The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Ellen had found several different varieties of thread, which pleased her because she made their living by crocheting lace for some dressmakers back in New York. She tucked her new spools away in her basket, commenting on how she couldn’t wait to try them out, before moving on to her next task. Her next mundane, trivial, everyday task. Mariposa stifled a sigh. Yes, it was nice to be unpacked and to head back into their regular routine, but she couldn’t bring herself to summon any excitement about it. When every day was so much like the one before, it made her wonder if there was even a point to the exercise.
She climbed into bed just like the night before, thought about her parents—as always—and prepared to go to sleep, but this time, she had a more interesting thought to occupy her mind. This time, she wondered once more about the man she’d seen on the street, and what it was about him that made him seem so familiar to her.
Chapter Two
If one could leave behind all one’s dirty laundry when one moved, Mariposa might be in favor of how often they changed houses. Sadly, there was always washing to be done, and more washing being created every day, and it was time for the monotony of this task as opposed to the monotony of the other tasks she’d been doing. Ellen had helped her set up the washtub outside in the backyard, and the clothesline was newly strung. Now came the actual doing of it.
She sighed. No use complaining—she might as well get started.
Because of their move, Ellen was a little behind on her lace, so she’d settled down in the parlor with her basket. Mariposa didn’t mind working by herself, as it allowed her imagination to run free. And so it was that she thought it was her imagination when she heard her name.
“Mariposa?”
There it was again, and this time, she looked up.
A tall young man stood at the corner of the house, his hat dangling in one hand. She gawked at him for a moment before dropping the handkerchief she was washing back into the tub. “Brant?” She took a step forward, then stopped. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come searching for you,” he said, giving her the grin she’d loved so much once upon a time.
She rested a hand on the edge of the tub, suddenly feeling a little unsteady on her feet. “I . . . I don’t understand,” she replied. “You came all this way to find me? Over a hundred miles? Whatever for?”
She didn’t mean for her question to sound harsh, but it did, and he blinked. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Of course I am. I’m just confused.” She motioned toward the porch steps. “Please sit down. I can’t think and stand at the same time.”
He chuckled and took a seat, and she joined him, trying to understand. She hadn’t seen Brant in two years. They’d lived just down the street from each other in a tiny little town called Ironwood, and they’d spent enough time together that tongues were starting to wag. But then something had happened—she wasn’t even sure what—and they’d begun to drift apart. By the time Ellen decided it was time to move on, he’d turned his attentions to someone else, and that was when Mariposa decided it might not be a good idea to make friends. They were costly in the long run.
“How have you been?” he asked, resting his hat on his knee.
“I’ve been well. Helping Ellen keep house and so forth.” Nothing ever changed—there wasn’t any reason to inquire. “And you?”
“Some ups and downs, but mostly ups.”
“Hmm. I suppose this is the part of the story where the two reunited friends make awkward conversation until the one tells the other one what they’re really there for.”
He chuckled again. “You’re right—this is awkward, and yes, I need to talk to you. It’s just . . . it’s so complicated.”
“I suggest you start at the beginning.” Mariposa felt a little prickly. He had all but broken her heart, and now he was acting like they should be able to pick up right where they left off. That’s not how relationships worked—at least, in her limited experience with them.
“The beginning. All right.” He inhaled, then let the air out slowly. “Shortly after you moved away from Ironwood, a man came to town asking about you.”
“A man? What sort of man?”
“He said he was an old friend of the family.”
Mariposa couldn’t think of who that might be. “Was he asking for me or for Ellen?”
“Both of you, but more specifically, you.”
“Did he give his name? What did he look like?”
Brant held up a hand. “Let me tell this in order, please. You’re getting a little ruffled.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” She didn’t know how to explain it, but she felt a bit of panic growing inside her ribs. “Go on.”
“Someone in town mentioned that you and I were friends, and he came to see me. He gave his name as Che Lopez.” Brant said the words slowly, watching Mariposa’s face for a reaction, but she didn’t have one to give him.
“I don’t know anyone by that name,” she replied. “Should we go inside and talk to Ellen? Maybe she knows—”
“Mariposa, wait.” Brant’s hand on her shoulder held her in place even as she was getting ready to stand. “Please. Slow down.”
She looked at him expectantly. She’d never known him to take so long to tell a story before.
“He said he’s your father.”
It was like someone had thrown a wool blanket over Mariposa’s head. For a moment, she couldn’t see or breathe. “But my parents are dead,” she finally replied.
“That’s what I told him.” Brant ran a hand through his hair. “I told him he must have the wrong family, but he went on to tell me that your birthday is April eighth and your mother’s name was Charlotte, you’re being raised by your aunt, and you have a small birthmark on the inside of your right arm.” He paused. “I don’t actually know if you have a birthmark there, but the rest sure sounded like you.”
“He could know all those things without being my father,” she insisted. “Maybe . . . maybe he knew the doctor who delivered me.”
Brant didn’t answer.
“Don’t you think that’s possible?” She turned a little to face him. “The doctor would know my birthday and about the mark.”
“Why would the doctor tell his friend this kind of information about you?” Brant asked gently. “What could he hope to gain?”
“Well, what does this Che Lopez hope to gain? We don’t have anything to give him—we’re certainly not wealthy. What does he want from us?”
“He wants to reunite with his daughter.”
Mariposa stood up and walked a few steps away, wrapping her arms around her waist. It didn’t make sense—not one bit of it. “So, you believed his story and then what? Decided to come find me?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
She turned to face him. “Yes? I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“After I’d spoken with him for a little while, I was convinced that he is indeed your father, and I agreed to help him find you.” Brant held up both hands. “In the spirit of full disclosure, I’ll reveal that yes, he’s paying me for my time, but I’m also doing it because I believe you need to be reunited.” He lowered his hands and studied her. “Plus, it’s good to see you again,” he said softly.
“You . . . believe we need to be reunited?” The more he talked, the more confused she became, followed closely by anger. “You don’t know me well enough to know what I need. You don’t know me at all.”
“Mariposa . . .”
“I can’t do this right now, Brant. Please . . . can you go away for a little while and maybe come back for dinner? My head is pounding, I can’t think straight, and every time you open your mouth, it gets worse.”
He nodded. “Of course. I’ll give you some time—I know this is a huge shock. But we do need to talk.”
“I know. That’s why I asked you to come back instead of just demanding that you leave.”
He gave another
nod. “I’ll be here at six. It’s good to see you.”
She didn’t respond—she didn’t have any more words.
Once he was gone, she climbed the porch steps and entered the house, feeling wrung as dry as one of the handkerchiefs on the clothesline. Ellen looked up from her lace as she entered.
“I heard voices. Did someone stop by?”
Mariposa let out a humorless laugh as she dropped into the chair by the window. “Do you remember Brant Fielding from Ironwood?”
“Of course I do. I actually thought the two of you might make a match of it someday.”
“I did too, but that’s . . . Anyway, he’s here in Belle.”
“He is?” Ellen’s eyebrows lifted. “Did he come in search of you?”
“He did, but not for the reasons you think.” Mariposa took a deep breath. “Do you know anyone named Che Lopez?”
Ellen’s hands fell into her lap, the lace becoming a crumpled mess beneath them. “What did you say?”
“Che Lopez.”
Every possible emotion flitted across Ellen’s face before she managed to bring it back under control. “Oh, dear. I’ve gotten a tangle in my thread.”
Mariposa came to her side and helped her get everything sorted back out. When they were done, Ellen said, “How did you hear that name?”
“Brant said he’d been hired by Che Lopez to find me.” Mariposa didn’t look up to meet her aunt’s eyes. “Is that my father’s name?”
Ellen didn’t answer. Finally, she said, “Is Brant coming back?”
“Yes. I sent him away until dinner.”
“Good. I think . . . I think we’ll all need that time to ready ourselves.”
“So . . . that is my father’s name.”
“As far as I’m concerned, child, you never had a father. You were found in a parsley bed or you bloomed from the center of a rose—whatever fairy tale you wish to believe. But Che Lopez was the furthest thing from being a father you could ever imagine, and I’ll be glad to discuss it all with Mr. Fielding and put everything to rights.” Ellen moved her lacework to the side. “I’d best go start something a little better than chicken soup for dinner.”
Mariposa couldn’t help but smile. Even their enemies would be offered a nice meal at Ellen’s table.
***
The two women had prepared the meal in silence. Mariposa nearly ached for Ellen to say something before Brant arrived, but her aunt simply wasn’t ready. When the sound of a knock came at the door, Mariposa rushed to open it, desperate to put these questions to rest.
Brant held out a bouquet of wildflowers as soon as she opened the door. “For the table,” he said.
“I don’t recall the table being a particular lover of flowers, but all right,” she replied, taking them. Then she stepped back to let him in. He pulled off his hat as he entered, and she took it with her free hand and put it on a peg by the door. “Please come through to the kitchen. We don’t have a dining room.”
“I’ve always preferred kitchens,” he replied. “They’re more comfortable.”
He greeted Ellen and took the seat she offered him while Mariposa put the flowers in a vase and set it on the table. Then they all sat, the air growing thicker and thicker with unspoken words and unmet expectations.
Ellen passed around every dish until their plates were full, and then she turned her attention to Brant. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Fielding,” she began. “It’s been a little while.”
“Yes, it has been. Since you moved from Ironwood.”
“That’s correct.”
He cleared his throat. “This community seems rather pleasant. I heard someone at the hotel say that the Fourth of July was rather exciting this year.”
“We arrived after that,” Ellen replied.
“A shame, or perhaps a blessing, to have missed all the hullabaloo, then.”
Ellen nodded, her lips pressed together. “Mr. Fielding, under ordinary circumstances, we’d eat and then we’d go into the other room to have our discussion, but I don’t think any of us can wait that long—not for our dinner, and not for our chat. So we’ll break all rules of society at the same time and talk while we eat, shall we?”
Brant nodded in return. “I appreciate the chance to be heard, Miss Granger.”
She lifted one finger. “But you might not appreciate what I have to say.”
“That’s fair.” Brant’s eyes flicked over to Mariposa. She had picked up her fork and was drawing tracks in her mashed potatoes, but she hadn’t taken a bite yet. She wasn’t sure she could swallow.
“Mariposa said I should start at the beginning, so I guess that’s what I’ll do,” he said, giving a little chuckle that tapered off at the end. She realized he was nervous, and that was just fine with her. He should be nervous—coming in here with strange stories and wild claims.
“I mentioned earlier that shortly after the two of you moved from Ironwood, a man came to town introducing himself as Che Lopez. He was looking for a Miss Mariposa Granger, living in care of her aunt, Ellen. He learned quite quickly that he had just missed you, and he also learned that you had left no forwarding address—no one knew where you’d moved.”
“That was on purpose,” Ellen remarked.
“I presumed as much. Well, he was told he should come speak to me, since Mariposa and I had been such good friends.” He glanced at her again, and she made her face as impassive as possible. He’d read no emotion on her features, not if she could help it.
“I told him I didn’t know where you’d gone. I’ve never seen a man look so defeated. He said he’d been searching for you for years, and to come to Ironwood and realize that he’d missed you by a matter of days was crushing. How was he to know where to look next? We talked for several hours until I was sure his claims were legitimate and his intentions were good, and then he made me an offer. He asked if he could hire me to track you down.”
“Rather like a dog sniffing out foxes?” Ellen asked, her tone wry.
“Not quite as dramatically as all that, but perhaps,” Brant replied. “I rode out from Ironwood in all directions and made inquiries, then made additional inquiries from there. When I arrived in Cotton Creek, I was thrilled to learn that yes, you had lived there, but again, there was disappointment to learn that you’d left.”
“And now here you are in Belle, having caught up to us.” Ellen put her fork down. “What does he want, Mr. Fielding? Why is he doing this, and why are you his accomplice in the matter? If you care for Mariposa, if you’ve ever cared for her, surely her wishes would come first with you, not the ramblings of a deranged man.”
“But what are my wishes?” Mariposa broke in. “I’ve never known anything about my father—I’ve never known why we’ve moved so often or why we never had a destination in mind when we left. I’ve merely done as I’ve been told this entire time without knowing why.”
“No doubt the story he told you is quite different from the reality of the situation,” Ellen said to Brant, “but I trust you’ll let me speak to her without interruption.”
“Of course,” he replied. “If I might have the same courtesy afterwards.”
She didn’t answer with words, but with a “hmph” sound. Then she turned to Mariposa. “As you know, my parents were only blessed with two children—myself and then several years later, Charlotte. Our father doted on us immensely, and he bought us matching dresses and everything. I pretended Charlotte was my doll, and I’d push her around in her little buggy up and down the neighborhood streets until her nurse was driven mad because she couldn’t find her.”
Ellen paused to sip her water, then resumed her tale. “The years passed, and Father decided I should go to a ladies’ college back east and get finished—what a ridiculous phrase. At any rate, off I went to polish up my French and my embroidery and whatnot, both of those being highly desirable traits in a wife, and when I came back, I found that my baby sister had grown into a lovely young woman. You look a great deal like her, I’m sure you�
�ve noticed from her portrait.”
Mariposa just nodded. She feared that answering would delay the rest of the story.
“Charlotte was right in the middle of trying to decide what she wanted to do with her life. She’d always dreamed of becoming a teacher, and she was nearly ready to take the exams. But there was also a young man who had caught her eye, and our parents would have loved to see her marry him. He was charming, intelligent, good-hearted—and wealthy. We mustn’t forget wealthy.” Ellen shook her head.
“She’d hinted that she was ready to make up her mind and would be telling us shortly when we made the tragic mistake of attending a community picnic. A young man was there by the name of Che Lopez. He was handsome to be sure. He dazzled the elderly ladies by bringing them fresh lemonade, and he spoke to the men about horse racing. Everyone at this picnic thought he was simply marvelous, but he only had eyes for Charlotte.”
Ellen paused again. “You must eat, Mariposa. I won’t go on unless you do.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“I won’t have you collapsing from hunger while you have a plate of food right in front of you. That would be ridiculous.”
Mariposa obediently put a bite of potatoes in her mouth. Ellen nodded, then went on.
“He introduced himself, he asked if he could call, and before we knew it, they were caught up in a whirlwind romance. He sent flowers, he sent gifts—he was the most attentive, besotted suitor there ever was, and she was in another world, she was so happy. Our father had his doubts, though, because no one could possibly be that wonderful, and he uncovered that Lopez was a professional gambler who made his income in the saloons at night.”
Ellen glanced down the table at Brant. “Have I said anything yet that contradicts what you’ve been told?”
“No, ma’am. So far, everything sounds just about right.”
“Hmm. Well, I shall continue. He came and asked our parents for their blessing to marry Charlotte. Our father told him no and asked him to leave. Well, this sent Charlotte into a rage. My sister, while very sweet, did have quite a temper, and she didn’t hold back one bit. Later that night, she crept out of the house and met Lopez, and they eloped.”
Butterfly Kisses Page 2
