Jane Goodger (21 page)

The only answer made her seem rather childish. Because he clearly didn’t love
her
enough to marry her. She knew that if he were to come back and beg her to marry him, she wouldn’t.

Then why had she felt so hurt when she’d found out he’d married Dulce?

“Because you
are
a bloody fool,” she said, disgusted with herself.

Gathering her courage, she went in search of Boone so she could properly apologize. She didn’t know what she could say to make amends, but she’d think of something. Amelia searched the house and store before giving up and deciding to wait until supper. She was planning to cook one of his favorites, a dish shown to her by Agatha, of pork and potatoes and some spicy peppers the older woman grew in her garden. Next year, perhaps, she’d have her own little kitchen garden and grow some of the peppers Boone liked. She’d do everything Boone liked if it meant he never looked at her again as he had at the fountain.

Feeling a bit guilty, Amelia made sure the store was locked and then headed to Julia’s. She’d come to think of Julia’s house, and Julia herself, as a bit of a refuge from her life in Texas. There, she could talk about Meremont without worrying she was hurting someone with her happy memories. She could cry about her cousins, who were surely growing up without her, she could describe the cool sea, the winter fogs, the snow in wintertime. Whenever she discussed such things with Boone, he became silent and thoughtful, as if she were somehow blaming him for her sadness.

Huge, puffy clouds gathered on the horizon, and Amelia wondered if she were going to experience one of the violent storms that sometimes hit Small Fork. Some rain would feel wonderful.

She stepped high in the tall grass, watching as little grasshoppers jumped in front of her, whirring as they did, making her smile even though she didn’t realize she still had any smiles left. Julia was like that, too, silently listening to her complain or reminisce, giving no judgment or even counsel, making her smile when she least expected it. In some ways, Amelia wished she could be more like Julia, with her calm strength. Amelia had a habit of saying or doing exactly what came into her mind before good sense told her not to.

She knocked on Julia’s door and announced her presence, listening for the sound of her friend’s voice bidding her to come in, but hearing nothing. On a few occasions, Julia had been out back working on her pottery, and her friend had directed her to go into the house and wait for her. Julia was a bit temperamental, like many artists, and didn’t like anyone to watch her work.

Amelia opened the door, and knew immediately that something was terribly wrong.

“Who the hell are you?” came a gruff male voice.

If Amelia was startled, she barely showed it, pausing only in the act of removing her hat before dropping her hands to her sides. She knew instantly who the man was simply by the way Julia cowered on the bed, looking not like the proud woman she was, but the beaten wife this man had made of her.

“I am Lady Amelia Wellesley, a customer of Mrs. Benson. And you are, sir?” She was all haughty English lady, her chin high, her blue eyes icy. From the corner of her eye, she saw Julia shift slightly on the bed, almost as if she were cocking her ear to hear better. All the hanging glass mobiles that had made this tiny house magical had been ripped from their anchors, and her boots crunched slightly as she stepped into the room.

The room’s single chair was upended, a long rifle lay across Julia’s tiny table, and the floor was strewn with bits of broken glass, evidence of a violence that was terrifying. It was all Amelia could do not to run to Julia’s bed and hold her friend tight, but she instinctively knew such a move would anger her husband and perhaps put both women at greater risk.

Sam Benson eyed Amelia up and down, making her skin crawl, but she maintained her haughty demeanor and looked back at him as if he were no more than an insect. She raised an eyebrow, and his rheumy brown eyes finally shifted away.

Amelia turned to Julia. “Is my vase ready?” she asked, her voice sounding amazingly normal. “You did say it would be. I suppose I could wait another day.” She tugged on her gloves impatiently, and put on the beleaguered expression of an aristocrat disappointed with the lower classes. Turning to Benson, she said, “Your wife does make the most lovely vases. I ordered one for my mother, who simply adores rustic American art.”

“That so?” Sam grumbled. “Well, she ain’t got it.”

“Oh, dear,” Amelia said. “I’ll simply have to come back tomorrow then.” She forced a tight smile at the man and Julia, and turned to the door, praying he couldn’t see that her entire body was shaking nearly uncontrollably. Just as she reached for the door handle, the man spoke.

“What the hell are you doing in Texas, anyway? You got kin here?”

Amelia took a shallow breath, the most air she could get into her lungs at the moment, and turned. “Goodness, no. My husband thought it would be rather diverting to explore the wilds of North America on our wedding trip,” she said. “When the train stopped here, he thought it looked wonderfully American and insisted we stay at your saloon.” She shuddered dramatically. “I do indulge the man.”

“You don’t know anyone in town, then?”

“Hardly. We’ve been here but two days.”

“Then how you know Julia makes those pots?”

Amelia nearly panicked, and her cheeks flushed pink, as no quick answer came to her.

“She saw one of ’em in the mercantile,” Julia said, and Amelia nearly cried with relief until she saw the look of pure violent hatred the man gave her friend. He looked at Julia the way a man would look at dog excrement on the bottom of his boot. It suddenly became even more urgent that she escape Julia’s home and find Boone.

“It’s been lovely meeting you, Mr. Benson. I’ll stop by tomorrow for the vase, shall I, Mrs. Benson?” She tried to send Julia a silent message, but the woman’s head remained bowed.

Julia gave her only a jerky nod, and this time Amelia made it to the door and calmly opened it, stepping out into the blazing hot sun of midday. Never had she been so happy to feel that sun beating down on her. Aware that Julia’s husband might be looking out the window, Amelia took her time, pausing even to pretend to examine a flower as she sauntered back toward the hotel. She wanted nothing more than to lift her skirts and run as fast as she could to the store and Boone, but she couldn’t risk such a move. It seemed to take forever to reach the shaded alley between the hotel and the bank, and as she did, the sound of gunfire cut through the air.

Amelia jerked violently at the sound and let out a small desperate sound before she lifted her skirts and ran to the store, groaning in frustration when she found it was locked. She banged on it hard, making the “closed” sign vibrate against the window, and nearly stumbled into the store when Boone suddenly opened it. She fell against him, clutching his shirt and shaking him.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Boone said, staring down at her.

“Julia’s husband,” she gasped. “He’s in her home. There was a gunshot. Oh, Boone, she looked so frightened. I shouldn’t have left her there with him but I knew I had to get you.”

Boone clutched her forearms, his gray eyes like flint. “Did he lay a hand on you?”

Amelia shook her head wildly. “No, no. I pretended I was there to buy a vase. I simply walked out. Boone, what can we do?”

Without hesitation, Boone walked behind the counter and grabbed his rifle, efficiently loading it, a grim look on his face. “You stay here,” he said. “I know you’re worried about Julia, but Benson’s an evil man and he’d just as soon shoot you as shoot a dog.”

“Why would he hurt her, why?” Amelia cried.

“Don’t know,” he said, cocking the gun expertly. “You go on over and tell George what’s happening. I’m heading to Julia’s.”

“He’ll kill you,” Amelia whispered.

“No. He won’t,” Boone said, pulling her close. “He’s a rotten shot.”

Amelia looked up at him, her eyes glittering with unshed tears, amazed that he was actually trying to make her smile in this most frightening time. She pulled him close and kissed him, mindless of the hard line of the rifle pressing against her. “Be careful,” she said, giving him one last kiss before letting him go.

They left the store, Boone heading to Julia’s, Amelia running across the street to tell George what was happening. She didn’t want to lose sight of Boone, as if doing so would leave him even more vulnerable. There was nothing but open space between Main Street and Julia’s little shack. The only tree in sight was a small scraggly one that gave Julia a bit of shade in her garden. Boone was completely unprotected.

Amelia tripped up the steps to the saloon and shoved the door open, only to find the room completely empty. A strong smell of liquor, smoke, and unwashed male assaulted her. Not even that red-haired older woman was hanging about.

“Hello. George! It’s Mrs. Kitteridge. Hello!” She moved toward a door hardly visible in the murky interior.

George stepped from the back room with a rifle in his hand. “I heard the shot. Julia?” George asked grimly.

“Yes. Julia’s husband is back and Boone’s heading there with a gun and he has absolutely no protection at all and he told me to come get you.”

Before she’d taken a breath to give George more information, another shot sounded. For the smallest of moments, the two simply stared at one another as what they’d just heard registered on them. Then George erupted and headed for the hotel’s back door, which faced Julia’s house.

“You stay here,” he said, and thrust out a hand, as if that would stop her.

Tears streaming down her face, Amelia ran to the back door and let out a scream when she saw Boone lying on the ground two dozen yards from Julia’s front door. She started running toward him, but George stopped her.

“He’s all right. Not hit. You get back, you hear, Mrs. Kitteridge? You get back in that saloon now.”

Breathing harshly, Amelia backed up until she felt the building behind her, not letting her eyes stray from Boone’s prone form for even a moment. As she watched, she could see that Boone was slowly crawling toward the tiny house. It was agony to watch him inch closer and closer, completely exposed to the madman inside the house. She prayed the gunshot she’d heard hadn’t struck Julia, that somehow her friend had managed to get away. Please, God, let her be well.

“You in there, Benson, you son of a bitch?” Boone called, his voice carrying clearly through the open space. Silence.

Boone looked back at George, who was a few yards behind, edging toward the door the same way her husband was. Behind her, a few townsfolk had gathered to see what all the commotion was about.

“Amelia, what’s going on?” Amelia recognized Paula’s voice, but simply shook her head. The woman could wait to find out what was happening. Amelia’s mouth was so dry from fear, she doubted she could have spoken anyway.

“George, I’m going in,” Boone called, and Amelia stepped forward, unable to stop herself. Even from a distance, she could see Boone’s eyes on her, warning her silently to get back to the relative shelter of the hotel alley. It was only when she was in the shadows again that Boone stood up and approached the house, crouched over and holding his rifle, ready to shoot.

In one movement, Boone crashed through the door and the people watching gave a collective gasp. It seemed forever before he came back out, his head down. “They’re both gone,” he said, his low voice filled with anger.

That was when Amelia broke away from the crowd and ran to Boone, flying by George, who stood alone, his head lowered, his hand loosely holding his rifle. Amelia threw herself into Boone’s arms, loving the solid feel of him, needing to have him hold her, needing to feel his strength.

“Why?” she cried. “Why would he hurt her? Oh, God, Boone, if I had stayed…”

“He would have killed you, too,” Boone said fiercely, pushing her away just far enough so she could see his face. “He would have killed you,” he repeated, and the knowledge of that was clear in his anguished eyes. He pulled her close again, almost painfully so, as if she truly had been in some sort of danger.

“She didn’t deserve it,” Amelia said, tears coursing down her face. “She didn’t deserve any of it. I don’t understand why. Why did he kill her? Why didn’t he just kill himself and leave her be? She was the most beautiful person I knew. I’m glad he’s dead. I’m glad.”

They held each other for a long time, two bodies like one in the middle of a Texas prairie, as clouds rolled toward them and obliterated the midday sun. Boone looked up and studied the sky for a bit.

“I think we should get you home,” he said slowly, his words heavy with meaning.

Amelia didn’t want to move, even with the sky threatening rain. She just wanted to stand there forever, held in Boone’s arms where she felt safe—the way Julia never had.

“Did you hear me, sweetheart?”

“You want to go home. I know.”

She had her head pressed against his chest, listening to his powerful heartbeat until she felt his hand gently lift her chin so she could look up at him. Strangely, he was smiling down at her. “I meant home to Meremont. I meant let’s get you really home.”

Julia’s funeral made Amelia angry all over again, but this time at the townspeople who came to show their respect. These were the same people who’d ostracized her and made Julia feel ashamed of what had happened. Amelia faced them stonily, standing by Boone. Reverend Beaumont had been brought in for the solemn ceremony, holding his Bible and letting his voice boom out so that even those who hadn’t attended could likely hear him.

It lasted, perhaps, ten minutes, and then Boone, George, and the reverend shoveled dirt over Julia’s coffin until there was nothing left to prove she had existed but a mound of dirt. Boone had promised her that he’d see to it a marker was made.

The small graveyard was within sight of Julia’s little house, and Amelia started walking toward it, away from the grave, from the townspeople. She knew Boone followed silently behind her, but she kept walking until she reached the door, hesitating only a moment before pushing it open.

She wasn’t sure what she would find when she opened it, but some unknown force was pushing her, almost as if to prove that her friend was truly gone. She knew Boone had spent much of the day at the house yesterday, preparing the bodies for burial, cleaning up the aftermath of death.

But when the opened door revealed the sparkling, magical world that Julia had created so long ago, she smiled, even as her eyes filled with tears. The patchwork quilt that had lain upon Julia’s bed had been replaced, the floor had been scrubbed clean, the tiny multicolored glass bits that made her world so beautiful clinked softly together in the morning breeze. That Boone had done this, had taken all those bits of glass and hung them again, had wiped this house clean of all the evil that had transpired there, was overwhelming.

As she watched the glass move in the slight breeze, making rainbows dance about the room, she knew, with utter certainty, that she loved her husband, this man who’d spent an entire day making Julia’s world right again. Amelia turned and fell into Boone’s arms, overcome with what he’d done. “I wish she could see it like this again. I wish she were here.”

“I know.”

“She was so frightened. All the time.”

“I wanted to protect her,” he said, his voice raw. “But I couldn’t.”

He gently pushed away from Amelia and walked farther into the room, his strong hand brushing the table as he passed it. He stood there, looking at that table, its old, marred surface where Julia had sat alone, night after night, and eaten her meals. Amelia saw a drop hit his hand, and she turned away, unable to bear the pain she was witnessing.

“I was all she had, but I…” He stopped and clenched his fist. “I was her doctor.”

Amelia took a step toward him, then stopped. “You were her friend. Her only friend for a very long time.”

Boone roughly wiped at his face, then turned to Amelia, the rawness of his pain hurting her heart. “Let’s go,” he said finally, walking by her, not touching her—and Amelia didn’t know why.

That night, they sat together at their kitchen table, an awful cold space between them, and Boone stared at the black night, feeling the weight of terrible guilt that he hadn’t protected Julia. He’d known of the threat, he’d suspected the man would return some day, but he’d still been unable to save her when she needed it the most. Benson could have just as easily killed Amelia that day, and he wouldn’t have been able to do a thing. The only thing that had saved his wife was her wit and bravery.

He squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to turn off his torturous thoughts. When he was four years old, he remembered watching his mother die, remembered trying to get her to drink some water. It was one of the few memories of his mother that he had, watching her helplessly die. She was the last person who had loved him, the only person. Even Roy, for all his kindness, had never showed him more than a kind of stoic protectiveness and duty. If he had loved Boone, he’d never said it, never showed it. Roy had put clothes on his back and food in his stomach, he’d paid for his schooling, but he’d done all of it from a distance. There had never been any birthday parties or Christmas presents. There had been no hugs or tucking in at night. Perhaps the worst thing was Boone had never expected any of that, for he knew he would never be more than a boy Roy had taken in, not his son, not someone to love.

Boone thought he’d learned not to feel, but apparently he hadn’t learned well enough. He’d loved his mother with all his heart, and he was in real danger of feeling that way for Amelia. He had to stop this love. Had to. He hated the agony that washed over him at the thought of Amelia being hurt. If it hurt so much to lose Julia, how much would it hurt to lose Amelia? It didn’t bear thinking about.

“Boone?”

He swallowed down his fear. “Hmmm?”

“We don’t have to move to Hollings.”

He turned his head to look at her, hating the way his heart hurt as he gazed upon her. “Where should we go then?”

Amelia tilted her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He turned back to look through the window at the dark night. “I’m not staying here, so it surely makes sense that one of us is somewhere they can call home.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I hate Small Fork,” he said, knowing he sounded harsh, angry. “Likely as much as you do.”

She looked positively stunned. “You do?”

“When I was in university, all I dreamed about was going away. It didn’t matter where. California, Oregon, Boston, even. But I couldn’t, not with Roy needing me at the store. I owed him my life. I moved back to Small Fork, knowing that someday I’d leave. I didn’t want him to die, but when he did, I knew I’d leave Small Fork forever. And then Julia got hurt.”

“You stayed for her?”

“I couldn’t leave her. She needed me. She needed medical attention and protection against her husband.” He let out a bitter laugh.

“Did she know?”

“I hope not. No, she didn’t. If she had, she would have been madder than a hornet.” He was silent for a moment. “Or hurt. She hated pity.”

Amelia stared at him as a sharp realization hit her. She’d always known Boone liked to save things, but she had no idea the lengths he would go to put his own needs last. No doubt, he would have stayed in Small Fork for years if not for Julia’s death. He’d even put his own life at risk in hopes of saving hers.

“Boone. Why did you marry me? Truly.” A horrible thought had come to her, one she couldn’t shake. With all her worries about her not loving Boone and her recent revelation that she did, she hadn’t thought even for a moment that Boone didn’t love her. Oh, she’d thought at first he was simply trying to save her, but since then she’d become quite convinced that he loved her. Even though his love had made her feel guilty, even unworthy of it, it had still given her comfort, to know that he loved her.

Even though he’d never told her as much.

Even though he never touched her, hardly even smiled, when they were not in bed.

Could it be possible that Boone didn’t love her? That all he felt was such vast responsibility toward her, he was willing to marry her and stay married to her?

Boone shifted uneasily in his chair, his eyes still staring through the kitchen window. “Because you needed a husband,” he said slowly. “And because I thought we would suit. And we have.”

Amelia was completely unprepared for the wave of despair that washed over her.

Oh my God, he
doesn’t
love me.

She turned her head and studied his profile, trying to gather the courage to tell him she loved him. She’d given her love so freely to Carson, gushed on and on about love, and he’d lied and told her he loved her. Boone wouldn’t lie, she knew that.

And that was why she didn’t tell him; she didn’t want to know the truth.

“I’ll go whenever you want to, Boone,” she said quietly, not even knowing if he heard her, for he didn’t respond.

But he smiled grimly into the darkness, an unwanted lightness touching his heart, and the weariness that had made his life so hard started to lift.

October 1894
England

They arrived in Liverpool on a cold and blustery early October day, with heavy clouds hanging down low and the River Mersey a dark, gloomy gray.

“It’s not always like this,” Amelia said, huddling happily into her coat as Boone shivered by the rail of the ship as they waited what seemed an interminable time for the tide to rise high enough so they could disembark upon the landing stage. “Oh, there’s Edward,” she said, frantically waving to her brother, who’d obviously already spotted them from his higher vantage point on the wharf.

Liverpool was a bustling port town, about as different from Small Fork as one could get. Large three- and four-story brick warehouses stretched back from the docks, obscuring any of the more picturesque parts of the city. It all looked wonderfully English. Even the smell of coal smoke, coating the chilly air, gave Amelia a feeling of nostalgia.

Liverpool was a rapidly growing city, and they could hear the sounds of construction all around them. It was noisy and chaotic, and Amelia watched for Boone’s reaction as he took in the long lines of houses in the distance, cramped together, electrical lines looking like malevolent spiderwebs crisscrossing the city.

“Hollings is much more in the country. Much…cleaner,” Amelia said.

“Please stop worrying about me. I haven’t been this happy in years,” Boone said, smiling down at her and making her heart swell.

It was true. Boone had never felt so excited about anything than since the day he’d stepped onto the train heading for Tulane. He felt as if his life was finally beginning.

But no matter what he said, Amelia simply would not believe him. It was maddening that she continued to believe he was moving to Hollings for her.

He loved the chaos, the noise, the people everywhere. He even loved the damp chill in the air, though he suspected it wouldn’t be long before he dreamed of the dry, hot heat of Texas. His years in New Orleans, with its water-drenched air, had at first seemed wonderful, as well.

They had left nearly everything behind, but for some vital medical equipment and clothing. He wanted to take nothing of his former life with him, and in all honesty, there wasn’t much to take. George took Three Legs and Agatha took Blink. His own room was barren of personal effects, the house simply a place to live. Now, they would have a home, a cottage in an English village, a place where their children could play without fear.

“We should have taken a ship that landed in Southampton,” Amelia grumbled. “This wait is quite maddening, especially knowing that our carriage is waiting and we cannot get to it. We could be home in an hour’s time if we could just get off this ship.”

“Before you know it, we’ll be there.”

“I wonder where we shall live,” she said, not for the first time. “I wonder what’s available in the village. The doctor’s house simply won’t do. It’s fine for an old bachelor, but you’re not an old bachelor.” She looked up at him to gauge his reaction. “Of course, we don’t need anything too fancy. Just as long as it’s ours.”

Boone frowned, hating such discussions that involved money—and reminders that he had so little. Everything on this trip had been paid for with Amelia’s dowry, which seemed a pretty poor way for a man to get cash. The whole idea of a dowry seemed downright humiliating, no matter how many times Amelia explained that titled families often still used them in wedding negotiations.

George had paid him two thousand dollars for his store and inventory, and he didn’t want to spend it all on fancy hotels and new clothes. He’d thought he would use that money to buy themselves a nice little cottage in Hollings. But now, that two thousand dollars didn’t seem nearly as much as it had when George had handed it over.

With that money in his pocket, Boone had felt rich, until he started realizing Amelia’s idea of “rich” was far, far different. Until she’d rather blithely told him the gown she was wearing when she’d walked into his store that first day cost more than five hundred dollars, a stunning amount to him, but a rather modest amount to her.

“I got a rather nice price on it because it was missing some lace. Edward was very impressed. You’ll see, I can be very frugal when I set my mind to it.”

Boone’s idea of frugal was very different from hers. He’d had a general idea that Amelia’s family was well-to-do, but he was starting to feel extremely aware that she was from a kind of wealth he’d never imagined.

“Oh, look,” Amelia said, pulling him away from his thoughts. She was jumping up and down a bit, like a child ready to open up a large present on Christmas morning. “They’re getting ready for the gangplank. How do I look?”

Her cheeks were flushed from the wind and cold, her blue eyes sparkling, and he didn’t think she’d ever looked more beautiful to him. “Like a picture,” he said, and she smiled.

“A nice one, I hope,” she said, teasing him. “Oh, I’m so nervous. Why am I so nervous? You’re the one who should be jumping out of his skin, not me. Are you nervous?”

He laughed out loud. “If you want me to be.”

She grabbed his arms and leaned into him, seeming utterly happy. “I can’t believe we’re home. I just can’t believe it.”

Boone wished he could capture this moment when Amelia was purely happy, and he realized in all the time he’d known her, he’d never seen her this way before, bubbling over with joy. This was what her brother had meant when he’d told him all those weeks ago that Amelia had a joy about her. He was finally seeing the girl she truly was, the girl Carson couldn’t resist. Boone knew he certainly couldn’t resist her. So right there, in front of her brother and anyone else who happened to look toward them, Boone pulled her in for a long kiss.

“My,” she breathed.

And then he pulled her toward the gangplank, toward the rest of their life.

Boone drew his coat a bit closer, eying the rich-looking coach that would bring them to Meremont. The coach, a burgundy red, stood out against the mist-washed backdrop of Liverpool like a red poppy in the prairie. A man in an odd uniform stepped down at their approach and knocked on the coach’s door with a sharp, efficient rap.