A Love to Last Forever (18 page)

“It’s a good thing, too,” Lacy said, dumping a pile of laundry at the bottom of the stairs. “We have a lot to do if we’re going to be ready for the stage tonight.”

“I’ll start washing the bedding,” Beth offered, “but first I’d like just a minute to talk to the two of you privately.”

Gwen eyed her oddly. “Is something wrong?”

“No—I mean, not really. In fact, maybe it’s more accurate to say it’s a good thing.” Beth motioned to the still-cluttered dining room table. “Let’s sit for a moment.”

They went to the nearest table, and Beth quickly sat and pushed back the dirty dishes. Once her sisters had taken a seat, she began.

“I need to make a confession about the bad thoughts and feelings I’ve harbored this last year.”

She drew a deep breath. It was going to be hard to admit her feelings about Pa’s death, but after her time of prayer last night, she knew it was the right thing to do.

“You both know I loved Pa dearly. He was a good father, and he always made me laugh. He taught me so much, even how to play tricks on people.” Beth smiled at the memory, then sobered. “But in truth, when he died . . . well . . . I hate to admit this.” She fell silent for a moment and bowed her head. “I felt a sense of relief.”

“Relief?” Gwen questioned in disbelief.

“What do you mean by that?” Lacy asked.

Beth squared her shoulders and met their gazes. “I knew Pa was thinking about moving us again. I overheard him talking about it. He thought the area—because of Rafe’s—was becoming dangerous, and he didn’t want us to be troubled by it. When I realized that he was considering another move, I was so upset. I didn’t want to go.”

She folded her hands and considered her words carefully. “We’d been moving around all of our lives. All I wanted was a home, but it seemed just the minute we settled in somewhere, Pa would up and move us again.”

“That’s true enough,” Gwen admitted.

“I guess I felt the same way,” Lacy said, looking to Gwen. “It was never easy to pack up and leave, just when we were getting comfortable.”

“It made me bitter. I blamed Pa, even though now I can see that it was often a simple matter of necessity. There wasn’t always work for Pa or a good place for us to live. Still, I longed for a home.” Beth wiped a tear from her eye. “I wanted to stay here at Gallatin House, even if Rafe’s business made things more difficult.”

Her tears flowed more freely. “I didn’t want Pa to die. You have to understand that. I honestly figured to go and talk to him about the situation. Gallatin House was making us a good living, and Rafe’s Saloon seemed like a small ordeal to endure. Then Pa got shot.” A sob escaped her, and Beth fought for control.

Her sisters remained silent, waiting for Beth to regain her composure. They seemed to sense that she needed them to hear her out, and for this, Beth was grateful.

“I couldn’t believe he was dead. I wanted to wake up and find that it was all a bad dream. I loved him dearly.”

Gwen reached out and took hold of Beth’s hand. “Of course you did. No one doubts that.”

“But then I thought, with Pa gone,” Beth said, shaking her head, “we wouldn’t have to leave. We could stay put and run Gallatin House. When you even suggested the possibility of selling out and moving, I was heartsick. I wanted to stay here. I still do. It doesn’t have to be here in Gallatin House, but this area is home to me. I love the people—I finally have friends.”

Gwen nodded. “It’s all right, Beth. I think I understand perfectly.”

“I’ve felt so guilty,” Beth admitted. “I didn’t want anyone to think that I wanted Pa to die. I just wanted a home.” Beth looked to Lacy. “You’ve been so good to care about what really happened—to get justice for Pa. And, Gwen, you were so worried about being cursed and causing Pa’s death. It was something I could understand because I worried that my own resentment toward Pa about moving had somehow brought it about.” She paused. “I just want your forgiveness for being relieved that Pa couldn’t move us again.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Gwen declared. “You can’t help that you wanted a home. Pa loved us all very much, but he didn’t always think about what was most important to us.”

Lacy had been silent throughout most of Beth’s confession. Beth worried that her younger sister might not be willing to forgive her the past as easily as Gwen. “Lacy,” Beth began, “are you mad at me?”

Lacy looked confused for a moment, then shook her head. “No. I really do understand. I’m mad at myself. I keep thinking that if I could just find Pa’s killer, this would be put to rest once and for all. I think we’ve all had to deal with our guilt and frustration over Pa’s dying.”

“But it isn’t your place to find Pa’s killer,” Gwen countered. “Honestly, Lacy, what purpose will it serve?”

Beth was surprised at the anger in Gwen’s tone. Their sister seldom lost her temper—especially with one of them.

Lacy got to her feet. “I don’t expect you to understand. You never have. Let it be enough for you to know that it’s something I feel God would have me do. If you have a problem with it, take it up with God.” She stormed from the room, knocking over one of the dining room chairs as she went.

The loud clatter of wood upon wood resounded in the otherwise silent room. Beth dried her eyes on her apron and drew a deep breath. “I feel like I caused that. I’m sorry.”

“No, it wasn’t your fault. She told me the other day that she can’t keep her promise to leave off with the search for Pa’s killer. Even if it was just an accident, as everyone believes, Lacy thinks a name needs to be given to the culprit. I’m worried that she’ll end up getting hurt.”

“Well, we can pray.”

Gwen reponded with a smile. “Yes. We can pray.”

By noon the house was back in order and ready for the evening stage. Hank marveled at the efficiency of the Gallatin sisters while enjoying his lunch.

“You three never fail to amaze me,” he said, giving his wife a smile. “How in the world you managed to put everything right in such a short time is a mystery to me.”

“Well, the laundry isn’t finished just yet,” Beth said, digging into the meat pie her sister had made. “The sheets are drying outside and then I’ll have to iron them. That will take me the better part of the afternoon.”

“Still, my hat is off to each of you.”

A knock sounded at the front door, causing Lacy to jump up. “I’ll see who it is.” She left and momentarily returned with a well-dressed man. He carried a leather satchel in one hand and a black bowler hat in the other.

“Ah, Mr. Bishop,” he said in greeting.

“Mr. Weiserman.” Hank got to his feet and extended his hand. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

Weiserman juggled the hat and satchel and shook Hank’s hand. “I know. I had the Vanhouten papers ready and wanted to bring them to you straightaway. I know you’re anxious to move forward.”

“Would you care to join us for lunch?” Gwen asked. “We have plenty.”

Weiserman smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

Gwen motioned him to take a seat. “Would you like coffee, as well?”

“That sounds equally good.” Weiserman took his place beside Hank and placed the satchel on the floor.

“I’ll take your hat,” Lacy offered.

Soon Mr. Weiserman was settled in, enjoying the meal alongside them. He complimented Gwen on the meat pie and gravy.

“It reminds me of my mother’s
bierrocks
,” he declared. “She arrived in America from Germany, and her cooking is full of memories from the old country.”

“What a poetic way of putting it,” Gwen said, smiling. “Does your mother also live in Bozeman?”

He shook his head. “No. She and my father live in Illinois. When I brought my family west, they were quite grief-stricken, but they understood the necessity. Our youngest son has breathing difficulties and needed the drier air.”

When the meal concluded, Hank suggested they go next door to the store to review the papers.

“There will be a stage through here this evening, and the ladies have further preparations to make,” Hank told Mr. Weiserman.

As they walked to the store, Hank pointed to the road. “The stage comes through here on a regular basis. It’s a good place for a town, especially with the railroad coming in.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but it’s my understanding that the railroad is going in to the north of this area.”

Hank frowned. “Are you certain of that?”

“I have it upon good authority that the route was easier to build by going north. It will come through Bozeman and head directly west. My law firm is already dealing with some of the details, although I would ask you to say nothing about it until the railroad is ready to announce it.”

“That
is
bad news,” Hank said. “But not a complete tragedy. We still have the stage route.”

Mr. Weiserman entered the store as Hank held open the door. “It’s hard to predict,” he told Hank, “but my guess is that the stage stop will relocate to the towns along the tracks. Supplies and services will be easier to obtain, and many passengers will seek to debark and continue their journey on the train.”

“So you believe this is the beginning of the end for our little town.”

“I hate to say so, but I’ve seen it happen before.”

Hank nodded. “Still, I’ve committed to this land. The deal is complete, as you very well know.”

“Perhaps you will be able to sell it in whole to a rancher. That would be the best solution.” Weiserman pulled the papers from his satchel and presented them to Hank. “Why don’t you look them over.”

Hank felt little excitement in doing so. He had hoped this area would boom to life with the railroad. Now it seemed as if those dreams were fading into impossibility. There was always a chance that Weiserman was wrong. Hank considered that for a moment. Adrian Murphy had wanted the line to come through the area, and he had a great deal of influence over his superiors. At least that was what he had told Hank. Maybe Adrian was nothing more than a blowhard—a braggart who had no power to direct the choice at all. And of course, Weiserman had mentioned that his law office was already working on details for the railroad.

Still, the news was not to Hank’s liking. Maybe the purchase of the Vanhouten land had been a mistake. Perhaps he should have asked for Gwen’s thoughts on the matter before jumping into an agreement.

“Everything looks to be in order,” he said as he glanced over the papers.

“I’m glad you find it so. Mr. Vanhouten was quite eager to be reunited with his wife. I know that weighed heavy on him,” Weiserman said.

“Yes. I know it, too.”

The bell over the front door sounded as Rafe Reynolds swaggered into the store. “Howdy, Bishop.”

Hank nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.” He turned his attention back to the papers. “Do I need to sign?”

“Yes,” Weiserman said. “On the fourth page, you’ll see two places that I’ve marked for your signature. After that, the land will be yours. I have two other copies for you to sign, as well. I’ll keep one to file and one will go to Mr. Vanhouten.”

“What land are you buying from Vanhouten?” Rafe asked, frowning.

Hank hadn’t realized the man was listening in. The last thing he’d wanted was to explain his transaction to Rafe. The man would be livid. He’d long been after Vanhouten to sell him additional land so that he could expand his business. Still, Rafe was right here, and there was no hope of keeping the news to himself for long.

“I bought him out. He’s moving east.”

“You
what
?” Rafe looked at the lawyer, who apparently figured that since Hank had offered this much, he was at liberty to share his thoughts on the matter.

“Mr. Bishop is now the proud owner of the Vanhouten ranch lands. With exception to the house and ten acres. That has gone to Mr. Shepard.”

Rafe threw down a can of beans in anger. “Vanhouten knew I wanted land. I offered to pay him twice what it was worth so that I could build my own hotel and expand the saloon.”

“Perhaps that’s why he didn’t sell to you, Rafe,” Hank countered. “The Vanhoutens are temperance people.”

The barkeeper’s face reddened a deep crimson. Hank had never seen Rafe quite this angry. “You do-gooders think you’ll ruin me. Well, you’ve got another think comin’. I’m not one to be pushed around and forced out.” He stomped out of the store, slamming the door behind him.

Hank looked at Mr. Weiserman apologetically. “I’m afraid Mr. Reynolds is going to be less than happy with my purchase.”

“There’s nothing he can do about it now.”

“I wish you were right, Mr. Weiserman, but you don’t know Rafe Reynolds. He won’t give up so easily, and I fear we’ll all pay the price before he’s through.”