The Engagement Bargain

by Sherri Shackelford

  She was hiding.

  Every fiber of her being rejected the notion of running; every lesson taught during her rigid upbringing rebelled.

  She might have been raised for daring, but the lessons hadn’t taken. Nothing silenced the terror of that man bursting through the window. She was a coward through and through.

  “I’ll come,” she said. “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I should definitely have a new name. My middle name is Ryan. Anna Ryan should do quite nicely. It’s not far from the truth.”

  She wasn’t taking a chance that someone might recognize the name Bishop. Not only for her safety and the safety of those around her, but because the idea of having a name separate from her mother’s had taken root. For reasons she refused to examine, the idea was exhilarating— and terrifying. If she was taking the coward’s way out, she might as well see the game through.

  Caleb stuffed his hands in his pockets. “What were you going to say earlier? You know, when the guard was injured, you started to say...we should.”

  Oh, dear. Must he recall that moment of weakness? She’d been scared. In shock. Not quite herself. “It’s the silliest thing.” She laughed. The sound hollow and false even to her own ears. “I was going to say that we should consider Jo’s idea. Since Mrs. Franklin is accompanying me, there’s no need to go to such extreme lengths.”

  “Which idea?” Caleb straightened. “The pretend engagement?”

  Jo pushed off from the window seat and slapped her palms against thighs. “If we’re leaving, I’ll inform the hotel staff.”

  Izetta crossed to the door. “I had better start packing. I’ll be back around six for suppertime in the dining room.”

  After they’d exited the room, Anna raised an eyebrow. “Was it something I said?”

  A wry grin spread across Caleb’s face. “They’re not very subtle, are they?”

  “No.” Anna shared in his amusement. “As I was trying to explain before, with Mrs. Franklin coming along, there’s no need to go to such desperate lengths.”

  “I wouldn’t say desperate.”

  “Although, if we did pretend an attachment,” she continued thoughtfully, “once this business is resolved, you’d be the jilted suitor. You could turn that to your favor. I’m sure you’d cut quite a romantic figure as the injured party. No doubt you’d find plenty of ladies to comfort you.”

  “Being the jilted suitor isn’t nearly as romantic as you’d suppose.”

  The tone of his voice wiped the teasing smile from her lips. “Oh, dear, I’ve done it now, haven’t I? I’ve said the wrong thing.”

  “I’m embarrassed to admit this,” he said, heaving a breath, “but I’ve already played the part. I won’t bore you with the particulars. Let’s just say, a few years ago, I had a crush on a certain young lady named Mary Louise Stuart.”

  “Forget what I said.” Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “I was trying to lighten the moment and doing a poor job of it.”

  “Her name is Mary Louise McCoy now.”

  The realization took a moment to sink in. “Oh.”

  “Yes. Oh.”

  “She’s married to one of your brothers?”

  “David.”

  Anna searched her memory for mention of David in Jo’s letters.

  “Mary Louise is having a baby,” Anna blurted.

  “Yep.”

  “Oh.”

  “Everyone thinks I’m still sweet on her.”

  “Are you?”

  The question was rude. She didn’t care. She needed his answer. A few days ago she’d nearly died. A lapse in polite conversation hardly seemed noteworthy after that event. Since the accident, she’d been living in a constant state of worry. Now she was running off to the country. She needed to recapture a modicum of her courage.

  “No. And the worst part is, I don’t know that I ever was.” He raked his hand through his hair. “She was pretty.”

  “Pretty?”

  “I liked her because she was the prettiest girl in town.”

  Something twisted in Anna’s chest. “I see.”

  All of her mother’s warnings came rushing back. Men only sought out women because of their looks or their station. They wanted either a trophy or a business arrangement, a way to unite dynasties or a prize. She’d thought Caleb was different.

  “I was young,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking about much of anything else. David and I fought. Words were said. I went away for a while after that. I trained as a veterinarian. I’ve always been better with animals than people.”

  “I think you do quite well.”

  “You won’t find many folks who agree. You were right about one thing. People felt sorry for me after David and Mary Louise were married. I even got an extra slice of pie at the Harvest Festival that year. And some ice cream, as well.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Yep.”

  “How are things between you now? Between you and David and Mary Louise?”

  The question was too personal, and she was rude for asking. None of that stopped her. She’d come this far, there was no going back.

  “Things between us are good. Real good. I mean, here’s the thing. Every time I see Mary Louise, I’m glad she didn’t choose me.”

  At the look of astonished joy on his face, Anna stifled a burst of nervous laughter.

  Caleb dropped his head, his shoulders shaking. “That wasn’t what I meant.” He fisted a hand against his own amusement. “I only mean that we wouldn’t have suited.”

  “I think I understand.” Anna wrestled with uncharacteristic jealously. She’d never met Mary Louise, and already she’d had enough of the woman. “Isn’t it strange, the ideas we have about ourselves? I wanted to be a nurse when I was young. It all seemed very exciting and adventurous. Then I realized that what I really loved were the uniforms.”

  “The uniforms?”

  “They looked so neat and tidy and efficient.”

  “I can see how that would appeal to a young girl.”

  Anna palmed her cheek and shook her head. “It does seem a little silly now that I’m admitting it to someone.”

  “Don’t worry. I wanted to be the town sheriff because he had a tin star. I thought it must be the bravest thing to wear a tin star and carry a gun.”

  “Did you ever have your own tin star as a child?”

  “I cut one from card stock.”

  “It sounds quite impressive.”

  “Not when it rains. Card stock melts in the rain.”

  “Then you must have made a very good sheriff on sunny days.”

  “David is a deputy sheriff now.”

  An unexpected sorrow tugged at her heart. “He got your job and your girl.”

  What a pair they made, and yet they were no different from everyone else. The world was filled with lost dreams and missed opportunities. Why should the two of them escape unscathed? He wasn’t upset by the losses. Instead he appeared relieved. Though he didn’t have a shiny tin star, he’d discovered something better. He’d found his calling.

  Had he found another sweetheart, as well? A shaft of pain pierced her somewhere near the region of her heart. But, no, his sister never would have suggested the engagement charade if he was courting someone else.

  Sensing the shift in mood, he offered a sad smile. “Maybe I should have asked for two free slices of pie at the Harvest Festival.” He idly checked his watch, then flipped shut the lid. “Don’t go painting me as some tortured hero. I’m happy with the way things turned out for me. Sometimes we have to wait for God’s plan and not our own.”

  There was something she’d never understood: God’s plan. If there was a benevolent being plotting out their lives, He was doing an awfull
y poor job of things. Not to mention the statement stripped all responsibility from those helpless souls on earth, providing a convenient excuse for setbacks and failures. A convenient excuse for quitting. I suppose it wasn’t God’s plan.

  Responsibility and faith were far too tangled in organized religion. The contradiction had been an oft-debated topic amongst the more ardent suffragists.

  She recalled something she’d read not long before. “Susan Anthony once said, ‘I distrust those people who know so well what God wants them to do because I notice it always coincides with their own desires.’”

  He didn’t blink at her contrary rejoinder. “Would faith in a higher power be more acceptable if God were to want the opposite of our desires?”

  A thousand heated words balanced on the tip of her tongue. If God had a plan for her, He should have left some instructions. A rudimentary map. At the very least, an arrow pointing in the right direction. Often in her own life she felt as though she was swimming upstream against her desires. What she truly wanted didn’t always match what she had been groomed for, what she had a talent for, what was expected of her.

  She was a good speaker. She recognized her own power over a crowd. She acknowledged the responsibility that accompanied such an influential talent. Yet she’d never felt as though she belonged on the stage. The only time she sensed a calling was when she wrote the words on paper. Planning and writing the speeches enthralled her with passion and purpose. Giving those speeches filled her with trepidation.

  “It must be a comfort,” she said. “Believing in something outside of yourself. Believing in a higher power.”

  There was no mollycoddling in the Bishop household. Personal responsibility was paramount. One did not place one’s destiny in the hands of deities created by men for the continued subjugation of women. While even Victoria Bishop acknowledged there were other, more beneficial aspects of religion, she was quite clear on what she considered the most egregious offences.

  Anna braced for Caleb’s subsequent shock and disappointment. She’d noticed an almost identical sequence of actions when someone of faith encountered someone of doubt. First came shock, then came disappointment, then came proselytizing. She was adept at deflecting the arguments.

  No condemnation appeared in his thoughtful expression. After a long moment he said simply, “What do you believe in?”

  “I’ve never been asked that before.”

  “Then it’s high time someone did.”

  Most people were eager to spout their own beliefs, bullying one into submission. No one had ever asked her about her own thoughts. The question was candid, sincere.

  Since she’d quizzed him about his relationships, she supposed she owed him some honesty in return. “I don’t know what I believe. I’ve seen the words in the Bible used for great good and great evil. I have seen the words used to justify a multitude of charity, as well as a multitude of offences.”

  She readied herself for a barrage of reproach. If his overzealous response caused him to sink lower in her estimation, all the better. This strange fascination she was developing for the man must stop. No good could ever come of it. They were from two different worlds. Their paths led in opposite directions.

  He’d no doubt marry a nice girl from the neighboring farm who would never dream of questioning the veracity of a supreme being. Which suited her just fine. To each his own.

  Annoyed by his continued silence and determined to goad him into revealing himself, she spoke more sharply than she’d intended. “How do you justify the evil men do? Is that God’s plan, that we should fight amongst ourselves? Is it God’s plan that a woman be beaten by her husband with no recourse? Does God condone the subjection of women and children?”

  He remained infuriatingly impassive beneath her barrage. Exhausted by her uncharacteristic temper, Anna fell silent.

  “We are, all of us,” he said thoughtfully, his voice quiet, “capable of both good and evil. It’s too easy to slip into indulgence, assuming that because one man is capable of great evil, his actions refute all the light in the world. If the limits of evil are endless, then so must be the limits of good. God may have a plan, but He has also given us free will. We have a choice. We struggle toward the light or we drift toward the darkness. The secret is ensuring we’re always moving in the right direction. That we stay on the side of righteousness.”

  Suddenly exhausted, Anna abandoned her argument. “It sounds like a great deal of work.”

  “Every relationship in our lives requires work. Even our relationship with God.”

  He replaced his hat and ran his fingertips along the brim. A habit, she supposed, judging by the wear marks in the felt.

  He was a man of faith, and she was a woman consumed by doubts. Together they made a poor match.

  A poor match indeed.

  Chapter Eight

  Caleb dreaded the task ahead of him. This time he’d keep his resolve. He’d keep his emotions in check.

  A thread of cigar smoke led Caleb toward the cramped parlor horseshoed into the end of a corridor. Reinhart glanced up from the sheaf of papers he’d been studying. “Can’t say I’m surprised to see you, Mr. McCoy.”

  Caleb touched his breast pocket. “I have the first payment. The amount you requested. We’ll see how things progress from there.”

  Anna had insisted on paying, but she wasn’t able to visit the bank herself. He’d tell her the truth one day, that he’d paid the fee himself, if the question ever came up. He doubted she’d appreciate his interference. Independence was one thing, bullheadedness was another.

  “Fair enough.” Mr. Reinhart smoothed a palm over his dark, thinning hair. “Found something.”

  They’d chosen to meet the detective at the hotel before their train departed. They’d moved Anna’s room yet again, a location with an undamaged window far from the fire escape.

  Caleb straightened. “Already?”

  “Miss Bishop’s name was familiar. It stuck with me. That’s what got me thinking about this case in the first place. Asking questions. Then I realized why. Somebody was looking for Miss Bishop before.”

  “Who?” Caleb asked, then shook his head. “No. We’d best wait for Miss Bishop. This concerns her most of all.”

  “She’s late.”

  “She’s not late. There’s still five minutes until nine o’clock.”

  The detective seemed to take great satisfaction whenever he thought Anna had failed in some regard. As though lack of punctuality might somehow justify the lack of vote. As though if Reinhart put enough ticks in one column he justified his prejudices.

  Caleb grunted. As if anything in life was that simple.

  Anna appeared at the end of the corridor and Caleb automatically stood, his pulse quickening. Reinhart remained stubbornly ensconced in his seat. She glided toward them with her inherent grace, her feet barely whispering over the carpet runner. Only a slight hitch in her step indicated her injury.

  She wore an elegant dress in a deep shade of green, the trim black. She carried herself with instinctive elegance and an economy of movement. There was nothing clumsy or rushed about Anna Bishop, and her natural confidence drew him forward.

  Even Reinhart started to rise before thumping back down on his seat again. “Don’t s’pose these ladies appreciate civility.”

  “Civility is the whole point.”

  Reinhart grunted and rolled his eyes.

  Caleb held a chair for Anna. She swept her skirts aside and sat. “You said in your note that you’d discovered something. I hadn’t expected news quite this soon.”

  “This is old news,” Reinhart said. “That’s what’s been bothering me. I was telling Mr. McCoy here, your name was familiar. I figured it was because I’d heard about you from the papers. Then I remembered something. Months ago, in St. Louis, a solicitor was loo
king for you.”

  “A lawyer? What was his name?”

  “Don’t remember the name.” Reinhart punctuated his sentence with one of his quick, tight-lipped smiles. “It wasn’t my case. I sent a message back to St. Louis. The telegrams are costing me a pretty penny already, I can tell you that. Telegrams ain’t cheap.”

  “The cost is included in your fee.” Anna smoothed her gloved hands down the armrest. The only sign of nerves Caleb had seen thus far. “Can you at least tell me why this lawyer was looking for me?”

  “Your father hired him.”

  Anna blanched, half stood, then caught herself and sat back down. “You must be mistaken. The man must have used that as an excuse.”

  “Mebbe. But I don’t think so.”

  “If the inquiry was a hoax—” Caleb placed his hand on the back of Anna’s chair “—do you think the shooting was planned that far in advance?”

  His suspicions had finally been validated, though he took no satisfaction in the victory. Anna clearly didn’t think the threat was personal. This information proved her wrong.

  Reinhart leaned forward. “The shooter might have been planning something, but not what happened at the rally. How could he? They only arranged the speech three weeks ago.”

  As much as it galled him to admit, the unkempt detective had a point.

  Anna’s booted foot beat a steady tattoo on the carpet near his own foot, the tufted covering on the armrest compressed beneath her fingers.

  Caleb pressed against his forehead with a thumb and index finger. “How can you be sure the man wasn’t lying? How can we know he was really Anna’s father?”

  “I figured he was on the up and up because Miss Bishop’s mother agreed to meet with the fellow last April,” Reinhart said. “The solicitor met with Victoria Bishop.”

  Anna rose from her chair and faced away from them. “No, that can’t be. Surely she’d have said something to me.”

  Her distress cut him to the quick. Caleb approached her, keeping his body between her and the detective, then spoke low in her ear. “There’s no easy way to ask this, but do you know your father’s identity? We’ll be able to tell easily enough if Reinhart is lying.”