I will Always Love You

By Darlene P. Porter

Genevieve Davidsly lived a secluded life in 1870 Chicago. She embraced simple pleasures like the burst of exuberance from when she flew down the staircase in defiance of the strict rules she lived under. Her guardians, a pair of spinster sisters, w

• Language: English
• Publisher: Authors' Tranquility Press
• Release date: Apr 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9781964037660

Book preview

Chapter One

Poised at the head of the staircase, she surveyed the hall beneath her. She must be cautious. The realization that what she contemplated was forbidden stood forefront in her mind. But the faded brown carpet with the washed-out beige flowers beckoned.

She worked the only fastener remaining on the threadbare cloak resolutely. With defiance in her heart, she drew her many layers of shirts up to mid-calf. One last glance around and she threw her lean form down the marble steps.

The pace of that downward flight was reckless but, fortunately, the worn soles on her boots muffled her passage. At the bottom of the steps, she gripped the carved banister post and stopped so abruptly she spun half around. She was breathless and exhilarated. Color suffused her cheeks. She righted herself and twitched her garments back into their proper place.

A plaintive whine called from a nearby room, Ginny, is that you? You forgot my shawl again.

Guilt quickly replaced the flush of pleasure on the young woman’s face. A transformation took place. A lively spirited girl became the epitome of a drudge. Head bowed, shoulders drooping, rosy cheeks blanching, Ginny reluctantly went in the direction of the voice.

Inside the parlor, thick drapes were drawn, blocking out most of the light. The furnishings were of various degrees of old. Twenty years was the age of the youngest. A small figure with a blanket over her legs shook a bony finger. I just know I shall contract a chill from the draught from the windows. And the blame shall be yours.

Ginny knew without a doubt that not even a breath of air could penetrate the velvet brocade shrouding the said windows. Yet she held the thought within from old habit. She merely nodded and murmured,

Yes, Aunt Geraldine.

Fetch it immediately! The woman leaned her sparse white hair against a cushion. She closed her eyes. You may then massage my temples. I feel an ache approaching.

Ginny opened her mouth to protest but was forestalled. A tall, broad woman with iron grey hair slicked back sternly behind her ears, joined the two in the parlor. Her well-used frock made it seem unlikely for her to be the mistress of the household. However, she was indeed that.

She carried something furred under one arm. Her voice, deep in timbre, held anger for her sister. Geraldine, you mustn’t take up all of Ginny’s time. You know Reginald must have his walk. As if you forgot, surely the child’s cloak would have reminded you.

The whine returned to the seated one’s tone. But Beatrix, she forgot my shawl and… The small one became demanding. I shan’t let her go until I get it! The vehemence in the last pronouncement gave a glimpse of exactly how hardy the seeming invalid truly was.

Very well, hurry along, Ginny. But mind you, none of that sinful running. You’ve done enough evil with that bad habit. And furthermore… Beatrix called Ginny back. Get your bonnet. I’ll have no niece of mine walking the streets bare headed.

Yes, Aunt Beatrix.

When the youngest member of the family returned from the upper floor, she made a sedate passage where she had flown earlier. The severe line to her aunt’s mouth weakened not one bit. She followed Ginny into the parlor and back out, scolding all the way. "I only wish you had behaved like this when you were in that convent of your mother’s religion. I knew nothing good would come from you Papists.

"I told your father when he married your French mother… He was such a willful boy! See what end came to him? Struck down by the influenza at age thirty, his wife and son at the same time. Poor ill Geraldine and I were strapped then with a wild child of nine, tearing about the house, disrupting the quiet.

I had hoped when your priest approached us with the idea of you joining a… What did he call it? …a nursing order… I thought you would make something of yourself. I should have known. You are such a useless girl. If you could have stopped that ceaseless running, you indulge in… But, no… They warned you often enough. The head nun wrote that she spoke to you about it twice before she finally dismissed you. They gave you plenty of time, for two whole years. And still you persisted in dashing from one place to another like the baggage you are."

But Aunt Beatrix… Ginny stood in the foyer with her head bent so her guardian might not see the glisten in her eyes. I did it but three times in all those years. She pulled on a wide-brimmed bonnet.

Yes, but, all the more foolish, you did it when others were about to see your shameful conduct. When will you learn? I happen to know you continue to do it behind our backs. Just let me catch you at it and perhaps I’ll give you the kind of thrashing I used to when you were small. Remember?

A shudder overtook Ginny at the memory of the little-finger-thick cane on the bare behind. Both aunts firmly believed in the axiom, Spare the rod and spoil the child. Perhaps the worst part was when she’d have to submit voluntarily and remove her underwear. The tears had started as she’d bent over the ottoman in the living room. They hadn’t stopped there. The pain from the welts had lasted days. The sentence had ever been one stroke for every year in age. She was twenty, now. Her eyes widened at the thought of what such a beating would do to her bottom.

Beatrix detected the anticipated result of her threat. This soothed her mood. Reginald is waiting. She extended the bundle of fur which had not stirred throughout its’ mistress’ tirade.

The girl tucked the dog under her arm.

Don’t dawdle! You’re leaving late but we expect afternoon tea promptly at five. Oak doors snapping into their frames cut off further orders.

Ginny’s mood which, as a rule, brightened upon embarkation for her daily flight to freedom, retained its’ melancholy. Aunt Beatrix had recalled to the girl the bright, fresh-smelling corridors of the convent. They were far superior in comparison with the closed-up, dark halls in her aunts’ house.

Most of the other novices had been as reserved as Ginny herself. The similarity gave a feeling of belonging to the one who had been orphaned so early. Many delicately crafted statues populated the convent building and grounds. They, too, had welcomed Ginny in their silent way. They each had their own personalities etched into their faces and bearings. Particularly the serenely beautiful Madonna seemed to smile broader when the lonely girl stood before her.

Ginny had become known as Sister Mary Terese. She took up the habit with a short veil but refrained from cutting her hair until Final Vows, as was the rule. She had found in herself a true vocation for the nursing practiced by the Holy Sisters of Saint Frances. Unpleasant tasks aplenty had been encountered in training. Yet, in bringing ease to a suffering body or soul, Sister Mary Terese found a sense of worth never before experienced.

Happiness had bloomed for her, and the first pair of new boots she had worn in ten years flew about her duties. It was when she dashed through corridors, her spirits soaring, when she had startled first a Holy Father and then Mother Superior herself. These two incidents had been within her first six months of her arrival. The novice had been reprimanded in a soft-spoken manner, each time. This had been more devastating than anything either of her aunts had employed. Sister Mary Terese had sworn never to succumb again to the temptation. She had indeed resisted for nearly the rest of her training period, contenting herself with an occasional skip and jump when her joy in life would not be contained.

It had been the approach of the end of that training and the imminence of Final Vows that had clouded her mind. In the excitement of the nearing wedding ceremony, when she was to become a Bride of Christ, that an old habit had emerged. Unfortunately, the bishop, himself had come upon the miscreant in the act. Mother Superior had sadly pointed out a holy sister who burst into unrestrained motion was not conducive of a favorable reputation for the order. Sister Mary Terese had become just plain Ginny once again.

The defrocked novice had returned tearfully to her aunts, a failure in her own eyes as well as those about her. To her relations all the child, as they persisted in calling her, had gained was two years in age. The elder Davidslys were of another religious denomination and chose to remain ignorant of their niece’s training. They resumed the roles they had played when Ginny had indeed been an unschooled child of seventeen and leaving for the convent. The young woman once more experienced a life of near constant scolds and harsh dictates. Her role was servant for the past eight months due to the fact no other option stood open for her.

Bricks of various shades enclosed her. Broad stairways of a uniform height of half a flight led to some of the best homes of Chicago. The cobblestones beneath her boots jarred, unyielding. The very nature of the stone surrounding her echoed the bleakness of the existence hanging heavily on her soul. The tiny, well-groomed lap dog in her arms slumbered in indolence.

Ahead Ginny caught a flash of emerald and saffron among the horses and coaches bustling on the street. The change perceived earlier occurred in the reverse direction. A bright eyed, half smile of eagerness brought youth flooding back to the lean but fine features. Her posture straightened. A sprightliness to her steps alerted her passenger that their goal was near. He wiggled, demanding to be freed. In an instant the furred bundle strained against a lead and the pace set by Ginny was just short of a run.

The commons lay ahead, and the cobbles sped beneath the pair’s feet. Autumnal blaze of elms and maple contrasted with the perineal elegance of fir trees. A few of the less hardy leafed trees had yielded up their garments, but most of the large species yet resisted the wind’s tug. These retained their resplendence. A wide expanse of lawn spread itself open for scampering and frolic. A pair of sentinel hedges, eight feet tall and fully branched, guarded each entrance. Embedded within the bodies of these bushes lay the bright tiny, yellow flowers, the source of the glimpse of saffron seen from down the road.

Once within the border of trees, the companions sped as one across the grass. They came to an abrupt halt at Reginald’s favorite watering place. It was one of the many masonry hitching posts used to tether household livestock while they grazed. The posts were three to four feet in height and disused for more than a decade. Cattle and goats no longer fed there but they served the male dogs of the area well as targets. From there the dog led the merry chase, the two young creatures bursting with energy. They reveled in the pure delight of life.

In defiance of her long skirts, and much more, Ginny ran madly behind her tiny friend. She threw her head back and laughed, giddy. Only the wickedly pleasurable dash down the marble stairs in her aunts’ home approached this exhilaration. The synchronized movements of her limbs, wind rushing past her ears, the flood of blood in her veins invigorated her innermost self.

When she had haltingly divulged her sin to her confessor, he had explained this was not the affront to God that others perceived. He had, indeed, encouraged her to enjoy herself in this manner away from the censure of her aunts. With this outlet Ginny could passively tolerate her relative’s haranguing and bullying.

Go Regi! I can keep up to you, she called. Do your best.

At her words, the dog drew on his reserves and in the process led his human near one of the lesser used entrances. He resorted to his old trick. He started to weave in order to win the game, cutting corners sharply. His idea was to confuse Ginny as to where he was headed.

The two-legged frolicker’s breath came fast. She was fully absorbed in watching where she thought Regi was headed to the point she gave no thought to her own path. Suddenly an obstruction loomed before her. She ran at such a headlong speed she could but divert aside at a ninety-degree angle. In doing so she came up sharply against another dark figure. She was tossed away from the man’s solid back like a large doll of cloth. The air was forced from her body as she bounced back. The game ended.

The man was propelled forward a step and a half. He spun in a crouch with one hand clutching his left thigh. If he didn’t have such fast reflexes, he’d have missed seeing Ginny’s back and head crack against one of the stone hitching posts half obscured by foliage. A short frown crossed her brow as she crumpled to the ground, very still.

The two young men who had anticipated a leisurely stroll in the park exchanged an incredulous glance. The one the girl had avoided was dressed as any son of a local family might, rich clothed outercoat over pinstriped trousers and high-glossed shoes. The black beaver hat on his dark blond head was set at a rakish angle. And he carried a silver-handled walking stick. The other’s clothing differed in the extreme. He wore a black, waist-length leather coat. His boots were worn but of intricate workmanship. The hat he held was wide-brimmed and from the maker Stetson. It too was black. A band adorned it with polished silver, coin-sized disks. By his attire it was apparent his left hand had, by reflex, sought an absent pistol.

The gentleman at home in the city showed a teasing half smile. Jon, I have heard it said, ‘She threw herself at me’, but honestly…

He who had been struck from behind ignored his fellow’s remark. His gaze fell to the dog that had been insulted by his lark being interrupted. The creature yammered excitedly in a high-pitched bark, dancing on the crisp grass stubble at the end of a leather leash. Midnight black eyes took in the end of the strip of leather wrapped around the unfeeling outstretched hand. Guessing how the mishap had taken place, Jon silenced the dog with one firm glance and the word, Quiet!

He dropped to one knee beside the unmoving form.

The other commented, But, I say, never in my life have I ever been so accosted. A person is not safe walking…

The westerner untied the strings of the bonnet that almost completely obscured the face of the fallen girl. Stuff it, Pete. She could be hurt bad. A drawing out of the vowels of his words confirmed his origin.

Peter blinked once at the unusual tone. But his own natural good temperament and immense liking for his newfound kinsman prevented him from taking offense. Hurt? By Jove, the way her head snapped back she could be dead.

The kneeling man slipped the back of the bonnet up and off carefully. The delicate innocence revealed touched him oddly. Thick lashes curled darkly on the planes of high cheekbones. A thin nose hinted at a point. A heavy fringe of hair completely concealed her forehead. That hair was brown, but the weak autumn sun sent red/gold sparks flitting amidst the more mundane color. She seemed tiny in her tired old cloak, tied snuggly beneath her chin. The overwhelming impression Jon received was that of a pretty little girl lying broken at his feet.

Jon felt a strange quiver in his stomach, but he gave his head a sharp shake and suppressed the feeling. He ran his fingers, feather soft, up the back of a long neck. He encountered a mass of tightly coiled hair. No, I think her hair pinned here may have saved her.

Regi fearfully approached Ginny and touched his nose to her cheek. He whined and his pink tongue snaked out to lick the clear complexion.

Jon pushed the animal away and directed, Pete, maybe you could catch hold of the little critter?

Me?

Yup, you, cousin mine. Look, this poor young-un was playing happily with her dog and we come along and prit-near knock her head off. Don’t you think we can take care of her dog, so she doesn’t have to say we drove her puppy off to boot?

Peter Marshall Phillip Hamilton rose to his full height. He was affronted until he detected the sparkle in his cousin’s eyes. Of a sudden the humor of the situation became apparent. An answering smile met the challenge he saw. That is why I like you, Jon, Old Boy. You never bore me.

Tucking his walking stick under his arm, Peter bent and freed the leash from the girl’s wrist. He straightened holding the leather with thumb and forefinger. In doing so he let his distain be known.

A crowd began to gather around the small group. The dark man sat back on his heels and called out, Anybody know this here girl?

Most shook their heads. The others just stared.

That helped a lot, Jon mumbled.

The spectators continued to grow in numbers. Some offered suggestions. Put her arms over her head. That’ll bring her around.

Pat her hands, young man, the backs of her wrists.

Raise her feet over her head.

Jon turned a quizzical gaze on the fellow who had made the last remark.

A number of watchers chuckled. Peter did as well. That one is the best yet, Cousin Mine. Come on. Try it, Jon.

At that, the kneeling man cast a glance upward. He was not pleased.

No. no, just elevate them a little where they are. The embarrassed speaker melted away; hat pulled low over his brow.

I know, Jon. Just the thing! We’ll let the little doggy lick his mistress into wakefulness. Peter stepped forward.

Pete, that is not funny.

No, Mr. Hamilton shrugged, chastised. I guess you are right.

A few long moments later a tiny sound came from the girl, followed by a small movement of her hand. The shadow of a grimace passed over her face and Jon leaned closer. Luminous eyes opened. Their color was a unique light brown.

Everything in Ginny’s sight sat askew. Focus eluded her. The sharp ache that was the back of her head caused her to reclose her eyes. As she recalled the situation, she pushed off the ground with her hands in an attempt to rise to sitting. Regi, where is he? Is he safe?

Whoa, filly… Jon caught her by her upper arms before she tumbled forward onto her face. Not so fast. He eased her onto her back, his voice warm and comforting like hot chocolate. I take it that is your dog’s name? He’s safe right there with my cousin, Pete.

Ginny insisted on getting to a sitting position. Jon’s steadying hand helped her achieve that goal. Her legs curled under her skirts. Once there her gaze skipped over the spectators and took in the indicated gentleman. A fawn-colored bushy tail wagged a greeting.

Regi, thank the Holy Mother! She smiled in relief.

Her eyes settled on the face so close to her. A quickening of her breath came with a visceral response to the attractiveness of the man. Full black hair shown around his face, longer than she was used to seeing. It curled out at his collar and covered that stripe of white linen there. His eyes were what had sparked her gut-reaction. The lashes were long and ridiculously thick. The color that looked back at her matched his hair. Those orbs twinkled down at her, smiling without the help of his lips. A girl could get lost in those pools of obsidian. Most shocking of all he twinkled at little, insignificant Ginny.

Thank you, sirs, for taking care of my friend. Aunt Beatrix would never forgive… She gasped. Her hands moved to her mouth as realization widened her eyes. What have I done?

Tears brimmed as she pleaded up at the man above her. Please, please, forgive me. It was you, wasn’t it? I’m so sorry. No harm was intended.

An amazing answering smile warmed Ginny’s chilled heart. No harm was done ‘cept for to yourself. Don’t look so stricken. No one’s goin’ ta eat you.

The girl shrunk into herself. She started to shake her head, but the act was aborted by the stab of pain that attacked her skull at her first move. She winched, leaving her eyes closed. You don’t know, sir. It will go hard. A large tear ran down one cheek.

His tone seemed to embrace when Jon spoke again. Hush now. It will all be okay. You just wait and see.

Peter, still the gentleman, produced a dainty white lace hankey from his breast pocket. Passing it beside Jon’s ear he offered it to the crying girl. My mother has always directed me to have a suitable handkerchief on my person should I come upon a female in distress. First time it was really needed. His grin was indulgent.

Thank you. The small voice reinforced the little girl impression Jon had had earlier.

After a noisy use of the square of linen, Ginny peered at the charismatic young man from the corner of her eyes.

Feeling more the thing?

I have to get home… now. Her voice wavered.

Jon rose in one fluid movement. He offered her his hand. At first, she ignored it. But when getting to her feet alone was not about to happen, she accepted.

Thank you, sir.

When the girl got to her feet, Jonathan was obliged to provide full support. Her knees buckled and she swayed against him, drifting off into unconsciousness again. His arm found its’ way around her waist, and he drew her to him in time to prevent another fall.

The displaced cowboy found her entire weight not difficult to bear. Her waist was so tiny it seemed impossible to be that of an adult. That thought distracted him, but he was able to pull her close enough to cushion her head in the crook of his shoulder, near his heart.

A constriction in his stomach spread and gripped his chest. He bent his head and breathed in the fresh scent of her hair. With a start, he straightened. Clearing his throat, he said softly, Miss, miss?

A small groan announced the girl’s return to alertness. Upon realizing she stood in a man’s arms, she panicked. She pushed herself away, the whites of her eyes showing. Sir! Outraged was the only word for her reaction.

The dark man reached out and caught her at both her elbows as she began to topple over in the opposite direction. Let’s have a little sense here, gal. For the first time a harsh note had entered his voice. Don’t be foolish! You need help. My cousin and I are willing to give it. But be sensible.

I must return home! She pleaded.

Fine, where do you live?

Why?

Well, Jon explained patiently, so we can take you there, of course.

No! Extremity was present in the denial. She stared, aghast.

May I point out to you… Each word was distinct in annoyance. You are barely able to stand, let alone walk. The black eyes followed as the brown ones faltered. His severity eased and he continued patiently again. Now, my name is Jonathan Michael Crawford. I’m visiting from Arizona. This is my cousin, Peter Matthew Phillip Hamilton. He lives in the city with my aunt and uncle. He has a sister, too.

Ginny shyly glanced at Peter. She nodded very slowly. Mr. Hamilton, thank you for watching Reginald. She gingerly eased away from Jon, poised unsteadily on her own feet.

The fashionable young man doffed his hat and bowed slightly. Pleasure is all mine, I assure you. Something amused him about the way his cousin remained ready to jump back to Ginny’s side. Peter repeatedly glanced questioningly at Jon.

My name is Genevieve Aline Davidsley. Her name came out in a rush, as though it alone told a great secret.

Peter proved her right. He spoke up, Say, no relation to those eccentric old sisters on Brothington Place?

Ginny inclined her head slowly and averted her eyes. My aunts.

But surely, they have no niece. No one knows about you!

The girl straightened her back to accept an unfavorable judgement. They enjoy their privacy and are not overly proud of me.

Jonathan stepped to her side and offered his arm most properly. Shall we get going?

Ginny balked yet again. Oh Sir, must you? I mean could you perhaps put me in a coach-for-hire and allow me to go back alone?

Peter answered promptly, Absolutely not! What we begin, we finish. Correct, Cousin?

Right Peter. Jon put Ginny’s arm through his own. As he walked, he bent and studied the face beside him. And besides, you’re as pale as one of those new white-faced cattle from England.

A suppressed spirt of mirth escaped Genevieve, Oh Sir, how unfeeling of you to make me laugh when I feel so bad. The cowboy was rewarded with a fleeting twinkle in her eyes. One could not call that lifting of the corners of her mouth a smile. But in that instant of frank eye contact. Jon was sure there, hidden away, was a healthy sense of humor.

Peter and Reginald led the parade out into the street. The human hailed a coach. Ginny, paler than ever, drew back at climbing into it. Please Sirs, you cannot…

The young woman stopped speaking abruptly, looking startled. She turned aside and wretched into the cobblestone gutter.

The watching crowd disappeared miraculously. Peter found the interior of the vehicle irresistible. He dragged Reginald after himself by the lead. It looked like he reeled a fish in on a line. In the moment the dog was suspended in midair he spun around by his collar and choked loudly. Then he was plucked inside without apparent injury.

Jon remained at Ginny’s side. He put his hands on either side of her hips. Through the disagreeable episode he held her upright from behind as she swayed weakly. Upon her straightening up, he produced his own handkerchief, bright red and patterned. He passed it to her.

Oh Sir… Ginny’s voice quivered. Forgive me. I never…

Don’t think nothin’ ‘bout it. His tone was uncertain, belying his words.

The injured girl pressed the cloth to her lips and blinked several times. She once again found focusing her eyes difficult. Let’s hurry. My head swims so.

The driver, above and to the right of the couple on the curb, spoke raucously, Here now, I don’t want no sick un’s in my rig!

Anger flared in Jon. And how are we supposed to get her home? Don’t worry, you’ll get extra money for this. Peter, what’s the address?

Jonathan assisted Ginny inside as Mr. Hamilton complied hesitantly from within and promised a set fee for the ride. Ginny felt like fine porcelain from all the care with which the broad, coarse hands eased her into the worn seat.

Indeed, her skull felt cracked much like glass might become. The jostling of the imperfect springs navigating the cobblestones rattled her brain so that her eyes glazed over and closed. Her head lolled over onto Jon’s shoulder.

The pair of dissimilar cousins exchanged a look devoid of mirth. Is it far? Jon asked.

Just a little ways, as you would say.

Hum, Jon grunted. The cowboy felt his gaze drawn to the child-like face once again. That he had been partially the cause of this injury distressed him to no small amount. There was that strange stirring again. It felt like he could not stand to drag his eyes away.

He had been with a lot of girls in his short number of years, but none had this immediate or strong of an effect. He could not say he wanted the little mite of a thing in the usual way. All he wanted to do was return her to her family, to make sure she’d be all right.

Dark lashes fluttered as mindfulness skidded below the barrier of her lids. A hand moved to the back of her neck, and she raised her head wobbly. Where? Who are…

Mr. Hamilton, his amusement spent, bent forward into the seat opposite Ginny. Do not be distressed we are almost at your home.

That’s right, the park… The brown eyes seemed vague. My aunts will… A gasp escaped her lips. Oh no, the cane, she’ll use it for sure. She brought the red bandana up and covered her mouth. I shouldn’t have said that! It just slipped out.

Jonathan frowned. Why shouldn’t your aunt use a cane? Some folks do. Look at Good ole’ Pete here.

Not on other people, they don’t. This time a sob followed the statement. Ginny hung her head. I can’t stop talking. The words just pour out and then I hear myself saying them.

Two octaves deeper came Jon’s inquiry, Are ye sayin’ yer beaten with a cane?

Oh no, she calls it a thrashing, and not since before I left for the convent… I loved it there. I felt needed and wanted. And everything was so bright. But I was bad, and I ran around too much. So, they said I had to leave and go back to my aunts. Nothing ever changes there so I’m back doing what I did before.

She covered her mouth with both hands. Why am I saying these things? I would never tell anyone about this. Stop me please,

A leather clad arm curved around her slight shoulders. Twin creases appeared between the black brows. Something will stop. I promise you.

Jonathan fixed his cousin with an icy stare for an instant before returning his eyes to the person in his embrace. Her size seemed to dwindle in proximity to his broad chest and arm.

You should leave me. They will not tolerate men coming into their house. They hate men, tried to make me not like people like you, too. But I remember my father and brother, learned more about you when I worked in the hospital… I’m babbling again.

The coach swayed to a stop. Jonathan removed his arm from around Ginny with great caution.

Pete, I’ll jump down, and you help her get out after me.

Fine, the fair-haired man crisply answered. He steadied the girl by holding both of her shoulders at as great a distance as his arm allowed. He looked like he thought she might spout green again.

The dog, sleeping on the seat beside Peter during the ride, roused and started yapping. Expensive beaver flew to the floor, knocked there by the wiggling furred body. It rang hollow as it rocked back and forth in dirt and debris.

A groan and upturned eyes were drawn from the owner. But, to his credit, he did not loosen his stiff-elbowed grip on Ginny.

All right, let her come down, Pete.

You’re home now, Miss. Let’s go in.

Yes, I must. She moved haltingly toward the open door of the coach.

Peter had to lend his aide to keep her in an upright position.

Jon reached in for her. Peter came next. But Reginald balked at the jump to the pavement. One quick tug coaxed him out.

The cowboy crossed the sidewalk to the large but shabby house. The shutters needed paint and one hung by a single hinge. Jonathan’s hand supporting Genevieve’s elbow.

After three steps beside the cowboy, she leaned sharply away from him. Quick reflexes were needed to prevent another fall. Jon came through with a jig to the girl’s other side. From there he walked with his right arm around her shoulders and her left hand in his.

How are you, Miss? He inclined his head to see her face.

A feeble shake of her head was his only answer. It bothered the young man to see her downcast eyes unequally open.

At the base of the stairs that led up to the entrance of the house, he asked, quietly, Are you up to this?

Ginny raised her eyes to the six steps and a wave of dizziness robbed her knees of the rest of her strength.

Jon was ready and smoothly lent his strength to her support. I thought as much, he murmured. Effortlessly he dipped his knees, slipped his left arm under her knees and picked her up. It seemed he had carried wayward calves that weighed more than his current load.

She molded to his chest and sighed stridently in pain.

It was near to a whimper, and it tugged at Jon’s heart. He paused where he stood for a few heartbeats before he climbed the stairs to the front door. There he waited for Peter to arrive with a free hand to pull the bell cord.

This task completed, a scurrying of feet beyond the double doors was heard. The peek hole door opened and slammed closed again. The wood remained fast in its’ frame.

A muffled dispute was heard: You open up!

Oh no, you do it!

Not me, I’m new.

Ha, I’ve been here longer. I can order you to do it.

I think I have’ta scrub the kitchen floor.

Oh no you don’t. Get back here! We’ll both do it.

But What’ll…

Shhh, they’ll hear us.

Finally, both doors swung inward, seemingly on their own power.

Jon boldly walked in and spun to confront a maid cowering behind each doorknob. So, you finally decided to open up? His voice boomed across the mostly empty hall. Took your sweet time about it, ya did. There’s been an accident. Where are the aunts of this here girl?

The maids, in matching uniforms, emerged from behind each door. The younger one pried her eyes off Ginny’s ashen face and gazed up at the man who held her effortlessly as if she were a doll. Jon saw a clear-faced child of eleven or twelve. The other servant was well into her thirties and well-fleshed.

The older one gasped at Jon’s last question. Then the two turned expectantly toward the grand staircase on the right side of the two-story, soaring space.

Almost on cue, two figures appeared on the verge of the second floor. One stood tall and domineering in stance. The other exuded nervous energy. Her hands twitched around within the grip of each other. They were dressed similar to the maids, save each wore shawls knotted about their upper bodies.

What is this intrusion? the larger sister’s voice demanded. Where is Reginald? The rising tone of alarm set everyone’s teeth on edge.

The other one’s shrillness grated. A man, Sister! Look! A boney finger extended toward the offender.

The two bustled down the steps. Upon reaching the main floor, they dashed over. The high-pitched voice continued, Reginald, where could he be? If she has lost him…

Peter Hamilton’s tones sounded melodic. Ladies, is this the gentleman to whom you are referring?

Regi pranced regally into the noisy room followed by the dandy holding the leash.

Ginny’s aunts dropped to their knees to hover over the tiny animal.

My poor pet!

Did that nasty man hurt you?

What mischief has that wicked, wicked girl gotten into now?

There, there, I can see you’re just shaking, poor baby. The wiry Davidsly scooped up the furry bundle and faced the strangers in their midst. Her cheeks flamed with her outrage. Terrorizing a little dog, how cruel!

Beatrix rose to her full height. The Iron-haired matron rounded on Jon and Ginny; the girl still cradled against the man’s chest. What nastiness has she been up to now?

Ginny peered shyly from her place on Jon’s shoulder. She tugged on his leather sleeve to ask to be put down.

The senior sister shook a finger at her niece. Where is your bonnet? I specifically told you not to be about without a bonnet.

If anything, the cowboy held tighter to the person to whom the shouting was aimed.

Will you unhand my niece?

Jonathan had been too stunned by the way the family of the injured party had greeted the return of one of their own to take note of his burden’s gentle request. At the large woman’s command, he rocked back a step and glanced down.

Let me stand, please. The girl spoke hardly above a whisper.

Jon complied instantly but carefully, keeping a hand on her unstable elbow. He bent to look at her face. He did not like her tendency to topple over.

While he was checking, Aunt Beatrix kept right on shouting, Coming here in a man’s arms! Who could have imagined that, and no bonnet? Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t have you going about the city bare headed?

The nervous one whined, Beatrix, I have never suffered such a shock! Look at her! Leaning on some strange man! To think of it, our brother’s only living child, and in our own house! Shameless!

Wrong ma’am… Jonathan, eyes narrowed, jumped into the conversation.

Blameless. A pronounced Southern drawl appeared suddenly. He pushed his Stetson onto the back of his head with his unoccupied hand. She’s done nothin’ wrong. There was an accident at the park. Miss Davidsly, here, fell into one of those hitchin’ posts ‘n got hurt.

Ginny glanced up puzzled vaguely. She hadn’t earlier noticed the thickness of the accent. But a general haziness felt like it was creeping up on her.

She can’t be hurt. The smaller sister scoffed. There is no blood.

I hit my head. The shadow of a voice spoke again.

Oh, well, not much there to damage. Beatrix’ eyes gleamed. She had made her variety of a joke. Say, tell me… A new thought struck her. Was she running around in the park and that’s how she got hurt?

The niece stiffened and tried to catch the cowboy’s attention. But, too late.

Why, yeah, what…

I knew it! Beatrix cried with glee. Again, that sinful running, again! The big woman closed on the girl and wagged her finger so near her face, it almost brushed Ginny’s nose. Didn’t I say you doing that would get you into more trouble? Run here, run there. Wanton you are! You were probably kicking your skirts so high you were showing off your ankles. That’s probably how you attracted the attention of these shiftless…

Watch it! Jonathan was through being stunned. Now he was just mad. He had thought he had been returning an injured child to the bosom of a loving family. Had he been wrong!

He drew Ginny back a bit. This here girl’s hurt and ya’all are goin’ on ‘bout dogs, bonnets, I- told-you-so’s and callin’ names. Can’t ya’ see she’s fallin’ over at your feet?

Beatrix’ chest puffed out. She always looks like this.

Geraldine squinted at Ginny. She is a little pale, Sister.

You stay out of this!

The smaller sister sputtered but remained quiet.

You, sir, are not welcome in my house. You may leave.

Ah, pardon me, ladies. May I introduce ourselves. Peter swept his hat from his head and tucked it under his arm and spoke apeasingly from just inside the entry. This is Jonathan Michael Crawford, a rancher visiting from Arizona. And I am Peter Matthew Hamilton of the State Street Hamiltons. My father is Judge Phillip Hamilton of the fifth district court. Pleased to meet you, Misses Davidsley. He bowed properly from the waist.

He received a double-barreled glower for his efforts. We are not pleased to meet you.

Beatrix came right out and said it. Get out!

Yes, quite, well… He returned his hat to the top of his hair and tipped it. Good day." A blank look overtook his face, and he backed his way out of the door.

Geraldine piped up, The draught… I really must get out of this wind. She bent and swept the tiny dog into her arms. She carried Reginald toward the parlor and disappeared.

Jon had kept watching Ginny through the exchange. She continued to sway even with the help of his steadying hand.

You! Beatrix pointed at the remaining man inside her domain, offensive in his presence alone. …out!

The Westerner’s dark eyes took in the sweeping flight of stairs. Ignoring her aunt, Jon asked Ginny, Is your room up there?

A barely audible yes answered.

He rounded accusingly on the aunt. How are you going to get her to her room?

Beatrix was frosty as she looked down her nose at Jon. I beg your pardon? Then she smirked. This is our house. We will take care of things here.

If she tries to walk those stairs she’ll faint, sure as fire. She almost did outside when faced with those few steps. Now, do you have someone who can carry her?

Well, I never… Geraldine returned without the dog. She had wrapped herself in a down-sized knit blanket.

The maids near the door muttered to each other.

You two must have work to do somewhere. The mistress of the house made a broad gesture toward the corridor to the rest of the house.

The older servant scurried right out of the hall, down a dark hallway. The younger lingered near that gaping hole in the far wall.

Leave her. We care for our own. Beatrix fixed Jon with a most intimidating glare.

The masculine voice was menacingly quiet. That remains to be seen, Ma’am. How will she get up those stairs?

The mistress of the house had not been backed down in decades. She let the stored-up air in her lungs out and deflated on the spot. I guess we’ll help her if she really needs it.

The sound that came out of Jon’s throat came close to a growl. You’ll help her to fall again. He reacted abruptly and bent at the waist. He caught her up in his arms again.

Ginny’s grasp on alertness being as weak as it was, the quick movement caused her to lose that grip and tumble back into the darkness lurking all around her. Her head slid back, her neck arching whitely.

Damn, the man swore as the girl’s arm on the outside of her torso dropped, seeming boneless, to dangle in front of him. There, you, see? See how bad-off she is? Now, in God’s name, show me where to take her!

For the space of ten heartbeats no one moved. Jonathan held the boiling gaze of Beatrix Davidsley, neither one willing to give in. Then, when it was obvious neither one would give in, the young maid dashed forward and gently guided Ginny’s head up and onto the curve of black leather that covered Jon’s shoulder. She caught the