Heart of Stone (7 page)

“I’m sorry to interrupt during your meal. I can wait in the drawing room,” he offered.

“Wait?”

“For you to join me.”

“But…I’m not going.”

“Because you
had
a headache?”

“As I said, I don’t have one now.” Laura felt as if she were floundering alone in a sinking rowboat—one she’d drilled a hole in herself.

Brand lowered his voice and stepped closer. “Janie’s been primping all day. She had Charity roll her hair in rags so it would curl like yours.”

“Reverend—”

“It’s an important night for my family, Laura. Charity has been planning this event for weeks. It would mean a lot to me if you were there.”

Her presence would mean a lot to him?

She couldn’t remember her presence meaning anything to anyone unless it was bought and paid for.

She pictured his children. Scamps they might be, but she remembered how easily children could be disappointed by the smallest thing.

“I’m not properly dressed…”

Laura was sorry when his gaze swept her gown. When he met her eyes again, they displayed an admiration she couldn’t deny. She warned herself to be very, very careful where this man was concerned. He was not someone she wanted to see hurt in any way. He or his children.

“You’ll already outshine everyone there,” he told her.

She tried to imagine herself primly seated in the church hall beside him.

“Really, Brand. I just don’t think—”

Just then, Bryce Botsworth’s laughter rang out above the others
in the dining room. Loud and boisterous, it resonated through the closed doors.

The distinctive laugh, really more of a bark, sent a cold chill through Laura. She knew without a doubt she’d heard it before. The sound brought back the memory of her first employer whispering in her ear just before she was introduced to Bryce Botsworth…

“It would behoove you to make sure the gentleman is well pleased tonight, Lovie. He’s a politician from Kansas.”

He’d been younger then. Thinner. With a full head of hair.

And she’d been younger than his oldest daughter was now.

She should have put money on her million-to-one odds of running into one of her former patrons.

Brand suddenly took her hand. “I’m so sorry, Laura. You’re white as a sheet. I’m sorry I pressed you. I’ll come back another time—”

“No.” She tightened her grip on his fingers. “Please. Don’t go.”

The last thing she wanted was to walk back into the dining room and face Botsworth again. If Brand could see it, Botsworth would surely notice her distress. Perhaps the man hadn’t yet recognized her. The last thing she wanted was to be around to jolt his memory. She quickly collected herself and tried to smile.

“Please, wait in the drawing room while I run upstairs and get a wrap. I’ll go with you.”

“Are you sure? You don’t look—”

“Yes. I’m sure.”
And desperate.
“I’d love to go.”

Before he let go of her hands, he promised, “Trust me, Laura, I’ll bring you home the minute you say the word.”

T
he doors to the hall were wide open as Brand drove his buggy up to the church grounds. Light spilled out from inside.

He set the brake and climbed down, walked around to Laura’s side. She took a deep breath and gathered her skirt. But before she could clasp his hand, Brand reached up and slipped his hands around her waist. His eyes never left her face as he lifted her to the ground. Laura tried to cover her surprise as, once more, his nearness breached the wall she had built to protect herself from her emotions. As once more, her reaction astonished her.

Thankfully, he stepped back as soon as her feet were firmly planted, but not before the shock of his touch wore off. She avoided his gaze, taking longer than necessary to straighten her shawl, to adjust the satin bow beneath her chin, to wait for her racing heart to slow down.

There were folks lining up at the door to the church. He was their minister and needed to be there. She took a deep breath.

“You look lovely,” he said softly.

“Thank you.” She didn’t feel lovely. She’d rushed upstairs, grabbed her reticule and a hat—the plainest she owned, though it sported a saucy, iridescent peacock feather—a butter-colored shawl with long fringe, and white kid gloves. She’d been so desperate to leave the house that she hadn’t even glanced in the mirror.

He offered her his elbow. In a move that was becoming too familiar, she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. As they neared those gathered at the front door to the hall, she noticed Brand had been right. Compared to the other women she was overdressed. She raised her chin a notch. It was no sin to own pretty things.

Though how she’d come by them was another story.

Brand was greeted all around as he made his way up the steps. He paused now and again to introduce her. Hearing his easy banter, watching his eyes darken with concern whenever someone asked for his advice, not only deepened her respect for him, but emphasized just how wide was the gulf between them.

She thought to leave him to his work and walk into the hall alone. But when she started to draw her hand out of the warm crook of his elbow, he smoothly laid his free hand over hers. The touch was enough to keep her beside him as he continued to introduce her and greet his congregation. They remained there, side by side, until every last person had entered.

“After you,” he said finally, gesturing toward the open doors.

She nodded and stepped over the threshold.

Together they walked toward the front pew near the stage. The hall was full of the young, old, and in-between, some families taking up entire rows. She was certain her walking in on Brand’s arm had caused a bit of a stir. She could feel folks watching them with interest. Embarrassed, she tried to focus on the stage where the choir would perform.

She left the seat on the aisle for Brand and settled into the one beside it. Head down, lost in thought, she tried to forget that Bryce Botsworth was in her dining room, and that she’d just used Brand to escape.

You shouldn’t be here
, she told herself.
He deserves better than you.

A hushed whisper and a few giggles came from backstage and she was reminded that she wasn’t here just for Brand, but for his children. She was here so as not to disappoint them.

He startled her when he leaned close and whispered, “Duty calls. I’ll be right back.”

He mounted two low steps to the stage and walked to the lectern. There, he greeted the assembly. He spoke of the need for choir robes and the fact that not only had everyone donated, but a generous benefactor had made up the needed difference after the masquerade fundraiser. Then he asked them all to bow their heads in prayer.

Laura remained silent, staring at her gloved hands. She clutched them tightly in her lap and tried to keep her mind blank. She couldn’t stop chiding herself for panicking and coming with him tonight. What right had she to sit among these good people? What right had she to lead Brand on?

She rubbed the thumbs of her gloves against each other and remained silent as the sound of prayer swelled. If God existed, if He cared at all, He would have saved her. Or at the very least, He would have saved Megan.

But she had been forced to save herself, to survive alone and hope that her sisters were not lost to her.

“Laura?”

While she’d been mired in thought, head down, the prayer had ended and Brand had slipped into the seat beside her. Everyone was waiting expectantly for the performance to begin.

Charity McCormick appeared on stage and walked up to the lectern. Tall and thin with blonde hair, Charity appeared far more nervous than Laura felt. Brand’s sister was obviously forcing a smile as she thanked everyone for their help in raising funds for the choir robes.

“Since they are anxious to begin, not to mention wiggle worms, the children will perform first.” She waved her hand toward the side entrance, and twelve boys and girls of all ages filed onto the stage. They were followed by Amelia Larson, who’d apparently been assigned the task of keeping them in line.

When Amelia turned to take a seat, she spied Laura and smiled.
Even seeing her friend didn’t help to calm Laura’s nerves. She scanned the children’s faces and located Janie and Sam. Janie was, indeed, wearing her hair in bobbing ringlets. She smiled at Laura and wiggled her fingers in greeting. Laura flushed with embarrassment but managed to hold her smile. Sam was too busy tugging on the braids of the little girl in front of him to pay any attention to Laura or Brand.

A few chuckles came from the audience, a few hushed whispers as everyone settled down. Charity took her place, lifted her hand, and the children began to sing “Rock of Ages.” The song started on a shaky note but leveled out. All in all, the future citizens of Glory did a credible job of performing the rest of a half dozen songs.

When Charity turned and asked the congregation to stand and join in, Laura felt Brand step closer. Again her body reacted to him. A sudden rush of awareness flooded her when his arm pressed against hers.

She couldn’t find her voice. Mute, she couldn’t even mouth the words of the song. She glanced over to see if he noticed she wasn’t singing. For far too long there had been no song in her heart.

His own voice was strong and melodic. When the song ended, she found him watching her intently. There was such warmth, such caring, in his eyes that she was forced to look away and take a deep breath.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

She nodded. “I don’t sing,” she said lamely.

As they stood together, shoulder to shoulder, she felt herself shrinking inside. She was no longer afraid of what would happen to her if any of these good people ever discovered the truth—she was afraid for the man beside her, afraid of hurting him. If her past somehow came to light, no matter how innocent their friendship, she would drag him down with her.

The fact that she cared about what might happen to Brand scared her more than anything.

Charity dismissed the children’s choir with a bow and a smile.
The program halted while they marched down the aisle to join their parents. Sam and Janie bounced down the steps and when they reached Brand, Sam quickly climbed over his father and then Laura. He plopped down in the empty space beside her.

“That’s not fair!” Janie frantically whispered to Brand. “I get to sit beside Mrs. Foster. You said
I
would get to sit by her.”

Janie’s every word went up an octave. Laura instructed Sam to scoot to the next seat. She slid into his, opening a space between her and Brand and patted the now-empty seat beside her.

Janie sat and glared at Sam across Laura. Sam stuck out his tongue. Janie made a fist. Laura took hold of Janie’s hand and Sam’s and held them together in her lap.

“Watch your aunt,” she whispered loud enough so that each could hear. “She’s worked very hard and you really shouldn’t ruin this night for her by misbehaving.”

When Sam started to protest, Laura tightened her hand around his. He peered around her at his father, screwed his mouth into a pout, but didn’t protest. Laura smiled and relaxed her hold.

“Now,” she said, looking at each of them in turn, “isn’t this nicer?”

The adult choir needed work, but what they lacked in talent, they made up for in enthusiasm. Their new, bright-crimson robes were neatly pressed and their spirit rose with every song until finally the performance came to a close and the crowd applauded.

Brand walked her to the refreshment table. The children ran off to be with friends. As the rest of the crowd milled around, Laura looked for Amelia and Hank.

“Can I get you something?” Brand asked.

“I was looking for Amelia,” she said.

“She and Hank said to tell you they’ve already headed home.” Brand gave her a knowing smile. “They’re still newlyweds, remember?”

She wondered about the wink he gave her until she realized that Brand thought of her as a widowed comrade who shared equally
precious memories of her own honeymoon. Laura tried to smile, to give an appearance of understanding. Being with Brand, who was not just a gentleman but a minister, underscored not only all she had missed in her life, but all she would never have.

She tried to focus on the room, at the men, women, and children around them. People were talking, smiling, and congratulating Charity and the choir members.

I don’t belong here.
It wasn’t a new revelation, but it hurt more than ever to realize a woman like her didn’t belong anywhere—except in a brothel.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” he asked.

The undisguised admiration and warmth in Brand’s gaze threatened to be her undoing. “Of course.”

She watched him walk toward a gathering of ranchers. He greeted them warmly, shook hands all around.

Alone in the middle of a crowd, she fidgeted with her gloves, adjusted the silk cords on her reticule, and promised herself never again.

“Mrs. Foster?”

She turned to find Charity there with Mary Margaret Cutter. Along with her husband, Timothy, Mary Margaret owned the First Bank of Glory, the town’s only bank.

“You did a wonderful job with the choirs,” Laura complemented Charity to keep the conversation on anything but herself. “Especially the children. You must have infinite patience.”

Charity shrugged. “Not really. I just can’t bring myself to correct them. I usually end up trying to hide a smile when they misbehave. I’ll admit I had to use a touch of Amelia’s nerve medicine before the performance—” She suddenly flushed with color.

Laura found herself wishing she’d remembered Amelia concocted nerve medicine and had bought some before tonight.

Mary Margaret leaned closer. “It’s nice to see you here, Laura. I’m happy the reverend convinced you to join us.”

“Yes, well…” She’d never made small talk in this sort of a
situation. “Thank you, Mary Margaret. It’s nice to see you out from behind the teller window.”

Mary Margaret was seventy if she was a day, yet she worked five days a week in the bank alongside her husband, Timothy, who was notoriously hard of hearing.

“We’ve been so busy lately. Not that I’m complaining, but with so many folks purchasing homesteads and ranches, most of them wanting some kind of loan, it’s been hectic for us. It’ll be interesting to see how many of these folks actually take. Not everyone adjusts to Texas. It takes a certain breed to fit in. The weather and the isolation out here will beat the stuffing right out of you, if you let it.” She shook her head at Laura. “Never thought you’d last, but you did and we’re mighty glad.”

Laura was overcome by a sudden stinging in her eyes and wondered what on earth was wrong with her until she realized it was the threat of tears. Her carefully constructed facade was coming apart at the seams.

“I was thinking of starting a ladies sewing circle. Do you sew, Laura?” Charity asked.

“I’ve never even tried.” She immediately realized they might wonder why not. “I…have to admit, I’m spoiled when it comes to sewing. I…my mother never taught me.” She turned to Mary Margaret. “How about you?”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “Sew? When on earth would I have time to sew?”

“What about a Bible study group?” Charity was unwilling to let go of the notion of getting them all together. Laura feigned interest in the cuff of her gown.

“I don’t have time for a lot of reading,” Mary Margaret said. “By the time night falls, I’m tuckered out.”

“Would you enjoy a Bible study group, Laura?” Charity asked.

“I’m afraid running the boardinghouse takes all of my time. I don’t know how I could possibly attend a meeting,” she admitted.
“I do love to read, though.” Laura wondered what Charity would say if she told her she’d never even read the Bible.

“Maybe if you invited Brand, Charity, we could get Laura to join.” Mary Margaret chuckled.

Laura nodded as her face grew warm. She glanced around the room. Coming tonight had made a statement to everyone. Their preacher was interested in her.

What now, she wondered.

She spotted Brand still in deep conversation with the men. As if he felt her gaze on him from across the room, he looked up, met her eyes, and smiled. It was such a simple, innocent gesture, and yet the unexpected thrill—that was becoming less unexpected by the moment—ran through her. It frightened as well as excited her.

“What
do
you read, Laura?” Libby wanted to know.

“Novels.” Laura tried to focus on the conversation. Their little group had been joined by three other women who had moved closer, closing ranks around them. They were all listening intently.

“Nathaniel Hawthorne,” she added. “And Dickens. I’ve read most of his work.”

“How about Jane Austin?” Mary Margaret wanted to know. “I used to love reading her novels when I was young.”

Laura could relate to Dickens’ starving orphans, the underbelly of London’s streets, and Fagan with his band of ragtag child thieves. She knew the polite constraint of the social world in which Jane Austin’s characters moved merely masked what really went on beneath the varnish of polite society.

Standing there chatting with stout, hardworking Mary Margaret and Brand’s sister, Laura was reminded that she didn’t really know these women and had absolutely no real connection with them—and never would. She would never be able to fool them for long. She studied the faces of those who had joined them and wondered how they couldn’t see right through her.