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"Yes, we have." A painful lump in the back of my throat threatened to suffocate me. A life without him, that’s what I must accept. "I'll never forget you."
"Nor I you," he said. The straw material of his hat gave his skin a lattice pattern. "If only we had two lives."
"I'd choose at least one of them to live with you." Tears gathered at the corners of my eyes. "This is silly, isn't it? We've known each other for two weeks."
"Not long enough to upend our lives?"
"It's Clive. He deserves better than betrayal. And I love him.”
He nodded. "Yes, I know. I would never ask you to betray him. You know that.”
“I do,” I said.
“Even though it’s killing me to send you away.”
"Well, this is it." The train was pulling into the station. From then on, the sound of the steam engine and clanking of metal brought me back to this moment. To the afternoon I had to say goodbye to my Bromley. The man I'd fallen in love with.
I lifted my cheek. "You may kiss my cheek before I leave.”
He scooped under the brim of my enormous hat and brushed his lips against my skin. I caught the spicy scent of him, a mixture of cigar smoke and leather. The smell of a man, I thought. My man. No. My man waited for me in the foothills of our town.
"Goodbye, Bromley Hunting."
"Goodbye, Annabelle. Have a good life. Do what we’ve talked about. Everything you want, you can have." His voice caught at the end, and he waved his hand in front of his face. I gave him one last squeeze.
Not everything, I thought as I turned away and headed toward the train that would take me home. For we cannot live two lives, only one. We must make choices of which way to go. Stay or go. I had to go, of course. My sweetheart, the man who had loved me when I was young and foolish, waited for me there. And I could not break his heart.
I shut the journal and swiveled in my chair to look out the window. Now that I had read to the end, I knew it was time for me to deliver this to the Barnes family. It belonged to them more than to me. The Barnes roots in this town went way back. Trapper’s family were direct descendants of Alexander Barnes. Mr. Barnes had taken on the role of family historian, keeping journals and letters safe at his house. He would want to see all of this right away.
After a quick phone call to Mr. Barnes and an explanation of what I’d found, he asked if I could bring it out right away. The excitement in his voice was contagious. The staff could handle everything for a few minutes without me, I decided.
I parked in Mr. Barnes’s driveway, admiring the mums in the pots displayed attractively on the porch. This was the original Barnes estate where Alexander and Quinn had raised their seven children. I stood at the bottom step for a moment, contemplating what it must have been like to live back then. How I wished I could go back in time.
Mr. Barnes answered right away and ushered me into the house and back to the kitchen that looked out on the lawn. If I remembered correctly, this room had originally been the formal parlor, and the kitchen was downstairs. But it was all modern now with an exquisite remodel that included a gorgeous white-and-blue kitchen.
“My wife’s out this morning, but she left some lunch for us. Do you want a piece of quiche?”
On cue, my stomach growled. I’d been so anxious to talk to Mr. Barnes I’d forgotten to eat my sandwich I’d brought from home.
“I’d love one.”
He hustled around putting two pieces on plates and pouring glasses of lemonade before joining me at the island. “I’m dying to see what you found,” he said.
I let him look through the box while I ate the delicious quiche. “Nice crust,” I murmured under my breath.
“Old recipe left from Lizzie Strom,” Mr. Barnes said.
My friend Brandi was a direct descendent of the original cook and butler of this home. She’d told me they’d found some of Lizzie’s letters and learned a lot of interesting things.
“Annabelle Cooper Higgins,” Mr. Barnes said. “Strangely enough, we know less about her than we do anyone, given that she was kind of famous.”
“Whatever happened to her, I wonder?” I told him what we’d learned so far. “All we know is that she fell in love with a man who was not her husband.”
“I’ll be darned.”
“We’re assuming she stayed with Clive Higgins,” I said. “But I don’t know what happened. There’s not much to the journal, so I’m not sure we’ll get many answers.”
“Hang on a minute. Let me get something.” Mr. Barnes, not having touched his quiche, got up and disappeared down the hallway. By the time he returned, I’d finished my delicious lunch.
