Home by Nightfall (17 page)

Rush dragged his nose across his coat sleeve, leaving a trail of slime, and he hocked up a good spit to deposit on the shrubs. “You claimed you knew all about it. The brains of the operation, you said. Hell, a jackrabbit has a bigger brain than you do. I ain’t that slobbering drunk Winks Lamont, the one you led around like a pet goat while you committed that death-defying job of robbing corpses. How many of them fought back? A trained monkey could do that.”

“Damn, you’ve got a whole zoo in that extra-smart head of
yours
—jackrabbits, goats, monkeys—”

“Yeah, and any one of them would make a better pard than you.”

“It’s my job. I found it.”

“And that’s the only reason I’m keepin’ you around. You claim you know these people so well, and you didn’t even know they had youngsters.”

“I don’t need to know their goddamn family tree to do this, do I? This ain’t no ladies’ genealogy so-sigh-etee we’re taking on.”

“Just leave off, Bauer. It’s not gonna get done today. It’s a good thing I told Braddock this might take time. Looks like it will.”

Véronique looked up from her herb garden as winter’s first breaths blew chilly gusts over her. The sky grew darker with threatening clouds and she wanted to finish her work before it began raining. She was cutting the last of the season’s dill and parsley to bundle and dry in the kitchen. The thyme and rosemary would winter over.

This landscape looked bad enough under the kindness of the summer sun. With a gray mantle hanging over it, she thought it was even more depressing. A blanket of snow would disguise the damage, at least for a while. And this year she would have this warm winter coat, thanks to the relief efforts in the village. She closed her penknife and put it in her apron pocket, then took up her basket to walk back toward the house. There she saw the parish priest at her half door, leaning inside and looking around. He was a kind-faced man of middle age with a generous spirit, for which she was most grateful.

“Hello? Mademoiselle Véronique—are you here?” Her chickens clucked around his feet, curious and welcoming.

“Here I am, Monsieur le curé,” she called. She made her way to him and nodded respectfully. Then she opened the bottom half of her door and held it open for him. “What an unexpected pleasure to see you.”

“The sheep are doing well, I see,” he said. They were confined to a pen for the time being because she had yet to milk the ewe this afternoon. Fortunately Édouard had built them a rough little shelter, which they would need when winter was hard upon them.

“They are. It looks like there will be a lamb in the spring.” She put the basket on the table and adjusted the kerchief covering her hair.

The priest smiled. “That would be a blessing indeed.”

Assuming this was not simply a social call, she removed her coat and asked, “How may I help you today?” She hung the coat on a wall hook beside the door.

“I came to see how you are getting along. Édouard seems to think you have been feeling poorly.” He looked her up and down, as if assessing her health.

She lifted her brows and went to the stove to pour hot water into the teapot. “He spoke to you? Please, sit.” She gestured at the table.

Pulling out a chair, he sat down in Christophe’s old place. “After a fashion. He left me a note—apparently his ability to read and write is not impaired.”

“And he told you that I am ill?”

“He mentioned that you have had a stomach complaint or an ongoing case of dyspepsia.”

She brought cups, the teapot, and a plate of brioches and sheep’s milk cheese to the table. “Mon père, I hope you did not take time from your busy day to come here about something as minor as that. I know that you tend to the truly suffering and afflicted, but as you can see, I am quite well and I can get on about my work.” She poured tea for them both.

The cleric wore an expression of inquiry, not necessarily one of worry. “Certainly I am concerned about all those whose souls
are entrusted to my care. I believe Édouard thought it might be something more than a minor problem.”

Irritation began to nibble at her, but she tried her best to keep it out of her voice. “Forgive me, but Édouard cannot even speak, or at least he chooses not to. As helpful as he has been around here, I would question his skills in diagnosing physical complaints.” She poured their tea and put his cup in front of him.

The priest sat back in his chair and gave her an even look. “Dear Véronique, forgive me for being blunt. He believes you are with child.”

“What—why—how dare Édouard suggest such a thing? Why would he—” She sputtered to a stop. “Does he
indeed
?”

“You deny it, then?”

She dodged the direct question and asked one of her own. “And whose child is it supposed to be?
His?
” She could not contain the sarcasm this time.

“No. Even my arithmetic would not allow me to arrive at such a conclusion. So it is true?”

Her face grew hot and she gripped the edge of the table. “Yes,” she muttered. There was no point in denying it. She knew it was beginning to show, and unless some catastrophe occurred to end the pregnancy, it would only become more obvious with time.

He sighed. “The American soldier?”

She nodded. “Christophe does not know.
I
did not know until after he was gone. He once told me could not marry me without a last name to give me. Anyway, the
Croix Rouge
took him back to America.”

“Well, we cannot undo what has been done. But I admit that I am surprised I had to learn of the child this way. I would have expected to hear about it in the confessional.”

“Mon père, I mean no disrespect to you or to God, but I do not believe this child is a sin. And sin is what you hear in confession.”

“Have you thought about what will happen after the baby is born? He could be shunned, viewed as an outcast by your neighbors and the villagers.”

“No! They would not do that! Not to me, not to an innocent child. They have survived four years of war and are still trying to keep body and soul together every day. One woman and a baby would hardly matter to people who can look no farther than putting their next meal on the table.”

“It is for that very reason you will catch their attention. You will be a diversion from the everyday wretchedness.”

She opened her mouth to object but realized he could be right about that.

“Is it compassionate or fair? No. But it is an unfortunate aspect of human nature. Even the Blessed Mother was about to be put aside by Joseph until an angel of the Lord appeared to him and informed him of the miraculous details of her condition. I do not mean to sound unkind, Véronique, but I doubt that will happen in this case.”

“What would you have me do, mon père, leave here to avoid offending the village and my neighbors? This is my home! It is all I have left in the world.”

“Yes, well, there is another choice, a much better one.”

“I hope you are not about to suggest that I let the convent take the baby.”

“Of course, that is another alternative—one that you might have to accept if you reject the first one.”

A feeling of doom began to settle on her shoulders. “What is that?”

“Marry Édouard. Give the child a name and a father to raise him.”

“Édouard! Was this his idea?”

Père Michel inclined his head. “He did make the offer.”

“How? Does he or does he not speak?”

“It was in the letter he wrote to me.”

“I do not even know him or anything about him.”

“That did not seem to be a problem with the child’s father.”

Hearing Christophe mentioned that way drained her energy. “At least he spoke to me. I have never even heard Édouard’s voice.” She put her fist to her mouth and turned toward the window, not wanting him to see her sudden tears. “You have always been so kind to me, mon père. I am disappointed that you are now turning against me,” she said, her voice shaking.

He leaned forward and made her look at him. “Child, I am not turning against you, although I can imagine that you feel alone. You do not have to. Give your problem to God and accept Édouard as your husband.”

She lifted her chin. “He has not made a proposal. You have. I will not even offer to consider the suggestion until he has asked for my hand himself, by whatever means he needs to use. And I promise
nothing more
than to consider it.”

Smiling, he patted her hand. “I shall act as your messenger, since I have done so for him.”

He stood up and thanked her for the tea. “Now I must be off. I would like to make it back to town before the rain starts in earnest.”

Véronique rose as well and saw him to the door. “Good-bye, mon père.” After he left, she sat down again and watched the skies open.

“Christophe,” she whispered. She put her face in her hands and shared heaven’s tears.

• • •

Two days before Christmas, Tanner stood in front of Hustad’s Fine Furnishings and looked at the display window. Although Fred had gone out of his way to create an enticing arrangement decorated with tinsel and greens, and to make shoppers forget, even for a while, that his undertaking business was right in the back of the building, Tanner saw nothing that caught his eye. He moved down the sidewalk to Friedman’s Jewelers, wedged between Parmenter’s office and Bright’s Grocery. He paused at the window long enough to make Nathan Friedman smile at him through the glass and wave him into the tiny shop.

Tanner smiled and nodded, leaving behind the busy street traffic. The overhead bell rang when he opened the door.

“Ah, Mr. Grenfell, how good to see you again.” Tanner had bought Susannah’s wedding ring from Mr. Friedman. “You’re back for a holiday gift for your happy bride?”

Either Nathan was the most isolated or the most tactful man in Powell Springs. After that day at Tilly’s, Tanner found it hard to believe that no one was left ignorant of their situation. Okay, he thought, he could play along. “Yes, Mr. Friedman, but you know…” He shrugged. Hell, he didn’t know what to buy.

“You’re not too sure of what you’d like.” Mr. Friedman was a formal but friendly, likeable man with a slight European accent.

“No,” he said on an exhale. “Fence nails and horse feed are more up my alley.”

“Not to worry, we’ll find something for her.” He brought out velvet-lined trays of earrings, bracelets, brooches, and rings. With each one, Tanner felt more boggled and uncertain. None of them seemed right for her—of course he’d have bought them all if he thought he could wipe Riley Braddock from her mind.

After those wares had been returned to their places in the display counters, Mr. Friedman stood for a moment in deep thought. “Hmm. I think I know what might be exactly right for this situation.” He stepped into the back and returned with a square blue velvet box. “Another customer ordered this several years ago for his fiancée but the engagement was called off before he had a chance to give it to her. Poor man, he died in France and his once-intended was taken by the influenza epidemic. I hope you won’t think there’s bad luck attached to it.” He opened the box to reveal a beautiful gold heart-shaped locket about one inch in size. “He asked me to engrave their initials inside. I was at my work bench in the middle of the job when he came in and canceled it. Of course, when engraving is requested the customer must purchase the piece in advance and it can’t be returned. So this has been paid for but he didn’t want it. I’ve never found the right purpose for it. But maybe now…”

He teased open the heart to show him what had been done. “You see? On the left side it says
Two hearts as one
. On the other is the first initial I engraved, a
T
. That was when the order was canceled.” He pushed it closer to Tanner. “I could finish the engraving and also let you have it for a nominal price because it’s already been paid for once.”

Tanner knew it was perfect. At least it had been. If he gave this to Susannah, she would know that he still thought of her as his wife and his love, even if he had trouble really expressing it—regardless of the sleepless, lonely nights he spent in that bunkhouse. He’d told her she would have to make up her heart’s mind. This would prove that his hadn’t changed. Maybe one man’s bad luck would turn into good luck for him.

“Sounds great, Mr. Friedman. I’ll take it.” He paid for the locket and wrote his and Susannah’s initials on a piece of paper so it could be finished.

“I’ll have it for you tomorrow. When you come to pick it up, we’ll gift-wrap it after you’ve seen it,” the jeweler said.

Tanner thanked him and opened the door again, eager to be outside. If that place was bigger than a hundred square feet, he’d have been surprised. After a lifetime spent outdoors, he couldn’t imagine working in such a cramped space. He walked back to where he’d left his horse tied to a hitching ring down the street.

After he’d untied him and was on his back, he nudged the animal forward. “Come on, Joker, let’s go home.” The roan picked up his pace and soon enough the edges of the town were behind them.

Back home, he unsaddled Joker, groomed and fed him. Then, drawing a deep breath, he crossed the yard and walked into the house. Josh and Wade were sitting at the kitchen table doing their schoolwork, while Susannah stood at the ironing board pressing pillowcases. The kitchen smelled like stew. At his entrance, everyone looked up.