<div>
Nell could have sworn her heart stopped beating.
<div>
Frozen in place, she rummaged frantically through her mind for any way John’s words might be a ruse. She waited for him to laugh, or wink, or tell her he was joking, but he just sat there with a pleasant grin—feeding off her hospitality like a leech.
<div>
Her skin grew cold. Her throat burned with suppressed outrage. The utter nerve!
<div>
She parted her lips to say, “how dare you!” but only the first word managed to escape. “How…”
<div>
“Well,” John shrugged, “because she invited me.”
<div>
Oh, she could knock that glass of lemonade from his hand! “I had assumed that much. But you haven’t spoken to my sister in years. Unless…” When the realization dawned on her, she shut her eyes. “You saw Caroline this summer, didn’t you? You must have.”
<div>
He hesitated. The manner in which he chewed his top lip reminded her of Luther, moments before confessing to doing something naughty. “I did see her, yes. But I’ve… been speaking to Liney for much longer, actually. Through letters. We’ve shared a mutual correspondence ever since your family moved to Iowa.”
<div>
Liney?
<div>
Nell stiffened, breathless with rage. “What? That can’t be true.”
<div>
He arched a dark eyebrow. “I’ve nothing to gain from lying to you.”
<div>
“Surely she would have told me of these letters.”
<div>
“With all due respect, everyone is entitled to their own privacy.”
<div>
Nell blinked. It seemed John still knew exactly how to draw a rise out of her. Heaven on earth, of all the ludicrous things—It couldn’t be! Caroline was all but nine-years-old then. Why would she have written John? How could she have kept such a long correspondence a secret?
<div>
In an effort to maintain composure, Nell placed a hand on her midsection, pressing against the stiff whalebone corset beneath. “Do you… have intentions to court my sister?”
<div>
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” He twisted his glass between his hands. “I believe I could make her very happy, and I’ve no doubt she will make me happy too.”
<div>
Dear Lord, she could barely breathe. “And has my sister… expressed her affections?”
<div>
“It would be ungentlemanly of me to answer that—”
<div>
“Oh, please do,” she insisted, her heart battering inside her chest like a caged bird.
<div>
“Forgive me,” he cocked his head, “I was under the impression that we were on amicable terms now. I can’t help but feel your objection towards my interest in your sister.”
<div>
“Objection?” Nell let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “Why would there be any objection?” Shifting on the cushion, she reached for her lemonade on the side table. “How is your brother these days? I do hope he’s well.”
<div>
Sipping, she peered at him over the rim of her glass. A shadow of discomfort crossed John’s face, and she inwardly congratulated herself for succeeding at the juvenile jab. But her victory was cut short when John’s mouth twisted into a viscous, maddening smile.
<div>
“Theodore is doing very well, actually,” he stated bluntly. “His hospital is expanding the postoperative ward next spring, and he’s just brought in two brilliant surgeons from Detroit and Chicago. The papers seem to write about him constantly these days, what with all the charity events and awards. Still, no matter how big he gets, his humility remains the same. He’s a model of a man.”
<div>
The words had sliced through Nell, despite her asking for them. No doubt Teddy had a big, beautiful family by now, too. A heavy sensation settled beneath her breast. Not anger, jealousy, or resentment, but more the dull ache of regret. “Well, I couldn’t be happier for him.”
<div>
A span of silence—as thick as it was long—ensued as they sipped their beverages. Tick by tick, the mantle clock marked away the seconds. The thin ivory curtains framing the open window fluttered in the breeze. The neighbor’s spaniel barked somewhere off in the distance. Every time Nell raised her eyes, she found John watching her.
<div>
“I apologize,” he said at last. “The way I gloated about my brother was in poor taste.”
<div>
“There is no fault in being proud of one’s siblings.” The ache resurfaced, and she pushed it away again. “Or looking out for their best interests. Surely you of all people can understand.”
<div>
One corner of his mouth raised in a smirk. “You’re going to make this very difficult for me, aren’t you?”
<div>
“I doubt I need to.” She did her best to sound as blunt as him. “My sister is a grown woman and fully capable of making her own decisions—if she even wants to marry soon, which she may not.” Raising her glass, she saluted him. “I wish you the best of luck. There will be several men in attendance this week with the same intentions as you.”
<div>
The amused way in which he regarded her grated on her nerves. “I don’t blame your attempt to intimidate. In fact, I welcome the challenge.”
<div>
Of course he did. She couldn’t help but feel the magnetism that made him so self-confident. Her husband had possessed the same quality, yet in an authoritative, intimidating manner. Baldwin exuded something closer to rebellion, boldness, and spontaneity. Funny, she no longer felt three years older than him. Time did strange things to a person.
<div>
A dreadful thought came over her. What might ten years of correspondence lead to? She’d have to wait until tomorrow to confront Caroline about the letters. When it came to John, Nell prayed her sister’s loyalty triumphed over romantic interest.
<div>
<div>
* * *
<div>
Once the heavy front door had shut behind him, John rolled his shoulders and allowed himself a moment to breathe. Thank God that was over. Here he had planned on avoiding Nellie the entire week, yet an unfortunate chance encounter had forced him into her presence before the party even began. He knew she wouldn’t welcome him with open arms, not after he’d convinced Teddy to break her synthetic heart a decade ago. Ah well, hopefully the dust would settle now.
<div>
He ambled between the tall colonial pillars and down the steps of the white plantation-style house. A lush, flower-filled landscape surrounded him on his exit. He watched the butterflies feed, and the bees pollenate, battling for their lives against the unpredictable winds.
<div>
A heavy gust lashed the air, and he caught his bowler before it blew off his head for the hundredth time today. The long branches of a massive willow resembled angry whips as they flailed in the breeze.
<div>
Snap!
<div>
He sprang forward. “Christ Almighty!” His left butt cheek stung like hell. When he spun around and spotted the rock that had struck him, pain turned to embarrassment. “Who did that?” he called, picking up the jagged little stone. “I could have you arrested for trespassing on private property. I demand you show yourself!”
<div>
No answer.
<div>
“Show yourself, damn you!”
<div>
He scanned each manicured bush and tree, and then strode around the wide porch so he could see behind all six pillars. Clever assassin. But John was smarter.
<div>
He spun around slowly, continuing away from the house. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself for impact. When a second stone careened into his thigh, he choked back a curse and hit the grass. Shutting his eyes, he waited, motionless. Second after biting second passed, and the longer John waited, the dumber he felt. Suppose Nellie stepped outside and saw him splayed in her front lawn like a dead opossum? That would be just his luck.
<div>
His thoughts froze when he felt the tap of a shoe on his shin. A small shove followed. Then, a kick. Eureka. John reached out and grabbed his assailant by the ankle. The boy—about seven or eight—squealed as John pinned him to the ground and pried the wooden slingshot from his grip. “Aha! What do we have here?”This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
<div>
“Let me go!” the child yowled.
<div>
“You think it’s funny shooting rocks at unarmed visitors, do you?”
<div>
“You deserved it!” The boy squirmed for a moment, and then glared.
<div>
“Oh, I did, did I?” John fought the smirk threatening to break through his stone expression. He couldn’t help it. It was like staring into the past. This child, brown-eyed, freckle-faced, and shaggy-haired, reminded John so much of himself at that age. “I’d love to hear your reasoning.”
<div>
“A man doesn’t need a reason to defend his own property.”
<div>
His property?
<div>
John released the boy. Nellie’s son. Of course—why didn’t he see it before? The small up-turned nose, the heart-shaped face, the soiled, yet high-quality clothes…
<div>
“I’ll agree with you on that, soldier. But does your mother know you attack her guests?” He grasped the lad’s scrawny arm and pulled him to his feet.
<div>
“You’re a stranger, not a guest.” The child yanked his arm free. “Are you the man who keeps sending my mother flowers and gifts? I won’t let you marry her. I won’t. Stay away.”
<div>
What a peculiar thing for a child to say. “I admire your will, young man. Rest assured that I have never sent your mother a gift. I am not, nor will I ever be interested in marrying her.” A wave of sickness passed through him at the very idea. “Your aunt Caroline is a dear friend, you see. I’ll be attending her party this week. I hear it’s going to be fun.”
<div>
Folding his arms, the boy stared at him through narrowed eyes. “Then why are you at Mother’s and not auntie Caro’s?”
<div>
Smart child.
<div>
“To say hello.” John reached out to brush the grass from the boy’s sleeve, but the boy recoiled. “I’m a friend of your mother’s, too. I’ve known your family for a very long time.”
<div>
“I’ve never seen you before.”
<div>
“That’s because I’m from the northeast. Have you heard of a state called New York?”
<div>
“Of course I have. That’s where Mother comes from.” The child sniffed and observed John from head to toe. He held out his hand. “May I have my slingshot back, please?”
<div>
“Promise not to shoot anyone with it?”
<div>
“Luther! You leave that nice gentleman alone and come wash up for dinner.”
<div>
John turned to see a petite brunette standing on the portico, her hands plunked on slender hips. At a distance, she reminded him of Madelyn. Madelyn— the name still lingered around the edges of his mind. Every time he thought of her, a bittersweet ache followed suit.
<div>
He buried the memory and returned his attention to Luther, whose contemptuous little eyes had grown wide as dinner plates.
<div>
“Keep it,” the boy whispered, before sprinting off toward the house. “Coming, Johanna!”
<div>
John cupped a hand to his mouth. “Nice meeting you, Luther!”
<div>
Tucking the slingshot into the back of his trousers, he waved to the pretty woman and continued off the property. If the little scamp wasn’t allowed to have the weapon, turning him in wouldn’t be the best idea. John couldn’t afford a single enemy—even a pint-sized one—in this foreign, Midwestern land. Who knew the depth of Luther and his mother’s relationship? The last thing John needed was Nell hating him more—if that was possible.
<div>
<div>
Later that evening, he dined at the hotel restaurant, played a game of billiards, and then indulged in two glasses of brandy in the gentlemen’s lounge. The event he’d travelled all this way for began tomorrow, and to his surprise, his gut knotted with apprehension. Damn if the alcohol didn’t make it worse. Nellie’s comment about the several men in attendance bothered him more than it should have. What did he know about wooing a young and wholesome girl?
<div>
Absolutely nothing—that’s what.
<div>
When eleven thirty rolled around, he was far from ready for bed. He left the lounge, trudged down the carpeted stairs, and approached the younger of two women stationed behind the lobby desk. “Excuse me, miss. What does this fine town have to offer in terms of entertainment after dark?”
<div>
The girl smiled, tucking a yellow curl behind her ear. “Exactly what type of establishment do you seek, sir?” She spoke with an adorable European accent. “Most places in the area close up at eleven or so.”
<div>
“In that case, anything that’s open I suppose.”
<div>
“There’s a dance hall five blocks south called To and Fro. It doesn’t close until sunrise.”
<div>
He flashed her a charming smile. “Is it popular?”
<div>
Her face turned a bright shade of pink. “Oh, yes. Everyone has been there at least once.”
<div>
“Have you been there?”
<div>
“No, sir. My family just recently moved here from Poland.”
<div>
“Poland. So that’s where your charming accent is from.” Placing his hands on the edge of the desk, he leaned forward slightly. “Well, you had best try the place out yourself before referring your guests, don’t you think, Miss…?”
<div>
“Celia.” Her eyes grew large and coy.
<div>
“Celia,” he repeated, mimicking her accent.
<div>
The other clerk cleared her throat and shot them a condescending look as she wiped down the counter.
<div>
John straightened. What the hell was he doing compromising this young woman’s job? The girl just moved here, for God’s sake, and that older woman could be related to her. He was an imbecile. He was selfish. He deserved to be cut off.
<div>
“Thank you for your help, Miss Celia.” With a small bow, he tipped his hat. “I’m off to discover that dance hall. Have a lovely evening, ladies.”
<div>
When he stepped outside, the wind had subsided a little, and the breeze felt cooler in the sun’s absence. The neighborhood smelled of barbeque and chimney smoke, and the gas streetlamps shone brightly, casting a silvery shimmer on the pavement. Five long blocks later, he reached the To and Fro Dance Hall. An illuminated sign hung across the brick building. Lively music blared through the closed entrance door. This would be it—one last hurrah before he’d pull himself together, shackled with the chains of responsibility forever.
<div>
Removing his hat, he stepped into a tall room with an enormous dance floor. Saloon girls in vibrant colors and waiters with trays whirled about, while rambunctious patrons drank, danced, and smoked. Crimson booths with tables lined the walls. Men leaned over the upper-level balconies, laughing and conversing with drinks in hand. A platform stage harbored a dozen or so musicians, playing louder than a John Philip Sousa march. Five people barreled in behind him, bumping his shoulder.
<div>
Celia had failed to mention that this was the only open establishment in all of Iowa.
<div>
All at once, John felt the same motivation to leave as he did in coming. He didn’t feel like swimming through crowds. He didn’t need three more drinks. He should be in bed, forcing himself to sleep before the most important week of his life, the week his inheritance relied on. His social game needed to be at its best. Raking a hand through his hair, he turned and went back outside. He could really use a smoke.
<div>
“Ow!” a woman screeched, somewhere off to his right.
<div>
“Shhh! Hush, lass,” a man responded atop a drunken chuckle.
<div>
John turned to see two working-class couples intertwined across the street. One of the men helped the laughing woman up off the ground and ushered her into the alley behind the storefronts. The other couple snickered, peering cautiously around before following. A fourth man followed suit, a cigarette butt dangling from his lips. Wherever they were going, their laughter meant it must have been someplace fun.
<div>
John followed them silently, staying within the shadows and minding his steps as he crossed the road and crept through the alley. The stench of old garbage filled his nostrils. Ducking behind a tall pile of crates, he heard them knock a specific rhythm on a metal door. It opened, and then shut. When he peered around the corner, the group was gone.
<div>
Another couple emerged from the alley and did the exact same thing. Shortly after, three more people were granted entry.
<div>
John’s hands bunched in and out of fists. Very interesting. He burned to know what was going on inside the back of that building. If he decided to try his luck at the knock, he had but a single chance to succeed. What was it again? Five quick raps, four loud, and two soft? Or was it seven quick, three loud, and three soft? He could just sit here and wait for someone else. Yes, if he heard the combination once more, he’d surely have it down the next time.
<div>
Ten fruitless minutes later, he pulled his grandfather’s watch from his waistcoat pocket. Nearly one o’clock. Enough. This was ludicrous. Rising to his feet, he brushed the dirt from his rear. The door swung open. John ducked as two giggling, inebriated women exited, arm in arm. If they saw him crouched in the shadows, they would scream bloody murder. Biting the tip of his thumb, he strained to listen to their conversation. Their words were barely comprehendible as they laughed and stumbled toward the alley, their boot steps crunching on the dirt.
<div>
“Mercy, I’ve had too much. Lord knows the headache I’ll be nursing tomorrow,” one of them said, as they drew closer. “Hold my skirts, will you? These shoes are coming off! What was I thinking, wearing new shoes in hopes of breaking them in? A terrible idea!”
<div>
In another world, that voice could have easily belonged to Nellie Hubbard. It sounded identical. But clearly this vivacious, brazen woman was the opposite of her vocal twin.
<div>
“Oh, no you don’t. These streets are filthier than a pirate’s used bathwater,” the second—an Irish woman—remarked. “S’ppose you cut your foot on a nail or a shard of glass? How will you dance with blisters and stitches all week?”
<div>
“That is simply a risk I am willing to take,” the first woman proclaimed with a snort-like laugh. “Besides, a few stitches may be the perfect excuse to remain in bed. I doubt anyone would even notice my absence.”
<div>
Cheeky thing. John found himself smiling like a loon.
<div>
“Faith, and miss seeing all your careful planning come to life? You’ve worked too hard for that. Besides, who else is gonna watch over Miss Caroline with all the distractions and hullabaloo going on?”
<div>
His mouth fell open. It was Nellie Hubbard!
<div>
“You are absolutely right, dear Ruth. Those arrogant bachelors are nothing but trouble! I know their kind all too well. My littlest sister is a mere trophy prize to them. And the audacity of that John Baldwin! Travelling all this way just to out-peacock the competition. Thinking he stands a chance …”
<div>
He rose slowly and stepped out from behind the crates, watching the women’s dark figures slip further down the alleyway until they disappeared around the corner. Their merry voices grew more and more distant until naught but silence surrounded him.
<div>
How could this be? He didn’t understand. Perhaps he was going insane. This prude and uptight stick-in-the-mud was sneaking around after dark, attending working-class dance halls with her maid?
<div>
His pulse pounded. A twisting sensation spread across the top of his breastbone. The nerves he’d felt earlier disappeared without a trace, leaving raw astonishment in their wake. So, the little spoilsport who’d hounded him about modesty and perfection wasn’t so “perfect” after all.
<div>
Good God, he could not wait until tomorrow.