Following the Orphan’s Trail to Love (Preview)

Chapter One

Evelyn

“Please,” Clara whispered, her voice cracking, so weak Evelyn could barely hear her. “Take Lucas.” Clara licked her dry lips, her eyes closing briefly. “Take him.”

Evelyn leaned closer, her grief bringing tears to her eyes, her heart hurting so badly she thought surely it would break into several pieces. “Take him? Clara, I don’t know that I can –”

“To my brother,” Clara went on, clutching frantically at Evelyn’s hand. “To my brother.”

“Sam? In the West?”

“Please. You must.”

Evelyn brushed Clara’s limp hair from her brow, trying to smile through her dismay. “Of course, I will.”

Clara licked her lips again, her breathing ragged. Evelyn knew her time was close. The fever that had spread like a wildfire in dry brush had settled into Clara only days ago. Some infected with it would recover. Clara would not.

As Clara closed her eyes and slid into a fitful sleep, Evelyn continued to hold her friend’s hand. What Clara asked of her was impossible. How could Evelyn take Clara’s infant son to the Colorado Territory? A train ticket alone would take all of Evelyn’s meager savings. Would Clara’s brother even want to take in his sister’s baby boy?

These memories haunted Evelyn even as she stood beside Clara’s grave. The grave diggers shoveled loose earth onto the plain wooden casket, the sounds of the hollow thunk of dirt on wood made Evelyn’s soul shiver. The men paid her no attention. This was just another job for them. Another body to bury in a pauper’s grave. At least it wasn’t one of their own they buried.

The minister had spoken his prayers over Clara and gone. Evelyn stood alone, the solitary mourner for a woman, a mother, a friend, who’d died far too young. Clara was twenty-two years old when she’d passed—Evelyn’s age. Though she’d seldom talked of her past, never said who Lucas’s father was, Evelyn loved Clara for the sweet, kind, loving, laughing friend she’d been. 

“I’ll always miss you,” Evelyn murmured. 

Tears trickled down her cheeks, the tears she fought to not shed. The two men didn’t appear to notice her grief, however. Surely, they’d witnessed their fair share of mourning at grave sites. Still, Evelyn had been taught, long ago, to contain strong emotions. To never show her fears, her griefs, her inner self.

She stood beside Clara’s grave until the workmen took their shovels and departed. Only a smooth mound of brown earth remained where the hole had been dug, the casket lowered into the ground. Evelyn placed a single red rose on the mound before taking a moment to lift her gaze toward the sea a mile or so away.

Clara loved the ocean, Evelyn knew. The cemetery and Clara’s grave stood atop a hill within the city of Briarfield, Massachusetts. Evelyn thought Clara would have approved of her final resting place. She glanced back at the fresh grave and wiped her tears from her cheeks.

“I’ll pay for a headstone, Clara,” she said to the mound. “And I’ll take Lucas to your brother in Colorado. I promise.”

***

Evelyn returned to the white clapboard boarding house where she rented a small room. The owner, Mrs. Sweeny, only rented her rooms to single women like Evelyn, refusing to permit men in her establishment. A gruff, yet kind woman who’d buried a husband and two children, Mrs. Sweeny bustled from the kitchen as Evelyn entered the house.

“Lucas’s been fussing,” Mrs. Sweeny announced. “Nothing I do seems to help.”

As Evelyn strode toward her landlady, she heard the baby crying from behind Mrs. Sweeny. “He’s cutting his teeth,” she said with a weary smile. “It’s to be expected, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t go to her funeral.” Mrs. Sweeny accompanied Evelyn into the kitchen. “I have so much to do here, I have a new boarder coming in tonight. She’ll be taking Clara’s room.”

A pang struck Evelyn’s heart. “I know. And I’m grateful you took the time to watch Lucas for me.”

Evelyn picked Lucas up from his cradle, trying to soothe him with soft shushing noises even as she bounced him gently on her shoulder. As though she was just what he needed, Lucas ceased his wailing and promptly fell asleep. Mrs. Sweeny eyed the child in mild reproof, shaking her head.

“If there are any of Clara’s things you want,” Mrs. Sweeny went on, “help yourself. All else will go to charity. I have a man coming in a few hours to clear out whatever is left.”

Not quite daring to place Lucas back in his cradle, Evelyn nodded. “Thank you. I’ll take some items for Lucas, for when he’s old enough to understand his mother.”

Mrs. Sweeny gazed at Evelyn in sorrow. “You’re really going to take him West, child?”

“I made a promise.”

“That baby needs a mother,” Mrs. Sweeny snapped. “Not some wild cowboy who wouldn’t have the first clue on how to raise him. Evelyn, Lucas needs you. He’s taken to you so fast in such a short time. Stay here. Raise him as your own. You’ll be such a wonderful mother.”

“I do love him,” Evelyn admitted softly. “I loved Clara, too. But she wanted Lucas to be with family. On her deathbed, she asked this of me.”

Mrs. Sweeny threw her hands up in a gesture of futility. “Clara should have asked you to raise him. She had no real idea of what she demanded of you, child.”

“I know. I’ll be sorry to let him go to his uncle, but Clara knew her brother would care for Lucas as he would his own son.”

“Set him down,” Mrs. Sweeny ordered. “He’ll sleep now, I think.”

Evelyn obeyed, settling Lucas in his cradle without waking him. “I’ll be in Clara’s room.”

Her heart heavy, Evelyn departed the kitchen and climbed the stairs to the house’s second floor. She remembered all the evenings spent in Clara’s room, drinking tea and giggling like young children. They kept their laughter down so as not to wake anyone, sharing dreams and plans for the future. They would get a house together. Two spinsters raising Lucas, neither wanting a marriage or a household of her own.

Clara’s room was as she’d left it, neat, tidy, the bed made, her clothes either hung on hooks or folded into her trunk. Evelyn took a moment to finger Clara’s dresses, remembering her friend’s laugh, her smile. Tears rolled once again as she thought of Clara’s vibrant life cut short because of a fever she’d caught while helping others.

Despite the many hours spent in this room, Evelyn never saw the contents of Clara’s trunk. It sat at the foot of her bed, unlocked, and Evelyn opened it feeling like she trespassed in Clara’s private life. One by one, she removed the folded clothes and set them aside. Evelyn found a few books underneath, reading the titles with interest. She’d keep these. She put the books in a pile, then continued to explore the trunk.

Two wooden boxes lay at the very bottom. Opening the first, she discovered a beautiful gold pocket watch. Suspecting this may have belonged to her father, Evelyn thought Clara’s brother might want it. She placed it with the books. The box also contained a few necklaces she’d never seen Clara wear. These, Evelyn would keep to remember Clara by.

She found a collection of earrings she thought were quite valuable, as well as several rings with what she thought were real diamond studs. Holding them, she wondered if these belonged to Clara’s mother. As she suspected they were too valuable to keep, she’d give them to Clara’s brother. She placed the watch, the rings and earrings back in the box, then opened the second one.

Inside were letters. A packet of envelopes with an unfamiliar writing scrawled across them, intrigued her. They were addressed to Clara at an address Evelyn didn’t recognize,  from an S. Caldwell. Clara’s brother? The return address was from a Fort Bradford in Colorado Territory.

Though tempted to read the letters, Evelyn decided against it. They were a private exchange between Clara and Sam, if this was indeed her brother. Like the watch, Evelyn planned to bring them with her to present to him.

Along with his nephew.

As Clara had been a tiny, petite woman, and Evelyn several inches taller, none of Clara’s clothes would fit her. . Evelyn pictured her friend’s laughing honey eyes while tears burned in her green ones, almost the exact opposite of one another.

She left the clothes for the charity donation but did take a pair of flowered hats as well as a knitted scarf Clara was fond of. She took all the items to her own room, left them there, and returned to the kitchen.

“Do you know Clara’s brother’s name?” she asked Mrs. Sweeny.

Mrs. Sweeny half-turned from the mutton stew she prepared at the stove. “Sam, isn’t it? He didn’t have the same surname as Clara.”

“Could it be Caldwell?”

“Why, I believe so. Did you find something?”

“Letters.” Evelyn checked on Lucas and found him sleeping soundly. “I just want to be sure I’m going to the right place.”

She sat at the long wooden table where all the residents of the house met for meals. “Clara didn’t talk to you about Lucas’s father, did she?”

Mrs. Sweeny snorted. “Not once. That girl could keep a secret. Mouth like a clam. You don’t think this Caldwell gentleman is Lucas’s father, do you?”

“No.” Evelyn inwardly planned to check one or two of the letters just to be certain. “Whoever he is or was, he’s not a part of Clara’s life. Nor Lucas’. If he was, wouldn’t Clara have wanted me to take Lucas to his blood father?”

“You’d think so.” Mrs. Sweeny tasted the stew, then added a pinch of salt. “When are you planning to leave, child?”

Well, I won’t be teaching again for another month,” Evelyn replied slowly. “So, I’m not expected at the school. I hope to return in two weeks. You’ll hold my room for me?”

“Of course, child.”

“Thank you.” Evelyn drew in a deep breath. “I imagine my sister won’t approve of what I’m doing.”

“It’s not for her to approve or disapprove now, is it?”

“No. It’s not. Bea thinks that because she’s older that she can tell me what to do.”

“You do what you think best, child, regardless of what others think.” Mrs. Sweeny fixed Evelyn with a hard stare. “Even me.”

Evelyn chuckled. “I believe I’ve already done that.”

“You’re a good woman, Evelyn. You have a heart as big as the Wild West, and more sense than God gave most women. You’ll do fine.”

“I hope so.” Evelyn watched Lucas sleep, knowing full well that leaving him with his uncle would be one of the hardest things she’d ever do. “It’ll be hard to let him go.”

“If your honor says you must, then you’ll do it, child. As you said, you promised Clara.”

“I did. Some promises are harder to keep than others.”

“But if everything were easy, then there’d be no challenge, no reason to keep those promises. Life is difficult, child, you already know this. You’ll have to become strong, tough, able to endure what life throws at you. I have faith you will.”

“I’m glad one of us has such faith,” Evelyn replied. “I confess I’m frightened silly.”

“I’d be worried if you weren’t frightened.” Mrs. Sweeny left the stew and crossed the kitchen to the table. “Just come home to us, child. Come back safely.”

“I will, Mrs. Sweeny.”

Chapter Two

Sam

“Ain’t that a purty lil gal?”

Sam glanced at the woman Silas indicated with a flick of his eyes. Sure, she was pretty. Petite with a slender figure, eyes as blue as the summer sky and hair the color of ripe wheat. She saw him looking at her and batted her lashes. Sam swallowed his irritation and turned back to the counter.

Silas laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Son, you’ve got to appreciate a good woman. Find a nice one and get married.”

“I did that,” Sam replied, watching for the store’s proprietor to return from the back. “You know how that ended.”

“Gals ain’t all like that.” Silas leaned his elbows on the counter’s surface, busily sucking on a piece of straw. “Look at me. Been married for gosh knows how long.”

Sam merely shook his head. “I ain’t going down that road again.”

“And that’s a sad thing.” Silas pulled his straw from his teeth and pointed it at Sam. “You’re too good a man to not have a gal at your side.” 

Jonas Jones, the owner of the general store, returned to the counter with a nod. “I have what you need, Sam. If you drive your wagon round back, we can get you loaded up right quick.”

“Thanks, JJ.” 

Sam and Silas strode from the general store; Sam was careful not to meet the woman’s eyes. Silas, however, tipped his hat to her with a saucy grin. Sam knew she stared at him, obviously liking the way he looked. Sam didn’t consider himself handsome in any way, as he had a crooked nose, thick black hair in dire need of cutting, and ordinary gray eyes.

He shouldered his way through the front door, an effort to escape her fixation with him. Out in the clear, late summer air, he breathed deeply and glanced back at the store’s window.

The young lady stood there, watching him. Sam scowled.

“Let’s get back,” he snapped. “I hate being stared at like I’m a prized stud.”

Silas also noticed the woman watching from the window. “Seems she admires you, son.”

Trying to ignore her, Sam climbed up into the buckboard’s high seat while Silas leaped nimbly into the back. He unwound the wide leather reins from the hand brake and clucked to the mule team hitched to the wagon. They obediently trotted forward, turning the street’s corner to the alley that ran behind the general store.

With JJ’s help, Sam and Silas loaded the wagon with sacks of flour, coffee, salt, sugar, roofing nails, shingles, and other supplies Sam’s ranch needed. As he worked, Sam half-listened to Silas’s cheerful chatter regarding the weather, the state of the cattle, and the railroad that recently came into Fort Bradford.

“Railroad brings folks,” Silas boomed with a chuckle. “Soon this town will be as lively as New York or Chicago.”

While Sam wasn’t sure he wanted his town to become that lively, he did indeed appreciate the railroad’s setting tracks through the territory. If the Colorado Territory grew as people came West, they would need the beef he raised and sold. He’d already heard rumors of how fast Denver was growing.

After loading the buckboard, Sam drove the mules through the town with Silas beside him. Silas’s favorite gelding had cracked his hoof while throwing a shoe, and even now stood at the blacksmith’s shop. Sam reined in the mules near the low sloped structure that housed the farrier’s animals and forge while Silas jumped down from the wagon.

“I’ll wait for you,” Sam said.

Silas replied with an airy wave and vanished inside the big barn. He absently listened to Silas’s voice greeting the blacksmith while gazing around at Fort Bradford. He’d come West from Nebraska with his family to settle in the prime cattle region of Colorado, not content to follow in his father’s footsteps and become an owner of a general store.

While he hadn’t heard from his father in several years, he occasionally received letters from his sister, Clara. She’d also departed Nebraska after Sam did but had gone East to some place in New England. She’d married, Sam knew, and that was the last he’d heard from her.

“That you, Sam?”

Broken from his reveries, Sam glanced down at the man who stood beside the buckboard. “Yep. Good to see you, Cash.”

He reached down to shake the older man’s hand. “Been awhile.”

“So it has.”

Cash Armstrong gazed at Sam with little friendliness, and even less warmth. “I’m in town on business, saw you sitting here.”

“How’s Catherine?”

“She’s well.” Cash eyed Sam with a mixture of dislike and respect. “I just wanted to say thanks.”

“For what?”

“For letting Cate go.”

Sam shrugged. “I didn’t let her go. She left of her own accord.”

“But you signed the divorce papers.” Cash sighed, then glanced down the town’s dusty street. “While I didn’t approve of what she did, nor who she ran off with, Cate made her choice. You could have kicked up a fuss. You didn’t.”

Sam grit his teeth. “She carried another man’s child. Why would I want her?”

“Because you loved her.”

Sam looked away from his former father-in-law and swallowed. “That don’t mean nothing.”

“We didn’t always see eye to eye, Sam,” Cash went on. “But you gave Cate a decent life. I can’t ignore that. Cate is happy, and that’s all I need. So, thanks for letting her be happy.”

‘I’m glad for her.”

Cash smiled. “You’re lying, but that’s all right. I didn’t approve of Cate marrying you any more than this other fella, but you treated her right. I reckon I can’t ask for more.”

With a nod, Cash walked away. Sam watched him go with a wave of fresh grief washing through his soul. It’s been years since Catherine ran away with his ranch hand, Nathaniel Brooks, the father of her unborn baby. I need to get over her. She chose another man over me, I gotta get past that. She should mean nothing to me now.

Unfortunately, Sam had long since failed to get over Cate’s rejection of him, to move forward with his life. Instead, he poured his grief into his ranch, breeding and selling cattle, becoming one of the biggest ranchers in this part of the territory. Did it matter that he still wished Cate had loved him as much as he’d loved her?

He failed to answer that question.

“Who was that?”

Silas led his stocky blue roan gelding from the barn, saddled and bridled. He watched Cash retreating back for a moment before swiftly mounting the horse.

“Cash Armstrong.”

“Cate’s pa? What’s he doing here? I heard tell he was in Fort Laramie, in Wyoming.”

“He didn’t say.”

Silas nudged the roan up beside Sam, staring into Sam’s face so hard that Sam felt his face heat in a furious blush. “What’d he want? Just to chew the fat?”

“It don’t matter, old man.” Sam clucked to the mules, slapping their rumps with the reins. 

As the mules broke into a trot, Silas keeping pace, Sam knew Silas wouldn’t drop the subject. He was like a coon hound on a fresh scent, never giving up while on the trail.

“What’d he say about Cate?” Silas demanded.

“That’s she’s happy.”

Silas snorted. “That son of a buck Nate was and is a poor choice she’d made. I’d hoped she’d come to regret making it.”

Sam made no reply. Instead, he guided the mules through Fort Bradford, making for the dirt-packed road that led to his sprawling ranch. He tried to ignore Silas who nattered on about Cate, and Nathaniel, and what sorry pieces of trash they both were. While he cared deeply for the older man, he did wish sometimes that Silas would learn what silence meant.

***

The sun was setting over the tall mountain peaks of the Rockies in hues of crimson and indigo when Sam drove the wagon into the yard. Margaret, Silas’s wife, waved to them from the house’s wide front porch. While considerably younger than Silas, Margaret was plump, pretty and as kind as a spring dawn.

At that moment, however, her usually smiling face was drawn with worry. She rushed down the porch steps to meet Sam and Silas, gripping the mules’ bridles as Sam called, “Whoa” and drew them to a stop. 

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, unease leeching into his gut.

“It’s Isaac,” Margaret replied, beckoning him down from the buckboard. “That colt he’s breaking threw him. He hit his head.”

“Where’s Caleb?” Sam jumped down from the wagon as Silas swung out of his saddle.

“Inside with Isaac.”

Leaving the mules to stand, still hitched to the buckboard, Sam hurried up the steps and into the house behind Margaret. Isaac and Caleb both worked for Sam as ranch hands, though neither had yet reached his sixteenth year. Isaac was an orphan; his parents killed on the Santa Fe Trail. With the aid of strangers, he’d made his way to Fort Bradford when he was about ten. Sam had offered him a home and work and never regretted his choice.

Caleb, seated beside Isaac, stood as Sam and Margaret hurried into the house’s front room. Isaac lay on the cowhide covered sofa, Margaret hovering over him in motherly anxiety. 

“He’ll be all right, boss.”

Isaac gazed up from under a cloth over his brow and offered Sam a weak grin. “Got throwed, boss.”

“So I hear.” Sam gingerly lifted the cloth to reveal an angry gash over a swollen and bruised knot on the boy’s brow. “Didn’t I tell you not to ride that idiot when I’m not around?”

“I wanted to finish breakin’ him.”

“But now he’s broke you.” Sam sighed and lowered the cloth. “I reckon things could be worse. Caleb, let’s unload the wagon.”

“Yessir.”

Leaving Isaac to Margaret’s motherly attention, Sam and Caleb returned outside. Silas had already begun carrying the heavy sacks of flour into the kitchen’s pantry. He dropped a sack beside the wall, then asked, “Is the boy bad off?”

“He’ll live.”

“That ain’t what I asked.”

“No, he ain’t bad off. Caleb, are chores done?”

“Yessir.”

With the three of them working, the wagon was unloaded quickly. Caleb took the mules to the barn and unhitched them while Silas unsaddled his roan. Sam found Margaret in the kitchen upon his return to the house, busy inspecting the ham cooking in the oven.

Margaret shut the oven’s door. “I think Isaac should rest for a few days.”

Sam nodded, pumping water from the sink into a glass. “I agree.”

“He really wanted to please you.”

“I reckon.”

Sam drank his water, his stomach rumbling at the scents of the cooking ham, freshly baked bread, and the potatoes frying in onions and peppers from the garden. He’d no sooner sat down when five-year-old Georgie rushed into the kitchen and threw himself into Sam’s lap. Sam laughed.

“Whoa, boy, you’re gonna knock me over.”

“Cuz I’m so strong.”

“I reckon you are.”

Margaret eyed her son over her shoulder. “What did I tell you about running in the house?”

“But, Mama, Sammy’s home.”

“I can see that. Go ask Isaac if he thinks he can sit at the table. Supper’s almost ready.”

Georgie slid down from Sam’s lap, and hurried, without running, from the kitchen. A savage feeling of regret passed through Sam’s heart like a herd of stampeding cattle. He had no idea if Cate had given birth to a son or a daughter. When he’d married her, he’d hoped she’d bring him children of his own. 

He always wanted to be a father.

Now his hopes had been dashed, little more than the dry dust blowing on a light breeze. Cate took more than his heart when she left.

“Isaac will come, Mama,” Georgie announced upon his return.

“Go wash your hands.”

Watching the little boy pull a stool to the sink, Sam suspected the joys of fatherhood would never be his. Everyone else finds love, but never me. Am I not worthy of it? I reckon not. Besides, I’ll never fall in love again. I can’t risk a second broken heart.

Silas and Caleb entered the kitchen, cheerful and noisy, talking and laughing as though they were middle aged. Sam stood up to help Margaret set the table, absently wondering at Silas and Margaret matching up, falling in love, and bringing Georgie into the world. 

I reckon I can be satisfied with watching Georgie grow up.

Except Sam knew that would never be enough.

“Sam?”

He glanced up to find Margaret watching him with an uncanny intuition. She knew him well and knew all of his wants, desires, and his lack of hope for any of them.

“Are you all right?”

Sam managed a small smile. “Yep.”

Chapter Three

Evelyn

“You are not leaving.”

Evelyn avoided her sister’s fierce gaze by bouncing Lucas on her knee. Untroubled by his painful mouth for the time being, Lucas giggled while playing with the ribbons on Evelyn’s gown. He seized a hold with his chubby fists, gurgling in innocent happiness. I envy him, his innocence, his sweet nature.

“I made a promise, Bea.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to break it.”

Beatrice Hawthorne, married to a well-to-do banker, had a daughter of her own and a tongue that could skin an elephant. Evelyn lived in fear of that tongue, knowing how easily it could cut her heart into ribbons. She loved Bea, of course she did. But Beatrice had no patience, no sympathy for anyone, save herself, and no regard for Evelyn’s feelings.

“Then what am I supposed to do with Lucas?” Evelyn asked.

“The nuns at the orphanage will take him.”

Shocked into momentary silence, Evelyn stared at her sister. “No.”

“Yes. You’ll take him there first thing tomorrow. That will be the end of it. I’ll hear no more silly talk of taking the child out West.”

They sat in Bea’s kitchen, warm sunlight streaming through the frilly curtains. Evelyn’s visit didn’t warrant tea in Bea’s formal parlor. The parlor was for far more important guests than her younger sister. Her husband, Tom Hawthorne, would be home soon, and Bea informed Evelyn he’d be bringing a guest.

“A match, no less,” Evelyn commented, her tone dry.

“Of course. You must get married, Evelyn. You will cease teaching, settle down, and have children.” Beatrice sipped her tea while looking at Evelyn over the rim of her cup. “I refuse to permit you to become a spinster. Why, you’re almost a spinster already.”

“And what I want doesn’t matter. Is that it?”

“You’re a woman,” Bea snapped. “A woman cannot choose her own path. She must marry and let her husband care for her. Where you get these outrageous notions of female independence is beyond me.”

“From books.”

Bea snorted. “That will end with your marriage as well. You’ll be too busy bearing and raising children for such nonsense.”

Bea’s daughter, Viola, entered the kitchen. She looked at the baby down her considerable nose with disdain.

“Where’d you get that, Auntie?”

“This is Lucas, my friend’s baby.”

“Why do you have it?”

“My friend died, Viola.”

“I never liked that Clara,” Beatrice sniffed. “I believe she stuffed your head with these foolish ideas. And why did she have a child out of wedlock? She was a strumpet, no doubt.”

Evelyn bristled but kept her words soft. “She had a husband, Bea. He’s gone.”

“I can’t blame him.” Bea sniffed again. “Viola, where’s Mary?”

“I have no idea,” Viola looked down her nose at her mother. “She’s stupid and useless.”

“Find her and be quick about it.”

“No. I don’t want to.”

Viola flounced across the kitchen to a chair and sat, continuing her unpleasant regard for Lucas. “Why is it doing that?”

“He is not an it,” Evelyn replied. “He’s just playing. Babies like to play.”

“I don’t like him.”

Evelyn stifled the urge to snap at the little girl. “You just don’t know him.”

“I don’t want to, either.”

Mary, the household’s maid and chief cook, entered the kitchen. She started to smile at the sight of Evelyn and Lucas, but Beatrice’s sharp rebuke dropped that expression from her face in an instant.

“Why aren’t you preparing supper?” Bea demanded. “Mr. Hawthorne will be home at any minute and you’re lazing about like a simpleton.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll start right away.”

“Why I put up with your laziness, I cannot imagine.”

Evelyn felt sorry for the poor girl but knew better than to speak on her behalf. The last time she dared defend a maid, Bea’s tongue lashing had Evelyn fleeing the house. Beatrice’s maids tended to stay only a short while before quitting Bea’s employment. She’d then hire a new face, only to lose her a short time later.

Only the most desperate stayed for more than a year.

As Mary began preparing a fat beef roast for supper, Evelyn kept the baby occupied with her ribbons while listening to Bea complain. Never satisfied with anything, she busily bemoaned the state of the city, the charities she sits on, her husband’s long hours away, the maids, and quite often Viola’s teacher.

Long used to the barrage of unhappiness, Evelyn nodded her head in all the right places, murmured sympathetic noises, and inwardly wished herself home. Or very far from her sister’s house. Is Colorado Territory far enough from here? Or will Bea’s bitterness accompany me there? I’m only going there for a few weeks. 

The roast smelled delicious. Mary also prepared butter beans, baked muffins, peeled potatoes for boiling, and brought buttermilk up from the cool cellar. The wonderful odors of cinnamon and nutmeg emerged from the crisp apple tarts she baked. Mary lit lamps when dusk claimed the city, and Bea had yet to run out of her complaints.

Men’s voices from the house’s front entrance finally silenced Bea. She rose quickly, smoothing her flawless hair and gown, urged Viola up, and went to greet her husband and his guest. Evelyn fed Lucas his milk, using that as an excuse to not politely rise and greet her brother-in-law. Still, she smiled as Tom entered the kitchen followed by another man, then Bea, then Violet.

She’d always liked Tom.

Tom kissed her cheek. “So, this is your young ward.” Tom playfully nipped Lucas’s small cheek with his fingers. “He’s so young.”

“Eight months.”

“Evelyn, dear, please meet Harry Yarmouth. Harry, this charming dear is Evelyn Hartley.”

Polite, smiling, yet dismayed, Evelyn shook the plump, soft hand presented to her. Tom’s guest was so round he waddled when he walked. His eyes vanished into deep folds of flesh when he smiled. His breath stank of whiskey, his teeth were brown, and Evelyn shuddered to think of Bea playing matchmaker to him.

“You’re just in time for supper,” Beatric cooed, indicating the men take their seats at the table. “Mr. Yarmouth, isn’t my sister pretty?”

“Why, yes, indeed.”

Evelyn didn’t like the way his beady eyes crawled over her. She bent her head to care for Lucas, trying to avoid looking at him, or seeing the intolerable greed in his expression. Perhaps I should go to Colorado and never come back. Perhaps I can make a new start out there. The Wild West needs teachers, yes?

Supper was an ordeal Evelyn hoped never to repeat. Lucas fell asleep after finishing his bottle, laying in his cradle near the stove. Bea’s demeanor changed in Mr. Yarmouth’s presence, becoming honey sweet and oozing praise for both him and Evelyn’s qualities. Tom ate his meal in silence, failing to add much to the discussion.

And Mr. Yarmouth beamed at Evelyn almost continuously, often forgetting to wipe gravy from his chin.

“My sister will turn the infant over to the good sisters at the orphanage,” Beatrice said, patting Mr. Yarmouth’s hand while smiling that syrupy benign stretching of her lips. “Then she’ll have the freedom to be courted. Won’t you, Evelyn?”

“I’m so sorry,” Evelyn replied, bracing herself for the storm to come. “I’m taking Lucas to Colorado Territory. Bea, I did tell you that, did I not?”

Bea’s smile stretched further under her light laugh. “No, dear, that is quite impossible. Mr. Yarmouth came to meet you, specifically to offer you courtship. You must not disappoint him.”

Mr. Yarmouth’s beady eyes disappeared into the folds. “Why, yes, my dear girl. I do wish to court you. I am a man of means, you know. I have a good name in our fair city. You could do far worse than me, you know.” He chuckled, a sound that disgusted Evelyn to her core. “Your sweet sister has already told me much about you.”

Evelyn carefully wiped her lips with her napkin. “I have no wish to disappoint you, good sir. But I must deliver Lucas to his uncle; his only known family. I’m sure you will understand. There are many young ladies who would be honored to have you pay calls on them.”

The storm brewed on Beatrice’s expression. Tom eyed her askance, then kept his gaze on his plate as though wishing he could crawl under the table and hide. Even Viola turned her face away from her mother as the thunderheads blossomed.

Mr. Yarmouth didn’t notice at all.

“Now that is quite the trip, my dear,” he said, still beaming. “You’re far too young and helpless to endure such a journey, I’m sure. No, I believe you should turn the child over to the orphanage.”

“Yes, Evelyn certainly will.” Beatrice’s eyes had hardened into two chips of blue ice. “She will not be making any such journey. When do you plan to make your first call on her, Mr. Yarmouth?”

“Why, how about tomorrow? I have no current engagements.”

“Then Evelyn will be here to greet you.” Bea’s smile had become a sharp slash across her face. “Won’t you, Evelyn? I will act as chaperone. Will ten 0’clock suit you, Mr. Yarmouth?”

“Indeed it will.”

“Then it’s settled.” The blade of Bea’s mouth softened a fraction in her victory. “Evelyn, dear, you’ll deliver the child to the sisters first thing in the morning. After which, you’ll arrive here at precisely ten o’clock for Mr. Yarmouth’s visit.”

Evelyn stood up. “Thank you for supper, Bea, it was delicious. Mr. Yarmouth, it was a pleasure to meet you. Tom, it was good to see you again.”

Without waiting for a reply, she picked up Lucas’s cradle and strode to the front door. Mary waited nearby to open it for her, as though she’d overheard Evelyn’s remarks. Evelyn paused to smile sadly.

“Good luck to you, Mary,” she murmured. “Find a good man. You’re wasted here.”

Mary dipped a tiny curtsey. “Thank you, ma’am. I already have a good man in mind. We’re to wed in two weeks.”

Evelyn smiled, then entered the warm darkness to walk to her small room a few blocks away.

***

“I’m going to miss you.”

Mrs. Sweeny embraced Evelyn as the carriage driver loaded her satchels into the buggy’s rear. 

“You promise you’ll come back?”

Evelyn hesitated. “Mrs. Sweeny, I probably will. However, if I like the West, I may stay there. There’s little enough for me in Briarfield.”

Mrs. Sweeny nodded, compassionate. “I understand. Write to me and let me know. I’ll hold your room. You’re paid up through the next month anyway.”

“Thank you.”

Mrs. Sweeny bent to pluck Lucas from his cradle, holding him as she gazed, smiling, into his little face. “I’ll miss you too, small one. I hope and pray your uncle takes you in.”

She looked at Evelyn sharply. “You come back if this uncle doesn’t want this child. I can’t see you raising him alone. Not in the West where you have no one.”

“Then I’ll be back.”

“Good.”

Mrs. Sweeny replaced Lucas in his cradle and glanced at the waiting driver. “Go, child. Before I start to cry.”

“Goodbye, Mrs. Sweeny.” Evelyn handed Lucas to the driver, then hugged her landlady again. “I’ll send word.”

“Do that. And may God bless you. And that baby.”

Her tears burning behind her eyes, Evelyn accepted the driver’s assistance into the carriage. She knew if she looked back, she would indeed begin to cry. Mrs. Sweeny had been like a mother to her, to Clara, to all the women who stayed under her roof. I didn’t think leaving for a few weeks would be this difficult.

Except Evelyn knew, deep within her heart, she may never come back.