aren’t anything,
really. I’ve had admirers before, Nicholas.”
And six fiancés.
Still, this letter seemed threatening.
“But it troubles you,” he said lamely.
She shrugged, trying, most likely to appear unconcerned. She
was still peaked, though, and her hands lay clenched in her lap. “It is rather
daunting,” she said, “that for all the work and education we reformers have
done, there are still many, many men who refuse to listen. Oh, they hear
us—they can’t help but hear us, for we are loud and growing louder—but they
don’t listen.”
Nick shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, it’s not your cause that
bothers me about this letter. It’s this hombre’s assertion that he’s going to
make dam—danged sure that you change your ways. Or else. He doesn’t say ‘or
else’, but it’s there.”
“Why, yes, but he says very much the same in all his letters
and he’s done nothing at all. Nor would I expect him to, since he has not even
the strength of spirit to provide his real name.”
“Another thing that troubles me is,” Nick said slowly,
glancing briefly at the envelope on the sofa between them, “the fact that he
knows you’re here.”
She grimaced. “Yes. Yes, that is a trifle distressing.”
Damn, Nick thought as he digested the information. This
wasn’t just some lovesick boy, but a man in earnest pursuit. “You sent
invitations to Lee’s wedding to a whole slew of people back East, didn’t you?”
She tilted her head in that deliberative way of hers, which
tugged at his chest. Why? Because it meant she was thinking. Puzzling through a
problem. The women he’d grown up with didn’t work through problems outside of
cooking or cleaning or child rearing. “Why, yes, of course, with the
understanding that they would not attend. It’s quite a distance and during the
holiday season at well. But,” she said, nodding slightly, “I see your point.
All of those invitations had the Bar M as a return address.”
“He could’ve gotten our location from them.”
“Presuming he’s a member of Society. Until now, I thought
he’d only heard of me through the movement.”
“Could be he knows one of your friends.”
“Yes,” she said nodding slowly. “That is a possibility. He
may even have rifled through the trash.”
He grinned and gave her letter back reluctantly. “More ’n
likely not that. He writes like an educated man,” he said, taking up the rest
of the mail and rising. “Does your Pa know about this?”
“The whole family does. They find it diverting.”
The tension eased in his muscles. If Ward knew about the
letters and didn’t care, well he was a smart, smart man, who better understood
the style of those folk back East. No doubt Nick was just seein’ ghosts.
“I imagine if he’s educated then he is a member of
Society,” Star speculated aloud.
“Not everybody who’s educated is a member of your Society.
Just probably not living on the streets.”
She smiled and the light came back into her eyes again.
“Forgive me, Nicholas. For a moment I’d forgotten that you are an
educated man. It is quite possible,” she said as she played with her earring
again, “that someone like you has written me these letters. How intriguing that
would be. I think I should like to meet Romeo after all and become—how shall I
say this?—better acquainted.”
The flirt was back and Nick found himself on well-trod
ground. “A man like me wouldn’t be writin’ letters. Man like me would be
upfront and honest. Letters and poetry are a waste of time.”
“Is that so? You know, I must confess yours is an approach I
would prefer. Letters are so impersonal. Too much mental energy and not nearly
enough physical attention.”
Man alive, the way she could switch moods—and drag him with
her—made his head spin. “I expect so. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d better
deliver the rest of this mail.”
“Yes,” she said, and returned the letter to its envelope.
“Quite
really. I’ve had admirers before, Nicholas.”
And six fiancés.
Still, this letter seemed threatening.
“But it troubles you,” he said lamely.
She shrugged, trying, most likely to appear unconcerned. She
was still peaked, though, and her hands lay clenched in her lap. “It is rather
daunting,” she said, “that for all the work and education we reformers have
done, there are still many, many men who refuse to listen. Oh, they hear
us—they can’t help but hear us, for we are loud and growing louder—but they
don’t listen.”
Nick shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, it’s not your cause that
bothers me about this letter. It’s this hombre’s assertion that he’s going to
make dam—danged sure that you change your ways. Or else. He doesn’t say ‘or
else’, but it’s there.”
“Why, yes, but he says very much the same in all his letters
and he’s done nothing at all. Nor would I expect him to, since he has not even
the strength of spirit to provide his real name.”
“Another thing that troubles me is,” Nick said slowly,
glancing briefly at the envelope on the sofa between them, “the fact that he
knows you’re here.”
She grimaced. “Yes. Yes, that is a trifle distressing.”
Damn, Nick thought as he digested the information. This
wasn’t just some lovesick boy, but a man in earnest pursuit. “You sent
invitations to Lee’s wedding to a whole slew of people back East, didn’t you?”
She tilted her head in that deliberative way of hers, which
tugged at his chest. Why? Because it meant she was thinking. Puzzling through a
problem. The women he’d grown up with didn’t work through problems outside of
cooking or cleaning or child rearing. “Why, yes, of course, with the
understanding that they would not attend. It’s quite a distance and during the
holiday season at well. But,” she said, nodding slightly, “I see your point.
All of those invitations had the Bar M as a return address.”
“He could’ve gotten our location from them.”
“Presuming he’s a member of Society. Until now, I thought
he’d only heard of me through the movement.”
“Could be he knows one of your friends.”
“Yes,” she said nodding slowly. “That is a possibility. He
may even have rifled through the trash.”
He grinned and gave her letter back reluctantly. “More ’n
likely not that. He writes like an educated man,” he said, taking up the rest
of the mail and rising. “Does your Pa know about this?”
“The whole family does. They find it diverting.”
The tension eased in his muscles. If Ward knew about the
letters and didn’t care, well he was a smart, smart man, who better understood
the style of those folk back East. No doubt Nick was just seein’ ghosts.
“I imagine if he’s educated then he is a member of
Society,” Star speculated aloud.
“Not everybody who’s educated is a member of your Society.
Just probably not living on the streets.”
She smiled and the light came back into her eyes again.
“Forgive me, Nicholas. For a moment I’d forgotten that you are an
educated man. It is quite possible,” she said as she played with her earring
again, “that someone like you has written me these letters. How intriguing that
would be. I think I should like to meet Romeo after all and become—how shall I
say this?—better acquainted.”
The flirt was back and Nick found himself on well-trod
ground. “A man like me wouldn’t be writin’ letters. Man like me would be
upfront and honest. Letters and poetry are a waste of time.”
“Is that so? You know, I must confess yours is an approach I
would prefer. Letters are so impersonal. Too much mental energy and not nearly
enough physical attention.”
Man alive, the way she could switch moods—and drag him with
her—made his head spin. “I expect so. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d better
deliver the rest of this mail.”
“Yes,” she said, and returned the letter to its envelope.
“Quite
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