Love in the Balance (6 page)

Molly had to tear her gaze away. She shouldn’t be making cow eyes at him. He was a nomad, not husband material. But even rich New Yorkers had to marry someone, didn’t they?

“Surely you want a family, a wife? Doesn’t domestic felicity appeal to you?” Her heart raced at her brazenness, but if he was merely traveling through, why not have her curiosity satisfied?

He sighed and studied the rising sun before answering. “I deeply desire to have a woman at my side. Someone who would travel and explore with me. Someone with whom to share my adventures. Who says a woman must stay by the hearth and wait for her wandering man? With ample funds, travel can be luxurious, even out here.”

Molly pondered as they walked. This new data needed to be organized and filed. Like her tax payments, every idea should fit neatly into well-established categories. She might have to open a new ledger for this possibility.
Touring socialite.
Would he meet the parental requirements? Would a dalliance with a rich tourist release Mr. Fenton and her from their painful association?

All too soon she realized the courthouse was looming before them.

“I’ve enjoyed our stroll, Mr. Pierrepont, but my destination is ahead. Thank you for escorting me.”

“To the courthouse? It’d be my pleasure to walk you to the door.”

“No, no. That’s unnecessary.” No use in piquing Carrie’s curiosity. “But what about your wallet?”

“You may find me at the McCulloch Hotel, with or without the wallet, but please don’t trouble yourself. Our paths will cross again.”

Molly blinked at the certainty in his voice.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Lovelace. My morning wanderings have left me somewhat disoriented. Isn’t the hotel a block down Market Street?”

He’d noticed. She blushed in what she’d been told was a charming manner. “Yes, that’s the most direct route. Good day, Mr. Pierrepont.”

He tipped his hat and performed a complicated pirouette to avoid another puddle as he departed.

Molly filled her lungs with the damp morning air and steeled herself for another day at the thin mercies of Mr. Travis. She hoped he was in a fair mood. She hoped the river was high again. And since hoping was free, she’d hope that Bailey had found a job—one that paid generously.

Another week gone by and she hadn’t heard from him. He was making good on his promise to keep his distance, but what if his reasons weren’t as noble or charitable as he claimed? What if he had tired of her but didn’t have the heart to tell her?

The man in the spiffy suit disappeared behind the livery stable as he turned the corner. How many opportunities might slip away while she waited for Bailey? Was he waiting for her?

4

Broken pickets littered the walkway and slowed Molly’s progress. After work, Molly had dawdled at the courthouse, delaying her trip to Prue’s, but once on the seedy street she couldn’t get there quick enough. She lifted her skirt to fit her foot precisely between the staves lying on the ground. Of course, if she would’ve said no in the first place, she wouldn’t be in this predicament. On afternoons like this, Molly’s lack of fortitude irked her to no end.

Would you like to buy the matching bracelet? May I have this dance? Are you hungry for seconds?
Usually her weaknesses didn’t leave her quite so distraught, but when Prue asked, “Don’t you want to join us for supper?” Molly found herself traipsing across the canal to the smoky neighborhood of the tanner, the butcher, and the blacksmith. The further she walked from the town square, the smaller the houses and the larger the families grew.

Molly stood before the McGraws’ house and evaluated it as accurately as Mr. Travis the tax assessor could. How had Mr. Fenton endured his visits to the McGraws’? The house on San Antonio Street belonged to a different realm. Molly couldn’t imagine what had enticed him so far from his natural habitat. Perhaps he had trouble saying no, as well.

“Be sure and come around front,” Prue had admonished—as if Molly would dream of walking through the hazy yard amid the clanging iron and sweaty men. No indeed. So what was she doing eating dinner with them?

The last time she’d visited, Prue’s mother had concocted a feast that made Molly long for the cuisine of Lola, the Lovelaces’ cook, but Prue’s mother had succumbed to consumption last year, leaving the quality of the meal she was about to consume in question. She hoped Prue knew her way around the kitchen, or the evening would be a complete disaster.

“Come on in,” Prue called through the open window.

Molly hesitated inside the doorway, unsure where to hang her hat and shawl. The tiny half-moon table crowded the entryway, and the vase of chrysanthemums left little room for anything else. Molly buried her nose in the flowers before remembering she didn’t like their smell. Even so, she had to admit the arrangement was gorgeous.

One step into the parlor brought her to the settee against the wall. She quickly dropped her wrap there and joined Prue in the kitchen.

“Can I help?”

“Sure. Can you make the gravy?”

“Gravy? Sorry.” Molly scratched her elbow. “I could set the table.”

Prue nodded toward the cupboard with the plates. The efficient kitchen hadn’t changed since Molly’s last visit. Although the décor was less than fashionable, it still possessed a pleasing ambiance. A little oasis of peace in the boisterous neighborhood.

The whisking noise stopped as Prue turned to Molly. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, but before the men join us, I’d appreciate it if we could have a little talk.”

Molly’s hand froze on the plates. Goose bumps appeared on her arm. So much for peace. Without lifting her eyes she pulled the plates down and began to place them around the table, as mute as a ladybug.

“It’s about Mr. Fenton. I don’t wish for any awkwardness to fester between us. While I still esteem him greatly, I recognize that he might not be God’s plan for me. If that’s the case, then I’ll be forced to adjust my expectations, plain and simple. I’ll trust that God has someone better.”

The plate was chipped, right through the painted rose, but Prue had probably never noticed. Molly walked around the table to set the next plate in place.

“Prue, I told you he doesn’t want to squire me around, but we have no choice.”

“He does have a choice, and I’m disappointed with what he’s chosen.” Prue twisted a dishrag in her hands. “Of course, I still have feelings for him. Those don’t just vanish, you know. It’d be nice if they would, but Mr. Fenton is the first man I’ve ever loved. I don’t quite know how to get over him.”

The plate clattered on the table. Could one ever recover from love? Maybe if Mr. Fenton embarrassed Prue in front of the entire church, it’d help her forget him.

Maybe not.

Conflicting agendas warred within Molly. She wanted to promise Prue she’d never speak to Mr. Fenton again, but if she refused to see him she might as well pack her bags and hop into the first lumber wagon back to Prairie Lea. Besides, until the finances at the mill were secured, she’d be foolish to insult the family that could loan them enough to stay solvent another season.

“Perhaps I should court someone else, Molly. Someone who’s nothing like Mr. Fenton. I need to dwell on the qualities that he lacks.”

“I don’t think that’s helpful. Mr. Fenton and you suit each other quite well.”

“Oh, come now. He can be frightfully priggish. So uptight.” Prue straightened her back and turned to survey the room with her gaze dripping off her nose. She lowered her voice to a midtenor and proceeded with a decent imitation. “‘I believe we were to meet at noon. It’s now two past the hour.’”

Molly frowned, panic rising in her throat. “He’s not that bad.”

“Oh, yes he is.” Prue took Molly’s arm. “‘Allow me to escort you, Miss Lovelace, but please don’t walk too close. We mustn’t incite gossip.’”

Molly twisted her arm out of Prue’s grasp. What was wrong with her? Molly thought Prue’s regard for Fenton was unshakeable. How could Molly escape her fate if he became unattached?

Molly took cotton napkins to place around the table. “Mr. Fenton holds you in the highest regard. He’s reliable and steady.”

“Then perhaps I need to find someone different, someone impulsive and exciting, someone who laughs easily and drinks life to the lees.”

“I don’t know if I’d recommend—” But her caution was interrupted.

“What’s for supper?” Mr. McGraw bellowed from the doorway.

“Ham and potatoes. Come and get it.”

Counting the plates on the table, Molly panicked. She’d set a place for herself and the four McGraws, forgetting Mrs. McGraw’s passing. Why hadn’t Prue corrected her? She reached for the plate, but someone caught her wrist.

“You aren’t going to let me eat?”

“Bailey?”

She blinked, not trusting her eyes. Had he followed her there? No one else seemed surprised at his presence.

“Nice of you to join us tonight,” Bailey said.

“How did you know I’d be here?” She turned stunned eyes to Prue, who set the gravy boat on the table, as serene as ever.

Mr. McGraw smiled. “That’s right. Y’all know each other, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Molly and I are old friends.” His eyes danced, although tears were running down his face.

Was he crying? What was going on?

“I . . . I’m not hungry.” Molly held on to the back of the chair with white knuckles. “I think I’d better go.”

“Nonsense.” Bailey took her by the shoulders and directed her to a chair. “Prue’s put together a fine meal, and she’s quite the chef. Isn’t that right, Cookie?”

“Please don’t call me that,” Prue said. “I don’t appreciate being compared to your trail cook.”

“The comparison’s to your credit.”

“But it shows a lack of . . .” She untied her apron and tossed it on the counter. “Maybe it doesn’t matter. I was telling Molly I need to be more . . . what was it? Impulsive?” Prue carried the last dish to the table and then seated herself. Bailey took the seat next to her, opposite Molly.

Molly squirmed on the hard chair, unable to drag her eyes off Prue. It couldn’t be. Proper, cautious Prue wasn’t interested in Bailey, was she?

She had to get her wits about her. With a start, Molly realized she’d passed the food around the table without filling her plate. Bailey noticed, too. Silently he raised an eyebrow and nodded to her plate. He lifted the platter of ham and passed it her way a second time.

Molly scowled. She’d just as soon eat her leather boot as the slab of ham, but she must partake. She speared a thick piece and tried not to notice Bailey’s approval. Molly tossed her curls. They wouldn’t get the best of her. If eating could prove her unaffected by the ambush, she’d put food away like a sow at the trough.

“This is right nice y’all eating together,” Prue’s brother said. “If Mr. Fenton were here, we’d have a tableful.”

His barb went uncommented upon, but nothing said could’ve rivaled the silence for discomfort.

Mr. Fenton. Molly wished she’d never heard of the man. Why had she allowed her parents to convince her to take after him? He belonged to Prue. She had half a mind to summon him before Prue became fonder of his absence. Molly’s mouthful of meat seemed to expand the longer she chewed. She’d have to swallow it whole.

Junior spoke up again. “But at least you stopped crying, Bailey. Things must be looking up.”

Molly had forgotten the tears. Could he be missing her? She looked at his now clear face, and just as she reached for her glass, he winked.

“Watch what you’re doing,” Junior cried, but it was too late.

Molly’s glass tipped and a flood of tea rushed across the table and onto Bailey’s lap.

“Whoa there!” Bailey jumped out of his seat, sending the chair crashing to the floor.

“Oh no.” Molly threw her napkin on the table to stop the rivulets streaming off the edge onto Prue’s clean kitchen floor.

General chaos broke out as Prue went for a mop and Mr. McGraw removed the dishes so the soaked tablecloth could be taken away. Molly dove onto the floor with the dish towel, crawling awkwardly with her bustle bouncing above her.

Bailey met her midway under the table. “It was only a wink,” he whispered. “No reason to drench me.”

Molly tilted her head up, inches from his face. Why, oh why, did her heart have to beat like a hummingbird’s wings? Why couldn’t her anger prevent the fluttering in her stomach?

Fluttering or no, his unsettling smile must be dispelled.

Lifting the saturated dish towel over his head, she squeezed it, sending a cascade of dirty tea rolling down his face.

“I have every reason to drench you,” she cooed and willed the butterflies to calm before she rose to help her shocked hostess.

“But you mustn’t walk by yourself,” Prue said to Molly after supper as she gestured to the street. “This neighborhood isn’t safe at night.”

Bailey, stretching with his arms overhead and enjoying the early winter evening, almost missed his cue. “I’ll see her home.”

Was it wrong that he enjoyed the glower Molly shot his direction? He stepped off the porch and rubbed his belly. “It’s the least I can do for my hostess after that bang-up meal. I couldn’t eat another bite.”