Orphan Brides Go West: The Complete Series Page 18

“What?” Michael threw his shovel down. “What are you talking about?”

  Tony lifted his hands up. “Hey, I don’t know for sure. But, the Italians in town, they tend to stick together. Gossip about each other, you know. Anyway, I heard about this Italian woman who moved here from New York. Married some snooty Professor or something.”

  Michael’s face was dark as thunder. “Tony why did you keep this from me?”

  Tony looked at the ground and shrugged. “Like I said, I was tryin’ to help you. I thought that if she spent a bit more time with you, she’d fall hard. I’m sorry.”

  Michael shook his head. But she is leaving, no matter what. He walked over to his friend and growled, fiercely. “Tony, you tell me where she is! Right now!”

  “Here,” said Tony, handing the letter to Michael the following day. The sky was threatening and black with skidding clouds. The air about them was heavy, and they both had sweat dripping down the sides of their faces and soaking their shirts. Tony avoided eye contact with Michael, looking everywhere else but his face. Just then, the heavens opened up and fat drops of cold rain pelted down on them, causing the ground beneath their feet to become muddy and slippery within moments.

  “I don’t know if you’re going to like what’s in there.”

  “What are you talking about Tony?” Michael didn’t seem to notice the rain.

  Tony shoved his hands in his pockets. “My Mama,” he whispered. “She knew Maria. Sort of. They ran in the same circles. They weren’t close. She got this letter from her husband.”

  Michael looked at him, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean, she ‘knew’ Maria? What happened to her? Where is she now?”

  “Just read the letter Michael.”

  Michael unfolded the sheet of paper in his hands. His eyes scanned over the contents. He quickly re-folded it and closed his eyes, shaking his head.

  “I can’t tell Ramona this. And you can’t breathe a word of it to her either. You got me? You owe me that much at least!”

  Tony nodded. He lifted his head, his eyes meeting Michael’s. “I promise.”

  12

  Ramona

  Michael avoided Ramona all that evening. He came home from work late, and ate his supper in silence.

  “Are we going out tonight?” she asked eagerly.

  “No. It’s raining out.”

  “Oh.”

  I’ve pushed him too hard. Taken his patience and good nature for granted. Of course he’s tired of searching. Tired of helping me. He probably just wants me to leave, so he can get back to his life.

  Ramona retreated into herself and sat quietly on a whittled wooden chair, knitting. She wondered what she could do, if anything, to get back into Michael’s good graces. She’d made him supper and a pudding for desert, but he didn’t even acknowledge her effort. Mary and Fred seemed to sense the tension between the two of them, and had disappeared to their room directly after the meal. After cleaning up in the kitchen and knitting for as long as she could stand to, Ramona spent the rest of the evening tiptoeing around and staying out of Michael’s way.

  What can I do to show him that I appreciate everything he has done for me?

  Ramona looked around and saw Michael’s muddy work clothes. I know — I’ll scrub his boats and clean his trousers and jacket then lay them by the fire to dry. Michael will be surprised when he wakes up tomorrow morning.

  It wasn’t long before Michael excused himself for bed, striding out of the room with a scowl on his handsome face. Ramona hastily grabbed his work clothes from the floor where he had left them by the door. Before she put the coat through the ringer she made sure the pockets were empty.

  That’s when the note drifted to the floor.

  Ramona saw only one thing as she picked up the letter. The signature on the bottom that read, “Art Franklin.”

  “Ramona what are you doing?” Michael raced into the room and grabbed the coat from her grasp. Too late, he saw the letter in her trembling hands.

  “Ramona, please.”

  “You know where my mother is?” Ramona’s eyes flashed as she waved the letter in front of his face. “And you kept it from me? For how long, Michael?”

  She took a step backwards, moving away from him, her curls swirling about her shoulders.

  “How could you do this to me? You know how tormented I’ve been about it all.” Her voice broke and she sobbed loudly. She stopped, and her eyes widened. “Did you keep this from me because you wanted me to stay? Or do you just not care about me at all?”

  “Ramona it’s not like that.”

  Michael lifted his hands toward her, reaching for her. But Ramona backed further away.

  “Did you think if you just kept lying to me and hid Mother’s location from me that I would stay here with you forever? Did you think that I would give up and marry you? Or were you trying to punish me for hurting you?”

  “Ramona please, let me explain. I only got that letter today. Please, you have to believe me.”

  Ramona studied Michaels’ face, looking for a sign that he was telling the truth. “I don’t know what to believe. How can I trust you?”

  She pressed the letter to her chest, and headed for the door. “Maybe I’m just too naive. Here I was trying to think of ways to repay you for all of your kindnesses to me. I never thought you would stoop to something like this.”

  Ramona opened the front door and rushed through it into the stormy night.

  Michael ran after her, grabbing her by the arm, the falling rain soaking them both to the bone. “Ramona! Where are you going?”

  She tried to shake off his grasp, waving the letter at him. “I’m going to find Art Franklin, and don’t try to stop me!”

  “Ramona you can’t.”

  “Of course I can! You’ve kept this from me long enough! I’m going right now!” Ramona tried to wriggle free of Michael’s grip on her arm, but he held on too tightly.

  “Let me go Michael! You’re hurting me!”

  He dropped her arm, both his own hanging helplessly by his sides. The rain ran in rivulets down his face, and his eyes, filled with sadness, found Ramona’s.

  “Ramona your mother - she passed away.”

  Ramona stopped struggling. All the color drained from her face. Her lips were turning blue from the cold, and her teeth chattered silently. She staggered toward him, and he caught her by one arm.

  “No.” Ramona whispered with a shake of her head. “You’re lying again.” Her voice was hoarse. “You just, you’re just trying to keep me from finding her!”

  Michael’s face fell. “Ramona, do you really think I would lie about something like that? Don’t you know me at all?”

  Ramona dropped to her knees, overcome with emotion.

  Michael crouched down beside her, and pulled her into his arms but she pushed him away. Then, she fell in a heap on the muddy ground, her sobs muffled by the thunder of the downpour. Michael pulled her close to him again, lifting her cheek and placing it against his chest. This time she didn’t resist, and nestled in closer still. He laced one hand through her thick hair and rubbed her back gently with the other. Overwhelmed and dazed by the news, Ramona wondered where she would go. She had nothing and no one. She didn’t even have the money to return home. She’d never see her mother again. What would she do?

  13

  Ramona

  “You don’t have to do this, you know,” Michael said gently.

  Ramona took a bold step forward and knocked on Art Franklin’s front door.

  God, give me strength.

  “I have to,” she whispered. “I need to hear it for myself. I need to know what happened to Mother.”

  Michael nodded. “I understand. I’m here with you, if you need me,” Michael whispered.

  Ramona nodded. Her hands were laced in front of her as she waited for Mr. Franklin to answer the door. She was expecting a kind man, much like her father had been. Someone warm and sincere, who would have taken care of her mother during her last days.
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  “Yes?”

  The door opened, and a man with thinning hair and a stern face stood on the threshold. He seemed aggravated by their presence, tapping the doorframe with his fingers as though it might hurry them along.

  “Hello. My name is Ramona Selmer. And this is a friend of mine, Michael Newhill. My mother was Maria Selmer – I believe you knew her.”

  “Oh my!” he peered down at Ramona through squinting eyes. “Well, well. I was married to Maria, yes, but she certainly never mentioned a daughter.”

  “Never?”

  “No, not once. I assure you. And you are here because?”

  “Well, I heard that she died. And I want to find out what happened.” Ramona’s voice trembled as she spoke, and she took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself.

  Art sighed. “Would you like some tea?” he asked in a way that made Ramona feel as though the correct answer would be ‘no.’

  She nodded her head and followed Art into his sitting room, Michael trailed along behind them. Ramona shot a look at him over her shoulder. She could tell from Michael’s face that he felt uncomfortable in Art’s home with the rows of bookshelves and store-bought furnishings.

  I’m so glad he’s here with me. I don’t know if I could bear it alone.

  Art fetched a tray with a kettle full of steaming tea and teacups. He served them each a cup of tea, then he grabbed a pipe from a side table, and packed it with tobacco before seating himself on a stuffed brown corduroy chair. Ramona settled into a sunken chair with green and gold upholstery, and Michael stood uncomfortably by the window, looking out onto the street beyond. Art peered down his thin nose at Ramona as he spoke, the freshly packed pipe hanging from between his lips.

  “Scarlet fever,” he said simply. “I’m afraid it was nothing more glamorous than that.” He cast a disapproving look at Ramona as he spoke. “It took hold of her quickly.” Art stood, and banged the contents of the pipe out onto an ashtray, shaking his head slowly. “Barely worth even getting married. Although I suppose she was desperate. Especially after what that coward of a man did to her.”

  Ramona opened her mouth to speak but only a squeak came out. She had to clear her throat and try again.

  “And did she - did she leave me anything?”

  Ramona sat very still as she waited for the answer.

  Art rolled his eyes. “I was wondering when that would come up. Looking for money are you?” He shot Ramona a look of disgust. “No. Nothing. She came here with nothing and she left this world with nothing.” His eyebrows shot up. “I suggest you go back to New York. There’s naught here for you.”

  Ramona’s lips began to tremble. Michael was staring at her in distress. “Ramona, let’s just go.”

  She stood to her feet and approached Art, who was leaning against the mantle with the empty pipe dangling from his bottom lip.

  “I’m not here for your money. I just wanted to know if she left me anything of sentimental value. If only she’d stayed with me, she should never have married you – you didn’t deserve her!” She held her voice steady as she stepped toward Art, her eyes never leaving his. “My father was a kind man, who got himself into some awful trouble. And my mother was a beautiful woman. You should be pleased to have been married to her no matter for how long! And she didn’t leave this world with nothing. I loved her, and that is something!”

  Art stepped back, stumbling over a poker beside the fireplace, as Ramona inched forward. But she was finished. She had nothing more to say.

  “Ramona was only here to find out what happened to her mother,” Michael said, with a fierceness that Ramona hadn’t heard before. “She wasn’t looking for money. Especially not from you.” He reached for Ramona’s arm, tucking it gently under his own. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Outside, the very last of Ramona’s courage dissolved. She made it around the corner before she collapsed.

  “That man!” she said, as Michael reached out to hold her up. “He was horrible! Oh, how could Mother ever have married him? I bore it for so long because I truly believed she had found happiness, and I so wanted her to be happy. But how could she have been happy with him?”

  Ramona wept and shook her head. “At least I know now.” She looked up at Michael glumly. “Though I feel rather naive. All this time, expecting the best, trying to remain positive. What good did that do me?” She turned and looked over her shoulder in the direction of Art Franklin’s house. “There was no happy ending here.”

  “There was nothing you could have done,” Michael said gently. “You did the best you could, given the situation.”

  Ramona nodded. “Well, things certainly seem hopeless now. Art was right about one thing: I should go home. I have nothing. No one, no family in this whole world. I’m on my own, and it’s time I figured out what to do with my life now.”

  Michael looked hurt. “No one?”

  Ramona shook her head as she sadly turned away. “No one. Let’s go - I ought to go back to your place and pack.”

  14

  Michael

  Michael stared at the purple satin bag with the green bow. It seemed to him like it was only yesterday that he’d first carried that bag to his wagon. Now he was about to take it back to the stagecoach.

  Ramona stepped forward. “How do I look?” she asked. She spun around in her long purple and white calico dress, her hair cascading over her shoulders.

  “You look real nice.” Michael gave her a sad smile.

  He could have sworn that the smile Ramona returned had the same tinge of sadness to it. But she brightened as she said. “At least I will be back in time to audition for Broadway again. And thank you,” she placed her gloved hand on Michael’s arm, “thank you for lending me the money for my ticket. I will pay you back by wire transfer as soon as I possibly can. I promise.”

  Michael nodded. “There’s no need Ramona, it was a gift.”

  He reached for the suitcase but stopped before he picked it up. “Hey,” he said, glancing at the grandfather clock in the hallway. “We still have time before the coach is due to arrive.” He smiled at her. “We never did go on that picnic. I didn’t get a chance to show you the University properly. We were always in a rush.”

  Michael caught the look on Ramona’s face at the mention of the University. “Sorry,” he said hurriedly. “Of course you don’t want to go there. Not after everything that has happened.”

  Ramona shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t mind,” she murmured. “In fact, I would love to go. I won’t let Art Franklin ruin our last day together. Let’s pack a picnic and go.”

  Ramona

  “You know, it really is beautiful here,” Ramona commented, as they settled down on a picnic blanket in the University gardens. White and pink flowers surrounded them and the grass beneath them was fresh and soft. Michael’s presence beside her made her stomach flutter.

  “Yes, the University is lovely,” Michael commented, reaching out for a sandwich, his eyes never leaving her face.

  “Not just the University. I mean Austin,” Ramona said wistfully. “I almost wish,” she dropped her head, afraid to say what she wanted to.

  Michael cleared his throat. “I’m sure New York has far more going for it than this little town.”

  “Yes. I suppose so.”

  Ramona looked away.

  He wants me to go. This is just his way of saying goodbye. She looked around at the pretty garden with the flowers swaying gently in the fall breeze. I shouldn’t read any more into it than that.

  “If you were to stay here, for some reason, Austin has a theater you know. A pretty decent one, I think. You’d have a good chance of getting into one of the shows there. It’s not Broadway, but it’s something.”

  Ramona listened intently as she took in her surroundings, soaking in the peacefulness of the park, the beauty of the flowers, and the emptiness of the clear sky. She looked back at Michael. “No matter what happens in the future Michael, please know how much I appreciate ev
erything you have done for me. I have truly cherished my time here. Never in my life has anyone shown me such kindness. Never in my life have I felt like someone…” Ramona’s throat closed up.

  Loved me so much, she wanted to say.

  But can it be true? Can he truly love me? Or is he just a good man? Kindness comes so naturally to him that I oughtn’t to take his actions toward me personally. He no doubt would have treated anyone the same way.

  Michael stood up. He seemed flustered.

  “Let’s take a walk down by the fountain,” he said quietly, reaching for Ramona’s hand to pull her up.

  They crossed a bridge that stood over a small lake with a fountain in the center of it. Michael paused in the center and leaned over the side, watching the ducks sail by beneath them. “You know, I helped to build this bridge,” he said softly.

  “I didn’t know that,” Ramona said, surprised.

  Michael nodded. “Years ago now. This site was one of my first jobs, when I was just fifteen.”

  “You went to work young,” Ramona said, surprised.

  “My parents believe that hard work makes a man strong.” He stood still and stared at the tall buildings surrounding them.

  “I would have liked to have gone to University, you know.” Michael smiled ruefully. “I know it was impossible, but still.”

  “I’m sure you would have done very well,” Ramona whispered. She impulsively reached up and tipped Michael’s face toward hers. “You’re a good man. You work hard. And you’re so kind and patient, and, well, you’re everything good.”

  Michael stood looking at her, his eyes darkened with emotion. He was so close to her, she could smell him, and could hear his shallow breathing. Without thinking, Ramona stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against Michael’s. She felt the unexpected softness of his lips on her own, and a shiver of pleasure ran through her body.

  Ramona saw the look of shock on Michael’s face as she pulled away.