Home by Morning

by Kaki Warner

  “Thomas won’t like it.”

  “I know. But at least she hasn’t changed her mind about coming home.”

  Yet. “Any supper left?”

  Brushing a tear from her cheek, she rose, pulled a cook pot off the stove, set it on the table, then returned to her seat. “I don’t understand her, Declan,” she said in a tearful voice. “I know Pru cares about Thomas, but it seems every time they have a chance of getting together, she has something else to do first. Lucinda says that after the way Pru has treated him, she wouldn’t be surprised if Thomas washed his hands of her.”

  Declan wouldn’t be surprised, either.

  He lifted the lid on the pot. Venison stew. Realizing she wasn’t going to get them, he got a plate, utensils, butter crock, and the end of a loaf of bread and carried them to the table.

  As he ate, Ed went on about what they should do, and why was Pru acting this way, and did she really think Thomas would wait for her forever?

  Declan didn’t bother to respond. He knew his wife wasn’t looking for answers, just someone to listen. And he was better at that than talking, anyway. But he could see that worry over her sister was tearing apart his tenderhearted wife. Ed loved both Pru and Thomas and wanted them together and here with them in Heartbreak Creek. But it sounded like the chances of that happening grew slimmer with every excuse and delay. That made Declan sad, too. Mostly for Thomas. He’d never seen a man fall so hard, so fast.

  Ed finally wound down with a deep sigh. “I guess I should go pack.”

  He looked up. “Going somewhere?”

  “We need to get back to the ranch. Calving starts soon.”

  We. It pleased him to hear that. The woman was a blessing he’d never expected when he’d sent off for a mail-order bride. Sight unseen and with the signing of her name, she’d moved from plantation princess to rancher’s wife and mother to four rowdy children. Declan doubted he would have had the fortitude to tackle the task with the good humor and patience she had shown. “There’s no rush. Chick and Amos can handle anything that comes up.”

  “Why wait around if we don’t even know when she’s coming?”

  “Because she’s family. And that’s what families do.”

  Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. “I adore you, Robert Declan Brodie.”

  He felt himself blush and wondered if she knew how much those words meant to him. After a lifetime of feeling clumsy and awkward, to be loved by a woman like Ed was a wonderment.

  Pushing his plate aside, he reached for his hat. “I’d best give Thomas the news.” He hoped this latest delay didn’t send the Cheyenne away for good.

  Part Three

  Hold on to what is good,

  Even if it is a handful of earth.

  Hold on to what you believe,

  Even if it is a tree that stands by itself.

  Hold on to what you must do,

  Even if it is a long way from here.

  Hold on to your life,

  Even if it is easier to let go.

  Hold on to my hand,

  Even if someday I will be gone away from you . . .

  —Pueblo Indian Prayer

  Twenty

  Our first teacher is our own heart.

  —Native American proverb

  HEARTBREAK CREEK, COLORADO TERRITORY, APRIL 1872

  The train began to slow.

  In building excitement, Pru pressed closer to the soot-smeared window for her first glimpse of the new Heartbreak Creek Station.

  When she’d left for Schuler a year ago to teach at the Hilltop Christian Academy for People of Color—before it became the Quaker school—the rails had reached only as far as Boot Creek, a small water stop several miles east of town. Where the Heartbreak Creek Station now stood had been a rail yard. Beside it, the once-bustling Chinese camp had been replaced by a heated water tower, fed by a sluice that brought clean—and drinkable—water from deep in the canyon.

  Heartbreak Creek was no longer a dying mining camp with horrid water. By sheer force of will—and a suitcase full of money—Lucinda Rylander had brought the town back to life. And now a grand lodge was to be built beside the mineral spring where Thomas had taken her that snowy night over a year ago.

  So many changes. She was sorry she had missed them.

  When the passenger car rolled slowly up to the station, Pru saw that the platform was empty. She was disappointed, but not surprised, since she’d sent no word of her arrival today. Besides, it was Sunday. Everyone would be in church.

  The moment the conductor opened the door, she pulled her valise from beneath her seat and hurried toward the exit. A stiff breeze dissipated smoke from the locomotive stack, and as she stepped onto the wooden planks beside the tracks, she filled her lungs with the first cool, clean air she’d breathed since boarding in Schuler many days ago.

  She was so grateful her ordeal was over and she was home at last.

  “That you, Miss Lincoln?”

  Pru turned and saw a smiling man leaning against the wheel of a buckboard while a railroad worker loaded boxes and crates from the baggage car into the bed of the wagon. It took a moment for her to place him. “Mr. Kincaid?”

  “Yep. Surprised you remember. Welcome back.”

  She smiled at the town’s milk supplier. “I’m glad to be back.”

  “Going up to the church to surprise them?” he asked, walking toward her. “I know that little blind girl would be tickled to know you’re here. ’Fore the train came, I could hear her singing, even this far away. Girl’s got a powerful voice.”

  “She certainly does.” Pru glanced in the direction of the church, but the train stood in the way. Mr. Kincaid had addressed her as Miss Lincoln, so it seemed Thomas hadn’t told anyone they were married.

  “You want, I can drop your valise off at the hotel. Or the Arlan house, if you prefer. That’s where the girl’s staying. Her and the Abrahams and our new sheriff.”

  Thomas. Pru pressed a hand to her fluttering stomach. Although she longed to see him, she didn’t want to put either of them in an awkward position by showing up at the house uninvited. But if she went to the church . . .

  She handed him her valise. “The hotel for now. And thank you.”

  “If you don’t mind waiting, I can give you a ride.”

  “I appreciate that, but after sitting for so long, I think I’d rather walk.”

  By the time she had freshened up in the Ladies’ Retiring Room inside the station, Mr. Kincaid was gone, the train was pulling away, and she could see the church up the road.

  A man was sitting on the steps. From this distance, she couldn’t be certain who it was, but something in the set of his shoulders and the fact that he didn’t wear a hat over his dark hair made it suddenly harder for her to take a full breath.

  Reticule clutched at her waist, she marched resolutely toward her husband.

  For a thousand miles, she had rehearsed what she would say to him—how Marsh had used threats against him and Lillie to force her aboard the train in Indianapolis; why she hadn’t turned back when she learned Marsh was dead and no longer a danger to them; what had delayed her return to Heartbreak Creek.

  Good reasons, all. But after so many broken promises, she wondered if he would believe her. Or trust her again.

  He must. There was more at stake now than just her happiness and his. Lillie needed them both.

  As she drew closer, he slowly stood, his attention focused her way. She had no doubt that he recognized her now. She could feel it. That intense gaze seemed to reach beneath her skin, set her nerves humming, scatter her thoughts like puffs of white lint across a Louisiana cotton field. Would he welcome her? Or walk away?

  Her steps faltered. Her legs started to shake.

  From inside the church came the sound of voices. She recognized Lillie’s. Hearing it gave her strength. T
he child had been so distraught when Pru had left. She had suffered so much in her short life. But Lillie was a survivor. Children were resilient. They would get through this, then all three of them could begin to heal.

  She was close enough now to see his face. He wasn’t smiling, but he often didn’t. More telling were his crossed arms and the fact that he didn’t come forward to greet her. She hadn’t known what to expect, but this chilly silence cut deep.

  “Thomas,” she said by way of greeting when she stopped at the bottom of the steps. She was afraid if she said more, her voice would crack.

  Without responding, he came down the stairs.

  “You look well.” In truth, he looked tired. Worn. The lines bracketing his wide mouth seemed set in stone, and his eyes were more shuttered than ever.

  He stopped in front of her—less than a yard away, yet it felt like an immense distance. “Why are you here?” he asked in a hard voice.

  She tried for levity. “Here, at the church? Or here, in Heartbreak Creek?”

  He didn’t smile.

  So that was how it would be. Not wanting him to see how his coldness distressed her, she hiked her chin. “We need to talk, Thomas. But not here.”

  “I am in the sheriff’s office every morning.”

  “I’ll see you there.” She started to step around him, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. It wasn’t a tight grip, but it wasn’t tender, either.

  “You will not hurt Katse’e,” he said in a tone he had never before used with her. “You will not fill her heart with hope, Prudence, then walk away from her. Do you understand?”

  The words knocked the breath from her. For a moment, she couldn’t draw in enough air to respond. “Thomas—”

  The church doors opened.

  He released her arm.

  “I will talk to you about it tomorrow,” she said in a shaky voice, then put on a bright smile as people began to file out of the church.

  * * *

  When those who came first through the doors saw Prudence at the bottom of the steps, their voices rose in happy cries and words of welcome.

  Thomas ignored them. Vaulting over the railing at the top of the stairs, he pushed his way through the crowded doorway. When he saw Katse’e at the end of the narrow aisle, walking with Winnie Abraham, he stepped between two rows of benches to wait.

  The Brodie family came by. “What’s the ruckus?” Declan asked.

  Thomas cut his gaze to Edwina Brodie. “Your sister is here.”

  Her squeal echoed to the rafters. Declan had to hold his wife back to keep her from mowing down the people in front of her.

  Thomas had to repeat the news for the Hardestys and Rylanders and Jessups.

  “Wonderful!” Lucinda Rylander cried. “Now she can meet our little Rosie.”

  Rayford Jessup paused beside him. “You still coming for Sunday dinner?”

  Thomas had forgotten it was at the Wallace home today. His first instinct was to send Lillian without him. He was so rattled, he could hardly think. He thought he had prepared himself for this moment. He thought he had put her from his heart. It seemed he had not. Seeing her walk toward him had cut as deep as a knife thrust.

  But he would not let her, or his friends, see him bleed.

  “I will be there.”

  “Good. I think I’ll uncork a bottle of Ash’s fine whisky.”

  “I do not drink whisky.”

  “You might want to today.”

  Thomas saw understanding in Jessup’s dark blue eyes and realized the Texan was not goading him, but offering support. He forced a smile. “Perhaps I should bring mataho, so we can all be foolish.”

  Jessup shook his head. “After what happened to Brodie when you gave him peyote buttons? I pass.” Chuckling, he moved on.

  The crowd thinned until only the Abrahams and Lillian remained in the church. Winnie Abraham must have seen that something was wrong. “What is it, Thomas?” she asked, stopping beside him.

  “You hear me sing, Daddy? I was especially good today, ain’t—isn’t—that so, Miss Winnie?”

  But Winnie was staring past him toward the doorway. A smile spread across her kind face. “Praise the Lawd, child. Your prayers are answered.”

  “Which ones? I pray a lot.”

  Thomas did not have to look back to see what had drawn Winnie’s attention. He bent before his daughter. “Katse’e, Prudence Lincoln is here.”

  Her blank eyes widened. “Fo’ true?”

  “For true.” And may the Great Spirit rain curses down on her head if his wife leaves this child again. Thomas rose and gave his daughter’s shoulder a gentle shove. “Walk forward. She is only a few steps away.”

  “Miss Pru! Miss Pru!” Dropping her blind stick, Katse’e stumbled down the aisle, arms raised high. “Mama, you came home!”

  Thomas turned to watch, something twisting in his chest.

  Tears running down her cheeks, Prudence scooped the girl into her arms. “Yes, dearest, I’m home.” Her gaze found Thomas’s. He saw pain in her eyes. And something else he could not define. “And I will never leave you again.”

  If only he could believe that.

  An hour later, Gordon Stevens, the groom who had come from England with the Jessups, gave the men a tour of the huge stable the Scotsman had had Ethan Hardesty build for his English horses. Because he feared fire, Ash had instructed Ethan to use stone wherever he could. He had also insisted on a coal stove to warm the foals due in the fall. Thomas thought that was foolish. Even though they would be young when winter came, with so many horses in a closed space, they would stay warm enough.

  “As a wedding present to me and Josie,” Rayford Jessup said with a grin at Thomas, “Ash is giving our Cheyenne friend here first pick of the foals.”

  Thomas barely heard him, his attention more focused on the house on the other side of a wide drive. He wondered how Katse’e was doing. His daughter had been chattering like a magpie when she and Prudence had climbed into the Rylander buggy in front of the church, and she was probably still chattering now. He hoped not about him.

  “That’s an odd wedding present,” Tait Rylander said.

  Jessup chuckled. “Then call it a bribe to induce Thomas to bunk with Jamie aboard ship and on the train as far as Indiana. The privacy was welcome.”

  “Privacy? What’s that?” Tait gave a rueful smile. “No such thing if you live in a hotel with your wife’s guardian and have a newborn in the next room.”

  “Speaking of foals,” Declan said as they followed Gordon down the long, open aisle. “These are all fine-looking animals. Which did you pick to breed, Thomas? Warmblood or thoroughbred?”

  Thomas dragged his thoughts away from what might be happening in the house. “Both. Pembroke’s Pride and a big bay warmblood mare.”

  “Good choices.” Jessup explained the merits of both horses, his pride evident in the stallion he had won in the race in England. Thomas thought he was the finest horse in the stable.

  Jessup gave a low whistle. All along the stone walkway, horse heads poked out of the open top doors of their stalls. “That’s the mare.” He pointed to a tall, sturdily built bay with kind eyes. “And down there”—he nodded toward the end of the aisle, where several stalls were separated from the others by an office and the tack, feed, and bunk rooms—“is Pembroke’s Pride.”

  As if recognizing his name, the dark stallion looked out of the end stall, tossed his mane, and gave an impatient whinny.

  “He’s late for his morning run,” Gordon said, stopping outside his stall. “Fastest horse you ever saw. Almost died proving it, too.”

  Thomas had not seen the thoroughbred since he’d returned to Heartbreak Creek. He was glad to see the animal’s wounds had healed well. Other than the white hairs marking where the blade had cut into his neck and chest, he showed no sign of lastin
g injury.

  A clang sounded over by the house. “Come eat!” Henny Stevens called.

  “About bloody time.” Gordon motioned toward the house. “Shall we?”

  Letting the others go ahead, Declan turned to Thomas. “You okay?”

  “Why would I not be?”

  “Then smile. You look like a damned undertaker. Ed’s worried.”

  Edwina Brodie worried about so many things Thomas had stopped noticing long ago.

  “Have you had a chance to talk to Pru yet?” the rancher asked.

  Thomas pretended indifference. “About what?”

  Brodie made an impatient sound. “Everything. Anything. Why she was in jail. How long she plans to stay. Christ, Thomas. The whole town’s wondering what’s going on between you two.”

  “There is nothing going on.” Seeing more questions on the way, he held up a hand. “I will talk to her tomorrow. This is all I will say. Now we will eat.”

  As soon as they were gathered around the table, Lucinda announced that something had come in the post for Thomas. At her nod, Rylander rose. Picking up a crate in the corner, he brought it to the table and plunked it down beside Thomas’s plate. “Just so you know, I wasn’t the one who opened it.”

  Seeing the grins on Edwina’s and Lucinda’s faces, Thomas could guess who had. Lifting off the lid, he saw books inside. His book.

  He stared. Until this moment, his book had not seemed real to him. But that was his name on the front, so it must be true. He lifted one out, studied the front and back, then opened it to the first page.

  “For my friends in Heartbreak Creek,” he read silently, “so they will know the man who walks among them.” Then, below it, “Thomas Redstone, Author.”

  He looked at Rayford Jessup. “You wrote these words.”

  Jessup nodded. “I was paraphrasing what you said to me when we began. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Thomas wasn’t sure. He had wanted to tell the story of his old chief, not see his own name in print. It stole a part of him. Put another label on him he was not sure he wanted. Author.