The Marriage Knot. Mary McBride

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ recognized the brown checkered suit and polished brogans of Henry Allen, the young banker who’d been boarding at her house for the past year. She hadn’t seen Henry since Ezra’s death, having kept to her room until the house was quiet and all the boarders were asleep. Now the young man stood gazing at her with his brown puppy eyes. If he’d had a tail, Hannah thought, he’d be wagging it. Instead he was dragging the brim of his bowler hat through his fingers while he rocked back and forth in his glossy shoes.

      “Thank you, Henry. It was kind of you to come. Ezra would be very glad and grateful.”

      His puppy eyes grew darker, more glossy. His voice lowered to the intimacy of a whisper. “Shall I wait and see you safely home?”

      The boy’s sweet on you, Hannah. Suddenly she heard Ezra’s voice as clearly as if he were standing right behind her, chuckling as he always did whenever Henry Allen said something particularly syrupy, or something punctuated by undisguised sighs.

      Can’t say I blame him, either. You’re a fine-looking woman, Hannah Dancer. You don’t see it in yourself, honey, but others surely do.

      A chill edged along her spine, and Hannah sat up a little straighter. “Thank you, Henry. I expect to be here quite a while until everyone’s paid their respects.” She looked across the parlor where her other boarder, Florence Green, sat with a teacup and saucer balanced on her knee. “Miss Green’s been here a long time. She looks a bit tired to me. You might offer to see her home, Henry. I’d consider it a favor.”

      He sighed a rather boyish, recalcitrant sigh.

      “I’d appreciate it enormously,” Hannah urged. “Oh, and you might leave a light burning in the vestibule for me, too. I believe I forgot to do that earlier.”

      “Are you quite sure I can’t...?”

      “No, thank you, Henry.”

      Hannah let out a small sigh of her own when he walked away, and was heartened, even relieved, when the young man approached Miss Green and apparently offered to escort her home. The plump schoolteacher put aside her teacup, then rose and took Henry’s arm quite somberly. Then, after a last lingering glance toward Hannah, the young man escorted his companion out the door.

      People came and went during the next few hours. People who were sorry, shocked, saddened, oh so sad. By ten o’clock Hannah was nearly numb and thankful, not only that her veil hid her reddened eyes, but that it disguised an inappropriate yawn or two. She hadn’t had a good sleep since she woke from her laudanum-induced stupor two days ago. When the final mourner shook her hand and murmured his sympathies, Hannah was eager to get home, to take off her black bonnet, her black dress and stockings and shoes, and to fall into a deep and unworried sleep.

      “Looks like that’s it, Miz Dancer.” One of the Moran brothers—Hannah wasn’t sure if it was Seth or Samuel—plucked his watch from his pocket and clicked it open. “Ten o’clock. Pretty late. Your husband had a lot of friends.”

      “Yes, he did.” Hannah wasn’t sure what to do or say next. She’d never had to preside in a funeral parlor before.

      “I’ll send a boy around tomorrow with all these flowers,” Moran said, gesturing toward the many vases that decorated the room. “Just let me lock up and I’ll see you home.”

      “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Moran. It’s only a little way. I’ll be safe enough.”

      “You sure?”

      “Yes, I’m very sure. After such a throng of people, I think I’d prefer being alone for a while. Will you be picking me up tomorrow for the ride to the cemetery?”

      “Yes, ma‘am. Nine o’clock, if that suits you.”

      “Nine will be fine. Thank you, Mr. Moran. Thank you for everything. I’ll see you then.”

      Hannah took a last look at the closed casket and felt her tears welling up again. Ezra was dead. The notion kept surprising her somehow. The hurt kept feeling fresh. Raw. She wondered how long it would be before she truly accepted the fact that Ezra was gone, that she was alone.

      A soft breeze riffled her black satin skirt and bonnet when she stepped outside onto the planked sidewalk. The night was warm. She breathed deeply, cleansing herself of the smell of funeral bouquets and the lingering camphor and cedar that scented the mourners’ best clothes.

      Beyond the brass carriage lights that flanked the Moran Brothers’ doorway, Newton was bathed in silver moonlight. Even the dirt of Main Street glistened here and there where moonbeams pooled. Down the street, Hannah could see the elm-shadowed facade of her own house. There was a lamp burning in the vestibule, turning the stained-glass fanlight over the door to glittering jewels.

      For a moment everything was beautiful, almost magical. Then Hannah remembered Ezra was dead, and the beauty of the night seemed to mock her. Everything silver suddenly seemed to tarnish. A feeling of such loneliness engulfed her that she had to reach out to the hitching rail to steady her liquid knees.

      “Kinda late for a lady to be walking home alone.”

      Delaney’s voice—its deep, rough music—came out of the darkness. Hannah would have known it anywhere. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the glint of moonlight on the badge pinned to his black vest and the dull sheen of his ever-present shotgun.

      “I’m sorry about Ezra, Mrs. Dancer.”

      “Thank you, Sheriff.” Hannah stepped off the sidewalk, into the street. Without asking permission, Delaney fell into step beside her, so close at first that their sleeves brushed, causing both of them to veer slightly—Delaney to his right, Hannah to her left—leaving a foot or so of moonlit road between them.

      “I understand you were the one who kept me from pitching down the stairs the other day. I’m very grateful, Sheriff.”

      “It was nothing,” he said, his gaze directed straight ahead. “Glad I was there to help.”

      They walked in silence then. Well, not total silence. There was the clash of piano music coming from several saloons behind them, a bright peal of laughter drifting out a window somewhere, and a chorus of crickets on the edge of town. Hannah’s satin skirts rustled softly while Delaney’s spurs kept up a gentle, metallic beat.

      When they passed the jailhouse, Hannah caught sight of the chair where this man usually sat, shotgun at hand, casually keeping watch over the town. It seemed odd to stare so boldly at that chair now. Ordinarily, when she walked into town, she riveted her gaze on the opposite side of the street. The sight of him forever flustered her.

      They were halfway up the flagstone sidewalk to her house when Delaney halted.

      “I’ll wait till you’re safe inside.”

      For a moment Hannah wanted to stop, too, rather than continue, alone, toward the huge house. It was happening again—that magnetic pull she always felt whenever she was near this man. She’d been intensely aware of it from their very first meeting last winter. At the first, surprising sound of his well-deep voice and the sight of his serious face with those frank hazel eyes, Hannah’s heart had quickened inside her.

      Then, after the lemonade social to welcome the new sheriff to Newton, there had been the Valentine’s Day dance and a similar tug at her heartstrings seeing Delaney across a crowded room. It had confused СКАЧАТЬ