Authors: Robin Lee Hatcher
“No, Upchurch. It’s good news. The very best kind.”
May 1900
When Tyson learned about the impending announcement of Diana’s engagement, the earth seemed to shift beneath his feet.
For several months, he’d planned for his return to Idaho. Not to the home of his father but to the capital city—where, it so happened, his wife resided with her mother. How perfect was that? Detail after detail had fallen into place, concerning his new residence in Boise, concerning his run for the Senate seat, concerning his money that had been carefully kept out of his father’s control.
It had all been so easy. Tyson had assumed it was a sign of God’s blessing. Perhaps that’s why the news of Diana’s plans to marry another man hadn’t alarmed him at first. He’d assumed even that would go away with little inconvenience to himself.
But he hadn’t expected her to announce her engagement the night prior to the anticipated proclamation of his demise. Tomorrow had been the day he’d planned for her to learn she wasn’t a widow.
He couldn’t wait until tomorrow. He didn’t want her to be subject to public ridicule. He would have to stop her tonight. It wasn’t the way he’d imagined their first meeting after so many years apart, but it couldn’t be helped.
Brook’s second-floor office was empty of secretary and clerks on this Saturday morning, and the silence inside the brick building felt almost eerie to Diana as she waited for the cab he’d promised would come soon. Or maybe it was the way Brook stood before the closed door, almost as if he were barring it.
Oh, dear. Her imagination was running away with her. This was Brook Calhoun, a man steeped in convention. She’d spent a great deal of time with him over the better part of two years. He was the least confrontational person she knew. One thing that had drawn her to him was that she’d known what to expect from him—the ordinary, the regular, the simple, the anticipated. Never once had he surprised her. At least, not that she could recall.
“Brook, I feel as if we are inconveniencing you. We truly could walk home.”
“No, Diana. I insist you stay.”
There was that nervous shiver up her spine again.
“I’m curious,” Brook said. “Why take in this boy? He’s nothing to you. He’s a nobody. Have you no plans to start your own family that you must take in an orphan?”
It was almost funny. She’d been thinking how Brook never
surprised her—and now he did. The question seemed out of character … and highly inappropriate.
He continued, “Your husband must have some reason for it. Don’t you think so?”
“Other than to try to give Ned a good home, no. That’s the only reason.”
Unless perhaps to please me
.
“I don’t believe that’s the only reason. Have you ever considered who his father might be?”
Her unsettled feelings grew stronger. “Come along, Ned. It’s time for us to leave.” She stood and reached for the boy’s hand.
“Diana, sit down.” The words came out soft and cool, more threatening than a shout, and the look in his eyes was unnatural … Unhinged.
Seeing it, she became afraid.
Oh, God. Help us
.
Instinct caused her to step away from her chair and move to the opposite side of the room, drawing Ned with her. She hoped Brook would follow her. He did. In fact, he closed the distance between them and grabbed hold of her wrists. Diana prayed Ned, the little street urchin who used to know how to protect himself, was paying attention and would guess what she wanted him to do.
“You ruined me, Diana.” Brook’s grip tightened. “You and that husband of yours. Ruined me. And you must pay.”
Now, Ned. Go now
.
As if Diana had shouted the words instead of thought them, Ned shot away from her and reached the door in a heartbeat. She saw him yank it open and disappear through the opening.
Run, Ned. Run!
Brook’s hands released her wrists, then grabbed her upper arms. He shook her. Hard. “Where does he think he’s going? The little brat.” With a shouted curse, he struck her with the back of his hand. Pain exploded inside her head and a scream was torn from
her throat. Only his grip on her arm with his other hand kept her from falling to the floor.
Oh, God. Help me. Ned, hurry. Run. Run
.
Tyson couldn’t recall a time, not even on the day the coachman was hired to work for the Applegates, when Gibson had stood in the entry hall of the house. His appearance there now, hat in hand, brought Tyson to his feet. “Gibson?”
“Mrs. Applegate wasn’t at the hotel, sir. Miss Kingston denied asking her to stay for lunch. Sir, I don’t know what to say. I had no reason not to believe the messenger boy.”
“It’s all right, Gibson. I’m sure there was simply a misunderstanding. Perhaps Diana took Ned to a restaurant for lunch before returning. Or maybe she is trying on a dress she saw in a shop window.”
The coachman said nothing, but his expression spoke clearly of his doubt. And Tyson didn’t believe his own suppositions. Hard to put his finger on why. They were plausible. Now he wished Lawrence Crawley hadn’t left. Maybe the investigator would have understood the reason for his unsettled feelings.
He turned toward his remaining guest. “Mr. Brennan, it seems Diana is—”
The front door opened—drawing all eyes when it crashed into the wall. Ned tumbled into view, ending up on his stomach at Gibson’s feet.
“She’s … in trouble.” The boy pushed himself onto his knees, gasping for breath as he spoke. “Miss Diana’s … in trouble.”
Tyson crossed the room in an instant. “What happened, Ned? Where is she?”
“With that fella. The one you don’t like.”
“The one I don’t like?”
“You know. He come to dinner. Same night I took that bracelet. You were real mad ’cause of him.”
There was a moment or two of confused thoughts before Tyson understood. “Brook Calhoun?”
“Yeah, that’s him. I got away and come for you.”
Got away?
Tyson’s heart stilled in his chest. “Where, Ned? Where are they?”
“I’ll show you. But we gotta hurry. He looked plumb loco.”
Tyson thought to go for his horse, but Gibson stopped him. “The carriage is out front, sir. It will be faster.”
“Then let’s go.”
From behind Tyson, Hugh Brennan said, “I’m coming too.”
In quick succession, they ran out the door.
Diana sat in the chair Brook had pushed her into, on the far side of the room from the exit. Her jaw throbbed where he’d hit her.
Brook paced the width of the office, never getting too far from her. He continued to mutter unintelligible things beneath his breath, but every so often she caught a word or two. Enough to allow her to piece together what must have pushed him over the edge of sanity.
And he was, without a doubt, insane. This wasn’t a man who was angry. This was a man who’d lost reason. There was murder in his eyes. He wanted to kill, and he didn’t care who he made his victim. Since she alone was with him—
Dread shivered through her. And sorrow. Sorrow because she might die before she could tell Tyson all he meant to her, how much she loved and adored him. Regret because she might die before she could tell her mother one more time how blessed she was to have
been raised by the Fishers. Remorse because she might die before she could see Ned grow to manhood, loved and cared for the way a child deserved.
Fear not!
On the heels of that thought came peace. Real peace. If God was for her, who could be against her? She smiled, comforted.
“How dare you laugh?” Brook slapped her again. “How dare you laugh at me?”
She hadn’t noticed him come that close again, had stopped watching him pace as those she loved filled her thoughts. She hadn’t expected Brook to strike her again. “I wasn’t laughing,” she answered, tears filling her eyes.
“You were. You were. You did this to me on purpose.” He called her a foul name.
Until today, she wouldn’t have thought Brook even knew such a word, let alone would speak it to her. She stood. No, it felt as if an unseen hand lifted her. When she spoke, she sounded calm and unafraid. “Brook, when was the last time you slept?”
“Sleep?”
“You look tired. You should sit down and rest. You’ve been working much too hard.”
If she could get a little closer to the door … put a little more distance between them …
Brook might have lost touch with reality, but he wasn’t blind. He saw the small step she took to the side and he reached for her. That was the moment the door burst open. Diana saw Tyson a heartbeat before the crook of Brook’s arm pressed against her throat, choking her.
But it was all right. She still wasn’t afraid. Tyson had come for her and God was with them both.
Tyson was familiar with the look in Brook’s eyes. He’d seen it in the eyes of soldiers who’d broken under the strain of battle. Ned was right. Brook was plumb loco. Crazy enough to do anything.
Crazy enough to kill Diana.
He kept his gaze locked on Brook as he took a few steps to the right. “You don’t want to hurt her, Calhoun. Diana’s done nothing wrong. She’s been a friend to you.”
Tyson felt a little crazy himself as he watched Diana grow paler beneath Brook’s grip. But he had to be careful not to alarm her assailant. In the meantime, he hoped Hugh Brennan would be ready to act when the time came.
“I’m not letting her go.” Brook’s eyes narrowed. His voice was filled with petulance. “Not until somebody pays for all the trouble she’s made for me.”
Tyson took another step to the right. “I completely understand why you’re upset, Calhoun. I would be too.” He didn’t know what had pushed Brook over the edge, but he would say anything if he thought it might defuse the situation. “But this isn’t how to settle the matter. These things need to be talked about. You’re a smart man, a reasonable man. Anybody can see that. Why involve her?”
If Tyson moved too soon, Brook might break her neck with one swift yank. If Tyson didn’t move soon enough, Brook might choke the life from her while they stood talking. He would have to risk it. He would have to—
From the left, something sailed across the room, striking Brook in the head. Tyson vaulted into action, and a moment later, he held Diana in his arms, drawing her away from the crumpled form of Brook Calhoun. A bottle of ink spilled its contents over the floor near Brook’s head. Tyson looked behind him.
Hugh shrugged. “We played a lot of baseball as kids in Chicago.
I had a pretty good arm back then.”
“I’d say you still do.”
Tyson felt Diana pull away from him, her attention also on the other man in the room.
Hugh smiled. “Hello, Diana. Your husband thought you might want to see me again after all these years.”
She looked up at Tyson, disbelief in her beautiful eyes. He answered the silent question with a nod. Then he drew her close again, pressing her cheek against his chest, kissing the crown of her head again and again.
Her brother would have to wait awhile longer to speak to her. Tyson had no intention of letting go of her just yet. Not until she had no doubts left how much he loved her. Not until he’d kissed her until she was breathless. Not until he’d held her in his arms throughout the night. Not until she confessed she would never stray too far from his embrace.
And maybe not even then.
Thanksgiving Day 1900
As Tyson blessed the feast they were about to eat, Diana silently said her own words of thanks to God. She couldn’t remember a Thanksgiving when she’d sat down at a table with more than three or four people. Today, including the two infants and one toddler (Diana’s nephews and niece) asleep upstairs, there were fifteen of them. Fifteen!
My family. They’re all my family
.
She opened her eyes to take in the sight of them, and joy flooded her heart. What a beautiful gathering they made—her brother, Hugh, and his wife, Julia, and Julia’s mother, Madeline Crane; her sister, Felicia, and her husband, Colin Murphy, and their twelve-year-old daughter, Charity; Diana’s father-in-law and her mother, a couple who were preparing for their wedding on New Year’s Day; Dillon Macartan; Ned, who would soon legally wear the last name of Applegate; and of course, Tyson. What an abundance of people for her to love and be loved by.
Thank You, God, for each one of them
.
A moment after Tyson said, “Amen,” the room filled with happy conversations and laughter. It was all slightly chaotic, but Diana loved it for that very reason.
Was it selfish of her to be at least a little thankful Tyson hadn’t won the Senate seat in the recent election? If he’d won, they would be preparing to leave for Washington, DC. Now they would be staying in Boise, in their home, and Diana could easily envision many more gatherings with her brother and sister and their families. She could imagine more children sitting at the table as they came of age and more infants sleeping in the upstairs bedrooms, her babies among them. She’d begun to suspect there might be an Applegate heir as early as next Independence Day.
Tyson’s gaze caught her attention, and she knew he’d read her thoughts. He smiled, and she felt his contentment in her heart. It amazed her how hard he had worked to be elected, yet how at peace he was after the loss. He’d told her there were other ways for him to serve God and country. All he need do, he’d said, was seek God’s will and follow where He led.
Once more she looked around the table, and as her gaze lingered upon the faces of her precious expanded family, she remembered her wedding day—once a memory that brought sorrow but now brought such joy. She recalled the minister saying,
“Dearly beloved …”
And it was true! She
was
Tyson’s beloved, as he was hers. What a miracle it was, two hurt, stubborn, rebellious people finding their way into each other’s heart. But as she sat there, looking around that table, she heard God whisper those same two words,
Dearly beloved
, and she understood them as she’d never understood before.
When God looked upon her and upon Tyson and upon every person seated around this table, He called them His dearly beloved.