Love in the Balance (18 page)

Mr. Lovelace crossed his arms and looked Bailey up and down. Bailey expelled a tension-filled breath but couldn’t draw another one through his chapped lips. How he wished he hadn’t aired his dirty laundry in front of the church and Molly’s parents. What a dimwit.

“I’d like to have someone I could trust if Michael James starts poking around. I reckon it’d beat selling the whole kit and caboodle to that Pierrepont fella.”

“Pierrepont?” Bailey’s jaw set. “What’s Pierrepont got to do with it?”

“He sent an offer. Adele won’t let me know the terms until I can consider it calmly, but if it was a decent bid, I think she’d have shown it to me by now.” He grunted. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not selling to the likes of him. If he had funds to invest, then we’d have a deal, but I’m not going to let him run my life’s work into the ground on a whim.”

“Absolutely not.” It was Bailey’s turn to pace. “He’s merely passing through. Why would he want to be tied to Prairie Lea?”

The ticking of the grandfather clock grew deafening. Thomas swept all the checker pieces off the board and onto the table. “I’m done playing.” He moved the card table and got to his feet.

“Wait, Father.” Nicholas stepped into his path. “Don’t you have something to tell Bailey?”

The man blinked and rubbed his recently distressed chest. His eyes darted to Bailey, and then to the floor.

“He deserves to hear it here and not in the papers,” Nicholas said.

But that was enough. Bailey knew.

Carefully Bailey balanced his hat on the mantel over the fireplace between a candlestick and a tintype picture of the family. There sat a younger Molly with her golden curls proudly cascading down her shoulders, nearly to her elbows.

“He’s going to propose.” Fear rose in his throat before he could remind himself of her letter.

“Yes, and I didn’t get nearly what I wanted. If Adele’s afraid of my reaction when I see the offer, then it’s not promising. Evidently he’s the black sheep in a family of golden fleeces. He’ll probably sell out at the first opportunity, maybe even to my competitor Merriweather in Luling.”

Bailey whirled. “So the mill won’t profit from Molly’s marriage?”

“Not unless he can throw some business this way. He might have contacts, but none around these parts. She would’ve been better off to have stuck it out with Fenton’s son.”

Bailey stepped forward. “Mr. Lovelace, I’d like permission to marry Molly.”

He could feel Mr. Lovelace’s eyes burning through his hide. Bailey hoped he saw a man who loved his daughter. For all his failures, he hoped Mr. Lovelace at least credited him that.

Mr. Lovelace harrumphed and the floor creaked beneath him. “If you could convince her to marry you on a manager’s wages, then you’re a better salesman than I thought.”

“Does that mean I have your blessing?” Bailey snatched his hat from the mantel and moved toward the door.

“To be honest, I need a manager more than I need a son-in-law. You aren’t going to let that simpleminded daughter of mine interfere with our arrangement, are you?”

Bailey was on his toes, raring to go. “Tomorrow I’ll start working for you, engaged or not. I’m anxious to get started.”

Mr. Lovelace’s face eased. Before answering he stomped and shook out the deep creases in britches that hadn’t been straightened all day.

“In that case, I won’t tell you no, although I wish you no luck. We’ve raised that girl for finer society, but if she can’t discern between you and Mr. Pierrepont, there never was any hope for her.”

Bailey would waste no more time. He saw Lola preparing supper as he passed by on his way out the door. “Keep two plates warm,” he called to Mr. Lovelace, “and I’ll be back, but not without your daughter.”

13

L
OCKHART
, T
EXAS

“She wouldn’t leave town with him!” Bailey shoved himself away from Reverend Stoker’s simple oak table and scrambled to his feet.

The reverend grasped his arm. “Steady, son. There’s no way around it. Those are the facts.”

“But it’s not true. It can’t be. She told me to come get her. She promised to marry me.” Bailey laid his hand across the vest pocket that held her folded note.

“If I hadn’t verified it myself, I wouldn’t have gone looking for you,” Stoker said. “I spent the morning hunting down all the information I could.”

If it weren’t for Mrs. Stoker, sitting at the table with bowed head and folded hands, he’d have stomped out. Her lips were moving silently, talking to God about him, no doubt. Praying for what? That it was a mistake? That Molly would return unharmed?

As if reading his mind, her voice rose. “Please, Father, tend to your injured child. Help him find your will in this. Help him to forgive those who’ve betrayed him.”

Bailey shook off Stoker’s hand and moved to the solitary window. Her voice continued, softly interceding for him, but he wasn’t listening. She might as well pray for manna to fall from the sky as pray that he’d find acceptance.

The weak winter sun threw gray shadows over the yard, delineating every blemish in the bark of the oak tree. The dead grass waved listlessly under the pale scrutiny with no growth, no life. Just waiting until boots treaded across it and wore it down. Waiting until it was free of the roots that held it to the ground and it could blow away. Disappear.

Bailey leaned against the glass. He had nowhere but here. As much as he wished he could sink into oblivion, his roots were so intertwined that he couldn’t be uprooted without damaging others. And he wouldn’t do that.

But Molly’s roots were shallow. She’d never had the space, the room that she needed to thrive. Why hadn’t he recognized it earlier? For all her brave words and heartfelt promises, she’d left him as she’d threatened all along. How had he dreamed she could do otherwise?

He pounded the plaster wall with his fist.

“Prue McGraw saw her riding on the road to Luling with her trunks and Mr. Pierrepont,” Stoker said, “but they didn’t go to the courthouse. There wasn’t a marriage license filed. We shouldn’t assume.”

Bailey shook his head. “She’s married. That’s been her goal all along.”

Where was she? What was she doing right now? Bile rose in his throat. Thoughts like these would drive him mad. He pounded the wall again.

“Why don’t you stay here,” Mrs. Stoker suggested. “We can put you up for a spell.”

“I can’t.” He pressed his fist against his head, wishing he could push out the memory of his conversation with Mr. Lovelace. “I’ve got a job at the mill. I gave my word I’d be back tonight.” He faltered as he remembered the last promise he’d made in that parlor. Molly had made it safely home, no thanks to him. He’d do better this time.

The sun was setting on the worst day of his life, and he still had to face Mr. Lovelace and admit that he was correct. His daughter had rejected him. She’d eloped and played him false.

Please, God, working for the Lovelaces is the last thing I want to do. Show me a way out. Don’t make me stay with them. How can I forget Molly while spending every day with her family?

The familiar ride between Lockhart and Prairie Lea allowed him ample opportunity to relive every kiss, every caress they’d shared. He’d thought their intimacy would unite them. He didn’t realize it would leave him broken like the bond they’d had, a bond she now shared with another man.

And it could’ve been much worse.

Throughout his sickness Bailey had sought to justify his attempt to seduce Molly. He loved her. They were meant to be together. They’d marry soon enough.

Turns out she did marry. Without him.

Too soon he reached the Lovelaces’ house. Too soon he found himself before the giant oak door with the door knocker in hand.

Had Molly shared the story of Bailey’s behavior with her husband? Was Pierrepont furious, or were they ridiculing him?

Silently he eased the brass ring down. Images of the innocent girl in the tintype floated before his eyes. The long golden hair wasn’t so beautiful now. More like a net spread to trap the unwary.

Why had she sent the note? Was it a cruel jest? Had she written it for Pierrepont’s amusement?

Bailey lifted his hand to the door knocker for the second time, and for the second time set it gently against its base without making a sound.

He didn’t know if he had the courage to stay and do the work he’d promised. Someday she’d return in a fancy dress clutching her husband by the arm, and he didn’t want to be here, of all places, when it happened.

But his lot was that of a poor man without options. He wasn’t Nicholas, who could turn a piece of tin into a silver dollar. He didn’t have a father like Thomas Lovelace, who ate dinner with the banker and played checkers with the mayor, and honestly that suited him fine. He didn’t want to hobnob, but their worlds overlapped in one place—Molly.

Wanting to forget the whole episode, Bailey dropped the brass ring. Molly’s desertion made him the victim, not the perpetrator. No reason for that night to ever be discussed again. However ill he’d misused her, she’d paid him back. They were even.

O
UTSIDE
OF
D
ENVER
, C
OLORADO
J
ANUARY
1880

The snow-covered mountains shimmered under the full moon and grew larger with every passing mile. Although she’d begun her recovery more than a week ago, Molly couldn’t break through the odd layer of detachment that separated her from her surroundings. By the time she and Edward had left San Antonio she was on the mend, although weak, but once she was in no physical danger, they’d pushed on, flying through Texas, Indian Territory, and Kansas. They headed north until they’d reached Salina, Kansas, and then they blazed toward the setting sun, straight at the mountains of Denver.

The scenery flew past the newlyweds watching silently from the square platform of the Pierrepont railcar. Molly held her mouth open and exhaled a warm, damp puff of air. A white cloud appeared but was whisked away by the cold wind rushing around her.

She could imagine Saint Nicholas’s sled gliding over the foothills, but Christmas had come and gone while she recovered in bed. Getting out a week ago was the best gift she could’ve received.

Molly shivered, although Edward was unfazed. He loved the frigid temperatures and claimed to find them invigorating. She’d never been so cold in her life, but her husband did his best to warm her up.

Another shiver and Molly turned her thoughts back to the mountains.

“I can’t believe they’re real,” she said. “You could hide whole cities in a crag.”

“It may appear so, but disappearing isn’t as simple as you might think. Even on those mountain trails it’s likely you’ll cross paths with an acquaintance. Alaska Territory is different. You might be recognized, but who’s to care? No report will make it to civilization.”

“What an odd thing to say.” Molly laughed. “When did this obsession with anonymity develop? You weren’t concerned in Lockhart.”

The train lurched over a rough patch of track. Molly pulled her hand out of her stole quickly enough to steady herself on the rail, but before she could return it, she had to submit to Edward’s ministrations.

“You really should carry your own handkerchiefs.” With bent head, he thoroughly scrubbed each of her fingers that had come into contact with the iron rail.

“I only stepped outside the car. It’s probably healthier out here than in my room after my illness.”

“You, my dear, are spotless. By contrast, the general populace contaminates everything it touches.” He turned her hand this way and that, and finding nothing objectionable, he smiled. Holding the handkerchief at arm’s length, Edward let the wind tug a moment before he released it.

Over the rail Molly leaned and watched the sad white spot abandoned on the dead prairie grow smaller and smaller. Good gravy, she hoped he wasn’t as demanding on the servants. She thought of Lola, capable by all means, but unless she followed Molly’s every move, there had always been a path of destruction delineating Molly’s progress through the house. Discarded jewelry, dropped brushes, half-eaten sweets, misplaced belongings—she rarely went back to retrieve them. Maybe they could afford two maids.

“Edward, where will we live?”

“We’re living now, aren’t we?”

She looked quickly to gauge his temperament, but he looked as eager for her approval as ever.

“You know what I mean. Where will we settle?”

“Together. That’s all that matters.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Your riddles tire me. Be serious or I’ll touch the rail again.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” he laughed. He caught her wrists and playfully pinned them behind her back, pulling her close to him. “I don’t know when or where we’ll settle. There’s so much of the world for you to see. I insist on Alaska first, and then it’ll be your turn to choose.”