“She’s fine. That one’s made of strong stuff.” She walked around the counter. “But I’m sad to say that she did get an earful from the townsfolk.”
“I had a feeling she would.” He shook his head. “I had intended to get here early but had a wagon repair on the way into town.”
“No matter. She’s here and has had a little time to rest.” Carla motioned for him to sit by the checkerboard. The pungent aroma of the pickle barrel made his mouth water. “Let me go get her.”
Herman continued to dust and kept his back to Woody, probably in an attempt to keep his mouth shut. Which was for the best. Woody struggled with his own feelings but knew he had to forgive the man for his treatment the week prior.
Time to forgive him for his doubts about Woody, as well. God knew he had enough doubts for them both.
The butcher’s daughter entered the store and greeted Mr. Clark. But as she turned, Woody recognized the horror on her face when she spotted him. She spun on her heel and walked right out the door.
Herman turned then and marched toward him. “You’ve cost me enough customers today, Colton.” The shopkeeper looked over his shoulder to where his wife had disappeared, then stepped closer and poked Woody in the chest with his finger. “Now, get out!”
“Get out!” Was that Grandfather? What was he doing here in California?
A soft touch on her shoulder woke Lillian from a deep sleep. “What? Where am I?”
“In the general store in Angels, Lillian.” Carla Clark helped her to sit up. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it? And it’s not over. Mr. Colton has come to fetch ya. So we best get you freshened up.” The robust woman bustled around the tiny cot and brought her a washcloth and basin of water.
As Lillian washed her face, the events of the afternoon after her arrival came rushing back. After Mrs. Clark—who insisted she be called Carla—shooed away the “gossiping herd,” she had taken Lillian to a room in the back and sat her down. The woman had been kind and honest with her about the horrible death of Rebecca Colton. She never painted Mr. Colton as a saint, but did share her own memories of the man they’d known several years. It wasn’t until the mysterious and awful death of Rebecca that people had anything against Woodward Colton. And even though Judge Morgan had declared him innocent of any wrongdoing, once the rumors started, there didn’t seem to be a way to extinguish them. They spread like wildfire.
There was even some talk after Judge Morgan passed away to retry Mr. Colton. But Carla said she would do everything in her power to fight the gossip. As she shared about her own loss and sorrow—all caused by her own gossiping tongue—she’d even shed a few tears.
The cool cloth on Lillian’s face and neck helped to refresh her, but there was so much to consider. It was a disturbing situation. After hearing Carla’s passionate words, Lillian knew she trusted the older woman. Especially after she scolded men, women, and children for spreading the hearsay. Anyone willing to stand up to bullies was all right in her book.
But then there was the little nagging in the back of her mind. What if Mr. Colton truly was a dangerous man? And he had just fooled the entire community all those years? It did seem that he only had one advocate she knew of in the entire town: Mrs. Clark. Was she blinded by her own need of redemption from the sin of a malicious tongue?
“Lillian?”
“Hmm?” She rinsed out the rag one more time and ran it over her face.
“Are you all right, dear?” Carla reached out for Lillian’s hand.
“Oh yes. I’m so sorry. I’m just exhausted from the trip.”
The sweet lady walked around Lillian, straightening her clothes and dusting them off a bit more. “You’re a bit wrinkled, but I don’t think we can do much about that. We need to get you out there, because it will be quite a drive to the Colton farm. I’m sure little Jimmy will want to meet you tonight before he heads off to bed. Here’s your lovely hat.” She eyed the fetching piece that so perfectly matched Lillian’s suit. “We need to get you a sunbonnet. Once you’re out on the farm, you’ll need one. Oh, and probably a different one for traveling back and forth. I’m guessin’ you traveled mostly in enclosed carriages.” She smiled at Lillian. “Pardon me for sayin’, but you look to come from wealth. I don’t figure you have any sunbonnets.”
“You’re correct in your assumption, Carla. I would appreciate your help. I had some very lovely walking-out bonnets, but failed to bring any of them with me. I did, however, bring a straw riding bonnet, so perhaps that will suffice for now.” Lillian pinned her hat into place, then tucked her reticule into her traveling bag so she wouldn’t have to bother with it on the ride to the Colton place.
“There.” Lillian picked up the bag and smiled. “I’m ready.” She followed Carla out of the small storeroom into the main area.
A large man sat in the seat she had occupied earlier in the day. As she approached, he stood—goodness, he was tall—and removed his hat to greet her. “I must apologize, Miss Porter, for being so late. My wagon had trouble, and I had to do the repairs on the road. I had hoped to arrive in town before you.”
She examined his deep brown eyes. He seemed sincere in his apology and didn’t look like a murderer. Not that she’d ever met one. “It’s quite all right. Thank you for coming.” His dark brown hair touched his collar in the back but wasn’t untamed. And even though he wasn’t spotless, she imagined that if she had to fix a wagon in the middle of the road, she wouldn’t be clean, either.
He nodded to her. “I hate to rush, but we do have quite a bit of a drive. I’m sure Mrs. Goodman will have something for us to eat when we get home.” He bowed a bit to her. Hesitant and humble, despite his imposing size. The poor man. What had these people done to him? And after he’d lost so much.
“Woody, it’s good to see ya again so soon. You need to come back more often. Especially now that Miss Porter’s here.” Carla walked forward, patted the man’s arm, and tucked a creamy package of cloth into Lillian’s bag.
“Good to see you, too, Carla. I’m sorry for all the trouble.”
“Like I said before, they’re good people. Just give ’em time.” She turned to Lillian. “Now, if you need anything, you let me know, all right?”
For some odd reason, tears sprang to Lillian’s eyes. She thought her world had turned upside down when Grandfather said he never wanted to see her again. Well, the events of the past few hours had done quite a bit of emotional upheaval, as well. Add that to her tired state and she was quite a mess. “I will. Thank you so much for all your help today, Mrs. Clar—oh, sorry, Carla.”
“You’re most welcome.” The soft, plump woman reached out and hugged Lillian. Not one of those simpering ninny hugs where they barely touched and pretended to kiss each other’s cheek. No, this woman knew how to hug. She squeezed and made sure the recipient knew she meant it.
Lillian could use a hug like that every day. She hugged her new friend back and then followed Mr. Colton out the door.
She watched as several people along the street stopped and stared. No matter. She straightened her shoulders and stood proudly beside the wagon as Mr. Colton loaded her things. It wouldn’t do any good for her to doubt her new employer. She’d followed the good Lord and her dreams here, and this was the only option she had. Going home was out of the question.
One thing was certain, Woodward Colton was a large man. He stood almost a foot above her, and she wasn’t short for a woman. His broad shoulders accentuated his height, and the way his muscles bulged against his shirt as he lifted the trunks left no doubt he was strong. For a moment, she could imagine how the rumors had taken root. His size could be a bit intimidating. But he didn’t seem at all like a killer. At least from what she knew of him so far. And from what Carla had told her.
“Are you ready, Miss Porter?” He stood in front of her with his hat in his hand.
She blinked several times. How long had she been staring? “Why, yes, of course.”
He climbed into the wagon and reached down for her.
<
br /> “Um . . .” Lifting her skirt, she realized she hadn’t been watching how he’d climbed into the wagon. Heat crept up her cheeks. “Is there a step?”
His deep chuckle was warm. “I do apologize. I’m guessing you’ve never ridden in a farm wagon before?”
She shook her head and tried not to laugh at herself. “I’ve only ridden in carriages, and there’s always a little step.”
“Well, let’s remedy that.” He hopped down from the wagon and pulled an empty wooden crate from the back. “Mrs. Goodman uses this.” He turned it upside down. “You can step on this, then the hub, and then the top of the wheel. You have to keep moving once you start. Otherwise, you could find yourself in trouble if the horses move. After a time, you won’t need the crate and can just step up on the hub.”
Lillian eyed the situation with a bit of skepticism. This was her new life, and she’d best learn quick. Woody went to hold the horses while Lillian worked up her courage. The traveling suit was difficult to maneuver in and quite heavy, but nevertheless she was determined. Lillian drew a deep breath, whispered a prayer, and then followed Woody’s directions.
Reaching the driver’s boot, she turned and beamed a smile at Woody. “I did it!”
He chuckled and released the horses’ harness. “That you did.” He retrieved the crate, and once he’d reloaded it in the back, he hopped up to the wagon seat as if it were no big feat. “I promise it’ll get easier.”
Lillian relaxed and drew a long, deep breath. It had been more of a hike to climb up into the wagon than she was used to, but she’d made it on the first try. Which brought a flood of relief. Her imagination had conjured up unladylike images of her sprawled in the street. As she settled onto the hard wagon seat, she thought about all the luxuries she’d taken for granted growing up in an affluent family. In fact, everyone she knew—even at church—was from the same walk of life. How many times had she missed a need because she’d been surrounded by people who lacked for nothing? When Grandmother was still alive, she’d been involved in multiple charities, but Lillian had never been allowed to attend any of the meetings or go to any of the places they served. Instead, she was to remain at home, deep in her studies with a variety of tutors.
The horses moved forward, and Mr. Colton cleared his voice. “I am very sorry I was late today. The reach broke . . . uh, that’s the piece that connects the front and rear axles. I had the part to repair it, but it’s time-consuming. I hope it wasn’t a terrible inconvenience for you.”
The wagon seat was narrow, but she tried to keep a few inches between them. Chancing a look at her employer, she pasted on a smile and tried not to think about the gossip. “The Clarks were very gracious to me. It wasn’t a problem at all.”
His jaw twitched a little. “I’m glad to hear it. But I do hope you will forgive me.”
“Of course.” The intensity of his gaze made her want to cry. What had gotten into her?
“Look . . .” A long sigh accentuated his words. “I know you must have heard some awful things in town.”
Lillian looked away to her right. What could she say? His close proximity made her nervous, and she reminded herself that a judge had cleared him.
“You’ve just met me, and I can well imagine what you think of me, especially if you heard the rumors.”
She bit her lip and turned toward him again. Searching his eyes for the truth.
He held her gaze for several moments, then looked ahead again. “Rebecca and I came here to farm. Olives and possibly other fruit. But after a few short years, our olive grove became very prosperous, and it was all we could do to keep up with the orders for table olives and olive oil. We were busy, but we were happy.” He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for his next words. “My wife was murdered, and I don’t know who did it or why. She was the most incredible woman I’d ever known.” He clamped his mouth shut and his jaw clenched.
Lillian watched him for several moments, hoping he would continue. He didn’t have to tell her what happened, but he’d been honest with her anyway. Baring his soul to a stranger. She admired him for that, but she was completely uncertain what she should say. “I’m so sorry for your loss” didn’t seem the least bit useful at a time like this.
“I can’t say it’s been easy. The grief just about ate me up. And I got pretty angry at God. Especially when the townspeople turned against me.” Another sigh. “I’m sure you’ve heard that they blame me—think I did it. Thankfully, Judge Morgan didn’t listen to rumors. I wasn’t even home when it happened. I didn’t kill my wife, Miss Porter.” Kind eyes, deep and brown, stared back at her. This man couldn’t be a killer. Wounded, yes. Grieving, yes. But not a killer.
All she could do was nod. What if her judgment was wrong? How often had she actually been around people?
“I’ve got to look forward. I’ve got a boy who needs me and needs to heal, and a farm to look after.” He looked down at her. “I’m very thankful you answered my advertisement. I had several applicants, but you were the only one who seemed qualified.”
Qualified? Her? She’d never even been a nanny. “Thank you. I sincerely want to help, but I don’t know how qualified I am.”
“You’re the only one I felt peaceful about. Thus, you’re the only one I responded to.”
His words penetrated a deep place in her heart. The need to be wanted. To be a vital part of a family. But as she took a moment to gather her thoughts, weariness took over. It had all been a bit too much. And as much as she wanted to like this man beside her, she couldn’t forget the words of all the townspeople.
Then her throat constricted with conviction. Carla’s passionate pleas about the dangers of gossip came back to Lillian. If all the folks in town had allowed their opinions to be shaped by hearsay, they were wrong. And that made Lillian wrong for listening to them. Oh, Lord, help me to trust, and help me to discern the truth.
“Did I say anything to upset you?” Mr. Colton leaned an inch toward her.
Catching his gaze again, she smiled. A real one this time. “No. Not at all. I appreciate your honesty. I’m just weary.”
“I’m sure the trip was exhausting. Mrs. Goodman will have your room all ready for you when we get there, and you can have a day or two to get settled and rest.”
“Thank you.”
He leaned forward then and placed his elbows on his knees as he drove the wagon.
The gesture to give her a bit of space was nice, or maybe he just needed to stretch out his back. Either way, she appreciated the quiet. They both seemed content to ride along in silence.
As the wagon moved down the rough road, Lillian tried to focus on the luscious, green rolling hills, the scrub oak and other trees that dotted the landscape. Wild flowers dotted the side of the road in hues of orange and yellow. The sky was turning a pretty pink and purple as the sun began to set behind them. Maybe if she just shut her eyes for a moment and relaxed . . .
She could wait till tomorrow to think about all that had transpired today.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Don’t you hurt my mama!”
Jimmy bolted up in bed, his limbs shaking with the memory of the dream. With tentative movements, he placed his feet on the floor and headed to Papa’s room, but he wasn’t in there. That’s right, he’d gone to town to pick up someone.
Heading to the kitchen instead, the smell of cookies drew him and reminded him of good memories and settled his nervous stomach. Mrs. Goodman made the best cookies. His favorites were when she broke up little pieces of chocolate and added them to the dough.
He pulled out a chair, the scraping noise making their housekeeper turn around.
“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” She poured him a glass of milk. “Nightmare?”
Jimmy nodded.
“Wanna talk about it?”
He shook his head hard.
She looked at him and nodded. “I admire the strong, silent type. And I think I’ve got a cure for those bad dreams. How about a fresh cookie or two to go with yo
ur milk?”
He nodded again. Mrs. Goodman was old with glasses on her nose and white hair. Like a grandma. But she always understood. Even without his words.
She placed a plate of cookies in front of him and turned back to the stove. “I’m sure your pa will be back soon. Then you’ll get to meet Miss Porter. She’s coming just for you, Jimmy, and she sounds like such a nice lady.”
He reached for a cookie as a shiver traveled up his spine. It only meant there was one more person the bad man could hurt. Jimmy hadn’t seen him since that day, but he knew the dirty killer would come back. ’Cause he’d been looking for something and said he would stop at nothing to find it. Another tremor made him slosh his milk against the plate of cookies. He ducked his head. If only he were bigger. Stronger.
Mrs. Goodman didn’t scold him. She didn’t even say a word, just cleaned up the milk with the towel from her shoulder.
Tears burned his eyes. He wanted to cry. More than that, he wanted his mama. She would hold him as he cried and tell him it would all be good.
Maybe he should tell Papa everything. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold it in. The nightmares came every night. He tried to hide it from Papa and Mrs. Goodman, but they knew.
He took another cookie. The sweet chocolate melted on his tongue.
But if he went to Papa, what would happen?
Jimmy swallowed the cookie and drank his milk. As he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, he knew he could never talk.
The bad man had warned him. Not one word.
Or everyone would die. Just like his mama.
Darkness surrounded him as Woody steered the team under the arch that welcomed him home. Memories washed over him of better, happier days. He shook his head. Forward. He needed to look forward.
He shifted in his seat and focused on the house, trying not to disturb Miss Porter. The dead weight of her head on his shoulder made his arm go numb, while something on her fancy hat poked him in the neck. She’d fallen asleep a good while earlier; he wasn’t sure when. But she’d almost fallen off the wagon, and he’d pulled her back. He’d been caught up in his own thoughts. Wondering what she thought of him, and if she was scared half out of her wits to be working for him.
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