Love's Story (22 page)

By evening, Meredith felt much recovered. After supper, Meredith and Jonah lingered companionably at the table with their coffee. Amelia wiped her hands on her apron, gave a nervous smile, and then went to the cupboard.

When she returned, she mumbled sorrowfully, “Another message,” and snapped it on the table, where they all stared at it as if it were some evil thing.

Meredith's good spirits wilted. “You read it, Jonah.”

His eyes scanned the note. “It's most unpleasant.” He shook his head. “I can't do it, Storm.”

“Please. Go on.”

His baritone held distaste: “‘A tramp and a liar. What other traits may we look forward to? You're a disgrace to Buckman's Pride. Move on.' Don't pay any attention to this,” Jonah urged.

“I think it's time that we find out who this troublemaker is,” Amelia said.

“How?” Jonah asked.

“It was the same delivery boy. He wouldn't talk to me, just ran off. But if we confront him in front of his mama, the lad might speak.”

“I'll go tomorrow,” Jonah said.

“I know his mama. I'll go along.”

“We'll all go. You're such good friends.” Meredith said. “I think I'll go to my room.”

“Good night, dear.” Amelia gave an effort at cheerfulness.

In the privacy of her room, Meredith took out her Bible. She was learning that God could sustain her through hard times.

I
nside the mess hall at Bucker's Stand, Thatcher bent over his meal, chewing but not tasting, as the conversation around the table grew more and more annoying.

“We saw what was happening between you and that reporter.”

“Be blind not to.”

“Not that we blame you. Never saw a prettier girl.”

“I want to know what you was thinking, cozyin' up to a reporter.”

“Maybe he wanted to make the news.”

“Sure way to do it, courting a reporter.”

“It might be worth a night in the woods alone.”

“This the only tree you men can climb?” Silas growled.

“She's got a spell cast over you, too.”

“Her spell is over all of you, if you'd only admit it,” he replied back.

Thatcher didn't mind so much that he was the camp's joke, nor care much if anyone came to his defense or not. What worried him was what Ralston's spoof would do to his and Meredith's relationship. Would she pack up her bags and leave? What if she left town without a word to him?

He was glad tomorrow was Saturday. Otherwise, he'd forget about work and ride into town today. But one more day shouldn't matter that much. If she was gone, then… then maybe it was meant to be. He took another mouthful and chewed.

“She's said some decent things about us, right enough.”

Meredith straightened her hat. She stood outside the Browns' home. Jonah knocked. A light-haired woman in a dark blouse and skirt cracked the door. “Yes?”

Mrs. Cooper stepped forward, “May we come in?”

The woman's eyes warily rested on Meredith. The door creaked open. They followed Mrs. Brown to a couch and two chairs. After they were seated, the woman cast an anxious glance at Mrs. Cooper. “Is there a problem?”

“We hoped you could help us solve one.”

The woman folded her hands in her lap.

“Is your son at home?” Amelia asked.

“No. He's working with his pa. I don't understand.”

Jonah leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees. “Your son has been a message courier for someone who has been sending offensive letters to Miss Mears. We are trying to find out who the writer is.”

The woman's hand went to her breast. “My son has delivered these?”

“Yes. No fault lies at his door, but it's important that we find out who's behind this mischief and get it stopped.”

“But of course. I won't see him until tonight.” She stood up and began to pace. “But rest assured, I shall find out. I'll send word as soon as I do.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” Jonah said.

“I'm sorry to have troubled you, Mrs. Brown,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Please, don't worry about this. Like we said, it's not the boy's fault. But I knew you would want to help.”

“I do,” Mrs. Brown nodded vigorously.

Mrs. Cooper rose, and the others followed suit. “We'll run along, then, and wait to hear from you.”

Saturday evening, Mr. Brown and his son brought the news. The father cleared his lean throat and straightened his very tall frame. “We came to tell you that we know where the letters came from. They were from Frederick Ralston.” He nudged his boy. “Right, son?”

Meredith flinched.

The boy nodded and kept his eyes to the floor. The father placed his arm on his son's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“My boy didn't mean you no harm, Miss Mears.”

“I understand. Thank you for telling me.”

The boy looked up. “He made me promise not to tell who they was from.”

“Don't worry,” Mr. Brown said to his son. “After I speak with him, he won't harm you none.”

“We do appreciate your coming here. May I get you both something to eat, to drink?” Mrs. Cooper asked.

“No. Thank you. His ma's rather anxious about this whole thing. We'll run along now. Sorry for our part in this.”

Meredith smiled kindly at the lad and nodded.

When they had gone, Meredith eased into a chair. “I don't understand why that man is so hateful.” Jonah handed Meredith his handkerchief. “There was plenty of room for both of us, but I won't write another article for that paper.”

“We'll speak with him and the editor,” Jonah said. “I'll go with you on Monday.”

Meredith nodded, and there was a knock at the door. “That must be Mr. Talbot.”

“I'll go answer it, dear,” Amelia said.

“No. I want to get it.”

“I'm off to my room,” Jonah said.

“And I'll be in the kitchen if you need me,” Amelia called on her way out.

Meredith dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief and made her way to the door. “Come in.”

Thatcher followed Meredith wordlessly to the parlor and took the chair that was next to hers. “I've come at a bad time, haven't I?”

“Yes. But I was expecting you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She looked up at him from beneath dark wet lashes.

“Is it about the article?” He leaned forward and touched her arm. “That is entirely my fault. How can I ever say how sorry I am that I burst into the newspaper office and said all of those horrible things? I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

“I just found out it was him.”

Thatcher gave her an odd look. “Who else could it be?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I mean he wrote those horrible letters I've been getting. They're threatening and ugly.”

Thatcher withdrew his hand. “He wrote threatening letters to you?”

She twisted the handkerchief in her lap. “The boy who delivered them finally confessed that it was Frederick Ralston. He's done everything in his power to turn this town against me. It's time that I go. There's no need to wait another month.”

“Please. Don't make any rash decisions.”

“It's best.”

“But what about us?”

Meredith was too overwrought to think clearly. “Us? You carry that wretched picture of your wife in your pocket and talk about us? What kind of man are you?”

“Are you still worrying about that picture? I told you she's nothing to me.”

“‘To my husband, with all my love, Colleen,'” Meredith recited.

Thatcher's face paled. “Have you been mulling this over all this time? She's not my wife. I had no idea that you still thought such a thing.”

“She's really not your wife?”

“Of course not. She's my best friend's wife. But she left him. He's the fellow I introduced you to the day I saw you trying on the hat.”

Meredith mentally backtracked to that day. “Go on.”

“His wife left him because he treated her badly. Now he's sorry, and he's trying to locate her. He passed through town and gave me this photograph in hopes that I might run across someone who had some information about her. I've been so busy at the camp and thinking about you that I haven't given it much thought. I thought you were jealous, that's all. I didn't think it would hurt anything.”

The strain of the past several days weighed heavily on Meredith, and in a moment of sudden anger, with little regard to possible consequences, she jumped to her feet and shook her handkerchief at him.

“You fool! You had the audacity to barge into that newsroom and accuse me of all kinds of things because I didn't properly introduce my stepbrother to you, and yet you deliberately misled me to think you had an attachment or a wife. All this time I have thought… I have had it with you and this town!”

The word “fool” brought Thatcher to his feet. “Then I shall accommodate you, ma'am.” With his stubborn reply, he picked up his hat and strode furiously toward the door to leave and lick his wounds. But first, he turned and smirked.

“Storm. The name suits you perfectly!”

Then he was gone.

His words hit her like a slap in the face. At last, she had driven him away. When she heard the door slam, she ran from the room and to the stairway. Partway up the steps, her weak ankle turned, and she collapsed on the staircase. Her hands flew out and grasped at the steps. The whole commotion brought Amelia from the kitchen and Jonah from his room.

She lay sprawled on the steps.

“Storm!”

J
onah helped Meredith to her feet. “Are you hurt?”

“Yes, but it doesn't matter,” she whimpered.

With all of Meredith's weight shifted onto himself, Jonah asked, “Is it your ankle again?”

“He hates me. Everyone hates me.”

“Oh no, that's not true,” Amelia said. “We love you.”

“He doesn't! I've made such a mess of my life.”

“Of course you haven't, Storm,” Jonah said, easing her up into his arms and heading toward her room. “You've just had too much excitement for one evening.”

“It'll all look better in the morning,” Amelia said. “But let's take a look at that ankle. Perhaps we'll need the doctor.”

Meredith groaned and lay back on her bed. “And how did he know my name?”

They did not call the doctor, for the sprain was not bad, but Meredith didn't go to church the following day. Instead, she sought the seclusion of her room and lay abed. She felt like packing up and going back to New York, but there was still the business of her unfinished story.

She considered her father, waiting to make amends, considered Asa, who trusted her to deliver. In the end, she opted to stick it out, square things with Ralston, and forget about Thatcher. It was just as well to end it this way.

That afternoon, Mrs. Bloomfield called on Meredith.