When Cassie looked up, Rand Carter was scowling at her, his spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose.
“Won’t do you no good to pretend to be sick, if that’s what the two of you are playing at. I barely got enough money to scrape by—I can’t be giving to beggars.”
Her mother pushed between them. “I assure you, we’re not beggars. I was told my brother lived here.”
“Well, he don’t.”
“But you have his name.”
“There’s probably a dozen Ransom Carters in Missouri. I’m just one of ’em.”
“Ransom,” Mother said, with a catch in her voice. “My brother’s name is Randall.”
Cassie closed her eyes and wished her mother would stop talking so they could leave. First knocking on a stranger’s door, then being mistaken for a beggar. She didn’t think the day could get any worse.
Rand Carter stepped inside the threshold of his cottage, his hand on the edge of the door. “Good luck finding him.” The latch clicked.
Reeling, Cassie grabbed her mother’s arm as they descended the steps. “Who told you your brother lived in Noble Springs?”
For once, Mother’s dignified manner fled. Her cheeks reddened. “Mrs. Otis, from back home in Mississippi, mentioned his name in a letter. She didn’t exactly say he was here.”
“What did she say?” If she hadn’t been so light-headed, Cassie would have stamped her foot.
“She was just passing local news, and mentioned that she’d heard Rand got a railroad job after the war, and was working near Noble Springs. She figured I’d want to know where he was.” In her agitation, Mother allowed the umbrella to drift to the left, and a trickle of cold water found its way down Cassie’s neck.
She tugged her cloak higher and stopped across the street from West & Riley’s.
“What are we going to do now?” Her voice trembled.
Mother closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she’d regained her regal bearing. “We’ll ask Mr. West if he knows of a Rand Carter who works for the railroad, of course. I’m afraid I didn’t make myself clear earlier. Then, if worse comes to worst, we’ll go to your friend Miss Saxon.”
Cassie gasped. Heat flooded over her, despite the chilly afternoon. “She has a husband now. We can’t just appear at her door with no warning. Whatever will she think?”
“She’s always favored you. I’m sure she’ll be delighted.”
“Mother, please—”
Her mother stepped off the boardwalk, lifting her skirts above the toes of her boots. “Stop fretting.” Her tone left no room for argument.
Cassie followed her across High Street and allowed herself to be led into West & Riley’s. The first words of the fifth commandment repeated themselves in her head. Honor thy father and thy mother . . . honor thy father and thy mother . . .
The war had taken her father, so she owed double honor to her mother.
Mr. West’s eyebrows shot upward when he noticed they’d returned. “Your brother wasn’t home, Mrs. Bingham?”
“He’s not my brother.” From her tone, she blamed Mr. West for the mistake. She leaned the damp umbrella against a wall. “The Rand Carter I’m looking for works for the railroad. He’s in his middle forties. Red hair. Taller than you.”
Mr. West shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar. I’ll ask around next time the road crew comes in.”
Cassie’s shoulders sagged. The last thing she wanted to do was to knock on Rosemary’s door and ask to stay with her and Dr. Stewart. How could her mother—
“Miss Haddon, are you unwell?” Mr. West took her arm. “Come. Sit down for a moment.”
“I’m sorry,” she said as he led her to a chair inside the near-empty restaurant. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I haven’t had anything to eat today, but—”
“We’ll fix that now. You rest. Mrs. Fielder will bring your supper.”
Mother lifted her hand to stop him, her cheeks crimson. “I’m afraid our funds are limited. Perhaps a bowl of soup rather than a full meal?”
Cassie stared. Mother brought them here with little in her purse but train tickets? Dizziness assailed her again, and she closed her eyes against the sight of her mother’s discomfiture.
“Two plates of food.” Mr. West made a pfft sound. “It’s nothing. You’d be doing me a favor. Mrs. Fielder cooked far too much today, and as you can see, the supper hour is over.”
“Well, if you’re sure . . .” Mother settled onto a chair next to Cassie.
“I’m sure.” He strode into the kitchen.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Cassie turned to her mother. “We have no money?” Her insides churned.
“I was so certain Rand would be here . . .” Worry lines furrowed her brow. “I have a few dollars, but not enough to last more than a day or two.” She lifted a knife and fork from the table and inspected them for cleanliness, then removed her gloves. “Let’s eat every bite of this meal. Then we’ll decide what to do next.”
Mr. West approached and placed steaming plates of food in front of them. At the sight of turkey slices and sweet potatoes swimming in gravy, Cassie’s stomach rebelled. Gulping, she pushed the meal away. All she wanted to do was find someplace to lie down until her dizziness passed.
“Eat your supper.” Her mother forked up a mound of sweet potatoes. “Mr. West was kind enough to provide this food for us. The least you can do is show some appreciation.”
“Is something wrong with the meal, Miss Haddon?” Concern shone in his dark eyes.
“No.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “I just feel so dizzy. I thought I was hungry, but now . . . now I’m afraid I may be ill.”
“I’ll send someone for the doctor.”
“No, please. I . . . we can’t pay. This will pass, I’m sure.”
He cocked his head, an amused expression on his handsome face. “You remember Doc Stewart?”
“Certainly. He and my friend Rosemary were married last summer.”
A shadow passed over his features. “Yes. They were.” He drew a breath. “Since you’re Mrs. Stewart’s friend, I don’t believe you need to worry about payment. But if there’s a charge, I’ll be responsible.”
Her mother rested her fork on the edge of her plate. “Cassie, please allow him to summon Dr. Stewart.” She gave Mr. West a bright smile. “We were just talking about the doctor before we entered your store. Possibly his wife will have a tincture that would help.”
Cassie covered her face with her hands, wishing she could sink through the floor. Ransom Carter had called them beggars.
Perhaps they were.