by Merry Farmer
“As am I,” Gunn promised.
Solomon left the saloon feeling that he was lucky to have such remarkable friends. Because no matter how supportive they were, he knew the truth of things. A black man simply did not marry a sweet, blond-haired, blue-eyed daughter of a wealthy rancher without dire consequences. But for Honoria, he was willing to face those consequences and shelter her from them.
Honoria paced back and forth in front of the spreading maple tree at the end of Elizabeth Street, just outside of the Haskell town limits, where she and Solomon had agreed to meet that evening. It had taken a supreme effort of will to pen the note setting the time and place for their meeting that morning and to entrust it to the Bonneville family’s maid, Maria, to deliver. She’d arrived at the tree early and kept to the shadows as the sun stretched toward the mountains on the western horizon, but every unexpected sound and every passing wagon made her jump out of her skin. Skin that her father would flay off of her if he caught her doing what she was about to do.
She couldn’t believe what she was about to do. Up until that moment in Dr. Abernathy’s office the day before, she had only been bold enough to break free from the chains of family obligation in her dreams. Even now, a huge part of her itched to turn and run, to accept her fate and face death meekly. Was it really worth the risk to steal so little time?
“Honoria?”
She jumped at the sound of Solomon’s voice and whipped around to face him. Her heart thundered in her chest and she held her breath as she watched him stride nearer. The rays of the sunset made his chocolate skin as rich and warm as mahogany. His serious expression was full of strength and filled her with confidence. Yes, yes, this was worth every ounce of risk.
“Solomon,” she answered him with a tremor in her voice. She couldn’t help but smile as he slowed and studied her in his last few steps into the shade of the maple tree.
“You look lovely tonight.”
His compliment brought a hot blush to Honoria’s cheeks. She touched a hand to her hair. On a wild whim, she’d worn it down. She’d put on one of her favorite summer dresses as well. This was the only proposal she was ever going to get, she’d dreamed of it several times, asleep and awake, in the midst of the tragedy of her life, and she was going to make it as perfect as she could.
“You look very handsome yourself.” She returned the compliment with lowered eyes, her hands trembling.
Solomon glanced down at his fine suit, complete with brocade vest, in spite of the summer heat. “I figured it was best to do this properly,” he answered, his thought process so like her own that it left her breathless.
And then they stood there, silent and awkward, merely smiling at each other, until they both broke into bashful laughter. Honoria wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Solomon laugh before, and the sight made her heart ache. He was such a handsome man, and laughing like that made him all the more appealing. It would be so, so hard to leave him when the consumption finally took her, but until them, it would be like a glimpse into heaven to spend the rest of her days with him.
At last, he cleared his throat and straightened, tugging at the hem of his jacket. “Miss Honoria,” he began.
“Yes?” Her heart fluttered.
It nearly stopped all together when Solomon dropped to one knee. She nearly begged him to get up to spare dirtying his tailored trousers, but by that point, she was beyond speech. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small, velvet box.
She knew why she was here. The proposal was happening at her insistence. She was the one who had begged him to marry her, to save the remainder of her life from misery. But when Solomon presented the box to her and opened it, revealing a simple, diamond ring, she brought her hands to her mouth in blissful shock as tears came to her eyes. As if proposing was his idea. As if he truly wanted to marry her instead of just feeling sorry for her.
“Miss Honoria,” he repeated, his voice somehow thicker, deep with emotion. “I know that the circumstances surrounding us are far from ordinary, and I know that our time together will be short, but for what time we have, for what it’s worth, will you make me the happiest man in Haskell by consenting to be my wife?”
It isn’t real, a part of her cautioned. He’s just taking pity on you. But in that moment, looking into the dark, mysterious, and tender depths of Solomon’s eyes, Honoria could believe that this fine, noble man in front of her truly loved her. He was everything she’d ever wanted, and he was there for her.
“Yes,” she whispered, her heart almost too full for her to form the word.
He burst into a smile that was far, far more genuine than she could have wished for, almost seeming surprised. He stood, taking the diamond ring out of its box, then slipping the box into his pocket. He reached for her hand and slid the ring on her finger.
“Whatever else,” he said, holding her hand in both of his, “I promise that I will be as good of a husband to you as I know how to be. I can’t say that everything will be as peaceful and easy for you as you’d like, but I’ll do my best to make you happy and to—” He stopped suddenly, his expression pinching with emotion. When he went on, his voice was hoarse. “And to make your final days the best days of your life.”
“That’s all I ask for,” she answered, blinking back tears but trying to smile all the same. “That’s all I need.” You’re all I need, her heart answered as if it had longed to say those words for years.
Solomon nodded. For several long moments, he continued to hold her hand, staring into her eyes. Then, slowly but deliberately, he moved one hand to her waist and leaned down to kiss her. A sudden thrill of expectation coursed through her as he drew closer, his lips whispering over hers. The expectation burst into a fiery ball of longing as she tilted her head up and met his kiss with openness and acceptance. He was bigger than her in every way, his mouth wide and encompassing, and yet she trusted him with every part of her as his lips explored hers.
What started as a simple, closed-mouth kiss flared quickly into a full embrace. His hand slipped to the small of her back and tugged her closer. His lips parted hers, and she nearly sighed aloud as his tongue danced alongside hers. Shivers of heat and pulsing need poured through her, urging her to throw her arms around him, submit to him in every way a woman submitted to a man. She longed to lose what little of herself she had left in this brave, strong, kind man.
“Oh, it’s so beautiful.”
The sudden, joyful comment and the clapping that came with it nearly shocked Honoria out of her skin. She jumped back, wrenching free of Solomon’s embrace and jerking to the side to find a trio of women standing in the street watching them. One had taken out a handkerchief and was dabbing her eyes while the other two continued to clap and beam.
“Ladies.” Solomon nodded to them, his voice deep and his expression suddenly stiff and serious.
“That was simply the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” another of the women, this one with red hair, her bodice cut low, sighed.
Honoria blinked as recognition dawned. The three were Bonnie’s girls. She remembered that the one with blond hair was Pearl, the one with red hair was Della, and the Spanish one was Domenica.
“I am truly, so happy for you,” Domenica said in her thick accent.
“Thank you?” In truth, Honoria had no idea whether to be pleased or terrified. The women were whores. They worked for Bonnie Horner. Honoria considered Bonnie a friend, but she was also her father’s lover.
That last thought alarmed her as it sped through her head. She took a quick step toward the women. “Please don’t say anything to Bonnie,” she begged.
The three of them looked startled.
“Not say anything?” Pearl squeaked. “But Bonnie will be so happy for you.”
Maybe she would be, but at the moment Honoria couldn’t bear the thought of the one person in her daily life who didn’t treat her terribly thinking badly about her for making such a sudden move. “I’ll…I’ll tell her in my own time,” she said to the g
irls.
“It’s just such a wonderful love story,” Della sighed as the three of them nodded their agreement to keep things quiet. “Mr. Templesmith has always been such a gentleman to us all.”
Honoria’s brow shot up, and she turned to look at Solomon.
“Not in that way,” he was quick to correct any misconceptions she had before they could truly form.
“He advised me about a bank account,” Pearl said.
“And he explained to me that investing a portion of my earnings could help me to stop working this way three years sooner than I thought,” Domenica added.
“It’s the least I can do.” Solomon smiled and nodded to them, his hands clasped behind his back. “I dislike seeing people in servitude of any kind,” he added with a slightly ominous tone, glancing at Honoria.
Certainty that the decisions she’d made were good ones filled her along with certainty that Solomon was among the best of men.
“We’ll just leave you to, you know.” Della winked and hooked her arms through Pearl’s and Domenica’s tugging them along.
“Congratulations again,” Pearl called over her shoulder as the three of them rushed on, giggling.
Honoria watched them for a moment before letting out the breath she’d been holding and pressing a hand to her stomach. She had an uncomfortable feeling that they’d just experienced the most positive reaction to their engagement that they would receive.
“Are you all right?” Solomon came up behind her and rested his large hand on the small of her back.
Honoria nodded tightly, then turned to face him. She relaxed at his touch, smiled at the heartfelt concern in his eyes. “I’ll have to tell Bonnie,” she whispered, already dreading the conversation.
“I think so,” Solomon agreed. He shifted his weight, a thoughtful look coming to his eyes. “I don’t think she’ll mind. She may not even be surprised.”
Honoria’s brow lifted at the thought. It was true, Bonnie had a keen eye for human nature. Honoria was still baffled as to why she had attached herself to Rex Bonneville, but she’d never been brave enough to ask. Perhaps now…
She shook her head at the thought. There were other, more pressing problems.
“I… I’d like to marry as soon as possible, if that’s all right with you.” She lowered her eyes just a bit at her brazenness.
“I agree.” Solomon took her hands to reassure her. “I can speak to Rev. Pickering tomorrow morning to make arrangements.”
Hope returning, she smiled up at him. “It isn’t easy for me to get away from my father’s ranch on my own, but Vivian’s wedding on Monday will have everyone distracted.” Monday was only two days away. “We could find a way to take advantage of the decorations in the church and the dress I’ve made for the occasion.”
A wistful smile filled Solomon’s expression, and he brushed a lock of her hair back behind her ear. “You never cease to amaze me, Honoria.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You think so little of yourself, express so much concern for those who are not concerned for you.”
Her lashes fluttered down. “I only have one family, difficult though they are.”
“No you don’t.” He slid a hand under her chin to tilt her face up to him. “You have me now. I’m not much, but I’ll be your family. It will be…” He stopped, his voice catching and his eyes filling with ragged tenderness. “It will be my name on your tombstone.” He spoke the words quickly, as if he didn’t want to say them but had stopped himself too late.
A warm, fluttery feeling filled Honoria’s heart at the strangely romantic thought. Honoria Templesmith. Decades in the future, when everyone else was gone, any stranger finding her resting place would see that name, would never know the life she’d lived as a Bonneville.
“I’d like that,” she whispered. “It’s…it’s how I want to be remembered.”
“Then we’ll make it happen,” he said, bending down to kiss her lips gently. “Monday, we’ll make it happen.”
Chapter 3
“Honoria!” Vivian’s shrill shout echoed through the Bonneville house. “Honoria, where are you?”
“Get your lazy bones down here at once!” Melinda’s echoing cry followed.
Honoria coughed hard enough to shake her poor lungs, but continued madly folding her clothes and stuffing them into the worn carpetbag she’d brought down from the attic after everyone had gone to sleep the night before. She worked as swiftly and silently as she could, cramming as much as would fit into the meager bag. If she couldn’t fit it in the bag, she couldn’t take it with her into her new life.
The sound of Vivian and Melinda’s complaining voices continued downstairs, probably at the base of the stairs, but their words were indistinct. The tone was enough to light a fire under Honoria, though. She whipped back to her wardrobe and selected one more dress. The muted blue cotton was cool and comfortable and would suit her final days far better than any of the flashier, fancier gowns she owned. Not that she owned many. The fruits of her labor went to Vivian, Melinda, and sometimes Bebe, but rarely to herself.
“Honoria!” Vivian’s shout was twice as irritated this time and came from halfway up the stairs. “Land sakes, what is your problem?”
Honoria gasped and folded the dress as quickly as she could as the thumping sound of Vivian marching upstairs came closer. She shoved the dress into the carpetbag, then snatched the open bag off of her bed, where she was loading it, and practically tossed it into the wardrobe.
She had just begun to shut the wardrobe doors when Vivian came crashing into her room, Melinda behind her.
“What is taking you so long?” The shrewish scowl on Vivian’s otherwise pretty face was a stark contrast to her wedding dress. Honoria had labored for hours on the silk and lace confection. It had a full, stylish bustle, all the layers of flounces and ruffles that Vivian loved, and a stately, high collar which was currently fastened with their mother’s cameo brooch. Honoria would have given anything to be able to take that brooch with her to Solomon’s house.
Vivian must have seen the longing in Honoria’s eyes. She clapped a hand over the brooch, narrowed her eyes, and hissed, “Don’t you even think of it.”
“Good Lord, Honoria,” Melinda huffed, not noticing the interaction. She glanced around the room—which looked exactly as plain and tidy as it always did—and threw up her arms. “What can you possibly be doing up here? We’re already running late.”
Honoria opened her mouth to give some sort of explanation, but only ended up coughing.
“Ugh.” Vivian scrunched up her face. “You’re as bad as a leper. You should see Dr. Abernathy about that.”
It was all Honoria could do to keep a straight face.
Before she could say anything, Vivian pushed on with, “I tore the hem at the back of my dress. Fix it.”
“And then you can add a few more of those silk flowers to my bonnet,” Melinda added.
Vivian rounded on her and demanded, “Which silk flowers?”
Melinda flushed. “Well, you’re not going to use any more of them. It’s a pity to have them go to waste after Papa sent all the way to Paris for them.”
“Those are my silk flowers.” Vivian raised her voice, fists clenched as she glared at Melinda. “No one will use them but me!”
Honoria kept her lips pressed tightly shut, at least until she burst into another coughing fit. She raised her hands to cover her mouth.
“I won’t have you—” Vivian stopped dead in the middle of upbraiding Melinda and snapped to face Honoria. Or rather, to face her hand. Her eyes shot wide, then narrowed in bitter suspicion. “What in God’s name is that?”
Sickly dread pooled in Honoria’s stomach, and she jammed her hands behind her back. She’d forgotten to take Solomon’s ring off. She’d been so careful to keep it in her pocket or hanging from a ribbon around her neck, close to her heart, in the two days since he’d given it to her, but she’d put it on that morning and forgotten to take it off.
“What’s what?” she asked, voice trembling as she yanked the ring from her finger behind her back and tucked it into the folds of the small bustle at the back of her Sunday dress.
She could only pray that it stayed put as Vivian grabbed her arm and wrenched it forward. The gesture hurt, but Honoria would rather a moment of pain than discovery of her secret. She presented her other arm as well, holding out empty hands to her sisters.
“I saw something too,” Melinda insisted. “She stole some of your jewelry, didn’t she?”
“I didn’t, I swear,” Honoria said, truthfully.
Vivian narrowed her eyes. “You did, you little wench, and I’ll prove it.”
She swayed forward, tightening her grip on Honoria’s wrist, but before she could say or do more, a call of, “Vivian, darling, the carriage is about to head into town,” sounded from downstairs.
Footsteps followed, and Vivian yelped and whirled to face the door. “Don’t come another step up those stairs, Rance Bonneville!”
The footsteps stopped. “Why not?” Rance asked in his Kentucky drawl.
“Because the groom does not see the bride before they meet at the altar, you dunce,” she scolded him with a shout. “Don’t you know anything?” Under her breath she muttered, “I’ll never forgive Papa for making me marry him.”
“I thought you wanted to get married,” Melinda said. “You know, status and babies and all.”
Vivian sent her sister a look as though she was an imbecile child. “You have to go through some very unpleasant things to get those babies,” she growled, her face going red.
“Like what?” Melinda blinked, clueless.
Honoria blushed for her. Not that she knew much herself, but she knew the basic mechanics of making babies. How her sisters had dodged silly, whispered conversations in the schoolyard and contraband illustrations of technique that their father would have been outraged to know she’d seen was a mystery.
“Hurry up, Viv,” Rance called from the stairs.
Vivian huffed and started toward the door. “You’ll find out when your turn to marry comes,” she told Melinda.
