Grace, Unimagined

by Abagail Eldan

  Grace, Unimagined

  Lockets & Lace

  Book 23

  ~o0o~

  Abagail Eldan

  Copyright © 2020 All rights reserved by Sheila Hollinghead

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Grace, Unimagined (Lockets & Lace)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Excerpt from Brokken Promises by Abagail Eldan

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to

  the hard-working authors of the Sweet Americana Sweethearts blog who provide the world

  with sweet/clean historical romances about North Americans between 1820 and 1929.

  A special thank you goes to

  my hard-working editor for proof-reading this manuscript

  and to

  Virginia McKevitt for the cover design.

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  .

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  Disclaimer

  ~o0o~

  All the characters described in this story are fictional.

  They are not based on any real persons, past or present.

  Any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental and unintended.

  Chapter One

  April 3, 1868

  River City, Texas

  WARD PULLED HIS HAT a tad lower before taking a taste of whiskey. His peripheral vision was excellent; his hearing even better. He listened carefully to the words of the two men, scarcely visible at the table tucked away in the left corner, without so much as a muscle twitch to convey his intent.

  Only two kerosene lamps lit the place, neither close enough to shed light on the man farthest away, the man Ward had been trailing for the past four weeks. Or had it been longer?

  He took another sip of the whiskey, as if the burning liquid would jolt his memory. His remembrances were vague, shadowy, like shifting branches on a foggy morning.

  He sensed, rather than saw, the man relax into a more comfortable position. To Ward, it indicated Fletcher had accomplished his mission and was concluding his report to the one who bankrolled the operation. Although Ward had never met him, he recognized the man as Mr. Taron Babbitt, a rancher who had a spread nearby.

  No elation surged through him at the thought he might be nearing the end of the trail, that he might soon have Taron Babbitt in his custody. Maybe his lethargy was a result of the blow he’d suffered so long ago. No matter how fatigued, how much pain surged through him, he had to keep moving until these men were brough to justice.

  Ward hoped his hunch was correct—that Fletcher was but a pawn, and the real quarry was this man he spoke to. Babbitt appeared rich enough, judging by his looks, but looks could be deceiving. Rumor had it that the man was broke, that it was his brother, Ander, who controlled the money. But what if Babbitt had started the rumors himself, hoping to avoid suspicion? Besides, maybe his brother was in on it also.

  Ward shook his head, staring at his drink as if it held the answers. He was wrong in thinking his job was nearing completion. His investigations were far from over, had just begun, more than likely. He would have to proceed cautiously. If his prey got jumpy, he’d fail, and that failure would lead to more heartache and misery.

  He subconsciously raised a hand toward the throbbing scar hidden beneath his hat before catching himself and letting his arm relax against the edge of the wooden counter. Without raising his head, he sneaked a sideways glance to the two men who leaned close to each other.

  Ten or so other men dotted the room, some sitting alone at tables, some in pairs, no one talking much. Only one man was on his feet and he moved toward Ward. The man was about his age, early twenties, and tall, slim in build. He came to a stop next to him, and Ward gave the slightest nod of acknowledgment, hoping it would discourage the man from speaking.

  It was difficult to tell time in the saloon with its boarded-over window that kept the sun out, although it probably was around six o’clock, too early for the man beside him to be as drunk as he appeared.

  Ward had no pocket watch to check the time. For the most part, he had no use for one, following the traditions of the people who formed his first memories. Like them, he based his actions on the movements of the sun, rising with the sun, eating his noon meal as the sun stood overhead, and resting after the sun set.

  Unless he was working, as he was now.

  “New in town?” the man, who had been scrutinizing him, asked.

  “Passing through,” Ward said curtly without turning his head toward the well-dressed man, a fop in appearance, a man who indulged his appetites, no matter the cost.

  He leaned closer to Ward. “Jesus commanded ‘Give drink to the thirsty.’”

  His words confused him. Ward tilted his head to gaze into the man’s bloodshot eyes and frowned. “What?”

  “I’m thirsty.” The man licked his bottom lip, and his eyes widened with hope.

  “Your thirst appears to have been quenched.” Ward cast his gaze to his glass and ran the pad of his thumb over the rim.

  The bartender approached, placed his palms against the counter, and leaned toward them. “Shouldn’t you be heading home, Gus? It’s suppertime, and Grace will be out looking for you. I’m surprised she hasn’t shown up yet.”

  “No concern of yours, Barkeep. And it’s none of my sister’s business, either,” he said, his words slurred.

  The bartender dropped his voice to a whisper. “She’s only carrying out your mother’s orders.”

  His laugh was disdainful. “And since when should a man give account to his mother?” He’d been standing crookedly but now straightened and threw his shoulders back.

  Ward pushed back from the counter, planning to move away. When he did so, the man, without glancing at Ward, sneaked his hand sideways, grabbed Ward’s whiskey, and tossed it back in one swift motion. He slammed the glass on the counter. Without apology or explanation, he walked toward the two men in the corner.

  The bartender made a sound of disgust and shook his head. “Sorry about that. I’ll get you another drink on the house.”

  Ward brushed off the apology and hoped the scene had not drawn unnecessary attention. “No need. I’ve had enough.”

  The bartender sighed heavily. “I don’t know what’s keeping Grace. I’ll send for the law to handle Gus if she doesn’t get here soon.”

  Ward acknowledged the words with a nod although he was attuned to Gus begging the two men for a card game. It gave Ward an idea. “In the meantime, I will be happy to keep an eye on him.”

  “Thanks, and sorry for the imposition.”

  “No problem.”

  Ward approached the table in the corner and leaned against the wall, sizing up the situation. The barkeep had followed with a lantern and set it on a nearby table as Gus dug in his pocket, pulled forth a locket, and held it up.

  The gold shimmered in the lantern’s light. “This is worth a good bit.”

  Fletcher shrugged and spoke to Babbitt. “Makes no difference now. May as well play a game or two.”

  Babbitt smiled pleasantly. “I’ll play one hand. I need to be setting off for

  home.”

  Fletcher eyed Ward and indicated Gus. “You his keeper?”

  “No, Just met him a few minute
s ago. I’m just looking to play a hand or two myself.”

  Gus fumbled with a deck of cards while Fletcher surveyed him, his forehead furrowing. As far as Ward knew, Fletcher had no clue who he was. Ward had not planned on ever speaking to the man, but this might be the opportunity he needed to discover more about Babbitt without arousing their suspicions.

  Although Fletcher’s eyes were still narrowed with suspicion, Babbitt indicated a chair, and Ward took it.

  Babbitt gave a friendly smile and then turned his attention to Gus. “I believe your sister works for my wife?”

  “Yes, sir, she does. Dear old Grace, her intelligence, her diligence, her... grace far outshines any of my own virtues.” Gus still shuffled the cards, and a few dropped to the floor in the process.

  Ward bent to pick them up, and his hat skewed. Before he could straighten it, Gus clumsily knocked the hat completely from his head. Ward scooped it up and settled it back in place.

  Gus’s eyes bulged, and he stared at Ward as if he’d seen a ghost. “What happened to you?”

  Babbitt frowned at Gus. “That is none of our concern if the man does not wish to enlighten us.”

  Ward sent a glance around the table, accessing their reaction, before he spoke. “An accident long ago.”

  Fletcher smiled without humor. “Looks as if an Injun tried to scalp you.”

  “No, someone more savage than them.” Before Fletcher could respond, he asked, “We going to play or what?”

  Fletcher leaned across and pulled the cards from Gus’s limp grasp. “Let me deal.”

  “Suit yourself,” Gus said, relinquishing the cards.

  Too bad the men had seen the scar. Hopefully, it wouldn’t jog any memories of the long-ago attack that had left his parents dead and him on the verge of death.

  An attack these men at the table were responsible for if his hunch was right.

  Chapter Two

  Grace Jansen, on the settee of her employer’s sitting room, suppressed a smile at the excitement of the two sisters. She’d known Abby for over a year and had never seen her so happy. Melly had arrived a few months ago, but this was the first time Grace had spoken to her. Even so, Grace had failed to see her properly since Melly stayed half-hidden by her sister and had traveled to the window immediately.

  Grace’s duties in the infirmary as Dr. Robbie’s nurse kept her too busy to socialize. Besides, Melly and her husband, Thatcher, were staying at Abby’s and rarely came to the main house, except after Grace had gone home.

  Today, however, was special, and Dr. Robbie had invited them to wait for their sister in her sitting room. Their nervousness was evident for it had been over sixteen years since either had seen Joy. Abby joined her sister at the window, and each held an edge of lace curtain, Melly so tightly, her knuckles whitened.

  Grace’s heart went out to these young women who had endured so much. Abby’s cane leaned against the wall by the window, ready if necessary, but for now her sister supported her. Melly’s body was at an angle, revealing she was with child, although her face remained hidden.

  Grace and Dr. Robbie had talked privately of the stress childbirth put upon a woman, and how it might impact Melly’s fragile mental health. Grace considered it an honor Dr. Robbie sought her opinion in the matter. She’d been told Melly’s story, all that she had endured, and Grace’s heart ached with compassion.

  Life was difficult, as Grace knew only too well. The ticking clock reminded her of the troubles at home as it echoed the lateness of the hour. Momma would be worried sick, especially if Gus had not yet arrived, and chances were that he had not. She adjusted her position before her gaze traveled back to the book she held in her hand. Dr. Robbie had allowed her to borrow the medical tome, for whatever good it would do her. She would never have a chance to attend medical school, despite how the study of biology enthralled her.

  She forced herself to focus on the written words, well aware she rarely had time to study and needed to take advantage of this opportunity, but the worry over her brother gnawed, sending her stomach into a rolling tumble.

  She chastised herself for thinking about her troubles when the sisters had endured such severe trauma. Still, Grace’s troubles were real enough. If she’d been home, she’d be tracing her brother’s whereabouts, probably enlisting the help of the sheriff. She sighed heavily. Sheriff Rance Rockson was sweet on her and thus endeavored to keep her brother out of trouble when he could. Why he wanted to entangle himself with her family was beyond her grasp. He knew, more than any other, of her obligations, how her father had died when she was not yet sixteen, leaving a legacy dedicated almost exclusively to his son and his future education. When Gus left for college, five years after their father’s death, he had squandered the money, kicked out of not one, but three prestigious universities.

  Their mother, who should have been outraged, excused her son’s behavior and blamed the schools for not recognizing Gus’s talents.

  Grace sighed heavily. She and Gus had been close as children, and perhaps she was as much to blame as their mother, coddling Gus, three years her junior. She’d not even resented it when he first went off to school when she so long to. She had believed he’d mature, settle down after his teenage hijinks, and return home to offer care and financial support to their mother who was a confirmed hypochondriac. As a matter of fact, it was due to her mother’s hypochondria that Grace had accepted the position of nurse to Dr. Robbie—Dr. Roberta Rutherford, named for her renowned father, Dr. Robert Sinclair Rutherford.

  Her mother had encouraged Grace to accept the position of Dr. Robbie’s assistant and believed Grace would learn to deal with her mother’s varied imaginary illnesses. Grace had provided her mother with appropriate medications, even if many were nothing more than sugar pills. As the sole supporter of her family, luckily the job suited Grace, and the hours were flexible when she was needed at home.

  Her brother did not work. His employers had all been jealous of Gus’s greater intellect and had treated him unfairly, justifiably leading him to quit within weeks of being hired, just as Mother believed had happened at the universities. The only qualities her brother seemed to possess were his ability to imbibe immense quantities of liquor and to gamble away what little money they possessed. As of late, he got invited into poker games when he flashed one of their father’s solid-gold pocket watches or a pilfered piece of their mother’s jewelry. At the rate he was going, nothing would be left he could use as collateral.

  Grace had given up hope of Gus ever getting an education or holding a steady job—not as long as Mother continued to excuse his behavior. Grace’s greatest fear was that they’d soon be living on the streets.

  She needed a respite from the constant worry, or at the very least, a bit of rest. It’d been ages since she’d gotten more than a few hours of sleep. Each night, after she dragged Gus home, Grace would clean up his mess and then fall exhausted into bed. Mother often awakened her before the rooster crowed to prepare a healthy breakfast for her and her beloved son before Grace had to head off to work.

  She shook her head again as to why the sheriff would want to tolerate a family such as hers. Even if the circumstances had been different, she had no interest in the sheriff. He was her senior by fifteen years, and his hair greyed at the temples. It wasn’t that he was older—his grey hair made him look distinguished and most women found that attractive—but that she could not conjure up romantic feelings for him.

  Even if she had wanted to marry him, it would not be fair to ask any man to support her mother, not to mention her brother. She scoffed again. No decent man would agree to fund her brother’s drinking and gambling habits. Her cheeks burned hotter at her own complicity in the matter, unwilling though it might be.

  With a justifiable reason, her mother often took the money Grace earned. She would then sneak it to Gus. When Grace refused to part with her money and hid it, Gus could always fetter it out and then stole part or all of her earnings. Rebukes fell on deaf ears—his and her mo
ther’s. Lately, she’d gone directly to the General Store after Dr. Robbie paid her and then made the rounds to pay off the debts Gus had accumulated, often leaving little for him to borrow or steal.

  She had tried time and time again to gather the fortitude to leave, to let them sink or swim, but what would become of them if she left? They’d surely sink and then blame her when they drowned.

  Her gaze traveled to the sisters again, and she sighed. Her stray thoughts were leading her nowhere, and she forced herself once again to focus on the book she held.

  The grandfather clock ticked loudly, each tick a reminder of how late the hour was becoming.

  “I see someone!” Abby cried out and, a moment later, laughed. “I forgot that they’ll be arriving by wagon or buggy, not by horseback. That’s probably Joshua or Thatcher, maybe both.”

  Melly spoke softly, muffled by the curtain she held. “I long so to see Johanna. Are you sure she will be here today?”

  “Yes, she will. And remember not to call her Johanna. She prefers Joy now,” Abby said gently wrapping an arm around Melly’s waist.

  A stab of envy went straight to Grace’s heart. How she longed for a sister or even an aunt or cousin, someone who would give her a measure of affection. Despite her best effort, her lips trembled. Normally, she did her job efficiently, diligently, and did not feel sorry for herself—her life was too busy to be indulge her feelings. It was only times like this when she had time on her hands that the envy and complaints manifested.

  Empty hands were the devil’s workshop... but her hands were not empty. She looked once more to her book until the entrance of Abby’s husband distracted her from her intention.

  The foreman came right in the front door after stamping his boots noisily outside. Joshua was a kind, generous man, and when Abby had accepted his proposal, Grace had shared in their happiness. God knew everyone deserved some degree of kindness in this hard life.

  Joshua greeted his wife with a kiss before sending Grace a puzzled look. “Is something wrong with Mr. Taron?”