Caught in the Middle (33 page)

Nick’s chin dropped. He should’ve known Ophelia would rather go to jail than give up her share of the credit for the railroad’s success.

She turned to face the giant gilt-framed mirror in the entryway. The glass caught her reflection perfectly, her hair highlighted by the electric chandelier, the slight sag to her jaw nearly disguised by the high collar. And then there was
Nick’s own reflection peering over her shoulder, looking much younger than he felt.

“I was with him every step of the way.” She gazed, mesmerized by her image. “If it had been left up to him, he’d have stayed in his office, chewing cigars. It was I who brought the right people to our dining room, got us invited to parties where we could meet investors. I even studied the journals, and managed to go to every contractors’ meeting so I could make informed decisions.”

She turned to Nick, all traces of her anger carefully vanquished. “I thought getting you the position with the county would help you. If I would’ve known you were going to object, I would’ve never put you in that position. I meant it as a boon, but Ian used it to ruin you.”

So she was only looking out for his good? Was that why she treated Anne so poorly? Was that why she paraded Philip Walton around at a soiree meant to honor him? But this wasn’t about him. This was about showing mercy while there was still time.

The door to Ian’s office opened. The new commissioner’s wife stepped out, clad in a stylish traveling coat and carrying a crate brimming with ledgers. Seeing him, she stood as motionless as the marble statues that graced the foyer. Only her expressive eyes moved as they darted from Nick to Ophelia.

“Come.” Ophelia took his arm. “Let’s let the housekeeper finish tidying up. We can visit in my office.”

Tidying up? Nick’s shoulders tensed. “That’s a heavy load you’re carrying, Mrs. Walton. Lots of thick ledgers. How about I take that for you?” He couldn’t let Ian’s records disappear before his eyes, but could he wrestle them away from
the ladies? How he wished Anne was with him. She wouldn’t hesitate.

Another tug on his arm. “She’s doing her job. Let her be. I want to hear more about your plans—”

“But she’s not dressed for cleaning houses,” Nick said. “She’s going somewhere. Look at her nice traveling coat, Ophelia. And her—” And then he saw it dangling from her velvet cuff. He pointed. “Isn’t that . . . ?” Before he could cover his gaffe, Ophelia’s keen eyes lighted on it.

An ornately beaded red handbag swung from her housekeeper’s wrist. Ophelia released Nick. Her hand covered her finely wrinkled throat, and her chin went up. Her voice dripped with syrupy curiosity.

“That’s a beautiful bag, Mary. Where did you get it?”

Mrs. Walton tried to shrink behind the crate she held. “I got it from . . . it was a gift.”

Ophelia came closer. “A gift? Who would give you such an expensive gift?”

Mrs. Walton’s chin trembled. “I’d rather not say, ma’am.”

Ophelia narrowed her eyes. “I demand you tell me.”

Nick stepped forward, ready to intervene if necessary.

Mrs. Walton pressed her well-formed lips together and shook her head. “I can’t,” she muttered and dropped the crate to the floor.

The burn creeping across Ophelia’s face in splotches was a disturbing sight. Her nostrils flared. Nick caught her around the waist as she lunged for the younger woman.

“How dare you carry my bag into my house! Did you think I’d just step aside?” she screeched. “You just wait. Where will you be when Ian and your husband are in jail? Did you think of that?”

But all Mrs. Walton was thinking about was getting out of reach. Throwing an arm across her face, Mrs. Walton hugged the elaborate bag to her side and sped past them, out the door.

Ophelia pulled out of Nick’s grasp but stopped at the threshold. She fumed at the door, her stays creaking with each angry breath. Turning, she stalked back to the gilt-framed mirror only long enough to catch sight of her terrifying expression. Then in a fury she swept the Chinese vase off the table before her. Lilies, water, and glass exploded on the marble floor and embedded in the thick silk runner. Delicate flowers lay mixed with the sharp edges of glass.

“Theo!” Her voice rang off the vaulted ceiling. “Theo, have my carriage brought around.” She turned on Nick. “I think I’ll take your advice after all and do what I can to help the investigation.” Her coils of hair hung slightly awry. “You wouldn’t mind getting those ledgers to the sheriff’s office, would you? I’m in a rush to get there myself. I have a story to tell, and it can’t wait.”

She stood before the door. Theo jumped when he realized she was waiting for him to open it.

Ophelia stopped on the threshold and jabbed her finger toward Nick. “After I give my testimony I’ll be looking for you, so don’t go anywhere. I’ll need your help more than ever once we get rolling again. Ian Stanford doesn’t own the monopoly on success in this household. The NTT Railroad won’t miss a stop.”

She barged outside with her boiler at maximum temperature. Theo scrambled to keep up, juggling her parasol and hat that she’d forgotten in her haste. The door closed and the house seemed to sigh in relief.

Nick shuddered. How exciting her words would’ve been
to him a few weeks ago. He would’ve jumped at the opportunity to help Ophelia manage the railroad, but his blinders had been removed.

Bending, Nick picked up a lily. He snapped the stalk, brushed the shards of glass off its tender petals, and pushed it through his buttonhole. No longer was he blinded to the bait and snares they’d laid before him. In order to open his eyes God had taken away his success, but he could finally say he was grateful.

One last look at the marble floors, the soaring arched ceiling, and all the symbols of power and wealth that had once so impressed him. One last look, for he’d never enter again.

The basket dangled from her arm as Anne wandered in the general direction of the market. Her rough boots scraped the hard-packed road. Her tear-stained letter to the Hollands rode securely in the pocket of her duster, but she hadn’t had the nerve to post it. Would they think she was meddling? Would they resent her inquiries after Sammy? What if she mailed it and they never answered? What if they closed the door on her? She wouldn’t be able to bear it.

The wind slapped her hair ribbon against her neck. It was a feeble gesture, but she’d thought an attempt at beauty might raise her spirits. Ridiculous to think a red ribbon at the nape of her neck would make an impression against her faded coat and battered hat. It definitely hadn’t assuaged her anxiety.

She reached the bins of vegetables at the storefront. Potatoes, corn, and a bag of flour—that’s all Mrs. Puckett had requested. Probably only an excuse to get Anne out of the
house. She lifted the lid to the bin and grasped a rough, cold potato. Its weight satisfied. Solid. Something to hold on to. She was still holding it when Nick stepped up next to her.

“Hello, beautiful.” He bristled with excitement.

Anne dropped her head, dropped the potato in the basket, and hoped he wouldn’t notice her melancholy.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned. “Did something happen?”

“Tell me your news. You’re about to split at the seam.”

“Well, if you’re worried about me, don’t be. Ophelia has decided to give testimony against her husband.”

“Ophelia?” Anne raised her eyes. “Did she have a change of heart?”

Nick shrugged. “A revelation you might say. When she saw Mrs. Walton carrying a beautiful red beaded purse, she erupted.”

“Mrs. Walton got the purse Ophelia wanted?”

“Yes, and she refused to tell Ophelia who bought it for her.”

“It had to be Stanford.” Anne whistled. “I bet she’s hot. But if the judge and Ian are both convicted, what will happen to your contracts and NTT?”

“I don’t know. Ophelia offered to honor my contract, but that’s out of the question. I can’t yoke my future to a corrupt operation. Even if the courts can’t pin anything on Ophelia, she’s benefited from her husband’s unsavory activities for years.” Nick scratched his neck. “Protecting the people from the Stanfords and Judge Calloway was my first priority. At least we’ve accomplished that much.”

A lanky man with a handlebar moustache caught sight of Nick, skidded to a stop, and changed course to join them.

“You know this fellow?” Anne asked. Ever since returning, Anne had been feeling more and more protective. After the
election and Stanford’s lies she was watching diligently for Nick’s enemies.

Nick turned just as the taller gentleman stepped up behind him. Anne grasped the metal rim of the potato barrel, ready to intervene if necessary.

“David.” Nick nodded to Anne. “Anne, this is David Anderson, the commissioner from precinct three. David, my fiancée, Mrs. Anne Tillerton.”

His smile seemed genuine. “Congratulations!” When he shook her hand instead of bowing, Anne knew she’d found a friend.

“Nick, I’ve been right anxious to talk to you. I guess you heard . . .”

His concern was touching, but Nick hurried to put him at ease. “Listen, the election is behind me. My goal now is to see they can’t interfere again.”

“But that’s not all. The election results have been thrown out. They can’t stand, not when Ian and Judge Calloway are guilty of tampering. They’ll have another election.”

Nick’s face lifted. The potato in Anne’s basket doubled in weight.

“Another election? It only makes sense.”

“And you’re a shoo-in,” Commissioner Anderson said. “Once the story is out people will be falling over themselves to elect the right man.”

“After Garrard and Walton we need someone new, but I’m not sure I have another charge in me.”

Still, his eyes sparkled at the thought. Anne felt Commissioner Anderson’s gaze on her. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I need to go. Mrs. Puckett is waiting on her groceries.”

Nick caught the basket handle. “You have to pay for them first.”

Of course. She selected some more potatoes and shuffled inside, but not before she heard Nick ask, “When will candidates be able to apply?”

Anne lifted her basket onto the countertop inside and let the clerk unload the potatoes to the scale while she selected some ears of corn from a bushel nearby. For a woman newly engaged to the man she adored, she was dragging. Another election? As his fiancée how many dinners would she have to attend? And if he won, how many functions would she preside over? Anne placed the corn on the counter and watched the needle of the scale bounce before settling. When Nick proposed he’d already lost the election. She’d never considered that he might have another chance. Anne pointed to a bag of flour. The clerk scratched some numbers on a pad and did some quick math.

Was the heart of her trouble Nick’s political ambitions or the loss of Sammy? As much as she loved Nick, as much as she enjoyed being loved by him, she still sifted through a heavy fog of sorrow. What she’d had a week ago, what she’d been forced to give up, felt tangibly more real than whatever vague future they’d have together. Maybe this commissioner race was a first step. They needed something to look forward to. Their plans needed one solid hope.

Nick waited for her at the door. He took the basket. “Where are you headed now?”

She shrugged, not looking up.

He didn’t move. His soft leather shoes didn’t budge.

“Excuse me.” The woman carried a child at her hip. Its
gown rode up, exposing perfectly plump limbs above high-laced booties.

“I beg your pardon.” Nick took Anne’s arm and escorted her out of the doorway.

Over her shoulder she got a last glance before the child disappeared into the store. She couldn’t go back to the Pucketts’. Not yet. Not when every corner still rang with his laughter and every room still echoed with his footsteps. Instead, she took the street to the edge of town where the river swooped near. She needed space, and Nick wasn’t giving her much.

“You’re not excited about the prospect of my running for office again.” Nick strolled at her side.

Anne looked ahead. The river brought a nice touch of green to the otherwise barren town. Soon a bridge would span it and the people of Allyton—

“Anne, I’m speaking to you. We have some big decisions to make, so I’d like your opinion. I might not be able to honor it, but I want to know, just the same.”

She walked past him to the trees, yearning to stand beneath something that had survived much longer than she had. “Why, if it makes no matter?”

“It matters. It’s not
all
that matters, but it matters.” He set the basket at the foot of a tree and crossed his arms. “Were you disappointed when I lost the election?”

“I was sad. It meant so much to you. . . .” And maybe it still did. She sighed. “I’m not being fair. Don’t pay me any mind. I just feel like something’s missing.”

“Something? You mean someone?”

She didn’t answer. Nick gently took her hand. “It’s been a difficult day for you. All my plotting and planning hasn’t lessened your burden.”

The wind caught a rebellious lock of Nicholas’s hair untamed by his morning’s grooming. Anne licked her finger and smoothed it. “I’ve never been in the Pucketts’ house without him. I keep thinking he’s upstairs asleep. I keep expecting him to come around the corner . . .”