Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 02]

by Beyond This Moment

  In the end, he'd been the one to convince Mayor Davenport and the other board members that Dr. Whitcomb, a woman with her doctorate in language studies, was the most qualified candidate. So now it would fall to him to be the one to explain if it turned out that she wasn't. That thought brought a troubled sigh.

  Rachel stood by the stove, stirring a simmering pot of oatmeal. She added a dollop of butter and wiped her fingers on her apron. "She's still sleeping?"

  "That's my guess. I don't hear anything:"

  "I'll check on her later. Don't worry. She did look tired last night, James;" she said, her voice low. "And don't forget, the trip out here is wearing. Even by train. Add to that the drama of what happened with the stage. I wouldn't blame the woman if she slept for a week:"

  James retrieved five bowls from the kitchen cupboard and set them on the table. The images from yesterday were still fresh in his mind. How that coach had stayed on the cliff for as long as it had, he didn't know. Then again, he did. And he thanked God again for intervening.

  Rachel set the pan to the side of the stove. "I'm surprised Molly didn't ask you right then and there to take her back to Sulfur Falls so she could catch the next train home:"

  "Molly, is it?" Smiling, James poured another cup of coffee and took a slow sip.

  She gave him a look and handed him the jar of molasses. "I like her, James. She's nice, though quieter than I was expecting. And prettier too:' Raising a brow, she gave him a well-aimed grin.

  Ignoring her teasing, James opened the jar and handed it back to her, then busied himself with gathering spoons and cups of milk for the boys. "She didn't seem too quiet at first but got more so the longer the day went. Which would fit with her being tired, I guess." Still, something about how Molly had bantered back and forth with him at first didn't sit right. Not that she'd done anything inappropriate. It just wasn't what he'd expect from a widow, especially one so recent.

  "James"

  He turned to find Rachel watching him.

  "You're telling me-" she tiptoed over and peered down the hallway"that you didn't notice how pretty she was?"

  "I never said I didn't notice:'

  "But you didn't comment on it."

  "You didn't ask for a comment:"

  Hands on her hips, Rachel playfully narrowed her eyes. "Well, I'm asking now."

  He worked to hide his smile. "I still haven't heard a direct question:'

  "Did you or did you not, Sheriff McPherson, notice how pretty she is?"

  "How pretty who is?"

  He didn't even try to avoid her fist when she popped him a good one in the arm. "I noticed ... all right? It'd be awfully hard not to. But don't let your imagination go running off with you, okay?" It was good to see Rachel smile these days, and he did everything he could to make that happen. She'd been so reserved following Thomas's death.

  "My imagination's not running anywhere ... for now." Grinning, she turned on her heel and sashayed back to the stove.

  James took another swig of coffee, and the warm brew burned a path all the way down. He wasn't about to admit it, but he'd more than noticed Molly Whitcomb.

  Riding back into town with her last night had been nothing short of an exercise in self-control. The feel of her leaning back against him, her hair smelling of some kind of flower he couldn't remember but also couldn't forget. And of how his arm had fit so well around her waist. He'd told himself he was thinking of her safety. But, truth be told, Molly Whitcomb's safety hadn't been the primary thought on his mind.

  He noticed women on occasion. What man didn't? But with discipline, he always guided his focus back. Something not as easily done with Dr. Molly Whitcomb.

  He'd noticed her as soon as she'd stepped from the train, and his attraction had been instant and compelling. Not at all a common occurrence for him, and not a welcome one either. Not in his line of work. Not with a recent widow. And certainly not with the town's new schoolteacher.

  Rachel spooned oatmeal into their two bowls and joined him at the table. He'd offered thanks and whispered the final amen when it came to him. Thinking back to how Molly had bantered with him there at the first-it had been months after Rachel had buried Thomas before Rachel had felt spirited enough to joke with him, her own brother, like that.

  And, as far as he knew, she had yet to speak at length with any man, much less spar with one. He unraveled that thought as they ate.

  He'd never been married, had never even come close, but he'd known enough couples to realize there were all different kinds of marriages. Maybe Molly's had been more a marriage of necessity or convenience. Rather than of deep, abiding love-like Rachel and Thomas's had been. That would help explain things.

  "This is good, Rach. Thanks:"

  Rachel looked at him and shook her head. "It's only oatmeal, James. Tonight I'll fix us a good dinner. Hopefully Molly can join us." She touched his arm. "Did you tell her about the cabin yet?"

  He shook his head, speaking between bites. "I thought I'd let that be a surprise. It should be ready in another day or two, and she's welcome to stay on in my room until then. I actually enjoyed sleeping in the barn:' He laughed softly. "Reminded me of when Daniel and I were boys and we'd sneak out to-"

  Rachel's expression went blank.

  Realizing what he'd done, James set down his spoon. "Rachel, I didn't mean to bring up-"

  She shook her head, and though her eyes held warmth, they also held warning. "Don't .."

  He stared at his bowl, letting a moment pass. He loved his sister, but he was weary of this foolishness.

  Rachel cleared her throat. "Now, about this afternoon-" Deliberate cheerfulness tinged her voice. "I'll make sure Molly gets into town. The boys and I need to make a trip to the general store, anyway. Then I'll bring her by your office, and maybe we can go with you to show her the school and the cabin." She gestured to the pot of coffee on the hot pad between them. "Would you like some more?"

  He recognized the evasive behavior, having witnessed it often enough. "Rachel, it's time for you to let this go;' he whispered. His chest tightened as her fragile facade slipped from its place.

  Tears rose to her eyes. "Don't, James ... please."

  He covered her hand on the table, keeping his voice low so the boys wouldn't hear down the hall. "This has gone on too long, Rachel. Daniel is not responsible for Thomas's death:"

  "I know you mean well, and you've been such a help to me and the boys since Thomas passed." She took a shallow breath. "I don't know what we would have done without you, but ... you didn't know the situation like I did, James. You weren't here. You didn't see how Mitch and Kurtie talked about Daniel in front of Thomas. How they idolized him" She pulled her hand away. "Daniel Ranslett might not have led Thomas out there to the woods that day, but he is responsible for what happened to him there. Whether you can accept that or not:" She stared at her bowl for a moment, then stood. "And I'll thank you to not bring this up to me again in my home" She busied herself at the cupboard, her back to him.

  My home. That last part brought James up short. He rose from the table and gently set his empty bowl in the tepid water of the washbasin. "Are you ready for me to move back into town, Rachel? Because if you are, just say the word. I don't want to get in your way here, and I certainly don't mean to overstay my welcome."

  She bowed her head. Her shoulders began to shake. "No, I ... I appreciate you moving in with us, and ... I like you being here." Her voice quavered. "It's not that:" She turned to face him, tears on her cheeks. "I only wish you'd believe my side of things instead of his:'

  "I do believe you, Rachel" James pulled her close for a hug. "But grief can make you do things, make you see things in a way that's not the truth, that's all. It feels like the truth because you're hurting so bad, and you'd do just about anything to make it stop:"

  He drew back and saw her struggle in her expression. She was still looking for the "why" behind her husband being taken from her and their boys. And as long as she was doing that, she'd never
see beyond seeking to lay blame. And Daniel Ranslett was a convenient scapegoat.

  He kissed the crown of her head. If he pushed her on this, she and Daniel might never mend their ways. Best stay out of things and let God work. That was a lesson their mother had taught him, among many. Their mother's life had been a series of sacrifices for her children, especially for him. Only he hadn't understood just how much she'd given until his father was on his deathbed.

  That was one secret his father should have taken to his grave. And one James was determined to take to his. Not even Rachel knew.

  He reached for his hat hanging on the back of the chair. "I'll look for you all in town this afternoon sometime. And would you mind making sure that she has-"

  "I've already got a dress airing out for her;" she said, reading his mind as she so often did. `And, James.. "

  He paused in the doorway.

  I know you didn't ask me, but if you were to ..." She fingered the hem of her apron. "I'm not saying that she did this intentionally, but I can understand why she might not have wanted to reveal to the town council that she was married before. After Thomas died, I can't tell you how many times I wished I could just up and leave with the boys and start all over again. Someplace far away from all the reminders, from the looks people gave me in town when they thought I wasn't watching. I don't feel that way anymore, James. This is where Thomas wanted to raise our sons, and the memories are starting to be a comfort rather than a thorn. But still, I remember. So, please, let me say this without interruption:"

  She held up a hand, smiling, and looked so much like their mother in that moment that James couldn't have spoken if he'd wanted to.

  "Don't judge Molly too harshly for wanting to try and start her life over again. I plan on doing everything I can to make her transition a good one, and I hope you will too:"

  Riding down the mountain into town, James sifted through what Rachel had said.

  And by the time he reached his office, he'd determined to set aside his doubts about Molly Whitcomb and-if she did, in fact, get the job-to do as Rachel suggested and try his best to make her transition to Timber Ridge a good one.

  On occasion, his intuition about people had been proven wrong. He reminded himself of that and chalked this up to being one of those times.

  7

  olly slipped the last pearl button through the narrow slit in the high-neck collar and stepped back. She could only view the upper half of her reflection in the mirror mounted above James's dresser, but the dress Rachel had given her at breakfast-if one could still call the meal that, considering how late she'd slept-fit snug about her waist. But at least it fit.

  She was sore from yesterday's "crash;' as Rachel's younger son, Kurt, had referred to it, and her head ached, but the willow-bark tea Rachel had made was helping. Thankful the earlier bout of queasiness had passed, Molly smoothed a hand over her still-flat stomach, knowing it wouldn't be flat for much longer. What would she do then, once she started to show?

  "We don't have many secrets among us," James had said last night. "Or if we do, we don't keep them long."

  She searched her reflection in the mirror, able to see the deception so clearly in the dark half-moons beneath her eyes and in the tiny creases in her forehead that never seemed to smooth away. She looked as pale as she felt, and the black dress only washed out her already fair complexion and hair.

  How far developed was the child inside her? Was it a boy or a girl? Did he or she have fingers and toes yet? During the night she'd awakened, and it had occurred to her that the trauma from yesterday might have affected the baby. She'd checked for bleeding then, and again this morning, but her concern proved unwarranted. The baby's life appeared to be unharmed-and still on course to change hers irrevocably.

  And those were changes Molly didn't welcome. How could she? Knowing what was coming. And though she honestly didn't wish any harm to come to the child, she did wish it had never been conceived, which made her wonder again how Jeremy could ever have suggested what he did. She'd debated on whether or not to tell him about the baby. But finally, she'd decided she owed him that much, his being the father. His response had been chilling, and had shown what kind of man he really was. How could he begin to fathom putting an end to a child's life? She regretted its existence, but she could never follow through with what he'd suggested.

  She pressed lightly on her abdomen. Could one so young and defenseless sense the depth of its mother's love and affection? For the child's sake, she hoped not.

  Knowing Rachel and the boys were likely waiting on her to go into town, Molly threw the sheet over the bed and followed with the quilt. She hadn't said anything about it to Rachel, but she planned on moving to the boardinghouse today. She appreciated Rachel's hospitality, and James's generosity in giving her his bed last night, but staying in the home of the most powerful authority in Timber Ridge, or one of them at least, was not where she wanted to be. Much less sleeping in the man's bed. She'd had her fill of men in authority and of their having influence over her life.

  A knock sounded.

  "Molly?" Rachel's voice carried through the closed bedroom door. "The boys and I will meet you by the wagon, all right?"

  Molly opened the door. "Thank you for your patience, Rachel. I'm nearly ready." She smoothed a hand over the delicate lace-tiered skirt, sensing approval in Rachel's soft exhale. "Thank you again for being so generous with this:"

  "It's beautiful on you, and looks like it fits well:"

  "It does:" And would, at least for a little while. "I'll take extra care with it, I promise. And I'll return it as soon as my trunks arrive:"

  "You can keep it for as long you need:" Rachel's look grew reminiscent. "Come October, two years will have passed since my Thomas was killed. It's time for me to move on, I know. Some would say it's past time:" Her fingers trailed the waistband of her dark blue skirt. "I started wearing colors again a month ago:'

  Molly hardly considered that dark a blue a "color" but said nothing.

  "Out here, men and women tend not to wait as long as they do back east before moving ahead with life and remarrying. It's not that people don't miss their loved ones. They do-it's just that, typically, there are no other family members. And there are children to be raised and ranches to be run:" A fragile look crept in behind Rachel's eyes. "If not for James, I don't know what I would have done. Or would've had to do. He moved in right after and took over responsibilities I just couldn't handle at the time:"

  Molly imagined the number of men who must have lined up to court the beautiful young Widow Boyd, especially with a ranch as part of the deal. "I'm guessing you had plenty of eager suitors:"

  Rachel's cheeks pinkened. "Thomas hadn't been buried two months when they started calling on me. But having the sheriff for a big brother provided a strong deterrent:" Her smile was sheepish.

  I can well imagine, having seen him in action yesterday. He can be quite ... commanding:' Which was all the more reason for her to be out of Rachel's house and on her own.

  Rachel touched her arm. "Is your stomach still upset? Because if you need to see a doctor, we can stop by his office while were in town:"

  "No, no, I'm fine now." Molly shook her head. When the bout of nausea had hit earlier, Rachel had insisted on accompanying her to the privy. "Too many trains and stagecoaches, I'm thinking:" The last thing she needed was a visit to the town doctor. That was one person she wouldn't be able to fool for long.

  Rachel motioned down the hallway. "Take your time, and come on out when you're ready."

  Leaving the door ajar, Molly finished getting ready and worked the last few hairpins into place. Two books on James's dresser drew her attention, as they had last night, and told her something of the man who lived in this room. Her gaze went to the Bible with its cracked, worn leather binding, then to the thick volume entitled Unchanging Laws of These United States. Shreds of paper were tucked at odd angles every few pages.

  Neither of the volumes was surprising, considering her
initial impression of the man. She had a feeling that James McPherson on the outside was exactly who he was on the inside. She turned away from her reflection.

  After putting the room to right, she joined Rachel and her sons out front, doing her best to avoid puddles from yesterday's rain. She gathered the full skirt of the black dress and climbed up to the bench seat. Rachel was busy doing something with the harnesses, and Molly admired her skill, which was far above her own. She knew how to harness a single mount but not a team. And she certainly didn't know how to hitch a wagon. Rachel seemed to know how to do it all.

  With yesterday's accident still close in mind, Molly was none too eager to chance the winding mountain roads in a wagon or coach again. But like James, Rachel inspired trust, and Molly determined to sit back and not grip the seat-too tightly.

  It had been dark when she and James arrived last night, so other than quick trips to and from the privy, she hadn't seen the land surrounding the homestead.

  The cabin was ample size, and though it still fell within the parameters of "rustic;' obvious care had been given to the finish work around the doors and windows. Southern influences abounded in the wide front porch and thick pine columns framing the front entrance. Studying the detailed workmanship, Molly caught a glimpse of the talented man and attentive husband Thomas Boyd must have been.

  She breathed deeply the scent of evergreens and of something sweet she couldn't quite identify, surprised at how cool the air still was, and with August just around the corner. Rachel wasn't wearing a wrap, so Molly had hesitated asking for one. People probably grew accustomed to the chill in the mountain air much like they grew accustomed to the heavy days of summer back in Georgia. Only, the chilly temperature was a far more pleasant adjustment.

  Rachel climbed up beside her and gathered the reins. Molly heard a sniffing sound to her left and turned.