by Merry Farmer
No, it wasn’t right, but it was the way of the world. At least for now.
In the middle of the gloom of defeat, the bank door banged open once again. Solomon snapped his head up to see what new misery had come for him. The other men gasped, and the WSGA men gaped as Pearl, Domenica, Della, and all of the other girls from Bonnie’s place pushed their way into the lobby. The small space wasn’t designed for so many people, and the girls seemed to take up twice as much room as the others. They were all dressed colorfully, their bodices so low-cut it was a wonder none of them started to spill out, their skirts hiked and tied to show off a good amount of leg. The crushing scent of flowers and powder and sweetness filled the room with them. They dealt with the cramped conditions by pressing up against the men—tradesmen and WSGA men alike—simpering and batting their eyelashes.
“Ladies,” Solomon addressed them. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait your turn to withdraw your money.”
The girls all giggled and cooed, the ones who were pressed against the men fondling their collars…or something lower, judging by the way Grover Holmes yelped then laughed.
“Oh, silly.” Pearl stepped up to the counter, reaching into her bodice and taking out a surprisingly large wad of cash from her ample bosom. “We’re not here to take money out, we’re here to put it in. Right boys?”
The girls laughed and whooped, and the men guffawed along with them, eyes zooming to all the places they probably shouldn’t have in public. Della even tilted her chest forward and asked one of the tradesmen, “You wanna reach in there and get my cash for me, honey?”
In an instant, the mood in the bank had utterly changed. The men who had come to withdraw their money were distracted beyond thought. Bonnie’s girls pushed past them to the counter, managing to flutter and flirt while making several impressively large piles of bills on the table.
“Bonnie’s always telling us we should deposit our earnings in the bank,” Pearl told Solomon, an exceptionally shrewd look in her bright blue eyes. “I figure it’s about time we opened those accounts.”
“But don’t you already have an account?” Horace asked, slack-jawed and more interested in what was almost popping out of Pearl’s bodice than her cash.
“These are special accounts,” Pearl answered. Her sharp gaze shifted to Solomon. “Bonnie says so.”
Bonnie. Everything clicked in Solomon’s mind. This money came from Bonnie. Some of it might have belonged to the girls, but soiled doves, no matter how well-paid and taken care of, wouldn’t have the kind of money the girls were plopping on the table. Bonnie did well on her own, but everyone in town knew exactly where Bonnie got the bulk of her money from—Rex Bonneville.
A wide grin slowly grew on Solomon’s face and in his chest. Going to Howard and Gunn for help was obvious. Asking Bonnie to help him beard the lion in his den was a stroke of genius that he never would have thought of.
“Horace, give these ladies forms to open new accounts,” Solomon boomed as loud as Howard on a good day. “Then help me count this cash.”
“But you can’t do that,” Eastman protested. He tried to reach around Domenica to drag himself to the counter, but Domenica stood firmly in his way, hands roving his body. When Eastman let out a blood-curdling, high-pitched shriek, Solomon was pretty sure she’d grabbed hold of him where it counted and would keep him in his place more effectively than any revolver.
The door opened again, and more sad-faced, Haskell tradesmen wandered in. They blinked in surprise at the scene that was unfolding.
“And another thing,” Pearl went on as if in the middle of giving an Independence Day speech. She went so far as to hop up onto the counter, then to stand, lifting her skirts and shaking them. “Me and all the girls over at Bonnie’s have decided that from here on out, we’re only gonna do business with men who have accounts with this here bank.” The other girls whooped and hollered. “Because it’s only a good time if we’re all good and responsible, right girls?”
“Right!” they responded in unison, shimmying and hugging the men closest to them.
Solomon had a hard time not laughing out loud at the shift in events.
“You…you mean you won’t entertain us at all if we don’t have our money in this bank?” one of the tradesmen stammered.
“Not…not even a little slap and tickle?” another squeaked.
“Nope.” Pearl smiled proudly, dancing a few steps on the counter. “And you boys all know how far it is to the next cathouse.”
The girls laughed and made noises like it was a journey around the world. The tradesmen gawped and shook their heads, looking to each other for help and answers and finding none. The WSGA men could only stand back and glower…though Eastman could barely even do that with Domenica still in full possession of his…faculties.
“That’s it.” Grover reached for the withdrawal form he’d started to fill out and ripped it to pieces. “Rex can strong-arm me all he wants, but some things are sacred. I’ll just have to work twice as hard to court new customers.”
“That’s the spirit, honey.” One of the girls rushed to hug him. “Why don’t we go across the street to celebrate?”
Within minutes, the whirlwind of Bonnie’s girls circled through the bank as each one filled out a form for a new account as best they could, then grabbed a man and headed off to help them put their money to better use. Solomon went to work by Horace’s side, helping the girls fill out the forms and counting the cash. Bonnie had outdone herself. Whether all of the money came from Bonneville directly or not, there was more than enough to fill the cash drawer. Word must have spread about the girls’ ultimatum too, because within an hour, most of the men who had withdrawn their money that morning returned to put it back.
Eastman and the other WSGA cronies got angrier and angrier as the morning wore into afternoon, but there was nothing they could do. Finally, they gave up and left. Solomon prayed it would be the last he saw of them, but doubted it. At least he could be sure of one thing—his bank was safe.
“I’ve got to tell Honoria about this,” he said as he and Horace finished counting the drawer in the middle of the afternoon. “She won’t believe it.”
“I’m not sure I believe it myself,” Horace laughed. Solomon thumped him on the back. “You go tell the story to that pretty wife of yours. I’ll keep the bank open until closing. Something tells me it won’t be as busy for the rest of the day.”
“I hope not!” Solomon shook his hand, then grabbed his hat and headed out to the street, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
If Honoria had taken his advice, she’d be at home resting. He headed there first, but was, admittedly, unsurprised when he didn’t find her napping on the sofa or in their bed, as he would have liked. His wife was industrious and determined, if nothing else. He assumed she had gone to work after all and headed out again to Wendy’s shop.
“Honoria?” he called as he walked through the shop’s front door, bell jingling.
“Hello?” Wendy answered his call. A moment later, she stepped out from the back room, her and Travis’s sweet baby boy in her arms. “Solomon!”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Montrose.” Solomon removed his hat and nodded. He couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. “I wonder if I might have a word with my beautiful wife?”
Wendy blinked at him. “She didn’t come into work today.”
As Wendy’s expression pinched to worry, so did Solomon’s. “She didn’t?”
“No, sir.” Wendy shook her head. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning.”
Solomon frowned. “She’s not at home. I was certain she would have come to work.”
Wendy shrugged. “She didn’t.”
The panic from that morning that he had forgotten about in the midst of his wild day returned full-force. He tried to mask it with a neighborly smile. “I suppose I’ll have to look for her somewhere else.”
“Let me know if you need any help,” Wendy said.
Solomon turned to go, fixing
his hat back on his head as he stepped outside. Where could Honoria have gone?
The answer hit him with a bitter twist of regret. To Dr. Meyers, of course. She wasn’t feeling well. She hadn’t been willing to worry him with the details, but he was sure of it. Of course she would have gone to see the doctor.
He launched into motion, hurrying down Main Street and around the corner to practically run up Prairie Avenue. Dr. Meyers’s house and office was halfway up the street, so by the time he reached it, he was out of breath. That didn’t stop him from taking the steps two at a time and bursting into the office.
“Oh!” Abigail exclaimed as Solomon entered.
“Is my wife here?” Solomon asked without greeting.
“Your wife? Oh!”
She didn’t have time to get any farther before Dean Meyers stepped out of his office. “Solomon,” he said with a wide smile, rushing forward to shake Solomon’s hand. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Yes, sir,” he answered, too distracted to really hear them. “Is my wife here? She seemed to be feeling poorly this morning.”
“Poorly?” Dean frowned, more confused than sympathetic. “That’s strange.”
Solomon narrowed his eyes, as confused as Dean. “Not so strange, considering her condition.”
Dean’s eyes went wide. “You mean, she didn’t tell you?”
Panic made the corners of Solomon’s vision go black. “Didn’t tell me what?”
Completely inexplicably, Dean beamed as though Solomon had won a prize at the county fair. “Didn’t tell you that she’s not sick.”
“What?” Solomon’s heart stopped completely. His whole body began to vibrate on a minute level.
“She’s perfectly healthy. Dr. Abernathy confused her file with that of another woman who has consumption.”
“What?” The breath squeezed out of his lungs. He hardly dared to hope that what Dean was telling him was true.
“Yes, I’m so pleased to tell you that Honoria is the picture of health. Her coughing was merely the result of stress, probably from the situation at home. That is, at her father’s home. She looked quite well when she was here yesterday.”
The words were having a hard time to sink in to Solomon’s soul. Probably because he couldn’t believe that he would ever be so lucky. Honoria wasn’t dying. She was his, his very own, and she wasn’t going to leave him. They had an entire life ahead of them, a long, happy, fruitful life.
He loved her. The second realization hit him harder than the first. He had always been fond of her. He cared for her. She filled him with fire when they were in bed. He hadn’t dared to let himself give his heart over and to actually love her. But he did. More than anything he had ever loved or ever would love. And he could love her as much as he wanted for years to come.
Where was she?
“I’m sorry, Dean. I have to go find my wife.” He barely managed to push the words out before turning and running from the office.
Where could she have gone? If she wasn’t dying and if she knew she wasn’t dying, where would she be? And why hadn’t she told him last night?
He skidded to a stop at the bottom of Prairie Avenue as the realization hit him. She hadn’t told him last night, and she’d known the truth. Why? Why wouldn’t she tell him something so amazingly, blissfully wonderful?
Reason took over from elation and he pushed himself into motion again, heading home. If there was an answer, logic told him that it would be at home, in the private space they shared. Honoria was too good, too noble to run off without telling him something or leaving him some clue. He had to have missed something when he’d looked for her at the house earlier.
Sure enough, as he raced through the house looking for signs, he found a note folded on the kitchen counter. He hadn’t thought to look in the kitchen when he assumed she’d be napping. He snatched the note up and read it.
“Dearest Solomon. Words cannot express how deeply I regret putting you through the nightmare of everything that has happened to you in these last few weeks. You are a good, noble, wonderful man, and my heart will belong to you always. If I had known that my simple, selfish request would have caused such devastation in your life, I would never have asked. Please believe me when I say that I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for your business to be ruined or for you to endure everything that has happened. If I could turn back time and prevent it, I would.
“For you see, I’ve only just found out that I am not dying after all. There was a mistake with files, and I was given someone else’s diagnosis. I regret terribly that I forced you to marry me under false pretenses, and now that it has come out that I am not dying, that the whole reason for me asking you to marry me, care for me, and fill my last days with happiness has proven to be a lie, I am beyond devastated. Please believe me that I had no intention to deceive you. I may not have a fatal disease, but it is killing me inside to know that I have been the sole cause of so much misery to you.
“I can only imagine how much you hate me right now, but I swear to you that I did not know that my death was a lie. You will probably resent me to the end of your days for everything that has happened. I cannot bear to see it, to know that you think badly of me. So I’ve gone home to my father’s house. It’s where I belong, and it’s what I deserve. I can only hope that you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me someday. Yours, Honoria.”
“Oh my darling.” Solomon let out a heavy breath and sank into the kitchen chair. His heart ached as though it had burst in his chest. How could she think that he would ever hate her? It was an honest mistake, someone else’s honest mistake at that. Why would she assume that this was her fault?
Because of Bonneville. The answer came to him with swift fury. Bonneville and his spoiled daughters had taught Honoria that she was inconsequential at best and the cause of everything bad at worst. He should have seen that her past was more of a burden to her than she’d let on. Two weeks of freedom barely began to make up for a lifetime of emotional slavery. He knew that as well as anyone. How long had it taken him to grow past the mindset of belonging to someone else?
He wouldn’t stand for it. Tossing the letter on the table, he shot out of his seat and bolted down the hall to the back door and the stable where his horse was kept. There were more important things to save than banks and careers. The time had come for him to save his wife.
Chapter 14
Walking all the way from Haskell to her father’s ranch while carrying a stuffed carpetbag was a crucial part of Honoria’s self-imposed penance for the trouble she’d caused. She was certain that she deserved every blister that would well up on her feet, every sore muscle in her arms and back, and every bit of dust that ruined the bottom of her skirt. She didn’t expect to feel a strange sense of pride in herself and strength—not to mention wonder—that she was able to make the entire miles-long trek without stopping to rest. She had grown in so many ways since leaving to marry Solomon.
Before she knew it, she was imagining the way he would smile at her and tell her how brave she was for making the journey all by herself. She couldn’t shake the vision of his surprisingly straight teeth and dark, dancing eyes. That only led to cozy memories of the way his body supported hers when she snuggled against him as they read together.
By the time she crossed through the gate at the edge of her father’s property and started down the drive toward the house, the voice at the back of her head was whispering that she’d made a terrible mistake to leave without at least discussing things with Solomon face-to-face. Returning home was just another bad idea in a string of bad ideas.
“Oh my gosh, is that Honoria?” Bebe was the first one to see her. All three sisters sat on the front porch, fanning themselves in the afternoon heat and sipping some sort of cool beverages. “It is Honoria!”
Bebe jumped away from Vivian and Melinda. It was only then that Honoria noticed Bebe wasn’t lounging and fanning herself like the other two. She was sewing something. Not only that, instead o
f wearing one of her usual flouncy dresses, she’d put on one of Honoria’s shabby old work dresses.
“Honoria?” Melinda shot to her feet, squinting as she searched to see what Bebe saw.
Vivian leapt up a moment later, and within seconds, the three sisters were racing down off of the porch to meet her.
“Oh, Honoria! I’m so happy to see you. You can’t even imagine.” Bebe slammed into her with a hug that caused Honoria to drop her carpetbag. For a second, Honoria couldn’t tell if her younger sister was laughing or weeping.
“Get off of her!” Vivian yelled, charging toward them with a straight back. “Honestly, Bebe. What sort of an idiot are you? Only a nitwit puts on displays like that.”
“Stupid cow.” Melinda sniffed. She crossed her arms as she came close to Honoria.
Bebe gasped and leapt back, straightening her skirt with jerky movements. “Sorry, Vivian. I’m so sorry, Melinda. I didn’t mean to be a stupid cow. But it’s Honoria.” She gulped a few times, almost trembling with tension and misery.
“So? Vivian crossed her arms now too. She tilted her chin up. “What do you want?”
Internally, Honoria second-guessed everything she had been so certain about for the last eighteen hours. In the span of two weeks, Vivian looked older and twice as peevish. Melinda, on the other hand, somehow seemed younger, or perhaps immature was a better word. And Bebe… Well, looking at the strain in Bebe’s face made it easy for Honoria to see how she could have developed an anxious cough.
Still, Honoria picked up her carpetbag, squared her shoulders, and said, “I’ve come home.”
The three sisters stared at her, mouths open, Vivian and Melinda wearing calculating frowns.
“Did…did Mr. Templesmith throw you out?” Bebe ventured uncertainly.
“No,” Honoria answered with as little emotion as she could. “I left of my own free will.”
“Why?” Bebe asked, or rather, implored.
“It’s not important.” Honoria lowered her head, losing some of her strength under the weight of the destruction she’d caused.
