Sorcha sat with a thud in her chair. “He built her a house, and she let him, all the while knowin’ she was a married woman. How could she do something like that? She had to ken she’d get caught.”
Annabelle shrugged. “You read stories of men starting over all the time. Why couldn’t a woman attempt the same?”
Ewan rolled his eyes. “Because she’s a woman. That’s not how things are done.” He grunted as Sorcha smacked him on his head.
Cailean grunted, although it was impossible to tell if in agreement with Ewan’s words or Sorcha’s actions.
Annabelle glared at her brother-in-law. “If you desire a future with a woman other than infrequent visits to a Boudoir beauty, I’d suggest you alter your way of thinking.” She relaxed as Cailean gripped her hand. “As for Alistair, visiting the Boudoir won’t help him.”
Cailean sighed. “He’ll feel more like a man again. I can’t imagine how he felt, standing there with the town as his witness while his entire future was destroyed by that man and knowing that the woman he loved could have prevented it. The townsfolk will be chewing this over for weeks.”
Sorcha shuddered. “An’, if there’s one thing Alistair hates, it’s gossip. Especially when it has to do with him.”
Leticia stood in the small living area where she and her daughter had lived for the last five years. The windows were open, allowing the gentle breeze to move through the room. Hortence had changed from her special gown and now played with dolls in the bedroom they shared. Leticia stared into space as she relived the wedding scene over and over again. A pounding on the front door jerked her from her silent misery, and she answered it. “Hello, Mr. Barclay.”
His displeased glare met her stare. “I’m upset to find you remain in this house. I want you gone, Miss … Missus Fry.” He sputtered to a stop as his ears turned red with irritation. “When I think that we welcomed you here. Gave you a job. Offered you shelter in a home for the mere pittance the school board was willing to pay because you were to be the town’s schoolteacher!” He leaned forward. “And, all this time, you were no better than a two-bit whore.”
He sniffed with indignation. “When I think how you rebuffed my advances. A woman like you! You should have been thankful for my attention.”
Leticia kept her gaze lowered, although her cheeks flushed with irritation. “I thank you for the years you allowed Hortence and me to live here.”
“And your daughter! You aren’t a fit mother! Separating her from her father. I’d be surprised to find one person in this town to support you if you desire to keep her with you.”
Her hand tightened on the door, turning her fingers white. “I will no longer reside in your home as of tomorrow.” She jerked away as he stroked a hand down her cheek. “Although your opinion of me has lowered due to that man’s arrival in town today, I would remind you that you have yet to hear my side of the story. You have listened to him yell his version of the truth without considering mine.”
He snickered. “A woman who leaves her husband for dead is a woman who should know better. You’ve yet to learn your place, missus.” He grunted as she jerked the door into his shoulder, forcing him back a step.
“The answer is still no,” she rasped. “I will not join you in your bed.” She slammed the door shut and flipped the lock. When she remembered he had a key, as the landlord, she slipped a chair under the handle to keep it closed.
“Who was that angry man, Mama?” Hortence whispered from the doorway to their small bedroom. She held a stuffed bear Alistair had given her for Christmas.
Leticia forced a smile for her daughter as she hastily swiped away a tear. “He owns this house. We will move tomorrow.”
“Will we still live with ’Stair? With Papa?” Hortence’s vibrant voice was filled with youthful naiveté and optimism. “Can we live in the house he built us?”
Leticia swallowed a sob as she pulled Hortence to her and kissed her daughter’s head. “Not right away, love. But hopefully someday soon we will be together.”
She glared at the knock on the door but firmed her shoulders as she peeked out the side window. Leticia gave Hortence, who hovered near the bedroom door, a reassuring smile as she unlatched the door and moved aside the chair.
She met the older woman’s disappointed gaze with one of acceptance and resignation. “Why are you here, Irene?”
“Will you allow me in?” The older woman had a basket looped over her arm and waited with feigned patience for Leticia to allow her to pass. When Leticia stepped aside, Irene entered the home she had departed a few hours ago with such hope and joy.
“Mrs. T!” Hortence exclaimed, jumping forward and into the woman’s arms. Due to her inability to pronounce Irene’s last name, Hortence had shortened it to T. “Will my new papa come soon?”
Irene grimaced and shook her head. “I don’t believe so, child. He … he seems to have other plans for the evening.” She set her basket on the table and sat, pulling Hortence onto her lap. “I feared you would go hungry tonight since you didn’t expect to be here. I cobbled together some of the food from the reception.” She flushed. “Well, from what was to be your reception.”
“Is there cake?” Hortence asked, giggling when Irene gave her fingers a slight tap as she attempted to peek into the basket.
“There is no cake. Ewan and Sorcha took that away before the townsfolk could carve it up. I imagine they have quite a bit at the house.” Irene pulled Hortence close. “And you shouldn’t pester your mama about going there tonight for cake. They are upset, and you don’t want to cause them more distress.”
“But Alistair always says I bring him joy. How could I make them sad?” Hortence scrunched up her face as though deciphering a challenging puzzle.
“I fear they are having a grown-up tantrum. You know what that’s like.” She brushed at strands of red hair that had come free from Hortence’s braid.
“I get a tummy ache and need a hug from Mama before I feel better.” She snuggled into Irene’s lap.
Irene laughed. “Precious child, I fear adults aren’t as sensible as you are, and it may take a while before they are over their tantrum.” She met Hortence’s confused gaze. “Sometimes hurts go deep enough that it takes a while for the other person to accept that we are sorry.”
“But they will. It’s what you do. You make a ’stake and say you’re sorry. Then you can play again.”
Irene shared a smile with Leticia as she swiped away a tear. “I sure hope so, dear child.” Hortence hopped down and moved to the back room to play with her doll. “She doesn’t understand, does she?”
Leticia shook her head. “Of course not. How could she?” She firmed her shoulders. “Thank you for the food. I had resigned us to hunger.”
Irene tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “You aren’t bustling me out of this house without answering some questions. Not when the whole town is buzzing worse than a hive of hornets about you. Is what that man said true?”
“On the surface, yes. I did marry him seven and a half years ago. It would be eight years in November.” She met Irene’s implacable stare. “I’m no murderer, Mrs. Tompkins.”
The older woman frowned as she studied Leticia’s absolute stillness, as though awaiting condemnation. “No, I agree. That’s not who you are.” She sighed. “But this is a muddle, and you must set it to rights. That man you were to marry is devastated and undertaking activities better shared with a wife.” She nodded as Leticia shivered.
“He went to the … ?” Leticia’s voice faded at the confirmation in her friend’s eyes that her fiancée was at the Boudoir. “Rather than seek me out to learn the truth, he shames himself and me.”
“Oh, I don’t know as there is much shame in visiting the Boudoir under these circumstances. His pride was sorely dented today by the interruption of your Mr. Fry. Imagine how he must have felt. Waiting patiently for you to agree to marry him, then waiting again as you insisted on a long engagement. Why would he be inclined to seek you out after
your deception and failure to disclose the truth?” She raised her eyebrows. “For I won’t call them lies. Not while you’ve been here in Bear Grass Springs. I see no mischief or malice intended by your failure to convey the whole truth about your past.”
Leticia’s laughter emerged as a choked sob. “I can’t believe you’d be so charitable. A lie is a lie, Mrs. Tompkins.”
“Hogwash. No two lies are the same, and that preacher man knows I don’t agree with him and his Bible-thumping ways.” She waited a moment. “I hope someday you’ll come to tell me the truth. For now, have supper with your daughter.” She rose and set her hand on Leticia’s shoulder. “You’ve a hard road in front of you, but I hope you come through it relatively unscathed.”
“Thank you,” Leticia whispered and followed her friend to the door, locking and barring it after her exit. She looked around the barren room before moving into the bedroom to sort through their meager clothes that remained in the house. The majority of their wardrobe was already at the new home she was to share with Alistair. She packed essentials for her and Hortence into a travel bag, before encouraging Hortence to eat supper.
“When is Papa coming?” Hortence asked.
“Not tonight, darling,” Leticia whispered around tears. “Something … came up, and he won’t be here tonight.”
“Who was that man yelling at the church?” Hortence attempted to dodge her mother as Leticia dabbed at Hortence’s cheek. When Hortence realized it was futile to fight her mother, she stilled and allowed her to swipe her cheek so she could eat in peace.
“A man I once knew.” She ran a hand over her daughter’s shoulders. “He won’t bother us.”
“He made Papa very angry.” Hortence tapped the tines of the fork on her plate. “The wedding was different from Aunt Annabelle’s.”
Leticia nodded as she rose, picking up Hortence’s plate and turning her back to hide swiping at her cheek. “Yes. In fact, we must complete the ceremony on another day.” When she turned to face her daughter again, she frowned to see Hortence biting her lip and her face scrunched up as she often did when she worked on difficult school projects. “What is it, darling?”
“Does that mean Papa isn’t my papa yet? That I’m not his Little Bug?” Her lower lip trembled, and she bit her lip harder.
“No, you’ll always be his Little Bug,” Leticia soothed, running a hand down her daughter’s back. When she sat, Hortence clambered onto her lap.
“But he won’t be my papa?”
“I hope he will be. … I pray he will be. But I can’t make you promises. Not today.”
Hortence patted her mother’s cheeks. “Don’t cry, Mama. We’ll find a way for him to love us again.” She snuggled into her mother’s arms.
Leticia let out a stuttering breath and held her daughter close, praying for some of her daughter’s confidence in regaining Alistair’s love and trust.
Chapter 4
The following morning, Alistair stood outside the livery with his arms slung over the wooden rails of the paddock as he watched the sky lighten in the minutes before the sun rose. A dusky pink lit the sky, and wisps of clouds similar to a mare’s tail hugged the mountains. A soft breeze blew, although it was still cool in early June. He shivered as his hair was damp after a quick dousing in the icy water from the livery pump since he had decided not to enter the still-slumbering house.
“Thought you might appreciate this,” Harold muttered, offering a cup of coffee as he snuck up from behind. “No one’s up yet to grouse ’bout you gettin’ a cup from the likes of the café.”
Alistair nodded to the older man and took a big swallow of the black coffee. He smiled with appreciation. “Thanks. I fear Annabelle will sleep in today, and I’ll have to make do with Sorcha’s coffee.”
“You could always make it yourself,” Harold muttered. “Nothing wrong with a man making coffee.” He raised an eyebrow at Alistair as he met the younger man’s glare with a chuckle. “Seems you’ve still got quite a bit o’ ire stuck in that craw of yours. Your time at the Boudoir did little to settle you.”
Alistair snorted. “I was a fool.” He speared Harold with a glare. “Dinna go repeatin’ that.” He relaxed when Harold nodded.
“Seems we generally are when our dander’s up. And you had cause to be mighty upset.”
“Aye, but not to act like a wounded bear with no thought to who I’d hurt.” Alistair glanced at the house, but it remained darkened with no evidence of life stirring. “That woman last night deserved better than a man intent on another who had no regard for her.” He ducked his head as though in shame. “I’ve never seen a more irate woman than Annabelle’s sister when she saw me walk down the hall in the Boudoir.”
Harold whistled. “Now ain’t that interesting? I’ve always wondered about her story since Miss Annabelle arrived.” He flushed. “Embarrassed to admit, I’d never given much consideration to the beauties at the Boudoir before then.”
Alistair winced. “If the Madam hadna been present and expectin’ her downstairs, I think Fidelia would have lashed into me. With great pleasure.” He shook his head. “At the time I was affronted she was angry at me.”
Harold snorted. “Anger has a way of coloring our perceptions.” He watched Alistair as the younger man continued to study the sky change colors as dawn broke. “Have they changed toward your lady?”
He gripped the wooden paddock rail with his free hand until his knuckles whitened. “The fact remains that she isna mine. She never was. She never will be.” He stiffened when Harold made a noncommittal noise in his throat. Alistair turned his head and glared at the old man he had come to consider an uncle. “She’s married to another.”
“Were you present at that ceremony yesterday?” When Alistair flushed red, Harold nodded. “Did you see her jump away from him, not wanting to be touched by him? Pushing her child away so he had no contact with her?” He frowned as Alistair’s glower failed to diminish. “I understand heartache. I understand betrayal. I understand a need for time to lick one’s wounds.” He poked Alistair in his shoulder. “But one day you may come to realize you betrayed her as much as she ever did you.”
Alistair watched as the old man stormed away, his gaze clouded with anger, guilt, and confusion. Alistair took another sip of coffee. After crossing his wrists over the top post, he rested his head against it, his mind replaying the previous day’s scene. “Not yet,” he muttered, unwilling and unable to think through all that had transpired since he had left for the church yesterday to be married.
Two days after the interrupted wedding, Annabelle sighed as she heard the bell twinkle at the front of her store and swiped at her hands. Sorcha had not arrived to help yet, and Annabelle imagined her sister-in-law immersed in her own work, spinning yarn. She also suspected Sorcha was intent on avoiding the probing questions that Annabelle had fended off all morning. The townsfolk’s curiosity was growing, rather than abating, as time passed. She pasted on a smile as she emerged from the kitchen to the front room of her bakery where she sold her sweets and breads. Her smile faded when she saw the man in front of her.
“I’m sorry,” she said as her smile transformed into a frown. “I have nothing for you today.”
“Oh, don’t be such a sour woman. You’ve never denied giving me scraps of goodies before today.” He gave her an engaging smile.
She glared at him. “That was before I realized who you were. The man who slunk into this town, who is not a miner as you proclaimed, but a man intent on destroying my brother-in-law’s future.”
His brown eyes shone with shock and then delight at her words. “You’re married to that bastard’s brother?” He clapped his hands in delight. “I thought there was a connection between you all, but I couldn’t be certain.”
Annabelle stiffened as he rested his arms on top of her polished glass cabinets. “I’d like you to leave, sir, and not return. Your business, or whatever you’d like to call it, isn’t welcome here.”
Josiah Fry slapped a coin on
to the counter. “I have money now.” He jingled a pocketful of change. “I no longer need to depend on your charity.”
Her gaze flicked to his coin and then back to him. “I’d suggest you use your coin somewhere else. For you won’t purchase anything in this shop.” Her derisive stare took in his disheveled state, oily brown hair, and unkempt beard. “Perhaps you should consider a visit to the barber.”
His smile spread. “Always does a man good when a fine-looking woman like yourself is concerned about his appearance.” Josiah tipped at his nonexistent hat and picked up his coin. “Although I will take your advice. Should make the courtin’ of my wife go a bit easier if I’m cleaned up.” He nodded as he winked at her, whistling as he shut the door behind him.
Annabelle leaned against the wall behind her, wrapping shaking fingers around her waist. “I gave him food and accepted flowers from him,” she whispered. “I welcomed him.” She slammed her hand against the wall behind her in anger and pushed herself away to return to the kitchen to continue baking for her customers.
Leticia gripped Hortence with one hand and the bag stuffed full of their clothes with the other. She firmed her shoulders before urging Hortence to follow her up the steps into the Grand Hotel. The door clicked shut behind her, and she tiptoed down the hallway past the parlor on one side and smoking room for men on the other, then the staircase along the wall to the desk area. It was located at the entrance to the dining room, which was empty as it was midmorning. She waited as she heard voices in the kitchen area.
Mr. Atkins, a heretofore pleasant man, frowned at the sight of her. “I can’t imagine why one such as you would deign enter here,” he snapped as he rushed toward her from the kitchen. He puffed out his chest in an attempt to give more substance to his beanpole frame.
“I require a room for a few evenings.” Leticia stroked a hand over her daughter’s head.
The hotel proprietor flushed red before shaking his head. “When I think of how welcoming this town was …” His eyes flashed with contempt. “And, all the while, you’ve played us for fools.” He pointed down the hallway to the front door. “I’ll not rent rooms to a woman like you.”
Montana Grit Page 4
