Lanterns and Lace (11 page)

Grant believed he had the prettiest women in all of Texas sitting with him in the wagon. Rebecca wore a mint green and white ruffled frock with a matching ribbon encircling her waist and another woven in her curls. Jenny had chosen a lavender dress hosting wide, full sleeves, fitted below the elbow, and trimmed in pearl buttons trailing from a high neckline to her waist. A ribbon in different shades of lavender, green, and cream tied on a stylish hat.

He knew better than to stare. His heart raced unexpectedly at the mere thought. He quickly averted his gaze to Mimi. She joined them in an equally dazzling display of finery. His dear housekeeper wore a light blue ruffled blouse and a skirt and jacket of a dark blue. An ivory cameo trimmed in gold rested at her throat, and Grant noted just a hint of color to the older woman’s cheeks. A huge, flamboyant hat with many shades of blue and white flowers intertwined with ribbon and feathers balanced atop her head.

“My, but you ladies look beautiful,” Grant said as he helped each one of them down from his wagon at the Piney Woods Church. He didn’t understand why women went to so much trouble, but today he appreciated it. “If I’m not careful, someone will think you three are the brides, and I’ll be left all alone.”

Mimi reached up and gingerly touched the plumage as though she thought the hat might topple to the ground. “You don’t think my hat’s too large?”

“Not at all.” Grant suppressed a chuckle and waved his hands in a grandiose gesture. “It’s perfect. Beautiful. All of you are rivals to a flower garden. I think, next to Frank, I’m the luckiest man in town.”

Mimi fidgeted with the hat a moment more. “Well, if you’re certain it’s not too much. Oh, let’s hurry inside. I don’t want to miss any of this wedding.” She gave the bow on Rebecca’s dress one last touch of expertise.

Stifling his humor and still wondering if his housekeeper’s hat might take flight, Grant bent to pick up his daughter.

Mimi gasped and clutched both hands to her bosom. “No, please. She can walk. It will wrinkle her dress.”

Jenny giggled, a perfectly delightful sound. How could this vision of loveliness be so set on taking from him his most precious treasure?

“Mimi, you’d think Rebecca is getting married.” Grant feigned his irritation. “She’ll muss soon enough. May I remind you that our dear little girl didn’t nap today?”

“Exactly.” Mimi tugged on the fingers of her white gloves, which seemed to be a trifle too small. “I want to enjoy the perfection as long as possible.”

Grant laughed and offered the older woman his arm. She readjusted her hat and snatched up Rebecca’s hand. Jenny linked her arm into Grant’s free arm and gave him a quick toss of her head that sent his heart straight to the top of his derby. They were ready to celebrate the marriage of Frank Kahler and Ellen Smythe.

“This will be grand. Simply grand,” Mimi said. “Frank and Ellen deserve the best wedding this town has ever seen. I knew the first time I saw them together that this was a match made in heaven.”

Inside the church, sitting between Rebecca and Jenny, Grant became even more acutely aware of the young woman beside him. The faint smell of lilac teased his nostrils. He recognized the intoxicating scent from last Sunday when he had complimented her on its fragrance and she had told him its name. She also had told him about a lilac tree that grew outside her mother’s kitchen window and how she and Jessica had spent many hours beneath it. Grant imagined the two little girls playing with their dolls and tea sets. He inhaled again, catching another breath of her. What had happened to him? The man who loved the smell of the outdoors . . . hunting . . . working the ranch?

Frank’s younger sister, one of Mimi’s former piano students, opened the ceremony with a song Grant recognized, “O Perfect Love.” Another one of Frank’s sisters sang the melody. Grant glanced at Jenny. A tear slipped over her cheek. Perhaps she was thinking about Jessica and how her sister had missed seeing her best friend get married.

His mind slipped back to the conversation with Morgan and Casey at the ranch. At the time, his brother’s suggestion of an attraction to Jenny had frustrated him, but whenever the idea flashed across his mind, he saw more hints of the truth. But for now, his emotions must be nothing more than friendship. More important, Jenny needed to find peace with God. Second, she must deal with the turmoil inside her about taking Rebecca from him. He sensed a part of the problem came from her parents. What little information Jenny had shared about her relationship with them did not sound warm and loving. So why expose an innocent child to such coldness? Not once did Grant believe she’d succeed with her plans. He’d give his life for Rebecca.

Piano music ushered the bride past a crowd of standing friends and family.

“Isn’t Ellen lovely?” Jenny whispered.

One of Frank’s uncles escorted her, and he looked as proud of Ellen in her pale blue dress as if she were his own daughter.

“Yes, she is.” Grant leaned Jenny’s way. “Look at Frank. He looks like he’s about to bust out of his suit.”

“That’s love,” she said.

Grant refused to comment.

The young couple took their place at the front of the church, and the crowd seated themselves on both sides of the aisle. Along with a Bible, Ellen carried a small cluster of red roses, no doubt from the Rainers’ backyard. A closer study revealed moistened eyes, glowing cheeks, and a trembling smile. Grant felt a little strange noting female sentiment when he normally ignored such details, but he’d seen Ellen rise from the brothel to a beautiful bride.

Frank’s family made up the majority of guests. All the Andrews were there, too, and of course Mrs. Lewis sat in the front pew designated for mother of the bride. Grant thought the older woman beamed. She was so proud of her Ellen.

Reverend John Rainer instructed the groom to repeat his vows, and Frank’s booming voice could be heard clearly all over the church, but Ellen wept through her pledge, smiling through the tears. Finally, the reverend gave permission for Frank to kiss his bride. He turned the couple to face the onlookers and raised his arms to hush them all.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Frank Kahler. As soon as ya’ll offer your congratulations, there’s food and drink for everyone at the parsonage.”

Grant took a quick glance around at the well-wishers. Seated in the back was Aubrey Turner. He had no business being here.

A whoop and more applause exploded from inside the small church and snatched Grant’s attention. Frank grabbed his wife’s hand and hurried to the rear of the church for the reception line. Caught up in the gaiety of the festivities, Grant turned to view Jenny, who dabbed her eyes lightly with a lace handkerchief.

“It amazes me why women cry at the happiest occasions.” He grinned.

Jenny wrinkled her nose at him and daintily tucked her handkerchief back into a reticule dangling from her wrist. The drawstring bag looked heavy, but who knew what women carried in those things? She pretended to ignore him, then his teasing coaxed a smile.

“You’re incorrigible.” She stood on her toes no doubt to see the new Mr. and Mrs. Kahler through the crowd of happy people.

Rebecca, standing on the pew, peered up at her father curiously. “Papa, what’s corybil?” Her innocence prompted more laughter from Jenny.

“See what you’ve done,” Grant said.

“Papa?”

He lifted his daughter’s chin. “Sweetheart, it means your papa is . . . has . . . good manners.”

“Excellent description, Doctor,” Jenny said. “But I don’t think it fits the occasion.”

They joined the greeting line, and again Grant relished the closeness of the comely young woman beside him.

“I’m so happy for you,” Jenny said to Ellen, grasping the bride’s hand in hers. Both women were overcome with emotion.

“Our Jessica is smiling down on us,” Ellen managed. “And I know she’s glad you’re here.”

In the next moment, Jenny linked her arm into Grant’s and started down the church steps. She startled.

“What’s wrong?” Grant said, although he guessed before she spoke.

“Aubrey Turner. Ellen would never have invited him.”

“Anyone could walk in here, Jenny. But I have no idea why he’s here.”

“I don’t trust him, Grant. Something about him isn’t proper.”

He saw her quiver, but Rebecca and Mimi hadn’t heard their conversation, and he had no intention of it reaching their ears. “Ben is looking into it.”

He ushered the women into the parsonage. A three-layer vanilla cake decorated in pink rosebuds not only looked good, but its delicate flavor called out for seconds. Frank frosted Ellen’s nose with a sugared rosebud, and she iced his mustache. Late into the evening, laughter lifted and fell. The new couple was given gifts of food and household items, and children refused to give in to sleep. Not even the heat of a Texas summer night could dampen the spirits of the bride and groom or the wedding guests.

As the festivities carried on into a late hour, the reverend and Jocelyn insisted that Frank and Ellen bid everyone good night. The young couple voiced their concern over the condition of the parsonage, but many guests volunteered to stay and help. Shortly thereafter, the new Mr. and Mrs. Kahler boarded a wagon and headed for their new home.

Soon plans developed for a “serenading” to take place around midnight, when a boisterous band of singers arranged to visit the newly married couple. Grant hoped Frank and Ellen had enough food to feed the hearty group—or they’d never get rid of them.

The guests slowly disbanded, and Jenny and Grant gathered up punch cups to whisk them off to the kitchen for washing. Both of them wore aprons. His derby hat hung on the hall tree near the front entrance of the house, and her hat rested beside it.

Grant observed Jenny listening to a pair of ladies talking rather loudly near the punch bowl. She smiled politely and appeared to cling to every word.

“Can you believe Frank actually married that woman?” a matronly woman said.

“No, I can’t, Sylvia,” a second woman said. “Poor MayBelle and Pete have to face the humiliation of a daughter-in-law with a distasteful reputation.”

Sylvia fanned herself vigorously. “Who knows what Ellen did to entice poor Frank into marrying her?” She raised her eyebrows. “It won’t last a year. Mark my word. That woman will run off with everything Frank has. And my Lester agrees.”

“Excuse me.” Jenny smiled. “You two ladies aren’t referring to the new Mrs. Kahler, are you?”

Both women exchanged horrified looks. Sylvia paled, and the other woman gaped.

“My goodness,” Jenny continued. “I can see by the looks on your faces that I was sadly mistaken. Do forgive me, will you? I thought you two were speaking of Ellen Kahler. You know, she is such a dear, wonderful lady. I have never seen anyone so giving and loving. Don’t you agree Frank made a wise choice?”

The pair hastily fled the room, reproof clearly written across reddened faces. Grant watched Jenny glare angrily after them.

“Very nicely stated,” he said.

“I grew up with my mother making the same type of rude remarks. Ellen deserves a good life with Frank, but folks like those two ‘proper ladies’ will stop at nothing to make life miserable for them. Besides, Ellen could very well have been my sister.”

Admiration swept through Grant. “Frank and Ellen are pretty strong people. In time, most of the folks here in Kahlerville will forget the life she once led.”

“It can’t happen soon enough.” Jenny snatched up a stack of empty cake plates.

“I agree. Let’s finish cleaning this up and get Rebecca home. I don’t know how she keeps going.”

*****

Hours later, Grant crawled into bed. The day had been long, beginning with patients at seven this morning and ending with finally getting Rebecca into bed after the wedding. He had enjoyed every minute of the evening—more than he wanted to consider. Jenny’s face floated across his mind, their lighthearted conversation, the scent of her. He had to stop thinking about her. But tonight with Miss Jenny Martin had been very close to perfect.

Her defense of Ellen surprised him, although he realized the improbable chance of ever predicting how Jenny would react to any situation. Morgan, Ben, and the reverend had warned him about the erratic behavior of women. Of course, growing up in the same household with a sister and mother did shed light on the subject, but usually he ignored their moods. As a youth, he didn’t try to understand women, not placing much importance on the matter, except for Casey.

In the darkness of his room, Grant questioned what God had in store for him. Casey Andrews had been the first love of his life and the only woman he’d ever tried to impress. Unfortunately, she fell in love with his brother, and Grant decided never to love again. A huge difference stood between his tall, auburn-haired sister-in-law who once rode with an outlaw gang, and the petite school teacher from Cleveland, Ohio, who probably didn’t know how to ride a horse. But despite their apparent differences, both were spunky—and both would give the devil a run when they were angry.

Winking at Mimi, Grant took a big gulp of coffee. “Wonderful breakfast, simply wonderful.” He spread strawberry jam between the flaky layers of a buttermilk biscuit.

“Don’t you flash those green eyes at me, Dr. Andrews.” She shook her silver head at his one-handed attempt to stretch the preserves over his biscuit. “Breakfast has nothing to do with your wonderful mood.”

“Of course it does. It’s Saturday morning,” he said between bites. “There’s a breeze blowing in through the window behind you. You’ve fixed my favorite scrambled eggs, sausage, gravy, and biscuits. I have my weekly Houston Post to catch up on all the news . . .”

“You’re avoiding the obvious.” A twinkle lit up her midnight-colored eyes.

Grant popped the remains of the hot biscuit into his mouth, licked his fingers, and reached for another one. “Mimi, is something on your mind?” He spooned a generous amount of preserves between the layers of another biscuit.

“No, I was just taking note of your good nature this morning.” She refilled his coffee and handed him the plate of sausage patties.

“And why is that?” he said between mouthfuls.

“I believe it has something to do with the company of a certain young lady last night.”

“Our Miss Mischief?”

“No, not our Rebecca. Who’s left?”

He peered at the older woman in feigned bewilderment. “Surely you don’t mean Jenny?”

“Love is blind, my dear boy.”

“I’m not in love,” Grant said. “I don’t want to be. I refuse to be, and a woman doesn’t fit into my life right now, especially Miss Jenny Martin. When it’s the right time, God will put a lady in my path. Besides, I may never get married.”

“Who said anything about getting married? Or who said anything about love?”

“You were thinking it,” he said. “Jenny and I may be approaching friendship, but that’s all. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was using my affections to get Rebecca.”

“So now you have affections? But—” She raised a brow. “Sounds like you’ve thought it through.” She took a sip of her coffee.

He reached for another biscuit, but this time he snatched up the honey. “I thought I had Miss Jenny in proper perspective until you brought up the matter. Remember, she’s not a Christian. A courting relationship with her isn’t sensible.”

“I didn’t know you were considering courting. Let me point out to you that the heart doesn’t work on logic,” Mimi said. “Neither does God. You both are too stubborn to see what is plain as day to me. And her heart is softening to things of God. I can see it.” She stood and took her plate to the kitchen.

Grant heard her mumbling. “You aren’t talking to yourself, are you, Mimi?”

“No, sir. It wouldn’t be sensible,” she said from the kitchen.

He gathered up the newspaper, chuckled, and took a gulp of coffee. He imagined his housekeeper tying a crisp clean apron around her slightly plump waist and bustling around the kitchen. How he loved every smoky-gray hair on her sweet head. “Would you come back in here so we can discuss this?” he said, unable to put his mind at ease about Jenny.

Mimi exited the kitchen and sat beside him, folding her hands primly in her lap. “All right, let’s discuss you and Jenny.”

Her knowing smile frustrated him. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to talk about her at all.”

“Then read your newspaper while I clean up breakfast. My guess is Rebecca will sleep quite late.”

“Don’t you want to hear the latest news?” he half-questioned, half-implored.

She rested her folded hands on the table. “Of course, read to me. There’s obviously something you want me to hear.”

He combed his fingers through his hair and winked at her. “Let’s see, there’s more talk about admitting Utah as a state and Hawaii as a republic. Um . . . President Cleveland is facing opposition again. He can’t make everyone happy when the country’s coming out of a depression.” He reached for his coffee, skimmed the article, then read on.

“Some folks don’t like the way the President has dealt directly with the treasury rather than with mortgage foreclosures, business failures, and unemployment. Although he has been able to maintain the treasury’s gold reserve.” He lifted his gaze to meet hers. She yawned and blinked. She wasn’t the slightest bit interested in the state of the nation’s treasury, and at the moment he wasn’t, either. But he needed a distraction from Miss Jenny Martin. “I have my own opinions on his methods, but it looks like the Democrats are criticizing him, too.”

“Any good news?”

“Oh, you can always find good news,” he said from behind the paper.

“Especially this morning.” She laughed heartily only to receive a disapproving look from him.

He folded the Post haphazardly in his lap and proceeded to finish his coffee. He’d already resolved to keep Jenny at a distance. A woman didn’t fit into the life of a busy doctor and father. Even so, it might be nice for her to settle in Kahlerville for Rebecca’s sake. Providing she gave up that fool notion of taking his daughter back to Ohio. The town could use another good teacher, but Jenny still had a teaching obligation to fulfill beginning in September. Naturally, at the end of summer, his life would go back to normal—whatever that might be.

Admittedly, Jenny had touched on a protected area of his heart, a portion he wasn’t quite ready to concede. Most important, she needed a relationship with the Lord. That was certainly a matter of prayer for him and the rest of his family.

The morning sped by quickly. He read the latest medical journal, saw four patients, and prepared a bank deposit. Rebecca awoke midmorning, and her crabby disposition caused him to question his logic in keeping her up so late the night before, except she did have a very good time at the wedding. So did her papa.

During lunch, Rebecca fell asleep against his chest, a partially eaten sandwich in her hand. Grant thought seriously of joining her but decided to check on Mrs. Lewis instead.

Until yesterday, Mrs. Lewis had shared her home with Ellen. The new Mrs. Kahler fretted over the widow living alone, but the older woman refused to move in with the newlyweds. Just like Ellen, Grant planned to check on her regularly. Of late, he’d heard the widow’s heart skip a beat more than once, and it worried him. She’d never complained about chest pain, but Ellen had voiced a concern over her lack of appetite and strength.

Grant decided to take his medical bag and walk the three-quarters of a mile to her house. Halfway there, the afternoon heat and humidity got the best of him.

I’m getting weak. He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. He needed to get outside more, even help out at the ranch regularly. Throwing his jacket over his arm, he endured the remainder of the walk. By the time he arrived at Mrs. Lewis’s house, perspiration rolled down his forehead and into his eyes, stinging and blinding his vision.

The widow’s front door stood wide open, and it surprised him. She prided herself in maintaining a neat, well-kept home, and he hoped this oversight didn’t indicate a problem. He mounted the porch steps and called her name several times before apprehension settled over him like the calm before a twister.

Maybe she’d decided to take a walk, but he doubted that possibility in the middle of a hot afternoon. Cautiously, he stepped inside, still calling for her. The only reply came from a clock ticking on the fireplace mantel. The small parlor appeared to be in order. His gaze swept over faded shades of wine-colored upholstery and tapestry-covered chairs. A cherry buffet against one wall held the photographs of many cherished friends and family members. The drawers were open, but Grant dismissed them as indicative of Mrs. Lewis feeling poorly.

He turned his attention to the right, where he knew the woman slept. She’d contracted pneumonia last winter, and he’d made daily house calls until she responded to rest and medication. The widow had accused him of wearing down a path to her door. Unfortunately, she didn’t recover well from the illness, and the weakness made it difficult for her to fight other sicknesses.

Grant gasped at the condition of her bedroom. Dresser drawers stood open, their contents thrown everywhere. A chair leaned on its back legs precariously in one corner, and its cushion lay in shreds on the floor. Sheets and pillows had been tossed from the bed, then rolled up into a rounded heap in another corner. Feathers from the ticking lay on every visible inch of the wooden floor. He picked up a pillow and saw that it and the mattress had been slashed in multiple areas by a sharp, pointed object. Finding no trace of Mrs. Lewis, Grant rushed past the parlor into the kitchen.

He instantly took in the open cupboard with broken dishes and shattered glass scattered across the floor. He stepped over a pine pie safe heaved upside down with such force that the doors were off the upper hinges. All the while, he searched the room for signs of Mrs. Lewis. He continued to call her name, not really believing she’d answer, but certainly not wanting to find her hurt—or worse.

Grant moved toward a second bedroom where Ellen had slept and found it in a more deplorable condition than the other: torn bed linens, slashed pillows, and broken furniture littered the once neat abode. Even the curtains had been yanked to the floor and the window cracked. Grant caught a glimpse of the widow’s frail body in a hideous twisted form near the foot of the bed.

He bent to examine her but found no fluttering of a heartbeat or movements of breathing, only the pale gray pallor of death. Gently closing her eyes, he searched the body for signs of a struggle or violence. Finding no marks upon her, he surmised the widow died of a heart attack when someone broke into her home.

A surge of anger burst through his veins at the thought of someone frightening her into heart failure. Catching his breath in the midst of indignation, he knew he must fetch Ben and inform the undertaker. The latter might be difficult to locate on a Saturday, for he also owned the livery and traveled about as a blacksmith. Covering the body with a crumpled bed sheet, he mentally listed what he needed to do the remainder of the afternoon.

Poor Ellen. Mrs. Lewis dies of a heart attack, and her house is ransacked the day after the wedding. To the best of his knowledge, the widow didn’t have a single possession worth stealing. Her treasures were memories and friends. Once when he called on her last winter, she had talked the afternoon away reminiscing of days gone by: children grown with families of their own and her heartfelt prayers for all of them. She had shared with him a precious box of treasures: an inexpensive brooch given to her by her late husband, a polished rock sent from back East by her great-grandson, a faded photograph of her mother, and pieces of yellowed lace from her wedding gown. Stepping back into Mrs. Lewis’s bedroom, he saw that the small, carved wood box had not been touched.

Walking back into the room where the widow’s body lay, he peered around, wondering why it had been damaged more than the rest.

Ellen had slept in that room, he reminded himself. The bedclothes looked like torn rags around the body. Why would anyone want to destroy the widow’s home? What was the intruder looking for? A twisted thought grabbed hold of him. Could the intruder have been someone Ellen had known before she left the brothel?

Shaking his head, he hurried from the house to get help. With the intense heat, the odor from the lifeless body would rise profusely in a few short hours. He stopped long enough to write a note for any passersby before heading into town.

The sun beat down hard, and almost immediately, perspiration dripped onto his face, but this time Grant was too deeply engrossed in thought to be bothered by the heat. His emotions ranged from fury to grief. Why would anyone want to do this to a sweet old lady who had nothing but a gentle spirit? He’d seen how Mrs. Lewis and Ellen scraped pennies to sustain day-to-day living.

He dreaded telling Ellen. She’d be devastated and most likely blame herself for the widow’s death. Grant had never considered himself vengeful, but this death provoked his normally controlled temperament. For certain, Grant didn’t need to learn the name of the guilty person. This wasn’t an accident.