What about him?
She ran to her room, stared into the mirror, pinched cheeks that had gone pale. Goodness, it was really happening, and Emmett would want it, too. Helping Malina. But Malina’s misfortune was Lila’s means of escape. Emmett wouldn’t want that. Oh, Emmett. Dead and gone.
Bronx flickered behind her eyelids. Impossible. Another man was impossible. Emmett had explained time and time again what she lacked as a wife…and only his vows until death kept him staying on.
And the last time she had felt such a tantalizing attraction, the desperate need to be at a man’s side had been wrong, so wrong. Emmett, so wrong. Her knees weakened.
And Bronx Sanderson was wrong, too, because he bore secrets. Emmett had taught her that, too, how to tell. And most did, here at the top of the world where it was easy to lose oneself on a mountain top or in a mineshaft or a gambling hell. She’d not mistaken the stains of shoe polish on the pillow case, and each day since, Bronx’s hair seemed a lighter shade. So who was he disguised against?
Trembling, she sank on the bed. He’d not winced when she suggested her need for a Pinkerton, in fact, he’d promised to find one. So he didn’t fear detection. But if his masquerade was an undercover lawman, well, he led a far too dangerous life for her sensibilities.
All she wanted, now, was a calm home and babies.
Well, this Friday—today—was the day she could halt wearing mourning garb, so her mood improved. Ah, no one in Leadville kept track of such things pertaining to the widow of a nondescript preacher, but Mama had raised her properly.
Mama. Even in her grief, she forced a laugh. Her great plans for wearing her blue dress on this celebratory day had gone to naught. It was not a garment she could dress herself in alone, and Miss Frieda was far too busy downstairs cleaning the kitchen and nursing Malina.
Malina. Lila’s heart twisted. Birth and loss in the same hour. Well, she had Bible study to lead. That ought to please Emmett’s memory. She tossed on a pretty thing of pale orange worsted because the bodice buttoned easily up the front.
And not lost on her, how perfect the gown complimented her hair. She grimaced. The vulgar error of nature. Yet, Bronx’s gentle fingers had drifted through her hair this very morning. She shook him away because it felt right then, felt right now. The jocket hat with rooster feathers took the place of his fingers, and she gulped the sadness away. The brown wool cape coat from her trousseau would be fine against the autumn chill.
But she’d miss walking back to Gethsemane with him at her side.
Downstairs, she tiptoed into the kitchen, not wanting to wake Malina, for one last cup of tea to relax her. Speaking in front of folks still did not come easy, no matter Emmett’s tireless instruction and critique.
“Miss Lila?” Malina called from the small bedroom off the kitchen.
“Malina?” Lila rushed in. “What is it? Are you...what is it?” The smell of mustard led the inside of her nose. “You sound stronger.” Oh, let it be so.
“I am much stronger. Miz Frieda has quite a way about her.”
“That, she does.” She smiled at Malina’s chuckle. “I’m thankful she found her way to welcome you.”
Malina’s face pinked. “I never trusted other people, or even God, until Gethsemane. But here it all is. Miz Frieda sent an inquiry to St. Vincent’s this morning, and Sister Mary Crescentia.” Her eyes brightened and shone. “Clemmons...my Clemmons is breathing easy and not bearing a contagion. He’s to be released after another day or two of rest.”
“God answers prayers,” Lila said in Emmett’s voice, although she did believe it all on her own. It was just most times, He took too long to do so.
“I hope when he has recovered, and when we regain our strength, well... I hope we can walk out. He doesn’t mind…what I was.” Malina stared down at her hands.
The lost baby pummeled Lila’s heart. “You deserve goodness, now. You can hold your head high. The past is over and done.”
“Yes.” Malina blushed. “But there’s a future, too. Maybe we can find my baby. Clemmons and me, we could raise him up right. We’ve both fallen and gotten up again.”
Lila knew and had to say because she believed it deep down. “I—we will help look, Malina. But it might be a journey long and impossible.”
“God will help me. Doc Holliday, too. He’s helped me before.”
“Yes. And Mr. Sanderson promised to find a Pinkerton, as well.” Just saying the name brought a sweet taste on Lila’s tongue, and her blood firing through her body. “He’ll need time. The agency has no office here in Leadville. He must send wires, letters, I imagine.”