Page 117 of The Promise
SILVERTHREAD, ONE MONTH LATER
The railroad station was busy, the small frame building teeming with people. Miners mostly. The wide-eyed hopeful lot, in search of their fortune, and the weary-eyed, wounded lot, heading home with empty pockets.
And Loralee was leaving it all behind.
She watched as Patrick tipped an elderly porter. The old man hoisted her brand new trunk, settling it on his shoulder with the ease of long practice. She clasped gloved hands together and wondered for the hundredth time if she was doing the right thing.
Patrick started back toward her, his green eyes narrowed against the noontime sun. "All taken care of." He took her hand in his. "You're sure this is what you want?" His voice was low, held in tight control.
She nodded. "I need to be with Mary. She's got a right to know her ma."
"But you could do that here."
She sighed, tipping her head back to meet his solemn gaze. "Folks here know who I am, what I was, and no one is likely toever let me forget it. I want more than that, Patrick. For her, if not for me."
He drew in a deep breath, his mouth settling into a thin line, but he didn't say anything.
She licked her lips nervously, reaching out to cover his hand with hers. "You could come with me." She wasn't sure why she'd asked him. There wasn't anything between them. Only the promise of things that would probably never be.
He released the breath on a sigh. "You know I can't do that."
She nodded, the plume of her hat bobbing in front of her face. "I suppose I do."
"Loralee, my brother has spent all of his life trying to make a home for our family. And, now, I'm the only one he has left."
"He's got Cara." She heard the pleading in her voice and was ashamed. The right thing to do was to let him go. She'd always known there was no chance for them. Silly to wish for things she couldn't have.
"It's not the same and you know it. He built Clune for me, Loralee. I can't just run off and leave him here on his own. We're partners. Hell, it's more than that. We're brothers. And I belong here, with him."
"And I belong with my Mary." Which left them right where they'd started. She bit her bottom lip, trying to prevent the threatening tears.
"Thank God, you're still here. I was afraid we'd missed you." Cara rushed up the platform steps, taking them two at a time.
Loralee smiled. Her great-granddaughter wasn't fond of nineteenth century clothing. At the moment she was wearing men's jeans with one of Michael's flannel shirts, the tails knotted carelessly at her waist. The only concession she'd made to the century was her boots, and she constantly complained about that, saying that there simply wasn't anything that couldcompare with a good pair of Nikes. Whatever those were. "I'm glad you came."
Cara swept her into an exuberant hug. "We would have been here sooner, but Pete wanted Michael to take a look at one of the horses. Something with his foot, I think. Anyway, Michael said the trains always run late."
"And I was right." He draped an arm around his bride of three weeks, pulling her close to his side.
Cara laughed. "Listen to me, running on. Have you got everything you need?"
"More than that. I can't get over all this frippery." She gestured to the blue satin morning dress and matching hat. In all her born days she'd never worn such beautiful clothes.
"You have to look your best when you get to Richmond." Cara reached out to tuck a strand of hair back into the new chignon Loralee wore. They'd copied it out of the Sears catalog.
"It's more like I'm play-acting."
"You look beautiful." The tenderness in Patrick's voice, made her knees feel like taffy on a hot summer day.
"There's the conductor," Michael said.
"I guess it's time." Loralee smiled at the three people who'd come to mean so much to her, but couldn't quite make herself meet Patrick's gaze.
Cara hugged her again, pressing a small white envelope into her hand. "This is for you and Mary."
Loralee could feel the bills inside. "I can't, I mean…"
"It's not much, just our share of the money from the silver. We want you to have it."
