Love's First Bloom (16 page)

Jake crossed the room and approached the counter that Ruth was holding onto as if it were a lifeline. Her face was uncommonly pale, and she looked at him as if he were the last person she wanted to see.

His need to pursue his professional goal, however, overrode his concern for her, particularly since he had learned that Robert Farrell had arrived by stagecoach late yesterday afternoon. “You haven’t been to your garden for a good while, and I thought perhaps it was too chilly in the morning to return because you didn’t have your shawl,” he offered and laid it on the counter. “I’m sorry. It seems to have gotten snagged on some bushes when the wind blew it around before I found it.”

“I can repair it. Thank you for bringing it back to me,” she said.

“You’re welcome. Are you feeling unwell? Is that why you haven’t been tending your garden?”

A blush stained her cheeks. “I’ve been feeling rather peaked lately, but I’m just a bit overtired today. Mr. Farrell, that reporter, just left. Did … did you see him?”

“Reporter?”

“A Mr. Farrell. From New York City,” she explained. “He’s suffering from some sort of stomach ailment and needed more remedy. I’m surprised you didn’t pass him on your way here.”

He shrugged, surprised himself to learn that Farrell was out and about. From what he heard earlier this morning, the man was in his sickbed at Burkalow’s. “No, I didn’t see him, although I’ve heard about him. He’s caused quite a stir in the village.”

She curled her lips. “Indeed. Knowing your fondness for newspapers, I’m surprised you didn’t seek him out to speak to him.”

He stiffened briefly. “I’m too busy working, trying to earn enough to make my own keep, to spend time gossiping with anyone,” he replied.

“You’re working again?” she asked.

“Thanks to the remedy you were kind enough to bring me,” he replied and held out the canvas bag she had used to carry everything to the cabin a few weeks ago. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get to the door before you left. The food was delicious and much appreciated. You needn’t have gone to all that trouble.”

She blushed and took the bag from his hand. “Indeed, it was little enough to do after the way I acted.”

He raised a brow. “And how was that?” he asked, hoping to force her to make her apology more specific.

The blush on her cheeks deepened to the color of overripe strawberries. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t kinder to you. Or more understanding. Once I got home and Mr. Garner told me more about your condition, I realized I had misjudged you. I apologize, and I apologize for Lily, too, for biting you,” she added.

He smiled. “Apology accepted. I trust your daughter has recovered from her plunge into the river.”

“She’s quite well, thank you,” she murmured, obviously embarrassed by her daughter’s behavior.

“Is Mr. Garner about?”

She shook her head. “He had to leave for a few moments. If you need more of the remedy, I could tell him—”

“Actually, I was hoping to speak to him about starting that work we discussed.”

“If you’re referring to replacing the shelves in the storeroom, he said he was going to postpone doing that for another week or two. If you need to wait for him—”

“No,” he said quickly and arched his back a bit. “I need to finish up some painting for Spinster Wyndam before this back of mine tightens up for good. She’s letting me spend the night in her barn tonight so I won’t have to walk back and forth. I don’t want my back acting up and risk missing services tomorrow. Just tell him I’ll talk to him about it then or at the picnic afterward. Will you be at the picnic with Lily?”

She moistened her lips and looked down. “I suppose I will, unless … yes, I suppose I will.”

“Until tomorrow, then,” he promised before taking his leave.

Heartened by the prospect of seeing her again, he hurried down the side of the apothecary toward the bridge to return to his cabin. He’d forgotten to bring the trousers he planned to wear to services tomorrow. Approaching Main Street, he was half tempted to stop at Burkalow’s just ahead to confront Farrell, but decided to wait until dark when he might be better able to slip up to the man’s room unnoticed.

Half an hour later, after stopping to help a farmer reload some of the hay that had fallen from his wagon, Jake finally reached his cabin and charged inside, anxious to get back to Spinster Wyndam’s and finish his work for the day.

“Living a bit rustic these days, aren’t you, Asher? The accommodations at Burkalow’s are much more suitable to my taste.”

Jake stared at the well-dressed young man sitting on the lone chair in the room and snarled, “You must be Robert Farrell. Do you make it a habit of entering a man’s home without permission?”

He shrugged. “Your brother sends his regards, though I would venture to add that he’s growing rather impatient with your lack of progress in locating Ruth Livingstone,” he said, ignoring Jake’s question.

“Obviously,” Jake snapped. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have sent you here.”

Farrell stood up and dusted off his trousers, as if the chair he had been sitting on was uncommonly dirty. “He
sent
me out to find Ruth Livingstone, which is exactly what I plan to do once I’ve got this stomach ailment of mine cured.”

Jake narrowed his gaze. “And just exactly how do you plan to find her?” he demanded, uncertain how much Clifford had shared with the man about what Jake had learned here in Toms River.

“By following a lead I developed, and by using this,” Farrell said, walking over, albeit a bit painfully, and handing Jake a sketch. “Take a good look. Once you do, I think you’ll have to agree that the pretty young widow living with the Garners bears no resemblance at all to Ruth Livingstone.”

Infuriated that Clifford had told Farrell about his work here and his suspicion that Widow Ruth Malloy and Ruth Livingstone were one and the same woman, Jake quickly studied the sketch. He held back a grin that threatened to undermine his determination to get this young man out of Toms River as quickly as possible. If Farrell was relying on the sketch of this homely woman to identify Ruth Livingstone, Jake had little, if anything to fear from the man.

“Well?”

“You’re right. There’s no resemblance at all. Where did you get the sketch?”

Farrell’s smile was so smug, Jake was tempted to give the man a good swipe in the face. “From a source. A very reliable source, which you no doubt overlooked since you’ve been on an extended
holiday
for the past two years, hoping your last attempt at reporting, which ended in disaster, would be forgotten. You’re obviously wasting your time here,” he added.

“Perhaps,” Jake admitted, deliberately fueling the man’s arrogance, and handed the sketch back to him.

“I’m certain your brother will find that bit of news interesting, to say the least.”

Jake stiffened. “I keep my brother well-informed, as he does me.”

“Which is yet another reason why he sent me here.”

“To speak to me?” Jake asked, growing angrier by the minute with his brother for not trusting him to do his job.

“Your brother asked me to relay a message to you.”

Jake balled his hands into fists.

“Your agreement with your brother has been amended— that is, he’s also turned the assignment to find Ruth Livingstone over to me. To quote him precisely, ‘Get the job done before Farrell does.’ I trust you know exactly what that means in terms of—”

“Get out,” Jake demanded and pointed to the door. “And when you see my brother again, tell him that I will not discuss any agreements we have with each other with anyone else, especially a hireling. Which is precisely what you are.”

Farrell shrugged and made his way toward the door. “I’ll stop to see you again on my way back to New York City. If the lead I have is as good as I suspect it is, that won’t be but a matter of a week or two. By then, perhaps you’ll have thought of a proper excuse to give your brother for failing to find Ruth Livingstone—something I’ll have managed to do by then.”

“You forget your place, Farrell. Or need I remind you that I am your employer since I am still half owner of the
Galaxy
?”

“Not for long,” he said and slipped out the door, leaving Jake wondering if the cocky young reporter was right. If he failed to get the story about Ruth Livingstone that Clifford demanded before Farrell did, he would end up losing his investment in the
Galaxy
, as well as any hope of redeeming himself and reclaiming his career.

The stakes now were higher than ever before, leaving Jake no choice but to set aside his concerns for Ruth Livingstone and concentrate on his own. Or face the very real possibility that he would fail his brother again … as well as himself.

Seventeen

Walk faster. Faster. Faster!

Ruth scurried down the sandy path she knew so well very early the next morning. She did not need more than the faint light of dawn to find her way. She did not feel the chill of the damp air on her face or detect the scent of cedar needles and salt air. She did not taste the silent river of tears that pooled in the corners of her lips or see the wispy ribbon of gold sky on the cusp of the horizon.

Numb to all but the desperate need to reach the privacy of her garden this morning while the cabin was empty, she pressed a fist against her mouth, rounded the bend, and ran the last dozen yards to the mound of earth yet to hold a single plant. The unspeakable pain of losing her beloved father, which had twisted her stomach into knots, finally wrenched free, overwhelmed her fears about having her true identity discovered, and forced the very last breath from her lungs.

Unable to take another step, she dropped to her knees, squeezed her eyes shut, and wrapped her hands around her waist. She rocked back and forth, releasing the anguish that had taken root in her very soul. The steady hum of deepthroated groans matched the slow, heavy thud of her heart, then quickened with her pulse.

Her whimpers grew more insistent and she parted her lips, unleashing cries that deepened into sobs that came straight from the deepest corners of her heart. “Father. Father.” The sobs made her heart beat even faster as she struggled to breathe, yet releasing her sorrow also exposed an anger—an anger so sharp and so piercing and so new to her spirit that she was incapable of taming it.

In fact, she embraced it.

“Why, Father? Why did you make me leave you in the first place? Why? And why did you leave me forever now? Why!” she cried and pounded at her thighs until her fists were stinging and her voice was raw.

With her chest heaving, she twisted her skirts and redirected her anger at the Father she was supposed to trust above anyone else in this world. She looked up at the heavens, where stars rested now on a bed of gray velvet, and swiped at her tearstained cheeks. “You … you did this. You called him Home. Why, oh, why?” she whimpered, over and over, until her anger was spent, her voice was hoarse, and both her body and her spirit were drained to the point of exhaustion.

Ruth pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and lay down her head. Drawing one slow breath at a time, she had no strength left to think beyond the wonder that her broken heart was able to beat at all.

Silent moment after silent moment, she sat there alone, completely and quietly unaware of the world. When she felt the warmth of the sun on her head, she loosened her shawl. Above her, the sun rested in pale glory just above the tree line on the barrier island to the east. Closer still, along the southern shore of the river, she was surprised to see a good dozen shorebirds standing in a single straight line facing the sun, while others arrived silently in twos and threes to join them.

She did not know much about these shorebirds beyond the fact that they were seabirds of some kind. While some were heavy-bodied, brown and white gulls with thick beaks, others were slender, wearing a coat of dark black feathers above snowwhite breasts. She had seen them and heard them many times before, squawking and screeching in competition for food, but she had never once seen gulls standing in a single row facing the horizon. They were completely silent, as if paying homage to their Creator and trusting He would bless them with another day of warm sun and the endless bounty of the river.

Humbled by the idea that the seabirds recognized the power and glory of the very God she had worshiped all her life, while she doubted Him and failed to trust in Him, she bowed her head. “Forgive me for being so very angry with you and with my father,” she began. “I-I can’t promise I won’t ever be that angry again, because I probably will, but I’ll try harder. I really will,” she vowed, too ashamed to whisper anything more than a humble request for Robert Farrell to leave tomorrow on the morning stage.

Though anxious to get back in time to dress for services today, Ruth was still reticent about going out and about in the village with the reporter still present. She got to her feet and started brushing off her skirts when she suddenly had the feeling that someone was watching her. She turned around to face the cabin and froze when she realized that it was not someone, but some thing that was watching her.

Holding very still, she stared at the brown bird that had attacked her the other day. It was standing only a few yards away, and it was most definitely watching her. When she had told Mr. Garner about her incident with the bird, he had told her it was probably a wild turkey. Because of its coloring and size, he said it was most likely a harmless young hen, since hatchlings would be much smaller at this time of year.