“I hope so too.” Her voice didn’t sound very confident.
“How long has he been gambling?” He knew he was prying, but didn’t he deserve some answers?
“For a while.” Her answer was quiet and resigned.
“Since your family moved to Breckenridge or before that?”
She hesitated, then sighed. “I cannot remember a time in my life when he wasn’t gambling.”
The scope of her father’s problems was much bigger and more longstanding than Sterling had expected. The same question he’d had earlier surfaced again. With something that had impacted her life so much, why hadn’t she been honest about it? He’d courted her for months and had been about to marry her, and she’d never once hinted at the problem. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The question fell out before he could stop it.
“It was—is—mortifying.” Her face was pale except for her cheeks, which were splotchy with red—the sign she was embarrassed.
He shook his head. That wasn’t reason enough. He opened his mouth to say so.
She spoke again before he could. “You always told me how perfect I was, and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
What? He clamped his lips together.
She drew the blankets higher, as if in doing so she could protect herself from his wrath.
Hehadtold her she was perfect. Because at the time, he’d believed she was, had thought that was a compliment. Had his declaration put too much pressure on her, perhaps even made her feel like she had to live up to his expectations?
Once again, a strange feeling pulsed through him—the feeling he bore much more responsibility in their relationship’s demise than he’d realized.
“Besides, my mother always took care of the problems my father caused.” Violet was staring straight ahead. “Once Mother was gone, Father had no one to clean up his messes anymore.”
Mrs. Berkley had always seemed like a strong woman. “I’m sorry about your loss.”
Violet nodded, her eyes turning glassy. “We didn’t expect her to get so sick.”
“What happened?”
For a little while, she shared about the past months living in Williamsburg, the city where her mother had grown up. As an only child whose father had owned a bank, Mrs. Berkley had inherited her parents’ fortune when they’d passed away shortly after she’d turned eighteen. Not long after that, she’d married one of her father’s bank tellers.
Although Mrs. Berkley’s family had all been gone when she and her daughters had returned in the spring, she’d still had a few friends in Williamsburg and had been able to find a small apartment and some work taking in mending.
They’d been getting by well enough, hadn’t been suffering, even if they’d had to live more simply and frugally than they ever had before. They’d made it through the summer, and then Mrs.Berkley had fallen ill with the influenza in September. She’d only lasted a month before dying.
“She made me promise to take care of Hyacinth,” Violet whispered, her voice catching.
Sterling wanted to take Violet’s hand in his and offer her some comfort. But he kept his hands clasped in front of him.
“I thought coming back to Colorado and living with our father would be best for us.” She glanced over at her sister, who was curled up, the glow from the fire revealing a peaceful expression on her sleeping face. “But I only made things worse.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I knew my father was a liar and couldn’t be trusted.” Her voice turned bitter. “His promises have always been empty.”
“I didn’t realize he was that way…He appeared so distinguished and respectable and responsible.”
Violet released a soft but bitter laugh. “I didn’t realize he was that way either until I was eight years old, on the day he sold my beloved mare Dixie, my very first horse, the pride and joy of my life.”
Sterling’s gut cinched with a new coil of anger. He’d already been mad at Mr. Berkley, and this only made his dislike even greater.
“We were moving. Again,” Violet continued. “For about the hundredth time in my short life. When I begged Father not to sell Dixie, he said just as soon as we were settled into the new place, he’d send away for her.”
“He never did?”
