Remembered Page 26

“Oh, these eyes of mine aren’t readin’ much of anything these days. Claire was reading to me earlier. She’s sweet to be doin’ it but much too busy to be bothered.” Miss Maudie smiled and patted the cushion beside her. “I’ve heard a rumor, Mr. Brennan, that you’ll soon be buyin’ yourself some land. Would there be any truth to that at all?”

  He sat down, careful to lay his hat on the floor. “Now, where on earth would you be hearin’ that from? And what broodin’ fool has been spillin’ his mouth about my personal business, I have to ask ya?”

  Hand to her mouth, she giggled. “I love it when you speak with the brogue, Mr. Brennan. Takes me back some years. If I close my eyes,” and she did, “I’d for sure be thinkin’ my younger brother Danny was in the room with us.” She peered at Jack again, her gaze thoughtful. “You remind me of him, you know—very much. He was a handsome man. Tall and strappin’, like you, and with a heart as good as ever could be had by a mortal. I’ve a notion the same heart beats within your chest, Mr. Brennan.”

  “I appreciate your kindness, ma’am. Is . . . your brother gone now?”

  “Oh, my yes.” She nodded. “He left the family first, God bless his soul. Only twenty-six years he walked this earth. My parents never did get over his passin’, but I didn’t hold that against them. Some people we love have a way of workin’ themselves into us so much that even after they’re gone, they’re still here in so many ways.”

  The manner in which she looked at him made Jack feel as though she already knew his story. “Yes, ma’am, I believe that’s true. We carry bits and pieces of them inside us.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Like precious little jewels.” With a soft laugh, she pointed to a silver tea service on the table. “If you’ve time to spare, would you do the honors of pourin’ us each a cup, Mr. Brennan? And then let’s return the conversation to the subject of land.”

  Jack poured as she directed and handed her a cup, not at all comfortable with the procedure but not making too big of a mess. He wiped up the few stray drops with a towel lying beside the tray.

  “Tell me about this land of yours, now. And I have my sources, Mr. Brennan, to be sure. They’re reliable too, so don’t you be tryin’ to pass any falsehoods along to me.”

  “I’d never try that, ma’am. I fear you’d find me out, and then I’d be in for it.” He smiled and took a sip. “You heard rightly, Miss Maudie. I’ve got a bid in for a piece of land west of town, about a two hour ride out. Runs along the border of Fountain Creek on up the mountain a ways.”

  “Along Fountain Creek, you say.” Her voice grew soft.

  “Runs adjacent to it. Someone else already owns the land abutting the section I’m interested in. So I’d have some ready made neighbors when I start to build.”

  Her features softened with question. “And have you met these neighbors yet, Mr. Brennan?”

  “Oh no, ma’am. I’m still waiting to find out from Mr. Clayton at the title office if the owner’s accepted my offer.” He leaned close, lowering his voice. “Seems I have to be interviewed by the owner first. I’m still waiting for Clayton to set up the meeting. Guess they won’t sell to just anyone, according to Clayton.”

  Miss Maudie lowered her cup and cradled it in her lap. “Yes, I’d be knowin’ that’s the owner’s preference, from personal experience, you might say.”

  Jack went stock-still, his china cup poised in midair. And then it hit him. Miss Maudelaine Mahoney could be the owner of that property. He placed his cup on the table, sorting back through their conversation for anything contrary he might have said. “Miss Maudie, if I’ve spoken out of turn in any way, ma’am, I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to—”

  She reached over and squeezed his arm. “I tried my hand at buyin’ some of that land a coupl’a years back. Oh, I didn’t need it for myself, of course. I had in mind to give it as a gift, to some friends.”

  Jack exhaled. “That’s an awfully nice gift.”

  She lifted her brow. “They’re awfully nice friends.” She held out her cup, and Jack refilled it. “But the owner wouldn’t sell to me. Guess I didn’t pass muster in their opinion. But no mind, it’s all part of God’s great design. I wasn’t meant to have it, but perhaps that’s because . . . you were.”

  Jack let this new information sink in and wasn’t encouraged by it. If the owner wouldn’t sell to Miss Maudie, as fine a woman as she was and with her good reputation known throughout Willow Springs, his chances seemed slim at best.

  Claire Stewartson appeared in the doorway. “Is there anything I can get for either of you? I need to head out to the smokehouse for something. I won’t be long.”

  “No, my dear, we’re fine. You go on ahead. I wish I could be followin’ you out there, though. The day looks so grand.”

  After Claire left, Jack moved his cup from the table to the tray and stood. “Miss Maudie, would you do me the honor of allowing me to . . . escort you around the grounds of Casaroja?”

  She peered up at him, confused. Then a pleasant expression moved across her features. “Are you proposin’ what I think you are, Mr. Brennan? If so, I’m not sure my old ticker will be able to stand it. But if not, I’ll die one happy woman, truth be told!”

  Laughing, he leaned down and gathered her in his arms. Her weight was less than he’d anticipated, and even through her clothes, he sensed the frailness in her bones. He pushed the screen door open with his shoulder, careful that it didn’t bump her leg.

  “Please let me know if I’m hurting you. I don’t want Doc Hadley after me.”

  Miss Maudie slipped her arms around his shoulders. “That old coot! I wish he’d drive up in that buggy of his right now and see us traipsin’ across the yard. That would bust every one of his buttons.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “Oh, the sun feels so good on my skin. Let’s go sit, just over there.” She pointed to a grassy area beneath a large cottonwood, by a cottage set off to the side.

  Jack eased her down and joined her on the grass. “I sure do admire all you’ve accomplished here, Miss Maudie.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t me who did this.” Her gaze traveled over the pastures, the main house, and the barn before resting on the cottage. “It was my nephew, Donlyn, who built all this. I only inherited it, by default you might say, and have simply tried to keep things goin’.”

  “You’ve done more than keep things going, ma’am. You’ve made it thrive.”

  “God has done that, Mr. Brennan. I’ve only been as good a steward of His gift as I could be.”

  The warble of birds in the tree overhead drew their attention, and Jack’s thoughts went to the land he hoped to purchase. Silently, but certain heaven was listening, he made a pledge. If given that land, Father, I’ll be as good a steward of it as I know how to be. And even better, with you beside me.

  When he looked at Miss Maudie again, sadness had settled over her features. Before he could speak, she turned to him.

  “My nephew is in jail, Mr. Brennan.” Tears filled her eyes. “For tryin’ to kill a man over the very land you’re seekin’ to purchase.”

  Stunned, Jack couldn’t have spoken if he’d wanted to. But the comments that Thomas and Claire Stewartson had made about Miss Maudie’s past struggles suddenly became clearer. And more tragic.

  “I don’t even know where my nephew is now. Only that he’s somewhere back East. He wants nothing to do with me, and they say that’s his right to be left alone.” Miss Maudie worried the hem of her dress sleeve. “I’ve written to him, care of the Denver judge who sentenced him, but I haven’t heard from Donlyn except once. And I won’t be repeatin’ what he wrote in that letter.” She bowed her head. “But neither will I be forgettin’ it anytime soon,” she whispered.

  Unable to think of anything worthy of being spoken in light of what she’d shared, Jack reached over and covered the older woman’s hand.

  She sighed. “You’ve a kindness about you, Jack Brennan. I saw it in your eyes that day I fell, and when you helped Thomas carry me back to m
y room. In my experience that depth of kindness doesn’t come without a refining of some sort.”

  Early on, Jack had sensed something special about this woman. She had a strength about her, a determination in her spirit, that he admired, and he knew exactly what she was asking. “In April of ’56, my wife and I decided to head west. We had a son, Aaron.” Jack remembered the morning they’d loaded up. He even recalled the last thing he’d packed into that wagon—Mary’s trunk of books. She’d wanted to keep them close so she could read them as they journeyed. Strange how some memories faded with time, while others, seemingly less important, remained clear. “Aaron was only a year old. He didn’t really understand what was going on, but he was so excited.”

  Miss Maudie was attentive as he told her about his past. She shared more about her nephew, how she’d raised Donlyn MacGregor, and about their coming to the Colorado Territory and starting Casaroja. Jack got the impression that no matter how long they went on, the dear woman would have been pleased to sit there and talk all day. But he had shipments to make to other vendors in town, and he needed to get to them.

  He rose and scooped her into his arms.

  “Thank you, Mr. Brennan, for takin’ the time to visit with an old woman. It always amazes me to see how God will work in a person’s life, if they’ll only let Him.”

  Jack carried her inside and, at her request, situated her in her bed. “And I thank you for sharing with me about your nephew, Miss Maudie. And for the delicious tea and the enjoyable company.”

  She caught hold of his hand as he turned, her expression earnest. “So many times I’ve wondered what I might have done differently with my Donlyn. What I could have changed in my raisin’ him that would’ve prevented his heart from turnin’ so hard. You see, he lost his wife and child just like you did. And for the longest time I thought that was the turnin’ point for him. That if only God hadn’t allowed that to happen to him, things would’ve been different.” She sighed. “But I see now how wrong I was. The same thing happened to you, but you chose a different path, Mr. Brennan. You chose the better one.”

  Jack cradled her frail hand between his. “I honestly don’t remember choosing any path, Miss Maudie.” He hesitated, and swallowed against the tightening in his throat. “I just remember being so lost at the time I didn’t know where else to turn, other than to Him. He was the only solid thing in my life. He still is.”

  Tears fell from her eyes. Her grip tightened. “For us both, Jack. For us both.”

  ————

  Véronique packed quickly for another day-trip to a mining camp, wishing she’d done it the night before. But she and Lilly had stayed up late comparing life in France to life in America, talking about boys in both countries, and anything else that had entered their minds. Surprisingly, Lilly hadn’t broached the subject of her chirurgie, so Véronique hadn’t either.

  Nearly a month had passed since she’d visited with Dr. Hadley about her desire to cover the expenses for Lilly’s procédure. He’d said the chirurgien in Boston could take up to two months to give his response, but she hoped it would be sooner than that, and that the word received from him would be positive. Then at least Pastor and Mrs. Carlson would have the option to elect for their daughter to have the operation, or not.

  Véronique limited the number of items she was taking with her. Past experience told her she packed far too many things she never used. Only the essentials this time, especially since she’d grown weary of lugging her valise all the way to the livery.

  She really should have insisted upon Jack picking her up in front of the hotel. A wicked enjoyment skittered through her, imagining the feigned scowl on his face if she did.

  Over the past couple of weeks, they’d visited eight new mining towns, all with the same result. Each time, Jack returned with an empty wagon. And she returned with an empty dream. But there were another thirty mining towns yet to visit, so hope still existed. However thinning.

  The valise latched this time without the least struggle. Closing the door behind her, Véronique caught it the second before it latched. She stepped back inside and crossed to the trunk standing open in the corner. Laying aside her bag, she rummaged through the clothing until her hand finally brushed against something. She withdrew the bundle and fingered the ribbon still tied tight by her mother’s hand.

  Véronique stared at her father’s letters. I will read them again Maman. Every one. For you.

  A draft moved through the room, causing a chill up her back. Véronique turned to close the window but discovered it already closed, with the latch securely fastened.

  Then she felt it again.

  A brush of air. This time not on her skin as before. But within. Like a flutter in her chest, a whispered breath. She closed her eyes, heart pounding, and stood silent, listening. For what, she didn’t know. A sweet scent layered the air, and tears rose to her eyes. She drew in breath after breath, waiting for the heady aroma to disappear to prove she was imagining it . . . and yet praying that it didn’t.

  She knew when she opened her eyes there would be no white roses filling every corner of the room as her sense of smell told her there were. So she lingered in the moment, treasuring it, picturing her mother’s face, feeling the flutter inside her chest, and the faint beating of a heart in rhythm with hers.

  “Oh, Maman. I miss you so. . . .”

  A knock on the door jarred Véronique back to the moment.

  She blinked, wiped her cheeks, and surveyed the room. Just as she had predicted, no white roses. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. And yet it had been so real.

  She cleared her throat. “Who is there?” The door was closed but not latched. Whoever it was could have walked right in.

  “It’s Jack. I’ve got the wagon out front, if you’re ready. Thought I’d surprise you.” A pause. “But don’t get used to it.”

  She smiled at his humor, and at the thought of traveling with him again. “Merci, and it is a pleasant surprise, Jack. I will be right there, and I will be expecting this courtesy henceforth.”

  Two hours into the trip, Véronique was already rubbing her lower back, wishing she could rub even lower than that.

  “Having some problems over there?”

  She glanced beside her and squinted at the grin on Jack’s face. “I do not comprends why these seats are not made with cushions. It would be far more comfortable for everyone.”

  Jack laughed. “I’ll be sure and ask Sampson to make that change the next go round. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the suggestion.”

  While the trail they traveled was new to her, Jack had traveled it on one of the overnight trips he’d made without her. The road carved into the mountain was wide, with room to spare, and gently sloped down on the open side to a creek not far below. Even the mountainous slope angled upward at a friendly ascent, with dense growths of pine and aspen clustered together.

  Véronique was proud of her ability to identify most of the trees now, aided by the book she’d borrowed from the library in Willow Springs entitled Mountainous Nature and Wildlife. The section of the book dedicated to wildlife was rather lacking, however, and the drawings of the animals were annoyingly childlike.

  The mid-May sun burned bright overhead, and she shielded her eyes from the glare. A canopy would also be a considerate addition to a wagon like this, but she kept that suggestion to herself. “I much prefer these trips that do not take us as high into the mountains. But I do miss the cooler air.”

  Jack motioned. “Those clouds layering the north promise some afternoon shade. Maybe even rain. I’ve noticed you don’t carry that umbrella around with you anymore. Would come in handy today though, wouldn’t it?”

  “Umbrella?” She tried to mimic the way he said it. “Do you refer to my parasol?”

  “You know exactly what I’m referring to, Vernie. Whatever name you want to give it.”

  She smiled despite his use of that horrid nickname. It was still her theory that if she ignored it, he would cease using
it. “I am thinking that if I had it with me now you would demand that I—”

  The sudden pop beneath the wagon sounded like a firecracker going off. Another crack followed.

  Jack immediately pulled back on the reins. Napoleon and Charlemagne responded but snorted and stomped at the sudden command.

  Holding onto the seat, Véronique leaned over her side of the wagon and briefly peered beneath. “Nothing is broken with your wagon . . . that I can see.”

  Jack sent her a look that said he’d caught her inflection. “Oh sure, it’s my wagon when it breaks.”

  “I believe that would be a good rule for us to make.”

  He got out and came around to her side. “With a noise like that, it doesn’t sound promising.” He ran a hand along the front wheel, stooping as he went. Then he stopped and blew out a breath. “Cracked felly.”

  Véronique didn’t know what a felly was, but she knew from the tone of his voice that the repair would not be an easy one. “Was there something wrong with the wheel Monsieur Sampson made you?”

  “No.” He sighed. “This just happens over time when you’re hauling heavy loads over rough terrain.”

  “We will need a new wheel?”

  He stood, took off his hat, and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Yes, ma’am, we will. Thankfully we’ve got one attached to the underside of the wagon bed. But . . . this means I’ve got to unload everything.”

  Véronique looked at the boxes and crates stacked high and filling every inch of space. “The entire shipment must be removed?”

  “Everything.” He began loosening the ties of the netting. “The wagon is heavy enough on its own. I can barely manage it empty.”

  Véronique stretched her back and shoulder muscles, then turned on the seat to see him better. “You have done this before, non?”

  His hands stilled. He tipped back his hat. “Just what is it you think I’ve done for the past thirteen years, Véronique?”

  She shrugged, then seeing his expression darken, wished she hadn’t. “You were a driver of wagons. You . . . ‘guided folks.’ That is what Monsieur Sampson told me.”