To Love and Cherish

by Tracie Peterson

  “Thank you, Paul. Everything else going well today?”

  The boy shoved his hand into his pants pocket and withdrew a shiny coin. He grinned and held it aloft. “Couldn’t be better, Mr. Evan. Look what I got from one of the gentlemen.”

  Evan congratulated the boy. “Looks like you’re pleasing the guests. When they give you a tip, it means you gave them exceptional service, Paul.” He patted him on the shoulder.

  “I didn’t do much of anything for him, but he was happy with what I told him.”

  Confused, Evan stopped and looked at the boy. “What is it that you told him?”

  Paul hiked a shoulder. “He said he saw a man out riding a beautiful horse. He described Mr. Lawrence’s horse and said he came over to the barn to see it.” Paul took hold of the horse’s reins and walked him toward Evan. “I told him we didn’t keep that horse at our barn.”

  “What else did he ask?” The fact that someone had come to the barn asking about Lawrence’s horse heightened Evan’s attentiveness. He hadn’t truly understood Lawrence’s reasoning for stabling the horse away from the barn.

  “Wanted to know the horse’s name and where we keep him stabled.”

  Evan’s heart thumped like a beating drum, yet he couldn’t understand his strange reaction. Lawrence had papers on the horse and said everything was in order. There was no reason for concern. Still, he’d said he didn’t want anyone around the horse.

  “What did you tell him, Paul?”

  “The truth. I don’t know where Mr. Lawrence keeps the horse. I said the horse’s name was Priceless Journey. When I told him the horse’s name, he looked kind of disappointed and left. Did I do wrong, Mr. Evan? Should I give him his money back?”

  “No, Paul. You keep the money—you did fine.”

  Evan strode toward the lodge. He’d take Victoria for her riding lesson, but he doubted his thoughts would be on anything other than Lawrence and Priceless Journey. Victoria hurried over to him the moment he stepped into the lodge.

  “There you are, you naughty boy.” She tightened her lips into a moue and tapped his chest with her index finger. “I don’t like it when I’m kept waiting. Especially by you.” She stepped closer, leaving a mere inch between them. When Evan took a backward step, she moved forward. “I’ve missed you, Evan, and when you’re late for our time together, it causes me to believe you don’t care about me.” She formed her lips into another pout. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to speak with Mr. Morley, would you?”

  Evan stared down at the young woman. How he wished to tell her he detested being controlled by the whims of a spoiled young woman—but he knew such a comment would result in unwanted repercussions. “I do have other duties that need my attention, Miss Polter.”

  She leaned in and rested her palms against his chest. “Victoria,” she whispered. Before he could move, she raised up on her toes and kissed him full on the mouth. “Perhaps that will help you remember my name.”

  She nearly fell when Evan abruptly backed away from her. Evan glanced toward the door, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. What if Melinda had been nearby and observed the scene? She would never forgive him. “I am your riding instructor. Nothing more and nothing less. Please don’t do that again.”

  Victoria giggled. “Your lips say no, but I believe your heart will soon say yes, Evan.”

  “Melinda!”

  At the sound of the familiar voice, Melinda spun on her heel and came face-to-face with Mrs. Mifflin. She clasped a hand to her bodice. “Mrs. Mifflin. H-h-how good to see you.” She did her best to sound pleased but feared her voice had betrayed her.

  Mrs. Mifflin gave her a feeble smile. “You need not fib to me, Melinda. I imagine you feel quite the opposite.” Her former mistress stared at her open hand, still resting on the bodice of her shirtwaist. “I don’t see a ring on your finger. I do hope your fellow—Evan wasn’t it? I do hope he wasn’t injured in the hurricane.”

  She tried to reply, but her lips wouldn’t move.

  “I don’t blame you for being angry with me. I was unduly harsh when you departed. I owe you an apology.” She cleared her throat. “Cyrus will be the first to tell you that I don’t apologize often, but when I do, it comes from the heart.”

  The room momentarily swirled and she wondered if she might faint. Today’s schedule had been hectic. She’d arranged and overseen a surprise birthday party for a set of ten-year-old twins that had included lunch, outdoor games, and birthday cake. Following that exhausting event, she’d hurried indoors to make certain supplies and easels had been set up for the ladies enrolled in painting classes. Each class was followed by a sumptuous tea, which also required Melinda’s oversight. She couldn’t be sure if the ladies enjoyed the painting classes, but all of them delighted in the extravagant array of tea and pastries offered after the sessions. In all of the rush, she’d failed to eat lunch. And then she’d been surprised by Mrs. Mifflin and her uncharacteristic apology. No wonder she felt light-headed.

  Melinda snatched one of the activity sheets from a nearby table and fanned herself. “I’m sorry. I’m feeling a little faint. I failed to take time for lunch today.” She couldn’t decide if Mrs. Mifflin’s wrinkled forehead was due to concern or irritation.

  The older woman grasped Melinda’s elbow and propelled her toward a couch in the small parlor. “Do sit down before you fall down.” The moment she was seated, Mrs. Mifflin motioned to a maid passing through the outer foyer. “Bring me a glass of water and a sandwich.” Before the girl could respond, Mrs. Mifflin waved her off. “And be quick about it.” Removing her gloves, she settled on the divan beside Melinda. “Now tell me about Evan and your marriage—or lack thereof.”

  “I’m not married, but Evan is fine. He wasn’t injured in the hurricane.”

  Mrs. Mifflin dropped her gloves onto her lap. “Then why aren’t you married? I thought that was the plan when you made your hasty departure.”

  “Evan thinks it’s better if we wait until—”

  “When Cyrus received word that you were being considered for this position, I was certain that the young man had backed out on his proposal. I don’t want to say I told you so, but I did tell you that young men who work in these places are not the marrying kind. They’ll tell a girl most anything in order to—”

  “Mrs. Mifflin! Evan is not like that at all.” The moment she’d uttered the words of defense, a picture of Victoria and Evan came to mind and taunted her.

  The older woman’s lips drooped into a frown. “Then explain why there isn’t a wedding ring on your finger.”

  With thoughts of Victoria dancing in her head, Melinda’s explanation sounded hollow, and Mrs. Mifflin didn’t fail to read between the lines.

  “Forgive me, Melinda, but you don’t look or sound like a young woman planning for marriage in a month or two.”

  “That’s because Evan hasn’t received his promotion, and we have no idea when or if that will happen. The circumstances are difficult. He’s dependent upon the investors to make the decision.” The thought of Victoria clutching Evan’s arm flashed to mind, and Melinda leaned against the back of the couch.

  Mrs. Mifflin picked up her gloves and flapped them in front of Melinda’s face like two limp fans. “You’ve become pale again. Please don’t faint. You know I’m not good at dealing with illness.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Where is that maid with the water and sandwich?” As if on cue, the girl rounded the corner carrying a tray. Mrs. Mifflin heaved a sigh. “Good heavens, it’s about time you got here. A person could die of thirst.”

  The girl gave a tiny curtsy as she placed the tray on the nearby table. Her eyes shone with fear when she glanced at Melinda. “Thank you, Molly.” The maid leaned down to pour water into the glass. “We can take care of the water.” Melinda smiled, hoping to set the girl at ease. Melinda turned to Mrs. Mifflin as Molly scurried off. “It’s her first week. She’s trying very hard.”

  “Well, if anyone understands the difficulty of locating good
help, it’s me.” The older woman poured water into one of the stemmed water goblets and handed it to Melinda. “Do take a drink and then eat.” With a stern look, she motioned toward the sandwich. “I insist.”

  Melinda let the cool water slide down her throat. She should be reviewing tomorrow’s events with Chef Bickerstaff, but Mrs. Mifflin would cause a scene if she attempted to excuse herself. Besides, she didn’t think her legs would hold her if she attempted to stand up.

  She lifted the silver dome from atop the sandwich. “I’m going to feel rude eating in front of you.”

  Mrs. Mifflin picked up the linen napkin, snapped it open, and settled it across Melinda’s lap. “I hope you don’t expect me to feed you.” She picked up the plate and placed it on the napkin. “I’ll talk while you eat.”

  Melinda wasn’t certain she liked that idea. No telling what Mrs. Mifflin had on her mind. She’d best deflect her. Otherwise, the older woman would use the time to further berate Evan and her. She picked up a piece of the sandwich and held it between her fingers. “How is Sally? I’ve had only one letter from her since I left, although I’ve written her several times.”

  Mrs. Mifflin straightened as though she’d been poked with a hatpin. “Sally?” The question had obviously disturbed her train of thought. “Oh, she’s doing fine. She’s far too busy reading everyone else’s mail to take time to write her own letters. And of course she’s still busy passing gossip from one servant to the next. I never could trust Sally to keep a confidence. Unfortunately, I still can’t.” She frowned as she uttered the comment. She pointed at the sandwich. “Keep eating.”

  Melinda dutifully took a bite of the sandwich. She hoped Mr. Zimmerman didn’t choose to walk through the front portion of the clubhouse any time soon. The sight of his leisure activities manager sitting in the parlor nibbling a sandwich and sipping water wouldn’t set well with the supervisor.

  “While you’re eating, I want to make you a proposition. Please don’t answer right away. I want you to take time and think before you respond. Will you do that?”

  Melinda bobbed her head and pointed to her mouth. Why did the woman instruct her to eat and then ask questions?

  “Ever since you left Cleveland, I have been struggling with one lady’s maid after another. Heaven knows I’ve done everything possible to be kind and to give them opportunity to learn, but it has proved impossible.” She pointed to her head. “If you could see my hair beneath this hat, you would be appalled by the mess. I can’t find one maid who can fashion my hair. I end up with some hideous style, or the minute I walk out of the room, the pins are falling and so is my coiffure.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I need you to return, Melinda. I will double your wages. You would be paid more than any other lady’s maid in all of Cleveland. And I promise that in addition to Sundays off, I’d permit you two, no three, additional days a month off work.” She bowed her head and stared at her hands. “And I promise I’ll do my best to treat you with much greater kindness. I truly want you to return, and I hope that you’ll consider my offer.”

  Melinda gulped hard to force down the piece of sandwich now lodged in her throat. Had it not been for the pain in her throat, she would have believed she was in the midst of a strange dream. She picked up the plate and moved it back onto the tray before wiping the corners of her mouth with the napkin. “Thank you very much for your kind offer, Mrs. Mifflin, but—”

  She held up her hand. “You promised you wouldn’t give an immediate answer. I want you to take several days to think about my proposal.” She patted Melinda’s hand. “You should thoroughly consider not only what I’ve offered but your future here at Bridal Veil. I don’t want to be negative, but it does seem that your young suitor isn’t as intent upon marriage as you are.”

  The words scorched her heart like a hot branding iron. Thankfully, Mrs. Mifflin didn’t want to hear any further defense of Evan’s position, for Melinda had already begun to wonder about Evan’s commitment to her. Did his delay hinge upon the offer of Harland’s old position or upon his hope for time to win Victoria?

  CHAPTER 24

  FEBRUARY 1899

  Evan strode toward the barn, surprised to see several of the guests gathered nearby. All of them were men who’d become regulars at the racetrack—either because their horses were competing in the races or because they enjoyed gambling. They were circled together and appeared to be deep in discussion, though the fact that they’d chosen to talk near the corral rather than go into the lodge surprised Evan. But long ago he’d learned not to intrude on private conversations, so he bowed his head, skirted the edge of the path, and continued toward the barn.

  “Evan! Come over here!”

  He turned to see Mr. Jacoby, one of the guests and an owner of a racehorse, waving him toward the group. As Evan took long determined steps in their direction, the short rotund man with a ruddy complexion continued to motion him forward with frantic gestures.

  “How can I help, Mr. Jacoby?”

  The man shifted from foot to foot, his protruding belly swaying with each movement. “We have some questions about the horse stabled in that structure over near the chicken coops. Mr. Zimmerman tells me the horse belongs to Lawrence Colson. He also tells me that Lawrence works for you.”

  Evan frowned. “I think Mr. Zimmerman may have been confused. Garrison O’Sullivan is Lawrence’s supervisor. I was in charge of some of the work at the racetrack when it was being constructed, and Lawrence helped a great deal with that project. However, Mr. O’Sullivan is actually his supervisor.” Thoughts of his earlier conversation with the young stableboy came to mind. Evan had intended to meet with Lawrence, but he hadn’t had time to seek him out, and their paths hadn’t crossed. “Is there some sort of problem regarding the horse?”

  Mr. Jacoby rested his arm on the wood fencing. “I took a ride over there earlier today, and that horse looks a lot like Fulton Overbrook’s horse, Midnight Flight.”

  The man looked at Evan as though his comment should evoke some response, but Evan didn’t know Mr. Overbrook or his horse. “I suppose you could speak to Lawrence. I don’t have any information about the previous owner.” Evan didn’t want to mention that Lawrence had won the animal in a game of cards.

  “Mr. Overbrook lives in Cleveland.” Mr. Jacoby inhaled as though he couldn’t get enough air. “I live in Cleveland, as well.”

  This entire conversation was making no sense. Evan couldn’t be rude, yet he didn’t have sufficient time for idle chatter. “I’m certain Cleveland is a fine city.” As he uttered the response, realization struck. “Lawrence Colson has lived in Cleveland, so you two should have a little in common. I understand he’s sometimes in the clubhouse with Preston Powers. You might be able to find him there of an evening.”

  The men nodded and someone muttered, “I’m not sure they spend as much time in the clubhouse as they do entertaining in the Radcliffes’ guesthouse.”

  Several of the men snickered, and another said, “They host private card games, and I understand the stakes get quite high.”

  Mr. Jacoby arched his bushy brows and waved the men to silence. “Here’s the thing, Evan. The racehorse, Midnight Flight, was stolen from Mr. Overbrook back in October. I don’t want to make false accusations, but the horse that Lawrence supposedly owns bears a strong resemblance to the stolen horse.” He cleared his throat. “And the fact that Mr. Colson lived in Cleveland raises my suspicion. When did you say he came to Bridal Veil?”

  Evan clenched his hands. He was being baited, and he didn’t like it. If these men truly believed what they said, they should confront Lawrence, not him. In spite of the afternoon warmth, the idea that the horse might be stolen caused a chilling effect to sweep over Evan. Melinda would be devastated if the accusations proved to be true. Although she acknowledged her brother to be a bit of a rogue, Lawrence was her only living relative, and she loved him. “I didn’t say when he arrived, Mr. Jacoby. However, it sounds as though you have a good idea
where to find Lawrence. I suggest you speak to him if you have concerns.”

  Mr. Jacoby’s complexion deepened to the shade of a beet. “One of the maids who cleans our rooms tells me that Miss Colson, the activities manager, is related to Lawrence. A sister, I believe she said.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a pipe. “The maid also mentioned that you and Miss Colson have plans to marry.” He tamped tobacco into the bowl of the pipe, and then looked at Evan. “That being the case, I’m thinking you might be willing to protect Mr. Colson.”

  Every muscle in Evan’s body tightened. A flash of pain shot from his clenched jaw to the top of his head. This man was accusing him of being involved in a crime. And not just any crime, but horse thievery. He knew the rules of courtesy required he remain civil, yet everything within him wanted to punch Mr. Jacoby’s bulbous nose.

  He inhaled a calming breath and forced himself to speak in a normal tone. “I believe there are any number of people who can assure you that I am not a horse thief, and I would not knowingly protect anyone who had stolen a horse. However, let me again suggest that if you have questions, you direct them to Mr. Colson. My information on the subject is truly limited.”

  “I have every intention of doing so, Evan. And I do hope he has some answers that will prove me wrong.” Mr. Jacoby lit a match, held it to the pipe tobacco, and puffed. “Otherwise, I may have to come back and visit further with you.”

  Evan’s anger mounted as the other men nodded and murmured their agreement. He had known some of these men since he’d first arrived at Bridal Veil. How could they possibly believe he would be involved in stealing a horse? Blood pumped through his veins like a raging river.

  Evan shook his head in disgust. “If there are no further accusations you wish to make, I have work that needs my attention, gentlemen.” No doubt one of the men would report his cutting remark to Mr. Zimmerman, but at the moment he didn’t care.