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But she could give him this.
* * *
The train back to St. Louis left at four the next afternoon. Winifred laid the last item in her valise and resolutely snapped the lock closed, but she couldn’t bring herself to move any faster. She felt as if both legs were weighted down with lead-soled boots.
Slowly she made her way down the staircase to the front hallway to wait for Zane to bring the buggy around.
Sam went up after her luggage and when he returned Yan Li appeared with Rosemarie toddling right behind her. The Chinese girl threw her arms around Winifred.
“You come back, missy. You promise?”
“I promise.” She hugged the young woman and turned away as Sam thrust a small wicker hamper into her hands.
“Supper,” he announced.
But by far the worst part about leaving was saying goodbye to Rosemarie. Winifred swung her up into her arms and held her tight, burying her nose against the baby’s sweet-smelling neck.
“Oh, my darling child, how I will miss you.”
Rosemarie clung to her. “’Infred.” Winifred pried her tiny hands from around her neck and the baby began to cry. Winifred handed her to Yan Li and the wailing swelled. “’Infred. ’Infred.”
Her own tears clogged her throat.
Sam marched through the front door with her valise, set it in the buggy at Zane’s feet and then turned, as Winifred came down the porch steps clutching the wicker hamper and her reticule.
“Goodbye, Sam.”
“I take good care of Boss. You take good care of you, missy. Come back soon.”
Unable to speak over the tightness in her throat, Winifred could only nod. She patted the houseboy’s arm, then climbed up beside a somber-faced Zane.
“I hate this,” he muttered.
She nodded again and swallowed hard against the sob that rose.
The station platform looked deserted and for one dizzying moment Winifred thought perhaps she had missed the eastbound train. But no, people were crowded into the station house to escape the blazing afternoon sun.
Zane handed her down and motioned to the shaded bench next to the building. They sat side by side without talking while Winifred steeled herself to leave Smoke River.
When the locomotive steamed in, neither of them moved.
Finally Zane stood, picked up her valise and offered his other hand to her. He shoved the leather portmanteau onto the boarding step and only then did he release her fingers.
Her vision blurred with tears. She hesitated, then pivoted back to him. He caught both her hands to his chest and held them tight.
She longed to twine her arms around his neck but people were beginning to spill out of the station house. Even though he’d kissed her right on the platform when she’d left before, she didn’t want to cause too much talk.
Zane stood without moving. She couldn’t look at him yet. In a moment she would feel stronger and then— The train whistle split the air. She did look up then, saw his mouth twist, his gray eyes fill with pain.
“Oh, Zane, it is so hard to leave you.” Her voice choked off. He dropped her hands and caught her close.
“Don’t cry, dammit. I can’t stand it.”
She did anyway. Tears spilled down her cheeks, wetting his face and the collar of his shirt. The train screeched again.
He pressed his mouth close to her ear. “I love you,” he whispered. “And you love me.”
Then he turned her toward the passenger car and gave her a gentle push. Clutching the picnic hamper, she walked forward three steps and climbed aboard.
The instant she took a seat in the passenger car she leaned out the open window and the train began to slide on down the track.
Zane stood motionless, watching her glide away from him, until she could no longer see him.
She wept all the way to Idaho.
Chapter Seventeen
August 5th
Dear Zane,
I arrived last night, travel-weary and sad. I miss Rosemarie already, and I began missing you the minute the train pulled out.
I had scarcely unpacked my valise when I was called upon to chair the meeting of the Summer Concert Committee. And, oh, the squabbling! Should we start off with a string quartet or a piano student recital? What will we do if it rains? Which wind quintet first? Flutes and oboes or trumpets with bassoon?
My, how petty musicians can be. Perhaps a conclave of physicians would be equally contentious, though neither you nor your partner Dr. Graham seem anything but cooperative and unflappable.
I dislike being in charge of such quarrelsome factions. In fact I am beginning to dislike the quarrelsome factions!
