Joline's Redemption (22 page)

“You must have been devastated.”

Jo nodded. “I was at first, but now I'm glad I was never truly married to the louse.”

Lara was silent for a long while, and Jo could just imagine what she was thinking. “If you feel that having me stay here—a woman who had a child out of wedlock—will affect your reputation, we can leave.”

Lara's gaze shot up. “I won't hear of it. You're far more important to me than my reputation.”

Touched by her sister's passionate tone, she shook her head and fought not to show how much Lara's confession meant to her, especially after all she'd done. “You have to think of your family.”

“It's nobody's business who I host in my home, so get that thought out of your mind.”

Jo nodded, unable to talk because of the tightness in her throat. She'd been so wrong about her sister in the past. Why hadn't she noticed years ago? It would have saved her so much pain and sorrow. And to think how much she'd hurt her family. Footsteps sounded outside, signaling Sarah's return. Jo jumped up. She had to get out of there before she started blubbering like a baby. “I … uh … need to check on Jamie.”

“Just remember … you're safe here. Gabe and I won't let anything happen to you.”

She nodded again and fled the room, but instead of heading to the parlor where the men and boys were, she turned and rushed up the stairs.

Baron stared at the calendar. Today was Monday the seventeenth. The train on the fourteenth had come and gone, but Mark wasn't on it. Had the telegram merely been a joke to rattle him, or was it for some other purpose? Or had something happened to his brother? Baron had waited at the depot until the train had prepared to depart again, but Mark did not get off.

He walked to the window and stared out. It bothered him that he was glad Mark hadn't arrived. He shouldn't feel that way toward his own flesh and blood, but he and Mark had never been close. When they were young, he'd tried to develop a relationship with him, but Mark saw everything as a game—or competition. Their mother had no qualms about spoiling her younger son and showing he was her favorite. That hadn't bothered Baron too much since his father favored him, but it seemed to have affected his brother in negative ways.

Mark saw every pretty woman as a challenge—something to be conquered. It was a wonder he ever married Abigail, but that was probably because their father threatened to cut him from his will if he refused. His father was tired of Mark's gallivanting and besmirching the Hillborne name. Life would have been far better for his sister-in-law if he had refused—and maybe Jo, too. But there was a part of him that was glad Mark had no claim to her. He gritted his teeth at his train of thought. He needed to stay focused where Jo was concerned. She was the mother of his nephew. That was all.

He might be attracted to Jo, and he liked her, but he couldn't—wouldn't—lose his heart to a woman his brother had been involved with. Mark would never let him live that down. He'd always be rubbing it in his face and reminding him that he was playing second fiddle to him.

There was another train due today, but he wasn't going to close the store again and risk losing business. If Mark was on it, he knew where the store was located and could come on his own.

He sure wished he knew if Mark was coming or not. Jo couldn't return to the store until they knew for certain. He straightened several cans of beans then turned another can so that the label was facing forward, like his father taught him. Then he continued to the other vegetables.

Jo needed money, but she'd never stated what it was for. He suspected that she wanted to get a place of her own, maybe a small cottage in town or a room at the boardinghouse. He could hardly blame her. His permanent home had always been the Hillborne estate, but he thoroughly enjoyed times when he was working in another town and had his own place like the house Mark had built. The only thing he didn't like about it was the cooking and cleaning, but he was too neat to let things go for long.

The door rattled. He forced a smile on his face and spun to greet his customer. His smile drooped, and he blinked his eyes to make sure of what he was seeing. “Mother? Father? What are you doing here?”

His mother's lips quivered, and she rushed to him, falling into his arms. “Oh, Baron.”

Patting her back, he looked to his father for an explanation and noticed the lines of tension creasing his face. “Your brother is dead.”

His mother's sobs filled the store. He didn't know what to do other than continue to hold and pat her. He nodded toward the door. “Would you mind locking the door and flipping the sign to C
LOSED
? You might even draw the shade to give us some privacy.”

His father did as requested then joined them. “Maureen, get ahold of yourself.”

His mother suddenly pushed away. “How can you say that? My baby is dead!”

“Mark hasn't been a baby for many years.”

“That hardly matters. Why aren't you more upset?” She dabbed her nose with her lace handkerchief.

“Hysterics accomplish nothing.” His father looked at him, his expression stern.

Baron knew his father would grieve over Mark in his own way, but he wouldn't miss all the problems his son created. “I suggest we go to the house. It's just behind the store. You'll be more comfortable there.”

“I told the porter to bring our luggage here.”

“If the store isn't open, he'll know to come to the house. I imagine you're tired from your travels.” And the stress of losing their son, but he left that unsaid.

“I'm exhausted, but I could use a cup of tea.”

Baron strode to a shelf and snatched three boxes of tea he thought his mother would like. “Follow me, and we'll get you situated.”

As they crossed the short distance from store to house, Baron searched his mind, trying to remember how clean—or not—the house was. But they were already on the porch, so it hardly mattered now. He opened the door, allowed his parents to enter first, and then followed and shut the door.

“This is nicer than I expected, although it could stand a good scrubbing.” His mother walked into the parlor and gazed at the furnishings.

Baron hadn't considered before that Jo more than likely had a hand in picking them out, if not doing it solely herself. The thought warmed him and made him appreciate everything in a new way.

“There's one bedroom downstairs, which you and Father can have. I'll need to change the bedding and, um … tidy up a bit.”

“Don't you have a housekeeper for that?” His father removed his hat, revealing his thick white hair. At one time, his hair had been blond, like Mark's, but not anymore. His mother's hair was still brunette, with becoming silver highlights. She was still a pretty woman, although she'd gained weight in the past few years.

“I haven't lived here long enough to hire one. I mean, I guess I could have, but I didn't feel I needed one. I'm not here much, and I often take my meals at the town's small café. The food is quite delicious and reasonably priced.”

“Maybe you should consider it.” His father's tone left no room for argument.

“Have a seat, and I'll stoke up the stove and set the water on to boil.” He showed his mother the boxes of tea he'd taken from the store, and she selected one.

Once he'd seen to the task, he sat in a wingback chair near the sofa. He could hardly believe his brother was gone. “So, tell me what happened to Mark.”

His mother sniffed and lifted her handkerchief to her nose. She shook her head. His father pursed his lips and stared out the window for a moment, as if gathering strength to talk about it. Baron wondered why he didn't feel more upset. His little brother was dead. Yes, he'd been a burr under his saddle most of his life, but he was still his kin. And Mark had died not knowing God unless he'd become a Christian since Baron last saw him. As much as he wished that were true, he doubted Mark would have yielded his life to God.

His father blew out a loud sigh. “Your brother got involved with a married woman, and her husband didn't take kindly to the idea. He went after Mark and gunned him down at the train depot.” His chin trembled, but he stiffened it. “Word was sent to us, but he was dead before I arrived.”

His mother moaned and leaned her head on his father's arm. “Oh … my poor son.”

“Shh … Maureen.” He shifted his shoulder, and she sat up. “If he hadn't been consorting with a married woman, he'd still be alive. I should have trained him better.” He jumped up and strode to the window, hands on his hips.

“It's a sad day. Where is Abigail?” Baron wanted to comfort his mother, but he knew his father wouldn't like him coddling her. Still, he reached over and patted her hand.

She smiled and moved hers to squeeze his. He straightened before his father turned around. Wilfred Marquis Hillborne II was a hard businessman and had little place for excuses or compassion. He'd ruled the roost of the Hillborne home with an iron fist, or so he thought.

“Abigail has returned to her parents' home. I doubt she will return to ours, now that—” His mother's voice broke, and she dabbed her eyes with her lacy handkerchief.

Baron's heart ached for her. He had learned the mercantile business well, but it was his mother who illustrated the softer side of life. Where his father was organized and strict, his mother was frivolous and carefree, most of the time.

“Our family name is ruined.” She shook her head. “Whatever will we do?”

His father spun around. “No, it is not, and I won't have you thinking it is. Mark isn't the first young man to get caught cavorting with a married woman. Give it a little time and things will quiet down. It won't be long before something else takes its place in the news.”

“But what about the funeral?” she asked.

“There won't be one.”

His mother gasped. “You can't be serious, Marq.”

“I am. I gave the mortician permission to go ahead and bury Mark in the family plot. When we return, we'll have our own private time to remember him.”

Baron rose and went into the kitchen to check on the water. Hearing his mother call his father Marq always bothered him. For some reason, still unknown to him, she'd talked her husband out of naming him, their only son at the time, after his father. Most of the time he never thought about it, but obviously it still bothered him. He should have been the one to carry on his father's name, not the younger son. Instead, he bore the name of European nobility—the lowest degree of royalty, at that. Ah well, there was no sense dwelling on that touchy topic.

Pushing aside his troubling thoughts, he prepared the tea, added some cookies to a plate, and set it on a tray, which he carried to the parlor. The silence and his parents' stiff posture indicated they weren't talking to one another.

Baron thought of Mark. He should have done more to try to reach him—to get him to see the error of his ways. He should have hauled Mark to church when he started going, even though his brother didn't want to attend. If only he and Mark had been closer.

His father laid his head back, staring up at the ceiling. The man hurt on the inside and rarely showed any emotion, but Baron didn't doubt his pain. Though Father was often strict and grumpy, Baron never doubted his love, unlike Mark.

He handed a saucer and cup to each parent then took his seat again. “How long do you plan to stay in Guthrie?”

His mother waved her hankie in front of her face. “Until the scandal dies down, of course.”

Baron's heart bucked. If they stayed, how could Jo work? He couldn't very well go out to visit and leave his parents alone on Sunday. How long would it be before he could see her and Jamie again?

And how was he going to keep them a secret from his parents?

J
o hung a diaper on the line and stared at the hill she crossed each day she went to town. “Why hasn't Baron sent me word? I'm dying to know whether Mark showed up or not.”

Lara removed the wooden pins from her mouth. “I imagine, if Mark did arrive, it would be hard for Baron to get away for any length of time.”

Jo grabbed another clean diaper and sighed. “I suppose that does make sense. Still, he should be able to send me a note.”

“Be patient. You know he will when he can.”

“If only it didn't rain so much on Sunday and Gabe had been able to go to church. He could have talked with Baron there.”

“Well, it did, so there's no point in moaning about it.” Lara pinned a pair of socks to the line.

“You don't suppose Gabe could spare Luke long enough for him to ride into town and find out, do you?”

Lara stepped out from behind the diapers on the line and lifted one brow. “I doubt it.”

“Well, it was worth a try.”

Lara chuckled. “I wouldn't expect anything less from you.”