Chapter Seventeen
It was well past sunrisewhen Faith finally awoke from a disjointed night of sleep. She’d spent hours simply lying in bed and starting at the dark ceiling, attempting to puzzle out her feelings for Beau. And now that she sat up, blinking back the effects of only a few hours of sleep, all of those confused feelings came rushing back.
He’d been too ashamed to tell her. She understood that, and yet she couldn’t shake the disappointment and the anger she felt at not knowing the truth. Were there other things he’d kept from her? And how could she trust him again? She’d given over her grief to take a chance on Beau Landry, and he’d failed her.
He was not Aaron. It wasn’t fair to compare them at all, but it was hard not to. Aaron had always been honest. Beau . . . had not. And so she’d indulged herself for some time, letting the tears fall. And then she’d put those thoughts away. They were two different men, and Faith was far too sensible to expect them to be one and the same.
One thing was clear, however—she needed to speak with him. She couldn’t last night, not when she was so upset. But now, after the passing of a night, she thought she could at least calmly discuss her questions with Beau. And hopefully, he would have answers.
Whether she could accept his answers was something else entirely.
As she dressed, Faith pondered what she wanted to hear from him. What might make this something she could live with, but more importantly, make Beau someone she could trust again? Perhaps, though, it wasn’t so much the words as it was the meaning behind them. Would she be able to tell if he was truly sorrowful for not being honest with her?
She wasn’t so much angry atwhathe’d done as she was at the fact he’d kept both that and the danger he’d faced in New Orleans from her. It was clear that his actions there haunted him enough. She could tell he felt remorse for both having taken that man’s life and for his choices leading up to that moment.
But was he remorseful at having kept the truth from her? Was there more she needed to know? And could he be honest from here on out?
How he approached the answers to those questions would determine whether she could trust him enough to remain married to him. It was a practical solution to a situation fraught with frayed feelings that she would try desperately not to let interfere with her decision.
Because the truth was, she’d fallen in love with Beau Landry, as imperfect as he was.
After twisting her hair into a simple chignon, Faith pulled her door open. All seemed quiet in the office, past the closed door. She made a quick visit to the privy and then stopped in the kitchen. There was no coffee waiting for her on the cookstove, something Beau usually did if he rose before her. Could he still be sleeping? It was awfully late, but if he’d slept as poorly as she had last night, it was entirely possible that he hadn’t yet awaken.
Faith considered starting coffee, but thought she ought to check on the office first. Surely Beau would have woken up if any customers had knocked. And the telegraph certainly would have woken him. Or perhaps she wanted to talk to him, to get these thoughts out of her head and see what he had to say.
She left the kitchen and pulled open the door to the office.
It was empty.
Faith slipped through the door and stood in front of it, her hands behind her and pressed against the wood. Where could he have gone? The settee looked undisturbed, the blanket folded neatly at one end as it was most mornings. Perhaps he’d gone for a stroll, although it was unlike him to leave the telegraph unmanned in daylight hours while Faith still slept.
Oh, well. Her desire to see this conversation through would simply have to wait. Propping the door open to better hear the telegraph, she returned to the kitchen to make coffee and prepare breakfast. Beau hadn’t returned by the time the food was done, so Faith put his plate aside before sitting alone to eat eggs and toasted bread with butter. The first customer appeared just as she returned to the office.
The morning passed in a flurry of customers and telegraph messages. Beau had still not returned, and so Faith pressed upon one of the young boys nearby to deliver the incoming telegraph messages for her. Noon arrived, and that was when Faith began to worry. If Beau had gone off back to Jack and Celia’s or somewhere else that required so much time, surely he would have left her a note.
She came around the counter and eyed their little parlor area. A square sheet of paper caught her eye from where it must have fallen to the floor beneath the table. Of course she hadn’t seen it earlier; she hadn’t been looking for it. She swept it up from the floor and turned it over to see Beau’s sharp, fine handwriting.
