Beyond All Measure (27 page)

“I wondered what you two were discussing.”

Smoky stomped and snorted. Wyatt calmed him with a quiet word.

“He wants a hat for her. He thinks it will overcome her sadness at losing a child. I told him not to expect a miracle.” She shrugged. “A hat is just a hat.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Wyatt grinned. “Bea Goldston seemed like a different woman tonight. And look at how a hat has transformed Carrie Daly. I barely recognize her these days.”

“I think perhaps Mr. Chastain deserves the credit for that.”

“Perhaps.” He smiled and snapped the reins, and they continued along the narrow trail at the top of the ridge. At last Wyatt stopped again and pointed down the far side of the ridge. A narrow half-moon of a lake glowed silver in the reflected moonlight. “When I first came here, I built myself a little cabin down there.”

Ada peered into the darkness. “I’d be afraid of getting lost.”

“After the war, I wanted to get lost. All I could think about was death and useless suffering. How men begged for morphine when there wasn’t any. Thousands of amputated arms and legs piled up in the yard like firewood.” He took a ragged breath. “It’s burned into me like a brand on a yearling. I won’t forget it as long as I live.”

Ada shuddered, unable to imagine such horror. She hated the war for what it had done to so fine a man. She watched his breath clouding the air. At last he said, “Hickory Ridge is surely one of the prettiest places on earth.”

She brushed snow off his sleeve. “But you’re not completely happy here.”

“I can’t get Texas out of my head. There’s no denying the appeal of this place, but there’s still a part of me that longs for wide-open spaces. A place where cattle can roam and a man can see farther than he can ride in an entire day. When I was a boy, staying the summer with Aunt Lil, I loved every day of it, especially when Billy Rondo was here, but by summer’s end I couldn’t wait to go home. I still feel that way.” He looked down at her. “Maybe you can’t understand that.”

“I do understand. My mother married my father at eighteen and moved with him to Boston. But for all of her life, New Orleans called her back. Her dying wish was to be buried in the Saint Louis cemetery beside my grandparents.”

“Then she’s at peace.”

“I hope so. I hated having my mother buried so far away. I missed having a place to bring flowers. But Father always said that we’re bound forever to the place where we’re born. He said there’s an invisible thread that keeps us connected to it and longing for it, no matter how far away we go.”

“I think he was right about that.” Wyatt squeezed her hand. “What about you? Do you long for Boston?”

She thought for a second, then nodded. “It’s funny. When I traveled abroad with Aunt Kate, I felt worldly and grown up, seeing so many exotic places. I told myself I could live happily in Venice or London or Barcelona. When we got home, I realized how much I’d missed it.”

The wind sent a fresh shower of snow swirling into the sleigh. Ada snuggled more deeply into the folds of the robe. “But everything is different now. Father left so many debts that even the auction couldn’t settle them all. Several of our friends lost a great deal of money investing in his schemes. The week before I came here, two of my closest friends snubbed me on the street—as if Father’s failings were my own.”

She sighed. “Even if I went back there now, it wouldn’t be the same. I do miss the sight of Boston harbor, though. And spending time at the shore.” She smiled up at him. “I guess it’s the ocean that’s calling me back.”

“Hm,” he said. “That might prove problematic.”

She sent him a puzzled look.

He turned to face her in the snow-dusted sleigh. “Since the harvest festival, we’ve spent a lot of time together. And it has been wonderful. The best part of every day.” He smiled. “Or at least it has been for me.”

“For me too.” The tenderness on his shadowed face made her heart race. Oh mercy, where was this conversation headed?

“I know your heart better than anyone,” he said, his voice husky with feeling. “And I think you know mine.”

“Yes.” She thought of his honesty, his selfless decency, his bone-deep goodness. Mariah was right; there was not a kinder man in all of Tennessee.

“And, well . . . the truth is . . . I can’t stop thinking that I want to spend even more time with you.”

Tears crowded her throat. Never had anyone, even Edward, opened his heart to her this way. It was humbling . . . and frightening.

“Every day I find myself counting the hours until I can close the mill and hightail it out to Lillian’s for supper with you. I hate saying goodnight when the evening is done. I keep wishing that we never had to part, and I—”

“Wyatt.” It was hard to breathe. In her heart of hearts, she felt the same way, and yet the thought of taking another step toward a life together filled her with trepidation. If only he would leave things the way they were . . .

“You mustn’t say such things. I feel—”

“My darling girl. Please. Let me finish.” He brushed snowflakes from her cheeks. He took her face in both his hands and gently kissed her lips. Everything—the dark trees, the pristine snow, the snippet of frozen lake far below—dissolved into a haze of perfect bliss.

“Ada,” he whispered. “Marry me. Come to Texas with me. Let me take you home.”

She drew away to look at him and felt her tears freezing on her face.

“You do love me.”

“Yes.” She loved him now, and she would love him forever, even after they had gone their separate ways. “But Wyatt, I—”

“I’m not talking about striking the tent and heading for Texas tomorrow. It all depends upon how long Aunt Lil needs us. I’ll have to make arrangements for someone to take over the mill. And it’s true there is no ocean in Texas.” He grinned. “Well, there’s the Gulf of Mexico, but it’s a long way from the ranch land I intend to buy.”

Ada thought about their initial clash of wills that had slowly evolved into mutual respect and understanding. They’d become a team, looking out for Lillian’s welfare. They had argued and laughed with one another, and forgiven one another. Maybe this was the real thing, the kind of love that could overcome all her misgivings.

But how could she be sure? And if she made a mistake, the cost would be even greater.

“You don’t have to answer tonight,” he said. “I realize that when a woman marries, she starts out on a journey to the unknown. I don’t mind if you take some time to think about whether you want to make the trip. Just don’t turn me down flat. A man’s got to have some hope, even if it’s misplaced.”

The snow had stopped. Ada watched the moon, high and bright, slide from behind the clouds, and the distant hills looming dark against the starlit sky.

“I will think about it,” she finally said. “You are the finest man I know, and I only want what is best for both of us.”

Wyatt planted a warm kiss on her forehead. “So do I, dearest friend. So do I.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Sophie slipped her hand into Ada’s. “Where we goin’ anyway?”

“To the mercantile, to deliver a hat to Mr. Pruitt.”

Sophie stopped so suddenly that two farm wives, rushing along the sidewalk toward the bakery, almost collided with them. “I can’t go in there!”

“I know. I’ll only be a moment. I promise.”

They stopped beneath the overhang outside the barbershop. With her free hand, Ada drew her woolen cloak more tightly about her shoulders. The January morning was frigid; their breath clouded the air. “Don’t move,” she told Sophie. “I’ll be back soon.”

Ada hurried past Nate Chastain’s bookshop, the dentist’s office, and the bank. The banker had just arrived and was unlocking the door with a key suspended on a long chain. He nodded as she passed. “Ma’am.”

“Good morning, Mr. Gilman.”

She continued past Norah’s Fine Frocks to the mercantile and opened the door. Jasper Pruitt was standing on a ladder, running a feather duster over the rows of canned goods lining the upper shelves. Dust motes swirled in the thin winter light filtering through the grimy windows.

Jasper looked down at her. “Miss Wentworth.”

“Mr. Pruitt. I’ve brought your hat.” Ada opened the muslin pillowcase she had used as a dust cover on the way into town and set the hat on the counter. As he’d requested, this one was the same style as Bea’s, but crafted in royal-blue velvet and trimmed with seed pearls and a double row of satin ribbon that ended in a neat bow.

He climbed down. “That’s real pretty. I’m obliged to you.”

Ada nodded, eager to collect her money and return to Sophie. “I’m glad you approve. I believe we agreed on a price of six dollars.”

He whistled. “Sure seems like a lot for such a little bit of cloth and a scrap of ribbon.”

“I use only the best materials, and they’re costly. And you’re forgetting the labor involved.”

He ran one chubby finger gingerly over the delicate seed pearls. “I reckon maybe it wasn’t easy at that—sewing on all them little doodads and such.”

Opening his cash box, he counted out the bills. “Did I see you driving into town alone?”

“I had business at the orphanage.”

“Wyatt Caldwell’s letting you run around all over the county all by yourself?”

“I don’t need his permission, Mr. Pruitt. But yes, he taught me to hitch the horse and rig so that I may come into town when necessary.” She folded the pillowcase into a small, neat square and tucked it and her money into her drawstring bag.

Jasper closed his cash box and regarded her solemnly. “With all the talk going on around here, you ain’t afraid?”

She lifted her chin. “I must go. I hope Mrs. Pruitt likes her hat.”

He tucked his cash box under the counter and aimed a stream of tobacco juice at the spittoon. “I’d be careful if I was you, hanging around that little darky from Miz Lowell’s.”

“I’m aware of your opinion.” Ada headed for the door. “Good day, Mr. Pruitt.”

“You think you’re doing good, but you ain’t!” he called after her. “You’re just stirring up trouble, is all.”

Ada hurried along the street toward Sophie. When she passed the dress shop, Norah Dudley opened the door and stuck her head out. “I saw you go by a few minutes ago. I was hoping to have a word with you.”

Ada looked toward the barbershop where Sophie stood shivering in the cold.

“I won’t take but a minute,” Norah said.

With another glance at Sophie, Ada stepped inside.

“I’ll come right to the point.” Norah leaned against a glass case displaying her wares. “I’m thinking of selling my business and moving to Alabama. My only sister was widowed last year, and she’s been after me ever since to come live with her. I’ve decided it’s time.”

“I see.”

“And to tell you the truth, business has slacked off lately. Times are getting hard. There’s not much call these days for bespoke dresses and such.” She sighed. “Even my ready-made dresses aren’t selling as well as they did last year.”

Ada fought a wave of apprehension. If Mrs. Dudley was having trouble selling something so basic as dresses, what hope was there for the success of a hat shop? So far, Ada had collected only twenty dollars for all the hats she’d made, and there was still her account with Horace Biddle to settle. By the time she paid for her supplies, there would be very little profit left. Establishing a business was fraught with more perils than she had imagined.

“On the other hand,” Norah went on, “I can’t stick my head out the door without seeing someone wearing an Ada Wentworth hat. So I’m offering you the chance to buy me out, inventory and all. I figure you’ll eventually sell the dresses, and then you can convert the place solely to a hat shop.”

“Well, I . . . I’m astonished. And grateful you thought of me, but I simply don’t have the money.”

“Wyatt Caldwell would lend it to you in a heartbeat. Anybody with one eye and half sense can see how that man feels about you.” Norah paused. “At least think about it. I’m not planning to advertise the place for sale until winter’s over. You’ve got some time to consider your options.”

“I will. But now I really must be off.”

“Bundle up. It’s colder’n a well digger’s grave out there.”

Wyatt shuffled the messy stack of papers on his desk. Where in the Sam Hill had he put the letter from that Nashville lawyer? Could it really have been five years since he’d tried to buy Two Creeks? It seemed like only yesterday that he’d finally given up on the notion. Maybe it was worth another try.

He looked through several more stacks of canceled invoices, old telegrams, expired contracts, and the occasional letter from his father. Wyatt grinned to himself as he picked up the last one. Jake Caldwell was doing his level best to make his only son homesick. His letters were full of descriptions of glorious Texas sunsets, the birth of new stock, the rise in cattle prices, and the fancy new hotel going up in Fort Worth.
“Texas is booming, boy, and you’re missing the whole shooting match. Get yourself on home as soon as you can.”

Through his office window he spotted Sage Whiting and Charlie Blevins tinkering with the steam generator again. He’d have to replace it soon, and he wasn’t looking forward to the expense or the long wait for it to arrive from the manufacturer in Cincinnati.