Ruthann nodded as her mind counted back the months. It had been one year since Norah had effectively lost her brother. He was still very much alive, but he might as well be counted among the dead considering she wouldn’t see him again for thirty years.
“Have your parents relented? Can you visit him?” Ruthann asked. It was a shame to know that Jeremy was so nearby, and yet Norah was forbidden from seeing him.
Norah shook her head. “They’re too ashamed. They prefer to pretend heisdead. And if I went to that prison . . .” She shuddered. “They’d likely think the same of me.”
“I very much doubt that,” Ruthann said. “They would be angry, but they’d forgive you.”
Norah pressed her lips together, and Ruthann had the distinct feeling there was something more behind Norah’s decision to follow her parents’ wishes. Ruthann’s heart ached for her friend. She couldn’t imagine having Stuart accused of some terrible crime and sent off to the State Penitentiary—the prison just past the edge of town that everyone still called the Territorial Prison—for most of his life.
“Tell me,” she said, trying to lift Norah’s spirits. “Has Mr. Beck sent you any gifts lately?”
Norah giggled. “Dear old Mr. Beck. He sent me a chicken yesterday. A chicken! Who sends a lady a chicken?”
“Well, he certainly is practical,” Ruthann said.
“That he is. A chicken, a bottle of fresh milk, a broom.” Norah counted the odd gifts on her fingers. “I fear he might send a hog next!”
“A hog would mean he’s truly smitten,” Ruthann teased.
“I’ve tried to tell him—more than once—that I don’t wish for his attentions. Yet, he continues to send me gifts. Perhaps I’ve been too gentle? I don’t want to injure his pride.”
“Whose pride are you ladies injuring?” Stuart, Ruthann’s older brother entered the room, pressing himself into the conversation. He glanced around. “What happened to Foster?”
“I don’t believe Mr. Jones will be returning,” Ruthann said as lightly as she could muster. “Unlike Norah’s Mr. Beck, who is most persistent.”
Stuart furrowed his brow as he took a seat in the wing chair opposite them. “Beck is my father’s age.”
“Precisely,” Norah said.
“And if you’ve sent Foster away, I say good riddance,” Stuart said to Ruthann. “I dislike the way he always arrives earlier than he says he will.”
Ruthann gave her brother a sidelong glance. “There isn’t a thing wrong with Mr. Jones, and you know it. He’ll make some woman very happy—just not me.”
“I doubt that. You’ve made a wise decision,” Stuart said, clearly not willing to let Ruthann have the last word, as usual.
Ruthann made a face at Norah, who covered her mouth with a gloved hand to hide a smile. If it were up to Stuart, no man would ever measure up. Although Ruthann had begun to wonder the same about her own opinions.
All she wanted was to feellove. To have her heart pound uncontrollably when she looked at a man, to wish he might take her in his arms, to lose herself in daydreams of a long life together. Sometimes she wondered if she were asking for too much.
“How was the freight office today?” Norah asked Stuart, and Ruthann could have hugged her for changing the subject away from beaux and courting.
“Busy. I doubt we’ll see Papa before dusk. He hasn’t touched the books yet today—and you know he won’t let me help with them.” Stuart ran a hand through his tousled dark blond hair, the exact shade of Ruthann’s own. Their eyes were the same color of blue, they sported the same slightly upturned nose, and even their smiles matched. Ruthann couldn’t have denied he was her brother if she’d wanted—no one would have believed her.
“I’m happy he’s busy.” Ruthann kept the last part of her thoughts to herself. If Papa was too busy with the business, he wouldn’t have time to scheme with Mama to place a new potential beau in Ruthann’s path. “Will you bring lunch back to him? Mama and I set some aside for you both.”
Stuart nodded and stood. “I’m famished.” He took a few steps toward the door before stopping and turning back around. “I almost forgot! Who do you suppose came into the office this morning?”
Ruthann looked to Norah, who shrugged.
“Nate Harper. Do you remember him?” Stuart asked.
Ruthann’s heart skipped a beat. Remember Nate Harper, her brother’s closest friend? How could she have everforgotten? “Yes,” she managed to say in an even, although breathy, voice. “He . . . he left to join the Army, if I remember correctly.” Of course she remembered correctly. She remembered everything about Nate.
Stuart nodded. “He did. Joined the cavalry in fact, and now he’s back home. And found a place in town to start a business. Photography.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t imagine Nate Harper operating a photographic camera. “After all these years, I thought he’d gone for good.”
“As did I,” Ruthann said in a strangled voice.
Stuart looked at her a moment, and Ruthann feared he knew exactly what went through her mind. But then he smiled, and bade them good afternoon before retreating to the kitchen.
