He stopped too, a few paces ahead of her, and turned. The streetlight overhead cast dark shadows on his face. “Well, don’t you? You see the hand of God at work every day, casting out those who displease him. Take Nate Pellings, for example. Up to the moment he died I tried to make him admit that he was a miserable sinner for his drinking and gambling. I told him he’d have to pay plenty for all of his sins and misdeeds if he didn’t repent. He refused. I presided over his funeral yesterday.” He seemed almost pleased.
He was insane, Jessica decided, horrified that he was badgering her patients while they struggled in their death throes. Insane and arrogantly cruel-hearted. Unable to bear his company another moment, she snapped, “I don’t agree with you at all!”
She sped past him, heading for the sanctuary of her own apartment.
“Jessica!” he called, closing the distance between them.
She almost ran to maintain her lead, so anxious was she to get away from him. But he was taller, and her stride was no match for his longer one. Soon he was beside her again.
He grabbed her arm just as she came abreast of Braddock’s Blacksmith Shop. “What on earth ails you?”
She stopped again, pulled up short by his hand. “Adam, let me go.”
“Why are you so angry?” he demanded, a frown marking his brow. “You asked me what I think and I told you. Can you honestly say that this epidemic isn’t evidence of God’s presence on Earth?”
She yanked hard but she couldn’t work her wrist out of his grip. “Unfortunately, I can’t stop you from coming to the infirmary. But if I were sick and frightened that I might die, you’re the last person I’d want to see looming over my bed!” Her breath came fast and her heart raced like a thoroughbred. But anger loosened her tongue at last. “You’re like the grim reaper, come to collect souls. All you need is a black hood and a scythe. You don’t represent God or heaven or anything having to do with charity or kindness! You’re still the sneaky little pip-squeak who tattled on everyone when we were children. Except now your judgment falls on innocent people—the ones you just don’t like or who threaten your pompous image of yourself. I cannot understand or conceive of the reasons behind your cruelty!”
He stared at her in the semidarkness, his mouth slightly open, his expression one of astonished, self-righteous fury. “I would advise you to think about what you’re saying. And who you’re saying it to.”
“This from a man who claims to love me—more threats. What will you do to me, Adam?” she egged him on. “What will you have done to—”
“Jess, are you having a problem?”
Out of what seemed like nowhere, Cole appeared. Jessica had never been happier to see him. He cut an imposing figure, tall, sweating and damp-haired despite the weather, wearing his leather apron and carrying an iron hammer. She realized they were standing in front of his shop doors and that he must have been inside, working. “Cole—”
“This doesn’t concern you, Braddock,” Adam snapped.
Cole shook his head skeptically. “Hmm, sounds like it does. You’re being jackass-rude to a woman who’s an old friend of mine—this is the second time I’ve had to stop you from man-handling her. It’s not how a minister is supposed act, is it?” He knocked Adam’s hand away from Jessica’s wrist as if it were no more than a flea. Then he added with a menacing tone, “And I’ve had a bellyful of you myself.”
“Jessica, don’t let—” Adam began.
Cole turned to her. “Are you about finished here?”
She rubbed her wrist and glared at the man who believed himself to be her fiancé and a spiritual judge and jury. “Yes, I certainly am.”
Cole nodded and pushed his chest against Adam’s. “You git right now, before I change my mind and teach you the manners you never learned.”
Adam’s mottled face twitched with defiant anger, his mouth pressed into a tight line. “You’ll regret this, Braddock.” He added to Jessica, “So will you.” Then he turned and walked toward home at a fast clip.
Cole watched him until he was a couple of blocks down the street and said, “Damn, I can’t stand that creep.” He looked at her. “Are you all right?”
She let her shoulders droop, but fear and anger still hummed through her. “Yes. Thank you for stepping in. I’m sorry you have to keep rescuing me.”
“Yeah, well, I hate to say I told you so.”
“Then don’t,” she said flatly. “I’ve been trying to discourage him for days but he just wouldn’t take the hint.” She gazed at Adam’s retreating back. He was just a speck in the dusky light. “I suppose he has now. But I’m worried about what I might have brought down on us.”
Cole nodded. “I always thought he was only a holier-than-thou stoolpigeon. But he’s got a mean streak in him a mile wide. I know he’s had it in for me for a long time.”
A chill, sundown breeze kicked up and caught the front edge of her coat, and she shivered. “You’re not the only one on his list.”
“How is Amy?” he asked abruptly.
“She’s getting better, thank God.”
“Good.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Look, I’ve got a couple of things to see to. They’ll take me about an hour, but I’d like to come over and talk to you after.”
She remembered the last time he’d come over to “talk,” and what had happened. “Oh, Cole, I’m not sure. Maybe that’s not a good idea.”
He looked her straight on. “Look, Jess, this is important. I’ve been staying away from you while Amy has been sick because I figured you’ve got enough on your hands. But I learned something you need to know.”
She swallowed. “It’s not about that telegram, is it?”
“Yes.”
“Does it really matter now, after all this time?”
“More than you can guess.”
She sighed. “All right.” She walked on to her own door.
A feeling of foreboding settled on Jessica as she tidied the apartment, washed a couple of dishes in the kitchen, and drew her bath.
Since Cole would be here soon, she wouldn’t get to enjoy the long soak she’d planned, but at least she’d be clean. Given these busy days, that was good enough. It had to be. As the tub filled, she unwrapped her last cake of Créme Simone and savored its sweet aroma. She’d had no trouble finding the French-made soap in any New York drug or department store. In Powell Springs, Mr. Bright would probably have order to it, and with the war on, there was no telling how long it would take to arrive. When this miserable conflict was finally over—after that he might have less trouble.
After that—
She stopped herself, realizing the direction of her thoughts. She wasn’t going to stay here. This was temporary, all temporary. Leaning over the tub, she turned off the faucets, shed her dressing gown, and sank into the hot water. She had no place in Powell Springs anymore, she reminded herself. Despite the chaos of the epidemic, she was surprised by how often she’d thought of herself as home for good.
Though the steam and heat eased the tension from her shoulders, her thoughts marched on. If she had no place here, why then did it feel as if she did? Questions plagued her. She dunked her head to wet her hair, then worked suds into the strands. She scrubbed hard, as if hoping to quiet those questions, but they still bounced around her mind. She suspected Cole was going to tell her something that would upset her wobbly emotional equilibrium. He might have uncovered a clue about the telegram’s sender, perhaps forcing her to abandon the grudge he’d accused her of harboring. She’d carried it so long, it had become a kind of shield against him and the world in general. Without it, silly as it seemed, what would she have left? Her last shaky defense would be lost.
Finally, she rose from the water and dried herself. Cole would be here soon, and she didn’t want him to find her wearing only her dressing gown. After she worked the snarls out of her hair, she wove it into a braid with clumsy, nervous hands, and put on a simple gray blouse and skirt. She was still standing before her bureau mirror, fiddlin
g with a hook and eye on the neckline, when she heard his knock at the front door.
Making sure the doors to her bedroom and bathroom were closed, she hurried down the stairs. She detected his silhouette through the window and realized he was so familiar to her she would have known his wide-shouldered shape and cowboy hat anywhere.
She opened the door, trying to suppress the leap in her chest and the unwanted flush of pleasure when she saw him. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept any more than she had. But he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen, here or anywhere else. He’d washed up, too, slicking back his long hair with water, and changed into a clean shirt and jeans. He carried a napkin-wrapped bundle with him.
“Come in. I don’t have anything to eat here, but I can put on some coffee.”
“Jacobsen didn’t come back, did he?”
She shook her head.
“Good.” He offered the parcel. “I stopped by the saloon and asked Tilly to put together some sandwiches. I figured you hadn’t eaten.”
“I didn’t think anyplace in town was supposed to serve food.”
“They aren’t, but he’s got provisions for himself in the back. He had a roast beef and a couple of potatoes.”
“Oh, and I still have some butter. Thanks, Cole, I really appreciate it. You’re right, I haven’t eaten since this morning.” She took the sandwiches from him and felt something heavy wrapped up with them. Hefting it a couple of times, she asked, “What else is in here?”
“A bottle of whiskey.”
She flushed. “Oh, well, I don’t think I should be drinking, especially spirits.”
He took off his coat and hat, and slung them on the coat tree by the door. “You might change your mind after I tell you what I’ve learned.”
The sense of foreboding that she’d felt earlier was back, now as heavy as a millstone on her shoulders. “W-what is it?”
“Naw, we’d better eat first.”
“All right. Come on.”
She led him upstairs to the combination parlor and dining room, and gestured at the table. “Please…sit.” While he unwrapped the food, she fetched dishes and silver from the hoosier, along with some of Horace Cookson’s butter. “I’m sorry, I don’t have much in the way of appropriate glassware.” She nodded at the whiskey bottle.
“Don’t worry, this isn’t what you’d call a high-toned party.”
She brought out two plain glasses and filled hers with water at the sink.
“Have a seat,” he said, and pushed out the other chair with his foot.
Jessica sat down, and they ate without much conversation beyond the most superficial small talk. She inquired about the farm and the Braddock family. He asked if she thought the worst of the flu epidemic was over.
“I’m not sure just yet,” she said, spearing her last piece of potato with her fork. “It might be slowing down. I’ve had fewer cases at the infirmary this week, but I can’t say it’s a trend. Next week will give me a better idea. You never can tell about these things.” She began to describe the possible course of any given epidemic, and cited information she’d received from the East. When he looked at her with his penetrating blue gaze, she realized she was babbling, trying to stave off the inevitable reason for his visit.
He pushed his plate away and, pulling the cork out of the whiskey bottle, poured himself two inches of amber liquid. He bolted half of it, sucked a breath through his teeth, and set the glass down. Then he reached into his shirt pocket. Withdrawing the folded telegram that she recognized instantly, he opened it and put it on the table. It lay between them like a three-day-old fish before he nailed it down with a forefinger.
“I didn’t send this to you.”
She glanced at it and then busied herself with smoothing the napkin on her lap. “So you’ve told me.”
His eyes didn’t waver—she could feel his gaze even though she looked away. “I went to see Leroy Fenton to find out who did.”
She forced a small laugh. “Oh, I’m sure poor Leroy wouldn’t remember something like that after all this time. He’s getting on.”
“He remembered just fine. He asked me if my memory was giving me trouble.” He went on to explain their encounter. “Then he told me who brought the message to him, sealed in an envelope, and paid him to send it.”
Jessica leaned forward. “And?”
He picked up his glass and drank the other inch of liquor. “It was Amy.”
She jumped to her feet with such violence, she knocked over her chair. “Amy! Cole, do you expect me to believe that? How dare you come here with such a vicious lie about my own sister?”
He didn’t raise his voice. He just sat back and looked up at her. “I figured you might say that, but it’s not a lie. Trust me, I thought Leroy had lost his marbles when he told me. Then he described that day in such detail, I knew it was the truth. And it made sense. I’ve had days and nights to think about it.”
“It doesn’t make any sense at all!” He sat there so coolly, so unperturbed, he could have been discussing the weather. Meanwhile, her breath came in gasps, and blood pounded in her ears. “How can you sit there, calmly sipping whiskey, and tell me this—this horrible fable, like you’re sitting in the saloon gabbing about the price of oats?”
He frowned. “It’s not a fable, and I’m not calm. It’s been eating me up inside. I puked when I heard about it, and I don’t sleep much at night.” Reaching into his pocket again, he produced another piece of paper, one that Jessica recognized as a Western Union blank form. “Read this.” He pushed it across the table, and she snatched up.
I, Leroy Fenton, swear that I keyed a message to Miss Jessica Layton, as signed by Mr. Cole Braddock and delivered to me in a sealed envelope by Miss Layton’s sister, Amy, dated May 20, 1916.
Leroy’s signature and last week’s date followed the crabbed, handwritten statement.
“What is this? Did you blab our personal business to him?”
He gave her a sour look. “No, but I figured you might not believe me. All I did was ask him to write down what he knew on this note. At first he didn’t want to because I wouldn’t tell him why I needed it, only that it was important. In return, I had to swear that this had nothing to do with him, his job, Western Union, or the American Protective League. Thank God, he trusted me.”
He stood and came around to right her chair. She stared at him, her entire being pulsing with fury and insult. He didn’t move. He simply stared back, held her chair, and waited, silently directing her to return to it. Finally she sat down again, hard, and he went back to his own seat. Lifting the whiskey bottle, he tipped it toward her glass. She nodded, and he poured in enough to give her water a tint.
Raking a hand through his drying hair, he poured another inch of liquor for himself. “But I knew it would be a shitty thing to do, to tell you about this with Amy at death’s door. Now that she’s getting better, I had to let you know…everything. First of all, it can’t come as a big surprise that I’m not going to marry her.
“Next, I want you to understand that I’m going to tell you the truth as far as I know it. I’m not trying to turn you against your sister, but I won’t mince words, either, and I’m not going to take the blame for something I had no part of. Our lives have been changed by things Amy did. What you do with the information is up to you.”
Jess sat stiff as a broomstick, her lips pursed.
“Like I said, I’ve had some time to think about this, and I guess I’ve got most of it figured out. When your dad died, Amy was sort of lost. I know she wasn’t especially close to him, but you were gone, and she had to move out of the house she grew up in.”
“I had to sell it to pay the property taxes and my father’s debts!” She was tired of defending the decisions she’d made.
“Yeah, I know.”
She slumped back in her chair and took a swallow of the diluted drink he’d made for her, feeling sullen and put-upon.
“Anyway, she got to be friends with Susannah. An
d I think Amy genuinely likes her, but I believe her main purpose was to hang around the farm so I’d notice her.”
Jess opened her mouth to refute this, but let the words go unspoken. She knew he could be right. Coming from another man, his observation might sound like the basest sort of vanity. But for all that Cole turned female heads wherever he went, he’d never seemed aware of it, or of his own powerful handsomeness.
He continued. “It seemed like more often than not, she’d be in the kitchen helping Susannah and then at the table for dinner. Riley or I would give her a ride back to town afterward. Sometimes she spent the night. She made a big fuss over Pop, and he ate up the attention. And she’d drop little hints about how you were so good at science that you’d never learned to cook or sew or keep house.” His expression turned wry. “Pop ate that up, too.”
Jess crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, I’m sure he did.”
“Then your letter came, saying you’d decided to stay in New York for a while.” He took another sip of his drink. “I can’t say I was happy about it, but you already know that. You kept stretching out the time, and when I look back, I realize that was when Amy really started turning up the heat under my skillet.”
Jessica’s imagination leaped into action. She remembered what she and Cole had once shared. “Heat—how? I can’t picture Amy…well, I just can’t.”
He smiled and raised his brows. “My, my, Jess, how your mind works. That’s not what I meant. Amy and I have never done anything more than exchange a kiss.”
Her face grew hot with the embarrassment of her own mistake and the unwanted images that had flashed through her thoughts. “Your choice of words didn’t help.” She took another sip of her watered whiskey and her tight limbs began to relax a bit.
“What I mean is that she stepped up her…campaign, I guess you could call it, to catch my interest.” He shrugged. “She started fussing over me the way she did Pop. She told me what a shame it was that you put your job ahead of our planned engagement, and that you were dangling me like a trout—”
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