When Mrs. Swansen had pointed out Samantha, Georgiana was immediately lost in a flood of memories and didn’t hear anything the woman had said afterward.
“Thank you for everything, Mrs. Swansen. You’ve been a wonderful help,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried out the door.
“My pleasure, dear, and do tell Angus I hope he’s doin’ well,” Mrs. Swansen called after her.
Georgiana paused before stepping into the street, suddenly unsure of herself. She had been gone a long time. Even though they had been such good friends for so many years as children, Georgiana had left without even saying a real good-bye.
When her mother had told them they would not be going back, she had written Samantha a letter explaining what was happening and that she would always be her best friend, no matter how far apart they were.
She had never received a letter in return.
Georgiana had continued to write letters anyway, had sent letters to Ridge too, but it was as though her friends were no longer there.
Now, as she stood watching Samantha speaking so animatedly to the woman standing next to her, Georgiana felt a profound sadness overcome her. Maybe Samantha had never valued their friendship as she had.
“Oh, Sammy,” she spoke quietly to herself, “I’ve missed you so.”
At that same moment, Samantha looked across the street and their eyes locked momentarily before she turned back to her companion. Georgiana let out a sigh of despair. Suddenly, Samantha looked at her again and realization washed over her features. She immediately dismissed her companion and walked in earnest across the street. Georgiana timidly descended the steps and began walking toward her as well.
“Georgie . . . Georgie, is that you?” Samantha called out, and Georgiana smiled and nodded affirmatively. The rest of the distance between them was closed quickly as both young women ran and excitedly threw their arms about each other squealing and laughing in delight. “Georgie, I can’t believe it’s really you!”
“I’m home at last!” Georgiana exclaimed. “Look at you, Sammy. You’re beautiful!”
“Me? Look at you. I knew you’d grow up to be the picture of perfection.” Sammy leaned slightly away and observed her closely.
“Oh, Sammy, it’s been so long. Are you still angry with me?”
“Angry? I was never angry,” Samantha’s smile waned slightly. “Only hurt that you never wrote. What happened to you?”
“Never wrote? Why, of course I wrote you letters—dozens of them. After the first year, I stopped writing as much, but I still sent you letters on your birthday and at Christmas.” A puzzled look crossed Samantha’s face.
“I’ve never received any letters, not one. Your grandmother gave me your address, and I wrote to you too. When you never wrote back, I thought maybe you had made too many new sophisticated companions in New York and no longer needed a backward, small town friend like me,” she explained, a hurt and bewildered expression on her face.
“I don’t understand,” Georgiana said, looking as upset and dazed as Samantha. “What could have possibly happened to all those letters? Moreover, how could you think I could forget you so easily? We were sworn sisters, remember?”
“I remember,” Samantha answered softly. “But you moved so far away, and I could imagine all the wonderful things around you. I didn’t blame you, really. If I had moved to such a brilliant city, with all the fashionable ladies and dashing young men, well, I might have wanted to forget too. Besides, with your father dying like he did and your mother so lonely, you deserved it!”
“I never wanted it!” Georgiana declared, frustrated as buried feelings surfaced. “I begged to stay, and then I begged to be allowed to return.”
“I’m sorry,” Samantha apologized. “I should have kept writing.”
“No,” Georgiana said. “It wouldn’t have mattered. You did the right thing. You moved on.” She glanced at the woman on the boardwalk who was glaring impatiently in Samantha’s direction. Samantha seemed to understand what Georgiana was inferring.
“No, Georgie. I didn’t replace you. I can’t explain what happened—why I never received your letters or why you didn’t get mine. But I still always thought of you as my dearest friend.”
“Me too,” Georgiana affirmed. Both girls hugged again.
Suddenly Samantha’s face brightened. “Let’s not dwell on the letters right now. I want to know everything that has happened to you since we saw each other last.” She grabbed both of Georgiana’s hands affectionately in her own. “What have you been doin’ all these years? Do you just love living in the city?”
“Well, if I must confess the truth of it, I’d much rather be living here in a small town.”
Her friend gave her an incredulous look. “But all the parties and glamour, the museums and exhibits, surely they are exciting,” Samantha exclaimed, releasing Georgiana’s hands and clasping her own at her bosom, a dreamy look in her eyes.
“Yes, they’re exciting, to be sure, but . . .” Georgiana tried to think of how to explain to her friend how she felt. “I don’t know . . . it’s just . . . well, maybe it has more to do with living with my Aunt Cecelia. She has all the warmth and comfort of a frozen porcupine.” Both girls giggled.
Suddenly snatching up Georgiana’s left hand, Samantha made a quick observation. “Well, you’re not married, but do you have a beau? The men there must be ever so dashing and cavalier, not boorish and clumsy like boys out here. Is there someone special you are seeing?”
Georgiana blushed slightly as she thought of Dawson.
“There is someone,” Georgiana confessed. That was all she managed, but the small revelation still made Samantha squeal with delight and give her yet another hug.
“Is he handsome? I bet he’s just divine to look at. Oh, Georgie, I am so excited for you. What is his name?” While she and Samantha talked, they had slowly drifted over to the side of the street. Now they both stood in front of the mercantile, oblivious to everyone around them.
“Ah-hem.” Georgiana looked up when she heard a woman loudly clear her throat. “I’m awfully sorry to interrupt your little . . . well . . .” She didn’t finish whatever she was about to say, nor did she look to be very sorry. Instead, she wore a somewhat peaked expression that disturbed her otherwise flawless features. Her skin had the look of ivory, which was complemented by perfectly formed strawberry curls that hung in ringlets from under her hat. Before she spoke again, she sighed loudly as if about to scold a child she was tired of correcting. “Samantha, dear, we haven’t finished discussing our plans for the social. I have a twelve o’clock appointment at Miss Matilda’s salon, which I absolutely cannot reschedule. If I’d any idea I would be standing on the boardwalk frittering away my valuable time, I would not have agreed to a meeting today.”
Samantha instantly appeared to be flustered. This woman was obviously the domineering factor in their friendship, but Samantha quickly regained her composure.
“I’m sorry, Cordelia. Of course we may finish our discussion, but first let me introduce you to a dear friend of mine.” She grabbed Georgiana’s arm and pulled her a little closer. “This is Miss Georgiana McLaughlin, my bosom friend from long ago.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss McLaughlin.” The woman nodded and smiled politely as she said it, but again Georgiana got the impression her civil attitude was more forced than genuine.
“Georgie,” Samantha said, turning to her, “this is Miss Cordelia Jamison. We are planning the town social together for next month. It is going to be a glorious event. You can’t miss it,” Samantha coaxed. “Surely you’ll still be in town?”
Georgiana did not overlook the way Miss Jamison’s eyes had narrowed slightly when Samantha mentioned the social. She wondered if the woman shared any relationship with the previous bankers since they shared the same surname. Samantha began coaxing her again, and Georgiana turned her attention back to her friend. “Of course it will probably be nothing compared to what you’re used to,” Samantha
added apprehensively, “but, Georgie, I know you’ll have fun. Please say you’ll come.”
Georgiana smiled warmly at Samantha.
“Samantha, dear, don’t pester her so,” Miss Jamison piped in. “I am sure Miss McLaughlin will have returned to wherever it is she came from, long before the social. She is probably extremely anxious to get back to her home and her city friends.”
Miss Jamison had purposely emphasized the last two words. Samantha looked stricken. Georgiana had more than an inkling that she wasn’t going to befriend this Miss Cordelia Jamison, no matter how long her visit lasted. She ignored the woman’s last comment and gave all her attention to Samantha.
“Oh, Sammy, of course I’ll come. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Georgiana smiled at Samantha assuredly and added, more for Miss Jamison’s benefit than Samantha’s, “I’m actually on an extended visit until my grandfather can hire some more permanent help. The social will give me something to look forward to.”
Samantha threw her arms around Georgiana’s neck excitedly. As she did, Miss Jamison made no pretenses to hide her disgust this time. Pulling away, Samantha clasped both Georgiana’s hands again and squeezed them gently.
“We’ll get together soon so we can talk,” she said excitedly. Leaning forward, she whispered, “I want to hear all about this man of yours.”
“Samantha,” Miss Jamison began tapping her foot irritably on the ground, “we really must—”
“Yes, yes . . . I know.” Samantha winked at Georgie, giving her hands a final squeeze before releasing them. “I’ll see you soon.”
As Georgiana looked into her friend’s eyes, an overwhelming feeling came over her. It had been so many years since she’d felt so endeared to another girl her age. They had been apart for so long, but after sharing only a smattering of words and a few fond affections, she could already feel the time gap closing shut.
“Good-bye, Sammy,” Georgiana whispered, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. She was sorely disappointed to be ending their conversation so soon.
Samantha walked over to Cordelia, who quickly grabbed her arm and led her across the street toward the café.
Georgiana sighed and walked up the steps to the mercantile. Before she walked through the door, she glanced back just as the two women disappeared through the café’s entrance. Though still disappointed, she was content. Despite the long empty years between them, she and Samantha were still friends. It was more than she’d hoped for so soon. Thank you, she prayed silently before pushing through the mercantile door.
5. Bit o’ Blarney
Angus watched as Ridge took his hat off and got a drink of water from the pump. Walking over to the porch, the lad tossed his hat onto the steps and sat down next to it. It was an uncommonly hot day, and Angus couldn’t blame him for needing a break. However, Angus suspected that it wasn’t the heat getting to Ridge, but rather the vision of his granddaughter in that fancy dress. Angus chuckled. The look on the lad’s face when she’d come prancing in the kitchen all dolled up reminded him of the first time he’d seen his Shannon sporting her Sunday best. Bet Ridge was wishing he was the one driving his granddaughter to town instead of Jimmy. Not for his sake, of course, but for Jimmy’s. Angus chuckled again. Either way, both Jimmy and Ridge were sure to be impossible to live with now.
After a while, Angus walked over to Ridge and leaned against the porch railing. He removed his hat and laid it on the step next to Ridge’s. For a few minutes, both men remained silent. Shortly, Angus pulled a pocketknife out and began chipping away at some worn paint. “Been thinkin’ the house could do with a new coat of paint,” he observed.
“Might could,” Ridge answered, his mind obviously elsewhere.
“But I suppose it can wait ’til spring,” Angus added.
“Yep,” Ridge replied.
“Heard the old Clayton ranch might be goin’ up fer sale this next year,” Angus said offhandedly.
“Mm-hmm.”
“All three hundred and fifty acres, prime cattle land,” Angus bated Ridge. “Hear they be askin’ only twenty dollars for the whole of it,” he teased, hoping to get a reaction.
“That’s nice,” Ridge mumbled.
“Awk!”
“What?” Ridge looked up, noticing Angus for the first time.
“Lad, ye are a million miles away,” Angus accused as Ridge ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “ ’Tis me granddaughter again, ain’t it?”
By the look on his face, Ridge didn’t need to answer.
“Well, now, I canna be blamin’ ye for that. She sure did a bit o’ growin’ up since I’d last laid me eyes on her. And that dress she be wearin’ today.” Angus shook his head. “She’s a sure to be turnin’ heads in town.”
Angus saw Ridge tighten his fists, but the lad didn’t comment.
“Well then,” Angus said, putting his hat back on. “Best we be finishin’ up our work so I can fetch me shillelagh.”
“Your what?” Ridge asked, looking puzzled.
“Me stick, lad . . . me fightin’ stick,” Angus explained. “I’ll be needin’ it fer certain to be beatin’ off all them young fellas that’ll be comin’ around, now.”
“Don’t count on it with that temper of hers,” Ridge huffed, shoving his hat back on his head and stalking angrily to where the other men were still working in the heat.
Angus chuckled softly to himself as he watched Ridge storm off. The lad had it bad, far worse than Jimmy, even.
He was a good sort, Ridge Carson, and truly Angus wouldn’t mind having him steal the heart of his girl. He came from a good family too. Angus was sorely disappointed when Ridge’s father, William, had given up cattle ranching, sold his land, and moved back to Wisconsin to help his brother run a dairy farm. He thought Ridge would be leaving too.
Ridge was a cowboy though, through and through, and cattle ranching was in his blood. When Ridge had told him he was planning on staying behind, Angus had offered him a permanent position as his right-hand man. Ridge had accepted, and hiring the lad had turned out to be the best decision Angus had made in a long time. The lad had a true talent for the work. Not only was he cattle smart, but he also worked harder than any cowboy he had ever known. Angus remembered the day when the lad left a note on the doorstep for his Georgiana, sadly a little too late.
It was the day Charlotte left with his precious grandchildren to New York to live with her sister. They weren’t supposed to leave for two more days, but that morning Charlotte had received a telegram from Cecelia saying she had changed their tickets from the Friday noon train to the Thursday train leaving at five a.m. from the Castle Rock Station. There were no explanations as to why there was a change.
The earlier departing train meant they would have to ride to Castle Rock that night. He could see the stress on his daughter-in-law’s face as she read the telegram. Not only would they have to rush to finish packing, but she dreaded telling the children, especially her daughter. He knew she wouldn’t dispute her sister’s change of plans, even for the sake of the children. She no longer held any of the strength and conviction that had given her the courage to love Angus’s son so powerfully to forsake her family and follow him here.
He and Shannon worried about their grandchildren living in the same house as that vixen. Charlotte told them they were only going for a visit and would be back in a month. When he had looked in her eyes though, he knew they would not be returning.
Charlotte was still grieving terribly over the death of her husband. They all grieved sorely, but his daughter-in-law could not find even a measure of peace. At that time it had been almost a year since Michael’s passing, and, sadly, he knew that even his own manner of speech—because it so resembled his son’s—grieved her sorely.
Charlotte had found Michael that terrible day. What the girl had truly suffered he figured he would never really know. But he would remember that day well, for good or for ill.
There was a barn raising happening over at the Claytons�
�. Charlotte needed to check on their neighbor, Mrs. Thompson, who was expecting a wee one any day. Michael told the rest of the family to go on ahead. He’d stay behind and finish tending the horses until Charlotte returned. They would ride on over together later.
Angus, Shannon, and the grandchildren had gone on up to the Clayton’s, and Charlotte had headed over to the Thompsons’. When two hours had gone by and neither Michael nor Charlotte ever arrived, Angus started to worry and decided to ride home to see what was keeping them.
As soon as he drove the wagon up to the house, he knew something was wrong. The gate to the corral stood open, and the horses were out. Looking at the ground, he saw a trail of blood leading away from the gate. His heart beat savagely against his chest when he figured out what he would find at the end of the trail. There was just too much blood.
Setting the brake, he’d hopped down from the wagon and quickly followed the trail, which led him to the side of the house.
When he turned the corner, the scene before him immediately stopped him in his tracks. His son lay on the ground, his head in Charlotte’s lap. She had ripped a large piece of cloth from her petticoat and was repeatedly dipping it in the water barrel, trying frantically to wash the blood from his body. She’d looked up at him when she heard him approach. Her eyes were swollen and hollow, her pale face streaked with blood and tears.
He knew his son was dead. He could see by his wounds he had been trampled to death. How Charlotte had been able to drag him this far, he would never know.
“Father McLaughlin,” she’d pled with him as he came forward and stood next to her, “help . . . me . . . help me wash away the blood . . . the children . . . they must not see him like this. It will frighten them, and that would make him sad.”
The Kissing Tree Page 7
