee Richards

  c/o Gillis

  Hastings, Nebraska

  Stephen clenched his teeth. He’d not said where Gillis was, and the fact that Emma had found him here was worrisome. A man needed his space.

  “Is she one of your sisters?”

  He smiled. “I’m sorry. Yes.”

  “Why don’t you read it to me?”

  His smile faltered. His two worlds couldn’t cross. Something must be done. “I think it’s best if I go.” He kissed her again. “Like you said—before we might falter.”

  Disappointment darkened her brown eyes, though she nodded. “I understand. Let me see you out.”

  At the door, he shrugged into his heavy coat.

  “Will you come again tomorrow?”

  “I have business I need to attend to tomorrow.” Mary Harlson had called for him, Munson, and a few others to help break Jasper from the Kearney jail, though until that moment, he hadn’t been sure he’d go.

  Dolly put on a brave smile. “Will you be away for long? Remember, the big concert I’ve been planning is coming right up.”

  “At least a few days. Perhaps longer.” Emma’s note in his hand, he reached into his coat pocket where his small Blue Jacket rested. He deposited the letter, hand brushing the cold metal. He held his breath as he waited to hear what response she would give. Emma had grown almost desperate in her letters in recent months, coaxing him for answers. If Dolly were to begin such tactics as well, he might just—

  As she opened her mouth to answer, he gripped the pistol.

  Steubenville, Ohio

  December 26, 1876

  “Careful now.” Clay stood near as Emma dismounted outside the Steubenville Police Station. He’d been surprised the previous evening when she approached her father—not to tell of his indiscretion, but instead to broach the topic of riding to Steubenville. It was stupid of him to suggest taking her. Worse was Emmitt Draycott’s wholehearted approval. Clay’s pride still wounded, he’d attempted to dissuade her father. Such a trip would mean an overnight stay in a hotel before returning. It wouldn’t look right. Yet Draycott had asked a few simple questions as to the purpose of the trip, then handed him money, asked they get separate rooms, and noted that he trusted Clay implicitly.