Chapter 41
Ben savored his oyster stew and listened to Cora tell of Charlie’s recent adventures.
Quiet conversations from the café’s other customers hummed around them, but Cora was his focus.
Light from the short-trimmed oil lamp on their small table flickered across her features, deepening the blue of her eyes and highlighting the height of her cheekbones.
She’d coiffed her hair, framing her face with loose tendrils of waves and weaving the rest into a masterful sculpture at the back of her head, safely secured with pins and the engraved comb he’d given her.
In addition, she’d fastened one of the rosebuds to the bosom of her glimmering green dress.
Beautiful from head to toe, inside and out.
His knee jigged up and down beneath the table.
How would Cora respond to his proposal? Her letter had said she didn’t need proof that he could be trusted and that he was done with laudanum.
And she’d traveled here, prepared and willing to go all the way to Philadelphia to see him, but that didn’t mean she was ready to join her life with his until death do us part.
If she said yes, the nuptials would have to wait until he settled his commitments in Philadelphia. How would he be able to concentrate on his work at the paper—or anything else, for that matter—knowing Cora and Charlie were two thousand miles away waiting for him?
Across the table, Cora nudged a tendril from her face. “And then Charlie shot a buffalo.”
“What?” His eyebrows spiked.
Her smile widened. “I was teasing, seeing if you were listening.”
“If I’ve missed anything you’ve said, it’s because I’m mesmerized by your presence.”
She blushed. “It’s time for you to talk. I want to hear about your work and your family. I already know a little about your sister, Evelyn.”
“And what do you know about her?”
“She sent me a letter. Arrived the same day as Major Ramsey.”
He blinked wide. He might have known Evie would see fit to play matchmaker in one fashion or the other. “What did it say?” He laid his open hand across the table.
“And what is that for?”
“The letter. I’d like to read it.”
She folded her arms. “I don’t have it with me. Besides, it was written to me, not you.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Don’t torture me, Cora. I want to know what my sister said.”
She tapped a finger to her chin. “The gist was that your parents are holding you prisoner, and that she felt a visit from me would cheer you up.”
“That sounds about like how she would put it, but her comment about you cheering me up is the understatement of the year. Having you come see me is more than I’d dared hope for or imagine.”
She touched the rose at her bosom. “I think you’ve almost turned into a poet since you left Texas.”
“If I have, it’s love that makes me so.”
She traced the swirled pattern stitched into the linen tablecloth. “Either love, or because this is your world.” She waved her fingers in the air and glanced around the café with its china, crystal, and elegant black-and-red color scheme.
“I’ve been in New Orleans for less than a week my entire life.”
“Not New Orleans.” Eyes downcast, she toyed with her spoon. “But the fancy café, the people, city life.” Her smile had evaporated.
In other words, not the frontier, ranching, and Texas. “My world is any place where you and I and Charlie are together.”
She inhaled. Her brow twitched.
Goodness. He was getting too close to a version of his proposal that he couldn’t make.
She bit her lip. “Where—”
“Excuse me, monsieur and mademoiselle.” The waitress delivered two plates of blackened red fish, buttered rice, and green beans.
Not ready for the where yet, Ben said grace, then said, “Tell me about your travels. You caught the stage and then—”
“I’ll tell you more after I hear all about the Philadelphia Sentinel and your family.”
He cut a slice of the seasoned fish. “I love my parents, but talking about them this evening might spoil my appetite. However, I’ll tell you about the Sentinel, Evelyn, my grandfather, anything else you like.”
“Fine by me.” She poked a couple of green beans.
In between bites, he described his duties at the paper and the excitement of the newsroom, sidestepping the management conflict.
He moved on to a brief introduction to Evie, the whole description deserving a couple meals’ worth of discussion, and ended with an abbreviated version of his summer days at his grandpa’s.
“You loved your grandfather greatly.” Her tender tone bathed him in warmth. “I’m sorry I missed getting to know him.”
“He’s the one who taught me how to dream. And to love the outdoors.”
Cora raked her fork through her remaining pieces of rice. “But you also love your work at the paper.”
“Maybe I just want you to see that I’m actually competent at something. I still have nightmares about all of those cattle lying there—”
She leaned forward. “Goodnight himself barely avoided the same mistake, and he has lived on the frontier since boyhood.”
He slipped his hand over hers. “In the newsroom, I’m confident. I know how to succeed. I enjoy writing…”
Her smile drooped.
He squeezed her limp fingers. “But I hate the office politics and the confinement of four walls surrounded by miles of buildings. I lived outside for four years of war and prison.”
“That might be enough to make you never want to set foot outside again.”
He chuckled, then sobered. “Those years burned images in my mind and heart that will never fade away, and that continue to haunt my dreams. But they also taught me about honor, friendship, endurance, and courage.”
“I’m sorry about everything you went through.” She brushed her thumb against his knuckles.
He gentled his voice. “I know your past has left scars on your heart, as well.”
She glanced away. Uncomfortable with the focus on herself? He would avoid it for now. If all went well, there would time be enough in the future to ease her down that path.
He drew her hand to his lips. “I wasn’t happy in Philadelphia after the war. I was a walking shadow. Coming to Texas was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”
Her eyes glistened. “I should have latched onto you the first time you walked into my kitchen and not let go.”
Warmth simmered within him. Words spilled out. “No one says the newspaper room has to be in Philadelphia.”
Her brow furrowed. “Your father does.”
“But a wise ranch woman told me differently.”
His gaze met hers.
“What are you saying?” Her eyes sparkled in the lamplight.
His collar scratched his throat. He needed to get his head on straight.
Even if she accepted his proposal, working or starting a paper in Texas wasn’t something that could happen in a month or two.
He was too deeply entangled in his family’s affairs in Philadelphia for such a project to move at anything more than tortoise speed.
Dabbing his mouth with his napkin, he pushed his plate back. “Shall we take a stroll?”
A few minutes later, she curled her fingers around the crook of his arm as they headed down the wooden plank sidewalk toward the French Quarter.
Gas streetlights glowed along Canal Street.
He led her across the streetcar tracks. She snuggled close and stared wide-eyed at the buildings they passed.
This was not her world. He had no right asking her to leave her home.
But it was only a matter of time before his proposal worked its way up his throat.
He flexed his hand at his side. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, get on a boat, or be anything but brain-addled until he asked.
The five-story Saint Louis Hotel with its huge dome loomed ahead.
He’d heard of its marble floors and eighty-foot-high rotunda with towering columns.
A beautiful place once, but not an ideal setting for a proposal, considering its use as a slave market before the war and a Union hospital during the conflict.
He led them down another street until they reached a garden accessible from a side street.
“Is this a public park?” she asked as he led her through the wrought-iron arch.
“No. But I walked for miles yesterday looking for a quiet outdoor place to bring you for…a chat. The owners are a sweet elderly couple who live in the brick house on the other side of that giant oak at the end of the walkway.”
She halted and turned to him. “You went to all that trouble just to find a place for our walk?”
Most important walk of his life. “I couldn’t find a porch swing, and I know you love the outdoors.”
She beamed. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She wrapped both hands around his arm as she glanced at the neatly clipped rows, vine-covered trellises, and arches shadowed in moonlight and the gaslight from the streets.
He drew her to a wrought-iron bench beneath the branches of a magnolia, still clinging to its covering of leaves in December.
Instead of snuggling next to her, he sat at an angle, his knees resting against the folds of her skirt and cloak.
With a silent prayer, he took her hands in his.
His pulse throbbed in his head. “I love you, Cora. I started falling for you the moment I saw you march out of Mr. Coffin’s office, ready to take on the world.
I admire your strength, determination, courage…
your love for Charlie, your heart for the Lord, your beauty inside and out… ”
She squeezed his hands, her own sweat mixing with his. “I greatly admire you, too, Ben McKenzie. You’re a man of honor, strong character, courage, perseverance, willing to sacrifice for those he loves, a man of faith who can be counted on—”
“The war and prison battered my faith pretty badly. But you and Charlie turned all of that around. I wanted to be my best for you, and I knew I couldn’t do that without the Lord’s help. I don’t ever want to go back to the way I was before Texas.”
She didn’t flinch at the subtle reference to laudanum. Thank God.