by Merry Farmer
Before Corva could say anything to prevent rumors from spreading, the middle-aged woman turned on her heel and dashed out of the store. Shocked and hurt beyond any blow her uncle had ever given her, Corva faced Vivian, fists clenched.
“That was unkind,” she said, proud that at least for now, she had strength in her voice.
Vivian sniffed and shrugged. “So was marrying the man I wanted.”
“Yeah,” Bebe added. “And so was butting in and winning a baseball game that we were supposed to win.”
“Franklin never wanted to marry you.” Corva glared at Vivian. “And it’s just a baseball game.”
Vivian pulled herself up to her full height, the feathers on her hat quivering along with her honey curls. “That just goes to show what you know. In this town, baseball is never just a game.”
Bebe added a “Humph,” and, “I told you she’d never fit in around here. And poor Franklin is stuck with a plain, unladylike nobody who shouldn’t even be allowed to paint the side of a barn.” She nodded to the two paintings leaning against the side of the counter.
For some reason, that final insult stung the hardest. Rather than crush her, like her uncle’s abuse and cruelty had, the misery welling up from her soul filled her with iron.
“Well at least I’m not a pair of witless, overdressed cheaters who wouldn’t know how to attract a man if their lives depended on it,” she snapped. “Why exactly are all of you still unmarried, even with your father’s money behind you?”
Her shot hit its mark. Vivian gasped, and Bebe squeaked in offense.
“I’ve never been so insulted in my life,” Vivian roared.
“No? Just wait. I’m sure you’ll collect a whole string of insults before long.”
Vivian turned a dangerous shade of red, and Bebe’s mouth dropped open. Corva had no interest in staying around to hear what kind of cruelty they would hurl at her next. She squared her shoulders and marched right past them, through the shop’s door, and out into the street.
She had no idea where she was going, but with each step away from the confrontation, her heart sank further. She was a nobody from nowhere. Franklin had been forced to marry her, in a way. She had behaved in an unladylike manner, and everyone in town knew her for that behavior. But she was so relieved to have escaped the nothing life she came from that who she used to be didn’t matter. Franklin was kind and wonderful, and what they had shared last night was perfect. And the baseball game had been more fun than she’d ever had in her life.
Her drooping steps slowed, leaving her near the front porch of the Cattleman Hotel. Several benches and a wicker table and chairs dotted the porch, so as the last of her confidence and energy left her, Corva dragged herself up the porch stairs and collapsed into a heap on a bench. She buried her face in her hands and let herself weep.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, stuck in her misery, before a man cleared his throat beside her. With a gasp, Corva snapped straight and looked up. The man in question was tall and thin, with white hair and an impeccably neat suit. His suit jacket bore the emblem of The Cattleman.
“I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes, rushing to stand. “I shouldn’t be here, I know. I’m not a guest. I’ll leave. I don’t belong here.”
Her final statement brought another wave of misery and accompanying tears. She sank back to the bench, eyes and nose streaming.
The white-haired gentleman took a pristine handkerchief from his inside pocket, sat beside her on the bench, and handed it to her. The simple act of kindness made Corva weep harder, but she took the handkerchief and blew her nose, dabbing her eyes. It smelled of clean laundry and faint cologne and warmth, like an embrace from the father she had lost so long ago.
“Would you care to tell me about it?” the man asked in a fatherly voice.
Corva shook her head, but then lifted her eyes to meet his. Something in their kind, blue depths pushed her to say, “I’m never going to fit in here. I’m not what a woman should be, and I don’t deserve a man like Franklin.”
The white-haired man balked, stiffening and leaning away. “Who told you that?”
A wave of sheepishness deflated her even more. “Vivian Bonneville.”
He arched a brow. “I wouldn’t go believing what that harpy says, or judging yourself by her definition of what a woman should be.”
She knew he had a point, but it was still so, so hard to believe in herself.
“Maybe Franklin should have married her. She may be a harpy, but she’s from a wealthy, respected family, just like Franklin. The most I can ever claim is that my father died a hero in the war.”
The white-haired man continued to eye her with stalwart appraisal. “First of all, that’s no small thing. Second, who was it before Vivian Bonneville who told you that you were worthless?”
Corva’s sheepishness changed to prickles of both shame and wonder that this man, whose name she didn’t even know, had seen right into her so clearly. She knew the answer to his question in an instant—her uncle—but she couldn’t bring herself to so much as whisper his name.
The white-haired man took a breath and shook his head, resting his hand against Corva’s back. “I was there when Mr. Garrett, Mrs. Piedmont, and Mrs. Evans came up with the idea of sending to Hurst Home for young women interested in marrying men here in Haskell and starting a new life.”
Corva’s brow shot up. “You were?”
He nodded. “I heard them discussing how Franklin Haskell needed someone special in his life.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised a finger to silence her and went on.
“Those three people care a great deal for Franklin Haskell. Virginia Piedmont has watched him grow from an impetuous and arrogant young man, to a broken spirit, to a young man full of promise, but haunted by his past. She cares for him like he is her own son. Do you truly think that she would send away for a bride for him who was anything but the finest, sweetest, and most suitable woman for him?”
Corva closed her mouth and swallowed, staring at the soggy handkerchief in her hands. “I hadn’t considered that.”
“Perhaps you should. Perhaps you’re not used to it or have had to protect yourself in the past, but now you may want to consider putting your trust in other people, people who care about you and want to help you.”
“Are there such people?” She lowered her eyes.
He paused before saying, “You’re sitting next to one right now.”
She shook her head. “You don’t even know me.”
“Do I have to be best friends with you to wish you well or to want to see you happy?”
Corva glanced up at him.
“No,” he answered his own question. “But we’re connected all the same. You’re part of Haskell now, whether you can see it or not. You won so many hearts yesterday at that baseball game.”
Heat infused her face. “What I did wasn’t very ladylike.”
He made a sound that was anything but gentlemanly. “That’s Vivian Bonneville talking. Considering the example she set at the game, she shouldn’t be pointing fingers. And if you think your behavior was shocking, you should spend more time with Virginia Piedmont. Or Lucy Faraday. Or Katie Murphy, for that matter.”
Corva grinned as her few, colorful memories of those women who she had just met came to mind.
The white-haired man shook his head and squeezed her shoulder. “The point is, we’re neighbors here in Haskell, not passersby or townspeople or faces in a crowd. With a few glaring exceptions, we take care of our own. We’ll take care of you too.”
The sentiment was enough to bring fresh tears to Corva’s eyes. “I’ve never had neighbors like that before.”
“Well, you do now.” The white-haired man gave her shoulder one last squeeze, then stood, holding himself as stiff and tall as a statue.
Corva stood with him, biting her lip. “But what about Franklin? Marrying me wasn’t his idea. And sometimes…sometimes he doesn’t seem interested in me. He…he
doesn’t like my paintings.”
“Your paintings? Are you an artist?”
She nodded.
The white-haired man paused in thought for a moment, then said, “How do you know he doesn’t like your paintings? How do you know he’s not interested in you?”
“He told me to take some paintings into town to sell them,” she said. “And this morning, he was more interested in talking about cattle than…” She swallowed, a blush heating her cheeks.
The white-haired man let out quick breath. “Do me one favor, Mrs. Haskell.”
She peeked up at him, heart and brow lifting.
“Before you tell yourself any stories about what your husband thinks or doesn’t think, ask him.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t. What if he—”
“Ask him,” the white-haired man repeated. “I guarantee you’ll be surprised with the answer.”
She eyed him skeptically, but in spite of her worry, she felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m always right.” He nodded. “That’s why Mr. Garrett hired me to run his hotel. Now run along. If you’re quick, you can make it home before lunch and have that conversation with your husband.”
Confidence renewed, Corva nodded. “You’re right. I need to ask questions first and panic later.”
“Or hopefully not at all,” the white-haired man added with a smile. “Now go.”
Corva turned and hurried to the edge of the steps. At the last minute, she looked over her shoulder, half convinced that the man, whoever he was, would vanish, like some guardian angel sent to point her down the right path only to disappear. But he was still there, as real and solid as any other citizen of Haskell. His words stuck with her. She was part of something bigger than herself now, and if she needed it, help would be there for her.
Chapter Ten
As Franklin rode up to his house in the lengthening shadows of late afternoon, riding the horse he’d borrowed from his father’s stable, a thousand thoughts cycled through his mind. No calves had gone missing that day, but one had been stillborn. Nothing out of the ordinary, all things considered. They hadn’t heard anything from Bonneville all day, which was unexpected, but a good sign. Maybe the man knew when he was beat. His father had been in a grand mood all day, congratulation him, along with the rest of the team. He wanted Corva to come over for supper as soon as possible.
Corva.
Franklin sighed as he dismounted at his ramp and walked Kingsman into the barn to rest for the night. With all the business concerns pressing down on him, he’d still thought of his beautiful, clever, confusing wife all day. It had been nearly impossible not to replay the memory of their intimacies in bed any time he had a free moment, but those thoughts were superseded each time by worry about why she had looked so…so unhappy when he’d left. What had he done wrong now?
Well, whatever it was, he would make up for it. If he couldn’t make up for it with kind words and a smile, he would give her everything he had in bed. That thought renewed his smile several times over.
“Corva?” he called as he opened the front door.
She was waiting for him, sitting at the dining table in almost the same position she’d been in when he’d left that morning. A jolt of panic sizzled down his spine at the thought that she’d done nothing but sit there all day because of some shameful mistake he must have made. But no, there were subtle changes in the house. The scent of stew cooking wafted from the kitchen. The area of the fireplace—scene of the bath that never happened the night before—had been tidied further. The lamps had been refilled and their wicks trimmed, and they were lit to ward off the growing darkness. Some of her paintings were missing too, including the beautiful, sad picture of a woman in the rain.
Franklin paused inside the front door, removing his hat and hanging it and his cane on their pegs. “How was your day?”
She looked up at him, and right away there were questions in her eyes. Questions and something that burned with the intensity of a blaze. She hesitated for only a moment before hopping up from the table and coming over to him to take his coat.
“I went into town” she said, hanging it, then facing him. Her gaze fluttered down for a moment. “I ran into Vivian and Bebe Bonneville in Kline’s store. They were their usual charming selves.”
“I’m sorry.” He raised a hand to squeeze her arm. That quickly turned into an embrace. He slipped his arms around her and held her close. One by one, the tight muscles of his back released. It felt so good to hold her, to have her to come home to.
Corva was stiff at first, but melted into him with an exhale. For a comforting moment, the two of them stood there together.
Then Corva leaned back, her brow knit in puzzlement. “Who is the white-haired gentleman at the Cattleman Hotel?”
Franklin’s brow flew up. “Mr. Gunn? He’s the hotel manager. He runs the entire place like a tight ship.”
A smile spread across Corva’s lips. “So he is real?”
In spite of himself, Franklin laughed. “Sometimes I wonder. He’s so stiff and formal all the time.”
“He’s wonderful and kind and…and insightful.”
Franklin blinked at her. Behind her smile, he could see flashes of deep emotion. “What happened?”
Corva peeled away from him and walked deeper into the room. “I was upset after my encounter with the Bonneville sisters. I ran out of the mercantile and found myself at the hotel. Mr. Gunn was there to…well, to talk me through things, to help me to see, to put things in perspective.”
Franklin made a mental note to thank Theophilus Gunn the next time he saw the man. But at that moment, all of his attention was on Corva. She paused in the center of the room, then turned to face him. Her brow was knit again, and her lips pursed as if she had something to say.
“Franklin, why did you marry me if you didn’t want to?”
He met her question with a surprised intake of breath. That quickly dipped to shame. He walked to the table, gripping the back of a chair for support. “Because Aunt Ginny wanted me to. Because I knew it was the right thing to do.”
“Those are two different answers. Two very different answers.” She wrung her hands in front of her.
If he could have done anything to take away the uncertainty and the pain in her eyes, he would have done it. “I’ll admit, I was hesitant,” he said, “but you have to understand. A long time ago, I proved that I’m…I’m not a very good person. I behaved selfishly. A lot of people could have been hurt. Mercifully, I was the only one who did get hurt. I was the one who deserved it.”
“But Franklin, that was more than ten years ago.” She stepped toward him, stopping again when she was only a few feet away. “Everyone changes in ten years, everyone. You’re not that selfish, foolish boy anymore.”
“No,” he agreed, nodding. “But I am a man with severe limitations.” He paused, rubbing a hand over his face and glancing down at his braces. “Look at me, Corva. Inside and outside, I’m a man in a cage.” He tapped the top of one of his braces where it reached his thigh. “I do everything I can to keep myself in good shape, but I’m only going to get older, weaker. I never wanted to marry because I never wanted a woman to have to give up her life to take care of me.”
A flash of frustration pinched her face. “But you’re asking me to give up my life for you anyhow.”
“I know, I—what?” He blinked up at her, sensing that the frustration pouring off of her now had nothing to do with his legs.
Corva huffed and took a step back. “We…we shared something special last night, and this morning you left without saying a word about it.”
Franklin opened his mouth and raised a hand to defend himself, but nothing came out. He shifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. “I suppose I wasn’t sure if you would want to talk about it. I never know what to say about anything that affects me so deeply.”
Her expression shifted to hope. “It did?”
; He lowered his arm and smiled sheepishly. “Of course it did. I’m not the kind of man who shares something that special with just anyone. After that, I wanted to share everything else with you. The mundane things too.”
Of all things, she looked surprised. “But the girls out on the porch at Bonnie’s in town…”
He chuckled, understanding dawning. “Bonnie’s girls are sweet on any man who treats them with dignity and respect.”
“They called you by your first name.”
“It’s a small town. Almost everyone calls everyone by their first name.”
A rose-red flush came to Corva’s cheeks. For a moment, she looked down, biting her lip. It was a surprisingly alluring gesture that heated Franklin’s blood. But when she snapped up to look at him again, the frustration was back.
“Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of my paintings?”
He blinked rapidly, trying to catch up. “Get rid of them?”
Her hands formed fists at her sides, and her frustration turned to pure misery. “I know you don’t like them, but every one of those paintings is a part of who I am, a part of my soul. I can’t help it. If you hate them, that means you hate a part of me as well. If you hate a part of me, I don’t see how this marriage could ever work.”
“Corva.” He stopped her before she could go on. “I love your paintings. I think they’re wonderful.”
“What?” She was so surprised that she backed up a step. “But that first day, when I was painting outside, when I’d forgotten your lunch. A look came over your face as if you hated my work.” She peeked to the side where the half-finished painting in question stood.
Franklin rubbed his face, looking sheepish. “I couldn’t tell you then, but somehow you managed to start painting the exact spot where my accident happened all those years ago. I was thinking of that—of my stupidity, not of your skill. I’m sorry.”
“But you told me to take them into Mr. Kline’s store.”
“I thought that you might want to sell them, or maybe display them somewhere so that people other than you and I could look at them. They’re too good to hide away here.”
