To Win Her Heart (15 page)

In all of Eden’s etiquette lessons, no one had ever taught her the proper manner in which to welcome a prostitute into her home. Which probably explained why she just stood in the doorway, blinking stupidly at the woman on her porch.

“Chloe
is
here, ain’t she?”

Violet’s question snapped Eden out of her fog. “Yes. Of course.” She stepped back and swung the door wide. “Please, come in.”

The woman swept past her, and Eden had to admit that she hid her identity well. Just like Chloe, her face was scrubbed clean of paint, her dress was modest and well tailored, even her hair was done up in a fashionable chignon. If her eyes hadn’t been so cold and her grammar so atrocious, she could have been mistaken for one of the women of the Ladies Aid Society.

Determined not to be caught gawking again, Eden closed the door and bustled forward to lead Violet into the reading room. “Chloe is in the kitchen. If you will follow me through here?”

The carpet muffled their footfalls, and a pervading awkwardness muzzled their tongues. Eden pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. “Chloe? You have a caller.”

The girl glanced up sharply, her flour-covered hands stalling in the midst of their kneading. “But, Miss Eden, you know I don’t wanna see any—” Her eyes widened as Violet stepped into the room. “Mama?”

A smile began taking shape on her face until her gaze veered over to Eden. All at once, she turned her attention back to the bread dough, folding and punching it with great vigor. “You shouldn’t a come here, Mama. It ain’t proper. I sent you a message that I was safe. You shoulda left it at that.”

Violet fiddled with the strings on her reticule. “I needed to see for myself.”

Did Chloe not want to see her mother, or was she afraid Eden might banish her from her home because Violet showed up on her doorstep? It was true that the woman’s presence discomfited her, but she’d told Chloe on the night she arrived that she didn’t expect her to disown her mother, and Eden aimed to keep her word.

“Chloe, you and your mother can visit in my parlor, if you’d like. Or up in your room. Verna can finish the bread dough.”

“ ’Course I can.” The housekeeper crowded in, scooting Chloe’s breadboard over to her side of the table. “Go on and wash up. I’ll put a kettle on. When you and your ma finish catchin’ up, you can come have a cup of tea.”

Chloe hesitated, clearly unconvinced. Eden nodded at her and smiled. “There will still be plenty to do after your visit. We can spare you for a while.”

That must have finally convinced the girl that they weren’t going to toss her out on her ear if she took a break, for she did an abrupt about-face to the pump and rinsed the flour from her hands and arms. She reached for the apron strings behind her back, then stopped. Flattening her palms along the front of the white cotton as she turned, she pressed the fabric against her stomach as if to say she had no intention of giving up her place. Then she set her jaw and strode toward the doorway.

“Come on, Mama. I’ll show you my room.”

Eden and Verna watched them go, saying not a word until the sound of retreating footsteps echoed on the staircase.

“I think that girl might be a little tired of livin’ in saloons.” Verna’s dry understatement brought a smile to Eden’s lips.

“She did seem a mite reluctant to leave her post.” Eden met Verna’s eyes, and the two shared a silent laugh. “It’s a good sign, though,” Eden said, sobering. “If she’s going to be successful in creating a new life for herself, she’s going to have to work hard and not be swayed by the familiarity of old habits. I don’t want to stand between a mother and her child, but if Violet cannot leave the Hang Dog, there will have to be some level of separation between her and Chloe. I fear it will be hard on both of them.”

Eden crossed to the cookstove and took down the kettle from above the warming oven and carried it to the water pump. After filling it and setting it directly over the firebox on the left side of the range, she turned to find Verna staring at her, a thoughtful look on her face.

“What?” Eden reached a hand to her hair. Had a pin come loose?

“Nothin’.” Verna shook her head as she plopped the bread dough into a buttered bowl and covered it with a towel. “I’m just proud of you is all.”

“Proud of me?” Eden’s heart twitched as she sucked in a quivery breath. Verna wasn’t one to hand out compliments with any great frequency. “Why?”

The housekeeper wiped her hands on her apron and leaned back against the table as she met Eden’s gaze. “You’re learnin’ to put your hurt aside and invest yourself in helping someone else.”

Eden’s brow crinkled as she puzzled over Verna’s words. “But haven’t I done that all along? Volunteering at Seeds of Hope and organizing clothing drives for the children? Not to mention the projects I’ve undertaken with Ladies Aid here in Spencer. Everything we do is to help the unfortunate or improve our community.”

“I’m not talkin’ ’bout charity work.” Verna moved the bowl of bread dough to the cabinet near the window so the sun’s warmth would aid in the rising. “I’m not saying them things aren’t worthy activities. They are. But they’re not the same as getting involved in the life of one particular person. ’Specially when that person has nothing to offer you in return.

“Your mama, bless her soul, taught you all the niceties of playin’ hostess and makin’ others feel important, but she also taught you to always put your right foot forward in order to impress those above ya. She’s so set on helpin’ your daddy’s career, sometimes she forgets to look past what’s best for her to what’s best for someone else.” Verna fiddled with the lid on the flour bin for a moment, then looked up with a piercing stare. “Even her own daughter.”

The strength ran right out of Eden’s legs, and she grabbed the back of a chair for support. “You knew?”

She shrugged, but her eyes held compassion. “One of the maids overheard yer parents arguin’ that night, and . . . well . . . You know how folks talk.”

Eden sank into the chair. She’d spent so much energy over the years convincing herself that her mother’s betrayal had been unintentional, that she’d only been looking out for the best interests of the family as a whole. Yet hearing Verna confirm her darker suspicions brought the pain back in stunning force.

It was the night Stephen broke their engagement. After learning what had occurred, Mother stormed into the bedroom to confront Father and slammed the door. Mother
never
slammed doors. Eden’s room was across and down the hall, but sound carried—especially when one made a point to listen.

“What were you thinking, Calvin? Offering money. Of course he took it. Stephen Hartshorn is an ambitious man. It’s one of the reasons we approved the match. Eden needs a husband who has a mind for the future.”

“But he doesn’t love her. I can’t consign my only daughter to marriage with a man who cares more for his fortune than his wife’s happiness. I tested him, and he failed. He’s not worthy of her.”

“Worthy of her? It was a solid match. They got on well enough together, and his family has advantageous connections that would have benefited us. How could you throw that all away? Now not only does Eden not have a husband, but we are left to deal with the humiliation of her practically being left at the altar. It will take months if not years to recover from this fiasco. . . . Perhaps she should spend some time with my sister in Galveston. The change of scenery would do her good, and it would give us a chance to rally from this setback.”

Eden had stopped listening after that. And the following day she began making arrangements to move to Spencer. She’d not burden her family with her humiliation.

The touch of Verna’s hand on her shoulder brought her back to the present.

“Your mother loves you, Eden. Never doubt that. She just gets a bit blinded now an’ again.”

“I know.” Eden forced a smile. “And you’re right. Worrying constantly about what others think can be debilitating.” She reached up to clasp Verna’s hand, drawing strength from the older woman. “When Levi first showed up with Chloe, I tried to send them away.” Shame washed over her as she confessed. “My first instinct was to protect myself from possible scandal. But now, even though I only met the girl last night, I can’t imagine abandoning her to an uncertain fate. She’s changed me.”

Verna gently tugged her hand free, patting Eden’s shoulder as she went. “Chloe didn’t change you, child. The Lord done that piece of work. And I’m proud of you for lettin’ him have his way.”

Warmth permeated Eden’s soul at her housekeeper’s words, undoing the last of her anxiety knots. The Lord was at work. First through Levi and now through her. What was there to worry about?

But an hour later, after tea and a private conversation where Eden promised Violet that Chloe could stay for as long as she wanted, her confidence in the Lord’s provision started to waver. For as she and Chloe walked Violet to the door, Hattie Fowler, president of the Ladies Aid Society and Spencer’s self-appointed morality matron, charged through the library entrance and stuttered to a halt, her mouth gaping like a landed fish.

Eden’s heart hammered against her ribs. Should she introduce the women? Hattie might consider such an introduction offensive, yet failing to say anything would surely be an insult to Violet and Chloe. Before she could decide on the proper response, Violet pulled on her gloves and edged forward.

“Thank you for your assistance, Miss Spencer,” she said, surprising Eden with her genteel tone. The woman had a bit of the actress in her, it would appear. “I don’t expect to have need of your services again, but it was kind of you to accommodate me this morning before your usual business hours. Good day.” Violet nodded to Hattie as she moved past. Hattie swept her skirts out of Violet’s path and pressed her back to the wall to increase the distance between them.

“I’ll head back to the kitchen now, ma’am.” Chloe bobbed a lopsided curtsy and scurried away, leaving Eden alone with the sputtering Hattie. The woman fanned herself with her hand as if trying to stave off a swoon.

“I am shocked to the core, Eden Spencer. Shocked, I tell you.”

“Here. Let me show you to a chair.” Eden took her arm and led her into the reading room, steering her to the chair closest to the hall, the one at her desk. “Can I bring you some tea?”

Shaking her head, Hattie dropped her handbag into the vacant chair instead of herself and paced along the short length of the desk. “Do you know who that woman was?”

The venom flavoring her enunciation killed the hope Eden had harbored that Hattie wouldn’t recognize Violet. After all, Eden hadn’t known her identity until she’d mentioned Chloe. But Hattie had lived in Spencer longer and made it her business to know everyone. She probably even knew the local prairie dogs by name.

Eden scratched a spot behind her right ear and raised her gaze to the ceiling. “You mean the, ah, woman in the striped dress who just left?”

“Of course that’s who I mean!” Hattie pivoted with such speed, Eden was forced to take a step back. The woman’s brow was plowed with deep furrows, but she fought to regain her composure by taking a deep breath. The tight lines on her face gradually smoothed into a more reserved countenance. “Well, perhaps you didn’t know.” She grabbed the fingers of her left hand and massaged them. “I admit that I didn’t recognize her myself, at first. It was the girl that tipped me off.”

“Chloe?”

Hattie nodded. “She’s the one they send to our store for supplies.”

Eden frowned. “Who?”

Hattie leaned forward and whispered in a hoarse voice, “The saloon managers.” She glanced about the room as if fearful the books would overhear, then clutched Eden’s elbow and dragged her toward a pair of chairs beside a small lamp table.

Once they were both seated, she tugged on Eden’s arm until their heads were in close proximity. “Several years ago the ladies of Spencer campaigned for temperance. We spent many hours outside the Hang Dog singing hymns and carrying signs. During that time, I saw the women who worked there, and that
person
who just left your library was one of them. She’s a . . . a . . . Well, she’s a harlot—that’s what.”

Her face flushed, Hattie finally released Eden’s arm and sat back in her chair to fan herself again.

“I’m sorry you’re so upset, Hattie. But you heard what she said. She’ll not be coming back anytime soon.” Although, if she did, Eden would welcome her. Hattie didn’t need to know that, though.

“What about the girl?” Hattie stopped waving her hand through the air and accosted Eden with a steely look. “She seems to be making herself at home in your kitchen.”

Eden sat straighter, determined to hold firm to her commitment even while her stomach churned with dread. “Chloe is a new addition to my staff. She was looking for a more respectable way to make a living than cooking for the residents of the saloon, so when she came to me, I offered her a position. She is a great help to Verna.”

“You
hired
her?”

“Well, why not? Aren’t you always encouraging us to better our community by helping those less fortunate? That’s all I’m trying to do.”