“What about Lewis and Clark?” Grover asked from the stage, reciting a line.
“Ah! Lewis and Clark crossed over the continental divide at the Lemhi Pass on August 12, 1805,” Amos continued, diving right back into the words Lily had written.
“See that,” Christian whispered in her ear as the play continued. “I’d like to see anyone try to say that you’re not the best teacher this world has ever seen now! Rules or no rules, the town council would have to be blind and stupid to ignore that.”
She drew in a shuddering breath and hugged him. Whatever the council decided, her heart was content. She had made a difference to these children and their families. They had opened their arms and accepted her in a way that she never would have dreamed was possible. She had gone from having nothing but her position as a teacher to having friends, a brother, and a man who would love her to the end of their days.
At last, she was home.
Acknowledgements
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the fabulous ladies who helped me by beta-reading Lily and Christian’s story: L.B. Joramo, Keira Montclair, Debora Dennis, Ashley York, and Eliza Knight. With that much talent backing me up, how could I go wrong? And a thousand and one thanks to my copy editor, Suzanne Copenhaver, and to my friend Felicity Young for happening to mention over lunch one day, “You know, my mom worked as a copy editor for years. She’s retired now and might take a look at your books if she feels like it.” Thank you for feeling like it, Suzanne! And enormous, heartfelt thanks to Anne Chaconas for being badass and doing what I could never do with all that pesky marketing stuff.
About the Author
Award-winning author Merry Farmer lives in suburban Philadelphia with her two cats, Butterfly and Torpedo. She has been writing since she was ten years old and realized one day that she didn’t have to wait for the teacher to assign a creative writing project to write something. It was the best day of her life. She then went on to earn not one but two degrees in History so that she would always having something to write about.
Her second novel, The Faithful Heart, was a 2102 RONE Award finalist and her unpublished futuristic novel A Man’s World won first place in the Novel: Character category at the 2013 Philadelphia Writer’s Conference. In 2014 she will be finishing her Montana Romance series and diving into the world of Sci-Fi for Women with the Grace’s Moon series.
You can email her at [email protected] or follow her on Twitter @merryfarmer20.
Merry also has a website, http://merryfarmer.net,
and a Facebook page, www.facebook.com/merryfarmerauthor,
and loves visitors.
Turn the page for a peek at Somebody to Love, Book 4 in the Montana Romance series….
Coming in April, 2014…
Somebody to Love
For Phineas Bell, love has not only been out of reach, it has been dangerous. Disowned by his family as a young man after being discovered with his male lover, he has resolved never again to put another man in danger by loving him. Instead, he has poured his love into his work, his town, and the friends who accept him as family. But when a handsome new lodger takes over his home and his heart, breaking all his careful rules, Phin must choose between playing it safe and letting love in.
Elliot Tucker is a war hero, a sharpshooter, and the answer to Cold Springs’s prayers for a sheriff worth his salt. But with every single woman in town throwing themselves at him, Elliot has eyes for only one person: Phin. The sparks are hot between then, but in spite of Elliot’s best efforts, Phin proves a tough nut to crack. When he can’t win Phin with passion, Elliot is on the verge of giving up…
… until a shocking abduction throws the Phin and Elliot together on the trail of ruthless kidnappers. Will their efforts to save a child from a horrible fate wrench them apart or will it prove that at last they’ve found somebody to love?
But until then, here’s a taste of The Indomitable Eve – A Montana Romance Holiday Novella, coming December 2013:
Chapter One
December, 1897
Train whistles were by far the most wistful sound created by man. More so than the hollow clack of worn boots walking across a barren stage in an empty theater. Eve deLaurent knew both sounds too well.
She turned her head to follow the shrill whistle as the train that had brought her to Cold Springs, Montana rattled away from the station and on toward the mountains. She had no reason to be lonely, she told herself. The mountains were glorious in their snow-capped brilliance, the sun was bright in the sky, and the crisp December air surely made her cheeks as pink as a rose without a drop of rouge.
The stationhouse in front of her was festooned with boughs of holly and glittering decorations for Christmas. Indeed, the entire length of the street stretching away from the town was lined with garlands of pine and red bows and baubles. It was as quaint and welcoming a sight as she could have hoped for, far from the glittering lights and overdone sparkle of the cities she’d breezed through in the last two years, one after the other.
She clutched her carpetbag to her stomach and breathed in the cold clean air. There was no reason to feel lonely at all.
Except that Amelia wasn’t there to greet her.
She started across the emptying platform, searching for some way to make her acquaintance with the town her sister now called home.
“Excuse me.” She approached a tall man in uniform who stood near where the baggage had been unloaded. “Could you help me?”
The man glanced up. His businesslike frown blinked to a wide-eyed smile. A moment later his jaw dropped.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I know you. You’re the Indomitable Lady Eve!”
Eve shifted straight into character—smiling, her chin tilted up, one hand on her hip—in the pose she used for photographs. “How very sweet of you to recognize me.”
If anything, the man’s eyes widened, giving him the appearance of a shocked pelican. “It is you! I saw you sing in Denver this past summer. You look just like your posters. They have one up at the saloon, you know.”
“Do they?” She flushed with embarrassment, but smiled on.
“Uh-huh.” Lewis beamed at her like a schoolboy with his first crush. “When I saw you in Denver, you didn’t just sing. You performed scenes from that play about dreams too. You were Titty-something and you wore this dress that was all shimmery and… and….”
He closed his mouth abruptly, blushing bright red.
“Titania,” Eve said. “From A Midsummer Night’s Dream. And yes, that costume was something, wasn’t it?” In fact, it had been almost entirely transparent. Not her choice, but that was the stage for you.
She took a step closer to the man. “I hope you can help me, Mr….”
“Jones. Lewis Jones.”
Mr. Lewis Jones thrust out his hand, face redder by the moment.
Eve slipped her gloved hand lightly across his fingers. He grabbed hold and pumped it up and down in a shake. She laughed with genuine joy at his enthusiasm, so different from the slick customers she was used to.
“Mr. Jones,” she went on, “I’m looking for my sister.”
“You have a sister?” He stopped shaking her hand but continued to hold it.
“Yes. Mrs. Amelia Quinlan?”
Lewis gaped for a few more beats then said, “Oh yeah! Eric did say something about his wife having a famous sister. That’s you?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
She withdrew her hand from Lewis’s. When his face dropped in embarrassment over still holding onto her, she winked to reassure him. His shoulders relaxed and an admiring smile spread from ear to ear.
“Imagine that! The Indomitable Lady Eve is Amelia Quinlan’s sister!”
“It would appear so.” She stepped closer to him and leaned in as if to share a secret. “You wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you?”
“Well.” He mirrored her stance as if they were part of a conspiracy. “The train was about an hour early today, Miss Lady Eve.
Eric and Amelia live a ways out from town. They’re probably just not here yet.”
“Oh.” Eve straightened and nodded as though Lewis had given her sage advice. He didn’t seem to be the brightest man she’d ever met, but she had the feeling he was kind. Kindness deserved consideration, as far as she was concerned, rare as it was.
“If you want to wait for them in the stationhouse, you’re welcome to,” Lewis said.
“Thank you, Lewis.”
“Although the hotel would probably be more comfortable for you,” he went on.
“Do you think?” A hotel would be a blessing indeed. She would gladly fall to bended knees and beg for a coffee to ward off the December chill.
“Yes, ma’am, I do. I can tell Eric and Amelia where to find you when they come looking.”
She rewarded him with a smile. “Then I shall have to take myself off to the hotel. Could you point me in the right direction?”
“Yes I could.” He nodded, caught up in the scene she had created. He shifted to the left and pointed away from the station down a long, wide street. “That’s the hotel down there, at the end of Main Street next door to the saloon. Of course, there’s the other hotel out that way, out past the pharmacy and next to the new church.” He pointed straight through the buildings that lined Main Street and what must have been a few other side streets. “That hotel’s newer and has a fine restaurant in it. But it’s a bit of a walk.”
A choice between a hotel next to a saloon and one next to a church?
“I don’t think I’d mind walking to that new hotel at all,” she said. Let her manager—her former manager—say what he would, a church was always more settling than a saloon.
“In that case, turn right onto Silver Street at the pharmacy, then head straight on. You can’t miss it.”
“Lewis, you are a godsend.”
“Aaw, it’s nothing.” He lowered his head and shuffled his feet, charming as the day was long.
“Would you be so gallant as to mind my trunks while I take myself off on an adventure to this hotel?”
“I would indeed,” he answered.
With a final smile and a wave, Eve turned and marched across the platform and down a step onto Main Street as though exiting to the wings after a gala performance.
The show didn’t stop there, however. Main Street, Cold Springs was a scene to behold itself. Amelia had been writing to her about the town and its people for the past two years. Eve almost felt as though she recognized the shops and businesses that lined the brightly-decorated street.
She passed the general store, remembering that its owners were Michael and Charlie West and that they had a daughter named Eloise and a brand new baby son, Michael Jr. She noted the bank that was owned by Mr. Phineas Bell, who was the Oscar Wilde type. She knew that Mr. and Mrs. Upshaw had just had their fourth baby as she passed the tailor’s shop towards the end of Main Street and that Christian and Lily Avery, some of Amelia’s closest friends, were expecting their first child in early spring. It was almost as if she’d lived with the people of Cold Springs for the past two years herself. The town could have passes as home.
Amelia had mentioned the new church briefly in a letter last summer, but as Eve passed it she paused to marvel at its size and brilliance. It was as big as the old hotel with a tall spire reaching up like the mountains themselves. Cut-glass windows with bits of color gave it a feeling of lightness and a fresh coat of white paint provided the perfect backdrop for festive wreathes and red bows. But it was the sound coming out of the church that drew Eve to it like a beacon.
The voices of children sang the Coventry Carol, like angels serenading her from on high. The sound swelled from the front door that stood partially opened. Her heart caught in her throat, twisting with joy as light as snowfall and regret as deep as night. She changed her path and headed straight for it, slipping into the church and carefully closing the door behind her.
At the front of a wide sanctuary lined with polished new pews, a cluster of children stood in varying degrees of white and yellow and gold costumes singing their hearts out. A pair of women fussed over a few of them, one of them very pregnant. They adjusted a costume here or tried on a pair of wings there. The children sang through it, fresh faces turned up to catch the light streaming in through the windows. Eve had seen almost every stage from California to London, but not one of them could come close to the pure beauty that stood at the front of that church.
“Very good, very good, children.” A man in a simple black suit with sandy-blond hair stepped forward, applauding the children. “Now, once you finish the carol, you will cross the front of the church—yes, just like that—and come to stand over the manger where the baby Jesus will be resting.”
“Rev. Andrews, shouldn’t the shepherds be the ones looking at the baby Jesus?” one of the little angels asked.
The entire group shuffled from one end of the stage—the church, rather—to the other, the mothers with costumes in tow.
“You’re exactly right, Annie. The shepherds will be looking at the baby Jesus, but I be that the angels couldn’t help but steal a peek as well,” Rev. Andrews answered.
The chorus of angels giggled at his answer, smiles shining.
Eve’s heart caught in her throat. They were all so dear, so marvelous. A few were unruly, twirling or giggling as they took their places above the empty manger. A pair of boys dodged through the others, their hands in the shape of guns that they fired with all the accompanying sounds of fire. The pregnant woman held a hand to her back and made her way across the stage with them to put them in order. Her face was drawn but she still managed a smile.
A bittersweet twinge seized Eve’s chest. Her throat closed up and a hint of tears stung her eyes. She lowered a hand to press her abdomen. The scar wasn’t noticeable through the layers of her corset and skirt and the wide belt she wore, but she could feel it all the same. It cut her with a finality that went beyond the surgeon’s knife. She watched the pregnant woman, fighting the irrational urge to hate the woman. It wasn’t the woman’s fault that she was a mother while Eve was … not. It wasn’t fair, but it was unchangeable.
“Hello?”
Eve blinked to find the sandy-haired man staring at her. She dropped her hand from her abdomen and smiled to hide the grief she knew was painted on her face. It was foolish of her to drop character in public, no matter what caused it.
“Hello,” she answered.
The sandy-haired man smiled.
“What are you doing?” a woman’s voice snapped behind her.
Eve turned to see a handsome older woman in a serviceable blouse and skirt about ten years out of fashion yanking the church door open behind her. She had gray hair pulled back in a bun and lines on her face that revealed she smiled a lot. At the moment, however, she was scowling at Eve as though she were a rabble-rouser.
“I’m terribly sorry.” Eve kept her eyes bright and her chin up. “It’s so cold outside that I assumed you would want to keep the door closed.”
The old woman continued to scowl. “Well you assumed wrong.” She pulled herself to her full height and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know you,” she went on. “I know everyone in town, even the new people.”
“I’m not from town.” Eve continued to feign ease, though it was a difficult role to play.
“I know.” The woman nodded and crossed her arms. “You’ve got an English accent.”
“It’s because I’m English,” Eve said. She tried leaning closer to the woman and sharing a conspiratorial wink the way she had with Lewis Jones.
It had the opposite effect.
The woman crinkled her nose and leaned back. “You’re not one of the new girls Paul Sutcliffe hired to work at the saloon, are you?”
“No, no, not at all.” Eve tried a breezy laugh.
The woman’s scowl deepened. “Well you look like a whore with all that paint on your face.”
The sting of the accusation dug as deep as the emotion she had felt at the
sight of the children. Eve’s act dropped.
“I most certainly am not a whore!” she said, hands on her hips in a reflection of her sister Olivia’s sourness. Indignant as she was, her denial still felt like a lie. “I am Lady Eve deLaurent. The Indomitable Lady Eve,” she went on, convincing herself as much as the outspoken woman.
“Well I am Sadie McGee,” the woman fired back at her. “And I can assure you that I’m as indomitable as any woman that ever set foot in Cold Springs.”
Eve blinked at the woman, not sure what to make of her declaration.
“Ladies, what seems to be the trouble here?”
She was spared having to come up with an answer to Sadie McGee by the interruption of the sandy-haired man. She switched back into the role of charming lady and turned to introduce herself.
Her act evaporated in an instant. Up close, the sandy-haired man was a sight to behold. He had soft blue eyes to go with his hair, a strong jaw and graceful nose. Tiny lines radiated from his eyes, giving him an air of kindness and humor. He could have played Hamlet or Algernon Moncrieff both and made the audience fall in love with him at a word.
“Just keeping the door open like you wanted, Reverend,” Sadie said as Eve scrambled to collect herself.
“But why?” Eve stammered, giving herself time to collect herself. “It’s so cold outside.”
“It is,” Rev. Andrews replied, “but with the door closed people passing by can’t hear the children singing and be drawn in like you were.”
He ended with a smile that was as good as a wink. Butterflies danced in Eve’s gut.
“No, no they can’t.” Without choosing a character to play first, she held out her hand. “Eve deLaurent,” she introduced herself in the simplest possible terms.
In Your Arms (Montana Romance) Page 31
