Lady of Light (22 page)

“I don’t think she counts it as suffering, Ian. Claire loves you and will do most anything to help you.”

A pensive look darkened Ian’s face. “I love her, too.”

“As do I. And that’s why, above everything else, we must talk to each other and try to be friends. Because we both love Claire.”

The young man smiled then. “Thank you, Evan. For everything.”

Evan grinned. “Dinna fash yerself, laddie.” Then, with a smart slap of the reins, he signaled the horses to set out once more, heading for home.

“Hello, I’m Mary Sue Edgerton,” an attractive, raven-haired girl said as she slid into the chair next to Claire. She smiled at Claire, then took a short, thin sewing needle and piece of thread from her bag, threaded the needle, and scooted her chair closer to the big quilting frame. After burying the thread’s end in a spot near where the quilt pattern began, she slipped on a little gold thimble and began to make tiny, evenly spaced stitches.

Claire watched, transfixed by the precise sewing. Then, finally remembering her manners, she greeted Mary Sue in turn. “And my name’s Claire MacKay. I’m Evan’s—”

“Oh, I know who you are,” the other girl was quick to interrupt her. “News about the MacKay clan travels fast around these parts. You came from Scotland and you’re Evan’s new wife.”

“Aye, that I am.” She smiled. “And are you wed, or do you work at some trade?”

An indefinable emotion flickered in Mary Sue’s eyes and was gone. “No, I’ve yet to wed, and I have no special trade, save my training to someday be a wife and mother. I live at home with my parents, here in Grand View. My father’s the town butcher, and that’s my mother, sitting over there.”

She pointed toward a stern-faced, rail-thin woman who was even then taking a seat beside Millie Starr. Claire couldn’t help but wonder if Mrs. Edgerton was truly as unpleasant as her visage seemed to indicate. She supposed she’d find out sooner or later.

“With all the cattle ranches in this region, I’d imagine your father must be most prosperous, butchering all that meat,” Claire observed. “It’s a great blessing, it is, to have such wonderful beef to feast upon as oft as one likes.”

Mary Sue shot her a puzzled glance. “Well, I’d never thought of it quite like that, but I suppose you’re right.” She paused in her quilting. “Why don’t you get started on that rose pattern?” She indicated a lightly penciled floral motif on the quilt square lying before Claire. “We can just as easily talk and sew. This
is
a quilting bee, after all.”

“A quilting bee?”

“Yes.” Mary Sue nodded, then, as if suddenly realizing Claire might not know what that term meant, she chuckled and hurried to explain. “A ‘bee’ is a gathering of people for a specific purpose, in this case to work on a quilt. A well-made quilt takes a lot of time and effort for one woman to sew all by herself, but if the work’s shared, then the quilt’s finished in no time. We’re working on a wedding quilt today for Lacy Nealy, the blacksmith’s daughter. She’s to be married next month to one of Culdee Creek’s hands. You might know him; his name’s Henry Watson.”

Claire recalled a short, heavily muscled man in his late twenties of that name. His hair was sun-streaked brown, his eyes blue, and he sported a carefully waxed, long handlebar mustache. Aside from that, however, she knew nothing about him save that he had worked at Culdee Creek for the past six years.

“Well, then this quilt will have even greater meaning for me,” she said, “being as how it’s for someone from Culdee Creek. Problem is, I don’t know aught about quilting. Could you explain how you make the stitches?”

Mary Sue studied her for a moment, then nodded as if making up her mind. “Sure, I’ll show you. There’s nothing to it, really. It just takes a bit of practice to get the stitches small and evenly spaced, but once you do …”

The next three hours, save for a half-hour break to socialize and eat the various desserts the ladies had brought, were spent working on Lacy Nealy’s wedding quilt. By the time the meeting drew to a close, Claire was actually beginning to develop some skill with the quilting needle. As she gathered up her equipment and began to put them away in her new sewing basket, Mary Sue touched her on the arm.

“Aye?” Claire glanced up.

“I’m going to step outside for a breath of air,” the dark-haired girl said. “When you’re finished, would you care to join me?”

Flattered that a pretty, friendly girl like Mary Sue seemed to have taken such an interest in her, Claire nodded eagerly. “I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

The midafternoon sky had taken on a cloud-strewn appearance while they had all been inside, Claire noted when she finally joined the other girl outside the hall. To the west, high over Pikes Peak, thunderheads formed.

“Looks like we might be in for a rain storm,” Mary Sue commented, casually scanning the long stretch of Winona Street. “Is someone on his way from Culdee Creek to fetch you? If so, they’d better get here soon, or you might not make it home before the storm breaks.”

“Evan should be arriving any time now.” Claire glanced down at the gold watch pinned to her chest. “He’s supposed to be here at three.”

“So, how have things gone between him and Hannah and Devlin since he came home?”

Claire frowned. What a strange question to ask, she thought, out of the blue and all. She looked at Mary Sue, trying to catch some hint of her expression, but the girl’s head was turned to the right, as if something in that direction had suddenly caught her eye.

“There’s problems between him and Devlin, you know,” Mary Sue chose that moment to elaborate, “and all because of Hannah.”

“Indeed?” Claire’s mouth went dry, and a small tendril of caution curled within. “I didn’t realize the MacKay family squabbles were such common knowledge in Grand View.”

“This one about Hannah sure is.” Ever so slowly, Mary Sue turned back to her. “If you don’t know anything about it, though, I’m not going to be the one to tell you. It’s not my place. But have a care, Claire. Hannah isn’t all the sweetness and light she tries to let on she is.”

“She’s been quite kind to me,” Claire said, unwilling to stand there and allow someone who was now her kinswoman to be maligned. “And, after all, I can only judge someone based on how that someone treats me.”

“True enough,” Mary Sue agreed quite amicably. “I didn’t mean to stir up trouble between you and Hannah, after all. All I’m saying is, have a care. Just have a care.”

On September 5, Ian turned sixteen and was feted with a grand birthday party. Two days later Ian and Beth, accompanied by Devlin Jr., started school in Grand View. Though Beth was far more apprehensive than Ian, their other classmates seemed to accept them both without hesitation. The one-room schoolhouse, with grades ranging from first through high school, soon became a place both eagerly anticipated attending each day.

“Of course,” Abby said with a chuckle, almost a month after Claire’s first introduction to the Ladies Quilting Society, “I’d imagine a lot of Ian and Beth’s pleasure in school of late has to do with being together.” She paused to pour out three mugs of tea, then placed a plate of sliced Boston brown bread on the table between her, Claire, and Hannah. “They’ve become all but inseparable.”

“Aye, that they have,” Claire agreed as she served herself a slice of the fragrant, molasses-sweetened bread. “I’m so verra pleased with how well Ian seems to be fitting in, and with all the friends he’s made.”

“He’s a kind, friendly boy,” Hannah added her own assessment. “Devlin Jr. all but worships the ground he walks upon, and Mary, Jackson, and Bonnie like him just fine, too.”

Claire beamed, basking in the praise of her brother. At last. At long last everything seemed to be coming right for them. She laughed. “I think Ian near to sees your children as the younger brothers and sisters he always wished he’d had. You bore your husband some bonny bairns, that you did, Hannah, though I can’t for the life of me understand where Devlin Jr. and Bonnie’s fine red hair came from. I’d wager there’s a proud Scots ancestor back there somewhere.”

Hannah and Abby exchanged a thoughtful glance. Then the blonde-haired woman sighed. “Devlin and I only share one child in common—Jackson. His other three children were born to his first wife who died almost two and a half years ago.” She smiled. “That’s where Bonnie and Devlin Jr.’s red hair came from—their mother, Ella.”

Surprise filled Claire. “Och, and I thought you and Devlin had been married for a long while. I beg your pardon.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Claire.” Hannah paused to sip her tea. “You didn’t know, and perhaps I was remiss in not telling you. Devlin and I married this past Thanksgiving. Before that, Devlin was wed to Ella, who died of the influenza shortly after Bonnie’s birth.”

Gradually, Claire’s surprise transformed to shock. Bonnie was two years old; Jackson was three. Could it be that Hannah had all but admitted she had conceived her son outside the bonds of holy matrimony? Indeed, she realized as she made some swift calculations, Jackson had been conceived while Devlin’s wife Ella still lived. Hot color flooded her face.

Her sudden embarrassment wasn’t lost on either Hannah or Abby. “Hannah first came to Culdee Creek three years ago,” Abby hastened to explain, “after she escaped from Sadie Fleming’s bordello in Grand View. She was pregnant with Jackson and begged me to help her, which, with Conor’s agreement, I did. After Ella nearly died bearing Bonnie, Hannah helped out with Devlin and Ella’s children and in caring for their house. Unfortunately, then the influenza took Ella. In time, Hannah became Devlin’s permanent housekeeper and caretaker of his children. Their relationship grew until, finally, Hannah and Devlin fell in love.”

Claire chewed on her lower lip, loath to ask the next question on her mind, but at last she threw all caution to the wind and did so. “What was Hannah doing in a bordello?”

“I was a prostitute, Claire,” came Hannah’s gentle reply. “I was forced into the life as a girl and, though I tried repeatedly to escape, until Abby came, they always brought me back.”

“But how did Devlin become Jackson’s … ?” It was too embarrassing to go on. Claire let the question die.

“How did Devlin become Jackson’s father, if he was still wed to Ella?” Hannah finished for her. “Well, during a difficult time in his and Ella’s marriage, Devlin called on me at the brothel.”

“Oh.” Once more, Claire blushed. “I see.”

Evan’s stepmother reached over and laid her hand on Claire’s. “We thought it best you hear the truth from us rather than from someone else, Claire.” Deep concern darkened her eyes. “Still, what is past is past, and forgiven in the sight of God.”

Inexplicably, Mary Sue Edgerton’s words that day of the quilting society meeting rushed back now, filling Claire’s head with wild, disjointed phrases.
Problems … and all because of Hannah … Have a care … Hannah isn’t all … sweetness and light … Have a care….

Was there mayhap some truth in Mary Sue’s words? Claire now wondered. Or were the young woman’s motives less than altruistic, shielding a more rancorous intent? There was no way of knowing, save with further insights and experience that only time could give.

In the meanwhile, however, Hannah was now family. No matter how unsettling the truth about Hannah’s past was, Claire would honor her Scottish heritage with its fierce clan loyalty, and do her best to give the other woman the benefit of the doubt.

“Aye,” Claire agreed softly, first meeting Abby’s then Hannah’s now wary gaze, “what is past is indeed past, and doesn’t concern me. I didn’t know you before, Hannah. I only know you now. And, as Devlin’s wife, you and I are kin. I’ll stand by you as best I can.”

A smile of relief lifted the corner of the young woman’s mouth. “That’s good to know, Claire. I value your friendship deeply. But I also didn’t feel it was right to withhold the truth about my past from you. Especially when what I was is common knowledge.”

Claire opened her mouth to reassure her she understood, when Conor strode in from the parlor.

“Abby, I just got back from town,” he said, his voice unsteady, his expression one of extreme gravity. “Seth Harris at the telegraph office flagged me down just as I pulled up in front of Gates’ Mercantile. He gave me this.”