Authors: DiAnn Mills
Tags: #Kahlerville, #Texas, #Jenny Martin, #Jessica Martin, #Aubrey Turner, #Dr. Grant Andrews, #best-selling author, #DiAnn Mills, #Texas Legacy series, #faith in God
Lanterns and Lace
Dedication
To my sister Debbie for all of her love, encouragement, and sweet reminders of our daddy’s sense of humor.
Chapter 1
Jenny Martin would face a gang of outlaws in the hope of finding her sister’s child. Over the past several days, she’d slept upright until her back throbbed, eaten beans as hard and dry as stone, and endured the humiliation of men eyeing her because she traveled the Union Pacific without an escort.
Now, as the end of her travels grew to a close, she couldn’t help but sense an air of excitement despite the long, uncomfortable journey. She attempted to stand and walk about the car, but dizziness forced her back down onto the scratchy seat. Sleep tugged at her stinging eyes, and she closed them for an instant, but a painfully loud snore from an elderly man across the aisle kept her from giving in to the rest her body craved. Other womanly discomforts plagued her aching body, and she did her best to will them away. At least for the present.
I will never take my life as a proper lady for granted again.
The doors between the railroad cars slammed shut, and she startled. Nothing in Cleveland had prepared her for the primitive living conditions of the Wild West. A less than pleasant odor met her nostrils and threw her stomach into a whirl—no doubt from the elderly man who snored. Between that and a portly man’s foul cigar, the last few hours had been unbearable.
Jenny glanced out the window and watched the countryside slip by. This trip was supposed to have been an exciting adventure, one she’d describe to her students once school resumed in September. She’d ridden the Northern Pacific Railroad to Texas and boarded the Union Pacific en route to Kahlerville with the enthusiasm of a giddy girl. Viewing the terrain across this vast land had given her a sense of freedom, but her sentiments faded as the hours moved to one grueling day after another. Still, at the end of Jenny’s journey to Kahlerville, Texas, lived a little girl who needed her family.
She smiled despite her discomfort. The destination of her dreams was but a few miles away. Jenny resisted the urge to open the window and allow some portion of the sultry air to circulate. She wanted to disembark without a fine coating of soot darkening her face and traveling attire. Earlier, she’d changed into a clean traveling dress and a cape of slate gray lined in gray taffeta that could also serve as a mackintosh, but for her purposes it would shield her from smoke and dust. She sighed. Oh, how she’d welcome a fresh, cooling rain. The clear azure sky held no such promise. Instead, she’d think about her niece and how the child must be as beautiful as Jessica.
Within moments, it became increasingly clear that if she didn’t permit some breeze to blow in from the outside, she would surely faint. Jenny lifted the latch on the window. Soon fine black dirt settled on her hat, face, neck, cape, and dress. How foolish to change into clean clothes. Perhaps her little niece wouldn’t mind that her auntie was soiled.
She fanned herself as vigorously as propriety allowed and stared out the window. Tall pine trees grew close to the track and swayed slightly, offering a brief respite from the heat. They reminded her of the gaslights on the street corners of home. The trees passed, and an array of black-eyed Susans covered an entire field. How utterly captivating. Never had she expected such beauty in this desolate country.
The porter walked by, and Jenny lifted her gaze to offer a faint smile. “Sir, do you know what time we will arrive in Kahlerville?”
The elderly man, whose molted mustache bent below his chin, tipped his hat. “Late this afternoon, miss.”
“Thank you.” Sometimes she feared her constitution would not allow another minute on board the train. “Sir, can you tell me anything about the town?”
“It’s quite pleasant, rather homey. Let me think . . . I have an aunt and uncle living there, so I’m more familiar with Kahlerville than some of the other stops. I remember a newspaper, telegraph office, a bank, sheriff’s office, law office, barber, livery and feed store, a general store, a church, and an undertaker.” He pointed with his right index finger as though he’d memorized the businesses located up and down the street. “I think there are a few other establishments, too. A boardinghouse for one. I remember the food is especially good there. Are you visiting family?”
Jenny pondered how to answer the question. Her mother would have told the porter to mind his own affairs, except her mother’s ways often sounded impolite. “My deceased sister used to live in Kahlerville.” She promptly focused her attention on the cracked and split seat beside her.
“I’m sorry, miss. And I nearly forgot the why I’m here.”
She turned her attention back to the kindly man.
“There’s a gentleman sitting in first class who would like for you to join him.”
Jenny sighed and fought the unsettling in her stomach. Sitting in first class had its advantages. Abruptly, her breakfast nearly made it to her throat. “I couldn’t possibly. I feel rather ill, and I don’t have a chaperon.”
“I understand, and I’ll give him your reply. I believe he’s taking the train to Kahlerville too. I would not have approached you with the gentleman’s request, except he specifically asked for you by name and described your appearance. I thought perhaps you were acquainted.”
A mixture of curiosity and alarm raced through her. “My goodness. I don’t know anyone on board. What is the gentleman’s name?”
“Mr. Aubrey Turner.”
Jenny tilted her head. “Is he from Ohio?”
“He didn’t say. Would you like for me to ask him?”
“Oh, no.” She smiled and allowed the train’s rhythmic hum to soothe her for a moment. “Please give him my regrets.”
“Of course. Mr. Turner did ask that I relate to you that he’d been a close friend of your sister, Jessica.”
She startled. How did this Mr. Turner know she and Jessica were sisters? The thought frightened her. Could he have been a part of Jessica’s unmentionable profession? Perhaps Jenny should have accepted Oscar’s proposal before she left Cleveland. At least she would have had a ring on her left hand to eliminate inappropriate advances. This Mr. Turner—what if he thought she shared her sister’s livelihood?
She took a deep breath. I do look like my sister. Humiliation swept over her as though every passenger knew Jessica’s disgraceful behavior had caused their parents to disown her. Jenny glanced down at her clothes, now wrinkled and soiled, but certainly not the attire her sister would have chosen. Even when Jessica had sought to please their parents, she chose brighter colors and a much snugger fit.
Why did he want to talk to me? Jenny’s mental distress now matched her physical uneasiness. Poor Jessica needed to stay buried. Jenny had no desire to learn about the circumstances surrounding her sister’s wayward life or her men friends. She settled back and closed her eyes in hopes the troublesome thoughts would dissipate.
The arrival into Kahlerville held no fanfare, and Jenny’s expectations were only to find the boardinghouse. She’d grown very accustomed to Cleveland and all the finery a city offered, but she didn’t expect anything more than the quaint country town that greeted her. For the present, a warm bath and a real bed with fresh linens would ease all the annoyances of travel. Weary beyond description, she stepped down from the rail car and onto the first step.
A mass of fiery air nearly suffocated her. She gasped for breath, and tears stung her eyes. A mixture of dirt, soot, and intense heat spun her into a coughing spasm. Bile rose in her throat. She tasted the familiar acridity of the past several days.
Please, no, I’m not going to be sick. I’d rather choke first.
Jenny dropped her small traveling bag and it hit the ground with a thud. Her right hand reached for the side rail, but her fingers refused to wrap around the metal. A wave of blackness enveloped her head and numbed her senses. She realized the brittle limbs that supported her body were about to give way, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. A pair of strong arms reached from behind. Darkness washed over her, and she felt herself falling forward.
Jenny woke to the muffled voice of a man calling her name. “Miss Martin,” he said. “Miss Martin, can you hear me?”
“Must be the heat.” She heard another man’s voice and recognized it as the porter’s. “It’s a scorcher.”
“Let’s get her inside the train station,” the first man said. “Doesn’t this town have a doctor?”
She felt herself being swept up and carried as though she were but a mere child. I’m all right. I don’t need a doctor. The words refused to come. She raised her head and gave into the blackness.
When Jenny forced open her eyes, she blinked and swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. Slowly the fog in her head lifted, and she found herself looking up into a pair of deep violet eyes.
“Are you feeling better, Miss Martin?” he said, and she recognized the voice as the man who had been with the porter. “A doctor should be here shortly.”
The doctor of this town was the last person she needed. She should be presentable . . . a proper lady in appearance and demeanor. “I’m . . . fine.” She became distinctly aware of reclining in the arms of this strange man. She stirred and tried to move, but a dull throb beat across her temple.
“You fell and hit your head.” His deep voice reminded her of Shakespeare and the reading of Hamlet. “I tried to catch you, but I wasn’t fast enough. Please accept my apologies.”
“Thank you. I mean, I’m sorry.” Jenny noted the man’s incredible good looks—handsome with wavy, straw-colored hair and a deeply tanned face. And it wasn’t her imagination. His eyes were the same color as the spring lilacs that bloomed outside her mother’s kitchen window.
“There’s no need to apologize,” he said. “Just rest until the doctor arrives.”
“I don’t need a doctor. Really. If only I could get to the boardinghouse where I might rest.”
“Nonsense. You have slept very little since leaving St. Louis and eaten even less. The journey from Ohio has been very difficult for you.”
His accurate accounting of the past several days of train travel disturbed her. How did this stranger know these things? She swallowed and fought the urge to be very ill. The train pulled away from the station, its deafening sound making her head throb worse than before.
“How do you know about me?” she said after several moments of ordering her body to cease its churning.
“Excuse my poor manners, Miss Martin, and allow me to introduce myself. My name is Aubrey Turner. Do you recall the porter extending my invitation to join me?”
Jenny nodded and closed her eyes, feeling even more miserable.
“I feared you shunned my invitation due to my association with your sister,” he said. “But now I wonder if I should have contacted you sooner.”
Before she had a chance to consider Aubrey Turner’s words, Jenny heard the sound of boots stepping across the wooden plank of the train station.
“You must be the doctor,” Mr. Turner said. “I do say it has taken you long enough.”
“Yes, I’m Dr. Grant Andrews.” He paused. “I was tending to a patient when I received the message.”
Jenny turned her head. Her stomach convulsed. Her head pounded, and her throat burned. Beads of perspiration trickled down her face and slipped beneath the fabric of her dress. Disgusting vomit covered her. She neither had the strength to wipe her mouth nor the ability to stop the sickness. Whatever have I done to deserve this humiliation? Not only did she feel wretched, but she also knew she looked awful and smelled even worse. She fought the tears. How could she ever face anyone in Kahlerville after the spectacle she had just made of herself?
I’ve fainted, fallen, hurt my head, and vomited. And I haven’t been in town an hour. For the first time in her life, Jenny wished she could die.
Jenny refused to succumb to another fainting spell. Dazzling sunlight shone overhead and blinded her, and huge drops of perspiration trickled down her face. Conscious of still lying in Aubrey Turner’s embrace, she felt as though floating in his arms. Everyone at the train station viewed her humiliation.
“I’m carrying you to the back of the doctor’s wagon,” Mr. Turner whispered. “I hope his office is more accommodating than this primitive wagon. At least there are a few quilts back here.”
Jenny didn’t care what the wagon looked like. She simply wanted to be far away from onlookers. “Thank you, Mr. Turner, for helping me. This is . . . quite regrettable.”
“Once you’re out of this heat, you’ll feel better,” he said. “I do hope your condition improves very soon, Miss Martin.”
Jenny couldn’t construct a single intelligent word. She closed her eyes and reclined on the hard wagon bed.
“I apologize for the discomfort,” Dr. Andrews said. “It’s but a short distance to my home. There I can determine what has made you so ill.”
She didn’t respond to his kind voice either. She’d rather be making her way to the undertaker.
Dr. Andrews drove the wagon slowly. Must the whole town view her miserable condition? Once at his residence, he carried her inside to his office and onto an examination table. She glanced about at his equipment, very similar to what she was accustomed to seeing in Cleveland. The room smelled of a peculiar odor, not offensive, but faintly of medicine. That aspect gave her some measure of comfort. On the opposite side of the room set a large desk and bookcase with two extra chairs. Neat. Tidy.
I shall not perish from filth here.
Her initial dealings with Dr. Andrews destroyed any preconceived ideas that she may have had regarding the man. She’d envisioned an elderly doctor with gray hair and stooped shoulders—not the young, good-looking man with the huge almond-shaped green eyes and hair the color of rich honey.
Dr. Andrews gently examined her while she fought the urge to be ill one more time. “You appear to be exhausted,” he said.
“I haven’t slept well or eaten properly in days.”
“That confirms my diagnosis. I don’t believe you are seriously ill, simply in need of rest and a change in diet. A few days in bed and some good home cooking should have you feeling much better. The lump on your head is minor, but it may cause a few headaches. In the meantime, I’d like for you to stay in one of my spare bedrooms so I can watch for signs of anything more complicated—just to be sure.”
“But . . . I.”
Dr. Andrews took her hand and smiled. “I don’t think you want to risk fainting again in the confines of a room at the boardinghouse. If propriety is a concern, my housekeeper lives here with me and my daughter.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness. I am normally quite healthy, not at all like this. I don’t want to impose on your kindness.” Jenny dabbed her eyes. Was she babbling?
“My job is to make my patients well.” He opened the door of his office and called for Miss Mimi. A round, silver-haired woman stepped inside carrying a glass of water. She looked like a grandmother, not a housekeeper, certainly not the uniformed type to whom Jenny was accustomed. Dr. Andrews introduced the two. “Miss Mimi will help you bathe. She often assists me as a nurse, and she’ll make you feel comfortable.”
Jenny cringed from the rank smell meeting her nostrils and the way her traveling dress stuck to her undergarments and body. She bit back the tears, determined not to make any more of a spectacle of herself than she already had. Utter mortification lingered in the air as heavy as the odor of vomit. “I can take care of myself,” she managed.
“I’ll stay with you just in case you feel faint.” Mimi smiled as though she understood Jenny’s plight. “I have smelling salts in my pocket if we need them.”
“This isn’t really necessary.”
But the woman remained inside the room after Dr. Andrews excused himself.
Turning from the sympathetic face of Miss Mimi, Jenny fumbled with the buttons around her neck. Trembling fingers couldn’t seem to push them through the small loops. The longer she worked with them, the bigger the lump in her throat grew. A sob slid upward, and she couldn’t wish it away.
“Let me help you, honey.” Mimi moved closer and held out the glass of water. “Let’s begin with this.”
Jenny wrapped her fingers around it and shivered. “Thank you. My mouth tastes so wretched.”
It had been years since anyone had helped Jenny undress or bathe, and her independent nature fought the idea of a stranger performing such a task.
“I’m so miserable.” Jenny attempted to stop the flow of tears, but they flooded her eyes and rolled over her cheeks. “All those people at the train station saw me ill.”
Miss Mimi draped her arm around Jenny’s shoulders. “Let me help you. I know this must be difficult, but you are very weak. We can do this together . . . discreetly.”
Jenny nodded. She had no choice. Miss Mimi offered her all the privacy she needed while tending to her needs. Once clean and dressed in a fresh nightgown that Miss Mimi had pulled from Jenny’s trunk, she felt remarkably refreshed. Dr. Andrews helped her ascend the stairs to a bedroom.
“I’d like for you to get some sleep, and I’ll check on you periodically throughout the evening hours.”
“Yes, of course,” she mumbled through closed eyes. All she wanted to do was rid her mind of this horrible ordeal.
*****
Jenny stirred in her sleep. A nightmare clung to her hazy dream world, one in which she begged the gods of torment to leave her alone. Humiliation unlike she’d ever experienced, repeated sights and sounds no fitting lady should endure.
She blinked several times to clear her mind from sleep and usher in consciousness. Her nebulous gaze focused on unfamiliar surroundings. Bouquets of blue and yellow flowers dotted the walls, and an open window invited a welcome breeze from swaying tree branches. A marble and oak washstand, a stately armoire, rocker, and trunk were the only pieces of furniture except for the intricately carved headboard. She stroked the thin white coverlet trimmed in white tatted lace that lightly covered her, and she repeatedly ran her fingers over a pale blue and green embroidered basket of flowers on the pillowcase.
Somewhere she heard a piano and strained to hear the tune. It was a hymn, one her old piano teacher used to play. Jenny hadn’t focused on religious songs for years. She concentrated on classical pieces as emphasized by her music professor at the university. But this particular song had been a recital piece, her very first performance—”Amazing Grace.”
Jenny sighed and recalled all those dreadful nights on board the train. Now she lay tucked in a feather bed inhaling the faint scent of roses from the linens, decidedly more pleasant than the smells from the night before.
She held her breath. The events of the previous day had been real.
Where am I? In the same breath, all the remembrances poured over her like a chilling rain on a cold winter day. Jenny painfully relived every embarrassing moment from the instant she stumbled down from the train until her stomach convulsed in the presence of Mr. Turner and Dr. Andrews.
“Oh.” She moaned in memory of the torrid heat and how she’d fainted and hit her head. A dull ache still persisted. She gingerly touched a lump high on the right side of her forehead.
Embarrassment burned her cheeks. The thought of facing Dr. Andrews and Miss Mimi seemed to be more than she could bear. Jenny buried her head in the pillow. How could she look at anyone in this town after yesterday? Dreaded tears threatened to flow, but she swallowed them. Mother and Father would be sorely disappointed in her behavior. Displays of emotion were not the proper manner for handling problems.
After several minutes, her thoughts slipped back to Dr. Andrews. Why didn’t his wife appear? And where was Jessica’s child? He’d spoken of his daughter. Questions darted in and out of her mind. Of one thing she felt certain: the temporary living arrangements would allow her to become better acquainted with the doctor and his family. The whole nasty business with her illness could be a stroke of luck, and hopefully, she’d soon be on her way back home with her niece.
Her glance fell upon her trunk and bags. Dare she get dressed? Taking a deep breath, she threw back the thin coverlet and slowly moved her legs to the side of the bed. The room began to spin. When it refused to cease, she lay back down and closed her eyes. I’ll try again in a little while. Sleep enveloped her senses.
*****
Grant picked up his empty cup for the third time and attempted to drink from it.
“Why don’t you let me get you some more coffee?” Mimi peered at him across the table.
“I don’t want any.” He stared into the cup, seeing nothing for the worrisome thoughts swirling around in his head.
“Oh, Grant. I do hate to see you so disturbed.” Compassion laced her words.
A deep sense of melancholy threatened to overtake him. He set the cup on its saucer and gently pushed it back along with a half-eaten plate of scrambled eggs and buttery grits. “I’m worried about our new patient. Not her condition, but her reason for being here.”
“I feel the same way. When I stepped inside your office, I thought I was looking at a ghost—the same big brown eyes and dark hair. Then she introduced herself as Jenny Martin.” Mimi paused. “Is this Jessica’s sister or a cousin? The resemblance is remarkable.” She tilted her head as though an ear turned his way would cause her to hear better. “Do you know something that you’re not telling me?”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know any more than you do. But I’ve got to find out what this is all about.”
“I saw you spent a long time in the study this morning.”
“I needed to pray.”
She picked up his cup and disappeared into the kitchen only to return with it filled with hot coffee. Her midnight blue eyes captured his gaze. “If we were drinkin’ folks, I’d add something a little stronger.”
Grant chuckled. “If I was a drinkin’ man, I’d accept it.” Taking a sip and burning his tongue, he set the cup down. He couldn’t disguise his apprehension. “I remember two and a half years ago when Morgan helped me with Rebecca’s adoption. I expected someone to appear and claim her or some citizen to object because I was single. Not that I wanted to give her up, but I anticipated it might happen. No one, not one single inquiry about Jessica’s baby girl responded to the Dallas and Houston newspapers.” He shook his head. “Like you, the instant I saw our patient upstairs, I knew she was a member of Rebecca’s family.”
“I wish you’d left her at the train station. Excuse me, I don’t really mean that.”
He raised a brow.
“Well, maybe I mean it a little.”
He laughed, but his heart refused to be soothed with humor. Memories jumbled his mind. “I keep thinking about those uncertain times during Rebecca’s adoption—the moments when I didn’t know how to pray or what to pray for. I felt selfish in wanting to keep Rebecca and fearful of coveting a baby who might belong to someone else.” Grant studied the dear lady beside him. Wrinkle upon wrinkle lay across her face. Love lines. Beautiful touches of God that reminded him of the power of His grace.
“But Rebecca is yours.”
“Legally, but morally? I simply don’t have any answers, and my mind won’t give me a rest.” Grant reached across the table and took Mimi’s hand in his. “I apologize for my bad temperament this morning. And thank you for helping me with Miss Martin.”
“I understand how you feel.” She swiped at a tear. “She’s a threat to all of us.”
“So what do you suggest?” Grant said. Mimi usually saw things from a different perspective: older, wiser, and with a female point of view.
“Right now I’m a little scared, confused. Maybe angry. I don’t have any suggestions but to have patience. This could be an innocent visit. Perhaps Miss Martin wants to make sure Rebecca is well cared for or plans to visit her sister’s grave. Mercy, she may not know her sister passed on. God has a purpose for all of this, but I wish He’d tell one of us what it is.”
He nodded and picked up his fork, tapping it lightly on the table. Several moments passed before he spoke. “Did Miss Martin give any indication why she’s here?”
“No. The poor thing suffered so that my heart went out to her. She cried the entire time I helped her bathe.”
“I checked on her several times during the night. Most of the time, I wanted to look into the room and find her gone.” He smiled. Confession was supposed to be good for the soul. “I also looked in on Rebecca each time I stepped from Miss Martin’s room.”
“I spent a lot of time last night watching our little girl sleep, too. It’s a wonder we didn’t pass each other in the hallway.” Mimi laughed softly.
“I think I saw you leaving the nursery at one point. I should have called out. We could have kept each other company.”
Mimi crossed her arms. “My questions are the same as yours.”
Grant stared into Mimi’s face. “I’m not so sure I want to know why she’s here.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Rebecca is my daughter,” he said. “I never thought I could love anyone like I do her.”
“It’s a father’s love.” She leaned toward him. “I think we may be overreacting. God gave you Rebecca. You and I have confirmed His hand in her adoption. He will work this out. Like you said, Miss Martin may not know about Jessica’s death or of Rebecca.”
“True. I’m thinking the worst without the least concern for Miss Martin’s health or even grief.”
“Well, you’ll have to ask her and get your questions answered.”
“I intend to, just as soon as she’s feeling better. But—”
“Grant, listen to an old woman who loves you and Rebecca very much. Worrying won’t accomplish a thing but add gray to your hair and prove your lack of faith in God.”
“My head is listening, but my heart is thumping like a scared rabbit.”
“Mine, too, dear boy. Mine, too.”