Remembered (51 page)

After seeing the Carlsons to their wagon, Jack returned to the house. Miss Maudie met him by the front door, cane in hand. “I thought you lost that.” He pointed to her cane.

“Oh, Veronique found it for me, dear girl. Mr. Brennan, how can I thank you for all your hard work. ’Twas a night this old woman will be rememberin’ for a long time to come.”

“It was my pleasure, ma’am. And it did go over well, didn’t it?”

“To be sure.” Miss Maudie winked. “I won’t be keepin’ you long—these eyes are closin’ fast—but I want to show Véronique somethin’ before you leave, and I wanted you to be there when I did.” She glanced to where Véronique stood talking on the front porch with Bertram Colby. “I’m convinced, Mr. Brennan, that if given the opportunity . . . those two could be trouble.”

Jack laughed. “I’ve already had that exact thought.”

Véronique and Colby glanced their way. And a smitten look covered Colby’s face as he walked toward them.

Bertram took Miss Maudie’s hand and held it between his. “Ma’am, thank you for this evening. And I’ll look forward to seein’ you Sunday for dinner.”

Miss Maudie smiled as he kissed her hand and watched him as he walked to the stables.

Jack shook his head. Never in a million years would he have seen that one coming.

“Véronique, would you be so kind as to come with me, dear?” Miss Maudie held out her hand and led Véronique down a hallway. Jack followed.

Maudie nodded to the portraits adorning the walls. “I painted these. They’re good, but they don’t begin to measure up to your talent. And don’t be tryin’ to soothe me with flattery, child. If it’s one thing a person knows at my age, it’s what they’re truly gifted at, and what they’re not. I loved paintin’, and I worked hard to learn the rules.” She put her hand on Véronique’s shoulder. “But I was never gifted like you are, Véronique.”

She proceeded farther down the hall and paused beside a closed door. “You told me some time ago that, for a while, you thought God had taken away your gift. And He might have for all I know, for a time. Perhaps to teach you somethin’. He’s done that with me on occasion. My point is that He has restored this precious gift within you, and I want to help nourish it.”

Miss Maudie opened the door, and Jack saw it at the same time Véronique did. A canvas and easel were set up by a window in the corner and a full array of paints covered the top of a lace-covered table set against the wall.

Wordless, Véronique walked to the easel and ran a hand across the fresh canvas. Then she trailed her fingers over the myriad of colors filling the bottles of paints. She shook her head. “Miss Maudie, I cannot accept these. I have no way to repay you for—”

“It is a gift, Véronique. Like the talent God has given you to paint, and to draw. He gave you that gift so that you could make Him known, child. And so you could serve me while you’re doin’ it!”

Jack caught Miss Maudie’s wink as she gestured to the paints.

“And there’ll be no worryin’ about payin’ me back, lass. I’ve got several paintings I’d like to commission, if you’re open to that agreement.” She crossed the room and cradled Véronique’s cheek in her hand. “You blessed me so much with bein’ able to see the sweet faces of Larson and Kathryn, and their wee ones. Just don’t ever be forgettin’ that this gift you have is for the glory of the Giver, not for the one gifted.”

Véronique nodded and slipped her arms around Miss Maudie. It struck Jack as he watched the two of them that these women were far more similar than he’d originally considered.

Nearly an hour later, he guided the wagon through the still streets of Willow Springs and up to the hotel. He gently nudged Véronique. She stirred against his shoulder, apparently not wanting to budge. But it was late, and he had to leave first thing in the morning for another string of supply runs.

He leaned down and kissed the crown of her head. “Vernie,” he whispered.

“
Oui
, I am moving.” She sat up and stretched, and accepted his assistance when he came around to her side.

He saw her to her room, and once she was safely inside, he started back down the hallway. He still had to see to the wagon and the horses.

“Jack?”

He turned at the whispered voice behind him. She leaned against the doorway, sleep softening her features, looking far too inviting for either of their sakes. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You are the kindest man I have ever known. I was proud to be by your side tonight.”

He closed the distance between them, took off his hat, and took her in his arms. He kissed her thoroughly—slow and long—then summoned his resolve. “For the record, that’s how we do it in America.” The look on her face pleased him almost as much as had her response. “Good night, Vernie.”

Nearly to the stairs, he heard her whisper his name again. Heart still pounding, he paused. “Yes?”

“Are you at all interested in buying a wagon?”

CHAPTER | FORTY - TWO

I
THOUGHT IT A
rule that I was never to accompany you on an overnight trip, Jack. That I was too much of a . . . challenge.”

Véronique glanced beside her on the wagon seat, having waited to deliver that line all morning.

Jack looked away, but not before she saw his smile. “This is an exception to that rule. And you still are.”

“Ah . . . so what makes this an exception?” Ever since he’d invited her on this trip, she’d tried to learn the reason behind his invitation. With no success. She’d even enlisted Bertram Colby’s help. But the gentleman’s skill at
espionnage
apparently needed honing. As did her own.

Jack had told her that the mountain pass they would cross today was one he’d not traveled before—which explained why he hadn’t told her how breathtakingly beautiful it would be.

The September sun reflected off the snowy summit spreading out before them, and she snuggled deeper into the folds of the coat Jack had given her. A portion of the mountains off to her right resembled an enormous bowl that God had scooped out by hand and ladled to the brim with snow.

“The exception is that this mining town, according to Hochstetler, is actually a town, complete with a respectable hotel.” Jack peered at her from beneath the rim of his hat. “I wrote ahead and secured our reservations.”

She laughed softly, loving his forethought. “You have planned well, Jack. Which only deepens my curiosity.” But her curiosity didn’t have to work hard to guess what his plan truly was. She only hoped she was right.

It had been nearly a month since she’d last accompanied Jack on one of his regular supply trips. Though she missed the time spent with him, God had led her to a point of surrender in her search for her father. She still planned on inquiring about Pierre Gustave Girard in this town, and every other mining town she ever visited. But she’d learned—much through watching Lilly Carlson and her struggle in past weeks—that she’d rather be centered in the middle of God’s will, whatever that meant for her life, than to be anywhere else.

This stretch of the Rockies was farther west and more forgiving than its rugged counterparts they’d journeyed before. And while the heights and depths still soared and plunged, the roads were wider and the inclines far more gradual.

Clusters of pine and aspen assembled along the interior slope of the mountain and stood sentinel on the gradual ascent. Boulders only God himself could have placed dotted the terrain, and even the land slanting patiently down to the canyon below was sprinkled with an occasional pine and wild flower.

A thought occurred to her as she stared out over the canyon. Perhaps—just perhaps—she was beginning to conquer her childhood fear.

“This doesn’t bother you anymore?” Jack gestured to the edge of the road several feet away. “All those jagged rocks down there, just waiting to eat you alive?”

She cut her eyes at him. “Are you intentionally trying to scare me, monsieur?”

He shrugged. “I guess that would depend on what response I’d get for my trouble.”

“And what if it means you will need a fresh change of clothes?”

He threw her a harsh look. “Has anyone ever told you how cruel you can be?”

She laughed. “
Oui
. I am certain Madame Hochstetler still holds that opinion of me.”

Véronique remembered walking into the mercantile two days after the independence celebration at Casaroja. When Madame Hochstetler saw her, the woman’s feather duster paused in midair. A look came over her as though she’d just bitten into a rancid lemon.

Véronique stepped up to the counter. “Madame Hochstetler, I have come to offer an apology for ordering merchandise from you for which I could not pay.” The animosity staring back at her tempted Véronique to take her apology and peace offering back out the door with her. But knowing Jack waited outside gave her the strength to continue. “I also regret the attitude I displayed to you when I was here last, and I ask for your pardon in that regard as well.”

Madame Hochstetler’s eyes narrowed. The resentment in them lessened as suspicion slipped into place.

Véronique’s fingers tightened on the parchment in her hand. “I drew this for you, madame. It is a palace not far from Paris, called the Château de Versailles. It holds many precious memories for me. My wish is that it may bring a small amount of pleasure to you.”

Madame Hochstetler glanced at the picture and huffed. “What were you over there, some kind of queen or somethin’?”

Warmth spread through Véronique’s chest even two months later as she remembered her response to Mrs. Hochstetler that day, and the freedom that had come with speaking the truth.
“Non, madame. I was but a servant in Paris.”

Jack cleared his throat. “Mademoiselle Girard, would you do me the honor of having dinner with me this evening?”

Feeling his eyes on her, Véronique kept her focus ahead. “And for what purpose will we be having dinner, Monsieur Brennan?”

“Just answer the question . . .
s’il vous plaît
.”

She looked at him, appreciating what she saw. And from the satisfaction in his expression, he knew it. “I would love to have dinner with you, Monsieur Brennan.”

Wordless, he reached over and pulled her close. She looped her arms through his and laid her cheek against his shoulder. The rumble of the wheels on the rutted road and the steady plod of the horses’ hooves blended to form a melody unto themselves. And the jostle of the wagon moved her body against his in a way that was unintended, yet not without effect.

She could not imagine not knowing Jack Brennan. But at the same time, she could not deny the cost of having found him.

Without her father departing for the Americas so many years ago, without her mother’s ill-fated decision and then her death, she would never have come to know Jack. How intricate were the stitches with which God was weaving the tapestry of her life. And how often did the blessings therein exact a price more dear, and further reaching, than she would ever comprehend this side of eternity.

A sudden jolt brought her upright. “What was that?”

Jack pulled back on the reins. “We’ll find out soon enough.” He set the brake and jumped down.

She climbed down and shadowed his path as he checked the wheels. “Another broken felly?”

“No . . . the wheels look fine.” He peered under the wagon, then crawled beneath. And sighed. “But the main support for the bed is about gone. Cracked clean through. Which is putting more pressure on the axles. The front ones especially.” Lying on his back, he scooted farther down. “With the load we’re carrying, if we hit a good bump, we could lose the whole bed.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Sure, with the right tools and two other men.” He crawled out from beneath and brushed himself off. Exhaling, he looked in the direction they’d been traveling. “I say we try and make it on into town. We might if it’s not too far.”

He guided Charlemagne and Napoleon down the road at a slower pace, and with every bump Véronique sensed Jack tensing beside her. When they rounded the next curve, the town came into view.

Tucked in a protected valley, the mining operation appeared larger than most of the others she’d visited. And if the rows of businesses edging the main street and the tiny houses lining the side roads were any indication—the mining endeavor in this cloistered hollow had proven to be more profitable as well. And civilized. Not a dirty tent in sight.

Jack noticeably relaxed.

He maneuvered the wagon down the main thoroughfare leading into town and stopped beside the first pedestrian they came across.

Before Jack spoke, the little round woman beamed up at him. “Good day to you both, and welcome to Rendezvous. Tell me now, what brings you to this wee bit of heaven on God’s snowy earth?”

Hearing the lilt in the woman’s voice, Véronique immediately thought of Miss Maudie.

Jack tipped his hat. “Good day in return to you, ma’am, and ye’ve a beautiful town here. ’Tis a pleasure to be visitin’.”

Véronique stared at him, and kept her voice hushed. “Where did you learn to speak like that?”

The wink he gave her brought a flush to her cheeks. “In a minute, you lovely lass,” he whispered before turning back to the woman. “Could you tell me, dear woman . . . where might your livery be?”

“It’d be down this road, but only a street away, then turn to your right.” The woman smiled and smoothed one side of her hair.

“And your supply store? Where would that be hidin’?”

Shaking her head at him, she motioned. “The McCrearys’ place is on the far side of town. Peter at the livery can guide you there. He’s a good boy.”

Jack tipped his hat again. “Bless you, ma’am. And good day to you.”

Once they pulled away, Véronique couldn’t hold her laughter in any longer. “I will ask again, Jack, where did you learn to speak like that?”

“From me grandfather, you French beauty. Where d’ya think the fine name of Brennan would be comin’ from?”

She pinched his arm through his coat, knowing it did no good. “No wonder Miss Maudie adores you.”

“Aye, perhaps she does. But she’s not the one I’m lookin’ forward to dinin’ with tonight.”

She giggled. “I have much to learn about you, Jack Brennan.” And she looked forward to every minute of it.