by Carla Kelly
“Ready?” he asked when he reached her. “Mr. Christensen is over by that tree.”
Mr. Christensen’s large form was unmistakable. His longish brown hair was slicked back, and he held a cup, watching the gathering as if perfectly interested.
Lydia and Mr. Dawson walked to the tree, where he introduced her to Mr. Christensen. Despite his size, the man moved with ease and lifted her hand in greeting, pressing it to his lips. His brown eyes were nice. “Welcome to Leadville,” he said in a low, appreciative tone. “Mr. Dawson here needed some good help. Everyone at the mine was glad to see you arrive.”
“Thank you,” Lydia said.
“How are you adjusting?” Mr. Christensen asked, his conversation coming smoothly, which put Lydia at ease.
Mr. Dawson left her and Mr. Christensen standing beneath a tree. Lydia tried not to notice Mr. Dawson’s absence. She smiled at Mr. Christensen. “I’ve adjusted quite well, thank you.”
“I have a buckboard and a sturdy horse if you ever need a ride, especially with the weather coming.” He hooked one thumb over his thick belt. “I don’t want a young lady to be out walking alone.”
He sounded a bit like Mr. Dawson, and the thought made Lydia want to laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for the offer.”
Another woman joined them. “We haven’t met,” the woman said, her narrow eyes peering at Lydia.
“I’m Lydia Stone, recently hired to work at the Dawson mine.”
“Rachel Best,” the woman said, then turned to Mr. Christensen. “You must try some of my pie.”
He grinned and followed Rachel to the table without so much as saying goodbye to Lydia. She stared after him, a bit stunned. Perhaps she should bring a pie next time.
“I brought you a plate,” someone said behind her.
She turned to see Mr. Dawson. He motioned toward a nearby bench that had been brought out from the church. She sat gratefully, even though her stomach felt a bit too tight to eat. “You got some of the rolls.”
He laughed. “Of course. What do you think of Mr. Christensen?”
Lydia glanced up from the casserole on her plate. “He’s...” She spotted Mr. Christensen in the crowd. He stood with Rachel, plate of pie in hand, smiling at her. “...in love with Rachel’s pie.”
Mr. Dawson squinted at the couple. “It did look quite good. I may try some myself.”
Lydia elbowed him.
“I can get some for you as well,” he said.
She elbowed him again, and he laughed.
“Erik! Erik Dawson!” a woman’s voice cried out. The crowd hushed as a woman pushed through.
Lydia couldn’t take her eyes off of the blonde woman whose dress left little of her bosom to the imagination. She was beautiful, but unquestionably from a house of ill repute.
Mr. Dawson stood. “Beverly?”
The woman rushed toward him as the crowd parted to give her room. Tears streaked her face, making a mess of what must have once been artful makeup. “Your sister— she’s—” The woman fell against him and sobbed.
He had to practically hold the woman up. “Take me to her.” She took a shuddering breath and let him steer her through the crowd.
Lydia stared after them. Mr. Dawson had a sister who was somehow associated with that Beverly woman? Lydia wasn’t sure what to think, but it sounded like his sister was very ill.
Reverend Stanley rushed to Mr. Dawson’s side, and after a few hushed words, he left as well, headed into the church.
Lydia’s heart pounded as she hurried after the reverend. She reached the porch just as he came back out.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.
“I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do. It sounds like it’s too late to save his sister’s soul.” He moved past her and strode into the darkness toward Main Street.
Lydia’s mind turned as things fell into place. Was Mr. Dawson’s sister a prostitute? Is that why he visited the brothel? And now, was she...?
Her eyes burned as she thought about what Mr. Dawson must be experiencing right now. She couldn’t say she was the right person to offer help, or that he’d want it, but she couldn’t stay here either— where the social was back in full force with dancing, eating, and merriment.
It seemed that everyone had forgotten about Erik Dawson and the fact that his sister might be on her deathbed this very moment.
Lydia fetched her shawl from the bench where she’d been sitting, barely acknowledged Mr. Parker’s friendly greeting, and hurried off after the reverend.
She wouldn’t be able to reach him before he got to Main Street, but at least he could lead her to the right place. Sure enough, he turned down the alley by the same brothel she’d seen Mr. Dawson leave.
The closer she drew, the more her stomach twisted. She’d never set foot inside such a vile place, but she had to see if there was something she could do. As she reached the door, she heard a sob from the other side, and then the door burst open.
A man in a long, dark coat stumbled out, with Beverly right behind him. “You’re a quack, that’s what you are! I won’t pay you one coin for all your lying! She was walking yesterday, and now—” Beverly burst into sobs and sank against the doorframe.
The man, whom Lydia now recognized as the town doctor, walked away, adjusting his hat and mumbling.
“What do you want?” Beverly spat at Lydia. Her tear-filled eyes narrowed. “Are you Erik’s girl?” She seemed to collect herself. “I suppose you should come in. He’ll not be too happy with how the doctor has mistreated his sister.”
“What happened?” Lydia croaked as Beverly grasped her arm and tugged her into an extravagant parlor.
Beverly barked a half-laugh, half-sob. “He bled her so much he killed her, he did. Now I don’t know what I’ll do.” Her wails started up again.
Cold knifed through Lydia. Mr. Dawson’s sister was dead? Lydia felt sick. She didn’t belong here. Looking around, at the opulent furniture and thick wall hangings of nude men and women, she didn’t want to spend one more moment in a place like this. But her heart tugged for Mr. Dawson and what he must be facing.
“I should go,” she choked out. “Let him know that—” She couldn’t finish, so she simply turned away and opened the door.
“Lydia?”
Mr. Dawson’s voice stopped her, and she turned back, mortified that she’d come all this way only to intrude on something so personal and horrible. But what she saw on his face was not anger.
“You came,” he simply said. Grief was plain on his face; his eyes haunted with the look of a man who had lost someone dear.
Before she could think twice, she was across the room, pulling him in to her arms. She didn’t know how he’d react, but when his arms went around her, she was glad for it.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. Lydia stayed where she was, eyes closed, in Mr. Dawson’s embrace, for several moments.
At some point, Beverly moved passed them and walked down a hallway, sobbing.
Lydia could only hold onto Mr. Dawson. When she finally pulled away, he seemed reluctant to release her. “What can I do?” she whispered.
The tears in his eyes tore at her heart.
“The reverend read Margaret her last rites,” he said, his voice trembling. “But I think it was too late.”
Lydia felt tears start in her eyes, even though she’d never met his sister. “It’s not too late. We can still pray for her soul.”
Mr. Dawson nodded, and Lydia realized that he was gripping her hand. She gripped it right back.
“Would you like to see her?” he asked.
If Lydia would have had time to think about the request, it might have felt strange. But the sorrow in Mr. Dawson’s eyes made her want to do anything to help ease his pain. “Yes.”
His hand still holding hers, he led her along the corridor. Beverly’s crying had subsided, and they stepped into a small but opulent room. The sour smell made it plain that it had been a sick room for qui
te some time. Reverend Stanley was kneeling by the bed, his head bowed, his lips moving in prayer.
The woman on the bed was pale and thin, her eyes closed, her mouth partly open. The sight should have given Lydia a creepy feeling, but with Mr. Dawson’s hand in hers and the reverend praying, the atmosphere was reverent.
The woman’s nightdress was askew, her covers pulled down. Lydia released Mr. Dawson’s hand and stepped forward. She straightened the woman’s nightdress and smoothed the covers. Then she removed her shawl and draped it over the still body. Tears started as she thought about this woman’s lost life.
Lydia stepped back, and the reverend rose. He spoke to Mr. Dawson about funeral arrangements, which would take place first thing the next morning, and then he was gone. Beverly sniffled in the corner, and after a few moments, she, too, left. Lydia heard her talking to another woman somewhere else in the house.
When she and Mr. Dawson were alone, he turned his red-rimmed eyes toward her. “I’ll walk you home.”
“No,” Lydia said, placing a hand on his arm. “I’ll be fine. You stay here and do whatever you need to.” She rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Take care, Erik. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chapter Nine
It wasn’t until she was ready to fall asleep that Lydia realized she’d called Mr. Dawson Erik.
And that he’d called her Lydia when he’d first seen her at his sister’s place.
A small bit of comfort that allowed her to fall asleep at last, even though it was well past midnight.
Morning came hard and fast. Lydia woke feeling exhausted, and it hadn’t even been her loved one who had died the night before. She dressed quickly and went downstairs before Mrs. Smith awakened. After writing a brief note saying that she had had to leave before breakfast, Lydia headed out.
The day was overcast and windy as Lydia made her way along Main Street. It felt like a day for a funeral. When she arrived at the churchyard, she was surprised to see quite a few people already gathered there, although it was plain that the women were from the brothel or similar establishments. Several men were in attendance as well, and Lydia could guess what some of their relationships had been with Margaret.
Eric Dawson stood near Reverend Stanley alongside a wooden casket. Lydia’s heart went out again at the loss Erik must have been feeling. She had all kinds of questions about his sister, but they could wait. For now, she was there to support him in any way she could.
Reverend Stanley began the service with a prayer, remaining by the casket as he spoke, and for a moment, Lydia wondered why the service wasn’t held inside the church. But looking around at the eclectic group, she realized it made more sense to have it outside, where everyone would feel comfortable.
At the conclusion of the reverend’s words, Eric placed a bouquet of flowers on the casket. Sobbing broke out from one of the women, and it wasn’t hard to recognize it as Beverly. The other women started crying and hugging one another.
The wind picked up, tugging at Lydia’s hair and clothing. She watched the mourners, feeling apart from them, but also grateful that she’d come. Soon the rain started, and she wandered into the empty church while the funeral goers talked and consoled one another outside. She didn’t know how long she sat on a pew there, feeling numb with lack of enough sleep, but the rain had let up by the time she realized she should probably go back outside.
As she stood, Mr. Dawson walked into the church. His jacket was rain specked, and he’d taken off his hat. His hair looked like he’d run his fingers through it several times. “You’re still here.”
“Yes,” Lydia said.
“Thank you for coming.” His voice sounded hollow, barely there.
“You should get some rest,” Lydia said. “Did you sleep at all last night?”
His eyes seemed to finally focus on her. “I’m not sure.”
“Come on,” she said, crossing to him and linking her arm in his. “I’ll take you home.”
He followed her lead like he was grateful for someone else to take charge. Out on the porch, she said, “Which direction, Mr. Dawson?”
“Erik,” he said.
Lydia’s heart lifted.
He nodded south, the direction leading away from Main Street. They set off down the steps and walked toward the road. The rain had let up, and only a few random drops made their way to the ground. Lydia and Eric passed the churchyard, where two men shoveled dirt into the open grave.
Lydia looked away from the lonely scene.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to introduce you to Mr. Kirkpatrick,” Erik said.
Lydia glanced up with surprise. He was thinking about that? After all that had happened since then? “Meeting Mr. Christensen was enough.”
Erik nodded, seeming to take her reply very seriously.
They walked in silence the rest of the way to his place. A clapboard house sat on about an acre of land, surrounded by tall aspens. “This is your house?”
“I’m renting it,” he said. “With Margaret gone, I’ll probably sell the mine and move on.”
She didn’t know if it was his despondency talking or if he was really planning on leaving Leadville. But she did know that she didn’t plan on letting him out of her life that easily. She should have said goodbye at the porch, but she couldn’t leave him in this state. Inside, the kitchen was surprisingly clean, and she found a bowl of apples and a half loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth.
“Sit and eat something,” she said, and was pleased when he obeyed her.
She found a knife and a crock of butter, then cut him a slice of bread and buttered it. Next she cut up the apple. He ate a few bites of each, and after the second yawn from him, she said, “Why don’t you try to sleep? I can clean this up.”
“Thank you.” He rose from the table and disappeared into what must have been the bedroom.
She stared after him for a moment. Was she the only one whose heart pounded when they were together? He’d been friendly and polite to her, but that was all. And all too willing to introduce her to other men.
It took only a few minutes to put the kitchen in order. She found a broom and swept the floor, then straightened the two chairs at the table. She walked to the window and watched the streaking rain. Beyond the front yard sat a barn and a fenced lot with two horses.
She’d go home when the rain stopped. In the meantime, she’d sit on the sofa and wait.
After all, what if Erik awoke and needed something?
Chapter Ten
Erik rubbed his eyes, but Lydia Stone was still there— asleep on his sofa. She wasn’t an apparition. The sky had cleared, and the sun was already setting, which meant he’d slept most of the day. He felt as if he were in a dream, probably because he’d slept so deeply, the opposite of the past months. And now he felt completely restored. Except for the grief in his heart over losing his sister, he was glad that the pain from her illness had passed.
He still couldn’t believe she was truly gone. He supposed it would take weeks and months to get used to. Sitting on the only chair in the room, he watched Lydia. He could only think of her as his dear Lydia now. After the past night and day and how she’d been there for him. He thought of the tender way she’d used her own shawl to cover his sister.
One of Lydia’s hands supported her cheek like a pillow, and the other was curled around her waist. She looked so peaceful and delicate. When she was awake, she was a strong woman, but now she looked vulnerable.
He blinked and looked away. It wouldn’t do to fall in love with this woman. With Margaret’s death, there was nothing holding him in this town now. Lydia could work for a new manager, and that would create a smooth transition between owners. He would move on, and so could she. That was the way of places like Leadville. Always changing.
Erik let out a sigh, louder than he intended, and Lydia’s eyes fluttered open.
“Oh.” She rose to a sitting position. Her hair had come out of its pins and tumbled around her shoulders.
; Erik had a sudden urge to sit by her and run his fingers through her hair. “I think we both needed some sleep,” he said.
Lydia blinked a few times. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. It was raining, and—” She stopped talking and looked past him.
Erik turned to see what she was looking at. He’d forgotten about his sister’s portrait, one that had been painted of her at the age of sixteen... before all of the changes.
“Is that Margaret?”
“Yes,” Erik said, having trouble keeping emotion from his voice.
She stood and crossed the room to get a closer look. “She was beautiful.” She looked over at him. “Tell me about your family, Erik.”
He rose and faced the portrait. It took him a moment to speak. “When my mother left, my father never recovered. He drank himself to death. After that, everything in our lives was different. We were barely able to survive. I never really appreciated all that my sister must have gone through.”
Lydia turned her gaze to him, and the calm peace he saw there gave him courage to continue. “Margaret had a lot of pride. I see that now. She didn’t want her little brother to go without. In fact, she wanted more for him, as sort of a revenge on our parents’ neglect. She was going to show them how she’d gotten control of her life and provided for her brother.”
“She sounds like a remarkable person.”
A lump stuck in Erik’s throat. Had his sister been a remarkable person? He’d been angry and embarrassed about her for so long. Had he completely misjudged her all of this time? “When I found out how she was paying for my education, I was furious. I quit school.”
“Oh, Erik,” Lydia said in a soft voice.
“I know.” He couldn’t meet her eyes. Guilt was filling him up faster than a broken dam flooding a valley. “I couldn’t accept where the money was coming from. My heart was too hard.” He fell silent; the battling emotions inside of him were too fierce to express.
“Your sister loved you,” Lydia said. “And you were a good brother to her.”
