by DiAnn Mills
“Jenny, wait, please.”
The irritating voice of Aubrey Turner splattered on Grant like walking under a tree full of blackbirds.
She turned to face him but didn’t release Rebecca’s hand.
“Did you forget?” Turner said.
Confusion passed over her face. “Forget what?”
“Our stroll through town.” He smiled at Grant and patted Rebecca on the head, right atop her perfectly tied hair ribbon.
“We had nothing arranged.”
He laughed lightly. “You are so much like Jessica. She had problems remembering our special times, too.”
It didn’t matter that Jenny had chosen him and Rebecca over Turner. Grant simply wanted to be free of both of them.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your plans,” Grant said. “We can do this another time.”
“Absolutely not.” Jenny’s eyes blazed, and crimson rose from the neck of her high-collared white blouse. “Mr. Turner, we did not have anything arranged, and I do not appreciate the claims that we did.” She met Grant’s gaze. “Shall we continue?”
“Then will you join me for the evening meal?” Turner said. “I am determined to have you accept my marriage proposal.” He nodded at Grant. “We could provide a fine home for Jessica’s daughter.”
Grant fought the urge to lay a fist alongside Turner’s face and toss him into a pile of horse manure. “You, sir, will never be a part of my daughter’s life.” He swallowed hard and took in the man’s tan suit, white gloves, and ruffled shirt. He belonged back East or, better yet, on a leaky riverboat.
“I see you aren’t in agreement with Jenny’s plans.” He turned to Jenny. “Dinner at seven?”
“No, thank you,” Jenny said and walked to the door.
“You do not have to alter your plans for us,” Grant said once they were outside.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “We had no such arrangement. I loathe the man, but he insists upon making these outlandish statements and humiliating me.”
Turner’s lying about his dealings with Jenny stamped upon Grant’s mind. “Why does he do this?”
“I don’t know, but I’m beginning to feel frightened.” She shook her head. “It’s as though he’s trying to convince me that I’ve lost my senses.”
Maybe she was telling the truth. “Allow me to contact the sheriff and my brother on your behalf.”
“I don’t think it’s necessary. I believe he’s harmless, just persistent.”
“Someone who is harmless doesn’t follow a woman across the country.”
“I can handle Mr. Turner. I know exactly what to do.”
Can you? From the lines etched on her brow, he wondered if she spoke too rashly. Kahlerville had been birthed in the wilds with desperate men riding into town at whim. Grant’s precious daughter and a bit of a woman were no match for a potentially dangerous man.
Chapter 11
Promptly at one o’clock on Thursday afternoon, Jenny walked down the wide oak stairs of the boardinghouse to wait for Ellen. At last she was going to talk to the person who knew Jessica best. The excitement had kept Jenny awake the night before and watching the clock since sunrise. So many questions juggled in her mind. Some were delicate and could very well insult Ellen. Jenny refused to pry into life at the brothel. Jessica’s reasons for selling her body had to lie buried with her.
How could Jenny find the answers to her questions in fifteen minutes, the proper calling time for ladies? She sighed. Kahlerville didn’t adhere to society’s etiquette as rigidly as Cleveland. She’d allow Ellen to lead the length of their meeting.
No sooner had Jenny walked past the registration desk than she saw Ellen already seated in the parlor. The woman smiled timidly from a deep red overstuffed chair. Odd, she looked more like a girl than a woman who—well, lived like Jessica. But Jessica had the face of an angel and a smile that would have parted the sea—one of Grandma Martin’s favorite sayings about her granddaughters.
Ellen stood to greet Jenny and extended a gloved hand. “You look so much like Jessica. Thank you for wanting to talk to me about her. I hope I can help you.”
“I’m glad you came.” Jenny sensed her emotions rising to the top of her throat. She swallowed a lump and hoped she didn’t lose her composure.
“I’m a little nervous,” Ellen said.
“So am I. Shall we sit down? Or would you rather talk over a cup of coffee or tea?”
Ellen moistened her lips. “Tea would be nice. Jessica and I used to drink tea together.”
After being seated and placing their order with Mrs. Snyder, Jenny contemplated how to initiate the conversation. She’d written a few questions but left them in her room. As much as she wanted to know about Jessica’s life in Kahlerville, not knowing the truth almost seemed the wiser choice.
“Where would you like to begin?” Ellen said.
Jenny considered the ever-mounting concerns about Jessica’s life. “How long did you know my sister?”
“I’d been working at Martha’s about six months before she came.” Ellen removed her gloves and fidgeted with a pearl button on one of them. “We became friends right away. The other girls tended to be loud, cursed, fought among themselves, and drank too much. Jessica and I thought we were better than that.” She shrugged. “How very sad when we all did the same work.”
Jenny rested her hands in her lap with her back perfectly arched. She couldn’t imagine a life so sordid. How could Jessica resort to such low means? “You don’t have to tell me uncomfortable things.”
Ellen smiled. “My friendship with your sister was while working at Martha’s. There is no other way to explain our relationship. I understand none of this is easy for a lady of your standing.”
“I’m afraid my questions will sound as if I’m judging you.”
Ellen leaned across the small table. Her hazel eyes radiated something Jenny didn’t recognize, but she’d seen the same earnestness in Mimi, Grant, and his family.
“I know what I was,” Ellen said. “But God has forgiven me and wiped free my past. Ask what you need to settle your mind about Jessica.”
Jenny took a deep breath. This frail-looking, tiny young woman was the picture of innocence and beauty. How did religion accomplish that? Father insisted any obsession with deity was a foolish myth. Mother agreed with him, but Grandma Martin had talked about God even when Father forbade it. She said Jessica and Jenny needed to know about the Creator of the universe. Then she died when the sisters were barely in their teens.
“Jenny, are you all right?” Ellen said.
Immediately she snapped back to the present. “I’m sorry. My mind wandered for a moment. One of my questions is about Rebecca’s father. Do you know who he is?”
“No. She told me she had no idea, and I believed her.”
Jenny took another deep breath. “Did my sister ever talk about home?”
“Sometimes. She must not have had a good relationship with your parents, because she was bitter. But she often spoke of you.”
“What did she say? We weren’t close as we should have been.”
Mrs. Snyder set two cups of tea in front of them, and Ellen waited until the woman left the dining room. “Jessica said she had a younger sister named Jenny who was kind and good. She also said your parents treated you unfairly. Actually she said your parents were demanding when it came to you.”
Jenny blinked back the tears welling in her eyes. “I thought she despised me. And I never thought she noticed how Mother and Father dealt with me.”
Why can’t you equal the academic achievements of your sister? Are you stupid? Jenny shook away the memories.
“Jessica missed you, and she regretted not being with you.”
“I never knew.”
“She hid her feelings about many things.”
Jenny couldn’t stop the flow of tears. She reached inside her reticule for a handkerchief and felt the steel barrel of the handgun. A thought shook her senses. Had Jessica ever b
een afraid? Had she died alone and frightened without anyone to love her?
“Maybe we should talk again. This is much too upsetting for you,” Ellen said.
“I feel like my sister was a stranger. I wish our lives had been different.”
“We all have regrets, Jenny. Not a day goes by that I am not bothered by something from the past. Yet I am so blessed to have Frank.”
Jenny glanced up. “That’s right. You’re getting married. When is the wedding?”
“A week from tomorrow. Would you like to come? It will be at Piney Woods Church.”
“Yes, I would. Thank you very much. Perhaps we can meet after life slows down for you.”
“I will look forward to it.” Ellen lifted the tea cup to her lips. “This brings back good memories with Jessica. I haven’t had a cup of tea since she died.”
“Then we will do this again. May I walk with you to your home?”
“Sounds like a wonderful idea.”
The two made their way to the boardwalk and into the unbearable heat.
“I wonder if I will ever become accustomed to the sweltering temperatures,” Jenny said.
Ellen laughed. “It gets worse in midsummer and on into August and September.”
“I hope I will be home by then.”
“How long do you intend to stay?”
Jenny deliberated her reply. “I’m not sure. I’m concerned about Rebecca.”
“You shouldn’t be. Doc Andrews is a fine Christian man. He adores her.”
“I want to be sure.” From the corner of Jenny’s eye, she saw Aubrey Turner walking their way from across the street. “Oh, no.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Aubrey Turner. He’s heading our way. The man claims to have been engaged to Jessica.”
“The best way to ignore a man is to keep moving.”
No matter how much Jenny willed the man away, he walked their way at a fast clip.
“Excuse me. Jenny, may I have a word with you?” he said in that disdainful, over polite manner.
“Keep walking,” Ellen whispered.
“And you, too, Miss Smythe. I’d like a moment of your time.”
Jenny stopped, realizing the insufferable man would not leave them alone. “How can we help you?” she said.
“I’m searching desperately for more information about Jessica.” He removed his hat and smiled at Ellen. “I understand you were her closest friend. Excuse me. My name is Aubrey Turner, and I was engaged to Jessica before she left Ohio.”
“I know nothing about that,” Ellen said. “And I don’t recall her mentioning you.”
Sadness passed over his handsome features. “Could we meet and talk about Jessica?”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Turner. In another week I will be married, which makes your request inappropriate.”
He lifted a brow. “I’m sure your fiancé would not mind.”
“But I would. Good day, Mr. Turner.” She nodded and proceeded down the street with Jenny beside her.
“You handled him quite nicely,” Jenny said.
“If Jessica had ever mentioned him, I would have been polite. As it is, I think his fancy clothes and mannerisms hide something else.”
“You saw all of that in our brief conversation?” Jenny said.
Ellen shook her head. “When you work in a brothel, you learn to see people for who they really are.”
“Should I be afraid?” Jenny had inwardly answered this question the day she bought the weapon.
“I’m not sure. Just be wary.”
*****
Grant wiped the sweat from his face onto his shirt sleeve and blinked back the stinging in his eyes. His back ached, and every muscle in his body screamed in protest. But he loved hard work. He grabbed the calf’s tail, flipped the animal over, and held its front legs to the ground. Morgan slipped the rope off the calf’s back legs and pushed the back legs down so one of the hands could lay a hot iron with the Double H brand across the calf’s rear.
“Done.” Morgan moved back on his heels to free the calf.
Grant did the same and watched while a rider herded the wailing calf back to its bellowing mama in the pasture. Before the two men could take a moment’s rest, another hand rode into a small penned area designated for unbranded calves and lassoed a calf around its back legs.
“Are you in a hurry, Jesse?” Grant grinned.
“I’m taking my time,” Jesse said. “I think city life is making you a weak man.”
Grant grabbed the calf. “I’m as strong as I ever was. That’s why I have to head out here to show you fellas how it’s done.”
“We feel sorry for you and let you help,” Morgan said, grabbing the calf and wrestling it to the ground.
Jesse laughed. “Yeah, afterwards we have to pick up the slack.”
“Oh yeah? I’ll remember all this fine talk the next time you or Morgan play twenty-year-olds and try to break horses.”
“He got us there,” Jesse said.
“Right. Casey had to hold you both down while I set your arms.” He released the calf he was holding. “So big brother and Mr. Ride ‘Em Cowboy, you have me to thank that you two are able to help the rest of us today.”
Morgan punched him with the arm that Grant had set. It felt good, real good to work the ranch.
Later on, Grant and Morgan took a water break and gazed out over the fence at a couple of mares.
“Did you talk to Ben yesterday?” Morgan said.
“No. I thought he might be here today.”
“He had a shooting to take care of from Thursday night.”
Grant startled. “He didn’t come after me to patch up anybody.”
“That’s because the man got shot in a card game and didn’t make it.”
A mare trotted to them and nestled her nose against Morgan’s palm.
“Who was it?”
“Ivan Howe. Turner shot him dead in the heart.”
Howe, a rancher, was known for his hot temper and weakness for liquor. “What happened? I overheard Lester planning a card game with Turner.”
“Howe accused him of cheating and drew a gun on him. Turner was faster.”
Self-defense. Grant shook his head. “Howe has about a half dozen kids and a poorly wife. Hate to see that.” He hesitated. “Turner is trouble, Morgan. I can smell it.”
*****
The rain began in the wee hours of Sunday morning. Jenny stirred slightly during the brief prelude of crackling thunder and flashes of light, but the sound of summer rain drumming against the roof gently ushered her back into a dream world.
Deep in another time, two small girls shared a tea party on the front porch of their home, where a steady shower stopped them from carrying their festivities onto the lawn. Jessica properly poured the tea, and Jenny’s Miss Suzanne, a blond, fragile beauty, politely asked for sugar and cream. Jenny smiled in her sleep. Now she could fill the cup for Jessica’s doll, Miss Eloise—but the dainty china pot was empty.
Jessica began to cry. As the tears spilled down over her cheeks, flooding the tiny cup and lace-covered table, Jessica snatched up Miss Eloise and dashed out into the rain and disappeared into a misty haze. She ran so far that Jenny could no longer see her. Jenny called for her sister repeatedly, but she refused to answer. The unrelenting downpour left Jenny alone, frightened, and unable to move. She could only whisper Jessica’s name.
A crash of thunder shook the room and startled Jenny upright. Groggy from sleep and shivering from the dream’s intensity, she glanced about the dark room and attempted to establish some semblance of reality.
I guess I miss her more than I thought possible. Jenny wiped the dampness from her cheeks. I wish I’d tried harder to understand her instead of being so jealous. It wasn’t her fault that she was Mother and Father’s favorite. I never tried to listen when she wanted to talk—not even when she wept. How heartless of me.
Consumed with guilt, Jenny listened to the hypnotic sounds outside her window. Believin
g the steady rainfall would lull her back to sleep, she snuggled into her pillow, but rest eluded her.
Aubrey Turner’s statement about Jessica requiring an afternoon nap still puzzled her. Her sister had never slept in the middle of the day, and she required only a few hours at night. Many a time Jenny had been shaken from her slumber by an impulsive sister who wanted a playmate and, as the years went by, a companion for her escapades. Sometimes she would go for three or four days without an hour’s repose.
Jenny shook her head. Some memories were simply too painful. Merely recalling the high-pitched, almost insane exhilaration of her sister during those times brought back a flood of painful recollections that she’d rather forget: Father screaming for Jessica to stay in her room, Mother attempting to settle her oldest daughter, and Jenny hiding somewhere in the house until it all stopped.
Why had their firstborn been their favorite? Had it really been because she did better in school than Jessica? Jenny opened her eyes. What if Rebecca had difficulty in school?
Why had Aubrey Turner waited all this time to find Jessica? Had he been watching Jenny for more than four years in Cleveland? She shuddered. Her fears of him grew each time he approached her. Ellen was right. His intolerable mannerisms and his fabrication about Jessica’s sleep patterns must cover something. Dare she talk to Grant about Turner? The idea of appearing like a helpless female shadowed her first inclination. If Grant had any thoughts of allowing her to have Rebecca, this could stop him.
She forced the thoughts from her mind. Grant and Rebecca would be there early to escort her to church, and she needed the rest. A vision of her brown-eyed niece soothed her like a warm, crackling fire on a chilly night. Oh, how she longed for the day when sweet Rebecca would be hers.
Just as she drifted off to sleep, a question from seemingly nowhere floated across her mind. How could she subject a child to her parents’ views and criticisms? Would they truly treat Jessica’s daughter with love and kindness? Or would history repeat itself?
Chapter 12
As dawn broke the night’s darkness at Morgan and Casey’s ranch, Grant woke to rumbling thunder and jagged bolts of lightning. Storm clouds rolled and tossed aside any notion of a beautiful day, and he knew few slept in the turmoil. The fury gave way to a summer downpour, pounding the dry earth like a stampede of wild horses. Shortly before sunrise it ended, but persistent leaden clouds threatened to repeat their earlier performance and showered a stream of doubt upon Sunday church attendance in Kahlerville. Although Morgan owned a fashionable surrey, one that could shelter them from the weather, Grant wasn’t so sure riding into town with blowing rain and an angry sky made sense.
