Defying the Darkness Read online

  Defying the Darkness

  Cowboys and Angels Book 24

  by Amelia C. Adams

  With thanks to my beta readers—Amy, Joseph, Mary, Meisje, Renee, Shelby, and Tammy.

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill.

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  Table of Contents:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Mrs. Deveraux, recently of Boston, Massachusetts, considered herself to be quite the expert in ladies’ fashionable clothing. Lydia Pullman, resident of Creede, Colorado, disagreed, but when Mrs. Deveraux came to town and opened a dress shop, she was in need of seamstresses, Lydia was in need of a job, and that was that.

  It meant listening to Mrs. Deveraux prattle on for several hours a day about the grand fashions of Paris—a place where the woman had never been—and the charming manners of the Italians. She’d never met an Italian, Lydia was willing to bet, but if it meant earning a paycheck, Lydia would listen attentively, show the proper amount of awe, and occasionally ask a question.

  It’s not that all Mrs. Deveraux’s stories were boring. Some were actually quite entertaining. There was the one about the young lady who was coming down the staircase, got all tripped up in her skirts, and ended up going head over heels the rest of the way until she landed at the feet of her intended, who nearly died of embarrassment on the spot. Mrs. Deveraux saved the day by pulling out her needle and thread—always carried in her reticule, just in case—and sewing up the long rip in the hem of the gown. The duchess of something-or-another, the aunt of the young lady, had commended Mrs. Deveraux for her preparation and commanded that she be brought an extra pastry for her efforts.

  The woman had an equally improbable story for every occasion.

  After one particularly long day of sewing boning into the torso of a wedding gown, Lydia was more than happy to lay aside her work, gather up her things, and head outside. It was a bit chillier than she liked, and she pulled her cloak closer around her. Some hot tea at Home and Hearth sounded like just the thing, and she scurried that way quickly before her toes could freeze inside her boots.

  Rhona met her with a smile and showed her to an empty table near the back. “You’re just in time to avoid the rush,” the girl said in her soft accent. “What will it be for you tonight, then?”

  “Just some hot tea, please,” Lydia replied. “And maybe some stew and bread.” She was saving every penny she could toward starting over again, and she chose her meals simply. Someday, she’d make enough money to dine on steak and roast, but for now, she didn’t mind pretending that’s what she was eating. She had goals, and she could be patient while she worked toward them.

  Rhona came back just a moment later with her tray and served her tea and food, but she also set a plate of pie in front of her. “I wonder if you’d do me a favor. This plate was returned to the kitchen a few minutes ago because I put cinnamon on top, and the customer had requested no cinnamon. My brother hates food waste, and I don’t want him to scold me. Could you possibly eat this so I don’t have to throw it out? You’d be doing me such a favor.”

  Lydia shook her head. “You’re not a very convincing liar, Rhona.”

  “What do you mean? I think I’m very convincing.” Rhona flashed a smile.

  “I promise you, I’m quite all right. This dinner will do me very well.” She saw a flash of disappointment in Rhona’s eyes, so she went on, “But thank you. I appreciate your kindness, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

  “There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Rhona smiled again, then carried her tray back to the kitchen.

  Lydia was grateful for the pie, although she didn’t want Rhona to think she was a pauper . . . but then again, she practically was. She roomed in the back of an elderly woman’s house in exchange for making breakfast, cleaning up, and doing laundry. She had very few possessions, only two dresses, and her shoes were quite thin.

  All that was going to change, though. She would save her money and finally—finally—make it all the way out to California, where she had been headed when she had been waylaid in Creede. She didn’t want to think about that, though. That had been another time, and it didn’t have any bearing on who she was now or what she intended to do with her life.

  But her hands started to tremble, and she clasped them together under the table. She could calm herself down—she knew she could. A sip of tea, a bite of food—she would be all right. She was grateful Rhona had gone back into the kitchen—she didn’t want an audience at that moment.

  Once her breathing returned to normal, she ate the remainder of her food, then left the proper amount on the table—minus the cost of the pie, because she didn’t want to insult Rhona’s gift. She pulled on her gloves and made her way across the room to the door, opening it just as Julianne Fontaine and her husband, Hugh, entered.

  “Oh, Lydia! I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to run you over.” Julianne laughed. “I’m not as graceful on my feet as I’d like to be. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine,” Lydia replied. “My job is going well—I’m making a wedding dress this week.”

  “Oh, that sounds wonderful. You’re so talented—I’m glad you found that job.”

  “Thank you. I do feel very fortunate.”

  “I’m sorry to have missed you—do you have to leave? Maybe you could visit with us while we have our supper.”

  Every word Julianne spoke was sincere, but she couldn’t know the effect her voice had on Lydia. That voice was one of the few Lydia had heard while they were in captivity together, held in a cellar by men who wanted to sell them and make a profit off them. Julianne had never been anything but kind and supportive, but her voice brought back memories of utter terror, and Lydia needed to excuse herself before the trembling set in again.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me—I’m so tired, and I need to finish the dress tomorrow.”

  Julianne wished her well, and Hugh touched the brim of his hat as she left. Lydia wished she could act normally around them—it would be such a burden lifted from her shoulders. Almost all of the other captives had moved on with their lives, some finding love and happiness with wonderful men who cherished them. She doubted that any of them dealt with the aftermath as she did—suffering from nightmares, being afraid of the dark, becoming alarmed at sudden noises. If they did have these same lingering effects, none of them showed it—they all seemed happy and well recovered. Maybe she was the weakest of the bunch.

  As she walked home, she passed by the new little bookshop that had been opened two weeks previously. The owner, a quiet man who wore a small pair of spectacles on the tip of his nose and had a wave of brown hair that flopped into his eyes, called out to her as she walked past. “Miss Pullman! Oh, Miss Pullman!”

  She wanted to get home, but she couldn’t walk so near and pretend that she didn’t hear him. That would be quite rude, and she might be a lot of things, but rude wasn’t one of them. She turned and put on her best smile. “Hello, Mr. Redfern! How are you tonight?”

  “I’m quite all right. Thank you for returning the book you borrowed—I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you came, but my shop assistant told me about your visit.”

  “It was a very good book. I appreciate the loan.”

  “I plan to make several of the older titles available as sort of a lending library. Do you think something like that would go over well in Creede?”

  “It should, considering that we don’t have
any other sort of library. Have you chosen any titles for that collection yet?”

  “I haven’t, but I did consider asking if you’d help me.” He seemed so nervous in his request, Lydia thought it amazing that he didn’t topple over right there in his doorway. “Do you have some time over the next several days that you might be willing to spare for me? You’re quite a voracious reader, from what I gather.”

  “I do read everything I can get my hands on. Yes, I’d be more than glad to help, and I can come over on Saturday at four o’clock.”

  “Thank you, Miss Pullman. You’re saving me quite a bit of confusion and hassle. I’ll see you at four.” He paused. “Would you like to choose a book to take home this evening? I’m about to close my doors, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

  She smiled. “I’ll take you up on that another evening, if that’s all right. I’ve been sewing all day, and my eyes are quite tired.” She sewed every day and her eyes were always tired, but she really needed to find some solitude. As grateful as she was for Mr. Redfern’s offer, she felt like picking up her skirts and running the rest of the way home—that certainly wouldn’t draw any attention or raise any eyebrows.

  “Certainly. Any time. Have a good evening.” Mr. Redfern gave her a little bow, and she inclined her head before walking way. He was so formal, rather caught up in an older way of doing things, but she didn’t mind. Sometimes she very much disliked the more casual manners that were coming about as of late. Some people called it progress. She called it a shame.

  When she reached the home where she lived, she went inside and called out to Mrs. North, the woman she worked for. “I’m back! Did you have a good day?”

  “Oh, not so much that you would call good,” Mrs. North replied from her rocking chair in front of the fire. “But I didn’t die, and neither did anyone else I know, so I have to be grateful for that, I suppose.”

  “That sounds like a good day to me.” Lydia moved over to the fire and put on a few more pieces of wood. Mrs. North’s health problems were sometimes overwhelming, but the woman did try to face everything with a bit of dry humor. It was the best way to approach life when it seemed too much to handle.

  “Young Willie Meeks brought me some mail, which was refreshing,” Mrs. North went on. “I’ve heard from my sister in Denver. It turns out, her daughter had a baby boy last month. They named him Aristotle. Can you imagine? What would a child in this day and age do with a name like Aristotle? My sister started calling him Artie, and that seems to be sticking. Personally, when I hear the name ‘Artie,’ I picture a boy with ginger hair and freckles, with ears sticking out like wings on either side of his head. Why do you suppose I imagine that?”

  “Perhaps you knew a boy like that when you were young,” Lydia suggested, chuckling a little at the mental image she now had of the poor unfortunate tyke. She wanted to escape to her room—that’s why she’d hurried home, after all—but Mrs. North’s cheery attitude was helping her put herself to rights again.

  “Hmm. I don’t know. I’ll have to think about that. I’m not sure I ever knew a boy named Artie . . .” Mrs. North prattled on while Lydia cleared the bowl of soup from the table and did a few other things to set the kitchen to rights. Mrs. North had limited mobility, but as long as Lydia made sure there was something in the icebox every day, the woman could fetch it for herself. She was glad to be able to do this small bit of work in exchange for a place to live—a few other girls in town had found similar situations, and for the most part, it seemed to work out well for the girls as well as for the elderly they cared for.

  “Lydia.”

  Mrs. North’s voice pulled her back to the moment. “Yes?”

  “Come sit down with me for a moment.”

  Lydia set down the rag she was using to wipe the table and came to sit near the fire. “What is it, Mrs. North?”

  “I’m concerned about you, child. You don’t seem quite yourself tonight. Have you had a bad day?”

  Mrs. North was one of the few who knew about Lydia’s moments of anxiety. It was a difficult thing to discuss, but Lydia had felt Mrs. North should know, and she’d never regretted telling her. The older woman had shown her a great deal of kindness, and at times had even offered advice that had proven to be helpful.

  “Overall, the day went quite well, but I stopped by Heart and Home, and I ran into Julianne Fontaine.”

  “I see.” Mrs. North nodded. “And that reminded you.”

  “It did. The worst of it is, Julianne is the kindest person alive. She kept me going in some of the darkest moments in that cellar. I wish I could let go of this horrible anxiety and stop overreacting whenever I see her, but my heart starts to pound and my palms get sweaty, and . . . I don’t know.” Lydia rested her chin in the palm of her hand and stared into the fire. “I’m a grown woman, Mrs. North. Why am I behaving like such a child?”

  Mrs. North chuckled. “From where I’m sitting, you’re still quite young, but also from where I’m sitting, you’ve been through a great deal. Be patient with yourself, Lydia. Give yourself time.”

  “It’s been a year and a half, though. I thought these fears would have diminished by now.”

  “I think it would do you some good to talk to Julianne and tell her what you’ve been experiencing.”

  Lydia’s gaze flew to Mrs. North’s face. “I don’t know if I could do that. I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world.”

  “If you’re avoiding her whenever you see her in public, that might be hurting her feelings too,” Mrs. North said gently. “If you talk to her and explain, it might clear much of the air between you.”

  Lydia sat back and thought about it. She certainly didn’t want to make Julianne think she was disliked in any way, and perhaps talking about her experience with someone who had also been there . . . it was worth considering.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said at last.

  Mrs. North smiled. “Good girl. I know you work hard to keep your chin up and to plow forward, but sometimes we need to stop and fix the things that are slowing us down instead of ignoring them.”

  There was no fixing the past—that wasn’t in question. But if Lydia could fix how she reacted to it, that could very well change the rest of her life. “Thank you, Mrs. North. I’ll think about it—I really will. Now, do you need anything before I go to bed?”

  “I’m quite well, thank you. Toria Jackson brought me over the nicest meat pie for my dinner. There’s some in the icebox for you—I should have mentioned it when you first came in.”

  “That’s all right.” Lydia checked the level on the fire, then stood. “I’ll be off to bed, then. Have a good night.”

  “You too, my dear.”

  Lydia changed for bed and climbed in, pulling the covers up to her chin and thinking about what Mrs. North had said. Talking to Julianne would be difficult, but perhaps it wouldn’t be as difficult as avoiding her and pretending nothing was wrong.

  ***

  Bradley Murdoch was more discontent than he’d ever been in his life, and there was absolutely no reason for it. He had a successful window installation business, he owned a charming little house on the edge of town, he had friends and family and laughter and fun—and yet a pit in the center of his stomach gnawed at him endlessly, giving him no rest. It was no mystery what had caused it—it appeared the day Lydia Pullman had gotten on a train for California, and it hadn’t let up a single second since.

  He clearly remembered the first time he’d ever seen Lydia. She’d walked into church wearing a pretty pink dress, her hair tied up in a ribbon, and she was as bright and fresh as anything he’d ever seen. He had been drawn to her from that moment, and her hold on him had never loosened. The problem had been getting her to feel the same way about him.

  “I’m not the sort of girl who gets married and settles down in any one place,” she’d told him. “I have dreams—big dreams—and I’m going to California to find them.”

  “But what’s in California that you can’t
find here?”

  She’d laughed. “Everything! Look around you, Bradley—there’s nothing but fields of wheat, fields of corn, fields of mud. Iowa has nothing to offer me.”

  “It has me,” he’d said, hoping that would be enough.

  She’d touched his cheek. “You’re a good man, Bradley Murdoch, but I’m not the marrying kind. I’ve loved the time we’ve spent together—you’re truly one of my dearest friends—but this isn’t the path I’ve chosen for myself. I’m sorry.”

  She’d gotten herself a job working as a secretary for a playwright, believing that within a short amount of time, she’d be on the stage herself, and she’d climbed on the train and waved from the back platform. Both her parents had passed away and there was no one to stop her—although Bradley had done everything he could. He just wasn’t what she wanted or needed, even though she had meant his entire world.

  He’d spent the first month she was gone angry with her, even though she’d been clear about her feelings from the start. He’d spent the following three months working hard so he wouldn’t have any feelings at all. Then he’d decided it was time to find another young lady to fill up that hole in his heart. There had been several pretty, bright, friendly, suitable girls in town, but none were quite right. And now—now he was thinking there would be no one else, and that he’d better consign himself to a life of bachelorhood. That meant getting himself an old hound dog with droopy ears to sit on the porch with him on summer evenings and listen to him strum an out-of-tune guitar. Or maybe play a harmonica. That’s where he got tangled up—he couldn’t decide between the two, and this was an important life choice.

  “Bradley, I need you to sign off on this window installation.” Carl, his assistant, walked up to him with a sheet of paper, and Bradley signed it automatically. Carl paused before going back to his desk. “So, how long is this going to go on?”

  “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

  Carl leaned against the edge of Bradley’s desk. “Lydia. When are you going to move past this?”