by Rachel Bird
“I don’t think it’s working,” Charity said. “Mae and Abigail are already on to his tax scheme. They both say they won’t turn anything over to a stranger.”
For dessert, Naomi brought out a cherry pie, which met with great approval all around. “My crust isn’t as flaky as Belle’s but the cherries are wonderful.”
“Mr. Overstreet says I can keep working for him, even if you won’t be going to the farm anymore.” Luke looked at Naomi hopefully. “There will be fruit to pick all through the summer. The blueberries will be ripe soon.”
“That will be fine, but only half days,” she said. “And only until school starts in the fall.”
“If Break Heart finds a teacher, that is,” Faith pointed out.
“Speaking of Belle, I have a surprise.” Charity showed the envelope she’d been saving in her pocket. “A letter came from her today, and I’d say I deserve credit for not opening it until we could all enjoy her news together.”
“Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth.” Faith winked at her. “A stranger, and not thine own lips.”
“Very good, Faith.” Naomi winked at Charity. “I’ll supply the praise then. I’m sure it required herculean effort to wait. But let’s hear Belle’s news!”
Charity read the letter aloud. The happy couple had been to Philadelphia to meet Brady’s sister, to Boston to sign documents regarding Belle’s inheritance from her first husband, and were about to leave for their main destination.
“Brady sends his love and wants you to know that any and all of you are welcome to come live at Nighthawk. I told him I doubt you’ll give up your new lives of independence so easily, but he extends the invitation nonetheless.”
Charity shot Naomi a meaningful look. Belle had laid out the flaw in her plan. Exchanging Mr. Overstreet for Nighthawk would be exchanging one kind of dependency for another.
“Meanwhile, now that I’m a woman of some means, I intend to pay the rent on Calico Manor as long as you stay there, and I’ll brook no refusals, as my former mother-in-law would say.
Brady and I will also have one, and maybe two, very big surprises for you when we get home, but at the moment I’m not at liberty to say what they are.
I don’t intend to fritter away this fortune, of course, but I won’t hoard it like a miser either. From now on, none of my family will be brought low for lack of a dollar.
We’ve finished our business in Boston and leave within the hour for New York. My friend, Miss Evangeline St. James, has recommended a resort where she’s promised to meet us for a few days before she departs for a European tour. Such is the life of a young and unmarried heiress!
Marriage and events are keeping me busy, but I do miss my family. I would dearly love a letter with all your news. Please write me in care of the Grand Union Hotel in Saratoga Springs, New York. I’m told it is the largest hotel in the entire world. More importantly, it has hot and cold running water in every guestroom!
“What scrumptious luxury,” Hannah murmured, reaching out for the letter to read again to herself.
Charity handed it over. She should be happy for Belle, but instead a seed of anxiety sprouted inside. “She’ll grow so used to fine things, she may lose interest in Break Heart.”
“Fontana will keep her interest.” A knowing smile tugged at Faith’s lips, and Naomi answered with a smile of her own.
Yes, there was that, Charity thought.
She was aware of the inexplicable lure of romantic love. She’d seen plenty examples of a perfectly sensible woman losing her reason over a man. Suddenly his delights became hers, his whims her every command. It was silly, and she’d never understood it, but she didn’t deny the phenomenon existed—and Faith was correct that Belle was head-over-heels in love with Brady Fontana.
Wouldn’t it be convenient if Naomi experienced the same attraction to Mr. Morgan! Then she wouldn’t mind a whit that he had two children.
With renewed hope for the best of all possible outcomes, when the kitchen was cleaned up, she went upstairs to show Naomi Mr. Morgan’s excellent correspondence. No marriage-minded female could resist the man who wrote those letters.
Except, apparently, Charity’s oldest sister.
“Certainly not.” Naomi recoiled as if Charity had offered her two snakes to hold.
“But why? There was a time you were willing to sacrifice yourself for the good of your family. Remember that day you looked through Mrs. V’s book?”
“Our circumstances were desperate then.”
“And now they’re not. Instead of sacrificing yourself for us, grab some happiness for yourself.”
“By marrying a stranger.”
“He doesn’t have to be a stranger. You’ll like Mr. Morgan when you read his letters.”
“His letters to you.”
“No, not to me. I said nothing about myself in the correspondence. It’s all about you.”
Literally, that was true. But Charity couldn’t deny that something of herself had crept in. Not in the substance of the sentences, but in their spirit.
“Read his letters. You’ll see. He’s a wealthy man, thirty-five years old—”
“Thirty-five?” Naomi frowned.
Good! A frown meant disappointment. And disappointment meant she’d already begun to consider Mr. Morgan, whether she realized it or not.
“Thirty-five isn’t too bad. The age difference between you is no different than that between Belle and Brady. And Mr. Morgan has a youthful way of expressing himself.”
“And Jonathan Overstreet combs his hair over his bald spot.”
“Just read these and think about it.” Charity set the letters down on Naomi’s chest of drawers—right where Ma’s brooch should be, she realized too late. Naomi’s eyes narrowed. She’d noticed it too.
“One day, dear sister, your interfering in other people’s lives is going to land you in real trouble.”
Maybe sooner than later. Ach, what a bag of nails! Time was of the essence. Mr. Morgan could show up in Break Heart as soon as next week, expecting to meet his bride.
If Naomi wouldn’t have him, could Charity keep her promise to Mrs. V?
That night Matthew and Mark showed up again in Charity’s dream. At the moment Pa went down, they vanished—only to reappear on Naomi’s raft. And with them there was someone new.
A woman with shining golden hair stood near Naomi, dressed in a long split skirt and leather riding chaps, a beaded bolero-type vest, and wearing heavy leather riding gloves. She seemed a female version of the vaqueros Charity had read about, and she had the fierce aspect of a warrior angel.
She smiled across the water at Charity encouragingly.
“What am I to do?” Charity called out and woke herself up.
Morning came. Faith made coffee. Naomi made breakfast. All in uncomfortable silence.
When Charity got to Tagget’s, the newspaperman, Mr. Callahan, was out on the sidewalk up the street, examining his window display, and a brilliant idea came to her.
She hurried up to the newspaper office, which housed the Western Union, and sent a telegram to Belle Fontana, care of the Grand Union Hotel in Saratoga Springs, New York:
Naomi perhaps to marry Mr. Morgan of Morning Star Ranch stop Beg Mr F write extolling virtues of Mr. M stop
Chapter 17
Abigail was in her element. The new Mrs. Overstreet was a tremendous success. After church on Sunday, everybody wanted to meet her, and when they did, they swooned with approval.
When the crowd lingering in the churchyard began to dissipate, Lavinia called out cheerfully, “Sally, Damon. It’s time to go. Look lively now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lickety-split, the two former terrors clambered up into the back of their buckboard. Jonathan handed Lavinia in and proudly drove away.
“She’s a credit to you, Abigail.” Mrs. Grayson pronounced. “A welcome addition to our town.”
“She is a delight,” Mae agreed. “As is the large credit Jonathan has established f
or her with your store, I would imagine.”
As Abigail had predicted, Lavinia was now charged with redecorating the Overstreet farmhouse, every room, upstairs and down. Grayson’s Household Furniture stood to benefit handsomely.
“And a very good thing that he has,” Abigail said. “Commerce drives prosperity, and prosperity makes for a town worth living in.”
“I think we’re all of one mind on that subject,” Mae said.
Abigail was quite pleased with herself. The more marriages in Break Heart, the more families established, the more pressure there would be to close down Sweet Dee’s. The day that happened would be her sweetest triumph of them all.
The Graysons departed, and Mae joined Faith Steele and Lily Rose.
Abigail had conflicting opinions regarding Sweet Dee’s manager. She was an intelligent, competent businesswoman who deserved admiration for the way she ran the place. She’d raised it up from a mere bawdy house to something finer.
On the other hand, she worked for that woman.
On the other hand, she required that her girls maintain an elegant appearance which brought the modiste its steadiest source of custom.
And the Steele girls had accepted her friendship. Abigail let that be her guide, and she joined the three ladies.
“I’m coming around to your way of thinking,” she told Deputy Faith. She nodded at Polk, who was talking Teddy Gensch’s ear off as the Gensches left the churchyard. “From the moment that man found out who was the mayor, poor Teddy hasn’t had space to breathe.”
Faith nodded absently, but her attention was on the Deckoms, who’d shown up again today. Parson Hood and his sister were talking with Jessop, the other two Deckoms standing close by.
Abigail couldn’t believe their audacity. “This would never have happened if Brady were here. Polk’s of no use.” She suspected him of cowardice, on top of being an unctuous politician.
“Why the sudden interest in church, I wonder?” Mae said. The preacher appeared to be encouraging them to leave. “What are they up to?”
“No good, that’s what,” Lily Rose said. “You’ll notice they don’t let any of their girls come to church.”
Abigail couldn’t help liking Lily Rose for her own sake. It was to her credit the doves of Sweet Dee’s came to church. She might well be an instrument in their salvation.
“I think this is Red John’s way of getting to see a certain someone,” Mae said. “He’s over the moon for Charity, the poor girl.”
Humph. Poor girl my eye. Abigail had intended to speak with Charity after church, but she’d hightailed it up the lane for home as soon as the service was over. Either she still hadn’t spoken to Naomi about Mr. Morgan, or worse, she had and to no good effect.
“Red John is different from the others,” Lily Rose said. “He can be sweet, actually. But he has no backbone. If Jessop wanted him to do wrong, he’d do it.”
“It’s that Jessop who sends shivers down my spine,” Faith said.
“Big Mama and Jessop are the worst of the lot.” Lily Rose nodded. “Mean as snakes. Either one would kill a man as soon as buy him a drink.”
She should know. It was no secret the Deckoms frequented Sweet Dee’s, despite their banishment from Break Heart. They went around, outside the town limits, and approached from the north side. Lily Rose often saw them there.
“Cole’s the one I can’t figure out.” She glanced at Faith. “It’s like he was born to the wrong family.”
“Then he should leave them,” Faith said. “And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee, for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Abigail said.
“Good day then.” Hortensia’s strident voice carried across the churchyard as she pulled her brother away from the Deckoms.
The gathering broke apart, and revealed Naomi Steele somewhat beyond them, on her knees at her mother’s grave.
“Is your sister upset about something?” Abigail asked.
“She and Charity had a row,” Faith said. “Over what, I don’t know, but I’m sure that’s why Charity rushed off right after church. She’s going to make Sunday dinner and do all Naomi’s chores to get on her good side.”
“Good side, fiddlesticks!”
Enough of this dawdling. Abigail marched off toward the grave. If the young woman had a mother above snakes, she wouldn’t stick her oar in. But Naomi Steele was motherless and obviously floundering.
Someone had to do something.
“You know, when your brows aren’t all knotted up in a scowl, years fall from your face.”
“If you’re here to sweet-talk me, Mrs. Vanderhouten, you can save your breath.”
Abigail laughed. “I wouldn’t attempt it. It’s hardly sweet talk to tell you you’re a fool if you turn down Preston Morgan.”
“There it is.” Naomi huffed out a put-upon sigh.
“You’re not happy. Anyone can see it. You’re not the only oldest daughter in history who took on the full weight of her family’s troubles and forgot to have a life of her own.”
“Mrs. Vanderhouten—”
“It’s to your credit you’ve been there for your sisters and little Luke, but at what cost? Are you going to wait until Hannah is properly settled, maybe another ten years, before you think of your own happiness? Be practical. Right or wrong, fair or foul, with every year that passes, the pool of possible husbands shrinks. A man like Preston Morgan comes along once in a lifetime.”
Maybe she was putting it on thick. At thirty-five, the man was no spring chicken either, and he had two motherless children to raise up. But that’s why a grown woman was needed, not a young girl who still believed the world had been especially made to order for her delight alone.
“Morning Star Ranch is one of the largest spreads in three counties, and his hands never leave him. Also telling, he hires a sufficient number of house servants so that nobody is worn out from work. And he maintains a personal library of over a thousand books.”
Naomi looked at her sharply at that last fact. Abigail looked away and took a moment to adjust her gloves. A thousand might be high. But she’d heard the number on good authority from Brady Fontana himself, who had seen the volumes.
“Preston Morgan is rich enough not to mind if you come to him without two nickels to rub together, so long as you possess a good character, a modicum of beauty, and aren’t afraid of hard work. You fit every particular on that bill, do you not?”
“I don’t know about beauty, but I hope I’m of good character, and hard work is what life is made of.”
Naomi Steele must know she was lovely. The only reason Abigail hadn’t noticed from the beginning was because she’d been distracted by her sister Belle’s extraordinary beauty.
“You could show Mr. Morgan it’s time to be happy again. And you never know. Maybe he’ll show you how to be happy for the first time in your life.”
“Really, Mrs. Vanderhouten—”
“Don’t get huffy. Your mother would tell you the same if she were here. Why look after other people’s children, the Sallys and Demons of this world?”
Bad argument. Mr. Morgan had two children of his own. But then, when they were married, his children would be hers.
“Charity shouldn’t have told you—”
“Don’t assume it was that firecracker of a sister of yours. Charity only wants to see you happy. Mae told me your nickname for the boy.”
They both knew Charity must have told Mae.
“That nickname alone tells me you’ve got spirit. You’re not the kind to give up on life, Naomi Steele. So don’t.”
Chapter 18
Morning Star Ranch
the same day
Late Sunday morning on the first day of July, Preston Morgan rode up the long drive to the big house at Morning Star Ranch. This year he was especially glad to come home.
Corby shifted in his
saddle and spoke for the first time in hours. “Feels good, knowing Rafe’s here.”
Pres nodded. “Yep.”
Every year at the end of the drive, no matter its success, there was always some feeling of dread over what he might return to. This homecoming felt… soothing. Rafe was there. All would be in order. The ranch. The household. The children.
The selfish truth of it was, with Rafe minding the ranch, Pres had enjoyed a high level of comfort, knowing that while he was gone all would be safe and well.
But it was unfair to use his brother as a surrogate. Rafe was dependable, a good man, but he wasn’t cut out to be a rancher. He had the heart of a cowboy, and he was good to his horse, but he had no stomach for the loneliness of the life. Rafe needed to be with people, not animals, and Pres had to let him go.
Oh, the ache in his heart was still there. The emptiness that would never be filled up again no matter how the ranch flourished. In the yard in front of the house, the cherry tree Rosamund had planted as a seedling was tall, strong, and ripe with fruit. The herd had brought in the best price in the Morning Star’s history, with the promise of even higher prices in the years ahead. The ranch’s horse-breeding operation was a source of both profits and pride.
And the children. Lisette was coming to the end of childhood and eager for life—whip smart, curious, and brave. Ulysses was sweet and kind and too tenderhearted for his own good. Pres adored the little cuss, though every time he looked at the boy he remembered what it had cost to bring him into the world.
Rosamund, Rosamund. It’s just wrong you were denied the joy of all this.
He and Corby dismounted in the courtyard and led their horses into the barn. Though they were both tired as dogs, they brushed down their animals themselves. A man who didn’t care for his own horse didn’t deserve her.
As Pres hung Aphrodite’s bridle, a nicker brought his attention to the open half of the door to the corral outside the barn. The colt—Hades—poked his nose in, and a rush of mixed feelings churned inside him.
