Page 20 of Brian and Cora
The sound of gunshots tapered off. But Brian stayed tense, even as his body shook with weakness, knowing he didn’t have much left before he passed out. He heard a sharp whistle—the agreed-upon all-clear signal. Only then, with profound relief, did he roll onto his back and give in to the pain.
At the Bellaire mansion,after soaking in a luxurious bath and scrubbing from head to toe, Cora combed out her wet hair and donned the fresh outfit laid out upon the crimson-and gold-damask patterned bed. The dress was old, of course, which normally would have bothered her, especially next to Delia’s elegant splendor. But Tilda or Milliana had thoughtfully ironed out the creases, and Cora was so grateful to feel tidy that she didn’t mind her shabbiness too much.
Taking her grandfather’s traveling desk from where she’d placed it on the bookcase, she moved a chair in front of the radiator so she could sit with her back to the heat, drying her loose hair while she wrote a letter to Ivy.
Settling the battered box on her lap, she hesitated, a lump rising in her throat, remembering the times in the last months when she’d sat next to his bedside writing letters for him because he was too weak to do more than dictate. Aunt Rose had her owntraveling desk, and neither her father nor her stepmother was interested. So, Cora had gladly claimed it for her own.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Instead, she opened the lid to make a writing surface, unscrewed the top of the glass inkwell, picked up her pen, and began to write.
Dearest Ivy,
I’ve finally arrived in Sweetwater Springs and have had a chance to rest and recover. As I promised you, I’m writing as detailed a letter as possible, so as you read my words, you can imagine me confiding in you.
So far, I love everything about Sweetwater Springs. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me write things in order.
On the trip west, I alternated between bouts of boredom and interest in the views out the windows and being concerned about Aunt Rose. While my aunt didn’t complain, I knew Rose was unhappy. I felt guilty and mentally promised to make everything work out for her.
The best part of the trip was getting to know Aunt Rose better. From her years of working at the library, Rose possesses a vast store of knowledge and would often tell me about the history of a place we passed. Sometimes, we played a game of glimpsing a person or family and making up stories about who they were and what they were doing.
Mr. Bellaire gave us the warmest welcome and insisted I call him Uncle Andre. He’s thinner than before, with more white and little auburn left in his hair and some additional lines around his hazel eyes. But he’s still the charming old dear he’d always been. Not that his charm seems to penetrate Aunt Rose’s reserve. So far, she remains polite but distant with everyone.
Mr. Bellaire and the Nortons have enfolded us into their family. I’m already idolizing Delia Bellaire Norton, not just for her beauty (really, her resemblance to her father is quitestriking) but for her warmth and kindness. She’s every bit as welcoming as Uncle Andre. Her skin is somewhat darker than his and her hair more brownish than red. Her Southern accent is honey-smooth, which I imagine was how Mr. Bellaire also used to sound. (He still does sometimes, when he’s being playful.)
We haven’t yet met Reverend Joshua or Micah, but they are expected soon. The Negro servants are the same as in New York. Sam, the coachman, Rufus the butler, Tilda the housekeeper, and their daughters, Milliana and Stephania, and Cook (I don’t know her real name) are still devoted to Mr. Bellaire. Seeing their familiar faces and being greeted so warmly by them added to our welcome. Tilda even elbowed Cook aside’ to bake my favorite cookies!
Will you think me horribly unfilial that I don’t miss my family? Of course, you won’t. But I do find it sad that I don’t miss them. Of course, I grieve Grandpapa. He’d so enjoy being here with us and his old friend.
We had a lovely dinner, with all Aunt Rose’s favorite foods being served. How sweet (and sad) that Mr. Bellaire remembers her tastes after all these years.
At dinner, we heard the shocking news. Before we arrived, the most tragic thing happened in the town. As you know, Mr. Bellaire organized a Harvest Festival to raise money to build a new church. But a gang of thieves robbed the bank of all the money! In the process, they killed one of the deputy sheriffs and harmed the bank clerk.
(Lest you fear for me living in the Wild West, Mr. Bellaire assures us that this is an isolated event. Normally, Sweetwater Springs is a peaceable place and not a plot in one of those horrid dime novels.)
The sheriff (a woman, can you believe it?) has led a posse out to chase the gang down. But
a miasma of fear lies over the whole town. People worry for the safety of the posse members. They fear the robbers returning. They hope those miscreants haven’t hurt or killed anyone else in their attempts to hide out.
Although Mr. Bellaire tries to act his normal self, it’s obvious he’s worried and blames himself for what occurred. Delia assures me that having Aunt Rose and me here is the best possible medicine for his low spirits.
I do think I’m right that he still cares for Aunt Rose. When she’s not looking, he gazes at her with such tenderness. I don’t know what happened between them, but I still intend to do what I can to bring them together. Wish me luck. I get my stubbornness from Aunt Rose!
After we ate, I went upstairs to unpack. Oh, the joy of unpacking my possessions in my very own elegant room, done up in amber and gold! What bliss to no longer be cramped in an attic bedroom and have to hide my possessions or store them at Grandpapa’s. The house even has two bathrooms, and I availed myself of a hot bath after I unpacked. How wonderful to feel clean from head to toe and wear a fresh dress after a filthy journey. (Although I’m saving my new outfits for a better occasion.) As I write this, my hair is still wet.
In spite of the house—mansion, really, as we suspected—being so big and richly furnished, there’s an air of peace and coziness about the place. Perhaps, it’s because of all the books. There’s a library for most of the books, but Reverend Joshua, Uncle Andre, and Delia also have their own bookcases. Any house with books everywhere would make me feel right at home. (Not that Papa’s house had many books.)
As nice as it’s been to relax in luxury, underneath, I still am set upon becoming a nurse.
So far, thank goodness, no one seems scandalized by my choice of vocation.
But with the town still in an uproar, I’ve judged it best to wait to talk to Dr. Cameron about apprenticing. With his brother, Dr. Angus, accompanying the posse, the fear for his safety must be constantly on his mind. Still, I chafe at the delay.
There. I’ve caught you up.
She sat for a minute, her pen still poised to write. Then she sighed and wiped the ink off the nib.
A knock sounded on the door. “Miss Cora,” a boy’s voice called.
That must be Micah. Setting down her pen, she stood and hurried to open the door.
