Beloved (15 page)

Hearing her father-in-law’s voice coming from Ned’s room, Diana paused at the top of the stairs to listen, but she couldn’t make out the words. Intrigued, she moved toward the door that had been left ajar and looked inside. Surprise washed over her. Jeremiah sat on Ned’s bed, a book open in his hands, reading aloud to the boy. And Ned seemed captivated by the story. She didn’t think she’d seen him this still. Not even in sleep. The sight tugged at her heart.

Did she make a sound? She must have, for Jeremiah looked up and their gazes met.

“Diana!” He sounded pleased to see her. “Come and join us.”

Caught eavesdropping, she pushed the door wide.

“I was reading a story to Ned. He said Tyson left the book here yesterday.” He glanced at the novel’s spine.
“A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court
. I believe we’re about to enter another time.”

Diana didn’t know this man. He looked like Tyson’s father, but he was a stranger to her. She tried to hide her surprise as she stepped into the room.

“Nora read to Tyson every night when he was a boy. He got his love of reading from her.” His expression grew wistful. “I wish I’d joined them more often than I did.” Jeremiah reached over and affectionately ruffled Ned’s hair.

Was this what it felt like to go through the looking glass? Perhaps she had lost her mind. First she’d imagined Tyson as changed. Now Jeremiah. Was she gullible enough to believe it of either of them?

Her father-in-law motioned to the chair against the wall, then lifted the book from his lap and began to read. “‘When I came to
again, I was sitting under an oak tree, on the grass, with a whole beautiful and broad country landscape all to myself—nearly. Not entirely; for there was a fellow on a horse, looking down at me—a fellow fresh out of a picture-book.’”

Diana sank onto the chair.

“‘He was in old-time iron armor from head to heel, with a helmet on his head the shape of a nail-keg with slits in it; and he had a shield, and a sword, and a prodigious spear; and his horse had armor on, too, and a steel horn projecting from his forehead, and gorgeous red and green silk trappings that hung down all around him like a bed quilt, nearly to the ground.’”

She imagined Tyson as a boy, lying on his belly on the bed, heels of his hands cupping his chin, listening to his mother read a story. Or maybe it wasn’t Tyson. Maybe it was Tyson’s son she imagined.

The baby she’d lost. The loss she tried not to remember.

Tears sprang to her eyes and pain stabbed her heart. “Excuse me,” she whispered as she rose from the chair.

Keeping her eyes lowered, she hurried out of Ned’s room and into her own. She leaned her back against the door as she fought to control her emotions. It had been a long, long time since she’d allowed thoughts of her miscarriage to rise to the surface. Remembering hurt too much.

He—she was convinced the child had been a boy—would have been learning to read by this time. She imagined him with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Like his father’s. Even at only six, he would have been on his way to becoming a fine horseman. He would have—

Stop. She had to stop. She could not let in the memories or the wishful thinking that came with them. She could not soften toward Tyson. She must stay firm in her resolve. She would be a
fool to believe he wouldn’t betray her again if she gave him the chance.

God, help me
.

Diana had withdrawn from Tyson again. He felt it the moment he saw her upon his return from the campaign office. The headway he’d made over the last few days, especially when the two of them were with Ned, had vanished. When Diana looked at him down the length of the supper table that evening, she didn’t seem to see him.

Was it hopeless, his idea that they could learn to love each other in a new and lasting way, his desire for them to build a real marriage from a poor beginning? Perhaps … but he wasn’t giving up. He had five months left to change her mind about him, to make her want to stay. Now all he needed was to figure out how to go about working that miracle.

The telephone in the entry hall rang just as the family finished their dessert. A few moments later, Upchurch appeared in the dining room doorway and announced that Tyson’s father had a call. Jeremiah excused himself.

“I know it’s early,” Gloria said, “but I believe I shall retire for the evening.” She glanced between her daughter and Tyson.

“Are you feeling ill, Mother?” Diana asked.

“No, dear. A bit tired is all.”

Before Tyson could say something to stop her, Diana rose from her chair. “I believe I shall do the same. Good night, Tyson. Please bid your father a good evening for me.”

Tyson sighed as he leaned back in the chair. He said a silent prayer for God’s guidance. It was going to take divine intervention for him to break through the wall his wife had erected around her heart.

The sound of his father clearing his throat drew Tyson’s gaze to the dining room doorway.

“Son, I must return north tomorrow. There are matters at the Number Two mine requiring my personal attention.”

“Trouble?”

“No.” Jeremiah shook his head. “But matters I cannot delegate. I’m sorry. I was looking forward to going with you for that speech you’re giving in Twin Falls.”

It surprised Tyson, the twinge of regret he felt at the news. He supposed he should take some comfort that his father’s visit, although brief, had been without rancor. Pleasant, even.

“It’s a nice evening,” his father continued. “Care to step outside with me?”

“If you like.”

Dusk had settled over the valley by this time, and the backyard was bathed in shadows. The two men sat in chairs on the veranda.

Jeremiah lit a cigar. After puffing it to life, he looked at Tyson. “Mind if I make an observation?”

Tyson shrugged. Would he mind?

“I believe you’ll make a good senator if you get elected. I’m proud of you.”

He tried not to let the surprise show on his face. “Thank you.”

“When I return, I’d like to be of help with your campaign.”

There was no hiding his amazement now. “You don’t have to do that, Father. I know you support the Silver Republican candidate. I wouldn’t ask you to go against your conscience.”

“Perhaps you’ve managed to change my mind.”

“In a few days? I doubt that.”

“Stranger things have happened.” His father smiled before puffing on his cigar.

Another lengthy silence followed. A comfortable silence. It was his father, once again, who broke it.

“Diana didn’t seem herself at supper.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“I think it may have something to do with Ned.”

“With Ned? Why?”

“Well, not with the boy specifically.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

Jeremiah looked off into the gathering darkness. “She wrote to you, you know. Many times. I should have made certain her letters reached you. I could have, if I’d wanted to. I didn’t want to.” He returned his gaze to Tyson. “You need to ask her what happened a few months after you left home for the last time.”

Uneasiness swirled in Tyson’s gut.

His father tamped out his cigar. “I believe I shall follow the ladies’ example and retire early.” He rose. “Good night, Son.”

“Good night, Father.”

April 1896

Diana held Nora’s right hand between both of her own. On the opposite side of the bed, Jeremiah stood, silent, watching, waiting.

“Diana.” Her mother-in-law’s voice was soft and raspy.

She leaned forward. “Yes?”

“Forgive him.”

“Nora, I—”

“Forgive Tyson. I know he’s hurt you. Deeply hurt you. But don’t hold that hurt in your heart. You will be the one who pays for it if you do.”

Tears filled Diana’s eyes, blurring her vision. Knowing her mother-in-law hadn’t long to live—hours at most—hurt more than
she’d expected. Her lengthy illness was what had kept Diana in the Applegate home. That and a secret shred of hope that Tyson would finally tire of his travels on the opposite side of the world and come home. Home to his mother. Home to Diana.

It had been a foolish hope. One she must release as surely as she must let go of Nora as she moved from this life to the next.

Loneliness washed over Diana. She’d lost so much in her twenty-one years. Her father had deserted his family. Her mother had died when Diana was only six. Her brother and sister had been separated from her. Her husband had abandoned her after only a few months of marriage. Yes, she was loved by the parents who’d adopted and raised her, but even they had left the Montana home where so many of Diana’s memories had been made. And now Nora was leaving her too.

As if reading Diana’s thoughts, her mother-in-law said, “God is right beside you, my dear.” Her eyes drifted closed. “He will never leave you nor forsake you. Keep that truth close to your heart.”

FIFTEEN

On Saturday afternoon, while Tyson accompanied his father to the train depot, Diana sat at the desk in the library to write invitations to their first dinner party. It would be a small, semiformal affair, as Tyson had suggested. Naturally they would invite Samuel and Iris Waverley. They would also invite the Grahams, whom Diana had met at the Waverley’s a week before. The other two couples were strangers to her, both of the husbands influential in political circles according to Tyson.

But what about her mother? It wouldn’t do to have an uneven number at the table, and she would not hear of her mother having supper in her room. No, she would need a single gentleman to take the empty place. But who? She knew few unattached men, and Tyson knew even fewer, given the brief length of time he’d been in Boise.

Mentally, she ran through the short list, beginning with men at their church. There was Mr. Johnson, but he was as deaf as a post and when he talked he always shouted, unable to hear himself otherwise. Not the best of guests. There was Mr. Baker, but he struck her as never quite honest. Her mother disliked Mr. Nelson, although Diana didn’t know why. Of course, there was Brook’s uncle, Marcus Calhoun. He’d served as her mother’s dinner
companion more than once in the past year. But Marcus had left for a trip to Europe the day after the dinner party at Brook’s home when—

Brook. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? She could ask Brook. He’d said she could call on him if ever she had need, and her mother liked him well enough. And hadn’t Tyson agreed Diana could choose her own friends? Brook was her friend. Inviting him could be her own small way of announcing her independence. Maybe not to all of Boise society but most surely to her husband.

She pushed doubt aside as she reached for another engraved card and began to write.

“Miss Diana?”

As she slid the card into its envelope, she glanced up. “What is it, Ned?”

The boy stood in the doorway to the library, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead, his hair in its usual disheveled condition. Though he still favored his bad ankle, he hadn’t used the crutches in three days.

“‘Member that dog I told you about, the one I said liked to follow me around?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“He ain’t dead like I feared, but he’s ailin’ real bad.”

“How do you know?”

“Mr. Romano found him. Says Dog oughta be put out of his misery. You won’t let him do that, will you? You won’t let him shoot my dog.”

Diana rose from the chair. “
Your
dog?”

The boy jutted his jaw defiantly. “As much mine as anybody’s, I reckon. I fed him when I could, and he followed me around, like I told you.”

“Where is he now? Your dog.”

“Down at the barn.”

“Then let’s go have a look at him.”

Relief sparked in Ned’s eyes before he turned and hurried down the hall as fast as he was able. Diana followed right behind.

It wasn’t even a week since she’d seen a dirty street urchin standing on a crate, trying to steal a pie from the Applegate kitchen. But already it was hard for her to imagine this house without Ned in it. She dreaded the day when he might decide to leave. He could at any time. He was sly and smart and used to fending for himself. How could she convince him to stay?

Why should he stay if I don’t mean to do the same?

Ridiculous question. After the election, she wouldn’t live in this house any longer, but surely she would have a place big enough to include Ned. Only she would have to think about that later.

Claude Romano and Fernando Diaz—the head groom and stable boy whom Tyson had hired soon after his arrival in Boise—were standing to one side of the barn entrance when Diana and Ned arrived. On the ground between them was a small dog lying on his side. His wiry coat was tan and grizzled, like an old man’s beard. His square-shaped head was mostly black. He lay so still Diana wondered if he’d died already. But when Ned dropped to his knees, the dog slapped his tail against the boy’s thigh a couple of times.

“You’re gonna be okay, Dog,” Ned said as he leaned close.

Diana looked at the head groom. “What seems to be the matter with him, Mr. Romano?”

“Not sure, ma’am. Could be he ate something spoiled. Could be he got into some poison. Could be diseased.” He jerked his head toward the foothills. “I was working one of the colts up that draw when I found him. No telling how long he’s been up there. I brought him back here and tried to give him some food. He doesn’t seem to have the strength to lift his head long enough to eat, though I
got some water down his throat.” He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “He should be put out of his misery, ma’am.”

“No!” Ned cried. “You’re not gonna shoot him. Miss Diana ain’t gonna let you do that.”

“Ned,” she answered quickly, “we’ll have to do what’s best for the animal.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t shoot me when I was hurt.”

“Of course not. It’s not the same thing.”

“Who says?”

“Ned—”

“I ain’t gonna let you do it.” The defiant look disappeared, replaced by tears in his eyes. “He’s a good dog. Not his fault he’s sick.”

Diana drew a deep breath before looking at the groom again. “Send for the veterinary surgeon, Mr. Romano. And let’s make the dog as comfortable as we can until he gets here.”