Chapter Fourteen
The return telegramcame later in the morning. Beau’s friend agreed to go by Maman’s home at least a couple of times each day to help ensure her safety. It assuaged Beau’s fears some. The presence of an interested party might help deter whomever was seeking revenge for Desroches’ death, and if anything did happen, Beau would receive a telegram.
But the worry lingered. It wasn’t as if someone would be there all the time. If Desroches’ friends weren’t deterred, and if they thought Maman was hiding information about Beau’s whereabouts, what would prevent them from hurting her in some way?
The fear lingered there in the back of his mind as he worked with Faith, through the noon meal they shared, and into the afternoon when she left to visit the mercantile. And to make it worse, worry about Maman battled with a guilt at not being truthful with Faith.
She hadn’t pressed him, hadn’t made him feel as if she suspected there were anything else to what had happened to Maman’s home, but that almost made him feel worse. It was as if he’d grown too good at lying.
He refused to be that sort of person.
And so when Faith returned later that afternoon, he decided he would take the chance at telling her more.
“I have something—” she started just as he said, “Faith, I need to—” They looked at each other and laughed.
“You tell me first,” Faith said, her faced flushed with her walk home. She unpinned her hat and peeled off her gloves as Beau came around the counter. He gestured at the chairs in their little parlor area.
Faith set her gloves and hat on the small table and sat. Her eyes were the bright green of summer grass, and tendrils of her hair hung about her face. She impatiently brushed a few aside as Beau sat in the chair beside her. He clasped and unclasped his hands, thinking that standing might be easier. But Faith reached over and laid a reassuring hand on his arm, and he stilled.
“I wasn’t entirely truthful with you when I received that letter from my mother,” he finally said.
Faith’s face was impassive. If she was angry or irritated at his confession, she didn’t show it. But she kept her hand on his arm, and that gave him strength.
Beau drew in a deep breath. Where should he start? “After my father passed, and I sold his newspaper, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had more money than I ever needed and no purpose to my days. I’m ashamed to say I took up gambling, and not in the manner most men do as an occasional amusement, but as a nightly occurrence.” He paused, trying to determine how to move forward in his story.
“If there is anything I’ve learned over the past year,” Faith said, her voice quiet. “It’s that we all feel grief differently.”
Had it been grief? Beau hadn’t thought of it that way, but now that he did, it felt true. Yes, he’d had nothing to do with his days once the newspaper was no longer his, but he’d also missed his father deeply. The world felt less secure without him. He’d been the rock that had tethered their family together for as long as Beau had known. It didn’t excuse the choices Beau had made, but he felt he understoodwhyhe’d made them a little better now.
“I believe you’re right,” he finally said. “I don’t think I’ve ever acknowledged that I missed my father after his passing.” He turned his arm over and clasped Faith’s hand. Her touch gave him strength. “I visited all manner of establishments, winning some and losing some. I grew to know men I thought of as friends, and I suppose some of them were, but most were only interested in trying to part me from my money. One night . . .”
He looked up into Faith’s eyes. She trusted him. He didn’t know when that had happened, but it was as clear as the summer sky—she’d placed her trust into him. Shame clouded his mind, and he couldn’t find the words. How could he tell her he’d taken a man’s life? As justified as it might have been, he never would have faced that decision had he not been engaged in all manner of other vices.
“Go on,” she said, her voice as soft as the fur on a kitten.
He couldn’t. He’d carry his guilt to the grave if only to protect Faith from the worst part of him. “I made some men angry,” he finished lamely. “We had a dispute over cards. One fellow had cheated, and I called him out for it. It . . . didn’t go well.”
