The Engagement Bargain

by Sherri Shackelford

“You’re using this for the platform?”

  “Do not be naive, dear. Passing up such an excellent opportunity is foolish. As soon as my leg heals, we shall return to St. Louis. Nothing can be done from this isolated location.”

  Her mother was wrong. There were plenty of ways one made a difference, even in a small town. The cause wasn’t simply about making a change in Washington. If they made grand speeches and forgot the individual stories, then they gained nothing. They had traveled the country and focused on getting the vote, all the while forgetting the very people they were fighting for. That was Victoria Bishop’s mistake.

  Anna exhaled her pent-up breath. This was not the time to change her mother’s mind. There were other, more pressing matters. Anna wasn’t a child anymore, easily distracted by her mother’s verbal sparring. She wanted answers. Needed answers. There were questions still hanging between them—about her past, about her father, about everything.

  “Actually, Mother,” Anna began, “I think this convalescence will give us the opportunity to clear the air between us.”

  “I wasn’t aware the air had been polluted.”

  A knock sounded from the front parlor, and Izetta crossed the room, no doubt using the distraction as a polite way to leave them in privacy.

  “I spoke with a Pinkerton detective named Reinhart,” Anna said, studying her mother for even a hint of reaction. “He said someone was looking for me in St. Louis.”

  Victoria Bishop plucked at a loose thread in the tufting on the arm of her chair. “What on earth are you babbling on about?”

  “I think you know.”

  Izetta interrupted Anna’s next words, her gaze apologetic. “You’re needed in town, Anna. It’s Mrs. Phillips.”

  The look on Izetta’s face indicated bad news. “Oh dear, what’s wrong?”

  “Her husband has arrived.”

  Why did everything always happen at once? She’d spent a week here with hardly more than a breeze to stir the leaves, now a veritable tornado of activity was brewing.

  Anna snatched her shawl from the peg near the door and leaned into the parlor. “I shall return shortly.” She pinned her mother with a stare. “You and I are not finished speaking.”

  “Of course not, dear. I need your assistance with a speech for the Boston chapter,” her mother said.

  Anna gritted her teeth. She’d finish this talk later, whether her mother liked it or not.

  Her mother told women like Mrs. Phillips to wait for change. Mrs. Phillips didn’t have the luxury of time.

  Everything jumbled together in her mind. This was her chance to prove she wasn’t a child, to prove she deserved answers, to prove she was more than simply Victoria Bishop’s daughter. She understood things her mother couldn’t comprehend, about people, about their heartaches.

  When she arrived at the hotel, Mrs. Phillips was tugging her gloves over her wrists. Jane sat solemnly beside her mother wearing a fresh pink dress with several layers of lace flounces.

  Her feet swung, and Anna returned to her own youth, recalling her vigil outside Miss Spence’s office all those years ago.

  Mrs. Phillips didn’t meet her eyes. “We’re going home with Clark.”

  Panic gripped Anna. “But you can’t. After what he’s done. How can you?”

  “We had a long talk. He’s said he’s changed.”

  Anna felt as though the ground beneath her feet had crumbled away. “Mrs. Phillips. This isn’t a matter of leaving one’s dirty clothing on the floor or working too many hours, or even of drinking too much. This man had you—” She caught sight of Jane and held back the words. “You know what he’s done.”

  “I’m not like you. I’m not independent. Clark handled all the decisions, all the bills. Jane needs a stable home.”

  “Do you really think that’s what your future holds? A stable home life? You must think about Jane.”

  “I am thinking about Jane. This is what’s best. Clark can guarantee a comfortable life for her. I cannot.”

  Anna caught the slight change in her tone. “Has he done something? Has he threatened you? Is he blackmailing you?”

  Her expression hardened. “I’m doing what’s best for me. For Jane. I don’t expect you to understand that.”

  The extent of her failure stole the breath from Anna’s lungs. She’d lost the battle. She’d done nothing for Mrs. Phillips. She’d done nothing for Jane. She’d thought she’d understood but she was just as naive and self-absorbed as her mother. She’d been fighting for a personal victory, as well.

  “Will you stay in touch?” Anna begged, grasping for any thread of hope. “Will you write and let me know how you’re faring?”

  “I don’t think so. Perhaps it’s best if we don’t remain in contact.”

  Anna glanced between mother and daughter. She’d failed. There was nothing left. No more arguments. By the set of her jaw, Mrs. Phillips had made up her mind. Nothing Anna had done had made a difference.

  Her anger burned unchecked and she knelt. “Goodbye, Jane,” she said.

  The younger girl stared. Anna wished she had more time. She wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to continue the pattern. She needn’t grow up and make the same mistakes as many children seemed to do. Mrs. Phillips had entered into an unhealthy marriage because she hadn’t known the difference. Jane was destined to do the same. The chain of suppression continued from one generation to the next, unchecked unless someone took a stand.

  She’d so hoped Mrs. Phillips had the strength. Jane deserved a better life.

  As she stared into Jane’s pale gray eyes, she willed her understanding.

  Victoria Bishop had been right all along. The only way of breaking the chain was from a position of power. They needed the vote. They needed a say in the politicians elected for office. They needed laws to protect women like Mrs. Phillips.

  “You’re the prettiest lady I’ve ever met,” Jane said.

  “There’s more to being a girl than being pretty,” Anna replied.

  “You’re pretty here,” Jane said, touching her hair. “And pretty here.” She touched Anna’s chest over her heart.

  “When you’re older.” Anna blinked rapidly. “You can write to me.”

  “Where will I find you?”

  “Here,” Anna said impulsively. “Write to me in Cimarron Springs.”

  Mrs. Phillips yanked Jane’s hand and glared. “Time to go.”

  With helpless rage Anna watched them go. Anything she said or did now only made matters worse. For her. For Mrs. Phillips. For Jane. For all of them.

  She hadn’t made one bit of difference.

  * * *

  Caleb kept the porch swing moving with the heel of his boot, his eyes on the street. Anna had to pass by on her way home. They hadn’t talked about her father once since that day in Kansas City. The subject was too private. With Anna’s mother in town, he wondered if Anna was thinking about him.

  He almost didn’t recognize her. Always before when he’d seen her, her shoulders were back and she walked with purpose, her steps brisk. This afternoon her head was down, her back stooped, her steps lagging.

  He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the whitewashed porch rails. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  She glanced up. “Where’s Pipsqueak?”

  “In the barn. Under lock and key. And chains. And whatever I could find to keep him from causing more mischief.”

  “My mother was hoping you’d feed him to the wolves.”

  “That’s funny. Berny thought we should give him a medal and name him honorary mayor of the town.”

  Anna hid a grin behind her hand. “I would attend that ceremony.”

  “Ah, well. We rarely get everything we wish for, do we?”

  Anna turned toward the gate, remaining jus
t outside the fence. “No, we don’t.”

  She was only fifteen feet away, yet he sensed the gulf separating them. “I heard Mr. Phillips arrived on the same train as your mother.”

  “He did.”

  “The marshal talked with him.”

  “Good.”

  “She’s making the best choice she knows how.”

  “Why do we cling to things that hurt us so?”

  He stood and crossed the distance, standing on the opposite side of the gate. “Animals are creatures of habit. Look at the buffalo. They followed the same trails for so long, they cut divots into the earth. Then the wagon trains came along and did the same. Because people aren’t much different, I suppose. Taking chances means taking risks. Not everyone has the stomach for change.”

  “We all simply stay with the devil we know?”

  “Rather than risk greater pain.”

  “What a sad state of affairs.”

  “Except sometimes, on very rare occasions, someone comes along who’s willing to make a change,” he said. “Someone who’s willing to stand on a stage in front of hundreds of people and risk everything for what they believe in.”

  Her smile was tinged with sadness. “I didn’t make a difference, though.”

  “You don’t know that. No one truly knows the changes we make on people. Look at Jane. She’s met you. She’s seen a different way of living, of thinking.”

  Anna had changed him. He’d been careless of the life he’d built, of the friends and family surrounding him. He’d been complacent with their love and affection. He’d even been dismissive of their relationships, rolling his eyes at Jo’s fondness for her husband.

  No more. He had something rare and precious, something he wasn’t going to take for granted anymore. He had a family who loved him, a community who supported him and a job that fulfilled him. There were pieces missing, a wife and a family. He’d always mourn that loss. After knowing Anna, he’d never settle for anything else. Instead, he’d appreciate the things he did have.

  “Maybe.” Anna shook her head. “I’m not certain anymore. My mother works in grand gestures. I get caught up in the details. In the people and their stories.”

  The two kittens they’d rescued frolicked in a large crate near the porch. “Would you like to see the boys? They’re doing well. Should be on their own in a week or two.”

  “No.” She tilted her head toward the sky. “I don’t want to grow attached.”

  She kept her distance, and he sensed her purpose. She was separating from him, from the town, from everything. She was going home. He’d known she’d leave, he’d always known. He just hadn’t considered how soon. With her mother here, they only had a few days at best.

  “I lost sight of everything,” she said. “I was impatient. I wanted to see a change. I wanted to know I was making progress.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  “I don’t know anymore.”

  He chose his words carefully. “Everyone has different gifts. You see the human side of each story, and you are moved by the individual stories. Use that strength.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. That’s for you to discover.” A deep, abiding sadness filled his heart. “Are you coming to Harvest Festival tomorrow night?”

  “I shouldn’t. My mother. I shouldn’t leave her alone.”

  “You’ll miss the husking bee.”

  “I did want to see Gus and Becky. I’ve been here one week already, and I’ve never even seen your Mary Louise.”

  “She isn’t mine. She’s simply a girl who caught my fancy a long time ago.”

  A thousand reasons for her to stay remained locked away. There was only one reason for her leaving. She was better off without him. The very thing that drew him toward her was the very thing that stood between them. She craved independence and reveled in the public eye. He was a man who preferred a quiet life. She defied convention. He embodied convention.

  She twisted the filial atop the gate. “After we left church, I felt such a sense of peace.”

  “Have we made a believer out of you?”

  “It’s too soon to tell, but I believe you have. I hadn’t expected the sense of grace. I keep thinking about what you said before, how all relationships require work, even our relationship with God. I’ve never put in the effort before, but I’m willing to try.”

  “Then I wish you peace on your journey.”

  They had developed a friendship, which was something. A rare gift he was grateful for. Eventually, though, they’d tear each other apart. If they tried building a life together, there was no way of avoiding a terrible rift. They were each moving in opposite directions. For a moment in time they’d crossed paths. He’d known the truth all along, only he hadn’t counted on the pain.

  She started to turn and he called out, “Wait. Come to the Harvest Festival. Only for an hour. Surely your mother will be fine for a short length of time? One last memory of Cimarron Springs.”

  “I’ll come,” she conceded. “But only for a short time.”

  He didn’t know why the concession was important, but her acceptance of the invitation was vital. “I’ll take you there myself. It’s only a mile down the road. I’ll take you and Mrs. Franklin,” he added quickly.

  He rested his hand over hers. Their fingers entwined. She sighed, and he pressed his mouth against her temple, the soft beat of her heart beneath his lips. They stood that way for a long time, neither willing to break the moment. There was nothing more to say, he’d spent all his words.

  He swallowed thickly and stepped away, his feet crunching over fallen leaves. It seemed fitting they’d met in autumn. A fiery end before a long, cold winter.

  She turned and smiled wistfully over one shoulder. “Will you save a dance for me?”

  “Of course.”

  He wouldn’t burden her with words of love. His heart, so painfully empty before, was replenished. He’d hold these feelings close through the coming years. They weren’t courting. They weren’t engaged. They were neighbors. They were acquaintances. Nothing more, nothing less.

  He was a selfish man. He’d begged her to come not because he wanted her to remember Cimarron Springs, but because he wanted his own memory of her.

  One last dance before they said goodbye forever.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The evening of the shucking bee arrived with a brisk wind from the north. Winter was well on its way. Any lingering fall blooms had died with the frost, and most of the leaves had fallen, leaving only the oak trees with their crown of browned leaves.

  Anna had worn her shirtwaist and plaid skirt, though she’d conceded she must don her navy velvet wrap against the chill. She had nicer clothing, but she wanted to blend in with the other girls, and her fine silks set her apart. She’d never realized before, but clothing was another form of armor. Tonight she was shedding her reticence and enjoying herself.

  Her mother cast a disapproving glare from the parlor. “I hope nothing happens while the two of you are gone. I shall be quite all alone.”

  Izetta tossed Anna a sympathetic smile before saying, “Why don’t I wait for you outside?”

  “I’ll be right there.” Anna turned toward the parlor. “I know how much you value your independence. I’ll only be gone an hour or so. The solitude will help you concentrate.”

  Her mother grimaced and set down her quill, pushing aside the paper covering her makeshift desk. “Must you attend this provincial gathering?”

  “These are good people. They’ve been kind to me. I don’t like you speaking of them with such derision.”

  She’d known her mother was a snob. Of course she’d known. She hadn’t realized the extent of her prejudices.

  “Yes,” her mother drawled. “Good people. They won’t miss you any
more if you attend their little social.”

  She thought of Caleb and those eyes. Those entrancing forest-green eyes. “I will miss them.”

  “Will you at least say your goodbyes this evening? I don’t want a scene on the train platform tomorrow. You know I detest scenes. You always were too softhearted. Makes a woman weak.”

  “I’m well aware of your preferences. I will not make a scene.”

  Her anger took root and grew. Like a living, breathing thing it took hold of her. She wasn’t weak for having feelings. She wasn’t weak for growing attached to the town and the people. She wasn’t weak for falling in love.

  Her anger crystalized and shattered.

  Her mother grasped the spectacles hanging around her neck and perched them on her nose. She studied the paper before her, effectively dismissing Anna.

  Caught up in the depth of her revelation, Anna barely spared her a glance. She’d missed the signs because she’d been taught to see love as a destructive thing. A crushing force. Her love for Caleb was as light as a thistle on the breeze. As bright as a blanket of stars of a moonless night.

  She was halfway through the door before her mother called, “Can you bring me my tea before you go?”

  “No time,” Anna called in return. “I’m already late.”

  She slammed the door behind her, blocking her mother’s ferocious mutterings.

  “That was awful,” Anna said to Izetta. “I should go back.”

  Izetta took her elbow in a firm, though not painful grip. “You will do no such thing. You should be in the annals of sainthood by now, dealing with that woman. I don’t know how you manage.”

  “You’ve been extremely patient with her, and I’m grateful.”

  Over the past twenty-four hours, they’d done little more than fetch and carry for her mother. With no thanks besides. The tea was never hot enough, the biscuits never light enough, their service never quick enough. Anna had an hour reprieve, and she was going to enjoy herself.

  “Your help has been indispensable,” Anna said, hoping her apology was enough. “I’m afraid my mother has never had much patience for the weak or the sick. Being helpless is frustrating for her. She’s never been home much. This is the most time we’ve spent with each other. Ever.”