The Education of Madeline

by Beth Williamson

  She settled into her desk and glanced at the top of it, noticing things were just a bit different. The inkwell was on the left side, which wasn’t possible, because she was right-handed. Someone was definitely rifling through her things. That just fueled her anger all the more. Time to fight.

  The day passed with monotony abounding. There were the usual number of customers in the bank. At lunchtime, she went to Clara’s restaurant and had ham and potatoes alone. No one spoke to her, but she did get quite a few pointed stares.

  After eating, she went back to the bank and finished the afternoon, trying to ignore the people who were ignoring her.

  “Mr. Cleeson?”

  His squirrelly head popped up, and he scurried over to her desk.

  “Yes, Miss Brewster?”

  “What happened to yesterday’s ledger entries? I know I wrote in several that seem to be missing.”

  Mr. Cleeson peered at the book and looked confused and then scratched his head. Madeline had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. He looked like a fool at a sideshow.

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Miss Brewster. Why, I tallied those amounts myself against the deposit and withdrawal slips.”

  Madeline nodded. “Yes, I suppose you did. I swear I remember something different, though. I must be mistaken.”

  Mr. Cleeson nodded his head, greasy blond hair flopping with the movement. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thank you. That will be all.”

  He slithered back to his desk and stuck his nose back into the papers spread around him. Madeline took the deposit and withdrawal slips and wrote them in the ledger herself. Then made a copy of the ledger page and slipped it into her reticule.

  There was money missing. The question was where was it going? She knew someone was going to pin the blame on her. No one was going to accuse her of stealing from her own bank while she had breath left in her body. No one.

  Teague was at the back of the lot, at least five acres from the house, fixing the back fence when Judge Martin popped up in front of him. He nearly dropped the posthole digger on his foot. As it was, he knocked himself in the shin hard.

  “What the hell are you doing? Trying to take a year off my life?”

  The judge rubbed his belly with one pudgy hand. “Now, that’s funny, boy, considering you was up on a horse three weeks ago fixing to lose all your lives.”

  Teague tightened his jaw. “What do you want?”

  “I heard from Jackson that Miss Brewster has got a horde of goods in her house. Is that so?”

  Teague nodded. “That’s what I told him.”

  The judge leaned forward, and his watery eyes held nothing but malice.

  “You’d best not be lying, or hanging will be the best thing to happen to you.”

  Teague straightened up and leaned toward the shorter man, angry and fed up with all this shit.

  “Don’t threaten me. I don’t take kindly to it, and I told Webster that myself yesterday. I’m doing my job. You just need to keep your distance. I feel like a boy with two mothers trying to give me their teets.”

  The judge backed away with a frown. “You’ve got a smart mouth.”

  Teague slammed the post digger into the ground with enough force to make the posts shake in front of it. The judge jumped a good foot off and yelped like a little girl. Teague grinned deep inside.

  “I’ve also got two big fists. So you best back off, fat man.”

  The judge backed up, stumbled over a gopher hole, and nearly fell on his considerable ass.

  “You…you horse thief! You can’t talk to me like that! Don’t you know who I am?”

  Teague raised one eyebrow. “Someone who thinks he can force me. Believe me, fool, if you weren’t paying me five hundred dollars, you couldn’t make me budge an inch.”

  The judge’s mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish. “Just remember where your place is.” He tried to look officious as he said it. He smoothed the lapels down on his expensive-looking jacket and tugged on his vest, which probably hadn’t moved in years.

  “You just remember that you won’t see or hear me coming.”

  “Don’t you threaten me!”

  “It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”

  Madeline knew Matilda Webster was at her house by the fancy rig in front. Her servant, an elderly black man by the name of Orion, stood at the side in his fancy driving coat waiting for his mistress to need him. Madeline sighed long and hard about facing Matilda again so soon, but she was actually glad of it. Perhaps she could get some information from her.

  “Good afternoon, Orion,” Madeline said pleasantly as she reached the house.

  “Good day, Miss Brewster,” he replied. His smile was white and broad as he tipped his hat to her. Orion had worked for Matilda since she’d been born and was as polite and sweet as the day was long. Although he’d been freed seven years ago from true slavery, he had never truly escaped the bonds.

  Madeline walked up the steps and into the house. Eppie was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a hideous expression on her face and her arms crossed over her chest. She gestured to the parlor with a sharp jab and rolled her eyes dramatically.

  Madeline smiled and mouthed, “It’s okay,” to her friend before she tugged off her gloves and entered the room.

  Matilda was looking at the glass figurines on the mantel. Still perfect, still blond and beautiful in her forest-green day dress. She nearly knocked off the turtle when she noticed Madeline in the doorway. She jumped and tittered nervously.

  “Oh, Madeline, I didn’t hear you come in. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by to see you. Eppie was kind enough to allow me to wait in here.”

  Madeline nodded and walked toward the settee. As she sat, she gestured for her guest to do the same.

  “You are always welcome in my home, Matilda. We’ve known each other for too long to stand on ceremony.”

  Take that! Madeline kept the smile on her face with effort.

  Matilda had the grace to blush slightly. “I wanted to stop by to see how you were doing. I’ve been concerned about you and that…man being in the house alone.”

  “We’re not in the house alone. Eppie is here, and another guest. Besides that, Mr. O’Neal sleeps in the carriage house.”

  Matilda waved her hand in dismissal. “Yes, but you’re not married. None of you are, that is. It’s just not proper.”

  “I haven’t been concerned with proper for years. Now isn’t any different.”

  Apparently her answer didn’t surprise Matilda. She nodded and pursed her lips as though selecting her words carefully. Her eyes carefully surveyed Madeline’s clothes. She had to bite her lip to keep the smile inside. Apparently the sheriff had shared his information with his wife.

  “That’s something I wanted to speak with you about.”

  “Oh, what is it?” Madeline sounded innocent to her own ears.

  “Your, ah…clothing, Madeline. It doesn’t fit the town’s wealthiest resident. You must try to be more in fashion.”

  Madeline shrugged. “Clothing has never been one of my priorities.”

  “It should be. Your money is the backbone of this town. Your image reflects the town.”

  “What does it reflect now?”

  Matilda grimaced. “It reflects a poor town. Madeline, please don’t be offended, but you dress like a scullery maid, not a millionaire.”

  Now Madeline was getting angry. “How do you know how much money I have, Matilda?”

  “Well, everyone knows how much money you have. It’s no secret. Your father used to talk about how much money he had all the time.”

  Madeline was shocked but tried not to show it. “He most certainly did not.”

  “You may have been his hostess, Madeline, but while you were making sure all the hors d’oeuvres were arranged, he was boasting of his money. He loved to make everyone feel…beholden to him.”

  Matilda actually looked impassioned as she spoke. It was the first real emotion Madeli
ne had ever seen from the petite blond.

  “I’m sorry if it bothered you. I never heard him speak of it.”

  “I don’t expect an apology, Madeline. I did hope that when he died you would bring the name Brewster back into the upper class of Plum Creek.” She fiddled with her gloves as they lay on her lap. “I would be happy to help you select…more appropriate items from your wardrobe.”

  Madeline felt a little disoriented from the information about her father. She tried to focus on what Matilda was saying and mentally slapped herself.

  “Most of my clothing is similar to this, Matilda. I’m afraid there isn’t much of a choice.”

  Matilda looked unconvinced. “Are you certain? We could take a quick look.”

  Madeline was glad to hear the information Teague had planted in the sheriff’s ear was already taking root. It meant she could put her plan to work and use their own greed against them.

  “I don’t think so, Matilda.”

  Matilda sighed. “Oh, Madeline, please. I just want to be your friend.”

  “I don’t believe you have ever wanted to be my friend, today or any other day.”

  Matilda’s blue eyes widened. “That’s not very polite.”

  Madeline stood. “Neither is coming to my house, telling me my clothes are shameful, discussing my finances, or disparaging my father.” She walked to the door and opened it wide. “I’m sure you can find your way to the door. Good day, Mrs. Webster.”

  Madeline waited until Matilda left the room before she slammed the door and leaned against it, trembling.

  This was going to be harder than she’d thought.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Teague watched Matilda Webster as she stomped out of the house. Her nose was so high up in the air he was surprised she didn’t fall over backward or have a bird perch on the end of it. Maddie must’ve really let her have it. He grinned widely as she fumbled with the front gate, but his grin faded when he heard her yelling at Orion to help her.

  When Orion approached, she smacked him upside the head with her reticule for apparently moving too slowly and then continued to berate him as they walked back to her fancy carriage. Orion just accepted it without protest. Teague didn’t like the way Matilda treated her servant more like a slave than a man. It stuck in his craw that he couldn’t do anything about it.

  Not that he would. It was doing something about it that had landed him in this hell he called life. Growing up, his best friend had been Joseph, a young Negro slave who worked on a farm in town. His master was good to him, and Joseph grew up attending the same school with Teague.

  When they were both grown men, Joseph began to get very vocal about slavery and the brewing war between the states. He married a beautiful girl by the name of Camille. When President Lincoln freed the slaves, Camille was murdered within the week by someone who didn’t like her husband and figured because she wasn’t property anymore, she was fair game for a stray bullet.

  Teague’s wife begged them not to go to war, but he and Joseph wouldn’t listen. They were both out for revenge and paid the ultimate sacrifice.

  Joseph lost his life, while Teague lost his soul.

  Teague shook off the ghosts dancing on his back and went back into the carriage house to finish the parson’s bench he was working on for Maddie’s front hall. It was a surprise, and he hoped she’d like it.

  As he hunkered down to sand the sides a bit more, he heard someone approaching. He quickly threw a tarp over the bench and started fiddling with the carriage wheel he was supposed to be fixing. It leaned up against the post beside the carriage that was obviously not going very far.

  “Teague?” He felt a shimmer move through him at the sound of Madeline’s voice.

  Ever since she’d told him she loved him, he’d been wrestling with his inner demons over it. The voices were screeching and clawing at him and howling madly. Another woman declaring her love for him. Another woman who would suffer because of his failings as a man.

  “In here,” he replied.

  The sun silhouetted Madeline as she stepped through the door. He had a moment where it was Claire coming through instead of her, and he felt nauseous. He didn’t need to be confusing the two women—they couldn’t be more different.

  “Did you see who just left?” Madeline was dressed in a god-awful outfit that looked like it belonged on a nun rather than a beautiful woman like her. But her face glowed with a light that shone from deep inside. His heart squeezed tightly within his chest as the depth of his feelings for her grew another foot.

  “I did. Matilda had a bee in her bonnet.”

  Madeline laughed, a full-throated woman’s laugh that never failed to make him smile. “I let her know what I thought of her and her nosy ways, and I didn’t spare a word of what I was thinking.”

  He nodded. “Is that the first time?”

  She looked a bit embarrassed. “Yes, unfortunately it is. I always tried to put on a face of politeness for the society ladies, but apparently it was all for my benefit. They were too busy watching my father push their faces in his money to pay attention to me. And since he died, they’ve only stopped by to get money for a fund-raiser or charity.” Madeline grimaced. “And I gave it to them. Over and over.”

  Teague felt the overwhelming urge to comfort her but fought against it. She wasn’t in the mood for comfort.

  “What did she want this time?” he asked.

  She clapped her hands together with a smack. “It worked! You telling Jackson about my secret stash of clothing and such worked! She suddenly decided my wardrobe was not fitting for the town’s millionaire, so she wanted to look through my closet to help me pick out more appropriate items.”

  Millionaire?

  “Of course I told her she was rude to discuss my money and my wardrobe and kicked her out!”

  Millionaire? Did Madeline have that much money?

  “If nothing else comes out of this, Teague, I’ll have the satisfaction of telling Matilda Webster to stick it in her ear.”

  She nodded and then smiled and looked so damn pleased with herself. Teague was trying to assemble a thought that didn’t start with the word millionaire.

  “I’m glad to hear it, honey. Did you—that is, what else did you want me to do?”

  She couldn’t have that much money. It was impossible. She wouldn’t be living in a bright blue house with ten-year-old clothes and only a mulatto for company.

  Impossible.

  “My next victim is going to be that weasel Mr. Cleeson at the bank. I’m going to start planting false information for him to find. Oh, and I need to telegraph someone in Denver.”

  Madeline grabbed him in a hug and kissed him hard on the lips. He stirred to life immediately, groaned, and captured her flush against him. She softened and started kissing him like he’d taught her to do. Her tongue dueled with his, dancing and twining in an ancient ritual.

  Within moments, he was hard as a stone and anxious to drag Maddie upstairs for a little afternoon delight. All thoughts of money and scheming townspeople flew out of his head.

  “Mmmm, you feel good….”

  “So do you.”

  He reached up and pulled out the pins holding her glorious hair. It tumbled down over his arms like a curtain of silk. He groaned, remembering how it felt on his chest when she rode him. Forget upstairs. He needed her. Now.

  Teague backed her into the post and slowly pulled her skirt up. He yanked at her drawers until they puddled around her ankles. Her warm thighs were soft and delectable, inviting him to travel up to the ultimate goal. She gasped when his hands lightly brushed against her nether lips.

  “Teague…we can’t….”

  He suckled her ear, laving the lobe and then biting it. “Oh, yes, we can.”

  He ran his fingers back and forth in her wetness. She was hot and ready for him. So quickly. As quickly as he was hard and ready for her. As if they were two magnets drawn together, he couldn’t stop himself.

  He picked her up unt
il she straddled his hips. He freed his cock from the confines of his britches and breathed a sigh of relief. It had been about to cut off his circulation. Her hands grabbed for him, and he held his breath.

  Maddie’s fingers gripped him tightly and then moved up and down. He pulsed against her, and she smiled up at him, her beautiful eyes wide with passion. While his fingers continued to rub her hot button, her fingernails lightly scraped his balls.

  He shivered at the sensation, his control leaning toward nonexistent.

  “I need you, Maddie.”

  “Yes, now.”

  Teague stepped closer to her and lifted her slightly while her legs wrapped around his waist. She leaned back against the pole as he slid inch by inch into her pussy. She was as tight as a fist. He had to close his eyes and grip her ass to stop himself from coming like a green kid in a whorehouse.

  “Maddie, sweet Jesus, you feel like heaven.”

  When he was fully planted inside her, he took a deep breath and held it, dizzy with the pleasure ricocheting through his body.

  “Please…” she whispered.

  Teague held her in place against the wooden post while he started to thrust in and out. The door was open, it was broad daylight, and he didn’t care. He was making love to the woman who owned his heart.

  It was inevitable. As Teague’s rhythm grew faster, his heart started beating faster again. His soul breathed for the first time in seven years. Faster and faster. She moaned and scrabbled at his back as he slammed into her deep, deep inside.

  “Teague!” she whispered breathily as she started contracting around him.

  He felt the orgasm building from somewhere near Shiloh, through Missouri, Texas, and all through the west, until it hit him, here in Plum Creek, Colorado. It roared through him with the force of an avalanche, grabbing him in a tumbling fall that stole his breath.

  His legs felt like jelly, and his heart was quietly weeping inside him. Madeline had done the impossible. That stubborn spinster millionaire had just breathed life back into his long-slumbering soul.

  She grabbed his face and kissed him until he finally set her back on her feet. She smiled and tried to adjust her clothes, but it was no use. Maddie looked like a woman who had been loved. Thoroughly. Her lips were red as berries, and her hair was a dark cloud of knots that might take days to unsnarl.