Rekindled (30 page)

He smiled. “We’re early, but they’re having a schoolhouse raising right over there later this morning.” He pointed to a plot of land west of the church building, where stakes already marked the four corners and boards lay neatly stacked. “The women will be making lunch and quilting.” He shrugged. “I thought you might like that. But I figured you might go see Annabelle first.” His voice softened. “Then maybe spend some time with your husband.”

Kathryn threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.

Larson stood in the alley looking up at the two-story clapboard building. The flesh on his back prickled. His mind filled with the dazed look on his mother’s face as the man closed the door, then the acrid scent of the cheroot. He shook his head to break the memory’s hold.

This was not the same place, and he was not that little boy any longer.

He closed his eyes, trying to gather his nerve.

Larson climbed the back stairs and knocked on the door. He waited a full minute and then knocked again. It was noon. Someone should be awake by now. Stepping back, he looked up at the row of windows on the second floor. He waited a few minutes, then as he turned to leave, he saw the curtain on the door move.

The door opened a crack. “You need to come back tonight.” The young girl’s dark eyes quickly took in his face and his cap. She didn’t flinch. “We are not entertaining now.”

She moved to shut the door, but Larson put a hand out. He guessed her to be about thirteen or fourteen. He’d like to think she was kitchen help, but he knew better. The combination of her youthful beauty and her smooth brown skin and almond eyes would be considered exotic, and some men paid extra if they were young. The thought still sickened him.

“I’m not here to be entertained, miss. I’m here to find out about one of the girls who used to work here.”

Suspicion flashed in her wide-set eyes.

Larson pulled a few dollars from his pocket. “I just want to know if someone worked here before, that’s all,” he tried again, holding out the money. She reached for it, but he pulled it back slightly. “Answer first—then I pay.”

The girl shook her head and started to close the door.

He wedged his boot in the threshold. “Half now, the rest after.”

She nodded and took the offered bills. “What do you call this girl?”

“Her name is Kathryn, but she might have gone by another name.” Faint recognition registered in the girl’s eyes, and Larson waited for her to answer, but she only stared. Practiced nonchalance— he knew the look well. “Listen, I know she lived here because I saw her coming back here one night. I want to know if she worked here.”

“I do not know this lady,” she said abruptly, pushing the money back through the crack. She slammed the door, and the lock clicked into place.

Larson knocked again, already knowing the opportunity was lost. After picking up the loose bills, he made a trip to the mercantile for supplies before heading out of town. Still turning over in his mind what the girl had told him, he passed by the church and reined in.

Wagons clustered in front of and behind the building. Beyond the cemetery, farther below in the clearing, a group of men worked together to set the skeleton of a wall into place. One group shouldered the wall higher while another group hoisted it by ropes. Blankets were spread on patches of prairie grass while children ran over and around them. A hive of women hovered around a makeshift table covered with so much food he couldn’t see the table top.

As their high-pitched chatter rose to him, one woman in particular caught his eye.

Sunlight shone off of Kathryn’s long blond hair as she walked toward the gathering. He retraced her steps and guessed she’d come from the cemetery. Did he dare think she’d been visiting his grave? The possibility touched him. Her form was getting fuller by the day it seemed, and she was more beautiful to him now than in all the years he’d known her. His mind suddenly flashed back to the last time he’d made love to her, and the experience was so clear in his memory that he ached with the wanting of it. With wanting
her
.

Then he remembered their wedding night, the first time he’d ever known Kathryn in an intimate sense. She’d come to him pure and untainted, shy and unsure. And as he’d held her tenderly, loving her with experience, he had looked into her eyes and wished he’d shared her innocence. He would have liked to have given her that same gift, but his upbringing had left little chance of that.

Kathryn hung back from the crowd of women gathered around the table, and Larson could almost feel her tension, her desire to be part of them. A dark-haired woman finally noticed her and walked up to take her hand. Larson felt a smile tug his mouth.

“I do not know this lady,”
the girl at the brothel had told him moments ago.
“This lady.”

The women in his mother’s brothel had always referred to each other as girls. The term
lady
was reserved for . . . well, just that. A lady. Could it be that—

“We sure could use another pair of hands down there,” a man said beside him.

Jerked back from his thoughts, Larson turned in the saddle.

A youthful-looking man resembling Abraham Lincoln sat astride a piebald mare. Larson quickly placed him and tried to remember his daughter’s name. The little girl with violet eyes— Lilly.

“I’m Patrick Carlson.”

Larson shook the preacher’s outstretched hand. “My name’s Jacob,” he said, hoping Carlson wouldn’t ask for a last name.

“Well, Jacob, as I see it, you and I could head on down there, pound a few nails, maybe help raise a wall or two and then get fed like kings, all in a few hours time. Whadd’ya say?”

Carlson smiled, and the first word that came to Larson’s mind was
genuine
. But still he hesitated. He glanced back to the gathering, running a hand along his freshly trimmed, if patchy, beard. He’d love to see Kathryn today, if only from afar. But was he up to being around all those other people?

“One thing I like about this church is the people.” Carlson continued as though he’d never paused. “They’re fine folks. Friendly, generous, a bit sinful at times, but God hasn’t run out of forgiveness yet, so I guess we’re okay.”

Larson detected the gleam in the man’s eyes and smiled. “Maybe there’s a job that needs doing on the side somewhere, a ways from the crowd?”

“Sawing boards sounds good to me, and that’s a two-man job. You up for it?” At Larson’s nod, he pointed to a pile of boards off to the right of where the men were working.

“Thank you,” Larson said quietly.

“Don’t thank me yet. Save that for when you taste Lilly’s blackberry pie. She’s been asking about you. Our Lilly never forgets a fa—” Carlson stopped suddenly and his chest fell. “Jacob, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that . . .”

Eying the younger man beside him, Larson slowly removed his glasses, hoping Carlson would see his sincerity. “Any chance your wife has some of her coffee made? That tasted mighty good that morning.”

Carlson held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. He leaned over and gripped Larson by the shoulder. “Hannah’s coffee is like God’s grace. It’s always good and it never runs out. I’ll grab us some and meet you over there in a minute.”

Kathryn spooned a piece of blackberry pie onto the boy’s plate and laughed at the grin splitting his face.

“My big sister made that,” he said with a lisp before running back to the blanket.

Kathryn couldn’t help but watch him. His thick brown hair and hazel eyes set her to wondering again—was she carrying Larson’s son or daughter in her womb? Whichever, she prayed the child would bear his handsome features.

Annabelle hadn’t been at the brothel that morning. In fact the back door was locked and no one answered. Next, Kathryn had stopped by the undertaker’s to check on the headstone she’d ordered to permanently mark Larson’s grave, but he informed her it wasn’t ready yet. Just as well. She didn’t have the funds to pay for it in full anyway. After that she had bought fresh flowers and visited Larson’s grave.

At the touch on her shoulder, Kathryn turned. She’d only met Hannah Carlson that morning, but already she felt a kinship with the woman.

“Patrick says he’s going to take his meal with a newcomer and asked me to join him. I know I asked you to share our blanket, but I’m wondering if you’d be willing to do that instead.”

Kathryn eyed her new friend suspiciously. “You’ve already managed to introduce me to every single man here today, Hannah Carlson. Are you sure this isn’t a trick?” About the same age, Hannah was the exact opposite of Kathryn in coloring. But from all indications, their teasing temperaments were identical.

“No, that’s not what this is, I promise.” Hannah playfully pinched her elbow. “But one Sunday after lunch you’re coming to my house for that exact purpose.” Her grin lessened to a regretful smile. “I wish I’d been at your husband’s funeral, Kathryn. I normally accompany Patrick as he ministers, but Lilly was sick that day.” Her dark eyes glistened. “I wish we’d met each other sooner.”

“Well, we know each other now,” Kathryn said, remembering the day she’d visited all the boardinghouses in town, “and I’m thanking God for that already. I’ll get my food and join you in a minute.” She gave Hannah a reassuring look and then began filling her plate. Wondering where Gabe was, she searched for him as she cut through the maze of blankets. She’d last seen him helping with the schoolhouse by securing the heavy crossbeams as men drove the spikes in. Though already familiar with his strength, his sense of balance was no less impressive.

Kathryn spotted Jacob from a ways off, and she knew the instant he saw her. His mouth curved in a quick smile before he pulled his collar up about his neck. She doubted if he was even aware that he did it. She smiled back at him.

He stood as she approached, acknowledging her in his soft, rasping voice. “Kathryn.”

His voice wasn’t hoarse-sounding exactly, but close. Sometimes when he spoke, Kathryn wondered if the simple action hurt him. “It’s nice to see you again, Jacob.”

She chose a seat beside Hannah on a log, directly opposite Jacob and Pastor Carlson. Seeing the looks of mild surprise on the pastor and Hannah’s faces, Kathryn chuckled. “Jacob and I both work at Casaroja.”

“So you two know one another, then?” Pastor Carlson glanced between them, as Hannah was doing.

Kathryn waited for Jacob to answer, and when he didn’t, she chimed in. “Not really, Pastor. Not very well anyway. I’m working as a housekeeper at Casaroja now and Jacob manages the stables.”

Jacob’s face came up at that, and Kathryn wished she could see beyond his smoke-colored spectacles to his eyes. Despite his quiet nature, she got the impression that Jacob missed nothing, and she would like to have known his thoughts at that moment.

Patrick insisted that Kathryn dispense with calling him Pastor, and the conversation moved comfortably between the four of them as they ate their lunch.

“Patrick, it is, then,” she agreed, taking a bite of potatoes.

“So, Jacob . . . we already know a bit about Kathryn and her life”—Patrick speared a pickle—“but we don’t know much about you. Why don’t you tell us about yourself. Have you been in town long?”

Jacob looked in her direction, but Kathryn couldn’t tell whether he was focusing on her or not. “Not too long, really. But I’ve lived in the Colorado Territory for the past few years.”

“Well, I figured that from our earlier conversation. You seem to know these mountains well enough. Where did the couple live that you were telling me about before? The ones who helped you after your accident.”

Kathryn pretended to concentrate on her pie, but her attention was riveted on what Jacob would say next.

He didn’t answer immediately. “They live up north from here a ways. West of Denver in the mountains.” He cleared his throat and took a drink from his cup. “I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for them. They doctored me after the fire and . . . gave me a reason to live when I’d lost my own.”

The sadness tingeing Jacob’s voice, the subtle depth of emotion, drew Kathryn’s gaze. Though his eyes were hidden, somehow she knew he was looking at her.

“And they led you to Jesus as well?”