“I did. They had no good answer. At least, one that was acceptable to me. All they kept saying was that she’d brought shame to the family.”
It grew quiet in the kitchen, the only sound the ticking of the clock as the minutes passed by. One couldn’t hear the moans and groans and squeaking bed springs in here. Or maybe, Susannah’s gentleman caller had finally left. The other girls were probably still sleeping and would until about noon or so.
“What are you going to do about this house?” Mrs. Gallagher startled her out of her own thoughts.
“I don’t know.” And that was the truth. She just didn’t know. This was a brothel, a house of ill-repute, but she did know one thing. “I shouldn’t stay here. I can’t stay here.”
“Of course, you can, lass.”
“But…people will look at me. Judge me.” It was one of her biggest fears—that someone—anyone—would cast aspersions toward her, whether she deserved them or not.
Mrs. Gallagher laughed. “Of course they will. People will judge you whether you live in a parlor house or not, whether you own it or not. And they’ll gossip. Oh Lord, will they gossip! Serenity is a small town. There’s no such thing as a secret here. Everyone knew who you were the minute you stepped off the stagecoach. There ain’t nothing you can do about that, so who cares?”
Sheridan stared at her teacup. “I care.”
The lessons Odette and Aunt Estelle had drilled into her head from the moment she could understand were not easy to disregard. There were rules—Odette’s rules—and the consequences for defying them were grave. She’d only done so twice. The first time, she ended up being sent to Bouchard’sSchool for Girls. Now, she had defied those rules again and ended up in Serenity, New Mexico, owning a bordello.
“I have worked extremely hard to be above reproach, that no scandal would ever be attached to my name. I can’t live here. That, by itself, is too much of a scandal.” She frowned then remembered frowning caused wrinkles, another one of Odette’s rules, and forced herself to stop. “And I know nothing about running a—a place like this. I taught piano and voice at Bouchard’s School for Girls. That’s what I know.”
She looked up from her teacup to see Mrs. Gallagher’s straight-forward gaze, but there was no reprimand in her eyes, just compassion, as if she seemed to understand the strange circumstances in which Sheridan found herself. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her with such kindness. “At the same time, I’d really like to get to know who my mother was. I feel like I’ve been cheated, now that I know what I’d been told was a lie. And the only way to do that is to live where she lived, get to know the people she knew—until I can decide what to do.”
Mrs. Gallagher reached out and laid her hand over hers. It was warm and comforting but still, Sheridan had to resist the urge to pull away. She wasn’t used to being touched. Odette and Estelle were not affectionate people. There had been no hugs and kisses when she was young. And Bouchard’s had strict rules about showing emotion in a physical way.
“Take your time, dear. You don’t have to make any decisions right now. The house pretty much runs itself, but if you want to know your mother, talk to the girls. Especially Lily. She knew your mother the best. If Josie confided in anyone, it would be her. There are others who knew her quite well, but start with Lily.” Mrs. Gallagher smiled as she removed her hand.
Sheridan felt even more bereft than when she learned her mother had been alive up until a few months ago. Her heart hurt,knowing now how she had been deprived of a mother’s love. Actually, deprived of love, period.
“And talk to the people in town. Josie DuBois may have been a madam, but she was also a generous, kind-hearted woman. She did a lot for this community, though she tried to keep that hidden.” Mrs. Gallagher rose from her chair, placed her teacup in the sink, gave her one last understanding smile, and exited the room, leaving her to her own thoughts.
Those thoughts were more confusing than they were before, with so many more questions she didn’t have answers to. The most important ones being, who was Josephine DuBois, and why had Odette and Aunt Estelle lied to her?
“Checkmate.” Wyatt MacLean moved his queen then looked up from the chessboard and smiled at Marshal Devlin Goodrich.
The marshal frowned. “I didn’t even see that move.” And then he laughed. “You’re getting very good at this. I’m going to have to up my game.”
“I’ve had a good teacher.” He glanced at the grandfather clock ticking merrily in the corner, then at Tresia, the marshal’s wife, sitting in a comfortable chair beside that clock, knitting quietly. Their daughter, Avery, had already gone to bed. “I should get going.” He finished his coffee then rose from his seat. “Thanks for a great game. You really made me think.”
Devlin walked him to the door. “Well, I’m glad.”
Wyatt grabbed his hat from the hook beside the door, fitted it to his head, then slipped into his coat and addressed Tresia. “Good night.”
“Good night, Wyatt. Be safe.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He turned back to Devlin. “I’ll see you next week for another game.”
Devlin smiled. “I’ll be here.”
Wyatt strolled down the walkway to where Brigadier was tied to a post between the street proper and the end of the marshal’s property. He mounted and headed toward Stone Creek.
But he wasn’t ready to go home. There was nothing and no one waiting for him. His mother and her husband, Royce, his frequent guests, were off visiting one of Royce’s children.
The house was too empty, too quiet, except for the dog who kept him company and the ranch hands, who would come with the rising of the sun, only to leave when the day was done. Three years after buying Stone Creek Ranch on the outskirts of Serenity, New Mexico, because Katie, his fiancée, wanted it, he’d finally acknowledged the truth and called it what it was—MacLean’s Mistake. The biggest mistake of his life.
Actually, it was the second biggest…the first had been wanting to marry Katie Brooks. Both decisions, at the time, had made him happy.
He wasn’t happy now though, not after she left him at the altar to run off with another man—a gambler, nonetheless.
He shook his head. Wallowing in self-pity was no way to celebrate. “What do you think, Brigadier? Should I stop for a beer?”
