A Free Heart Read online

  “I did. I thought you should have the chance to go, and I also told him I’d be willing to act as your escort. I probably shouldn’t have said anything, and I’m sorry if I interfered. I just didn’t want you to miss out.”

  She held up a hand. “I’ve actually come to thank you.”“To thank me? You mean, I did something right?” He pasted a look of mock surprise on his face. “I didn’t think such a thing was possible.”

  Harriet looked down. This wasn’t easy for her—she’d come face-to-face with her pride many times, and she was never happy with what she saw. “And I’d like to apologize. But not just because you did something nice for me,” she rushed on. “I should have apologized days ago. I’ve given you a hard time, and you didn’t deserve it. I hope you can forgive me.”

  She expected another teasing rebuke, but instead, Tom nodded. “I appreciate that, Miss Martin, and I’m more than willing to let bygones be bygones. But there’s one thing we’ve got to get straight.”

  She lifted her head, wondering what ridiculous thing he was going to ask for. “Yes?”

  “You’ve got to start calling me Tom. It’s my name, it’s what I answer to, and it makes me feel like I’m at home. What do you say?”His smile was so frank and sincere, she couldn’t help but answer it with one of her own. “And you must call me Harriet. Are we friends, then?”

  His smile grew into a grin. “Yes, Harriet, we’re friends. And when are we going to Salina?”

  “Mr. Brody suggested Monday.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll see how much of this roof I can get repaired in the meantime, and then we’ll go.” He moved as if to climb back up the ladder, but then he paused and held out his hand. Harriet took it, surprised.

  “I’m glad we’ve called this truce,” he said. “It’s been weighing on my mind since the first day.”

  “I’m glad too,” she replied. It did feel as though a burden had been lifted, but even more than that was the sensation of warmth and comfort that spread up her arm from his fingers. It unnerved her, being so unexpected.

  “What will you do about the roof?” she asked. “Can you leave it undone like this?”

  “I’ll put an oilcloth over it while we’re gone,” Tom said, glancing up at the structure. “It will be all right.”

  “All right,” she said, aware that she was echoing him, but unable to come up with anything else to say. “I’d best be getting inside. I need to finish slicing bread to get ready for the train.”

  Tom let go of her hand as if he hadn’t meant to grasp it so long. “You’d better,” he said, grinning. “That bread isn’t going to slice itself.”

  Harriet scurried into the kitchen and put her apron back on, wondering at the heat she felt in her cheeks. That couldn’t have been brought on by Tom White. Yes, they’d called a truce, but he was every bit as much of a rapscallion as he’d ever been.

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday morning dawned clear and bright. There had been a slight cloud cover on Friday, which worried Elizabeth and caused Tom to put up an oilcloth over the exposed roof. When Elizabeth married George, it had been in the middle of a thunderstorm. While she’d never been one to believe in superstition, she had come to believe that just maybe the storm had been a portent of things to come. As she stood at her bedroom window on this, her second wedding day, she smiled. The sky was entirely clear, and maybe it was even a little more blue than usual.

  “Are you ready, dear?” Agatha asked, coming up behind Elizabeth and placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m more than ready, Mother.” The preparations had all gone smoothly. Caroline had kept Olivia so busy that even if there was a mischievous plan afoot, there hadn’t been time to carry it out. Abigail and Jeanette had worked tirelessly to help finish the embroidery on the gown, Agatha had created a masterpiece of a wedding cake, and Harriet—Elizabeth smiled. Harriet had tried to be helpful, but her lack of domestic skills had been a bit problematic. They’d finally asked her to be in charge of keeping the dining room set up while the rest of them focused on the wedding. She hadn’t been happy about it, but she understood.

  Elizabeth bathed, then slipped into her beautiful gown. It was simple, but elegant, and she couldn’t wait for Adam to see it. Then she sat down, and her mother brushed and coiled her hair into a beautiful coronet.

  A light tapping sounded at the door, and Harriet peeked into the room. “Is it all right if I come in?” she asked.

  “Of course it’s all right.” Elizabeth gasped when she saw what Harriet carried in her arms.

  “I was out walking, and I passed this beautiful flower garden. I don’t know what you planned to do with your hair, but these little blooms seemed perfect, so I went up the walk and told the lady who owned the house that we were preparing for a wedding, and she gladly gave me some.” Harriet nodded toward the flowers she held. “Will they work?”“They’re lovely.” Agatha took one stem and worked it into Elizabeth’s bun, then stepped back to survey the effect. “Yes, they’ll work very well.” She moved quickly, placing the rest, and then gestured for Elizabeth to stand in front of the mirror.

  Elizabeth turned her head from side to side, admiring the way she looked. Her mother had done a beautiful job with her hair, and Harriet’s flowers were a sweet touch. “Thank you,” she said to both of them.

  Harriet had scooped up Rose and now swayed with her. “We’d better get downstairs if we’re going to have a wedding,” she said.

  They’d given a lot of thought as to where to hold the ceremony. When the weather had played tricks on them the day before, they’d considered holding the wedding inside, but that would have required moving the dining room tables, and they really had nowhere else to put them. Today was a different story, and Elizabeth stepped through the lobby and out onto the front porch. The chairs from the dining room had been set up in rows on the lawn, and Tom had built an arch where the bride and groom would stand.

  The assembled guests all rose, and the groom took his place under the arch next to the judge. Elizabeth’s breath caught when she saw Adam. Could it be that this wonderful, generous man would actually be her husband? She expected that at any moment, someone would wake her up from this dream. Things like this couldn’t possibly really happen.

  But then she was walking down the aisle, and she was taking Adam’s hands and looking into his eyes. They were so warm, so full of love that she nearly cried. This was real. He was hers, and he would protect her and love her all the days of her life and help her make a wonderful home for Rose.

  The judge cleared his throat, and Elizabeth tore her gaze away from Adam and focused. She remembered to say all the right words in all the right places, but that was a miracle in and of itself. All she wanted to do was melt in Adam’s arms and forget there were so many people watching.

  After what felt like forever, but was probably only five minutes, they were pronounced man and wife, and Adam swooped her up into his arms. The kiss he gave her was one of the sweetest triumph, and it was over far too soon. As he let her go, a huge shout went up, and she turned to face the congregation with a smile on her face. She was now Elizabeth Brody. She never wanted to be anyone else.

  Agatha sat on the second row, holding a sleeping Rose, wiping at the tears that flowed without ceasing. Elizabeth smiled at her mother through her own tears. Everyone she loved was here—everyone.

  Jeanette and Abigail began to serve the cake, and Harriet ladled out the punch. As Adam and Elizabeth moved through the crowd of townsfolk to greet their guests, a tall, slender young man approached, his hat in his hands. “Mr. and Mrs. Brody, I’m Pastor Robert Osbourne. We haven’t had the pleasure yet.”

  Adam extended his hand. “I’m sorry we haven’t been down to your chapel, Pastor. We’ve been very busy getting the hotel up and running.”

  The man nodded. “I understand completely. This is rough land, and it takes a considerable amount of effort to start up any new enterprise. May I ask if either of you are religious?”

 
; “I attended church regularly back in New York, but since I’ve come out here, I’m afraid I’ve fallen into lazy habits.” Adam chuckled. “I would like to begin attending again.”

  “We’d welcome you most warmly,” the pastor said. Then he turned to Elizabeth. “And you, Mrs. Brody?”She liked the sound of that so much that she almost forgot to answer his question. “Yes, we’ve always worshipped in my family.” She wondered how much she should say, but then decided it was best to plunge in. Who else could she trust with the story of her past than a man of the cloth? “My first husband didn’t care for religion, so he kept me away from it. Since he passed, I’ve been eager to become involved again. Like Mr. Brody, though, I’ve been quite busy as of late.”

  Pastor Osbourne didn’t so much as flicker an eyelash at what she’d said. “Any time you’d like to stop in, we’d love to have you. Our Sunday services are at nine, and the invitation is extended to your entire staff. Congratulations on your marriage, both of you.” He bowed slightly and moved off to chat with the other guests.

  “I hope he doesn’t feel slighted that we held the ceremony here at the hotel,” Elizabeth whispered, clutching Adam’s sleeve.

  “Would you have preferred a church wedding? We could have changed our plans,” Adam replied, searching her face.

  “Oh, no! I wouldn’t have dreamed of getting married anywhere else. To be honest, it’s been so long since I was able to attend church, it never entered my mind. But Pastor Osbourne does seem like a very nice man, and I think I’d like to give his services a try.”

  “Then we shall.” Adam leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I’ll go wherever you lead me, my love.”

  “I’d rather walk side by side.”

  “Even better.”

  They drank punch and ate cake, danced on the grass and laughed. Then Adam took Elizabeth’s hand and led her around the hotel and across the grass to the caretaker’s cottage, which had been refurbished and stood ready for them. “This is just temporary,” he said as he opened the door. “Our quarters will be ready soon, and that’s where we’ll live and raise our family and grow very, very old together.”

  “I don’t mind it at all,” Elizabeth said, reaching up to trace his jaw. “As long as I get to be here with you.”

  Adam grinned, then scooped her up into his arms and kicked the door closed behind them.

  Chapter Eight

  Harriet fidgeted as she stood on the porch, waiting for Tom. Her mother would be extremely displeased—she always taught that a polite Southern lady never fidgeted, but waited patiently, hands folded, a calm expression on her face. Well, Harriet wasn’t in the South anymore, and she had always struggled with politeness. If Tom didn’t hurry, they’d have to wait for the afternoon train, and that wasn’t something she was interested in doing at all.

  When Tom rounded the corner of the hotel carrying a small valise, she blinked and looked twice to make sure it was him. His hair had been cut, and he wore a freshly pressed shirt and pants. His Colt was slung around his hips in a worn leather holster that had been oiled until it gleamed. She was so used to seeing him in work clothes that this was a refreshing change.

  “I like your hair,” she said after a moment of speechlessness. She tried to excuse the beating of her heart, but it only beat faster as he stepped closer.

  “Miss Hampton cut it for me last night,” he said, tugging on his collar. “I wanted to look a little more respectable to be seen out in public with you.”

  “You didn’t look unrespectable before,” Harriet said. “But you do look nicer now.” She couldn’t believe she’d said that. Her mother would have locked her in her bedroom for being so forward. Remember, you were mad at him, she reminded herself. You’ve called a truce, but that doesn’t mean you have to compliment him.

  He bobbed his head. “Thank you. And you always look nice. But you know that.” He bent and picked up her carpet bag before she had a chance to reply. Would he keep astonishing her like this all day?

  When Harriet had stepped off the train in Topeka after her long trip from Atlanta, she had vowed not to step foot on another train for at least six months. But now she had a good reason to break that vow. Talking to Jane, even if it was just for a moment, would give her heart the comfort it needed. She knew she had to put Sam behind her—she had to. He wasn’t coming back, no matter how badly she wished it. Another train ride was all that stood between her and the chance to put her sorrow to rest, and so she took her seat and gazed out the window, praying for the wheels to start turning so they could be on their way.

  “First time I ever rode on a train, I thought the devil was after me,” Tom said, settling down next to her and resting his hat on his knee. “Between the smoke and loud noise—all that was missing was the man himself.”

  “Did you come from a religious home, then?” Harriet was curious despite herself. Tom had a way of putting things that made them seem alive in her mind.

  “Well, I guess that all depends on what you consider religious.” He scratched his chin. “My grandmother certainly tried to put the fear in us. She had a Bible on a table in the corner of the parlor, and it was full of watercolor paintings of Adam and Eve and Satan and the Good Lord. Looking at that book was the only thing I was allowed to do on Sunday afternoons, so you might say it’s all burned in my brain. I didn’t stick with it as I got older, though.”

  “And where was your grandmother’s house?”

  “Wichita. I started traveling around when I was about fifteen, though—been on the road and rails ever since, finding jobs here and there.”

  A strained note had entered Tom’s voice, and Harriet turned to look at him directly. “Why did you leave, Tom?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment. Instead, he fingered the brim of his hat, and Harriet wondered if she’d asked something too personal. She often didn’t know when to stop prying, and it had gotten her into trouble many times in the past.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “We can change the subject.”

  “No, that’s all right. I just haven’t talked about that day much.” Tom paused again and cleared his throat. “Well, it was me and my mother living with my grandma. I hadn’t seen my father for a few years—he liked to drink, and my mother had told him he needed to stop. He wasn’t ever happy unless he had a bottle in his fist, so he took off and told us he didn’t need us anymore. We were getting along fine, but then he showed up one day and told my mother she was coming back home with him.”

  The conductor came down the aisle just then, and Tom paused until they’d handed over their tickets. After the man had worked his way down several more rows, Tom turned back to Harriet. “My mother told him she wasn’t going, that she could smell whiskey on his breath. I’d heard them shouting from outside and came in just in time to see him strike her. I tried to get between them, but he punched me good and hard and then pulled out his gun.”

  Harriet realized she was holding her breath and forced herself to exhale. “Then what?” she asked when he fell silent.

  “He shot my mother and left.”

  “Oh, no.” Harriet pressed a hand to her mouth. “And you saw . . .”

  Tom nodded.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She wanted to reach out and touch his arm, but didn’t.

  “My grandmother fell ill because of grief and went to live with her sister. I was sent to live with my uncle, but he was a mean man and liked to use his whip for more than just training horses, so I left. I’ve been traveling ever since, and I’ve had a lot of adventures. So you’re not to feel sorry for me, Miss Martin.” He grinned when he used her surname. “I go where I want, I do what I want, and no one has me tied down. Mr. Brody’s been a good boss, though—I might stay in Topeka for a while.”

  Harriet mulled that over. What did the future hold for her? After she met with Jane, would she go back to Atlanta? She just didn’t know.

  “There’s one part of your story you’ve left out, and it’s one I’m particularly anxious to hear,
” she said.

  “Oh?” Tom raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes. It’s about this Miss Beulah May Evans. It seems that I have a right to know all about her, considering that you mistook me for her once upon a time.”

  Tom’s cheeks colored. “You’re right—you do deserve to know about her. Well, she lived in the house right next door to my grandmother’s. She was a spunky little spitfire, a lot like you—I guess that’s common with redheads.”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Harriet said. Many was the time she had cursed her red hair and her mother’s Irish heritage, which had made all the women in the family for the last three generations a bit difficult to handle.

  “Beulah May was about fourteen years old when I decided I was going to marry her. I told her that one day while we were out picking corn—our fields touched on one side, and we liked to work that side together and talk. Made things go much faster. Anyway, she didn’t seem to like the idea too much, so I set down my basket, pulled her to me, and kissed her.”

  “Oh, so you have a habit of grabbing and kissing women.” Harriet shook her head in secret amusement. She should have been angry, but she couldn’t bring herself to it this time. “I’m sure you could come up with another way that would be more persuasive.”

  “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with my powers of persuasion,” Tom said, another grin crossing his face. “As soon as I let her go, she promised to marry me on her sixteenth birthday. But then my mother died, and I left.”

  “Did you ever go back to see her?” Harriet asked.

  “I did, once. About two years ago. She’d married someone else and had settled down to raise a family. She told me she thought about me once in a while, but that it was probably all for the best that we hadn’t gotten hitched.”

  “So when you kissed me, thinking I was Beulah May, you thought you were kissing a married woman? For shame, Mr. White! I hardly know what to think.”

  He looked down at his hands, his cheeks red again. “This may sound foolish, but for a moment, I thought I’d somehow gone back in time and she was fourteen years old again. I forgot all about her husband and children—it was just the two of us in that cornfield.”