Beloved (7 page)

“I have business in Dillon and Virginia City and will be staying at the hotel across the street for a few weeks. Perhaps I might call upon you and your parents one evening, if that would be all right.”

Her pulse galloped and her whole body tingled with pleasure.
“We would like that very much. Could you come for supper tonight?” Oh, heavens. She sounded too eager. She was eighteen years old, an adult, but she sounded like a schoolgirl.

“That’s kind of you, Miss Fisher. I would like that. Restaurant food gets tiresome when eaten day in and day out. But you should ask your parents first. They might not want company on such short notice.”

“They won’t mind.” Oh, dear. She’d gone from eager to desperate.

“Well … if you’re sure.”

“I’m positive.”

SIX

“After so long, Tyson, what made you decide to come back?”

Diana’s question was an important one and needed more than a quick answer. Tyson wanted to tell her something that would satisfy her—or at the very least help her understand him a little better.

He reined in.

She did the same.

He lifted his gaze toward the mountain peaks. “I was in Europe when the
Maine
blew up. I knew it meant war between America and Spain, so I came home on the first ship available. Then I learned Wood and Roosevelt were heading up the First United States Volunteer Cavalry.”

“The Rough Riders?”

“Yes, that’s what people called them.”

Faces of some of the men he’d served with drifted through his memory. Although there’d been a small number of Rough Riders who were in their thirties—Tyson among them—and forties, the majority of the regiment had been young. Very young—eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Many had come from the West where they’d hunted with Theodore Roosevelt. A hale and hardy group of men, to be sure. Whether a private or an officer, every man in the First
Volunteer Cavalry had to be in perfect health, be able to ride and to shoot, and be able to do his duty and obey his superiors without fail. There had been some who could do far more than merely ride and shoot well. A few had known how to bronco bust the wildest of steeds. Others had been master marksmen, able to shoot their targets from the saddles of galloping horses.

Stirred by the memories of war, Tyson continued. “Did you know, after all of our training for the cavalry, only the officers had mounts while in Cuba? There weren’t enough transports to carry all the horses there so they were left behind in Florida. When we got to Santiago, the horses were pushed overboard so they could swim to shore. Roosevelt had two mounts onboard, but one of them drowned.”

“How awful.”

“The heat was brutal in Cuba, and when we weren’t broiling beneath the sun, we were drowning in the rainfall. ‘Hell on earth’ describes it best.”

She made another sympathetic sound in her throat.

“I made a lot of friends among the men in my regiment and then I saw too many of them die from illness and lack of food and supplies. Ninety percent of the deaths in the war were due to disease, and too many of those casualties were because of poor planning on the part of the War Department.” Tyson combed his fingers through his hair. “I have a lot of respect for Roosevelt. He took care of the men under his command the best he could, often using his own money to buy food and supplies. He and I talked more than once about the importance of public service. I suppose the seed for my run for the Senate was planted then. It grew after Roosevelt became governor of New York.” He looked at his wife, hoping she would hear him.
Truly
hear him and then believe him. “But it was God who finally got through to me.”

Skepticism filled her eyes. He feared for a moment she might ride away, refusing to listen to another word.

“I never gave much thought to God as a young man,” he added quickly. “My parents always attended church, but I knew my father went only because society expected it. Religion was all about earning the respect of people in our community, not for any sort of relationship with a Savior. My father would never admit to needing anyone for any reason. Not even God. And yet he pretended to believe. I hated the hypocrisy. I had no desire to be a hypocrite too.” Tyson wondered what he should he say next. He’d never talked much about his faith.

“He stopped going to church after your mother died,” Diana said.

Tyson nodded, not surprised. “It was a young fellow in the cavalry who shared the Person of Jesus with me, not long before I was wounded. Once my memory returned and I could think clearly again, that soldier’s words took root in my heart. And once they did, I began to change.” He drew another deep breath. “I hope you can see that I’ve changed.”

Yes, he seemed different to Diana. And she wasn’t entirely pleased by the changes either. Not because they weren’t good ones, but because they demanded she see him in a different light—and
that
she didn’t want to do.

He’s a politician now. He’ll say whatever he needs to say to get votes. Any fool knows that
.

She’d been a fool for too long. She mustn’t continue to be one. She mustn’t let his words confuse her. She mustn’t let his polite attentions win her forgiveness. Certainly she wouldn’t let him convince her that he’d found God while he was away.

Politician, indeed.

She turned the mare’s head with the reins and started back toward the house. Tyson caught up with her in a few seconds.

“Mrs. Cuddy made us some sandwiches,” he said. “We could find some shade and eat.”

“No, I think it’s better we go back.”

“I’d hoped we could spend the day together.” He sounded disappointed.

She almost relented.

Almost.

She kept the mare moving toward the house.

For some reason, she thought of Brook. Had Brook manipulated her emotions the way Tyson did? No. Never. But that was because he was completely different from Tyson. Solid and dependable. Steady in word and deed. She’d known what to expect from Brook Calhoun. Being with him hadn’t confused her in the least.

Did I love him? Even a little?

No. Not even a little. She was fond of Brook, but she hadn’t loved him. Hadn’t wanted to love him. At least, not that wild, abandoned love she’d felt for Tyson. She would never feel so again, and thank goodness for that. No, it had been enough that she’d respected Brook. They’d been comfortable together. She would have made him a good wife and she believed he would have been a good husband.

But that was over. Even if Tyson ended their marriage after the election—which he’d said he wouldn’t—Brook would not marry a divorcée. Would any man of the proper social standing? Unlikely. Then again, as long as Tyson took care of her expenses as he’d promised, perhaps she would be happier without a husband. Being married but living apart didn’t hold the social stigma of divorce. She knew that from personal experience.

A wave of loneliness washed over her, an all too familiar feeling.
She’d been so friendless while living with her in-laws after Tyson left. And even once she came to Boise and met Brook, her only friends had been his friends. None of them would come calling while she was with Tyson.

“I’ve upset you, my dear.”

She glanced toward Tyson, surprised to find him still beside her.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” She shook her head. “I’ve just ridden long enough for one day. That’s all.”

His expression said he didn’t believe her.

Well, she didn’t care if he believed her or not.

May 1893

Standing together in the shadowed parlor of the Fisher home, Tyson gazed down into Diana’s eyes. They revealed her devotion, her innocence, her goodness. He’d won her heart while in Montana on business, and she hadn’t the guile to try to hide that truth from him.

Of course he’d won the hearts of other young women through the years. It wasn’t a hard thing to do when he had the wealth of the Applegates behind him. He was considered a great catch by unmarried females and their ambitious mothers.

But Diana Fisher was different. She cared for him and not his money. He knew that was true. She was pretty and smart and without the irritating affectations of so many women of his acquaintance. She was good natured and laughed easily. He could honestly say he enjoyed her company.

There was one more thing about Diana that appealed to him, perhaps above everything else: his father was adamantly opposed to her. That Jeremiah Applegate had never met Diana didn’t matter.
In his mind, the middle-class Fishers weren’t worthy of a close alliance with the Applegates. Worse still in his father’s opinion, Diana wasn’t the Fishers’ natural child. She was an orphan from the tenements of Chicago.

“Marry me, Diana,” he whispered.

Her eyes widened as she sucked in a breath.

“Marry me tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? But I—”

“I don’t want to return to Idaho alone. I want you to go there with me. As my wife. These past few weeks with you have been so special.”

“Oh, Tyson.”

He kissed her, not giving her a chance to list any reasons why marrying so quickly might not be the best idea. There were so many more reasons why it was. First and foremost, it wouldn’t give Jeremiah Applegate a chance to interfere. Second, bringing Diana home as his bride would infuriate the old man. And, of course, there was the inheritance that would come to Tyson upon his marriage. A fortune that would free him from his father’s control at last. Better now than wait until he turned thirty.

It was all too perfect.

“Marry me, Diana,” he whispered again, his lips still close to hers. “I won’t let you refuse. You mustn’t refuse. Please.”

SEVEN

There was a significant crowd gathered on the capitol lawn the following Friday morning. The news that Tyson Applegate, son of silver baron Jeremiah Applegate, was declaring his candidacy for the Senate had been leaked to the press the day before.

Although Tyson would run as a write-in candidate, it was no secret he enjoyed the support of influential members in the Idaho Republican party whose official candidate had been in office since 1890. The general consensus was that the unpopular senator would lose the election to the Silver Republican candidate come November. Many believed Tyson Applegate was the party’s best hope to hang onto the Senate seat.

After an introduction where his participation in the Rough Riders was played up for all it was worth, Tyson gave a brief speech, enumerating the key things he hoped to accomplish if elected. It was a speech he’d written and rewritten many times over the past couple of weeks, and he still wasn’t convinced he’d gotten it right.

Time would tell.

As he stepped back from the podium and placed an arm around Diana’s back, he wondered what his father would have thought of it. No doubt Tyson would know soon enough. With the help of powerful friends, he’d managed to keep his status and
identity a secret for longer than he’d dared hope. The task had been made easier because everyone who cared had believed him dead so no one had looked for him. That was no longer the case. If his father didn’t know he was alive right now, he would know by tonight.

Tyson should have sent a telegram this morning. He and his father had many differences, but Jeremiah Applegate was still his father. A strong supporter of the Silver Republican candidate, without a doubt.

Just one of many areas where Tyson disagreed with the man who’d sired him.

With determination, he returned his focus to the here and now, waving to the crowd with his free arm. Then he glanced at Diana. “It’s begun.”

“It’s begun,” she whispered back.

He couldn’t tell what she thought. Her expression was pleasant enough to fool people who didn’t know her, to make them think she was happy with her husband’s candidacy. But it wasn’t pleasant enough to fool him.

Earlier in the week, he’d hoped he and his wife had taken a few steps closer to each other. Instead Diana had chosen to widen the distance between them. It felt to Tyson as if the problems in their marriage were becoming as wide as the Grand Canyon. How was he to change that?

“Thank you for standing with me,” he said.

She didn’t respond with words, but if he read the look in her eyes correctly, she believed he’d given her no other choice. He couldn’t argue on that score, but he’d done it for a good purpose. In the end, she wouldn’t regret it. He swore she wouldn’t.

His new assistant, Herbert Eastman—a rail-thin fellow who tried to hide his youthful years behind a generous mustache—appeared at
his side. “Mr. Applegate, Justice Waverley would like a moment of your time. He’s with some men who work with him.”

Tyson wondered at the wisdom of Samuel Waverley being here for this announcement, let alone introducing Tyson to other men in government. A judge should not appear to favor one party over any other. But Justice Waverley apparently wasn’t concerned his presence would appear in a negative light.

Tyson motioned for Diana to follow his assistant, but she shook her head.

“Would you mind terribly if I excused myself?” she asked softly. “I’m afraid I’ve developed a headache.”

Come to think of it, she did look somewhat peaked. “Shall I call for the carriage to take you home?”

“No. I can wait until you are through. But I would like to sit down somewhere away from all these people.”

Tyson looked toward the entrance to the capitol. “Go inside. I’m sure you’ll find a quiet spot somewhere. Try the basement. It’ll be cooler down there. I’ll come looking for you as soon as I can.”

“Thank you. And please apologize to Justice Waverley for me.”

Tyson watched for a few moments as Diana made her way toward the steps. Then he turned and followed his assistant.

Diana had told the truth. Her head was splitting. She was beyond grateful to find a cool, poorly lit corner with a bench against one wall where she could sit and close her eyes.

However would she survive the next six months? How many times would she have to stand on some platform and stare into the sun and listen to speeches and smile until it seemed her cheeks would crack from the effort? She hadn’t expected it to be this
difficult. It was the pretense, she supposed, that made it so hard. But perhaps with time she would get used to pretending.