Promptly at six o'clock, Marie locked up the store and walked down the steps to the street. The mud had begun to dry some in the afternoon sun, but puddles still lingered stubbornly in places, and she carefully lifted the hems of her skirt and petticoats high enough to avoid soiling them as she made her way to the other side. Oliver was waiting there to offer his hand in escort as she climbed the steps in front of the saloon.
With his other hand, he doffed his hat with a pleasant smile. "Good evening, Marie. A pleasure, as always, to see you looking so lovely."
"Why, thank you, Oliver," she responded, enjoying the attention. She had forgotten that Oliver was such an attractive man, but there were changes in his physical appearance since she had left Europe. "You know, it just occurred to me why it was so difficult to recognize you. You did not have the mustache and goatee before."
"Aw, yes," he agreed, reaching up to fondly stoke the meticulously groomed hair on his chin. "I had forgotten. That would, indeed, explain your inability to immediate recognize me. Properly groomed whiskers lend a certain air of authority toa man's demeanor."
She laughed, a cheerful, pleasant sound, but it caught him off guard. Never one for casual banter, he initially believed that she was making fun of him, and his stern frown fell upon her, immediately silencing her laughter.
Her smile faded as well, recalling suddenly that Oliver had never had much of a sense of humor. It was one of the things that Beatrice had privately complained to her about when the two women had been alone. At all times, he was serious and businesslike, a part of his character that even carried over into his private relationships. He rarely laughed, and frequently believed that people around him who were laughing were making fun of the hand he had been dealt regarding his father's family.
Compelled to explain herself, she said, "Well, there are plenty of whiskers in Bordertown, but few are well-groomed!"
Oliver continued to gaze at her, unable to comprehend why a backwoods burrow full of uncivilized heathens could inspire humor.
As they gazed at one another on the boardwalk, Oliver finally accepted the fact that she was not laughing at him, and allowed himself to smile, indication that she was forgiven for her outburst. He extended his arm to her. She linked her arm through his, and they entered the saloon together.
Many heads turned as Marie was escorted through the saloon by the exquisitely dressed stranger they had seen walking around town, observing the sights. Not that there was much to be seen in Bordertown, but he was obviously getting a feel for the area, a fact that made most of them wonder about his intentions.
This was the first time Oliver had ever set foot inside an American saloon, and he took in the sights, sounds, and smells with a combination of fascination and disgust. The room was large and open, but rather dark and filled with smoke from the cigarettes and cigars that were being smoked by the customers. Most of the poker tables were occupied with players and drinkers, all of them dressed in the attire of the working class. A long wooden bar occupied the north wall, and behind it was the supply of various brands of liquor. Several young bar maids carried trays of alcoholic beverages from table to table, keeping the cowboys supplied with their favorite drinks. They were rather attractive, he noted, even though they were obviously peasants.
"Fascinating place," he commented in a quiet voice as Marie led the way to the restaurant at the rear of the building.
A tall slender man in an apron met them at the entrance to the restaurant. "Good evening, Doctor Dumont. Table for two?"
"Yes, Mr. Bertino."
Oliver placed a silver dollar in the waiter's hand. "Your best table, my good man."
Dom Bertino looked at him, surprised by the strange reference. So, this was the Englishman that Sally had been going on about all afternoon! He glanced at the coin in his hand. Well, he was generous. "Certainly, sir," he replied, leading them to a table against the wall.
Oliver nodded, approvingly. At last, someone in this wild country was treating him with the respect appropriate to his rank. When they reached the table, Oliver allowed Dom to assist with Marie's chair, and then stood waiting to be assisted with his own chair. Dom complied, even though he had never assisted a man to be seated before. Maintaining a straight face, he assumed it must be common where the stranger had come from, and made no comment.
"Would you care for the special, today?" he asked.
"And what would that be, my good man?" Oliver asked.
There was that peculiar phrase again. Dom somehow found the phrase disarming. "Uh, it's steak with potatoes, gravy, and carrots."
"Would that please you, my dear?" he asked, Marie.
"Yes. That sounds good."
"Make it two."
Dom hurried away to fill the order.
"So, tell me, Oliver," Marie said when they were alone. "Why is it that you are here in North America? Besides to offer condolences, that is."
He smiled his most charming smile. "I am on my way to Vancouver, Marie. I have been offered a position with a fine hospital, there. I had never been to this part of the world, and decided that it would be a grand adventure, so I left my position at the hospital in London, and traveled here. I knew that you and Jacques had settled in this area, so I decided to stop by. His parents informed me of his unfortunate demise."
She nodded. "I thought that was probably the case. I've kept in touch with them through the mail. They came to visit a couple of years ago."
"So they told me. Actually, now that I am here, I must admit, the thought of opening my own practice intrigues me. Rather than stay on at the hospital, I may decide to concentrate on a private practice."
"That was Jacques's dream, as well. He wanted to make a difference out here for people who would otherwise have no medical care."
Oliver shrugged, less interested in making a difference to the working class than he was in stepping into a virtually untapped market in the communities surrounding the larger cities. He knew that people who lived in the smaller towns and cities near Vancouver were forced to travel great distances to reach a doctor. It would be a mutually beneficial move, but he sensed that Marie's opinion, like that of her late husband, was more ideological. He had listened at length to Jacques discussing his desire to help others. For Oliver, denied what he believed to be his birthright by his father's family, his admittance into medical school had been for a different reason. He had been forced to choose a profession, and had chosen the medical field because it would earn him wealth and respect.
"What of Beatrice, if you don't mind my asking?" he heard Marie ask, jarring him from his reverie. "You said she had passed away. What happened? Was she ill?"
"Oh, no. Nothing like that. We were riding one day, and she fell from her horse. A tragic accident. I tried desperately to revive her, but the poor dear's neck was broken. There was nothing I could do."
"I'm terribly sorry, Oliver. I know how you must have felt. I felt so helpless when Jacques died."
"Yes. I miss her terribly."
"As I miss Jacques."
"Why did you choose to remain in this primitive outpost after he died? You should have returned to France."
"These people needed me," she responded. "They kept coming to me with their medical needs, and I realized that I needed them as much as they needed me. They helped me get through my loss." Shifting her gaze from Oliver to the other faces in the dining room, most of them familiar, she was surprised to see Jack Craddock seated in a corner by himself, watching with that same worried frown she had seen before. It was apparent by his nearly empty plate that he had been there before her arrival, so she could not chastise him for spying on her, but it annoyed her just the same that he was watching with such a penetrating gaze. Uncomfortable, she glared at him, a silent warning to let her enjoy her meal, then Dom arrived with their supper, diverting her attention.
As he set their plates before them, he asked, "Would you care for anything else?"
"No, this looks fine," Marie said.
"I would like some bread and a refill on the coffee," Oliver said.
"Coming right up."
Dom returned a few moments later with a basket of bread and the coffee pot. After filling Oliver's and Marie's cups, he moved to Jack's table to refill the marshal's coffee.
"Did my eyes deceive me, or did you have to help him with his chair?" Jack asked.
"You saw correctly," he said as he poured the steaming liquid into Jack's cup. He was resisting the urge to laugh. "That's the first time I've ever had to help a man with his chair! Frankly, I was hoping nobody had seen!" He glanced over his shoulder at the Englishman, who was enjoying his dinner with Marie. "So, that's him, eh?" he asked in a quiet voice.
"Yup. That's him," Jack replied.
"Sally's been chattering about him all afternoon, going on about that accent and the way he dresses."
"Nauseatin', ain't it?"
"Yeah. Still, he tips good." He showed Jack the silver dollar, then returned it to his pocket. "A few more tips like that, and I'll be able to surprise Sally with that new hat she's been eying. He's obviouisly rich."
"Yup," Jack agreed.
"Sally said he's a doctor. Think he'll set up business here?"
"I dunno, Dom. I guess that depends on how him 'n Marie get along."
Dom nodded. He, as well as everyone else in town, was aware of the fact that Jack and Clive had been rivals for Marie's attention for years. Now, it appeared they had some serious competition.
The dining room was filling up with customers. "I better get back to work."
As Dom moved away, Clive and Grace arrived in the doorway, and stood looking around for an empty table. Clive's eyes scanned the room, settling briefly on Marie and her companion. His brow puckered in a slight frown, wondering whom she was dining with.
Marie saw the look, and also saw the young woman on his arm. She had never seen her before, but Clive had informed her over dinner the night before that the new teacher would be arriving today. A surprising current of jealousy surged through her, recognizing the infatuation on the younger woman's face as she gazed adoringly at her handsome escort.
From his chair in the corner, Jack saw them, and motioned for them to join him.
Sharing a table with Jack was not what Clive had intended, but as there were no available tables left, he guided Grace to the corner table.
Jack gathered up his dishes, and moved them aside, then reached for his hat and put it on. "Take my table, Clive. I was just about to leave, anyhow."
Clive nodded, appreciatively as he assisted Grace with her chair, then sat down in the chair that Jack had just vacated. Jack could be exasperating at times, while at other times, he could be very accommodating.
"Who is that with Marie?" he asked.
Jack glanced at Marie's table, his eyes irresistibly drawn to Marie and her companion. "Some British hombre name o' Oliver Knapp. They knew each other in Paris. He 'n Doctor Dumont were compadres in medical school, or somethin'."
"So, what's he doing here?"
"Says he came to offer his condolences to Marie about Doctor Dumont's death. Well, goodnight, Corporal. Enjoy yer dinner." He glanced at Grace, and touched the brim of his hat. "Ma'am." He proceeded through the door, and made his exit.
Grace was looking at the door with an expression of revulsion on her face. "What a vulgar man!"
Clive glanced at the door, but saw no one. "Who?"
"That marshal! Doesn't he ever shave or clean himself up? He's still wearing that same filthy outfit he had on this afternoon! And what is that language he speaks? Is that supposed to be English?"
The offended ripple that her remarks generated surprised him. He had been Jack Craddock's biggest critic for many years, but somehow it sounded different hearing it from someone else. "He can be rather course at times, and he doesn't shave or change his clothes as often as he should, but he's a decent man and a good lawman. As for his use of the English language, he's from Texas, and lived for a time on the Mexican border, so he tends to mix the two languages, sometimes. You get used to it after a while."
"I presume he isn't married," she remarked. "No woman would want a slob like him."
Clive shook his head. "He's widowed. His wife was murdered, along with their child."
Grace felt suddenly ashamed of her quick judgment, realizing that perhaps there was a reason why he had let himself go. Intense grief tended to make people lose interest in their appearance. "He lost a child, too?"
"Yes. A little girl, named Sarah Anne."
"That's awful! Did it happen here in Bordertown?"
"No. South Texas, near El Paso. He and Juanita owned a little ranch near the border. Grace, even though there are times that I think I could cheerfully strangle him, he's still one of the best friends I've ever had. He's saved my life more than once, so please don't speak ill of him."
She understood that she had offended him. "I'm sorry, Clive. I didn't realize. Mother says I judge people too quickly, before I know the facts. She says I get it from my father. I suppose that is someting I'll have to work on."
"Well, don't tell your uncle, but I don't know if I could have made it this long out here without Jack. He's an excellent tracker, too. I've had to use his abilities more than once."
She smiled, pleased that he had confided in her. "Your secret is safe with me," she promised, then fell silent when Dom arrived to take their orders.
When their meals were completed, Dom carried away their dishes and refilled their coffee cups. The latest news from Europe had been discussed, and the conversation dwindled. Marie had noticed that Jack had left earlier, and she watched now as Clive and Grace left together. Clive cast another lingering glance toward their table, a suspicious gaze that Oliver did not fail to notice.
"Who is that man?"
"Clive Bennett. He is the Mounted Police corporal here in Bordertown."
"I get the distinct impression that your lawmen do not want me here."
"I think they are afraid you intend to take over my practice."
Her hand was resting lightly on the table, and he placed his hand over hers. "Actually, Marie, it is my intention to convince you to travel with me to Vancouver. We could open up our own practice there. I know you have obtained a license to practice medicine, but you're still not a real doctor. I could use a good nurse, and your experience out here in the west would be invaluable to me. We'd make a grand team."
She hesitated, startled by his offer. "Oliver, this is my home, now, and I have no desire to leave it. My husband is buried here."
"He's dead, Marie, and I am very much alive, and I want to go to Vancouver with you at my side."
She was growing uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze, and stared at his hand that continued to rest possessively over hers. After a moment, she attempted to pull her hand from beneath his, but his fingers closed around it, pinning her hand to the tabletop in a distinct act of dominance that ignited a twinge of apprehension. Her eyes darted to his face, startled by the satisfaction she saw there.
He was watching her reaction carefully, and did not fail to recognize the uneasiness in her eyes. He enjoyed the thrill of power that it gave him. "Marie, can't you see how desperately I care for you? How deeply I have always cared for you?"
"Oliver, you mustn't say such things!"
"It's true, Marie! I have been enamored with you since the first day Jacques introduced us. I know you felt the same way."
"No! That isn't true," she protested, offended that he could even suggest such a thing. "I loved my husband!"
"And I loved my wife, but not in the same way I have always loved you! All these years, Marie! I've never gotten over you. I want you to marry me. Come with me to Vancouver. I know you are Catholic. There will be a priest there who can marry us in a proper ceremony."
"No, Oliver. Even if I wanted to go, there is more than just myself to consider. I have Lucy, now. I have to think of her needs, and I don't believe she should be uprooted."
"Who is Lucy?" he asked with surprise.
"My ward."
"You've taken in a ward?"
"Yes. A young orphan girl. She had nowhere else to stay, so I offered to look after her."
An unexpected complication. Well, the waif could be unloaded on someone else. "Well, we obviously cannot abandon her, but I'm sure we can locate a family willing to look after her."
"That is not an option!" she declared. "Lucy has become like my daughter, and I'll not turn her over to someone else. I don't know why we are having this conversation in the first place. I have no intention of moving to Vancouver. Now, let go of my hand this instant."
He ignored her demand. "You know, I've heard that it is actually civilized there, much more so than this tiny borough." He leaned forward, eagerly. "I am a wealthy man, Marie. Even though I was denied my father's title and his land, his family has paid me a substantial settlement to turn my back on my heritage. A difficult thing to do, I must say, but in this country, titles are useless anyway. I can give you anything you desire. All you have to do is say yes to my proposal."
"I cannot do that, Oliver."
"I know you must surely be struggling to get by, here; to live the lifestyle to which you were once accustomed. This area is filled with poor peasants who can barely pay you what they owe!"
"Money and wealth were never the reasons I went into medicine. These people depend on me! I cannot deny them medical attention just because they are poor."
"Your dedication is admirable, but you deserve so much more. Bordertown will have to find another doctor. I'll not leave here without you, Marie. If you won't accept my proposal now, then I shall court you until you realize that I am the man for you."
Marie looked away, uncomfortable with his persistence. She was starting to have reservations about Oliver Knapp, and wondered suddenly if Jack's concerns might be correct. In a matter of moments, Oliver had transformed from an old friend into someone she did not even want to know.
When she felt his grip on her hand relax somewhat, she jerked her hand from beneath his, and moved it to her lap beneath the table, off limits and out of reach. "My answer is no, Oliver," she told him, firmly.
He knew that he had committed a grave infraction by pressuring her so forcibly, and decided to back off a bit. He could make up the lost ground later. "Forgive me, Marie. I did not mean to present myself so aggressively. It's just that there has not been a day in the past five years that I have not thought about you, longed for you!"
"Oliver, please!" she hissed, glancing furtively about to make certain that no one was listening to his scandelous advances.
He seemed not to hear. "When I heard about Jacques, I knew this was my destiny. Our destiny. Our respective spouses must have been taken from us so that we could be together. Don't you see? It is fate!"
"You are mistaken, Oliver. I never considered you to be more than the husband of my friend, Beatrice. I apologize if I did or said anything that gave you the wrong impression, but that was certainly never my intention."
Oliver was never a man who accepted rejection well, and he had to struggle to hold inside the anger that was building inside him. He was furious that she was resisting his advances, but he knew that a display of temper would not be constructive toward his strategy of making her his wife, so he was careful to hide it. "Forgive me if I have come on too strong. It was never my desire to frighten you away. It's just that I love you so much. I'll wait as long as it takes for you to accpet that we were meant to be together."
"Aren't they expecting you in Vancouver?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject.
Again, the fires of rage flamed inside him, and again, he forced them down. He understood that she was eager to see him leave, and that rejection was almost more than he could tolerate. He fell silent for a moment, struggling to extinguish his fury. The only outward indication of his anger was the slight darkening of his complexion. He forced calm to his voice. "I am not expected for another two weeks. I sent my servant on ahead to secure accommodations and make the final arrangements. That will leave my sufficient time to visit with you, and to convince you of my deep and abiding affection for you."
"I would welcome your visit, but not your advances," she told him, firmly.
His face darkened even more. "Is it that marshal? Or that Mountie? Are you in love with one of them?"
"Jack and Clive are good friends, but I am still in love with Jacques. Until I come to terms with his death, I will not be ready to pursue a relationship of that nature with anyone."
He regarded her statement as encouraging, believing that eventually he could win her heart, but it was inconceivable to him that she could reject him at all. Women had always considered him desirable. He had never been wanting of their attention. "Then don't reject me completely, Marie. Think about it, please."
She sighed, realizing that a promise to think about it was the only way she could convince him to drop the subject for the night. She also knew that it would only be a temporary reprieve, for he would bring up the subject again. She was growing weary, and wanted to go home. Finally, she nodded. "Very well. I will think about it, if you promise you will abide by my decision."
He smiled, temporarily appeased, and withdrew his watch from his vest pocket. They had been seated in the restaurant for nearly two hours. "That is all I can expect, right now. You look tired," he observed. "Are you ready to leave, now?"
"Yes."
"I'll walk you home, then."
Dom was not presently in the dining room, so he rose to assist her with her chair, an act he had always resented. When married, the woman became the man's property. Therefore, he found it particularly annoying that to win a woman's heart, he was expected to cater to her like a servant.
Unaware of the hostile nature of his thoughts, Marie accepted his assistance, and allowed him to escort her outside. He offered his arm, and she reluctantly took it.
It was dark outside as they turned toward her home on the north end of town. Jack had lit the street lanterns that were hung from the posts in front of many of the businesses, and the light from them lit the way as they walked along the boardwalk. Glancing in the window of the law enforcement offices as they walked past, Marie saw that neither Clive nor Jack were present.
"I have to admit," Oliver said, quietly. "The nighttime is lovely, here. Just imagine how beautiful it will be when we reach Vancouver."
Marie did not answer, but Oliver felt her hand stiffen on his arm.
"Do not worry, my dear," he said in an attempt to reassure her. "I will give you sufficient time to make up your mind, but you already know what your answer must be."
The comment sounded like a thinly veiled threat, igniting a fresh wave of apprehension. Glancing into his face, she could see, even in the darkness, that his countenance was determined, causing her to wonder how he would carry out that threat.
When they reached her house, he stopped on the porch to wait for an invitation inside. When it did not come, he said, "I don't suppose it would be proper for me to invite myself inside."
"It would not," she told him, firmly. "Goodnight, Oliver."
He sighed with disappointment. "Goodnight, my dear."
Worried that he would attempt to kiss her goodnight, she quickly opened the door and went inside, then closed it behind her. After a moment, she slid the lock into place and leaned against it, pressing her fingertips to her throbbing forehead..
Oliver stood for several moments, looking at her closed door, and wondering if she would have invited the marshal or the corporal inside for a cup of coffee or tea, then decided she probably would not. She had a young ward to set an example for. He would have to find a solution to that problem before she would consent to marry him.
For several moments longer, he remained on her front porch, waiting for her to light a lantern downstairs, but she did not. He knew she would proceed directly upstairs.
Moving from the porch, he retreated as far as her front gate, and gazed up at the second story window that overlooked Main Street. A light came on in the bedroom, and he watched, fascinated, as she drew her curtains to prepare for bed.
"You will be mine," he promised, breathlessly. "You cannot escape me."
With that promise, he turned and made his way back down the dimly lit street to the boarding house where, from his second story window, he watched as Jack Craddock made his evening rounds, thinking out easy it would be to dispatch the lawman with a carefully placed shot.
GO TO CHAPTER FIVE