Chapter 13 #2
“Hot stew. Fresh bread. Tea.” The older woman bustled into the room without waiting for invitation, then set the tray on the bedside table. “You eat. Then sleep. Tomorrow we talk about what comes next.”
What comes next. The words settled in Kate’s stomach like stones. “Thank you, Mrs. Wang.” She did her best to inject warmth into her voice despite the tightness in her chest. “This is very kind.”
The older woman paused at the door, her dark eyes sharp as they swept over both of them. “You are safe here. Remember that.” Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that made Kate’s pulse kick harder.
Clara moved to the tray, lifting a bowl of stew and breathing in the steam. “She’s right, you know. We are safe here.”
Safe. The word felt slippery, hard to hold onto.
Safe from what? The storm, yes. Starvation and cold, certainly.
But safe from the consequences of a night spent unchaperoned in a cave with Thomas Balfour?
She moved to the window and pressed her palm against the cool glass. Somewhere out there in the darkness lay Butte. Soon, Edmund Hartwell would spread word of what he’d seen. Or what he thought he’d seen.
Mrs. Hartwell would be the first to know. By next week, half of Butte society would be whispering about the seamstress with questionable morals. Her carefully laid plans, the future she’d been building—all of it crumbling before she’d even had a chance to begin.
“You should eat something.” Clara’s voice pulled her back from the darkness of her thoughts.
Kate turned. Her sister had already started on the bread, tearing off pieces with fingers that still trembled a little. Her bowl of stew sat beside her, steam still rising in lazy curls.
Kate forced herself to move away from the window, to cross the room, to take up the second bowl, and sink onto the bed beside Clara.
The stew’s warmth spread through her hands, and she lifted a spoonful to her lips.
Rich beef broth, vegetables that had been preserved, herbs she couldn’t quite identify.
It tasted like comfort. Like home, though she’d never had a home that felt quite like this.
The weight of Clara’s gaze was strong, though Kate didn’t acknowledge it.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Kate took another bite. Then another.
“Kate.” Clara set down her bread, fixing her full attention on Kate now. “What happened?”
The spoon in her hand weighed as much as a log. She set it in the bowl, then placed the bowl on the tray. Her fingers wanted to shake, so she pressed them flat against her thighs. “We had a visitor this morning.”
Clara’s expression shifted—wariness creeping into her features. “A visitor?”
“Edmund Hartwell.” The name tasted bitter. “The copper baron from the stage. Audrey Hartwell’s husband. He was riding near the river when we left the cave.”
Understanding dawned across Clara’s features, followed by something that looked like dread. “Oh no.”
“He drew his own conclusions about what we’d been doing all night.” Kate worked for a casual tone, though her chest felt tight enough to crack. “Made it clear that his wife can no longer associate with me. That recommending my services to Butte society would damage her own reputation.”
Clara’s hand flew to her mouth. “Kate, no.”
“So the seamstress business is gone.” She tried to keep her voice matter-of-fact, tried to sound like this was just another setback to be managed. But the words came out hollow.
Clara’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s not fair. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Fair has nothing to do with it.” Kate reached for her bowl again, though the thought of eating made her stomach turn. “You know that as well as I do. Reputation is all that matters to people like the Hartwells. And mine is ruined.”
“Then we’ll go somewhere else.” Clara’s voice took on that determined edge—the stubborn streak that ran through both of them, inherited from a father too weak to use it properly. “We’ll leave Montana Territory entirely. Travel on to California or Oregon or—”
California. Where Thomas planned to go. She shoved that thought aside.
“With what money?” The question came out too sharp, so she softened her tone. “The stage fare to Butte already took most of what we had. And we’d need funds to establish ourselves wherever we went. To rent a room, buy supplies, eat while I built up a client base.”
Clara’s face crumpled. “So we’re trapped.”
The word landed between them like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through everything Kate had been trying not to think about since Hartwell rode away.
Trapped. Just like they’d been in Columbia, only now the cage was made of circumstance rather than their stepmother’s machinations. And the key to escape—Kate’s skill with a needle, her ability to support them both—had been snatched away before she could even use it.
Clara straightened, her eyes brightening. “You know what could be a solution for us…” Her voice carried a note Kate couldn’t quite identify—not hope exactly, but something close to it.
“What?” Even as she said the word, she braced for whatever Clara might suggest.
“You could marry Mr. Balfour. Thomas.” Clara said his name like she’d been practicing it. “That would solve everything.”
Her middle dropped. “Clara—”
“No, listen.” Her sister shifted to face her fully, tucking one leg beneath her on the bed. “He’s the one who was with you in the cave. If anyone’s reputation is damaged, his would be too. And marriage would restore both your honors.”
“That’s not how it works.” Kate set her bowl down before she could drop it. “Men don’t suffer the same consequences women do. You know that.”
“Maybe not in Columbia. But this is Montana Territory.” The excitement in Clara’s voice rose with each word. “Things are different here. And the Balfours seem like good people—people who care about doing right.”
Kate’s throat tightened.
The memory of Thomas in the firelight, his voice raw as he confessed about Charles and the grizzly… The way his arm had tightened around her waist when she’d told him about her stepmother’s meanness…
But then the careful distance he’d maintained all day, as though he too was trying to pretend those hours hadn’t happened…
“He doesn’t want to marry me. He made that clear from the beginning. He’s planning to leave for California.”
“Plans change.” Clara reached for Kate’s hand. “And even if he doesn’t love you now, there’s no way he can keep from it when he gets to know you.”
She couldn’t help a small smile at her sister’s innocence. Clara believed the best in people, no matter how many times life showed her otherwise. Yet her words lodged in Kate’s throat like broken glass.
Love. As if that had anything to do with their situation. As if Thomas Balfour would look at her—prickly, defensive, undesirable Kate McKinney—and see something worth loving.
“This isn’t a fairy tale, Clara.” She pulled her hand free and stood, anything to get distance from her sister’s hopeful expression. “Marriage should be built on more than just solving a scandal.”
“But you like him.” Clara’s voice carried quiet certainty. “I can see it in the way you won’t look at me when you talk about him.”
Heat flooded Kate’s face. “That’s absurd.”
“Is it?” Clara rose too, moving to stand beside her at the window.
Their reflections ghosted in the dark glass—two sisters who’d protected each other their whole lives, now facing a choice neither of them wanted to make.
“Kate, you’ve spent years watching over me. Let someone take care of you for once.”
The tenderness in her sister’s voice made Kate’s chest ache. “Thomas Balfour doesn’t want to take care of me. He wants to escape to California and build a life that has nothing to do with family expectations or—”
“Or what?” Clara pressed. “Kate, what are you so afraid of?”
Everything.
The word was too honest to speak aloud. She was afraid of wanting something she couldn’t have.
Afraid of trusting someone who would leave.
Afraid of the way her chest had tightened when Thomas called her extraordinary, like some long-dead part of her had woken at his words and refused to go back to sleep.
“I’m afraid of making another mistake.” The truth scraped her throat raw. “Of choosing wrong and dragging you down with me. We should never have come here.”
“You’ve never dragged me anywhere I didn’t want to go.” Clara rested a hand on her shoulder, the touch stronger than usual. “And this isn’t just about me anymore. It’s about you too. About what you need.”
What she needed.
She stared at their reflections in the window glass—two women far from home, their futures hanging by threads that could snap at any moment.
What she needed was security. Independence. The ability to support herself and Clara without relying on anyone else’s goodwill or charity.
What she needed was exactly what Edmund Hartwell had destroyed with his assumptions and his rigid morality.
“You should at least think about it,” Clara murmured. “About staying here. Both of us. The Balfours seem like good people. And Thomas—”
“He’s leaving for California.” She forced the words out, as though repetition could make it hurt less.
“Then maybe he needs a reason to stay.”