Chapter 10
Caroline frowned at the insistent rapping on the door. She glanced out her bedroom window as she threw on her wrapper and tied it. What possessed a person to call on a private residence at dawn?
She descended the stairs as fast as her slippered feet would carry her and sprinted to the foyer, hoping to put a stop to the racket before it woke the entire house.
After a quick check of herself to ensure she’d managed the barest acceptable state of dress for such an intrusion, she opened the door enough to poke her head out.
A wide-eyed stripling holding a folded piece of paper nodded to her and tipped his flat cap. “Sorry to call at such an hour, Miss, but I have an urgent message for the Bennet family.”
“I’m Caroline Bennet.” She held out her hand, waiting, but the boy didn’t relinquish the note.
Forcing a sigh through her nose to dampen its volume, Caroline dug around in a small leather bag hanging from one of the coat hooks and held out a coin to him.
His brows shot up, and his eyes opened wide. “I’m not pressing you for a tip, Miss Bennet, not at all. Though I’d gladly take it. I was instructed—under strict penalty of dismissal—that if a lady answered, I was to stay with her while she read the telegram.”
“All right.” She stepped back and opened the door. “Come in.” Apprehension put a damper on her irritation, as did the young man wiping his boots before stepping inside, then swiping off his cap and averting his eyes.
Still gripping the note, he risked a cautious glance. “You should probably sit down.”
If the messenger had been a grown man, Caroline would have flatly refused, as there were no chairs near enough to the door. But he was just a boy. She led him to the parlor and, once again, held out her hand.
His gaze darted to the chair behind her then back in the direction of her hems, and he handed it over.
Caroline lowered herself onto the cushion and unfolded the note. She sucked in a breath and held it, fearing the sound she would make if she exhaled.
From: Sagebrush Springs, Nebraska
Received: 7:05 AM November 23, 1871
Location: Greenvale
To: The Bennet Family of Walnut Lane
Amanda Bennet Maguire fell suddenly ill. Passed peacefully in her sleep. Buried yesterday.
With regret, Jackson Maguire
Caroline sat, eyes closed and hand clamped against her mouth.
Her sister was dead.
“Miss Bennet...?” the messenger said in a wary yet compassionate voice. “Should I get you some water?”
She lowered her hand but only shook her head in response. She was still too shocked to speak.
The boy stood perfectly still and waited. “If you wish to send a reply,” he said after a long silence, “I can deliver it to the telegraph operator for you. Mr. Willard is a friend of your father’s. He offers his condolences and told me he’d send it at no charge.”
Caroline drew a slow breath and willed her tears into submission. “There’s no reply.”
The boy stood there, worrying his cap in his hands.
Caroline tucked the telegram into her pocket and rose. She showed the messenger to the door and gave him the coin. “Thank Mr. Willard for his kindness.”
To his credit, the boy looked ambivalent about accepting the tip. “I will. I didn’t read the message, but I can tell from your reaction it was awful news. You have my condolences, too.”
Caroline stood in her room, arguing with her eldest brother.
Her trunk was packed, and she’d convinced Landon to drive her to the train station, but they needed Simon’s help to carry the trunk out and load it into the carriage.
“Why are you being so stubborn?” she asked him as she secured the last latch with a soft click and turned to face him.
Simon crossed his arms, his protective nature at odds with her resolve. “It's a long journey for a woman—one that shouldn’t be undertaken alone.”
“All of you are needed here. I’m not without means or sense. I’ll manage.”
“And what about once you get there? Who will be your chaperone?”
“I don’t need one,” she said, ignoring his scoff. “I’m twenty-five. I reached my majority years ago. Even by today’s enlightened standards, I’m practically a spinster.”
Their mother, still red-eyed and reeling from news of her daughter’s death, appeared beside Simon, clutching a handkerchief.
“That won’t protect your reputation in all situations.
You have a man right here in Greenvale who worships you, but I doubt even he would keep courting you if you compromise yourself by staying alone with Jackson. Please, Caroline. Reconsider.”
Caroline brushed the admonition off, though she knew it carried weight. “Jackson is family. He’s my brother-in-law.”
Simon dropped his arms to his sides. “Nothing we say will change your mind, will it?”
“No.”
Caroline crossed the room and took her mother’s hands in hers.
“I’ve lived with strong emotions all these years—hateful emotions—the worst of which was anger.
It made me sever ties with my only sister.
Getting that telegram changed my perspective and made me realize Jackson deserves my wrath, but Amanda didn’t.
“As you said after they married, it’s the man who does the choosing. Before Jackson took her away, Amanda was my dearest friend. He must’ve coerced her. She wouldn’t just betray me.”
That gave them both pause.
“Maybe, now, Jackson will tell me the truth. But even if he doesn’t, I want to mourn my sister and meet her children. I need to say goodbye.”
Tears gathered in her mother’s eyes. “Promise me you'll be careful.”
Caroline leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I will.”
The stagecoach carrying Caroline from Fort Kearny, Nebraska to Sagebrush Springs jostled over the uneven terrain, its wheels churning up dust that clung to her throat and made her cough.
Each rut in the road jarred her bones. And her heart.
Regret over the way she’d treated Amanda frayed its edges with grief.
But seeing Jackson would slice it wide open.
She harbored more contempt for him than anyone she’d ever known, yet her love for him would not completely wilt.
The coach finally came to a blessed halt.
The driver handed her down the narrow steps, unlashed her trunk, and set it on the platform of the station, with the aid of his assistant.
“Who should I see about transportation to a homestead?” she asked him.
He pointed to the next building over, one they’d passed on their way into town. “The livery should be able to help.”
“Thank you.”
Caroline detoured to the necessary then headed for the livery.
The train to Fort Kearny had run through the night, and the stagecoach ride had lasted less than two hours, putting her in Sagebrush Springs while it was still morning.
If luck stayed on her side, and Jackson’s farm wasn’t too far away, she could make it there before dark.
The livery boasted a legible sign, but it was superfluous. All one had to do was follow the odor of horse and dung. She went to the counter and stood, pressing her handkerchief to her nose.
“Hello,” Caroline called. The place appeared deserted except for a few horses milling around the paddock, so she waited. Several minutes passed, magnifying the stench and adding to her irritation.
“May I help you, Miss?” a voice called over the din of hooves and harnesses as the coach she’d just arrived in barreled past. A man dressed in dusty clothes with a long, droopy mustache was walking up from behind the building.
“I’m Dewey Cook, the owner. Forgive me for keeping you waiting,” he said, wiping his hands on a dirt-streaked rag and looking her over, likely taking in her mourning attire.
“My assistant is off on an errand, and those stage drivers get right surly if I don’t switch out their teams in a timely manner. ”
“I’m in need of transportation.”
“Where to?”
“Jackson Maguire’s farm.”
“When I first saw you, I wondered if you might be one of his relations.”
“I am. I’m his sister-in-law, Caroline Bennet.”
“Please accept my condolences, Mrs. Bennet. We were all shocked by the news.”
He’d assumed she was either married or widowed, and she chose not to correct him. “Thank you.”
“Mrs. Maguire was so young and such a wonderful lady,” Mr. Cook went on.
“The whole town is feelin’ the loss.” He slowly shook his head.
“Jackson is one of the hardest working men I’ve ever met, and now he’s left to raise those kids alone while trying to run a farm.
Your visit will seem heaven sent to him, I’m sure. ”
After he got over the shock.
She hadn’t sent word of her trip. Unless a member of her family had warned him, Jackson had no clue she was coming.
“How far is his farm from here?”
“’Bout twelve miles, but a woman shouldn’t travel such wild country alone.” He stuffed the rag into his pants pocket and checked his watch. “Oliver—Oliver Ames, my assistant—should be back shortly. I can have him drive you, if you like. How much luggage do you have?”
“A single trunk.”
He scrunched up his lips, throwing his mustache off balance. “Normally, I’d charge $30 for horse, carriage, and driver on a trip that distance, but taking the circumstances into account, I’ll only charge you $20.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cook. You’re very kind.” Caroline pulled the money from a hidden pouch at her waist and handed it over. Her trip had gone smoothly all the way from Pennsylvania. The only obstacle left was Jackson.
Caroline squinted into the midmorning sun as Mr. Ames and a man from the station loaded her trunk into the rented carriage. Oliver couldn’t be more than seventeen if he was a day, and his fair skin resembled chalk beneath a thick mop of fiery red hair.
He brushed his palms on his trousers then held out a hand to help her ascend the carriage and take her seat.
“Thank you for driving, Mr. Ames.” Her voice held steady, belying the whirlwind within.
“It’s no trouble at all,” he replied with a courteous tip of his hat.
She waited for him to circle the conveyance and take his seat. “I’m competent with the reins, but I’m accustomed to driving in the city. Finding such a rural farm would prove challenging.”
“Jackson’s place isn’t too hard to find, once you know the way,” Oliver said. “You ready?”
Caroline smiled and gave a nod.
Her smile faded as the rumble of hooves and wheels surrounded her, and she sank into her thoughts. The trip was one she didn’t want to make, yet felt compelled to—a journey of healing down a path strewn with the shards of shattered dreams.