From Across the Room by Gina L. Mulligan (best book series to read .txt) 📖

spent an hour sharing all they knew about me with the stranger. I had no idea they knew so much about my habits. They left out only my shoe size.

Henry, what if Mary’s father actually sent his henchman? Do people do that? I never confirmed my being followed in New York and, until now, cast it aside as paranoia. But what if the man in the charcoal coat was one of Mr. Harting’s many eyes? I must be rational. Even if someone is watching there is nothing much to see. My days are spent huddled in my study, and from now on I will keep watch when I post letters to Mary. Whatever comes of this, I must admit this stranger’s knowledge of my background is unnerving. Perhaps Mr. Everett is not the only detective snooping around.

Thomas

January 6, 1889.

MARY —

The hour is late. I am huddled under the blue afghan my mother crocheted as a gift for a friend but never wrapped because she thought she dropped too many stitches. She warned what is imperfect is flawed, and what is flawed is unfinished. So I blame my mother for the pile of torn pages in the corner, the plate I smashed against the sideboard, and a frightened messenger who shall think twice before again knocking on my door.

Tonight I have rested and waited for a moment when I can address my concerns like the man you met in California and not the one who needs a good shave. My time in contemplation has welled mounting fears about you accompanying your father to a cow town infamous for ladybirds and the Chisholm Trail. Your assurance the gambling halls and brothels moved north with the cattle trade was not at all amusing. Even if the area is now as quiet as your father claims, dragging a young lady on a grueling business trip in the midst of winter is, to say the least, dubious. Even you admit this trip is queer and uncivilized. What will you do for two months in Kansas?

Surely your mother is upset and will worry for your well-being without proper society or a companion to tour the area. Does your father expect you to spend your time trapped in your hotel room or shall he take you to tour the stalls? Yes, you may indeed have time to convey my fine qualities and exceptional breeding to your father, like those of a purebred bulldog, but what if you are unable to find a sympathetic inn keeper to deliver our letters? I doubt your father’s discovery of our conspiratorial exchange would win me a blue ribbon. On the contrary, his knowledge of our continued courtship could cause considerable harm.

Must you always obey your father’s commands? Mary, I remind you of your adulthood. You can refuse his request and deal with the consequences. On many occasions, like your going to the gala, I prefer you do just that. I state with bluster that I loathe the generous details you included about the Muskrat’s New Year’s Eve party. Solitude is not always best for an imaginative man.

You forget I have indulged in extravagant society balls and can envision the bounty of four-in-hand drivers alleging dry throats for reason to whisper in a girl’s ear. I can see you with your hair swept in a low knot, dancing and laughing with every eligible gentleman with able vision and fair health. Even though your father insisted, you did not have to so enjoy the party. I would expect the Muskrat’s duties as host and masher kept him quite busy. Did you in fact spend much of the evening with Mr. Kennard?

True, the Alliance Literary Program shall make great use of his charitable donation; nonetheless, his motives are most obvious and less than altruistic. I feel it within my rights to abhor such an open display for your attention. At least if you must go to Abilene, and it seems you are packed, you will have time away from Mr. Kennard and his charity balls. This is a thin but strong vein of encouragement.

Mary, my tone is like rotting milk thistle for a reason I have yet to share, though I take nothing away from my previous disgruntlements and would like to keep my distrust of the Muskrat and disapproval of your upcoming voyage on the record. When I was in New York Cousin Penelope spoke of a June garden wedding, but I just found out Mr. Lancaster must go to England on extended business so the wedding is now set for the end of February. While you are traipsing through Abilene cow fields, I will be in New York.

This is maddening. Penelope’s wedding was to be our grand unveiling. You were to sit beside my father so the two of you could chat about politics then dance the Jenny Lind. Mother would ask how we met and you would charm her with descriptions of the hotel and snicker at the extra bit of bourbon in the mint juleps. Circumstance again shoves our affection into a gulch. How long can we fight to reach sunlight?

The last log has fallen from the grate. Smoke and ash sting my eyes and the windows groan from the wind. My mood has not improved, though I had few expectations of that tonight. I am out of sorts and admit some of my unpleasantness is stirred by desires a man can never slake with words on a page. Nevertheless, I respect your commitment to changing your father’s opinion of me even if I believe your tactics are misguided. My prayer is that this trip affords what you expect. Before you leave I ask only that you stay away from the Muskrat. I believe he is conniving and not the least bit motivated by helping underprivileged immigrants.

Remember, muskrats are pests that do their destructive burrowing under cover of nightfall. They are crafty, wild creatures that live in bogs and swamps. Killing a muskrat requires a cage and sharp axe. I have both.

Yours,

Thomas

January 11, 1889.

DEAR MOTHER —

Thank you for warning a long letter was keeping Father from using your Parisian handkerchiefs to clean his hunting rifles. I promise to reply—if just to save your handkerchiefs.

How long have you suspected my interest in a young lady? Was I that obvious? Seems I have again underestimated your intuition. Her name is Mary, and yes, she enjoys working in the garden. My intention was never to keep her from you, in fact quite the opposite. But her father is a disagreeable man who finds me repugnant. Mary believes she can change her father’s opinion by badgering him. I disagree and provided solid rationale for my opinion. Mother, can you interpret her last letter? I thought Mary would appreciate my sincerity and concern for her safety. Instead she is fuming.

 

Thomas, you are so preoccupied with work and other interludes that perhaps in your consumed state you have forgotten that a girl living under her father’s roof does not discuss or disobey.

 

Why? What would her father do? Moreover, what does Mary believe he would do?

 

And besides, do you really think my father would take me to Abilene if it were unsafe? He may be many things but he loves me and wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. And even if the area is a tad rough you know full well I can handle myself. Your constant worrying is offensive …

 

How could she possibly take offense to my concern? Would she rather I not care at all?

 

and I find your sarcasm—I hope it was just sarcasm—offensive. I want an apology.

Yes, I will apologize.

 

I honestly thought you would thank me for my commitment to changing my father’s opinion of you. Surely you can see the benefit of my spending time alone with him. There is nothing to do on the long train ride but talk. I can make him understand what we mean to each other. You must concede this trip can be used to our advantage.

 

I can, and yet I could never forgive myself if she were harmed on my account.

 

I share your disappointment about the wedding and was also looking forward to meeting your parents, but I will not just sit around and wait …

 

Is that a subtle criticism?

 

… for our situation to change. I must, and will, do something. And, by the by, it was your suggestion I keep myself busy while you are consumed by your passion for work. The gala was a fundraiser …

 

She spent a very lavish evening in the company of another man.

 

… and I spent most of my time encouraging patrons. Yes, I did spend some of the time with Mr. Kennard and he was a fine gentleman. My glass was never empty nor was I left alone in the corner. These are merely facts and are not meant to allude to anything.

 

Then why tell me at all? She should have kept the details unless I asked.

 

I will not speak any more about Mr. Kennard. But I will say one more thing about this trip with my father. With or without your blessing, I am going to Abilene. I will convince my father of your exceptional breeding and fine character even if that means trotting out your qualities as a show dog and overlooking your threat of axes …

 

It was more of a suggestion.

 

and cages. Really, Thomas, was that necessary?

 

My letter was perhaps a bit coarse, but I explained my grievances with clarity and stand by my sound reasoning. Even so, I know you will tell me an apology is in order. I think it will be more believable if you could shed light on why I should apologize. Sometimes we all need another perspective.

Your loving son,

Thomas

February 1, 1889.

FOWLER —

Your incompetence is intolerable! While hurrying to Winchester Manor the rear axle clip snapped clean in half and the carriage catapulted. If not for the good fortune of a large log, I would have careened off the cliff and plummeted to my death. Are you trying to kill me!

February 2, 1889.

MR. EVERETT —

I am indeed interested in what you “stumbled upon” with regard to Mr. Harting. Also, where is the criminal file on Mr. Kennard? Recent circumstances dictate urgency. I shall be in New York on personal business in a few weeks and would like to arrange a meeting. I expect you are gathering information at full chisel and have much to share.

Thomas M. Gadwell

February 2, 1889.

DEAR HENRY —

Paranoia has returned and this time with tangible reason. Has your carriage axle clip ever broken in two? Has anyone’s? I assure you a ridge-top ledge is a horrific place for a suspicious malfunction. This accident combined with my inquisitive “college roommate” and Fowler’s insistence he has not taken up smoking despite evidence to the contrary means I can no longer swallow my nagging concerns.

Though unfathomable outside the pages of one of your stories, I must consider Mr. Harting’s threat and the possibility he has discovered our letters. Still, Doyle’s new Sherlock Holmes would not jump to conclusions. Given Mr. Kennard’s desire to sit at the Hartings’ dinner table, perhaps the Muskrat is shrewder than I imagined and has discovered Mr. Everett. For now the doors are locked and my panic is growing. I welcome your counsel.

Your esteeming,

Thomas

February 8, 1889.

MY DEAREST —

Your resourcefulness in engaging a young embroidery student as messenger was inspired. I just hope you are not miffed by my