Love in the Balance (15 page)

Molly had just plopped the heavy volume onto her desk when she heard footsteps in the hallway. Out of habit, she whirled, but it wasn’t Bailey. Carrying a hand bouquet of pansies, Mr. Fenton was stalking down the hall, looking as nervous as a bull at a calf-fry festival.

Oh, fiddle-faddle. Molly’s throat lurched to the roof of her mouth. With all her concern over her father, she’d forgotten about Fenton. Bailey had tried to warn her that Fenton was coming to propose. And here he was—a man on a mission.

Taking her skirt in both hands, she ran out to intercept him before he reached her desk. “Mr. Fenton, can I talk to you outside?” How could she be so thoughtless? She knew that he’d buckled under his parents’ demands, and she’d done nothing to correct him.

Mr. Travis’s door swung open. “Miss Lovelace, may I ask what’s caused you to abandon your work station?”

Mr. Fenton fumbled as he tried to shake Mr. Travis’s hand. “Sorry, sir. I don’t mean to disturb your office.”

“Let’s go outside, Mr. Fenton,” Molly pleaded. “I have something to say.”

“No, I’ve put this off long enough, and nothing you say is going to sway me.” He shot a nervous glance up the staircase as Carrie joined them in the hall.

Mr. Travis crossed his arms. “Well, if you’re going to bring the whole office to a halt, it better be important.” No smile threatened to break through his bristly beard. “A proposal of marriage, at the least.”

“You don’t give a man much wiggle room, do you?” Fenton swallowed hard. His eyes skimmed over Molly and went to the ground.

Carrie waggled her eyebrows at Molly and leaned forward.

“Please,” Molly begged her supervisor with hands pressed together in supplication. “Can’t I take him outside? We need to talk privately.”

“Miss Lovelace, you are as shy as a politician on Election Day. Why feign timidity now? Are you going to marry him or not?”

“M-marry me?” Mr. Fenton stammered. “I wasn’t going to ask—”

“Then get out,” Mr. Travis ordered. “No courting allowed here. She is currently occupied.”

“Thank goodness.” Molly pressed her hand to her forehead. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Fenton’s chin hardened. “Don’t flatter yourself. Why would any man prefer you over Miss McGraw? She is the dearest, most sincere”—his voice lowered—“most
forgiving
woman God created, and I’d be blessed if she would consent to be my wife.”

“Prue?” Carrie cried.

“Yes, I’m coming.” She must’ve been listening from the landing above them, for Prue flew down the steps like a dainty brown wren and jumped into Mr. Fenton’s arms.

Molly couldn’t help but covet her radiant smile. She must have practiced it for years to make it look so natural. Well, her efforts were paying off, and the smile Mr. Fenton returned was just as blissful.

“These are for me, then?” Prue extended her hand to receive the bouquet. He nodded, speechless once again.

Mr. Travis’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “Miss McGraw, eh?” He snickered at Molly before turning toward his office. “You other two get to work. This doesn’t concern you.”

Arm in arm the happy couple strolled out the double doors, leaving Molly and Carrie in shock.

Imagine! Prue, the banker’s bride? Had the world gone mad? Had Bailey misunderstood Fenton all along? Her throat tightened. What a fool she’d made of herself—in front of Carrie and Mr. Travis, too.

“What a fine how-de-do,” Carrie called from over the counter. “Who would’ve thought Prue would’ve beaten both of us? And with Mr. Fenton, of all people. I guess his uppity family has decided she’d do their receiving line just fine.”

Molly grimaced. Or they’d heard about her father’s attack and saw no future for her. She might be in worse financial straits than Prue at this moment. Prue’s father had a trade while Molly’s did not.

But she would cast aside her bruised pride. Bailey was her man. She’d decided on him, and she wouldn’t change her mind. Her parents could live simply—healthily—like the Garners. Of course, she had to admit Mary Garner’s appearance was marred by the brutal Texas sun. Without her French potions and creams Molly would be as wrinkled as a granny, too, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be happy.

Molly bit her lip as she made her way to her station. Was Mrs. Garner happy? The woman seemed as coarse as Molly’s pumice stone. What would Molly look like after a few children? She already had trouble keeping her corset strings from stretching.

But it was worth it for love, right?

Molly somehow managed to survive the rest of Carrie’s caustic remarks. The pain behind her eyes wasn’t imagined. Just half an hour until quitting time. While she wanted to rip out her hairpieces and hide underneath some warm quilts in her room, her first priority was finding Bailey. Whatever evil fairy was playing havoc in her skull would be soothed by a reassuring word from him.

“Are you feeling all right, Molly?” Prue entered with her wrap on and pansies in her hand. “You can go home now.”

Molly lifted her head. How had she missed the chimes? “Thank you. I have some peppermint oil in my room. Perhaps if I take to my bed, I’ll be improved by tomorrow.”

She stood, wincing as she landed on her feet. She should go home. Real home. Not her rented room. If Bailey offered, she’d let him take her to Prairie Lea. She wanted to be with her family and to get their blessing. She wanted to convince them that they would survive. The situation might be different, but they’d all be together.

And most of all, after the day’s debacle, Molly wanted to go far away from the courthouse. No more Mr. Fenton.

Although not frigid, the cool air stabbed at her already sensitive eyes. Luckily the cobbler’s shop lay across the square. Keeping her head down, she walked as quickly as her polonaise would allow.

The leather scent greeted her at the door, and Mr. Hernandez wasn’t far behind.

“You are here for the boots?” He wiped his hands on his apron.

She blinked. The boots? “Actually, I came to see Bailey.”

“Bailey doesn’t work here anymore. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Molly pressed her hand to her forehead to keep it from exploding. He told her that, right? She vaguely remembered something about him messing up her shoes. Goodness, where was he? She’d go to his aunt’s house. That’s what she’d do. If she could find it in the dark, she shouldn’t have any problem in broad daylight.

Molly slid her hands into her walking coat, glad for the extravagance as a cool breeze from the door blew past her. “Keep the boots. I don’t think I’m going to need them.”

“But they’re paid for. You might as well.”

Soon she found herself with her arms full of boots walking toward Bailey’s aunt’s house.

The distance seemed to multiply along with the weight of her parcel. If she didn’t find Bailey soon, she might be beyond his help. Instead of searching for a sympathetic shoulder to cry on, she should be looking for a doctor.

Then suddenly she was standing at the door.

“You want Bailey?” His aunt snapped clothing down from the line without pausing to look at Molly. “He left late this morning. Said he was going home. Probably missed those cows of his. Don’t know when he’ll be back, or if he’ll be back. He hightailed it out after talking to the reverend.”

Reverend Stoker? Oh no. Molly hugged her boots tightly. Not another confession. What must Reverend Stoker think of her? She wished she could talk to the pastor and find out where Bailey had gone, but something restrained her. Reverend Stoker, as God’s agent on earth, would extend no help to her. Just disapproval. As shallow and frivolous as she was, she could expect no understanding from a man like Reverend Stoker, or from God, for that matter.

Hadn’t her father taught her that?

Thanking the woman, Molly dragged herself toward her room, too tired to be humiliated. He’d said that he had regrets. How much of their relationship did he want to undo? If he still wanted to marry her, she needed to know.

As she crossed Blanco Street she heard her name called.

“Miss Lovelace, it’s a pleasure to see you.” The young Mexican cowboy reined his horse to tarry at her side. “We’ve missed you at the ranch.”

It was Rico, a hand on the Garner ranch back in Prairie Lea. Maybe she was clutching at straws, but she saw a possibility.

“Rico, are you going to George Garner’s tonight?”

“
Sí, señorita
, I am on my way at this moment.”

“Wonderful.” Tucking the boots under her arm, Molly fished through her reticule until she found her journal and pencil. With shaking fingers she found an empty page. “If you could take a note to Bailey . . . ?”

Rico raised his eyebrows. “It is true? Bailey has captured your heart? But it is of no matter. Bailey is not on the ranch.”

Her pencil moved furiously over the paper:

To Do List:

• “I Do” List:
  
• Find Bailey—immediately.
  
• Tell him that I want to be his wife.
  
• Live happily ever after.
  

There. She read it again. Not a typical response to a proposal, but the best she could do under the circumstances.

“He should be there by now. Please see that he receives this tonight. It is of the utmost importance.” She tore the sheet from the binding and folded it with crisp creases. “Please, Rico. As a believer in true love, make certain he knows he must respond by morning.”

Her appeal to his romantic nature hit its mark. Rico straightened in the saddle and placed one hand over his heart and the other palm up before her. “As the river delivers fresh water day after day, so I will deliver the life-giving words from your heart.”

With barely enough energy to bat her eyelashes at him, she kissed the letter tenderly to ensure the man wouldn’t forget their encounter and placed it in his hand. She’d barely told him thank-you when he spurred his horse, kicking up dust with his departure.

Would Bailey answer? He had to. He knew what was at stake. She managed to drag her aching limbs to her house, but rest would remain elusive.

“You’re going to need those boots, and soon.” Edward rose from the swing on Mrs. Truman’s porch, pulled open the door, and escorted her inside.

The house looked empty. Molly called for Mrs. Truman, in desperate need of refreshments to help her survive a caller, but there was no answer. “She can’t be gone long. Please make yourself comfortable.” She motioned to the parlor and removed her gloves and bonnet. “That is, if you have the time. I thought you’d be gone already.”

“Not yet. My car is being coupled for tomorrow’s afternoon train. That is the reason I’m here—to say that I’m not leaving without you.”

A sense of justification flooded over her. After Mr. Fenton’s harsh rejection and Bailey’s disappearance, Edward’s approval comforted her. Despite the tragic turn her life had taken, she hadn’t been wrong. This relationship had proceeded as planned, but her plans had changed.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m afraid I have to decline. As much as I’ll miss your company, I’m needed here. You’ll get along fine without me.”

His moustache twitched. “I disagree, but I’m more concerned about you. It troubles me to think of beautiful, intelligent Molly being reduced to a mindless ornament, polished and presented on special occasions.”

Dread crept over her like fast-growing ivy. “I won’t allow it.”

“There’s an even worse option,” Edward said. “You could become extremely utilitarian—cook, clean, farm, nurse. There’s no end to the demeaning chores a poor man will find for you.” He sat on the red sofa.

“If running a household were so simple, you’d think I’d be better at it.” She propped herself up against the curio cabinet. “Besides, I’m beginning to suspect that who you are working for is more significant than the manner of work.”

Pushing a cushion aside, Edward made room for her next to him. “I agree. That’s why you must come with me. Up until now I’ve only lived for myself, and I want you to make life meaningful. I want you to be my companion, to share the world with me—and I do mean the world.” He unwrapped her boots and inspected them. “We have no limits. You want to see Paris, we’ll go to Paris. You want to see Panama, Panama it is. All in the finest style imaginable. Arrangements have been made for my departure—and yours. You should have collected a suitable winter wardrobe by now.”

He spoke the truth. Piece by piece, he’d given her the coats, gowns, and wraps for their journey. He’d prepared for a wife in under a month. Bailey still hadn’t managed, and he’d had a year to do so. Molly rubbed her forehead. If Edward’s railcar were at her door, she might just climb in. Anywhere she could lay her weary head. Anything that would ensure her parents’ future.

“I haven’t told you about my father.”

As Molly told the story, Edward expressed his concern with characteristic appropriateness. “He can no longer work at the mill? But your father thrives on success. I know many like him, and financial ruin will kill him.” Edward took her hand and studied the fire a moment. “How about this? My family would be elated if, for once, I invested money instead of squandered it. What if I bought the mill? We could come to a settlement that would keep your parents comfortably idle, especially if I took a rather costly daughter off their hands.”

The throbbing behind her eyes eased. “Truly? You would do that?” She shook her head. “No, I’ve always dreamed of a big wedding. White silk gown. Pink roses—”

“A big wedding?” The sofa creaked as he leaned into it. “Unfortunately, that is out of the question. Perhaps if there were some other way to soothe Daddy’s conscience.”

If he could be spared the expense of a costly wedding, her father’s conscience wouldn’t utter a peep. Her objections were stronger. “It’s not only my parents’ feelings I must consider. I have an opinion of my own.”

How could she think of marrying a man she’d never even kissed, when yesterday with Bailey . . . Her breathing sped at the memory. She swallowed and felt a soreness already spidering across her throat.

Edward straightened, as if reading her thoughts. “Please don’t judge my appreciation for you by my restraint. I’m a private man.” He looked around the boardinghouse parlor. “As of yet, this is the closest we’ve ever come to being alone.”