Before the Dawn (Truly Yours Digital Editions) (15 page)

How many times had that truth been brought home to her over the past week? She glanced at the calendar on Aunt Hattie’s kitchen wall. Monday, the seventh. Rex would be there now. Would he be making David use the despised handwriting frame and practice his letters?

The funeral had been the loneliest day of her life. Her heart ached for Aunt Hattie, and every time Karen turned around, she expected to see her aunt’s dear face. Pastor Hamilton delivered a beautiful service, touching and full of remembrances and words of comfort. Later, Karen knew she would draw on those words, once she could think about them without breaking down. She withdrew a black handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes before folding David’s letter and putting it back in the envelope.

David.

Under the layers of grief for her aunt, Karen had piled up a store of guilt for the way she’d treated her husband, for the harsh words she’d spewed at him. That guilt was in no way assuaged by the knowledge that she had been in shock, overwhelmed with loss and sorrow.

Tiredness washed over her, a lethargy that had dogged her on the endless train trip and continued through the funeral. Her thoughts were wooly and chased each other like fat, stumbling sheep. She didn’t know which one to follow, so she followed none. For now, Aunt Hattie’s house was a safe, soothing refuge where she didn’t have to think too much and didn’t have to battle her stubborn husband. She could just drift.

Pushing back the teacup, she rose and went to the bedroom to lie down. She’d think about her husband later.

❧

February 1, 1884

Dear David,

Thank you for your note of January 4. I apologize that it has taken me so long to send a letter in return. I’ve been so tired and absorbed with a thousand details. Settling an estate, even one in such good order as my aunt’s, takes time. I’ve been going through her things, trying to decide what to keep and what to give away. Everything holds memories for me. The sorting is going slowly.

Pastor Hamilton has been very good, stopping by to visit at least once a week with some of the ladies from the church. The church here reminds me of the congregation in Martin City. Many of Hattie’s friends have come by as well, and they have welcomed me into their church family. It feels good to be a part of their congregation, to be accepted and cared for. I’ve never really felt at home in the church in Denver, though that is probably because I always attended alone.

Hattie’s friends are a delight and have banded together in a matchmaking scheme that occupies them constantly. Pastor Hamilton is a handsome, single man, and they would like nothing more than to see him properly and happily wed. He is, however, quite adept at outmaneuvering them. I am surprised at his dexterity in avoiding their traps.

The lawyer seeing to probating Aunt Hattie’s will, a Mr. Drury, is currently unavailable. He’s gone to Springfield on family business. It appears his daughter has made an unadvisable match, and he’s gone to see about helping her obtain an annulment. I hope he is successful in extricating her from this trouble. He seems a dear man, and he’s very upset about the situation, as I’m sure you can understand.

As to your question about when I will return, I’m afraid I don’t have an answer. Things have been so strained between us. Perhaps this time apart will benefit us both. You can concentrate on nothing but your work with Rex, and I can think things through. In any case, there is still much to be done here, and I cannot come home until it is completed.

Sincerely,

Karen

“Read it again, Buckford.” David folded his hands in his lap then remembered to add, “Please.”

The houseman read the letter once more, slowly. “Would you like to dictate a reply, sir?”

He stirred. “Later.” At the moment, he could think of no way to frame a reply that wouldn’t either sound dictatorial or pleading. “Could I have the letter, please?” He took the paper and tucked it into his jacket over his heart. “That will be all, Buckford. Thank you.”

When the houseman’s footsteps receded, David was left with nothing but his thoughts chasing one another like ravenous wolves. His insides writhed as he lined up the facts. A month had passed before she could bother to send a letter. The handsome, single pastor was coming to call, and the ladies of the church were matchmaking. Karen mentioned an annulment case, and she didn’t know when she would be coming home. Even a blind man could put those pieces together. All the excitement surging through him when Buckford brought a letter from her had dried to a trickle of guilt-ridden malaise for having driven her to these circumstances.

Would she come home at all? Had he lost her for good? Was this how Uncle Frank had felt, as if everything truly precious in his life was slipping away and there was nothing he could do to change it?

❧

February 11, 1884

Dear Karen,

As you can see, i’m writing this letter myself, and of necessity will be brief. the situation being what it is, please take all the time you need. i am fine here. buckford is taking very good care of me. and mrs. webber too.

David

Karen stared at the letter, a total of a quarter of a page, and her heart wept. Not because he had written it himself, though that fact was poignant enough, but because of his words.

Take all the time you need. I am fine.

What had she expected? A stern, laying-down-of-the-law order to wrap things up here quickly and get herself home? What had she hoped for? Declarations of love and longing and a plea for her to return to him as soon as she could? The paper blurred.

She had gotten neither. He didn’t need her, and he didn’t want her back. He couldn’t have put it more plainly. Buckford and Mrs. Webber were seeing to all his needs, and she was to take her sweet time.

Her throat closed, and she put her head down on her arms on the kitchen table.

❧

March 31, 1884

Dear David,

I have finally completed the task of winding up Aunt Hattie’s estate. The house has been sold and the new occupants will take up residence tomorrow. The possessions dearest to my heart have been crated and will reside in storage under the care of Mr. Drury until I can direct him to the best place to forward them. Those items I did not wish to keep I have sold and donated the proceeds to the church here.

I will miss this church family. They have included me in every way and made my stay here so much easier than it could have been. I’m sorry to be leaving them, though I know I will see them all again someday.

I received another letter from your mother this week. She tells me that Pastor Van Dyke is ready to retire and that the denomination has sent them the name of his successor. Imagine my happy surprise to know that the man who will take up the pastorate in Martin City is none other than Silas Hamilton, who has been such a good friend to me here. He has often mentioned his desire to move farther west, and he is eager, after hearing my stories of the beauties of life in the Rocky Mountains, to relocate to Martin City. He expects to preach his first sermon there by Independence Day at the latest. I am sure the parishioners, including your parents, will make him most welcome.

As I had hoped when I left Denver three months ago, this time apart has given me room to consider our marriage, the unorthodox way it came about, the barely civil way it has been conducted, and where it should go from here. I am hopeful that we can discuss our future rationally and without recriminations. It should be obvious to both of us that we cannot continue this way. I know we can sort things out to both our satisfactions if we just try. To that end, as soon as I turn the house keys over to the new occupants, I will board a train for Denver. I expect to arrive early on the morning of April 4.

Sincerely,

Karen

“She’ll arrive the day after tomorrow.” David tilted his abacus slowly forward and back, listening to the slide and click of the beads. Would she stay? For how long? Would she come seeking an annulment? Would she listen if he tried to apologize?

Buckford slid the letter across the desktop. “It will be very nice for the church in Martin City to have a new pastor so quickly.”

With a stab, David remembered that Buckford was a member of the church in Martin City. Uprooting and moving to Denver to get away from his family and the scene of his accident had caused turmoil in not only his life and Karen’s but Buckford’s as well.

The front bell shrilled, and a fist pounded on the door. Buckford’s hasty steps on the hardwood weren’t in time to open the door before it crashed wide. “Dave, where are you?”

“Sam? What are you doing here?” David pushed himself up from his chair and braced himself for Sam’s familiar crushing handshake and hearty backslap.

“I figured you’d stewed down here in Denver long enough. You’ve ignored all my letters.” Cloth moved and damp air swirled. “Thank you, Buckford. I needed that coat when I left home, but it looks like spring has come around here. Oh, and I left my bag and a box on the front stoop. Could you slide them inside for me?”

David resumed his seat. Sam sagged into the chair opposite, and David could feel his brother’s appraisal on his skin.

“We need to talk.” Sam’s boots scraped on the floor and the springs in his chair creaked.

“What about?” David tensed.

“Quite a few things, actually, but a couple items are vying for the top of the list. We need to talk about the mine, and after that, we need to talk about Karen.”

“I have no desire to talk about the mine, and Karen is none of your business.” The familiar shell of defensiveness, the walls he’d been working so hard to lower, flew up again, full strength. He took a grip on himself and battled down the old feelings.

The sigh Sam emitted seemed to come from his toes. “Dave, I don’t want to fight with you. I strongly disagree that Karen is none of my business since she’s my sister-in-law and I care about her. I’ll leave off talking about her for now, but we have to talk about the mine. I need help, and you’re the only one I trust. I can’t go to anyone else with this. Not yet.”

The earnest edge to Sam’s voice sent uneasiness skittering across David’s skin. He sat forward and put his elbows on his knees. “What’s wrong at the mine, and why can’t you talk about it to anyone else?”

“When Mother sent Buckford to you before Christmas, I gave him a box of papers and samples. Where is that?”

“I’m not sure. I think it’s in my office upstairs. My papers have been the last thing on my mind in recent months.”

“Well, you’d best stoke up that brain of yours for some hard slog. I’ll ask Buckford to bring some sandwiches and coffee to the office. What I have to say is going to take a while.”

FIFTEEN

David took the chair behind the desk in his office upstairs and placed his hands on the carved, wooden arms.

Sam entered and something weighty hit the desktop. “Now, where’s that other box? Ah, here it is.” Papers rustled, and David recognized the clack and grit of rocks scraping against each other. “Let me move this inkwell and spread out some of these pages.” Thumps and bumps as Sam got things settled.

David couldn’t ignore the dueling excitement and fear in his middle. Excitement at delving, even in a small way, into his former occupation and fear that he wouldn’t be up to the task. What if Sam had come all this way, putting his faith in his older brother, and David let him down? David couldn’t help but feel he faced a test tonight, one he desperately wanted to pass.

“What are you looking for, and what help do you think I can give?”

Sam dragged a chair close. “First, you can tell me I’m not going crazy or missing something and jumping to the wrong conclusion. Then I want to compare some of the paperwork I sent with Buckford with what I brought today. Something isn’t right, and I have a feeling it hasn’t been right for longer than any of us would like to think.”

Buckford arrived with a tray, and the aroma of hot coffee filled the room. Matches scritched and glass tinked as he moved around the room lighting the wall sconces.

David sipped his coffee while Sam rummaged through the boxes again.

“Buckford, why don’t you stay?” Sam asked. “You know a lot more than you ever let on, and you’ve been in the mines. You might see something I missed. What’s that contraption?”

Bumpy wood touched David’s hand. “I thought you could use this, sir.”

David closed his fingers on his abacus. “Thank you, Buckford. Sam’s right. Stay and listen. Sam, stop fidgeting with that stuff and cut through the chaff.”

Sam sighed and stilled. “All right. At first, I thought the trouble at the mine started with the cave-in, but looking back on things, I can see indications that something was going on even before then.”

David’s chin came up. “What?”

“Well, think about it, Dave. Remember that axle on the ore wagon that broke? The team had to be shot, broken legs on both. Then there was all the trouble at the company store. First, somebody makes a big error on ordering and supplies run short. Then, the day after the new inventory comes in, the store is robbed and ransacked. We thought these were just coincidences, but what if they weren’t?”