Promising Hearts

by Radclyffe

  “Well whatever she is, she would do well to behave like a proper lady.” Clarissa cast a scathing glance Kate’s way. “Some excuses can be made for our own, I suppose. But not for outsiders.”

  Kate rose and set her sewing aside. “Excuse me. Would anyone else like more tea?”

  A few of the women in the sewing circle murmured, but most stared from Clarissa to Kate with rapt attention. Kate hurried from the room before she said something she knew she would eventually regret. Creating a scene in her mother’s parlor would do no one any good.

  “You shouldn’t pay any attention to that old biddy,” Millie, the town marshal’s new wife and one of Kate’s closest friends, whispered.

  Kate turned from the icebox with a pitcher of tea in her hand and fury in her eyes. “How dare she attack Jessie in front of me? If it weren’t for my mother, I’d—I’d…” She slammed the tea down on the kitchen table. “That’s just the problem. I know there’s nothing I could say that would make any difference to her. And strangling her is probably out of the question.”

  Millie smiled and put her arm around Kate’s shoulders. “The way to get back at her is to show her that her opinion doesn’t matter. And to anyone with half a brain, it doesn’t.”

  “I don’t understand why my mother even cares what people like that think.”

  “It’s hard to be alone, especially out here.”

  “She’s not alone. She has my father and she has me.”

  “Yes, and now you’ve got Jessie and your father…well, he’s a wonderful man.” Millie smiled. “But he is a man. Being as you don’t have one, you probably don’t realize how little they understand us.”

  Kate laughed. “You’re right.”

  “Does Jessie understand you?” Millie asked shyly. “Seeing’s how her and you are together and all.”

  “Yes, I think so. At least as well as I understand her.” Kate took down two glasses and poured tea. Millie was the only one of her friends—aside from Mae—who ever acknowledged what Jessie was to her. She gave her an affectionate glance and set down the pitcher. “Which means not always. But when she doesn’t, she tries.”

  “Can’t ask for much more.”

  “No. I wouldn’t ask for anything more.”

  “I’ve seen the new doctor. Have you?”

  Kate shook her head. “No, not yet. I understand she’s…solitary.”

  “I’ve heard she frequents the saloon at night.”

  “Really? I dearly wish I could. The conversation would certainly be more to my liking.”

  “Well, I think she looks very mysterious, and I can’t wait to actually meet her.”

  “Yes, I’m looking forward to that, too.” Kate considered that she hadn’t spent any time with her father at the newspaper office of late, and today seemed like the perfect opportunity.

  Chapter Nine

  “I can set the type while you block out the advertisements,” Kate said to her father as she joined him at the print table in the rear of the single room that served as the office and production area for the New Hope Chronicle.

  “You’ll get ink on your hands and it’s the devil to get out,” Martin Beecher said mildly. “And your mother will likely take me to task for it.”

  Kate smiled and gently shouldered her father aside. Ever since she’d been a little girl she’d accompanied him when he went to work, although in those days it had been to the college where he’d taught. Since coming to New Hope, and especially now that she no longer lived at home, she didn’t have nearly as much opportunity, and she missed their quiet camaraderie. “Anything I can’t get out, I’ll take care to hide. Let me see the copy.”

  More because he enjoyed her company than because he needed the help, Martin conceded and handed her the list of transactions he’d received that afternoon from the land claims office.

  “Goodness, this is quite a list,” Kate remarked.

  “More and more homesteaders are arriving every day. Before long, Montana will be well settled and ready for statehood.”

  “The town certainly seems to be growing.” As she spoke, Kate swiftly and efficiently set the type, letter by letter, into the preset frame. “Jessie said there were dozens of wagon trains moving West through Fort Laramie when last she was there.”

  “We’re going to need some kind of law out on the range soon,” Martin commented absently as he adjusted the layout of the notices and ads. “The town marshals can’t be expected to chase across the entire territory after outlaws and cattle rustlers, and the army’s got more than enough to do protecting the railroads and wagon trains from marauders.”

  “Cattle rustlers.” Kate said the words slowly, realizing with an uneasy jitter in her stomach that she had no idea just how big the Rising Star was. Between the long winter and the months spent recovering from her sickness, she’d never been able to make the journey to see it that Jessie had promised long ago. But she knew from listening to Jessie speak of her land that it spread over many days’ worth of travel. And that a great deal of it was remote mountain terrain. “I wouldn’t imagine that’s a very big problem around here, is it? I mean, perhaps a cow or two now and then for food or a horse to—”

  “Oh no,” Martin said. “According to all the reports that we’ve been getting from across the territories, gangs of rustlers are stealing hundreds of head of livestock.”

  “But surely not out here, so far from the rail centers.”

  “Apparently they’re driving them hundreds of miles to markets in Colorado. Even as far south as Texas.” Martin slid the finished plate into the hand press. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it before this. What with the Rising Star being one of the biggest outfits in this part of the territory.”

  Kate had a feeling that she knew why she hadn’t heard of this trouble before, and hoped she was wrong. Tomorrow Jessie would be back. Tomorrow she would have her answer. Stacking the single sheets as they slid from the press, she said, “I’ll help you take the early editions around.”

  “I’ll only be taking them a few places, my dear. You’ll be more comfortable waiting here.”

  “I’ll be bored is what I’ll be. Give me the ones for the Golden Nugget. It’s just down the street.”

  “Oh no,” Martin said with a laugh. “If your mother ever heard—”

  “I’ll take them in the back. No one will see me, and even if they do, there isn’t a soul who would know Mother to tell her.”

  “Kate, really. I know that you have an acquaintance—”

  “I’ve a friend there, and this won’t be my first visit. I’ll be quite all right.” Kate kissed her father’s cheek. “I know you like to talk to Silas at the hotel in the evenings. You can come for me when you’re done.”

  “If you promise to take care, I’ll walk you there and be back shortly.”

  “I won’t go anywhere I’m not safe.”

  *

  “Evenin’, Doc,” Frank said and poured a shot of whiskey without being asked. He slid it across the counter to Vance. “Late day or early night?”

  “Just got back into town. Been riding all day.” Vance smiled wryly. It hadn’t taken more than a few weeks for the town’s bartender to learn her schedule. She should probably take that as a sign that the whiskey was still winning. Nevertheless, she tossed back the drink and poured another from the bottle Frank had put down nearby. “Things are a lot farther apart out here than I’m used to.”

  Frank laughed. “I imagine so, if you’re used to city living.”

  “Not for some time, but even farm country in the East is more populated. It took me most of the day to check on the three families Caleb wanted me to see.”

  “You making those calls by yourself?” Frank asked cautiously.

  Vance stiffened. “That’s right.”

  “Ever shot anyone with that sidearm you’re carrying?” Frank leaned across the bar and kept his voice low.

  “Would you ask me that if I were a man?”

  Frank appeared unpert
urbed. “Might. If I thought you were a tenderfoot fixing to get himself killed.”

  “I’m not either one of those things,” Vance replied evenly. “And I’m a dead shot.”

  “That’s good to know.” Frank swiped at a spill on the bar with the cloth he kept tucked into his belt. “I’m kind of getting used to your conversation.”

  Vance had to smile because they rarely exchanged more than a few words throughout an entire evening. His concern surprised her, not that she hadn’t expected men to doubt her ability to protect herself. But Frank hadn’t automatically assumed she was incapable. He hadn’t made assumptions, any more than Milton had. Her sergeant had accepted her, first at face value because she was the regimental surgeon, and after a time because no one could do the job better. They hadn’t talked much either, reading one another almost effortlessly, whether playing cards or caring for the wounded in the midst of Armageddon. For nearly three years they’d been as close as lovers, sharing danger and hardship and triumph. On that last day, she hadn’t listened to his cautions, hadn’t been able to hear anything except the thunder of death all around her. And he had paid for her mistake. Not her. He had remained out of loyalty and duty and friendship, and she had failed him. She gripped the edge of the bar, swaying as the room receded and the stench of battle filled her consciousness.

  “Why don’t you buy a lady a drink, Doc,” Mae said as she smoothly caught up the whiskey bottle in one hand and threaded her opposite arm through Vance’s. She nodded to Frank, who stared at Vance’s ashen face with alarm. “Bring some glasses, Frank.”

  “Right away,” he said hurriedly.

  “I’m okay,” Vance whispered hoarsely.

  “Don’t doubt it. Now me, I could use a few minutes off my feet with a good drink and better company.” With practiced moves, Mae guided them through the crowd to a table tucked underneath the second-floor balcony. The illumination from rows of oil lamps set into sconces along the walls barely penetrated the space. “Looks like I got both.”

  Frank set glasses in the center of the table and melted away into the shadows.

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about the company,” Vance said as she sank heavily onto the wooden chair. When Mae poured whiskey into a glass and handed it to her, she shook her head. “No, thanks. I need to clear my head, not muddle it up anymore.”

  “You looked like something hit you hard back there,” Mae said gently. She’d come downstairs earlier than usual, unaccountably restless. She told herself she was only going to look over the crowd and make sure there were no troublemakers in the bunch. But the instant she’d reached the landing, she’d gazed toward the far end of the room where Vance usually spent an hour or two in the evening, quietly drinking alone. She’d seen her at once and, even at a distance, she’d known something was wrong. Something even the whiskey couldn’t cure. Vance’s face was a study in torment. Every thought had fled except for one. She would not stand by and watch Vance suffer alone.

  “I’m sorry,” Vance said.

  “For what?”

  Vance was glad for the dark so that Mae wouldn’t see her humiliation. Or her shame. “I regret that I caused you any concern.”

  Mae laughed. “I don’t believe worrying over someone ever caused a body any harm.” She leaned close and put her hand on Vance’s arm. “Have you had any dinner?”

  “I…not as of yet.” Vance refused to add to her embarrassment by admitting that she’d forgotten to eat. In fact, other than coffee and a biscuit at breakfast, she’d had nothing all day. She could smell Mae’s perfume, the same scent that had clung to her coat after her visit to Mae’s rooms. When she’d dressed the next morning and caught the hint of her in the air, she’d been shaken by a ripple of longing so intense it had left her weak. She’d deliberately put the moment from her mind, but now, with Mae so near and the warmth of her touch searing her to the bone, she couldn’t resist. “Please allow me to buy you dinner.”

  For an instant, Mae was stunned to silence. Surely one of them misunderstood. “Well, that’s very kind of you. If I’d known, I would have made arrangements for us to dine in my rooms. Perhaps another night.”

  “The hotel is just across the street.”

  “Vance,” Mae said gently. “I can’t eat there with you.”

  Vance’s voice hardened. “And why would that be?”

  “There are certain things that are…understood. In many other places, women like me would be living in shacks on the outskirts of town with nothing but tin and paper over our heads.” Mae swept a hand toward the balcony above them. “Here we’ve got clean rooms, decent food, and doctoring when we need it. As long as we don’t ask for too much, that is.”

  “I see.” Vance wanted to protest, but she knew Mae spoke the truth. Prostitution was a part of life from the capital city to the smallest mining encampment. Most of the time, it was a dreary and dangerous life. She’d seen women worn out by it before they were twenty-five. She’d also seen parlor houses in St. Louis and Denver that were as fine as any hotel. The women who ran them and lived in them dressed in finery and often were among the wealthiest women in the community, earning far more for their labors than common workmen. But those success stories were not the norm. Out here on the frontier, the sporting women were fortunate if they did not fall prey to disease or mistreatment. “I want you to know that whatever the rules—or the consequences—they make no matter to me. I would be honored by your company.”

  Mae looked away, undone by the sincerity in Vance’s voice and her own deep longing for the impossible. Impossible for so many reasons. She met Vance’s eyes, because to do less would be to discount the gift she had been offered. The price that Vance was willing to pay for her beliefs was starkly evident in the empty sleeve and the ghosts of guilt and self-recrimination that haunted her eyes. Mae thought she had never known a braver soul. “It is you who honor me. Under other circumstances, there’s nothing I would like more than to dine with you.”

  “I would not do anything to endanger you or any of the girls.”

  “It was kind of you to offer. And to understand.” Mae forced a lightness into her voice that she did not feel. “You should go on over and have that dinner while you’re still thinking about it.”

  “No.” Vance caught Mae’s hand as she started to withdraw. “Not just yet. I’d rather sit here with you. How much time do we have?”

  “It will be a little while before the girls come down. The men need to know that I’m here, that I’m watching. That I know who the girls are going off with.”

  “And what about you? Will you be…going off with someone?”

  Mae studied Vance’s face in the dim light. Her dark eyes glinted, sharp as a knife’s edge. Mae dared not ask the question she so desperately wanted answered. What does it make me in your eyes? She shook her head. “From time to time. Not tonight, I don’t expect.”

  “Then I’d be pleased with your company.”

  “Will you tell me something?”

  “If I can,” Vance said immediately.

  “What happened tonight?” Mae asked, her penetrating gaze just as unrelenting.

  “Why does it matter?”

  Mae couldn’t think of any answer except the truth. “Because whatever is tearing you up hurts me every time I see it.”

  “I have…spells.”

  “Is it a sickness?”

  Vance laughed hollowly. “Of a sort. Something happens to me and I end up thinking about the war. That last morning. I can…” She shivered. “It’s like I’m there.”

  “You mean, more than just remembering? Feeling it?”

  “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it. It’s not a memory. I feel it. I hear it. I see it. All of it.” She closed her eyes. “God. So real.”

  “Does it happen a lot?” As Vance spoke, Mae watched the pain etch itself into the lines of her face, saw her body shudder as if from invisible blows. She wanted to put herself between Vance and whatever was hurting her, but she knew it was too far inside her fo
r anyone to touch. There would be no relief, no end to the agony, until Vance alone unearthed the source.

  “Not as much as it used to.” Vance reached for the whiskey bottle, pleased to see that her hand was steady. She poured them each a drink. “I don’t remember very much about the first few months. My arm was infected, and I was delirious most of the time. I’d had pneumonia and that flared up. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t identify myself.” She emptied the shot in a single gulp and closed her fingers hard around the glass. “I spent quite a long time in a hospital in Richmond before anyone figured out who I was.”

  “That you were a doctor?”

  Vance nodded. “That and that my father was one of Lincoln’s appointees to the Medical Bureau that organized medical care in the Union Army.”

  “So he’s a doctor, too.”

  “Yes.” Vance sighed. “Eventually I was sent home, back to Philadelphia to be cared for. Once my arm healed and it seemed that I was getting well, the episodes began.”

  “And there’s no medicine? No treatment?”

  “Laudanum effectively stops it,” Vance said bitterly. “That’s a bit like trading one devil for another. I finally refused it, against my father’s wishes.”

  “I’ve seen what that can do,” Mae said softly. “It’s a way to escape, sure enough. But it’s a little bit like dying, too, isn’t it?”

  Completely without thinking, Vance lifted Mae’s hand and rested her cheek against Mae’s palm. “How is it you understand so much?”

  Mae brushed her fingers through Vance’s hair. “I want to understand you.”

  “Why?”

  They were dangerously close to crossing a line that Mae could barely see any longer, but she knew it was there. She knew who she was, what she was. And she sensed, no, she knew, that Vance was vulnerable. For all her strength, for all her brave certainty, she was wounded, and Mae would not risk having her hurt more. She eased away, smiling. “There’s three people in town it’s good to know—the banker, the marshal, and the doctor. You’re the best looking of the lot.”