Rewriting Rita Read online

  Rita looked out the window. “I’m doomed. To some, a woman traveling with a companion of the opposing gender without a chaperone would be considered ‘given to scandal.’”

  Christian lowered his paper to look at her. “This is what I have been saying. Do you wish me to fetch Clarisse to protect you?”

  “Heavens, no.”

  Christian returned to reading the paper. “I wonder why she must believe in immortality.”

  Rita peeked over his shoulder. “Perhaps it was meant to read ‘immorality.’”

  “No one, not even a hardened actress like yourself, believes in immorality.”

  “There are a good many people who profess to believe in God and yet practice immorality,” Rita said, a catch in her voice.

  If Christian noticed her lapse, he chose to ignore it. “I trust that you, despite your refusal to give up your dreams of the stage, do not adhere to a bohemian code?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I intend to spend the night in this berth, and I need to know if you are a threat to my maidenhood.”

  She bit back a laugh. “I do not believe gentlemen possess maidenhood.”

  “Tell me, Miss, am I safe here tonight with you?”

  “I have no intention of challenging your chastity,” she said with a grin.

  “Very good.” He put down the paper and stood. Brushing off his coat, he headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” She fought a surge of alarm, because she did not want to be left alone, nor did she wish to sleep alone.

  “I shall return shortly,” he said with a soft voice.

  Rita watched the door, waiting, uncomfortable with how quickly she’d grown dependent upon this man she still barely knew. She thought of her suitors back in New York, boys her parents had deemed respectable, and the careful scrutiny each had passed through before being allowed within her close-knit circle. The proper family line and genealogy, the educational background of not only the suitor but also his father, the church services they attended, the careful consideration of the family’s wealth—all had been weighed and measured.

  Except for the one thing Rita thought most important.

  The door creaked open and Rita let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding when Christian slipped back into the sleeper car.

  “I have procured a traveling berth in first-class passage.” He held out a hand. “Would you care to join me?”

  ***

  Christian watched Miss Ryan while she slept. Moonlight flickered through the window and cast moving shadows across her face. Emotions, some elemental and easy to decipher and others more complicated and indefinable, raced through him. The most prudent course would be to disappear into the territories. Slipping into Canada from Seattle would have been a day’s journey into obscurity. From Portland he could have boarded a ship and sailed to South America. Instead of traveling away from the reach of the federal government—and his family—as common sense told him he should, here he was trotting back East, returning to the place he had sworn to leave behind.

  But he wouldn’t leave Miss Ryan. He felt sick whenever he thought of Kidrick’s parting words: You took my woman, so I’ll take yours. I’ll enjoy getting hitched to that feisty actress.

  Of course, Christian could leave anytime. Utah was still a territory, dominated by an odd juxtaposition of a religious sect and lawless mining communities. But just as he knew that leaving was a simple matter of procuring a horse and riding away, he knew that staying—and the reasons for doing so—was much more complicated. Kidrick would follow, sniffing after Miss Ryan like the rabid hound that he was. But on the bright side, once Kidrick left Seattle he would no longer own the law. He would be vulnerable. If Christian could find some way of getting Kidrick arrested, Miss Ryan would be safe. All he had to do was find and dig up Kidrick’s dirty secrets.

  Miss Ryan was like an opiate, and the more time he spent in her company the stronger his addiction grew. If she had only gone to the police that first night, Kidrick would be behind bars. Kidnapping even an actress had to have legal ramifications. She could have cleared Christian’s name. If Calhoun had believed her. But that was behind them now.

  His glance fell on the Matrimonial News on the floor of the berth. He suspected that the murdered men were not victims of random violence—although with Kidrick that was an easy assumption. If Christian were to place a wager, and he was very good at betting, he would lay money that the three men were marriage brokers and that Kidrick had been their client. After all, the name of their boat was the Priceless Princess. What better vehicle to transport brides?

  Of course he was speculating, but more than the feeling in his gut told him that Miss Ryan was in danger. A niggling in the back of his mind was also trying to tell him something. Meanwhile, other parts of his body were chiming in their opinions of Miss Ryan.

  He couldn’t leave her. He knew that he should, but he couldn’t do it. And because he knew she would never willingly sail away with him to the Sea of Cortez or take a one-way horse ride into the Canadian Rockies, he followed her.

  Just as he knew he wasn’t the only one.

  Christian wasn’t merely laying money on Kidrick’s revenge—he was betting his life, risking his freedom and safety for hers. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. His long nights had started the moment he met her. He wondered how many more nights he would be allowed to share with Miss Ryan.

  ***

  Addison longed to see Paul’s child again. Of course, it was tantamount to picking at an old wound, and she wondered what Lauren would say if she knew. She glanced at the gray and white townhomes bordering the park. LeAnn could have moved since the funeral, or died, and of course, there was no way of seeing the child without seeing LeAnn. Or at least Addison hoped not because as much as she hated LeAnn, she didn’t want her to be a terrible mother and allow Paul’s child to play outside on his own. The park had been empty when she’d first arrived, but now it was teeming with children, their parents, and couples.

  Shortly after Paul’s death, Lauren had given Addison a blank book and suggested she try journaling. Of course, she didn’t have the blank book in the car and she wasn’t even sure where it was, but she did have a pen in her pocket. Lauren had said that Addison didn’t have to keep whatever she wrote down, but could burn it, along with all of Paul’s possessions. It would be therapeutic, she’d said.

  But Addison hadn’t done any of those things, although now she wondered why not. The children laughed and ran around in the sand surrounding the jungle gym while she poised her pen over the back side of the first page of the manuscript, trying to decide what to write.

  It doesn’t matter. No one is going to read this anyway.

  And that thought made her sad.

  Paul didn’t want children, Addison wrote. But was that true? After all, he did have a child. But could that have been intentional? Damn him. Why couldn’t he have stayed around long enough to answer her questions? Would she have given him a divorce if he’d asked? Why hadn’t he asked?

  Paul laughed easily. He loved to talk to people—he didn’t care who. That was what made him a brilliant salesman. He genuinely loved everybody. And everyone loved him. Including LeAnn.

  A giant English sheepdog escaped his leash and a golden-haired little boy ran after it. A toddler, obviously the dog’s leash-keeper, wobbled after them.

  “Charlemagne! Come back!” the boy called to the dog.

  He could be Paul’s son. He looked about three, which would have been the right age. But his sister…that would have meant LeAnn was pregnant at the funeral. Addison ducked her head, shielding her face with a long curtain of red hair, but still trying to sneak a peek for LeAnn.

  She didn’t see an adult with the children. Maybe they were with one of the Latino nannies chatting at the next picnic table. Or maybe they were there with the older woman doing her knitting in the camp chair near the pond—maybe that was LeAnn’s mom. Because
it would be totally fair for LeAnn’s mother to still be alive after Addison’s had died. Just like how it made sense that LeAnn got to have children after Paul died while Addison had to be alone.

  “Addison?”

  She slapped her hand down on the nearly blank piece of paper when she heard Landon’s voice. “Hey, what are you doing here?” She looked up into his blue eyes and crumpled the paper in her hand, ashamed of her own dark and bitter thoughts.

  He nodded at the basketball court. “I play here every Saturday.” He winked. “Want to join us? It’s co-ed.” He wore a pair of basketball shoes, long baggy shorts, and a reversible jersey. The women on the court wore the same sort of uniform, but they looked teenage young—even the few with gray streaking their ponytails.

  Addison looked down at her dress and strappy sandals. “Not really dressed for it.”

  “Too bad. I’m sure you’d be good.”

  “I’m sure you’re wrong.”

  “Well, we can’t all be good at everything.”

  “I bet you’re good with contracts.”

  “It’s what I do. But I try not to think about work on the weekends.”

  “Of course. Sorry to remind you.”

  “Do you have something you want me to look at?”

  “I’d pay you, of course.” She explained to him how she’d practically already hired Margaret’s husband to expand her garage and turn it into a bookstore. “But I still have to get permits from the city, draw up plans…and I want to have everything spelled out. I don’t want to give them a reason to hate me.”

  “Who could hate you?”

  “You would be surprised.” She glanced around for the children and giant dog. They’d disappeared, almost as if they’d been a figment of her imagination.

  “Why don’t I come by tonight and I can help you find some simple contract templates online.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him that he didn’t have to do that, but after seeing the hopeful expression in his gaze, she said, “I’d like that. I’ll make crepes. Do you like crepes?”

  The light in his eyes dimmed. “Ah, shoot. I forgot. I told the guys I’d play poker. Maybe I can get out of it.”

  “No, don’t. Let’s do it tomorrow.”

  He beamed. “It’s a date.”

  At home, Lauren’s words kept harping at Addison. You won’t be able to have another relationship until you forgive Paul. Addison, in an effort to drown out Lauren’s voice, settled down with Rita.

  ****

  Rita found the towering mountains enchanting. She loved the wide-open streets and the architecture of the Mormon Tabernacle, assembly hall and nearly completed temple. A mansion with a statue of a beehive on top stood on the northeast corner, and Christian stopped in front of it, waiting and watching.

  Rita, with her hand wrapped through his arm, urged him toward the theater. “What are you looking at?”

  “Shh.” He hushed her and leaned forward to whisper, “I’m hoping to see one of President Wilford’s three hundred and sixty-five wives.”

  She squeezed his arm, smiling. “He does not have three hundred and sixty-five wives and if he did, I’m sure they would not all live in this house.” She paused. “Although it is beautiful.”

  “Three hundred and sixty-five wives—one for every day of the year.”

  “And what would one man do with so many wives? It makes my head spin to think of it. It must be a rumor.”

  “How many wives does he have?”

  “I do not know, and I do not care, but I do know that the stories are greatly exaggerated.” She pulled on his arm, and he followed with dragging steps.

  She tried to distract him. “I read an article in the Chicago Tribune that claimed a girl pursued by a Mormon bishop ran to the top of the tabernacle and from a window in the highest tower she jumped into the Great Salt Lake and swam away.”

  “Quite a jump, that.”

  Rita nodded. “Obviously an amazing jumper and a terrific swimmer.”

  “You do not believe the nightmare tales then?”

  She didn’t speak.

  Christian pressed, “You cannot be in favor of polygamy. Surely you have heard of Eliza Young the author of The Nineteenth Wife.”

  Rita bit her lip before answering. Unwelcome images of her father and Elaine, her au pair, flashed in rapid succession through her mind. “Women have had the right to vote in the Utah Territory since 1870.”

  “The Republican platform claims polygamy and slavery are twin relics of barbarism.”

  “Is it so very different from purchasing a mail-order bride or even taking a mistress?” Rita’s heart did another twist as she remembered mornings in the nursery and lazy afternoons in the park with Elaine. Her fingers clenched Christian’s arm, and he edged closer.

  “Not every man is a barbarian.”

  Rita pressed her lips into a straight line. “My father is a good man.” She spoke as much to herself as to Christian. “He is a deacon in our congregation and is involved in numerous charitable organizations.” She took a deep breath. “My mother”—her voice choked and she cleared her throat—“is also a very good person.”

  “’Tis no wonder you avoid them.”

  “I do not approve of all their decisions, just as they disapprove of some of mine.”

  They stopped in front of the gates of Temple Square. Floundering to change the conversation, Rita picked the first thing that came to mind. “I wonder if there’s symbolic meaning in the sun and moon stones.”

  Christian’s gaze followed hers to the gray stone temple. “Most churches in the West are modest wood structures with rough-hewn crosses on the top.”

  Rita shook her head. “These Mormons seem to do everything bigger. I wonder how they could afford or justify such a building when there is so much poverty.”

  “And how is it that in Seattle the men outnumber the women a hundred to one so that men must resort to bribery or kidnapping to secure one bride, while these men”—Christian waved his hand at the mansion—“have a bevy full.”

  Rita bumped her hip with his. “Do you desire a bevy?”

  “I want only one wife.”

  Rita lifted her chin at the temple. “This is a magnificent building, but I bet it cannot compare to the Vatican or Notre-Dame.” She hoped that was a subtle enough reminder to him that her future did not include marriage.

  “Think of all the wonderful places you shall see in Europe.” Christian drew her across the street. Wagons and buggies rolled by, churning the street’s dust into a fine cloud. “Buckingham Palace, London Bridge, Westminster Abbey.”

  “Those are all in England. I intend to go much further abroad.”

  “The Kremlin?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “The Taj Mahal?”

  “I would think so.”

  “Then I will go with you.”

  Her smile broadened. “That would be nice.”

  “It must be done. They say that visiting the Taj Majal washes away sin.”

  “That is hardly Christian doctrine.”

  He smiled at her double entendre. “No, I believe it is the doctrine of Emperor Shah Jahan. He built it when he was grief-stricken by the death of his third wife. He wrote,

  “Should guilty seek asylum here,

  Like one pardoned, he becomes free from sin.

  Should a sinner make his way to this mansion,

  All his past sins are to be washed away.

  The sight of this mansion creates sorrowing sighs.”

  “That’s lovely,” Rita said. “He must have loved her very much.”

  “Even though she was his third wife.”

  “It is possible to love more than one person.” Rita thought back to her father, her mother, and Elaine.

  Christian placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her up the wide steps of the theater. “Maybe for some.”

  Shell Falls

  Addison glanced through her bedroom window at the early evening dying sun and set d
own the manuscript. She still had time. The cemetery closed at dark, but it was only a few minutes away. She pulled the blank book Lauren had given her out of the top drawer of her nightstand and found her favorite pen. After grabbing a sweater, she headed to her car.

  Lauren was probably right, but even if she wasn’t, Addison had to admit that her angst was partly her own fault. She was such a rule follower and people pleaser that the thought of not doing something that someone had told her to do—even if that person was Lauren—ate at her.

  At the corner of Main and Elm, she heard familiar laughter. Ginny and James sat at a table in front of Hannah’s Bar and Grill. Shrinking down in her seat, she prayed they wouldn’t notice her. As soon as the light changed from red to green, Addison sped away. Seeing them together sent tingles of worry over her skin.

  Ginny had been Addison’s best friend ever since Ginny had kicked Tad Browning for snapping Addison’s bra in the sixth grade. Keeping things from Ginny was like trying to hide breadcrumbs on the sidewalk from a flock of pigeons. But could Ginny hide things from Addison?

  Ginny hadn’t told Addison that she had a date with James. The worry dug in. Addison had lost her husband and her mom. She couldn’t afford to lose her best friend, too. And what about James?

  Addison shook her head to dismiss all James-related thoughts and revved the engine to climb Olympic Hill. The cemetery gates stood open. She rolled her car past the sea of tombstones, taking note of the freshly dug graves. Her heart twisted as a wave of pain washed over her. The sudden death. The betrayal.

  Battling tears, she parked the car beneath an elm tree, grabbed the book LeAnn had given her, and climbed out. She sank down in front of Paul’s gravestone. It told nothing about him except his name and the years he’d lived. It was all too short.

  Addison set the book in her lap and brushed away a tear that stained the satin cover. LeAnn had stood just over there, dressed in black and wearing a wide-brimmed hat that shaded her face. She’d held the hand of a fair-headed little boy. Even before she spoke, Addison had recognized the child.