The Christmas Journey (10 page)

“Looks to me like you’re doing a bit of that overtaxing now.”

He set his jaw. “Regardless of any ideas you have to the contrary, I plan to get on that train tomorrow.”

They’d see about that. Rather than challenge him, though, she changed the subject. “Speaking of Foxberry, you got an answer to your telegram already.”

His expression shifted, and the tension in his jaw was back. “Read it to me.”

Jo lifted the telegram, hating herself for her eagerness to learn what it had to say. Then she hesitated. “You sure?”

He nodded.

She glanced down and read the first line.

REGRET TO INFORM YOU BELLE HADLEY PASSED AWAY YESTERDAY

Jo’s hand went to her throat as the words sunk in. Dead!

She’d been so callous about his concern, had dismissed his impatience to get to his friend as mere eagerness to see her again. She should have been more supportive, should have believed in his instincts about the urgency of the matter.

The look on his face almost did her in. There was such self-recrimination, such loss reflected there.

“What else does it say?” The strain in his voice was painful to hear.

Her hands shook slightly as she read the rest of the message.

WILL ARRIVE ON NEXT TRAIN TO DELIVER VIOLA AND OTHER BELONGINGS LEFT TO YOU. REV EDMOND FIELDS

He’d been too late. And now Belle was dead.

How had she died? Was there something he could have done to prevent this? Is that why she’d wanted so desperately for him to come to her?

Why hadn’t he left Philadelphia as soon as he received her telegram? That one afternoon he’d spent wrapping up his current case might have made all the difference.

“Mr. Lassiter, I’m so sorry. I had no idea…”

He gave himself a mental shake, trying to focus on the present. Josie had such a stricken look on her face. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either.”

The firmness of her tone surprised him. But he wasn’t so certain his delay hadn’t been at least partially responsible. He wouldn’t know until he spoke to this Reverend Fields. At least he hoped the clergyman would have answers for him.

Why hadn’t he done more to keep in touch with Belle?

“She was a musician?”

“What? Oh, the viola. Yes, Belle loved music. I suppose she must have acquired an instrument along the way.”

“Want me to have someone meet the train for you on Wednesday?”

He shook off the memories. “I’d appreciate that.” No point in pushing himself now. He’d have a two day wait to get his answers. Assuming this Reverend Fields
had
the answers he sought.

Ry felt her troubled gaze on him, sensed her uncertainty as the silence drew out. But he had nothing in him to say, no reassurance to offer right now.

Finally she set the telegram on the table and shoved her hands in her pockets. “I’ll see if Cora Beth has another bowl of broth ready.”

He nodded. With one final searching look, she left the room.

The fact that Belle had left him her belongings tore at Ry’s already shredded conscience. It spoke to the fact that she’d had no one else she felt close to there at the end.

And she hadn’t even had him with her to ease her final hours.

R
y spent what was left of the day being the perfect patient. He ate every bit of food sent his way. He played three rounds of checkers with Danny. When Uncle Grover brought in a collection of moths he’d acquired, not only did Ry admire them but he asked all the right questions to give the gentleman an opportunity to expound on their individual characteristics. He even got out of bed long enough to walk across his room and back.

In short, he tried to keep himself too occupied to dwell on the news about Belle. But that night he lay awake long after the last lamp was trimmed. All he could think about was that he’d failed Belle, without having any idea what she’d needed from him.

The next morning, Josie brought in his breakfast tray right after sunrise. “Figured you’d be up early. I thought I’d save Cora Beth the trouble and bring this in before I head over to the livery.”

“Thanks.” He managed to sit up without her assistance.

“How you feeling today?”

“Better.” He was pleased to see the tray contained a second dish. He’d had enough of his own company for a while. Josie
pulled a chair up beside the bed, took a seat and lifted the extra dish. “Hope you don’t mind if I join you.” She wanted to gauge his mood this morning, to see how he was coping with what had happened.

“Company’s always welcome.”

She situated his plate in comfortable reach, then speared a bit of egg from her own dish. She decided there was no point beating around the bush. “What are you planning to do now that you don’t need to go to Foxberry?”

He gave her a surprised look, then shrugged. “Wait for Reverend Fields to arrive and find out what happened to Belle.”

“Then what? You going back to Philadelphia, or to Hawk’s Creek?”

“I’ll probably stop in at the ranch and visit with Griff and Sadie for a week or so.”

Being around family would likely be good for him. “I’m sure they’ll be right glad to have you home for Thanksgiving.”

“I’m not certain I’ll stay that long.” He must have read the surprise in her face. “As I’ve said before, the Lassiter family doesn’t expend much effort celebrating holidays.”

That still didn’t seem right, but she had something more pressing to discuss. “Do you want to talk about her?”

He paused, as if seriously considering her question. At least he hadn’t taken offense.

“She was the niece of our ranch foreman,” he said slowly. “The summer I turned twelve, her folks died and she came to live with him. Harvey was a good man and a great foreman, but he didn’t know anything about raising kids, especially girls. And Belle was a city girl—she’d never lived on a ranch before.”

“So you took her under your wing?” Seems he’d had that hero streak even then.

“It wasn’t my idea.” His voice sounded defensive. Then he gave a sheepish smile. “I was a twelve-year-old boy, after all.”

He pushed around the last bit of egg on his plate. “Belle spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Inez at first, but Mother thought it would be good for her to have someone her own age to spend time with. So she suggested I give Belle riding lessons.”

“And y’all became friends.” Jo tried to imagine what twelve-year-old Ry had been like and felt a little stab of jealousy toward Belle.

He nodded. “Before long she was like a sister to me.”

A sister, huh? Jo perked up a bit. “Thought you already had a sister.”

“Sadie’s five years younger than me.” He pointed his fork at her. “When you’re twelve, that’s a big difference. Belle was my age.”

He leaned back, his expression turning inward. “Once Belle was comfortable in the saddle, whenever I wasn’t busy with chores, we took long rides all around the ranch. I showed her all of my favorite places. Taught her how to do birdcalls and how to fish. And I listened to her talk about what her life had been like before her folks died.”

Yep, definitely a hero in the making. “I’m sure that meant a lot to her.”

“It wasn’t all one-sided. Her father had been a whip maker and had taught her how to use one. And she taught me.” His expression turned sober. “It was about a year after she arrived that my mother died. Belle…well, Belle had been through that before. It was good to have her to talk to.”

Jo placed a hand on his arm before she’d consciously formed the thought to do so.

He stared at her hand for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face. Just as she started to pull away, he met her
gaze, his eyes filled with something that looked suspiciously like gratitude.

A second later the expression was gone and he reached for his glass as she pulled her arm back. “So, is this Freddie you mentioned yesterday the only help you have at the livery?”

Ready to change the subject, was he? “He watches the place at night. Actually, he sleeps mostly. But it means someone is there to keep an eye on things.”

“What about someone to help during the day?”

“Not necessary. I can handle most of the business that comes my way, and Danny helps out after school if I need him to.” She gave him a dry smile. “And there’s always Uncle Grover to help out in a pinch.”

“Did I hear my name?” Uncle Grover stood in the doorway, smiling jovially at the two of them. He set his focus on Josie. “Cora Beth wanted me to remind you to stop at Mrs. Potter’s and see how many pumpkin pies she wants for the Thanksgiving baskets this year.”

“Will do. And you’re just in time to keep Mr. Lassiter company. I need to head off to the livery.”

Jo left the room, her mind rolling the conversation over in her thoughts like a river stone between her fingers. She’d learned a lot about the kind of man Ry was just by reading between the lines of what he’d said. And she’d give a pretty penny to know just what it was that had shone in his eyes when he stared into hers a few minutes ago.

Remembering that look, something warm and soft seemed to unfurl inside her.

For once, Ry didn’t mind seeing Josie go. It was high time he got out of bed, and accomplishing that would be a lot easier without her around to admonish him for trying to do too much.

Uncle Grover, on the other hand, was easily recruited to help him clean up a bit and shave.

With that taken care of Ry felt almost civilized again.

Uncle Grover stayed around afterward, apparently taking Josie’s words to entertain him to heart. Ry was treated to a surprisingly interesting discussion on the various species of grasshoppers in the area and their feeding and migratory habits. At one point, the older gentleman left, only to return shortly with a board, affixed to which was a grouping of grasshoppers, carefully labeled and arranged by size.

In the course of their visit, Ry managed to slip in a few questions of his own about the Wylie household. He found the answers enlightening.

The older man left no doubt that Cora Beth was the domestic center of this household, fussing over everyone like a mother hen, keeping them well fed, clothed and healthy. But there was another thread running through the conversation, offhand references to Josie, that strengthened Ry’s perception that she was the glue holding them together, the one they looked to for direction. A very capable woman with a lot of heart.

Like the way she’d listened to him talk about Belle this morning. There’d been a moment of connection then, as if…

No, he was imagining things. It was just that they’d been through something intense together, that was all.

Which reminded him…

Ry penciled a note and had Uncle Grover promise to take it to the telegraph office. Assuming Griff followed his instructions, that would take care of one of the debts he owed Josie, whether she wanted repayment or not.

Shortly after Uncle Grover left, Cora Beth brought Ry his lunch. To his relief, instead of another serving of broth, it was
a hearty bowl of rabbit stew. She offered to stay and help him eat, but Ry assured her he was capable of feeding himself.

“I’m glad to hear you’re feeling stronger today. Call me if you need anything else.” She flashed a teasing smile. “After lunch you’d better rest up while you can. When Danny and Audrey get home from school they’ll be wanting to pester you some more.”

“I don’t mind their company,” Ry assured her. And he meant it. The last thing he wanted right now was to be alone with his own thoughts.

But the early afternoon hours drew out interminably.

He pushed aside thoughts of Belle and his failure to reach her. What’s done was done, and all the guilt in the world wouldn’t change it. There were still questions to be answered, but those would have to wait until tomorrow.

It would be more productive to focus on resolving issues he still had control over. Like figuring out the answer to the question Josie had asked him.

Where
did
he call home?

It was a question that had begun to niggle at him with increasing frequency since his father’s death two years ago. He’d never intended to spend his life in Philadelphia, had always figured he’d return to Texas someday to open a law practice of his own. Somehow, though, the time had never seemed quite right.

Perhaps now it was.

Ry moved his injured arm, trying to ease into a more comfortable position. And realized he was no longer alone.

Two identical pairs of eyes stared up at him from the foot of his bed. “Hello.”

“Hello,” they answered in unison.

“Is there something I can do for you?”

Two pigtail-adorned heads nodded.

“And what might that be?”

One of the girls moved to the side of the bed where he could get a better look at her. She was closely followed by her sister, who kept both hands behind her back.

“Lottie needs a hero,” the first child, obviously Pippa, proclaimed solemnly.

Uh-oh. This did not sound good. Why were they coming to him for help instead of their mother? He had absolutely no experience with children—especially ones in crisis. “And just why does Lottie need a hero?” he asked cautiously.

Lottie moved her hands forward, revealing one fist stuck inside a preserve jar. “It won’t come off,” she said, her voice ending on a sniffle.

Please, Lord, don’t let her start crying, at least not before I can get her mother in here.
“Does it hurt?” He kept his voice calm, hoping it would help soothe the child.

She shook her head, another sniffle escaping.

No pain—that was good. “Well, then, there’s no reason to fret. We’ll just get your mother to—”

“Oh, no!” Pippa shook her head violently. “We can’t tell Ma. That’s why we need a hero.”

Ry eyed her suspiciously. “And just why can’t you tell your mother?”

“Because we weren’t supposed to be playing with Danny’s things,” she said in a rush of words. “But we didn’t go in his room, honest. He left two of his marbles on the floor in the kitchen. We just wanted to play with them for a little while, then we were going to put them right back.”

Ry hid a smile at her rationalizations. “What do Danny’s marbles have to do with getting Lottie’s hand stuck in the jar?”

“We put them there so they wouldn’t get losted. But when Lottie tried to get them out, she got stuck.”

“I see. Come closer so I can have a look at your problem.”

Lottie dutifully moved forward and set her hand, jar and all, on the bed next to him.

“Did you try opening your fist?” he asked.

Lottie nodded.

“We pulled and pulled but it just won’t come out,” Pippa said, joining her sister. “Can you help us?”

He studied the small hand. It appeared swollen, but not injured. “I think so.” He looked at Pippa. “Can you fetch me some lard from the kitchen?”

The child nodded.

“I need a great big spoonful.”

With another nod, Pippa turned and raced out of the room, leaving Ry alone with the still sniffling Lottie. He sent a silent “hurry up” plea Pippa’s way. “Don’t worry,” he said awkwardly. “We’ll have your hand out of there in just a few minutes.” Hurry Pippa.

Lottie gave him a wide-eyed, trusting look, and nodded solemnly. At least the sniffles had stopped.

Pippa returned, a spoonful of lard bobbing precariously in her hand. “Here it is.”

“Good. Now, take some and smear it all around the part of Lottie’s wrist you can reach and around the inside lip of the jar.”

“This feels icky,” Pippa complained. But she did as he’d instructed.

“All right, Pippa, that looks good. Lottie, I’m going to hold the jar and I want you to ease your hand out, nice and slow. Okay?”

Holding the base of the jar with one hand, Ry watched with satisfaction as the small, well-greased hand did indeed slide right out of the jar.

Both girls looked at him with bright, relieved smiles. “See,
Lottie,” Pippa said, “I told you heroes help people who are in trouble.”

Ry handed the jar back to Lottie. “You girls put this back where it belongs, and I suggest you wash your hands as best you can if you don’t want your ma to ask what you’ve been up to.”

With a chorus of thank yous, they skipped out of the room.