Page 7 of Brian and Cora (The Bachelors of Three Bend Lake #2)

D espite the heavily falling rain, Cora set out for one last visit with Ivy before she and Rose left for Montana tomorrow. Her friend only lived four blocks away—a nice stroll on a fine autumn day.

But this morning, the wind slanted rain under her umbrella, and gusts threatened to jerk the handle from her hands.

Her reticule dangled from her wrist, the bag sometimes hitting her chest as she moved.

Her sodden shoes squelched with every step, and the heavy, wet hem of her skirt threatened to tangle around her feet and trip her.

A team of horses pulling a laden wagon veered too close to the sidewalk, splashing through a mucky puddle.

Too late, she jumped sideways but couldn’t avoid the dirty water sluicing over her.

She gasped and hurried forward, mentally hurling some unladylike swear words at the careless driver.

On the streets of New York, one could hardly avoid picking up colorful curses in different languages, even if Cora didn’t know the actual meaning of the words.

At a corner, she stopped to catch her breath and eyed the traffic until a break occurred between a carriage and a dray. If it wasn’t Cora’s last chance to see her best friend, she’d have turned back after twenty steps. Actually, I wouldn’t have set out at all.

By the time she reached the Jackson brownstone, her mood was as dismal as the weather.

Before mounting the steps, she flicked a glance up at the window of Mr. Jackson’s study, checking to make sure no light showed.

She only visited Ivy during the late morning or early afternoon, when she knew her friend’s father was away at his law office.

The rare times he came home when Cora was present, his expression made his disapproval known, as did his pointed hints about her taking up Ivy’s time when she had better things to do than entertain.

In her opinion, the ghastly man kept his wife and two daughters on a short leash—one that Ivy’s meek mother and sister, Katie, seemed resigned to, but which chafed Ivy’s spirits.

As if his domineering ways weren’t bad enough, Mr. Jackson was a miser, using his daughters as unpaid servants, when he could certainly afford to hire help.

Their mother struggled with weak lungs, usually remaining in her room, and leaving most of the housework and errand running to her girls.

Cora trotted up the steps, past the cheerful pots of marigolds, the only spot of color in the dreary, gray day.

After sounding the knocker, she leaned to pinch off a flower, bringing it to her nose to inhale the spicy scent.

Tucking it into the buttonhole of her coat, she thought how, later, she’d press the bloom between the pages of a book to bring along.

Do marigolds grow in Montana?

Surely, they do. If not, she’d write to Ivy and ask her to send some seeds. Her friend was an avid gardener, faithfully attending to the pots in front of the house, the tiny plot in the back, and the three lush ferns inside.

Cora banged the knocker, knowing if all three women were upstairs, they might not hear a softer sound. She waited and tapped sharply again.

Ivy swung open the door. She had a thick green shawl knotted tight around her shoulders. “Cora, look at you! Did you swim over?”

With her free hand, Cora made a sweeping gesture down her front. “Don’t you know looking like a drowned rat is the latest fashion?”

“At least, it is on my doorstep,” Ivy said wryly, reaching out to grip Cora’s arm and pull her inside. “With this horrible weather, I’d quite given you up.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Cora teasingly quoted. “I’m about to become a pioneer woman, so I must practice.”

“Practice suffering?” Ivy shut the door. “From what you’ve told me about Mr. Bellaire’s house, you’ll be living in the lap of luxury.”

“That is if Aunt Rose allows.” Cora dripped water on the patterned tile of the entry. “She’s determined on lodgings. But Mr. Bellaire and I have a plan.”

“I brought a towel and some rags just in case you arrived.” Ivy took the folded towel from the long entry table and tossed it to Cora. Then, scooping up a large cleaning rag, she knelt and wiped up the trail of water from the doorway.

Ivy’s home wasn’t shabby in the way Cora’s was from too many children and the woman of the house not caring.

Her stepmother only kept the parlor, dining room, and her bedroom nice and up to date.

The rest of the rooms were worn from hard usage, not, like the Jackson’s house, from long yet little usage.

Ivy plucked the umbrella from Cora’s hand and, leaving it open, set it on the tile to dry. With a give-me motion, she indicated Cora remove her sodden coat.

“Careful, it’s covered in mud.” She handed over the garment.

Wrinkling her nose, Ivy pretended to almost drop the coat before spreading it on the hall radiator.

Cora crooked an eyebrow, sending a pointed glance at the radiator. “You have heat?”

“Hoping you’d wade your way here, I dared to turn on the radiators here and also in the parlor, and I lit the fire. I’ll clean out the ashes when they’ve cooled, and Papa will never know. Come, warm up.” She led the way into the parlor.

“Are you sure your father doesn’t count each stick of wood or piece of coal?” Cora pulled the hatpins from her drooping hat and dropped it onto the hearth. She’d worn her oldest one today, knowing it would probably be ruined. She yanked off her gloves and tossed them next to the hat.

“He doesn’t need to.” Ivy wrinkled her nose.

“Every month, Papa only orders enough coal for what he anticipates our usage will be, no matter if we unexpectedly end up with the worst blizzard in one hundred years. Luckily, we had some warm days lately and didn’t need fires, so I can spare the coal today. ”

“I knew he was a dreadful penny-pincher. But I didn’t realize how bad.”

Ivy’s smile held no humor. “You’re leaving and there’s no sense in saving my family’s pride.”

“Our families are both dreadful in completely different ways.” Cora ran a hand over her hair; the back, at least, was mostly dry.

She tucked the wet tendrils behind her ears, and, knowing Ivy wouldn’t mind, took the seat nearest the hearth.

Placing her feet on the metal warmer, she leaned forward to hold out her hands to the flames.

“What do you do if there’s a blizzard or two and you run out of coal? ”

Ivy took a seat across from her. “Papa will squawk about having to order more, and at an increased price, and lecture us about being reckless with his money. Katie and I will look appropriately chastised. Inwardly, I, at least, will not pay him any mind.”

“You never try to reason with him?”

Ivy sent her a wry glance. “How well does that work with your father?”

Cora rolled her eyes.

“One time, I pointed out that we need warmth during the day when he’s at the office.

He merely said that if we attended our housekeeping as we should, we’d be too busy to feel cold, and, if need be, we could wear gloves and shawls indoors.

” She scoffed and pulled at the knot on her shawl.

“As if we don’t already.” She held up her bare hands and wiggled her fingers closer to the fire.

“At least, now, my hands are warm enough.”

“Your father is endangering the health of his family.”

Ivy shrugged. “Are you all packed?” She pointedly changed the subject.

“Everything I’m bringing is with Aunt Rose, and I’m sleeping over there tonight.”

“You said you and Mr. Bellaire have a plan…?”

“He wants us to live with him. And we certainly will have to stay there a few days. He’s been knee-deep in organizing a Harvest Festival to raise funds for a new and bigger church.

Of course, he’s already bought the land and had the plans drawn up.

” Cora wrinkled her nose. “Too bad we won’t be there in time to attend.

But he’s pretty sure that the hotel and rooming houses will still be full when we arrive, thus forcing us to stay at his house. ”

“House? I doubt he has a mere house. More likely a mansion.”

“True.” Cora leaned forward. “Ivy, the funniest thing. The day I persuaded Aunt Rose to go with me to Sweetwater Springs, I extolled the charms of Mr. Bellaire a bit too much. Although she didn’t say so, I could tell she thought I would set my cap for him.”

Ivy let out a peal of laughter. “No! She didn’t.”

“And she didn’t like the idea one iota.

“Of course not. He’s entirely too old for you.”

“Not just that. I had a sense Aunt Rose felt…territorial, even if she didn’t quite realize her reaction. So, I played along. I’m hoping she’ll let down her guard with Mr. Bellaire if she thinks I’m romantically interested in him rather than trying to push the two of them together.”

“The couple of times I met Mr. Bellaire, he was so kind. And funny,” Ivy commented wistfully. “You’ll have a wonderful and luxurious, time with his family.”

The two fell silent, the very air between them charged with sadness.

The fire popped and flickered. In Ivy’s eyes, Cora saw the quiet desperation she, too, felt.

Although they could write, it wouldn’t be the same as confiding in and supporting each other in person.

I’m so close to escaping, but I’m leaving her behind. She’ll still be trapped here.

Cora eyed Ivy, as if to fix every detail into her memory, knowing, in spite of their dreams of living near each other, this was likely the last time she’d ever see her friend.

They could no longer laugh with each other or sneak out on little adventures.

The two sometimes complained to each other about what they disliked about themselves and envied in each other.