The Loyal Heart (7 page)

“It's my understanding that many believe her husband is responsible for betraying the Confederacy.”

“I've heard that too. But beg pardon, I don't know how that rumor started, though it was about a year ago. It coincided with her opening the Iron Rail as a boardinghouse. And furthermore, even if her husband did betray the South while in prison, he was only a lieutenant. And he was only imprisoned at the end of the war. What could he have possibly said that would have made much of a difference?”

“Any idea who is responsible for the rumors?”

“I can only surmise that it is the same person who sent her a threatening letter.”

Everything in Robert froze. “What letter? I haven't heard anything about that.”

“Mrs. Markham brought it to me the day she received it, just after she opened the Iron Rail for boarders. It was an ugly piece of work,” he said with a grimace. “The author threatened to reveal missives supposedly in Phillip's handwriting, ones that supposedly proved he had been a traitor.”

“That means nothing. Anyone could say the missives were in his hand.”

“I agree. I told her to ignore it as best she could. There was no way to trace where it came from and therefore it would be better to simply dispose of the letter and forget it ever came.”

Robert was incredulous. Sheriff Kern seemed to be telling him that Miranda's concerns meant nothing. “Is that how you handle most problems that come your way? You simply tell the victim to forget about it?”

“Of course not. However, I didn't see any other course of action. There was nothing I could do and she was terribly agitated. I decided to err on the side of caution. After all, Mrs. Markham had already been upset by her husband's imprisonment and death. She was barely out of mourning. No reason to make her suffer more.”

Though Robert wasn't sure he would have given her the same advice, he wasn't exactly sure he would have said anything much different either.

“If you weren't worried about her, then why are you so concerned about her now?”

“She hasn't seemed well. Actually, it looks to me like she's fallen into melancholia. She looks like she's lost weight and she hardly leaves her house now.”

“I am not sure why you sought me out.”

“I heard about your walk with her yesterday. I heard that you stood up for her with that weasel Winter.” Kern turned his head and stared at Robert directly. “Beg your pardon, but those actions are not things a man who just happened to be in Galveston would do.”

“They might be.”

“No, I don't think so. Mr. Truax, I'm going to be honest with
you. Mrs. Markham knows I served in the war; everyone in town knows that.”

“But?” Robert pressed.

“But I've never told anyone I was on Johnson's Island when Phillip Markham was, not even his wife.”

“It seems to me that news might have eased her in some way.”

“I don't think so.” He shifted, his expression pensive. “Fact is, I didn't want to add to her pain when I didn't really know anything about what happened to the lieutenant. I don't have any proof to refute the rumors about him.” Before Robert could comment on that, Kern turned his head to stare at him directly. “Say what you want, but I don't think it's by chance that you're here. I think you knew her husband because you both served under Devin Monroe.”

“I did know Phillip Markham. Furthermore, I sat by his side in his last hours.”

Kern relaxed. “Was he actually the kind of man Mrs. Markham believes him to be?”

“Yes. We talked a lot, you see.” Actually, there hadn't been much else to do. But every time they'd complained about their lack of activity, of their inability to help their comrades still battling across frozen fields, Captain Monroe had chastised them. All they needed to concentrate on was living. Survival—that was the key to life in a prison camp. Nothing else mattered.

They'd known it, and the soldiers guarding them had known it too. As the battles became even more one sided and rumors flew about Lee's eventual surrender, even the guards had lost their interest in keeping a vigilant guard. All of them were missing their sweethearts and families.

Why, they'd even all shared stories about their homes one long snowy evening, all of them huddled around their meager stove, burning scraps of wood and one soiled blanket.

Of them all, Phillip had spoken the most lovingly of his wife. He'd talked about her beauty. About how strong she was, how she'd never even led him on a merry chase when they'd been courting. She'd simply gazed at him with her blue eyes and asked if she could trust him.

They'd all gazed at him with mixed emotions. For Robert, jealousy combined with a healthy amount of incredulousness had filled him. He had never heard of a woman so well regarded. Actually, he'd been more of a fool than that. He, in all his inept naiveté, had doubted their lieutenant's word. He'd also been resentful of a man who had been so blessed, not only with good looks but property and an adoring wife.

It had seemed like too much. Too much when he'd had so little.

Two days after they'd all sat around the fire and listened to Captain proclaim they needed to look out for each other after the war, Phillip's wound took a sudden turn for the worse. His arm began to swell.

Twenty-four hours after that, he'd spiked a fever and his injury became visibly infected. Then, unfortunately for all of them, he lingered. For weeks. Gangrene settled in. And with that came pain for Phillip and the helpless knowledge for the rest of them that they could do nothing of worth for him.

His death had upset them all. Even the guards stood in silence while Robert and the rest of Phillip's comrades buried him. Their pickaxes and shovels had clanged against the frozen ground. Jarring their muscles and helping to take the sting off tears.

They'd all been hurting about the injustice of it all, and none more than he. Because he had been so full of himself. Instead of agreeing that Phillip had been blessed, Robert had thrown it in his face.

And Phillip had no doubt died thinking Robert hadn't believed in him.

“When I heard you were being so kind to Mrs. Markham, I wanted to touch base with you,” Kern explained. “If you hear that she's had another threat or if she confides that anything else worrisome has happened to her, will you tell me?”

Robert wasn't following. It was a lawman's job to help, not stand back in the shadows and wait. “Why haven't you asked her yourself?”

“Because I let her down before,” he explained. “She doesn't trust me.”

“Why not?”

“I told you. I denied her request for help. I didn't investigate the letter.”

“She may not trust you, but she doesn't know me.”

“Then get to know her.” Kern's cheeks flushed. “After all, she's a beautiful woman. A beautiful woman in need of a man to care for her. A woman like that shouldn't be living alone. It ain't right.”

“And you'd like to be the man to offer her companionship?” Robert made sure he infused his words with a healthy amount of sarcasm.

The sheriff drew himself up to his impressive height. “Suppose I did. Do you have a problem with that?”

Robert knew he shouldn't. From what he'd learned so far, Kern was truly concerned about Miranda. He cared enough about her to approach Robert and make his concerns clear.

And hadn't that been what Devin had asked him to do? Yes, he was supposed to discover why Phillip's widow was having such a difficult time. But he was also supposed to try to help her, to perhaps be her friend. She was lonely. A good, caring man who
would happily face the gossips and the naysayers was a blessing. Someone worth holding on to.

But though all those reasons made sense, Robert couldn't do it. At least, not yet. “I know nothing about you.”

Kern's eyes narrowed. “I didn't realize my background or interest was any of your business.”

“I've made it my business.”

“I don't know why. I was under the impression that you didn't know Mrs. Markham before you came here.”

Robert's earlier doubts about Kern were becoming stronger. The man spoke in circles. “I'm starting to think I might know Miranda Markham better than most,” he stated with a new edge in his voice.

“Is that right? Even though you've only just arrived on Galveston Island?”

“I have learned she is a gently bred lady who has already had her fair share of pain . . . and that she is in dire need of a protector.”

“That occurred to me as well, Lieutenant. That is exactly why I asked you to talk with me,” he continued, his expression hard. “Therefore, sir, if you know something about her to help me in my goal, I respectfully ask you to share. I don't cotton with cowardly fools who prey on the weakness and fears of women.”

“On that, we are in agreement.”

Kern nodded. “Good to know. Now that we have that settled, if you learn of even a hint of who was behind the letter she received and who started the rumors about Phillip Markham, I hope you'll share that information with me as well.”

“Nothing would make me happier than to give you that name.”

“I'd be obliged.” Slowly, he added, “Finally, like I was saying, I have an interest in Mrs. Markham that is aboveboard and completely respectful. I hope you do not intend to stand in my way.”

“I don't intend to, but like I said earlier, I don't know you yet. I don't plan to make any promises.”

“Take your time,” the sheriff said easily. “Unlike yourself, I have all the time in the world to win her trust.”

Robert nodded, then turned away and started back to the Iron Rail. But as he walked, he realized that much had already changed in his heart.

I
T MADE NO SENSE
. I
N JUST FOUR DAYS
, R
OBERT
T
RUAX
had managed to become a prominent fixture in her life.

Miranda figured the reason for this was that she simply did not have enough to occupy her mind. Most days, she mended linens, planned menus, welcomed her few guests, and kept up with correspondence. Conversations with her staff were pleasant but impersonal.

None of those tasks took much time or thought. Until Mr. Truax's arrival, it had been a struggle to merely get through each day without succumbing to depression, especially since she had been forced to open the boardinghouse to survive and the rumors about Phillip had started. Moreover, she had felt empty inside. Devoid of any joy or goals.

And she had received the last letter.

Now, however, wherever she was, Robert found her. He engaged her often, sometimes talking of nothing more than the weather or some interesting tidbit he'd discovered about one of the buildings or Galveston Bay. He asked her questions. Made jokes and asked her opinion. In short, he gave her no choice but to interact with him.

After the first couple of times, she'd dared to respond. Every time she did, Robert would look pleased.

She'd likely smiled and even laughed more in the past week than she had since Phillip died. So much so that she found herself forgetting to mourn for him, and she was even able to put her worries aside for hours at a time.

Miranda knew she'd be a liar if she said this transformation in herself didn't feel strange. On the contrary, she worried about what was going to happen when Robert left and the support she was gradually getting used to accepting vanished.

Would she delve back into her dark depression? Would the blackness consume her, finally pressing in deep enough to give her the courage to open that windowpane again?

The idea was frightening.

“Knock, knock.”

Looking up from her desk—and her musings—she saw Robert standing in the parlor's doorway. He wore dark denims and black boots this morning. He had on a dark brown shirt and a thick vest as well. He looked almost like one of the cowboys who came onto the island from time to time, intent on sampling the wares of fallen women in the warehouse district.

His dark hair was curved behind his ears and he was freshly shaved. And he was watching her closely. Once again there was no judgment in his dark eyes. Instead, only a lazy appreciation that she would have to be dead not to appreciate.

“Good morning, Mr. Truax. I trust you slept well?”

A half-smile formed on his lips. “I did, thank you. And you?”

“Me? Yes, I did sleep well, thank you.” To her surprise, she realized she wasn't lying. She had fallen asleep soon after she'd slipped into her bed and had enjoyed a lengthy, peaceful slumber. She'd slept better during the last two nights than she had in the previous two months.

Realizing he was still standing in front of her waiting, she
smoothed the fabric of her pale lavender gown. No gray today. “May I help you, sir? Or did you simply stop by to say hello?”

His smile grew as if the question amused him. “I came for a reason, of course.”

She got to her feet. “Yes?”

“I had a hankering to take another walk on the Strand today.”

Though she still wasn't sure what that had to do with her, she responded. “Oh! Well, I hope you have an enjoyable time. As you have already seen, we are fortunate to have a great variety of shops, restaurants, and businesses to sample. Many claim it is Galveston Island's crowning achievement.”

She didn't think it was quite that, but it was a lovely area. Many of the fronts were ornate and built in the Victorian style. Furthermore, each was showcased in its own right. “My husband told me many of the buildings are made of cast iron and brick because the architects hoped the expensive building materials would help withstand the storms and hurricanes that wash ashore from time to time.”

“I didn't merely come to inform you of my plans, ma'am,” he said with a meaningful look. “I had another goal in mind.”

“Oh?”

“You see, I am standing here in the hopes that you would consider accompanying me.”

She stilled. Not since before the war had she gone for a simple stroll by a man's side. When Phillip got leave one summer, they had walked down on the Strand, stopping for ice cream. Once, they'd dined out, just like some of the ship captains who arrived from all over the world or the cattle barons who vacationed in the Tremont.

And though Robert had walked with her to the bank, this offer was different. She was sure the whole experience would be different, and she wasn't exactly sure how she felt about that.

No, to be fair, she wasn't sure how she would be able to do such a thing without having it affect her. Or, for that matter, what would everyone say? Of course, did it even make a difference?

Even thinking about the distaste she would encounter from passersby, she tamped down her wishes. “As you know, the Strand is nearby, sir. I doubt you'll have difficulty locating whatever shop you are hoping to find.”

He chuckled. “I'm not worried about getting lost, Miranda. I am asking because I would enjoy your company.”

“My company?”

“Yes.” He looked at her curiously. “Surely you can understand that I would want to spend an afternoon with a beautiful woman?”

He thought she was beautiful. It had been a long time since she'd thought of herself as attractive, as anything other than a shell of the person she once was.

And though she knew she should ignore his flowery words, her insides warmed and that same cautious burst of nervousness mixed with butterflies settled in her stomach. “Thank you for the compliment and the invitation, but I am afraid I cannot do that.”

“Why is that?”

Yes, why was that? Scrambling for a real reason, she ventured, “Well, first of all, it wouldn't be seemly.”

“Why not?”

Oh, his questions! Some days she was sure he had a never-ending supply locked in his head. “It wouldn't be seemly because we are both unmarried. That is obvious.”

But instead of looking as if he understood her point, he looked amused yet again. “Perhaps that might have mattered if we were eighteen, but we are of age, ma'am.” He paused. “I am thirty and survived a war. And you, well, you are a widow,” he added. “I consider both of us past the age of needing to justify our actions to anyone.”

He was right. He was thirty and she was twenty-six. Both of them had a number of experiences that could neither be ignored nor simplified.

But it was because of those events that she was reluctant to make a stir. Because she'd rather be blunt than simply refuse him and inadvertently hurt his feelings, she said, “Mr. Truax, the truth is that while I would enjoy accompanying you, I don't know if I could survive the talk that would ensue.”

“Do you truly think two people walking out together would cause so much notice?”

“If it was you and someone else, no. However, I am afraid everything I do now causes notice.” Hating how terribly pitiful she sounded, she added, “Other than Mr. Winter, you might not have noticed anything out of the ordinary when we went to the bank, but—”

All traces of amusement vanished as he stared hard at her. “I noticed,” he interrupted.

She wasn't sure if she was glad he understood or if she was now more embarrassed than ever. “I've begun to hate leaving the house.”

“We need to put a stop to that.”

“There is nothing one can do.”

“I disagree.” He stepped forward. “Ma'am, I think it's time you ignored the looks and the criticism and enjoyed your days. We need to get you out more. Go on the offensive, per se.”

“Spoken like a true military man.”

He shrugged. “I am used to finding solutions to problems, ma'am. It is second nature.”

He was so sure. So confident. Miranda was tempted to simply agree, to let him make decisions about what was best for her.

If he was going to stay, she might even give in enough to let him.

But eventually he would be gone and she'd be back to being
alone. When that happened, she would have to bear all the consequences, and no doubt they would be dire indeed.

Not wanting to let on just how much his kindness meant to her, she kept her voice light. “Sir, I must admit to being tempted. But again, I must decline. The talk would be even worse than normal after last week's visit to the bank.”

“Because?”

“Well, Mr. Winter has undoubtedly already turned your defense of me in the bank into something ugly.”

His expression turned ice cold. “He wouldn't dare.”

“Oh, I am afraid he would. I know we've already talked about this, but there are rumors circulating about Phillip. His reputation isn't ensuring my protection, and for some reason, Mr. Winter in particular has an interest in me.”

She paused, mentally preparing herself for Robert to take back his offer to go on the Strand.

But instead of retreating from this latest bit of news, Robert stepped closer. And with that increased proximity came an increased awareness of his scent. Sandalwood and soap. The combination shouldn't have been appealing. She found it masculine and irresistible.

Her attraction to it—and the man it belonged to—also worried her. She'd promised to love Phillip forever. Until Mr. Truax appeared in her parlor that first day, she'd had no doubt that she would never love again. Would ever even look at another man.

But now she was discovering that was not going to be the case.

“Miranda,” he drawled, “how about if I promise you that when I leave, no one will dare to disparage your character ever again?”

“I doubt such a promise can be made.”

“Let me prove you wrong.”

“Sir, trust me when I say it is better that I keep to myself.”

“You can't imagine your life being much different because you have given up.” His voice hardened. “It's time to try harder.”

He was baiting her. Goading her.

It wasn't fair and she knew better than to let him.

But sometimes even she wasn't capable of continually saying no.

And sometimes she didn't even want to.

Robert hadn't been lying when he told Miranda he'd been his unit's problem solver during the war. Whether it was a by-product of living a childhood devoid of assistance or he simply had been blessed with a devious mind, Robert Truax had always been able to obtain anything he or his friends needed. He could pick locks. He could lift produce without notice. He could charm old women and crusty men and bitter scoundrels.

Monroe had called him a master manipulator. Phillip Markham had said he was far too conniving. Other men had called him names that weren't half as kind.

Robert had never cared. He'd liked being useful and he liked being able to depend on his brain to survive. He had secretly felt it was a far more gentlemanly way to go through life than the way Sgt. Thomas Baker had, which was to use his bulk and his fists to convince others to follow his lead.

However, though he'd been on many missions and had stolen, lied, and grinned his way toward food, shelter, ammunition, and even medical help, Robert wasn't sure if he'd ever had to be as patient and persistent as he had to be with Miranda.

Her stubbornness would give a mule a run for its money! He'd never been so glad he was as stubborn as she was.

It had all been worth it, though. Now he was reaping the
rewards. He was walking along Market Street with Miranda on his arm. She was wearing an attractive wide-brim hat and a navy day dress that favored her blue eyes. She'd also forgone layers of petticoats and had opted for one of fashion's newer looks, the bustle. She looked very fine.

He soon found out she hadn't been exaggerating. His escorting her to the bank and the mercantile had not been so bad, but today one would have thought they were notorious bank robbers or visiting royalty, the amount of attention they were receiving. At first he'd glared at anyone who dared to stare at them too long.