by Jane Shoup
Jenny clenched her fists tightly beneath the table and refused to look at him. Ma set down the bowl of gravy and wiped her hands on her apron before sitting. “Since you’re starving to death,” she said teasingly to Jeremy, “you can say the blessing.”
“I’m starving, too,” Rodney Sheffield said as he sat. “So bless this food we’re about to receive. Amen.”
“Amen,” Jeremy said, reaching for the platter of roast beef.
Without question, it was the hardest meal Jenny had ever had to get through. She could barely choke down a bite, and Jeremy kept looking at her suspiciously, and her mother wanted to discuss the upcoming picnic at church. As if she could go to it. Or go anywhere. She felt cold and then hot at the thought of the humiliation to come. “I don’t feel well,” she said, pushing back from the table. “May I be excused?”
Her mother frowned. “You do look flushed. Go on and lie down. I’ll check on you in a bit.”
Jenny lay on her bed and drew the quilt over her, feeling how bruised she was. How soiled. She pretended to sleep when her mother checked on her later. She loved the roughened but tender hand that felt her forehead for fever. She loved her mother and all her family, and they loved her. And she’d ruined herself. She’d ruined everything.
Later the door opened again. “Jen?” Jeremy whispered.
She didn’t answer and he shut the door again.
She wasn’t able to sleep at all, and she felt heavy as she rose before first light, still dressed in the crumpled clothing she’d worn yesterday. She felt so dirty and used. So damaged. She was stiff as she wrapped a shawl around herself and went outside to use the outhouse. Afterwards, she thought about returning to bed and maybe sleeping, but she began walking instead.
She ended up at the pond. Usually she avoided it, ever since the day she’d nearly drowned as a girl. Jeremy had saved her that day, and later he’d tried to teach her to swim, but her fear was too great. He’d tried to save her from Ted, too, but she hadn’t listened. “He’s got no integrity,” her brother had stated. “It’s ’cause he’s never had to work a day in his life. What kind of man doesn’t work a day in his life? Not one you want. You need to listen to me on this.”
But she hadn’t listened. She’d been unwilling to hear anything bad about Ted. Maybe it was true he hadn’t had to work, she’d retorted, but neither would she, once she married him.
“Marry him?” Jeremy scoffed. “Don’t even tell me you haven’t noticed he’s got a new girl mooning over him every few months. He promises ’em all the good life. Don’t be stupid.”
If only she’d listened, but she’d traded in her common sense and her integrity in the hope of marrying Ted. She had seen the way he treated other girls, and just like them, she’d thought she’d be different. Like poor Margery, whom everyone now called easy, and sometimes worse. And Deborah, who’d quit school after rumors started flying. And Anne, most recently. All because of Ted Landreth. All because this wasn’t a town that forgot scandal and shame.
Jenny shivered at the sight of the murky, gray water as the eastern sky lightened. There was no twinkling to the water today, no beauty, but it was darkly beckoning. She looked at the place in the pond where there was no shelf, just a drop-off. The place she’d nearly drowned as a child was the very place she could drown now. Drowning probably didn’t hurt, at least not more than she was already hurting, and this way they would all be spared the shame of a scandal.
She’d been known to sleepwalk when she was feverish, and her family knew she’d been sickly yesterday. Maybe they would believe that’s what had happened. They’d never know she was ruined. They’d never have to know.
Once word of her death got out, Ted and Stan wouldn’t utter a word about her. They wouldn’t dare. She hoped they’d be good and sorry. She hoped the thought of her death would haunt them every day for the rest of their lives. If it did, maybe they wouldn’t hurt anyone else.
The rooster crowed and cold tears itched as they slid down her face. She mouthed the Lord’s Prayer as she took unsteady steps forward toward the right spot, toward absolution. She was sorry. She was so sorry for her sins. She stepped into the cold water and kept walking, although her body shook violently. When she felt the drop-off with her foot, she knew it was either the beginning or the end. Either the beginning of the scandal or the end of her life. She closed her eyes, extended her arms, and fell forward. As the cold water claimed her, she thought, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Chapter One
August 18, 1883
Lester Shoemaker couldn’t help his curiosity about the woman who sat opposite him in the train car between her children. Even as exhausted as she obviously was, she was lovely. Her hair was the color of sun-bleached wheat, her bone structure was delicate, and she had remarkable gray-blue eyes. She also had excellent breasts, especially for someone as slender as she was, although he’d tried to keep his gaze trained elsewhere, as a gentleman should.
As a salesman, Lester had ridden a long way on the Norfolk and Western Railway, Lexington to Richmond and back again, and he’d noticed the lady after making a trip to the smoking car to stretch his legs. The second-class accommodations where she and her children sat were crowded and uncomfortable, and so he’d discreetly invited her to join him in his compartment. With his balding head and gentle smile, he was certainly harmless looking enough. In fact, he was harmless—except when it came to closing a sale. The lady had hesitated, but the heat was taking a toll, and so she’d accepted.
In his compartment he’d tried to draw her into conversation, something he had a special talent for, but failed. Her children were cute things too, especially the small boy, who looked very like her, although the poor thing, who couldn’t have been more than four, had a puffy black eye. As the train closed in on his destination, he tried one last time to engage her in conversation. “You folks stopping in Lexington or going on?”
“Going on,” the woman replied with a polite smile.
“Ah. I hope you don’t have much farther to go.”
“I . . . I don’t think so. Green Valley?”
“Oh, that’s not far at all. Pretty town. Growing fast. I remember when it was a village of just a few hundred people. It wasn’t that many years ago.” She gave a tolerant smile and nod, but she wasn’t a bit interested; he could tell. “Are you, uh, from Green Valley, or visiting?”
The little girl glanced at him as if suspicious of his motives, which caused him to feel a tinge of uneasiness.
“Visiting,” the woman replied. “An aunt.”
“Ah.”
“She’s not well, so—”
He murmured sympathetically. He was about to comment when the conductor called out the next stop. “That’s me,” he said. The train braked to a stop and he stood.
“It was kind of you to let us sit here,” the woman said, moving as if to leave.
“Stay. Please. Might as well be comfortable, eh?”
She looked doubtful. “Are you certain it’s all right?”
He nodded. “I’ll mention it to the conductor on my way out. I travel a great deal, so they grant me some latitude.”
“Thank you,” she said with a sincerity that touched him. “Good day to you, sir.”
“And to you all.”
As Lester stepped from the train, the faces of the three individuals in his compartment stayed with him. The lovely woman who seemed haunted, the little girl who didn’t seem to trust him a bit, and the small boy with the painful-looking black eye. The child had sat next to his mother, his head resting against her side the entire time. Children usually fidgeted and fussed, especially in this heat, but not those two. They had clung to their mama as if they had suffered a great loss. But that was probably it. The woman had lost her husband, the children their father. Or perhaps a beloved grandparent or even sibling. They were in mourning. He cleared his throat and hoped he hadn’t pressed her too hard for conversation.
“How much farther will it be, Mama?” Rebecca ask
ed as the train started in motion again.
Pauline Ray shook her head, not knowing the answer herself. She’d bought as much passage as she dared, and she knew they would end up in a place called Green Valley, Virginia, but that was all she knew. “Not too much farther, I think.”
Rebecca looked out the window. “There’s lots of hills around here. Indiana was so flat.”
“It would be best if we don’t mention Indiana anymore,” Pauline rejoined gently.
Rebecca nodded solemnly. “It’s better in here,” she said, looking around the car.
“It is,” Pauline agreed. “It was nice of the man.” Pauline sighed tiredly, leaned her head back against the upholstered seat, and listened to the clacking of the wheels on the track. It was far better in this compartment than in the hard seats of second class. The window was cracked open, allowing a precious flow of air, warm as it was. The heat was oppressive in second class, and the smell had been even worse.
“I’m hungry,” Rebecca said sheepishly.
Pauline looked at her. “There’s an apple.”
“I’m tired of apples,” Rebecca complained.
“It’s what we have left.”
“Can we have something good for dinner?”
Pauline looked out the window and felt a tingling in her face as she struggled not to cry.
“An apple’s fine, Mama,” Rebecca said quickly. “I’m sorry.”
The apology was too much and Pauline closed her eyes and felt scalding tears escape and slide down her face.
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
Pauline wiped her face and shook her head. “It’s not you,” she whispered, looking at her daughter. “I promise. I’m just tired and I want something good for our dinner, too.” Rebecca nodded but still looked remorseful. Pauline closed her stinging eyes for a moment. Freedom, safety, a new town and a new life—this had been her sole quest for so long, but exactly what she was to do when they reached their final destination was still a mystery, and she’d dragged her children into a strange new place where they knew no one.
“Here you go, Jake,” Rebecca said, offering him an apple.
Jake shook his head, refusing it, and Rebecca looked at her mother as if asking what she should do. “Do you want one?” Rebecca asked, offering it to her.
Pauline took it in hand. “You want to share it?” she asked Jake.
He shook his head.
She took a bite. “It’s good,” she coaxed.
He shook his head again and she sighed silently and looked back out the window, wondering what Green Valley would be like. She hoped it was a good place with friendly enough people and an opportunity to make her way, because she had only thirty-three dollars and eighty-two cents left to her name. Whatever choices she’d had in her life, they were over and done with. There were none left at this point. She would have to find a cheap boarding house and a place of employment quickly. She could cook and sew well and bake better than most. There would be a place for her somewhere. She had to believe it. She had to have faith.
Chapter Two
Like most late Saturday afternoons, Jeremy Sheffield sat in The Corner Saloon, involved in a game of poker. Like many of the other men, he’d come after the half day of work. Monday through Friday were full days spent laboring in the dark, cold bowels of the earth, but Saturday was a half day. He’d washed up, but there were still smudges of coal on his neck and hands. It was imbedded under his fingernails.
Carly Jo left her room on the second floor, ready to begin her own work, and sauntered to the balcony to survey the room below. There were new faces, some with the look of prosperity about them, probably due to Gregory Howerton, who had some horse-trading shindig going on. The man had the Midas touch. His horse breeding business was as successful as his mines and his ranch. He had prize cattle, prize stallions, prize looks, and a prize wife who was a doctor, as strange as that was. Some people were just born to win.
Below, Donnie was playing the piano in his customary attire—a striped shirt, red vest, and a bowler hat. Bart Gunderson had his hand up Dora’s skirt. For some reason, Bart liked to feel a girl up before going back to a room. New men in town were always flabbergasted by the spectacle, but it got them hot and bothered, which ultimately netted more business.
Carly’s gaze fell on Jeremy Sheffield playing cards with a couple regulars and some dandy she didn’t recognize. Jeremy, everyone called him Shef, was expressionless, not conversing, not the least little bit interested in being sociable. That was typical, too. He was a fine-looking man, except he had the pallor of a coal miner. Six feet two, maybe six three, brown hair and fine features. But he was as lifeless as any man she’d ever known, like someone or something had sucked the life right out of him. He hadn’t been that way when he was younger.
Carly remembered his sister, Jenny Lynn. Now, she’d been a beauty, the kind you want to hate because fate had given her the world’s most perfect face and long, shiny dark hair. Unfortunately, Jenny had also been sweet as sugar, so you couldn’t hate her. Life was not fair. Then again, Jenny had drowned when she was only sixteen. That should have evened things up, but in a way it didn’t, because Jenny Lynn Sheffield had never gotten old or cranky or fat or wrinkled. She stayed beautiful in the minds of all those who remembered her.
It was obvious which men in the room were ranchers and which were miners. The miners were pale, but it was more than that. They moved slower and more deliberately. Ranchers were more expressive and more full of life. Miners were quiet and almost wary. Too much time spent in the dark, she guessed. Maybe that was what had so destroyed Shef’s vigor. That and the deaths of his family, one by one.
As if he could sense her gaze, Shef looked up at her. She gave him a seductive smile, but he looked away without a flicker of recognition or feeling. Yes indeed. It was as if someone had sucked the life right out of him.
The dandy, a man named Chaz Morrison, dealt. “Seven card stud,” he announced glibly. He’d won four of the last five hands and was feeling fine. Jeremy watched the man’s hands closely. Morrison, with his stiffly starched shirt, fancy cravat, and smooth talking, had the feel of a cardsharp and, if he was, Jeremy was determined to discover it. Look hard enough and you’ll see it. Not only that, but you’ll see how to beat it.
The next hour saw a marked change in Morrison’s demeanor as he lost hand after hand. He wasn’t accustomed to losing, so he didn’t know when to quit. “Seems I’m a little short,” he finally admitted to Jeremy, who was now owed nearly fifty dollars.
Ollie White, sitting next to Morrison, looked up sharply. “Mister,” he said. “Around here, a little short means a beating. And not a little one, either.”
“I have the money back in my room,” Morrison said nervously. “I’ll just go get it and—”
“In the meantime,” Jeremy said, “you can leave that fancy gold pocket watch as collateral.”
“And that silver snuff box, too,” Ollie suggested.
Morrison looked aghast. “I’m only staying at that boarding house on Second Street. I’ll go and be back in—”
“Either leave it,” Jeremy said, “or we’ll go with you to get your money.”
The man huffed at the implied insult. “Fine,” he said, pushing back in his chair. Jeremy did likewise.
Chapter Three
The suitcase Pauline carried was awkward, the handles uncomfortable in her hand. It was because she’d crammed so many of their possessions into it. Everything that would fit. She held it in one hand and held Jake’s hand in the other as they walked from the train station. Rebecca stayed close. The good news was, they’d arrived. Thirty-three dollars and change was all she had to her name, but they’d reached their final destination. Of course, the only reason it was their final destination was that she hadn’t the funds to go farther.
She’d made up her mind to have faith and be optimistic, but as the sun began dipping in the western sky, a feeling of dull panic took hold. Pressure filled her chest and a sharp ache tor
mented her temples.
“Where are we going?” Rebecca asked worriedly.
“We’ll find a place to stay,” Pauline replied as calmly as she could. She noticed an elderly gentleman walking toward them. “Excuse me, sir,” she said. “Do you know of a boarding house nearby?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mrs. Sherrill’s place isn’t even three blocks that way. It’s a white clapboard place with green shutters. It’s a good place run by her and her daughter.”
“Thank you.”
He tipped his hat and they walked on. The boarding house wasn’t hard to find. It was just as described, the front porch filled with rocking chairs, most of which were occupied by people busily fanning themselves in the relentless summer heat. Pauline let go of Jake’s hand to lift her skirt to walk up the steps; her son frowned accusingly, but she only had two hands. Two hands and thirty-three dollars.
They stepped inside as an auburn-haired woman walked into the foyer with a red-haired boy of perhaps two on her hip. “Hello there,” the woman said pleasantly.
“Good evening,” Pauline replied, setting down the suitcase and flexing her hand. “Do you have a room?”
The woman looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, but we shore don’t.” She cocked her hip and adjusted the boy to be more comfortable. “Normally we do, but Mr. Howerton’s got some horse show going on and it’s brought all sorts of folks to town.”
Pauline felt like crying, but she wouldn’t. It was only fatigue talking and she had to remain strong.
“I hear the hotel’s full, too,” the woman continued. “I’m Fiona, by the way. Fiona Jones. My mama’s the proprietor, although you wouldn’t know it to see her back in the kitchen right now. Are y’all just passing through?”
“No, I hope. I . . . hope to find work,” Pauline stammered. Will not cry. Will not cry.
“Oh? Well, I guess there’s more and more work all the time.” She glanced at the children and flashed a warm smile. “What you might want to do for tonight is go find the Blue place. Sisters, name of Blue, that is,” she added because of the expression on Pauline’s face. “They put up folks sometimes, although hardly nobody knows it. They’ll find room for you, and they’re sweet as can be.”
