Love in the Balance (16 page)

Yes, he treated her like a lady, but could she love him? She searched for an answer and found nothing disagreeable about his appearance. His lips were well shaped. His face kind and mature, not given to rages or passions. A smile played at his lips as he watched her evaluate him.

“You’re not convinced?” He leaned forward and cupped her cheek. His eyes widened. “You’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me you were ill?” With a grimace he removed a glove, the first time she’d ever seen him without one, and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “Poor dear. It’s early yet, but you must retire. Let me get you a draught for the night. I’ll check in on you tomorrow. Once we board you won’t need to leave the car. I can have a doctor brought to you in San Antonio.”

“It’s too sudden. I must send word to . . .” She faltered. How long before Bailey received her note? “To my parents.”

“If you weren’t ill, I’d hire a buggy to take you to them. If you’d like I could go.”

“Not with Father’s condition. He shouldn’t receive visitors.”

“Then I’ll send a post to alleviate their worries and present my offer. I’m confident they’ll understand the benefits of my proposal.”

Molly brightened at the word. It was one of her favorites. The only other proposal she’d received came with laden with caveats—“when the time is right,” “if I find a job,” “when your parents approve.” If she compared Bailey’s offer to Edward’s money, prestige, and availability, the scales were definitely in Edward’s favor. Sure, love tipped the balance toward Bailey, but was Bailey’s offer still good, or had he rescinded it?

On wobbly knees, she rose and Edward understood the suggestion.

“Hopefully after a good night’s sleep you’ll feel like getting your things together. The train leaves tomorrow afternoon.”

“I haven’t said yes,” she said.

He smiled. “Yes is the easiest word in any language.”

A filled canteen and a stack of quilts. Bailey’s very survival depended on those items, and as far as he could determine, nothing else in the world existed.

He rolled onto his side and curled his legs up to his chest under the blankets, thankful that Mrs. Stoker had left the empty parsonage with a clean straw tick and bedding. A fire would be nice, but he suspected his ague was responsible for the chill more than the temperature outside. Whatever bug had attacked him was ruthless. He hoped he hadn’t passed it on to Molly. He didn’t want to imagine her stuck in town without any family looking after her.

Had he been thinking, he would’ve sent word home before he holed up at the parsonage for the night. What he wouldn’t give for his mother’s cool hands and warm soup right now. As it was, he’d skirted the ranch and headed straight for the abandoned house in Prairie Lea. Going to the Lovelaces’ was out of the question. The last thing they needed was for Mr. Lovelace to catch influenza in his weakened condition. Besides, they weren’t expecting him. He hoped they would accept his offer, but he wouldn’t be any help till he was back on his feet.

His sore eyes opened, spotted the canteen hanging on the bedpost, and closed again. Bailey fished around blindly until he snagged the strap and brought the open vessel to his parched lips. The cool water eased his mouth, but he had to brace himself for what was to come. Grimacing, he forced a swallow and whimpered at the pain as his throat constricted. What a sissy boy he’d turned into, lying in bed, crying for his ma.

With effort he hung the canteen over the post and searched for the warm spot he’d lost. If someone would skin him alive, they’d be doing him a favor. Every inch of his hide had puckered, prickling like he’d been dropped naked into the icehouse.

He drifted and wondered how much the fever had twisted his memories. Molly’s words spun in his head until he couldn’t remember exactly what she’d decided, but by following Stoker’s suggestion to help her pa, surely he would remove any further objections. All he needed was a few days to sleep off this illness and get everything in place. Then he would head to Lockhart and return with his girl.

11

The pounding on the door shook her bed. “Go away,” Molly groaned and pulled a pillow over her head.

The doorknob clicked and skirts swished. “Molly! What are you doing? Mr. Travis is going to have conniptions if you’re late again.” The bed sagged where Carrie sat on it. “Did you sleep in your clothes?”

Molly pulled the pillow away and stared at the woman through red-rimmed eyes. “It’s morning?”

Carrie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not hiding from Prue, are you? You know if you don’t show up she’ll think you’re crushed over Mr. Fenton.”

“Feel my forehead. I can’t counterfeit a temperature.”

Carrie pressed her hand against Molly’s cheek and shook her head. “Convenient. You’re lucky even when afflicted. All right. I’ll pass word along to Mr. Travis, but you might want to send for the doctor. Your story could require collaboration.” Carrie lingered at Molly’s dressing table and fiddled through some jewelry. “Were you going to wear this today?”

Molly waved her consent and Carrie slipped out the door, earbobs in hand.

So morning had come. Bailey had not. Molly sat up slowly to find her balance before she attempted the chamber pot. She wouldn’t leave her room. The day had just begun, and there was no way she’d take a chance on missing him. He was getting his shot. If he wanted to marry her, he had to make an appearance soon. The longer she waited, the more loath she was to turn down Edward’s offer to buy the mill.

Mrs. Truman appeared with hot tea and a biscuit with strawberry jam. Molly choked it down, wincing with every swallow. She wondered how her mother would respond to Edward’s letter. Would he mention her illness? Would Nicholas be sent to fetch her home? Wiping the crumbs from her mouth, she pushed the china plate across her vanity and crawled into bed.

She must have drowsed, because she didn’t hear Mrs. Truman reenter. The woman stood striped by the bright sunlight peeking through the shutters, her apron already splattered with dinner preparations.

“What time is it?” Molly licked her swollen lips.

“Nearly noon, sweetie. I’ve been up to check on you, but you were sleeping so hard, I didn’t want to wake you. Your gentleman has come by a few times, too. He’s getting antsy to see you.”

He was here? Molly lowered her feet to the floor. Gingerly she stood, tried a few steps, and looked in the mirror. Oh, bother. One look at her and Bailey would turn tail and run. She tried to ply a brush through her matted locks, but her head was too tender. On the other hand, her cheeks had never looked rosier or her blue eyes brighter. Even her lips were full and red. As pretty as the painted china dolls at the mercantile. Hopefully, he’d appreciate her florid complexion and not notice her rumpled gown and fuzzy hair.

Mrs. Truman followed her down the stairs, clucking all the way to the parlor.

“Edward.” Molly faltered at the threshold. There stood the man of her ambitions with a cane and a bowler hat, but he wasn’t the man of her heart.

“Yes, love. You seem surprised. Did you forget I was returning?” He took her by the arm and gently led her to the sofa. “My poor dear. You’ve had a miserable night, haven’t you? We’ll get you settled into my car, where I can take care of you.”

“What are you talking about?” Mrs. Truman’s hands went to her hips. “I run a respectable establishment here. No young ladies will be carted off from under my nose.”

“Nothing to disrespect your establishment. I have written to Miss Lovelace’s parents, and it’s been settled. Your mother sends her best.” Edward smiled as smooth as butter and produced a folded note.

Molly wanted nothing to do with the letter. If she hadn’t already been seated, she would’ve fallen down.

“If you’re not going to read it, I suppose I will.” Mrs. Truman took the offered paper and read it with creased brows. “I see. Beg your pardon, sir.” She handed it back to him.

“No offense taken. If I could trespass on your kindness, though, it seems unlikely that Miss Lovelace can pack her trunk without help in her present condition. Is there a chance that you could lend her a hand? I’ll have a wagon sent around at one o’clock.”

Molly’s head spun. Was this really happening? While Edward and Mrs. Truman discussed their plans, she pulled the letter from his hand.

Molly,

I can’t express how delighted I am with your news. Truly, this seems the very solution that we sought. There is no reason to delay your departure, as I’m confident your father would not want his health hindering your happiness. Mr. Pierrepont has assured me of his care for you, and when your father has sufficiently recovered, I will present Mr. Pierrepont’s offer for a possible partnership in the business. We both know how pleased he will be.

We look forward to your return and wish you every happiness.

Your mother,
Adele Lovelace

She couldn’t move. Her mother’s scented stationery hung from her limp fingers. How foolish to hope that her mother would protest. If the balance amount on the bottom of the ledger would improve, Adele Lovelace was willing to forgo the niceties.

Molly was exhausted. She’d scrambled to stay ahead of their plans, but finally they’d caught up with her. The delays and distractions had failed to get her what she wanted. Bailey had failed her, too, and now, through the haze of disillusionment and illness she saw no alternative. Molly allowed the letter to flutter to the floor.

“I’m afraid Miss Lovelace is overwhelmed, Mrs. Truman.” Edward sat next to her and took her hand.

“Don’t worry, Molly,” Mrs. Truman said. “I’ll get your duds packed up, but you might want to change into a fresh gown first.”

Her tears splashed onto the dress she’d worn since she’d made the trip to Bailey’s aunt’s and heard that he’d left town without saying good-bye. He wasn’t coming. He didn’t want her.

She squeezed Edward’s hand, too tired to fight any longer. She was a practical woman. He was a good man. No obstacle would prevent their union.

Bailey made it outside to the pump handle, quite an accomplishment, to his thinking. It took some effort before he could thrust both hands into the stream and splash the refreshing water onto his face. He couldn’t show up at Mr. Lovelace’s smelling like the devil’s outhouse, but he didn’t have the strength for a proper bath yet. He stood and expanded his lungs with the crisp December air. The last traces of the illness lingered, but he’d kicked it enough that he could walk across town and round up some vittles. Anything more and he’d be laid low again.

He pulled his hat over his wet head. By sunrise tomorrow he should have his legs under him. Then he’d take a dip in the river, clean up, and offer his services. One more day wouldn’t hurt anything.

Her bed swayed, rocking her like a cradle one minute and making her nauseated the next. How long had she slept? Molly plucked at an unfamiliar gown, recognizing it as silk but unable to remember from where it came. Struggling, she tried to set her jumbled memories into order but wasn’t up to the task and surrendered again to oblivion.

Deep voices awakened her. The movement had ceased and with it some of the vagueness that had clouded her thinking.