Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (42 page)

As the train rolled into the Beatrice station, Noah stood and reached for the treasured bedroll. Next he slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and followed Josiah off the train. It was early evening. He hesitated just a moment, remembering the last time he’d stood in this spot, trying to avoid an aging actress who had made herself something of a nuisance. Back then, he’d excused himself because he needed to meet with an editor. And here he was again, weeks later, needing to meet that same editor again.

“Rhodes works late,” Josiah said. “You might catch him if you hurry. I’ll see to the horses—and pray.”

Noah broke into a trot. He crossed the railroad tracks and headed for Court Street, arriving at the
Dispatch
office a few blocks away just in time to see someone pulling the outer office door closed to lock them. As he got closer, Noah recognized Bert Hartwell and called out.

Hartwell hesitated. Frowned. “Do I know you?” Then when Noah got closer, his eyes grew wide. “Noah?”

“I was hoping to catch Mr. Rhodes before he left for the day.”

“Oh, he’s still here,” Hartwell said. “He just wanted me to lock the front doors.” He pulled the door open and motioned for Noah to head on in. “Never took you for mountain-man material,” he joked. “But you sure look the part.”

“It’s a false impression. I can’t wait to get shed of these clothes and get back into a suit.” He realized it was true. He didn’t belong in the “Wild West.” He was and always would be someone who loved cities and crowds and all the other accoutrements of civilization.

“Well—see you soon,” Hartwell said. “I’d stay and badger you with questions, but Junie’s expecting me to stop by.

“That’s going well?” Noah asked.

“Better than well.” Bert shook his head. “I don’t know what happened. It’s as if I’d never really seen her before. But I see her now. Do I ever.” With a low laugh, he pulled the doors closed, turned the key in the lock, and headed off up the street.

Noah walked up the few steps to the inner double doors. The newsroom was empty, but he could see into Mr. Rhodes’s office. The ‘old man’ was there, bent over something spread out before him on his desk. Rapping on the outer office door to signal his presence, Noah proceeded into the newsroom, past a couple of desks, and waited at the door to Mr. Rhodes’s office.

With a grimace, Rhodes rose from his chair and came to the door. “You’ll need to make an appointment,” he said brusquely. But then he hesitated. He looked Noah up and down. Offered his hand. “Well I must say you certainly look the part. I doubt even Emilie would recognize you at first glance.”

“We need to talk. Now, if you’re agreeable to it?”

Rhodes retreated to the other side of his desk, but he didn’t sit down, nor did he invite Noah to do so. “Let’s hear it. Give the speech.”

“Speech?”

“The ‘I know we’ve only known each other for a short time’ speech. The one where you convince me to let you court my daughter. Isn’t that what this is about? My wife’s been warning me it’s coming.” He smiled. “And she’s already told me what to say. But I suppose I must wait until you say your part of it. Do hurry, Shaw.” He gestured down at the paper on this desk. “I’ve work to do before I can get home to my supper.”

Noah took a deep breath. “I’m afraid it may not be as simple as you reciting whatever Mrs. Rhodes advised.”

“I disagree,” Rhodes said. “Yes. You may court my daughter. How’s that? Saved us both some time.”

“Thank you, sir,” Noah said. “But—”

Mr. Rhodes reached up to tug on the waxed tip of his handlebar mustache. “There’s an addendum?”

Noah took a deep breath. The office windows were open, but the place felt stifling. Claustrophobic. He set his bedroll down on the floor. Then looked at Rhodes for permission to follow with the saddlebags slung over his shoulder. Rhodes nodded and then sat down behind his desk and pointed to the chair in the corner.

“Sit. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

As many times as Noah had practiced this speech, now that he was actually facing Mr. Rhodes, he felt like a schoolboy trying to think up an excuse for misbehaving. Finally, he took a deep breath. “I do intend to ask your permission to court Emilie. Josiah—Colonel Barton—has asked me to return to Beatrice after this season closes down at the end of November. I’d be his assistant—helping him once and for all organize things and get his memoir written.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Rhodes said. “I’ll call on him tomorrow. I’ve been badgering him for nearly five years now to let the
Dispatch
do the printing, once he’s finished the thing. Glad to know it’s finally going to happen.”

“I haven’t accepted the position yet,” Noah said.

Mr. Rhodes sat back. “Go on.”

“Before Josiah and I left on our adventure…” Noah told Rhodes about the portrait hanging in the office. Once he’d begun to talk, he raced through the entire story like a runner seeking a prize. He watched Mr. Rhodes’s expressions but couldn’t discern a thing. And with each passing moment, his heart pounded harder, until he thought surely the man must be hearing every single beat. “And so I wanted you to know.” He swallowed. “I want a family, and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize Emilie’s relationship with you all. If you can’t accept me—well. She’s said that won’t matter. But it does. To me.”

Rhodes frowned. “You’ve told Emilie about this?”

“Yes, sir. I didn’t want to seem to be hiding anything.”

“Well. I guess that explains her melancholy.”

“I didn’t mean to cause anyone pain, sir. But once I discovered the truth, I couldn’t see any way to move forward without telling her everything.”

Rhodes shook his head. “I wish you would have said all of this before you left, Shaw. It would have saved Emilie—and you—a great deal of unnecessary worry.” He rose and went to the window, where he stood looking out on the street, his back to Noah.

Noah cleared his throat. “Sir, I love Emilie. I want to make a life with her. I’m not a wealthy man, but my needs have been few over the years, and I have a good amount of money saved up. But as I said earlier, I want a family. I can’t tell you what it’s meant to be embraced by yours—as a friend. But if, in light of this revelation, you can’t accept me, then I’ll say good-bye and end things as painlessly as possible.”

Mr. Rhodes looked over his shoulder for a moment, then back out to the street. “You do have a flair for drama, Mr. Shaw.”

“Sir?”

Rhodes waved a hand in the air, then began to twirl his mustache again. Finally, he said, “Much ado about nothing. That’s what I think about all of this.” He turned about to face Noah. “What do you know about my parents, Mr. Shaw? My grandparents? What about Mrs. Rhodes’s parents?”

“I…um…I don’t know anything about them, sir.”

“Exactly. And you probably never will. There’s no reason to discuss them. Out here in the West, a man can make something of himself based on who
he
is—not because he inherited a name or a privilege.”

“Are you saying—”

Rhodes held up his hand. “Let me finish.” He cleared his throat. “It isn’t a subject of polite dinner conversation, of course, but it’s also no secret that sometimes in the West, folks entered into commitments to each other and had to wait until spring to finalize things with a circuit rider. I could name some names, but that’s not my point. My point is it happened. And when it did, people politely looked the other way. And no one called names when a child arrived ‘early.’” He paused. “So here’s what I have to say about the situation, Mr. Shaw. I have no intention of using what you just told me as a weapon. In sum, I don’t care if your father was a purple pied piper. I do care very much that you make my daughter happy.”

“Sir…I…thank you, sir.”

Rhodes nodded. “You’re welcome. And listen carefully, now: There is no need to go blathering on about this to anyone else. Emilie knows. I know. Let that be the extent of things. You’re the son of a good man. You’re a good man. May the tradition continue.” Mr. Rhodes bent down and, picking up Noah’s saddle bags, handed them to him. “Now get out of my office. I have work to do, and you have someone else to see.”

Emilie was sitting out on the little balcony just off her bedroom, Noah’s letter in hand, when she heard him ride in. How she knew it was Noah, she couldn’t say, but at the first sound of hoofbeats out on the road, she rose and went back inside. Setting the letter down on her writing desk, she flew across the room, into the hall, and down the back stairs, so quickly that by the time he was dismounting beneath the porte cochere, she was waiting on the bottom step—waiting to be taken into his arms. And she was not disappointed.

“I’m a ragged mess, but I couldn’t wait to see you.” He held her close.

“You’re my ragged mess, and I love you.” He smelled of dust and sweat, and she didn’t care. Finally, she looked past him at the horse. “So. This is Phil.” At the sound of his name, the horse brought his ears forward and turned toward her voice. “How do you do, Phil.” When Emilie reached up to stroke the animal’s muzzle, he dodged away. “Here, here,” she said, and grabbed his bridle. “We’ll have none of that.” She gently brought his head back around. “You have to get to know me.” This time, Phil stayed still. “In fact,” she said, “you should probably get to know Royal.” She looked over at Noah. “Shall we put him in a stall in the barn? See how the two of them do? You have to come in. I want to hear everything.”

“Will it be all right? Maybe it’s too late.”

“There is no ‘too late’ for you, Mr. Shaw.” Mother’s voice sounded from the top of the stairs. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Noah held his arms out. “As you can see, I’m really not fit for human company yet.”

“Nonsense,” Mother said. “Stable the horse and then come in. Dinah made lemon pie today. I’ll get you a piece. And coffee?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Did you have supper on the train?”

“I’m fine, ma’am.”

“Why, yes, Noah, I believe you are. But you’re probably hungry, as well.” Mother chuckled. “I’ll see to it.” And with that, she moved away from the door.

As Noah led Phil toward the barn, the animal stepped close and butted Emilie away.

“Hey,” Noah tightened his hold on the reins. “See what I mean about him being something of a Philistine?” He spoke to the horse. “You’re going to have to get over that. Make me choose, and I’ll choose her.”

Emilie laughed as she stroked the horse’s broad neck. “Hear that? This isn’t a contest. I’ve already won.”

Phil tossed his head and whickered. Royal answered from the barn. Emilie and Noah worked together unsaddling Phil and brushing him down, then turning him into the stall next to Royal’s. After a few minutes of snorting, the two horses settled down.

“I believe they’ve declared a truce,” Emilie said. Then she turned about and looked up at Noah again. “I knew it was you when I heard the horse out on the road.”

“How?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just did.” She took his hand. “Mother will be wondering where we’ve gotten off to.”

“She’ll know.” His dark eyes glimmered. He drew her close. “I’ve so much to tell you, I don’t know where to begin. But now…at this moment…somehow it doesn’t seem as important as it did before.”

“You came back to me.”

His grip tightened. “As long as I have breath in my body, I will always come back to you.” His lips found hers.

As their kiss deepened, Emilie stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him to her, eager…willing.

Breathless, Noah broke off and stepped back, taking her hand and pulling her after him as he strode out of the barn and toward the house. He paused at the foot of the stairs leading up to the side door. “All the way here, all the way from North Platte I wondered. And then after I spoke with your father—”

“You’ve seen Father?”

He nodded. “Yes. Before I came here. You do remember what I said about stolen kisses?”

“That you want more. A family. Like mine.”

“Yes. Aunts and uncles and cousins and second cousins and friends and friends of friends. Riotous birthdays, unforgettable Christmases. For you and me and our children.”

“How many children?”

“A dozen?”

She laughed. “I think you’ve skipped a step?”

“Right,” he nodded. “Engagement. But I’m not prepared. I don’t even have a
tiny
little garnet—”

“I don’t want a garnet.”

“Emerald? Diamond? Topaz?”

Emilie just shook her head. “All I want is you, Noah Shaw.”

“You say that now. But I can just hear the talk among the Spring Sisters. Twenty years from now, they’d still be talking about it.”

“They wouldn’t. They love you. Bert likes you. Mother and Aunt Cornelia approve. And Father thinks you’re fine.”

“And E. J. Starr? What does E. J. say to a life with a traveling man?”

“E. J. already has an idea for a series called From the Road.”

“From the Road. Good hook. I usually leave around the end of April.” He smiled down at her. “Think we could manage a wedding by then?”

“We could manage a wedding tonight.”

“I have a feeling your mother and your aunt Cornelia and your cousins might have something to say about that. I’m on their good side. I’d like to stay there.” He dropped to one knee. “Your mother’s watching out the window. How am I doing?”