Caught in the Middle (20 page)

Beaming, Ophelia weaved her way toward them. She slowed at the sight of the beautiful Mrs. Walton, a young lady whose
poise rivaled her own, then with determined steps took both of them by the arms and escorted them into Ian’s office.

Heads turned toward Nick, but his smile didn’t waver. There was relief to be found when an adversary showed his hand. No more dreading the strike, no more wondering if you were truly at odds. The first shot had been fired, and he knew the enemy. While he wasn’t prepared to expose the corruption, he was ready to fight it. Winning this election was a moral imperative. The issue had grown to encompass more than a bridge. It was about ruthless, self-serving men being at the helm, steering the populace for their own profit.

“What’s he doing here?” Joel took a pastry from a silver tray that floated past. “I can’t believe Walton would talk to Stanford, much less bring his wife to Ian’s house.”

“He’s the new favorite son.” Nicholas shrugged. “It’s a long story, but I can’t squander my time tonight talking to you.”

Joel nodded, not the least bit offended. “Whatever you did wrong, you did it thoroughly.”

“As if I know any other way,” Nick grunted.

“Find me when you have the time.” Joel tossed the pastry into his mouth. “I can’t wait to hear.”

But Joel’s curiosity would have to wait.

Wanting to view the disaster firsthand, people gathered around Nick as though he were a tightrope walker, but he wouldn’t stumble with an audience. He answered the concerns of the businessmen eager to facilitate transportation. He took suggestions from the local doctor about the proper setup for a lunatic asylum that was overdue for the county. With a local minister he discussed the amount allocated for pauper burial.

Then the office doors opened and the men spilled out.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” Ian pulled his coat back, exposing the chain of his gold watch. “I want to thank you for your attendance and your attention to your civic duty, and in the interest of providing balanced information and real alternatives, we decided to introduce you to both men running for the office.”

First, Ian curtly acknowledged Nick, and then what followed was a litany of Philip Walton’s experience and qualifications. Chin up, Nick scanned the room, gauging the effect of Ian’s loss of favor toward him. Brows furrowed. Glances darted. No one knew quite what to make of it. And among the dark suits, like a rosebud in a pile of coal, stood Mrs. Walton, her face suffused with pride. But she was glowing at Ian Stanford, not her husband.

Ophelia claimed to be offended by Anne’s eccentric appearance, but did she prefer Mrs. Walton’s artful beauty? And what about Philip Walton? Was he a conspirator or merely another naïve puppet who wouldn’t feel the strings until it was too late? All Nicholas knew was that he couldn’t sulk around with his tail tucked. Ian might be able to destroy his business, but he couldn’t touch Nick’s character. Nick was clean and he intended to stay that way.

“It’s not as if the ladies don’t notice him,” Mrs. Puckett said, “but Joel is impervious to their attention. Just last Sunday Miss Darrell stepped right in front of him—I feared that he’d certainly bowl her over going as fast as he’s wont to—but he doglegged his path, missing her by a hair and not slowing an iota. I thought she would cry her eyes out.”

The hank of yarn on Anne’s outstretched hands was get
ting heavy, but the faster Mrs. Puckett talked, the faster her hands wound the wool into a ball.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to wind for a bit?” Anne offered.

“Not at all. You just sit there and rest.”

Supper was over. The dirty dishes were soaking in the wash pan, and Mr. Puckett had taken his pipe to the porch. Sammy nosed around the kitchen, exploring behind the curtained cabinets, looking for mischief.

“Joel says I should be satisfied with my grandchildren from his sisters, but they’re scattered from here to Timbuktu. I don’t see them much. Caroline tells me to simmer down or Joel’s going to up and marry some girl from goodness knows where, and I’ll never see my grandchildren anyway.”

Anne didn’t think Nick wanted her to tell the Pucketts his business, but she wished she had some way of signaling to Mrs. Puckett that she had more weighty concerns than Joel’s failure to produce progeny.

“And that is why I won’t hear of you moving to your own place. Certainly it’s your right, but don’t do it on our account. We’d miss you and Sammy sorely.”

The hank of yarn almost leapt off her hands when the door opened.

Mr. Puckett entered, chewing his pipe. “Nick, I swear I’m going to give you one of my watches. You have no consideration for the hour.”

“Come on in.” Mrs. Puckett rose. “Anne’s been watching for you all evening.”

Nick stepped into the circle of light thrown by the table lamp. His eyes sought Anne’s. She had a pang of embarrassment
at the admission, but it was quickly overcome with relief to see his smile.

“I apologize for my timing. The event ran late.” Nick bent, picked up Sammy, and returned his greeting—raspberries for raspberries.

Mrs. Puckett lifted the hank off Anne’s hands and carefully folded it into her basket. “It’s no trouble. We still have dishes to tend.”

Anne was on her feet. “I’ll do them. There’s no need for you to stay up.”

Mrs. Puckett rested her basket on the table. “Well, well.” Her eyes took a speculative gleam. “Now that you mention it, it is past the hour, and although Sammy seems very content with Nicholas . . . almost as if they were family . . . I’ll put him down if you’d like.”

Anne nodded her agreement. Nicholas handed Sammy into Mrs. Puckett’s capable hands. Mr. Puckett took a seat and was promptly scolded into leaving the room for the evening.

“I should’ve warned you.” Anne folded her hands before her, suddenly self-conscious. “The discourse tonight covered Joel’s avoidance of marriageable ladies.”

“Ah, then I walked into the crucible.”

“Yes . . . well . . . that’s not what I’ve been waiting to discuss. Tell me about today.”

Nicholas pulled the red paper garter off his arm. “The bridge vote passed.”

“You voted for it?”

His eyes sought hers with an earnestness she didn’t expect. “I did.”

Anne leaned against the kitchen cabinet. “May no one ever drown crossing that river again.”

“Construction should start this spring.”

She straightened. “But you went to the Stanfords’ tonight? They didn’t know?”

“They knew. The guest list was unchanged, but the guest of honor had been replaced. Philip Walton never left Ian’s side and was hailed by him as the most capable candidate.”

She nodded. Cruelty didn’t surprise her. She was familiar with those who took pleasure from hurting people, especially when it benefited them. What was unfathomable to Anne was that good people saw it and did nothing.

Feeling an urge to act, Anne took the kettle off the stove and mixed the hot water with the water already in the dishpan, then sprinkled in soap flakes.

“So nothing has been said about your contract?”

“No. This section of track is nearly done. We were preparing to begin on the next, but tonight left little doubt that they’ll do what they can to ruin me.” Nick removed his coat and folded it over the chair back.

“What if you proved what they’ve been up to? Could you save your business?”

“If they have no qualms about interfering with elected officials, if we have a judge who will accept bribes, then something should be done. Still, whether Ian Stanford goes to jail or he pays fines and NTT Railroad is closed down, I won’t have a contract with them.”

“Then what will you do?”

“Start all over, I suppose. I’ll serve my term as commissioner and find work as I can. My biggest concern is for you and Harold. Harold has been so faithful. I hate that my convictions have cost him his employment. And you . . . you haven’t made any plans I need to know of, have you?”

Anne rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and plunged her hands into the water. “As far as employment, I’ve gotten nowhere.”

Nicholas fiddled with his wrists, then set his cuff links on the table. He rolled his starched cuffs to his elbows and came to her side.

“We could wash dishes professionally,” he said. “Do you think Pushmataha might have room for two in the kitchen?”

“You’ll have to stay here and serve as commissioner, silly.”

He picked up the iron skillet, it being the dirtiest dish. Anne handed him the wire brush. “Careful, you’ll bend the bristles.”

“Sorry for my enthusiasm. I’m just glad to find one situation I know how to correct.”

They worked in silence for a long comfortable time. Nicholas scrubbed the worst of the pans and then handed them to Anne for a final round and inspection.

“At first,” Nicholas said, “it was difficult for me to believe you were a buffalo hunter. It was so unlikely for a woman, even given your childhood.”

Anne’s hands stilled. “Why are you trying to imagine my childhood?”

He shrugged. “I’m trying to understand you, and now that I know you better, I have to admit that the hardest part of your story for me to comprehend is that you were a wife once, that you ran a household and practiced the domestic arts. You rarely reference it. It’s as if it didn’t happen at all.”

Her chest tightened. “Some things are best forgotten.”

“But you haven’t forgotten, have you?” He bent over a baked-on crust and left her with the characters she’d tried to banish.

A young lady, scraping enough money together from selling pelts to purchase her first dress. The charming schoolmaster who’d suggested that she stay after school for private instruction so she wouldn’t throw away her academic potential. Her naïveté—and its loss. Once his secret was out, Anne stayed in Ohio only long enough for her father and the school board to produce a shotgun and a minister.

“Were you afraid of him in the beginning?”

Anne’s face reddened. “He was my teacher. I didn’t know anything about the world—or relationships. Everything he told me, everything he showed me was new. Some part of my soul protested, but he was my only means for escaping. No one knew the cruelty Jay Tillerton was capable of.”

She fished for silverware in the bottom of the basin and encountered Nick’s hand. He grasped her fingers beneath the water.

“Tell me more. I want to know everything.” He didn’t let her pull away.

“Why?”

“You can’t guess?” He lifted her hand from the water. “I’ve spoken of our friendship. I’ve told you how I respect you, how I care. I’ve said a lot, but there’s one word I haven’t used. One word I hesitate to speak.”

Anne closed her eyes. A word that would bind her, that would mean a loss of her independence.

He’d taken a towel and was drying her fingers, one at a time. “I don’t think you want to hear it from me yet, and I want to understand why. I want to know if you’ll ever welcome my devotion.”

It was a question Anne was afraid to ask herself. Was she capable of loving Nick? Would she ever be?

He led her to the kitchen table. Directing her to sit, he pulled a chair before her. “Was Prairie Lea your first stop?”

Pushing her turmoil aside she reported the facts, even though those were painful enough. “At first we traveled south, wanting to leave the scandal behind, but the further we traveled the more hostile people were. Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama—none of them wanted to hire a Yankee schoolteacher when times were hard. Jay groveled and flattered, but they would have none of it. He blamed me. That’s when he started—”

She stopped. Nicholas’s head was bowed over her hands as he worked the towel around each finger. Side by side he inspected them. “Does Mrs. Puckett keep any hand cream in the kitchen?”

“There on the windowsill.”

Nicholas reached for the glass jar and uncorked the lid. “You don’t use hand cream often, I bet.”

“And you do?”

A gentle smile tugged at his lips. “I’m a hopeless city boy, no denying it.” Taking one of her hands in both of his, he began to apply the rose-scented balm. “So the abuse began before you came to Prairie Lea.”

She breathed in the soothing scent before answering. “And then we lived in that little house, so far from town. Before Rosa and Louise came to reclaim their farm, I never saw anyone out there. Jay could do what he wanted to me, and did. I tried running away, but I was foolish. I’d gotten soft and thought my best chance was to navigate the trains back to Ohio. Of course, the train station was the first place he looked, and it wasn’t pretty when he found me.”

Nick grew stone still. His hands paused. He took a long breath and eased it out evenly.

“Is that when you decided to shoot him?” His thumbs kneaded into her palms, working deeper than the hand cream could reach.

“I didn’t plan to shoot him. I only wanted to get away. The second time I ran, I was wiser. I took my gun and started across country. It’d be slower going because I didn’t have my old clothes, but he couldn’t track me. I know how to disappear. When he came down to the creek bank, I’d left no tracks and was tucked away in a blackberry bush. He came within a few feet of me and never knew it. If Rosa Garner hadn’t stepped into his path, he’d still be alive today.”