The Springsweet (11 page)

"The truth, Miss Stewart, is that I was leaving Baltimore regardless. Your flight simply encouraged my direction."

"And if I had stayed?"

Charming again, Theo waved a hand airily. "I would have written pathetic doggerel about your eyes and your mystery from an attic in Paris."

That made me smile, and I relaxed into the red velvet seat. "I tender my regrets to Calliope and all the muses for depriving them of your contributions."

"No doubt it weeps." He returned my smile, then added, "And I apologize for the unfortunate impression I may have left on your friend Miss Corey. She was eager to have me call until she realized I came to ask about you."

Ah, Mattie. I could imagine the smooth expression she must have effected; play-acting for suitors was one of her gifts. Straightening my skirts, I said, "Don't trouble yourself over it. You were but one dance, and she has Baltimore entirely to herself now."

We were, for a moment, comfortably quiet. And then Theo broke it by turning his gaze to the west. Red streaks of light played on his face, teasing through his hair. It darkened his lips, and his voice sank low when he murmured, "Have you ever seen such beautiful lights, Miss Stewart?"

Gently, to dissuade any romantic notion he might have about the moment, I said, "I'm afraid I don't care for sunsets anymore." It was the truth; a prophecy in the vespers had taken my Thomas from me.

But that was hardly Theo's fault, so I touched his shoulder lightly to turn his attention. "Do you think we could race a bit? I was enjoying it."

"It would be my pleasure," he replied. And in an instant, we were flying—away from the setting sun instead of toward it, into the welcoming velvet of night.

When I slept that night, I dreamt of sailing a measureless expanse of sea, the wind in my hair and light on my skin. But pity poor Mr. de la Croix, for in my dream I sailed with Emerson Birch at my side.

***

As I had only driven it, I hadn't realized how long a walk it was to town. Starting early, with the morning still blooming, it was a pleasant trip. The stars flickered out one by one, swallowed when a pink sunrise chased away the night.

Louella actually slept in the basket of a little wagon that Birdie and I took turns pulling. If I'd known about the wagon, we probably would have made it to the wading creek. Then again, if we'd made it to wading, we might not have had prairie chicken and eggs, so it was a fair enough trade.

"I'm going to put up a notice at the general, and the restaurant. You can post your letters and put one up there."

I nodded, and patted the bundle I had tucked into my pocket. The bundle of letters home warmed me, something to take my mind off the new torment that was my old corset.

As much as I had wished for it back, I was glad that Birdie hadn't insisted on lacing it tight. Even let out, the corset's bones bit my skin. The calluses-—mental or physical-—that I'd once possessed had softened.

I still ached from wearing the thing the night before, and now its stricture irritated me doubly. I had the unenviable sense that I would be left wanting whether I wore it or not.

"And don't forget," Birdie continued, as if running down a mental list. "It's two dollars to have you come, period. They're paying for your appearance, not for the water."

My papa would have enjoyed that bit of wordplay, and I didn't argue. I could promise no one a running well or a good spring. I could only tell them what I saw, and it was best if that came with no positive guarantee.

Nevertheless, my heart beat an odd pattern, my nerves wearing with the unknown. I knew how easily a benign gift could turn malignant. Taking the wagon over for Birdie, I tried to put those thoughts aside as West Glory finally came into view.

With sunrise behind it, it was a darling little town. Morning light painted it in fresh hues of pink and gold. It even gilded the dust. So far, I liked mornings best of all in the Territories.

"Leave the cart here," Birdie said. She leaned down to wake Louella, making her unfold her jelly arms and legs to wrap around her. She nodded down the street. "The post office is down a ways. You'll pass the-—"

Pleased with myself, I told her, "I know where it is. That's how I found your homestead."

"Good girl," Birdie said. She shifted Louella onto her hip. "When you're done, cross over to the restaurant and wait for me. I shouldn't take long at all."

The walk to the post office was short, but I admit, I dawdled. I looked through plate glass windows into a feed store, which seemed nothing more than a floor filled with overflowing barrels of grain.

Then I peeked into the barber's, which was a mistake. A man in a white coat was busy pulling out a tooth with tongs so barbaric that I thought I might have nightmares.

Hurrying along, I got a look into the saloon, though I smelled it first. Papa only occasionally indulged, but the thick, hoppy scent of beer wafting out made me homesick nonetheless. A woman scrubbed at the bar—hard labor to polish all that wood.

These slices of a different kind of life in the West teased my imagination. It was a bit more like what I'd expected, though hardly the anarchy that papers back home had described. And it was paler than I'd anticipated.

Baltimore was a rainbow of nationalities, a port to the world. Save the Indian woman I'd seen on the first day, West Glory was peopled with third-generation English and Irish alone.

You can always leave,
I told myself.

I pushed open the post office door and marveled that I'd thought that at all. That I would spend the rest of my life in service here had been immutable to me just the month before. Was this progress? And if it was, was I happy with it?

If I had been, it ended the moment I took a breath. The air smelled of burnt black powder. The plastered walls bore dark pits, round as cherries, and I stared at them helplessly. In my mind alone, I saw a flash of fire, and blood. So much blood. An uncanny temperature, somehow hot and cold at once, gripped me.

"You all right, miss?"

The unfamiliar voice jerked me back from the past, and I was grateful for it. It belonged to a young man, who moved to hold the door for me so I could come the rest of the way in. His sun-bleached hair and bright eyes were kind, burning away the remnants of my dark memory.

"I'm fine, thank you," I murmured.

With a snort, the clerk broke in. "Quit sniffing at her, Royal. You can tell looking at her that she's too good for you. Now, as for me..."

Rolling his eyes, Royal stepped aside and gave me his place at the counter. "Pay him no mind," he told me; it was good advice. The clerk still wore his leer, and I did my best to avoid his gaze.

"I've got several to post," I told the counter, and pulled my bundle from my pocket. A letter for my friends back home to share, and several for Mama. Birdie said she hadn't wired home about my arrival by fire, so I'd written it in pages instead.

I'd done my best to make it sound like a merry diversion—how amusing to be there for a stagecoach robbery!—and the time I'd spent with Emerson directly thereafter was edited for propriety. In Mama's version of the story, he picked me up and took me straight to Aunt Birdie's.

The newspapers weren't the only ones who creatively shaped the story of the West for back-home readers.

"May I post a bill?" I asked, gesturing toward the wall.

The clerk handed me a nail from behind the counter. "Whatever makes you happy, girlie. Just pound that in with the rock."

And indeed, there was a rock sitting in the corner, just for nailing in posters, apparently. It was so absurd, I actually smiled. Taking it up, I skimmed the wall, trying to find a good place for mine. Not next to Emmett and Bob Dalton, wanted for murder and train robbery, for certain.

Bypassing the malcontents, I found the more ordinary notices-—things for sale, services on offer. One stopped me, and I read a little tragedy in its terse presentation:

Healthy young mother of four, one deceased, having an excess of milk will wet-nurse a child in her own home.

Quelling my jumbled emotions, I pounded my notice in beneath that one. Replacing the rock, I went to leave, and the young man opened the door for me again.

"You have a real good day," he said.

I know I thanked him-—my mother had taught me well enough—but I had no recollection of it. For it was when he spoke again that I knew his voice and his blue eyes. He had robbed me and left me to the elements in the empty prairie. Surely he recognized me.

I could only pray he didn't know
I
had recognized
him.

Nine

"There she is," Birdie said when I pushed into the foyer of the restaurant. She sat at the end of a long table, tying a napkin around Louella's neck.

With wallpaper behind her and good china before her, I saw clearly the Beatrice Stewart who'd charmed Baltimore entirely and let Peter Neal steal her off to Kansas. Petty and Birdie, full of hope and joy—with no idea how soon they'd be parted.

I hurried to sit next to her, glad to put my back to the windows. I didn't want to look through them and accidentally catch another glimpse of Royal. And likewise, I didn't care for him to catch sight of me with my family. Birdie hefted a shotgun with ease and confidence, it was true, but I preferred to avoid the need entirely.

"I thought we'd have a treat," Birdie said. She poured Louella a glass of milk from the pitcher between us, then offered it to me. "I know you've been missing your mama's cooking. Mrs. Herrington's not quite the genius in the kitchen Pauline is, but she makes a fine powder biscuit."

Though I greedily poured a glass of milk for myself, I asked, "Do you think we should? We've still got a bit of stew left over, and I know where to find more wild eggs..."

"The way I see it-—" Birdie said. She smiled when a rawboned woman shuffled toward the table, put down several covered dishes, then returned to the kitchen. Birdie continued, "It's just ten engagements for you, to buy a cow. We can afford a dollar for breakfast."

That expectation bore down on me. Smoothing my napkin in my lap, I said, "I hope I get that many, then."

"I like a biscuit," Louella said to no one in particular.

Birdie started uncovering the serving dishes. Watching her, I realized she was just this side of
giddy.
My newfound gift was some kind of salvation for her; it put stars in her eyes and warmth in her smile. All her cheer made my unease seem selfish-—it's not as though she planned to mine me for diamonds and pearls.

"Between here and Jubilee, we'll find plenty of takers."

"What's that about Jubilee?" a thin, whey-faced man at the next table asked. It startled me, honestly, that he would interrupt a conversation just because he could overhear it.

Birdie turned to him. "You mind your business, Carl, and I'll mind mine."

Though Carl huffed into his coffee, he didn't seem perturbed at Birdie's remonstration. In fact, he took a sip from his cup and tipped his chair back on two legs to better insert himself into our party.

"I'm just saying, whatever this missy's got on offer, I expect we have enough decent people in West Glory to keep her busy without resorting to mixing with—"

"The war's been over twenty-five years, sir, and you lost. Now, if you wouldn't mind terribly, I'm trying to have breakfast." Then, with a smile as sweet as honey, Birdie put a finger on his chair and tipped it back on all four legs.

I buried my laughter in my napkin. Though she was blond and lithe where Mama was brunette and broad, I could see very much the family resemblance in that moment.

Still, Carl leaned toward me and offered me his card. "If it's cooking, cleaning, or washing, you look me up, sweetheart. I'll keep you working right here at home."

"I shall keep your kind offer in mind," I told him, and turned back to my plate without taking his card. No young lady was obligated to receive a card; refusing it was the only insult I could give him and keep my manners intact.

"Oh!" Birdie hopped up suddenly. "Stay here and mind Lou, Zora. I'll be right back."

She flitted away in haste, and I twisted round to follow her. My stays dug viciously, reminding me that well-mannered girls didn't gawk. I lost track of her, but her abrupt exit explained itself soon enough.

When she came back inside, she came on Theo's elbow. He wore yet another suit this morning, or, at least, most of one. Black trousers beneath a patterned mulberry waistcoat and black tie-—there was surely a matching jacket hanging by his bed. Everything he wore was fitted, so he cut a refined figure, indeed.

"Look who I found," Birdie said, all but shoving Theo toward the empty seat at my left. "Do sit and have breakfast with us, won't you?"

I felt sorry for him, at the mercy of my merciless aunt, and so I offered a smile and a nod. "Please do."

Not to be left out, Louella added, "Do!"

That made Theo laugh, and he relaxed, slipping into the seat next to me. "I'm honored to enjoy such lovely company, thank you."

"I was just telling Mr. de la Croix that we were headed to Jubilee-—"

Carl, behind us, snorted. Birdie replied with a well-placed elbow to the back of his chair, then continued her thought gracefully. "And he was kind enough to offer us a ride in his buggy. Isn't that good of him, Louella?"

Narrowing my eyes at my sneaky aunt, I let Louella answer the question instead of indulging her. Of course, Louella was happy to oblige, since she had already once been denied the novelty of a buggy ride.

"I'm still breaking it in," Theo told me as he reached for a biscuit. "So really, it's a favor to me."

I forgot myself, and joked, "Any excuse will do, is that it?"

Frowning slightly, he said, "Pardon?"

Immediately, with apologies, I withdrew the jest. It had been rude to offer it at all, but I couldn't help but think that Theo would fare poorly with my cousins at home.

That, and if offered the same insult, I truly believed Emerson Birch would have only laughed.