Liberty Belle (30 page)

The boy kept his head down.

“Hallelujah!” Dan shouted so loud that Mark, the horses, and every living thing in the valley jumped. The big man winked. “I think you two have some discussin’ to do. I’ll go tend to my nap.” Stretching, he ambled to his bedroll.

The boy sat. He scrunched tight almost into a ball as if he were afraid.

Wade knelt beside him. “Mark, I’d like to ask you to forgive me for the things I said about your father.”

Quiet sniffles came from the small form.

“All of us, at one time or another, will do or say something we’re not proud of, and there’ll be things we can’t fix. I found out it’s important to forgive. Others as well as yourself.”

Mark dragged his sleeve over his eyes. “I’m sorry. Pa never told me. I hate him.” He stiffened, covered his face with his hands and sobbed.

Wade drew the boy to him.

At first, Mark resisted but then melted against his chest.

As he held the trembling boy, compassion flowed from Wade’s heart. Silently he prayed for the right words.

“We’re more than partners. I believe the Lord put us together. I don’t intend to let anything tear us apart.”

Mark nodded.

“Out there in that field, I forgave your pa. You need to forgive him, too.”

The boy looked up. His eye were red and face twisted in sorrow. “Dan said my pa killed your family. Why?”

Wade rubbed Mark’s shoulder. “Not sure. Not sure your pa even understood why. Sometimes life gets confused, as if you’re walking through smoke and nothing is clear. When bad things happen, they can gnaw at a man’s soul, eating away at the good and releasing the bad. Only the Lord can heal that hurt. Your pa’s last words were about you. He wanted you to be taken care of. That’s what you need to remember about him. He loved you.”

Mark stared at him. “You don’t hate me?”

Regret for his heated words the night before burrowed deep inside Wade. “No. I love you like a son.”

“Mr. Wade. Remember when you called me son? I’d be proud to be your son. I could be Mark Calder. You’d never have to hear the name Taylor again.”

“I don’t hate your pa anymore. Or his name. Remember how Fuego didn’t like to be called Fire? Mark Taylor is your name. But I’d be honored to call you son.”

A small grin lit the boy’s lips. “I was praying for you when you were out there.”

Roughing the boy’s hair, Wade chuckled. “Figures.”

Wade stood. He could get used to this new feeling. Whatever God had planned for him, he’d have to trust it would be good.

A soft breeze brushed his face. Thought of Libby danced through his mind, and he set his gaze toward Denver.

Chapter 30

Another new day
. Libby stared out the open window, breathed in the morning air, and admired the glorious view. The majestic mountains reminded her of how big and awesome God was in His power and love. She had begun praying like Flora, as if the Lord were beside her and had a plan for her life.

At least she hoped He did. Her bid for independence, while exciting, presented problems and more responsibilities than she’d realized possible. There must be a purpose to the troubles she had endured.

Libby delighted in teaching the children. Robert needed more prodding than Jane, but they were eager to learn. She had a talent for the instruction of children. Perhaps when Mr. Rowen told of her abilities, Denver would hire her as their teacher.

A sigh escaped her. She didn’t want to be a spinster school marm. She wanted to marry, but not just any man. So far, she hadn’t been able to interest the one man she loved. Harley was definitely not him, even though he wanted to be. Her boss thought only of work, leaving little chance for adventure. She didn’t even know what he did to gain his fortune.

Wade
. He’d been gone for days now. Her mind turned dreamy. He was the one. He might be running from her, but she’d run faster. And pray that God would grab hold of that man so she could catch him.

Yesterday, she managed to persuade Mr. Rowen’s cook to teach her how to bake biscuits. Her lessons cost her an hour of washing dishes. Despite the old man’s persnickety attitude, his tasty morsels had been worth the work.

Her stomach rumbled. Now to find out if she’d been as good a pupil as her charges. Relishing the challenge, Libby grabbed her robe, walked into the kitchen, and lit the stove. Remembering the hard flour rocks she’d made before, if she ever had to build a house, she knew how to make bricks. She followed Cooky’s recipe and hoped they’d be edible.

An hour later, she finished off the last tasty bite.
Success
. Cooking, living in a cabin alone, teaching children. She twisted a curl around her finger. Striking out on her own had been good. Made her grow up. Her mother should be proud.

Independence added excitement to her life. No one to tell her what to do or what she couldn’t do. Except for her boss, and he had plenty of rules. Fortunately, he stayed away most of the day.

A frown tugged on her lips. Had she only been here four days? Though she enjoyed the peaceful nights, they unleashed loneliness. She’d lain awake last night and traced Wade’s face in her mind. She’d reveled in the sparks as she thought of his broad shoulders, the dark wavy hair curled against his neck. His sky-blue eyes.
And that kiss.

The raucous cry of a jay called from the pine tree outside. Where had the morning gone? She better not be late to gather the children. Mr. Rowen’s temper flared as quickly as a spring storm, and she didn’t want to be the cause of another tempest. The man might be responsible for helping Denver become a growing city, but he was most particular with the way he wanted things done and a hard man to please.

Ready for the day, she said a quick prayer, ran out of the cabin, and gasped.
Mr. Rowen
. The man stared at her from the kitchen window. Her heart tripped. Well, she had made her own breakfast. That should count for something.

Libby stepped across the grassy yard and was almost to the door when it flew open.

Her employer blocked the entrance. “I expected you thirty minutes ago.”

She stood with her head up and matched his gaze. “I ate breakfast in my cabin.”

He didn’t move, didn’t speak.

The morning air chilled, and Libby fought the urge to run. A dove cooed from a nearby bush reminding her of rides with her father. Her courage renewed. She would not back down.

“The children are waiting.” He tapped his hat against his leg in an annoying beat.

 “Mr. Rowen, I’ve only spent one full day with them.” She squared her shoulders. “They need supplies. Slates and chalk. Books. I’d like to go into town and pick them up.”

He stopped the annoying raps and softened his glare. “That sounds reasonable. I am sorry I didn’t have the proper materials. I’ll have someone drive you tomorrow.”

“Good. I’ll manage for today. In the morning, I’ll be ready as soon as the children finish their breakfast.” She took a step toward the door.

“I won’t have a driver for you until after noon. You can teach Robert and Jane in the morning before you go.” He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter.

Libby strode past him. Her employer’s harsh attitude was beginning to make Harley a welcome sight. She wondered about the stories she’d heard about Terrence Rowen’s generosity and kindness. Apparently, he didn’t practice the much admired qualities at home.

She didn’t wait for her employer to follow and kept walking to the kitchen. She rounded the corner and burst into the small dining room.

Jane jumped out of her chair and wrapped her arms around Libby’s legs. “Miss Libby. You come back.”

Libby knelt to the little girl. “I’m your teacher. I’ll be here every morning to help you learn how to read. Do you remember the letters we learned yesterday?”

Jane’s eyes brightened. “A is for apple, B is a bee in a flower, and C is the cat.”

“Good.” Libby went to the cupboard and took out a long pan coated with layer of flour. Using her finger, she wrote a letter in the white powder. “Jane, practice writing your
A
.”

Libby patted the boy’s shoulder. “Robert, we’ll work on counting by two again.”

Mr. Rowen entered the room. His presence clouded the joy she and the children shared. He walked to the table and stood behind Robert. “Son, are you learning your sums?”

“Yes, sir.”  The child seemed to shrink in his father’s presence.

“Good. I expect you to master them. Miss Libby will ensure you do.”

Libby faced her employer. “Robert is doing very well.” She glared at the overbearing taskmaster’s back. He was certainly not encouraging his children. Or her. She clamped her jaws tight lest harsh words escape.

She whirled away from the man and stomped to the cabinet. Muttering to herself, she took out the cup of dried beans she used to help the boy learn his numbers. Smiling, Libby poured some of them out. “Pair these in twos like we did yesterday.”

Robert began sorting the beans.

With a stern gazed fixed on her employer, Libby pointed at the boy’s work. “Robert is learning quickly. Your children are very bright. You should be proud.” She dared the man to say otherwise.

He patted his son on the head and gave a forced smile. “Of course, I am. That’s why I want the best instruction for them.” He turned, walked to the entry, and stopped. “Miss Libby, at noon, I’d like to see you in my study.”

Always so stern and commanding, could he not just once give encouragement? She nodded, afraid if she spoke her voice would squeak and he’d discover she wasn’t as confident as she hoped she appeared.

Her throat closed, and her nose itched. Was he going to fire her? She’d just become comfortable in her cabin. If she was forced to return to Harley’s, she’d be humiliated. Not to mention what that scurrilous gambler would think or do.

“Miss Libby, come see my
A
’s.” Jane held up flour-covered hands.

“Stay right there so you don’t scatter powder on the floor.” Libby went to the girl’s side. Crude little letters bore a resemblance to hers. She smiled, shook the pan, and wrote the letter,
B
. “Now try this one.”

The little girl ran her finger in the flour, squealed, and gave Libby an excited hug.

Libby had just drawn the letter
F
for Jane when the clock in the foyer chimed the noon hour. She groaned and rubbed her still-itching nose. “Children, I need to meet with your father. Continue your work.”

Calling on her Longstreet courage, she left the room and trudged down the long hall toward Mr. Rowen’s study. Each step brought her closer to … what?  The impending sense of doom drained her energy. She comforted herself with the idea that if he did dismiss her, she could hire on as a biscuit cook.

At the man’s office door, Libby steeled herself and knocked.

“Come in.” His voice, all business and no warmth, stirred the fears she’d tried to quench.

She drew in a deep breath and opened the door.

Like a king awaiting his subjects, he sat in a large, leather chair behind a well-polished desk. Shelves of books lined the wall. She would have been impressed if the occasion were different. Now she understood how Andrew felt the morning he was fired.

Mr. Rowen’s eyebrows raised in an odd manner. He paused, rose, and with hand extended walked to her. Keeping his eyes on hers, he grasped her hand. “I am sorry for appearing so foreboding. Forced to manage hard men in my line of business, I forget to gentle my ways for my children and you.” With a hand lightly resting on her shoulder, he pointed at a smaller chair in front of the desk. “Please, sit.”

Libby gathered her skirt and sat ramrod straight. She prepared for her employer’s words and prayed he wasn’t going to release her.

He leaned back in his throne and steepled his fingers over his vested chest. “I apologize for the way I’ve behaved. I’ve let the pressures of work sour my attitude. Anyway, I am sorry. To apologize for my lack of gentility, I’ll give you the money for the supplies plus some extra for your pleasure. That is, if you approve?” He tapped a finger across his nose.

Shock stole her voice. She’d been ready for the worst. Yet, the man had returned to his gentlemanly ways.
Wade better return soon.
After an awkward moment of silence, she smiled. “Why thank you, Mr. Rowen. I would enjoy a day in town.”

Libby relaxed. He really did appreciate her work. She was succeeding in this new world. If Mother could see her now, she’d have to retract the lectures she railed at Libby on the need to marry into a good family to survive.

Her employer cleared his throat and pointed to his nose. “Ah, Miss Libby, I’m afraid some of your, um, writing material is on your nose.”

The flour!

She’d left her hanky in her room. As inconspicuously as she dared, she stole a glimpse of her hand and gasped at the white dust on her fingers. Tears of embarrassment threatened to escape and only with the greatest determination did she hold them in.

A glance at Mr. Rowen showed his lips pressed together, tight, as if he were holding in laughter.

Her humiliation for her floured appearance dulled when she noticed the white powder blotching Mr. Rowen’s nose. Her boss rubbed his face and streaked white over his cheeks and chin. He must have been contaminated by the flour when he touched her. She groaned as she recalled Jane’s white hands hugging her.

Libby stood abruptly. She’d be discharged for sure now. Not knowing what to do, she whirled. With her clean fingers, she hoped she removed the powder from her nose. Should she tell him of his own pastry face?

He laughed. Mocking her. How long did she have until he became furious?

Cringing, she bolted for the door. With the glass knob in her grasp, she turned and quickly gave Mr. Rowen a weak smile. If she weren’t so sure she’d soon be out on the street, she’d have laughed. Instead, she lowered her eyes to avoid mirthful temptation. “I’ll see to the children.”

Outside his office, Libby leaned against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. Mortification quickly followed as chuckles rumbled from the study. Soon, he’d not be the one laughing. She shuddered. Terrence Rowen was a man of great pride. He’d likely roar, and hoped when he saw his own face, she’d be nowhere near.