41

Cassie marched to her cabin, prepared to face an angry Patrick and a weeping mother. Twilight softened her surroundings. Beneath the butternut tree, fireflies spun and danced to a tune played by crickets. Her heart danced with them. Reverend French had given her the best news possible. Her mother would be unhappy, but Cassie hoped Uncle Rand would keep her too busy to attempt any further matchmaking.

She opened her door, surprised to see Mother sitting alone. Instead of tears she wore the expression Cassie remembered seeing after they received the news of her father’s death in a prison camp during the war.

She gazed at Cassie with dull eyes. “Patrick’s gone.”

“Back to the hotel?”

“I suppose so. He’s planning to leave on the late train. He said he’d bring my bag over before he goes.” She held up a blue pasteboard square. “He paid my fare back to Price City.”

Her heart softened at her mother’s bleak tone. “Why don’t you stay with me for a while? You can get to know Jacob.”

“I already know Jacob. He’s a grocer.”

“He’s so much more than what he does for a living. If you’d only—”

“I’m just staying for tonight. I know tomorrow’s Sunday, but I’d like to be on the morning train.”

Guilt pricked at her. She shouldn’t be happy that Mother wanted to leave, but her disapproval of Jacob was a continual thorn.

As if thinking his name brought him to her doorstep, someone knocked. She pushed down a bubble of excitement. Praying it was Jacob, she flung open the door, eager to tell him Reverend French’s opinion.

Her smile flattened when she saw Patrick. He thrust Mother’s carpetbag at her, his gaze fixed somewhere in the vicinity of her shoes. “Good-bye, Miss Haddon,” he muttered.

“Good-bye to you, Mr. Fitzhugh.” She closed the door with a sharp click.

Her mother watched as she carried the bag into the bedroom. “Thank you,” she said in the same bleak tone she’d used earlier.

Cassie opened the firebox on the stove and stirred the ashes, then stacked a few sticks of kindling over the coals. “You’ll feel better if you have some tea.”

“No I won’t.” Mother rose. “I’m very tired. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go to bed.”

After she left, Cassie sat at the table and waited for the water to boil. Her poor mother. She’d endured such a comedown since the war, and now she didn’t even have Patrick. His attentions had apparently been motivated by Reverend Greeley’s interpretation of Scripture.

She poured water over the tea leaves and watched the color inside the pot change to honey-brown. If only it were that simple to change her mother’s opinion of Jacob.

Creaking floorboards roused Cassie in the middle of the night. She snapped awake, fear clutching at her throat. She groped for the candlestick on her night table.

Shuffling footsteps. A chair scraped against the floor.

She grabbed for the matches and lighted the candle, then at the same moment remembered her mother’s presence. Tiptoeing into the kitchen, she spotted her standing by the window staring into blackness.

“Why are you walking around in the dark?”

“I’m trying to decide what to tell Rand when I return to Price City.”

“Tell him the truth. Patrick was misled by Reverend Greeley.” Misled sounded kinder than accusing Patrick’s advisor of ignorance. Perhaps he wasn’t a preacher at all, but a charlatan, preying on weak women.

“You don’t understand. Patrick was my best hope.”

“There’s no need to worry about my future. You may not like Jacob, but I love him and plan to marry him.”

“I’m not thinking about your future, Cassiopeia. I’m facing mine. If you married Patrick, I could return to living a gracious life instead of spending my days slaving in a kitchen. Heaven knows I’ve had enough of that.”

“You’ve only been helping Uncle Rand for a month.”

The candlelight flickered against her mother’s face, leaving dark furrows in the lines around her mouth. Gray strands showed in the loose hair cascading over her dressing gown. She sank onto one of the chairs and rested her head on her hand.

“My life is a failure. Everything I fought to achieve is gone. Now I’m back where I started, working in a kitchen.”

Cassie took the chair next to her. “You must be tired. We had a lovely home and servants. You didn’t set foot in the kitchen unless you were planning menus.”

Mother cupped her hand around the back of her neck and rotated her shoulders. “The truth is I was a kitchen maid in your father’s parents’ home. That’s how we met. You’ve asked why we never talked about our wedding, or our families. I wouldn’t allow it.”

“You weren’t a maid! That can’t be true. You’ve always been a perfect lady.”

“Kitchen maids have eyes. I copied the mistress—your grandmother. By the time your father married me, no one would have guessed my background. We moved far away. Your father lived the life of a gentleman farmer, and I raised you to be a lady.”

Cassie drew several deep breaths. Her mind reeled. Every childhood memory she possessed was based on a lie. Needlework, piano lessons, literature appreciation—all pretense. Her mother played a part and she was expected to do the same.

“What about Uncle Rand? Is he really my uncle?”

Mother nodded. “He apprenticed to a blacksmith before I married your father, then wandered from place to place until the war began. I didn’t tell a soul back home that he fought for the Union—we’d have been ostracized.”

She stared blankly at her mother, then whispered, “And now everything’s gone anyway, isn’t it? We start over.”

Jacob paced the length of his parlor on Sunday morning, a letter from Keegan Byrne crumpled in his fist. He’d planned to show it to Cassie on Friday, but her mother’s arrival with Fitzhugh squelched his intentions. Then after the wedding, when she told him about Fitzhugh’s claims, all thoughts of his own troubles fled.

He watched her all day Saturday going through her duties without her usual smile. His prayers went with her when she left for home that evening. He wished he knew the Bible better, so he’d understand why Fitzhugh believed she belonged to him.

When he called to take her to church she’d tell him the minister’s response. His gut clenched. Regardless of Reverend French’s opinion, starting today he’d fight for Cassie.

He tossed the crumpled paper onto the floor and strode to the stable for his buggy.

Cassie waited next to her mother at the train depot. Within minutes, Mother would board and Cassie would be left to sort out her childhood memories, images that resembled a kaleidoscope filled with scattered fragments.

The rails sang with the rhythm of the approaching train. When the engine drew near, Mother broke the prolonged silence between them. “You had to know sooner or later. I’m sorry. What more can I say?”

“Nothing. I just need time to think.”

“I wish you’d come with me.”

“My life is here, with Jacob.”

The train roared to a stop, wheels screeching against the rails. Passengers disembarked. After a few minutes, the conductor hollered the boarding call.

Mother leaned close to kiss Cassie’s cheek. “Whatever you may think of me, I love you.”

Tears blurred her vision. “I love you too.” She spoke from her heart. Despite their frequent clashes, love for her mother didn’t change.

Her shoulders sagging, Mother walked toward the passenger car. Her steps dragged. She turned and lifted her hand in a half wave before disappearing down the aisle.

Steeple bells pealed as Cassie left the station. Instead of walking toward the church, she turned north a block away. Spending the morning in church without breaking down would be impossible. She had all she could do to keep from sobbing aloud as she ran toward home.

After services ended, Faith joined Jacob as he left the sanctuary. “I wanted to tell Cassie the muslin pattern for her dress is ready for fitting. Is she sick today?”

“I wish I knew. She wasn’t at home when I called for her.”

“Not home? On a Sunday?”

“She didn’t answer the door.” He spread his hands. “I thought she might have left for church early, and would meet me here. I’m going to her house again now.”

“Good gracious. If she’s desperately ill, please come for me. I’ll be glad to sit with her.”

“Thank you. I will.”

He didn’t confide his galloping fears. When Cassie wasn’t waiting at the church, he assumed Reverend French told her she had to marry Fitzhugh. She’d taken the morning train with him and her mother. The thought twisted a dagger in his heart.

He knew he shouldn’t, but if her door was unlocked he planned to go inside. Maybe she’d left a letter for him on her table. Cassie would never go away without telling him good-bye.

His leg pained him more than usual as he limped toward his buggy. He swung onto the seat and shook the reins over Jackson’s back. A couple of minutes and he’d know. Sweat popped out on his forehead. The last time he’d been this apprehensive was in Warden Dwight’s office, waiting for his release papers.

Jacob tied his horse in the alley, then marched to Cassie’s cabin and knocked. His fingers trembled on the head of his cane. When she didn’t answer, he reached for the knob. She opened the door at the same time.

“Oh, Jacob, praise God it’s you. I’ve never been so glad to see anyone.” Her eyes were red and swollen. He glanced over her shoulder for her mother and Fitzhugh, pleased to see they were still at the hotel.

“Come in.” She sniffled, then wiped her eyes. “I’ll leave the door open in case Mr. Slocum is watching.” As soon as he stepped out of her neighbor’s view, she threw her arms around him. “I’ve had the most dreadful shock.”

He tightened his hold on her waist. As he feared, Reverend French had confirmed Fitzhugh’s claim. “Don’t worry,” he whispered in her ear. “We’ll think of a way to stay together, no matter what the reverend says.”

She gave a half laugh, half sob, then leaned back in his arms. “I forgot. You don’t know. Reverend French informed Mr. Fitzhugh that he was sadly mistaken. The Scripture he based his claim on was meant for the wife of a deceased man, not a person’s fiancée.”

Jacob’s knees sagged. He released her and collapsed on a chair. “I’ve been dreading what you might have to tell me. This . . . this is the best news I’ve ever heard.”

“You should have seen Mr. Fitzhugh’s face. He looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. He left on last night’s train.”

“Then where’s your mother? Is she at the hotel?”

Cassie’s eyes brimmed. She grabbed her handkerchief and patted the corners of her eyes again.

“N-no. I took her to the depot this morning. She’s on her way back to Uncle Rand.”

She drew a chair away from the table and sat close enough for her knees to touch his. Her tears spilled over.

He patted her arm. “You miss her.”

“No I don’t!” She jerked her arm away. “I’m shocked, angry, and bereft. Last night she confessed that her entire life has been a lie. She’s not the great lady she pretended to be. Mother was a kitchen maid when she met my father.”

Cassie jumped to her feet and stalked across the room, then whirled to face him. “All this time she’s scorned my job at the restaurant. She looked down on you as though you weren’t good enough for me. Not good enough for the daughter of a kitchen maid! How could she?”

In his mind, he saw the crumpled letter from Byrne lying on the floor in his parlor. The contents seared his memory.

So you paid Colin off. Makes no difference to me. If you want to keep your masquerade I’ll expect July and August payments. The choice is yours.

He had less than two weeks until the end of August. If the man carried out his threat, Cassie would agree with her mother.

Jake Westermann wasn’t good enough for her.

Jake Westermann. The name haunted him as he drove his buggy away from Cassie’s house. Warden Dwight had assured him no one had access to jail records. Colin Riley gave him a new start and a new name seventeen years ago. If he surrendered to Byrne’s demands now, Jake Westermann would live on, a chain anchoring him to his past.

He snapped the reins over Jackson’s back. The horse picked up speed, trotting past the town square and on beyond Judge Lindberg’s home. Noble Springs knew him as Jacob West. All ties to Westermann had long since disappeared.

The buggy bumped through a rut, jarring the pistol in his left boot against his ankle. An icy chill prickled the hair on the back of his neck. As long as he carried that pistol, Jake Westermann traveled with him wherever he went.

When he changed his name, he vowed to be a new man. Jacob West should have disposed of the weapon years ago. Why had he clung to a piece of the life he’d renounced? Habit? Protection? Whatever happened, he knew he’d never point a gun at another person again.

Giving the reins an abrupt tug, he guided the horse down the track to Pioneer Lake, passing buggies tied under trees. Families sat on blankets enjoying a Sunday evening picnic. He slowed Jackson’s gait, following wheel ruts around to the deserted eastern side of the water until swamp willows and thick brambles blocked the trail.

Before leaving the buggy, he glanced in all directions to be sure he was alone. Then he climbed down and tied the reins to a stout willow. Sweat soaked his shirt as he fought to push his way through the brush to reach the water’s edge. His cane sank into the sandy soil. Mosquitoes buzzed around his ears.

Maybe he should return in the cool of the morning. He paused to catch his breath and turned to look behind him, tracing the path he’d taken to the shoreline. He’d come too far to go back now.

A few more yards through the undergrowth and he stood inches from the lake. Water bugs skated on the glassy surface while dragonflies swooped and darted above. He leaned over, pulled up the hem on his trouser leg, and slid his pistol from the holster. Clutching the grip in his right hand, he pitched the gun as far as he could. It splashed into the water thirty feet from shore.

Jake Westermann was gone forever.