Regina Jennings Read online

  With one hand holding the panel board and one grasping the broom, he couldn’t hop up but didn’t want to surprise his visitor.

  “Be with you in a second,” he called out.

  The footsteps halted.

  Sweeping the dead mouse out of the box, Bailey replaced the panel, hammered it into place with the soft side of his fist, and stood.

  So startled was he that he blinked, looked away to clear his sight, and looked again before he believed his eyes.

  Molly stood empty-handed in the aisle. Above a blue satin gown her face bloomed with heat, her normally perfect coiffure fuzzed and frizzed. Her round eyes betrayed her shock. So she hadn’t come looking for him.

  Bailey ground his teeth. His knees shook as he tried to accept that it was really her standing before him in the flesh. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been just as disheveled, and he’d been the cause. Was she here to expose him? Would she and Pierrepont tell everyone about his attempt on her virtue? He leaned against the keyboard to steady himself. The dissonant chord that resulted crashed through his shock and gave him a voice.

  “Where’s your husband?”

  Her chin rose and she smoothed her skirt. “I don’t know.”

  His mouth went dry. Bailey could read her as easily as bear tracks, and he could see the admission cost her dearly.

  He forced his voice to be even. “Where’d you lose him?”

  But Molly was having none of it.

  “Oh, Bailey,” she whispered, refusing to mimic his flippancy. “He disappeared in Cheyenne, leaving me at the train station with fare for the ride home and a note. Said he would miss me and might come for me someday, but I shouldn’t wait for him.” Her black lashes fluttered down to her cheeks as she folded and refolded a lace handkerchief that’d seen better days. “Said I should plan my life without him.”

  The muscles in his neck tightened. Abandoned by her husband? Never in his most bitter moments would Bailey have predicted this. How could the man leave a woman who’d left her family, left everything, for him?

  But there she stood. Still beautiful, still married, and still the woman who’d promised herself to him a couple days before boarding a train with another man. Forgetting his dastardly behavior, Bailey set his jaw. All the understanding he’d gained during her absence vanished. He’d save his compassion for a more worthy recipient, like a rattlesnake.

  “Don’t worry. He probably didn’t mean it. Not too long ago, I got a letter filled with base lies, too. Broken promises shouldn’t surprise you.”

  He’d hit his mark.

  “Those weren’t lies. I wanted you to come get me. You didn’t answer.”

  “Rico didn’t find me in time. I was sick, too.” Bailey’s voice echoed off the empty pews. “Your love has shallow roots if it can’t wait a day before withering up and dying.”

  She stuffed her handkerchief into her sleeve. “I thought I was helping my parents. I didn’t want to leave you.”

  “But you did, Mrs. Pierrepont, and your father doesn’t let any opportunity pass without boasting of the rich family you married into. Your mother goes on and on over the adventures she imagines you’re having—her little Molly traveling the world. Meanwhile, I’ve stayed with your family even though they preferred a man who’d toss you into his railcar and then toss you out of his bed.” Bailey prayed she’d contradict him, but she didn’t.

  He’d secretly held on to a childish fantasy that her disappearance was not what it’d appeared. He prayed there was a gentler explanation, but she hadn’t been spared his worst fears. In that second, he felt his heart shrivel up and go sour. “Your parents survived, Molly. We made it through together, and now you’re back with no husband and no money. It was all for naught.”

  Molly bowed her head and clasped her hands together. “Maybe Edward will come back. Maybe he went to get things straightened out, to raise funds. Say what you want, but please forgive me. I need your friendship.”

  Bailey found himself at the center of the platform, gripping the pulpit. “You are married. Do you know what people will say if they see us together?” He struck the pulpit with a force Stoker never used on Sunday. “You’ve made your deal with the devil. I won’t burn for it.”

  ———

  She didn’t look up as he stomped past, ashamed that she’d had the nerve to ask for his help, as if he owed her something. Remembering he didn’t care would be difficult—just as difficult as remembering that she didn’t care for him.

  Molly sat, closed her eyes, and leaned against the firm back of the pew. Bailey had spoken the truth. If he aided her, his reputation would suffer. She’d already hurt him once. She didn’t want to do it again.

  But who could she turn to? Her father’s health was teetering on the brink. Her mother would rather remain under the delusion that Molly had nabbed the husband of the century. She didn’t want them to bear the brunt of their shattered dreams, but there was no one else to share her burdens. Had she turned her back on everyone who cared for her?

  The silence of the church filled her ears and pressed against her, pinning her to her seat. She didn’t want to move. She’d caused enough disturbance as it was, and to interrupt the peace that suffused the room seemed a sacrilege.

  She was alone. She’d chased after security and certainty to no avail. While Bailey hadn’t sacrificed his freedom, she’d tied herself to a man who didn’t feel compelled to honor their vows.

  The shadows lengthened across the sanctuary as she sat paralyzed. Where had she gone wrong? Would God let her life be ruined by a hasty decision made while deliriously ill? It didn’t seem fair.

  But her accusations were weak. She shouldn’t have given up the fight against her parents’ expectations. When the testing arrived, she’d surrendered. She’d allowed her head to be turned with promises of an easy and glamorous life. Was it too late to change course?

  Molly stumbled to the altar, feeling as dim-witted as the cow in the manger scene. What good would this do? Had she trespassed so far against God that He’d washed His hands of her? Was He embarrassed and, like Bailey, couldn’t afford to be associated with her now? She had to find out.

  “God, I don’t know what to pray, or if you want to hear my prayer, because until now I haven’t had much time for you. When I think about it, perhaps we’ve never been properly introduced. I figured we knew each other since we frequent the same circles, but I want to make this official. So, pleased to meet you.”

  She waited in silence, letting the step she’d taken catch up with her. It was pretty low of her to come to Him after she’d made a mess of everything, but nothing was going to improve without His help.

  Molly rolled off her knees, feeling rather foolish, and sat on the step, bunching her skirts around her ankles. “What do I say? That I’ll do whatever you want? We both know how quickly I’ll fail, but maybe if you help me, things could be different.”

  She rested her chin on her knees. “Take Bailey, for example. He’s not the man he used to be. He was as big of a rascal as I, and he decided to follow you. Now he’s helping my family and helping the reverend. He went from a cutup to a gentleman while I sank deeper and deeper. No wonder you saved him from me. I’ve done my best to ruin your plans for him.” She tugged at a dingy ruffle on the hem of her skirt.

  “I give up. I don’t even know what to ask for. I guess for starters, Edward should take care of me and Father like he promised—that’s a good one—and keep Father safe. Let him not be too disappointed. As for me, the biggest request I can think of would be that you’d take me in and be my God, too. That you’d guide me and change me like you did Bailey. I’m tired of the Molly I’ve been. I’d like to see what you can do with me. I’m willing to let you try.”

  She studied the grassy toes of her boots. No lightning flashed. The earth didn’t shake, but her world shifted. The load on her shoulders eased to a more manageable burden. The silence in the room felt more like a warm quilt than an oppressive weight.

 
Darkness fell as she lingered. Too soon it was time for the inmate to return to her cell. She would survive one hour, one minute at a time, but what to do with her growing fear, the suspicion that even worse news awaited her? Why did she feel as if she’d missed a debit on her ledger and she wouldn’t have the capital to cover it when the payment came due?

  She couldn’t delay any longer and started the walk home. As she passed the parsonage, a jagged voice halted her.

  “Molly?”

  She gripped the papery trunk of a sycamore tree, wincing at the pain she heard in Bailey’s voice. “Yes?”

  “Go to Lockhart. Mr. Travis hasn’t hired anyone to fill your position at the land office. You’ve always wanted to show your pa that you could take care of yourself. At the very least, you wouldn’t be crowded in the house with your parents.”

  Why did she leave this man? After all she’d done to him, he was there for her. She turned and leaned her back against the trunk. “I should’ve known you’d help me, Bailey.”

  His voice grew tight. “Maybe I need to keep you as far away from me as possible.”

  For the first time she was glad she couldn’t see his handsome face, shadowed as it was under the brim of his hat. His words were painful, but she would face her share of pain and would have to plan beyond it.

  “Mr. Travis won’t let me return, not if I’m involved in a scandal.”

  “Refuse to believe there’s a scandal. Hold your head high. Don’t act ashamed. There’ll be questions aplenty, but you have to be above reproach until he returns.”

  She hugged her sides. “And if he doesn’t?”

  Something fierce seemed to build in Bailey. His profile hardened, and his figure seemed to tense.

  “As far as you know he could be on the next train that pulls into Luling. You’ve got to live like you believe that. We both do.”

  17

  LOCKHART, TEXAS

  To Do List:

  Pray. And pray more.

  Convince Mrs. Truman to lease me my room again.

  Write home every day inquiring about Father’s health.

  Avoid unnecessary expenses.

  The massive courthouse on the square had never looked so imposing. No longer did Molly feel like a queen as she approached the portico. She’d abdicated her throne, and no one would welcome her back.

  Molly tightened her gloves and wished her black gored skirt didn’t have the pink striped panel in the train, but she couldn’t find a more somber dress in her trunk. Moved by the needs of her unfortunate fellow passengers, she’d given away most of her more serviceable, less fashionable clothes, never dreaming she’d need employment again, but Monday found her in Lockhart, itching for an ink-stained apron to call her own.

  She’d left without a good-bye and was returning without warning. Although curiosity would be high, her one comfort was that no one knew her story. By carefully sharing the smidgen of hope left in Edward’s cryptic letter, she could keep her doubts private.

  It wasn’t only her pride she was protecting, but her livelihood. An abandoned woman had no place in society. Molly had always accepted that custom without questioning, but now on the other side of the coin, it seemed terribly harsh. Poor Mrs. Weems back in Prairie Lea struggled to raise her son alone and was treated like a pariah. What had she done to deserve the snubbing? Molly had no reason to believe she’d be spared similar treatment, and there was only so much time before Edward’s absence garnered serious speculation. She needed to establish herself in a career before the shroud of disapproval settled on her.

  As she pulled the door open, Molly fortified herself. Hold your head high. Don’t act ashamed. No use in believing the worst. There’d be plenty of time for eating humble pie if Edward never returned.

  “Look what the cat dragged in.” Carrie was seated next to Prue on a bench in the main vestibule. Carrie set aside her dinner but made no move to greet her. “We thought you were gone for good.”

  Prue hopped up and scurried across the tile floor to Molly. “It’s good to see you.” Her blue calico gown and crocheted collar gave way when pressed against Molly’s stiff taffeta.

  “It’s good to see you, too.” Molly accepted the hug, then held Prue at arm’s length and considered the lady, perhaps for the first time. “You look happy, Prue. I suppose wedding plans are progressing.”

  Prue squeezed her hand. “Yes. Mr. Fenton and I will wed next month. I do hope you and Mr. Pierrepont will attend.”

  Molly’s smile faltered. “Thank you for the invitation.”

  “It’s more than you offered us,” Carrie protested. “You pretended to be sick and then snuck out of town the very same day. You didn’t even tell us good-bye.”

  What could she say? To tell the truth would be to admit she didn’t want to leave, that she’d waited for Bailey and only got on the train when he failed to appear. That story could never be told.

  “I’m sorry. I was ill and not thinking straight.”

  “Humph.” Carrie jerked her chin down and tore a piece of bread off her loaf.

  “I’m glad you decided to visit,” Prue said. “I want to hear all about your journey. Will you and Mr. Pierrepont be staying in Lockhart long?”

  “I hope so.” Molly cast a furtive glance toward the land-office door. “Is Mr. Travis in?”

  Prue nodded. “My break is over. I better return to my desk. Do come by after hours.” She slipped to the staircase.

  Molly studied the door with the etched glass. She would have sworn she’d never knock on it again. Her heart hammered as she approached, but she schooled her features to show confidence and poise. She’d been as nervous the first time she’d interviewed with Mr. Travis, and she’d done splendidly.

  As she raised her fist, she saw a dark form move on the other side of the glass. Before Molly could knock, the door swung open to reveal the scowling face of her former supervisor.

  “Mrs. Pierrepont, I presume. To what do we owe the honor?”

  “I couldn’t come to town without calling. How have you been?”

  Mr. Travis didn’t appear to trust her friendliness and stared with suspicion. “As you know, we’re shorthanded, so I need to make the most of every moment.”

  Molly looked over her shoulder as Carrie entered the room.

  “Since you’re shorthanded, I’d be glad to fill in—temporarily, of course.”

  Carrie gasped. “Mrs. Midas wants a job?”

  Mr. Travis shook his head, sending ripples through his jowls. “Why do you want to work? Does Mr. Pierrepont approve?”

  Molly steadied her voice and spoke clearly. “He’s out of town. I’d work until he joins me.”

  “Your newlywed husband sent you home to find employment?” He folded his arms across his chest and rocked from toes to heels, apparently enjoying her discomfort.

  Mr. Travis wouldn’t hire her. She saw that clearly now. He wanted her to grovel, but there was no reason for her to humiliate herself any further.

  “On the other hand, thank you for your consideration, but I think I’ll rescind my offer.” She almost dipped a pert curtsy. “I’ll be going now.”

  Molly could feel her stomach tightening. Not only had she lost a husband, she’d also lost her job. With a flash of her pink-and-black-striped train, she hurried out the door—directly into Judge Rice’s path.

  “Mrs. . . . er . . . I’m sorry, Molly, I can’t recollect your married name. I hope you’ve returned to good tidings over your father’s health. I am on my way to dinner. Would you like to accompany me so I can hear how my old friend Thomas is doing?”

  Dining with men was unacceptable now that she was married, but that shouldn’t include the honorable septuagenarian. The gentleman’s sky-blue eyes twinkled, causing Molly to smile. If he remembered her interference with Fenton and Prue, he didn’t hold a grudge.

  “Thank you for the offer.” She took his arm as they made their way to the restaurant. “Father is not well, I’m afraid. His first bout of heart spasms left him
weak, and this weekend he’s had a setback. We worry that any spark of excitement might be detrimental.”

  The judge patted her hand. “The line between health and death seems a fine one at my age. One misstep and you’ve suffered a broken hip, one frigid night and pneumonia has bound your lungs, but I’m not convinced the situation is as haphazard as it seems. Your father isn’t at the mercy of an ill-timed word or startling noise. He’s in God’s hands.”

  He opened the door of the restaurant and allowed her to enter before him. At times like these Molly appreciated every etiquette lesson her mother had forced on her. During most meals with local families, her comportment went unappreciated, but such skills were never noticed as much for their display as for their absence.

  The judge ordered for them and then turned his kindly attention to her.

  “So the bride of the year has returned to our inconspicuous corner of the world. Tell me, dear, where all have you been? Did you visit the family back East?”

  “Do you know the Pierreponts?” Molly leaned forward, not wanting the women at the next table to overhear their conversation.

  “I know of them. I admit I’m surprised their son was allowed to wed without a substantial to-do, but perhaps they are more sensitive to the impulsiveness of true love than they’ve been portrayed.”

  Molly straightened the silverware on her napkin. What had she expected? Did she think she’d walk into town, reclaim her job, and join the dance as if she’d never missed a step? She picked up her fork and toyed with the greens placed before her. Turns out, leaving had been the simple part. Coming back was proving to be much more difficult.

  “Ah, there’s some controversy with the family, I assume?” The judge laid his napkin on his lap. “It’s none of my business, but you might find me a sympathetic listener. Between my age and my profession, not much surprises me.”

  She studied his lined face and kind smile. First things first.

  “More than sympathy, I need a job.”

  Judge Rice’s head popped back and a bushy eyebrow rose. “I was wrong. You did surprise me. Go on.”