Heartbreak Creek (19 page)

“I’m most impressed. I can see you’ve worked very hard.”

Edwina nodded in agreement, thinking Lucinda must have had a fortune hidden inside that carpetbag she had guarded so vigilantly. “But why here in Heartbreak Creek?”

“Why not? I have to be from somewhere, don’t I? Besides,” she added, one corner of her wide mouth tipping up in a crooked smile, “if I can convince the railroad to reroute through Heartbreak Creek, this dismal little town might become quite prosperous once again.”

Edwina grinned. “Which will make you prosperous as well?”

“Exactly.”

“Reroute?” Pru asked.

As Lucinda led them into the dining room, she explained that washouts were a common problem along the current route, and if the tracks came through Heartbreak Creek instead, the railroad wouldn’t have to redo the trestle and culverts every spring. “But you’ve tasted the water,” she added with a shake of her head. “So you can see why the railroad might be hesitant to come through this area.” Stopping beside a window with a lovely view of the mountains, she directed them to a cozy table topped with a spotless cloth and a vase of fragrant spring lilacs. “Will this do?”

“It’s perfect,” Edwina said.

As they took their seats, a young woman still in her teen years and wearing a starched white apron over a serviceable black dress rushed over. “Hidy, ma’ams,” she said in a breathless voice. “What’ll you have?”

“Miriam,” Lucinda said softly.

“Oh. Sorry.” Clearing her throat, the woman put on a wobbly smile, dipped a half curtsy, and said, “How may I serve you today, ladies?”

Lucinda nodded approval and asked Miriam to bring a plate of assorted cheeses and fruit, and tea for each. After the woman dashed off, Lucinda gave an apologetic smile. “We’re still in training. But at least with the town offering such limited employment opportunities, we should have plenty of workers to fill our needs. Now where was I?”

“The water,” Pru supplied, no doubt being the only one, other than Lucinda and the railroad engineers, who had any interest or understanding of the water requirements of steam locomotives.

“Ah, yes. Our nasty water.” And launching into a lengthy description of the damage harsh minerals can do to locomotives and tenders, Lucinda explained how she was trying to convince the mine owners to stop using the water cannon to blast the ore loose, since that also dissolved other minerals, which were then washed down into the stream that serviced Heartbreak Creek. “That’s why our water is so hard,” she concluded. “It leaves a film on everything, which is quite harmful to the steam engines.”

Pru nodded sagely.

Maddie stared dreamily out the window.

Edwina fought to stay awake.

“But even knowing that,” Lucinda went on, “with production down and the water cannon being the most efficient way to break out the ore, the owners are naturally reluctant to start a new extraction method at this point.”

“Naturally,” Edwina agreed, her eyes watering from the effort of holding back a yawn.

Luckily Miriam arrived then, wheeling a delicate wicker cart laden with fruit, cheese and crackers, and a lovely china tea set.

Edwina had grown up with the tradition of an afternoon repast, although at Rose Hill they had served chicory coffee instead of tea and brandied fruit compote rather than canned fruit. And as she watched Lucinda load their plates with thin wedges of cheese and sliced canned peaches and shortbread crackers, she realized how much she missed these little niceties, and the companionship of other women, and the ritual and grace of a lovely afternoon tea.

“Now, Edwina,” Maddie began once they were all served, “do tell Lucinda and me how it fares at your husband’s ranch. What is he like? Is he handsome? I was so hoping to meet him.”

“Handsome?” Edwina dabbed her napkin to her lips to hide a smile. “You tell me. You’ve seen him. Twice, in fact.” At Maddie’s look of surprise, she laughed. “Big Bob is my husband. Robert Declan Brodie, although he prefers Declan.”

“Oh, my,” Lucinda murmured.

“I knew it!” Maddie crowed, shaking a cracker at Lucinda. “Didn’t I tell you? The moment I saw him in the hotel lobby I said, ‘Luce, there’s something about that man. He’s definitely no one’s underling.’ Didn’t I say that?”

“You did.”

Grinning in triumph, Maddie turned back to Edwina. “Well? Is he nice? Does he treat you well? He seemed rather severe.”

“He can be,” Edwina admitted, nodding to Lucinda’s offer of more tea. “But that’s just his way. And yes, he treats me well. But the children . . .” She sighed. “They’ve been rather a challenge, to say the least.”

“Oh, they’re coming around,” Pru said. “Remember, they’ve been years without a mother.”

“Yes, we heard the gossip,” Maddie said.

“Oh?” Edwina set down her teacup. “What gossip?”

“Nothing of consequence.” Motioning for Miriam to clear their plates, Lucinda waited until the young woman left before she spoke again. “But apparently your husband’s first wife was a bit flighty.”

“Flighty?”

Maddie leaned forward to whisper, “They say she was involved with another man. A gambler.”

“Now, Maddie, we don’t know that for certain,” Lucinda admonished gently.

Edwina blinked in disbelief. Declan’s wife was an adulteress? What kind of fool had the woman been to prefer another man over Declan?

“There was quite the to-do when she disappeared,” Maddie continued over Lucinda’s halfhearted objections. “Some said your husband threw her out in a jealous rage. Others said she ran off with her gambler fellow. A few were even convinced that Mr. Brodie had killed her.”

“Killed her?” Edwina shrank from the idea, a hand pressed to her throat. Not Declan, a man who could hardly discipline his own children.

“He didn’t, of course,” Lucinda said hastily, sending Maddie a reproving glare. “An Indian war party killed both her and her gambler. A patrol from the fort found them, and . . . well, it was definitely Indians.”

Edwina scarcely heard as everything suddenly fell into place—all the shuttered looks, the barriers he had thrown up, the distrustful glances. It all made sense now. It wasn’t because of her but because of his first wife.

A sharp sense of relief rushed through her, and with it came a swell of sympathy for a man vilely maligned. Poor Declan. How unfair. No wonder he held himself aloof.

“It’s only gossip,” Lucinda said. “Hardly worth mentioning. And I wouldn’t have, except . . .” A look passed between Lucinda and Maddie that immediately set off warning bells in Edwina’s mind.

“Except that what?”

“Well . . . there’s to be a gathering tomorrow evening. A shivaree for a newly married couple. The whole town is invited.” When Lucinda hesitated, as if debating whether to continue, Maddie jumped in.

“It’s that horrid Alice Waltham. A wretched, nasty woman. She was a close friend of your husband’s first wife, and she insists there’s more to the events of her disappearance than has been told.”

“Really?” Pru shoved her plate away, her normally bland expression tight with anger. “Like what?” Having been the brunt of gossip and the viciousness of evil people who despised all Negroes, she had little tolerance for cruelty.

“She’s convinced Mr. Brodie killed his wife. Stupid woman.” Lucinda waved the notion aside. “Of course, no one really believes that drivel. But if you and your husband attend the shivaree tomorrow, you should be prepared for some sort of confrontation.”

Pru shrugged. “Then we won’t go.”

“Oh, yes we will,” Edwina snapped. “I refuse to be run off by some viper-tongued prevaricator. Besides, if we don’t attend, it might appear we believe her nonsense. No, we’re definitely going.”

Pru sighed. “Oh, dear.”

Knowing how difficult such situations were for her sister, Edwina tamped down her anger. No need for Pru to get caught up in something that might spill over into a personal attack because of her mixed blood. It had happened too many times in the past. “You needn’t go if you would rather not, Pru. I’ll have Declan there to make sure I don’t get myself into too much trouble. Besides, no telling how late this shivaree will last, and we really shouldn’t leave the children on their own for long. You know the mischief they can get into.”

Pru crossed her arms over her chest.
Stubborn woman.

“Unless, of course,” Edwina added, struck by a brilliant idea, “Declan asks Thomas to watch them. Then you needn’t stay with the children. Although”—she put on a thoughtful face—“the last time he did, Joe Bill almost burned down the house. Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps you should stay, after all, just to help Thomas. Or not. It’s up to you.” Sometimes she was so clever she amazed herself.

“Fine. I’ll stay,” Pru said ungraciously. “But don’t think it has anything to do with your manipulations.”

“Heavens, of course not. I know exactly why you’re staying.”

Looking distressed by the sudden downturn in a lovely afternoon, Maddie rushed into the breach. “I’m so looking forward to it. I’ve never been to a shivaree and I’m anxious to get tintypes for my portfolio, assuming the photographic supplies I ordered from E. and H. T. Anthony arrive in time.”

Relieved to move on to a less charged subject, Edwina asked how her photography expedition was going. Maddie happily told them, and within a few moments good cheer was restored, as if the subject of Declan Brodie’s first wife had never come up.

“And guess what?” Maddie clapped her hands in childlike delight. “I’m having a special wagon built with its own dark tent so I’ll be able to develop tintypes as I tour. Isn’t that exciting?”

“She’ll be quite the gypsy,” Lucinda said with a fond smile. “I shall be distraught here without her.”

“Oh, don’t be absurd, Luce. You have so many town projects in the fire you won’t even know I’m gone.”

“What town projects?” Pru asked.

“More than I can handle, I fear.”

“Might there be room for a school for displaced Negroes?” Pru asked. “I saw several freedmen and -women when we were here before.”

“We could make room. And perhaps open it to Chinese workers, as well, if the railroad lays a new line through town.”

And so the tension was forgotten and the afternoon passed in delightful conversation—Pru talking about her dream of teaching, Edwina recounting her disgust at cleaning and preparing her first chicken, Lucinda telling how they’d ordered a bell for the little church steeple, and Maddie describing her first encounter with a buffalo skinner who didn’t want his photograph taken. Edwina was having such a grand time she didn’t even notice it had gotten dark until the tromp of boots through the lobby and Brin’s loud voice told her the family had arrived.

Lucinda closed the dining room to outsiders and had the men push several tables together so they could all eat at one long table, including Amos, Thomas, and the Parker ranch hands. It was a lovely meal and reminded Edwina of the big Sunday gatherings on the shaded lawn at Rose Hill, when the smell of magnolia blossoms mingled with the delicious aromas of roasting sausages, boiled crabs, and shrimp gumbo, and distant laugher and music drifted on the warm breeze rising up from the bayou.

While talk went on around them, Edwina turned to Declan, seated on her right. “How did the cattle sale go?” They were a bit crowded, but she was left-handed—another reason for Mother to bring out the cane—so they didn’t bang elbows. Yet she was acutely aware of him beside her—his bigness, his silence, the way his hand dwarfed his fork. Long fingers, nicked and scarred, dusted with dark hair. So different from hers.

“Not as well as I’d hoped, but well enough.”

“Well enough to stay another day?”

He glanced over, a troubled look in his dark eyes. “Is that what you want?”

“I’d like to, yes.”

That shutter came down. “Whatever,” he said and looked away.

Remembering what he’d said earlier about his wife, and all the nasty gossip she’d heard about his first marriage, she felt a sudden need to reassure him. “It’s just that I haven’t had a chance to shop yet. Have you?”

“Shop?”

She leaned over until her face was inches from his shoulder. “For Brin,” she whispered. “Haven’t you gotten her anything yet?”

“Ah . . .”

“You haven’t.”

She drew in an exasperated breath, and suddenly her senses exploded with the essence of Declan, his heat, the smell of soap, horses . . . him. Her body instantly reacted—her heartbeat quickening, her skin tingling, her thoughts scattering like some addlepated adolescent sneaking her first kiss under the pawpaw tree. Rattled, she pulled back, straightened the napkin in her lap, sipped from her glass. Once her nerves settled, she cleared her throat and said, “And there’s a gathering tomorrow evening. A shivaree.”

“For the Hamiltons.”

“You know them?”

“Tom took over as sheriff after I left. Good man.”

Edwina watched him take a bite of roasted pork and wondered how the sight of a man chewing his food could be so fascinating. And swallowing. Mercy, the things it did to his throat.

“Heard they were moving to New Mexico Territory.”

She smiled vaguely, having forgotten what they were talking about.

He studied her through dark eyes softened by lamplight. “I’m guessing you want to go to this shivaree.”

“Would you mind? Pru said she would watch over the children.”

“I don’t dance. Fair warning.”

“I do dance,” she shot back. “Fair warning to you.” Grinning, she popped a piece of biscuit into her mouth.

“Threatening me again?”

“Perish the thought. A big man like you?”

And there it was, the smile she’d been hoping for. And with it came that same strange, shivery, quivery reaction she’d felt when he’d kissed her. It startled her to realize how much she was actually beginning to like her stern-faced, unapproachable husband.

“You’re doing it again.” The low rumble of his voice seemed to vibrate in the air around her.