Page 70 of Mail-Order Lady

Footsteps sounded on the porch, then the front door opened, and Thomas leaned in. “Doctor just pulled up. There’s a man and a woman in the buggy with him.”

Clara’s chest tightened.

A man and a woman. The doctor wouldn’t bring strangers unless he thought them safe. Right?

Kate’s face had gone pale again.

Clara set the shirt aside and stood. “I’ll see who it is.” She strode to the window as Robert stepped from the study. He must have heard Thomas—or heard the buggy outside.

She peered around the edge of the curtain. The doctor’s buggy sat in the yard, two figures visible in the back seat.

The woman. A weight pressed hard on her chest, stealing her breath.

The elegant coif of blonde hair, the rigid posture, the way she held herself like she was sitting for a portrait, even in the back of a stranger’s buggy.

The cold in her chest spread outward until her fingers turned numb against the curtain fabric. Some part of her had always known this would happen. But the sight of Mother here, in this yard, in this new life Clara had been building, felt inevitable and threatening all at once.

“Who is it?” Kate moved slowly from the settee.

“It’s my mother.”

Robert’s hand settled at the small of her back. A weight she wanted to lean into. “Who’s that with her?”

“Maybe a solicitor.” He was dressed more like a businessman than a rancher.

“I’ll go out.” Robert moved around her, taking the warmth of his hand with him. “Stay inside until we know what she wants.”

He opened the door and stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him. Thomas stood at the rail, the rifle held loose in his hand as though he was trying to look casual. But the set of his shoulders said otherwise.

Clara moved to the door and cracked it open. Just enough that she and Kate could hear without being seen.

The doctor’s voice carried across the yard. “Mr. Balfours, I believe you know these folks.”

Robert’s voice came steady. “Yes.”

A pause, then Mother’s warm tone filled the space. “Mr. Balfour. I’m so glad to find you well.” The rustle of skirts, the creak of the buggy as she descended. “I must confess, I’ve been troubled by the way we parted in Fort Benton. Such unpleasantness between family.”

Clara gripped the door handle. What did Mother have in mind now?

“I’ve had time to reflect,” Mother continued. “And I didn’t want to return to South Carolina with such discord between us. Surely we can part as family should—with warmth and good wishes.” The words were perfect. Every syllable measured and gracious.

“I appreciate that, ma’am.” Robert’s voice held that careful tone. He didn’t trust her yet either.

“Oh, where are my girls? I do hope they’re both well. The doctor mentioned Kate has been ill?”

Kate’s hand found Clara’s shoulder and squeezed once. A silent question.

Clara glanced at her sister. Kate’s jaw had set, preparing for a fight. Even pale and recovering, she looked ready to march out there and face whatever Mother had come to do.

“Should we go out?” Clara whispered the words.

Kate’s eyes flashed green. “Yes.”

Of course Kate wouldn’t back down from this. She never backed down from anything, least of all a threat she knew as well as Mother.

Clara pulled the door wider and stepped onto the porch. The sun pressed warm against her face, and she had to squint against the brightness after the dim interior.

Mother stood beside the buggy now, one gloved hand resting on the side rail. Her traveling dress looked immaculate despite the long journey—deep blue silk with black trim, not a wrinkle visible. The way she held herself, the tilt of her chin, the small smile on her lips—everything about her screamed her usual refinement and control.