Words Spoken True: A Novel

by Ann H. Gabhart

  “Kissing me is the only right thing you’ve done for weeks,” he said. “What you can’t do is marry him, Adriane.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand more than you think.”

  His breath was soft on her face and she knew that if he tried to kiss her again, she wouldn’t be able to stop him. Or herself. “Please let me go, Blake,” she whispered.

  “Don’t marry him.”

  “I must. My father wants me to.”

  “Do what you want to do.”

  “I want to get out of the carriage,” she said.

  “Do you?” he asked softly before he turned her loose and opened the door. As if nothing at all had happened between them, he handed her down to the street.

  Adriane tried to follow his lead. “You’ve been so kind to see me home, Mr. Garrett. You need not walk me to the door.”

  “Your father won’t shoot me if I do, will he?”

  “Of course not. Especially since he’s still at the Jimsons’. But it’s entirely unnecessary. You’ve already done your duty as a proper gentleman.” She started to take off his cloak to hand it to him.

  He put his hands on her shoulders to keep the cloak around her. “No, keep it. I’ll come around for it. We may have a story to talk about at any rate come morning.”

  “A story?” Newspaper stories were the last thing on her mind, but it might be safer talking about stories than to think about what had just happened between them in the carriage. “There hasn’t been another murder, has there?”

  “I pray not in Louisville,” he said. “But stories come from all over. Just remember that some of them should be thoroughly checked out before they’re printed.”

  “Of course.” She looked at him and tried without success to read his expression. “You’re a puzzle this evening, Mr. Garrett. One I’m much too exhausted to solve. I think it might be best if we go back to dueling, don’t you?”

  “Not at all, my dear lady. And you called me Blake earlier. I liked the way that sounded.” They had reached the door and he took her hands in his to keep her from fleeing inside. “I liked a lot of things about this evening.”

  “I’m sure you did, but now the evening is over.” Adriane kept her voice cool and polite as if the kiss in the carriage had never happened. “Good night.”

  He laughed and tightened his grip on her hands. She wasn’t at all sure he would not have tried to kiss her again if Beck hadn’t appeared in the door behind them.

  “Addie, are you all right?” Beck said.

  Adriane pulled her hands free and whirled toward Beck. “I’m fine, Beck. Mr. Garrett was kind enough to see me home when I missed my ride with Lucilla.”

  Beck’s eyes sharpened on the man beside her, but he only said, “Well, as long as you’re all right.”

  He started to go back inside, but Adriane said, “Wait, Beck, I’m coming in.” She turned quickly back to Blake. “Thank you again, Mr. Garrett. I do hope I didn’t put you to any great inconvenience.”

  He smiled at her. “It was my pleasure, Adriane. Be assured that any time Cinderella needs a ride, my coach will be available.” Then he turned and left her there.

  Inside, Beck stared at her curiously. “Sorta odd him bringing you home, ain’t it, Addie?”

  “Everything’s been sort of odd tonight, Beck.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “I can’t, Beck. Not tonight anyway.”

  Beck looked at her a long moment before he nodded a little. “We got the paper out. We was a little late because a big story come in from New Orleans at the last minute and the boss held everything up while he changed the headlines. Didn’t hardly none of us have time to read it.”

  “Will the headline sell papers?”

  “It should. A big murder in New Orleans. You want to see?”

  “I’ll look at it in the morning.” She gave the old man’s leathery cheek a quick peck. “I just need some sleep now. Good night, Beck.”

  But up in her room she didn’t go to bed. Instead after she stripped off her dress, crinolines, and corset, and pulled on her nightdress, she sat down at the little writing table. She opened her journal and quickly flipped past all the filled pages without letting her eyes touch on a single word.

  She stared at the blank page a long time before she finally put the tip of her pen in the ink and began writing.

  I think at last I know what Grace means when she speaks of love. But how can I love Blake Garrett? My father’s enemy. My enemy. Then again, how could I have allowed him to kiss me as if I had no shame if I do not love him? What am I going to do? What can I say to my father? What will Stanley do?

  As she wrote Stan’s name, the memory of his and Margaret’s words caused a chill to chase through her. Adriane got up and wrapped Blake’s cloak around her. She felt better at once.

  She did not pick up her pen again but went to the window to stare out at the rooftop across the alley while pulling the cloak closer around her. It carried the scent of the outdoors, of ink, of the man himself. She thought again of Blake pulling her close, of his lips on hers, and with the thought, a delicious warmth spread through her. This was how love was supposed to be. She knew that instinctively.

  For a minute she thought of how Grace had told her to pray for another way. Could this be her answer? Blake Garrett. But then her father pushed into her thoughts. Honor thy father. How could she so betray her father by embracing his enemy?

  She lowered her eyes from the window and whispered, “Dear Lord, what in the world have I done? Please forgive my wantonness.”

  She went back to her desk and picked up her small Bible there. She opened it to search for the Ten Commandments to read the verse about honoring her father, but the Bible fell open to Isaiah. Her eyes seemed to be drawn to one of the verses. For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.

  That’s what Beck had told her so often. That the Lord would hold her hand through whatever happened to her. But did that include love? A wrong love?

  She shut her eyes and tried to think of what to pray. Her mind refused to yield any words, but she felt no condemnation for that. She opened her eyes and laid her hand on the Bible page for a moment before she turned out the lamp. It was as if the Lord was telling her the problems could wait for the sun to rise. That now for this brief moment in the soft darkness, with the lightning flashing outside and the sound of thunder drawing closer, she need feel no shame for drawing Blake’s cloak tight around her and dreaming of what might be.

  With the morning, perhaps the Lord would show her a way.

  14

  The sun was streaming in Adriane’s window when she awoke the next day. She dressed quickly in her work clothes but then took her time brushing and folding Blake’s cloak as she thought about when he might come pick it up. The situation was impossible. Her head knew that. Her heart did not.

  Downstairs the newsboys were long gone with the morning’s papers, and her father and Beck were drinking coffee before starting in on the new day’s news.

  Her father’s eyes lit up when she came in the room. “Adriane, you didn’t have to come down so early this morning.”

  “It’s not early,” Adriane said as she poured a cup of the strong coffee. “It’s late.”

  “Not so very,” her father said. “I was just telling Beck about how fine the Jimson gala was.”

  “Anytime you get to talk politics you’re happy, Father, and the place looked like a convention for the Know Nothing party.” She took a sip of the coffee as she studied him. “I assume from the look on your face everyone expects the party to do well in the August elections.”

  “The party has the abler candidates. So as long as there is a fair election, no one expects any problems.” Her father waved his hand in dismissal as if politics were the farthest thing from his mind. “But it’s you, my dear, who has put the smile on my face. You were quite the belle of the ball last evening.”
/>   “So it seemed.” Adriane dropped her eyes to her cup.

  “I don’t know who’s happier about the coming wedding, Stanley or Coleman.”

  “Or you,” Adriane said softly.

  “Or me,” he agreed. “How could I keep from being happy about it? You couldn’t have made a better match.”

  Adriane searched for the right words to tell him she no longer thought she could marry Stanley Jimson, but before she found them, he went on. “I know you don’t like to mention your own name in the paper, but it will look odd if you don’t write something about you and Stanley in your Sally Sees column.”

  Sally had seen or at least heard too much last evening, Adriane thought before she abruptly changed the subject. “I hear we have a winning headline this morning.”

  “Indeed.” Her father’s smile got broader. “We’ve beat Garrett on this one for sure, haven’t we, Beck?”

  “That’s right, boss,” Beck agreed, but Adriane caught a hint of worry in his voice.

  She looked at Beck sharply. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Adriane,” her father said. “It’s just that the story didn’t come in through the usual channels. You must have made a friend on one of the steamships.”

  “I made a friend? What do you mean?”

  Beck spoke up. “The story came in to you, Addie. By special delivery from the captain of the Douchester.”

  “The Douchester?” Adriane’s voice was faint, and the coffee tasted like lead in her mouth.

  “They made a record run up from New Orleans,” her father was saying. “And the captain promised this was an exclusive.”

  “Let me see it,” Adriane managed to say as she reached for a copy of the paper. She swiftly read over the headline “Shocking Double Murder in New Orleans” and scanned the rest of the story while her heart grew heavy. When she spotted another column on the front page detailing the record-breaking run of the Douchester, Adriane felt sick.

  “Duff must not have been here,” she said almost as if talking to herself.

  “His mother took a turn for the worse, and he had to go fetch a doctor for her.” The furrows between Beck’s eyes deepened. “Have we been duped?”

  Adriane licked her lips and looked at her father, whose smile had fled.

  “Duped? What do you mean?” he demanded.

  She stared down at the paper again and pulled in a deep breath. It did little good to delay telling him the truth. “Father, this story is a fake.”

  “That can’t be. I have the copy of the New Orleans paper right here.”

  Adriane took the clipping he held out toward her. “There’s no date, Father. True or not, the story is not new.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because the Douchester can barely steam out of harbor without sinking from all her leaks.” Adriane looked at Beck. “You knew that, didn’t you, Beck?”

  “I ain’t no good with all those boat names, Addie. You know that. I’m just good at setting type.”

  The color drained from her father’s face and then flooded back as he snatched the paper out of Adriane’s hands. He stared at it a moment before ripping it apart and slinging the pieces to the floor. “Garrett did this,” he screamed. “I’ll kill him.”

  Adriane’s heart sank even more because she knew it was true. Blake had sent the story. “He didn’t intend for us to publish it.” She said it as much to convince herself as her father. “He knew I’d know about the Douchester.”

  Her father paid no attention to her as he knocked over his stool and stormed toward his office. “He’s gone too far this time,” he said.

  Beck looked sadly at Adriane. “Your pa’s right, you know. The Tribune will be the laughingstock of the city.”

  “I know.” Adriane stared at the pieces of the paper scattered on the floor while her father began slamming desk drawers open and shut in his office. Adriane glanced over her shoulder at him. “What’s he doing?”

  “It’d be my guess he’s getting his gun. I figure the boss means to shoot the man and the sooner the better.”

  The color drained out of Adriane’s face. “What are we going to do, Beck?”

  “Right now I don’t much care whether he shoots him or not,” Beck said, his eyes sharp on her. “But from the way you look about to keel over, I reckon there’s even more to this story than has already been told.”

  Adriane stared toward her father’s office. “I just don’t want him to get hurt.” She turned back to Beck and added quickly, “Father, I mean.”

  “I ain’t so sure that’s who you’re so worked up about.” Beck stood up slowly. “I’ll do my best to calm down the boss, but it could be you might ought to run warn Garrett just in case I don’t make no headway.”

  Before she could decide what to do, Duff came in with a strange look on his face. “Visitor to see you, Miss Adriane.”

  Blake Garrett was right behind the boy, and at the sight of him, Adriane’s heart began doing a strange dance inside her chest. For just a second she forgot the fake story and her father’s rage. All she could think of was Blake’s arms around her the night before.

  His clothes were rumpled as if he’d snatched on the first thing he touched, and when he swept off his hat, his hair was even more mussed than usual. He came straight across the room toward her as if no one else was there. “I’m sorry, Adriane. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I thought you’d know.”

  “Get him out of here, Addie.” Beck’s voice was low, not much more than a growl. “Or there’s gonna be bloodshed.”

  Beck’s words were like a splash of cold water in Adriane’s face. “You’ve got to leave before Father sees you.” She tried to push Blake toward the door.

  “But I want to apologize to him too,” Blake said, not moving an inch.

  “That wouldn’t be a good idea right now.” Adriane took a quick look over her shoulder toward her father’s office.

  Beck stepped up beside Adriane and shoved his face into Blake’s. “Listen, Garrett, if you want to see the sun go down tonight and come up again in the morning, you’d better shove off.”

  “I can’t leave until I apologize,” Blake said.

  “Dead men can’t apologize,” Beck told him.

  “Step out of the way, Beck, and we’ll see.” Wade Darcy’s voice was icy. He had found his gun.

  “Father,” Adriane cried, stepping between Blake and her father. “Don’t be crazy. You can’t shoot an unarmed man.”

  “I’m satisfied the man is armed,” her father said. “Are you not, Mr. Garrett?”

  Adriane’s eyes flew from her father to Blake and back to her father. “You’ve been campaigning for years in the Tribune for an end to duels. You can’t do this now.”

  “Step aside, Adriane. This does not concern you,” her father said.

  “Do as your father says.” Blake’s voice was firm and sure behind her.

  “No.” Adriane looked over her shoulder at him.

  Blake’s eyes touched hers softly as he pushed her gently toward Beck before he turned back to speak to her father. “I won’t pull my weapon on you, sir.”

  “Then you’ll stand there and die like the cowardly dog you are,” Wade said.

  Blake showed no sign of fear. “I don’t think you’re the sort of man who would shoot a man over a misunderstanding.”

  “No misunderstanding. Just the honor of my name.”

  Her father raised the gun and leveled it straight at Blake’s chest. Adriane gasped as the two men locked eyes.

  “I’ll print a story tomorrow taking full blame for the mistake. The honor of the Tribune will be restored.” Blake paused a moment before he added, “At least as much as it can be with Coleman Jimson pulling the strings.”

  Adriane’s father shifted the gun a few inches to the left and squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew past Blake to bury itself in the window facing behind him.

  Adriane jerked away from Beck and stepped between the two men again. The blood
thumped through her, and she wasn’t sure whether the ringing in her ears was from the noise of the shot or the rage consuming her as she glared at her father until he lowered the gun. Then she turned on Blake.

  “I think you’ve caused enough problems for one day, Mr. Garrett.” Her voice was tightly controlled. “I must ask you to leave.”

  “Not until we talk, Adriane,” Blake insisted.

  “I have nothing to say to you.” She met his eyes coldly, thankful her anger was burning away any trace of tears.

  “You have to believe me. I never intended to embarrass you or your father,” he said. “It was only a silly prank. I thought we could laugh about it. I promise you I’ll print a story tomorrow accepting full blame.”

  “Don’t bother,” Adriane said forcefully. “The Tribune is quite capable of handling any problems caused by inaccuracies in its stories without any help from the Herald.”

  “You have to believe how sorry I am.” He reached toward her, but she stepped deftly away from him.

  “We have no need of your pity.” Adriane’s eyes flicked to Duff, who stood just inside the door with his mouth hanging open. “Duff, there’s a cloak on the table in the hall. Fetch it for Mr. Garrett and see him to the door.”

  “I can find my own way out, but it isn’t over, Adriane.” Some fire jumped into Blake’s eyes to match hers. “By no means, will it ever be over between us.”

  He stared at her a moment longer before he turned and pushed past Duff to go out. He didn’t pick up his cloak.

  After the front door slammed behind him, Adriane looked at her father. “Put that gun away, Father. You’re not going to shoot anyone, and especially not Blake Garrett. This war will have to be won with words, not bullets.”

  Her father sank down on one of the stools and stared at the gun in his hand. “But what are we going to do, Adriane? Everyone in town will be laughing at the Tribune.”

  “Yes.” The anger drained out of Adriane in a rush and left her legs weak, but she couldn’t give in to her feelings now. She had to think.