by Dorothy Love
The sheriff, his face red from the heat, waded into the fracas and separated the men. Some retreated to the far side of the park; others gathered their families and started for home. The concert continued with classical pieces that reminded Ada of home, her father, and that last painful evening in his crimson and gilt study, listening to Edward dispassionately dismantling her future. Coupled with her impasse with Wyatt, the memory was too much. To her complete horror, she began to sob, her shoulders heaving.
“Ada?” Mariah leaned toward her until their foreheads were touching. “Are you all right?”
“You must excuse me, I—”
“Come with me.” Mariah led her through the crowd and along the footpath to a secluded spot beneath the trees. “Now, what’s the matter?”
Ada pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and blotted her face. “That song, the Mozart piece, was m-my fiancé’s favorite. I thought I was past caring for him, but—”
“The song brings back all those old feelings.”
Ada nodded. “I have no one to blame but myself.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I am hopelessly naive and a terrible judge of character. Why couldn’t I see his true nature? Surely there were clues, if only I hadn’t been too stupid to see them.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Mariah said. “Love is often blind. But isn’t it better to know the truth than to harbor false hope?”
“I suppose. But I can’t help wondering whether things would have been different if my father had stayed out of it. He convinced Edward to break our engagement. He paid Edward a lot of money to trample on my dreams.”
“Oh, Ada. Are you certain of this?”
She nodded. “I overheard Father talking to Aunt Kate about it.”
“I’m sure that was a hard thing to accept.”
Ada dabbed her eyes, picturing that last evening with Edward in the parlor of her father’s house—the falling snow, the fire snapping and crackling in the grate. Edward standing before the mantel, resplendent in his ship captain’s uniform, his beard turning to burnished gold in the firelight, his deep voice resonant as he shattered her dreams.
“Ada?” Mariah placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”
Ada took a deep breath and nodded. “The night Edward called off our wedding, he promised me—he swore a solemn oath—that one day he would explain everything. For a while I held on to that. I thought that if I only understood the why of it, I could accept it. But of course he broke that promise too. I wrote to him twice after my father died, but I haven’t heard a word.”
“Did you ask your father about it?”
“I wanted to. But at first I was too angry. And then he died suddenly.”
“That’s too bad. Was it his heart?”
“That would have been a mercy.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “A gaslight exploded in the theater. There was a flash fire. Father and my aunt were in our box in the balcony and couldn’t get out before the whole building collapsed.” She braided her fingers together. “Ten others were lost as well.”
Mariah took her hand. “I had no idea!”
“I was supposed to go too, but I was angry with Father and Aunt Kate. She disapproved of everything I did and took his side in every argument. That night I refused to leave the house. We fought about it. And then I never saw them again.”
“You poor thing. I am sorry.”
“And now I’ll never know why he convinced Edward to abandon me. I can’t forgive either of them.”
Mariah’s brown eyes filled. “You believe your father’s interference ruined your life. But suppose he saw in your Edward the things you couldn’t see—things that would have brought you even greater pain had you married.”
Ada shrugged and smoothed the pleats in her skirt.
“What if, in sending your fiancé away, your father carved out a new and better path for you? One that will lead to greater happiness than you might have had with Edward? Isn’t that possible?”
“I don’t know. I never thought of it that way.”
“Think of our heavenly Father,” Mariah urged. “Sometimes we don’t understand his ways, and yet if we are faithful in following the path he sets for us, we find more joy than we ever could have imagined.”
Ada sighed. She wasn’t sure she believed that, but Mariah’s quiet smile soothed her heart. She envied Mariah the pure certainty of her faith.
She wadded her handkerchief into a tight sodden ball. “I want to believe that life won’t always be so difficult and lonely, but every day is the same. Watching out for Lillian and keeping the house tidy is exhausting. Scrimping and saving for my future is a struggle. It’s hard to see how anything will change.”
“I know.” Mariah’s voice was gentle. “But I’m confident that in God’s time you will find a man worthy of your affections.” She smiled. “I saw you talking with Wyatt Caldwell earlier.”
“He’s angry with me because of my advertisement in the Gazette. He insists that I cancel it and forbids me to pursue my millinery business as long as I am employed as Lillian’s companion.” Ada sniffed. “It isn’t fair.”
Mariah shook her head in sympathy. “He can certainly seem intractable sometimes, but you can look all over Tennessee and never find a man with a kinder heart. When my daughter drowned, Sage got roaring drunk and stayed that way for a week. It was the only time he ever touched spirits. He was inconsolable. I was scared that I’d lost him too.”
“I didn’t realize you’d lost a child. That must have been unbearable.”
Mariah nodded, her brown eyes luminous with unshed tears. “Wyatt stayed by our side day and night until Sage came to his senses. Somehow a funeral was arranged and all our bills were paid. When Sage went back to the mill, Wyatt never said a word about any of it. To this day, he still hasn’t.”
Mariah smiled and took Ada’s arm. “It’s nearly noon. We should help the others set the food out. Are you all right now?”
“I’m fine. And mortified. I don’t usually give in to my tears.”
“Founders Day is always emotional around here.” Mariah linked her arm through Ada’s and they returned to the park. “Give Wyatt some time. He’s a fair-minded man. He’ll come around.”
Wyatt leaned against the wheel of the buckboard and watched Ada and Mariah emerge from the trees. He was sure Ada had told her friend about their dustup this morning. Women were like that— able to tell each other the most embarrassing or troubling things and be fairly certain of a sympathetic response. He could tell from the set of Ada’s shoulders that she was unhappy, and he wished he’d been more diplomatic in his dealings with her. But being around her evoked old resentments, and sometimes they took over.
Of course it wasn’t her fault that she happened to be from the same town as Reginald Cabot. Until she arrived, he hadn’t let himself think about that double-dealing cheat—the sorriest excuse for a man that Wyatt had ever met. The one who had cost the Caldwells a hundred acres of prime ranchland and, for a while, their sterling reputation among their fellow ranchers.
He couldn’t forget the day Cabot arrived at the Caldwell place with a proposal to channel water from the river to the ranches in the area. The man came prepared with a bunch of fancy charts and tables showing how much water could be diverted, how many more head of cattle each acre would support, how much profit each rancher could expect once the system was in place. He approached Wyatt’s father first. As the owner of the largest ranch in the region, Jake Caldwell was the key to convincing his neighbors to support the plan.
Dad was no fool. He’d been around long enough to know that in drought years the river turned to sludge and, channels or no, a certain percentage of cattle would die. That was a fact any Texas rancher had to accept. But Cabot had a ready answer. He promised to build a reservoir to collect water during rainy spells and release it during dry ones. All that was needed was a financial investment to make it all a reality.
Finally, his objections overcome, Dad wrote a check and convi
nced three of his neighbors to invest as well.
But the channel was never dug, the reservoir never built. And Wyatt’s father was labeled a fast-talking swindler, even though he lost more money than any of them.
Wyatt was furious, not only for the loss of the land, but for the sullying of the Caldwell name. He wanted to hire a detective to find the elusive Yankee con man and bring him back south for a healthy dose of Texas justice. But his father wanted to let it go. He was getting older; he wanted to live out his life in peace. He sold off some land to repay his neighbors every penny.
That wasn’t enough for Wyatt. Still determined to bring Cabot to justice, he traveled to Boston and hired an expensive Massachusetts lawyer to recover Jake’s investment. But he soon learned that one set of laws existed for the rich and powerful and another for everybody else. Cabot’s family name and connections kept him from having to pay for his crime. The injustice of it all still rankled.
What hurt Wyatt more than the loss of the money was the loss of land that was part of his history and his heritage. Even now, thinking of it, he felt a sharp hunger for the land. When the day came to leave Hickory Ridge and return home, he intended to buy back every last acre of it.
He scanned the park. Beneath the trees, Ada was busy setting out plates and opening baskets of food. His stomach rumbled. The food would be outstanding, a far cry from the hurried meals he made for himself after a long day at the mill. But he didn’t feel much like eating. Despite the bad memories Ada’s presence stirred in him, his feelings for her were growing like weeds and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
The sudden burst of her bright laughter filtered through the trees and lodged in his heart. He wanted more of that sweet laughter. More of her.
And yet . . .
He knew it was downright ignorant to tar an entire group of people with the same broad brush. He was aware that Ada Wentworth had nothing to do with Reginald Cabot. But the fact remained that she was a Boston Yankee who had been less than completely honest with him.
And he wasn’t sure he could get past that.
FOURTEEN
Ada helped the other women prepare the food for serving. Bea Goldston arrived in time to set out stacks of plates and jars of lemonade. She bustled about in her purple dress and mud-spattered boots, turning her schoolteacher’s eyes on the knots of shrieking children with a look that would have petrified stone. Ada hid a smile. Never had countenance and occupation seemed more perfectly matched.
Bea finished her task and strolled over to Ada. “Good morning, Miss Wentworth!”
Ada looked up, so startled at Bea’s cordial greeting that she nearly dropped a pan of blueberry buckle.
“Miss Goldston . . . hello . . .”
“How are you? Enjoying your first Founders Day in Hickory Ridge?”
“I am.” Ada made room on the table for Bea’s pan. “How are things at school?”
Bea smiled. “Busy. The school board approved my new curriculum for next term, and we’re making plans to welcome a new teacher soon.”
“So I heard.”
Across the table, Mariah was gaping at Bea as if she’d suddenly sprouted an extra head.
“I should have stayed home today to write out my new lessons,” Bea continued. “But a woman in my position has to do her part for the community.” She looked around. “Anything else I can do to help?”
Mariah rearranged a couple of pans to make room on the table for a bowl of peaches. “I believe Mrs. Lowell could use some help. Those children have been running around like wild Indians, eyeing the sweets all morning. The younger ones are getting tired by now.”
“Say no more!” Bea took off across the park, her ruffled skirt belling out behind her.
“Mercy sakes,” Mariah murmured. “Wonder what’s gotten into Bea? She actually seems human today.”
“A welcome change.” Ada shaded her eyes and looked across the meadow to the spot where the orphans were seated in perfectly straight rows. Mrs. Lowell stood in front of them, undoubtedly reminding them of their manners and of how lucky they were to be attending such a glorious celebration.
A bell clanged, and the townsfolk surged toward the tables. The mayor read a short declaration of remembrance for the war dead, and the minister of the church in town made his way forward to bless the food.
Ada bowed her head, but her gaze roamed over the assembled crowd. Where was Wyatt now? Had he shown up solely to chastise her for the newspaper ad?
“. . . and bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies through Jesus Christ our Lord,” the minister intoned.
“Amen,” the crowd murmured before everyone made a mad dash for plates and forks. Ada filled her plate and helped Lillian with hers. They joined a group that included Patsy Greer from the newspaper and her father and quickly grew to include Norah Dudley, the dress-shop proprietress, and Hattie Hanson, the restaurant owner. Mariah and Sage spread their blanket and settled down next to Lillian. Then Carrie Daly arrived with a stocky, sandy-haired man, whom she introduced to Ada as her brother, Henry Bell.
“Ma’am.” Henry nodded to Ada and plopped down on the blanket his sister had spread, his cheerful demeanor contrasting sharply with his sister’s pale sadness. “Heard about you from Carrie and from Wyatt down at the mill. I hope you like it here in Hickory Ridge.”
She smiled at his enthusiasm. “It’s a nice town.”
“We like it. Don’t we, Carrie?”
Just then, a couple of men called to him and he got to his feet. “Excuse me. I plumb forgot that I promised to help Charlie with his wagon.”
“Don’t forget to eat,” Carrie said.
He grinned at his sister. “Not likely.” He nodded to Ada again and hurried off.
Over the next hour, Ada nibbled at her food and listened to snippets of conversations going on around her. Mr. Greer and Sage discussed the changes taking place in Tennessee since the new governor had taken office. Patsy marveled at the news of a huge cattle drive that had just set out for Abilene. Her father and Hattie argued about whether President Grant had packed the Supreme Court to get his way on an important constitutional issue. The mention of the Union general who was now the U.S. president got everyone’s attention.
“I remember the day the Federals first got here,” Mr. Greer said. “I stood at my front winder and watched that bunch cut through this holler like a hot knife through butter. People my age, we couldn’t hardly stand it, being overrun by Yankees. But some of the young girls didn’t mind it too much.” He glanced at his daughter. “They was one of ’em, a bushy-bearded captain from Ohio or somewheres like that, sweet on my Patsy.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Patsy said. “Captain Franklin found out that we owned the Gazette, and he didn’t want any bad publicity for the Union army.” She tossed her dark braid over her shoulder. “Unfortunately, it had nothing to do with me and my feminine wiles.”
“Not that you would have courted a Yankee for a single minute,” Norah Dudley said. “Honestly, what self-respecting girl would associate with the likes of him? Yankees are all thieves and liars, down to the very last one of—”
Mariah gaped at the dressmaker and reached across the blanket to grasp Ada’s hand. Norah stopped talking and dropped her gaze. The group fell silent. All eyes turned to Ada.
Heat suffused her face. She set down her plate. “Just as all Southerners are ill-mannered and ignorant?”
Hattie, her eyes downcast, fiddled with her napkin. Patsy shaded her eyes and watched the horseshoe match going on across the way. The awkward silence went on until Mr. Greer said, “I reckon you got ’er dead to rights, there.” He got to his feet. “Sage? Care to join me for horseshoes?”
The men headed off. Norah hurried to gather her things. “I must go.”
Ada, her appetite gone, busied herself stacking the empty plates.
“Don’t take Norah’s words to heart,” Mariah said when the shop owner had gone. “She didn’t mean it. She wasn’t thinking.”
Ada no
dded, sick with anger and with the certain knowledge that people here would never forgive her for her background. Even if she stayed in Hickory Ridge for a hundred years, there would always be the secretive Klan, watching and waiting, and people like Norah and Jasper Pruitt, nursing their hatred for Northerners.
She looked out across the park. Near the rows of wagons and buckboards lining the road, Wyatt was talking to Sage and Henry Bell.
As much as she hated deceiving him, she would have to go on with her plan. It was her ticket back to the world she knew and understood.
Wyatt leaned against the wagon wheel, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hat shading his eyes from the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the trees. The tantalizing smells of food had finally overcome his bad mood, and he had overindulged in fried chicken, watermelon, and a double serving of blackberry cobbler. He would have recognized Lillian’s recipe anywhere—warm, sugary berries mixed with just the right amounts of butter and lemon, bubbling beneath a flaky brown crust.
He imagined Ada’s delicate hands mixing and rolling out the dough, the faint blush on her cheeks as she bent over the hot cookstove. He’d thought about seeking her out to compliment her on the cobbler, but now she was marching back to the tables carrying a stack of plates with the urgency of a battlefield officer. He could tell from the angle of her chin that she was still upset. Maybe it was better to let her be.
He checked his watch and felt a stab of guilt. He’d planned to catch up on things at the mill today. There were letters to answer, the payroll to figure. And he needed to compose a wire to the hotel owner in North Carolina who had inquired about buying some oak. But the day was nearly gone, and there was something working at the back of his mind, a vague feeling that he couldn’t quite place. He shifted his position and watched the children enjoying the celebration.
A performer from a traveling show wandered among the crowd juggling oranges, rubber balls, and rolls of ribbon, unspooling them in myriad colors that caught the light. Sophie from the orphanage jumped to catch two lengths of pale blue ribbon and offered one to Ada. Ada draped her arm loosely about the girl’s shoulders, and the two of them walked across the meadow laughing and chatting as if they’d been friends forever.
