by Beth White
“I graduated first in my class,” Kidd said in answer to Levi’s apprehensive gaze. “I know what I’m talking about, ask anybody in town.”
“That will be difficult, since nobody else in town will talk to me.” Levi reached for his shirt and pulled it on over his head. “In light of that, perhaps you wouldn’t mind me asking you a few questions on a different subject.”
The doctor gave him a shrewd look. “I imagine you’re having a bit of difficulty blending in.”
“A bit.” Levi smiled as he continued to dress. “But you seem to be a man of letters as well as common sense. And the fact that you haven’t yet thrown me out tells me a lot about your sense of justice and compassion.”
“People don’t like me because I tell the truth.”
“You have no idea how comforting I find that.”
Kidd laughed and pulled a ladderback chair away from the kitchen table. He straddled it, facing Levi. “So what do you want to know?”
“How long have you lived here?”
“All my life, except for the five years I spent in medical college.”
Levi nodded. “Then you’re familiar with the Daughtry family?”
The doctor’s eyebrows went up. “Yes, Selah is the eldest sister, and the best brain of the lot. When her father left for the war, she and her mother ran their plantation until debt brought it falling down around their ears.”
“Ithaca.”
“So you’ve heard of it?”
“I hear there’s potential for a partnership between the Daughtrys and the Mobile and Ohio Railroad.”
Kidd gave him a sour smile. “When hell freezes over.”
“Most of the town would appear to agree with that assessment.”
“We’re rather proud of our landed royalty around here. Ithaca is a landmark of somewhat mythical status, if you’ll pardon the pun.”
“Would the citizens of Tupelo prefer their mythical landmark to crumble into ruins? To give her credit, Miss Daughtry has agreed to at least think about it.”
The doctor went still. “Has she? I take it you are involved in the negotiations.”
“I am. Doctor, please divorce your emotions from the issue. Renovating Ithaca would provide work—steady, paying work—for a crew of at least fifteen men. Plus, if Selah agrees to the terms and stays to manage the hotel, it would provide an income for the foreseeable future for her, her sisters, and her cousin—not to mention whatever house- and groundskeeping employees they hire.”
“And you want these ladies to work—for wages—at the home from which they were evicted? So that strangers can come and sleep in their former bedrooms and eat at their dining table? That seems outré, even coming from a Yank.”
Levi partially agreed. But he also had an investigation to pursue. “The ladies are on the point of eviction by their creditors. Which scenario would be worse?”
“What is your interest in these negotiations, Riggins?”
“As a friend to Selah—she entrusted me with her difficulty, and I offered to find a solution. When I found out about the Beaumonts’ interest in the property, I saw the opportunity to bring them together for mutual benefit.”
“Do you know the Beaumonts?” Kidd’s expression was skeptical.
“I’ve had several conversations with young Schuyler. In spite of appearances, he seems a shrewd businessman.”
“As is his father. His brother was one of the most skillful sea captains in the Confederate navy. But I wouldn’t say that any of them are particularly committed to ethics when it comes to gaining an edge on an opponent.”
“I don’t disagree.” Levi shrugged. “Which is why I sought your input before I use undue influence with Selah in such a partnership. She wants to stay at Ithaca, Beaumont is offering an infusion of cash to bring the property back to capacity. As long as all parties are satisfied, I don’t see it as a bad deal.”
“I repeat—what do you stand to gain? I won’t let the Daughtry ladies be taken advantage of.”
Levi considered his words. “I met Selah quite by chance during the accident outside Oxford last week. I was impressed by her courage, determination, and intellect in spite of her clear vulnerability to difficult circumstances. Since I find myself with business ties to the community for the next several months, I have taken it upon myself to ensure that she is properly settled. Beyond that, Dr. Kidd, I’m afraid I cannot say more until we are better acquainted.”
The doctor’s expression remained acerbic. “Well then, we agree to watch one another on behalf of the Daughtry ladies. I hope you’ll understand if I take the side of caution in whatever advice they ask of me.”
“Certainly. As I said, Selah has agreed to think about it.” Levi slid off the table. “If you’re not going to rid me of my bullet, Dr. Kidd, I believe I’ll see if I can find someplace that serves a decent meal.” He shook the doctor’s hand. “I bid you good day.”
The Gum Pond Hotel had been from its founding before the war quite a bustling establishment that, during the day, catered to customers breaking their rail journeys for lunch or libations. It also provided a livery stable for local transportation and, in the late evenings, card games in back-room gambling parlors for the more unsavory element. Though she had only been inside it a handful of times, Selah observed dinnertime at the Gum Pond to be a time of transition, with businessmen entertaining customers, families sharing a meal before retiring to their rooms, and here and there a single gentleman wining and dining a lady.
Since she and Joelle happened to be none of those, the two of them hovered awkwardly at the front desk, waiting for the clerk to finish with another customer. ThomasAnne, violently opposed to their errand but unable to dissuade Selah from her intent, had accompanied Wyatt to the Emporium, where he planned to sell a couple of pelts he’d trapped and cured, in an effort to contribute to his bed and board with the Daughtrys.
Joelle was the one who had precipitated this expedition. For two days Selah had put it off, stewing in the throes of indecision, until Joelle, exasperated, took matters into her own hands. She apprised ThomasAnne, who promptly threw a hissy fit, catapulting Selah off the fence, so to speak.
And here they were.
“There he is.” Joelle gabbed Selah by the arm.
Selah followed her sister’s gaze into the dining room. There she found Levi Riggins occupying a corner table, writing in the same journal he’d had on the train, while consuming a solitary meal.
“It is,” Selah whispered. “But how did you know that?”
“He looks exactly the sort of man who would cause my eminently practical older sister to lose her mind.”
“What does that mean?”
Joelle laughed and hauled Selah toward Riggins’s table.
As they approached, he looked up, did a double-take, and lurched to his feet. “Selah! Miss Daughtry! Wh-what are you d-doing here?”
Somehow, that slight stammer gave Selah courage. “I came to give you an answer to your proposal.”
“Did you?” His gaze flickered to Joelle without undue interest, then returned to Selah. “Did you send me a message? I didn’t receive one.”
“I did not, because I expected you to contact me first.”
“Did you?” he repeated, clearly off-balance. “I’m sorry—that is, would you ladies join me?” He looked wildly around for a waiter. In the process of settling chairs and seating Selah and Joelle, he regained his composure and smiled at Joelle. “You are the second Miss Daughtry, I presume. I’m Levi Riggins.”
Joelle gave him an uncharacteristically incisive look. “So I see.”
Levi seemed not to know what to make of that cryptic response. He looked at Selah. “Please, let me buy you dinner.”
“No, thank you, we are only here to talk.” When Joelle huffed and elbowed her, Selah relented. “Well, perhaps a cup of coffee.”
The waiter returned with refreshments—to which Levi had added a plate of sugar cookies—and once more departed.
“Now,
Mr. Riggins,” Joelle said, sitting back with her coffee cup cradled in her palms, “I wish you to convince my sister of the wisdom of partnering our home and our family with the business interests of a young man who has, to this point in time, demonstrated not one scintilla of success in managing either hotels or railroads, other than his position as the scion of a man who has gained a monopoly in a rapacious industry designed to force out every private home in its path.” She flirted her extravagant eyelashes in wholly unconscious appeal.
At least Selah was fairly sure it was unconscious.
But Riggins frowned. “If you’re hoping to throw me off with that mouthful of jawbreakers, Miss Daughtry, you’re fair and far off. And it is not my place to advise you or your sister in any business venture. I credit the both of you with enough sense to know when you’re given a fair offer. Did you even look at the details of the contract I gave your sister?”
“I did, and if it involved anyone other than Schuyler Beaumont, I’d be inclined to jump on it.”
“Any business venture involves some level of risk,” Levi said levelly. “But to reassure you, the bank in Oxford—which Miss Selah had already approached on her own behalf—will be your main creditor, not Beaumont. His family’s interests are merely securing the loan. Furthermore, I will personally remain on site to keep an eye on developments for some time.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Riggins,” Joelle said, “if I remind you that I don’t know you at all.”
“And you should know that there is at least one man capable of appreciating a razor-edged brain behind a beautiful face.” Humor and challenge glinted in his hazel eyes. “Though I suspect Schuyler Beaumont may find himself set back on his heels before he knows what hit him.”
He was, Selah thought, entirely too charming for his own good. And for hers as well, apparently. “Spring is upon us,” she said, entering the conversation at last. “If we’re going to have a garden, we’d best be planting soon. And we’ll need cows and pigs too, if we’re going to feed ourselves and a crew of workers. The only livestock on the property are a mule, a handful of chickens, and a muster of utterly useless peacocks!”
She found the full effect of that crooked smile turned on her. “Muster?” he said. “That’s an army term with which I’m quite familiar, and ‘useless peacocks’ would describe a large number of officers to whom I’ve had the misfortune to report.” He sobered, though his eyes still twinkled. “Does this mean you’re ready to sign the contract?”
“Not so fast! The dairy and garden are only the beginning of our needs.” She reached into her reticule and withdrew both the list he’d left her and a second one she’d been working on with Joelle. “Running a plantation—even in the guise of a public house—is a deal more complicated and costly than Mr. Beaumont seems to understand.”
To her surprise, he glanced over the list and nodded in approval. “Which is exactly why we need your expertise. The investors are willing to put in the funds necessary to bring the plantation back into production. Industry begets revenue, which in turn promotes reinvestment. If we are patient and diligent, everyone involved will benefit.” He leaned toward her. “Miss Selah, you strike me as an eminently patient and diligent young woman, if a bit on the overcautious side. I think we shall deal together quite well.”
She couldn’t decide if she should be flattered or insulted. “How you can possibly call me overcautious, when I allowed you to drop me out of a train window forty feet from the ground on a rope harness—”
“Selah!” Joelle gasped. “You didn’t tell me the danger was that great!”
Selah jerked her gaze from Levi’s mischievous grin and shot her sister a guilty look. “It must have slipped my mind.” She stared at Levi again. “I would like it in writing that my sisters and I, along with my cousin and servants, will receive room and board for the next six months, plus fifty dollars a week to be deposited to our account at the bank. The railroad and the bank—or Beaumont, if he is truly funding this mad venture—will agree to absorb all expenses related to the renovation and upkeep of the house and the property, the accounts of which I will maintain under your weekly audit. As manager, I will consult with you, but I reserve the right to have final say in all decisions regarding the staffing and daily running of the house.”
“Hotel.”
She flattened her lips. He was going to make her say it. “Hotel.”
“Done.” He extended his hand.
She stared at it. It was well-shaped, an artist’s hand, the nails neatly trimmed, with a fine carnelian agate ring on the smallest finger. But that same finger was bent midway at an odd angle, and myriad scars marred the back of his hand. What a contradiction this man seemed to be. Heroic saving angel, hard-nosed businessman, charming flirt. What was she to make of him? And what sort of noose would she be entering into, along with everyone under her wing?
On the other hand, what if God had sent Levi Riggins in the nick of time, to keep her from splintering her family—just as he’d been put there to fetch her out of that train wreck?
Taking his hand, she closed her eyes and prayed. God, please don’t let me regret this.
His fingers—warm, firm and callused—closed around hers. For the first time in quite a long time, she felt utterly safe. And wildly abandoned, exactly as she had while swinging in his arms over Buckner’s Ravine. She made herself open her eyes and look into his. “I’ll expect you at Ithaca first thing in the morning for an initial inspection.”
He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I promise you won’t regret it.”
Twelve
AS LEVI ENTERED THE ROTUNDA with Selah, every detail of April 20, 1863, flayed his brain—the rush of fury as he shouted for the men to come to order, the pop-shatter of breaking glass, the crunch of broken furniture, his pulse pounding in his ears as thuds and muffled shrieks came from a back bedroom. During the ride over this morning, he’d tried to prepare himself, rehearsing the fact that he’d stopped it and made what reparations he could. But the iron-red stain of shame marred not just his career and reputation as an officer but his spirit—a shadow that maybe God could forgive, but he himself could not.
He blinked. What was wrong with him that he would voluntarily summon this nightmare? Thank God Selah could not see into his mind.
Pushing away the memory, he reached out to trace the gold lyre melted into one of the red stained-glass windows set on either side of the door. Dust motes swirled about him in the light pouring from the windows of the domed cupola three stories overhead. He turned, head tipped back for that breathtaking view of stairs spiraling upward, tier after tier. A few splintered spindles would have to be replaced, but the crystal prisms of the chandelier, dangling all the way down to the bottom of the second floor, seemed to be miraculously intact.
“Are those gas fixtures?” He pointed to the ornate brass candle brackets on the walls of the staircase.
“Yes.” Selah followed his gaze, her tone stoic. “It was a rare extravagance in those days, but my father was so proud of this place and insisted on only the best materials. The ornamentations on the stairs are hand-carved, and the furniture is almost all imported.”
He thought of his own simple, working-class upbringing, but couldn’t bring himself to be critical in the face of her grief. “How long has it been since you moved out of the house?”
“Several years now.” She hesitated. “Right after my mother died, in fact. We went to live with our grandmother in Memphis until the war ended. We couldn’t have stayed here anyway. There were broken windows, a leaky roof, and other things Jo and I just couldn’t afford to fix.”
“What happened to create such damage?” He braced himself.
She looked at him as if weighing whether he merited the trust of an honest answer. “Union soldiers were here three different times during the war.”
She didn’t ask whether he’d been with them, and he didn’t volunteer. The question hung between them.
“Other homes in our area were burnt to the gr
ound, but ours was left,” she finally said, as if absolving him somehow. “I still don’t know why, but I’m grateful.”
He could have told her why. “A lot of things didn’t make sense to me either. I’m glad the outcome was that we are both still Americans. We have a chance to rebuild.”
Slowly she nodded. “I suppose so. I want to show you the dining room. It was my mother’s favorite place—she loved to entertain.” Selah led him through a doorway to the left.
He stopped and stared at the portrait hanging on the wall facing him—not one of the ubiquitous paintings where the artist had simply painted heads onto pre-formed bodies, but a quality oil painting full of light and clear color, the brushstrokes delicate yet somehow assured. Whoever the artist was, he had captured three beautiful little girls, all in white dresses, clustered about a lovely red-haired woman in a yellow dress. The broken woman he’d moved upstairs all those years ago. The sight of her, young and beautiful in her prime, made his throat close.
The girls all possessed varying shades of their mother’s red hair—one dark mahogany, one copper-brown, and one glittery red-gold like the last streak of sunset. He recognized Selah right off—the dark one seated just a little apart from the others, as if determined to support her own posture, self-sufficient to the core. Perhaps eleven years old, intelligence and humor in the eyes and mouth, eyebrows straight and cleanly marked, the hair pulled into a fierce chignon much too mature for the thin, preadolescent body.
The golden girl in the middle, next to her mother, was obviously Joelle.
“Tell me about your sister Aurora. You said she’s been with your grandmother?”
She smiled, and he wondered if his reaction to the picture was that obvious. “Yes, in Memphis. She’s been there since shortly after my father left for the war—she was only ten, and Grandmama insisted it was too dangerous here for a child.” A pensive look crossed her face for a moment and then she sighed. “More than eight years ago. How can that much time have passed? She’s a young lady now.”
