Deeply Devoted (31 page)

Peter propped his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together, closing his eyes briefly. “Because of the suffering she endured with her first husband, that’s why.” He related the story of Catharine’s husband Karl and the death of their child. When he’d finished, Clara was weeping again. Peter reached over to take his mother’s hand. “We’ll get through this . . . but I don’t know if Catharine can get past it. I’m so glad you apologized. That’s a good start.”

Clara wiped her tears. “That has to be the worst story I’ve ever heard.”

“Can you imagine how Catharine felt as a mother?”

She shook her head. “No, I honestly can’t.” Clara shuddered. “Do you think we can start over, Peter?” She compressed her lips.

Their eyes met. “Only if Catharine wants a new beginning, but I wouldn’t count on it. Right now I’m not high on her list of favorite people, and she was really angry when she left. I said things I shouldn’t have, and regrettably, I didn’t speak when I should have.”

Clara rose. “I’m going home now, Peter. I’ll take my cue from you, so let me know where I stand. But go find her. She’s staying at the Rollins Hotel on Sixteenth Street. Maybe she hasn’t left yet.”

He stood too. “I will, but I have something that I need to take care of first.” Peter walked his mother to the carriage. When she started to climb up, he stopped her long enough to give her a brief hug. “Mother, I’m sorry if Mac has hurt you, truly I am, and I want you to know . . . I forgive you. Sometime soon you can tell me all about Mac, if you want to.”

Clara flung her arms around him, hugging hard, then pulled back and kissed his unshaven face. “Thank you. I love you, Son, and I do want to make it up to Catharine, if she’ll let me.”

After he assisted her up to the carriage seat, Peter said, “I’m not sure she’ll come back. She was very upset.”

“Nevertheless, you must try.” Clara clicked the reins against the horse’s rump and trotted out of the yard.

Catharine tied her bonnet tightly under her chin to ward off the brisk wind before leaving the hotel’s lobby. During breakfast in the hotel’s restaurant, she kept one eye on the door, hopeful that Peter would come charging in to declare his undying love for her, but there was no sign of him. No knight in shining armor.

Catharine’s stomach had settled down by breakfast, allowing her to eat a few bites of toast and sip a cup of hot tea. She missed her coffee with Peter and realized she liked it almost as much as her tea. Almost, but not quite.

Greta was worried that she’d lose contact with Bryan, but Anna concerned herself only with the fate of the four puppies and Clara. She’d taken a liking to Clara for some reason that Catharine couldn’t understand.

Catharine had suggested that they go as far as Fort Collins and then maybe on to Denver. She wanted to say goodbye to Angelina, then check on the price of tickets, so she left her sisters quibbling about their destination while they finished breakfast.

Hastening down the busy streets of Cheyenne, Catharine was struck at how much she’d enjoyed living in Wyoming in her short time and had thoroughly embraced the West. She’d just have to get used to the idea of living in another city, another place, and another lifestyle. What kind of life, she had no idea. She certainly wouldn’t be a mail-order bride again! Besides, who would take in a woman with her two sisters and a baby on the way?

Her heart felt like it might burst, and her shoulders sagged in despair. Perhaps Angelina could give her some advice. Catharine’s money wouldn’t last very long, and she hoped that wherever she was, she’d be settled long before the baby arrived and winter set in.

Stepping through the doorway of Mario’s Ristorante, she saw Angelina in the back of the restaurant behind the big glass-encased counter, where delectable pastries were lined up to entice patrons. She was slicing cheese and looked up as Catharine approached.

“Hello, my friend.” She laid the knife down and walked around the counter. “You’re in town early. Are you here to shop?” She drew back when she caught the look on Catharine’s face. “Is something wrong? You look terrible. Is it morning sickness? Is one of your sisters ill?” Angelina shot out her questions like a cannon.

“Oh, Angelina. I need some good advice, because I surely can’t think straight.” Catharine removed her bonnet as Angelina led her to a small table off to the side.

“Whatever is wrong, my dear?” She wiped her hands on her apron and sat across from Catharine.

Catharine took a deep breath. “Peter and I had a fight. I never got a chance to tell you that Clara was having me investigated by Mac Foster. She believed I was a homeless waif looking for a way to come to America and only after Peter’s land and money!”

Angelina stared with obvious surprise. “Oh dear.”

“I haven’t told you the entire story—it gets worse. I . . .” She looked down at her lap. “I . . . was married before.” It was hard to say the words out loud.
What must she think of me?

“I see . . . So Clara told Peter, and—let me guess—you hadn’t told him?”

“Right. I’m ashamed that I didn’t, but I thought he wouldn’t want to marry me if he knew my past.”

“That’s not so terrible, and I’m sure he would understand if you talked to him about it.”

“I tried, but all we did was wind up arguing with each other, and then Peter yelled at me. Angelina, I left my husband because he . . . accidentally shook our baby until she stopped breathing . . . but that’s not the only reason.” Her voice trailed off, and she waited for her friend to say something.

Angelina’s olive complexion drained of color. “Lord have mercy. How terrible, just terrible. Whatever did you do?”

“We divorced later because I could no longer live with him and look into his eyes every day, but my loathing for him started long before that.” Catharine spoke in a monotone voice, devoid of emotion now.

Angelina reached over and laid her hand on top of Catharine’s. “This must have been a nightmare for you.” Compassion was evident in her face and voice.

“It was the worst day of my life. My husband started drinking right after our marriage, and there were . . . other women . . . but I forgave him. But after this, I couldn’t stay married to him, even though I know he hadn’t meant for our baby to die.”

Angelina leaned back in her chair. “Peter didn’t understand that?”

“No, because I kept it from him, and now he doesn’t trust me. Why would he?” Catharine dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief Angelina offered. “I was afraid he still had feelings for Dorothy, and lately he’d been leaving every day and not returning until supper, so I imagined all sorts of things.”

“So it was an issue of trust for both of you.” Angelina shook her head. “This is a difficult thing you did—not telling Peter.”

Catharine knew it wasn’t a statement of condemnation but of compassion. She looked Angelina squarely in the eye. “I know that now, but I was so afraid. I didn’t know what to do. Can you understand?”

“Of course I can, but since you were divorced, I guess I don’t understand what the problem is.” Angelina frowned.

Catharine chewed her bottom lip. “I was divorced for a year, but my father’s solicitor never sent me the sealed document as proof, and for months I waited. During that period of time, I started corresponding with Peter and never received my copy before I left Amsterdam. I wrote my solicitor and gave him my new address, and I’ve been looking for the document to arrive in the mail any day now. The solicitor said the paperwork got lost or something and wasn’t forwarded to me.”

“Did Peter need actual proof over your word?” Angelina pursed her lips and her brows shot up.

“Mac told Clara that they weren’t able to find any proof of a divorce, and that’s all it took for her to turn against me. I believe she thought she was protecting Peter.” Catharine rubbed her brow in frustration. “But she somehow found the document and gave it to me last night. She also apologized.”

Angelina tilted her head in surprise. “Clara apologized last night? Incredible!”

“I left Peter last night, Angelina. I figured he really didn’t trust me. I haven’t told him about this baby either, and I won’t!”

“Tsk, tsk,” Angelina said. “You’re in troubled waters, my friend.”

Catharine fell silent. Angelina was right.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s not fixable. With God all things are possible, especially when they look grim.”

“My sisters and I are going to Fort Collins, then on to Denver. We can find jobs or something. I couldn’t bear to live here and see Peter all the time.”

“Don’t do anything hasty. Peter deserves to be told about his baby, don’t you think?”

The bell over the restaurant door jangled, and Angelina excused herself to go wait on a customer, leaving Catharine with her head in her hands. When she shut her eyes, all she could see was Peter.

Balmy skies and wind made for pleasant weather, the temperatures not as hot as the week before. But all that was lost on Peter. He had one thought, one focus in mind. He’d say goodbye to Lucy, wish her a pleasant trip to England, and thank her for the work she’d found for him to do. After he picked up his pay, he’d go straight to Cheyenne and find Catharine. There was already a hole in his heart from her absence, and the funny thing was he actually missed her sisters too. He prayed that God would put the right words in his mouth when he talked to Catharine. If he found her.

As Lucy’s house came into view, he slowed the wagon and saw a large box on the front porch. She must’ve found something more for him to work on. Well, it would just have to wait.

Peter halted Star, then hopped down and strode up to the porch, glancing at the box as he passed it. He rang the doorbell, waited for a few minutes, then knocked. Where was Lucy? Hands on his hips, he turned around, considering what to do, when he spied a white envelope taped to the box. He pushed his hat back, squatted down, and lifted the envelope addressed to him, using his thumb to slide under the flap to open it.

Dear Peter,

I’m in Cheyenne to catch the train for my trip to England. I’ve written you a check for all the work you did for me on the house and barn, and I’m leaving a little bonus for you and Catharine in this box. It’s my wedding gift to you, and I pray you’ll have many happy days of using it. All I ask is a favor that you will watch over my place for me while I’m gone. I’ll return in the spring, thus avoiding the harsh Wyoming winter.

I’ve been praying for you and Catharine, and I hope that everything will work out.

All my best,
Lucy Hayes

Peter whistled when he saw the check and put it and the letter in his shirt pocket.

Taking his pocketknife out, he popped the nails holding the top edge of the crate and loosened the lid. Pushing aside a mound of tissue paper, he was shocked to find the set of Blue Willow dishes nestled in the box.
Mercy me! Lucy, you shouldn’t have done this.
What a wonderful thing for her to do.

He recalled their conversation the first day he’d been in her house. She’d remembered what he told her about Catharine liking Blue Willow but losing most of it. He thought of yesterday when he’d accidentally broken one of Catharine’s Blue Willow teacups. He knew how much it meant to her and felt terrible, but it had been an accident. Peter struggled with the weight of the crate but managed to slide it into the back of the wagon. He was touched that Lucy would do something like this. If he could make amends with Catharine, she would love Lucy’s gift, no doubt about that.

He flicked the reins and shouted “giddyap” to Star, and the wagon lumbered toward home. After a few minutes on the bumpy road, he pressured Star faster. Instead of going home first with the china, he’d go straight to Cheyenne. He had an idea . . .

Clara awoke sprawled facedown in her bed, one arm dangling off the bed where she’d dropped from exhaustion. Through the bleary, swollen slits of her eyes, she blinked, looked across the room, and moaned. For heaven’s sake, her day dress was crumpled! Her nose was stuffy from crying and she was finding it hard to breathe with her face against the bed. She struggled to sit up, and the weight of all the recent events hit her like a hot prairie wind, burning her face with humiliation and hurt. She’d cried herself to sleep with thoughts of Catharine’s shocked face, Peter’s anguish, and Mac’s admission. It was bad enough that she’d caused trouble for her son and his wife, but saying goodbye to Mac had torn her heart out.