If the Prospect Pleases Read online

  “I didn’t have to, I was chosen. You’ll never guess by whom, Mother. It was Dr. Markwell’s son, Jason—”

  Although Annora thought she was prepared for the news, it still hurt. Little parts of her heart began to shrivel around the edges.

  “—and he was ever so gallant, carrying my mallet for me, seeing to it that I never lacked for lemonade. He was easily the handsomest young man there. And he’s quite the wit, as well. I thought I might never stop laughing.”

  Mrs. Baxter positively glowed. “I couldn’t be more pleased, darling. You must do all you can to encourage his attentions. That boy has a splendid future ahead of him, and by the time he finishes studying the practice of medicine, you’ll be almost the perfect age to marry. I couldn’t think of anyone who would make a finer son-in-law.”

  It was all Annora could do to force food past the huge lump in her throat.

  Later that evening, she couldn’t even remember how she had gotten through the remainder of the meal. In the solace of her room at last, while changing into her nightgown, her gaze fell upon her mother’s Bible. It was Annora’s most treasured possession now—even more dear than the few prized pieces of jewelry Mrs. Henderson had saved from Mama’s things. She opened the worn volume to the marker for her habitual daily reading, today in the Thirty-seventh Psalm:

  Fret not thyself because of evildoers, neither be thou envious against the workers of iniquity. For they shall soon be cut down like the grass, and whither as the green herb. Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed. Delight thyself also in the Lord; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart. Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass.

  Her eyes shifted to the window above her bed as she reflected on the passage she had read. It certainly seemed as if at least one evildoer resided at the parsonage, and though Annora didn’t exactly wish Mirah cut down, it would be rather gratifying to have her be caught in a falsehood once or twice. Then, chagrined at wishing something so bold, Annora returned to the psalm:

  And he shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as the noonday. Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him: fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass. Cease from anger, and forsake wrath: fret not thyself in any wise to do evil. For evildoers shall be cut off: but those that wait upon the Lord, they shall inherit the earth.

  I wonder if that could be true for me, Annora mused. Just wait patiently, and be exonerated. It’s my deepest hope, yet it seems so unattainable a dream. Exhaling a ragged breath, she stood to fold her work clothes for tomorrow.

  When she shook out her apron, a small piece of paper floated to the floor. Curious, Annora picked it up, then recognized it at once as a notice that should have gone up on the public board:

  In desperate need. Widower with two small children seeks woman to care for same. Duties to include cooking and upkeep of home. If the prospect pleases, position may lead to matrimony. Travel expenses paid. Reply to Lucas Brent, General Delivery, Cheyenne, Wyoming.

  A profound sadness crept over Annora as she read the announcement over again. Here she was, living in a large city, where one could easily obtain whatever one required. . .and feeling sorry for herself! She so seldom gave even the slightest thought to those out in the wild territories who had left home and family far behind to begin new lives where few conveniences were available.

  With a shake of her head, she breathed a swift prayer of forgiveness, tacking on a fervent petition for Widower Brent and his little ones. She’d be sure to pin that notice up on the board tomorrow.

  But the burden for the needful little family remained on her heart for a good part of the night.

  three

  Cheyenne, Wyoming

  “Come on, Noah. Put some muscle into it, will you?” Lucas Brent rasped at his dark-haired kid brother as the two of them rocked the stubborn post back and forth. Widening the gate to the corral had been a harder job than he’d anticipated.

  “Can’t see why we have to get rid of this fool thing anyways,” Noah grumbled, swiping his shirt sleeve across his sweaty forehead. He flicked a lock of damp brown hair out of his eyes, then heaved against the wood with all his might. After an almost audible groan, it finally gave, throwing him headlong to the dirt. “Aaaah!”

  Lucas had sidestepped just in time. He smirked and offered a hand to his sibling, then tugged him to his feet. “I didn’t want it there, that’s why.”

  “Don’t know what difference it makes,” Noah groused, sweeping a scathing glance down his now-dusty shirtfront. He brushed himself off and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Can we call it quits now?”

  “There’s lots of daylight left.”

  “Man, all you want to do anymore is work! I’m tired. It’s hot. And it’s been a long day.”

  “Well,” Lucas said with a shrug, “looks like there might be a storm coming. Go on. I’m gonna keep at it for a bit.”

  Noah’s youthful features relaxed, and his blue eyes shone with relief as he turned and strode past the barn.

  “Hey, check on the girls,” Lucas called after him. “Make sure they aren’t into something they shouldn’t be. I’ll be along soon.”

  “Sure.” Whistling now, the young man lengthened his strides toward the four-room clapboard dwelling a short distance away.

  Lucas watched him go, noting how his brother’s once-skinny frame was muscling out since he’d come out to Wyoming in hopes of finding adventure. Seemed to be mellowing a little, too. The hard work was curbing some of the mischievous bent he’d acquired growing up in Denver. But would the kid ever settle down? Contemplating the unlikely possibility, Lucas inflated his lungs and slowly let the air out as he began filling the hole the extracted post had left behind.

  Oh, well, he should be thankful to get any help out of that daydreaming nineteen-year-old. Noah showed little regard for the never-ending amount of chores that needed doing on a farm. One of these days somebody should give him a good—

  A joyous, high-pitched shriek cut into his musings. Straightening to ease a kink in his back, Lucas swung a glance in the direction of the house just as his little daughters, Melinda and Amy, scampered out onto the weathered front porch. He smiled to himself. It was good to hear them starting to act like youngsters again. They’d been far too withdrawn since the funeral, hardly ever giggling like they used to.

  But dwelling on the relentless ache inside him since Francie’s death would only worsen it. With a sigh, he turned his focus to the task at hand and tamped the loose earth into place.

  “Papa! I’m hungry,” towheaded Amy hollered from the yard.

  “Isn’t it getting suppertime? The sun is low,” her big sister pointed out with six-year-old logic.

  “Yeah, I’m coming.” Gathering his tools, Lucas headed for the barn.

  The pair met him halfway and skipped hand in hand alongside, Amy’s long blond hair feathering in the breeze. Lucas noticed it wasn’t nearly as shiny as it had been when their mama had kept after it. But the braids he’d put in Melinda’s deep brown locks were holding up pretty well, if he did say so himself.

  “Melinda found a hurt birdie,” Amy said, eyes the same azure shade as Francie’s shining up at him. “Uncle Noah says it’s gonna die. Is it, Papa?”

  “I don’t know, pumpkin. I’ll have to see how bad it’s been hurt.”

  “I hope it doesn’t die,” Melinda said on a sad sigh, her lips turning down at the corners. She fingered a new tear in her dress.

  “Did God put birdies in Heaven?” Amy asked.

  Lucas grimaced. He had stopped giving much thought to heavenly affairs the day Francie had been laid to rest. . .when it dawned on him that the Almighty didn’t seem overly concerned about two innocent little ones who now had to grow up without their mother. But he smiled gently and squeezed her little shoulder with his free hand. “Well—”

&nb
sp; “Course there’s birds in Heaven, silly,” her sibling an-nounced. “Birds are pretty. And Heaven has all pretty things. Mama told us that, remember? When we looked in the picture book.”

  The sweet remembrance crimped Lucas’s midsection, and he found it hard to respond. But they had reached the barn entrance, and as usual, the girls made a beeline for the stall housing Chesapeake, his sorrel-colored stallion. Parking his gear with the rest of the tools, Lucas watched them petting and cooing over the sorrel-colored bay while he checked to be sure Noah had fed the animal.

  “Come on, you two,” he said, offering each a hand. “Let’s go get supper going.”

  “Hooray!” the girls chorused, each trying to be first to grab hold.

  Their sweet smiles were a pleasure to see. . .even against those dirt-streaked faces. A person didn’t have to look too close to concede that both girls could use a decent bath tonight. And once they were tucked into bed, he’d make good use of the water himself. If he hunted hard enough, he might even find some clean clothes somewhere, too. If not, reasonably clean would have to do.

  “What’re we gonna eat?” Melinda asked.

  Lucas had been wondering the same thing himself. The long hours of work it took to keep his mind too occupied to feel sorry for himself precluded any kind of involved meal. “Did you two bring in the eggs today?”

  “Uh huh.” Amy scrunched up her face. “But we had eggs last night. And yesterday at dinner.”

  “And beans and ham almost every other day,” his older daughter reminded him.

  “Well, how about pancakes?” Lucas offered. “You like those.”

  “You mean, every day?” Melinda challenged.

  “No, sweetheart. Just tonight. For special.”

  She nodded. “All right. Pancakes.”

  “All right,” he said as they neared the house. “Wash up, then, while I get them going.” He gave one of Melinda’s braids a gentle tug. “Help Amy do a good job, huh?”

  “Sure, Papa. Come on, Sissy. You can be first.”

  The girls went to dip water from the rain barrel into the wash basin that sat on the low table next to it, and Lucas continued on into the house.

  Barely through the open doorway, he shook his head and turned his eyes upward. Only four rooms, and nothing but clutter from one to the next—while Noah, oblivious to it all, lounged on the sofa in the front room, one leg hooked over the arm, his bare foot dangling.

  Lucas glared at him on the way to the stove. “Wouldn’t hurt you to pick up a little once in awhile, you know.”

  Noah snorted and closed the Sears Roebuck catalog he’d been flipping through. “Why? It’ll only get messed up again. Besides, nobody sees it but us.”

  “No excuse. This isn’t how you were raised.”

  “Yeah, well, Ma and Pa ain’t gonna swoop down here with their harps to yell at me no more, are they? It ain’t my idea to work my head off all day every day, like you’re so set on doing since Francie died. I put in my share outside. I shouldn’t have to keep it up when the day’s done.”

  “Is that right?” Lucas replied, looking askance at him.

  “Yep. That’s the way I see it.”

  “Well, the way I see it, it’s time you grew up and took on some responsibility. Show some appreciation for having a roof over your head.”

  “Plenty of time for that.” Noah came to his feet. “Right now, I think I’ll ride on into town.”

  “I told you a storm’s on the way.”

  “So? A few drops of rain never hurt anybody. I need to see a cheerful face for a change. Might even run into Postmaster Cummings while I’m there. He’d know if there’s been an answer to the notice you sent east with the circuit rider.” He jammed his bare feet into his boots and tromped out the door.

  But Lucas knew it was way too soon to hope for answers.

  ❧

  Almost every member of Arch Street Church must have come to Mr. Thornby’s funeral yesterday, Annora deduced. At least that’s how the floor looked, tramped from front to back with mud from the heavy rain. And with this being Mrs. Henderson’s baking and laundry day, Annora knew she would have to handle this task on her own. She blew some stray hairs out of her eyes with a disgusted huff, then went to get the bucket and scrub brush.

  Knowing she was going to be at it for hours, she decided to start back at the door, where it looked the worst, then work her way toward the front. She rolled up her sleeves and began the tedious chore.

  Annora had finished the length of one side and had gotten to the middle of the other when she first detected faint voices coming from the pastor’s office, its door typically ajar during the warmer months. Not particularly prone to eavesdropping on matters that didn’t concern her, Annora was rather glad the conversation could not be heard over the noise of the scrub brush. But when she switched to the rinse rag, short snatches could be heard quite distinctly, so she tried to concentrate on her work rather than listening.

  “. . .but for that will. I had no idea it existed.”

  “He might not have been thinking clearly, my dear Mrs. Thornby. The stipulation was likely due to his illness, I’m sure.”

  “That’s not what Lawyer Sherman tells me. He is convinced Bertram was in his right mind to the end.”

  Dipping the brush into the suds once more, Annora scrubbed another portion of the floor around her, then wrung out the rinse rag to wipe up the soap and dirty water.

  “But marriage!” The woman cried. “To attach such a condition to Percy’s inheritance. Bad enough for us to be left alone so suddenly—but that!”

  Annora couldn’t resist chuckling inwardly. Percival Thornby? Get married? A picture of the paunchy young man with sallow skin flashed in her mind. His forehead had already laid claim to all the territory up to the middle of his scalp—and him no more than twenty-five. Worse yet, he mirrored many of his mother’s irritating gestures and voice inflections. He had turned his simpering affections in the direction of nearly every unmarried girl at church at one time or another, without getting a single taker. In fact, it was rather a joke among them that such a sissy would never find gumption enough to leave his doting mother in the first place!

  Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but remember how sad it felt to part with a member of one’s family. Whispering a prayer of comfort for the newly bereaved church folk, Annora took the brush again and began the next section. Rinsing it, she let her thoughts drift to Jason Markwell and his enticing manliness.

  “Now, now, my good woman,” the minister said soothingly. “Your concern might be premature. Let’s pray about the matter and leave it in God’s hands. Meanwhile, put your mind at rest. I’ll see what I can find out about it from your lawyer and call on you the moment I have anything to report.”

  “If you think there’s hope,” she said hesitantly, her own tone evidence of her doubt.

  Standing to her feet, Annora picked up the heavy water bucket and moved to the next area.

  The voices grew fainter momentarily, an indication that Reverend Baxter had shown the widow out the side exit. Expecting complete silence after that, Annora was startled to hear the minister’s wife speak directly after the report of his footsteps indicated his return.

  “Well. I must say, that is about the strangest thing I have ever heard. Didn’t it strike you as such, Phineas?”

  He grunted in response. “Just remember, it was related in strictest confidence. It is not to go beyond these walls.”

  “Of course. But my heart goes out to the poor woman. She’s beside herself. There must be something we can do to help.”

  Annora picked up the brush to rewet it.

  “Well,” she heard the minister say, “there are a number of young women in our congregation who are of marriageable age. Edna Morris, for one. Violet Biddle and her sister Iris.” He paused. “And do not discount the younger set—Lesley Clark and her circle.”

  The brush slipped from Annora’s grasp and plunged into the murky scrub water. Retrieving it
, she resumed her chore.

  “Phineas. . .”

  Something in Mrs. Baxter’s tone made Annora freeze in place, sudsy droplets plopping from the bristles to the floor. She sat back on her heels, a deep foreboding pressing upon her chest.

  “You know,” the woman went on in a confidential tone, “this might just be an answer to our prayers.”

  four

  An answer to prayer? Mrs. Baxter’s remark sank like a rock to the bottom of Annora’s heart. She had a dreadful suspicion what the answer to those prayers might be. . .or rather, whom. A ward was, after all, expendable.

  More rational thoughts took over. No sense jumping to conclusions when her fears might be entirely ungrounded. With her pulse throbbing in her ears, she kept absolutely still, straining to hear more.

  “What do you mean, Millicent?” came the pastor’s voice.

  “Well,” his wife explained quietly, “think of our dilemma. Of the incidences that have occurred in our own home over the past two years.”

  A short pause. “You’re referring to Annora.”

  “Of course.”

  The slender thread of hope to which Annora had clung snapped, and a heaviness like nothing she had ever experienced pressed the very breath from her. Fearing that her guardians might inadvertently glance into the sanctuary and discover their conversation was anything but private, she crept silently out of the line of view. She stooped down behind a plant table near the front corner, longing desperately for the discussion to end.

  “Much as I rue having to admit failure with that girl,” the older woman went on, “I fear we’ve no other choice. Rather than showing common gratitude for the refuge provided her in time of dire need, she has chosen to inflict us with malicious harm. Time and again. And I, for one, have reached my limit with her.”

  “Still,” the pastor reasoned, “there’s much to consider here. I shouldn’t want to make a decision in haste.”

  “Haste! Is that what you deem it—when what we must consider above all else is our own daughter’s welfare? I dare say, while we sit by waiting for Mirah’s excellent character to make even the slightest impression on the girl, the very opposite could be happening. I could not bear it if our own darling child were to be corrupted by the likes of her.”