Courting Miss Adelaide (29 page)

She pulled away from him. “It’s ironic when we’re no longer seeing each other that gossip is flying through town like tumbleweeds in a windstorm.”

The clock tolled the hour. Adelaide’s ice-cold hands twisted. “I’m afraid something awful has happened to Frances,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ve got to check on her.”

Charles lifted her chin and his gaze bored into hers. “Addie, no matter what, don’t go to the Drummond farm.”

She squared her shoulders, ready to disagree.

“Please,” he added, softly. “Until we see what Ed is up to, stay with Laura.”

Shaking her head, Adelaide walked to the rail. “I won’t put Laura’s family in the midst of this. I can take care of myself.”

He came after her and brushed away a tendril of hair that had escaped her chignon. “Adelaide Crum, you are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever known.” A smile softened his words.

Oh, Charles, I’ve missed that smile.

But she only said, “I’ve had to be.”

“So you have.” He touched her cheek. “I miss you.”

Why did he keep touching her? Didn’t he know his smallest contact triggered a longing that increased her pain? And she’d reached her limit? “But that doesn’t change anything, does it?”

His hand fell away. “Let me see you.”

“Knowing there’s no point, there’s no future for us?” Her heart squeezed in her chest, aware her next words would bring another loss. First Emma and now Charles, the two people she loved most in the world. “No, I won’t see you.”

Charles’s dark eyes clouded, with regret or with yearning? Adelaide didn’t know. She was tired of struggling to understand. If God meant them to be together, then He would have to work it out. She had nothing else to give.

He stepped closer and took her gloved hand, then rubbed it with his. “Can we call a truce? Concentrate on keeping you and the children safe without tying anything more to it.”

She shrugged, as if she didn’t care. She could pretend with the best of them. “I believe Ed Drummond finally has you worried. Now that it’s too late, you’re trying to put a tiny bandage on a gaping wound.”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“They’re taking Emma away from me, Charles! Why? Because I’m single. Isn’t that what it comes down to? And all you can worry about is that Ed Drummond will hurt me, but you’ve hurt me more than he ever could!”

Before he could respond, Adelaide walked out of the courtroom, away from Charles, from his inability to change. But in her heart, she knew her being single wasn’t the only reason they’d taken Emma. The columns she’d written had made matters worse, not only for her and Emma, but for Frances, too.

Adelaide would never forgive herself if Frances had paid a price for her need to speak out.

Alone in the courtroom, Charles stood with his back to the judge’s bench. Lightning flashed and rain beat against the windowpanes. Outside a storm raged, but nothing like the storm inside him. He’d let Adelaide and Emma down, when they needed him most. But if Addie truly knew him, she’d never agree to take his name.

Deep in the abyss of his mind, a memory clawed its way to the surface and demanded a hearing. This time Charles couldn’t stop it. He didn’t even try.

Recalling that night, a lifetime ago, held him captive; a dark and inexcusable deed kept him in a prison without bars.

He’d come home from his after-school job to find his father beating his mother for the hundredth time. Except this time, Pa wasn’t slurring his words or swaying on his feet.

This time, Pa was stone-cold sober.

Ma cowered on the floor, begging him to stop, apologizing for some pitiful infraction of Pa’s ever-changing rules.

Inside him something as thin as a twig gave way, something that had held tenuous control over the rage, rage that had been building and building and building for years.

He hurled himself at his pa, swinging fists, grabbing Pa’s throat, not seeing, not thinking, only wanting him to stop.

He hadn’t heard Ma begging him to release his hold. Hadn’t been aware of Pa’s hands grasping at his arms, first strong, then…weaker and weaker.

He heard nothing but all those years of screams. All those nights he stood by, a helpless child, weeping and wondering when his turn would come.

If Sam hadn’t returned and pulled him off in time, Charles knew without a doubt he would have killed his father that night. A sob escaped his throat. What kind of man wouldn’t stop even after his father had gone limp under his squeezing hands?

The answer was clear—a man
like
his father, a man with a deadly temper, a man with whom God could have no relationship.

He could never marry Addie. Never be a father to Emma or William. Never enter God’s house and taint it with his presence.

He slid to the floor. “Oh, God. Help me.”

But once again, Heaven remained silent.

Charles buried his face in his arms and wept.

That evening, Charles trekked from Laura’s house toward Addie’s shop. The afternoon rain had stopped, leaving a light, clean scent to the air, in sharp contrast to his dismal mood.

Roscoe had all but shut down Addie’s business because of what he’d called that spinster’s meddling and now, thanks to the committee, Addie had lost Emma. Though all those worries weighed on him, Charles’s main concern was keeping Addie safe.

Mercifully, the committee had decided to keep Emma in town—for now—which guaranteed Addie wouldn’t ride out to the Drummond house. Tomorrow, Wylie, Sparks and Paul would meet with the Drummonds. If, as he suspected, Frances had been harmed, then the committee would finally be roused out of its complacency.

In some ways, he couldn’t blame the others. Until recently, he hadn’t seen Ed Drummond as a dangerous man.

With the key Addie had given him earlier, Charles unlocked the door to her shop. She sat at the small table in the center of the showroom facing the door. When he entered, her head snapped up. But then seeing him, she bowed over an open Bible, reading the Scriptures while running a finger along the pink ribbon on a small straw bonnet she held in her hand. Emma’s hat.

His gut knotted in anger. The committee had taken Emma, unconcerned about Addie’s suffering. He’d hurt her, too, more times than he wanted to remember. But through it all, she prayed, read her Bible, trusted in God.

Addie had once told him God had given her Emma. Well, if He had, He’d also taken the little girl away.

Charles walked to the table. She looked up with dry eyes, crisscrossed with tiny veins of red, evidence she’d been crying. He had news he hoped would bring a smile, though without Emma, he knew Addie’s heart had broken.

He cleared his throat. “I checked on Emma.”

“How is she?”

“Baking cookies with Laura and looking happy. She asked me to tell you, she’s saving you some cookies.”

Her eyes glistened. “I want to slip over there to see her, but the committee could be watching the house.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them.” He fingered the brim of his hat. “Late this afternoon, I rode out to the Drummond place. Ed blocked the door and claimed Frances was lying down with a headache. It would have taken a fistfight to get past him. With William there, I couldn’t risk that.” Before she could ask, he said, “William looked fine. One good thing—we know Ed’s at home, at least around five o’clock.”

“Did the sheriff go with you?”

“He’s been on County business all day, something about tax rolls. Right now, he’s over at the Reilly saloon, stopping a fistfight. He’ll be watching your place tonight, too.”

Her face a mask of misery, Addie fingered the pages of the Bible. He wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her and comfort her.

But she’d made it clear she no longer wanted that from him.

Want it or not, she needed it. He took her hand. “Come here,” he said softly and tugged her to her feet. She burrowed into his arms, rocking him back on his heels.

“Emma’s fine. I know how you miss her. But until we see what Drummond will do, it’s good she’s not here.”

She pulled back and lifted a questioning gaze.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but I don’t believe for a minute Frances had a headache, unless Ed gave it to her.”

“I’m afraid for Frances and William.”

“I know,” he crooned, tightening his grip. “Maybe once the committee talks to Frances, they’ll let you keep Emma.”

Addie pulled away. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

He couldn’t meet her gaze.

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for not agreeing. You’re a good man.”

His throat tightened. He knew he wasn’t a good man, but he treasured her words. “I’ll check upstairs.”

She nodded, then walked to the counter and picked up a partially finished hat.

Charles climbed the steps for the last time and walked into each room where shadowed memories paraded through his mind. Memories of meals shared in this kitchen. Of Emma plunking at the piano in the parlor while he’d teased Addie about her Jack-induced willies. Here, in Emma’s room, of him and Addie soothing her nightmare with a lullaby.

He stepped to Addie’s room, the one room he’d never seen. Neat as a pin, like the rest, his gaze roamed over the ruffled curtains at the window, the brush and comb set on the dresser, the white bowl and pitcher on the washstand. Eyes stinging, he fingered the feathered bird atop the hat that lay on the seat of a rocker, recalling their banter on the first day she’d worn it.

In the hall, he took one last look at the rooms that had made him feel more at home than any place he’d ever been.

Knowing he wouldn’t be back slowed his step, but only for a moment. He had a job to do. He headed down the stairs.

Addie sat where he’d left her. With a thimble, she pushed a shiny needle through two layers of heavy felt joining the brim and crown of a hat.

He stopped, frozen by the image of her, absorbing her profile, the tilt of her neck, the sense of her inner strength he admired. But
that
strength would be no match for Ed Drummond.

He thought of losing her, thought of his world without Addie in it, and his heart tripped in his chest. How could he survive? What kind of place would this town be without Addie?

He reached the bottom, walked to the back and checked the door and window, then returned to the showroom. “Whether you like it or not, I’m standing watch down here tonight.”

“I’ve told you that’s not an option. People will talk.”

“Let them!”

“Hasn’t enough damage been done by gossip?”

Tentacles of guilt clutched at Charles’s throat. If he hadn’t told Roscoe he suspected Ed had vandalized Addie’s shop, would the committee have taken Emma? If he had refused to publish her essays, would she be in this mess?

He kissed her forehead. “You won’t answer the door to anyone? Not even me?”

She looked up and gave a feeble grin. “Especially not you.”

“Good.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why not you?”

“If somehow Drummond overpowered me, he could use me to get to you. Promise, you won’t let anyone in, not me, not anyone.”

She nodded.

“Really, Addie?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Sudden tears welled in his eyes. He made a big production of digging in his pocket for her key and then handed it to her. “Walk me to the door and lock it behind me.”

Her face pale and drawn, Addie rose, a woman he couldn’t marry but a woman he would protect, at all costs.

At the door, she touched his arm. “Be careful,” she said softly, her gaze traveling his features. “I’m praying for you.”

Her concern for him ripped at his shaky composure and he could only nod. He slipped out and waited until he heard the click of the lock behind him.

He checked the street and alley. Seeing nothing unusual, he crossed to
The Ledger
and let himself in, tracking mud on the wooden floor. If Addie saw this, she’d scold him for not wiping his feet. If only all they had to concern themselves with was a little dirt.

Earlier, Sheriff Rogers had been called away to the saloon, disrupting their speculation about whether Drummond would come after Addie tonight. Charles hadn’t laid eyes on Rogers since.

He’d tried to pray for her safety, but his childhood had taught him he couldn’t count on God.

It was up to him and him alone to protect Addie.

In the back room, he squatted before the steel safe, and rotated the dial, four right, two left, six right, counting the clicks with each turn until he heard the lock open. Inside, he found what he sought and pulled away the soft cloth. In the glow from the gaslight, the pistol’s barrel gleamed.

He fingered the smooth ivory-inlaid butt, surprisingly beautiful for an instrument of death.

Convinced every man needed a gun to protect what was his, Sam had given it to him for his birthday a few years back. Charles had never fired it at anything more than a target.

Yet, tonight, the next night—some night—that would change. Ed would come after Addie. And Charles would be waiting.

Grabbing a box of ammunition and his gun belt, he picked up the handgun and closed the six-inch-thick door, giving the dial a twirl. He walked to the cot and sat. He opened the chamber of his gun and inserted the first bullet, then another, until he’d filled each slot. Slipping the gun into its holster, he rose and buckled the belt, shoving it down on his hips.

With his right hand hanging loose over the holster, Charles whipped out the gun, aiming at a spot on the wall about the height of Ed Drummond’s heart. If forced to use the gun, he hoped the target practice in Cincinnati wouldn’t fail him.

Charles lowered the gaslight, walked out of the room, through the dark office, to the main door. In the doorway, he scanned the deserted street. A horse, tied to a hitching post down the way, nickered, eager to return to a comfortable stall. In front of Addie’s shop, a cat promenaded down the walk, then sprang at something Charles couldn’t see. Music from the honky-tonk piano drifted on the night air. How odd to find everything looking normal when at any moment this peaceful scene might erupt in violence.

Addie’s shop was dark. Overhead he spotted the light in her bedroom. He hoped she could sleep. If only he’d overruled her and stayed below in the shop. But that wasn’t Addie’s way.