The minute she had a stew for supper simmering, six batches of rolls baked and on cooling racks, and sent Juliette upstairs to check on Mother, she decided to ignore Mr. Malloy and tackle the next project on her to-do list.
She withdrew a clean sheet of paper and fountain pen from the cabinet and pulled a stool to the work table in the center of the kitchen. She folded the sheet of paper crisply down the middle, top to bottom, and labeled the left column KNOWN, the right, UNKNOWN.
She penned Father, March 4th, Denver in the KNOWN column.
First National Bank, mortgage = $700.00.
In the same column, Mother says no loan.
From memory, she jotted down the Denver address she’d seen in Papa’s day book.
Malloy had said he’d trailed Lockhart to the hotel, so she jotted that down. What had he learned from the hotel clerk? Or the Western Union telegraphist? She didn’t know yet.
She drew a breath, steeled herself to list all she could think of in the UNKNOWN category.
Hotel clerk…? Telegraphist…?
Lockhart, bank employee?
Why: Lockhart call on Saturday?
Reason Papa needed money?
Money went… ?
Father’s copy, documents. This would have been so much easier if Papa had simply told his family what he’d done.
Mortgage ledger? Knowing her father, he’d hidden it with his copy of the mortgage. She’d continue searching the residence and shop for his hiding place. If they were here, she’d find them.
She glanced up the moment Mr. Malloy stretched, removed his spectacles, and set them on the open ledger before him. He searched the kitchen as if he’d completely forgotten where he’d been, but the second his gaze settled on her, he smiled.
Dazzling, like clear midday sunlight glinting on fresh-fallen snow. Blinding. Beautiful. Almost painful to the eye.
Drat. If she kept losing bits of her heart to him, it wouldn’t be long until she had nothing left.
“What delicious things are you baking now?” He inhaled with appreciation, rose and approached. “Supper? Fresh bread and cherry pie? Please tell me some of those delicacies are for me.”
His attention never deviated from her face, nor did he give her a chance to respond, before he said, “What are you working on?”
“Figuring out where to go next, what to do.”
He stood behind her and rested both hands on her shoulders. “Good idea.”
She cleared her throat. “I think better on paper.”
He leaned in to read all she’d written. He probably didn’t intend to snuggle so close, but the warmth of his solid body, pressed against her back brought new, delicious sensations.
Yes, his kiss had been wonderful… but he’d become so… close. His ease and comfort in touching her had grown like Jack’s mythical beanstalk, from a mere seed into full bloom.
Did courting couples behave this way? She had no idea.
Did he assume more familiarity now, because of that kiss? Even after he’d rejected the mere thought of marriage, especially to her?
Confusion marred the sheer grandeur of his closeness.
He tapped the notes she’d made in the KNOWN column and she forced her attention to the subject at hand. “I take it March fourth is the date on the mortgage papers.”
“Yes. Pa jotted the address in his day book.”
“Hmm. When we go to the bank in Denver, we’ll trace the address.”
She’d never had reason to go more than ten miles in any direction from the bakery, never traveled by train. The thought of Denver City both thrilled and terrified her. At least she’d have Mr. Malloy at her side.
She wrote TO DO mid-page and started a list beneath.
Call on First National Bank of Denver, and trace address.
Speak to Papa’s friends, she wrote. “Maybe one of them knows something.”
“Good thinking.”
“Papa was friendly with all businessmen in town and close to many. Because we’re in distress, someone might confide—” Her throat closed up and she fought to swallow.
Mr. Malloy’s thumbs found their way onto the bare skin of her neck. He tugged on the little hairs that slipped out of her bun and raised goose flesh. “I’m sure you’re right.”
He tapped the QUESTIONS column with a blunt, strong forefinger. “While we’re talking to the neighbors, let’s find out if any of ‘em carried his monthly payments to the bank in Denver.”
That caught her by surprise.
“Sure,” he said. “From March ‘til the day he died, he must’ve made regular payments. I talked to the Western Union telegraphist on duty, and he swore your pa never wired money to Denver or anywhere else.”
She wrote no wire transfers and lined through the question about the telegraph operator.
“You’re sure your Pa never made trips out of town, say, every other month?”
“No. I’m certain. He was always here, spent seven days a week with us. Shipments come by train for ingredients we can’t buy from local farmers. He never went on buying trips.”
Malloy seemed to think that through, his gaze focused at some great distance for perhaps fifteen seconds.
He touched her arm, just a nudge, but it felt like a caress. “That’s another thing that don’t make sense. He died when, early September?”
“Yes. The sixth.”
“Lockhart said the payments are sixty days past due, so that’d put the last payment roughly middle of October.”
How had she missed the obvious? “Who made the September and October payments?”
“My thoughts, exactly.”
She penned the question on the note paper. Paused, thought it through. “Could he have taken this mortgage for someone else in town? Someone whose credit couldn’t get them a loan?”
“Maybe. But you tell me. Who would he sacrifice everything for?”
Until today, she would’ve easily responded, his wife and daughters. She thought of Mr. Malloy, who’d easily sacrificed a great deal for her... a woman he didn’t want to wed, barely knew, and had no obligation to assist. The comparison left her confused.
“I don’t know.”
“Just wondered if you have a sibling I’ve not met, say, a brother who wants to buy a tract of land?”
“No.” Bleak emptiness settled, bone-deep. “But never mind that idea. He wouldn’t have taken a loan for someone else.”
“Okay. Let’s see if anybody knows anything. In this weather, we’ll find most home. Unless they’re out searching.”
Poor Noelle Finlay.
Adaline had contributed to the rescue efforts the only way she knew how. Baking a dozen loaves to help feed the posse, and wishing she could do more to help.
She focused hard on the to-do list. So many questions. They piled higher and deeper, just like drifts of snow against buildings. More and more questions, and still no answers.
Malloy rose. “We start with the neighbors. Everything else can wait ‘til it’s too late to knock doors. If it’s okay with you, I’ll ask around. You stay here and take care of business.”
What he hadn’t said meant even more— he’d leave her here, out of the weather, warm and safe.
He pulled her to her feet. “Mind if I join you for supper? It smells mighty good, and I’d like to share everything I learn with you.”
She could have kissed him. Could he be any kinder? “We eat at six-o’clock. Closing time.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He shrugged into his coat.
He nearly had it buttoned when she remembered to ask, “What did you find in the business ledgers?”
Will you kiss me once or twice?
He lifted his hat from a peg by the back door. His blue eyes twinkled as if lit with silver sleigh bells. “Don’t know, yet.”
She fought to hide an avalanche of disappointment.
“Might take a few more hours of careful assessment.”
She tried to smile. “No rush.”
One long stride
brought him near. “Darlin’, I hate to raise my rates, when we already have an agreement, but...” He smoothed fingertips over her cheek, along her jaw, and finally came to rest with a knuckle beneath her chin. “…twice the work ought to be worth twice the pay.”
Joy effused every limb. “Indeed.”
She settled her hands at his narrow waist, wishing he hadn’t put on his bulky winter coat. How she’d love to hold onto him.
He lowered his head, just a bit. “Sound reasonable, Miss Whipple?”
He could triple his rate, and she wouldn’t complain. “Yes.”
“How ‘bout an advance?” He brushed his nose against hers, just a whisper of movement, but golly, did it ignite sparks of sensation. “It’d keep me warm, ‘til then.”
“Adaline?”
Mother?
Adaline spun to face her parent, yanked away from the most delicious almost-kiss, ever. Worse timing had never existed.
Mr. Malloy mentioned extracting additional kisses, and her entire body sang a jubilant chorus of hallelujah. No wonder she’d failed to hear three sets of shoes on the stairs.
The trio had, apparently, traversed the entire staircase, for Mama stood on the second-to-bottom step, the twins flanking either side, just below.
Adaline gaped in panic. Apparently, having nothing to say, she closed her mouth.
Mr. Malloy rested a steadying hand on Adaline’s shoulder, stood tall at her side, and smiled at Mother. Oh, he so didn’t know what he was in for.
After all Mama had just witnessed, she knew this wretched day was about to get a whole lot worse. The sharp side of Mama’s tongue could cut a swath a mile wide.
Malloy would never kiss her again. The opening strains of Mother’s lecture on decorum, propriety, and moral decency would burn his ears. He’d leave town on the four-o’clock train, blizzard be damned.
“Mrs. Whipple, it’s good to see you up and about. Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
How could he sound genuinely happy to meet her mother?
Mother had bathed, fully dressed for the first time in weeks, and had artfully arranged her hair as she did for only the most special of occasions… like Christmas, an engagement party, or wedding.
Adaline blanched. Malloy might want a kiss or two, but he didn’t want to marry her. Mama would be utterly beside herself.
***
How long could one family supper last?
Malloy knew nearly an hour had elapsed though he refused to peek at his pocket watch.
He had plenty of bad news to relay to Adaline but it’d have to wait until he got her alone. No way would he disclose what he’d learned from the neighbors and Charles’s telegram in front of Mrs. Whipple and the kids. Adaline had said she wanted to shield her mama and sisters from the worst.
She took responsibility for her family.
And he’d taken responsibility for Adaline.
In truth, he’d assumed the responsibility of two women and two children.
The urgency to confide in Adaline before she went upstairs to bed won out over his desire to make a good impression.
“Thank you, Adaline, Mrs. Whipple, for a delicious supper.” Had he interrupted Mrs. Whipple’s story? He smiled to cover the blunder, even as he pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m sure you early risers are weary, and I’ve got work to get back to myself.”
Adaline’s mama might take offense to his blunt halt to supper. It couldn’t be helped.
Yeah, he wanted her to like him. He wanted that a whole lot, but he’d already given an hour— more than he could spare.
All four females cleared the dishes. Malloy lowered one leaf, set it against the wall, and returned the chairs to their places. He brought out the ledgers while Adaline poured steaming water from a kettle into the sink, Juliette shaved soap into it, and Jane set the dishes to soak. Right away, one twin began washing, the other drying.
Their mama kept chattering on about some beau she’d set aside upon meeting Thaddeus Whipple.
“I do believe,” Mrs. Whipple continued, “the wisest decision I ever made was to part company with him. We weren’t right for one another, but I couldn’t see that until Mr. Whipple entered my life.”
Adaline pumped fresh water into the kettle and set it back on the stove to reheat. She brushed past and her fragrance of sugared vanilla made his mouth water. Not for sweets, but for another kiss.
“It all happened so quickly.” Mrs. Whipple smiled and leaned against the door frame, tablecloth draped over her arm. “I knew right away. So did Thad. He swept me off my feet, and with the shortest engagement allowable by my parents, we were married.”
Adaline’s mouth brushed past his ear. “Thank you. This is the most she’s talked, especially about Papa, since…”
“Wouldn’t you like to know the length of our engagement?”
He forced his attention away from Adaline and back to her mother. “If you’d like to tell me.”
“One day.”
Malloy started. He must not have heard right. “You married him one day later?”
“Don’t look at me like that, young man. It wasn’t so unheard of in my day. Why, that year in Saint Louis, four debutantes married quickly. A sudden wedding doesn’t always mean improper behavior has led to, shall we say, an urgency for vows?”
Malloy couldn’t help but smile. Ladies and their euphemisms.
Adaline swept the floor in smooth, familiar strokes. He tracked her fluid movements— and understood, from such a mundane housekeeping task, why some men anticipated vows.
Now that he’d determined to see her through this trouble and persuade her to fall in love with him, he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s why her mama chose these particular family stories to rehash tonight. Maybe she wanted to see a quick match between himself and her daughter. Maybe she’d seen through his plan.
That would suit Malloy just fine.
Mrs. Whipple folded the tablecloth into precise fourths and put it away. “When it’s right, it’s right. That was the wisest decision of my life— parting company. The second wisest decision was to wed Mr. Whipple. Nearly twenty-seven years with a man who brought laughter and joy to every single day.”
Because Mrs. Whipple seemed to address her story to him and ‘cause the girls seemed to have heard it, he tried to come up with a fitting response. “Twenty-seven happy years. Seems like a mighty big blessing.”
He wanted some of that for himself. With Adaline.
If he applied problem-solving efforts to their future, he just might find a way to make a marriage work… with her here and him on the road, going where work demanded.
Didn’t seem like a successful recipe for marriage.
A wistful smile flitted over Mrs. Whipple’s too-thin face as she looped an arm through Adaline’s. “Oh, it was. He was the greatest blessing. We were blessed, indeed.” She gathered Juliette into the crook of her free arm, snuggled the child close.
Next to Adaline, the woman looked painfully skinny. Emaciated. As if she’d not eaten enough since she’d lost her husband. Good thing she’d consumed half a bowl of stew and a roll at dinner. She needed the sustenance.
The woman clearly had no intention of winding down. “Did Adaline share with you our family’s story?”
Hadn’t he just heard it?
How was he supposed to get Adaline’s mother back in bed now that she’d finally climbed out and rejoined the living? She might not stop chattering until dawn.
“Mother, Mr. Malloy needs to take a closer look at the records.”
Thank you, Adaline.
“Can’t that wait for morning? With supper over, I figured he’d be on his way. You two can see each other tomorrow.”
Malloy glanced into the night beyond the frosted windowpanes. The storm had worsened through supper, to blizzard-like conditions.
“Ma’am, would you mind if I camped on your kitchen floor tonight? The weather’s turned mighty foul.”
“Well, if Mr. Whipple were here, th
en no, I wouldn’t mind.”
Malloy had heard more than a touch of gentility in Mrs. Whipple’s voice, knew she had more propriety in her family tree than good old-fashioned frontier hospitality. She’d be the kind to send a man into the snow because it wouldn’t do to have the neighbors see him leaving her house the following morning.
“Papa’s not here.” Adaline’s voice gentled as she hugged her mother.
The more Malloy saw of Adaline with her ma and sisters, the more he found to love.
“So now,” Adaline said, “we take care of each other. We can’t send Mr. Malloy into the night. It won’t hurt for him to sleep on the floor down here.”
Mrs. Whipple met his gaze squarely over Adaline’s shoulder. She watched him, her expression assessing.
He wanted to fidget.
Finally, when it seemed a full two minutes had ticked by, she pulled back from her daughter’s hug and addressed him squarely. “You’re a grown man, Mr. Malloy.”
“Yes’m.” He fixed to stack the books. He’d find his coat, pull on his wet boots, and head to the boardinghouse. If he stayed close to the buildings, he’d find his way.
“I’ll have your word of honor that you’ll remain in Adaline’s bedroom.”
His heart jigged sideways like a startled horse. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll not have you sleeping on the floor, not when you’re helping our family. You’ll sleep in Adaline’s bed.”
Oh, no. No man with a pulse could be expected—
“Adaline will sleep with me.” Mrs. Whipple smiled, evidently pleased with her ingenuity. “That way, sweetheart, I’ll know right where you are.”
The twins finished the last dish, drained the sink, and scampered past. “Night, Mr. Malloy,” one of ‘em said, but he couldn’t be sure which one.
He was stuck on you’ll sleep in Adaline’s bed.
“I’m going to read in bed,” her mother stated, “for precisely one-quarter hour. I’ll expect you in my room. Not one minute late.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Goodnight to you, Mr. Malloy.”
Silver Belles and Stetsons Page 31
