23

What is going on?” Aunt Mary slapped Catherine’s hand as she brushed the hair from Uncle Charles’s neck, revealing a curved scar. Knowing how vain he was, Catherine suspected hiding it was the reason he’d always worn his hair longer than fashionable. He hadn’t wanted anyone to see that his skin wasn’t perfect.

“How dare you be so familiar with my husband?”

Ignoring her aunt, Catherine turned to Grace, who’d shifted her position so that she had a clear view of the older man’s neck. “Is this what you remember?”

Her face as pale as Uncle Charles’s had been, Grace nodded but said nothing. For once in her life, the woman who delivered almost as many monologues as her mother had was speechless. Catherine’s fears had been confirmed. She looked at her aunt, wondering if she had any idea what had just transpired and how many lives would be impacted if the truth were revealed.

“This is not the place to have this discussion,” Catherine said firmly. While no one was close enough to overhear them now, that could change, particularly if the conversation became heated. And then there was Grace. As Catherine watched, she fingered her veil, as if she wanted to pull it over her face. Though she left it swept back, the pallor in her cheeks told Catherine she was shocked by the revelation. While Grace had known it was possible—perhaps even probable—that her attacker still lived in Cimarron Creek, Catherine doubted she had expected him to be a part of the family.

“Grace and I are unable to accept your invitation to dinner,” Catherine told her aunt. She could not imagine sitting at the same table as Uncle Charles, knowing what she now did. “She and I need some time alone, but we will call on you this afternoon. You may expect us at two.”

Aunt Mary bristled. Her lips thinned and her eyes radiated anger as she glared at her niece. “I resent your tone, Catherine. I am not one of your pupils. If you intend to continue like this, you will not be welcome in my home, neither you nor Mrs. Sims.”

“Joan.” Uncle Charles spoke for the first time, his voice little more than a croak. “She’s Joan Henderson, Bertha’s daughter.”

Grace nodded. “Yes, I am. Or rather, I was. But as Catherine said, she and I need to reflect on what we’ve learned this morning.” Her voice had returned, and so had her determination. She laid her hand on Catherine’s arm. “It’s time for us to return home.”

Though it was not the shortest route, Grace turned onto Oak, clearly wanting to avoid the curious parishioners clustered around the front of the church. Grace’s obvious resemblance to the founding families coupled with the heated discussion with Aunt Mary and Uncle Charles was certain to set tongues wagging. Fortunately, no one had any reason to link Austin to Grace’s smooth skin. As he had promised, Austin had kept Hannah in the back of the church and had ushered her out as soon as the service was over, lest she inadvertently say something that might trigger speculation. As far as the congregation knew, Grace’s face had always been beautiful. That was good. The scene with Aunt Mary and Uncle Charles was not.

Once they were inside the house and had put away their hats and gloves, Catherine turned to Grace. Though it was time for the midday meal, she suspected Grace had as little appetite as she did. “What do you want to do about Charles?” Catherine couldn’t bear to refer to him as “uncle” and admit that they were related, if only by marriage.

Grace sank onto one of the chairs, waiting until Catherine was seated across from her before she spoke. “There’s only one thing to do. I need to forgive him.”

Though it was the right thing to do, it wasn’t Grace’s only choice. “Even if you do that, you could still press charges against him. What he did was wrong.”

Tears filled Grace’s eyes, but her voice was firm as she said, “Nothing good would come from that. If Charles’s conscience hasn’t punished him, sitting in jail won’t make him repent. It would only cause his family pain. Mary and Warner don’t deserve that.”

Once again Catherine was struck by Grace’s kindness. This was the woman who had hesitated over having life-changing surgery because she did not want to endanger Hannah. Now she was worried about her attacker’s family. But they weren’t the only ones to consider.

“What if he hurts another woman? How would you feel if you let him go unpunished and that happened?”

Though she hadn’t intended it, something in Catherine’s voice must have betrayed her personal concerns, for Grace laid her hand on Catherine’s. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not the way he did you, but there were touches and looks that made me uncomfortable. The only reason I went to Sunday dinner at their house was to support Warner.”

Grace was silent for a moment, considering. “You’re right. We’ll talk to Charles. After I’ve forgiven him, we’ll tell Travis what Charles did. It’ll be up to him to decide on the punishment.” Once again, Grace was magnanimous.

“I doubt I could be as generous as you and offer forgiveness for something so horrible.” Though she knew it was wrong, Catherine still had not forgiven Doc Harrington for his role in her mother’s death.

“You might be surprised at how strong you are. Douglas used to tell me that adversity forces us to search deep inside us and that it reveals who we truly are. I’ve made my decision. Now I hope that I can follow through with it.” Grace stared at her hands for a few seconds. “I’m not looking forward to this afternoon, but I am looking forward to it being over.”

“Come in.” Aunt Mary’s voice was curt, and her customary smile was missing. “Charles is in the parlor. He said this had nothing to do with our son, so Warner is visiting Travis.” She led the way to the sitting room and gestured toward the chairs facing the settee where Charles was seated. Catherine noticed that he did not pay them the courtesy of rising when she and Grace entered the room.

“What is this all about, Joan?” Aunt Mary’s voice held more than a hint of rancor. “I thought you’d died years ago.” Her belligerent tone was only making a difficult situation worse.

Apparently refusing to sink to Aunt Mary’s level, Grace kept her voice neutral. “As you can see, I did not die. I left Cimarron Creek because my parents did not want the shame of having an unwed mother for a daughter. They did not want anyone to think that a Henderson was less than perfect.”

Charles frowned but remained silent while his wife smirked. “So, you got yourself in trouble,” she said, a note of gloating in her voice. Catherine could almost hear her thinking, How the mighty are fallen. If this was how family reacted, it was no wonder Aunt Bertha and Uncle Jonas had not wanted their daughter to remain in Cimarron Creek and be subjected to the town’s censure.

“What does this have to do with us?” Aunt Mary demanded.

“Grace didn’t get herself in trouble, as you put it.” Catherine leapt to her friend’s defense, not wanting Grace to have to deal with what Catherine suspected would soon become verbal abuse. She had seen the way Aunt Mary had attacked Lydia after Aunt Bertha’s death and wanted to spare Grace that pain.

“Grace was raped.” Though she had planned to say “attacked,” the defiance on her aunt’s face made Catherine use the harsher word. She wanted there to be no doubt of exactly what Charles had done. “It was dark and she didn’t see the man, but when she was struggling to get away, she felt a curved scar on the back of his neck—a scar like the one your husband has.”

Blood rushed to Aunt Mary’s face, and she clenched her fists in anger. “You can’t be suggesting that Charles would have done such a vile thing. It’s preposterous.”

“Ask him.” While her aunt had raised her voice to little less than a shout, Catherine kept hers low.

“Preposterous!” Aunt Mary repeated the word. “I trust Charles. He would never hurt a young girl. He loves me.” She turned to her husband. “Isn’t that right, Charles?”

“Of course it is. She’s lying.” His words were brave, but they held no conviction, and judging from the way Aunt Mary moved closer to the edge of the settee, putting a distance between herself and her husband, she knew it.

“Are you planning to tell Travis of your suspicions?” Aunt Mary glared at Grace, as if daring her to involve the sheriff. Aunt Bertha and Uncle Jonas hadn’t been the only ones in the Henderson-Whitfield clan who worried about having the family name besmirched.

“No. There’s been enough suffering. I don’t want to cause you any pain.” Grace kept her gaze fixed on Aunt Mary as she said, “I’ve forgiven Charles for what he did. The only thing I want is for him to admit to those of us in this room that he was the father of my child.”

As Grace turned to look at him, Charles sneered. “You can’t be sure. Anyone could have seen you leaving your cousins’ house.”

He’d convicted himself and he hadn’t even realized it. Catherine shook her head. “Grace didn’t say where or when the attack took place. Only one other person would have known that.”

The blood drained from Aunt Mary’s face, leaving her as pale as a ghost. She stared at the man she’d married, horror on her face. “You did it, didn’t you? What kind of man are you?”

He lowered his head under the force of her fury. “She was so pretty. All the fellas said that.”

Aunt Mary rose and pointed a finger at Grace. “There’s your answer, Joan. He admitted it. Are you happy?”

Though she’d flinched at being called Joan, Grace shook her head. “No, I’m not happy, but at least I know the truth.”

“And so do I.” Aunt Mary took a step away from the settee, as if distancing herself from the man who’d betrayed his marriage vows and dishonored Grace. “The man I loved, the man I thought loved me, was no better than a rutting stallion.” She glared down at her husband. “How will I ever be able to hold my head up in this town? First my son, now my husband.”

She strode to the small desk in the corner of the room and tugged the drawer open. Before Catherine realized what she intended, her aunt pulled a revolver from the desk. “I hate you, Charles,” Aunt Mary said as she aimed the weapon at him. “I hate you.”

Catherine jumped to her feet. “Stop it, Aunt Mary. You don’t want to do that.”

Aunt Mary shook her head. “I do.” A single shot punctuated her words.

Catherine stared in horror as her uncle slumped forward, his head landing on the small table between the settee and the chairs.

“Oh, dear God, what have I done?” The older woman slid onto the settee and cradled her husband’s head to her bosom. She stared at the lifeless eyes, then began to cry. “He’s gone. I loved him, but I killed him.” A low keening turned into a wail. “How can I live without him?” She shook her head wildly, her cries intensifying.

As Catherine moved toward her aunt, praying for a way to comfort her, Aunt Mary pressed the gun to her head.

“No!”

It was too late.

“Mrs. Sims is beautiful.”

Austin had been expecting comments ever since they’d left the church. He’d seen Hannah’s expression when she’d spotted Grace without her veil and had known that the magnitude of the change was more than she had expected. Though Hannah knew about the work he’d done in Philadelphia, this was the first time she had seen the results. Somehow she’d managed to contain her excitement until dinner was over and Seth had gone outside to sketch one of the barn cats.

“You made her beautiful, Papa.”

“Yes, I did, but remember that you mustn’t tell anyone. Papa is a rancher now, not a doctor. No one must know I used to make people look better.” No one except Catherine, Grace, and Seth. Even Travis didn’t know that Austin had been a plastic surgeon.

“Not even Mrs. Moore? I like her.”

“I know that, Hannah, but it’s important—it’s very important—that you don’t tell anyone.”

Though Hannah looked disappointed, her eyes were luminous as she remembered the woman she’d seen in church. “Mrs. Sims is almost as beautiful as Miss Whitfield.”

“I agree.” No one could be as beautiful as Catherine, but if there were a beauty contest in Cimarron Creek, Grace Sims would win second place.

“Can we visit them today?” Hannah tugged on Austin’s shirt. “I miss seeing them.”

So did Austin. Admittedly, what he missed most was seeing Catherine. Now that school was out, he had fewer opportunities to spend time with her. They usually talked for a few minutes after church, but today she and Grace had been engrossed in what appeared to be a serious discussion with her aunt and uncle. He hadn’t wanted to interrupt, and so he hadn’t heard her lilting voice or seen her sweet smile directed at him.

“I miss them too,” he told his daughter. “Why don’t I ask Mrs. Moore to pack us a picnic supper? You and Seth and I can go into town and invite Miss Whitfield and Mrs. Sims to join us.”

“Yay!” Unable to contain her enthusiasm, Hannah jumped up and down. “I love you, Papa.”

“And I love you.” Though Austin hated to dampen his daughter’s high spirits, he needed to add a note of caution. “Don’t forget that you can’t tell anyone that I operated on Mrs. Sims’s face.”

“Not even Mrs. Moore?” His daughter was nothing if not persistent.

“Not even Mrs. Moore.”

Austin grinned as he crested the hill leading into Cimarron Creek. Like the two children seated in the back of the wagon, he was excited, but his excitement was due to more than the novelty of a picnic. Its cause was twofold: the opportunity to spend time with Catherine and the satisfaction that he’d been able to restore Grace’s beauty. Seeing her in church this morning reminded him of how much he missed helping his patients and how, if his prayers were answered, he would be able to spend the rest of his life as a doctor.

As he’d ridden the range, as he’d branded cattle, even as he’d done things as mundane as shaving, he’d thought and prayed about his future. There had been no great revelations, but he’d realized that he didn’t have to practice medicine in Philadelphia. He didn’t even have to be a plastic surgeon. What mattered was healing others. Humans, not simply cattle. He wanted to be a doctor again, a doctor with Catherine as his wife.

The problem was, it was too soon for both. Until Travis’s reports confirmed that Enright no longer had a reason to search for him, Austin could not take the risk of letting the town know that he was a physician. And, no matter how much he loved Catherine and wanted to marry her, he would respect her wishes and wouldn’t begin to court her until her year of mourning ended. That wasn’t until September, more than two months from now. He might not be courting her, but nothing would stop him from spending time with her. And if they shared another kiss or two, well . . .

Austin’s grin widened at the prospect. He’d invite both Catherine and Grace to come to the ranch for supper at least once a week. While being a rancher might not have been his dream, he was proud of what he’d accomplished here. And if it was God’s will that he continue to be a rancher, he needed to know whether Catherine would be happy as a rancher’s wife.

Slowing the wagon as they entered the town, Austin looked around. It appeared to be a normal Sunday afternoon in Cimarron Creek. Though a few people strolled Main Street, it was mostly deserted. Folks usually spent Sunday afternoons at home or visiting friends, grateful for the day of rest.

As they reached Mesquite Street, Austin prepared to turn right toward Catherine’s home, but Hannah’s cry stopped him.

“Look, Papa,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction. “There’s Miss Whitfield and Mrs. Sims. They’re with the sheriff and Mrs. Whitfield.”

Though he was too far away to hear what was being said, the rigidity of Catherine’s posture and Grace’s bowed head told Austin something was wrong. And, judging from the fact that they were all standing in front of Mary and Charles Gray’s home, that something had to do with Catherine’s aunt and uncle.

Austin directed the wagon toward them, addressing Hannah and Seth when he stopped a few yards short of the Grays’ home. “You two need to stay in the wagon while I find out what’s going on.” If the situation was as serious as he feared, he did not want the children exposed to it. He would shelter them by censoring what he told them.

“Catherine,” Austin said as he climbed down and approached her. No matter what had happened, his heart still leapt at the sight of the woman he loved.

She broke away from the others and rushed to his side, the lines of strain that etched her face confirming the gravity of the situation. “What are you doing in town?”

“I came to invite you and Grace for a picnic supper. Hannah and Seth wanted to see you again, and so did I, but I’m guessing this isn’t a good time.”

Catherine closed her eyes for a second, as if trying to blot out painful memories. “No, it’s not.” She gestured toward her relatives’ house. “There’s been a tragedy. Mary killed her husband and then herself.” Her voice caught as she added, “Grace and I were there.”

“Oh, Catherine.” Austin had dealt with the aftermath of violent death, but he’d never actually witnessed it. He knew that people sometimes did and said unexpected things while they were recovering from shock. That could be the reason Catherine hadn’t referred to Mary Gray as Aunt Mary, but Austin doubted it. He suspected the reason was connected to the discussion she and Grace had been having with her aunt and uncle after church and that that discussion had somehow led to the killings.

It could be coincidence that the deaths occurred the same day that Grace had revealed her face, but Austin did not believe it. Though he wanted to know what had triggered something as seemingly senseless as a murder-suicide, that was of less importance than supporting the woman standing so close to him.

“How can I help?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do right now.” She turned toward the wagon. “I’d better talk to Hannah and Seth.”

That was the Catherine he knew and loved, thinking of others before herself. He extended his arm and escorted her to her wagon.

“Thank you both for inviting me and Mrs. Sims for a picnic,” she said when they were standing by it. “I wish we could accept, but I need to help Mr. Gray. His parents died this afternoon, and he’s all alone.”

As if he’d heard her words, Warner Gray emerged from the home he’d shared with his parents. Though his head was held high and his shoulders were straight, even from this distance Austin could see the pallor of his face.

“Did my pa kill them?”

Austin’s heart clenched at the worry he heard in Seth’s voice, but it was Catherine who responded. “Of course not,” she said in her best schoolmarm tone. “Why would you think that?”

“’Cuz he didn’t like Mr. Gray. He said he cheated at poker and that’s why my pa didn’t have any money.”

Knowing Boone, Austin suspected that if there was any cheating, it was on Boone’s part. Still, he had no trouble picturing the scene when Boone discovered he’d lost yet another game.

“I haven’t seen your father in town all day.” Catherine reached into the wagon and laid a reassuring hand on Seth’s arm.

“That’s good,” he said.

“It’s sad that people died.” Hannah spoke for the first time, her little face solemn. “Mamas and papas shouldn’t die.” She scooted to the edge of the wagon and threw her arms around Catherine. “I miss you, Miss Whitfield.”

“I miss you too, Hannah. Maybe we can have our picnic next week.”

Her face scrunched into a frown. “The food will spoil.”

If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Austin might have laughed at Hannah’s pragmatism. “Mrs. Moore will make more. You and Seth and I will have our picnic today.” He turned to Catherine. “I’ll come back this evening, if that’s all right with you.”

“Yes.” Relief washed over her face. “Thank you.”