Before the Dawn (2 page)

Raddock then turned to Leah. His green eyes were kind. “Young woman, even though we've never met, I know how Monty felt about your mother, and how he feels about you. If after his passing you need any help, of any kind, have Cecil or someone you trust contact me. Monty's friendship has meant a great deal to me. The least I can do is offer you my services and my protection for as long as I am able.”

Leah found his words comforting. “Thank you.”

He nodded her way one last time, then exited into the night.

Cecil gave Leah a departing hug. “I'll see you in the morning.”

Glad that she still had him in her life, she returned the embrace fiercely. “Good night.”

Upstairs, Leah eased the covers over Monty as he lay in bed. Dictating his will and reciting the short vows required by the marriage ceremony had left him exhausted. “You should rest now. It's been a long day.”

“Something I have to tell you first.”

He looked paler and more wan than usual. His pallor concerned her. “Can't it keep until morning?”

He shook his head. “Morning may be too late.”

The seriousness of his tone gave her pause. Straightening to her full height, she nodded. “Then tell me.”

“I suppose this is what you'd call a deathbed confession.”

Leah surveyed him, then said, “Go on.”

“I left two sons behind in Colorado thirty years ago.”

Shock froze her. He'd never mentioned having kin of any kind, least of all two sons.

“Seth should be thirty-six or -seven. Ryder two years younger.”

Leah's eyes widened even further. That made her their
stepmother!
“Why didn't you tell me this before?”

“Because you'd have questioned the estate going to you and not to them, and I don't have the strength to debate. I'm a dying man, remember?”

The light of humor in his eyes glowed dimly, like that of a fading star. She smiled. “Surely you've seen them since then?”

“No.”

Another shock. “Why not?”

He turned away, and for a few long moments he seemed to be searching for answers in the shadows filling the room. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded heavy with regret. “I didn't plan on time passing by so quickly. When I finally realized I wanted my sons in my life, twenty years had gone by. Before your mother died, she told me to make peace with them, but I was too guilty—too ashamed to try. I was afraid they hated me, if they even thought of me at all, but being at death's door makes me want to make things right.”

His eyes were immensely sad. “Leah, I want them to know how sorry I am. Cecil wired Colorado a few weeks ago to let them know I was dying, but so far there's been no reply from either one.”

Leah responded honestly, “You've been out of their lives a long time.”

“I know.”

Leah found it hard to believe Monty hadn't seen his sons
in thirty years; the Monty she knew had always shown great concern for the people in his life. “Have you been providing for them in the years you've been gone?”

“I left them the profits from a mine I owned. I assumed it was enough to give them a decent life.”

“But you don't really know.”

He shook his head. “No, I don't.”

“You haven't inquired at all?”

He shook his head negatively.

“Monty, anything could've happened to them over the years.”

“I know, Leah. I know,” he said emotionally. “And now, it's too late.”

Leah loved Monty like a father. Judging him harshly now wouldn't change the past, but she wished he'd contacted his sons earlier.

“I want you to go to Colorado and see them for me.”

Her eyes widened.

“You said you wanted to see the Divide. Here's your chance.”

Realizing she'd stepped into a trap, she shook her head at the deft way she'd been manipulated.

“Cecil's going to Colorado on my behalf with hopes that my boys can be found. Say you'll go with him.”

Leah had an affectionate but amazed smile on her face. “Is there anything else you wish for me to do? Spin straw into gold? Dance on the head of a pin? How do you think your sons are going to react when I arrive on their doorstep and introduce myself as their new stepmother?”

He grinned. “I hope they're going to be so dazzled by your dark beauty they'll be perfect gentlemen.”

“Oh, Lord,” Leah declared, rolling her eyes. She dimmed the light by his bed. “We'll finish this discussion in the morning.” She bent and placed a solemn kiss on his pale brow. “Pleasant dreams.”

When she straightened, he took her hand. For a moment their eyes held, mirroring love, respect, and a sadness rooted in knowing his end was near. He squeezed her hand tightly, “You too.”

Filled with emotion, Leah turned to leave.

“Leah?”

She looked back.

“Promise me you'll tell them I died a changed man. If they can find it in their hearts to forgive me, maybe Satan's pit won't feel so hot.”

“I will,” Leah promised.

For a few more moments they observed each other silently; no words were needed.

Finally, Monty whispered, “Good night, Leah.”

“Night, Monty. I'll see you in the morning.”

She quietly closed the door and went to seek her own bed.

 

The next morning, as she did every morning before venturing downstairs to open up, Leah tiptoed into Monty's room to check on him. The moment she walked in, she knew he was dead. His stillness made her heart sigh heavily. She knew if she started crying, she wouldn't be able to stop, so she forced back her tears and crossed the room to his bed, thankful he was no longer in pain.

They buried him the next day in the local cemetery. Leah, dressed in the same black dress and veil she'd worn the day she buried her mother, stood beside the grave, flanked by a few men from the Swan, the grief-stricken but stoic Cecil, and the reverend from the local church. As the reverend spoke the words, Leah let the tears stream unchecked down her cheeks. She'd miss Monty's kind and boisterous spirit for the rest of her life.

When the prayers were done and the others drifted away, she and Cecil were left alone. They stood silent, watching the gravediggers toss the last shovels of dirt onto the grave.
Cecil had purchased the plot next to Reba's for Monty's interment, and Leah thought that only fitting.

Once the gravediggers departed, Leah and Cecil stood in the cold April air silently sharing their grief. The wind blowing off the Atlantic whipped at her black skirts and ruffled the edges of her veil. She'd lived on the Massachusetts coastline all of her life; the stiff breezes were as familiar as her name so she paid it little mind. She focused instead on the twin headstones that were mute testaments to the two people who'd loved her best. The knowledge that neither Monty nor Reba would approve of her wallowing in self-pity made her wipe at her tears even as they continued to flow. She placed her black-gloved fingers against her lips, then laid a loving caress of farewell on each headstone. Pulling her shawl closer around her shoulders, she turned to the solemn Cecil, and softly said, “Let's get home.”

He nodded in agreement, politely took her elbow, and slowly escorted her back to the buggy.

 

Leah had never traveled outside her native state of Massachusetts. The knowledge that she and Cecil were about to see places and people she'd only read about in the newspapers had her wondering if she were dreaming. But reality set in as soon as they reached the station and tried to board.

“Where do you think you two are going?” the conductor asked over the din of trains and people crowding the platform. He was a big, florid-faced man with a bulbous nose and bad teeth.

“To our car,” Cecil told him.

“These cars here are private. Not for folks like you.”

Leah could feel her temper rising. She knew what he mean by
folks like you
, and it didn't sit well.

“Move along before I send for the sheriff,” the conductor ordered.

Cecil very calmly reached into his coat and withdrew a document. He handed it to the impatient-looking man.

“What's this?” the conductor asked.

“Read it, please,” a tight-lipped Cecil responded.

As the conductor scanned the paper, his face reddened and a sneer curled his lip. He shoved the page back at Cecil and walked away.

Cecil smiled. “I guess we can board now.”

“I guess we can,” she agreed.

The document in question had been penned by Judge Raddock and it gave both Cecil and Leah permission to travel to Denver in his private railroad car. After the funeral ten days ago, Cecil had informed the old judge that they'd be traveling west to settle Monty's estate, and he'd very graciously offered them its use. He'd originally planned on sending it out empty to California later in the spring in order to provide passage back East for his daughter, son-in-law, and their new baby, but saw no reason why Leah and Cecil couldn't travel in it in the meantime. The railroad would send it on west once Leah and Cecil reached Denver. Evidently he and Cecil had foreseen such an encounter with the conductor because not only did the papers hold his bold, flowing signature but also bore the date and the official seal of his court as well.

Once she and Cecil finally found the car and boarded, Leah know she'd be forever grateful to the judge because he'd offered them a traveling experience usually denied the ordinary passenger. There was a sleeping area, a water closet, upholstered settees and chairs, and a large, beautifully appointed table at which to sit and enjoy their meals.

“This is lovely,” Leah gushed as she looked around.

Cecil replied, “Indeed it is.”

They were just settling in when the conductor came to the door. “Just want you folks to know that riding in here
won't get you any special treatment. You'll take your meals in the gambling car with the rest of your kind.”

Cecil and Leah had both nodded tersely. Seemingly pleased with himself, the man departed.

 

Now, as Leah sat on the cushioned window seat, watching the rich green spring of Illinois roll by, she put the offensive conductor out of her mind and recalled that less than two weeks ago, she'd been bemoaning the fact that life held such little promise for a woman like her, and now? Thanks to Monty's generosity, life held not only promise, but offered choices as well. Even though her race would continue to bind her socially, the abrupt change in her economic circumstances would offer her the chance to travel whenever and wherever she wished. She could go to California, or even China if she had a mind to. For the first time in her life every piece of clothing she had on was brand-new: from her underwear to her stockings to shoes. She had beautiful new cloaks, handbags, gloves. It was almost as if a magician had waved his wand over her life and turned her, a common tavern brat, into a woman of means. Leah looked back at Cecil seated on one of the settees, reading a newspaper. “Cecil? What's Colorado like?”

“Thirty years ago, it was one of the most wide-open places I'd ever seen. Mountains, valleys, pine trees, pumas.”

“Pumas?”

“Yep, some folks call them mountain lions.”

Leah wondered whether they'd encounter any. She'd certainly never seen one sauntering down the Massachusetts coast. “Have you ever had the sensation that your life is about to change?”

“Is that how you feel?” he asked.

“Yes. Ever since we left Boston, I've had a strange feel
ing of excitement inside. I suppose a woman of my years shouldn't be so giddy, but I can't seem to suppress it.”

He looked over his newspaper at her and chuckled, “There's nothing wrong with what you're feeling. When Louis and I first came to Colorado, I felt the same way.”

“Being on this train, wearing these new things—it's as if I've become a new woman.”

“In a way, you have, and you have a whole new life ahead. Any regrets about leaving the Swan?”

She shook her head. “Frankly, I think leaving was for the best—too many memories, too many ghosts. After we buried Monty it seemed like everywhere I looked there they were. I'd hear Reba's laugh or see him coming down the stairs yelling for Tom and the other regulars to set up the backgammon board.”

The memories rose fresh and strong. She knew that only time would heal the grief still filling her heart, but it would heal. “I think placing Tom's wife in charge of the Swan until I return was a good idea.”

“I think so, too.”

Leah was about to say something else when the train whistle bellowed. She turned her attention back to the tracks. They were pulling into a station.

Cecil got up, came over to the window and peered out. “Looks like we've finally made Chicago. We can get out and stretch our legs a bit if you'd like. We'll probably be laying over for an hour or so.”

Leah thought that a grand idea. The early morning stop in Kalamazoo, Michigan, had been hours ago.

So, after the train halted, Leah grabbed her new fur-lined cloak and followed Cecil to the door. The portable steps needed to reach the ground had not been put in place by the porters. The area around the track was bustling with activity as passengers boarded, relatives waved, and porters strained under the weight of baggage. The air was filled with the
sound of train whistles and the smell of smoke and cinders pouring out of the idling stacks.

“It's that conductor's doing, I'll bet,” Cecil grumbled.

Leah hated to be judgmental, but the man's earlier nasty attitude led her to believe that the missing steps were one of those subtle, irritating slights that bigoted individuals often perpetrated as a way of keeping folks like her and Cecil in their place.

“We could always jump,” Leah pointed out.

“You're not nine anymore, Leah.”

She smiled. In her younger days, she and some of the boys in town would often jump from the bluffs into the ocean below. Her mother hadn't minded, but every time Cecil watched the feat, he'd sworn it subtracted years from his life.