“Yep.” Thomas wiped his face with his napkin. “I’d been in Deadwood about a year when the town burned. It left a bunch of miners without lodging. I scraped every last cent together to purchase property and put up three boarding houses. Turned out renting rooms paid better than mining. I got a bank loan to start building a hotel two months later. Paid it off just before coming here to find Jess.”
“How come you didn’t write Ma any letters while you were gone?”
Jessalyn turned to find Olivia standing behind them, her empty plate in her hands. Had she come to the table for more food, or to listen to her father’s story? Either way, her question did precisely what Dr. Harrington’s questions hadn’t—focused everyone’s attention on the fact her husband had been gone for half a decade without sending word.
She pressed her eyes shut and drew in a breath. Yes, she definitely should have stayed home. She probably could have finished the bodice on the second bridesmaid’s dress if she’d begged off.
“I did write her letters.” Thomas reached out and bonked Olivia on the nose with his finger. “Your ma just never got them, and I’m very sorry she didn’t.”
What if things had been different? What if instead of simply assuming she was in Chicago after a few months, he wrote one last letter to her in Eagle Harbor? A letter with a return address so she could have answered him. Would the past five years have turned out differently for them?
Oh, it hardly mattered. It wasn’t as though either of them could go back and redo the past. Besides, Thomas must have eventually realized she wasn’t getting his letters. “Why didn’t you figure out I wasn’t with my cousin when she sent the letters back?”
His brow knit with a pained look. “Jess…”
“You said before that you thought I was in Chicago and you had been sending letters all that time. But wouldn’t you have realized I wasn’t with Mathilda when she returned your letters?”
Thomas leaned back in his chair and ducked his head near hers. Only then did she realize the entire table had fallen silent, all eyes looking their direction.
“Jess, we need to talk more, but not here.”
“You make any of that pumpkin pie, Ma?” Isaac’s loud voice sounded from the far end of the table. He stacked his empty plate atop Mr. O’Byrne’s and patted his stomach. “I’ve been hankering for it all day.”
“I’ll get the coffee.” Victoria shot up from the table and wedged herself between the back of Aileen’s chair and the stove to boil water.
“Did Miss Victoria say she was getting pie?” Alice appeared at the table beside Olivia, her declaration loud enough the rest of the little ones climbed off their seats and headed over to the adult table.
Jessalyn leaned closer to Thomas while commotion continued around them. “I don’t understand why we need to wait. I only want to know why you never realized something was amiss when Mathilda sent your letters back.”
Thomas ducked his head so near his breath ruffled the flyaway hairs that had escaped the twist at the back of her head. “Most of the letters were never returned. I assumed you were getting them and keeping the money all this time, even if you were too angry to write me back. It wasn’t until six months ago, when I suddenly started getting the letters back, that I realized something was wrong.”
“The letters weren’t…” Her mouth filled with sawdust, but this time she hadn’t even taken a bite of food. “What do you mean they weren’t returned? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Jess, like I said, this really isn’t the time to talk. How about I come by your shop tomorrow?”
She glanced around to find Mrs. Cummings and Aileen dishing out pie while Victoria and Lindy poured coffee. The men at the far end of the table had started a conversation about trapping and the price that animal pelts were expected to bring.
If everyone had gone back to ignoring them, surely Thomas could explain more now. “I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.”
His jaw tightened. “It’s as I said. The letters weren’t returned for most of the time I was gone, so I assumed you got them.”
“What about the money?”
“What about it?”
“You said you were sending it for five years, right? Or nearly five years? If the letters weren’t returned to you, then what happened to the money you sent?”
He looked down at the table, where someone had taken his dinner plate and replaced it with a piece of pie. “The banknotes were cashed, which is why I assumed you were getting my money, even if you were too angry at me to write. And that’s part of why I didn’t come looking for you sooner. I figured if you were too mad to write, then you wouldn’t welcome a visit in person either.”
“But…” If the banknotes had been sent to Henry and Mathilda’s home and had been turned into cash money, that could only mean one thing. She pressed a hand to her belly, her stomach churning though she’d barely touched her dinner.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the necessary.” She pushed back from the table and stumbled toward the door.
“Jess.” Thomas called after his wife, but she didn’t stop to look at him, just rushed through the door that led to the entryway where the Cummingses stored their coats and boots. A moment later the outside door slammed.
He should have followed his hunch and kept quiet until tomorrow. He rose from the table, only to realize everyone was watching him again, including Olivia and Claire at the children’s table.
He squeezed between Aileen’s seat and the stove, then shuffled around the back of Victoria’s chair before leaving the kitchen.
