Don’t let it ruin the moment. When did you ever share such fascinating conversation with Letitia?
Solace nodded, which made the glossy brown waves around her face glimmer in the sunset. “If Bernadette doesn’t get her time to paint each day, she’s a holy terror! You’ve not seen a tantrum until you’ve watched that kid run through the house throwing everything in her path against the wall.”
“Oh, my.” Gabe considered this, partly because thinking was all he could do that didn’t involve touching Solace more than he should. “Does she sketch what she’s trying to say?”
“Sometimes. Bernadette gets so engrossed in her own little world…well, who knows what connections she makes?” Solace’s brown eyes sparkled and a dimple winked in one cheek. “Gracie’ll have her hands full. Part of her mission is to teach Bernadette—and all of us—sign language, to connect words with their meanings. The alphabet, and how to spell with it.”
“A formidable task,” Gabe murmured. He tried not to gaze into Solace’s soulful brown eyes, or to watch her lashes brush her cheeks each time she blinked. It wasn’t as if she was flirting with him—was she?
Solace laughed. “What is it they say? ‘When the student is ready, the teacher appears’? I’m betting Bernadette makes those connections anyway—if she wants to,” she emphasized. “That kid’s so bright, I sometimes wonder if she uses her silence to get exactly what she wants.”
Memories of Henrietta Bancroft’s manipulation made him frown. “You think she chooses not to talk? You make her sound like a little tyrant—a very smart one.”
“Not at all.” Two warm spots glowed in Solace’s cheeks, as though she wanted to share something from deep within her. “I don’t discuss matters of faith as much as some in my family do…but I truly believe Gracie is here because Bernadette called to God for help, and He heard her prayers as no one else could. That probably sounds so far-fetched, you think I’m—”
“That’s the most intriguing idea I’ve heard in a long time,” Gabe breathed. “Only someone who loves Bernadette very much would see it that way.”
Solace focused on his face. His spectacle lenses amplified her gaze until he swore his eyes might catch fire. His hand reached toward hers….
And she grabbed his first.
Solace exhaled slowly, and in her eyes he saw his own confusion. The same terror, too. She licked her lips, which drew his attention to how soft they’d feel if he kissed her.
The portfolio slipped from her lap, breaking the spell. Solace sprang from the swing to catch the loose pages before the breeze carried them off. Gabe dashed after a few sheets, too, cursing when some of the ink smeared from the dampness of the grass. Again he saw the heading, “Daddy Was a Desperado,” which sounded more like a story title than a journal entry.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t—” Solace snatched the pages from his fingers, her cheeks aflame.
Isn’t she pretty, blushing, with her hair blowing loose?
“This is something I do to—a way to pass the time when—”
“When you’re lonely? And when no one else understands you?” His face felt hot. Gabe shifted his weight…stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from doing anything stupid—like grabbing her shoulders to tell her she was wonderful.
Solace’s heartrending expression told him he should’ve kept his mouth shut. Why had he presumed to put meaning to those pages full of neatly blocked paragraphs? She must think him the most rude, insensitive…
“Spoken like a man who knows what it is to be lonely and misunderstood.”
She had him there, didn’t she?
“If you promise not to tell a soul, can I show you something, Gabe?”
Now there was a request that could only lead to trouble! Yet Solace’s expression showed no hint of flirtation. She looked like a young girl with a secret she just had to tell someone. And she’d chosen him.
“Looks like you have several pages of a story here. I’m sorry the ink has smeared.”
“Do you want to see something really exciting?”
She reached behind the paper in her portfolio, and when she pulled out an envelope, her face shone so brightly Gabe prayed he wouldn’t do anything stupid. The last thing he wanted was to jeopardize her trust in him. Or to spoil the excitement that sparkled in her pretty brown eyes.
He unfolded the letter. Glanced at the letterhead and then skimmed past the salutation to a Sol Juddson and…
“This man wants to buy three stories for publication in the Dime Library and Work and Win.” Gabe gaped at her. “You’re Sol Juddson! And these are your stories! This is the company that publishes all those dime novels in the stores.”
Her head was bobbing with delight.
“My God, Solace! I’ve written dozens of legal briefs, but I’ve never known anyone who wrote real stories!”
“Shhh! Someone might hear—”
“Why are you keeping this a secret? This is so—” Gabe raked his hair with his fingers, searching for the highest compliment. “While I’m astounded by the way you ride and shoot, sweetheart, writing stories is, well—I stand in awe! Your family will be so proud! Lily and Grace have accomplished nothing, compared to this!”
Solace’s lovely flush deepened as she glanced toward the house. “I didn’t open this letter until I got here, so I wanted to…savor my accomplishment. What if people think I was wrong to take a male name? Especially since I rearranged my father’s?”
He considered this. “You’re not the first female novelist to do that, Solace. The English writer, George Eliot, took a male nom de plume so her work would be taken seriously by—”
“I didn’t think Beadle and Adams would buy adventure stories by a-a girl,” she explained.
Oh, you’re way beyond being a girl. Who would’ve expected this literary effort from horse-racing, pistol-packing Solace Monroe?
“You’re probably right about that,” he said with a nod. “I hope you’ll tell your family, though. Mike and your mother—Billy and Eve!—will be so proud of you.”
Her deep dimple flirted with him again. “I’ve written myself into a corner, though. Maybe…you could help me?”
She could’ve asked for the moon and stars, and he would’ve delivered them. Gabe fought the urge to hug her: if she misinterpreted his intentions, they’d both be in trouble. “I’ll do whatever I can, Solace. What seems to be the problem?”
“Well—” She searched behind the paper in her portfolio again, and pulled out a check. “The publisher has paid me. But if I take this to the bank in Abilene, the teller will know about my male name and it’ll be all over town—”
Gabe nodded. Abilene had its gossips, and she was right to anticipate some negative reactions.
“—and here in Richmond, they don’t know me from Adam,” she continued earnestly. “So even if Billy comes with me—and even if I wear my pants and boots—it’s obvious I’m not Sol Juddson. Isn’t it?”
He choked on a laugh, because Solace was sincerely perplexed. “No male with eyes or ears could mistake you for a man, honey. But you’re making good points. You’ve thought this through.”
She nodded, some of her luster dimming. “I’m not even sure they can give me the money for it,” she mumbled. “Sol Juddson doesn’t really exist, after all. And if I ask my publisher to exchange the check, he might not buy any more stories.”
Despite his better judgment, his hands landed on her shoulders. Her request for his help made Gabe feel ten feet tall. He doubted a bank would give her any trouble if he, Billy, or Mike Malloy accompanied her, yet he admired the way she’d considered all these angles…the way she’d written and submitted three stories. Most people with sense enough to string that many sentences together didn’t have the nerve to show their work to anyone.
“I understand your dilemma,” he murmured. “Give me a little time. The answer’s somewhere in my law books, or I can inquire discreetly at the bank.”
The tension left her shoulders. Solace looke
d very vulnerable and open to him and…he couldn’t seem to take his hands from her. “Thank you, Gabe. I-I knew you’d help me!”
He wrapped his arms around her. How tall she’d grown! How warm and firm her body had become. Solace’s loose hair teased his face, and sensations he didn’t dare admit stirred within him. When she slipped her arms around him, her trembling—her trust—made Gabe swallow hard. Lord, how he wanted to bury his face in her soft waves and give in to a kiss.
Here in this lilac-scented hideaway, it would be so easy to indulge his lonely need. Evening was drifting in around them, and the night usually taunted him with memories that Solace’s simple affection would ease.
Gabe stepped back with a sigh. “I should go inside, before my roommate comes looking for me,” he remarked, glancing toward the house. “Something tells me Owen doesn’t miss much.”
“He’d tease us to high heaven—in front of everyone.” Solace released him, and meticulously tucked her papers back into her portfolio. Her heightened color suggested the same sort of awareness he felt…the same longing. “I’ll go on inside, so nobody’ll think—well, it’s not like we’re sneaking around—”
“No, we’re not.” Yet his heart hammered at the way she’d said this. Did she want to be alone with him?
“—or like we have improper feelings for each other.”
Gabe’s rapid heartbeat said they did, but he just smiled. “Good night, Solace. It was a real pleasure to share your writing success. Congratulations!”
“Thanks,” she murmured. “Maybe now that I’ve told you a secret, you could share some with me. I wouldn’t tell a soul, you know.” She whistled to Rex, and then walked resolutely across the lawn without looking back.
Gabe sighed wistfully. Best to keep his own counsel, as far as revealing anything about his life with Letitia. What would a young lady like Solace know about such things? Did he want to discolor her rosy assumptions about love? About what it meant to marry for better or worse?
She’s wiser than you know. More mature than Letitia… less concerned about maintaining appearances.
He laughed aloud. Solace Monroe was anything but concerned about fitting society’s mold! But it was too soon. She held too many innocent assumptions.
Would she confide in you if she knew the truth? About how your wife died rather than bear your child?
Gabe’s smile faltered; his happiness drifted away on the evening breeze. Some secrets were too onerous to lift up to the light of day.
Chapter Nine
Solace’s heart was pounding so hard she couldn’t talk—and it wasn’t from taking the back stairs too fast. He understood her need to write! Gabriel Getty, an esteemed attorney—the most educated man she knew!—was impressed and downright astounded by the fact that she was a writer.
Quickly, before her sister came to the room they would share, Solace slipped her portfolio into her valise and then removed the small framed picture of her daddy, Judd Monroe. She gazed at the face she’d never known—the dark eyes and curls and distinctive eyebrows she’d inherited—as she sat on the side of her narrow bed.
“Oh, Daddy, I can’t believe it!” she whispered. “I took a chance on sending in those stories—just like you said! And when Gabe saw those loose pages, I acted on gut impulse and trusted him. And now he thinks I’m smart, Daddy! He thinks I’m special!”
Clasping the small likeness, Solace paused to let the evening’s events sink in—and to consider what she’d just done. Was it wrong to talk to a dead man, even if he was her father? Would God think she was praying to Judd Monroe? If Gracie walked in, she’d be appalled: would never understand about discussing important matters with the father she’d never known.
Heck, Gracie doesn’t talk to Papa about things even though he’s alive, and a good listener, too. And Lily…
Well, Lily wasn’t here, was she? And while the princess in pink had no idea who’d fathered her, she had her angels to talk to and her own ways of knowing how God worked out His purpose. She’d always known she had a special mission and the gifts to carry them out….
You have gifts, too, Solace. Never let anyone tell you different. I was proud of you today.
She exhaled slowly. It was a definite voice she heard at times like these. She couldn’t explain it, and it scared her a little. But when she trusted this voice, believing it was her father’s, things worked out the right way. When she followed his instructions in the corral, her horses behaved just like he said they would. And she never fired a gun without waiting for Daddy to say her aim was straight and true.
Though Michael Malloy had raised her as his own—had loved her without limit from the day he’d helped deliver her—it wasn’t his familiar voice in her head and heart. Solace was afraid to believe God might be talking directly to her, so she attributed this wisdom to Judd Monroe. From what Billy and Mama and Michael said, he would’ve loved her this way. Would’ve stood by her, no matter what.
“Was it wrong for me to twist your name around?” she asked. “Seems like I’ve always been better at boy things than—”
Footsteps on the stairs made her slip Daddy’s picture into her valise again. She stood up to look out the window, in case Gracie was in the mood for Twenty Questions. Her little sister could be mighty nosy when she suspected people were keeping secrets.
“Why are you staring outside? It’s pitch dark.”
Solace closed her eyes and reminded herself to be patient. When she turned, Grace had shut their door and kicked off her kid slippers. “I was thinking, that’s all.”
“About what?”
It was just like Grace to corner her with curiosity. She should’ve thought of an answer before she opened herself to her little sister’s question. As Grace’s light brown hair fell from its pins to tumble over her shoulders, she looked young and slim and pretty—full of bright ideas for teaching Billy’s children.
“Thinking about how lucky Billy’s kids are to have you as their governess,” she hedged. “Olivia adores you already.”
“Solace, you were not thinking about me,” she interrupted pertly. “That look on your face is all about Gabe Getty. We saw you talking to him, out in the yard, so don’t deny it!”
“Is that a crime? He has a lot on his mind, and—like me—he’s at loose ends right now.” Grace’s arched eyebrow shot her a look of disbelief, so she kept talking. “We were talking about Bernadette, actually. About how she might be perfectly capable of speech, but prefers not to talk because it’s to her advantage.”
“That’s absurd! Why would a bright little girl—” Grace perched on the edge of her bed to peel down her stockings. “I’m not even going to mention such a far-fetched notion to Eve. She’s been through so much already. And besides—what would you know? You’ve had no education beyond what Mama taught us!”
But I’ve trained a few contrary horses in my day. And I’ve sold three stories! And I’m getting ideas for more characters all the time….
“Just a hunch,” Solace murmured. “I’m guessing Owen and Olivia will keep you busy, as well. Was the school room nice? Did you visit Eve’s studio?”
As she’d hoped, Gracie’s eyes lit up. “You should see all the portraits she’s working on—as well as Bernadette’s sketches and paintings! That little girl is amazing, the way she—”
Solace smiled to herself. As easily as she’d sidetracked her sister to avoid an inquisition about Gabe, Billy’s kids would lead their new tutor through many a conversational maze to avoid doing schoolwork. But every new teacher had to learn that for herself, didn’t she?
Gracie was still chattering happily when Solace tucked herself into the bunk across the narrow room. As she closed her eyes, she thought about the next section of “Daddy Was a Desperado,” but Gabe Getty’s lanky, bespectacled face kept floating through her mind.
Coming to Billy’s suddenly felt like the right move…much less of an escape from her sense of stagnation at home. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe God had brough
t her here because Gabe Getty needed a sympathetic ear. The way he’d watched her perform with Rex—the widening of his eyes as he’d read the editor’s letter—stirred a promising warmth inside her. Though Gabe was far more sophisticated than she, he’d been sincerely impressed with her accomplishments.
Had she been too forward, suggesting he share his secrets? Most men never spoke of their troubles—especially to women.
But tomorrow would tell, maybe. And if not tomorrow, she wasn’t going anywhere else anyway, was she?
Gabe gazed at the rivulets of rain running down the window. After Beulah Mae’s wonderful flapjack breakfast, the children had gone upstairs with their new teacher while Billy, Eve, and Solace were tending their own tasks. Even with so many people engaged in so many pursuits, he felt at peace for the first time in weeks…well, months. Letitia had never inspired a feeling of tranquility. Her constant dramas had made the law office a haven of sanity, where he’d spent many extra hours because he had no one to talk to…or to share a life with at home.
He glanced at his valise, where his wife’s diary beckoned him. Now that he had time alone, perhaps he could read her final entries with more clarity. Moving out of that dismal mansion had given him a sense of progress. The entries would upset him and reopen his wounds, but he’d come to Billy’s to slay such emotional dragons. No time like the present.
The velvet covers of Letitia’s private journal felt cool and smooth; a hint of lavender sachet and her pretty script bespoke her privileged upbringing. Much more elaborate than Solace’s penmanship, it was, as his wife had always embellished her word endings with curlicues.
After only two paragraphs, he saw an aspect of Letitia that had escaped him before: her writing looked pretty on the page, but she said absolutely nothing of importance. It was all for appearance, without content—until those last two weeks, when she’d sent for that “infallible French female remedy” and eagerly awaited her salvation. Freedom from the fetus that grew within her.
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