He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and crossed to the fireplace to tend the fire. The odd thing was, Virginia’s leaving had created a closeness between him and Mrs. Fuller, a closeness he didn’t want. And it deepened day by day. He found comfort in the woman’s presence. There was something in her eyes and voice that soothed some of the stabbing pain he couldn’t overcome.
“Garret...”
He jolted from his thoughts, rose to find Blake crossing the lobby toward him. “What I can do for you, Blake?”
His friend shook his head, held out a letter. “I was sorting the mail and found this. I thought I’d bring it to you instead of putting it in the hotel’s mail for tomorrow. In case there’s some sort of emergency or something.”
His heart thudded. He took the letter in his hand, stared down at the name of the sender. Mrs. Garret Stevenson. His mouth went dry. He nodded, sucked in air. “Thank you, Blake.”
His friend nodded and strode back to the front door. “Your wife and Mrs. Fuller must have become good friends.” The door closed on Blake’s words.
Mrs. Fuller? He turned the letter over, read the direction. Mrs. Fuller, Stevenson Hotel, Whisper Creek, Wyoming Territory. The letter wasn’t for him. Virginia had written to Mrs. Fuller!
He clenched his jaw, tossed the letter onto a chair and paced from one end of the lobby to the other, every strike of his boot heels against the floor a declaration of disbelief and anger. Why had she written to Mrs. Fuller? Was there something wrong? Did she have a problem with her father or—
He let out a growl, snatched the letter from the chair and strode to the kitchen. “Blake brought this over for you.”
Mrs. Fuller glanced at him, dropped her gaze to his hand. “A letter? For me? Who—”
“Virginia.”
The older woman’s gaze jerked back to his face. He tried to hide his anger, but there was nothing he could do about the muscle twitching along his jawbone.
Mrs. Fuller set down the roller she was using, covered the flattened dough with a towel and wiped her hands on her apron.
He handed her the letter.
“Thank you.” She opened it, scanned the writing and looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “She wrote to thank me for teaching her the household skills she needed to learn to be a helpmate to you. And she asks me to please—” her voice broke “—to please take care of you. To remind you to eat breakfast when you have been working outside.”
Pressure built in his chest. “That’s foolishness. I’m a grown man perfectly able to take care of myself.” A shadow darkened Mrs. Fuller’s eyes. Sorrow? Regret? What else was in Virginia’s letter? He yanked his gaze from the older woman’s face and pivoted, grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee. The worry that had been gnawing at him since Virginia went home with her father pushed at him. He leaned against the worktable and took a swallow of the dark, rich brew. “Did Virginia mention her father? Are they getting on well?” If he hurt her...
“No. She only wrote about things here at the hotel.” Mrs. Fuller put the letter in her apron pocket, lifted the front stove plate aside and pulled a frying pan deep with grease over the hole. “I’m making molasses doughnuts for tomorrow’s breakfast. Would you like one with your coffee? These will be done in just a minute.”
That softness he’d noticed before had crept into her voice, but for whatever reason, he no longer resented it. He was getting to know Mrs. Fuller, and to like her—even if he was still wary. “If you will join me. We need to go over your menu plan for the coming week.”
She cleared her throat and nodded, then lifted a circle of dough, punched her thumb through the center to make a hole and slid it into the frying pan. The hot grease foamed up around it. She yanked her hand back and grabbed another circle.
He poured a second cup of coffee, set the pot back on the stove and placed the cup on the worktable. Tried to stop thinking of Virginia.
“Oh!”
He jerked around at the cry of pain. Mrs. Fuller’s sleeve was soaked with hot grease. He grabbed her hand. She tried to draw it away, but he held it tight and pulled her toward the sink. “We need to get that grease cooled!” He turned on the cold water, frigid from the waterfall, and tugged her forearm beneath the flow. The grease congealed on the fabric. He reached to fold back her sleeve. She tried to tug her arm away.
“No, please, you’ve done enough. I can m-manage...”
Her plea ended in a sob. He turned back her sleeve to examine the burn, stared at the uneven bump of bones where none should be, and at the birthmark just below them. His heart lurched, thudded.
What’s that, Mama?
It’s a bunny, Garry. See, here is his floppy ear. And here is his puffy tail.
He let go of her arm, stepped back and walked away, water dripping off his fingers.
“Garry, please! Let me explain...”
He pivoted, his fury clashing with the fear in her eyes. “How do you explain abandoning your child?” His voice was as cold as the water still pouring from the faucet.
“I didn’t abandon you. I had to leave. Silas—his drinking had become worse. And the beatings.” She took a ragged breath, wiped the tears from her face.
* * *
Mrs. Fuller was his mother!
His stomach clenched. His mind reeled. He stared at her while memories of empty, lonely years assailed him. She reached toward him. The flesh above her wrist was flaming red. He tamped down his shock and anger to do what must be done. “That burn needs to be taken care of.”
“I’ll put a vinegar poultice on it later. I need you to know—”
“I’ll listen. But first you need to tend that burn. What do you need?” He stared at her wrist, too unsettled to look at her.
“Vinegar. And a clean cloth to wrap around my wrist.”
Anger surged. She wouldn’t be able to wrap it herself. He’d have to do it. “Go on with your explanation.” He strode to the pantry, lifted the top of the box Dr. Warren had put together for him and pulled out a bandage roll. He grabbed the can of vinegar off the shelf and stalked to the worktable. She’d turned off the water, pushed the frying pan to the back of the stove and replaced the front plate. “You were saying?”
“Silas needed money for whiskey, so he decided he would—” She stopped, pressed her lips together and reached for the vinegar.
“You can’t wrap your arm yourself. Tell me what to do.”
“You don’t have to...”
He looked at her.
“Dab some vinegar on the burn, then wrap my wrist and sprinkle more vinegar on the part of the bandage over the burn.”
He splashed a little vinegar into a cup, stuck his finger in it and patted it on her arm. “Is that enough?”
Tears welled in her eyes. She nodded, looked away.
“Go on. Silas decided he would...”
“Sell my...services.”
He jerked, stared at her lined face, seeing traces of her beauty when she was young. He thought of his stepfather, clenched his hands.
“I refused, of course, told him I wouldn’t do it. He beat me. And when I still wouldn’t agree, he said if I didn’t do as he wanted, he would beat you. And then he left for town to make his arrangements. He said he would be back in three days. I was so desperate. I believed him.”
Tears flowed down her cheeks. Her eyes beseeched him to believe her. “I never meant to leave you, Garret. You were my life!”
His throat ached. The young boy in him wanted to trust her. She’d made him a birthday cake. It had been sitting on the table when he woke to find her gone. He fought down the memory, put the end of the bandage in place and began to wrap her wrist. “But you did leave me.” Eighteen years of bitterness were in his voice.
“Only because I knew you would be safe, and I would be able to move faster on my own. I’d heard of an elderly woman who live
d deep in the woods. So when you went to sleep, I left to try to find her, to beg her to give us a place to live in exchange for me working for her. I thought we could hide there until Silas would stop looking for us and we could get away.”
“Obviously, you never found this woman in the woods.” He tore the end of the bandage strip in two and tied it in place, fought for breath. He was holding his mother’s wrist... The band of pressure around his chest tightened.
“I never had the chance. Silas decided to wait for dawn to go to town. He came back, found me gone and came after me.”
There was remembered fear in her voice. He looked up from sprinkling vinegar on the bandage, saw the horror in her eyes. Words poured from her.
“He caught me at the top of a hill. We fought, and he threw me down the steep slope. He must have slipped when he did. I heard him cry out, and then he was tumbling after me, bouncing from rock to rock. That’s when I got this—” she lifted her twisted arm, then lowered it back down to rest on the worktable “—and a few other injuries. I hit my head on a rock, and I couldn’t stay awake.”
She took a breath, blew it out. “The old woman found us. Silas was dead. And I was battered and unconscious. She dragged me back to her house and tended to me as best she could. I was very weak, and I—I couldn’t see right for a few days. As soon as I was able to walk, I started for home. But by the time I got there, you were gone. I couldn’t find you.”
Her voice choked. Tears flowed down her cheeks again. “I’ve been praying and looking for you ever since. I finally decided to come West. And I—I saw your hotel sign. I knew the moment I saw you—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She took another breath, straightened her shoulders. “Because of the look in your eyes. I was afraid. That’s why I said my name was Mrs. Fuller.”
His mother. And he’d made her afraid of him. He stared at her, his head and heart aching. He finally knew the truth. A pain knifed through his chest. He’d wasted eighteen years hating a mother who loved him.
He looked at the letter peeking out of his mother’s apron pocket. Would he spend the rest of his life regretting letting Virginia go back to New York? It wasn’t because of her father that he’d encouraged her to go home. It was because he didn’t want to risk falling deeply in love with her.
He cleared the lump from his throat. “I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel...unwanted or afraid, Mother.” He tested the word, smiled. It felt good on his lips. And the warmth of her smile felt good in his heart. “We have a lot to talk about, and a lot of time to make up for.” He poured the cold coffee down the sink drain, smiled and picked up the coffeepot. “Shall we start over a hot cup of coffee and a molasses doughnut?”
* * *
“What do you mean, you’ve taken employment as a shopgirl!”
Virginia moved to the hearth, turned and held out her cold hands. “I am working mornings at Mrs. Lamb’s Dress Shop.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Her father put down his book and glared at her. “Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my friends, Virginia? Is that your goal?”
“No, Father. I’m trying to fill the empty hours of my days.”
“Then go shopping! Visit your friends.”
“I have more clothes than I need now. I’m not interested in shopping. And I don’t want to visit my friends. Most of them are...are married.”
“Then plan a party.” He waved his hand toward the window. “The weather will soon change. Hold a spring ball.”
“I don’t want to plan entertainment, Father. I want to feel...useful.” She walked to the front window of their parlor, watched the golden glow of the streetlamps drag across the carriage tops. Did Garret miss her? Was he sorry she had come back to New York?
“It is a ridiculous situation, Virginia.”
She turned back to face her father. “I beg your pardon?”
“This in-name-only marriage in which you are involved. It’s ludicrous.” Her father placed his book on the lamp table and came to stand beside her. “Do you really want to be legally tied to a man who does not care for you? And he doesn’t, or he would have fought to keep you from returning to New York.”
She stiffened, stung by the truth of his words.
“What if you meet a man who will care deeply for you? And you for him? How will you explain this foolishness to him? And what if it is the other way around? What if this man you are so fond of finds a woman he cares about, one who returns his affection? He is not free to woo her because of this absurd farce.” Her father shook his head and walked back to his chair. “The Bible says we are not to be a stumbling block to others, but that is exactly what you and Mr. Stevenson are to one another—stumbling blocks. Think about it, Virginia. And then do something about it and stop this moping about!” He opened his book and began to read again.
He was right. Her heart ached. She had no appetite. She spent her days and nights thinking of Garret and longing to be with him—to be truly married to him. And he didn’t care a fig about her. She wasn’t a necessary part of his life as long as he had others to do the work at his hotel.
Tears welled, but she refused to let them fall. She took deep breaths to control them, hurried into the entrance hall and climbed the stairs to her room. The soft silk of her long skirt rustled, its hem whispering upon the treads. Garret didn’t love her. It was time she faced the truth and removed herself from his life so he could move on. But he would always live in her heart.
She crossed to her dressing room and prepared for bed, mentally composing the letter she would write to him in the morning.
Chapter Seventeen
Virginia twisted her long curls into a loose coil at the crown of her head, secured them with her pearl hair combs and rose from her dressing table. She was ready for work. And she was out of excuses. She had put it off long enough. It was time to write the letter.
Her stomach churned. She ignored the discomfort and crossed to her writing desk, took out stationery and pen.
Dear Garret
No. That was too personal. She wadded up the paper and threw it in the basket beside the desk. She must give him no hint of her feelings for him. She took out another piece of stationery, and began again.
My friend Garret,
I hope this letter finds you well and the hotel prospering.
I am writing you because I have given much thought to our unique situation since leaving Whisper Creek. I have come to realize that I have become a “stumbling block” to your future. The journey West has become fashionable, and I am sure that one day soon a young woman traveling on the train will enter the hotel and draw your interest. When that happens, you will, of course, want to be free to woo her. It is for that reason I am sending the enclosed letter.
Tears welled into her eyes, clogged her throat. She jerked back so they wouldn’t fall and smear the ink, then rose and went to look out of the window until she could gain control. The clock hanging on the wall above her writing desk chimed the hour.
She dried her eyes, took a few deep breaths and hurried back to finish the letter. She wanted to post it on her way to Mrs. Lamb’s shop.
My days have been empty of purpose since my arrival in New York. To fill them I have taken employment as a shopgirl in a dress shop. Father is not pleased, but I find the pampered daughter life no longer suits me.
Please give my fond greetings to Mrs. Fuller.
With sincere best wishes, your friend,
Virginia
She took another piece of paper from her drawer and quickly wrote out the enclosure.
To whom it may concern:
This letter is to state that I, Virginia Louise Winterman Stevenson, do not in any way oppose the annulment of my marriage to Mr. Garret Stevenson.
Mrs. Garret Stevenson
The tears flowed. She wiped them away, folded the e
nclosure into the letter and put it in her reticule. It was done. Her ties to Garret and Whisper Creek were severed forever.
She ran from her room and down the stairs, put on her coat and hat, and hurried out the door.
* * *
Garret brushed his hair in place, buttoned his shirt and studied his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t look any different. But he felt different, lighter. The burden he’d carried for eighteen years was gone. If only Virginia were here to—
He frowned and closed off the thought. He’d spent most of the night thinking about his past and wondering about his future. Something deep inside him had changed since he and his mother had talked. It was as if something tangled and twisted had unraveled and set him free.
Mrs. Fuller was his mother. He still couldn’t get used to that. He had a lot of changes to make in his thinking. He trimmed his oil lamp and headed for the kitchen, grabbing his work coat on the way.
She was already at work. He frowned, tossed his coat over a chair back. “Smells good in here. But then it always does.”
His mother glanced at him and smiled. “Good morning.” She sliced a loaf of bread, cubed the slices and scooped half the pieces into a large baking pan.
“What’s that?”
She pulled a pan off the stove, stirred some spices into it, then spooned the mixture over the bread in the pan. “It will be an apple bread pudding when I’m through. Are you ready to have some breakfast? Or are you on your way outdoors?”
“Outdoors. But I want to talk to you first, before Liu Yang and Li Min come.” He poured a cup of coffee and watched her toss the rest of the cubed bread in the pan. “How is your wrist this morning?”
“It’s better.” She dotted the bread cubes with butter, poured a milk concoction over them and sprinkled them with cinnamon. “Thank you again for taking care of it.” Her voice thickened. “It—meant a lot to me.”
“Well, you won’t be burning yourself again. I’m going to the depot this morning to send telegrams posting a notice for a cook in the New York and Philadelphia newspapers.”
She straightened from placing the baking dish in the oven and looked at him. “You’re unhappy with my cooking?”
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