Before the Larkspur Blooms

by Caroline Fyffe

  Thom closed the pine door and returned to the buggy. He looked at Markus. “You want to stretch him out?”

  “No. He’ll be fine.”

  “I was thinking of you. He must be getting heavy.”

  She shook her head, pretending at least for this short time that they were a real family. That Thom was her husband and Markus’s father, that they were returning from a night out with friends, only to nestle into her large goose-down mattress until morning. The homey scene was an intoxicating thought. “I enjoy the feel of him. Besides, he’s keeping me warm.”

  Thom nodded as he turned the buggy back toward Main Street.

  Surprisingly, Logan Meadows was still awake. A lantern shone in the window of the El Dorado, illuminating the parlor, where a woman sat reading a book and several unidentifiable men talked. Breakfast customers, Hannah thought happily. Farther down the street, Maude, still up, swept the boardwalk in front of the mercantile, her white apron tied around her ample waist. As they approached, she stopped and squinted through the shadowy street. Her mouth formed an O when she recognized them, and she lifted her hand to wave.

  Hannah’s cheeks warmed. Thom waved back. Five horses tethered in front of the Bright Nugget dozed. Two men standing outside watched the buggy pass. The sounds of a lively piano tune floated through the swinging doors, punctuated with the sound of men’s laughter.

  “Town’s busy,” Thom whispered. He snapped the reins over the bay mare’s back, and they trotted across the bridge and continued to Hannah’s house. With disappointment, Hannah realized they were nearly home.

  “Whoa,” Thom called as they pulled up in front of Hannah’s two-story. Several lanterns were burning inside. Roberta. Up and waiting. He hopped out and went to Hannah’s side, taking Markus from her lap and extending a hand to assist her to the ground. The sleepy boy rolled his head onto Thom’s shoulder and wrapped his arm around Thom’s neck like a baby raccoon. His scent called to mind him wrestling with his brother and chasing his sister around the yard, laughing and screaming in fun. Memories, a mixture of joy and pain.

  They took the porch steps side by side, Hannah moving ahead to open the door. Thom stepped over the threshold, and a warm, comforting aroma enveloped them. He took a moment to look around. The room was neat and clean, everything in its place. Some things he remembered from his childhood visits. The large hutch along the far wall, a tall grandfather clock with a crack at the top, the old rocking chair still in the same spot by the window. He felt Caleb in the room, in the emotions this house evoked.

  Hannah touched his arm. “Do you mind carrying him up to his room for me? I hate to wake him.”

  “Of course.” Home. He pushed the sentiment away.

  At the top of the stairs, they passed the open door to Roberta’s bedroom, where she sat in her night coat, reading. She closed the book, then stood. Her forehead creased and her mouth twisted as she recognized Thom carrying her grandson.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  In here,” Hannah whispered. She pulled back Markus’s quilt and plumped his pillow. As Thom held the child, Hannah pulled off his boots. Thom laid him on the bed and stepped back, fully aware of Roberta hovering in the doorway. He could feel her eyes boring a hate-filled hole in his back.

  Deftly, Hannah stripped the tyke of his pants, socks, and shirt, and then tucked the blanket around him. Leaning down, she kissed his cheek and traced a little cross on his forehead.

  She turned and murmured, “They’re only little for such a short time. Sometimes I don’t want him to get any older.” Roberta harrumphed from the doorway, causing a tiny smile to pull Hannah’s lips up. “May as well face the music,” she whispered, her eyes searching his.

  “May as well.”

  They turned in unison, walked out of the room, and he closed the door with a soft click.

  Roberta stepped back and then followed them down the stairs.

  “Mother, you needn’t stay up to visit with us. Tomorrow is the day you help in the restaurant. You don’t want to be tired.”

  “Yes, Hannah, I know,” she said, hurrying past and going into the kitchen. “I just want to make myself a cup of tea.” She disappeared into the other room.

  “Can you stay a moment?”

  “Hannah.”

  “Just a moment, I promise.”

  Feeling more than a bit uncomfortable, he sat on the sofa. She sat, too, with a good, respectable space between them. Sounds of clinking and clanking from the kitchen made him chuckle.

  “I know, I know,” she whispered. “She’s still the exact same.”

  “I don’t know how you stand it.”

  Hannah’s eyes gleamed with merriment. “She’s my mother. I have to stand it.”

  He shrugged. “I guess that’s so.”

  “Would either of you like a cup?” Roberta called. “Water will be hot soon.”

  “No, thank you,” they replied in unison.

  “She must have had the water hot from before,” Hannah said. “Now, she’s having another cup just to act as chaperone.” She settled back against the cushions, getting comfortable. “Now that the roof on the mercantile and Maude’s rental are finished, what will you do? Spend more time at the livery?”

  Thom leaned back and crossed his feet at the ankles, resting one arm along the backside of the sofa. “That was my plan. Then yesterday, Albert came by and asked if I’d like to help on the construction of the depot when they get started. Right now, they’re cutting lumber and digging the foundation. There’ll be several men from the Union Pacific directing and helping, so it shouldn’t take all that long.”

  She sat forward excitedly. “That’s wonderful. You’re meeting all kinds of new people, making contacts. Won’t be long before you’re not a stranger in town anymore.”

  He gave her a skeptical look, knowing what she was trying to do. “Maude really helped me get a leg up, and now this. I have to say I’m very grateful.”

  “Just what are you grateful for, Mr. Donovan? After all that’s happened to you, I can’t imagine you being thankful for anything.” Roberta came shuffling out of the kitchen, unmindful of the woolen socks on her feet and blue housecoat. She held a teacup between her hands. Easing into the chair opposite them, she set the cup carefully on the table.

  Hannah gave her a pointed look. “Mother.”

  “I’ve been hired on to help build the new railroad depot west of the festival grounds,” Thom said.

  Roberta tipped her head up and raised an eyebrow. “We can see the depot from here. There’s a lot of activity going on.” She cleared her throat.

  He nodded. “Did I tell you, Hannah, even Win is primping up the livery?” he added, struggling for something to say. “Yesterday we built a small enclosure up close to Main Street on the west side of the livery barn. It’s for the two pet buffalo, sort of an attraction for travelers. Everyone coming from the train depot will have to pass by. Win hopes they’ll become the town mascots, so to speak.”

  Hannah’s approving nod encouraged Thom to go on.

  “He said there’s fascination with bison, especially since they’re disappearing from the prairies.”

  Roberta sniffed loudly. “The day those smelly creatures become our town symbol is the day I move out of Logan Meadows.” She sipped her tea. “It’s bad enough that on warm days I have to close my windows. Now, you say I’m going to have to see the object of my irritation every day as well? I’ll have to talk with Frank about that tomorrow.”

  “You could take the long way around, Mother. So you wouldn’t have to pass them. The doctor did tell you to get more exercise each day.”

  Great, Thom thought. Now, he’d gone and made trouble for Win. “They’ll get moved out back each evening, Mrs. Brown. I can’t see that being a hundred feet closer would make that much difference.”

  “You wouldn’t, Mr. Donovan, but I do.”

  “Thom.”

  Roberta leaned back in surprise as if trying to figure him out. “Excuse me?”

>   “Thom. You should call me that.”

  Hannah’s mother set her cup on the table with a rattling thud and stood. Thom blinked. Her image wavered before his eyes, making his stomach queasy. He looked away. Jammed his finger and thumb into his eyes.

  “Thom?” Hannah’s voice held concern. “Are you all right?”

  Not wanting to make a scene, Thom opened his eyes. The outer edges of his sight were dim, fuzzy. He blinked and then smiled into Hannah’s face.

  “I guess falling down today knocked some sense out of me. I’m fine. Just a nagging headache coming on.”

  Roberta stepped over to the sofa and sat on his other side. She placed a warm palm on his forehead. “You fell today, Mr. Donovan? Did you hit your head?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  On the back porch, Chase pulled a chair over to another so he and Jessie could sit side by side. She was wound as tight as a spring after the close call they’d had with Shane. His son and daughter were now peacefully asleep in their beds, but he was sure it would be hours before he and Jessie were that lucky.

  “Go on and sit,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  He went to the parlor and took two small crystal glasses from the sideboard and filled each with a good portion of sherry. The aroma drifted up, making his taste buds tingle. The bottle had been a gift from Frank three years ago, when they’d moved back to Logan Meadows and onto the ranch. They used it sparingly and only on special occasions. Tonight is one indeed, he thought, glancing at Shane’s room. He carried the dainty, slim-stemmed glasses with care onto the back porch.

  “For you,” he said, handing a glass to Jessie.

  “Thank you.”

  He sat. They sipped, lost in their own thoughts.

  He took another, smiling to himself when Jessie did the same. It was a rare occasion when she took any spirits at all.

  “That tastes good,” she said. “Warm.”

  He grunted. The field out back rolled down the gently sloping hill to a flat spot where a small fork of the South Laramie flowed shallow a few months out of the year. Spring runoff from the mountains had it gushing, but come summer it dried to a bed of rocks. The main barn and several corrals were in the front of the ranch, a pretty picture for arriving or departing guests.

  “You all right, Jess?” She was still, except for the rise and fall of her chest and the occasional lifting of the glass to her lips.

  “Yes. Just thinking.”

  “I know.”

  “I couldn’t have stood it, Chase. If something were to happen to Shane, I’d die myself. I couldn’t go on.”

  “Don’t talk like that. Nothing is going to happen to him. Or anyone.” He set his glass on the railing and took her hand in his own, feeling it quiver. “But if something did happen—you would go on. That’s a fact. I don’t ever want to hear you say different again.”

  An owl hooted down in the draw, followed by the yip of a coyote.

  The breeze lifted her hair, and it shimmered in the moonlight. “You cold?” he asked.

  “Not bad. This sherry is doing the trick and warming me from the inside out.” She gave a small laugh, and he smiled.

  “It does have a way of doing that.” He stood.

  “Where’re you going?”

  “Never you mind.”

  Chase entered the kitchen and crossed the main room to their bedroom. Opening the dresser, he rummaged around, looking for Jessie’s shawl. As he took it from the drawer, a letter fluttered to the floor, coming to rest haphazardly on his boot.

  It was a letter from the orphanage, from Mrs. Hobbs. He’d never met the woman, and from Jessie’s stories, he didn’t want to either.

  He bent and picked it up. It’s not opened.

  Curious, he went back to her drawer. Pushing some hankies, a bonnet, and one unmentionable aside, he looked around. He was a bit shocked to find a letter she’d received several months back, opened, and another one still intact. Why wouldn’t she open the others? Letters? Unopened letters? He turned them over, looking for some clue.

  A chill crept up his spine. What was this about? He looked at the postmark. It had arrived this week, the other two, months before. He shoved the letters in his back pocket and picked up the shawl.

  Jessie collected the two empty glasses, intending to take them inside. She was uneasy. Not in a mood to sit out here alone, pondering today and all the things that could have gone wrong.

  Chase stepped out as she reached for the door. “Whoa, where you off to? I just got your shawl.”

  “I’m not in the mood to sit and talk, Chase. I need to do something. Keep moving.”

  “Oh, it’s not all that bad.” He took the glasses from her hands and set them down. She let him drape her favorite black-and-pink shawl, a gift from him, over her shoulders. “There. Now, come sit on my lap. That’s not negotiable, Mrs. Logan. I’m telling, not asking.”

  It was a game they played. He’d never bully her into doing something she didn’t want to do, so at times, this was their way of avoiding a fight. If one or the other said it was not negotiable, the other complied, no questions asked. And who knew, perhaps he felt as restless as she did and needed a little comforting himself but was too proud to ask.

  He sat down and pulled her onto his lap, settling her in. His warmth cocooned her in safety, and she rested her head against his large, firm chest.

  Chase.

  My husband.

  She ran her hand down the front of his shirt and back up, enjoying the feel beneath her fingertips.

  “Comfortable?”

  “Yes. This was a good idea.” There was nothing an embrace wouldn’t fix. The owl hooted again, familiar and soothing. “I feel better already.”

  “Good. We aim to please.” He chuckled, and the rumble against her ear sent a ripple of warmth to her belly. She was safe. The children were safe. Chase wouldn’t let anything happen.

  “Tomorrow’s going to come early. You tired?” he asked.

  “I’m getting a little sleepy. I think it’s the sherry.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Me, too.”

  His hands massaged her back, his fingers doing magical things to her tensed muscles. “Tell me about the letters you’re getting from the orphanage.” He’d dropped his voice down a notch as if trying to purposefully sound mysterious.

  Jessie slowly sat up, looked into Chase’s face. Her dark eyes were pools of uncertainty. “What do you mean?”

  He reached behind him and pulled her letters from his pocket. “I found these looking for your shawl. Can’t begin to fathom what might keep you from opening up a letter from anyone, let alone bossy Mrs. Hobbs, so I didn’t even try. I want to hear it from you.”

  It took her a moment to get her wits about her.

  The letters.

  Chase had stumbled on the letters she’d so foolishly stuffed in the bottom of her dresser drawer. She should have realized he was going in for her shawl when he’d asked if she was cold.

  “Jessie?” He tipped her chin up. “Why didn’t you open the other two? Months ago, when I brought you the first letter, you told me she was just sending a hello. Checking up on you. Is it more than that, darlin’?”

  She tried to stand, needing secure footing under her before launching into this, but Chase held her back. “Chase, let me up.” Worry made her voice thick.

  “I don’t want to. Now, you’re keeping me warm,” he teased. He nuzzled her neck. “Jess?”

  Knowing he wasn’t going to give up so easily, she gently plucked the letters from his fingers. “I didn’t open them because all that busybody does is gossip. I don’t want to be a part of that. If I don’t reply, she’ll get the idea without me having to explain.”

  She felt his body relax. “Fine then. You’d tell me if it were something more?”

  “Yes.”

  Unable to look at him a moment longer, Jessie glanced down toward the creek, the letters practically burning her fingertips. Her heart shivered for telling Chase
a lie. Well, it wasn’t all a lie. But she couldn’t share her fears with him now, not with all the trouble he was having with the disappearing cattle. He was already preoccupied enough with catching the rustlers. Distracting him might put his life in danger. Her conscience pricked, and she knew protecting Chase was not the real reason for her keeping quiet, but she pushed the feelings away. In all honesty, she expected the interest in Sarah to just die away. It had been so many years since they’d adopted her. It wasn’t her little girl the woman who’d contacted Mrs. Hobbs was looking for. There were lots of young girls in orphanages. Surely they weren’t looking for Sarah. Sarah was hers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Early Monday morning Thom headed straight for the sheriff’s office. His vision had cleared—he’d not dwell on something he had no power to fix. But there was something he could fix. Rustling was bad business. It usually escalated into all kinds of other crimes, including murder. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to Chase or Jessie or anyone else. All he could do was report what he knew and then stay out of trouble.

  On entering the sheriff’s office, he found Chase Logan there already in conversation with Albert. Albert was sitting behind his desk, and Chase was resting a hip on the top.

  Thom removed his hat and held it. Chase’s face went void of expression, and Thom wondered, after the strained day yesterday, which way Hannah’s friend was leaning.

  “Thom.” By the red stains on the sheriff’s cheeks, he figured they’d just been discussing him.

  Thom tipped his head at each man.

  Albert motioned to the chairs against the wall. “Pull up a seat and then get yourself a cup of coffee.”