This brought Cynthia into the conversation. “Evan?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Naw, that was before he came back. This was old Doc, Evan’s grandpa.”
It seemed as though every word she heard simply added to the puzzle that was Evan Stephens and the town of Lavender. The only thing Cynthia could focus on was that she neared her destination and Betsy would be safe.
The brightness of the day began to dwindle as they stopped for a moment on a high hill and she caught sight of the town that crawled across the lower hills below.
Lying as it was in the dying sunlight the town before her like a dream. Unconsciously she had expected to see something like the small prairie towns in Oklahoma, but here was a town adorned with tall old trees and small pastel-painted cottages with green lawns and flowering bushes.
Old Seth clucked at his weary team once more and they crept ahead. Even Betsy grew silent as they moved along the streets of town. The neat little cottages on the edge of town gave way to a more mixed venue. A big rambling two story house might be next to a modest two room dwelling. Colors were varied. Most of the buildings were built from wood, painted in variations from plain white to pink, blue, green and even pale purple, but a few were made of brick or stone. The dominant house on the short street they finally traversed looked to be at least three stories high, was painted a crisp gray with pink trim, and featured what looked like a tower room on top. It appeared to be in Victorian-style, though only modestly adorned with gingerbread trim.
Seth nodded at it. “That’s where Doc lives.”
“Evan Stephens owns that house?”
He shook his head. “Naw, his pa built it. Forrest is a businessman, makes more money than ever his pa or his son. You know doctors don’t get rich.”
Cynthia blinked, but didn’t argue. The wagon wheels clattered noisily on the brick-inlaid street, the only hard-surfaced one she’d seen so far.
She’d expected him to stop at Evan’s house, but he told Betsy. “Everybody’ll be down at the school. It’s meetin’ day.”
In the fading light she saw ahead of them the scene she’d studied on the walls of the little café at lunch time: a courthouse in the midst of a square with small businesses lining the streets.
They stopped, however, before they got to the square at a long, two-story brick building with a sign out front proclaiming “Lavender Schools.” Buggies and wagons were parked along the street and horses were connected to hitching posts. It was horse-loving Betsy’s dream come true and Cynthia heard her daughter draw in her breath in an excited gasp.
Women in long skirts and men in old fashioned garments, both sexes wearing hats, streamed from the center of the building. Old Seth pulled up at the spot on the street in front of that mass exit and announced, “You’ll find Doc here.”
Suddenly conscious that she and Betsy couldn’t have been more inappropriately dressed in their jeans and shirts, Cynthia remembered to hang on to the purse that contained what was now all she had left of their worldly goods as she watched Betsy hop down and wave a friendly goodbye to Seth. Cynthia barely managed to breathe words of gratitude for the ride without even looking back and started moving forward, conscious that the chatter of the crowd died down and motion came to a stop as person after person spotted them and stared. She heard old Seth’s wagon creak away and felt as though their only friend was deserting them.
Even Betsy turned suddenly shy in front of all those watching eyes.
Having been approached by several patients with questions about various ailments, Evan was one of the last to leave the auditorium. Still pondering the question of one Jackie Robards, he suddenly realized he was the only one who seemed to be still moving. The rest had stopped and nobody was saying a word.
He looked up in alarm expecting to see some terribly injured or ill individual and instead he saw approaching two figures highlighted by the golden streaks cast as the sun began to sink behind the hills.
A woman and a girl, oddly dressed in men’s clothing and their hair hanging loose and uncovered, approached. His gaze went to the woman’s face and at first he thought it strangely distorted. He closed his eyes, momentarily reeling, than opened them again to focus on the tall, slender form of a woman who had obviously been beaten right in the face.
A woman and a child he’d never seen before. Two people unfamiliar to the community of Lavender where everybody knew everybody else at least well enough to recognize.
It all came together in his mind and he felt a rush of gladness. He would have known her anywhere. She belonged with him. “Cynthia,” he called. “Cynthia, you are finally here.”
She rushed forward, ignoring the staring people to run into his arms, pressing her face against his chest. His arms folded around her and he could feel the trembling of her body. Oh Lord, what had he done?
He looked past her to the little girl, who with her golden hair and stocky form bore little resemblance to her slender, dark-haired mother. “Betsy,” he said. “Welcome to Lavender.”
She approached cautiously. “How do you do,” she said politely.
He smiled. If her mother was scared, she had to be terrified, but you couldn’t see it in her face or behavior. She was bearing up bravely.
Cynthia stepped back from him, also ignoring all the onlookers. “Betsy,” she said, “This is Dr. Evan Stephens.”
Forrest Stephens finally went into motion, elbowing his way through his neighbors to come to his son’s side. “Evan,” he thundered. “Who are these people and what are they doing here?”
Evan deliberately chose to speak a little louder than his normal tone so that as many people as possible would hear. “This is Cynthia Burden, Dad, and her daughter Betsy. It appears to me they’ve just wandered into Lavender.”
“Actually,” Cynthia contributed, looking more poised than she could possibly be under the circumstances so that Evan couldn’t help thinking that these Burden women had an extra helping of courage. But then they were Maud Sandford’s granddaughters. They came from a strong line. “We came by choice.”
Forrest Stephens looked at them in dismay. “In all these years nobody has crossed the lines that Papa drew. What does this mean?”
With the two Stephens men taking them in charge, the townspeople began to drift into motion again and to murmur softly among themselves. Betsy stayed close to her mother’s side, clinging to her hand so Cynthia figured her normally puppy-friendly daughter felt as unwelcome as she did.
She wanted, like Betsy, to hang on to the one person who made her feel safe, but it would probably really shake this crowd if she clung to Evan’s arm so she pretended not to notice the reactions around them and walked calmly at his side as he ushered them through the crowd, only stopping once to introduce them to a black woman, evidently a special friend, whom he called Miranda Murphy. Mrs. Murphy shook her hand, hugged Betsy, and welcomed them both to Lavender.
With the burly man who was his father trailing after them, Evan led them away from the crowd and back up the street in the direction from which they’d come. It was only half a dozen blocks before she felt the brick pavement under her feet and they walked until he opened a gate and they went into the front yard of the tall pink and gray Victorian house she’d seen when they drove by.
Seth Rogers had said this was Forrest Stephens’ house, the house where Evan lived. Twilight was leavening the sunlight into darkness as they went up the steps to an encircling porch where chairs and a table were set as though meals were sometimes eaten out here. Flickering light shone from within and she supposed it came from a candle.
The spring evening had brought a chill with it and when they stepped into the entry hall, pleasant warmth enveloped them, increasing as Evan led them into a huge living room where a small fire flickered in a stone fireplace. Forrest Stephens lit a brace of candles brightening a circle around them as they automatically drew nearer to the fire. In the shadows that lay along the walls and in the corners, Cynthia saw paisley wallpaper, edged
with dark paneling. Thick rugs covered the floor.
She had a distinct sense of being somewhere different and realized she could have been in one of those PBS specials of life in an England more than a century ago, a setting very different from a light-filled, rather plainly decorated modern home.
She supposed she had to be in a state of mild shock to focus so on the way a house was decorated at the same time she was going through such a bizarre situation.
Now that she could see more clearly her gaze lingered on Evan Stephens. She felt something familiar about his tall, broad-shouldered form, the same feeling that had drawn her into his arms at that first meeting.
He wore a jacket that was opened to reveal a vest that almost matched the material of his trousers. While she looked at him, he removed a soft felt hat, revealing dark hair, touched with silver and worn to collar length and with sideburns. His face was clean shaven, though when she looked past him to his scowling father, she saw that the older man wore a neatly cut beard and mustache. There was a strong resemblance between the two men, though the father was considerably broader of build than his son.
Forrest Stephens face expressed strong feelings about the abrupt appearance of the two visitors and was apparently about to voice them when a girl suddenly burst into the room.
“Daddy, you were so long. I thought you and Grandpapa would never come home.”
So this was Edith, called Eddie, Evan’s daughter. Standing in the doorway behind her was a tall, spare woman of advanced years, her dress long and plain, and an unadorned bun of gray hair making her face seem severe. Though her eyes were wide in surprise as she took in the visitors, she betrayed no other emotion.
Evan introduced his daughter and the woman named Mrs. Myers who was apparently the housekeeper and helped look after Eddie.
The girl, who was a head taller than Betsy even though Cynthia thought they were about the same age, stared at them. “But Daddy, they’re new people. We never have new people.”
Evan didn’t acknowledge his daughter’s statement other than by lightly touching the top of her head. “Eddie, will you show Betsy to a guest room and loan her one of your nightgowns.”
Cynthia could tell Eddie very much wanted to refuse, but didn’t quite dare. Instead she nodded to Betsy, took a lighted candle, and stalked from the room. Cynthia gave Betsy a token push to urge her to follow. She understood that Evan wanted to talk to her without the girls being present.
“Mrs. Myers, would you mind putting together a little tray of food for our guests before you go home.”
The woman looked at Cynthia doubtfully. Like Eddie, she wanted to protest. Instead, disapproval showing in every line of her face, she took one of the candles and headed toward the back of the house.
Evan’s dad sank down in a stiff backed chair as though to indicate he wasn’t going anywhere. “Evan, who is this indecently clad young woman and what is she doing in my house? What is she doing in Lavender, for the sake of hades?”
For the first time this evening, Cynthia had to fight to suppress a smile. This middle aged gentleman obviously considered that saying ‘hades’ was a whole lot more proper than saying ‘hell.’
He looked puffed up with indignation and she figured he would throw her out any minute except for Betsy. Even under these circumstances he didn’t look like the kind of man who would toss a little girl out into the night.
“Cynthia is my friend,” Evan said, looking at her rather than his father. He reached over to touch her cheek. “Did your husband do this to you?”
She nodded. “Only one punch. We were struggling over Betsy. He was trying to kidnap her. And I fell.” It was a rather disjointed explanation, but it was the best she could do, weary and bewildered as she felt.
She’d been struggling to get to Lavender, but she supposed somewhere inside she hadn’t really expected it to happen. Now she let her heavy purse slide to the floor and went over to sit on an ornate sofa by the wall in the shadows.
She saw Evan’s stern face flush with anger and, almost irrelevantly thought that even if Michael tried to follow them here, the good doctor would take care of him in quick order. Where her ex-husband’s build was lithe and slim like a dancer’s, Evan was more like a wrestler with muscled arms and chest and strongly built legs.
Realizing she was staring, she turned slightly toward the older man. “Mr. Stephens, I am so sorry to take advantage of your hospitality in this way, but honestly I don’t know what else to do. This is a strange place to me . . . more strange than you can know.”
He gave a little snort of disbelief. “If you think I don’t understand that you came through the barrier in some way, something that no one has done in the nearly eight years we’ve lived here, you’re quite wrong.”
“Father . . .”
Impatiently he waved his son to silence. “What I want to know is how you did it, where you came from, and what my son has to do with your presence here.”
Refusing to be silenced, Evan frowned at his father. “We’ll talk about that later. Right now I’ll just mention that Cynthia is my friend and she and her daughter are welcome in this house.”
“My house!” Forrest thundered.
Evan stared at him until he looked down. “All right then, our house. You’re welcome to stay, Mrs. Burden, for tonight at least for the sake of your child.”
Evan turned back to Cynthia. “It’s my fault, I know that, and I am so sorry for what I’ve done to you and your daughter.”
It was as though Forrest Stephens, still seated stiffly in his chair, vanished from the room. Cynthia stepped closer to Evan and whispered, “You didn’t want us to come to Lavender?”
“Oh, no, my dear. It’s not that.” He reached out to take her hand. “But I told Maud I knew it was wrong, that I couldn’t pull you here. It isn’t fair to you or Betsy to be brought here, not knowing . . .”
She looked up into the dark blue of his eyes, puzzled. “Not knowing what?”
Forrest thundered to his feet. “He means you can’t go home again, ma’am. That’s what he’s trying to say. That you’re stuck here just like the rest of us.”
Chapter Eleven
Evan breakfasted before anyone else, either family or guests, were up. He was in his office preparing for the day’s patients by the time he saw through the window that Mrs. Myers was walking up the front steps. Good! She would take care that everybody was fed and got what they needed while he lanced Jem Hopkins’ boil and treated Mrs. Watkins sore throat.
The waiting room began to quickly fill and he retired to the examining room where Myrtle, one of the two women who rotated to serve as nurses, would send patients one at a time.
He told himself he didn’t have time to think about Cynthia and her daughter and his guilt for bringing them here. He hadn’t done it consciously, but the Lord knew if no one else did that he’d wanted this with his whole heart. Somehow, without ever thinking something like this could happen to a practical, scientific-minded man like himself, he’d fallen in love with a woman just by reading her words written on paper.
So far nothing about her had disappointed him. She was lovely of form and though it was hard to judge the beauty of her face, battered as it was, he knew he liked the way it looked. Even more was he attracted by that husky, cultured voice and by the courage of her as she’d walked through the crowd yesterday. Even if she’d appeared with a dozen other women, he felt he would have recognized her immediately.
No, no, he couldn’t think about that. He worked hard at focusing his mind entirely on his patients’ needs.
It took only seconds for Cynthia to wake up enough to remember where she was. In Lavender! She and Betsy were in Lavender!
She sat up abruptly in the bed where she’d gone to sleep in her shirt and panties and to her immediate relief saw that Betsy, clad in a too-long white cotton nightgown still slept close to her side. These days she had nightmares where her daughter was taken from her and woke up full of fear that the dreams would come
true.
She drew in a deep breath and reminded herself they were safe, she and Betsy. Michael could never find them here,
Moving quietly so as not to awaken the sleeping child, she crept from the softest mattress she’d ever slept on, probably a feather bed, to pull on clothes and shoes. Her big purse had been set on a huge mahogany dresser with many drawers and an enormous mirror which showed her all too clearly how bad her face looked. She was beginning to feel better and so tended to forget how battered her poor facial features were. What must Evan have thought when he saw her last night?
The room behind her with its many-paned windows looking out over a flowery back yard and its heavy, old fashioned furniture stood behind her in the reflection. She smiled to herself to think this could be the kind of room Betsy Ray occupied in the books she’d loved as a girl. She was back somewhere in the past she’d longed to occupy.
How could that be? She didn’t know, but for right now was content just to have it so. She and Betsy were safe, she reminded herself, and then Evan’s words from last night came back to her.
It was one thing to want to run away from home, but another to be told you could never go back again. Never to see the palatial home on the coast where she’d lived when she was a little girl and gone back to after she’d finally divorced Michael. Never to go back to her brother and sister-in-law’s ranch home in Oklahoma. Worse yet, never to see Moss or Lynne or the new baby that would be coming later this year!
It couldn’t be true. She’d stay here for a while, long enough to feel that Betsy was truly safe, than she’d go back.
A white china pitcher adorned with yellow roses was set next to a wash bowl on a little stand on the windowed side of the room. She poured water into the bowl and washed her face and hands, then went back to the mirror to brush her hair with a silver-handled brush.
She halfway feared that would be the extent of indoor amenities as she carefully closed the door behind her, but as she moved down the wide, carpeted hallway, she saw an actual indoors bathroom to her right.
Letters From Another Town: A Time Travel Romance (Lavender, Texas Series Book 2) Page 7
