Husband on Credit Read online

  Husband on Credit

  Lucy Evanson

  Copyright © 2012 by Lucy Evanson

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or people is entirely coincidental. Locations are either fictional or used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Also Available

  Chapter 1

  The bracelet was beautiful. The silver was slender and elegantly woven in a way that made it look as soft as cloth; Cora could already imagine it on her wrist, cold at first touch, but soon warming as though it were a part of her. Someday she’d have it, though probably not too soon. As if she didn’t know that the items displayed in the jeweler’s window were a bit out of reach right now, she had the helpful commentary of the two women passing behind her.

  “I can’t imagine that there’s anything in there that she could afford,” the first woman whispered to the other, just loud enough for Cora to hear.

  “I’m sure you’re right. Not with honest money, anyway,” the woman’s companion whispered back.

  Cora tore her gaze away from the bracelet and looked at the reflection in the glass. She should have known. Linda Bixby and Tess Jackson. They never had anything good to say about anybody except each other.

  “But I’m sure she can have some man buy something for her,” Linda said.

  “I wonder what she’s going to exchange for it.”

  “Yes,” Linda said drily. “I wonder.”

  The women moved away, their heels lightly thumping on the planks of the raised wooden sidewalk, and Cora took a deep breath. There would always be women like that, women who thought that they were better than she was, and it didn’t do any good to get angry about it. What was she going to do? And she had to reluctantly admit, as she again glanced in window of the jewelry shop, that they were right. She couldn’t afford anything in there right now anyway.

  Cora pulled her shawl tighter around her, trying to combat the chilly breeze, but it didn’t have much of an effect. The nights had been clear for quite some time now, and each morning it seemed colder and colder. It didn’t help that her shawl was more fashionable than practical—or rather, it had been fashionable a couple of years ago. Now it was just thin. She had no idea what she was going to do once winter arrived; her heavy cloak had barely survived last year, and it now hung in her closet more a threadbare rag than a functioning garment.

  She continued walking, passing the small café with its habitual aroma of fresh-baked pastries, and stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of Gray’s General Store. Cora watched as a young man approached on the other side. He was walking in the street, leading a horse by its reins, and in his hand he carried a large envelope. As he walked, he called out to passers-by, getting nothing but shaken heads in return. With his neat jacket and collar and shiny shoes, he looked like he could have been a clerk in some office or something. He called out to another man walking by, but this one nodded and looked around, as if trying to find something.

  Then he caught sight of Cora, spoke to the young man with the horse, and pointed directly at her. She glanced around, but there was nobody else that he might have been indicating instead; indeed, as she looked back, the young man who looked like an office clerk—or perhaps a process server, now that she thought about it—was leading his horse across the street, heading directly for the store. Directly for Cora.

  “Are you Cora Rice?” he called.

  She quickly turned and entered the store. The three broad aisles were jammed full of products and people, and she had to squeeze past several women gathered around a display of canned preserves in order to get away from the door. As she hurried past the bins of vegetables, Cora looked back toward the front windows; the man was leaning against the glass, shielding his eyes and trying to watch her as she went.

  Both her pulse and mind were racing. This couldn’t be good. Of course, she had no idea at all who he was, but in her experience, strangers with papers in hand were never bringing good news.

  The bell over the front door rang as the man stepped inside the store. Cora quickly ran to the end of the aisle and crouched down to look toward the front, leaning over a neatly stacked display of bags of flour. The man was walking back and forth, trying to see past the patrons who filled the aisles, and finally began down the center aisle, from time to time ducking down to look under the shelves and see through to either side. It might take a few minutes, but unless she sprinted up one of the side aisles, he was going to find her.

  Cora turned and squatted down, hopefully out of sight. The rear of the store was also crammed full of every sort of item you could imagine; there was nowhere to hide. There was, however, a curtain leading to what she assumed was the storeroom, and that was going to have to do.

  “You can’t be in here.”

  As soon as she had pulled aside the curtain and stepped through, she had found a thin woman seated at a long table, bent over a bolt of sky-blue fabric, shears in hand.

  “Is there a back way out of here?”

  “Yes,” the woman said, “but not for you.”

  “Please, you don’t understand,” Cora said, scanning the room. There, way in the back, nearly hidden behind the huge stacks of crates, she could see a door. A glimmer of sunlight could be seen leaking around the edge, as if Heaven itself waited on the other side. “Somebody’s chasing me. A man is chasing me.”

  The woman looked over the rim of her glasses, staring Cora up and down. “I know who you are,” she said. “I would have expected that you were used to men chasing you by now.”

  Cora said nothing, but stepped past the woman and started through the storeroom.

  “Hey!” The woman dropped her shears onto the table and started after Cora, who hurried to the back door.

  “Sorry!” Cora called as she lifted the wooden plank that barred the door and let it clatter to the floor. “It’s an emergency!” She pushed hard and blinked against the bright light as she stepped outside, ignoring the other woman’s grumbling as she closed the door and put the plank back in place.

  Cora hurried back towards home, staying off of Main Street and wending her way between the shops and houses, crossing through back yards and trying to keep as low a profile as she could until she reached the boarding house.

  “That was quick,” Mr. Harper said as she passed the parlor, where he was sitting with the Parker sisters. “I thought you were out for the day.”

  “Something came up,” she said, climbing the stairs to her room. Once inside, she sat on the bed and finally took a deep breath. What was that about? Do I owe somebody money? It was almost a silly question; she owed plenty of people money, but she was hard pressed to think of anybody who would send a man after her. That was the good thing about the company she preferred to keep; she had discovered long ago that married men usually didn’t press too hard to have their loans repaid, lest their wives find out about Cora. She lay back and tried to think about what to do.

  After half an hour, she was still wrestling with whether to stay in her room or go downstairs to spend time with the other guests. Perhaps this had been a sign. Maybe she should spend more time here at the rooming house; after all, she paid to stay here but was hardly ever around. It was waste
d money, really. It might do her good to go down to the parlor and talk with Mr. Harper and the girls. The Parker sisters always had stories about the old days on the farm. Dreadfully boring stories. The more Cora thought about it, perhaps she only needed to lie low for a few hours.

  The next sound she heard was oddly unfamiliar; so few people called at Mr. Harper’s that Cora at first didn’t realize that it was the house bell. When she heard Harper walking through the hall downstairs, however, Cora shot to her feet. She heard him open the front door, then the low rumble of Harper’s deep voice as he spoke to whoever was at the door. Then, like the beats of a funeral drum, she could hear footsteps on the stairs and a knock on her door. It was over.

  The young man still had his envelope in hand, and Harper stood behind him with a furrowed brow.

  “Miss Rice, you’re a hard one to catch,” the man said. “I work for Adam Clark. He’s a lawyer over in Dodgeville.”

  Cora couldn’t contain a long sigh, though for the life of her she couldn’t remember owing any money to a soul in Dodgeville.

  “I have a letter for you from Mr. Clark,” the man said, extending the envelope. “It’s regarding your uncle Jack. I’m sorry to say that he passed away.”

  “Jack is dead?”

  “I’m afraid so. Mr. Clark is the executor of his estate, and he needs to see you as soon as possible,” the man said. “The letter explains it all. Could you sign this, please?” he asked, handing her a pencil and a slip of paper.

  Cora scribbled her name and handed it back to the man, who touched his cap, turned and went downstairs.

  “I’m sorry to hear about that, Cora,” Mr. Harper said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “No, I guess not,” she said, turning the letter over and over in her hands. “Thank you, Mr. Harper.”

  He briefly squeezed her shoulder, then returned downstairs as well.

  Cora closed the door and tore open the letter. It told her nothing the delivery man hadn’t already said, but had the lawyer’s large, fancy signature at the bottom. She sat and thought for a moment. She’d never had close kin die before—not that she’d been close to Jack, but at least she had fond memories of him—but as far as she understood, there was only one reason a lawyer would need to see you after the death of a family member. Unless you could pass on debts, of course. A chill ran down her back and she hurried to the door.

  “Mr. Harper, if kin dies, are you responsible for anything they owe?” she called down to him.

  “Not usually,” he answered. “Once you’re gone, your debts go with you.”

  She returned to the bed and took a deep breath. Out of all the men she’d met in her life, her uncle Jack was the only one that she ever felt that she could rely on. The only one who’d ever shown her kindness and respect without wanting something from her. Was he still reaching out to show her some kindness even after he was gone?

  She got to her feet, withdrew some money from the envelope she kept hidden under her mattress, and returned downstairs.

  “One more question,” she said. “I’m going to Dodgeville. Do you know where I can hire a carriage?”

  She took a moment to gather her nerves before stepping down to the street. The office in front of her looked pretty fancy; they’d been sitting here in front for several minutes and she’d seen people coming and going, all dressed well and probably talking about important things as they went. She pulled the thin shawl closer around her shoulders and took a deep breath, then stepped down and headed up the slate walkway to the front door.

  Fancy was right. The woman at the desk had asked her to wait while Mr. Clark finished with his previous clients, and Cora took a seat on one of the leather sofas. The waiting room was richly furnished, with an Oriental rug that stretched from wall to wall and shiny brass planters in the corners. A large oil painting hung on the wall behind the receptionist, showing a sun setting over mountains.

  The door to the office opened and a middle-aged man stepped out, the buttons on his jacket straining to contain his belly. A gold chain snaked from a button into his pocket, no doubt ending at an expensive watch. This must be the lawyer, Cora thought. He was followed by a young family; the woman held a tiny baby, swaddled in a blanket; her husband had a paper-filled folder in his hand.

  “So sign those and get them back to me as soon as you can,” the man said.

  The husband nodded and reached out to shake hands. “Thanks, Mr. Clark. I appreciate it.” The couple passed Cora on their way out to the street, and the man with the belly leaned over to look at the ledger in front of the receptionist.

  “Who’s next?”

  “This is Miss Rice,” the receptionist said, and Cora tried to sit up a little straighter.

  “Miss Rice? Cora Rice?”

  “Yes, sir,” Cora said.

  He came forward quickly, his hand outstretched. “Miss Rice, I’m Adam Clark. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m just sorry it had to be under these circumstances.” He led her into his office and closed the door behind them. “So I see you got my letter.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cora said. “It was some surprise, that’s for sure.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Clark said. He moved around his large desk and gestured for her to take a seat.

  She sat in one of the heavy leather chairs in front of his desk and looked around while he opened a desk drawer and pulled out several folders. Behind him were built-in bookshelves stretching from halfway up the wall all the way to the ceiling, and running from wall to wall. Far too many books for one person to have read, Cora decided.

  “First off, I have to tell you how sorry I am to be doing this,” he said. He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, letting out a long sigh. “You have my condolences. Were you and Jack close?”

  “No, I can’t say that we were,” Cora said. “To be honest, I don’t even know the last time I saw him. Must have been fifteen, twenty years ago. Then he went away and we never heard from him again.”

  Clark nodded as she spoke, as if he knew everything already. “Well, he didn’t even get out of the state,” he said. “Your uncle spent the last twenty years up north in Ashland. Ever been up that way?”

  “No.”

  “Beautiful area,” he said. “You never saw so many trees. At least, before your uncle got to them,” he added, and he let a slight smile appear.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Timber,” he said. “Your uncle worked up there. Had his own logging company, in fact. Sent wood all over the country. Then last year he sold the company and came down here to retire.”

  “I had no idea,” Cora said.

  “He had a house built just outside of town. Moved in this summer and three months later he was dead.”

  “That poor man,” Cora said. “What happened?”

  “Doc said it was his heart. If it’s any consolation, he died in bed. He probably didn’t suffer,” he said. He opened a folder and pulled out a stack of papers that had been fastened together. “But I imagine you’re wondering why I wanted to see you.”

  “A little, yeah.”

  “Well, your uncle mentioned you in his will,” Clark said, tapping the bundled papers.

  Cora swallowed hard. Try not to get too excited, she told herself. “He did? After not seeing me for so long?”

  “Well, you must have made an impression,” he said. “He only named two heirs: you and your cousin Emma Walker. By the way, are you close with your cousin?”

  “Not really,” Cora said. “Not anymore. Why?”

  “Just curious,” he said. “She told me that she didn’t know where you lived. Made it quite a bit harder to track you down, I have to say. You almost ran out of time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Your uncle was a very particular man. He wanted things done just so, if you understand me,” he said. “Even when it came to his will, he didn’t want things dragged out. He wanted his estate settled within a month after his
death—in fact, he specified that if I weren’t able to locate you two by that time, then the estate would pass to the city,” he said. “The mayor was not real happy when I found your cousin a couple weeks ago. Your uncle left quite a substantial estate.”

  “So Emma knew about this a few weeks ago already?”

  “Yes, I found her pretty easily,” he said. “But you, on the other hand—well, my messenger told me that he spoke to nearly everybody in Mineral Point before he found out where you were living.” He pulled a pencil and tablet out of the top drawer of his desk. “But none of that matters now. I found you in time to comply with your uncle’s wishes.”

  Cora forced a smile. No thanks to Emma, she thought.

  “Before we begin, I have to ask you one question, however. What is your marital status?”

  “Marital status? You mean am I married?”

  “Precisely.”

  “No,” she said. “No, I’m not.”

  A soft clucking noise escaped his mouth. “Oh, I see,” he said, and he flipped through a few pages of the will, reading to himself before raising his eyes to hers again. “Miss Rice, it appears that your uncle left you two hundred dollars. Congratulations,” he said, although his tone sounded more like he was trying to console her.

  “Two hundred?”

  “Yes, Miss Rice. You come back next week and we’ll write you a check.”

  “Well, that’s…nice, I suppose.” It was a good piece of change, she had to admit. Now she’d certainly be able to buy a new cloak for the winter, as well as a lot of other things that she needed. Pretty good timing, in fact. Still, the look in Clark’s eyes made her uneasy.

  “I was just wondering one thing,” she said. “Why did you need to know whether I was married or not?”

  “Yes, I should explain. Your uncle made it very clear, both in his will and in conversations with me, that one of the biggest regrets he had in life was never having children. From what I understood, you and your cousin Emma were the only children that he ever really got to know,” Clark said. “The older he got, the more concerned he was about the family line dying out. He told me that he wanted to reward whoever was married, in order to make it easier for her to carry on the family line. Still, even though you’re not, he obviously felt kindly toward you, otherwise he wouldn’t have left you this little portion.”