Because of Rebecca

chapter Eight

Jared stalked to the railing and watched Josephine join Rebecca in front of the house. She was still deeply upset. Josephine looked up at him with an icy glare.

Jared jammed his hands in his pockets and went down the back stairs out to the stables. He avoided Mary and the Paxton girls. He wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone.

Inside the stables, he spotted Higgins brushing a young colt. “Miss Davis and her aunt need to return to town. Please prepare the carriage at once.”

“Yes, sir,” Higgins replied, dropping the brush into a nearby bucket.

Jared did an about face and joined the women at the edge of the garden where Josephine tried to calm Rebecca.

“The carriage will be ready for your departure shortly, ladies.”

“What have you done to my niece, Mr. Hollingsworth?”

“He hasn’t done anything,” Rebecca said, pacing.

“Well something happened to upset you,” Josephine declared.

“Rebecca—” He tried once more to speak with her, but the carriage rolled up and Higgins jumped down to assist them inside.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Jared.” Rebecca spoke the formal, expected words, but there was no warmth.

How could she dismiss him so easily? Damn it, she owed him an explanation of some kind. He wanted to demand she explain herself, but his pride wouldn’t allow her to see she’d affected him. Nor did he want to discuss it in front of her aunt

“Good day, ladies.”

“Good day, Mr. Hollingsworth.” Josephine’s curt nod and clipped tone irritated him further as the carriage drove away.

His jaw clenched. How dare the woman assume the worst when he’d done nothing wrong. He’d welcomed them into his home. His only fault was he’d allowed himself to be manipulated by Rebecca’s beguiling smile. Her beauty. She made a complete package of temptation wrapped up with innocence.

Too much innocence for a widow.

****

As soon as they returned to the hotel, Rebecca rushed upstairs to check on Lucas.

“How’s my boy?”

“He’s napping, miss.” Charlotte looked up from the settee where she folded diapers.

Rebecca crossed to the bedroom. She stood at the crib in silence and watched Lucas sleep. Soon her breathing slowed, matching his. Her heart ached so badly at the feared ruined mission that she turned away. She went to the bed, fell across it, and cried until the tears fell no longer.

She’d failed miserably at her first assignment for the Vigilante Committee. It had all seemed so easy when she accepted this task.

“Now, now,” Josephine soothed, sitting down on the corner of the bed and rubbing Rebecca’s back. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Rebecca looked up, wiped tears from her face, and sniffed. “There isn’t anything you can do to help me. I’ve made a terrible mistake. A terrible mistake.”

“Did he try to take advantage of you?”

She pushed herself to a sitting position and stared. “How can you even think he’d lay a hand on me?”

Josephine patted her hand. “I did leave the two of you alone in the house without a chaperone. I know the housekeeper was preoccupied with those darling girls so it was possible he took liberties.”

Rebecca’s cheeks flamed. How could Josephine assume Jared’s guilt so easily? “The mistake I speak of is my own doing. Jared had nothing to do with it, unfortunately. And that is the problem.”

Josephine gaped at her, covering her heart with her hand. “Are you saying you acted the wanton and he refused you?”

“No!”

“Then I don’t understand.”

In spite of the tears flowing down her cheeks, Rebecca threw back her head and laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. Not everyone finds intimacy outside of marriage as scandalous as you do.”

Josephine crossed herself. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Surely you wouldn’t consider going to a man’s bed that wasn’t your husband’s.”

“If the moment arose and I loved the man deeply and he loved me the same…”

Her aunt clutched her hands together and looked up to the ceiling. “Heavenly Father please forgive her for saying these things which she surely doesn’t mean.”

She shouldn’t tease her aunt, but she couldn’t help it when the woman frustrated her so much. She wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and got up from the bed, knowing what she had to do. “I have some letters to write. Thank you for the talk.”

“But you haven’t told me what’s wrong,” Josephine called after her.

Rebecca ignored her, going into the sitting room. There was no need to explain. She’d said more than enough already.

Sitting down at the secretary, she took out a sheet of stationery and began writing the hardest letter she’d ever written, and yet the simplest. It was the Vigilante Committee’s code for defeat.

By sending it, she’d be admitting failure on her first mission to her superiors. But what more could she do? She’d been unsuccessful in meeting her liaison. She’d never reached Ruth.

Dearest Ophelia,

I hope this letter finds you well. I, however, am at my wits end. Please send assistance before I drown.

Your dutiful servant,

R. J. Bingham

*****

Josephine watched Rebecca struggle with her letter. She didn’t understand what had gone on between her niece and Mr. Hollingsworth. But if Rebecca said it was her mistake, she would have to accept that explanation.

She knew all too well about making mistakes where love was concerned. She’d lived the last eighteen years repenting for her youthful transgression. Finding solace in her conviction to serve the church, she had never questioned the Almighty for taking her Charles away at a young age.

Josephine took out a handkerchief and her lace prayer veil from the top dresser drawer. She checked her hair, fixing a few pins to secure the chignon before putting on the veil.

“I’m going to Mass. Would you like to join me?” she asked.

Rebecca looked up and shook her head. “I don’t want to leave Lucas for too long.”

“Very well. I’ll see you later.”

It bothered Josephine that Rebecca didn’t practice their faith more diligently. She’d tried to set a good example for her niece after her brother and his wife had died. However, she feared she’d failed, especially now that she had proclaimed she’d have no regret taking a lover before marriage if she desired.

“Youthful folly.” Josephine murmured. She stepped out of the hotel onto Main and spotted Doctor Gordon coming toward her. He waved and she waited for him at the corner.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Gordon. Are you going to Mass?” she asked.

“I am after I check on Lucas,” he replied.

“He’s napping at the moment.”

“Well, then perhaps afterwards.” He offered her his arm. “Do you mind walking over with me?”

“I’d like that.” She felt her cheeks warm when she took his arm. “How are Mrs. Paxton and the baby doing?”

“They’re good after the ordeal. Her coloring has returned and the boy is eating heartily. Paxton’s puffed up like a bantam rooster.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m so glad you were able to save that family from heartache. My d-niece died in childbirth last year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Josephine.”

“Thank you, Ancil.”

He reached across and patted the hand that lay in the crook of his arm and they walked toward St. Anna’s. She relaxed beside him, matching his step with her own. She smiled when Constance Fletcher and two other women from the ladies’ auxiliary came out of the mercantile. Constance didn’t look pleased and that made Josephine smile even brighter.

****

Shading her eyes from the noonday sun Rebecca stepped out of the hotel. She waited a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the sun before she headed to the post office to mail her letter. She wanted to return before Lucas woke.

Down the street she saw her aunt and Doctor Gordon going into St. Anna’s for Mass. It looked like things were progressing nicely between them. Good. Her aunt needed love and it wasn’t too late for her to have a family if she desired.

Josephine as a mother! What a thought.

Rebecca entered the post office and waited in the short line for her turn.

“Good afternoon, Miss Davis,” the postmaster greeted when she stepped to the counter. “I have a letter for you.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “It came this morning.”

She looked down at the envelope in her hand and decided against mailing it just yet. She shoved it back in her purse.

The postmaster handed her the letter and she stepped away to read it.

Dear Miss Davis,

Please forgive my delay. Unforeseen circumstances have kept me from procuring the item in question. Will notify you within the week.

Your faithful servant,

R. Hollingsworth

A thrill of delight filled her. Ruth was safe. Her liaison had been delayed. She hadn’t failed the mission. She held the letter to her chest and said a silent prayer to heaven that she hadn’t put the woman in jeopardy after all.

Her liaison would be in touch within the week. And her liaison was R. Hollingsworth.

R. Hollingsworth? Could he be related to Jared? Only time would tell.

****

Crouching low in tall grass, Rory surveyed the surroundings and waited for the mocha-skinned woman in a faded red dress to come closer. He’d spoken with her briefly a few weeks earlier in this very spot. She’d been alone that day, and he’d expected today would be no different. Yet, he was having a devil of a time snatching her. Three other women waded in the water nearby washing a mound of homespun clothing.

Perspiration beaded his forehead and upper lip as the morning sun beat down on his head. He had to get the woman’s attention without alarming the others. There would be hell to pay if the women saw him and could describe him to the authorities.

“You there,” a large man on a horse called, riding up and stopping near the water’s edge. “You’re wanted at the house.”

Rory’s brows arched as the woman he’d been watching picked up a basket of clothes and started toward the main house at a brisk pace. When the man on the horse was preoccupied, Rory slowly inched his way toward a thicket of bushes and trees that ran along the path she took. He’d already scoped out the area and knew no one watched.

He grabbed a handful of pebbles along the way and began throwing them in her direction, hoping to distract her so she’d stop. She paid little attention at first, but when he threw a stick that landed a few inches in front of her she slowed.

“Ruth,” he called, keeping his voice low.

The woman’s head jerked, but she moved a little slower.

“Ruth.”

Finally, she stopped and looked around. Her eyes grew large and worried as she scanned the area.

“Over here.”

She turned in his direction, acknowledgement evident in her brown eyes.

“It’s time.” He reached out his hand to her.

Silently, she jumped into the bushes where he waited. “Leave the basket hidden here. We haven’t got a minute to waste. You’ll be with your family soon.”

Ruth nodded.

He took a huge risk seizing her during the day. Normally escapes were at night. No one would be expecting it to happen in daylight. Though, when she didn’t immediately arrive at the main house as requested a search would begin.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he silently led her through the wooded area, careful to avoid stepping on twigs or fallen limbs. Searing pain shot through his abdomen with each move he made. He winced and touched his side. Blood seeped through the rudimentary stitches in the flesh he’d haphazardly sewn last night and stained his shirt. He never should have agreed to one last round of cards when he’d already won the pot. A sane man would have cleared out of town. Instead, he’d followed greed and the loser pulled a knife to regain his losses.

The wound was yet another headache he had to contend with as he tried to complete the mission. He was over a week late in meeting with his contact, but he’d been thrown in jail after a brawl. He’d sent word upon his release explaining the delay, something he rarely did, not living by traditional standards. He enjoyed living dangerously. The higher the risk, the more he enjoyed the gamble.

When they reached the black carriage that awaited them, Rory opened the door and helped Ruth climb inside.

“There are clothes for you to change into in the box. I’ll ride on top with my driver until you are dressed. Use the cane to rap on the roof when you’re finished, and I will join you,” he explained before closing the door behind her.

“Did you run into trouble?” his driver asked.

“None, thankfully.” Rory grimaced at the twitch in his side as the carriage headed toward Jackson.

He placed a handkerchief over the blood stain and donned a full waistcoat to cover the soiled shirt. He tied his blond hair back in a queue at his neck. No one would deny he looked like a gentleman traveling with his lady friend.

A few moments later they heard the rap of the cane and the carriage slowed to a near crawl. He opened the door, filling the inside with light before he joined her. Then he closed the door and pushed the velvet curtains all the way open.

“My, but don’t you make a pretty picture.” He settled on the bench across from her taking note of the way the yellow dress hugged her scrawny frame, enhancing her features. “From now until I say otherwise, you are Delia, a fallen dove from New Orleans. Do you understand what I mean by ‘fallen dove’?”

She nodded.

“You’ll be staying with a friend of mine and her girls. She’ll protect you until I can safely get you to the next leg of the journey.”

“I won’t be one of her girls,” Ruth protested, indignation thick in her voice.

A deep rumble escaped him at her misunderstanding and he held his side until the pain subsided. “You’ll be hidden away. She won’t make you work for your room and board. I’ll be your only visitor.”

Rory watched her brown eyes widen. The girl was frightened, as expected in her current situation. It was his place to make her feel more at ease, but he did a poor job of it.

He picked up a medium size box lying on the seat beside him and removed the lid. “Here, you’ll need a wig to pull off your disguise. Try this on.”

The wig of ebony curls glistened even in the dim light of the carriage and it made her skin look more sallow than mocha against the pale yellow of the dress. He studied her for a few moments then handed her a pouch.

“You’ll need to learn to wear this as well. Lip and cheek rouge will draw attention away from your dark eyes. The face powder will make you look whiter,” he explained, recalling the detailed technique Monique had showed him before he left Jackson a month ago. “We might just pull this off.”

She shook her head, but he pushed the pouch into her hands.

“We made a deal when I first found you. You agreed to do everything I said in order to get you to your family.”

She nodded. “I remember.”

He opened a secret compartment underneath the opposite carriage seat and withdrew a summer weight cloak. “You’ll wear this over your dress to help cover your arms as we exit the carriage and enter the house. Gloves will cover your hands. Your skin must always be covered. Do you understand?”

She nodded her head, the curls of the wig bouncing on her shoulders.

“How do the shoes fit?” he asked, reaching to lift the skirt of her dress, but she slapped his hand away.

“I ain’t never worn shoes before.”

“I know, but you must try.”

“They hurt.”

“Sorry. They were the closest I could get to the measurements I took. You won’t have to wear them long,” he assured her.

“Now, try to relax and I’ll tell you a tale about Madame Monique and her girls.”