To Dream Anew (28 page)
Portia placed a silver tea tray on a highly polished tea cart. The furnishings were both gifts from Chester, but Cynthia Lawrence would never know that. Portia picked up the teapot and began to pour. “I sometimes just pine away for a chance to talk new fashions and such with another woman.”
“Not much time out here for fashions—new or otherwise,” Cynthia replied snidely. “You aren’t a rancher’s wife, so maybe it comes a little easier for you.”
Portia forced back a sarcastic reply and instead replied, “You are right. My life here in town is much simpler. Why, the time I spent at the Diamond V proved that to me if nothing else did. Of course, Dianne Chadwick never had to work as hard as I’m sure you and the girls work.” She offered Cynthia a cup of tea and then poured cups for Mara and Elsa.
“Mrs. Chadwick doesn’t have to work hard?” Elsa questioned. “Why would that be?”
Portia waved her off and lied, “Oh, goodness, the woman has many servants. She doesn’t have to lift a finger. Why, just last summer they brought in a full-time cook for the house, as well as another for the ranch hands. She has maids too. Money is nothing to them. They spend it like there was a never-ending fount of the stuff in their backyard.”
“Well, it won’t be that way for long,” Cynthia said, glancing at Mara. “They’ll soon be off their land, and we’ll be the new owners.”
Mara looked away, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. Portia had never cared for either of Chester’s daughters and planned to see them both married off as soon as possible, but she disliked Mara even more than Elsa. Elsa was a hothead like her father, and she wore his personality traits like a well-fitted glove. Mara, however, was soft. She was sweet and gentle spirited. She and her brother Joshua were both that way, and Portia knew it grieved Chester. The boy positively had no future as a ruthless cattleman.
They drank the tea and ate the little cakes Portia had prepared. The conversation ran dry long before the delicate china cups did, however, and if it weren’t for the argumentative nature of Elsa, Portia might have died from boredom.
“Can’t we please walk around town while you two visit?” Elsa whined after getting nowhere in her request that they finish the tea and head home.
“Yes, Mama,” Mara agreed, “can we please walk around a bit? Maybe do some shopping?”
Cynthia narrowed her eyes. “I suppose it would be fitting to have you look into some new dress material, but don’t be frivolous. Have the storekeeper put it on your father’s account, and don’t be gone more than ten minutes.”
The girls immediately got to their feet. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Langford,” Mara said, moving to stand behind her mother’s chair. “I very much enjoyed myself.”
“You’re quite welcome, Mara.” Portia turned to Elsa and added, “As are you, Elsa.”
Elsa frowned and joined her sister. “The tea could have been hotter.”
Portia stiffened. “I’ll try to remember that next time.”
The girls went to the door and opened it. “Mama,” Elsa said, motioning for her mother, “I need to tell you something.”
Cynthia Lawrence seemed to sense the importance and rather than argue with her daughter, made her way to where Elsa stood. Portia took the opportunity afforded her by the turned backs of her enemies to slip a poisonous, but tasteless, concoction into Cynthia’s teacup. Pouring the woman a bit more tea, Portia smiled as Cynthia finally rejoined her and the girls exited the small house.
“They were worried about getting their father a birthday present,” Cynthia said, raising the cup to her lips. “Sometimes they can be sentimental.” She took a long drink and replaced the cup on the saucer.
Portia knew the poison would act fairly quickly and hoped to end her tea party so that the woman might collapse elsewhere. “I truly hate to be rude and put an end to our time together,” Portia said, frowning, “but I suddenly have a terrible headache. I wonder if we might do this again another day—soon?”
Cynthia shook her head. “I doubt it seriously. I only came here today to give you a piece of advice.”
Portia feigned surprised. “Advice? Whatever about?”
“My husband.”
“I’m sure I don’t understand.”
Cynthia got to her feet. “And I’m equally sure that you do. Keep away from Chester. He’s married to me, and I don’t intend to see that change.”
“Why, Cynthia Lawrence, I have no idea what you are saying. Are you accusing me of something?”
“I don’t have time for accusations. Count this as an honest-to-goodness warning.”
Portia got to her feet and followed Cynthia to the door. “I’m sure you are mistaken in your thoughts. I have no interest in married men.”
Cynthia held Portia’s gaze. Her eyes looked like hard pieces of flint. “I don’t play games, Mrs. Langford. If you won’t heed my words, you’ll regret it.”
Portia smiled. “Now, now. We neither one want anything to regret.” She watched as Cynthia grimaced. No doubt the stomach cramps were already beginning. “I, for one, have a philosophy of living life without regrets.”
“Nevertheless, stay away from Chester.”
Portia clenched her teeth together and met Cynthia’s harsh stare. “I hope we’ll share tea again soon,” Portia finally managed to say.
“Good day, Mrs. Langford.”
“Good bye, Mrs. Lawrence.”
Word came several days later to Dianne that Mrs. Lawrence had suddenly passed away. Charity sat opposite her in the sitting room sharing the only information she had on the matter.
“Ben performed a small ceremony. It was just the family. He said no one seemed overly sad or concerned, with exception to Mara. She appeared quite devastated.”
“Cynthia wasn’t all that old, was she? I thought someone said she wasn’t even yet fifty. Is that right?” Dianne questioned. Already she was wondering what Portia Langford might have had to do with the event.
“I think so, but while she wasn’t old, she had been sickly. she’d twice asked me for remedies that might help with stomach disorders. I prayed with her both times, but she didn’t seem overly impressed with God’s abilities.”
“How sad for her to die so young and quickly like that,” Dianne said, still pondering the events, hoping she might somehow come up with some unknown clue. Trenton had been very vocal about Portia’s interest and flirtatious nature where Chester Lawrence was concerned. If Portia wanted Chester for her own, she’d no doubt have few qualms about eliminating the only person in her way—Chester’s wife.
“This sounds so odd,” Dianne said, shaking her head. “I know this country is hard on folks, but I have a strange feeling the hardships of the land had little to do with Cynthia’s death.”
“What are you suggesting?” Charity asked.
“I’m not sure,” Dianne replied. “I have some thoughts on the matter, but I can’t speak of them now. I just pray that we can figure out the truth before anyone else mysteriously dies.”
With snow threatening, Morgan and Angelina finally arrived at a small secluded cabin in the Washington Territory. Morgan could see that Angelina could barely contain herself. It had been difficult to find their way, and without the help of more than one grizzled backwoodsman, they might not have ever found Nicolaas Mercer.
Morgan slid down from his mount and held the reins for Angelina while she dismounted. From the look of it, someone was at home. The light shining in the cabin window was clear evidence of that.
“Do you think he’s here?” Angelina whispered.
A cold wind blew down through the tall pines and Morgan shivered. He’d resigned himself to the inevitability of this moment, but for all his good intentions, he was still heartbroken to be handing the woman he loved over to another man. Even if that man was his brother.
“Somebody’s here, and from the way folks have talked, I don’t think he lives with anyone else.”
Angelina followed Morgan as he went to tie the horses off. “It feels like snow.”
Morgan knew she was trying to keep their conversation casual and light. Just as they had for all the months they’d been searching for Trenton. Most women would have worried about their reputation—about traveling alone with a man she wasn’t married to. But Angelina seemed only concerned about finding Trenton.
Realizing it was probably their last chance to speak, Morgan turned to her. “Look, you know how I feel about you—how I’ve felt since I first laid eyes on you.”
Morgan could barely make out her features from the light in the cabin window, but he could see her nod. He pulled his glove from his hand and touched her cheek. He knew it meant nothing to her, but he had to do it.
“I’ve only done this because I love you. I love you enough to give you to Trenton, knowing that he’s the only one who will make you happy. But I want you to know, if he doesn’t want you, if he says no to your staying, I’m still here.”
Angelina reached up and touched Morgan’s face in return. The action sent heat radiating throughout his body, stirring his emotions in a way he’d just as soon avoid.
“You’re a good man, Morgan. I never wanted to hurt you. You must know that.”
“I do.”
“I’m sorry this has caused you such pain. Please know that I will always care about you.” She dropped her hand and drew a deep breath. “No matter what happens, thank you for bringing me here.”
Morgan quickly released her and nodded. “Come on. Let’s see if he’s here.”
Trenton opened the door after Morgan’s knock. It was harder to say who was more surprised. Morgan at the sight of this bewhiskered mountain man or Trenton at the sight of his brother and Angelina.
“What are you doing here?” Trenton asked in a low voice.
Angelina stepped forward and put herself between Morgan and Trenton. “Nicolaas Mercer, I’m here to marry you. Now, it’s freezing out here, so please let us come in and warm up.”
Trenton stepped back and Angelina walked into the cabin without further comment. Morgan couldn’t help but grin at the look on his brother’s face.
“We had to tell her,” Morgan finally said. “She was hardly able to go on without you. I’ll think you fifteen kinds of fool if you turn her away. And I’ll probably have to throw a few punches into that woolly face if you dare give me a hard time for bringing her here.”
Angelina turned, dropping the hood of her cloak. She fairly glowed from the joy of finally seeing her beloved. Morgan winced and looked away.
“Who said I’d ever consider turning her away?”
“Good,” Morgan said. “Just so long as we understand each other.”
Trenton put his arm around his brother’s shoulder. Morgan looked up to see the compassion in his brother’s eyes. “I think we both understand…. Thank you.”
January 1881
“I
THINK YOU ALL KNOW WHY
I
’VE CALLED THIS MEETING,
” Cole announced as many of the local ranchers gathered to take a seat in his sitting room. He’d relegated the women to the second floor and asked them to remain there for the evening. Cole had long seen the necessity of rallying those ranchers he knew who would make a stand against Chester Lawrence and his boys, but the events of the last few months had made it absolutely urgent.
“Lawrence is gaining control of this valley through his money and hired hands. He has the mayor, sheriff, and many others sewn up tight, so getting things accomplished through legal means is going to be difficult at best. Many of you have complained of missing livestock, water problems, and threats, so it’s clear we can’t just leave this situation without resolution.”
“If the law won’t help, then what are we supposed to do?” G. W. Vandercamp asked. His ranch was about fifteen miles north-northeast of the Diamond V. “I’ve had Chester Lawrence on my doorstep more times than I care to admit. He’s been pressing for me to sell out to him. Frankly, he and his boys are scaring my womenfolk.”
“The Lawrences may be annoying,” another man from a small sheep ranch to the south spoke out, “but I doubt they’re all that dangerous.” Some murmurs of agreement arose.
Cole knew the time to tell them the truth had come. “I don’t know exactly what each of you have heard about the deaths of Whitson and Maggie Farley, but I think the time has come to set things straight. Whit didn’t kill Maggie or the other way around. Whit showed up on my doorstep beaten half to death. On his deathbed he told me the Lawrence boys had come calling. They dragged Whit behind a horse until he was nearly dead, then beat him with a shovel.”