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Sidney opened his shop the next morning to a line of customers. He groaned inwardly but smiled politely, grateful for the business. It was only that his head hurt that made him wish for less people.
He’d been so close to asking Belle to marry him last night, but something had held him back. He wasn’t sure what it was—perhaps it was nothing more than the fact he’d spent the last two months of his life thinking she thought him beneath her. The idea had been so baked into him that even though he knew it wasn’t true, he couldn’t shake the feeling entirely.
Or maybe it was that he didn’t trust himself to make a sound decision. He was afraid his thoughts had become so muddled by Irene’s plans to marry him as well as Belle’s, that he wasn’t thinking straight. Though every part of him felt as if he’d die if he didn’t get Belle, were those feelings real? What if they were only a reaction to the situation at hand? A slightly dangerous situation that had pushed the two of them together?
Once the danger was over, would he still want her? Would she still want him? She’d said once, not long ago, that she’d wanted to marry him to be nearer her sisters. He’d dismissed that thought somewhere along the way, but what if that had been the truth after all? What if she had only convinced herself that she loved him because it was convenient for her?
He pushed such thoughts aside and started in on his day. Maybe he ought to let Belle come back to the shop and help as his assistant again. It would give him a chance to more accurately gauge their feelings for each other under normal, day-to-day circumstances, rather than the mystery they’d gotten caught up in. Plus, it had been good having someone here; he was tired of feeling alone.
But is that a good enough reason to marry someone? Do you love Belle, or are you merely tired of your loneliness?
He reminded himself that he was not thinking about such things just now, he was only thinking of his customers’ hair. Later, when he saw Belle again after speaking with Irene, he would see if he could better make out his feelings regarding her.
Jack Weaver popped in for a shave and informed him the entire town thought he and Belle were having a torrid affair; they also thought she was an outlaw and that he was protecting her. Jack thought it funny, but Sidney was horrified. Yet his customers continued to flow, apparently not in the least put off by such gossip.
Only a few men, here and there, asked anything about Belle at all, and when they did, it was couched in other questions that seemed unrelated.
“I hear the weather’s supposed to be fine this weekend. A warm December day,” said one man. “Will you and Miss Reese be partaking of it?”
“I hear the weather’s supposed to be stormy this weekend. A cold and wet December day,” said another man. “Will you and Belle Reese be staying indoors... together... alone?”
“I hear the weather’s supposed to go around in circles this weekend, storming one minute then kind to us the next,” said a third man. “If you or Miss Reese need to get to the bank, I’d do it today. I hear she’s got quite a bit of money on her... from somewhere. Wouldn’t want it to blow away.”
Sidney smiled and continued cutting their hair, saying nothing except that he liked a good storm every now and again.
Just before lunch, a man with onyx hair and a thick mustache came in. He had a small scar shaped like a diamond under his right eye. Sidney had never seen him before. “Can I help you?” he asked, and the man nodded.
“I’d like a cut and a shave,” he said. He was the only man in the shop just now, and Sidney went ahead and turned his open sign around to closed so that he could take his lunch after this and get to Mrs. James’ boardinghouse. He was hoping Irene would be there for an afternoon snack, and that he might finally convince her to talk to him.
“Have a seat,” Sidney said to the gentleman and wetted down his hair. He took up his scissors and began to cut, working in silence for a while until the man spoke.
“Do you know any good boardinghouses around here?” the man asked.
“Certainly,” said Sidney. “Mrs. James’ boardinghouse is quite a good one. I’m going by it, in fact, after we’re through here. I’ll walk you over, if you like.”
“Thank you, that would be very kind of you.” His voice was deep, and he spoke with an air of cordiality that Sidney admired.
“You from around here?” Sidney asked.
“A bit farther south. I’m looking for my wife.”
Sidney started. “You’ve lost your wife?”
The man laughed.
“No, not at all. We’re supposed to meet in Elmwood, but I fear I’ve lost the address of the friend she’s staying with. I wonder if you might be able to help me?”
Something in his eyes made Sidney hesitate. “Perhaps. What’s your wife’s name?”
“Irene Bailey.”
Sidney almost cut the man’s ear off with his scissors.
“Everything all right?” the man asked, looking at him with curiosity.
“Yes, sorry. I just... I’ve had a bit of a cold. Thought I might sneeze there for a minute.”
Sidney resumed cutting his hair. The man was watching him more closely now in the mirror. “Do you know my wife?” he asked.
Sidney shook his head. “Can’t say that I do. You say she’s staying with a friend?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“You’re not sure?” Sidney asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Well, I lost her last letter before I could finish reading it, and for all I know, her plans might have changed.”
“I see. Who’s her friend?” Sidney’s throat was dry.
“Lucille Jordan.” The man’s eyes never left Sidney’s face. “Do you know her?”
Sidney shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
The man shrugged. “It was worth asking. Perhaps Mrs. James will be able to tell me. It’s been my experience that those who run boardinghouses know everything about everyone in most towns.”
Sidney’s heart skipped three beats. “Now that I think about it, I bumped into Mrs. James at the general store yesterday and she told me she’s full up. There’s another boardinghouse at the opposite end of town, just as good and not quite so expensive. I’ll show you over there.”
“Thank you,” the man said.
“I don’t believe I caught your name,” said Sidney.
“Just call me Andy,” he said. “Everyone does.”
Sidney bit his lip. Andy... Marshall Anderson. It could not just be a coincidence.
“And you?” Marshall, or Andy, asked.
Sidney hesitated, uncertain how much this man knew about Irene’s reason for coming to Elmwood, and whether he ought to give out his real name.
“Sidney,” he finally said, deciding that if Marshall knew what he and Irene had been to each other, he would not have been so polite.
“Well, thank you for your kindness, Sidney,” Marshall said.
“Anytime,” Sidney replied. His heart was thumping, but he refused to let it give anything away. He would finish this man’s hair, walk him to the boardinghouse farthest from Mrs. James, then go and warn Irene. If he had to, he’d break her door down to get to her, but he would not leave her unprotected and unaware.
* * *
