Remembered (42 page)

A smile ghosted Kathryn’s expression. “I must admit, Mr. Brennan, I wondered at dinner when I heard you ask
your wife
if she’d ever cooked on a stove in this country before. Most husbands and wives get that settled early on.”

They all laughed, and Jack didn’t miss the intimate look Véronique gave him.

“In that case” —Kathryn pulled his attention back—“we’ll make you a pallet in here, Mr. Brennan, and Véronique, you can have our room.”

“
Non, non
, I would not feel comfortable taking your personal
chambre
. I would be pleased to be installed in the children’s room, if that is acceptable to you both.”

Jack couldn’t help but watch Véronique as she and Kathryn worked out the details. She’d come so far in such a short time. From palaces in Paris to a rustic cabin in the wilds of America.

“But I must take the opportunity to inform you, Monsieur Jennings” —a sparkle lit Véronique’s eye—“that if a wolf cat happens to come creeping along during the night, I am holding
you
responsible.”

Jack caught her subtle wink meant for him, and he knew without a doubt she would do well in the Colorado Territory. Whether she ever found her father or not, she would find her way.

————

Jack stared at Véronique across the breakfast table the next morning. She looked pretty in her freshly ironed shirtwaist and skirt. She looked refreshed too, and he gathered she’d slept better than he had. The four adults had stayed up into the wee hours of the morning talking, and discovering they had similar connections in Willow Springs and Casaroja. The other couple even knew Matthew and Annabelle Taylor and Sadie. But what had robbed Jack most of sleep was the memory of Véronique’s expression when she had watched Larson with little Katie the night before.

Jack couldn’t understand how a father could abandon his wife and child. Just leave them behind to start a new life.

The more mining towns he and Véronique visited—the more acquainted he became with the way the miners lived—the greater his fear that finding Pierre Gustave Girard might not be the answer to Véronique’s prayers.

Or to his prayers for her.

Jack thought of men like Sol Leevy and Wiley Scoggins, and the question that had haunted him during the night returned. If he happened upon Pierre Gustave Girard in one of these mining towns and this was the type of man Girard had become, would it be best for Véronique to know the truth? Or would it be better for her to gradually let the hope of finding her father die and allow her to move on with her life?

If given a choice, which would
he
prefer?

Véronique shifted in her seat, and Jack blinked. She’d caught him staring.

“More coffee, Mr. Brennan?”

Jack held a hand over his cup. “No thank you, Mrs. Jennings. After that second serving of biscuits and gravy, I can barely finish what I’ve got here. Everything was delicious, thank you.”

“Brennan, that foreleg on your horse is going to be fine.” With a nod, Larson excused little William from the table, and the boy ran to the hearth and pulled a train out of a box. “I rubbed some salve into it again this morning and wrapped it up. I’ve got some bandages for you to take with you so you can keep it fresh. Should be fine.”

“I appreciate that.”

Larson stood. “We’d better get a move on. You said you’re heading up to the Quandry today. That’s a good four- to five-mile trek on up the mountain.”

Jack frowned. “Are you sure about that? My map indicated it wasn’t that far from the turnoff.”

“Oh, I’m positive.” Larson lifted Katie from her high chair. “I make that trip on a regular basis. The miners up there buy cattle from us.”

Jack thought of the fallen tree they had yet to cut and move this morning. Then pictured what might have happened if he and Véronique had traveled higher on that road last night and gotten stuck on a narrow passageway somewhere. He drank the last of his coffee, considering how quickly his outlook on things could change with a slight shift in perspective.

Véronique rose from the table. “
Merci beaucoup
, Kathryn, Monsieur Jennings. The meals were
délicieux
, and spending time in your home has been most enjoyable.”

Kathryn reached to clear the dishes. “The pleasure has been ours, Véronique, I assure you.”

“Brennan, any time you need a place to stay while you’re up in this area” —with a look, Larson included Véronique—“you’re both welcome.”

To Jack’s surprise, Véronique didn’t offer to help clear the dishes but walked back into the bedroom she’d shared with the children. He shot a look at Kathryn to see if she’d taken offense, but none showed in her expression. Working to mask his embarrassment, he helped stack the dishes and take them to the sideboard.

Kathryn waved him off. “Oh, Mr. Brennan, you don’t need to do that.”

“I don’t mind it one bit.” He glanced at the bedroom door and saw it close behind Véronique. He reached for the dirty cups. “You’re kind to make us feel so welcome.”

Kathryn glanced at him over her shoulder. “It’s not often we get guests up here, Mr. Brennan. And I’ve missed a woman’s company something fierce.”

“If I were a lesser man I might take offense at that.” Larson’s soft laughter conveyed his humor.

Kathryn’s hands stilled from washing. “Reminiscing about Matthew and Annabelle and their family last night brought back so many memories.” Her voice grew soft. “Made me miss Annabelle and that sweet little Sadie all over again. I’m glad you were able to visit them on your way back here, Mr. Brennan.”

“I am too.” Jack deposited the cups by the wash bucket, wondering what Véronique was doing in the next room. “Like I said last night, when Annabelle shared her story . . . Well, it was quite a shock. And then to learn about Sadie . . .”

Larson nodded, his expression mirroring the pain Jack had felt upon hearing about it. “We got a letter not long ago from Matthew and Annabelle.” Larson situated Katie by her older brother and enticed her with a rattle. “Matthew wrote that Sadie’s pretty much taken over the care of his father now. She takes Mr. Taylor for walks on the ranch and reads to him every night. Matthew said she’s become partial to the book of John.”

Kathryn dried her hands on a towel. “What also touched me was when he described coming upon Sadie and his father one afternoon as they sat on the front porch. He overheard Sadie telling Mr. Taylor a story about her past—one Sadie wouldn’t share with most anyone else. Matthew knew she’d shared the story with his father before, but with the disease Mr. Taylor has, he doesn’t remember things from day to day. Sometimes from moment to moment.” Her eyes misted. “Matthew said he stood in the doorway and watched as his father cried right along with Sadie, like he’d never heard the story before. Then the next minute he was asking if they could make his favorite cookies again.”

Larson moved in close beside his wife. “We’re thankful to know Sadie’s doing so well, that she’s finding some peace. She deserves a slice of happiness in this life, after all she’s been through.”

Kathryn covered her husband’s hand on her waist and looked up at him. “God’s healing will come. I’m certain of that. It’ll just take some time.”

The creak of a door drew their attention.

Jack turned to see Véronique standing there, a satchel in her hand. He recognized it as the one she’d gone back to her room to retrieve yesterday morning, the one that hardly weighed anything.

From its folds she pulled out a piece of parchment. “Kathryn, Monsieur Jennings, I have something to give you.” Her expression was both eager and unsure. “Last night, Kathryn, you shared a desire to see Miss Maudie from Casaroja.” She stepped forward, her gaze flitting to the paper in her hand, then back to Kathryn. “I offer this as a gift, an expression of my gratitude to you and your husband.”

Kathryn took it from her and turned it around. “Oh . . .” Her breath left in a rush. She covered her mouth with her hand.

Jack stared at the penciled sketch of Miss Maudie set against a backdrop of Casaroja. The main house, the stables—everything was captured in intricate detail. His eye was drawn to a horse in the lower pasture. And close beside it, a newborn foal. Véronique had done this? He looked up and saw tears pooling in her eyes.

Kathryn’s fingers trembled as she touched the drawing. “This is so beautiful. Véronique, you’re truly gifted. This is just like looking at Miss Maudie.” She held it so Larson could see. “But how can we accept this? It’s too much. Surely Miss Maudie will want to keep this. What did she say when she saw it?”

Jack read the answer in Véronique’s face before she spoke.

“I drew this for you last night. Miss Maudie has not seen it.”

Kathryn’s smile faded. “But how did you—”

Véronique shrugged, uncertainty shadowing her smile. “From the time I was a little girl, I have seen things and remember them. All of these images collect inside me, tucked away.” She lifted her shoulders again, and let them fall. Her attention shifted to Jack. “It has always been this way for me.”

“Look here, Kat.” Larson pointed to something on the sketch. “She got the little cottage where . . .”

As Larson and Kathryn examined the drawing more closely, Jack crossed the room. He took hold of Véronique’s hand, pride welling up within him. “I had no idea you could draw like that.”

She laughed softly. “I did not know whether I could either. It has been such a long time since I have felt the prompting. But recently, I have experienced a stirring within me.”

Jack could relate. He touched a curl lying on her shoulder.

“I thought God had removed it from me, the ability to draw, to paint. But now, it is awakening again, and the loneliness I have held so long inside me, is lessening . . . every day.” A sparkle lit her eyes. “Of course” —her voice dropped low—“the company I have been keeping of late can be blamed for that as well.”

Wanting to kiss her good and long, he settled for a peck on her forehead, and caught the faintest scent of lemon.
The lotion . . .
“You smell real nice today.”

“
Merci
, monsieur. But are you implying that I smell like a prairie?”

He enjoyed the way she dipped her chin and playfully peered at him beneath a furrowed brow.

“Véronique?” Kathryn’s voice drew them both around. “I don’t know if there’s time, but . . . could I persuade you to sketch William and Katie for Miss Maudie? She hasn’t seen them in so long.”

Véronique smiled. “I would like nothing better. But may I include you and your husband as well?”

Larson bounced little Katie in his arms. “That’d be fine with me. As long as you promise to get my good side.”

“Let me grab my saw and we’ll be on our way.” Jennings headed toward the barn, walking with a bit of a limp.

Jack had noticed it last night, but it seemed more pronounced this morning. He walked to where Charlemagne and Napoleon were tethered and knelt to inspect Napoleon’s leg, appreciating Jennings’s handiwork with the bandage.

Jack stood and looked around at the cabin, the barn and corrals, and imagined having a place like that one day. He’d lain awake by the fire last night, and when he hadn’t been thinking of Véronique being in the next room, he’d admired Jennings’s craftsmanship. The wind and rain had continued throughout the night—thankfully not giving way to snow—but the cabin had stayed cozy warm and sealed tight.

The skies overhead were as blue as he could remember seeing. And not a cloud in them. This stretch of land had to come near to backing up to the land he’d put a bid on with Clayton. It was definitely in the same area anyway. He’d noticed that on their way up the mountain yesterday.

“Okay, we’re ready to go.” Jennings returned with a two-man saw in his grip. “With the two of us working we should be able to get this done in a couple of hours, tops.”

Jack untethered the horses. “I sure appreciate this, Jennings.” They walked a few paces. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you about your land and how you—” Something caught Jack’s eye. Beneath a tall spruce growing near the cabin. When he realized what it was, he took a closer look. Seeing the name and the epitaph etched across the top of the tombstone, he slowed. Reading the dates below, he came to a full stop.

Jennings looked between him and the grave marker, and laughed softly. “That has a story behind it.”

Jack nodded. “I would hope so. And I bet it’s a good one.”

“Good
and
long.” Jennings motioned him on down the trail. “How about we talk as we saw.”

CHAPTER | THIRTY - FIVE

I
CAN’T TELL YOU
what a nice surprise this will be for her, Miss Girard.” Claire Stewartson indicated for Véronique to follow her down the hallway. Miss Maudie’s bedroom door was closed, and Claire lightly knocked, whispering over her shoulder. “Sometimes she takes a nap about this hour of the afternoon.”

Claire opened the door a few inches, then stepped to one side.

Miss Maudie was in bed, her eyes closed. “Perhaps I should come back another time,” she whispered, but Claire shook her head and left the door ajar. Véronique followed her back to the foyer.

“If you don’t mind waiting, she’ll be awake soon—I’m sure. If I tell her you came and went, she’ll put me on the same list as Doc Hadley. And I don’t want that!” She winked. “You can wait in the parlor, if you like. It shouldn’t be long. Would you care for something to drink?”

“
Non
, I am fine.
Merci
, madame.”

Claire returned to the kitchen, and Véronique stood by the sofa, knowing she should make herself comfortable and yet unable to. It had taken her well over a week to work up the courage to come to see Miss Maudie, and still her insides were knotted tight. Why, she didn’t know.

Jack had offered to accompany her, but she felt this was something she needed to do on her own. She’d even managed to drive the wagon by herself, and had enjoyed every mile of Napoleon’s and Charlemagne’s companionship. Though it occurred to her once out of town that if she’d had a “broken felly” she wouldn’t have known what to do.

Remembering that day with Jack, and thinking of that wretched-and-now-thankfully-dead skunk, made her smile. She brought her hand to her nose and sniffed. Sometimes she could still smell the foul musky odor, but Jack said it was her imagination.