Stay a Little Longer

by Dorothy Garlock

  Jonathan boasted that he was successful; he was always rambling on about a mansion he had his eye on in Chicago. But from the shoddy state of his clothing, such declarations were hard to believe: his white shirt was shoddily made and splotched with food stains, the dark pants he wore looked nearly an inch too short, and the bow tie wrapped around his neck was poorly tied and ridiculously out of fashion.

  “What a lovely day this is,” he declared, spreading his bony hands wide, “but it is all the more beautiful because you are in it, my dear Rachel.”

  “Thank you for such kind words, Mr. Moseley,” she replied as dismissively as she dared.

  “How many times must I tell you?” He grinned. “Call me Jonathan.”

  Rachel cringed inwardly. The last thing that she wanted was for this man to have some degree of familiarity with her. Whenever he had previously tried cornering her, she’d taken great pains to escape, listening politely for a moment before excusing herself to take care of other matters. But try as she might, she could not get him to understand that she was not interested; at every opportunity, he came back for more.

  “The work never ends around here, from the look of things,” he declared, his hands on his bony waist. “Every time I turn around, there you are, busy with some task or other.”

  “There is certainly much to be done.”

  “Would you mind if I helped you?”

  “No, no, no,” Rachel replied nervously. Her mind raced over every excuse she could think of, settling upon, “My mother insists that things be done a particular way and if I were to come back with it done incorrectly, I’d have to wash it all over again.”

  “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Jonathan answered with feigned disappointment; it was clear to Rachel that such feelings were contrived; he was obviously relieved that he wouldn’t have to do any actual work.

  For a few minutes, they remained silent, Rachel continuing to put the laundry on the line and Jonathan watching her as if she were a pupil doing mathematics at the chalkboard and he the teacher waiting for the first sign of a mistake. It took all of her will not to just dump the basket and run. She was so intent on finishing her chore that when Jonathan finally did speak, she nearly jumped in surprise.

  “I suppose you might be wondering why I was looking for you?” he asked.

  “I… I hadn’t… thought to ask,” Rachel muttered.

  “I was wondering if you might like to accompany me on a picnic,” Jonathan explained pleasantly. “I found the perfect spot on the north side of the lake, a clearing surrounded by tall elms and more wildflowers than you could count in a week! When I first saw it, I couldn’t think of anyone I would rather share it with than you.”

  Momentarily taken aback, Rachel was struck mute. Previously, Jonathan had only made subtle hints of his romantic feelings for her, certainly nothing so forward as this!

  Romance was something that Rachel had never found much time for; she’d had her fair share of men attracted by her looks, but nothing serious. With all of her responsibilities, particularly with Charlotte, she did little to encourage them. Besides, if she did ever decide to pursue a relationship, it wouldn’t have been with Jonathan Moseley. “I thank… I thank you for thinking of me,” she stammered, “but I’m afraid I just can’t! I have all of this laundry to finish hanging and then I have to—”

  “Surely it doesn’t all have to be done this instant, does it?”

  “But my mother,” Rachel struggled. “She insists that—”

  “If there’s any insisting to be done here, I do believe that I should be the one doing it.” He laughed. “It would certainly be no trouble to gather a picnic basket. Two people like ourselves need some time to be away, to be alone, and to let… things… take their natural course.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Why it’s only the normal way of things that an unattached, successful man such as myself would wish to find companionship with an equally single young woman as lovely as you,” Jonathan explained as he slowly stepped toward her, his tongue licking across his lips. “That’s how all good romances begin, don’t you think?”

  Rachel could feel the flush of embarrassment color her cheeks and she turned back to her laundry. Revulsion at Jonathan’s suggestion roiled her stomach. Bending over, she grasped for another piece of laundry, anxious to do something, anything, to lose his interest. But just as she gripped a sheet corner, she felt the hem of her skirt being lifted, followed by the sensation of a finger running across the bare skin just above her boot. There could be no doubt what was happening.

  What in the hell does he think he’s doing?

  Spinning around and snatching her skirt back toward her, Rachel caught Jonathan straightening up, a patently false look of innocence plastered across his ridiculous face, his hands clasped behind his back. The remnants of a smile still played across his chapped lips.

  “Have you lost your senses?” she shouted at him.

  “You misunderstand my intentions, my dear,” Jonathan explained, his green eyes dancing with mock offense. “It was quite innocent. I saw that your hemline was about to be snagged in one of the broken wickers of the laundry basket and I thought to save you more work. If there had been a tear, who knows how many hours it would have cost!”

  Rachel didn’t believe a single word of his explanation. All of the irritation she felt came boiling out in an instant. Angrily, she stepped toward him, ready to give him a much-deserved piece of her mind. With his meek exterior, she expected him to retreat as she advanced, but he surprised her by closing the gap between them. His thin fingers painfully grasped her wrists, pulling her closer.

  “This is the spirit I find so attractive in you,” he declared.

  “Get your hands off me!”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  As she tried to break his grip, Rachel could see that Jonathan had no intention of letting her go. From the mischievous gleam in his eyes, she was horrified to realize that he intended to kiss her. As quickly as she could manage, she turned her face away from his.

  “You need to get away from a place such as this,” Jonathan said, his voice no more than a deep whisper in her ear. “Beauty and talents like yours are wasted here. You need to be somewhere, with someone who appreciates you for what you truly are. Run away with me… let us start a new life together far away from this godforsaken place.”

  “Let go of me this instant!”

  Just as Rachel was ready to scream out for help, the door to the rear of the boardinghouse again slammed shut. Her earlier hopes were finally answered; her uncle Otis stumbled down the short steps and out into the yard. The dark whiskey bottle hanging from his listless hand gave every indication of his condition; he was already three sheets to the wind, his cheeks burning as red as his nose. Though he was drunk, Rachel had never been happier to see him in her life.

  Looking over his bony shoulder, Jonathan released his grip on Rachel so quickly she would have thought her blouse had burst into flames. He was once again the traveling salesman, his face as innocent as newly fallen snow. Rachel moved away from him, gently massaging her arms where he had grabbed her.

  “Just the fella I was lookin’ for,” Otis said gruffly when he’d reached them.

  “Me?” Jonathan asked in surprise. Briefly, a shadow of worry crossed his face, a fear that maybe he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Whatever for?”

  “For the four bits you been owin’ for rent on that there room,” the drunken man said before taking yet another swig of his liquor. “Seems like every damn time I been up a-poundin’ on your door, there ain’t nobody there. Thought I heard your voice out here…”

  Jonathan looked from Rachel to Otis, expecting her to tell him all that had occured, but she held her tongue. She knew that he’d understand her silence to be some sort of returned affection, but the truth was much simpler; times for her family were tough, and kicking out one of their few boarders would only make them tougher.

/>   “How… how much did you say I owe you?” Jonathan muttered.

  “Four bits,” Otis repeated.

  “I might have that much on me,” the skinny man said, checking his pockets.

  “You best be knowin’ that this here ain’t no charity house, Mr. Moseley.” The words fell out of Otis’s mouth as slurred as if they themselves were drunk. “What with all the work poor ol’ Rachel here is doin’, it just wouldn’t be right of you not to pay what you done agreed to. The way some of us is headin’, why, our word’s gonna be all we got left!”

  “Quite right, Mr. Simmons,” Jonathan agreed.

  For a moment, the salesman looked hopeful that Otis would let him bring the money to him later, but the large man didn’t budge, fixing a determined yet unfocused stare upon him. “I guess I’ll need to fetch my money purse, then,” Jonathan finally said with a huff. His eyes lingered on Rachel for a moment longer before he set off back toward the house.

  As she watched him go, Rachel knew that she would have to keep a close eye on Jonathan Moseley. He obviously had bolder plans for her; but if he put his hands on her again, she would be ready.

  In his room on the top floor of the boardinghouse, Jonathan Moseley seethed. All of his many intentions for the day seemed to have been going well until that obese drunkard had come out and ruined everything! If it hadn’t been for him, why, he could have been down on the lakeshore frolicking with Rachel instead of digging for money he didn’t have.

  “Damn that man and his poor timing!”

  Cluttered and cramped, Jonathan’s room looked as if it had been struck by a tornado and earthquake all rolled into one. Cascading piles of books, bundles of brushes, and bottles of hair tonic vied for whatever space could be found on the floor and the small table near the window. His lone chair and bed were both covered in clothing; shirts and dirty socks were tossed willy-nilly and shoes were underfoot.

  Even if I had any money, I wouldn’t know where to find it!

  Though he portrayed himself as a man of great prospective wealth, the fact was that Jonathan Moseley was nearly penniless. He had attempted many enterprises: investing in a “surefire” Oklahoma oilfield, selling insurance outside of St. Louis; he’d even traveled with a circus as a carnival barker.

  But all had ended in failure…

  Now he was attempting to ply his trade as a traveling salesman, but he could already see that this was headed in the same direction as all of his other careers. The fact was that people didn’t want the junk he was selling. With winter coming, his prospects seemed bleak.

  Not that he considered himself above stealing. He’d needed occasionally to break into a home or business. He felt no shame, no regret. He’d learned long ago that there were moments a man had to take what he wanted. He might need to do so again.

  Part of his interest in Rachel Watkins was that she had a secure roof over her head for the coming winter. If he were to become romantically involved with her, it seemed unlikely that he would be expected to pay for his room. But that was hardly the end of his interest.

  The truth was that he lusted after her. Even in the plain blouses and skirts she wore, he could see that she had curves in all the right places. His loins positively ached to be between her legs! She had once smiled at him and the burning desire it had caused had lasted for days! While Jonathan had no illusion that he was the best-looking man in the world, he also knew that in Carlson, Rachel had little room to be choosy. If he were to play his cards right, if he were to display his ample charms at just the right time, he had no doubt that she would fall for him.

  That was why today was so important!

  He’d finally managed to get Rachel alone, away from that poorly behaved brat and the thin walls of her mother’s flea-ridden boardinghouse, and then everything had been going as well as he could have hoped. It had been a risk to reach up under her skirt as he had, but the defiant way she had spoken had been well worth it and nothing short of arousing. Though she protested, Jonathan had known that she was only moments away from accepting his offer of a picnic.

  But then Otis had come along and ruined it all!

  Thinking of the fat, drunken man gave Jonathan a sudden idea…

  Maybe if he were lucky, Otis would have already wandered off to the bottom of whatever bottle he was currently nipping on and Rachel would again be by herself.

  Hurrying over to his small window, Jonathan stared down into the open area behind the building. Wiping away a layer of dust, he arrived just in time to witness Rachel finish hanging the last of her laundry, snatch up her basket, and return inside.

  He was too late… his chance was missed.

  As he collapsed onto his clothes-strewn bed, anger simmered in Jonathan’s heart. Everything had run off the rails! Too much was riding on his pursuit of Rachel for him to give up the hunt; on the contrary, he knew that he would just have to try that much harder.

  He smiled to himself. “Whether she likes it or not.”

  Chapter Seven

  MASON TUCKER LEAPT from the moving train about a quarter mile from the outskirts of Carlson, just as the engine began to slow on its approach to the depot. Choosing a spot that had been cleared of trees, he slammed hard into the ground before tucking his head and rolling through, his momentum carrying his satchel up and over his head. It was a well-practiced move, an action that left him ready to run quickly if necessary.

  Leaving the train short of town had been an easy decision; he was not certain how close to town he wanted to get, and either way, the last thing he wanted was someone to identify him. From where he had exited, it would be a short walk to the first houses.

  “And then I’ll be home, I reckon,” he muttered to himself.

  But just as Mason straightened, a wave of dizziness washed over him. With a trembling hand, he steadied himself against a tall oak tree, his feet buried in an impressive drift of fallen leaves. Ever since his encounter with the two assailants in Wisconsin, his bouts of queasiness seemed to be coming more and more frequently. Closing his eyes tightly, he waited for the world to stop spinning and was finally rewarded.

  Slowly at first, then gaining stride, Mason made his way toward Carlson. The densely packed forest on the outskirts of town soon gave way to gently rolling farming fields already stripped of their recent harvest. He passed a farm where a man and his son were both atop ladders, picking apples from trees and dropping them into baskets hung from their shoulders. Somewhere in the distance, someone was burning brush.

  Eventually closer to the town itself, Mason was surprised to see that houses had sprung up much farther from Carlson’s center than he remembered. Sturdy homes covered with fresh coats of paint were aligned in orderly blocks with new streets spurring toward Main Street. Trees he recalled as saplings were taller, their branches reaching ever higher. Much remained that he recognized, but much was different.

  Easily jumping over first one fence and then another, Mason cut across yards as he headed toward the northern end of town. He kept his head down, moving quickly, not wanting to be noticed and ever watchful that he not draw too much attention.

  The last thing I need is a barking dog!

  When he had finally decided to return to Carlson, he had known in his heart where he would go first; the loving house that he and Alice had shared in the days just after their wedding. Dashing from the cover of a tree to the safety of a woodpile and then across yet another fence, he found himself close enough to see the house clearly and his heart began to pound furiously.

  Back when the house was built, Mason hadn’t been particularly comfortable working with his hands; he was much more within his element in his father’s bank. But a wise choice had been made in hiring out the home’s construction; even eight years later, it was still a work of beauty. A two-story Victorian with a gabled roof and large, multipaned windows, it looked almost exactly as he remembered it. He smiled as he recalled the nights he and Alice had spent on the wraparound porch with its latticework runner and sparkling wh
ite columns.

  Crouching in the deep shadows, Mason was suddenly filled with doubt about his decision to return. He felt nervous, fearful that Alice would see him and be disgusted by what he had become. A shaking hand reached up to touch the scarred side of his face. The memory of what had once looked back at him from a cracked mirror sent a shiver of revulsion racing down his spine.

  No matter what, he would never let Alice see the truth.

  Movement at the front of the house shook him from his unkind thoughts. The front door swung open and a well-dressed man stepped down from the porch and momentarily reveled in the sunshine. Whistling to himself, the man shot his cuffs and smiled confidently. Just the sight of him caused Mason’s heart to sink like a stone.

  What did you expect to find, you fool?

  During the long years that he had been traveling, Mason had often wondered what had taken place when Alice had learned of his passing. As a young widow, she would have had no shortage of suitors. After so many years, she would have moved on… found a new husband… found a new life. Though he had wanted her to be happy, the sight of her new man was like a blow to his chest.

  But as surprised as he’d been to see the man step from the door, Mason was even more shocked when a young woman followed her husband outside. She wasn’t Alice. With her dark hair cascading down over her pale yellow blouse, the woman rose up onto her tiptoes to plant a tender kiss upon the man’s cheek. They both laughed before heading down the street toward the center of town. In moments, they were lost to his sight.

  What… what is going on here?

  Mason was utterly perplexed. Stepping from the shadows out into the middle of the street, he stared at his former home, then back down the street, returning his gaze again to the house. At that moment, he was no longer the least bit concerned whether he was seen or not. Questions raced through across his mind. Who are the people now living in my and Alice’s home? Why doesn’t Alice live there anymore? Where in heaven’s name did she go?