Desert Moon Read online

  Her fingers clenched as a terrible thought crossed her mind: If I had accepted Christ, would Keith be alive now?

  No! Granny had taught them they were responsible for their own actions. God would hold them accountable for what they did—Honor’s lips twisted—or for what they failed to do. Although others could be hurt by their actions, salvation was a one-to-one transaction between God and every person on earth.

  Her remembrance left weakness. There had been an unpaid mortgage. The little home had been sold. The day had come when Honor’s pocketbook and tiny cupboard in her dingy rented room were empty. She had tried to pray at first, but nothing got better. If God still knew she was alive, it didn’t seem to matter to Him. Only the thought of Keith’s homecoming had kept her moving down the street looking in every window for a HELP WANTED sign.

  It was through an old family friend that Honor had met Ben Stone, a lawyer who wanted someone to give his four-year-old daughter the time and attention his wife was unable to give. Heather walked into the library of the Stones’ mansion and into Honor’s heart at the same moment.

  Laurene Stone seemed to be glad to be rid of even the minimal care she had been giving the child, and within a week Heather and Honor had become inseparable. The flaxen-haired little girl trotted after Honor eagerly and never argued when told to do something. Was it because of mutual loneliness? Laurene always seemed to have enough energy for balls and parties, but none for Heather. As a result, the child automatically turned to Honor’s welcoming love. Honor believed that Mrs. Stone’s only real problem was being spoiled, but she had little contact with her and poured out all the love she had on Heather.

  Ben Stone had been as good as his word. It was several weeks before Keith’s body could be shipped home, but Mr. Stone had done everything in his power to speed the process.

  For Honor the waiting was even worse than when she had waited for Keith to come laughing in the door. Now her waiting was without hope. She was truly alone. Only Heather could reach through her suffering.

  One night as she tucked the child in bed, Heather, rosy from splashing in the ornate marble tub, said, “I’m sorry your brother died. Daddy said he was a soldier.” The beautiful face was wistful. “I never had a brother. Aren’t you glad you did, even though he died?”

  It caught Honor unprepared. Thoughts whirled through her feverish brain. Heather’s face was turned up, expectantly waiting for an answer. What she said now might be of lasting value or damage to the child.

  “Yes, Heather. I am glad I had a brother.”

  Heather’s wide-open eyes indicated she was in the mood for confidences. “Tell me about him, when he was little like me.”

  Haltingly at first, then buoyed by her listener’s interest, Honor uncovered some of the buried memories she had put aside because of their painfulness. It got easier as she went along. When Heather’s reluctant eyelids finally stayed closed and Honor had slipped to her adjoining room, she lay awake for a time. It was better to remember, even painfully, than to try to forget. Heather’s final sleepy comment still hung in the air. “I bet Keith’d be happy now he’s gone to know you still have me.”

  A trickle of comfort touched her. It was true. She had a place to live, the love of Heather, the admiration of Mr. Stone. She wasn’t totally alone.

  The child’s love had helped her through the hard memorial service, the final laying of Keith to rest in the soil of the country he loved and for which he had given his life. Yet in the weeks following the burial, Honor was unable to pick up the shattered pieces and go on. She grew thin, pale, nervous. Even Heather wanted to know if she was sick. Honor told stories of her own childhood to amuse Heather and comfort herself, but continued to toss restlessly at night.

  Alarmed, the Stones sent for a specialist, who checked her over. Honor overheard him tell them, “Shock. She carried on so long, but when hope was taken away, her body rebelled. She needs to get where there is a better climate. I don’t like the sound of that cough she’s developed.”

  Nothing more had been said until the Stones had come into the playroom today with the incredible announcement of a vacation to the Grand Canyon.

  Honor suddenly realized she was chilly. Afternoon had given way to evening while she journeyed to the past. She hastily returned to the mansion and went in search of Heather.

  The little girl was bubbling over with happiness. “Daddy said we’re going in a great big car. There’s going to be sand and mountains and all kinds of things to see! Aren’t you excited, Honor?”

  Honor led her small charge to the nursery, where Heather had her meals. “Of course I am. Keith—” her voice faltered then firmly went on, “Keith and I always thought it would be a good place to visit.”

  With uncanny insight, Heather read the meaning behind Honor’s words. “Since your brother can’t take you, we will. I heard Mama tell Daddy you need to go—”

  Honor’s heart lifted. She wouldn’t have thought Laurene cared about even a high-class servant that much. But Heather’s continuing monologue shattered her illusions. “—and that we needed a vacation anyway, and this summer was the time to go while everyone thought it so smart.”

  Yet even those revelations could not completely dim Honor’s anticipation. She lay in bed that night staring at the ceiling. She had always wanted to visit the Grand Canyon. She had read every book she could get her hands on, secretly hoping in her childish dreams she could visit a big cattle ranch someday, yet knowing the possibility was slight.

  A rich blush crept up from the high-ruffled neck of her cambric nightgown, touching her thin cheeks with color. She had even daydreamed of being mistress of such a ranch.

  The excitement of the proposed exodus provided Honor with strength. Within a week she was working on the frocks Laurene had discarded. She and Heather took long walks past the great stores of the city, noting a knot of velvet here, a trick of gores there, that set apart the stylish frock from the ordinary. Honor’s skillful needle faithfully transposed those tricks into her growing wardrobe. Heather learned to sew along with Honor’s alterations, and doll clothes emerged for her favorites.

  One evening Honor wore her new dark blue dress down to dinner. Most evenings she had dinner in the nursery with Heather, but on occasion she was pressed into service when an absent dinner guest made an uneven number. Her glowing cheeks were attractive and her eyes shone.

  She wasn’t prepared for Mrs. Stone’s reaction. “Why, Honor, where did you get that lovely dress?” Astonishment narrowed Laurene’s eyes. “That can’t be—”

  “It is.” Honor laughed and whirled. “I wondered if you would recognize it.”

  “You certainly did a nice job!” Laurene peered at her more closely. “That fichu—it’s just like the one on the Paris dress I found in a darling shop. If you don’t mind, I may let you help me with my wardrobe at the canyon. I’d just as soon not bother with Sally.”

  “I’d be happy to help.” Honor’s sincere smile brought an answering glimmer to her employer’s wife’s eyes. Honor treasured the extra sign of friendliness. Laurene wasn’t one to praise other women, especially one so insignificant as the governess.

  It seemed only a few days passed, and suddenly it was time to leave. The house would be cared for by Sally and Jimson in their absence. Honor had a final glimpse of the mansion as they stowed themselves in the big touring car Mr. Stone had purchased especially for the trip. A strange desire to flee back to the security of the walls that had housed her for so many weeks and months touched Honor briefly and was gone. Ahead lay—what? Why should she suddenly long for her own room?

  It was a long trip. By the time they arrived Laurene was tired, and she ordered Honor to see that Heather had a snack and was put to bed. Honor’s heart beat quickly as she obeyed, anxious for her first sight of the canyon. She had already thrilled to the massiveness of El Tovar Hotel, built just after the turn of the century. Its native boulders and pine logs were different from anything she could have imagined, yet perfect f
or the setting. Grateful she could be alone for that all-important first sight of the canyon, she reassured Heather, promising she would get to do all the wonderful things the canyon offered while they were there.

  Honor deliberately did not look into the canyon until she found a secluded spot a good distance away from the hotel. She kept her eyes fixed on a distant point on the far wall.

  Her trembling fingers caught the twisted trunk of an old tree as she finally peered into a rent that could have been created only by the hand of God. She gazed down on mountaintops—and they were a mile high! No wonder writers described the canyon as indescribable. Nothing on earth could have prepared her for it. It was beautiful, awful, magnificent, terrible.

  How long she stood gripping the tree she never knew. She turned away, only to look back once. Every movement of light and shadow changed the canyon from red to purple, light to dark. It was impossible to grasp with the human mind—a never-ending, shifting panorama.

  Honor tottered back, sinking down on the needle-covered ground. The sorrow of the past months had been drawn from her by the sheer force of what lay before her. She shuddered. God had created all this and still sent His Son to die to save sinners—the God Granny said was waiting for her to accept Him. She tried to laugh and failed miserably. She deliberately brought up her losses: parents, Granny, Keith, home. No. Even such a God could not find place in her life after taking away everything precious. She could stand no more.

  Yet after a simple dinner with Heather she again slipped into the evening’s dimness. She watched until no light was left to reveal the canyon’s secrets, an uneasy peace fighting with something inside clamoring for recognition. What if God really was calling her to accept His Son? Granny had talked time and again of those who were “under conviction” for their sins. Was this what she had meant, this terrible tearing apart inside? Part of her longed to fling herself to the ground and cry for mercy, while her head told her it was insane. More than likely it was just the effect of her illness and shock coupled with the beauty of this place.

  Without warning a handsome face laughed in the still night air before her, leaving her drained. “I need someone,” she whispered.

  She laughed bitterly. First God and then a wraith from the past. If this was what happened when she came to Arizona, she’d better run back to San Francisco and find another job. Still, the new idea tormented her. She needed someone to love and honor, to cherish, to fill her life. Overhead the bright Arizona stars seemed close enough to pick.

  She had attended many weddings, seeing innermost feeling and glimpsing what love between man and woman could be. She could even remember how her parents had been. It kept her from being attracted to a cheaper form of excitement. She would not accept second best. Someday he will come, she thought.

  She caught her breath. Was this the recognition for which she had been brought to Arizona? In her soul, the searing certainty it was not shook her. What of the far greater truth she had so steadfastly denied?

  Refusing to answer, she hurried toward the main entrance of El Tovar and dashed across the lobby. She heard a group clattering down the stairs before she saw them. The next instant she lay sprawled on the floor.

  Honor looked up into the devastatingly handsome face of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man, who was apologizing and helping her up.

  “I say! I’ve knocked you down with my clumsiness. I should have been watching where I was going.”

  His face changed. Delight, incredulity, and recognition mingled in rapid succession. “Honor? Honor Brooks?”

  From her unladylike position Honor saw what her mind could not accept—the man who had knocked her flat was her soldier from long ago—Phillip Travis.

  Phillip! He had come into her life like a whirlwind years ago, appearing with a small group of soldiers who came to church one night. He had made a special point to talk with her afterward.

  It was the beginning of a tremulous, butterfly world. Phillip’s home was Casa del Sol, “House of the Sun,” near Flagstaff, Arizona. Dark and handsome, he fit the storybook image of the knight in shining armor who would one day sweep her off her feet and carry her to his ranch to live happily ever after.

  Honor’s mouth twisted in a slight twinge of the pain she had suffered when he went overseas, promising to write and disappearing as suddenly as he had come. She had wondered if he, too, had fallen in France. It seemed inconceivable he would not have written, if he were able, after spending every free moment with her and Granny.

  She could still remember his farewell. “Honor, I don’t know if I’ll be back. But would you wait for me? When I come home, will you marry me?”

  Alarm had brushed gentle wings against her spirit and reason.

  “We hardly know each other!”

  His gaze was compelling. Taking both her hands in his, he drew her unwillingly toward him, overriding the strange combination of longing and reluctance she felt.

  “You can’t tell me you don’t care.”

  Honor had tried, but there was a biding-my-time look in his smile. “We will have time when I come home.” She had felt her heart pound as he promised, “I’ll write.”

  Chapter 2

  Phillip drew her to her feet. “I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry. You aren’t hurt, are you?” He held her off with both hands, still clutching her wrists as she mutely shook her head. “Come in for dinner with us. We just arrived, and the dining room is still open.”

  Some of Honor’s composure returned. “I have already eaten, Mr. Travis. Besides—” she glanced down at her white shirtwaist and plain dark skirt. “—I’m not dressed for dinner.”

  “You look fine.” He turned to a girl in the party. “Babs, tell Honor—Miss Brooks—she looks fine.”

  He didn’t seem to catch the scowl on the pretty redhead’s face as her social breeding forced her to respond. “Of course. Do come in for a cup of coffee, at least.”

  Phillip led her to a table. “Everyone, this is Honor Brooks.” His ardent gaze made her uncomfortable. “She is the girl I told you all about, the one from San Francisco. Or did I? Anyway, now that I’ve found her again, I won’t let her get away so easily!”

  In spite of herself, Honor blushed. He made it sound as if she had once escaped him when the opposite had been true. He was the one who had promised to write and never followed through.

  The blush didn’t escape Phillip. “A girl who blushes in this day and age? Will wonders never cease!” He waved a lazy arm toward his friends. “Mark, Cecile, Jon, Patti; you’ve already met Babs.” There was something in his voice demanding recognition, but Honor had never heard of them before.

  Phillip surveyed her with keen eyes. “When did you come? You’ve never been here before, have you?”

  Honor was aware of her position in the split second before answering. She was also aware of how painfully crumpled her shirtwaist must be and how her hair was falling all over the place. “I’m here with Mr. and Mrs. Stone. He is an attorney in San Francisco.”

  Phillip’s eyes widened in admiration. “I’ll say he is! Everyone has heard of Ben Stone. I didn’t know you knew him.”

  “I am his daughter’s governess.” Honor didn’t miss the glance of scorn from Babs. Her chin came up. “After Granny died and when Keith didn’t come home from France—” Suddenly the cloud of smoke around the table got to her. What was she doing here with this group of people? She had no part in their way of life. Phillip was the only one not smoking. Drinks were being poured.

  She stumbled to her feet, throat thick from emotion and smoke. “Thank you for the coffee. I’ll excuse myself now.”

  “Oh, I say, Miss Brooks!” Phillip trailed her to the door. “I’m sorry—about your grandmother and Keith, that is. I didn’t know.”

  His sympathy was so sincere that she found herself smiling up at him through the gathering mist. “Thank you, and good night.”

  “You aren’t going to run off from me, are you?” he demanded. “Not just when we’ve found each ot
her again?”

  Honor’s heart leaped in spite of herself. The memory of his charm hadn’t done him justice. Phillip Travis held an appeal for her that couldn’t be denied. But what was he doing in such a crowd? Evidently he knew them well; they were his friends. He hadn’t been like that in San Francisco. There had been no mention of smoking or drinking. He had called at her home and taken her to church. Sometimes they had taken long walks. Had he changed so much, or had she been wrong about him?

  Phillip totally misunderstood her silence. “It isn’t because you’re working, is it?” He grinned. “I always thought I’d try it. They tell me it’s fascinating.” A hoot of derision came from the table they had just left, and Honor’s face flamed. This was no place for her. Evidently Phillip was a member of the “pleasure seekers,” or “parasites,” as Mr. Stone classified such people.

  “Thank you for the coffee.” Before Phillip could detain her she slipped away, but not before overhearing Babs cattily remark, “That girl walks like royalty.”

  Honor couldn’t help smiling grimly to herself. Why not? Her family might not have been rich, but they were honorable. Why shouldn’t she walk proudly?

  Yet as she prepared for bed with a last glance out the window toward the canyon, her heart beat faster. Phillip was so handsome. There had been gentleness in his touch and voice as he spoke of Granny and Keith. For a moment it overruled the indolent arrogance she had sensed in him, an arrogance that was not in keeping with the long-held image in her heart. Did he still own the ranch, Casa del Sol? Her face cleared a bit. That might explain it. Perhaps he was an important man here in northern Arizona.

  She remembered stumbling home, anxious to tell Granny about Phillip’s proposal. She could still see the troubled look in the blue eyes, the lined face surrounded by curly white hair.

  “Is he a Christian, Honor?”

  “Who cares? I’m not, either.”