Redemption, page 17
part #3 of Ladies of Larkspur Series
Epilogue
June 1883
Minnie needed to get there quickly. It was imperative. People would be angry if she failed.
She rushed around the corner of the building, stopping in her tracks when she saw the sheriff standing there, hands on his hips, a scowl on his face.
"Honest, I didn't do it." She hoped he would believe her.
"How many times have I told you not to clean my desk?"
Minnie blinked. "Your desk?"
"Don't play with me, woman. Somebody cleaned my desk. All the wanted posters are in a tidy pile. The pencils have been sharpened. There's no mud from my boots anywhere on there. How can a man be expected to work in such a hostile environment?"
"Hostile?"
"Yes, hostile! Now I'm going to feel bad if I put my feet up on the desk and mud drops off the boots and onto the desk. I'm going to have to start wiping my feet," he said with disgust.
Handing over the tray she'd been balancing in her arms, Minnie sashayed into the sheriff's office. "It's not my fault you're comfortable living this way. I'll have you know, once we're married, I'm going to be keeping a clean house. And you're going to have to get used to it."
"The house is one thing, but this is my office, Minnie. You don't go cleaning a man's office without his permission."
"I do if I love him."
The look on his face told her she'd won. He couldn't argue with that one, and she knew it.
Art grumbled. "Fine. You can clean the office, but could you at least try to look ugly when you come in here?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"You know what I mean. I don't need the prisoners gawking at you and plotting their escape so they can slit my throat and steal my bride. Try to be a little less… enticing. Yeah, that's it. Less enticing. Maybe smear some mud on your face before you come in."
Minnie was delivering Art's dinner to him. The sole prisoner in the lock-up was an eighty-year-old drifter who'd had a bit too much to drink at the saloon and needed a safe place to spend the night. Alcohol apparently made him a shrewd card player, and some of the townsfolk weren't too pleased with him at present. "I'll do what I can not to draw any attention from your sleeping prisoner."
Art grimaced and sat down at his desk, setting the tray in front of him. "So what did you bring for dinner?"
"Pot roast with potatoes and carrots, some fresh bread, and a big slice of apple pie."
He eyed the food appreciatively. "Sounds delicious."
Minnie hopped up onto the corner of his desk and settled in for a visit.
"You know I have another chair, yes?"
"What's the fun in that? I prefer sitting here."
"That's why you cleaned my desk, isn't it? So you could sit on it."
"Maybe. Maybe not." She decided to change the subject. "When's the new deputy supposed to arrive?"
Art beamed. "End of the week." He'd had a hard time finding a new deputy. "How do you think he'll do, what with being citified and all?"
"We've been over this. You're making a good decision. He wants a slower pace of life, and we're indebted to him. Larkspur will be good to your new deputy."
Most of the meal was gone. Art took a bite of the pie before asking, "So, are you looking forward to the wedding?"
"Absolutely!"
"Remind me again why you're making me wait so long to call you my wife?"
"I can't think of anything better than an Independence Day wedding. That way, I'll always be able to say that when you kissed me on our wedding day, I saw fireworks."
Art shook his head. "I don't think men care about those kinds of things too much."
She flicked the brim of his hat, edging it back on his head. "Besides, you need to have your deputy in place and trained before you take some time off to spend with your new wife. This is going to be for the best. You'll see."
A big sigh escaped Art. "You might be correct, but I'm not enjoying the waiting." As he polished off the last of his meal, Art sat back in his chair and studied his bride-to-be. "I sure am a lucky man."
Minnie hopped off the desk and picked up the tray. "Not lucky. Blessed." She gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning toward the door.
"Truer words have never been uttered," he said. Then, as she was stepping out onto the boardwalk, he grumbled, "If Mitch doesn't get here in time, I'm closing down the sheriff's office come July fourth. I'll put up a sign that says Sheriff on honeymoon. No crime allowed."
****
He couldn’t see her anymore, but the sound of Minnie's laughter floated back to him, and he smiled. With each day that passed, humor came a little easier to his fiancé. Art knew he was indeed well and truly blessed to have her in his life.
Then he glanced at his desk.
Maybe her meddling at the office isn't so bad after all. The messier I make it, the more time she'll have to spend here cleaning it.
With that, he sat down and rested his feet up on the desk's surface. He grinned as little clumps of dried mud fell from his boots and onto the wanted posters.
About the Author
Heather Gray is the author of the Ladies of Larkspur inspirational western romance series, including Mail Order Man, Just Dessert, and Redemption. Other titles include Ten Million Reasons, His Saving Grace, and Nowhere for Christmas – everything from Regency England to modern-day America. Aside from a long-standing love affair with coffee, Heather’s greatest joys are her relationships with her Savior and family. She decided years ago that laughing is better than yelling. This theme is prevalent in her writing where, through the highs and lows of life, her characters find a way to love God, embrace each day, and laugh out loud right along with her.
Also from Astraea Press
Chapter One
Kate's Decision
Charlottesville, Virginia
Wednesday, April 5, 1843
Every Wednesday Kate stood on the same front porch, her hand poised inches from the door, willing herself to do the unthinkable — walk away without knocking. However, during the hesitation, her courage inevitably fled.
Wednesdays were a long-standing tradition, and one she couldn't disrupt.
She rapped her knuckles on the wood. Familiar footsteps clicked toward the other side of the entry, and she forced a smile as the door opened to reveal an overdressed, overfed, overbearing woman.
"Katherine Davis, how dare you appear at my doorstep bareheaded like some commoner? Get your bonnet on this instant!"
Kate's smile faded. "Yes, Aunt Victoria."
She slid the velvet cage over her head, knowing she'd only remove it after stepping across the threshold. Under the guise of propriety, her aunt had tortured her for years. Recently she'd expanded her teachings to include the fine art of manipulating men and viewed snaring a husband as the ultimate goal.
Kate followed the bitter spinster's perfume cloud into the parlor. Cream and gold wallpaper, the best her father's money could buy, adorned each wall. Marble-topped tables stood between overstuffed chairs and a matching sofa. After taking a seat on the sole wooden chair in the room, she smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt in preparation for the weekly inspection.
"A lady's appearance is of the utmost importance." Aunt Victoria paused to wriggle her fingertips into her taut sleeve, tug out a handkerchief, and dab a line of sweat from her upper lip. "Might this be the week you finally manage to pull yourself together?"
Secure in her dressing room choices, Kate held steady under the probing gaze. Her auburn curls were captured in a perfumed knot at the nape of her neck. She wore a dress of the finest green velvet, custom dyed to match her eyes and brushed by servants to a soft sheen. A silk ribbon accentuated her trim waist, not that she needed any help. Her petite frame misled many. She was a grown woman with the responsibilities to show for it.
"Though the color is garish, the style of your dress is appropriate." Aunt Victoria clucked her tongue. "Too bad the same can't be said for your hair."
With an indifferent shrug, Kate poured herself a cup of tea. She'd long since given up on winning the woman's approval. After a glance at the wall clock, she added a pastry and a melon wedge to her plate. It was early morning, but she'd been up for hours without breakfast.
"Don't take too many sweets. They'll ruin your figure." Aunt Victoria hefted a wedge of Brie and three pastries on her own plate and then leaned back against the upholstered sofa. "I assume your servants have improved their work ethic since my lecture last week?"
After discovering muddy footprints on the front porch during an unannounced visit, her aunt had lined up the household staff and disparaged each and every one. Three had left the room in tears. One had quit on the spot.
Kate merely nodded.
"Good. They have to learn to serve their betters with more respect. Now, did you enjoy the Ladies’ Society meeting yesterday?"
Kate grimaced at the thought of wasting an afternoon listening to a herd of fussy, jewel-laden women congratulate themselves on bettering the community.
"I didn't attend."
At this, her aunt's tone hardened. "Securing you an invitation required delicate negotiations among the most influential women of this town. Your position in society is not guaranteed, so I trust you have a good reason for embarrassing me. Again."
Undaunted, Kate met the narrowed eyes with ease. "I needed to review a contract and finalize the monthly profits and losses."
A wrinkled hand flew into the air and the familiar rant began, as always, with an exaggerated sigh.
"Your father should hire a bookkeeper instead of forcing the task upon his only daughter."
"Father doesn't force me," Kate said, dropping her plate on the table hard enough to garner a wince from her aunt. "I rather enjoy it."
Actually, tracking accounts was the highlight of her day. Numbers were logical and consistent — little else in her life was as uncomplicated.
"The intricacies of business are useless knowledge to a woman," her aunt declared with a disdainful sniff. "At twenty-two years old, your focus is better spent on more ladylike pursuits, like improving yourself to attract a husband." Pinched lips gave way to a taunting sneer. "Unless Crandall finally proposed?"
Kate met her aunt's hard stare with her own. "No, ma'am."
"Maybe if you paid attention to my advice, you wouldn't have to pass your evenings with only your father and dim-witted brother for company."
Kate sprang from her chair even as the cruel words still hung in the air between them. She would bear the brunt of her aunt's insults and had for many years, but drew the line at attacks upon her nine-year-old brother, Ben.
"Father trusts me with our livelihood, and I won't flit about town sipping afternoon tea, obsessing over the latest fashions, or hosting parties when there's real work to be done. As for my evenings, you needn't worry. They are far more fulfilled than your own."
With a dismissive nod, Kate started toward the doorway.
"Wait."
The single word confirmed again Aunt Victoria's one weakness — money. Kate's father paid handsomely for the weekly lessons, and her aunt wouldn't allow a few harsh words to stop the lucrative practice. Kate returned to her seat not because of her aunt's command, but because she couldn't bear the thought of disappointing her father.
An hour later she donned her shawl and bonnet, stepped into the bright sunshine, and exchanged a last round of false niceties. When the door closed behind her Kate raced down the stone path to freedom. Six glorious days lay ahead before her expected return.
When the visits had begun nine years ago, she'd been a child teetering on the verge of womanhood, unable to protest the absurdity of piano lessons twice a week, French instruction with a private tutor, and Aunt Victoria's vicious style of imparting etiquette. Now she was long past caring what anyone thought. Anyone besides her father. The lessons made him happy, and since little else did, she continued the weekly farce.
Kate walked along the dusty boardwalk toward her father's store. When she stepped down onto the street, intent on crossing, the sight of five boys caught her attention. They were crouched shoulder to shoulder, peering under the boardwalk. She frowned to see her brother's sandy-brown head in the middle of the group.
As she approached, a boy spun around, scanning the street in a search for potential interferers. Sighting her, the lookout nudged Ben.
"Your nosy sister's coming. She's gonna ruin everything."
Kate closed the distance with three steps. "What do we have here?"
Ten hands scrambled for cover behind backs and into pockets. Trouble obviously brewed.
"Hands out. All of you."
Grubby hands reluctantly came forward.
"Open them."
Fingers uncurled, revealing chunks of bread in each palm.
"What are you boys doing?"
When no one answered she looked to her brother. "Ben?"
"N-n-n-n-n-nothing."
Ignoring the other boys' snickers, Kate focused on her brother. "Certainly seems like something."
"It was Ben's idea," the lookout said.
"Yeah," added another with a defiant sneer. "It was all his idea."
Kate knew better. Ben tried too hard to fit in with boys his age and was often a scapegoat when they were caught during mischief.
Rustling under the boardwalk quieted the remaining boys. Kate wondered at their silence until a small black nose emerged and began sniffing crumbs scattered in the dirt. Moments later a black-and-white head appeared, followed by the well-fed body of a skunk.
All kept still as the creature plodded across the street, and only when it disappeared under Smith's Hardware did the boys take flight. To his credit, Ben stayed behind.
"What were you thinking?" Kate asked in exasperation.
Soft blue eyes pleaded understanding and her heart melted. To a point.
"You have to stop getting in trouble, Ben." She crossed her arms and attempted a firm stare. "Or have you forgotten how last week Mr. Sherman brought you into the store, sopping wet?"
"You never let m-me have any f-f-fun," he cried.
With a sigh of defeat, she reached to comfort him. Too late. He recoiled and she dropped her hand. Ben desperately needed what she and her father could never provide — his mother's love.
Kate watched her brother's lanky frame as he galloped down the street. Knowing he would hide and lick his imagined wounds for the remainder of the day, she continued on toward the store. When she entered she greeted their stock boy and then sat at her desk in the back room. With January through March's ledgers opened before her, she began tallying all supplies purchased for the first quarter.
Hours later, the stock boy whispered news of a visitor. She walked out front, smiling to see Marie Ann, her dearest and closest friend, lumbering past the displays.
"What are you doing here?" Kate scolded her enceinte, yet stubbornly mobile, friend. "You should be resting. Robert will be furious when he discovers you've escaped from your bed."
Marie Ann leaned against the counter, her burgundy curls bouncing with each panting breath. "I heard the news about you and Crandall."
Safe and predictable, Crandall Hewitt was the one constant in Kate's life. During her youth, he'd pulled the ribbons from her hair; later he'd led her through her first dance with a man besides her father. They'd courted exclusively for the past year, but recently he'd begun pressuring for more than attending social functions together. Maybe one day she would grow to love him.
Kate frowned in confusion. "What news?"
A torrent of giggles accompanied Marie Ann's gleeful hug. "I'm so happy for you! Crandall confirmed to Robert he's engaged."
In a daze, Kate grasped Marie Ann's shoulders and pulled away. "Not to me."
Honey-brown eyes widened in dismay. "If not you, then who?"
"I'm going to find out." Kate rushed behind the counter, snatched her door key off the wall hook, and pressed it into Marie Ann's hand. "Lock up for me."
Ignoring her friend's look of disbelief, Kate grabbed her shawl and marched out of the store. Within minutes she stood in the doorway of Crandall's apothecary. Her eyes swept the room and located the back of his blond head behind the counter. For the moment, she held her fury in check — Marie Ann could be mistaken.
"Is this talk of your engagement true?"
Slowly, Crandall turned to face her, his eyes filled with wary hesitation.
"Is it true?" she demanded.
Instead of answering, two slender fingers pinched the edge of his wire-rimmed glasses and settled them higher on his nose. It was a move she recognized from their school days together. A move he used to stall for time.
"Well?" she asked, not bothering to suppress the brittle edge in her tone.
"I've asked Mary Wells to be my wife."
"Mary!"
Crandall pursed his lips, pointing to where a huge bear of a man stood studying a display. Ignoring the stranger, she continued.
"Why would you ask for her hand when you're courting me?"
"You're not the marrying type, Kate. You're too busy doing the work of a man, instead of behaving like you want to marry one."
A rush of feelings boiled over, leaving behind the stench of her failed dreams. She'd thought Crandall respected the life she chose to lead. That she'd been so blind to his true character hurt more than his betrayal.
Anger rapidly overtook anguish.
"How dare you judge my behavior, you lying cad!" The stranger jumped at her shout and she lowered her voice. "You believe my willingness to manage the financials after my mother's death as a hindrance?"
"Yes, and a time-consuming one." Crandall gave an unapologetic shrug. "I've found a woman who does what you wouldn't — focus on my needs and make me feel like a man."
Kate heard a snicker from across the store. Mortified, she whirled on her heel and stalked toward the stranger. He stood well over six feet tall and had to be two hundred pounds of solid muscle, neither of which dissuaded her from standing toe to toe with him.
