by Amanda Cabot
Catherine had expected a straightforward answer. Instead, Austin seemed uncomfortable with what she thought was a simple question and seemed to hesitate for an instant before he spoke. “There was no one she was close to in Oklahoma.” Perhaps she had only imagined his discomfort, for his reply was smooth.
Catherine didn’t know a great deal about ranches in Oklahoma, but if they were as large as some in Texas, it was possible Hannah had made few trips into the nearest town. Until this year, she had not been school age, which eliminated another source of social contact. Even church might not have provided opportunities to mingle with other children, since many ranching families worshipped at home when churches were hours away.
“I keep hoping she’ll come out of her melancholy,” Austin continued. “To be honest, I thought school would be the answer.”
He crossed one knee over the other and stared at the far wall, the set of his jaw telling Catherine how deeply he felt about his daughter’s problem. She understood. For many children, being part of a group was therapeutic, but that hadn’t been the case with Hannah. Not yet.
“I’m not giving up on her,” Catherine said firmly, “but I wanted you to know what I’ve observed. I plan to talk to Lydia about her.”
When Austin looked surprised, Catherine realized he might not have known that Lydia had not always been a candy maker. “She taught at a girls’ school back East and knows more than I ever will about young girls.”
It had been Lydia’s advice to remember what she had liked—and disliked—about school that had changed Catherine’s perspective on teaching. Thanks to Lydia, it was no longer drudgery but a calling that brought her great satisfaction.
Austin looked dubious. “I doubt that’s true, but thank you. I hope she can help. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m at my wits’ end.” He slid down from the desk and strode to the window where he could watch Hannah on the swing. “I don’t know what to do, but somehow there has to be a way to break through her shell. Hannah’s all the family I have left, and I’m failing her.” The last words came out as little more than a whisper.
Austin looked so sad and discouraged that Catherine’s heart ached. She would have tried to help any parent in Austin’s situation, but from the day she had met him and Hannah, they had become special to her. They had both touched her heart in unexpected ways, making her want to do everything in her power to restore Hannah’s cheerfulness and relieve Austin’s anguish.
Catherine couldn’t promise that Lydia would have any ideas or, even if she did, that they would have an effect on Hannah, but she longed to comfort Austin. She wanted to give him something positive to counterbalance the discouragement he felt about Hannah. If he drove his daughter back to the ranch in this mood, Austin would only depress her further. Instead, he needed to know that his efforts had helped someone.
Catherine thought about the changes she’d seen in another pupil and the reasons for those changes. “You’re not a failure, Austin. Some problems take longer than others to resolve, but you’re a good parent. I know you are. I see it in Hannah and in Seth. He may not be your son, but you’re helping him. He told me you drive him most of the way to and from school.”
Austin shrugged as if that were of little importance, when in reality it kept the boy from being so tired that he dozed during classes. The chores that Boone assigned him meant that Seth got little sleep, and having to walk an hour each way, particularly when he had had no breakfast, drained the boy’s strength.
“I hated to see him walking when I drive the same road.” Austin returned to lean against Catherine’s desk, crossing his arms, his bandaged thumb a startling contrast against his blue chambray shirt. “Did Seth tell you he insists on getting in and out of the wagon far enough away from the farm that his father doesn’t know he’s riding? I can’t say that I approve of the deception, but I know Boone Dalton is a difficult man.”
“That he is.” Difficult was an understatement. Though Catherine had seen no new bruises, she knew it was only a matter of time until Boone used his fists again. Still, Austin’s driving the boy to and from school had helped him in more than one way.
“Seth may not have told you, but the fact that you’re giving him a ride lets him do something he loves—sketching. That extra time has made a big difference in his life.”
Austin’s raised eyebrows told Catherine he was unaware of Seth’s artistic bent. “Is he any good?”
“I think so.”
“Then I’m glad I can help. I like Seth. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. I wish I could do more for him.”
“You’re already doing a lot. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that Hannah always has more food than she can eat and that she leaves her basket where Seth can find it.” The hollows in the boy’s cheeks had begun to disappear, and his skin was a healthier hue, thanks to an improved diet.
Catherine smiled at Austin. “That’s another example of how you’re a good father. You’re raising Hannah to be kind and generous.”
“If only she were happy.”
7
I wish I had more ideas,” Lydia said as she swished a saucer through the soapy water before rinsing it and handing it to Catherine.
Though the two women normally sat in the main room of Cimarron Sweets when Catherine visited, by the time she’d arrived, the shop was about to close. Lydia had taken one look at Catherine’s face and had insisted she come inside. “We can talk while I clean up,” she had said. “I do my best thinking when I’m washing dishes.”
But even with the stimulation of hot, soapy water, Lydia had had no suggestions. “You’re doing everything I would have,” she declared when Catherine recounted her efforts to coax Hannah out of her shell.
Though she had feared that would be Lydia’s response, Catherine was still disappointed. “Days like this make me miss my mother even more than usual,” she told Lydia as she placed the saucer on the shelf. “Mama never taught school, but she used to have good ideas about how to manage the children.”
“And even if she didn’t, she’d give you a hug, and everything would seem better.”
“Exactly, but how did you know?”
Lydia’s smile said the answer should be apparent. “Because that’s what my mother did. I imagine it’s what all mothers do.”
And that brought Catherine back to the reason she’d sought Lydia’s advice. “I wonder if Hannah is so withdrawn because she doesn’t have a mother. I know Austin is doing his best, but it’s not the same.” Catherine bit her lower lip as she mentally chastised herself. “Who am I to say that? I don’t remember my father, so I don’t know if he would have been as demonstrative with his love as Mama was.”
Lydia dumped baking soda inside her Blue Willow teapot and began to scrub the stains, her expression thoughtful. “I think his love would have been different from your mother’s. My father left us when I was eight, so he wasn’t a typical parent, but my mother assured me that he loved me in his own way.” She rinsed the teapot, then inspected it for other stains. “I remember him telling me stories when I was afraid of the dark, but I don’t remember any hugs or being held on his lap. I do remember that I always felt safe when he was around.”
Safety wasn’t the problem. Catherine had no doubt that Austin would keep Hannah safe. Love wasn’t the issue, either. Not really. She knew that Austin loved his daughter. The question was whether Hannah realized that, whether he lavished enough physical proof of his love on her that she felt secure. Though Catherine was comfortable discussing almost anything with Austin, that was one question she was reluctant to raise.
“Children need both parents,” Catherine said as she dried the now spotless teapot.
“Yes, they do.”
Surely it was only Catherine’s imagination that Lydia’s smile hinted at a secret.
“Has there been any change?”
Catherine looked up from the papers she’d been correcting to smile at Austin. It had been a week since they’d discussed their concerns a
bout Hannah, a week in which Catherine had endured Sunday dinner with Nate. The meal hadn’t been as bad as she’d feared, in part because she had made a point of treating Nate the same way she did his brother-in-law Luke: as a friend, nothing more.
When Rachel made pointed comments about how much happier she was since she’d married Luke, Catherine had nodded noncommittally. It was evident that Rachel and Luke were happy together. Furthermore, she was confident that marriage to the right man would bring her the same kind of happiness, but she also knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Nate was not the right man. Watching him now, it was hard to believe she’d ever hoped to be his wife. Nate was a good man, he was a kind man, but he was not the man God had chosen for her.
Eventually, the meal had ended, and Catherine had returned to her quiet home and the thoughts that continued to whirl through her brain. She had spent more hours than she could count thinking about Hannah . . . and Hannah’s father. Though she hadn’t admitted it to anyone, Catherine looked forward to the time she and Austin spent together every afternoon. It was usually only a few minutes, but those minutes had quickly become the highlight of her days. And today for the first time she had something positive to report to Austin.
“There has been a little change,” she told him. It might be nothing, but it felt like something. “Today when I came inside after lunch, I found Hannah studying the globe. She asked me where France was. I tried not to show how excited I was, but this is the first time she’s initiated a conversation. It seemed like a step forward.”
Austin did not look excited. Though it made no sense, he looked worried. “Did she say anything more?”
“Not at first. I pointed to France on the globe, then told her how I’d always dreamed of traveling to Europe.” Catherine swallowed, trying to dissolve the lump that had formed in her throat at the memory of the dream that was unlikely to become reality.
“My mother and I had planned to go there last summer,” she explained. “We intended to visit England, France, Germany, and Switzerland, but then Mama was too ill. Thanks to Doc Harrington . . .” Catherine stopped. Austin had already heard how the doctor had killed her mother. She would gain nothing by repeating the story.
Forcing a smile onto her face, Catherine looked up at Austin. “As I traced the itinerary we’d planned, Hannah listened the way she always does. Then she surprised me. She said she was born in France.”
Catherine continued to watch Austin, trying to gauge his reaction to his daughter’s statement. “I didn’t contradict her, even though I doubt it’s true.”
He looked solemn, almost sad. “Hannah didn’t lie,” he said flatly. “She was born in Paris. My wife and I were living there at the time, but when Geraldine died soon after Hannah’s birth, I knew it was time to return to America. I swore then I’d never return. There was nothing left for me in France.”
The sorrow on Austin’s face was more poignant than words. Though she had dozens of questions, including the reason a rancher would have moved to Paris, Catherine would not ask them. Austin might be a friend, but there were some subjects that were too delicate to discuss, even with friends. Austin’s grief was one of them.
Catherine took a deep breath, trying to calm her turbulent thoughts. “I’m sorry I doubted Hannah. Somehow I thought you’d always lived in Oklahoma and that your wife’s death was recent.”
“No.” Austin’s eyes darkened with emotion. “I’m the only parent Hannah has ever known.”
Though she knew there was more to the story, Catherine would not pry. It was obvious that Austin was still grieving for his wife. No wonder the town’s matchmakers had been unsuccessful in pairing him with one of the eligible young women. His heart had been broken and might never mend. What kind of woman had Geraldine been to have inspired such a love?
He had stayed later than normal that day. His assistant was gone; the outer office was empty, but Austin still had two more files to update. The day had been so busy that he’d done little more than jot notes about each patient he’d treated. Knowing from experience that he’d forget critical details if he waited until tomorrow to record them, not to mention that tomorrow might be as busy as today, he’d decided to remain at the office until everything was complete.
His head was bent over the sheets of paper when he heard the opening of the door and footsteps on the wooden floor.
Austin looked up, startled by the sight of a well-dressed man in his mid-forties. The impeccably tailored suit, the crisp white shirt, and the ornate gold cuff links left no doubt of the man’s prosperity. If it weren’t for the steely glint Austin saw in the visitor’s gray eyes, he might have been just another of his affluent patients.
“I’m sorry, sir, but office hours ended a long time ago.”
The man raised his head ever so slightly and stared down his prominent nose at Austin. “That is precisely why I waited until now to come. I’ve been told you’re the only person in Philadelphia—perhaps in the whole country—who can do what I need done.”
“And what would that be, Mr. . . .” Austin let his voice trail off.
“Enright. Sherman Enright.”
Thank goodness for the years of training that allowed him to mask his emotions. That training had proven invaluable when dealing with patients, and it did not fail him now. Austin looked steadily at the man, knowing his face did not betray the thoughts that tumbled through his brain.
The name alone was enough to make grown men shake in their boots. Sherman Enright was the head of an organization that extorted money from at least half of the small businesses in the city. Shopkeepers were forced to pay a substantial percentage of their profits to Enright’s men or risk having their shops destroyed and their families hurt. The rumor was that Enright took pleasure in torturing the victims himself. And now the man who personified evil to many of Philadelphia’s residents stood in Austin’s office.
“What is it you’d like me to do?”
Whatever the man had in mind, Austin doubted he would agree. Though his patients included both the city’s wealthiest and its poorest, he had no room in his life for people like Sherman Enright.
Enright’s lips curled into a sneer, as if he noticed and dismissed the way Austin had phrased his question. “What you’re going to do,” he said, emphasizing the words, “is change my face.” He pointed to the hawk-like nose, the high cheekbones, and the square chin that distinguished him from thousands of other men.
“Every policeman within a hundred miles knows what I look like. They’ve got a warrant out for my arrest, but they can’t arrest me if they can’t find me.” Enright’s laugh sent a shiver down Austin’s back. “I’m leaving Philadelphia. It’s been good for me, but there’s more potential in New York City than here. It’s time for big changes—a new face, a new town.”
There was no question about it: Sherman Enright was evil. “You want me to make it possible for you to continue your business in a different place.”
“Precisely.”
“What happens when people start recognizing your new face?”
The man who had wreaked such havoc with Philadelphia’s honest shopkeepers shrugged. “They won’t. You’re going to make me so ordinary that I’ll blend in everywhere, just the way Tucker does.” Enright turned toward the still open door. “Come in here, Tucker.”
The man who entered Austin’s office was as ordinary as anyone he’d met. As Enright had said, Tucker could blend in anywhere. His hair and eyes were medium brown, his features so ordinary that they would draw no one’s attention.
Tucker, Austin surmised, was one of Enright’s henchmen.
“I see.” What Austin saw was that Sherman Enright believed Austin would use his talent to ensure that he could continue robbing and hurting innocent people.
“I thought you would.” Enright nodded as if he’d received Austin’s agreement. “I know you need a day to prepare. I’ll be back tomorrow at the same time.” He turned toward the door, then pivoted and fixed his gaze on Austin. “A
nd, Dr. Goddard, in case you have any thoughts of telling the police where I’ll be, I want to remind you that you have a pretty little girl. I would hate to have something bad happen to Hannah.”
Enright’s laugh was echoing in Austin’s ears when he woke, drenched with sweat, his heart pounding at twice its normal rate. If only he could dismiss the nightmare, but he couldn’t, because it wasn’t simply a nightmare—it was a memory. Sherman Enright had threatened him. More importantly, he had threatened Hannah.
Austin lit the lamp and walked quietly to his daughter’s room, hoping he had not cried out in his distress and disturbed her sleep. He cracked the door open, then peered inside, his heartbeat slowing when he saw his beloved daughter curled in a ball, deep in slumber.
Hannah was safe. There was no reason to fear. He’d covered his tracks well. No one knew he was in Texas. Besides, Enright was looking for a doctor, not a rancher. Hannah would be safe here.
Austin closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. “Please, God, keep her safe.”
8
The children loved having Cimarron Sweets, Lydia’s candy shop, catty-cornered from the school. Although they were not allowed to visit it during recess, those whose parents gave them a few pennies would venture inside at lunchtime, bringing back peppermint sticks, licorice, or lemon drops.
Catherine saved her own visits for late afternoon when she knew none of her pupils would be there, stopping in a couple times a week for a piece of Lydia’s justly famous fudge, a cup of coffee, and a few minutes of conversation with the woman who’d become as dear to her as a sister. Like the time she spent with Austin, these visits brightened Catherine’s day.
“I was hoping you’d come in today,” Lydia said, greeting Catherine with a warm smile and a hug. “I made penuche this morning and want your opinion.” She gestured toward the window seat where customers were encouraged to rest for a while and sample pieces of candy.
