by Jillian Hart
“I know the list says honey,” Mrs. Pole was saying, “but I happen to know Mary prefers sugar with her tea, so let’s get both for safety’s sake.”
“Yes. Thank you.” For safety’s sake. That was very wise advice. Clara tried not to sound distracted as she let go of the last of her hopes and dreams. She turned down the next aisle, blotting out the sound of Joseph and Miss Pennington’s conversation. She wiped away the imagined faces of her children and erased the image of waking up beside Joseph, of spending the day doing for him and ending it again in his arms.
That life cannot be yours. She followed the store owner along the shelves, adding this and that to her basket, feeling the pain of what she lost. It was a void within her, as if someone had reached in and snatched out every last one of her dreams.
That’s what you get for dreaming, she told herself as she set her basket on the counter. The pain she felt was simply the cost of wanting what she could never have.
“I’ll just add this to the Brooks’ account and you can be on your way. I’ll send my husband to check on any mail for you.
That will save you a few steps.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pole.” As footsteps rang closer she made sure she was facing the other way. She took great care to help Mrs. Pole in tallying the purchases, doing her best to keep her chin set and her tattered heart hidden.
Joseph and his new lady stopped behind her. “Clara? I need to help Miss Pennington with her trunks and get her settled into the hotel. All right?”
She read the apology in his eyes, sincere and forthright, and pure Joseph. He was a good man. This wasn’t his fault. Anyone would be dazzled by the lovely lady at his side. It hurt something terrible, but she managed what she hoped was a steady smile. “I’ll be fine. Please, get Miss Pennington settled. I know how tired she must be after that long train trip.”
“Yes, it was long.” Miss Pennington spoke up gently. “I couldn’t help overhearing. You must work for the Brooks family.
It’s so lovely to meet you. My name is Melody.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too. Where are you from?” She didn’t want to like the woman who had come to marry Joseph, but she did. Melody Pennington did not look down on her for being hired help, but offered a friendly smile.
“Boston. To think I had never been far from home until I boarded the train. It has been an adventure, but I am very happy to be here, at my new home. Already it is beyond my expectations.” She smiled sweetly up at Joseph.
The man looked uncomfortable, but then, of course he did.
He was a good man. She could clearly see how this would go.
He would pull her—Clara—aside later and explain things, let her down gently and as carefully as he could. He would do his best not to hurt her, not realizing it was already too late.
Best to make this easy for him. “You two go on. I’m sure I’ll see you again, Miss Pennington.”
“Melody,” she prompted.
Clara nodded. Perhaps the woman didn’t understand they were not equals. That for as long as she held a job in the Brooks household, she would have to watch the woman who had taken her place, living the life she wished to have, loving the man Clara wanted with all of her soul.
“When I’m done here, we’ll talk,” he said. “Will you wait for me?”
“Goodbye, Joseph,” she said. His midnight-blue gaze looked nearly black with emotion, and torture hardened the planes of his face. If she felt a swell of love for the man, she ignored it. She spun on her heel, giving Mrs. Pole her entire attention. When the door opened with a chime of a bell and a blast of damp wind, she disregarded it. That was simply Joseph Brooks walking out of her life.
Hers, she had learned the hard way, would go on.
Clara’s eyes, full of pain, haunted him as he escorted Miss Pennington into the wind and rain. The brunt of the storm hit him, but he didn’t feel it. Clara’s heartbreak filled his senses. It echoed in the chambers of his heart and rumbled in his soul. Sure, he knew what she thought. She feared he would set her aside in favor of the lady from Boston. Clara feared that he was a shallow dandy who charmed every pretty woman that came his way.
Wrong. His boots struck hard on the boards in quick angry beats. Remembering Miss Pennington, he came to a ringing stop and waited for her to catch up. She hurried after him with a hand to keep her hat in place in the brisk winds.
“You seem upset, Joseph.” Worry furrowed her ivory brow.
“Please, tell me what is wrong? Is it something I have said?”
“No, Miss Pennington. It’s hardly your fault.” He swept off his hat to rake his fingers through his hair. Torn between wanting to race back into that store and reassure Clara and needing to stay and do the right thing for this woman his mother had promised so much to. “I—”
Before he could say more, Austin Dermot strode to a halt beside him, all smiles. The livery-stable owner looked struck as he gazed upon Miss Pennington’s fair features. He cleared his throat. “It’s hardly fair, Brooks. I can’t find me one beautiful woman to court, and here you’ve got yourself two to choose from. I’m Austin Dermot, Miss—”
“Pennington.” Understanding swept across her face, and sympathy made her blue eyes bluer. “Joseph, you should have told me.”
“That’s what I was working up to doing.” He squared his shoulders, frowning at the way Dermot was staring with unabashed interest at the newcomer. “Austin, why don’t you make yourself useful and get a wagon hitched for Miss Pennington.”
“I would be glad to.” He knuckled back his hat. “Mighty fine to meet you, miss. I’ll go fetch the wagon. I reckon you and I will speak again mighty soon.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Dermot.” Miss Pennington bobbed in a polite curtsy. Her fancy frock and finely tailored traveling coat made him think of a tropical bird that had landed here by mistake.
He could do nothing but tell her the truth. This time he kept his gait slow and his pace shorter to match hers. “My ma made you certain promises for coming here, didn’t she?”
“You needn’t worry about it, Joseph. I took too long making up my mind to come, and now you have fallen in love with someone else.” There was no accusation in her words, simply sad understanding. Ma surely had outdone herself finding this upstanding lady.
“How did you know?” He jammed his hands in his pockets.
“I have eyes. It’s Clara, isn’t it? She is the lucky one to have won your heart.”
All Joseph could think about was Clara and the heartbreak on her face. Did she think so little of his honor? Or was it simply so hard for her to believe in his love? “I’m the lucky man to have won hers. ”
“You are exactly like your mother’s letters.” Melody Pennington looked wistful and lost as she led the way down the boardwalk. “I wish you and Clara every happiness, Joseph.”
“I wish the same for you.” He couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder down the length of the block. The mercantile and Clara seemed far away. He longed to run back and comfort her and let her know that everything was going to be all right. His was a forever love, so strong that nothing could break it. But his family had brought Miss Pennington here. He could not very well abandon her to fend for herself on the street. Not with so many anxious bachelors around.
“Goodness, what friendly men there are in this town.” The fine lady shook her head, gesturing toward the trio of men across the street in front of the feed store, all tipping their hats and donning their best smiles. Chests puffed out, spines straight and interest sparkling in their eyes all said one thing: the lady from Boston would not be lonely for long.
“I had best send word to my brother. Gabe will help you fend them all off.” He would leave Melody in his brother’s capable care. Joseph hailed Dermot, who must have rushed to hitch up a team because he was driving fast down the street in a hurry to serve Miss Pennington. “Believe me, you are going to need it.”
“So I see.” She looked stunned at the attention as the tailor poked h
is head out of his shop door to tip his hat to her. “I didn’t come here to marry just any man, you know.”
“I know, but trust me. You never know when love will find you. Let’s fetch your trunks from the depot, we’ll get you settled in at the hotel. By then my brother ought to be free to help you.”
“Thank you kindly, Joseph.” There was a note of sadness in her words, and he felt sorry for her. She had likely a story of sorrow, or else why had she come so far to start a new life?
Sadness was all he felt for the lady. His heart belonged to Clara one hundred percent, and it always would.
Clara. He hoped Gabe was in his office in town. The faster he could come, the sooner Joseph could get back to his beloved and show her once and for all the way he loved her.
Of course things had to get worse, Clara thought as she sorted through the bundle of mail Mr. Pole had given her. She was merely organizing it according to size to tie it securely so the envelopes and newspapers wouldn’t slip all over the buggy seat, when she had spotted four letters addressed to “Mrs. Mary Brooks, Regarding the Maid Position.”
She hadn’t considered there would be others as hard-pressed as she had been to travel for a good job. Perhaps, once Mrs. Brooks realized the penniless maid had not only fallen in love with her youngest son but had hoped to marry him, she would be fired.
Perhaps that would be for the best. Rain tapped at the curtains as she released the brake. Bucky, his ears swiveled, waiting for her command, jumped eagerly to obey the gentle snap of the reins. The buggy lunged forward into the muddy street, and out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a familiar set of brawny shoulders and the unyielding line of Joseph’s back as he held the hotel’s front door for a somber Miss Pennington.
You must stop thinking of him as Joseph, she scolded, the leather reins in hand. He is the youngest Mr. Brooks. That was how she must think of him from now on. If she thought of him at all. She would be wise to put his kindness to her out of her mind. To forget their moonlight kisses and the wishes shared beneath a snow-filled sky.
The wagon wheels skidded in the mire, and the gelding seemed to throw his weight against the harness. The buggy straightened out, rolling along the last block of the main street.
She hardly noticed the people hurrying about their daily activities or the retired men watching from the bakery window.
She especially had to stop thinking of Joseph—the young Mr. Brooks—inside that hotel, seeing to Miss Pennington. Of course the woman ought to have help getting settled; it looked like quite a stack of trunks on the boardwalk in front of the hotel.
He was truly gone. A swift strike of acceptance hit her. She hadn’t realized there was a tiny part of her that could still hope.
Maybe he was merely being gentlemanly in aiding the woman who had stepped off the train in a strange town, just as she had not long ago, worrying over what could go wrong and if she would be accepted or rejected.
He was right to help Melody Pennington. And as for the tiny hope within her, it was growing weaker, fading with every turn of the buggy wheel. Joseph was not going to put aside such a fine lady as Melody Pennington for her, was he? No. She had to be sensible.
She had always been the sensible one in the family, finding work when their shelves were bare; finding more work whenever Ma gambled or drank away their rent money; coming to this town when she had the chance for better employment. The only time she had failed to be practical was when she followed her heart.
If she were smart, she would never follow it again. She was through with love, with trusting men who always left her. The buggy bumped strangely, jostling her in the seat. The road ahead looked soupy, thick with mud and with melting chunks of ice.
Bucky did not seem troubled as he forged ahead, drawing her through the worst of the mud. The left side of the buggy lurched again; the rigging rattled; the axle groaned and a bump knocked her onto the floorboards.
Bucky let out a troubled neigh, the sound clear in her head while everything else felt hazy. She’d slid off the seat and onto the floorboards, hardly feeling the fall. That’s how upset she was over Joseph. Over the fact that he was going to leave her for another woman, just like last time. Someone who could offer him more, just like Lars had done taking up with the hardware store’s daughter whose father was fixing to retire.
But Joseph is not Lars, a small voice of reason whispered. It was hard to hear over the fears and doubts loud within her. Her forehead was sore—perhaps she had hit it on the dashboard. She rubbed her head and climbed to her knees.
“Miss? Are you all right in there?” An older man with a healthy mop of white hair peered in through the rain-streaked curtains at her. “Can you get up?”
“I’m fine. Just shaken.” She was surprised when he pulled aside the curtains and caught her by the elbow. He didn’t need to help her onto the seat, but he did. A good thing, as it turned out, for she was terribly shaken. “I’m more embarrassed than anything. I’m new at driving.”
“I should say so.” Kindly, the man gave a single chuckle, looking her over. “You’ve got a small bump on your forehead, but it doesn’t look too serious. Do you hurt anywhere?”
“No, no, but what about the buggy?” It lurched at an odd angle, as if something could very well be broken. How would she ever pay to repair it? This was a very expensive vehicle. She felt ill to her stomach with worry. Remembering the letters that had been on the seat—they were on the floor now—she realized Mrs. Brooks could very easily fire her over this. And how would she explain it? That she had ruined the buggy because she had been ruminating over her employer’s son?
“Miss? You don’t seem all right. You come out here into the fresh air. Maybe that will clear your senses. Move across the seat, now. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
“This is unnecessary, but thank you.” She scooted toward the door and realized a half-dozen older men in their rain slickers were gathered around the back of the buggy, pondering the problem. She was blocking traffic. She had caused the problem by not paying attention, and yet everyone was so kind. One of the business owners came to the edge of the boardwalk and held a steaming cup. Another had brought a horse and a chain to help extricate the buggy.
“Are you all right?” at least a half-dozen voices asked her as she waded through the mud toward the boardwalk.
This was not the world she was used to, where people were so kind. In the crowded part of the city where she had lived, she would have been yelled at more than once, and being helped was a rare occurrence. But here, a woman placed a bracing cup of coffee in her hands and stood with her beneath the awning. Men exited shops and hopped into the mud to bring their horses to help out. Pleasant conversations rose and fell. One voice rose above the others. A man loped off the boardwalk in front of the hotel and crossed the muddy street, heedless of the rain and the slick mud.
Joseph. Her foolish heart swelled with love and with wishes that had no right coming true. The fault was all hers, she realized.
She was too full of fear and doubts to have the right to love a man whose concern was visible two blocks away, though not as obvious as the love in his eyes.
Chapter Nine
“Are you all right?” His hands gripped her forearms, alarm booming in his voice. On the walk over, he had stopped to untie his horse, and even Don Quixote studied her with a look of concern. “You could have been seriously hurt. Why didn’t you wait for me, like I asked?”
“You were busy.” She felt foolish and ashamed. She couldn’t meet his gaze. She didn’t deserve a man like him, not really. Her fears and doubts clung to her like rain to her coat, and she felt shabby and unworthy. The regard and respect he showed her was something she had not been able to show him.
“You were upset.” He released her, his tone raw with tenderness. “Will you stay here with Mrs. McKaslin while I help with the buggy?”
Her throat closed tight, and she could only nod. She didn’t trust her voice. She blinked hard against the sting
ing heat of unwanted tears. She had thought the worst of Joseph. She had compared him to a much lesser man. Joseph was nothing like Lars. She had known it all along, and the proof of it was striding away from her. Don Quixote blew her a reassuring nicker before he followed his master toward the small knot of men hitching extra horses to the buggy.
Time spent with Joseph had been more fairy tale than what she had known of real life. Times had been hard growing up as she did, in a rough part of town with parents who could not function as adults. The shady and mostly desperate people she had been surrounded with were nothing like these small-town people who gathered around Joseph, listening as he began to speak. Others passing by in wagons or on horseback stopped to lend a hand.
“It will be just fine,” the woman beside her said with reassurance. “This happens often this time of year. The men will get the buggy out, and it will be none the worse for wear. You’ll see.”
“I should have done better.” She should have been better. But how did a girl let go of fears that had been with her all her life?
How did she learn to stop doubting and start believing?
“Joseph is quite a catch,” the lady continued with a maternal smile. “He’s from a fine family. He’s a good young man. Word has it you came a long way and had a few hard times. What a great gift it must be for you to know a man like Joseph is in love with you.”
“Yes.” Emotion twisted within her, deep and rich and as everlasting as the earth and sky. A love so bright, she found it hard to see. She turned toward Joseph, and he seemed bigger, greater than ever before. He gestured to a group of men, who braced their arms against the back of the buggy, and others who gathered toward the front.
He held up one hand, stopping to check the harnessing. A truly capable man. One whom a girl could count on to solve any problem the right way. Endless love spiraled through her, taking up all the space within her. Her fears and doubts felt smaller.
