by Ann Shorey
As if sensing her distress, Faith patted Rosemary’s shoulder. “Without you, I don’t believe there would have been a happy ending to that story.”
“We need to give the credit to the Lord. He guided each of us during that time.” To change the subject, she swiped the duster over a counter. “When I finish this, I’ll straighten the storeroom. I noticed a new supply of cookware arrived yesterday.”
“Thank you.” The bell jingled, and Faith turned toward the door.
Mrs. Wylie bustled in, stopping short when she saw Rosemary. “Oh! Miss Saxon. I didn’t know you’d be here. Happy to see you, though.” Her face flushed. She sidled over to Faith and pushed a slip of paper into her hand, then hurried from the store.
“What was that about?” Rosemary quirked one eyebrow at Faith.
“Nothing.” She shoved the paper into her apron pocket. “Now that I think of it, the storeroom can wait. Today promises to be quiet. Why don’t you treat yourself to a day at home? I know you have packing to do, and herbs to transplant.” She plucked the duster from Rosemary’s hand. “I’ll send Curt for you this evening.”
The prospect of spending a day alone held little appeal, but if Faith didn’t want her here . . .
She fastened Bodie’s leash to his collar and stepped into the bright morning. Buggies and riders on horseback filled the wide street. With this many people in town, Faith might be busier than she expected. Rosemary looked back at the store, then shrugged. Time spent working in her greenhouse might soothe the confusion in her unsettled spirit.
Without Sheriff Cooper to see her home, she dawdled along the boardwalk, looking in the dressmaker’s window at a peach-colored traveling costume on display, then crossing the street to admire hats in the milliner’s shop.
She knew she procrastinated. Sooner or later, she’d have to dig up her plants and pray they’d survive the journey. For today, she’d trim faded blooms and water dry roots.
After leaving the milliner’s, she paused at the corner diagonally across from her block and waited until a farm wagon passed. Then she took one step off the walk and froze.
Her gate stood open. She knew beyond a doubt that she’d left it closed and bolted.
Bodie dropped his head and crouched into a stalking position. His body quivered.
Rosemary whirled back in the direction of town. Lifting her skirt above her boot tops, she ran for Sheriff Cooper, praying as she pounded along that he’d be in his office. Bodie raced beside her. Shoppers on the boardwalk turned to stare at them as they flew by the milliner’s, then the dressmaker’s, and on past the mercantile. Rounding the corner onto Court Street, she was relieved to see the sheriff’s horse tied to the rail in front of the jailhouse.
She burst through the door. “Sheriff! Quick! There’s someone on my property.” She leaned forward to catch her breath. Perspiration trickled down her temples.
He jumped to his feet. “Are you sure?”
“Do you think I’d run all the way over on a whim?” Panting, she rested her hands on her hips.
“I reckon not.” He flung open the door. “You wait here.” He vaulted into the saddle and galloped east.
Ignoring his order, Rosemary tugged at Bodie’s leash and strode the two blocks between the jailhouse and her home. Dust boiling behind the gelding’s hooves marked the sheriff’s passage along King’s Highway. When she drew close to her house, she saw the horse tied outside the gate. Sheriff Cooper was nowhere in sight.
Bodie growled. She stopped outside her fence, pulse pounding, and heard the sounds of a scuffle behind the house. After several tense minutes, the sheriff appeared, half-dragging someone by a rope binding the man’s hands behind his back.
Stunned, she gazed into the burning eyes of one of Elijah’s patients—Abraham Grice.
He spat on the ground at her feet. “You! You ruined everything with your witches’ brews. Me and Bingham was doing fine before them women showed up.”
“You mean Cassie and her mother? I had nothing to do with Mr. Bingham’s marriage to Mrs. Haddon.”
“You had everything to do with what happened after. Them potions you gave that woman put a spell on Elmer. Everything was ‘Eliza this’ and ‘Eliza that.’ He didn’t have no time for me—until he got sick. Then that woman gave him more potions to drink, no matter how I tried to keep her away. Well, they finally killed him.”
He shot her a look of pure hatred. “Only friend I ever had, and he’s gone, thanks to you.”
Horrified, Rosemary grabbed the fence for support. “Nothing I gave Mrs. Bingham could cause harm.”
“Cooper’s listening. Course you’ll lie.”
She cast a frightened glance at the sheriff.
“He won’t bother you no more, Miss Rosemary. I’ll see to that.” He slung the struggling man over the saddle and led the horse in the direction of the jail.
Fighting to control the tremors that shuddered through her, she made her way into the house on shaky legs, then dropped onto the settee. Thinking of Cassie and her mother in the same house with Mr. Grice threatened to upset her stomach. No wonder Mrs. Bingham fled Noble Springs as soon as her husband died.
By evening, a bath and a rest had helped Rosemary regain her composure. She slipped into her gray silk dress and arranged her hair in a crown of braids, leaving a few curls loose beside her ears. She hadn’t wanted a party, but now that the time had come, she looked forward to seeing the few friends she had in Noble Springs. Fortunately, the topic of the arrest of her tormenter would prevent the conversation from centering on her decision to leave.
She heard a knock and then Curt’s voice called, “Time to go.”
When she opened the door, her brother smiled down at her, handsome in a black coat and trousers. “I’ve been told you had an eventful morning.”
“Indeed it was.” She turned the key in the lock. “I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”
Her dress rustled when he helped her into his buggy. While they rode west she described the morning’s events. As she talked, she shivered at the image of Mr. Grice’s glare. “He hates me, Curt. I’ve never—” She gulped.
His warm hand covered hers. “He’s locked up. You’re safe now. Think how good it will feel not to worry when you step outside your door.”
“You’re right. I’m thankful.” She bit the inside of her lip. Four more days and she’d step outside that door for the last time.
As they drew closer to Judge Lindberg’s house, she noticed a number of horses and buggies tied to hitching rails. People milled about on the porch and spilled onto the walkway.
She put her hand to her lips. “Are all these people here for the party?” She tried to count heads but couldn’t come up with a number.
Curt grinned at her. “They’re here to see you. Faith has been busy day and night arranging everything.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re loved, little sister.”
I will not cry. She clutched his arm. “Please stay close by. I’ll need you to lean on.”
“I’ll stick to you closer than Bodie does.” He jumped down and tied his horse next to another buggy, then swung her to the ground.
“There she is,” a voice called.
“Miss Rosemary.” Mr. Grisbee shuffled away from the crowd. He’d shaved his usual scruffy whiskers and slicked his hair down with scented oil. He crooked his elbow in her direction. “Let me escort you.”
She gazed at the smiling faces greeting her. A number of Faith’s customers were present, among them the Wylies. Mr. and Mrs. Haggerty, with their two daughters and their infant son—the first baby she’d helped deliver. Mrs. Fielder, from the restaurant. More than a dozen other patients she’d helped treat in Elijah’s office.
Faith beamed at her from the open doorway. “Come on in, Rosemary. There’s someone inside who wants to say hello too.”
She assumed Faith referred to Judge Lindberg. With Curt on one side and Mr. Grisbee on the other, she mounted the stairs, smiling and murmuring greetin
gs along the way. When she reached Faith, she threw her arms around her friend. “I don’t know what to say.” Tears slipped along her cheeks. She dashed them away with her fingers. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”
“You deserve all this and more.” A masculine voice spoke from the entryway.
Her heart stopped. Elijah.
Eyes wide, she stared at Faith. “You didn’t.”
He stepped forward. “I invited myself.” His hand closed around hers. “Come with me. I have something to say and I won’t let go of you until I’ve said every word. Then you can talk.”
“I told you before, I’m not interested.” She planted her feet and resisted his tug at her hand.
“It won’t hurt you to listen,” Faith murmured. “Go with him.”
Elijah tugged again. This time she followed, trying to ignore the tingles that raced up her arm at the touch of his hand. He led her past the dessert-laden dining table, through the kitchen, and out to a bench under an oak tree in the backyard. Slanting shadows through the leaves gave an illusion of privacy.
“Please sit.” He tapped the seat with his fingertips.
She complied, her posture stiff and her arms folded across her chest.
“Here’s what happened in Chicago.” He paced away from the bench, then turned and faced her. “Miss Mason’s brother is going into practice with my father. At every formal meal, every play, every event my father insisted I attend, Miss Mason and her brother were there. I spent no time alone with her.”
“Then why—?”
He held up his hand. “Please don’t interrupt. Apparently after I left, she and her brother decided the practice would benefit from my name on the door. He sent her down here to persuade me. The idea that she was my fiancée was something she and her brother concocted, ring and all. Not a grain of truth to the whole story. I suppose they thought I’d return to Chicago if she could convince you to leave.”
“Are you quite finished?” Her voice quavered.
He flung his hands out, palms up. “There’s nothing more to add.”
The tears in his eyes tore at her heart. She looked away, knowing his words made sense. If only she hadn’t been so hasty . . .
He dropped to one knee in front of her. “You’re the woman I love and want to marry. If you don’t say yes now, I’ll ask you every day until you agree, even if I have to follow you all the way to St. Louis.”
“Oh, Elijah! I’ve been so wrong. How can you still want to marry me after the way I treated you?” She choked back a sob. “I’m sorry for not listening when you tried to explain.”
One corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. “Well, it’s not as if I didn’t know you were stubborn.”
“But I’ve wasted so much of the time we could have spent planning our wedding.”
“Is that a yes?”
Sounds of the guests’ laughter and chatter floated from the front of the house. Her farewell party. What would everyone think if she didn’t leave?
She leaned toward him. “Yes,” she whispered.
His beautiful smile spread over his face. “What did you say?”
“I said yes!”
He lifted her from the bench. His dark gaze traveled straight to her soul. “My little Rosemary.”
She melted into his arms and raised her face for his kiss.
She’d send telegrams to St. Louis later.
Acknowledgments
I’m beyond grateful to my writing support group. To name everyone who has helped with this completed novel would take too many pages, so I’ll start with those most directly involved—the team at Revell who polishes my ideas and my words until they’re the best they can be. To Vicki Crumpton, I offer my deepest thanks for originally signing me as a new author, and for her keen eye in improving each of my books since that day. Barb Barnes and her editing staff are truly gifted in finding and pointing out, oh so gently, errors in my work. Michele Misiak is one of the busiest people I know, yet she always has time to answer my questions. I’ve received many compliments on the cover for this book, and for those on each of my previous novels. All credit for that goes to Cheryl Van Andel and the art department at Revell. I’m truly blessed to be writing for such a supportive publishing house.
My agent, Tamela Hancock Murray, has been instrumental in guiding my writing steps, and she, also, is never too busy to answer my questions the same day I ask them. I appreciate you, Tamela!
Every author needs stellar critique partners, and mine are brilliant. Thanks to Sarah Schartz and Bonnie Leon, with special gratitude to Judy Gann and Sarah Sundin, who gave up weekend time to critique the final chapters when I was pushing my deadline.
Because of several life interruptions, this novel was in process right up to the last minute, and I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my husband for his patience and understanding during the final frenzy.
A book is nothing without readers, and to you, I offer heartfelt thanks for reading my novels and taking the time to contact me with your kind comments. I hope you’ve enjoyed Rosemary’s story as much as I’ve enjoyed sharing her journey with you. For those of you who are familiar with St. Louis, you’ll recognize the liberties I’ve taken with the history of your city. A National Home for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers didn’t exist there, although several were built elsewhere around the country after the close of the War Between the States.
Most importantly, I know my writing wouldn’t happen at all if the Lord weren’t with me every step of the way. As I’ve often said, he holds me by my right hand—always.
Ann Shorey has been a full-time writer for over twenty years. She made her fiction debut with the At Home in Beldon Grove series in January 2009.
When she’s not writing, she teaches classes on historical research, story arc, and other fiction fundamentals at regional conferences. Ann and her husband live in southern Oregon.
Ann loves to hear from her readers, and may be contacted through her website, www.annshorey.com, or find her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/AnnShorey.
Books by Ann Shorey
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AT HOME IN BELDON GROVE SERIES
The Edge of Light
The Promise of Morning
The Dawn of a Dream
SISTERS AT HEART SERIES
Where Wildflowers Bloom
When the Heart Heals
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