KeepingFaithCole (22 page)

Sooner or later, she reminded herself, death came for
everyone. Willing herself to be calm, she said a silent prayer and gave herself
up to her fate.

Suddenly the air rushed from her lungs. Her feet went out
from under her as she fell against the shelves. Boxes tumbled down. Charlotte
had pushed open the door, knocking Lucille to the floor. Caught off-balance and
unprepared, she flailed her arms wildly before landing with a bone-jarring
thud
. She lay sprawled across the
hardwood floor, breathing heavily, and grateful to be alive. Tears streamed
down her cheeks. The air at that level was clearer, and she sucked it up in
huge gulps.

Charlotte knelt beside her.

“I’m sorry, really sorry.”

The woman looked a fright. Her face was smudged, and her
long hair had come undone, falling around her face in wild disarray. She
dragged Lucille from the little storeroom, then leaped to her feet again.
Grabbing a bolt of canvas, she did her best to beat out the fire. Her efforts
only fanned the flames.

From where she lay, still dazed, Lucille tried to make sense
of things.

“What happened?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No time to talk. We’ve got to put
out this fire before the whole place goes up in a blaze.”

Hundreds of yards of colorful calico, gingham, satins, and
silks surrounded the women. All highly flammable.

Scrambling to her feet, Lucille fought past her terror.
“I’ve got water stored over there.” She pointed to a large wooden keg in the
far corner beside the stove. “Help me drag it closer to the fire.”

Together, they worked to move the huge barrel. They pried
off the lid, then spilled its contents out. The flames around them sizzled and
sputtered, but new tongues of fire leapt from one corner to the next. Thick
walls of smoke rose up once more.

“It’s spreading. The whole shop is going to burn!”

“I’ll go for help,” Charlotte volunteered, making her way
toward the door. She stopped and turned to Lucille. “You can’t save it. Forget
the shop. Get out!” When Lucille didn’t move, Charlotte rushed back, grabbed
her, and pulled her away.

Too weak to protest and too scared to think, Lucille
collapsed to the ground outside the shop. Already people were running,
shouting, calling out for help. In the distance, she heard the familiar gong
signaling the town’s men to gather together. Help was on the way.

Soon, Charlotte returned. The two women huddled together a
safe distance from the burning shop. Questions filled Lucille’s head. Maybe
this wasn’t the best time, but she had to ask anyway.

“How did the fire start?”

Charlotte looked away. “When you got yourself locked up in
the storeroom, I tried to help. I came running, but I tripped. I fell against
the work table.” She lifted her arm to show the dark bruises and discoloration.
“I guess I knocked over the lamp.” The woman must have sensed Lucille’s
suspicions. “It was an accident,” she added. “I swear.”

“Yes, of course. An accident.”

Lucille leaned back. They were sitting beneath an old plains
cottonwood tree, one too stubborn to be easily moved when the merchants had
first started setting up their storefronts along Main Street. The little town
had left the tree, a reminder to all of the value of perseverance. Its sturdy
trunk now offered strength and emotional support.

Of course, the fire had not been intentional. If Charlotte
wanted her dead, the woman wouldn’t have come to Lucille’s rescue. She would
have left her locked in the storeroom while the shop burned to the ground.

So spoke logic, but Lucille’s heart said otherwise. She
didn’t want to believe it, but nothing good came from denying the truth. She
turned to look at the remains of
Miss
McIntyre’s Dressmaking Establishment,
and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her
dreams had gone up in smoke, right before her eyes, and Charlotte Henderson was
responsible.

The woman wanted her dead. Charlotte had killed before, and
she’d all but gotten away with it. Self-defense, she’d claimed in the case of
the man she’d murdered. An accident, she’d told the judge. She hadn’t meant to
hurt anyone.

Although they’d convicted her and sent her away, she was
free again now. Free to hurt more people, to destroy more lives.

Lucille shuddered.

Charlotte reached out and took hold of Lucille’s hand.

Chapter
Fourteen

Word of the fire quickly reached the J Bar K ranch where Tom
was working that afternoon, helping Joshua Barron repair some of the
outbuildings. The day was far from done, but who gave a damn? He saddled up and
headed for Sunset, spurring his horse into a reckless gallop. Long before he
reached the town, he could already smell the smoke clinging to the air, along
with the odor of charred, burned fabric.

A man had to keep his wits about him, had to keep his head
even at the worst of times. As the roan’s hoof beats echoed over the hard
earth, Tom fought past his emotions, struggling for the comfort reason alone
brought to a man’s mind.

Alarms had been sounded and the fire crew had been alerted.
Lucille and his mother would be rescued. He would find them both safe and well.

Tom’s fingers tightened on the reins. He couldn’t lose
Lucille now. Not now. Not ever. She’d become his life, as important to him as
air and water, as necessary as the food that nourished him and the dreams that
sustained him.

Frightened by the smell of smoke and by the noise and clamor
coming from town, the roan turned skittish. Somehow Tom kept the horse under
control, finally reining up at the livery, several blocks away from
Miss Lucille’s
Dressmaking Establishment
. He turned the horse into the corral,
hollered for one of the stable boys, then broke into a run. When he spotted his
mother and Lucille huddled together, he nearly collapsed with relief. Weak and
shaken, he forced himself to stay afoot, to keep running.

“Lucille, are you all
right?” He rushed to her. He dropped to his knees, gathered her close to him in
a possessive embrace, then held her away to look her over. “Are you hurt? Were
you burned?” He held up her hands, turning them over to inspect them.

“No,” she whispered, shaking
her head. Her eyes were red, her lips parched. She’d obviously inhaled a lot of
smoke. But otherwise she seemed unhurt. “Your mother—” Before she could utter
another word, she lost consciousness, sagging into Tom’s arms.

“We need a doctor!” he
shouted. Earlier, he’d seen Caleb among the men fighting the fire. He spotted
the sheriff and called out to him. “Get Dr. Kellerman. Get Mrs. Phillips too.
Get somebody here to help, please.”

Lucille stirred in his arms.
“Your mother…”

“Hush,” Tom crooned,
stroking her hair. A pang of guilt shot through him when he glanced at his
mother. She needed comfort, too, but he’d put Lucille first. Wasn’t that how it
was when a man loved a woman?

But a man was supposed to
love and honor his mother above all others. Even if she didn’t deserve it.

“What happened, Ma?” he
asked. “Are you all right.”

She nodded and looked away.

“Ma? Is something wrong?” A
stupid question. Lucille’s dressmaking shop had been reduced to a pile of
ashes, she lay unconscious in his arms, and he felt helpless to do anything.
Worse still, a horrible suspicion had crept into his brain. He wanted to push
it aside, but he couldn’t. Had his mother, in any way, been responsible for
this awful event? Was that why she refused to look at him? “Is there something
you need to tell me?” he asked. Never mind trying to be gentle. He needed
answers. Now.

Lucille stirred in his arms.
Her long, tangled tresses smelled like smoke and charred wood, and her body
shuddered against him. Whatever had happened, she had every right to be
frightened. He wanted to hold her close to him forever. He’d make sure nothing
bad ever happened again. He’d find a way to keep her safe.

Both Amanda Phillips and
Abner
Kellerman arrived at the same moment. Amanda rushed
to Tom and Lucille; Kellerman went to Charlotte and drew her away from the
crowd.

“What happened?” Amanda
asked, already pulling vials from the black leather bag she carried. “Bring me
a wet rag, Tom,” she instructed. “Let’s clean her up a bit.”

As Mrs. Phillips patiently
worked, Lucille’s eyes opened. She seemed confused and disoriented at first,
then when she caught sight of Tom, a hesitant smile crossed her face.

“You’re going to be fine,”
he assured her, kneeling down beside her.

Amanda smiled at him. “I
know you’re worried, but it would probably be best if you stepped aside, give
me a chance to examine her.”

He nodded. “I’ll check on
Ma.”

Reluctantly, he left Lucille
in Amanda’s care and crossed the road. His mother seemed to be in fine shape.
Maybe he could find out from her exactly what had happened.

“It was an accident,” she
explained. Quickly she filled him in on the events that had taken place. “I
felt really bad for Lucille, getting herself trapped inside that little
storeroom, then seeing her shop go up in flames. She didn’t want to leave. I
finally had to drag her out.”

Tom’s breath wouldn’t come.
He looked at his mother, then turned his gaze toward Lucille. Both looked as if
they’d come straight from the gates of hell.

“Well, go on,” Ma said,
waving him away. “Go be with her. That’s what you’re wanting to do.”

When he returned and knelt
down beside Lucille, she gripped his arm. “Your mother tried to kill me,” she
whispered. No one but Tom heard the ugly accusation.

He shook his head. “It was
an accident.” Not wanting to hear more, he turned toward Amanda Phillips. “Is
she going to be all right?”

Amanda Phillips gave her a
careful once-over, then nodded. “She’s very fortunate. She might have a bit of
trouble breathing, so see that she gets plenty of fresh air.”

“Can I go home now?” Lucille
asked, her voice raspy. She held a hand out, and Tom helped her to her feet,
holding her close as she struggled to keep her balance.

“Yes, go home, get some
rest.” Mrs. Phillips advised. “Send for me if you need anything.”

Tom pulled off his jacket
and threw it around Lucille’s shaking shoulders. “Is your wagon at the livery?”
He slowly guided her in that direction.

She took only a few steps,
then stopped. “Tom, I don’t know what to do. I’m scared. Your mother tried to
kill me.”

“I don’t think your mind is
too clear yet. It was an accident, honey.”

“No, it wasn’t an accident.”

“Ma saved your life.”

“What are you talking
about?” Lucille pushed away from him. “She locked me in the storeroom, and then
she deliberately set fire to my shop.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s
jealous because you’ve found someone to love.”

An absurd thought.

“Let’s not talk about it
right now,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you home. Your mother’s probably heard
what’s happened. We need to let her know you’re all right.”

He swept her up into his
arms. With long strides, he pushed through the crowd, making his way to where
his mother and
Abner
Kellerman stood. He stopped
before them.

“Tommy, it was an accident,
I swear.” She clutched at his sleeve, then pointed to Lucille. “You’ve got to
believe me. I never meant…”

“We’ll talk later.” Pulling
Lucille close to keep her warm, he carried her away from the dismal scene.

* * * *

Lucille awakened later that evening, only vaguely aware of a
large, dark shadow looming over her bed. Several moments passed before the
confusion cleared. At once, memories rushed in, flooding her mind. She cried
out. Her eyes flew open.

The shadowy form came into focus. Tom sat at her bedside, a
worried look upon his face. His eyes held too many emotions for her to
decipher.

“You’re awake,” he said.

The words rumbled up from his throat, leaving her strangely
frightened. Suddenly she wished she were alone. Tears welled in her eyes, and
she turned her face away, embarrassed for him to see her crying.

“Do you want to talk?” Tom scooted his chair closer.

When he’d carried her away after the fire, she’d shared her
suspicions with him, but he refused to believe her. She had nothing more to say
to him.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll do the talking. You’ve been
through an ordeal today, and I know it’s going to take a little time for you to
get over it. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these last few hours—”

“About what?” Her fingers tightened on the edge of her coverlet.

“I think we should call off the wedding.”

Lucille tried to catch her breath, but couldn’t. Her lungs
ached, but even more, her heart hurt. Tom had changed his mind, she realized.
He no longer wanted her for his wife. Not that he’d ever really wanted her.
He’d only gone along with her plan for Faith’s sake.

But she was the one who truly stood to lose. Tom had a court
decree giving him legal custody of his niece. She had nothing more than Tom’s
fervent desires to do the right thing. He’d placed Faith in her care, but he
could take her back any time. Lucille could do nothing to stop him.

“You can’t change your mind now. It’s too late, Tom. We’re
getting married, just like we planned.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

Tom leaned forward and brushed the tear away. “Is this what
you really want, Lucille? Marriage isn’t easy under the best circumstances. I
don’t want to push you into something you might later regret.”

Closing her eyes, Lucille felt a deep, abiding peace come
over her. Tom had not changed his mind. He’d talked of calling off the wedding
for
her
sake, because he wanted
her
happiness.

“No regrets,” she assured him, reaching for his hand. His
fingers felt warm and strong as they entwined around hers.

* * *
*

Lucille had never been so
confused as on the day of her wedding. Nothing was the way she’d imagined it.
As a little girl—and as a young woman, too—she’d often daydreamed about getting
married. Of course, those childish dreams had always begun with falling in
love. The reality of life was much different.

She stared down at the dress
she’d chosen to wear for her wedding day. A good choice, she thought. A fancy
ivory gown, not quite white, but close enough that it wouldn’t raise too many
eyebrows, she hoped. How unfair that after designing and sewing wedding dresses
for most of the brides in Sunset, she would now walk down the aisle in a frock
that she’d had hanging in her wardrobe for over a year. With everything lost in
the fire, there hadn’t been time to order new fabric, to design and stitch a new
dress. This one would have to do. The bodice sported neat tabs at the lower
edge, and her mother had taken time to add a few seed pearls. It had a pleated
peplum in back and short, full sleeves. The skirt had a draped front panel with
swags of white silk and glass bead fringe, a draped apron front and a full
skirt in the back. She’d borrowed her mother’s wedding veil. Fitting, really. A
bride was always supposed to carry something old, something new, something
borrowed, something blue.

Her dress was old, the
ribbon in her hair was new. She had her mother’s veil, and as for blue, that’s
how her heart felt now. Not that she didn’t want to marry Tom. She did want to
be his wife, but it was all so different from how she’d hoped it would be.

Tears streamed across her
cheeks as she walked—alone—toward Tom. If only her father could have been with
her, if only she could have held his hand and felt his strength, she could have
drawn courage. Her father would have given her hope, would have assured her
that she’d made the right choice.

Marriage wasn’t about love.
It was about growing up, accepting responsibilities, and above all, doing what
was best. Tom would be a good husband. Despite the unkind thoughts she’d had
about him in the past—and the unkind words she’d uttered—she knew in her heart
what a good man he truly was.

To those looking in, their
marriage would appear genuine, but so many things weren’t real—like fancy
flowers made from colored paper, or artificial pearls. Every year new
merchandise became available. Imitations. Fakes.

She sighed as the music from
the old organ rose and swelled, then faded away. A poignant silence filled the
little church. Blinking back a tear, Lucille accepted Tom’s outstretched hands.

“Dearly beloved…” Reverend
Gilman’s deep voice wrapped itself around Lucille. Tom’s arms went around her
waist, and she felt safe, secure.

Lucille barely listened as
the minister’s voice droned on. Tom would take good care of her, and in return,
she would take very good care of Faith. Together, they would weather whatever
storms life brought their way.

She became aware that the
voice had stopped. An expectant hush hung in the air. Everyone was looking at
her.

Lucille choked back her
apprehension, and whispered the words that would change her life forever.

“I do.”

* * * *

The celebration at the social hall lasted throughout the
afternoon and most of the evening. It was well past sundown when the newlyweds
arrived at their home. While Tom tended to the horses, his blushing bride
hurried inside, wondering why she should be such a bundle of nerves on their
wedding night. She and Tom had shared intimate pleasures before.

As she stripped off the ivory gown, her cheeks burned with
thoughts of those wickedly sinful moments. Now, she and Tom were wed and could
freely share their passions. A fire of pure desire spread through her body.