The Loyal Heart (9 page)

All this time she'd been living in fear of Belle or Winifred discovering the letters, fearing that once they saw she was being targeted by a stranger they would finally decide to quit. Every time a letter arrived she would break out into a cold sweat, force herself to read it again and again, and then become so desolate and afraid she'd hide in her room until she could act in a calm and genteel manner.

But it seemed all that hiding had been for nothing. She never expected they would look through the things she threw away.

“I see.” Once again Miranda felt as if she'd stepped into a play about another person's life. Here she'd spent months doing her best to pretend she was okay. That life was normal. That she had no cares beyond the Iron Rail and missing her husband.

But it had all been a lie, and once more it had been a useless one. She could have saved all that energy.

She wasn't exactly sure how she felt about her big secret being not so secret after all.

She didn't feel embarrassed. Instead, she felt a curious sense of relief. As if she could maybe—just maybe—not be quite so alone anymore. That would be so nice.

“I am glad this is out in the open now,” she said at last. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

Belle looked extremely distressed. “I really am sorry, ma'am. Both about the letters and about knowing your secrets and never saying a word. I never thought you'd be so understanding.”

How did one respond to that? “Perhaps we should simply drop this subject.”

“Yes'm.” Belle nodded. Then blurted, “You see, I don't think any of us wanted to make you more upset than you already were.”

“Pardon me?” Just how pathetic had she been?

Belle winced. “I know you don't like to speak about your personal life. I mean, I know we aren't supposed to talk about you. On account that you employ us and all—”

“You are right. Most employers value their privacy.”

“But, ma'am, well, I just want to say that I've felt real sorry for you,” Belle continued in a rush. “I mean, those letters are cruel, that's what they are.”

“They have been difficult to read.” Raising a brow. “I am
guessing you felt the same way?” She didn't mean to be sarcastic and unkind, but this conversation was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

Belle's eyes widened. “Oh, I haven't read them!”

“No? I thought you could read.”

“Oh, I can!”

“Then?”

“It's just that . . . I mean, I've only read one,” she sputtered. “Emerson, Cook, and Winnie told me what the others said.”

“So all of you have taken to reading my disposed correspondence without my knowledge and then discussing it in secret?”

Miranda truly had no idea how to handle this. She fervently wished her mother were sitting next to her. Then she could have educated Miranda about the best way to handle this sticky situation.

Whatever she would advise had to be better than what Miranda was contemplating, which was to call all four of them to the parlor, chastise them soundly, and then promptly fire them all. Servants who disrespected their employers' privacy were worse than useless.

But of course, they had been some of her only defenders in the city. If she let them go, who would even consent to work for her?

She sagged as tension filled her neck and shoulders. What she wouldn't give to go back in time to just an hour ago, when she was still reveling in yesterday's walk in the Strand!

“Mrs. Markham, please don't be upset. It's just that, well, Winnie found one on the floor about a year ago. She'd been in the hallway when you'd opened it. You'd cried out and ran upstairs to your room. It was obvious you were upset.”

“Yes.” Unfortunately, she remembered that day well. It had been the second time she'd received a letter. She'd been forced
to accept that whoever was behind the threats wasn't going to go away. And she never realized she hadn't thrown the letter away.

One of Belle's hands was twisting the edge of her white apron now. “Mrs. Markham, I'm sure Winnie only meant to pick up your letter. I'm sure she didn't actually mean to read it, but . . .”

“But she did.” With a sigh, Miranda sat down at her desk chair. “I suppose I don't blame her for that. It was human nature.”

“Yes.” Belle nodded. “It was that. Exactly.”

“I suppose she couldn't resist telling the rest of you about it, either.” Miranda supposed she would have been tempted to do the same.

Belle winced. “It wasn't like that. We don't gossip about you. And I promise, no one has said anything to anyone outside the house.” She bit her lip then.

“But?” Miranda asked, wanting to get the rest of this awful story out in the open.

“But, well, it's just that we're all real worried about you. Like I said, those letters are cruel, especially with you being a widow and all. And with Lt. Markham's mother and sister nagging you something awful.”

Ruth and Viola did nag her something awful. The description was so fitting, she almost smiled. Why, if she didn't know how much they had cared for Phillip, she would suspect them of spreading rumors about him and sending threatening letters to get her out of this house rather than depending on their lawyer to find a way.

Yes, Phillip had known his mother and sister loved him, but he was reluctant to spend much time with them because of their dispositions. He was just as happy when they decided to move to Houston rather than live in the mansion with them.

Wearily, she ran a hand along the muscles supporting the
back of her neck. They were bunched and knotted. In need of a small massage.

It was moments like this when she missed having a husband. Someone to share her burdens and take charge. Someone to help her figure out how to speak to servants about letters she wished she hadn't received. Someone to help her talk about things no one was supposed to know about in the first place.

Yet, on the other hand, she no doubt wouldn't have received such letters if Phillip had still been alive.

Because she was alone, she was at a stranger's mercy. He could freely play with her emotions, threaten to harm her reputation, practically do whatever he wanted because he knew he could.

She wasn't from Galveston. She had no family or long-standing support system here to help her through trying times. And Phillip's mother and sister still resented her keeping the house and not giving it back to the Markham family.

All she had was a large house that she'd inherited on a prime piece of real estate. She had that, which many valued highly, and the name of her husband.

Which, until recently, had kept her feeling secure. Now that so many people had besmirched his name, Phillip's reputation didn't keep her safe anymore.

“I don't know what to do,” she finally admitted. “I've tried to be strong, but someone desperately wants me gone. But if I leave, I have nowhere to go and no way of surviving or making a living.” She couldn't emphasize enough how much that idea scared her. “I did tell Sheriff Kern about the first letter, but he brushed off my worries as a feminine drama.”

For the first time since their conversation began, Belle looked certain. “That was wrong of him.”

“I thought so too. But he made me so worried, I was afraid to go back to him.”

“Beg your pardon, ma'am, but I don't reckon admitting you are afraid or need help is a sign of weakness. I think it simply means you're like the rest of us.”

“Thank you for that, Belle. I have to tell you that though this conversation is difficult, I'm thankful to be able to discuss the letters with someone.”

She sighed in relief. “I'm thankful things are out in the open now, too, ma'am.”

“So, um, if I was your sister, what would you advise me to do?”

“You need to get help,” she replied instantly. “And though all of us here would be happy to help you do whatever needs to be done, I think you need to go back to ask Sheriff Kern for assistance.”

“But what if he doesn't listen to me?”

“Then go talk to him again.”

“Yes, I suppose you're right.” She bit her lip. “Now I wish I would have saved the letters. Then I could prove to him how vicious they have become.”

“You don't need to worry about that. Winnie saved them.”

“Of course she did.”

“I think you really should talk to Sheriff Kern, ma'am. The sooner the better.”

Before she lost her nerve, Miranda nodded. “I think you're right. Belle, please go to the sheriff's office right now. When you get there, ask Sheriff Kern to pay me a visit at his convenience.”

“Are you going to write this down? I could hand him a note.”

Miranda shook her head. “No. I'd rather not have anything more in writing. Simply tell him it's about the letters and that you and I've talked.” Aware that Belle wasn't exactly comfortable with the errand, Miranda added, “While I realize visiting the sheriff's
office is not the easiest errand to run, I can assure you that Sheriff Kern is polite and gentlemanly. I'm sure this visit won't take up much of your time.”

“It ain't that, ma'am.”

“Are you concerned about what to say? Simply tell him I've received more letters and I would like to speak to him without the whole city knowing I am in his office. He'll understand that.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Thank you, Belle. I appreciate it.”

Looking a bit more confident, Belle smiled. “I'll go speak with Sheriff Kern straightaway.”

“Thank you. When you return, I'll probably still be here in the parlor. If not, please look for me. I'll want to know what he says as soon as possible.”

“I'll do that.” Just before she turned to leave, Belle smiled. “This is nice, isn't it?”

In her opinion, the conversation they'd just shared had been one of the most difficult in recent memory. “I'm afraid I don't understand. What is it that is nice?”

After visibly weighing her words, Belle said, “I think it's going to be a real good thing when we all know you are no longer at this coward's mercy. And that it's going to be nice to know all of us can now speak freely about your letters. It's nice when secrets are unveiled, I think.”

Though she had no idea what was in store for her future, Miranda had to agree. No matter what happened, anything was better than being at a stranger's mercy.

Anything had to be better than that.

T
HE MOMENT AFTER SHE CLOSED THE DOOR IN THE STUDY
to allow Mrs. Markham some privacy, Belle scampered down the hall, hurried down the stairs, ran out to the walkway, threw open the door, and at last burst into the kitchen.

When she saw Winnie, Cook, and Emerson all look up in alarm, she grinned. “Oh, good. You all are here.”

Instead of smiling in return, Cook frowned. “We're here, but you aren't acting like you belong here, attending to your duties. What has gotten ahold of you?”

“Mrs. Markham.”

Cook dropped the heavy knife she'd been holding. It clattered onto her work surface with a noisy clang.

Emerson glared. “Belle, some complete sentences would be real welcome right about now.”

“Yes. Of course.” Forcing herself to calm down and try to make a lick of sense, Belle took a fortifying breath. “When I served tea to Mrs. Markham, she was opening her mail.”

Cook shrugged. “And?”

“And inside one of the envelopes was yet another one of those letters!”

“Oh my word.”

“She gasped when she saw it and spilled her tea.”

Cook wasn't even pretending to cut vegetables now. “Did she burn herself?”

“No, but to be honest with ya, she was so upset I think even if she was burned she wouldn't have noticed.”

Emerson stood up from the chair he was sitting in and began to pace. “I'd like to wring up that coward by his neck, I would.”

“I would help you too,” Cook said.

Winnie stared at Belle impatiently. “Well, don't keep us in suspense. What did you do?”

Kind of enjoying the fact that she had their undivided attention, Belle drew out her answer. “Well, I would have ignored the letter, her manner, her tears, everything. You know, like we always do.”

“But?” Winnie asked sharply.

Belle knew that tone. It meant Winnie wanted some answers and she wanted them fast. Feeling a bit uneasy again, Belle sputtered, “But . . . well, I made a mistake. Before I knew what I was saying, I told Mrs. Markham I was sorry she received another one.”

Cook's eyes widened. “Please say you did not do that.”

“I'm sorry, but I really did. I couldn't help myself.” When three disbelieving pairs of eyes stared back at her, Belle backtracked. “Well, I mean, I know I should have been able to, but I couldn't hold my tongue. Before I knew it, I was telling her I was sorry. Then, next thing I knew, Mrs. Markham was asking me all about what I knew about the letters she'd been receiving.”

“And then?” Winnie asked.

“And then I went and told her I've known about them for some time. And, that, well, you all knew about them too.”

Emerson moaned, Winnie was visibly gritting her teeth, and Cook . . . well, Cook pressed a hand to her chest and glared. “You just had to go and bring the rest of us into it, did ya?”

“I didn't mean to,” Belle replied, knowing deep in her belly
that her explanation could use some work. “But Mrs. Markham wanted some answers. I couldn't ignore her questions. And I'm not good at lying. I am sorry.”

“I suppose we should all be glad you aren't a liar,” Winnie stated. Looking at the other occupants in the room, she shrugged. “No use crying over spilled milk. What's done is done.”

Emerson whistled softly. “It's done all right. We're all going to get fired. We might as well sit down with a cup of tea and prepare ourselves.”

Cook left her cutting board and stood next to Emerson. “My daughter lives in New Orleans. We could go there, I suppose.”

Winnie frowned. “I got nowhere else to go.”

Belle cleared her throat. “I don't think we're about to get fired.”

Emerson folded his hands across his chest. “Because?”

“Because Mrs. Markham just asked me to go to Sheriff Kern's office. She wants me to ask him to come here, to pay her a call.” Daring to smile, she added, “I think she's finally going to tell him everything.”

“Do you think so, truly, girl?” Emerson asked.

Belle nodded. “Mrs. Markham even said she was glad her secret was out in the open. She said she'd been afraid we would all leave if we found out about these letters.”

Winnie shook her head. “Our lady is a lamb. Doesn't she realize she's not the one who has done something wrong? It ain't her fault some mean coward is sending her ugly letters.”

“She seemed a lot better when I left her just now,” Belle said.

Cook clasped her hands together. “Praise God! Maybe things are finally going to get better for Mrs. Markham. I was beginning to think he wasn't listening to my prayers.”

Winnie made a shooing motion with her hands. “Well, off with you now before she up and changes her mind.”

Belle decided right then and there that she didn't need to be told twice. She'd already disobeyed Mrs. Markham by tarrying in the kitchen. After running to her room to put on a real dress and not her faded work one, she refashioned her hair. Finally, she put on her best bonnet. It was felt and navy and had dark purple ribbons around the brim.

After slipping on her cloak and pulling on gloves, she decided she now looked suitable enough to visit the sheriff's office. She told herself she had gone to so much trouble because she wanted to do her employer proud. Not because she was about to have a conversation with the most attractive sheriff in the great state of Texas.

Fifteen minutes later, Belle was sitting on a hard wooden chair inside the sheriff's small waiting room and doing her best to avoid the dark stares of not only Sheriff Kern's deputy, but also two men who appeared especially weather beaten and rough.

All three of the men had raised their brows when she'd asked to speak with the sheriff and looked at one another in disbelief when she'd refused to explain why she needed to see him.

When she resolutely refused to answer any questions, Deputy Banks told her to sit down and then went about his business.

The other two men, however, merely turned so they faced her and looked at her with increasingly lewd expressions. She felt exposed and at a disadvantage. And, frankly, wished she was sitting anywhere else but where she was.

Her only consolation was that she was the one sitting in the waiting area and not her employer. Imagining gentle, shy Mrs. Markham being subjected to such disrespect was difficult
to contemplate. Belle might be small but she knew she was far tougher. She'd also had plenty of experience with men who had next to no manners and little respect for a woman like her.

But as the minutes passed, some of her confidence faded. The men's too-forward stares were making her uncomfortable. She could practically feel their bold, assessing eyes drift over her body. Their disrespect made her feel like she used to when she stood by her mother's side back in Louisiana.

After her mother died, Belle had promised herself she'd do everything in her power never to be at such a disadvantage again. If she hadn't promised Mrs. Markham that she'd contact the sheriff, Belle would have stood up and walked away.

But Belle had promised, and she was willing to do whatever it took for her employer to feel safe. Therefore, she had no recourse but to sit with her hands pressed in a tight knot on her lap and pray for Sheriff Kern to arrive sooner than later.

But as the clock's minute hand continued to move at a glacial speed, the tension in the room rose. Belle could have sworn the very air she was breathing had become thicker.

Though she was trying hard not to look at them, she could still feel the men's appraising leers.

After another five minutes passed, one of the men kicked a boot out. The sudden motion forced Belle to turn her head their way.

“Where do you work?” one asked, his voice sharp and staccato, betraying that he was a Yankee.

The wariness she'd begun to feel was replaced by fear. “That is none of your business,” she replied when it became apparent she had no choice but to answer him.

He lumbered to his feet. “Ain't no shame if yer a sporting girl,” he said. Almost kindly. “All I is aimin' to know is what house you're
a part of.” He leaned closer, bringing with him the faint scent of fish and onions and stale clothing. “That way I'll know whether to bring a quarter or a dollar.”

She was both appalled and saddened by his comment. Pity for the soiled doves who frequented the port and warehouse district overwhelmed her. It made her ill to think that a man like him could have his way with a woman for less than the cost of a meal.

Against her will, memories of the men who frequented her mother's room hit her hard, causing her mouth to go dry. “I am not a . . . a prostitute.”

“But you could be, if you had a mind to it,” he said, as if he warmed up to the idea. “Shoot, a pretty thing like you? Chances are good you could earn a decent living on yer back. Heck, you could even buy a better hat.”

She folded her hands tightly in her lap and remained silent. Where was Sheriff Kern? And why couldn't Mrs. Markham have simply written a note that needed to be dropped off?

He grunted. “What's wrong with you?” He scowled. “Can't you talk?”

She didn't want to talk to him. Feeling more anxious, Belle glanced at Deputy Banks. Waited for him to intervene. Unfortunately, he was leaning back in his chair eyeing the interplay with a bored look.

The swarthy man's voice turned rougher. “Or do you consider yerself better than the likes of me?”

Worried that he was going to approach her if she didn't respond, she spoke at last. “I am waiting for the sheriff. That is all.”

He coughed. “Where I come from, women know their place. They don't ignore a man when he's speaking to them. They know actions like that have consequences.”

His threat did not fall on deaf ears. She believed he would
happily retaliate for her rudeness if he felt he could. The fact that not for Winnie and Mrs. Markham taking her in Belle could be at the mercy of a man like him made her tongue sharper than was wise.

A sudden memory returned of her mother pretending that the men who called on her actually cared, and Belle's anxiety transformed to fear.

But she wasn't weak. Not yet. Forcing herself to look far braver than she felt, she raised her chin. “Where I come from, women do not speak to strangers.”

The man's friend chuckled. “She's a fiery one, she is, Jeb.” Standing up, he stepped in her direction. “Don't be acting like you're a real
lady
, now, 'cause we all know you ain't that.” His assessing look turned into something else. “Now, why don't you answer me? Who are you?”

She looked at Deputy Banks yet again. Surely he was going to help her now? If not for her, for her mistress?

After the span of a heartbeat, he colored. “Sit down, Henry. Belle here is right. You ain't got no call to be speaking to women like that.”

“Or what?” the Yankee asked, just as the outer door swung open at last. “What are you gonna do, Banks? Tell me I gotta start bowing and scraping to all the girls that walk through yer door?”

She and the three men inhaled sharply as Sheriff Kern entered the room with none other than Mr. Truax on his heels. It was obvious to all that they'd heard the Yankee's words—and Deputy Banks's allowing of it.

Deputy Banks jumped to his feet.

Both of the other men took their seats, looking cowed and bedraggled all of a sudden.

Belle breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she was going to be all right after all.

“Miss Harden, good afternoon,” Sheriff Kern said politely. “May I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Sheriff. I, um, was hoping I might speak with you for a few minutes. If you wouldn't mind.”

“Of course I don't.” Glaring at the two Yankees and his deputy, too, he gestured toward his office. “Why don't you go into my office? I'll be there directly. I must attend to a piece of business first.”