Rancher to the Rescue Page 2

  “I’ll be back this afternoon.” Holding her breath lest she release a quivery sigh, she strode out of the office.

  * * *

  As Noah stood at the front door of Clare’s family home, he could hear the grandfather clock deep within the Walsh house ring quarter after two. Not fifteen minutes ago, he’d closed the office for the day, sending Mr. Pooley home. It hadn’t been busy and Noah had a decent justification if anyone should complain or if Clare wanted to keep her somber news private for the time being. He’d reassured himself with the internal promise that he would check on her and that was exactly what he was doing.

  Her bad news had cut into him nearly as much as it had her. Nobody had expected this and to see her hover on the verge of tears drew a lump into his throat and his own tears to spring into his eyes.

  But what could he have done to comfort her? Helplessness weighed on him and he prayed hastily for some guiding words.

  Anything that would help her.

  He shivered. Initially, the day had promised a bit of warmth, but the sky had clouded and the wind had turned, now bearing down from the north and chilling Proud Bend.

  He knocked, grimacing at the harsh sound. Then he waited. And waited. Finally, Clare opened the door.

  She was wearing a frilly, spotless apron over her work clothes and had pushed up her long sleeves almost to her elbows. Whatever she was doing, she’d either just started it, or it was a clean task. He noticed, however, that her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and a crumpled handkerchief bulged out the apron’s dainty pocket. Her task had been punctuated with tears.

  All he wanted at that moment was to draw her into his arms and hold her there, to somehow transfer his own strength to her, the strength he’d learned—

  Noah cleared his throat. This wasn’t about him, nor was it the time to think about his own situation. Clare needed him. “I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced. I closed the office early because I wanted to check on you.”

  She looked dismayed and quickly wiped her eyes. “I’d fully planned to return after lunch, but by the time I’d left the bank, I knew I couldn’t go back to work.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I needed to tidy up anyway. I expect I’ll have visitors as soon as word gets out, and I didn’t want them to faint at the mess.”

  It was a small attempt at humor, and Noah offered her an equally small smile for her effort. “Where I come from, they put a black wreath on the front door. It stops people from visiting.”

  Clare looked thoughtful. “I haven’t heard of that custom before. Where do you come from?”

  “A small town west of New York City. It was always easy to get a hold of a black wreath. I don’t think we can say the same here in Proud Bend.”

  “It wouldn’t matter. People would only stop by and ask why I have a black wreath hanging on my door.” Clare stepped back. “Come in.”

  Noah crossed the threshold, all the while removing his Stetson. The inside was cool and dark, appropriate for a house of mourning.

  Unexpected indignation rose in him. There couldn’t be any mourning yet. No one knew where her parents were. So there shouldn’t be a need for an unheated house. Clare was being forced into accepting a fate that might not exist.

  Noah dug out the telegram, as Clare had not taken it when she’d walked out. All she’d taken was that letter that the bank’s errand boy had delivered. “I thought you would want this.”

  She accepted it slowly. “Thank you.” But instead of reading it again, she set it on the small table near the front door. “I should keep it, but frankly, I want to burn it.”

  “Understandable.” Noah cleared his throat as he removed his coat. “Is there anything more I can do, Clare?” Her Christian name slipped from his lips without forethought and he glanced away.

  She shut the door and hung his coat on a half-filled tree beside her. “Come into the parlor.”

  If Noah expected an answer to his question, he needed to follow her there. Like the rest of the house, this room was chilly. It didn’t help that the front window offered only the dullest of daylight. Today, there was no warm April sunshine to heat the room. Clare dropped with precious little grace into one of those fussy, high-backed chairs every parlor seemed to have. They were often too short for Noah’s long legs, so he remained standing.

  “My mother’s arthritis worsened the month before they left,” she began, as if expecting him to understand wherever she was starting her story. “She doesn’t travel well by train, or else my father would have made arrangements to take it all the way to the port of Halifax in Nova Scotia.” She looked up at him. “Or to travel to St. John’s in Newfoundland. But that would require a sea crossing to the island, also.”

  Noah listened patiently. Clare was good at reading maps, he’d learned since she’d started working for him six months ago. She must have excelled at geography in college to know the port city of St John’s in England’s Newfoundland was the closest North American port to Europe. Some of the steamships must stop there before beginning their transatlantic voyages.

  “The doctor said that breathing the sea air would do her good, so they wanted to leave from New York City, but I wonder if it might have made a difference if they’d left by one of those other ports.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She rose and walked to the long table against a far wall. There, she picked up several pamphlets. “I was tidying up today and found these. They have information on the different steamships and their ports of call. Perhaps if they’d taken one of the other lines, they might have arrived safely. These ships are newer.”

  “Why didn’t they take one of them?”

  “Mother gets nauseated on trains, so they went only as far as New York City and took Governor. It has the longest sea voyage. Honestly, I cannot see how breathing damp sea air is supposed to help arthritis, but I’m not a doctor.” Sighing, she set down the pamphlets again. “Governor is the oldest ship and also the most expensive, which I realize now was not good for the family finances. Although Father didn’t mind spending money.” She looked up at him, her expression resigned. “He could be a bit cavalier about that, I’m afraid.”

  Noah cleared his throat. “Speaking of finances...today, you received a letter from the bank.” He’d seen the bank’s errand boy deliver it. He’d caught Clare’s sinking expression as she read the single page. But shortly after, that awful telegram had arrived, and he’d forgotten all about the letter.

  Clare looked away. “I’m sure you can guess what the bank said. Father paid all the bills for March, but that’s it. His payments were always due the first banking day of the month.” She rubbed her forehead and groaned. “Let me think. Father paid March’s mortgage before they left six weeks ago. So April’s payment is now two weeks overdue.”

  “Did he leave you access to his accounts?”

  With lifted brows, Clare shook her head. “There was no need. They’re empty.”

  Noah cocked his head, a frown deepening. “I don’t understand. Your father paid March’s mortgage at the beginning of the month, but didn’t expect to be in Europe until the end of the month. Surely, he would have realized that it would take a month to get the money back to you? That would automatically leave you a month behind in your payments, and yet he emptied his account, anyway?”

  Clare looked like she was getting a headache. “He was afraid Mother would need extra time to recuperate from either the train ride or the sea voyage. He wasn’t sure she’d be able to travel to Baden-Baden—that’s where the Kurhaus is—right away. The transatlantic trip is said to be awful, and once in Liverpool, they’d need another short steamship voyage to Rotterdam before going upriver to the Rhine. He said he planned to send back enough money to pay the bills. I had assumed he’d paid at least two months, but I hadn’t asked.”

  Clare flicked up her hands. “My father didn�
�t always consider the finances first. He often said that there would always be bills.”

  Except it was irresponsible to make those bills worse, Noah grumbled internally. It might be wrong to condemn Clare’s father, and Noah did know of Mrs. Walsh’s ill health, but he didn’t feel like crushing the uncharitable thoughts rising unbidden in him. “There are more in his family than his wife.”

  His clipped words cut crisply through the cool air. Yes, that was true, he decided firmly. And yes, there was more to life than earning money.

  Noah tightened his jaw. People needed to look past their own needs to the needs of others. People needed—

  He shut his eyes and stopped his thoughts. This wasn’t about his family. This was about Clare Walsh, the lovely, vibrant, independent woman in front of him. It was about what was probably the worst day of her life.

  Would it be inappropriate to draw her into his arms? Surely if anyone needed to be comforted right now, it was her.

  Yes, it was inappropriate, and a woman like Clare would resent the belief that she needed a good, strong hug right now.

  “The plan had been to return whatever money they didn’t need,” Clare was saying. “They had expected to stay for the summer in Germany, but hoped her treatment would take less time. I don’t think he even cared that the mortgage would be a month late. My father often thought that there was no point in worrying about money.” She sank into her chair again. “I guess he didn’t worry about not surviving the first leg of the voyage, either.” An angry glance up at Noah told him that tears glistened again in Clare’s eyes.

  Immediately, Noah dragged a chair closer to her. He perched on the edge of the rounded and uncomfortable seat, his knees poking up into the air. He really hated these fussy, overstuffed things. “Clare, we don’t know what has happened yet.” He rubbed her upper arm, then dropped it quickly, afraid the touch was too personal. “Did you explain that to the bank manager?”

  Looking resigned, she shook her head. “All I did was make an appointment. I can hardly ask them to wait until proof comes of my parents’ deaths. That may never happen. The manager may give me an extension, but that will come with a penalty. My wages won’t cover even the basic mortgage payment, let alone one with a late fee attached. And what about the other bills, such as food and coal? Where would the money come for them?” She sighed in exasperation. “You see, I can’t afford to take time off to sort out my parents’ affairs. That would leave us with no money.”

  Outrage bubbled through him and he struggled to quell it. Her shortsighted father had left her in a bind that no woman should be in. “When is your appointment?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll be speaking with the manager. Maybe before I go there, I’ll have some better answers.”

  To what questions? Noah doubted proof of her parents’ condition one way or the other would come in the next twenty-four hours. Or the money she needed, for that matter. Again, resentment bit at him with a ferocity that had up to now been reserved for his own parents’ manipulation.

  No, this isn’t about them. You’ve left them behind, them and that lie you’ve agreed to be a part of.

  Focus on Clare.

  “Clare, let—” He had just begun to speak when the front door opened and juvenile screams tore through the house.

  Clare’s brothers were home.

  Noah felt his eyes widen as they barreled into the parlor. The boys were in a terrible state, their clothes muddied and ripped, their faces smeared with dirt. They skidded to a stop when they spied him rising to his feet.

  Clare also stood, although her movements were slower, far more careful. She blinked and swallowed and Noah wondered if she was going to blurt out what she’d learned about their parents. Surely, Tim and Leo, suddenly looking younger than their nine and seven years respectively, could not fully understand what had happened. Yes, they’d understand if their parents had died, but not something as tenuous as being overdue at their first port of call. That they could be lost at sea. Children tended to see in more clear-cut ways than adults did.

  Noah held his breath, all the while watching Clare, praying she’d say nothing. At least for now.

  Eyebrows raised, her eyes shutting for a long moment, Clare sat down again before asking quietly, “Why are you two home early?”

  The older boy, Tim, stared at his scuffed and muddied shoes. “At lunch, we went outside and down to the river. There’s a part where a spring comes right through the bank. It’s all muddy.”

  “And why did you go there?”

  “So we could smear mud on our faces to scare Mary Pemberton. She sits by the window ’cuz she isn’t allowed to go outside and get her dress dirty.”

  “She’s a scaredy-cat and told Miss Thompson on us,” Leo added.

  “Enough of that,” Clare scolded. “She reported only the truth and should not be criticized for doing the right thing.”

  Tim shrugged. “We weren’t allowed back in school unless we came home and changed.”

  The younger boy hastily wiped mud off his cheeks with his sleeve. It had dried and now fell in flakes to the carpet. He then wiped his hand on his torn pants and more mud fluttered down.

  From some distant recess of the house, the clock struck the half hour. “It’s two thirty,” Noah commented. “How long is your lunch break, boys?”

  “And how did your clothes get ripped?” Clare asked quietly.

  Tim’s gaze dropped to his filthy shoes. “We climbed a tree down at the river. One of the branches goes right out over the water without touching the mud.”

  “So we could clean ourselves off without coming home.” Leo finished his brother’s explanation, as if their unorthodox ablutions were perfectly normal. “But Miss Thompson told us to!”

  Tim nodded. “We thought it would be better that way.”

  “In case someone saw you and reported it to me, you mean?”

  The boys looked confused. Noah wondered if they were even capable of such subterfuge, or they actually thought it would be easier that way.

  “But we fell into the mud,” Tim answered. Being the older brother, he knew that they’d done wrong, whereas Leo didn’t. Or else Leo was ignoring the obvious.

  “I’m hungry,” Leo announced, oblivious of his brother’s contrition. “You didn’t give us enough food for lunch. And it’s cold in here.”

  Noah glanced at Clare in time to see her shut her eyes again. A crimson stain crept up her neck. What was she going to do? They needed discipline. Guidance. They also needed to learn there were consequences to their actions.

  “Go upstairs and change,” Clare said wearily. After a slight hesitation, she added, “Supper will be a bit late, but I want you to clean yourselves up first, anyway. Just don’t make a mess upstairs, but bring down those filthy clothes when you’re done. I’ll have to mend and wash them before school tomorrow. Let’s hope they dry in time.”

  For a long moment, the boys merely stared at her, as if sensing something was off. Then, after a nudge from the older brother as he turned to leave the parlor, the younger one followed.

  When Leo had closed the door behind him, Clare sagged.

  Noah laid his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t tell them yet.”

  “I can’t, not without crying my eyes out. They won’t understand what it means to be lost at sea, anyway. They don’t realize how big the Atlantic is.” She sank back into the chair again. “Look at them.” She threw up her hand before smacking it against her chest. “Look at me! I can’t even discipline my own brothers.”

  “They’re not dogs that need immediate correction. You can do it later tonight. They’ll know why.”

  Clare shook her head. “It won’t be fair. I learned in college that children’s misbehaviour is simply an expression of another emotion, in this case, missing our parents. Tim and Leo need time to fully work out
how they’re feeling about Mother and Father being gone.”

  Lifting his eyebrows, Noah tightened his jaw to stop from contradicting her. He’d seen those boys around town even before their parents left. He’d heard Tim and Leo from within the confines of the Recording Office, too, before the school bell rang. He shouldn’t ask, but the question slipped from his mouth. “How is missing your parents getting converted into obvious mischief?”

  She pulled from her apron pocket that crumpled handkerchief and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “They began to act up when our parents started to prepare to go to Europe. I think they were scared. Misbehaving would bring our parents’ attention back to them, and thus reassure them that they’re still loved. In their minds, if Mother and Father left, it would be because they didn’t love us anymore. It’s all quite understandable when you consider how we treat our children in today’s world.”

  Noah had no desire to be drawn into something he knew nothing about, but he couldn’t help pointing out, “They misbehaved long before your parents left. Plus, it’s been weeks since they left and children adapt easily. What explains their disobedience today?”

  “Me. I’m the one whose love they’re afraid to lose now. They think I’ll leave next.” She looked up at Noah with another bleak expression. “It’s all well-documented psychology. But that doesn’t matter right now. Think about today. How can I tell them that our mother and father aren’t ever coming home again when they’re grieving their temporary absence?”

  Noah didn’t know if he agreed with this modern parenting nonsense. It sounded more like lack of discipline and flimsy excuses. But he wasn’t there to argue with her. He needed to tread carefully. Clare deserved that much. “A little bit of understanding is always a good thing.”

  He felt his mouth tighten. Understanding. He’d had little of that from his parents.