Rose rested the wooden spoon in the bowl and wiped her hands on a towel. “Please come in,” she said pointedly, although she doubted Eugenie caught the sarcasm in her voice. “If you’re looking for Charlie, he’s not here.”
“I didn’t come to see Charlie. It’s you I came to see.”
“Whatever for?”
A half-smile lifted Eugenie’s lips as she reached into her reticule and withdrew a newspaper clipping and handed it to Rose.
The clipping was from the Princeton Journal. Rose didn’t need to see the headline or read the article. She already knew every word. A cold chill washed over her and her heartbeat skittered in her ribs. “Where did you get this?”
Eugenie laughed, a brittle sound. “It wasn’t hard. My father has connections back east. It was a simple matter of getting in touch with one of his colleagues in Boston and asking him to look into your background.” She peered at Rose. “What’s wrong, dear? You look a little pale.”
Rose’s knees quaked, but she wouldn’t give Eugenie the satisfaction of seeing how much the article affected her.
“I’ll wager Charlie doesn’t know about this, does he?” Eugenie went on.
When Rose didn’t respond, Eugenie smiled and her eyes glittered. “I didn’t think so. I’m sure he’d be shocked, and …”
Rose’s stomach knotted, and a weight settled in her chest. She should have told him the truth in the beginning, before she fell in love with him. Then, if he’d sent her away, it would have been inconvenient, but now … Now, leaving him would destroy her.
She had no doubt he’d tell her to leave. He didn’t love her. He’d told her at the beginning that he would never love her, and even though he’d lavished her with attention and been more and more attentive the past few days, she had no illusions that his feelings for her were growing.
And she already knew how he felt about any kind of dishonesty. He’d shown that by firing Wally.
Calling on every ounce of confidence she could muster, she straightened and faced Eugenie, eyeing her squarely. “What are you planning to do with this information?”
Eugenie tapped her gloved hand against her lips. “Let me see … you destroyed my future … made me a laughing-stock in town …”
“I didn’t—”
As if she hadn’t heard Rose, Eugenie continued, ignoring Rose. “It would be such a shame if Charlie found out what a liar you are, and what kind of family you come from.”
“Do you really think that by destroying our marriage that Charlie will marry you?”
“Yes. He’ll see I’m the best woman for him—”
“He didn’t want to marry you. If he did, he wouldn’t have advertised for a mail-order bride. He preferred to take a chance on a stranger rather than marry you.”
Eugenie’s face blanched, and for a moment or two, Rose felt sorry that she was hurting Eugenie.
“He would have married me if you hadn’t come,” Eugenie insisted, her voice growing louder, more desperate.
Rose shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “He wouldn’t.”
“Well, even if he doesn’t marry me, he won’t want you, and honestly, that’s almost just as good.”
“So you’re going to tell him?”
Eugenie nodded. “I am. But I’m not completely heartless. I’ll wait until after you leave so you don’t have to face him, knowing how he feels about liars.”
Sorrow that she’d never known filled her. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. “And if I don’t leave? If I let you tell Charlie?”
Eugenie paused. Perhaps she hadn’t thought that far ahead. Then, as if an idea had just struck her, she smiled. “Because it’s not just Charlie who’ll find out. It’ll be Charlie’s parents, the whole town. Can you imagine what that will do to his family’s reputation?”
Rose hadn’t even considered how her secret might affect Charlie’s family. It saddened her to think of how hurt they would be if they learned the truth. Ada had welcomed her into the family like another daughter, and even Robert had come around after their dinner together. Although he was much more reserved than Ada, he’d always been nice to her, and she’d been confident that, in time, he’d accept her fully. His sisters treated her as one of them, and they had all become the family she’d never had.
Even though she’d be gone, the scandal would linger on.
Rose crossed to the door and opened it wide. “Please leave.”
Eugenie sauntered across the room, pausing to run a few fingers over the piano keys. The soft notes filled the house. “I always loved this piano,” she said. “It has such a pleasant tone, don’t you think?”
Rose’s lips thinned, her jaw aching from the tension. Politeness and etiquette be damned. She wasn’t in a Boston ballroom where propriety was key. “Get out!”
* * *
An hour later, Charlie exited the gunsmith’s shop and was setting rifle on the wagon seat when he heard George’s voice behind him. After greeting each other, George said, “I’m surprised to see you in town. Thought you’d be too busy.”
A twinge of sadness sliced through Charlie. Since he’d fired Wally, his workload had increased tenfold. And if he was being completely honest with himself, he missed the old man. “I am busy.”
“I heard about what happened with Wally.” George leaned against the wagon wheel. “I hope he’s feeling better now, though.”
Better than what? Charlie’s stomach tightened. If Wally was sick … “What’s wrong with him?”
George shrugged. “Don’t know, but I saw him come out of Doc’s office a few days ago. He didn’t look so good.”
Sick or not, that didn’t excuse Wally from lying. Or did it? Was Charlie so unapproachable that Wally had lied to him about his whereabouts that afternoon rather than tell him the truth?
“What day?”
George shrugged. “I can’t really remember. Why?”
“Think, George. What day was it?”
George’s eyes lifted, then he met Charlie’s gaze. “Wednesday. Or was it Thursday? No, it was Wednesday. Definitely Wednesday.”
Charlie’s stomach sank. The day Wally had told Charlie he was fixing fences.
“Any idea where he’s living these days?” Charlie asked.
“Heard he’s got a room above the saloon,” George answered. “Let’s get together for a drink next time you’re in town,” George said, clapping a hand on Charlie’s back. “And one of these days, we need to have you and Rose over to the house for supper.”
Charlie nodded, distracted by his own thoughts. “Yeah … we’ll do that …”
George strolled off, leaving Charlie alone. He looked down the street in the direction of the saloon. He shouldn’t care, should just head on back to the ranch and get his chores done.
Guilt and worry settled in his gut, and he knew it wouldn’t go away until he was satisfied he’d done the right thing. It was easier to believe Wally had lied than to admit that he’d been wrong.
A few minutes later, he hammered on the door on the second floor of the saloon, hearing a faint mumble in response. He opened the door and stepped inside. Wally lay on the bed, pale and sweaty. He looked up at Charlie with rheumy eyes, then closed them as if it took too much effort to keep them open.
Charlie let out an exasperated sigh. “Where were you that afternoon when you were supposed to be mending fences?”
“I already … told you …” Wally’s voice was weak and quiet.
“Was that the truth or are you lying again?”
For several long seconds, neither spoke. Wally coughed, then weakly shook his head. “I was sleeping … in the barn … too sick to keep going … felt better after a while though …”
Charlie’s stomach churned, remorse welling up until it almost choked him. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why the lie?”
Wally began to speak, but a coughing spasm overtook him. Charlie waited until he had recovered somewhat, then repeated the question.
“Didn’t
want to … give you an excuse to … put me out to pasture,” he gasped out.
Charlie raked his hand through his hair, leaving it in spikes. Guilt tore at him. “You stupid old man,” he ground out, although they both knew the term was an endearment rather than an insult. “You think I’m so narrow-minded I wouldn’t have understood?”
“You’re a mite rigid in your thinking sometimes …”
Was Wally right? Was he so rigid that everything was black and white, with no shades of grey in between?
That was what it came down to – Charlie’s obsessiveness about honesty had forced Wally to lie to him. And now, looking at his ashen face, it was possible the man would die. If he’d been at the ranch, where he belonged, he would have been taken care of. Instead, he was holed up in a room alone with nobody to make sure he looked after.
If he died, Charlie would be responsible.
What was it Rose had said about erring and forgiveness?
Wally had made a mistake, but so had he. Wally shouldn’t have lied to him, but Charlie shouldn’t have made it necessary to lie.
Maybe by opening his heart and accepting that sometimes there was a reason for the way people acted, maybe they could forgive each other.
“I’m taking you back to the ranch.” Spinning around, he threw open the door and stormed down the stairs. “Somebody get the doctor over here right now,” he shouted out to whoever was within earshot.
A cowboy leaning against the bar straightened and hurried out.
A half hour later, Wally had been transported to Doc’s office and was now sleeping.
“He’s better off here for now, Charlie, where I can keep an eye on him. Go home.” Doc said. “You’ve been here all day, and you have a wife waiting for you who’s likely worried sick about you.”
He’d completely forgotten about Rose. She’d expected him home by noon, and a glance at the clock on the wall told him it was past four. Doc was right. She’d be fretting, and now that Wally was in good hands, he could go home and try to explain how attitudes he’d held for years had changed, all in one short afternoon.
“You know, Doc? It’s strange how things work out. If I hadn’t had to hang around until Martin fixed my rifle, I wouldn’t have run into George and I wouldn’t have heard about Wally. And …” Emotion strangled his voice. He shook his head, unable to continue.
“I’ll stay with Wally until he’s recovered enough to take him back to the ranch. I’ve given him some medicine and he’ll likely be as ornery as ever in a few days.”
“You’re sure? I feel like this is my fault—”
“It’s not. You’ve got no reason to feel guilty.”
That may be true, Charlie thought a few minutes later when he climbed into the wagon and headed out of town. But all he knew was that if Wally died, he’d never forgive himself.
* * *
Dark clouds rolled in as Charlie made his way back to the ranch, and by the time he unharnessed the horses, brushed them down and given them their supply of oats, the sky was slate grey. Fog hung in the air, so thick he could barely see the house from the barn door, and rain fell in sheets, forming puddles of mud.
Leaving the rifle in the barn, he tucked the wrapped gift into his duster. Then he opened the barn door, lowered his head and raced across the yard to the house, almost losing his balance twice in the mud before he reached shelter on the porch.
He slipped his duster off and tossed it on one of the rocking chairs, then threw the door open and called to Rose. “Rose, honey, can you bring me some dry clothes? I don’t want to come inside. I’m all wet and muddy.”
Silence met his ears. “Rose?”
Nothing. Where could she be?
He went inside, pausing just inside the door. He called out again, louder this time. “Rose? Where are you?”
Ignoring the muddy footprints he was leaving on the floor, he crossed the large room and looked out the window toward the garden where she spent a fair amount of time these days. Surely she wasn’t out in the garden in the rain, but if she’d had an accident …
The herbs and vegetables she’d planted drooped under the weight of the storm building, but there was no sign of Rose.
He’d never been a worrier, at least not until Rose came into his life. Now, concern niggled at him and wouldn’t let go. Had something happened to her?
Maybe she was just having a nap and didn’t hear him … Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he was only trying to find a rational reason why the house seemed so empty.
Hurrying up the stairs, he threw open the bedroom door, half expecting to find her in bed, where he wouldn’t mind joining her. A slow smile quirked his lips at a memory of what they’d done in that bed just the night before.
But the bed was freshly made, and there was no sign of Rose.
And something wasn’t right. The dresser was bare, her glass bottles of lavender scent and rosewater gone. Grabbing the door, his eyes went to the hook on the back on the door where she kept her wrapper. Gone.
Racing to the wardrobe at the other side of the room, he tugged the door open. Only an empty space met his eyes.
His stomach twisted in agony, and a weight settled on his chest, making it hard to even draw a breath.
She’d left him.
* * *
Rose’s tears fell unheeded down her cheeks and dripped off her chin onto the blanket she’d wrapped around herself in her hotel room.
Mr. Mason, the hotel proprietor, had been shocked to see her when she’d arrived an hour before. She wasn’t surprised. Caught in the storm, she’d been soaked to the skin, her hair plastered to her head, and so cold she couldn’t stop shivering long enough to sign the register.
Now, here in the same room where she’d spent her wedding night with Charlie, it seemed appropriate. The beginning, and the end of her marriage.
Already, she missed Charlie with every breath she took, her insides aching with a sorrow that felt as if her heart was torn to shreds.
A painful lump lodged in her throat. Her nose stung and her eyes brimmed over with tears. Miserable, she let them fall,
She wasn’t the same woman who’d stepped off the stage a few weeks ago. She was a stronger woman now, able to look after herself.
Perhaps she’d go back to Princeton, back to the life she’d left behind. She was confident enough that she could face those who’d turned their backs on her instead of running away.
The sudden thought that slammed into her brain made her gasp.
That’s what she was doing now. Running away because of what someone else might say. Or do.
But this time, she had no choice. She had no doubt Eugenie would carry out her threat, and she couldn’t bring shame on Charlie and his family. They’d done nothing to deserve it.
Now, she would be back where she’d started when she’d left Princeton the year before – alone. She’d met Emma and Gillian and Willow soon after, and their friendship had helped her through the darkest days.
This time, she’d be alone. She didn’t envy her friends the happiness they’d found. They had husbands now, children, new lives that didn’t include her.
And she would spend her life alone. She let out a strangled laugh. Was it Tennyson who said it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Right now, Rose couldn’t imagine how the devastating loss she was dealing with could be better than never having met Charlie.
Sitting up, she took in a few shuddery breaths and wiped away her tears with a lace-trimmed handkerchief.
Heartbroken or not, she had to figure out what she was going to do with the rest of her life. She could go back to Massachusetts, she reasoned. She could even go home to Princeton. What people said about her no longer mattered. All that mattered to her now was that Charlie and his family would be protected from the scandal that tainted her.
If only she had time to seek advice from one of her friends, but they were scattered hundreds of miles apart now. Still, she would write to Gillian. S
he, of all of them, would understand, since she’d had a secret of her own when she’d married Rhys.
Taking out her writing supplies, she sat at the small table and began to write.
Dear Gillian,
I hope this letter finds you well. I’m so pleased to learn that you and Rhys have found happiness in spite of the rather unusual circumstances surrounding your marriage, and I hope that the impending birth of your child will be as quick and painless as possible.
Unfortunately, I haven’t been as lucky as you and Willow. I love my husband very much, and I believe he cares for me as well, although he has never expressed it in so many words.
However, the truth of why I left Massachusetts has been my secret. Until now.
The truth has followed me here, and unless I leave, the excellent reputation Charlie and his family have built here will be destroyed.
I’ll be sure to write again once I am settled, wherever that may be.
Friends always,
Rose
Tears blurred her vision, spilling over and dampening the page as she signed her name and put it in an envelope to mail in the morning before she climbed on the stage to Denver.
That done, she crossed to the bed, curled into a ball under the thick eiderdown and prayed for oblivion.
Chapter 10
How could she just up and leave without a word? And why? What had happened to make her run?
They’d made love that morning, and she’d been happy. She’d given him a long, lingering kiss before he left for town and told him she planned to spend the morning with his mother. She’d even told him she had a surprise for him when he got home.
He let out a bitter laugh. He sure hadn’t expected this kind of surprise.
He paced the room, the sound of his boots on the wooden floor echoing in the silence. Anger. Fear. Hurt. The emotions rolled around in his gut, his thoughts scattering every which way.
Had his mother done something to drive her away? He couldn’t imagine it, since she’d treated Rose as if she was her long-lost daughter, but what else could have happened?
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