It should have been an exciting journey full of promise.
From the moment they boarded the train in New Orleans she tried to convince herself she should be happy. But riding beside Tom, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, reminded her that they might soon part ways.
Passing bayous and rivers, fields of waving cane, the cypress forests, tupelo, gum, and water oak on the way to Breashear Bay, she found herself wondering why she’d ever agreed to this. How did she think she could walk away from the only home she’d ever known? How naïve she’d been to think she could spend days in Tom’s company and not be tempted to give in to her longing?
Then she would remember why she was here. If Laura McCormick was her sister, she could be one step closer to the life she’d always wanted, a real home, perhaps even family.
You should be happy.
Tom kept his distance when he could. She should have been grateful, but that only made her anticipate the times she could be near him. He was ever solicitous while escorting her from her cabin to the dining room aboard the steamer. Sitting beside her on the long train rides, he made certain she was comfortable. He saw to their meals and hurried her along when they disembarked during the brief stops at depot restaurants.
He was confident and organized, caring and committed to her safety. On the rare occasions when he would let down his guard, they would converse and even laugh about something they saw along the way. They were so close, so companionable, that Maddie was tempted by the possibility that they might very well make a fine life together — until she remembered who she was and what she had done.
Most of the time Tom remained distant. He never tried to kiss her or hold her hand. He was so expert at masking his emotions that she began to wonder if his feelings had changed since the night she told him she would never love him.
She should have been happy but she wasn’t.
As they neared their destination, she found herself hoping that the McCormick woman would take one look at her and announce that she couldn’t possibly be Megan Lane. At least then she’d be free to go back to Louisiana.
After they left Galveston to board the train to Dallas, the land opened up with each mile away from the Gulf. They crossed high tableland broken by a series of hills and valleys. Herds of cattle were scattered across land so open and unbroken, so dry, she wondered how they survived the elements. She found herself longing for the lush, fertile land and humidity of Louisiana, for the Spanish moss and deep forest shadows of the bayou.
She knew nothing of Texas. The land didn’t speak to her the way the bayou did.
Now, as they sat shoulder to shoulder crammed into the jolting, brightly lacquered Concord stage on the last leg of the trip to Glory, she wasn’t happy in the least. She was not only scared spitless, but afraid the swaying motion of the stage was about to bring up her hastily downed breakfast.
She snuck a glance at Tom and caught him staring at her. When they’d met outside their hotel rooms in Dallas that morning, she noticed he was freshly shaved, wearing a clean white shirt beneath his black coat and vest. He was a striking man. She’d seen more than one woman openly admire him along the way.
A shiver ran down her spine as he leaned close and whispered in her ear.
“You look a little green. Are you all right?”
She nodded, afraid to speak.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Both of the wall seats as well as the bench seat down the middle of the coach were filled. A plain-featured woman with a toddler asleep on her lap sat on her right. Maddie tried not to stare at the child though she ached to hold him. Her gaze kept drifting to his angelic expression.
The woman’s husband was on the opposite seat beyond the center bench. He, too, was sound asleep, head back, snoring with his mouth open. Maddie wondered how anyone could sleep through the series of jolts and spine-bruising bumps.
A young soldier in full uniform sat next to the window staring forlornly across the plain. A lawyer from Houston occupied the bench seat directly across from Maddie. He apologized each time his bony knees connected with hers.
“Is it much further?” she asked Tom.
The lawyer pulled his watch out of his waistcoat.
“We should be there in about twenty more minutes,” he said, snapping the watch closed.
She thanked him, looked across at the toddler and out the window.
Only twenty minutes to Glory? There was absolutely no sign that they were anywhere near a town.
She could hold on for twenty more minutes. She brushed at the dust on the skirt of her new traveling ensemble. That morning, for the first time, she had donned the lovely raspberry skirt and blouse from Madame Bouchard. The pieces fit perfectly, and she found the contrast between the deep purple hue and the emerald cape stunning. Each time she recalled the admiration on Tom’s face when she had stepped out of her hotel room, she blushed all over again.
Peering around the ruffled edge of her little silk hat, she took the opportunity to study his profile as he stared out the window on his side of the coach, apparently lost in thought. Either he was worried that she wasn’t Megan Lane or he was as loath to say good-bye as she.
He turned without warning, caught her staring. She blushed but didn’t look away.
“They do know we’re coming?” she asked.
He nodded. “I sent a telegram early this morning before we left Dallas. Told them we’d be on the afternoon stage.”
“You think she’ll be there to meet us?”
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
Not in the least embarrassed at eavesdropping, the lawyer added, “We’re running late.”
They fell silent. The stage bounced and swayed so violently she was convinced the driver was aiming for every pothole.
She concentrated on the view and then, as if it had suddenly popped up out of the ground, the town of Glory appeared. The stage slowed as they passed a small park with a tiny white church and church hall, then entered one end of an extremely wide street, apparently the only one in town. It was lined on both sides by false-fronted shops and stores. Most were one story, but there was an occasional second story here and there. She saw the livery and a land office. The Glory Gazette newspaper was housed in its own building. There was a small milliner’s shop and a butcher shop next door.
The stage finally stopped outside the dry goods and mercantile. Maddie leaned closer to the window. The boardwalk was empty.
Passengers in the center seat piled out before Tom took his turn. He offered her his hand. Maddie realized she’d not only grown accustomed to his gentlemanly manners, but craved his touch, no matter how fleeting. He always offered her a hand in and out of conveyances. His palm rode possessively at her waist whenever he ushered her along.
I’ll miss this. I’ll miss him.
The realization came swift and hard as he let go of her hand as soon as she was safely on the boardwalk. She didn’t allow herself to think past this minute. Courage in place, she shook out her skirt and gazed around.
They were in the middle of town with the wide-open sky visible all around. Glory was barely two blocks long and nothing like New Orleans. There was nowhere to hide. No anonymity here.
She waited until the residual rocking motion stopped before she moved. The guard atop the stage was tossing baggage down to a storekeep who’d appeared from the mercantile. The clerk was tall and thin, his hair carefully parted down the center and well oiled. As he lined up the baggage on the boardwalk, he nodded to passengers and called a greeting to the driver, then took the mailbag the guard handed down.
The weather was brisk and cool, though the sun was shining. The passengers collected their baggage and wasted no time milling around on the boardwalk. A buckboard arrived and a rancher collected the young family. The soldier headed down the street. Maddie watched him pass through the swinging double doors of the Silver Slipper Saloon. The lawyer hurried toward the land office. Within minutes, only she
and Tom were left.
“I’m Harrison Barker.” The storekeep introduced himself, hooking his thumbs in his vest. He nodded toward the store. “I own the Mercantile and Dry Goods. Welcome to Glory. Anything I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Tom introduced them both. “We need directions and a ride to the McCormick place. Is it far?”
Barker shifted the bag of mail and nodded down the street. “No need for a ride. You see that big house at the very end of Main? Grandest house in these parts. That’s Foster’s Boarding-house.” Then he cleared his throat. “Actually, it hasn’t been a boardinghouse for nearly a year now. Not since the owner married the preacher and he and his children moved in.”
Preacher?
Grandest house in these parts?
Maddie stared at the house as Barker continued. “You’re out of luck if you were fixin’ to stay there — “ Harrison suddenly stopped and looked them over. “Why, you must be the pair Mrs. McCormick’s been waiting for. Special guests, she said. I nearly forgot all about it.”
As Tom collected their carpetbags, Maddie stared at the mansion again.
Special guests?
“Something you need, miss?” Barker asked. “A drink of water or a bottle of sarsaparilla after that long ride?”
“No,” she said absently, then forced a smile. “Thank you, though.”
“Well, you two enjoy your visit,” the storekeep said. “Stop by if you need anything at all.”
“We’ll do that.” Tom thanked the man. Holding both carpetbags, he extended his elbow. Maddie slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and together they started down the street.
“I can’t do this,” she mumbled.
“Maddie —”
“She’s married to a preacher.”
“It will be fine. You’ll see.” He didn’t sound so sure.
“She’s not my sister.”
“Don’t be so afraid to believe you deserve something good.”
“She’s rich, Tom. She’s married to a preacher,” she repeated, then halted so abruptly the tug on his elbow caused him to drop her bag.
She had stopped in front of a building with gold script lettering on the window that read The Glory Gazette and in smaller print Editor in Chief and Publisher, Hank Larson. There was an empty bench below the window. Tom picked up Maddie’s bag and nodded toward the bench.
“Sit a minute, Maddie.”
He figured she would do anything to forestall the inevitable. He was right. She sat. He heard her sigh as she continued to stare at the imposing house at the far end of the street.
“This is no time for cold feet,” he said. Still, he couldn’t blame her.
“You’re not afraid of gators,” he reminded her, trying to lift her spirit.
“Alligators are predictable. Besides, I won’t be walking in there with a shotgun.”
“You weren’t afraid to take off through the countryside alone, to camp alone at night, or to lead me on a chase through the bayou. You can certainly find the courage to walk two blocks to meet a woman who might be your long-lost sister.”
She turned on him. “You said you were confident she is my sister.”
“I’m very confident.” So much so he wished he wasn’t.
“What if I am Megan Lane? What wealthy, preacher-marrying woman in her right mind would want to claim me as her sister?”
He wanted to say, “Let’s forget I started all of this nonsense and go home.” But since he could not make her love him, the best he could give her now was a chance at happiness.
A small bell just inside the newspaper office tinkled, drawing their attention as the door opened. Together they watched a man in a checked suit and bowler hat step outside. He appeared to be near Tom’s age. Tom noted his ink-stained fingers and, when he turned, the brass sheriff’s star pinned to the lapel of his coat.
“I saw you folks through the window. I’m Hank Larson.” He extended his hand to Tom.
Tom stood and introduced himself and Maddie. The men shook hands.
“You’re editor in chief of the Gazette,” Tom said.
“Have we met?” The man’s smile was warm, his expression curious.
Tom indicated the window behind him. “It says so right there in big gold letters.”
Hank Larson laughed and Tom liked him immediately.
“It doesn’t say anything about you being sheriff, though,” Tom added.
“That’s because it’s only a temporary position. If you’re moving to Glory, maybe you’d be interested in taking over the job.”
“I’m definitely not interested.” Tom added, “We’ve come to visit the McCormicks.”
“That’s a shame,” Hank said, then quickly added, “Not about the visit, about you not moving here. We’re always looking for new folks to grow the town. The land office is offering some great real estate in the area in case you change your mind.” The editor looked at them each in turn. “Laura and Brand are good friends of mine and my wife, Amelia. I’d be happy to walk you down to the house.”
Tom felt Maddie’s hand tighten on his sleeve.
“We’ll be fine. But thank you.”
Hank pulled out his watch and checked the time. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he said, apologizing. “My wife is expecting me. Tell Laura and Brand that we’ll be there for Sunday supper tomorrow.” He paused a moment as realization dawned. “I expect you two have something to do with it being a special occasion.”
Tom could tell from Maddie’s panicked expression that the sooner he got her delivered to the McCormicks’s the better.
CHAPTER 30
As soon as Hank Larson walked away, Tom picked up the carpetbags and offered Maddie his arm again. She hesitated but accepted. As they walked down the boardwalk she tried to concentrate on surroundings that were vastly different from everything she knew. A knot of cowpunchers rode down the street on spirited horses. A heavy wagon rumbled past. The driver whistled and gee-hawed to his team. A tumbleweed danced out from between two buildings and rolled across the street.
The air was cool and yet so dry she imagined the summer heat would surely bake the life out of a person. Living out on the edge of the world would take great strength of will. Despite her trepidation, she knew she was strong enough to weather anything. Still, Texas was so big, so raw, that it was overwhelming.
They reached the corner much too soon. They crossed the street and at the McCormicks’s place they passed a long curved drive leading to a carriage house in back.
Maddie’s attention was drawn to a side garden with a birdbath surrounded by a circle of rosebushes near the porch. A wooden swing beckoned beyond the white porch rail. She tried to imagine Laura McCormick sitting on the swing watching the birds.
Since Tom’s hands were full, Maddie opened the gate in the low picket fence and stepped aside as Tom carried the bags through. They exchanged a smile. She was certain he meant to reassure her before they climbed the steps together.
The house looked freshly painted. There wasn’t a single chip in the high-gloss black on the trim and shutters. The white clapboards were pristine against the black woodwork. A shiny oak front door sported an oval window draped with an intricately woven lace curtain. The brass hardware gleamed.
Without warning, Dexter’s voice rang in Maddie’s head.
Lucky Maddie. Play your cards right and you’ll be set for life. This woman is looking for a long-lost sister, so oblige her. Give her what she wants. No harm in that. You’ll be doing her and yourself a favor.
She remembered what Betsy had said, “God is handing you a chance to change your life once and for all.”
Had Betsy known all along she was Megan Lane? Was that why she had urged her to contact Tom?
Surely Betsy hadn’t been encouraging her to pretend to be someone she wasn’t.
Tom set down the bags and reached for the bell.
“Wait!” She grabbed his hand. “How do I look?”
“Beautiful.”
“You look beautiful. And excited. And nervous.”
“I shouldn’t be nervous.” She wished it was so. “I’m either her sister or I’m not. We’ll know in a moment.”
“You’re right. So smile.”
She tried to silence Dexter’s voice and pasted on a smile.
Tom rang the bell. Holding her breath, Maddie waited.
He rang it again a few seconds later. Suddenly they heard the sound of running footsteps inside accompanied by a child’s high pitched voice. “I’ll get it, Sam!”
“No you won’t! I’ll get it.” Another child.
There came the distinct sounds of a scuffle before the hem of the window curtain lifted, and Maddie saw two small faces peering up at them. Then came scrabbling for the doorknob. Finally the door whipped opened to reveal a girl and a boy who appeared to be around eight and ten years old.
“Is your mother here?” Tom inquired. “We’ve come to see Mrs. McCormick.”
“She’s not our mother. She’s our stepmother,” the boy informed them.
“But we love her anyway.” The little girl planted her hands on her waist. She wore a starched pinafore. One strap had slipped off her shoulder. Her braids bobbed as she looked them over. “I’m Janie McCormick and this is my brother, Sam.”
“Could one of you tell Mrs. McCormick we’re here? Now?” he added when neither child moved.
Maddie gave Tom credit for his patience.
The boy, Sam, stepped back and hollered at the top of his lungs, “Laura! Pa! They’re here!”
Maddie looked over their heads into the entry hall furnished with a table, a hall tree with a fine beveled mirror, an umbrella stand full of umbrellas and a lovely lace parasol. The walls were covered in a dramatic pink-and-burgundy cabbage rose paper. A thick tasseled carpet runner hid most of the hardwood floor.
Suddenly a handsome man well over six feet tall with blond hair and a ready smile hurried into the entryway from a side room.
“Let them in, children. Move. Please.” He hustled them back so that Maddie and Tom could step inside. He reached for their bags and Tom handed them over.
Heart of Lies Page 21
