Heart of Stone (19 page)

“Fossils?” She had read about such things, but never hoped to see one. She straightened and noticed all the rocks in the immediate area were covered with them.

“Joe thinks a flood or a storm unearthed them long ago. He and his father came upon them one day and marveled at this evidence of the sea having once been here in the middle of Texas. Hattie claims they are proof of the Great Flood.”

“Ah,” she said as if she knew what Great Flood he was talking about.

They walked from rock to rock. She stopped to wonder and admire stones older than she could imagine. Now and again traced the impressions with her fingertips.

He was standing beside her, near enough to feel his warmth, to hear him breathe. She was aware of everything—the clear, warm fall air, the sound of the brittle dry grass moving as the wind skimmed through it. The song of the stream.

Most of all, she was aware of Brand.

She looked over her shoulder, met his eyes.

“They are a wonderful surprise, the fossils,” she told him. “I’ll always remember this day.”

And you.
No matter what happened, she promised herself, she would never forget this day.

B
rand was lost in the depths of her eyes, thrilled that seeing the fossils and sharing the simple picnic had pleased her. He saw it in the way her eyes shone up at him, the way her smile played around her lips, teasing her dimples into view.

He was tempted to kiss her, but before he could, she turned and walked on to inspect another boulder covered with impressions. This time when she paused, she clasped her hands together and kept her back to him. He watched her shoulders rise and fall on a heavy sigh.

“Something happened yesterday,” he said, gently touching her shoulder. She turned to him again. “I wish you trusted me enough to tell me what upset you.”

He stared out over the rolling landscape, picturing the man he’d met in front of the Silver Slipper. Collier Holloway was tall and dark, and women probably considered him handsome in a rakish way.

Brand took a deep breath. “If there’s someone else—”

Her answer was swift and certain. “No. No one else.”

“Marry me, Laura.”

“What?” Her color faded. She looked as shocked as he was.

The proposal had slipped out without warning, but there was no way he was going to take it back. He knew the obstacles, but the offer had come from his heart, from his very soul.

“I’ve no right to ask or to expect you to say yes when my future is so uncertain, but I believe God brought us together, Laura. I love you—”

“Don’t,” she said, touching her fingers to his lips. “Please, don’t. I can’t marry you, Brand.”

She reached up and tenderly cupped his cheek. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Are you still mourning your husband?”

“No, definitely not. I simply can’t marry anyone,” she whispered.

She hesitated, pale as ash, then closed her eyes and raised a hand to her temple.

“Are you all right?” He took hold of her elbow and led her to a rock, guided her to a sitting position.

“What is it? Are you ill?”

She was shaking so hard that she held her hands together in her lap to stop their trembling. He sat beside her, covered her hands with his own. Despite the warmth of the sun, her fingers were as cold as ice.

“I’ll get the horses and we’ll start back.” He wanted to get her back safely. She was definitely not well.

“No, please, Brand. I have something I want to tell you. Something I should have told you weeks ago. I can’t let the beauty of this day or your kindness dissuade me any longer.”

He asked no questions. He simply waited for her to go on.

“It’s about me. About who I was before I came to Texas.” She pulled her hands out from beneath his, unlaced her fingers, and then wound them together again. Her gaze never left his eyes. She spoke slowly, haltingly, as if each and every word was painful to utter.

“I was born in Ireland. When the famine came, my family immigrated to New Orleans. I was ten years old. My parents and my three younger sisters and I moved in with my uncle and aunt in a section called the Irish Channel.”

She must have seen he was unfamiliar with the area, for she went on to explain.

“That was a section of the city near the docks where the poor Irish lived. My father found work digging the canals that protect the place from storms and flooding. He caught yellow fever and died. We lost our mother shortly after him. My aunt and uncle couldn’t afford to feed four extra mouths, so they sent my two youngest sisters to an orphanage.”

“Oh, Laura.” He started to slip his arm around her shoulders but she edged away. She was no longer looking at him. “You never saw them again?”

“No.”

“It must have been terrible—”

“I wish that was all there was to it.”

He could see that she was gathering the courage to go on. There was the briefest of pauses while they both looked up to watch a pair of red-tailed hawks circle overhead before the birds flew off together.

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she began again.

“My uncle sold me and my nine-year-old sister to what they call a sporting house—a place where men go to amuse themselves with women. I lived there most of my life.”

He knew perfectly well what she meant. He was too stunned to speak as he tried to comprehend. His mind could not wrap itself around the idea of someone as genteel, as perfectly mannered and caring, as Laura in a brothel. Not now and most certainly not as a child.

Shock, anger, and disbelief warred inside him at the injustice of it. He stared at Laura, her finely etched profile, her delicate coloring and mannerisms.

She’s a whore.

Reeling, he closed his eyes. He struggled to stop the images that assailed him; Laura in the arms of other men, countless, nameless, faceless other men. He shook his head.

No.
It was all he could think.
Not Laura.

When he opened his eyes again, he found her staring at him. Her face was drained of color. He could tell by her expression that his reaction had deeply wounded her. His silence had reinforced his shock louder than words.

She started to stand. He reached for her.

“Laura, stop.”

When she tried to step away, he said, “Wait. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She gave a slight shake of her head. “No. You don’t need to apologize. Anyone would be reviled.”

“Shocked, not reviled.”

She looked down to where his hand was still gripping her upper arm.

“Please, sit back down,” he encouraged. “Go on.”

At first he thought she would refuse to stay, refuse to continue, but she sank back onto the rock as if she no longer had the strength to stand.

Brand fought to conceal his confusion. He didn’t want her hurt any more than he’d already hurt her. Any more than she’d already been hurt by life. He’d been so proud of the way he’d counseled his flock. So certain of his role as not only their minister, but as a town leader and a man they all looked to for guidance.

First Jesse’s appearance had shaken the foundation of his reputation, and now he had lost his heart to a woman who had just confessed to being a whore since childhood. Would loving Laura cost him his position and whatever standing he had left in Glory?

Above all, he wondered if his love could weather such horrific truth.

He struggled for words of consolation and found none.

Stunned, all he managed was, “It must have been horrible.”

“Horrible doesn’t come close to describing that first night. An innocent child is a prize the most vile of men will pay anything to use…

“My uncle told me I’d have fine clothes and everything a girl could want. But my sister and I were separated and when they dressed me up in satin and lace and tied my hair up in ribbons, I didn’t enjoy my new treasures. I was taken downstairs into a grand salon where everything glittered, gold and crystal. Rich brocade covered the furnishings. I was forced to stand on a stool and sing a
song. My voice shook as I sang a lullaby my mother used to lull us to sleep with. It’s the only song I could remember right then.

“I was sold to the highest bidder. A man who…” She rested her head on her hand and refused to meet his eyes. “A man who hurt me.

“I was a valuable commodity, so afterward I was given the best of care. An old woman, a slave, was there to care for the women of the house. She nursed me through the worst of it. I mistook her gentle care for friendship and begged her to help me escape—until I realized she would never give in. She was only doing as she was told, saving me so that I could be used again.

“I’m not sure what happened to my sister. I saw a man take her away and never laid eyes on her again. To this day I cling to the hope that she’s still alive. There’s no difference between the guilt I carry for what I became and the guilt of not being able to save her. I was the oldest, the one who was suppose to protect my sisters and I—” Her voice finally broke. “I couldn’t save Megan. I couldn’t save any of us.”

“You were just a child yourself. What could you have done?”

“Something. I should have done
something
, but I didn’t. I couldn’t even pray for them.

“At first I hated the other women. I was determined not to become like them. I watched and waited, hoping to escape. Eventually I realized there was no escape. I discovered money was power. I thought that in order to leave that world behind and find my sisters, I would need as much money as I could make. As I grew older, I singled out the most sought-after women, the ones who had the most power over the patrons, and I learned from them. I made certain I became a favorite. I discovered what men desired most and gave it to them.

“I hardened my heart. I stopped feeling and escaped into a fantasy world where I dreamed of building a fine home and of finding my sisters. I dreamed we’d all be together again.

“I was torn, knowing I should escape that life at any cost, but I
was a captive of the promise of a dream. I stayed until I had enough money to start my life over as someone else, someone new. But now I know that inside I’ll always be that ruined child, that desperate young woman willing to sell herself. A young woman who became the very thing she so despised.

“When I left New Orleans, I changed my name to Laura Foster and didn’t look back. But I’m still that woman, Brand. I’m still Lovie Lamonte. I’ll never be free of my past or my sins. I know that now.”

She wouldn’t look up at him. Her shoulders were bent under the weight of her confession.

He fought the images her words conjured, but the horror was nearly overwhelming. The memories were something she would live with for the rest of her life. He found himself asking,
Now that I know, can I ever forget?

He reached down, placed his hand beneath her chin, and raised her face so he could gently thumb aside her tears. When he looked into her eyes, he knew the answer.

“That’s not who you are now,” he whispered.

“But—”

“That isn’t who you are, Laura. Not anymore.”

“That’s who I
was
, don’t you see? And then I wouldn’t quit until I had enough money to become completely independent, to surround myself with lovely things that would give the illusion I was wealthy, respectable, and beyond reproach. I was still a whore when I didn’t have to be.” She shook her head, her tone filled with long-pent anger. “What does that say about me? Amassing money meant more to me than walking away. More than freeing myself of the degradation and shame.”

“You were a child when you were forced into that life. You grew up in a world not many women can even imagine, let alone survive. It colored your thinking, Laura. That poor, abused child grew up doing what she thought she had to do for her own survival. You’ve left that woman behind.”

“I saw the look on your face when I began, Brand. I may have left the brothel behind, but I’ll have to live with my past forever.”

“God forgives, Laura. Never forget that.”

She turned away and whispered, “Can you forgive me for not telling you before?”

Brand ached with the pain she was feeling. Seeing her there, so vulnerable and broken, he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and comfort her, to convince her that his heart was still hers alone.

“Of course. I can forgive you anything.”

He watched her as she studied his face, searching his eyes for the truth. He could see that she didn’t believe him. She shook her head, tried to deny his words of assurance.

“The past will always be dogging me, threatening my world and the people in it. I didn’t set out to make friends like the Larsons or the Cutters or the Ellenbergs. Most of all, you. I can’t have you or any of them hurt because of me. I can’t ignore my past anymore now that Collier—” She stopped abruptly and dashed the tears from her cheeks.

“Holloway? Who is he to you, Laura? What hold does he have over you?”

“He threatened to tell you the truth.”

“Is that why you’re telling me now?”

“I couldn’t let you hear it from him.”

“Is Collier the man you were writing to in New Orleans?”

She shook her head. “No. I told you I was sold with my sister, Megan. She disappeared our first night in the brothel. One of the women later told me that Megan was purchased outright by a man from New Orleans.”

Laura refused to look away from the undulating landscape. Her words were carried by the constant breeze blowing across the plains.

“Before I moved to Glory, I hired a detective to search for her, but I don’t have much to go on. I doubt the man who bought her used his real name.”

She paused, finally turning to face him. Brand was shaken by the fathomless pain in her eyes.

Before he could try to draw her close again she said, “The man I’ve been corresponding with in New Orleans is a Pinkerton detective I hired to search for Megan. Eventually I hope he’ll find my two other sisters as well.”

He remembered what Jesse had said about Laura appearing upset after her drive with Amelia.

“Amelia knows, doesn’t she?”

“I told her yesterday.” She refused to face him and continued to stare out over the open plain.