The next day Brian phoned Daisy at work. “Hi, Daisy. Have you had a chance to look through that dime novel I lent you?”
“Oh, Brian, I have, but I’m not finished reading it yet. Can I hold onto it for a couple more days so I can get through all of it? I’ve been so busy with work that I’ve been too tired at night to read. But this week is easier, so I should be able to get through it.”
“That’s no problem,” he answered. “Take whatever the time you need. Let me know when you’ve finished it and I’ll come by to pick it up.”
“Thanks.”
She took a deep breath and was about to ask Brian if he had a minute to talk about the test-cheating scandal, but he didn’t give her a chance.
“I’ve got to run, Daisy, I’m in a rush. Talk to you soon.”
“Yeah. Okay, Brian.” She would need to find another time to ask him about it. She made a mental note to get through as much of the book as possible that night, then remembered that she was meeting Grover for dinner. She would just have to eat quickly so she could get back to the book.
She texted Grover the name of a restaurant she knew they would both enjoy and he was waiting for her when she got there. They found a table outdoors and while they waited for their food she explained that she wouldn’t be able to stay long because she had to get through Brian’s book.
“That guy gives you a lot of stuff to read, doesn’t he?” Grover asked.
“He does,” Daisy agreed, “but it’s interesting reading. And it’s a privilege for me to be able to read something that’s going to be donated to the Library of Congress, so I feel like I should get through it quickly. I need to return it to him.”
“What’s it about?”
Daisy told him as much of the story as she knew. “Sounds interesting, but why would he give it to you before he donates it?”
“Probably because he knows how much I love old things and reading old books and diaries and journals, in particular.”
Grover sat back and fixed Daisy with an amused stare. “You really love your job, don’t you?”
“You know I do. I love my job as much as you love yours,”
“Then we’re both lucky,” he answered. “There’s nothing better than having a job you love. It’s not like working at all.”
“Easy there, tiger,” Daisy said with a laugh. “I may love my work, but I don’t love my boss. So it’s not all fun all the time.”
“You should come work for me.”
“I love helping you, too, but then my anthropology degree would be wasted. When I get paid to work for Mark John and help you on the side, that’s the best of both worlds.”
He grinned. “Any time you want to help, you know my number.”
They enjoyed their dinner and Daisy was sorry she had to get back to her apartment so quickly. She apologized again and left him standing on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. As she was walking away she glanced over her shoulder; Grover was watching her walk away, a smile on his lips.
Before long Daisy was in her pajamas, settled on her couch with a mug of herbal tea within easy reach and her white gloves donned and ready. She picked up the book and turned the pages gently to where she had left off.
Young Mr. Sheppard had found the place where he wanted to raise his children. The Nebraska Territory was wide open, with fertile land yearning to be planted and air that was sparkling clean. He found a room to rent in a small town while he looked for a homestead that would be suitable for him and his children. When he found land that would be perfect, he set about building a house for his family. His carpentry skills were such that he would be able to build a good, sturdy home quickly. The children were still quite young and each day they accompanied him to the home he was building outside the town.
It wasn’t long before he caught the eye of a young woman, a pretty girl with freckles and hands that were rough from working. The children missed their mother grievously, and he missed having someone to talk to. The children needed someone to help mold their young minds, to teach them to read and write, to teach them right from wrong. They needed a mother. He loved them, but his affection simply wasn’t enough. He found the young woman to be both intelligent and eager to help him with the children, and before a year had passed the two were married in a simple ceremony in a small church.
But shortly after his marriage to the young woman, he began to change. He would leave the house, with his children in the care of his new wife, and not come home for several days. He did not care to explain where he had been and it soon became apparent to the children, who were obviously growing older and more mature with each passing day, that his wife was too timid to demand to know of his whereabouts. He would become enraged over things that would not bother a reasonable man and his mood was inexplicably brooding.
Then came a very dark day. He had disappeared, again without explanation, and his wife had become frantic with worry about his behavior. When he finally returned home he sent the children out of the house and it was some time before he exited the house, too.
When the children were allowed to return to their home, the young wife was nowhere to be found. When they asked where their new mother had gone, their father refused to answer them. They were afraid that she had left because of something they had done, some misbehavior on their part.
Because they were afraid, they were unable to sleep that night. There was a crescent moon hanging low in the sky when the sister crept into her brother’s bedroom to talk to him. They knew their father was downstairs reading a book. They were speaking in whispers about what they could have done to make their new mother like them more when they heard their father going outside. He had been quiet when he left, but the front door had a slight squeak and they knew when they heard the squeak that he had left.
They crept to the window of the boy’s room and peered down, where they could see their father dragging a sack with something inside that appeared to be very heavy. They didn’t know what it was or where it had come from. They watched as he loaded it onto the back of their wagon and drove west away from the homestead. They turned away from the window when Mr. Sheppard was out of sight. They continued speaking in whispers, though they didn’t know why. There was no one else in the house. After a while the sister went back to her room and lay in the darkness, wondering what was going on and where her father had gone with the mysterious heavy sack. In his room, the brother was wondering the same things.
Both children were asleep when their father returned, and he was there to greet them in the morning when they awoke.
Daisy was amazed at how much this story sounded like the tale she had read in Trudy’s diary entries. She ripped a piece of paper from a notebook and began jotting down all the similarities she could discern between Trudy’s diary and the story told in the dime novel. There was a widower from Washington who had headed west with his two children, a homestead in Nebraska, a young new wife, and an unexplained disappearance. Daisy stared at her notes for a long while, trying to make sense of the two stories. It certainly seemed like they were connected somehow. She wondered if Brian knew whether the stories were related. But if he had, why wouldn’t he have said something when she asked?
It was getting late and Daisy’s head hurt from thinking so hard, trying to make connections without enough information to be sure of anything. She finished the last drops of tea and went straight to bed where she slept fitfully and woke several times, always thinking of Trudy and wondering if she met her end at the hands of her husband—and whether he put her body in a sack and dumped it somewhere.
The next morning she was in her office catching up on paperwork when Jude came in. Her eyes were puffy from crying and she held a crumpled tissue in her hand.
“Jude! What’s wrong?” Daisy asked, getting up and closing the door when Jude sat down.
Twisting the tissue in her hand, Jude sniffled and hung her head. “Mark John and I are through,” she said, taking two quick breaths.
“Jude, you need to calm down. Take a nice, slow, deep breath and tell me what happened.”
Jude did as she was asked. “I think he’s seeing someone else.”
“What? What makes you think that?”
“We haven’t been spending too much time together in the last week or so and he just doesn’t seem to be interested in anything I say or do,” she said miserably. “He took me to a concert last week and that was the last thing we did together.”
Daisy recalled the look Mark John turned on Jude as he watched her walk away from him at the concert that night. Jude might be right, she thought to herself. Maybe Mark John just isn’t interested anymore. Would that really be the worst thing? Then she chided herself for thinking that way. Jude was obviously very upset about the developments.
“Can you think of anything that made him mad recently?” Daisy asked.
Jude thought for a moment. “Not really. He hasn’t been himself lately. I’ve been trying to get him to tell me what the problem is. Maybe that’s what’s making him mad.”
“There’s the death of his wife, too, don’t forget. Has he actually said anything about breaking up?” Daisy asked.
“No.”
“Then he probably isn’t thinking in those terms.”
“Maybe he’s waiting for me to break up with him so he doesn’t come off as the bad guy.”
“You’re overthinking this. Maybe he’s got something personal on his mind that he’s not ready to share yet. It happens, even to married couples, and God knows he’s had a lot to deal with lately. I bet he’ll tell you when he’s ready.”
“If it makes him this moody, I’m not sure I’m ready to find out. What do you think it could be?”
“I have no idea,” Daisy answered. “I really don’t know Mark John that well, despite the things you’ve told me about him. I suppose it could be anything. A job offer, a health problem. It could be lots of things. The most obvious possibility, of course, is Fiona’s death. That’s a traumatic event for anyone.”
“I guess you’re right. Should I keep trying to get him to tell me what it is?”
“I wouldn’t. That approach hasn’t worked well so far. I think you should just back off and take your cue from him. If he wants to talk, be ready to talk. If he wants some space, be prepared to give him that, too.”
“I’ll try,” Jude said with a small sigh. “It’s hard to do.”
Daisy could remember what it was like being involved with a man who could be moody. “I know,” she answered, “but you may both be happier in the long run if you just leave him alone for now.”
“Thanks,” Jude replied. After she left Daisy sat at her desk looking out at the Washington summer sun reflecting off the buildings across the street. This is why it’s better to be single, she thought. No drama, no heartache, no worries about he loves me, he loves me not.
And no one to talk to while I’m getting ready for bed, no one to make me breakfast in the morning, no one to rub my back when I’ve had a nightmare. Which way is better?