Love in the Balance (11 page)

Bracing herself against the wall, she paused to gather her thoughts.

Edward would be leaving soon, and his invitation to her had been clear. Although it wasn’t accompanied by an engagement ring and a nervous speech from one knee, he wanted to marry her—and soon. She’d tried to keep the news from her parents, but they sensed that a culmination was imminent. Letters arrived daily from her mother asking for updates. Her father actually snubbed Mr. Fenton at the barbershop during his last visit to Lockhart. They smelled victory.

She saw defeat.

Molly gathered her skirt out of the crackling leaves. Without the bustle to fluff it out, it hung as flat as a cow’s tail and tangled around her ankles. No matter. She could hardly have crawled out the kitchen window with additional padding. Tight enough fit as it was. Besides, no one would see her this time of evening, and even if they did she wouldn’t be recognized wrapped in her old cloak. With her hand against the clapboard siding she worked her way to the back porch, around the kitchen windows, to the lone room on the other side of the house.

There she heard him. Tentatively, gently, the guitar strings released a melody, one note plucked at a time. Molly crouched under the window and listened to him drowsily croon the ballad. That voice meant so much to her. Teasing, encouraging, adoring—the most precious words ever said to her had been spoken by that voice, and she wanted to hear more.

Molly pulled her hood back and adjusted her hair. No reason to be unprepared. Considering how much trouble she’d gone through sneaking out of Mrs. Truman’s, she might as well make an impression.

Molly stood and peered through the open window. The music stopped. She couldn’t see in, but obviously he could see out.

“Who’s that lady, Uncle Bailey?”

Oh, fickle pickle! Molly dropped to her knees, but it was too late.

The slow, drowsy voice she’d been listening for answered. “Probably Slue-Foot Sue. Was she riding a catfish?”

“I didn’t see one,” a boy’s voice replied.

“Well, I’ll check. You stay in bed.”

The metal frame creaked, and Bailey’s head appeared above hers. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Pecos Bill doesn’t live here. You have the wrong house.”

“It’s really her?” The bed bounced again.

A quick frown and he vanished into the dark room. “Appears so. No lady I know would be sneaking around at night unless it was that brazen Slue-Foot Sue. Now you get to sleep. I played you the moon song like I promised. I’m going to sneak to the kitchen for a drink, but when I come back I want to hear you snoring like your pa.”

Something rustled inside and Molly heard the distinct snap of suspenders. A tiny shock ran up her spine. Good thing she couldn’t see in the window. She hadn’t considered the peril of peeking into a man’s bedchamber at night.

Trying not to rustle the leaves, she reached the back porch just as Bailey eased the door closed behind him. No wonder the suspenders had snapped so loudly. They’d hit bare skin.

He crossed his arms over his chest and came to the edge of the porch. Not wanting to raise her voice, Molly started toward him. Her foot hit the porch step, but with an outstretched hand he stopped her.

“No you don’t. Get over there.” He motioned to a spot on the other side of the rosebushes lining the balustrade.

“My goodness, Bailey. Are you that scared of me?” But her voice shook. There was so much of him. Skin everywhere she looked.

“Don’t you have this confused?” he asked. “In the fairy tales isn’t the prince supposed to come to the sleeping maiden’s window?”

“I don’t read fairy tales. In real life, nothing good happens while you sleep, only wrinkles.”

“Then say what you have to say. We shouldn’t be alone at night in a place like this.” He motioned wide to the moonlit yard, his complete naked span from fingertip to fingertip exposed.

Her breath caught. Until now she’d only guessed what he looked like, based on the hard muscles she felt through his clothing. If she had known . . .

“Don’t look at me like that. I swear, if anyone deserved to be kidnapped and dragged to the parson, it’s you. If your father had any idea how you go looking for trouble, he’d lock you up.”

“It’s your own fault. How am I supposed to forget?”

A hoot owl startled them both. Molly waited until the bird finished its call, waited for the sparks between them to calm, before she spoke.

“You really hurt me, pushing me away like you did.” She pulled a stem from the rosebush and began breaking off the thorns. “I understand why, but it still hurt.”

“I know.” She could feel his heavy gaze on her as he spoke. “I thought it was for the best.”

“This doesn’t feel best.”

“Amen, sister.”

Him and his religious talk.

Come to think of it, she had a confession, too. “Since then, I’ve acted shamefully. I’ve tried to upset you and make you jealous.” A thorn stuck her finger. She squeezed it until a dark drop appeared. “No matter what happens next, it’s not out of spite. I want you to know I wouldn’t go that far.”

The wind moved the bushes, scratching the banister and sending the cloying scent of old blooms into the air.

“Have you already decided what happens next?” Bailey bent at the waist and rested his arms atop the simple wood railing. “Mr. Fenton told me he’s ready to declare his intentions. I have to applaud you. Looks like you’ve been successful.”

Molly blinked and then waved that suggestion away like a horsefly. “Fenton? Never. I’m not interested in that pompous goat.”

“You played interested not too long ago. Has someone else caught your eye?”

She squirmed. Had Edward Pierrepont fulfilled all her aspirations, or had he made it clear that no one would replace Bailey?

“How’s your job with the cobbler?” she asked.

“Sales couldn’t be better, but I’ve been a disappointment to Mr. Hernandez in the workshop. He tried to teach me to make those tiny stitches, but they’re impossible to see. Once the Christmas rush slows down, I’ll most likely be looking for another position.”

“That’s too bad.” Molly wrung every drop of disappointment out of the words until they were left dry. “Do you think you’ll be unemployed again?”

He nodded.

“Mr. Pierrepont—that man who bought me the boots—he’s leaving soon.”

“’Bout time.”

“He wants me to go with him.”

The balustrade creaked under Bailey’s weight. Molly looked away, unable to bear the hurt on his face. The crickets chirped. She pulled her cloak around her tighter, wishing she could creep inside and hide.

“And you don’t know what you’re going to do?” His voice fell gently, almost sympathetically.

“You don’t understand. Every dance lesson, every music teacher Mother hired was to prepare me for an advantageous marriage. My parents raised themselves from obscurity to prominence. For me to marry poorly would be a reversal of fortunes for my family. Still, I’d do it for you—if you were ready.”

“Wait for me, Molly. There’s no hurry.”

“I waited on Weston, and he married someone else. What if you do, too? What if you fall in love with Prue? In the meanwhile, my corset’s getting tighter, my cheeks are getting paler—”

“I haven’t noticed.”

“But I’m not young anymore. Besides, once Edward leaves I won’t have that opportunity again.”

“If he loves you—” Bailey’s voice caught, but he forced the words out— “he’ll come back.”

Molly didn’t answer.

“He loves you, right?”

Did he? Edward must or he wouldn’t offer marriage. With his riches and position, he wasn’t desperate. Any girl would be lucky to catch him, just as any girl would be lucky to secure Bailey’s regard.

“That’s not a requirement according to my parents. You know my situation.”

“And I’m doing everything I can to get you out of it.” Even in the dark she couldn’t miss the longing in his eyes.

Molly moved toward him and stepped into the rosebush.

“Ouch!” She pulled away, snatching her cloak from the grasp of the thorns she’d missed.

“My hedge of protection.” He chuckled. “Those church folks are praying for us. I hope while they pray for my defense against your charms, they remember to pray for my financial situation, as well.”

His efforts to cheer her weren’t lost on Molly. Her frown relaxed into a smile that he shared until their gazes deepened, and then he broke it off. Just as well. At least one of them had some sense.

Bailey straightened and surveyed the dark homes around them. “No one can tell you what you want, Molly. You’re a big girl and will have to live with your decision. But for now, I’m going to do everything I can to help you, even if it means sending you to your room. You really shouldn’t be out alone at night.”

“Fiddle. These streets are as safe as Grandmother’s parlor.”

“Not hardly. If you want to talk, don’t wait until dark—unless that’s the only time you can escape your escort.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “You get to bed. I won’t keep you up any longer.”

“Yes you will.”

And even after Molly reached the alley she could still make him out, standing on the porch behind the rosebushes.

December eighteenth marked the one-year anniversary of the reopening of Bradford’s Mercantile, and it was swarming like an anthill drenched in lemonade. The cobbler had given Bailey a half day off to travel to Prairie Lea for the celebration, and the trip was worth it. His entire family would be in attendance. Even Molly’s brother, visiting from Garber, had stayed to congratulate the proud shopkeeper.

“There’s no finer store between here and Austin.” Nicholas Lovelace slapped a beaming Deacon Bradford on the back. When Deacon’s mercantile burned down a couple of years earlier, many wondered if the customers lost to the bigger towns of Lockhart and Luling would ever return to little Prairie Lea, but they had proved loyal to the kind shopkeeper. “Your one-year anniversary and everything still looks brand-new. What do you think, Mol?”

Molly surveyed the smart displays, the pyramid of tin cans, and the notions arranged beneath the glass counter. Bailey knew she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing any of the fabric, and goodness knew she had no use for the housewares and farm equipment, but she wouldn’t let her brother outdo her in anything, especially flattery.

“I love Mr. Bradford’s store. The shop exudes confidence while still possessing a welcoming atmosphere. You’ve put together an amazing selection in the past year.” She turned an effusive smile to the gentleman. “First rate.”

Bailey shook his head at Deacon’s pleased stammering. Were all men so easily hoodwinked? Seeing through the exaggeration wasn’t difficult when you weren’t the target. ’Course he was no better.

“Molly can spot quality,” her pa said, “but she wouldn’t know a whisk from a rug beater.”

Molly’s eyes tightened, but her smile didn’t falter. Laughter filled the room, and hers was the merriest of them all.

Bailey wasn’t fooled. Something needed to be said in her defense. “Hey, Tuck,” he called to his brother, allowing his voice to carry. “You said you needed help on your ciphering. You should ask Molly to look at your sums. She’s a whiz at figures.”

Mr. Lovelace’s laughter twisted into a cough. He pointed at Tuck. “That’s a fine idea, son. Women are helpful when it comes to making it past the schoolmarms. Don’t know what good it does them later, but don’t turn down help when you can get it.”

Tuck scowled at Bailey and ducked out the door to join Samuel and the older boys, where there was less talk of ciphering and schoolmarms.

His mother, Mary Garner, left the refreshment table to join Molly. “Did you bring any food, or are you begging off everyone else?”

Bailey shook his head. He agreed Molly needed to make some effort when it came to bringing grub, but he grew defensive when his mother got involved. Between his ma and her pa, she was taking a beating.

Molly kept her chin up. “I’m sure Mother brought something. She said Lola was working in the kitchen until late last night.”

“Lola has a husband, doesn’t she?” Mary flipped a dish towel over her shoulder. “Yes, a good cook doesn’t stay single long.”

“Mother, what does Mrs. Lovelace’s servant have to do with anything? You’re fishing for trouble.”

“Don’t you talk that way to your ma.” Bailey’s father, George, shuffled between the aisles holding one of Bailey’s little sisters by the hand. He winked at Molly. “At least not where she can hear it, or she’ll make me do something about it.”

“Oh, stop,” Mary huffed. “It’s no secret Molly wants to get married, and as far as I’m concerned, the sooner she does, the better. Adele is my dear friend, and if her daughter can’t catch a husband, she won’t mind me helping. I’d want someone to do the same for Susannah and Ida if, heaven forbid, they got to her age without a trip down the aisle.”

Molly’s smile faded. Bailey looked to his father for help. Once Mary Garner got started, it took a team of horses to redirect her.

“Now, dear, men marry for more than meat and taters. Miss Lovelace is so elegant that none of the bumpkins around here are up to snuff, but enough with this tomfoolery. You might want to check on Ida. She feels warm and says her throat hurts. She won’t even try the sweets.”