A Touch of Forever, page 7
“Then you cleared it with Lily.”
“That’s what I came here earlier to tell you. Just happenstance that I bumped into her. I spoke to her yesterday when the children, save for Lizzie, were in school. It required some convincing and reassurances, and she didn’t give me an answer until this morning when she sent Clay to my door. That was her way of telling me she is willing to let him try out the job. If Hannah had showed, it would have meant I’d have to find someone else.”
“I’ll be darned,” said Ben. “I reckon I can tell you now that I didn’t hold out much hope that you’d be successful, but I didn’t want to discourage you.”
“What you mentioned about Clay’s education, that was helpful. I think it may have been what swayed her to give her approval.”
“I’m glad to hear it, though I’m thinking you shouldn’t be too confident that you have her full approval. She has doubts. That’s why she was here earlier. She never mentioned that she’d already given you her permission. I didn’t press for more information than she was prepared to disclose. I gathered that you and she had had a conversation, but I figured it was preliminary. She had some questions about you, things she was probably thinking she should have asked before she sent Clay out this morning. That’s how I know now that she was entertaining doubts.”
“What kind of things did she ask?”
Ben set the coffee mug on his desk before he dropped his chair to all four legs. He stretched his legs, took the mug in hand again, and drank. “I guess there’s no harm in telling you. Basically she wanted a character reference. I reminded her I hadn’t known you but a few weeks and that we only crossed paths now and again, mostly about railroad business. She still wanted my impression, so I gave it to her.”
“She sets store by first impressions,” said Roen. “I have that from Clay.”
“I had a favorable one to give her. Told her you were a good tenant, that you spend a lot time in your office working because I could still see the lamps burning when Ridley and I were retiring for the night. I repeated some of what you told the council that she wasn’t there to hear. Information about you graduating from that technology school in Massachusetts and you being steadily employed by different railroad companies since you left. I thought that spoke to your independence and figured she’d appreciate that, her being independent herself.”
“Did she ask about my family?”
“Yes. But I could only tell her that your mother was a famous artist. Until you told me your family was loud and chaotic, I didn’t know anything else.”
“That’s fine. We’re very different, my family and me. Was there anything else?”
“I believe I mentioned that you weren’t a frequent visitor to the Songbird and that when you drank, it wasn’t to excess.”
Roen’s eyebrows puckered. “You and I have never been in the Songbird at the same time.”
Ben shrugged. “I asked around. There are things I like to know, too. If there’s trouble in town, it generally can be traced back to whiskey shots and beer chasers at the Songbird.”
“Not the Nightingale?”
“Oh, so you know about our brothel.”
“The first time I stepped foot in the Songbird, the owner made it a point to tell me things about Frost Falls that the council and Mrs. Springer did not.”
Ben flashed an uneven grin over the rim of his mug. “That’s sounds exactly like something Buzz Winegarten would do. And it’d tickle him to share that tidbit when he knows Amanda Springer would never. The two of them have a long history of trading barbs. She’s the head of the temperance movement, and he operates the saloon.”
“But that’s her husband that tends bar there, isn’t it? Or did I misunderstand?”
“Oh, no. You have it right. Another bone of contention. But in answer to your question about the brothel, I rarely get a summons to go there. I’ve learned that men tend to argue more over their drinks than they do their ladybirds, and Mrs. Morrison—God bless her—sees that it remains that way. She doesn’t suffer fools or foolery.”
Ben tipped back his mug and drank. When he’d finished off his drink, he returned the mug to his desk. “You sure I can’t get you a cup?”
“I’m sure.” Roen thought Ben might rise to pour himself another, but the sheriff stayed put. It would have been better if he had, for Roen found himself on the receiving end of the man’s considering gaze. Roen wondered if prisoners were subjected to the same stare and how quickly they confessed to real or even imagined crimes. He took the offense, inviting the question that Ben seemed to be formulating. “What is it you want to know?”
Except for a single arching eyebrow, Ben had no immediate response. He remained silent, thoughtful, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was taking measure of the man sitting opposite him. It was an effective prelude to interrogation, and it might have worked here if the door to his office hadn’t opened suddenly and produced his wife on the threshold.
Both men got to their feet as Dr. Ridley Madison walked determinedly into the room. Her take-no-prisoners entrance was a counterpoint to her petite and slender stature. She had a delicate build but strong features, with sharply intelligent brown eyes and a bold mouth, which was now set in a tight, straight line. Without a word in greeting, she set her medical bag and two packages wrapped in brown butcher’s paper on the long bench against the wall. Wanted notices were posted above it. She gave them no attention. It was only when her hands were free that she turned to finally acknowledge that she was not alone.
“This is a stroke of luck that you are both here,” she said. “Please, sit. I fully intend to.”
Roen moved to his right and forfeited the chair where he had been sitting, as it was closer to Ridley. He waited until she was comfortably situated before he took his seat. Ben offered his wife coffee, but when she declined, he dropped back into his chair and regarded her expectantly. “Well?” he asked.
“Indeed. You might very well ask that.”
“I thought I just did.”
“This is not the time to amuse yourself. I am here on important business.”
Roen observed that Ben did not look particularly contrite although the effort was made.
“Perhaps if you told us what it is . . .” Ben let the suggestion lie there and waited for Ridley to pick it up.
She did, but not before she took in a breath and then released it slowly, calmly. “Did you know that Mr. Shepard was seen escorting Lily up and down the boardwalk? Parading her is the way it was put to me. The wags have the tale already, and they are not being kind. It hardly matters that it’s repeated out of concern for her; there is an element of shaming in the retelling. Lily will be mortified when she learns of it.”
“First,” said Ben, “yes, I did know. I was preparing to discuss that in more detail with him when you came in. Second, how will Lily learn of it if no one tells her?”
“Oh, Ben.” Ridley shook her head sorrowfully. “It’s inevitable that someone will think they’re doing her a favor by telling her, or at least it will be presented in that fashion. Truly, what you don’t know about women could fill a book.”
“Ellie said pretty much the same thing the other day.”
“She’s right.” Not desiring to belabor the point, Ridley turned her attention to Roen. “What is your interest in Lily Salt? Better yet, what are your intentions, Mr. Shepard?”
It occurred to Roen that the doctor had every bit the same skill as the sheriff when it came to interrogation. “Mrs. Salt asked me a similar question, and I told her I would be pleased to have her company.” When Ridley subjected him to a jaundiced look, he added, “I am not using ‘company’ as a euphemism, Dr. Madison. I mean just that. Company.”
“Hmm. Then you know there is a brothel a block off Main Street.”
“The Nightingale. Yes, I’m aware.”
Ben broke in. “Buzz told him about it.”
She sighed. “Of course he did. Did he tell you that the locals don’t go there? They scratch that itch in Liberty Junction or over in Harmony. Men from both those places come here.”
Roen wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. “I’ll keep that in mind, I guess.”
“My wife sees to the ladies at the Nightingale,” said Ben by way of explanation. To Ridley, he said, “And that’s plain speaking even for you.”
Ridley considered and dismissed it. “Sometimes plain speaking is what’s called for. Did I offend you, Mr. Shepard?”
Roen shook his head.
“Very well. Then I shall try harder.”
Ben rolled his eyes while Roen merely chuckled.
Ridley went on as if she hadn’t seen or heard either man’s reaction. “Are you married?” She looked sideways at her husband. “Do you even know if he’s married? Has a fiancée? A sweetheart?”
“I believe I mentioned I was getting around to that when you came in.”
“Well, we’re getting to it now.” She turned back to Roen. “Are you, Mr. Shepard? Married, that is?”
“No. No fiancée. No sweetheart.”
“No mistress?” asked Ridley.
Thinking of Victorine Headley made Roen hesitate and Ridley seized on that.
“A mistress, then.” She pretended she didn’t hear her husband’s audible, much-put-upon sigh. “Can we expect that she’ll be joining you?”
Roen held up a finger. “A point of clarification, please?”
“Go on.”
“You’re asking this because . . . ?”
“Because Lily Salt is dear to me. So are her children. I don’t want anyone to make trouble for them, and it seems to me you’re already stirring the pot.”
“Have you put these questions to anyone before me?”
“No. My husband ran off those ersatz suitors before I had the opportunity.”
“I see. Doesn’t it ease your mind that he hasn’t run me off?”
“Not entirely, no.”
“And what of Lily’s judgment? Do you not have regard for her opinion? She hasn’t run me off.”
“I am getting the impression that you stick like a fly in molasses.”
“I enjoy her company, Dr. Madison. I’d like to see more of her. If that’s sticking like a fly in molasses, then that’s what it is. I am not interested in romantic entanglements. The correct answer to your unseemly question about a mistress is that I recently ended that arrangement. I would be more dismayed than you if she were to show up in Frost Falls, but I will tell you that it is not outside the realm of possibilities.”
The gold flecks in Ridley’s brown eyes glittered as she considered not only what he said, but also what he didn’t say. “Lily’s company is a safeguard, isn’t it? You chose her quite deliberately, I imagine, because you learned very quickly that she’s a widow with four children who has even less interest in romantic entanglements than you. I saw Amanda Springer bending your ear in church your first Sunday here, and I’m familiar with the bent that conversation takes. I don’t think it matters to you how Lily’s companionship is perceived by others as long as it keeps the keenly interested at bay and allows you to go about your work.”
“I am not so Machiavellian as that, Doctor, though I am perhaps that selfish.” He saw her eyebrows climb her forehead. “You look surprised. Did you think I would deny it? There’s proof you don’t really know me.” Roen stood, nodded to Ridley and Ben in turn, and politely took his leave.
Ben looked at his wife, one eyebrow raised. “So much for sticking like a fly in molasses. You ran him off.”
“No, I didn’t. He didn’t walk away angry. He simply said his piece and walked away. I don’t think he was bothered a whit by anything I said, though I can’t say the same for you.”
Ben rubbed behind his ear. “You were rather more candid than I expected.”
“It was all for Lily.”
“I think he’s a good man, Ridley. We should take him at his word.”
“I want to, but how can any of us know? She’s still vulnerable, Ben. Sudden movements make her flinch. I’ve seen it.”
“Perhaps we should tell him why we’re so protective.”
Ridley shook her head. “No. If he’s a man who raises his hand against a woman, then he already knows about Lily. Men like that seem to instinctively know who can be terrorized.”
Chapter Eight
Ham skidded to a halt just inside the parlor. Hannah and Clay were right behind him and stopped as quickly when they saw their mother lying on the sofa with a damp compress across her forehead. Lizzie had Lily’s stocking feet in her lap and she was running her fingertips back and forth across the tops of them. Sometimes Lily would curl her toes.
“Mama doesn’t feel well,” Lizzie said.
“It’s all right, Lizzie,” said Lily. “I’m better now.” She lifted the compress, raised her head a few inches, and smiled at her returning children. The fact that the smile was wan and not warm did nothing to reassure them.
Hannah rushed to her mother’s side and replaced the compress as Lily’s head fell back. “Stay right there. Shall I send Clay for Doc Madison?”
“No. No doctor. It’s nothing. An upset stomach. I took some bicarbonate of soda.”
Hannah wasn’t sure what an upset stomach had to do with the compress on her mother’s head, but she didn’t ask. Instead she looked to Lizzie for whatever explanation a five-year-old could offer.
“I think it was the fizzy drink,” Lizzie said importantly. “We almost didn’t make it home before Ma loosed that fizzy and then all of her lunch in the kitchen sink. I had a cherry fizzy but I kept it down. I can’t say if Mr. Shepard did because he went on to Sheriff Ben’s and we stopped at Mrs. Fish’s. He had the root beer, too, you see.”
They didn’t see, but the three of them made a concerted effort to figure it out. They finally pieced together a story that made sense to them, and Clay and Hannah, with their better understanding of the root of their mother’s distress, exchanged meaningful glances over the tops of Ham and Lizzie’s heads.
Hannah removed the compress from Lily’s forehead and gave it to Ham to dampen with fresh, cooler water. “Lizzie, go help Ham before he makes a mess.”
Lizzie clambered off the sofa, careful not to disturb her mother more than she had to.
“Ma?” Clay approached the sofa. “We know it wasn’t the fizzy.”
Lily opened one eye. “Do you?”
“You don’t have to pretend it was. Maybe you shouldn’t have spent so much time with Mr. Shepard. Couldn’t have been easy for you.”
“Lizzie was there.”
Hannah asked, “I don’t think that matters much. Was he unkind, hurtful?”
“No, Hannah. He was a gentleman.”
Hannah blew out a breath that ruffled the fine hair at her mother’s temple. “I am very glad to hear it. I hoped he would be.”
Lily saw an opening there to mention the noble profile but she let it pass. There would be other opportunities. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been out of the house all of an afternoon.” She mocked herself with a small smile. “I don’t think I’ll do that again for a while.”
Clay said, “But it’s good, isn’t it, to go out?”
“Mm. Maybe.”
Ham and Lizzie returned just then. There was a tug-of-war for the compress until Hannah snatched it from them and laid it gently across Lily’s brow. “I’ll start dinner, Ma. There’s soup, and I can make biscuits. I’ll be careful with the stove.”
“All right, but call if you need me.” Lily eyed Clay. “Don’t you have chores to do and somewhere to be?”
“I don’t have to go see Mr. Shepard.”
“You do. He’s expecting you, and I’ll be just fine. Hannah’s making dinner, and Ham and Lizzie will keep me company.”
Clay was reluctant to leave, but in a battle of wills, she would always win. She was strong in ways he wondered if he would ever be.
* * *
• • •
Roen opened the door to Clay exactly an hour after he’d seen students fleeing the schoolhouse. “Let me get my maps. We’re going to work at the library.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll wait right here.”
Roen hesitated. “Did you get something to eat after school?”
“No. But it’s all right. Hannah’s warming soup and making biscuits. She’ll keep some back for me to have when I get home.”
“There’s a jar of sugar cookies in the kitchen that my housekeeper left with me.” Martha Rushton was also Ben and Ridley’s housekeeper, and they were generous to share her time and her cookies. “Go on. Help yourself while I get what I need.”
Clay’s pockets were stuffed with cookies when they met up again on the porch. Roen noticed the dusting of sugar around the boy’s mouth and the bulge in his cheeks and figured he was filling up now and taking the rest home. He gave one of the rolled maps to Clay and carried the other two under his arm. “Careful you don’t crease that. I like a smooth map.”
“Yes, sir.” The words were mushy, confirming the mouthful of cookies.
Smiling, Roen clapped Clay lightly between his shoulder blades. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
The library was a nondescript but generously sized wooden frame building situated on Main Street between the leather goods store and Maxwell Wayne’s bakery. According to Amanda Springer, the money to erect the library was an early gift to the town from its founder, the father of the current owner of the Twin Star Ranch, Thaddeus Frost, and the grandfather of the owner of the neighboring property, which had yet to be named, Remington Frost. There was some connection there to the sheriff, but Jim Springer pulled his wife away before she expounded on that theme. Roen had never asked about it, and no one else had offered the information without invitation.
Some of the floor-to-ceiling shelves inside the library sagged under the weight of the books, but when Roen looked around, he could see that even after so many years, filling all the shelves was still a work in progress. Books were expensive, and lending them out shortened their life expectancy. It was one of the reasons dime novel adventures were still so popular. Stacks of them required very little space.
