Herman sputtered as his face turned red. “We will discuss this later.”
“Sure, we will.” Carla handed Herman the list. “Right after you fill this customer’s list and remind yourself what John chapter thirteen says in the Good Book.” She turned toward the door as two more ladies walked in but threw over her shoulder, “Verses thirty-four and thirty-five, I believe.”
“Stop throwing your Bible Scriptures at me, woman.”
As soon as Carla mentioned the reference, the verses floated through Woody’s mind.
A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love
one another. By this shall all men know that ye
are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.
Herman must’ve known the verses by heart, as well, because he began filling Woody’s order without another word. A lot of slamming and thudding accompanied his work, but no words. Woody’d heard enough words today anyway. No wonder his orders for olive oil had all but diminished from Angels Camp. Granted, there was great demand for it in neighboring areas, but his own town ostracized him.
He hauled out all the bags and boxes to his wagon and noticed a small crowd of people out of the corner of his eye. As they inched closer with every trip he made to the wagon, he
figured it would be prudent to head out of town as soon as possible. Maybe staying away from Angels Camp would be the best idea from now on. No matter what. He couldn’t put Jimmy through this.
As he left the store for the last time, Carla caught him at the door and patted his shoulder. “How’s little Jimmy? We miss seeing him.”
“He’s fine.” Liar. His son was thin as a rail and wouldn’t speak.
“Well, good.” She stuck a small brown sack in his shirt pocket. “It’s candy for the boy. You’re welcome here anytime, Woody.”
He shook his head. “I wish that were true, Carla. But thank you for your help today.”
“You know I’m a stubborn old biddy and can hold my own. I won’t stand for people treatin’ you wrong. It ain’t right.” She said this loud enough for the bystanders to hear.
Woody noted that a few of the gatherers left the group, while the others seemed fixed to the place where they stood. Carla blinked a few times, and Woody spotted the tears in her eyes.
“It stabs me in the heart when I see and hear these good folks believin’ the lies. The good Lord done taught me a powerful lesson about gossipin’, but by then I’d done too much damage with my tongue. I may never see my daughter again because of it, but I aim to shuck gossip and malicious whisperings clean out of Angels Camp.” She crossed her arms and eyed the remaining crowd across the street. “They’ll come around. Just have faith. Which reminds me, when can we expect to see you and Jimmy back in church?”
Woody pasted on a smile. “I don’t think the church folks are ready to have us back.”
“Stuff and nonsense. I’m gonna speak to the reverend about this right away.”
Mrs. McCarthy approached the door and sidestepped Woody. “Good morning, Mrs. Clark.” She rushed inside the store like her dress was on fire.
“Good morning.” Carla turned to go inside but looked back at Woody. “We’ll get it all straightened out. These are good folks.”
Good folks. Who gossiped and allowed their fear to guide them.
He nodded as the door closed and turned to his wagon. Across the street, the crowd that had gathered moved toward him. When they were within ten feet, three men walked to the front of the group. The ringleaders, no doubt. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, it was clear they weren’t a welcoming committee.
“We don’t want you in our town, Colton.” The biggest of the group spat on the ground.
“Well, I’m leaving, so you get your wish.” Woody climbed up into his wagon and took the reins.
The men made a half circle around his horses. “What we’re sayin’ is that we don’t want you back here. Ever. Not after what you did.”
Woody took a deep breath and lowered his head. He knew these people. Each and every one of them in the group. A new ache crushed his chest. He looked back up at the men and shook his head. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but let’s get one thing straight, right now”—he released the brake, then lifted the reins to signal the horses—“I did
not
kill my wife.”
C
HAPTER
T
WO
T
he train’s whistle woke Lillian from a fitful sleep. Every inch of exposed skin felt gritty and covered in dirt as she attempted to work the kinks from her limbs. Ouch! And her neck didn’t appreciate the hours it’d spent on her makeshift pillow, either.
The conductor strode through the car as if on a Sunday walk. Lillian had tried to master walking with the lurching and swaying of the train, but with little success. He reached her seat and tipped his cap toward her as she adjusted her hat. “We’re still in Nebraska, miss,” he blurted out before Lillian had a chance to ask the question on her mind.
“Thank you.” She hoped her smile would help to smooth over his agitated demeanor that she’d apparently caused. It hadn’t been her intent to nag the poor man every time he passed through. Honestly. She’d just have to put more effort into keeping her curiosity at bay.
Nebraska proved to be a wider state than she remembered learning from her schooling days, as the train had traveled for
many hours already. At this rate, she’d be able to finish reading her book, eat dinner, and still be in the same state by bedtime.
Oh, why couldn’t they be to California already? Impatience frayed the last of her nerves. Nerves that reminded her of all the what-ifs. It was bad enough that she’d deserted her grandfather and defied him in such a way, but now she had to endure the endless hours of the rocking train day in and day out with nothing to occupy her but her guilty thoughts.
Lillian stood, all the while holding tight to the back of the seat lest she fall flat on her face. She stretched, attempting to get rid of the remorse, as well as her stiffness. Grandfather’s words returned again and again to haunt her. “. . .
your mother’s dream ended in death
.
Death
. . .” The reminder of following her mother’s dream—her own dream now—filled her with a sense of dread. Was she doomed to repeat her mother’s mistakes? Grandfather Fletcher was a wealthy man. He’d made a fortune in all his business ventures over the years and couldn’t bear it when his only child left to pursue her dreams of the West.
The story told throughout the household of Fletcher Manor was that when Lillian was only a few months old, her father died and her mother Mary fell apart. The grief too much to bear, she resorted to memories of happier years and all the dreams she’d shared with her husband. Dreams of owning land in fertile California. Dreams of fruit orchards and olive groves on their own prosperous farm. And dreams of vacations on the famed Pacific Ocean. So Mary had left in the middle of the night with a small purse full of money from her mother. Her only good-bye had been in the form of a note on the fireplace mantel that said she would send for Lillian once she was settled. But disaster had struck before Mary could ever see the beloved ocean.
Thoughts of her mother brought Lillian full circle and back
to her present situation. Two months ago, an advertisement for a nanny position on an olive farm in California ignited a spark of memories and the desire to follow her parents’ dreams. All the stories about beautiful, headstrong—always the dreamer—Mary came rushing back. Granted, she had no real memories of the woman who’d given birth to her, but oh, the tales her grandmother had told her as a child. The elderly woman grieved the loss of her only child and often mentioned that she wondered if she had been at fault by giving precious Mary the money. Would she still be alive? With them? But Grandmother always ended her stories with a smile and poured her heart and soul into Lillian and loved her unconditionally.
When Grandmother passed and Grandfather turned into a mean and angry old man who held no resemblance to the man who’d raised and loved her, Lillian’s mind wandered to thoughts of the man and woman who gave her life and their westward dreams.
All she really longed for was a life that mattered. To make a difference. Grandmother understood that. Even though they’d sheltered and guarded young Lillian for so long, Grandmother shared her heart on her deathbed and knew that Lillian needed to spread her wings and fly.
Grandfather
had
understood it while his wife still lived. Adam Fletcher—wealthy widower, angry and bitter tyrant drowning in his grief—did not.
The train car passed over a rough span that nearly sent Lillian to the floor. She felt her face redden as several men glanced her way as if to lend aid should the need arise. Taking her seat again, Lillian ducked her head, thankful for the brim of her hat. The last thing she’d wanted to do was draw attention to the fact that she was traveling alone. Proper young women didn’t do
such things, but then this entire trip hadn’t exactly been what a proper young woman might do.
Doubt crept in. Had she made a mistake?
To ease her worries, Lillian opened her carpetbag and pulled out the correspondence from Mr. Woodward Colton she’d stacked and tied with a ribbon. Stanton had secreted the letters to her as well as posted her responses. With plenty of time to dispose of, she decided to study the letters and see what she could do to better prepare herself for her upcoming position.
The stationery was high quality and his penmanship that of an educated gentleman. It had impressed Lillian from the start. As she opened the crisp letters and placed them in order of date, she allowed a little thrill to jolt through her and diminish the doubt. How exciting to be on her own and away from the domineering, overbearing, and suffocating presence of her grandfather. With a gasp, she glanced heavenward, almost expecting a bolt of lightning to strike for her disrespectful, ungrateful attitude. She allowed her breath to release and closed her eyes.
Lord, forgive me for my horrible thoughts. I promise to
work on my love toward Grandfather.
The train jerked over another rough stretch of rail, causing Lillian to glance out the window. The vast expanse of prairie rolled by in what seemed an incredible speed. Train travel was such an amazing thing and one she had always wanted to experience. However, the comfort wasn’t as great as she’d hoped. Of course, Mr. Colton had purchased her standard tickets, and why wouldn’t he? She was traveling to be a nanny, not as the wealthy granddaughter of Adam Fletcher. But if she had the opportunity—and funds—next time, she’d prefer traveling in style, using one of the grand and glorious Pullman cars. She’d heard tell they provided a traveler with cushioned chairs and
beds to sleep in. How wonderful that would be. Her aching backside attested to the fact.
The train began to slow for what seemed like the hundredth time. No doubt they were approaching yet another tiny town whose very existence relied upon the railroad. They’d just taken on water at the last stop, so perhaps this would be nothing more than a slowing to grab the mail off the high hooks next to the tracks. The conductor had informed Lillian that this was one of the best ways for them to keep the mail moving. Once the mail was snagged, they immediately took it to the mail car, where a clerk would sort through it. That way they could leave letters off at the various towns as they headed west. It was all quite fascinating.
Just as she’d suspected, the train only slowed, and the tiny town passed by with nothing more than a blur. Once they’d regained their speed, Lillian refocused on the letters in her hands. Reading through them, she wondered about the family she would be serving.
Thirty-year-old Woodward Colton was a widower with a seven-year-old son named Jimmy. There was no mention of how his wife had died or how long she’d been gone, but it had been devastating to their little boy. It seemed the child hadn’t spoken since his mother’s death. Mr. Colton wanted her to be a nanny, teacher, and companion to the young boy, since they lived quite a ways from town and the elder Colton was busy long hours each day tending his olive groves. He’d requested that she come as soon as possible—
immediately
was his exact wordage. Concern for the lad oozed through the pages. The man must care a great deal for his son.
Her heart broke just a little more as she thought of little Jimmy. Losing his beloved mother at such a young age and no
longer able to speak. Was it his grief that kept him from using his tongue? Or did he feel all alone? Abandoned? She certainly had felt that way, even though she’d never known her parents. Her grandparents had been wonderful to lavish her with attention and love, but there was still that hole in her heart where her mother and father should have been. If Jimmy felt the same way, then Lillian knew she could use this to help them grow close.
Lillian vowed then and there that she would do whatever was necessary to help the young boy heal. Children were her soft spot. She loved to work with them at church whenever she had a chance. Reverend Owens, back in Indianapolis, had often asked her to schedule special children’s events since their church had grown so large. A wave of grief washed over her. She hadn’t even said good-bye to the children in person. Hopefully Reverend Owens would read her letter to them, but would they, too, feel abandoned? Another wave hit her—this time filled with guilt. Grandfather’s face—the face that she had kissed countless times as a child—appeared before her. Sad eyes. Tears pooling at the corners where he used to say his wrinkles multiplied every time she made him laugh or smile.
She’d abandoned him in his grief. Yes, he’d been miserable to live with the past few years. Yes, she had reached her majority in years and wanted to escape. But the dull ache that pounded in her chest now reminded her of how much she loved the old man. Would the chasm between them ever be bridged?
Lillian wiped at her eyes and shook her head. She couldn’t afford to wallow. It was prudent to keep looking ahead.
“Miss?”
She looked up to find a young man looking down at her.