Lanterns and Lace (14 page)

Fury bubbled through Grant’s veins, hotter than a Texas day in August. “She what? Have you talked to Ben?”

Jenny shook her head. “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you about it first. And Ellen intended to tell Frank.” She hesitated.

“What else?”

“Oh, I’m thinking that bothering you with this is improper.”

“Nonsense. Did Mrs. DeMott give you any idea who told her this?”

“No, but Ellen and I think it might be Aubrey Turner.”

“Any particular reason why?”

Jenny rubbed her gloved palms together. “Mrs. DeMott said the person who told her was someone who knew me better than anyone else in Kahlerville.”

“Aubrey Turner, the scoundrel,” Grant murmured. “I shouldn’t be judging him. However, I do think the man’s capable of spreading gossip. After all a man lays cold in a grave because of him. I don’t know why he’d be set on causing trouble. Could he be so infatuated with you that he’s desperate?”

“I hardly think so.” She shuddered. “I’ve never encouraged him.”

Grant studied the petite young woman beside him. Like the grass beneath their feet swaying in the wind, she trembled. “You’re frightened.”

“A little. And I’m fearful for Ellen.”

“Frank will protect her. Ben’s been looking for a reason to run Turner out of town. I think the time has come for you to live someplace other than the boardinghouse.”

“I’m perfectly fine there.” She raised her chin.

“How can you protect yourself from Turner?”

She lifted her wrist that held her drawstring bag that she never went anywhere without. “I have a revolver in my reticule.”

He stopped dead still in his shoes. “You what?”

She glanced about as though someone might hear. “I have a revolver in my reticule.”

“Is it loaded?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

“Ellen showed me how to load and fire it. I’ve been practicing.”

“Mercy, Jenny.” If the situation hadn’t been so serious, he’d have burst out laughing. What was it about him and Morgan that caused them to fall for gun totin’ women? “You can’t carry a weapon on you like a piece of armor.”

“Why not? I believe he can be dangerous.”

“This is nearly the twentieth century. Ben’s a good sheriff. Looking out for folks is his job. What if you accidentally shoot yourself?”

“I hadn’t thought of an accident.”

Obviously. “Please give me the gun, and let’s go talk to Ben. He may even have found information to run Turner out of town or arrest him.”

“What about your patients?”

He narrowed his brows. “Would you wait for me?”

She smiled and nodded. “I think I’d like to sit on the blanket with Rebecca. I love watching her sleep.”

Grant should have felt secure, except he wasn’t certain she had abandoned her plan of taking his daughter from him.

“You don’t trust me?” Irritation laced every word.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“Would you? I mean—” He stepped back and inhaled deeply. “If she were your daughter, would you leave her alone with someone who wanted to take her from you?”

Her eyes widened, reminding him of smoke signals. “Thank you very much, Dr. Andrews. I’ll keep my gun, and I’ll take care of Aubrey Turner and Mrs. DeMott without your assistance.” She stomped away.

“Jenny, wait. Let’s talk about this. Be reasonable.”

She whirled around and nearly fell. “I am being reasonable.”

What a stubborn woman. “I will be at the boardinghouse when I finish with patients.”

“I’m not seeing callers.”

“Fine. Then I’ll go see Ben.”

“I’m on my way there now.”

“You aren’t getting rid of me easily,” he said.

“You . . . you impossible, horrible man. I thought that is what you wanted.”

He paused for a moment to catch his breath. “It isn’t. Not at all.”

“You make absolutely no sense. How ever did you manage your way through medical school?” Jenny flung her words like stones, then turned and stomped toward the house, flinging her arms like Rebecca’s rag doll.

Jenny was right. He made about as much sense when it came to her as he would if he stayed awake all night to see if he snored.

Jenny toyed with the envelope in her hand. Her gaze took in the familiar handwriting and the postmark. Memories of the massive brick home, its rich, dark decor, and the sullen maids and creative gardener crept across her mind. Heaviness weighed on her as though she’d been forced to carry a load of bricks.

She shivered. Apprehension mounted the longer she held the missive in her hands. The letter came from home.

Outside her open window on this late Tuesday morning, sounds from the busy street continued uninterrupted: the clop-clop of horses, the shout of one man greeting another, a dog barking, and a child’s infectious laughter. But nothing pulled her attention from the letter in her hand. She hoped the contents indicated her parents were satisfied, even pleased with her, but deep inside, she knew otherwise. In an attempt to perceive what was right and wrong, Jenny had conveyed to them what she’d done and begged for them to understand her desire to learn more about Jessica’s death and the particulars of her sister’s illegitimate daughter.

Jenny had taken great pride in her description of Rebecca and the doctor who had adopted her. She told them about his close-knit family and how kind they’d been since her arrival.

Distressing recollections of her father’s domination flooded over her. She recalled his lectures that went on for hours. Once when she was twelve, he demanded she sit perfectly straight on the piano bench for four hours while he lectured on the value of practicing. Another time when she and Jessica were in their teens, they were forced to stand for eight hours until they could recite a large portion of Hamlet word for word. He ruled his household harshly with moments of rage and great excitability. Father valued education and discipline above all other things in life, and he measured success by money and power. To him nothing else mattered—not personal relationships, friends, or family.

Mother never disputed his word. Jessica alone defied his strict directives. Jessica and Father’s arguments resembled more a fierce thunderstorm than a father-daughter difference of opinion. Listening to them verbally battle often made Jenny physically ill. She’d done anything to seek her parents’ approval and agreed with them no matter how badly it hurt her sister. Were those times so long ago?

With a sigh, her thoughts returned to the present. The envelope smelled faintly of vanilla, her mother’s favorite stationery used only for special occasions. At least my reply warranted her best stationery.

Familiar trepidation whirled around in the pit of her stomach. For a moment she feared a repeat of what the train ride from Cleveland had done to her. Did she really want to read the contents of the letter? Her hands shook so badly that she nearly dropped it. Taking a deep breath, Jenny used a hairpin to release the seal.

Dear Jennifer,

Your father and I are greatly distraught by your missive. We both assumed your unescorted trip to Boston would be of importance in strengthening your independence and thus ensuring the stability necessary for your role as Mrs. Oscar Watkins. We also believed you intended to visit friends and your arrangements to leave school without completing the year were warranted. Now we learn by your own admittance that you deliberately deceived us and embarked upon a foolish journey to locate your sister’s child.

Your father and I have discussed your impudent behavior and have concluded your character more closely resembles that of your late sister. This audacious nature of both of our daughters is most disheartening. It appears that you, like Jessica, take great pleasure in rebelling against us. Neither Jessica nor you have any appreciation or respect for the sacrifices your dear father and I have made on your behalf.

We have no desire to hear, see, or receive any information concerning this alleged granddaughter. Jessica’s memory vanished when she left our home with the rogue who led her astray. I dare say the two were well suited for each other. And I venture to say the good doctor who adopted her baby is probably the father and did so for conscience’ sake. We do not recognize such a disgrace. Even if Jessica had lived, we would not under any circumstances be in contact with her or the child.

In addition, we find it deplorable of Jessica to have chosen her grandmother’s name for her illegitimate offspring. Grandmother Martin may have been eccentric in her actions and fanatic in her religious convictions, but she did not deserve the shame of a namesake through a misbegotten child.

Jennifer, as your mother, I beg of you to come home and reconcile with your father. Already he speaks of disowning you. He has spoken of your behavior to Oscar, who remains your devoted friend and insists you must be ill to have endeavored upon such a furtive journey. Oscar is anxiously awaiting your response to his proposal. He has yet to receive any correspondence from you.

I personally feel Jessica’s influence upon your character tainted your excellent upbringing. We hoped you would escape her impulsive behavior, but evidently our desires did not enter your thoughts. My heart is greatly grieved with this present state of happenings. Of a certainty, our position in the community is under great scrutiny as some of our friends are beginning to ask questions about your whereabouts. Please, I implore you, leave those common people and come back home where you belong. It is still not too late to save yourself from the same fate as your sister.

Mother

Jenny wasn’t aware of holding her breath until she finished reading the letter. Exhaling deeply, she meticulously refolded the vanilla-scented stationery, placed it inside the envelope, and laid it on the bed. She rose to her feet and stepped in front of the dresser mirror, eyeing herself critically.

I look like the same person who left Cleveland.

Turning her hands over to view her palms, she realized she’d played the piano but a few times since her arrival in Kahlerville. Nevertheless, the ability existed. Nothing about her physical appearance had changed.

But she felt different.

Jenny couldn’t recall when the transition had happened, but she realized that just beyond her reach was more happiness than she could ever hope to find. Decidedly so, the whole process had begun the moment she had stepped down from the train in Kahlerville. The kindness and acceptance of new friends shattered her original thoughts and plans. The child she desired for selfish reasons had reached out and touched her with love and joy. No longer did she yearn to rob Grant of Rebecca—even though she was furious with him about his reluctance to leave her alone with the little girl. She could no more follow through with such a loathsome scheme than deny her love for Jessica . . . or the secret fondness she carried in her heart for Grant.

Without the influence of her parents, Jenny sensed a newfound freedom that exhilarated her very being. Something was lacking in her life, like a piece missing from an intricate puzzle. Many nights she wakened to find herself no longer afraid of the future, feeling an unmistakable anticipation taking precedence over the old loneliness.

The answer lay in the precious people of Kahlerville. Perhaps Jessica had felt the love of God in them. When she walked in their midst, had she sensed their goodness and peace wrap around her like a down comforter on a cold night? Had she felt this warmth in Grant when the agony of her unborn child’s future weighed upon her heart?

Jessica, I wish I knew what you were thinking those last few days before giving birth. I can’t bring you back, but I desperately need to understand why you came here and why you stayed. Were you mad, as our father often claimed? Or were you merely misunderstood?

Jenny determined to read the journal in hopes of learning more about Jessica. The mystery behind Aubrey’s relationship with her sister and why Jessica came to Kahlerville tormented her. She recalled a portion of last Sunday evening’s sermon. Reverend Rainer had stated that mercy meant reaching out to meet someone else’s need. Grant and his family had followed those instructions for Jessica—and now for her. But life would be more pleasant if she and Grant ceased to quarrel.

She realized God wanted her to step into His embrace, but the thought of a commitment left her confused and fearful of her parents. She glanced at the letter on the dresser. Mother and Father were angry and threatening to disown her. What was left to fear from them? Yet she couldn’t turn her life over to God. What if He demanded more than she could relinquish? Her music and teaching were an important part of her life, and He might ask her to forsake them. Would she suddenly possess love, mercy, and forgiveness for others, or would it be a long process?

The teachings were impossible.

Not wanting to deliberate the matter any further, she focused on her pangs of hunger. Hopefully Aubrey had eaten earlier, but if not, she’d take the food to her room. Snatching up the key and her reticule with the loaded revolver, she locked the door and descended the stairs to where the enticing smells of chicken and biscuits beckoned her. Seeing Aubrey might unleash the anger simmering for what she believed he’d said to Mrs. DeMott. Jenny smiled. She’d welcome the opportunity to give him a taste of her temper.

An array of people bustled about the dining room. Some were boarders, and others were townspeople who relished the cook’s mouth-watering dishes. She inwardly smiled. Cleo Ann was not the cook—her few attempts had been disastrous. But the woman always wore a smile. Jenny never noticed things like that in Ohio.

“Won’t you sit with us, dear?” said an elderly lady, Mrs. Benson.

Jenny saw only one available chair at the table and quickly accepted. Now she could enjoy her noon meal in pleasant company without the threat of Aubrey. The three ladies present were widows who met once a week for a quilting afternoon. Midway through their meal, one of the women turned to her.

“Miss Martin, you certainly have put a smile on our doctor’s face since you came to town.” Mrs. Benson’s clouded eyes twinkled.

“Oh, I don’t think it has anything to do with me, and do call me Jenny.” She sensed the warm glow of a blush creep up her neck. Mrs. Benson would think differently if she’d heard their latest quarrel the day before.

“Fiddlesticks,” said Mrs. Cropper, a pencil-thin woman. “He needs a wife—makes a man complete.”

Jenny took a deep breath. “You see, Rebecca’s mother was my sister. The child is why I came to Kahlerville.”

Not one eyebrow lifted closer to their gray heads.

Mrs. Cropper smiled. “Ah, now I see why you and the little one look so much alike. Yes, must be a match made in heaven.”

“Now, ladies,” Mrs. Benson said, striking an authoritative pose. “Tsk. Tsk. We’re making Miss Martin feel uncomfortable, and I was the one who asked her to join us. We need to hush and let her eat in peace.”

Jenny offered her sweetest smile to Mrs. Benson. While their topics of conversation moved to other things, she sorted out her ever-growing fondness for Grant, realizing she felt more than mere admiration or friendship, but not knowing exactly when that change had happened.

Yesterday he’d been furious about Martha DeMott’s accusation, but then he’d made Jenny furious with his caution about Rebecca. Up until that time, he’d been quite concerned about her safety and well-being. She contemplated their harsh words for a moment. She really couldn’t blame him. Perhaps she should apologize. He’d tried to see her, but she’d refused.

Would Grant take such an interest in her unless he had deeper feelings? But she hadn’t done anything to deserve his favor. Noticeably, she’d done quite the contrary.

Jenny sipped her tea. She felt the whole world could see her discomfort around Grant. When those encounters occurred, she vowed to gain control of her heart. But the resolve lasted only until the next time she saw him.

After politely excusing herself from the ladies, she mounted the stairs to her room. Fortunately, Aubrey had been nowhere in sight.

Jenny read the afternoon away, a wonderful novel by Jane Austen entitled Emma, and later took a walk through town. Always the letter fixed foremost in her mind. This afternoon it took precedence over Grant and Rebecca. Back in her room, she reflected on what tomorrow might bring with Jessica’s journal. Her gaze rested on the outline of the letter on the dresser.

She lit the kerosene lamp and reread the contents in hopes she had misinterpreted her mother’s words. This time she mulled over every one, twisting and turning each thought. When she finished, Jenny carefully creased the folds until it looked as though it hadn’t been removed from the envelope.

Oscar deserved an explanation, and she intended to write tonight and tell him she could not accept his proposal. He had always treated her with the utmost kindness, and this was not his fault. She clearly took the blame. But for right now, the proper words to communicate to her parents escaped her. She lived in a state of confusion and unrest amid the most wonderful people in the world. How would Mother and Father interpret that? They had given her the best of everything: education, fine clothes, social status, and an honored name in the community. She loved and respected them for all the things they’d done for her, but she disagreed with their views about Jessica, the people of Kahlerville, and even God. Her mother and father lived in a melancholy state. She doubted if they were conscious of it. Grant was right—she didn’t want to subject Rebecca to that life. Why hadn’t she told him those very words yesterday?

With the scent of her mother’s favorite stationery in her nostrils, Jenny pulled the chamber pot from under the bed and tossed the letter inside. Gasping, she immediately regretted the impulsive act. She hadn’t discarded her parents—only their words.