The Bride's Prerogative (42 page)

All the men Hiram considered friends sat in the benches facing the podium—Ethan, Griff, Peter, Josiah Runnels, and many others besides. He could only think of two women in town who weren’t at church, aside from outlying ranchers’ wives. That would be Bitsy Shepard and the new girl at the Nugget. He didn’t even know her name, but her arrival on the stagecoach had drawn everyone’s attention. She wore a fur stole over a dress with no shoulders. Or at least that’s what Griff had told him. Hiram hadn’t gone over to the stage stop to get a peek. But Ted Hire hadn’t wasted much time replacing the bar girl who’d been arrested last summer; that was certain.

Rose, who sat between Hiram and Trudy, chose that moment to leap to her feet. “Oh, Mr. Fennel. So nice to see you again.”

Hiram automatically rose. He’d been taught since childhood to stand when a lady stood. Cyrus had paused at the end of the bench, beyond Trudy. Rose gushed like a schoolgirl and allowed him to shake her hand.

“I trust you’ve recovered from your arduous journey, Mrs. Caplinger.”

“Yes, I believe I have. This mountain air is quite invigorating.”

Cyrus smiled at her. Hiram didn’t like the way his gaze darted to Rose’s figure. He felt the blood infuse his cheeks and wondered for an instant whether a man could be embarrassed for another when the other man should be ashamed and wasn’t. It was an interesting train of thought, but a flash of color as the door opened again distracted him from it.

He wished he were standing beside Trudy, without Rose and her poufy dress between them. He’d have nudged Trudy to be certain she noticed the new arrivals.

Augie Moore, the bartender (and some said the cook for the Sunday chicken dinner) at the Spur & Saddle had just entered, which was not unusual. In the crook of his left arm, he cradled his black leather Bible. In the crook of his right arm lay Bitsy Shepard’s bejeweled hand.

Bitsy hung back a little, but Augie tugged her gently forward. The dyed feathers on her cobalt blue hat bobbed. At the next-to-last bench, Augie stepped aside and let her enter the row ahead of him. They sat down next to Ralph and Laura Storrey. Bitsy kept her chin down, but Hiram could see her dark eyes flicking back and forth beneath the net veil of her hat. Her dress, black with touches of bright blue on the sleeves and bodice, would have been as modest as Trudy’s if it had contained about a half yard more fabric. Still, for Bitsy, it was quite ladylike.

The real shock was her presence in a church meeting. Trudy and the other shooting club members had invited Bitsy for months, but except for one time last summer, she’d always said no. What had changed her mind?

Pastor Benton stepped up to the pulpit, and Cyrus moved quickly down the aisle to his seat beside Isabel. As their guest settled her skirts about her, Hiram met Trudy’s gaze over Rose’s head. Trudy’s grayish eyes sparkled with the reflected blue of her Sunday dress. Hiram could tell from her suppressed energy that she’d seen Bitsy come in. Months of prayers answered—that’s what Trudy’s look said. He nodded and resumed his seat. Now maybe they could turn their prayers to the family problem and seek guidance for what they should do with Rose.

She leaned toward him and murmured near his ear, “I declare, some folks’ mothers never taught them how to dress appropriately for church services, did they?”

Hiram pretended he hadn’t heard and hoped no one else had.

CHAPTER 10

O
n Monday afternoon, Libby noticed that Isabel looked a little peaked at shooting practice. She drew her aside while others were firing their rounds and invited her to tea after the meeting ended.

“Won’t you have to go right back to your store?” Isabel’s eyes held a flicker of hope, though her tone was doubtful.

“Some days I make time for a tea break. Florence can take over the store for half an hour … if you’d like to talk, that is.”

“Yes, I think I would.”

The schoolmarm rode back to town with the rest in Annie’s wagon, and she got out with Libby and Florence at the Paragon Emporium. Josiah Runnels reported that business had been spotty, which was normal during shooting club hours. Half the town’s women had been improving their marksmanship.

“Florence, you’ll be all right for a short while?” Libby asked as she removed her bonnet.

“Yes ma’am.”

Libby smiled and led Isabel up the stairs to her private quarters. She quickly built up the fire in her cookstove and set the kettle on. While they waited for it to heat, she took out delicate pink and white china cups and silver teaspoons. Snowy linen napkins and a cut glass plate followed. Isabel watched so avidly that Libby wondered whether the young woman was starved for beauty. Libby loaded the plate with small shortbread cookies, dried figs, and chocolate-dipped wafers. Not homemade, but she supposed Isabel would understand.

“I don’t have much time to cook, so I let the store keep me in refreshments for my few guests.”

“You needn’t apologize. Those look heavenly.” Isabel carried the plate to a drop-leaf table while Libby poured the hot water into a teapot that matched the cups. She brought it to the table and sat down.

“How have you been, Isabel?” she asked. “School is nearly out, isn’t it? You must be ready for a break.”

“I am. And I hope I’ll be able to rest a bit. Not like last summer.” Isabel scrunched up her face.

“Ah yes, the boardinghouse.”

“It’s a good venture on Papa’s part,” Isabel said quickly. “The Fennel House was profitable last fall, but I’m glad Papa hired the Thistles to take it over.”

“Yes. It was too much for you when school resumed.” Libby carefully filled their teacups.

“Of course, they barely had any boarders all winter, but now that the stage line is running again, the drivers bunk there, and passengers go there for dinners. We had quite a few wanting overnight accommodations last summer and fall.”

Libby nodded with a smile and wondered how long it would take Isabel to get around to the real issue. “Are you getting enough rest now?” she asked.

“Oh yes, I suppose so. The end of a school term is always hectic. But we’ll have the final program and recitations in a few weeks, and then we’ll have six weeks off. I do look forward to it.” The lines on Isabel’s forehead didn’t smooth out as she took a sip of her tea.

“I’m glad you get some time off. Of course, I imagine you’ll have a garden to tend and a lot of other things to catch up on.”

“Yes, I always have projects I’ve put off during school, but a change is as good as a rest, they say.”

Libby reached for a cookie. “Please help yourself, my dear. I’m glad you were able to rejoin the shooting club this spring. It always refreshes me to get out of the store and have a chance to talk to other women.”

Isabel nodded hesitantly. Until she’d joined the club, she hadn’t mixed much with other women in town. Lately Libby had begun to know Isabel a little better. Beneath the prim, correct exterior, she found a lonely woman grieving the loss of her mother. “Mrs. Adams—”

“Yes?”

Isabel’s gaze fell. “Nothing. It’s just …”

“You can speak freely.”

Isabel swallowed and looked up at her. “I’ve worried about Papa lately.”

“Have you? Is his health declining?”

“No, it’s not that.” Isabel picked up her teaspoon and laid it down again. “May I confide in you, Mrs. Adams?”

“Of course, but please call me Libby.”

“Thank you. You knew my mother.”

The turn of conversation took Libby by surprise, but she nodded and smiled. Better to discuss Mary than Cyrus. “Of course. Mary was a lovely lady.”

“Did she ever talk to you about her family back East?”

“Maybe now and then.” Libby frowned, trying to remember. “She was from Massachusetts, wasn’t she?”

“Yes. Waterford. And she had an older sister, who died at the age of fifteen. Consumption.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Libby waited, sensing that there must be more to come.

Isabel sighed. “Yes, Mama grieved for her sister to her dying day. I was always told it was just the two girls in the family. But …” Her face tightened, and she caught her breath.

“But what, my dear?” Libby asked gently.

“A man came to call last Wednesday evening. He said he was her brother.”

“Oh my.” Libby sat back and studied her guest. “Was your father at home?”

“Yes, for which I was thankful. But … but Papa talked to him for a long time in his study. The man stayed for dinner, and he seemed glad to meet me. But you’d think I’d have known I had an uncle, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, it does seem odd. Did you speak to your father about this?”

“The next morning I asked him point-blank why I’d never heard of Uncle Kenton before.” Isabel lifted her teacup with trembling hands and took a sip.

“What was his explanation?” Libby asked.

“He told me Kenton had been to prison, and my mother was ashamed of him.”

Libby pondered that. “Perhaps it’s true.”

“Perhaps. But it seems odd that my parents kept up this rather elaborate lie for nearly thirty years. Mother even told me once she wished she’d had more siblings. It was always her and Leola in the stories she told, never any boys. This Kenton said he was a few years older than Mother, and by the look of him, it fits, but …” Isabel shook her head. “I’m confused. Papa said he wanted to tell me when I reached my majority, but Mama discouraged him, so he kept it quiet.”

Libby reached across the table and patted her hand. “I’m sorry you found out so abruptly. I’m sure your father didn’t mean to shock you.”

“I suppose not.”

“Many people come out West to make a new start, hoping no one will ever learn of their somewhat checkered past.”

“That’s true, but when I was younger, we got letters now and then from my grandparents in Massachusetts. They never spoke of Kenton. It’s strange.”

“Yes, it is.” Libby considered all she knew about Cyrus Fennel and the way he treated people. She suspected Isabel had not experienced the closeness of a doting father. Mary’s cryptic words after her miscarriage came to mind, but this was not the time to bring up that sad memory. “I’m sure he felt it was in your best interest not to know about this unsavory uncle, and that you would be happier not knowing.”

“Perhaps.”

“And if you decided to marry someday and have children of your own, you wouldn’t feel burdened to pass on the family’s dark secret.”

Isabel huffed out a bitter chuckle. “Not much chance of that happening.”

“Oh, come now.” Libby smiled, hoping to draw her guest into a lighter frame of mind. “Women your age, and even mine, have been known to find husbands.”

“Do you mean you would consider marrying again?” Isabel stared at her with huge eyes.

Libby smiled and gave a delicate shrug. “I haven’t ruled out the possibility. If the right man should take notice.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Do you?” Libby suspected she knew the man Isabel longed to have notice her. The schoolteacher had cast yearning glances at Griffin Bane for years, but the blacksmith had never seemed to take the hint. “There are several good men in Fergus who are eligible, and it’s more than two years since my Isaac died.”

“You don’t have someone in mind, do you? Oh, forgive me.” Isabel blushed a becoming pink. “That was too nosy of me.”

“Not at all. I’ll confide in you as well. There is one man in town who interests me. Perhaps one day both of us will find romance.”

Isabel smiled for the first time all afternoon. “I hope so for your sake. I fear it’s not in my future. But now I’m wondering….”

“Yes?” Libby prepared for a direct question as to where her heart lay. She wasn’t ready to reveal that, though it might set Isabel at ease to know they were not both attracted to the same man.

Instead, Isabel looked up, the strain showing in her thin face. “There’s something else.”

“Concerning your father?”

“Yes.”

Libby took a sip of her tea and braced herself for a mention of Cyrus’s drinking habits. What on earth would she say?

Isabel inhaled deeply and met her gaze. “I wasn’t going to say anything about this part, but …”

“What you say will go no further than this room,” Libby said.

“Thank you. I fell asleep Wednesday evening. Uncle Kenton was still in Papa’s study with him. I’d overheard what sounded like an argument, but I couldn’t make sense of it. I was afraid Papa would invite him to spend the night, and I didn’t want to face him again, so I went to bed. Some time later, I awoke to a strange noise.”

“What sort of noise?”

“Digging.”

“Digging?”

Isabel nodded. “I couldn’t imagine at first what it was, but I went outside. All of our ranch hands were away. I was terrified.”

Libby knew well the shiver of fear that could come over a woman alone, especially at night. “What happened?”

“You mustn’t tell anyone.”

“Of course not.”

“I … I went out around the barn, and I saw my father burying something.”

Libby sat back quickly and thought about that. “What was it?”

“I have no idea.”

The silence hung between them. Libby didn’t like where her thoughts led her.

“Was your uncle with him?” she asked at last.

“No, he wasn’t. I hadn’t heard him leave, but as I said, I’d fallen asleep.”

Libby reached for her cup. “Let’s think about this logically, my dear. Did the man arrive on horseback?”

“I don’t know.”

“And you haven’t seen him since?”

“No. I asked Papa about him the next morning. He said Uncle Kenton would stay in the area and might visit us again, but he hasn’t so far.”

“It’s been less than a week,” Libby noted. “Still …”

“Yes,” said Isabel. They sat looking at each other. Finally, she picked up her cup.

“Let me freshen that for you,” Libby said.

“No, thank you. I should let you get back to work. But thank you for listening.”

“Isabel, you can’t think …” Libby stopped, not wanting to put it into words.

“That my uncle is in the hole behind the barn?” Isabel grimaced. “I’m trying not to think it. I expect I’m being silly. But I haven’t dared ask Papa about that hole.”

Libby reached for her hand. “Let me go with you to your father’s office. We’ll confront him together, and he’ll tell you this is a huge mistake. There must be a sensible explanation.”

Isabel bit her lip and shook her head quickly. “I daren’t, Libby. He would be angry with me for suggesting something so foolish, don’t you see? That might—probably would—be worse than the truth we would learn.”

Libby sighed and drew back her hand. “I’m sorry. Do you think …?”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps we should tell someone. Sheriff Chapman, for instance.”

“Oh no!” Isabel’s cheeks grew rosy. “I’m risking Papa’s anger just by telling you. You mustn’t let anyone else know what I saw, Libby. You promised.”

“Yes, I did,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll keep my word. But you must make me a promise.”

“What?”

“That if you’re ever afraid, you will come to me. Or go straight to Ethan Chapman. His ranch is close to yours.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

“Now you’re being silly. My dear, if you ever think there’s a remote possibility that you’re in physical danger, you must act. Come here anytime, day or night. Give me your word.”

“All right.” Isabel inhaled deeply and let out a shaky breath. “I know it can’t be true … what we’re both thinking. But even if it’s not, I can’t help wondering where Uncle Kenton is and what is buried out back, and … Libby, what else has my father not told me?”