As she closed her hand around the doorknob, she summoned every bit of strength and confidence she could muster. She'd made a mistake. If she was brave enough to get herself into trouble, then she had to find the courage to admit her mistakes, as well. That was something her grandmother taught her from a young age. Be brave, and always be honest. If you tell one lie to someone, you will end up telling one thousand to yourself. It was a hard rule to follow, but an important one. She turned the knob and opened the door to find Ellen on the other side.
“Gabriel's arrived, and he's asked to see you. I think he just wants to be sure that you're okay.”
Monica bit her bottom lip and glanced over Ellen’s shoulder in the direction of the two men that stood not far from the door, and then back at Ellen’s worry-filled eyes.
“It's fine, Ellen, you don't need to worry about me.” She looked into Ellen's concerned eyes and curved her lips up into a weak smile. “It isn't the first time I've been in trouble, now is it?”
“No,” Ellen snickered. “I suppose not. Why don't you come out, or the two of you go out onto the back porch for some privacy, and I'll finish getting dinner ready.”
“All right.” She closed her eyes and reminded herself that she was as strong as she allowed herself to be. Regardless of the strange feelings he might stir within her, she did not have to be distracted by them.
“Monica, are you okay?” Gabriel asked as he stepped toward her. “Ellen said you weren’t feeling well. Jacob, call for Dr. Simmons—“
“I don’t need a doctor, Gabriel. I’m fine.”
He reached out for her, but she turned away before he could touch her. “Let’s go to the back porch,” she suggested as she moved toward the back door. She was so ashamed that she couldn't imagine meeting his eyes. Once he closed the door behind him, she began to speak.
“I'm very sorry, Mr. Randall. I made a terrible decision today that put you at risk. I realize it was foolish.”
Monica could hear Gabriel pause behind her, and then felt his arm graze hers. He leaned one hand heavily against the wooden railing of the porch and gazed up at the star-scattered sky. She risked a glance at him. His jawline was rigid, as if he held back words with the clench of his teeth. The tension followed throughout his muscles, outlined by his jacket and snug trousers. Though he was silent, his body communicated a level of displeasure that spoke volumes. No words needed.
“Please,” she turned toward him. “I can’t—”
"Don't." He inhaled the cool night air, one deep breath and then another. "Since the moment I saw you in his arms, I have thought long and hard about what to say to you.” She noticed a tremor in his usually confident voice.
She took a step closer to him. Her fingertips ached with an odd desire to comfort him. A stroke, a caress, anything to ease the tightness in his body. “Please, call me Monica, Gabriel. After all we’ve been through, anything else seems silly.”
He ignored her request. ”Any other woman—no, any other person—I'd have on their knees with regret before me." He shifted his gaze almost to hers, but stopped short of making eye contact. "I'd wither their spirit with tales of what I have seen and promises of the fates they would suffer as a result of their reckless behavior. I'd educate them. But with you, there's no need."
“Why? What do you mean?" She allowed her fingertips the relief of grazing the back of his hand, as it still clenched the wooden railing. Almost instantly his grasp relaxed beneath her touch, and then his eyes met hers.
"Because you're not foolish at all, Monica. That's the conclusion it took me so long to come to. I was furious, enraged, over a mistake that many women have made. I couldn't comprehend why it was that you drew such a reaction from me, and then it struck me. It's because you are intelligent, incredibly so, and wise enough to know better. Yet still you placed yourself in harm’s way, directly into the arms of a man who could have slaughtered you before my eyes. A man who will kill without a second thought or hesitation. And not because you were vulnerable, or manipulated. I see it in your eyes, in your demeanor. You are bold, and brave, but you are far from ignorant. So why?"
"You act as if you know so much about me but—" She drew her hand away from his and hid it in the folds of her skirt.
"But I'm not wrong." He grasped her forearm, and slid his hand slowly down her arm until it reached her wrist. In a gentle motion, he turned her hand over to reveal the bruises that lined her fair skin. Low and husky, he said, "You endured these injuries for a reason. I came to your rescue, did I not?"
"You did." She was breathless as he grasped her wrist, his touch delicate enough not to cause pain, but firm enough that she knew he did not intend to let go. She felt certain he could feel the impact his nearness had on her, her pulse throbbing against her wrist, his fingers.
She met his eyes. "I thought I was strong enough to fight him off, but I couldn't. It was a foolish mistake, and I owe you an apology for it, but contrary to what you say, there is nothing that could bring me to my knees. Not before you, or anyone."
“Surely you don’t believe that to be true." His expression softened, or perhaps it was just the moonlight playing tricks. "Only someone who has never suffered a great loss could dare say that. There are many things that can, and will, bring you to your knees, Monica,” he spoke her name softly. “If someone were to harm those that you cared about, you would discover that very quickly."
"Is that what happened to you, Gabriel?" She shifted her hand in his grasp until her palm curved against his and he relaxed, allowing her to cradle his fingers in hers.
"Yes." He looked back up at the sky and made no effort to pull his hand away. "When I was far too young to fight back, everything was taken from me, at the hands of a criminal that was too drunk or foolish to consider the consequences of his actions. He stole from me—my family, and my future— all over a few coins. That is the reality that I live in, Monica, a place where men like Avery Boggs destroy all that is beautiful on this Earth, including you. You have narrowly avoided that reality.”
Monica shifted under the weight of his gaze, and his expression hardened as he studied her.
"You may think I'm harsh, or old-fashioned, or even cruel. But my only goal is to ensure your safety and the safety of others who are my responsibility. However, you make it quite difficult to accomplish that when you are meddling in crimes, and voluntarily placing yourself in danger. So please, tell me, what drove you into his arms?" he probed.
"I guess I was eager to prove myself." She lowered her eyes and started to pull her hand from his, but his grasp tightened.
"Why would you feel the need to prove yourself?"
"I'm truly sorry for your loss, Gabriel. And you're right about one thing—I can only imagine that kind of grief you’ve experienced as I've not endured it myself. But that does not change who I am inside. I am meant to be more than a wife and a mother, I am more than the dresses I wear. I am a detective, and a good problem solver. I want to support myself, to be challenged, and live on my own. I thought, if I proved that I was capable of that, I might gain the respect of others. Instead, all I did was prove that I was as vulnerable as everyone thinks.”
She sighed and pulled her hand away as she turned to face the plains that existed beyond the darkness. “Perhaps you're wrong about me, as I do feel incredibly foolish.”
“I'm not wrong. Yes, you made a mistake, but not out of ignorance, out of a desire to prove yourself. That can make anyone, man or woman, reckless. The only way to avoid that is to cure yourself of that need. You may have a great mind, Monica, and a brave spirit, but you will always be a woman. Perhaps one day a wife, and a mother. Maybe it's not those roles that you should fight so hard against, but your view of them that should change. It doesn’t always have to be one or the other.”
“You're saying I should simply accept my fate? That I am destined for these roles because I am a woman?”
“I'm saying that your fate can be what you choose it to be. Right now you see your futur
e as set in stone.”
“How can I not? From the time I was a young girl, my father, my mother, everyone around me has taught me that my only worth is as a wife, as a mother. You can't imagine what it's like to be so filled with ideas, dreams, and desires, and be told that you can't have any of those dreams, or that they are foolish, simply because you were born a woman.” She frowned as she gazed out into the distance. “It's suffocating.”
“It's only suffocating because you have accepted what they told you. It doesn't have to be that way.” He brushed a lock of hair back from her cheek and looked into her eyes. “My mother was a brave woman. She fought hard to protect me. She was not the wife and mother that you describe. It seems that you haven't taken the time to get to know all that many women who are wives and mothers outside of your hometown circle, have you? Perhaps if you had, you would have a different perspective.”
“Perhaps.” She sighed wistfully as she turned back to face him. “I am sorry, Gabriel. I will be more cautious from now on.”
“More importantly, don't think that you have anything to prove to me. I already see you for who you are, Monica, don't forget that.” He smiled sadly as he studied her. “You are quite fascinating.”
“That is not the word I thought you would use to describe me.” She laughed and risked searching his eyes, finding a twinkle that quickly morphed to concern.
“It's the only word that suits you. But Avery Boggs seems to have taken a direct interest in you. That's unusual for him. He's a very dangerous man who usually keeps to the outskirts of town. He’s smart, and so far has evaded proof of his involvement in several recent crimes. For him to approach you so boldly concerns me. I think it's best if you stay out of town for some time.”
“You think I should hide?”
“I think you should stay safe.” He cupped her face as he looked into her eyes. “I'm asking you to stay out of sight. Do not underestimate him.”
As she nodded her agreement, she instantly regretted it. The last thing she wanted to do was give in and hide. But she had to admit, the thought of seeing Avery Boggs again terrified her.
8
The next few days were torturous. She wanted to be involved in finding and capturing Avery Boggs, both for her own safety and others. But at the same time, she didn't want to defy Gabriel. Instead of ignoring or demeaning her, as she’d thought he might for her foolish mistake, he'd been kind and considerate.
Her thoughts turned to Gabriel so often that she worried about her own sanity. She took on more of the household chores to distract herself. Each day that she remained in the house instead of going to town she counted as a success.
Despite the intimacy of their conversation that day, she didn't hear from Gabriel. Jacob would inform her each night that Avery Boggs had yet to be caught, and that it would be best if Monica stayed out of sight. Each passing day caused her to grow more restless.
One morning as she sorted through the laundry, Ellen walked in with a broad smile. “Mail for you, Monica.” She handed her the letter. “I know that handwriting.”
“Oh yes, from Grandma Mary!” Monica sighed and clutched the letter against her chest. “I've been waiting for this. Will you excuse me, Ellen?”
“Of course, go enjoy.”
She took the letter out to the back porch and gazed at the flowing handwriting. It was easy for her to imagine her grandmother sitting right next to her.
“Never hesitate to learn, my darling. An education of any kind is the most powerful weapon you will ever have.”
She ran her fingertips along the envelope and felt a surge of love flow through her. Though she loved her parents, her relationship with Grandma Mary had always been something unique and special. She knew her grandmother didn't see her as just a granddaughter, she saw her as a woman, and she’d been the key influence in shaping her into a powerful one.
When she opened the envelope, she was surprised to discover a train ticket inside.
My Dearest Monica,
I hope this finds you well.
Enclosed is a train ticket that I hope you will use to come and visit me as soon as you are able.
It should be a two-day journey from Galveston, and the enclosed ticket will accommodate a sleeper car.
Please send a telegram with the date you can leave and your expected arrival, and I’ll have someone pick you up at the train station.
I miss you,
With love,
Grandma Mary
Thank you, God, she whispered. The thought of visiting her Grandmother filled her with joy. A few days with her would help her sort through things, she was sure of it. She raced back into the house and found Ellen at the kitchen sink.
“So?” Ellen looked at Monica eagerly. “How is Grandma Mary?”
“She sent me a train ticket so that I can go visit her. See?” She held it up. “It's perfect timing.”
“Yes, it is. I’m happy for you, Monica. I realize you’re going stir crazy, but I will miss you.” Ellen hugged her tight. “You will come back, won't you?”
“Yes, I will.” She looked into her friend's eyes. “Of course I will, if you’ll have me.”
* * *
Two days later Monica boarded the train; she did so with a mixture of excitement and dread. She wanted to confront Avery Boggs and finally be able to rest knowing he had been captured. She also wanted to figure out how she truly felt about Gabriel, but none of those things prevented her from wanting to spend time with her grandmother. She needed her advice more than ever.
Her excitement grew with every chug of the train engine. She felt a sense of relief, not because of where she was heading, but because of who waited for her when she got there. Grandma Mary had always helped her make sense of things.
Her grandmother had a carriage waiting as soon as Monica arrived, and Monica was off the carriage and racing inside the house the moment they arrived at her house.
Her grandmother’s delicate frame, enhanced by the intricacy of her features and the warmth in the curve of her smile, filled Monica with joy the moment she saw her. She sat in an old wooden rocking chair that creaked just the same way it had for the entire eighteen years she listened to it growing up—to her, the sound was the definition of grace and beauty.
“Grandma Mary!”
Her grandmother opened her arms wide—just as she had when Monica was a little girl. Monica savored the sensation of her grandmother's arms as they wrapped around her. Warm. Comforting. Familiar. She smiled as she looked into her eyes. “Thank you so much for the train ticket.”
“You're welcome, Monica. I'm glad that we have this time together. Come, sit down here, I'll get you some tea.”
“No, let me. I remember where everything is.”
“Okay, love, go right ahead.” She began to rock in her chair again. Monica disappeared into the kitchen and began to prepare the tea. She also filled a plate with bread and freshly churned butter, then carried everything into the living room on an old silver tray. She set it on a table beside her grandmother's rocking chair. “A splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar, right?”
“Yes, that's just how I like it, thank you.” She took a sip of her tea, then looked over at her granddaughter. “Now, tell me…”
That was all the invitation Monica needed. “It’s wonderful, Grandmother. I mean, everything is so new and exciting. There’s—a sense of adventure in the air.”
“And you've had quite an adventure, haven't you?”
“Yes, I have.” She giggled. “I guess I tend to include a lot of detail in the letters that I send.”
“Yes, you do! I feel as though I’m right there with you, Monica. I love it. Tell me more about this Gabriel.”
“Oh, Gabriel.” She sighed and gazed up at the ceiling. “I don't know what to think about him. He seems so fixated on keeping me safe. He seems kind one moment, frustrating the next, but what bothers me is he doesn’t seem to think I’m capable.”
“Oh, but you should know what to think. W
hen someone cares about you, they are always going to be concerned about your safety.”
“Honestly, Grandma, I've never met anyone like him before. But no matter what I feel inside, I know I can take care of myself. I made a mistake, but I won't ever make that same mistake again. I don't need him to take care of me. I am capable.”
“You are capable, Monica, and strong. But don’t confuse that with not needing someone to take care of you. We all need someone to take care of us from time to time.” Grandmother laughed a soft, beautiful, kind laugh that felt comforting. Filled with love. “I relied heavily on your grandfather in many ways. When I was sick, he would nurse me. When I was exhausted, he would encourage me to rest. He always did whatever he could to take care of me, and I him. I loved him for it. We were true partners.”
“But, Grandmother—I want, well I want something different for my life.” She sighed and looked down at the ghosts of bruises on her wrists. “I don't want to be confined, or owned.”
“That isn't what marriage is, my dear Monica, not real marriage with a real man. It's about never having to be alone again, and having someone to rely on, someone you can trust. It’s about sharing experiences and confiding in someone that you trust with your very soul.” She trailed her silky fingertips across her granddaughter's wrists.
“I—I don't need that. I don't mind being alone.” Even as she spoke those words, they seemed hollow and empty.
“Maybe, maybe not. You may think it’s not important right now, dear—you’re young and healthy, independent. You think if someone takes care of you, then you will be somehow weaker for it. But that just isn't true. Having someone in your life who is good and strong and kind, well it makes you stronger.”
Monica's Mystery Page 6
