Courting Miss Callie Page 16

  “Yes. To save me.” Sophia blinked tears from her eyes, straightened her back. “That’s why I wanted you to come see me when you returned. I need you to feed Star well, give her a good rubdown and then hitch her back to the shay. Willa is going to take care of the hotel, and I am going after Callie and bring her back.”

  “How do you intend to do that?”

  Her head lifted. “They are stopping in Dunkirk for the night. I’ll overtake them and convince Callie that I will provide a home for us until we can start a restaurant. Humble though it may be, it will be better than her spending her life with that vile man!”

  “No, Sophia.”

  He jerked his gaze to Willa Calvert, watched the young woman move to Sophia’s side, wary of her purpose.

  “You will tell Callie that you both have a home with Matthew and me as long as needed. And that it doesn’t matter if Jacob Strand purchases the hotel and burns it to the ground, because everyone in Pinewood will help you rebuild the Sheffield House.” Willa’s small chin jutted. “We may not be able to stop Jacob Strand from burning the property in revenge for Callie refusing him, but he cannot stop us from rebuilding it!”

  The people in Pinewood were a revelation to him. How wonderful to have friends who cared nothing about wealth, but willingly shared what they had with you and quickly stepped forward to help in time of need. He’d been a fool to judge these good people by the actions of those he knew in the city who both openly and covertly pursued wealth as their goal in life at whomsoever’s expense.

  “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Calvert.”

  He looked from her startled, puzzled expression to Sophia, watched the worry and fear in her eyes yield to a look of speculation, a spark of burgeoning hope. “Strand said Callie was to wed him immediately on their return to Buffalo—is that correct?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow. After he took her home so she could change into proper attire.”

  He nodded, then reached for the door latch.

  Sophia reached out and gripped his arm. “You’re not going to hitch up Star, are you, Ezra?”

  He looked down, shook his head. “No. I’m going to Buffalo—to stop a wedding. A man on a saddle horse can travel a lot faster than a woman in a shay.”

  She stared, the spark of hope flickered, blazed brighter. “What saddle horse?”

  “The one David Dibble is going to sell me.” He turned from her astonished look, pulled open the door, strode through the kitchen, outside and across the porch. He cleared the steps in one leap and hit the path running, the length and power of his strides eating up the distance to David Dibble’s livery.

  * * *

  “Mr. Strand requests that you join him for supper, miss. He says unless you do, you’ll have nothing to eat.” The maid’s mouth tightened. “He’s ordered that we’re not to bring supper to your room.”

  Callie nodded, tightened her hand on the doorknob. “Tell Mr. Strand my answer is no—he’ll be dining alone.” She closed the door behind the maid and threw the bolt. She’d had to endure Jacob Strand’s presence beside her in the phaeton—and she had no choice but to wed him tomorrow—but tonight, his threats held no power. Tonight she would shun his company and be alone.

  She turned from the door and looked around the tiny corner room.

  A room on the top floor should discourage any thoughts you may entertain about running off, my dear.

  How little Jacob Strand knew her. She eyed the narrow porch outside the window. It ran the width of the inn, and there was a tree at the corner of the building. Thanks to Daniel’s lessons, it would be a simple feat for her to climb onto a branch and scramble to the ground. It was not the height of the room that held her prisoner—it was the rest of Jacob Strand’s words.

  Of course, should you do so, it would not bode well for your aunt. You see, I intend to purchase that bank note on her charming little hotel after all. It should serve nicely to ensure that you obey me and treat me with respect. Never threaten me again, my dear.

  Her fingers twitched. She’d wanted to slap that smug smile off his face. Oh, Aunt Sophia, I never meant to endanger you. I didn’t know— Sobs shook her. They clawed and crawled their way up her throat, filled her mouth. She buried her face in her hands, clamped her lips together and forbid them release.

  Oh, God, help me. Deliver me from Jacob Strand.

  But how could He? She drew a shuddering breath and lowered her hands, squared her shoulders. Not even God could make Sophia’s bank loan disappear. If He was even real. She had prayed God would have His way and all of this had happened. And none of it was what she’d been taught was acceptable by a Holy God. She was trapped—ensnared by the machinations of a despicable man—and without hope.

  Ezra.

  His name hovered on her lips, brought intense longing, crushing pain. Tears stung her eyes, and made hot, wet paths down her cheeks. She drew a deep breath and then another, forced the image of his face from her mind. She must not speak his name, must not think of him. He would live forever in her heart, but she must bar him from her thoughts or she would not survive.

  She wiped the tears from her face and stepped to the window, looked out at the shimmering green water of Lake Erie. Swift-moving, rolling waves with frothy, white crests raced to shore and threw themselves with reckless abandon upon the sand. Flocks of seagulls swooped through the air inches above the turbulent lake, dipped and snatched sustenance from the roiling surface. The white bodies of the raucous birds bobbed in an awkward dance as they landed, pecked at some enticing morsel among the grains of sand, then flapped their black-tipped wings and soared into the air to avoid an onrushing swell of water.

  She wrapped her arms about herself and watched the brave seagulls and the tumbling waves, emptied her mind of all else. She must learn to live each day without hope, and to never, never think about tomorrow.

  The dusky pink and gray sky deepened to purple. The lighthouse on the point of land jutting out into the lake blazed to life, sent its warning beam sweeping over the restless, rippling waves in intermittent flashes. The air cooled and the sky turned an inky black. The seagulls disappeared.

  She shivered in the night chill, leaned her forehead against one of the small glass panes and wished the birds would return.

  * * *

  His progress had slowed to a walk, the night too dark to permit any speed. Stars twinkled in the sooty sky, but too few to give him any length of vision. The sliver of moon slipped in and out among dark clouds, hiding its silver face, refusing him aid.

  Ezra leaned forward and stroked the neck of the long-tailed bay gelding, delighted by the power and strength in the muscles that bunched and stretched as the horse climbed the hill. He’d told David Dibble he needed a mount with staying power, and Dibble had certainly provided one.

  He straightened and squinted through the darkness trying to make out a dark form a short way ahead. A bush? Or a hungry, marauding bear? He glanced down at the bay, took his cue from the lack of fear and relaxed in the saddle.

  He’d been ready to promise David Dibble anything for the horse—fight him for it had it been necessary—though the older man looked tough as leather. The truth was, the man’s rugged exterior covered a warm and generous heart—and he’d already heard about Strand’s threat to Sophia.

  He shook his head and pulled his shirt collar up against the cold night air. This experience was teaching him a lot about life in a small town. Dibble had handed him a bridle, led him to the bay then saddled the horse without any talk of payment. “You bring Callie back. We’ll see to her welfare and Sophia’s. And we’ll take care of that ‘strutting rooster,’ should he follow you back. We don’t take kindly to people threatening one of our own—especially decent women like Callie and Sophia.”

  And there had been at least a dozen people lining the wood walkway in front of the block of stores who had
nodded silent support as he rode by. He would never forget the brave waves and grim faces of Sophia and Willa, standing side by side on the front porch and watching as he rode out of town.

  He urged the bay to better speed as the land leveled out. He was going to enjoy living in Pinewood. As soon as he stopped this wedding, made sure Strand would never threaten Callie or her family again, and won her for his own.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The bay’s ears pricked forward, its pace quickened. They must be approaching Lake Erie. Ezra sniffed the air, listened for the wash of waves on the sand, but they were too far away for him to smell or hear the water.

  A large bird’s wings flapped overhead, loud and close enough that he ducked, though the owl or hawk was no doubt after one of the small animals that rustled through the grassy fields that bordered the road. He straightened and looked toward the whirring sound now off to his right, but could see only darkness and rode on, the clop of the horse’s hooves against the dirt road a discordant interruption of the surrounding silence. How many animals crouched in the darkness and watched his passing? A wry grin twisted his mouth as he eased back against the cantle. There were probably more than he cared to know about.

  The sliver of moon that had played hide-and-seek all night slipped from behind a cloud in the inky, star-strewn sky and cast a stingy, silver gleam over the fields and the road ahead. A beam of yellow light flashed on his left, disappeared, flashed again. The lighthouse. His heart thumped. He remembered that light flashing the night he was robbed. The Dunkirk stage inn was not far ahead. He’d caught up to them.

  He leaned forward and strained to see through the meager moonlight, caught a glimpse of a looming shadow as the light flashed out over the lake again. He drew a breath and relaxed back in the saddle, held himself from urging the bay into a reckless speed. If he remembered correctly, the haystack he had awakened in after the attack was beside the stables. That would place the building a little behind and to the right of the hotel. He reined the bay that direction and found what he was seeking.

  The waves lapping against the shore, and the pounding of his pulse in his ears were the only sounds as he halted beside the fancy phaeton sitting under the shelter of a slanting roof attached to the stables. He twisted in the saddle, looked up at the windows reflecting the flashing light and pushed his clenched fists hard against his thighs to keep from running inside and pummeling Jacob Strand to within an inch of his life. That would not solve the problem. There was a better way.

  He slipped from the saddle, led the bay to the water trough and stared at the hotel while the horse drank. Was Callie awake? Could she sense his presence? Did she hope he would come after her? He set his jaw, turned and gripped the reins close, then patted the bay’s neck. “Let’s go, fella. We’ve got more traveling to do.”

  He mounted and looked again at the windows. “Don’t despair, Callie. I promise you it will be all right.” His whisper hovered on the air. He tapped the bay with his heels and headed him back onto the road to Buffalo.

  * * *

  Bank of Buffalo. There it was. An impressive building. Ezra eyed the cold, gray-granite structure warmed to a golden glow by the morning sunshine and dismounted. He tied the bay to the hitching post, glanced down at his rough clothes and ran his hand over the stubble on his face, wished for a suit and a razor. It would be a lot easier to convince the banker of his identity if he were properly groomed, but difficulty had never stopped him. And he’d never before had such pressing, imperative reasons for winning.

  Callie. How long did he have before Jacob Strand made her his bride? He set his jaw and hurried up the granite steps.

  * * *

  “Mr. Strand ordered the gown made for you, dear. Isn’t it lovely? The rose-and-leaf ribbon trim on the tiers of the skirt is simply exquisite!”

  Callie’s stomach churned. She watched her mother lift the luxurious cream-colored silk gown off the bed and walk toward her, swallowed hard.

  “He borrowed one of your dresses for size so the gown would fit perfectly. And he even had matching petticoats made. He’s such a thoughtful, considerate man.”

  She bit back the words she yearned to say and stood silent as the silk gown whispered over her body. It would do no good to express her contempt for the man she would soon wed. Nothing could help her now. Bile surged into her throat. She swallowed hard, then took a deep breath.

  “I don’t know why you look so...grim, Callie. Really dear, you should be positively beaming! Every young woman in the social circuit had been trying to win Mr. Strand’s affections, and he has chosen you. You are a very fortunate young woman.” Her mother bent to settle the ruffled tiers into place. “Why, you will live in the largest home, have the most servants and the very best of everything! And you shall never have to cook another meal.”

  Her mother straightened, shook her head. “I can’t imagine what Sophia was thinking of, having you cook for the guests in that hotel of hers.”

  “Aunt Sophia did not have me cook for her guests. I offered.” The words burst out. Jacob Strand’s threat that she not speak of what had transpired at the hotel did not extend to defending her aunt, or her desire to cook and feel useful instead of parading around in fancy gowns for the sole purpose of winning a rich husband so she could continue parading around in fancy gowns.

  “Well, Sophia shouldn’t have permitted it.” Her mother reached out, took hold of her wrist and lifted her arm. “Look at your hands—they’ve become dry and...well, never mind. They will soon soften again.”

  Her mother turned her toward the padded bench in front of the dressing table and gave her a little nudge. “Sit down and rub some cream into your hands while I tie this headband of silk roses around your hair, Callie. We haven’t much time. Mr. Strand told your father to have you at the church within the hour.”

  Her stomach heaved. She clapped her hand over her mouth, ran to her dressing room and bent over the washbowl.

  * * *

  A large brick home on Perry Street—that’s what Callie had said. Almighty God, please...let me be on time.

  Ezra reined in the bay, leapt from the saddle, wrapped the reins over the hitching post and ran up the brick walk. He lifted the lion’s head knocker and rapped it against the plate, resisted the urge to open the door and rush inside.

  The handle turned. The door whispered open. A maid dressed in black scanned her gaze over him. “Deliveries are made—”

  He stepped inside before she could close the door on him. “I’m here to see Callie. Get her immediately.”

  The maid gaped at him, no doubt confused by his authoritative manner. “Miss Callie isn’t here. Her father and mother took her to the church. She’s—”

  His heart lurched. His gut clenched. “Where is the church?”

  “Why, I—”

  “Quickly, woman!” He snapped out the words. There was no time for politeness.

  “Down the street.” The maid pointed. “Turn right at the corner. The church is in the middle of the next block.”

  He pivoted out the door, jumped off the stoop and raced down the sidewalk, tugged the reins free and leapt into the saddle. He kicked the bay to speed, reined him around the carriage ahead, and galloped to the corner. The bay wheeled right at his touch, thundered down the street and sat back on his haunches when he tugged on the reins.

  He leapt from the saddle, dropped the reins and ran up the brick walk, jumped to the stoop and shoved open the double doors.

  The interior was dim after the sunshine. He blinked, ran toward the sound of a muffled voice, and stiff-armed another set of double doors. They burst open upon a wide, carpeted aisle. Five people stood in front of an altar at the other end.

  Jacob Strand whirled about. The man who had been speaking stopped, and gaped at him. The other man and woman turned and looked his way. Only Callie stayed faci
ng front, hopelessness in the slope of her shoulders.

  Fury shook him. He strode down the aisle, his bootheels thudding loud against the carpet in the silence.

  Recognition flashed into Strand’s eyes. “What are you—”

  “This wedding is over.”

  Callie’s back stiffened, her shoulders lifted. She turned, met his gaze, and the love he so longed for shone in her eyes.

  “Ezra.”

  His name was a whisper, a hope fulfilled. He stepped close, took her hand in his, felt it tremble. “I’ve come to take you home.”

  “You’ll do no such thing! Take your hand off her!”

  “Who is this man?”

  “What right have you to interrupt these sacred proceedings!”

  He ignored the men, and looked into Callie’s beautiful violet eyes now shimmering with tears. “Let’s go.”

  Her lips quivered. She withdrew her hand, shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Very wise, my dear.” Jacob Strand smiled, then glanced at him. “Go home to your horses.” He turned to the preacher. “Proceed with the ceremony.”

  “I said there will be no wedding.” He fought back the anger, the desire to drive his fist into Jacob Strand’s sneering face and focused on Callie. “You don’t have to marry Strand, Callie. You—”

  She shook her head. “I do. Aunt Sophia’s hotel—” Her voice broke.

  “It’s all been taken care of. The loan is paid.” Please, God, let that be enough until I have a chance to explain—

  Jacob Strand snorted. “That’s impossible. The loan was outstanding when I left for Pinewood.”

  Please, God... “The loan was paid this morning.”

  “By whom?”

  The words were a sneering challenge. He looked into Callie’s eyes reading the confusion, the hope, the desperation in them and knew he was out of time. He had to tell the truth—even if it cost him her love. “By me.”