Something niggled at her memory, and Frances forced herself to relax and not let anger distract her. She allowed the recollections to flow through her mind. Father had been talking in his office to someone she hadn’t liked, so she hadn’t stayed near the door very long. Her gut told her it was important to remember who it had been.
She took a deep breath, tightening and then relaxing her muscles. The memory of the man’s voice became stronger, louder.
Uncle William.
Why had he been there? The brothers couldn't abide each other's company and rarely saw each other. If it hadn’t been for Aunt Ann, Frances doubted they would have spoken at all.
The memory tugged at her again, and she gave it her full attention. They’d been having words of some kind. The threatening tone of her uncle’s voice had drawn her back to the door. Uncle had been demanding her father give him something, but he’d refused. When her uncle had stormed from the office, he’d caught her by surprise. She’d had to scramble to hide behind the statue and pillar in the nearby alcove to avoid being seen.
Her mind shifted back, and she made the connection. Her father's stomach complaints had begun the next day. Coincidence? At first the doctor had suggested it was an ulcer of the stomach. He'd provided Father with powders and counseled him to ease back on his responsibilities.
Over the course of the next two weeks, his health had rapidly declined until he’d collapsed at dinner. The doctor had declared it a heart attack brought on by stress.
Frances popped open her eyes, a chill running down her spine. She’d read more than one newspaper article where people who had ingested a poison and been thought to have died of a heart attack.
Something clattered against her bedroom window, startling her from her thoughts. With a pounding heart, she hurried to it and pulled back the curtain. Nick stood below in early morning light. He raised his hands in disbelief. She opened the window.
“I’ll be right down to help with the feeding,” she called, shivering against the cold.
“We’re already done, so take your time.” Nick grinned. “I wanted to give you a hard time about sleeping in.”
“You coming to breakfast?”
“Course.”
“Good. I need to talk to you about something.” Frances closed the window and let the curtain fall back into place. She had a lot to consider.
* * *
“I can’t believeyou were able to get your hands on this so quickly,” Nick said, hurrying to the wagon. Where he’d come from in Texas, they hadn’t had much snow. Definitely not enough to make it worth the effort to put sleigh runners on a large wagon.
“I didn’t think it was going to make it here in time.” Luke grinned. “This will be the perfect Christmas present for Frances. Can you run and get some more help? This thing’s a bear to lift, even with the legs off it.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Nick didn’t have far to go because several of the other hands had come outside to see what Luke was up to.
“Throw some more dirt on the walkway,” Tom called. “We don’t want to slip carrying this to the house.”
“Nick, you come help lift it off,” Luke said. “I trust you not to drop it.”
“Yes, sir.”
He hurried over. He’d heard of a Steinway before had brushed it off as one of those fancy and expensive things the rich folks back East liked to brag about owning. He’d been with Luke when he’d placed the advertisement in papers from larger cities between Billings and Salt Lake City. Judith had said a Steinway could take a year to build. No wonder they cost so much. Luke had gotten lucky to find a used one in Cheyenne.
They carefully moved it into the parlor where they put on the legs and positioned it near the Christmas tree. Nick kept glancing at the door, expecting Frances to come down the stairs and catch them at it. But she didn’t.
He came to stand by Luke and said, “This is nothing like my mother’s upright. These things certainly deserve the name ‘grand.’”
“I imagine all of you are hungry for breakfast,” Mrs. McDaniel said from the doorway. “I’ve got it set up on the sideboard.” She shot a concerned glace at the stairs. “I thought Frances would be down by now.”
“I think she’s probably missing her father,” Nick said, shooting an awkward glance at his boss, whose expression had darkened at the mention of the man.
“Ah, that makes sense,” Mrs. McDaniel said. “Itisher first Christmas without him. Well, let’s bless the food, so you men can eat.”
Once Luke had, the cowhands hurried into the dining room. Nick held back. He wanted to see the look on Frances’s face. She might even be willing to play something. She’d only mentioned once she could play, but her expression had turned so sullen he’d never dared to bring it up again. He’d assumed it was because she hadn’t liked to play and had considered it one of those womanly things she’d been forced to learn and hated on principle.
“Any sound of her moving up there?” Luke asked as he returned from the dining room.
