MB01 - Unending Devotion (3 page)

The fact was, he wasn’t ready to die. Not yet. Not in the middle of the busiest time of the lumber season. Not when he had so much work to do.

“I wasn’t doing anything indecent,” he said. “In fact, I was just trying to help her—”

“And I suppose that’s why your hands were stuck to her like a coon holding a coin.”

“That’s not true. She fell against me and we toppled into the socks. That’s all.” His focus darted to Vera Heller, still armed with her eighteen-inch-long wooden spoon. “Right, Mrs. Heller?”

The woman nodded. “Connell McCormick is one of my best boarders and one of the nicest boys in this town. If you wanna shoot somebody, then you take aim at Jimmy Neil over there. That boy is full of trouble.”

Jimmy had already backed up to the stairway, and at Vera’s words, he spun and took the steps two at a time, disappearing like he usually did whenever it was time to take responsibility for his actions.

Oren’s finger stroked the trigger.

Connell swallowed hard. Did he dare make a move for his knife? The hard leather of the scabbard rested underneath his shirt against his ribs, so close and yet so far away.

“I think you’ve taught him his lesson, Oren.” The young lady pushed the barrel away from Connell’s face. “I don’t think he’ll manhandle me again.”

When she gave him a “so-there” look and then raised her chin, a spark of self-pride flamed to life in his gut. His mam had always made sure he knew how to treat a girl, but this was obviously no ordinary girl.

“If anyone was doing the manhandling, it was you.” Connell rubbed the sore spot on his forehead. “I didn’t ask you to sit on my lap.”

Her eyes widened, revealing a woodsy brown that was as dark and rich as fine-grained walnut. The color matched the thick curls that had come loose from the knitted hat covering her head.

Oren stood back, tucked his gun under his arm, and tapped his black derby up. His eyebrows followed suit.

The girl opened her mouth to speak but then clamped it shut, apparently at a loss for words.

A wisp of satisfaction curled through Connell. After the way she’d let the old man humiliate him, he didn’t mind letting her squirm for a minute.

But only for a minute.

Mam’s training was ingrained too deeply to wish the girl ill will for more than that. He shoved himself out of the chair and straightened his aching back.

“Look,” he said, plucking a last dirty sock from his shoulder. “Can we start over? I’m Connell McCormick.”

She hesitated and then tilted her head at him. “And I’m Miss Young.”

“I sure hope you’ll forgive me if I’ve caused you any . . . discomfort.”

Surprise flitted across her elegant, doelike features. “Well now. With that polite apology, how could I refuse to forgive you?”

He gave her a smile and waited. The polite thing for her to do was offer her own apology and perhaps even a thank-you for his attempts to save her from Jimmy Neil.

But she only returned the smile, one that curved her lovely full lips in perfect symmetry but didn’t make it into the depths of her eyes.

She took a step back and thrust a hand into her coat pocket.

“Just make sure you don’t lay even the tip of your pinkie on Lily again,” Oren said, having the decency to look Connell in the eyes and nod at him. If the old man hadn’t been so stooped, Connell guessed he’d add another three—if not four—inches to his height. Oren was gruff all right, but there was also something in his expression and about his fierce protectiveness of the young woman that Connell liked.

As if Oren hadn’t scared the other men in the room enough already, he turned abruptly and swept the barrel of his gun across the wide eyes that stared at him. “And if any of you other shanty boys so much as thinks about touching Lily, I’ll see it in your eyes and come hunt you down. Then I’ll shoot you full of holes and feed you to the wolves.”

Lily patted the man’s arm and laughed, the sweet ring full of affection. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Oren grumbled under his mustache. His gaze swept hungrily over the table and the plates of untouched food.

“Mrs. Heller, we’ll need two rooms,” Lily said, “and the use of your cellar for a darkroom, if it’s available.”

“Then you’re planning on taking pictures while you’re here?” Vera asked the question that was on the tip of Connell’s tongue.

“That we are, among other things,” Lily said cheerfully.

Oren snorted and shook his head. Then he plopped himself down on the nearest bench and growled at Mrs. Heller. “How about serving me a meal before the food gets cold enough to grow legs and walk itself out the door?”

Connell made quick work of restringing the sock line and then situated himself back at his spot at the far table in the corner, where he could usually eat in solitude and work on recording and computing the day’s figures in his ledgers. His books lay open and his pen was dry, with a half-inch ink splotch on the page where he’d dropped the pen and tossed his spectacles.

He stabbed the tip of his knife into a slab of salted pork. The greasy gravy had already cooled and congealed. For several seconds he twirled the meat and stared at it. The minute Lily Young had walked into the door he’d forgotten his hunger.

And now, he was ashamed to admit, he was much more interested in studying the vibrant Lily Young than doing anything else.

She’d slept too late. From the sliver of light between the thin curtains, Lily could see that morning was already chasing away the darkness of the long winter night.

Hurriedly, she tucked the last of her unruly curls into a knot.

She hadn’t gotten used to the long winter nights of central Michigan, where the light disappeared at five in the evening and didn’t show itself again until about eight the next morning. Even long after the rooster crowed, the skies were usually cloudy and dark, making it seem that night lingered forever.

If only the sun could break through the dismal covering more often.

She shivered and crossed the frigid unheated room to the window. She yanked open the curtains, letting in the dull light, longing for the bright sunshine that could warm her soul, if not her body. Oren claimed that it took a couple of winters for Easterners to grow thicker skin and adjust to northern winters. But after two years, her skin was apparently still as thin as the day she’d arrived from New York.

With her fingernail, she scratched a circle in the frosted pane and caught a glimpse of Main Street, mostly deserted. She didn’t doubt the shanty boys were already hard at work. They didn’t spare a single second of daylight in their quest to strip the earth of its treasures—namely white pine trees.

At the clomping of horse hooves on the hard-packed snow and the whistle of a distant train, Lily spun away from the window and crossed the room. Oren had probably been awake for several hours and was hard at work setting up his makeshift darkroom in the cellar.

And here she’d been, snug under heavy quilts, lazing the day away. She stepped over the pile of her discarded clothes and the grain-seed sack that held the rest of her earthly possessions. The contents spilled out of the bag, the result of her hurried attempt at her morning toilet in the freezing room.

The glint of silver stopped her, and she reached for the oval picture frame among the folds of her wearing apparel. She held the miniature portrait to her mouth, huffed a breath of warm air onto the cold glass, and with the edge of her sleeve, wiped away the smudges.

In the dim light, she glanced around the small room. A chair with blue-chipped paint sat in one corner. Two pegs on the whitewashed wall awaited her clothes. Next to the sagging twin bed was a square bedside table holding a dusty lantern.

She stepped to the table, wiped off a layer of grime, and then gently set the frame on the clean spot, angling it so the picture faced the room.

Folding her arms across her chest, she stepped back and inspected her one attempt at making the room into the home it would become for the next several weeks. The silver frame was spotted with corrosion, but it outlined the dear faces of her mother and father. It was the portrait they’d had taken on their wedding day and was the only tangible reminder of the family she’d once had.

Lately, every time she looked at the picture, her parents’ unsmiling faces seemed to accuse her of losing Daisy, of not doing everything she could to take care of her little sister, of not keeping her safe enough.

“I’m sorry,” Lily whispered to the picture, her breath coming out in a white cloud. “I’m doing my best to find her. And once I have her, I promise I won’t ever lose her again.”

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Her parents had every right to blame her. When the orphanage had told them they were getting too old to stay, she’d pushed Daisy to go with the Wretchams. She’d thought Daisy would be happy there, that she’d have a good life with a big loving family on a farm until she and Daisy could find a way to make a home of their own.

Lily had gone to Bay City with Oren, hoping to earn enough money to eventually afford a place. She hadn’t known then that the grumpy old man and his sick wife would be two of the kindest people she would ever meet.

She’d faithfully written letters to Daisy, and Oren had even taken her to visit her sister on two different occasions. She’d always known Daisy wasn’t happy, but she’d just assumed it would take time to adjust.

She’d never expected Daisy would run away. Until she’d received Daisy’s last letter in October.

By then it had been too late. When she’d arrived at the Wretchams’, Daisy had been long gone.

Lily gave one last nod at her parents’ portrait. “I’m getting closer to finding her.”

Silence was their only answer—just as it had always been.

With the weight of guilt pressing down on her, she lowered her head and exited her room. The second floor hallway was empty, and the tap of her footsteps echoed as she made her way down the long passageway to the narrow staircase that led to the dining room.

Today she would investigate Harrison. Find out all she could about the brothels. And try to discover if anyone had seen her sister.

She stepped into the dining room, and the acrid scent of burnt coffee drifted toward her.

“There’s the morning glory.” Mrs. Heller paused in wiping a table, holding a dirty dishrag in midair.

“Oh no, Mrs. Heller. I’m most definitely not a morning glory.” Lily glanced around the nearly deserted room. Only one man was working at a corner spot, his head bent over his books. “I’m really more like an afternoon crocus. I prefer daylight and sunshine, both of which are far too rare in these parts.”

“But you’re a burst of sunshine this morning.” The woman gave Lily a smile that was the medicine she needed to chase the gloom from her soul.

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Heller—”

“You can call me Vera.”

“And I’m Lily.”

“Give me a minute and I’ll rustle up a plate of pork and beans for you.” Vera resumed her efforts at cleaning the oilskin covering, her large hindquarters wiggling in motion to the swirls of the rag on the table. “They won’t be too warm anymore, but they’ll be filling enough.”

“Don’t trouble yourself with me.” The thought of a heavy meal for breakfast made Lily’s stomach churn. “I’ll be happy enough with a cup of coffee—if you have any to spare.”

Vera stopped in midswirl and took in Lily’s appearance. “Coffee? My, my, my. You need more meat on your bones, girl. You’ll blow away with the slightest breeze. Don’t you agree, Connell?”

Lily glanced to the corner spot, only to find the young man she’d met the previous evening staring at her above spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

He quickly looked back at the open book in front of him, but the slight reddish tint creeping up his neck above his collar was evidence that he’d been paying more attention to her than to his books.

“I’m sure Miss Young would appreciate whatever you’re willing to provide.” The young man pulled out his pocket watch and peered at it. “Especially considering the fact that breakfast has been over for exactly one hour and twelve minutes.”

His hair was neatly combed, except for one sun-bleached streak that fell across his forehead. He’d shaven the scruff from his face, revealing skin that was rough and bronzed from long days outdoors.

“Connell McCormick.” Vera thumped her hands onto her hips. “You sure don’t seem to mind when I sneak you an extra doughnut or two. I think half the reason you loiter here in the mornings is because you hope I’ll feed you more.”

The faint red streaks climbed up to the base of his cheeks. He didn’t say anything and instead dipped his head and scribbled something into one of his books, as if there were nothing more important at that moment than the page in front of him.

Vera winked at Lily. “I’ll get you that coffee, but how about one of the doughnuts I fried up this morning too?”

Lily couldn’t keep from smiling. “Well, only since you’re already in the habit of sneaking them . . .” She had a feeling she was going to like Vera.

The woman disappeared into the kitchen, and Lily plunked onto the nearest bench. Too late she realized she had situated herself so that she was looking almost directly at Connell.