Rekindled (17 page)

Kathryn looked down to see her hand resting over the gentle swell she’d thought well hidden by the gathers in her skirt. She smiled and shook her head. “And here I thought I was keeping a secret.”

A shadow flitted across Annabelle’s marred features, and Kathryn had the feeling she was about to gain a glimpse into the woman’s battered heart. Then just as quickly, she looked away.

Annabelle cleared her throat and nodded to the sack on the table. “So what’d you bring me?”

Kathryn smiled. “Blackberry cobb—”

“Annabelle!” The door to the kitchen swung open. One of the other women ran in, out of breath. Her lacy bodice gaped open at the top. “Come quick, it’s Sadie!”

Kathryn climbed the stairs, right on Annabelle’s heels. She pushed through the crowd of half-dressed men and women standing in the hall and arrived at Sadie’s room. Sadie lay motionless on the bed, her naked body half draped in a sheet. Annabelle knelt beside her, her face ashen.

Kathryn moved to the other side and lifted Sadie’s limp wrist, checking her pulse. Relief trickled through her fear. “She’s alive. Did anybody hear what happened?”

The brunette who had so vehemently voiced her displeasure at Kathryn’s first night at the brothel leaned against the doorway. “Her next appointment just came in and found her like this. I saw Conahan with her downstairs a while ago, but I don’t know if he followed her up here or not.”

Annabelle’s hand shook as she pulled the sheet up to cover Sadie.

Kathryn brushed the hair back from Sadie’s delicate features. Sadie’s smooth brown skin glistened with perspiration and her breath was thready. She looked so much younger close up, where Kathryn could see past her heavily lined almond eyes and rouged cheeks. “How old is she?”

“Thirteen,” Annabelle told her.

Kathryn thought she was going to be sick. Someone handed her a cool cloth. She smoothed it over Sadie’s forehead and cheeks and beneath her chin. She pulled back the long dark strands of hair clinging to Sadie’s throat, and that’s when she saw them.

Faint red stripes flared out on either side of Sadie’s neck, extending around to the back. Kathryn placed her fingers in the subtle outline on the right side of Sadie’s slender throat and shuddered.

Silent tears coursed down Annabelle’s cheeks. Kathryn reached out to touch her hand, but she pulled away. Layers of hurt, betrayal, and anger twisted Annabelle’s pale expression. Her clenched jaw evidenced her resolve not to cry, and yet the tears forced their way out, as if there were no more room inside to contain the pain.

Kathryn had seen this look before, and her heart flooded with sudden understanding.

The debauchery she’d witnessed here, however brief, had branded her heart forever. How would being raised in this violence warp an impressionable child’s heart? She remembered the scars from a smoldering cheroot on Larson’s back. After he’d fallen asleep on their last night together, she’d kissed each scar and then had ached for the wounds inside him that he wouldn’t—or couldn’t— let her touch. Once again she had wondered how he had survived the brutal world of his childhood.

But now she understood. He had pulled everything in. Every need, every emotion, anything that could be used as a weapon against him. In a survival instinct, he’d stuffed it all down deep inside him. As Kathryn stroked Sadie’s cheek, it was Larson’s face she saw.
Oh my beloved, if only I had understood. I would have loved your scars even more
.

With the protective nature of a mama bear guarding her cub, Kathryn linked her arm through Annabelle’s as they walked to the mercantile. Secretly, and shamefully, she was glad that the boardwalk was mostly emptied of traffic at this early morning hour. She’d never been in public with Annabelle before, but she couldn’t help but know that others would easily detect Annabelle’s profession, and Kathryn wondered how they would treat her.

She chanced a look beside her, amazed at how her initial judgments about Annabelle had changed. The morning sun played off the aberrant scarlet hue of her hair, contrasting with her pale skin.

In the last week the swelling had gone down on Annabelle’s face and the bruised flesh was nearly masked by powder. Sadie had recovered physically as well, but had yet to speak about the incident to anyone. Betsy allowed Annabelle two days to recuperate, then promptly put her back to work. But Kathryn had quickly seized those days as an open door from God and had taken the opportunity to plant the seeds of friendship—and faith.

Annabelle had visited her after hours at the haberdashery, entering through the back door after the store was closed, and Kathryn had read to her—first from a book of Annabelle’s preference, then from her Bible. Kathryn purposefully chose the story of Rahab and had secretly delighted in Annabelle’s rapt attention.

As they now turned down an alleyway, Annabelle looked over at her and smiled. “You didn’t have to come with me this morning, you know. I’m used to doing this myself.”

“I know, but I wanted to come.” Kathryn didn’t share her former concerns or that she was thankful to have her mind occupied. Anything to keep from dwelling on the possibilities that haunted her, each day with stronger force. She’d awakened that morning long before dawn, unable to sleep. Surely Matthew Taylor was mistaken— Larson couldn’t have gotten lost in that storm. But something else must have happened. . . . Almost five months had passed since he’d left.

Annabelle’s huff pulled Kathryn back.

“You might just change your mind once we get there.” She waved her arm at the empty boardwalk. “And not many people are out yet, but later it’ll be a different—”

“Annabelle, I’m glad to be with you. All right?”

She nodded, but doubt lurked in her eyes.

Noticing the stubborn tilt of Annabelle’s chin, Kathryn smiled to herself, feeling somehow privileged to have glimpsed the wounded, fragile, yet remarkably resilient woman beneath the fac
ade.

The back door of the mercantile was locked. Annabelle knocked twice.

Kathryn glanced at the stairs and thoughtfully remembered the night she’d been here with Gabe. She hadn’t seen Gabe since and wondered where he was. She wanted to thank him for introducing her to Annabelle, although, recalling her initial discovery at his choice of accommodations, she smiled, knowing gratitude had hardly been her first reaction.

The back door opened to a gray-haired woman waving them brusquely inside. “You’re late! Hurry. Hurry, already.” She scanned the back alley before she slammed the door shut. “We need to open for regular customers in a few minutes, and I want you both gone.”

The warmth in Annabelle’s eyes turned to frost. “And good morning to you too, Mrs. Hochstetler.”

Mrs. Hochstetler? Kathryn looked at the red-faced, tight-lipped woman standing before her. How could this woman be the wife of the kind gentleman who’d helped sell her goods?

“How are you this fine day, ma’am?” Annabelle continued. “You’re looking lovely for this early in the morning.” Her tone had acquired a chill to match her expression, and Kathryn looked at her, stunned. Annabelle’s words were as smooth as cream but as sharp as daggers, and Mrs. Hochstetler’s loathing only seemed to deepen Annabelle’s arsenic sweetness. This was a side of Annabelle Kathryn had not seen.

Mrs. Hochstetler glowered. “Give me your order and be quick about it.” She snapped her fingers twice.

“I left my order with your husband two days ago, just like you asked. Once we get those things, we’ll leave.”

With a huff, Mrs. Hochstetler disappeared through a side door and returned minutes later toting two burlap bags, stuffed full. She stooped under the weight of them and dropped them unceremoniously at Annabelle’s feet. Her husband followed behind her, shouldering a crate.

Mr. Hochstetler set his load on the counter and heaved a sigh. “We expect payment up front. Just like the arrangement you had with the previous owner.”

As Annabelle paid the man, his eyes flickered to Kathryn, then narrowed.

“Hello, Mr. Hochstetler,” Kathryn offered politely, hoping to ease the tension. “We’ve met before, if you remember, when I first arrived in town.”

He stared at her, his face reddening. He shot a look at his wife beside him, whose glare seethed venom.

Kathryn swung a glance beside her. Annabelle’s eyes clearly said “I told you so.”

Once outside, Annabelle burst out laughing as the door slammed behind them. “Did you see the look on that old bat’s face when you said you’d met him before?” She laughed so hard she had trouble keeping a grip on the crate in her arms. “Oh, that was priceless.”

Kathryn walked on ahead. “I don’t see what’s so funny.” The heat of embarrassment still tingled her upper body. She opted for the street instead of having to climb the stairs to the boardwalk. Her shoulders already cramped under the weight of the two bags. Not wanting to be late for work at the haberdashery, she quickened her pace. “It was horrible the way they treated you.”

“Oh, that doesn’t bother me. I’m used to it,” Annabelle said with a bit too much bravado.

But it bothered Kathryn. How could people be so hypocritical? So intentionally cruel? Thinking themselves better than . . . She noticed Annabelle’s steps had slowed. She turned back just as Annabelle set down the crate. “What is it?”

The woman’s expression grew watchful. “It wasn’t so much the way they treated me as it was the way they treated you . . . was it.”

Her words were like a blow. Kathryn started to respond but then stopped, surprised and ashamed to discover bits of truth in Annabelle’s observation. She glanced away, only now aware of how the few people already out that morning were staring at them as they passed. And going out of their way not to walk by them. “I’m sorry, Annabelle. Yes, that’s part of it, but it also hurts me to think of you being treated that way.” No doubt the same way the child of a prostitute would be treated. “That’s not the way God sees you. He sees us as we are, certainly, but He also sees us as what we
can
be with His grace.”

“But that’s the way you first saw me, when you realized what I was.” She uttered the same word Larson used when referring to his mother. “Wasn’t it?”

Kathryn looked into Annabelle’s eyes, and the truth deepening their blue depths daggered her heart.
Oh, God, I’m so ashamed. How do I answer her?

But she already knew how to answer. With the truth.

After a moment, she slowly nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please forgive me, Annabelle, but that’s exactly how I saw you, until God showed me differently.”

A smile tipped Annabelle’s mouth. “Well, you’re honest. That’s sayin’ a lot.” Her smile spread into a grin. “I think we might just turn out to be good friends, Kathryn Jennings.”

Kathryn laughed in surprise, then set down her sacks and hugged Annabelle tight. The tiny seed of friendship had sprouted.

The next morning, Kathryn hurried to finish her duties at the haberdashery. She checked the clock, knowing that Myrtle would be expecting her soon. She had one last fitting, and the customer was waiting in the back room. She paused at the door to catch her breath.

A sharp pang stabbed her abdomen and she gripped the threshold for support. Annabelle had said she should feel the baby moving any day . . . a soft fluttering movement. But the pain she experienced now didn’t fit that description in the least. It soon passed and she calmed.

Drawing a breath, she opened the door and stepped inside. Her throat went dry.

“Mrs. Jennings, what a pleasant surprise.” Donlyn MacGregor crossed the room to stand before her. He reached for her hand and brushed his lips against her skin. “I’d heard you’d moved into town. Though I must say I was disturbed to learn of the circumstances. I’m sorry about your stock, and that you’re losing your ranch.” His dark brow furrowed. “If I may, I’d like to—”

“Thank you, Mr. MacGregor.” Kathryn had heard enough. “But I haven’t lost it yet. I’m still working with the—” Remembering what Matthew Taylor had said about MacGregor buying up all the land surrounding his ranch made her stop short. “I’m still working things out.”

Something vaguely resembling compassion ghosted his gray eyes, perfectly complementing the material of the fashionable waistcoat and trousers he wore. “Well, my apologies, again, Mrs. Jennings. I misspoke. I was under the impression you’d sold everything relating to your business.”