True Heart's Desire

by Caroline Fyffe

  “Don’t be silly. If you want to hire on someone to take the pressure off, do it. That’s totally up to you.” Emma tipped her head. “I can’t figure you out. Sometimes you sing the restaurant’s praises and other times . . .”

  “I know. I better get moving. Karen needs me. And I want to get these into water before they wilt.” She lifted the bunch of colorful flowers to her nose.

  Emma’s eyebrow jetted up. “Look! There’s Jeremy Gannon, the new doctor. I met him earlier today.”

  Lavinia glanced over her shoulder and across the road. The doctor had changed out of his nice clothes and into work attire. His sleeves, rolled to the elbow, exposed his strong arms, carrying two paint cans. A paintbrush was tucked under his arm, along with a roll of paper.

  “I met him this morning in the café.”

  Emma’s eyes bulged, the expression she got when she was enthralled by a subject. “Tell me more. Why didn’t he show up on time?” She grasped Lavinia by the arm and drew her closer. “And what is he doing? His office and house were recently repainted.”

  Lavinia sighed. “I guess he thinks the place needs another coat.”

  Emma had been on the planning and welcoming committee and was sure to take offense.

  “You can’t be serious! I made the final check myself. What did he expect in Eden?” A thoughtful pout replaced her pretty smile. “I don’t understand.”

  “Maybe you should go ask him. Right now I have to get back to the restaurant and Karen, before she takes a broom to me. I’m already going to be in enough hot water without making things worse.”

  “Perhaps I will,” Emma said, hurrying off to catch the man.

  “Hello, Miss Brinkman!”

  Lavinia turned.

  The telegraph operator and owner of the drugstore leaned out his door, a piece of paper in his hand. “I saw you pass the window and thought you might come in. You’ve had a reply to your telegram to Philadelphia.”

  Lavinia stopped and stared. Had she heard him correctly? Mr. Hansberry had finally replied? She thought she’d made her peace with losing her chance at the millinery apprenticeship. She’d thought she could be content here in Eden. And yet . . .

  She slowly retraced her steps and took the telegram from his hand.

  “Thank you so much,” she whispered through a tight throat. She couldn’t stop the tremor that moved her hands, so she clasped them together, along with the flowers.

  He nodded and disappeared back inside.

  She opened the folded paper and gazed down at the few words that would either bring great happiness or overwhelming despair.

  Other person did not work out. STOP The apprentice spot has reopened. STOP Reply if you are still interested. STOP Mr. Hansberry

  Lavinia gasped and crushed the note to her chest. A thousand thoughts tumbled through her mind at once. Her dreams weren’t dead. The signing for the ranch was in two weeks. She couldn’t leave a moment before. Would that be soon enough for Mr. Hansberry? She thought of the hat factory, the many cute Hansberry boutiques across the city, Mr. Hansberry’s deep, almost frightening voice, speaking about one of his latest creations. I’ll be returning to Philadelphia. But how will my sisters feel when I tell them?

  Euphoria swirling within, she refolded the telegram and placed it into her pocket. When she entered the hotel, she found people she didn’t know milling about and sitting in the lobby.

  Karen pulled to a stop in front of her. “My! What’s put that light in your eyes? Did you find a buried treasure?”

  “I did,” she replied, holding out the flowers. “When Father called us back to Eden—and changed all our lives.” And that was true. Even if she left now, she realized just how much she loved the place. How much she’d grown in the last few months. What she’d learned about life and about herself. She owed so much to her father. Now she could return to the city without any regrets.

  “I’m glad your walk has revived you.” Karen set the coffee cups she was holding on a clean table. “Lara hasn’t come down from her room. Do you think we should send something up?”

  Why did she feel so guilty when she thought of her friend? Lavinia wasn’t the one who’d perpetrated such a double cross. And not just against her, but all her sisters.

  “Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll make a tray right away.”

  Karen’s head tipped. “I can do that.” She nodded and hurried toward the kitchen door and Lavinia followed, intent on putting the flowers into water and then dividing them up among the tables.

  Pounding began across the street. Rhett’s lumber must have arrived sometime when he was in the meadow—with me. How soon would his restaurant open? She had no idea. Actually, this morning, she wouldn’t have minded a little help in the way of fewer customers.

  She needed to reply to Mr. Hansberry right away. Tell him she wanted the position and could set out, but not for two weeks. Her sisters would be thrilled, wouldn’t they? She’d be for them if the tables were turned. But there were issues. Katie, and what to do about her and Santiago. The strange way Mavis and Clint were acting. Belle wasn’t with child yet, but surely she would be soon. That thought brought a moment of sadness. She’d like to be around for a new niece or nephew—and the excitement a baby would bring. Emma had several of Lavinia’s hats stocked in the Toggery. Although none had sold at this point, what if they caught on once more women came to town? She’d need to be able to ship some new creations every few months. Would that be possible once she was an apprentice? And of course, the articles were never far from her thoughts—which brought to mind Lara, and everything Lavinia stood to lose when her friend went home.

  Her hands stilled as she trimmed the stems lying on the cutting board. Until she’d listed all her concerns, she hadn’t realized how busy—and complicated—her life had grown.

  And Rhett . . . ? She worked the water pump and caught the splashing, crisp water in the large vase. After this afternoon, she had no idea what to feel about him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  With a good portion of the construction completed that afternoon, Rhett stood before his woodstove, his face shiny with sweat and his brain about ready to explode. After his conversation with Lavinia that morning, he realized the time had long since passed that he should be getting acquainted with the kitchen and how things were done. He made a quick trip to the mercantile and then the butcher shop, fending off knowing smiles, as well as a hundred questions from both proprietors about what he was about to create. As soon as he was back, he flipped the lock on the front door. He didn’t need to be interrupted.

  Dallas, watching from his spot by the door, whined loudly and then rested his chin on his outstretched leg.

  Rhett glanced at Shawn’s notebook open on the counter, flour and cornmeal strewn everywhere. He should have skipped the fritters, a delicacy Shawn had been exceptionally good at, and gone straight to the chicken parts. The recipe had said the lard should be boiling hot so the fritters would rise to the top quickly. They’d all sunk and then disintegrated at the bottom of the pot and were now turning black. He reached out to remove the pot from the heat and jerked back as pain seared through his hand, his work-toughened skin sizzling like butter.

  He cursed.

  Dallas jumped up and ran out of the room.

  “Fine!” he bit out. “Just wonderful!” Shaking away the pain, he stalked to the sink. Working the pump, he held his palm under the cold water, feeling worse than a fool. He was attempting the impossible. “How stupid can I be?”

  Taking hold of his irritation, Rhett went back to the stove. He wiped his sweaty, unburned palm down his filthy apron and scowled at the bubbling pot of goo staring back at him. So much for starting with something easy. He glanced at the paper-wrapped chicken. Why should he dirty two pans? Nothing wrong with the lard that was already boiling. He’d just drop the poultry in with the sunken fritters and see what conspired.

  That night before supper, Lavinia made her way to Katie’s room. She’d put off the conf
rontation long enough. Whether they were in Philadelphia or Eden, visiting Santiago at his saloon, unchaperoned, was not appropriate. And now the situation with Lara . . . When Lavinia had taken her a tray, they’d exchanged a few terse words, but that was all. Lara could use the information about Katie if she was inclined to exact revenge.

  She knocked on Katie’s door.

  Katie opened the door, still working with her blond tresses. The moment she realized her caller was Lavinia—alone—her eyes shuttered.

  Lavinia smiled. “May I come in?”

  Katie glanced at the clock on her fireplace mantel. “It’s almost time to go down for dinner, and my hair is being stubborn. I don’t want to be late.”

  “We have a little time. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  Katie stepped back, let Lavinia enter, and then shut the door. “I only wonder what took you so long,” she said briskly, her lips pulled down. “I expected you last night and again this morning.”

  “Let’s not be cross with each other,” Lavinia replied. Katie could be prickly, and sometimes sharp-tongued, but she didn’t mean any harm. She was frightened. Lavinia guessed she had tender feelings for Santiago. She just wondered what the man felt for her sister. And about the hours she’d spent at the cantina and what could have transpired. She’d not like to see Katie hurt in any way.

  Lavinia held out a hand in supplication. “After this horrible thing that’s happened with Lara, I have no desire to spar with you. I feel like I’ve been through a war and come out on the losing end. I just want to talk, Katie. That’s all. Can we do that?”

  Katie nodded, the anger giving way to worry, which made her look ten years old. She went to the mirror, finished pinning her hair, and then turned to face Lavinia.

  “Why were you at the cantina? And you appeared at ease there, like that wasn’t your first time stopping in. Nor your fifth or tenth. You’ve gone there often, if I had to guess. Does anyone else know? That you visit Santiago, a suitor much too old for you, in his home?”

  A blush rose up her cheeks, but she held Lavinia’s gaze. “Why should they know? I’m the only one with a business on that side of town. Everyone is busy with their own lives, running their own shops. And, if you’ve forgotten, I am an adult.”

  “Yes, you are. That’s true. But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “No. No one but you and Lara knows.”

  “And Rhetten Laughlin, Santiago, and his father. And whoever else might have noticed your buggy parked behind the saloon all those number of times.”

  Her eyes opened wider.

  “Have you considered your reputation? What going there looks like to others? And I have to wonder about Santiago as well, and if he has any sense at all. Does he not think of you and your future? If he cares for you, he’d not put you in a spot for ridicule.”

  Katie and she were closest in age, and yet Lavinia felt vastly older now, looking down into her sister’s anxious face. It was clear Katie hadn’t given any of those questions much thought. Lavinia wondered what it would feel like to be involved romantically with a man. Rhett popped into her mind for a moment, a man seven years her senior. Her cheeks heated.

  “Leave Santiago out of this,” Katie sputtered defensively. “Visiting him was my idea and decision. He had nothing to do with it.”

  “How can I leave him out? You and he are involved. Way back when we first came to town, he had eyes for you, but I didn’t know you felt the same. How long has your romance been going on?”

  This might be worse than I think. I better prepare myself.

  “We’re just friends.”

  “I wish that were true, because you’re only eighteen. You have your whole life ahead of you. I’ve never seen the two of you together, so you’ve not had that much time to get to know him.”

  “Why’re you trying to marry me off to Santiago? I told you we’re only friends.”

  Why don’t I believe that?

  “Katie, if the town finds out, it could be your ruin.”

  “Ruin for what? I love Santiago. What do I care what others think?”

  “You just told me you and he were only friends. Is there more to tell, Katie? Please trust me.”

  Katie’s face had turned white and her hands trembled. “What in the world are you implying?”

  “I’m not implying anything except I’m worried you’ll be hurt in one way or the other.”

  Instead of responding, Katie went to the mirror and blotted her face, took several deep breaths, and pinched her cheeks. “It’s six o’clock,” she said. “We need to go downstairs or someone will come looking for us.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” She reached out and caught Katie as she tried to pass to the door. “I like Santiago,” she said softly. “But you’re young. Please be careful. Your secret is safe with me. But I do worry about what Lara might say.”

  “I’ll be careful. Guard my heart, as Mother used to say. But I love him, Lavinia. And it’s such a wonderful feeling. I never want to live without him. He makes me want to sing, to fly . . . and his kisses . . .”

  Kisses! Where was Katie headed? If not toward heartbreak, then something else entirely.

  A bomb exploded at Clint’s side, flinging mud and dirt into his face. He gasped, spun in the other direction, his rifle heavy in his arms. He hunkered down, took aim, pulled the trigger. A soldier on the next rise clutched his chest and fell. Clint didn’t have time for guilt as fear and necessity pushed him forward. Where were his men? His unit? Was he all alone here holding back Confederate forces from taking the area?

  Feeling warmth on his temple, he reached up and swiped away a streak of blood caused by a rock when the cannonball exploded. His regiment had scattered. The few remaining men couldn’t hold out much longer. In the distance, lines and lines of tan uniforms marched steadily toward his position.

  War was hell!

  Glancing around, he saw two of his comrades taking aim at the enemy. Clint took another shot, quickly reloading.

  With an expression as unbreakable as stonework, Colonel Hayes, a tall, dignified fellow, one he knew had been a lawyer before joining a volunteer unit, galloped by, shouting encouragement to the terrified men. His words bolstered Clint. He took a deep breath, letting it settle his runaway heart.

  The shooting and confusion continued. Hayes’s horse, shot out from under him, went down hard. The enemy marched on and would arrive on their knoll soon. If Clint didn’t do something, the colonel would be lost.

  Clint dived for the reins of a riderless horse as the frightened animal clambered by. Unmindful of the danger, he tugged the wide-eyed horse forward, its hide quivering in fear.

  “Colonel, a horse!”

  Colonel Hayes, just now coming to after being knocked out, blinked groggily. The enemy wasn’t but a few moments away. They had to move now or be killed.

  “Get up!” Clint shouted, taking his arm while keeping a grasp on the frightened gelding.

  The colonel shook his head, still bleary from being briefly knocked unconscious. Clint yanked him off the ground and hefted his large body up into the saddle. He gathered the reins and stuck them in the officer’s fist.

  “Ride west, the way should be clear for a little longer,” Clint yelled. “Go now, before it’s too late.”

  Right then, Hayes took a ricochet to the head, but kept his seat. “Thank you, soldier!” he gritted through the pain. “You’re a credit to your country. What’s your name?”

  With the sound of another cannonball exploding by his side, Clint’s feet dropped from the top of his sheriff’s desk, and he sat bolt upright, his heart pounding in his chest. Sweat dripped down both temples.

  Quivering like he’d been locked out in a snowstorm, Clint tried to stop the feeling of doom that pervaded his thoughts. He took in the sight of his office, thankful to be alive. Thankful for having survived that long-ago battle. War was hell! Brother against brother. Something he never wanted to experience again.

  Wh
en he finally felt able, he stood, crossed his office to a small stand where he kept a pitcher of water, poured himself a glass, and gulped it down as if it were his last. Afternoon sunshine pervaded his office. He didn’t see much trouble in Eden. And thank God for that.

  A small sketch of a mountain scene hung on the wall behind his desk. Mavis had come by one day last month and tacked it up, not even asking permission. They’d smiled at each other and chatted. “I guess those days are over,” he said aloud. “All things come to an end sooner or later.” He thought of Ella, his late wife. And his pa, the memory of his mother. “That’s life. Get over it.”

  Clint wiped his mouth, then paced over to the window. Imagine, Colonel Hayes had gone on to run for president of the United States and win. The little Clint knew of the man, he respected. Did Hayes recall that long-ago day? The battle from hell? After Clint had made sure the colonel wouldn’t fall from the saddle, he’d turned the flighty gelding around and slapped his rump, sending the two off in the right direction. By the time the retreat bugle had sounded, a quarter hour had passed, and he never saw the colonel again. But he’d followed his career, always amazed, always remembering those few moments in time.

  Cash careened through the door; his rumpled appearance said he’d come straight from the livery and had worked hard all day. Pride pushed all memory of the recurring dream from Clint’s mind.

  “You ready for supper?”

  “Sure am, Pa. Seemed like today would never end.”

  Clint lifted his nose. “What’s that strange smell?”

  “It’s coming from the Hungry Lizard. I tried the door, but it was locked. I knocked several times, but Rhett’s not answering. I peered in the window. Couldn’t see nothin’.”

  “Well, it’s none of our business.” Clint stepped outside where the flighty palomino mare he’d borrowed from Maverick while Alibi healed was tied. She tossed her head, and Clint tipped an eyebrow at his son.

  Cash chuckled. “She’ll settle down. Give her a little time.”

  The question was, would Mavis? Clint couldn’t imagine living in the same town with her if she never forgave his stupid blunder. A little over twenty-four hours felt like twenty-four years.