Desert Moon Read online

  “I’m pleased for you, sir,” Adam said, “but I think I’ll be happier right here in Ardell. There are some good men running for office.”

  “That there are. Well, I wish you both the best, and I’ll be counting on your vote.”

  Gerry ambled away, and Adam gave Julia a crooked smile.

  “Guess we gave him a good campaigning opportunity.”

  “Yes.” Julia cast a wary eye toward the refreshment tables, where the minister’s wife and Mrs. Morley presided. “You’re sure the miners haven’t sneaked in some liquor? I’d hate to see this party get rowdy and the church torn apart.”

  “I’ve got Sam and Bob on the lookout,” Adam said. “They’re under orders to taste the cider every ten minutes to make sure it hasn’t been spiked.”

  As Julia watched his two unofficial deputies, Sam poured a ladleful into his own cup and took a swallow.

  “That could be a lot they drink before we’re through.”

  “Oh, I think they can hold their cider.” Adam laughed. “When do we cut the cake?”

  Half an hour later, when folks had enjoyed their cake and the chatter was beginning to ebb, Leland Gerry again paused near them, stopping beside the table where Julia, Adam, and Oliver were seated.

  “Oliver, I just wanted to tell you that I’ve approved a raise for you.”

  Oliver’s eyes widened, and he hastily stood to face his employer. “Thank you, sir. I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “No, I guess not. But you’ve done a good job, and I admit I’ve felt a little guilty for suspecting you of—well, you know—stealing the September payroll.” Gerry laughed. “Pretty wild idea, eh?” He glanced at Adam. “Can’t imagine where that rumor started.”

  “Think nothing of it, sir,” Oliver said.

  Julia wished she was sitting on that side of the table, where she could reach her brother to give him a gentle kick. Think nothing of it, indeed! Oliver might have been hanged.

  Gerry passed something to Oliver and walked away to buttonhole someone else. Oliver looked down at the object in his hand and laughed. He passed it to Adam, who held it up so that Julia could see it. The small matchbook was imprinted with the words, “Gerry for Senate.”

  Across the room, Edna was smiling as she spoke with Mrs. Kepler, but her gaze kept straying back to their table. Julia didn’t think it was her bridal attire that drew Edna’s attention.

  She leaned toward her brother. “Oliver, I believe Edna could do with a cup of cider. Why don’t you fetch one for her? Ask if she’d like to join us for a few minutes.”

  Oliver blinked at her but didn’t move.

  “Please?” Julia said. “She is my bridesmaid, and I’d like to hear her thoughts on how the ceremony went.”

  Slowly, Oliver stood and pushed back his chair. He touched his necktie and looked over at Edna. When she again glanced their way, Julia was certain their gazes met and held for a second or two. Oliver walked toward the refreshment table with a ghost of a smile on his face.

  “I suppose you think you’ve accomplished something,” Adam said.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Oliver’s mentioned to me how tragic a figure Miss Somers makes, and how well she’s borne her grief.”

  “Has he now?” Julia eyed Oliver with satisfaction. “He hasn’t said anything to me about her.”

  “He wouldn’t. Of course, he wouldn’t want to intrude where he wasn’t wanted, but I suspect he admired her long before Bub proposed to her.”

  “Really? Why didn’t Oliver court her?”

  “Hmm, not shy exactly,” Adam said, “but a little slow moving.”

  “Yes. I understand what you mean. And as soon as he saw that another man showed interest, he wouldn’t want to interfere.”

  “Of course not. Your brother’s almost too much of a gentleman.”

  Julia reached for his hand. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?” Adam squeezed her hand and gazed into her eyes as though he really had no interest in the topic.

  “Because a man can never be too much of a gentleman, can he?” She was gratified to see Edna accept the cup of cider from Oliver. The two began to talk, and after a moment they walked together to the table. Oliver pulled out a chair for Edna.

  “Oliver tells me you’re setting out for the Four Corners in the morning,” Edna said as she sat down.

  “That’s the plan,” Adam said. “I hope it’s not too cold. I hate to ask Julia to ride that far if it’s freezing.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Julia said.

  “It sounds like an exciting trip, but more arduous than I’d want to make this time of year,” Edna said. “Do you think a lot of people will go to watch the monument set in place?”

  “I don’t expect too many will.” Adam looked over at Julia. “It’s so far out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “And in the middle of Indian lands,” Oliver said.

  “Well, I think it’s romantic that they’re setting the monument on Valentine’s Day, and that you’ll be there on your honeymoon.” Edna smiled at Julia. “Your trousseau must be unique.”

  Julia chuckled. “I’ve been working on it since Adam proposed in November. As soon as I heard about the Four Corners monument, I knew I wanted to see it, and Adam told me that the new permanent one would be put in place as soon as President Taft signs the documents for statehood.”

  “I think they’d go ahead with the monument even if he didn’t sign it,” Adam said, “but it looks like a sure thing this time.”

  “I hope so,” Oliver said. “That was pretty low of him to veto our statehood last summer.”

  Julia shook her head. “If we have to vote one more time—”

  “We?” Adam arched his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware that you ladies were voting.”

  Julia grimaced, but Edna laughed at him.

  “Don’t you worry, Sheriff. It won’t be long before we women have as much say in Arizona affairs as you do.”

  “Well, New Mexico’s statehood was approved in January,” Adam noted. “I don’t see how they could turn us down now.”

  Julia smiled at him. “Me either. I can’t wait to see the spot where the four states meet.”

  “Yes,” Oliver said with a bit of a smirk, “you can stand in Colorado and kiss Adam in Utah.”

  “Or each put your feet in different states and hold hands over the center,” Edna said. “That’s surely a wonderful way to celebrate the day.”

  “Well, I can think of ways to celebrate here,” Oliver ventured.

  “Can you?” Adam shot Julia an amused glance.

  Oliver cleared his throat. “Well, yes. I thought perhaps we could have dinner at the Placer in comfort, Miss Somers, while they’re freezing their toes off at the Four Corners.”

  Edna blushed a becoming pink. “Why, thank you, Mr. Newman. I’d be honored.”

  “Oh, it won’t be as cold up there as it is here in the mountains,” Adam said.

  Julia thought she might just burst with happiness today, between at last being Mrs. Adam Scott and hearing her brother ask a lovely lady to have dinner with him. But if she said anything too direct, Oliver wouldn’t like it. Adam squeezed her hand. She’d make do with that for now.

  “Excuse me,” Mrs. Kepler said, and Julia turned to look up at her.

  “Yes?”

  “We ladies wondered if you plan to toss your bouquet.”

  Julia picked up the spray of tissue flowers Edna had made for her, since they couldn’t get any real ones up here in February.

  “I’ll do that right now.” She knew who she’d aim for when she threw the posy.

  February 14, 1912

  Julia and Adam stood in a circle of people surrounding the spot where the new bronze monument would rest. The concrete pad had been prepared in warmer days, and it was now ready to receive the bronze marker that would show the demarcation of the boundaries of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah.

  The spectators were swathed in heavy clothi
ng, ranging from elegant furs to plain, thick woolens. Elders of the Diné and Ute tribes living in the area represented their people in their ceremonial dress. Off to the sides, two large fires were kept burning so that people could warm themselves.

  It seemed to Julia they waited a long time, and she was glad that the temperature was fairly warm—ten degrees or so above the freezing point. Several government officials made speeches, describing the first survey of the area in 1868 and Robbins’s survey in 1875, when a sandstone marker was moved to this location. In 1899, a new stone had replaced the broken marker. The one being placed today was meant to be a permanent monument.

  At last a rider came galloping toward them along the road that led to Cortez, Colorado, forty miles away.

  “It’s official,” he yelled. “Taft signed the proclamation at ten o’clock Washington time. With a gold pen.”

  The spectators set off a loud cheer, and several men drew their pistols and fired into the air. Photographers were ready with their cameras as the crew moved the bronze marker forward and settled it into position.

  Adam threw his arms around Julia and kissed her.

  She grinned at him and looked around surreptitiously, but no one seemed to care what they did. Everyone shouted and made noise any way they could. One man had brought along some firecrackers and set them off. The popping and cracking went on for some time, and Adam tugged Julia away from it.

  “Come on. Let’s get over into New Mexico. It might be quieter there.”

  She laughed and walked a few yards with him. As the noise continued around them, she stood on tiptoe and brushed his lips with hers. “I believe I want to kiss you in all four states.”

  “I’d be happy to oblige you, ma’am,” Adam said. They made a circle around the monument and ended up back in Arizona. He gazed down into her eyes. “Happy, Julie?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m so glad I can have Arizona and you, too.”

  Susan Page Davis is the author of more than sixty Christian novels and novellas, which have sold more than 1.5 million copies. Her historical novels have won numerous awards, including the Carol Award, the Will Rogers Medallion for Western Fiction, and the Inspirational Readers’ Choice Contest. She has also been a finalist in the More than Magic Contest and Willa Literary Awards. She lives in western Kentucky with her husband. She’s the mother of six and grandmother of ten. Visit her website at: www.susanpagedavis.com.

  Chapter 1

  The door to the playroom swung inward. Honor Brooks looked up from the table where she and six-year-old Heather had been making letters.

  “Miss Brooks, Heather”—Ben Stone beamed as he looked down at his daughter and her governess—“how would you like to go to the Grand Canyon?”

  Honor was speechless. Heather was not. “Daddy, Daddy!” She flung herself into her father’s arms. “Are we really going?”

  “We certainly are,” Laurene Stone indolently posed in the doorway. “Since President Wilson signed it into a National Park it’s really quite the place to go.” Her usually petulant face showed a spark of interest. “I understand El Tovar Hotel is sumptuous. Several of my friends are going for the summer, and Ben needs time away from his law practice.” Her cool eyes were almost fond as they swept over gray-clad Honor. “It will be good for you, too. You can take Heather out in the fresh air and sunshine.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” Honor blushed.

  “It will take about a month to get ready. I’ll have all new clothing, of course. You’re good with a needle, Honor. Would you like to remodel some of my present gowns for yourself?” A look of dismay crossed the carefully made-up face. “You weren’t planning to go into mourning, were you?”

  “Laurene!” Honor had never heard Ben Stone thunder before. Was this how he talked to lying witnesses in the courtroom?

  Now Laurene had the grace to blush. “I didn’t mean to be rude, or anything. It’s just that the Canyon and all—your brother wouldn’t want you to wear black, would he? And being with Heather every day—”

  Honor lost the rest of the explanation as a small hand slipped into hers. Heather stood with one finger in her mouth, her earlier joy of the news about their trip gone, showing clearly how the scene was affecting her.

  “You’re right, Mrs. Stone. Keith would never want me to wear black.” She even managed a wan smile. “Your gowns are lovely, and I believe I can make suitable garments from them.”

  “There!” Laurene turned triumphantly to her husband. She pulled a bell rope and waited as a maid responded. “Sally, have Jimson bring down the trunk of clothes by my closet.”

  Heather crossed to her mother but looked back at Honor, eyes still anxious. “They’re really pretty. You’ll look nice in them.”

  Honor forced herself to smile at Heather. “I’m sure I shall.”

  “Don’t wear yourself out sewing, Miss Brooks.”

  The concern in her employer’s voice unnerved Honor, but Sally was already draping gowns over every available chair—garnet satin, dark blue crepe, deep green, lovely amber—yards of gorgeous material trimmed with real lace. Some were far too décolleté for Honor’s taste, but they could be remodeled until even their original owner would not recognize them!

  Last of all Laurene ordered Sally to open a satin-lined box.

  “Oh!” Honor’s dark blue eyes opened wide. Never had she seen such a beautiful frock. The white lace and satin were pearl-beaded—with even a small purse to match.

  “Hardly.” But Honor still fingered the frock, and a rich blush filled her face at the memory of a dark-haired soldier who had once briefly entered her life and then gone away.

  When they had all left, Honor sat still, reliving another day when Ben Stone had entered the playroom. She had looked up that day, too—and the world had gone black as she saw the concern in her employer’s face and the yellow telegram in his hand.

  “Run along downstairs for a little while, please, Heather.” He had waited as his daughter scampered out.” Miss Brooks—Honor—”

  She had shoved back a lock of golden-brown hair and a wave of faintness with one motion. “It’s Keith, isn’t it?”

  Now she bit her lip, feeling the sickening taste of blood, trying to control her shaking hands. She resolutely clamped down the lid on the memory of that day, as she had done dozens of times since. Keith was dead. She must go on.

  You can’t run away from it.

  Had the words been whispered by her own heart, or were they merely the remains of the torture she had gone through these last weeks? Automatically her fingers lifted the heavy dresses, fitted them on hangers. One by one she carried them to her own room and placed them in the large wardrobe.

  It was no use. All the gowns in the world could not stop her memories. She threw herself on the bed, letting the tears come. Would the pain never end?

  There had been no trace of Ben Stone’s usual courtroom crispness in his voice that day. But he had not attempted to soften the long-expected blow. “Yes. The War Department has confirmed his death.” He had caught her as she swayed, helped her lean against the table. “He fell bravely, fighting for his country.”

  “That’s comforting.” Was that her own voice—bitter, harsh? “It’s just that—all this time, when there was no word except he was missing—even since the war ended—” She could not go on.

  “I know.” Mr. Stone’s face was sympathetic. “Evidently the War Department found someone who had actually seen Keith killed. There is no doubt.” He cleared his throat. “They buried him in France, but if you want his body brought back home, I’ll see to it. And Honor, don’t worry about expense. You’ve come to be part of our family. Everything will be taken care of.”

  Another tear fell, splashing against her clenched hands, as she remembered the kindness of the considerate employer for whom she had worked the past two years.

  Thinking a walk would help, she tied a heavy hood over the bright brown hair so like her brother Keith’s. She caught back a cry of pain. It couldn’t be p
ossible Keith had died somewhere in France. When the Armistice Day bells rang on November 11, 1918, she had expected Keith home soon. He hadn’t come. Months passed. A War Department telegram informed Honor, his only living relative, that Keith was missing in action.

  A fresh wave of torture filled her as she remembered the long days, sleepless nights. Missing in action—dead or alive, no one knew. Yet deep inside was the assurance Keith would return. Surely God wouldn’t let Keith die when he was all she had left!

  Honor’s face darkened. She couldn’t think of God, not now. Snatching up a long cape that covered her dress to the hem, she wrapped it around her and fled into the early afternoon. She was unconscious of the stares from passersby. The long cloak was out of place in the late spring softness of San Francisco. Yet huddled in its depths Honor still felt cold, outside and inside.

  Memories threatened to drown her: moving to Granny’s cottage when both parents were killed in the great earthquake—she had been eleven, Keith six; teaching her little brother to read before he went to school; learning to rely on Granny for warmth and love.

  Honor shuddered. Keith would answer her call no more. Why had he lied about his age to serve his country? Had God punished that lie with death on the battlefield? No! Her inner rebellion could not accept that. Keith had accepted Christ as his Savior when he was small. She could almost see his happy face becoming clouded over as he pleaded, “Honor, believe on the Lord.”

  She had scoffed in the lofty way her twelve years allowed. “If God really loved us, He wouldn’t have let Mama and Daddy die.”

  Wisdom shone in the little boy’s eyes. “The Bible says God loved us enough to send His own Son to die. God must have felt just as bad as we did about Mama and Daddy. Don’t you listen when Granny tells us about Jesus and reads the verses?”

  It hadn’t been the last time Keith worried over her. Throughout their growing-up years he kept trying to win her to the Lord he loved. But Honor would not give up her stubbornness, even when Granny had died a few days before the Armistice. She clung to the idea that Keith would be back. When he came there would be time enough to talk about whether God loved her.