A Worthy Pursuit

  “My parents had been happy together . . . before. We’d been happy.” Charlotte shifted slightly and started picking at her skirt again. “Our house was always filled with music. Papa on the piano, Mama singing, me bouncing between the two. We lived in New York most of the year, but Mama insisted on having a place away from the big city to retreat, a home where we could just be a family and not worry about auditions or performances or what the latest critic spewed in the papers. Papa could only bear to be away for about two months out of the year, but he declared himself too in love with Mama to deny her anything, so he had this house built in the middle of nowhere, and we spent every Christmas here that I can remember. This little house became my favorite place in all the world.”

  Stone could picture it. The three Athertons gathered around the piano singing Christmas carols, laughing, playing. A little girl’s dream.

  “That’s why his betrayal cut so deep.” She pulled away from him slightly and met his gaze. “He said he loved us, Stone. He said we were his pride and joy, his life. We adored him. But our adoration wasn’t enough. He craved the adoration of the world. And when the world started praising Mama instead, his love died. He found a new protégé to tutor, determined to prove that Mama’s success was his creation, not simply a product of her own talent and hard work. His next student was a female pianist—young, beautiful, and so terribly grateful to have the undivided attention of such an acclaimed artist as Charles Atherton. How could he resist such admiration?”

  “By remembering his vows before God, that’s how,” Stone growled. Weak, sniveling little man. A man worth his salt would delight in his wife’s achievements, not sit and cry about his own being overlooked.

  An odd look stole over Charlotte’s face. She tilted her head a bit and regarded him as if he’d just sprouted a third ear from his chin.

  “What?” He scrubbed at his chin with the back of his hand just to make sure whiskers were the only appendages growing there.

  “Nothing, it’s just . . .” She squared her shoulders. “No, it’s not nothing. It is a very significant something. Thank you, Stone.”

  He hadn’t a clue what she was thanking him for, but he wasn’t about to argue with the woman.

  “When the scandal first broke,” she said, “I tried to defend my mother against the unfair speculation that arose, but I soon learned it was pointless. People believed what they wanted to believe. She was an opera singer. Everyone knew that women of the stage lacked morality. Charles Atherton was simply too much of a gentleman to mention whatever infidelities his wife had committed to drive him into the arms of another woman. As if any excuse justified turning one’s back on vows made before God. You’re the first person I’ve heard offer reproach on that front.”

  “The way I figure it,” Stone said with a shrug, her gratitude making him itch a bit under his collar, “when God said no man should put a marriage asunder, that included the fella and gal who said the vows in the first place. I’m not sayin’ it’s easy. There’s too much strife and temptation in this world to ride through at a constant lope. Sometimes the bronc you’re on will buck and hop ’til your rear’s so bruised you think you’ll never recover.”

  Her cheeks colored at his reference, making that itch spread up the back of Stone’s neck. He reached behind him and rubbed his palm across his nape. “What I’m trying to say is that if you hang on with all you got during those rough patches, the ride will eventually smooth out, and when it does, you’ll be left with a bond that will only make you stronger.”

  Listen to him, spouting off like he knew anything about marriage. What did he know? He’d never been a part of one. Only example he’d had was his own folks, and they’d died so young he hadn’t had time to watch them weather many storms. Stone blew out a breath. “Works with horses, anyway.”

  She smiled at him and actually stopped pickin’ at her dress long enough to touch his knee. “I imagine it works with more than horses.” Her eyes sparkled in that moment, as if a cloud had shifted just enough to let a ray of sunlight pass through. His gut tightened, and suddenly he wanted to be the man who banished all her clouds. Too soon, though, she shuttered her eyes with lowered lashes and pulled her hand away from his knee to rest it once more in her lap.

  “I think what hurt the most was that he never said good-bye. I just came home from school one day to find him gone.” She lifted her chin but didn’t look at him. Her gaze drifted out into the open space of the room. “From the time I was two and he’d recognized I had an ear for the piano, he’d spent hours with me every week, grooming me into a pianist worthy of playing the finest concert halls of the world. I lived for one of his smiles, for a word of praise. I practiced constantly, believing that we shared a special bond as pianists, one even Mama couldn’t share with him. Everything I did was to make him proud. Then he left me. No explanation. No apology. He hasn’t written me a single letter in all the years since. It’s as if I ceased to exist. Ceased to matter.”

  In that moment, Stone thanked God that Charlotte wasn’t looking at him, for he knew he couldn’t hide the rage surging through him. How could a man do that to his own flesh and blood? Leave without a word? Let her think she didn’t matter? The man needed some sense and common decency knocked into him, and Stone was more than up for the job. His fists were primed and ready.

  “Mama told me that he was just too ashamed to face me, and that I shouldn’t believe all men were as faithless as he. I tried to follow her advice, even went so far as to let a young man court me when I was at teaching college.”

  A lump settled in Stone’s gut. It felt a bit like a prickly pear. With spines poking out every which way. “You . . . ah . . . had a suitor?”

  She nodded. “He was a year ahead of me in school. Quiet. Intelligent. Not one to be at the center of attention. My father’s opposite in almost every way. I thought he’d be safe. He invited me to study with him in the library. I agreed. Before I knew it, we were going to the café for dinner on Saturday evenings and taking long walks around the school grounds. We’d been seeing each other for about three months when his sister came to visit. She brought a friend with her, a friend who just happened to be Alexander’s betrothed. The shock on his face when they found us would have been comical had he not made it so clear that he was ashamed to be found with me. He tossed out some excuse about me turning my ankle to explain why my arm was threaded through his and begged me with a look to play along.” Charlotte’s lips tightened into a thin line as color flooded her cheeks. “I limped a few steps to the nearest bench then waved them all away, giving assurances that I would be fine. When they left for home a few days later, Alexander came to me with some pitiful tale about how, since meeting me, he no longer wanted to marry Georgiana. That he much preferred a woman who matched him in intelligence and ambition. I told him I had too much intelligence to allow the attentions of a man who belonged to another. After that, I focused on my education and never stepped out with another man.”

  Good grief. No wonder the woman had trouble trusting people.

  She let out a sigh and moved away from him to perch back on the edge of the seat cushion. “The only man in my life who has proved dependable is Mr. Dobson, and I’m pretty sure the only reason he stays is because he has nowhere else to go.”

  “Don’t sell the fellow short,” Stone said, not quite believing he was actually singing the gnome’s praises. “He was ready to do me in to keep you and the kids safe. I’d say more than a roof is keeping him here.”

  Charlotte looked at him then, a small smile budding as she glanced over her shoulder. “Or maybe he just enjoys whacking tall men on the head and dragging them around.”

  Stone grinned as he rubbed the bruise on his forehead. “It’s a possibility.”

  Charlotte turned away again and stood. Her hands immediately started smoothing her skirt.

  Stone rose to his feet and bent down to capture one of her hands. “Dobson’s not the only man you can depend on, Charlotte.”

&nbs
p; She looked at him a long moment before tugging her hand free. “We’ll see.”

  17

  Nearly a week later, Charlotte stood at her bedroom window, once again watching Stone canter off toward town on that oversized beast of his. She caressed the cameo at her neck as he disappeared from view, not out of nervousness this time, but with intent. The feminine profile carved into the shell brooch stirred memories. Her mother had given her the pin the day she’d dropped Charlotte off at the Sullivan Academy.

  The two of them had tried to make things work after her father left, staying together for over a year. Her mother had employed nannies and private tutors as they bounced from opera house to opera house, but the strain proved too much. All Charlotte wanted was for her mother to take her home to their Texas cottage, to settle down into a routine, to have a normal life. Yet she never spoke of such dreams. How could she when it would mean her mother would have to sacrifice the career she had trained for years to achieve?

  If only her father hadn’t ruined everything. Yet even as Charlotte cast blame, deep down she missed him. Missed his music, too. Every time she’d tried to play, her mother would flee the room, the memories of all they had lost too much for her to bear. After a while, Charlotte stopped playing altogether. That was when her mother decided to send her to Sullivan’s academy.

  “You have a gift, Lottie,” her mother had fiercely declared as she held her child’s hands in one final embrace before leaving. “A gift bestowed by God, and I am stealing it from you, just as surely as your father tried to steal mine from me. No one has the right to take another’s gift. Not out of greed, or jealousy, or even self-pity. That’s why you must stay here, why you must develop your talent and use it as God leads.”

  “But, Mama, I love you more than I love music. Please don’t make me stay here. I want to be with you.”

  Tears had streamed down her mother’s face, but she hadn’t relented. Like Lily’s mother, Jeanette Atherton had been determined to do what she believed was in her daughter’s best interest.

  “Do you remember the story of Hannah from your Bible school lessons?”

  Charlotte nodded, not sure what a Bible story had to do with her mother leaving her behind. “She prayed so hard for a baby that the priest thought she was drunk.”

  Mama had chuckled at that. “That’s right. And in her prayer, she vowed that if God would give her a son, she would dedicate him to the Lord’s service. And she did. She took her son, Samuel, to the priest to be raised by him, taught by him. I’m doing the same for you, Lottie. Traveling from city to city is no life for a young girl, and stifling the music in your soul is a sin I couldn’t bear to have on my conscience. This is what’s best, darling. For both of us.”

  And that’s when Charlotte had stopped arguing. For both of us. Charlotte was holding her mother back, impeding her career. Her love for her daughter tugged her in one direction while her love of the stage tugged her the opposite way. She couldn’t have both, not with any measure of success. And Charlotte wanted her mother to be successful. She deserved it. Jeanette Atherton’s arias could make the hardhearted weep. A talent like that shouldn’t be held back simply because her daughter was too afraid to be on her own.

  “All right, Mama. I’ll stay.”

  “That’s my good girl.” She hugged Charlotte to her breast. “I’m going to miss you so much!” Charlotte never wanted the embrace to end, but it did. All too soon. Her mother straightened, fumbling with the clasp on the brooch that perched high among her bodice ruffles. “Take this, sweetheart. I know you’ve always liked it. Think of me when you wear it and remember how much I love you.” She pressed the cameo into Charlotte’s palm, caught a sob behind her lacy handkerchief, then dashed for her carriage.

  Charlotte had worn the brooch every day since.

  At first, like Hannah, Charlotte’s mother had visited every year, usually at Christmas. They would escape to their cottage in Madisonville, chatter long into the night about operas and schoolgirl squabbles, and find each other again. But when Charlotte started her studies at Sam Houston Normal School, the visits stopped. Her mother’s career had taken off in Europe, making travel more difficult. And Charlotte had grown into an adult who shouldn’t need her mother. Yet she did.

  Perhaps it was that loss of connection that made her blind to Alexander’s true motives and left her susceptible to his charms. She’d wanted to belong to someone, hungered for a relationship that went deeper than the friendly smile of acquaintances passing in the halls. But that longing only brought pain and humiliation, so she boxed it up and shoved it into the darkest recesses of her heart to gather dust. And there it had stayed all these years, safely out of reach.

  Charlotte had her students, of course, and her fellow teachers. Yet even with them she’d felt compelled to hold a piece of herself back. For protection against the time when they would leave.

  All that changed the day Stone found her at the piano. He’d cracked open her chest with his gentle questions, and all her secrets had tumbled out in a bloody gush. She still couldn’t believe she had told him about her father and Alexander. She’d never told anyone about them. Not the teachers she’d worked with at the academy. Not even Rebekah Dorchester. If he hadn’t caught her at such a vulnerable moment, she probably wouldn’t have told him, either. Yet she couldn’t dredge up true regret over it. The memory of his arm around her shoulders was too precious. The feel of his fingers stroking her arm. He’d listened to the whole ugly tale and never once stopped touching her. Accepting her. Soothing her. His comfort had been addictive. Dangerous. It tempted her to clear away the cobwebs from a certain box that was better left unopened.

  “Whatcha doing, Miss Lottie?” Lily’s question rang out behind her, startling Charlotte from her reverie.

  Dropping her hand from her cameo, Charlotte reclaimed the dust cloth she’d abandoned on the window ledge earlier. “Dusting. Do you need help with your grammar lesson?”

  Lily skipped into the room. “Nope. I finished it.”

  Charlotte nodded her approval. “Good. Then you may read for a while, if you’d like.”

  “But all my Dead-Eye Dan books are already packed, and I’m not in the mood for anything else.” She flopped onto the edge of the bed, her body stretched out on her belly, her feet waving in the air. A long-suffering sigh echoed as she propped her chin on her hand. “Do you think that letter will come today? Mr. Hammond promised we could leave as soon as it got here.”

  Charlotte forfeited the dusting pretense and sat next to Lily on the bed. She ran her fingers through the girl’s wavy blond hair, working a tangle or two free as she went. Ever since Stone had told the children about the trip he’d planned to visit the ranch where Daniel Barrett worked, Lily had been brimming with excitement. Unfortunately, with every day they had no letter from Austin, the child had grown more and more out of sorts. Today marked Stone’s third trip to town. For Lily’s sake, Charlotte prayed he would come back with a letter.

  “Why don’t we go check on the boys, see how they’re coming on their grammar lesson? Then it will be time to move on to arithmetic.”

  “Ugh!” Lily rolled onto her back, her head drooping off the edge of the bed like a piece of raw crust dangling over the rim of a pie tin. “I hate arithmetic.”

  Charlotte bit back a smile at the dramatics. “Come on. It’s not so bad. You memorized the multiplication tables in one day. Division is just working backward on the same table.”

  “But not all the answers are on the table. And those stupid remainders . . . Ugh!”

  Charlotte stood and waited for Lily to drag herself off the bed. “You can’t always rely on your memory to get you the answers, Lily. You have to learn the mathematic procedures so you can figure out a solution when that internal catalog of yours hits a blank page.”

  “I know, I know. That still doesn’t mean I gotta like it.”

  After the children finished their arithmetic lesson, Charlotte gave them each a treat from the cookie jar t
hen shooed them outside to play. Her mind lingered miles away from teaching. Six miles, to be precise. In Madisonville. With Stone.

  She snatched the loaves of bread that had been cooling on the kitchen counter and began sawing them into slices. Halfway through the second loaf, Mr. Dobson burst through the back door.

  “Rider comin’ from the east. Ridin’ hard.”

  Madisonville lay to the south, not the east.

  Heart thundering, Charlotte dropped the bread knife and sprinted past Dobson, out the door he’d just thrown wide.

  “Stephen!” Charlotte ran as fast as she could around the back of the house, praying the kids were playing in the barn as usual and not roaming farther afield. “Stephen!”

  She spotted the boy on the top rung of the corral fence. His head whipped around. In an instant, he leapt from his perch and raced toward her. “What is it, Miss Lottie?”

  “Rider coming,” she managed between heaving breaths. “Help get the others . . . to the cellar.”

  Stephen took off for the barn without a single question. By the time Charlotte made it to the opening, he had both John and Lily by the hand.

  “Hurry, children.” She could hear the quiet thuds of distant hoofbeats drawing closer. They didn’t have much time. The trees surrounding the house offered some measure of cover, but once the rider turned down the lane that led to the house, he’d have an unobstructed view. They had to be in the house before he reached the lane.

  John’s shorter legs struggled to keep up with the older kids. Stephen dragged him along, but the younger boy lost his balance and fell.

  Panic lent Charlotte speed. “I’ve got him,” she called, waving at Stephen to keep going. Barely breaking stride, Charlotte scooped John up and held him to her chest. His legs locked around her waist and his arms found her neck. Thankful for his secure grip, she dashed up the back steps and through the kitchen door. Dobson threw it closed behind her.

  The cellar door had been built into the kitchen floor, and her caretaker already had it propped open, waiting for them. Stephen and Lily scurried down the ladder. Charlotte handed John down to them then gathered her skirts to make the descent herself.