Beloved (8 page)

Six months. I can stand anything for six months
.

The words were becoming her mantra.

“Hello, Diana.”

Her eyes opened in time for her to see Brook doff his hat. Surprise caused her to sit straighter. What else should she feel, seeing him for the first time since the night of the dinner party? Pleasure? Gladness? Knowledge that she’d missed his company? She felt none of those things. Only a kind of confusion. Almost a sense that being with him in this deserted hallway, away from the sight of others, was somehow wrong.

“You’re looking lovely.” He motioned to the bench. “May I join you?”

“Yes.”

He sat. “I take it that announcement is why your husband returned to Idaho.”

“Yes.”

“And to you.”

“Yes.”

“Rather cruel of him to use you in this way.” Brook turned his gaze down the hallway. “I’ve missed seeing you, my dear. The past two weeks have been much too quiet without you.”

His words surprised her. He’d seemed so coldly formal when they’d parted company. She’d thought—

“We both know we can never marry, even if you were free of him.”

Those words were more what she’d expected of him.

“Not unless he was to die after all,” Brook added.

A shiver coursed through Diana. Something about his tone of voice—

He looked at her again. “But I do hope we can remain friends.”

“Of course we can.”

“Your husband wouldn’t object?”

“He would have no right to.” She tilted her chin. “I’m allowed to choose my own friends.”

Brook chuckled. “I forgot you have a habit of speaking your mind when I least expect it.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.” His smile faded. “I hope you will be honest with me now. Do you
want
to reconcile with your husband?”

There was so much she would like to say in answer to that question. She wanted to let years of hurt and anger spill forth. But the words lodged in her throat.

“Are you happy? That he’s returned.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Well, yes. I mean, I’m glad he wasn’t killed in Cuba. But I never thought Tyson would want me to live with him.”

Brook drew in a deep breath and released it, then stood. “Perhaps we could meet for lunch. Next week or the week after.”

Awareness of the pounding in her temples returned. “Yes. I would like that, Brook.”

“Then I shall be in touch.” He tipped his hat, turned on his heel, and strode away.

She closed her eyes a second time and tried to ignore the guilty sensations that swirled in her stomach. Why should she feel guilty? She’d done nothing wrong. It wasn’t as if Tyson’s supporters or his opponents wouldn’t know she had been seeing Brook Calhoun when everyone—well, most everyone—had thought her husband dead in Cuba.

But he wasn’t dead. He was alive. Very much alive. And she knew, deep in her heart, that he wouldn’t want her meeting
Brook for lunch or sitting beside him on a bench in the capitol building.

All the more reason she would go if Brook extended an invitation again. She must prove her independence. To herself as well as to Tyson.

Tyson drew back against a wall and watched Brook Calhoun hurry up the stairs from the basement. A few moments later, the man disappeared through the capitol entrance, no doubt headed to his offices on Bannock Street. Tyson had seen Brook in the crowd earlier, but he hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Many prominent Boise businessmen had been present for his announcement. But seeing the man come up from the basement of the capitol was another matter altogether. Because Diana was down there.

Had the two of them planned to meet today? Was that the reason for her claiming she had a headache? So she could go inside and meet with her former fiancé?

He pushed off the wall and went down the stairs. It wasn’t long before he found her, seated on a bench, eyes closed. He stopped and simply took pleasure in looking at her. Tendrils of red hair curled on her nape. Her dress was both simple and elegant—how was that possible?—the color not quite blue, not quite green. Her mouth was—

He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat.

Her eyes flew open.

“How are you feeling?”

She hesitated a moment. “Better, I think.”

“Are you ready to go home?”

“If you are.” She stood.

He offered his arm.

She hesitated again before taking it.

They followed the corridor around to the staircase and were halfway to the top before Tyson said, “I thought I saw Mr. Calhoun in the crowd while I was speaking.”

“Brook?”

He waited for her to say she’d seen him too. That they had met inside the capitol building and spoken to each other. But she said nothing—and her silence was the same as a lie.

“Yes,” he said after a lengthy pause. “Of course, I only saw him the once in his home, but I’m fairly certain it was him.”

They reached the main doors and he opened one for her to pass through. She seemed to think that an excuse for her continued silence.

Irritation tightened his jaw. Why did Diana have to make reconciliation so difficult? Couldn’t she see he earnestly wanted to make their marriage work?

Once again he offered his arm. She placed her gloved fingertips in the crook, and they descended the steps of the capitol. The crowd of supporters, newspaper reporters, and curious bystanders had dispersed, and they were able to walk to their carriage undisturbed.

Undisturbed on the outside, at least.

Tyson could not say the same for his thoughts.

Bitterness burned Brook’s tongue, but he’d learned through the years to disguise his true feelings. No person he met as he followed the sidewalk along Bannock Street would have guessed anything disturbed him.

But the anger was there, all the same. He’d been so close to marrying a fortune. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t have done with Diana’s money once it was his to control. He could have expanded his business concerns. He could have purchased a larger
home and hired more servants. He could have moved in ever more powerful circles.

But Tyson Applegate had returned, destroying all of Brook’s plans.

He wanted to make the man pay. He
would
make him pay. And although she didn’t know it, Diana was going to help him.

May 1893

Nerves twirled and tumbled in Diana’s stomach as Tyson helped her disembark from the carriage. Her trepidation increased tenfold when she lifted her gaze and took in the splendor of the Applegate mansion.

“This is where you grew up?” She’d known Tyson’s family had money, but she’d had no idea—

“No. Father had this monstrosity built after I was sent to boarding school. When I was a small boy, we lived in a house about a mile from here.”

Diana and Tyson had been married only four days, but already she’d learned to avoid asking her new husband about his father. What sort of ogre was Jeremiah Applegate to earn so much animosity from his son?

It seemed she was about to find out.

Tyson took her arm and guided her up the steps to the front door. It opened before them, and the manservant who stood just inside bowed slightly when he saw Tyson.

“Are my parents at home, Billingsly?”

“They are, sir. In the family parlor.”

“Thank you.” Tyson glanced at Diana. “Ready?”

She nodded, even though she felt anything but ready to meet Jeremiah and Nora Applegate. Her dress that had seemed handsome
and stylish in Montana now felt dowdy. Why hadn’t Tyson told her what to expect? Why hadn’t he warned her?

The sound of their footsteps accompanied them down a long, high-ceilinged entry hall. A hallway that seemed without end. But at last Tyson turned toward an open doorway and they stopped.

Diana moistened her lips and tried to push back the rising fear.

“Mother,” Tyson said. “Father.”

Nora Applegate looked up from her needlepoint. “Tyson!” She rose from the settee and hurried toward them, smiling broadly. “I didn’t know you were expected back this evening.” She kissed his cheek before looking toward Diana.

“Mother, I would like you to meet Diana … my wife.”

Jeremiah Applegate shot to his feet, the book he’d held dropping to the floor. “What?” It was more roar than word.

“My wife, Father. Diana and I were married on Wednesday.”

“Have you gone mad?” Jeremiah demanded. “You knew my feelings.”

Diana was young and inexperienced in the ways of the world, but she still understood her father-in-law’s meaning. He didn’t approve of her. He’d told Tyson he didn’t approve of her even though they’d never met. Whatever the reason for this disapproval, she longed for the floor to open and swallow her whole.

Ignoring her husband, Nora embraced Diana. “Welcome, my dear.” She took a step back, her smile genuine and tender. “I wish I’d known you two were coming today. We would have been better prepared to welcome the bride and groom. You must be tired after your journey. Let me show you to … to the bedroom next to Tyson’s so you can freshen up.”

Diana glanced at Tyson, half afraid to leave his side.

“Go on, Diana. I’ll be up after I’ve had a chance to talk with Father.”

Nora put her arm around Diana’s shoulders, turned, and steered her into the hallway and toward the sweeping staircase.

“Were you so desperate to get control of your inheritance that you were willing to marry anything in a skirt?” Jeremiah’s booming voice reached Diana before the parlor door swung closed.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to run away. But from someplace within, she found the strength to keep climbing the stairs, her tears caught in her throat.

EIGHT

Morning sunlight spilled through the dining room windows, illuminating the polished tabletop and causing the glassware to sparkle.

Diana and her mother were alone in the room. Tyson had eaten and left the house before Diana arose. Upchurch had gone into the kitchen moments before, no doubt to replenish a dish that needed no replenishment.

“I shall get fat,” she said, looking at the breakfast before her. There was a half-eaten bowl of wheat germ with sugar and cream. On her plate were the remains of a small beefsteak and some fried potatoes, but she’d eaten every last bite of the cakes with maple syrup, a favorite of hers. Lifting her gaze to her mother, she added, “I’d forgotten how wasteful the very rich can be. There’s enough food on the sideboard to feed an army.”

Her mother swallowed a bite of food. “Perhaps a slight exaggeration, dear.”

“Perhaps.”

“If that’s how you feel, speak to Mrs. Brown or to the cook. After all, you are mistress of this house.”

True. She
was
mistress of the house. It was up to her to make these kinds of decisions. But decision-making was much easier
when money was limited and there were only two women in the household.

Upchurch returned to the dining room. “Would you care for more coffee, Mrs. Applegate?” He set the dish he carried on the sideboard.

“No, thank you, Upchurch. I believe I’ve had enough of everything.”

“Very good, madam.”

“Please tell Mrs. Cuddy everything was delicious.”

“Yes, madam. I will tell her.” The butler turned and left the dining room.

Diana looked at her mother again. “I believe I’ll walk down to the stables. I need some exercise after such a large breakfast. Would you like to come with me?”

“Thank you, dear, but I think not. I’ve never appreciated horses the way you do. You get that from your father.” Sorrow caught in her mother’s voice.

In response, tears filled Diana’s eyes. After more than two years, she sometimes went days without remembering she would never see her father again. She could pretend miles rather than death parted them. But whenever her mother was sad, the truth came back.

“Mother, I’m so thankful you and Father chose me to be your daughter.” Her own voice cracked with emotion. “I don’t tell you often enough.”

Her mother smiled, though it remained tinged by sadness. “And I don’t tell you enough how much God blessed us by sending you all the way from Illinois for us to choose.”

Not all children from the so-called orphan trains had stories such as Diana’s. Perhaps most didn’t. She’d been loved and adored. What about her brother and sister? She didn’t have any idea if Hugh or Felicia had been raised in good homes, if they’d been well dressed
and well fed. She didn’t know where they lived today or if they were even alive. Was it too late to find out? Perhaps she should ask Tyson to help her. If he could fool the army into thinking he was dead, surely he could find out what had happened to her brother and sister.

“Gracious sakes alive!” Her mother stood. “Haven’t we become sentimental this morning? You go for your walk, dear. I’m going to do some knitting.”

Diana used the cloth napkin to dry her eyes before rising from her chair and walking out to the east-side veranda. The verdant lushness of late spring surrounded her, and the scent of new-mown lawn tickled her nose. The slightest of breezes caused leafy tree limbs to bob and dance. Flowers bloomed in an array of colors—pinks, purples, yellows, reds, oranges—and she imagined the gardens would be even more beautiful come August.

As Diana followed the pathway toward the stables, her thoughts returned to her childhood. The Fishers hadn’t been rich, but she’d never wanted for anything she needed and rarely had she gone without those things she wanted. Even she had to admit she’d been spoiled as a child.

Diana had been six when her real mother died. Old enough that she could remember the poverty that surrounded her family and neighbors in their tenement flat in Chicago. Old enough to remember what it was like to have threadbare clothes and to go to bed hungry. How far she’d come from that life in the last nineteen years. She should thank God more often for all He’d done for her, all He’d given her. She certainly didn’t deserve the blessings.

Is Tyson one of those blessings?
A disturbing and unexpected question. One she didn’t want to entertain. She shoved the thought away and moved on with quick, determined steps.

The stables were cool and quiet when she entered. Through the open doors at the far end of the building, she saw the groom
working a horse in the closest paddock. Standing on the rail, watching, was the stable boy.