How much should I say? My natural tendency was to remain taciturn. When one’s lived the kind of life I have, sharing too much led to either pity or fear, as if being an orphan or poor were contagious. “I served in the war with Josephine’s beau, Walter Green. When he died he left a few items that I thought she might like to have. It’s taken a while to get out here. My name’s Phillip Baker.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re a friend of Walter’s?”
Not exactly a friend. “That’s correct. Did you know him?”
“No, no. I’ve only heard about him from Josephine. Those of us who attended school together are quite close. We meet for tea at least twice a month to discuss books and gossip. Oh dear me, where are my manners? I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Baker, and I’m terribly sorry about Walter. We lost one of our boys and the whole town cried for a week. What you must have seen, I can’t imagine.” Martha bounced Quinn on her lap. The baby babbled and chewed on her fist.
“Thank you. He wasn’t a close friend. We served together, that’s all.” The car jerked, causing both Martha and me to sway slightly. I gripped my seat with both hands.
“Our poor Josephine. His death broke her heart. We all hoped she’d move on, but so far she hasn’t.”
“How so?” I couldn’t help but ask. What luck to meet Martha. I’d gather as much information about Josephine as I could. The nuns often told us that the more we knew about a subject, the better we could make a decision or persuade others to our cause.
“She’s sworn herself to spinsterhood and running the library. Which is disappointing to the eligible bachelors in town. Given half a chance, most of them would snatch her up if they could. She’s remarkable. Did you know she brought the library to us with funding from Andrew Carnegie?”
I nodded. She’d written in detail about the building and opening of her library. As if Walter had cared. I’m not sure he’d ever read a book. “Yes, Walter mentioned that to me.”
“May I ask what you’re bringing to her?” Martha adjusted Quinn to the other knee.
“The letters she wrote to him. There are stacks of them, and I thought she might like to have them. I wanted an excuse to come out here, too. I’m thinking of staying.”
“I hope you will.” She smiled at me. “We’re friendly in Emerson Pass. I think you’ll love it as much as the rest of us do. And how kind of you to bring the letters. Jo walked to the post office every Monday and Friday with a letter in her hand. Without fail, even though he almost never sent one in return. Do you know why he wrote back so seldom?”
He was too busy sleeping with nurses to reply to Josephine’s heart-wrenchingly beautiful letters. “I’ve no idea, really. He wasn’t the writing sort, I guess.”
“Have you brought the books she sent, too?” Martha asked.
She knew about the books? “Yes, I wanted to return them to her for the library. They gave me such pleasure during difficult times. I wanted to make sure others could enjoy them.”
“You like books?” Martha watched me with a more serious expression on her face.
“More than anything.”
“And Walter?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did he like books? Martha asked.
“I can’t say that he did, no.” He’d always tossed them over to me the moment he took them from the box Josephine had sent. The candy he’d kept for himself. He’d had a terrible sweet tooth.
Her glaze flickered to the window. “How odd.”
“Ma’am?”
“Josephine told me he’d written to her two times about how much he enjoyed the books, even mentioning specific plots and characters. She was thrilled, of course.”
I flushed. I’d told him what to write in those letters so that she continued to think of him as a scholar. Both times he’d tricked me into describing the plots. I couldn’t help myself but to discuss books with enthusiasm.
Martha peered at me through narrowed eyes. “May I be frank about something?”
“Of course.” Where was she going with this?
“I’ve suspected there might have been others. Women, I mean.”
I bit back a bark of surprise. Martha was no fool. I almost smiled with triumph. “What makes you think this?”
“When my husband was courting me, he was already a busy country doctor, yet he wrote me love letters at least once a week, and we lived in the same town. All he had to do to say hello was walk over to my parents’ store. All of which leads me to believe that Walter’s feelings weren’t what he’d professed them to be. What’s the old saying? Actions speak louder than words.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s not for me to say.”
“You shouldn’t play poker.”
“Poker?”
The baby began to fuss. Martha reached into a bag by her side and came out with a hard-looking biscuit and handed it to Quinn. “I can see by the look on your face that there was more to this Walter than Josephine knew.”
I moved my gaze away from her, flustered by this interrogation, and looked out the window. We were now on actual ground, passing through a dense forest of fir and pine trees. If Martha was an example of what I was to face in Emerson Pass, then I better get my story straight.
Given that I was only four when they died of yellow fever, I had only a few memories of my parents. One of them was of my mother scolding me for lying about taking a cookie without asking. Tell the truth, Phillip, even when you know you could get away with a fib.
However, Martha was a stranger to me. I didn’t want Josephine needlessly hurt. If she were to learn Walter’s true character, it should come from me.
“Mr. Baker?”
I returned my gaze to Martha. “Men don’t speak often of matters of the heart.”
“But what about men who face death daily? Don’t they confess their fears? Their loves?”
I was starting to feel rather sorry for Martha’s husband. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“You are sure.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’ll be clearer,” she said. “Was he in love with Josephine? Was he planning on marrying her as she thought?”
“Respectfully, Mrs. Neal, I’m not sure I know, even if it were for me to say.”
One eyebrow rose. “I see.”
I was afraid she did.
“May I ask,” I said, drawing the words out long, “if his intentions were not completely pure, what would you advise me to tell Josephine?”
She stared at me for a few seconds. Even the baby had stopped chewing on her cookie to focus on me. “I suppose that depends on your intentions. Have you come to hurt her?”
“Of course not. The opposite.”
She gave me a satisfied smile. “May I take a guess, Mr. Baker, about your actual intentions?”
“Of course.” Despite the chill of the train’s car, my shirt clung to my back.
“You’ve fallen in love with her photograph. And perhaps you’ve read her letters, which made you aware of her intelligence and good heart. You most certainly are the one who told Walter what to write about the books.”
I coughed and returned to the view of the landscape.
“You’ve come to get to know her,” Martha said. “To see if your instincts about her are correct.”
“What if I have? Will you rat on me?” I turned back to my interrogator.
She gave me another satisfied smile. “How fortunate that we were to meet today.”
I swallowed and waited for the blow. Was there any other way for her to interpret my actions? Traipsing across the country because I thought I was in love with a girl I’d never met would not be greeted with approval.
“Josephine is my dear friend whom I love very much. However, I also have excellent instincts about people, and I’ve thought from the beginning that something wasn’t quite right with this Walter character. Josephine has been practical and steady her entire life, but in this particular instance, I think she was taken away by the idea of love.”
<
br /> “Don’t underestimate his charm,” I said drily. “He’d perfected it over time.”
“How long had you known him?”
I drew in a deep breath. I was in too far now. “I knew him for a brief time when we were children. We were at the same orphanage for a year or so. Until he ran away.”
Both eyebrows raised this time. “Ran away? To where, I wonder?”
“In all truthfulness, I don’t know.” He’d run away at twelve, unable to abide by the nuns’ rules. Even during all the hours we’d spent together during the war, he’d not filled me in on exactly where he went or how he survived during the time before he joined the army. I had a distinct feeling that he’d been involved in criminal activity.
“Were there other women? Is he a charlatan? Did he want her money?” Martha asked. “Please, Mr. Baker, tell me the truth.”
“I believe all those things to be true.”
“Believe or know?”
“Know.”
“And the others?”
“All from wealthy families. He was ensuring his future upon his return.”
She was quiet for a moment. Her cheeks had flushed red and she repeatedly tapped her foot as if she wanted to bore a hole through the floor. Finally, she turned to look at me.
“This is what you’re going to do, Mr. Baker. Give it a few days before you tell her of Walter’s true intentions. I’m afraid it’ll drive her away. Kill the messenger, if you will.”
“Yes.”
“Spend time with her. Maybe use a little charm of your own to thaw her out, perhaps show her how much life there is to live.”
“Being charming’s not really my strength. I’ve nothing to offer, really.”
“But you’ve come anyway?”
“Ever hopeful.”
“You’re handsome. That will help.”
I almost laughed. “I am?”
“Yes. Have you not seen yourself in the mirror? Strong jawline. High cheekbones. Sapphire-colored eyes. Enough hair for three men. My husband will be jealous of that, I can assure you.”
“Walter looked like the god of the sun or the like,” I said. “All golden.”
“Yes, I can imagine the type.” She wiped drool from Quinn’s chin with a handkerchief before looking back at me. “One piece of advice. If you win over her family, that’s half the battle. They’re as tight a clan as they come.”
I nodded. “That much was clear from the letters.”
She made a noise somewhere between a yelp and yap. “You did read them. I knew it.”
“I’m ashamed to admit it, but yes. He’d stored them all in a box. I took them with me after he was killed.”
“Did you not have letters of your own?”
“No. There’s no one. Never has been.”
“There should be.”
It was my turn to study Martha. “What makes you think I’m any different from Walter?”
“My parents own the dry goods store in town. I’ve spent my whole life watching people from behind the counter. I can tell an honest man when I see one.”
I had no idea what I’d done to make her think I was honest, but I didn’t ask. She’d figured out everything else rather quickly.
“Her family invited me to stay for the holidays,” I said. “Which astounded me.”
“Get ready, Mr. Baker. That’s just the beginning. In Emerson Pass no one’s allowed to be a stranger for long. Before you know it, you’ll feel like you’ve been here forever.”
As if the train agreed, it slowed as we approached the station.
“Welcome to Emerson Pass,” Martha said. “Where you can belong if you only ask.”
Josephine
The house was quiet the afternoon we expected Phillip Baker to arrive. After lunch, I wandered down to the sitting room, where I found Theo at one of the windows.
Papa was at the office. My sisters, other than Delphia, were all at school. Mama and Jasper were downstairs working with Lizzie on the plans for the holiday festival in town. On hiatus during the war, we’d happily brought back the tradition last season. This was to be our most exciting one yet. We would have lights for the first time. At considerable expense, Papa had ordered lights to hang over our frozen pond and to decorate the tall fir that stood next to the gazebo. There would be food, music, ice-skating, and Santa for the children.
“Theo?” I asked from the doorway.
He flinched as if I’d startled him, then turned my way.
I walked over and took his hands. “How are you? Do you need anything?”
He brought my hands to his chest. “I’m fine. Simply enjoying the quiet.”
I looked into his eyes, large in his narrow face. He seemed young and old at the same time. There was a weariness to him that hadn’t been there before the war. But I remembered it from when he was a child. He’d been the one to find our mother. She’d been mentally ill and had gone outside on one of the coldest nights of the year and had frozen to death. For years after that, Theo had been quiet and haunted. I could still remember the smudges under his eyes. They’d gone away when Mama Quinn had come to us. Now, though? I wasn’t sure anything could bring back the old Theo. I’d woken in the night to hear him crying out in his sleep, followed by the soothing tones of Flynn.
“When I was away, it became impossible to imagine that any place could be this tranquil.” Theo let go of my hands and walked over to the fire. “I wasn’t sure we’d ever get back here.”
“Do you regret enlisting?” He and Flynn had told the recruiter they were eighteen when they’d not yet turned seventeen.
“I couldn’t let Flynn go without me. It would have been worse for me to worry about him than be there too.”
“It’s over now. You’re home where you belong.”
“It’s not completely over.” He tapped his temple. “Not here, anyway.”
“Oh, Theo, don’t say that. You’ll forget, won’t you? Over time?” I regretted it as soon as it was out of my mouth. He shouldn’t have to pretend for my sake.
“Yes, of course.” Theo grabbed a log from the stack and tossed it into the fire. His tone betrayed his words. He didn’t believe for one moment that he would ever forget. I’d seen him pretending to be fine for Mama’s and our sisters’ sake many times since he’d come home. I knew him almost as well as I knew myself. Something had broken in him over there.
Flynn rushed in, flushed from the outdoors and yanking off his coat. He rarely slowed down these days. In addition to working long hours on the ski area, he spent a lot of time in the barn with the horses, taking the sleigh out for long drives, teasing the girls, playing chase with Delphia. Sometimes I wondered if the demons would catch up to Flynn when he slowed down long enough to think. Would he have the same haunted look in his eyes as Theo? Or would he always outrun the ghosts of that horrible war?
Last summer and fall, the twins had begun work on their ski lodge and clearing part of the northern mountain for ski runs. Although they were partners, it was more Flynn’s dream and passion. Like the war, Theo would not let him go it alone.
“Just the two people I wanted to see,” Flynn said.
“Here, give me your coat,” I said. “I’ll hang it in the closet for you.”
“Thank you, dear sister.” He kissed my cheek.
My heels clicked on the hardwood floor as I crossed into the hallway. By the time I’d returned, my brothers had poured themselves tea and helped themselves to one of Lizzie’s scones.
“Jo, sit down with us,” Flynn said. “Let’s talk.”
I did as he asked. “I have nowhere to be today.” I’d recently hired someone to staff the library a few days a week, freeing me up to concentrate on procurement. In the years since I’d first secured funding from Carnegie, I’d been busy, but now I didn’t have as much to do. No man to write to. The library was up and running. Mama didn’t really need help with the little girls. Fiona and Cymbeline were nearly grown and fully ensconced in their studies and their friends. There were d
ays I felt somewhat useless.
I poured myself a cup of tea and settled back into a corner of the couch. “What are you two doing today?” They were dressed in wool jackets and knickers.
“We’re taking Papa up to the mountain to show him the ski runs,” Flynn said. “Now that the snow has finally come, we want to show him how the pulley system works.” When they’d skied in Europe, they’d studied systems for pulling people up the mountain. Theo, always clever with engineering, had repurposed abandoned mining equipment into the rope pull that would take the skiers to the top. All they had to do was hold on to the rope and let the machine do the rest. “He wants to try out the slopes himself.” I smiled at the pride in his voice. Flynn, of all of us, craved Papa’s praise. Not elusive to any of us, of course. If anything, Papa admired us a little too much. According to him, there wasn’t anything his Lucky Seven couldn’t do.
“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to put sticks on their feet and slide down a mountain,” I said.
“Jo, you won’t believe how much fun it is,” Flynn said. “We can’t wait for you all to learn.”
“What about you, Theo?” I asked. “Did you fall in love with it as much as Flynn?”
“I did. Not that I was challenging Frenchmen to races like my brother.”
“Cymbeline will be doing so the moment she masters the skis,” I said.
“That’s my sister,” Flynn said. “I’m so proud of her.”
“Delphia’s going to be just as bad,” I said. “Yesterday at the pond, she ran into a boy and kissed him.”
“That child scares me a little,” Theo said.
“She’s a rascal,” I said. “Wild. Like you and Cymbeline.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Flynn grinned before taking a large bite of scone.
Theo set down his teacup. “Are you going to the festival with anyone, Jo?”
“You mean with a man?”
“Is that such a strange idea?” Flynn asked.
The Spinster (Emerson Pass Historicals Book 2) Page 3
