Brokken Promises Page 9

  No, not Deborah. Mrs. Hale. Camellia took a shuddering breath and tried to speak but no words emerged.

  Deborah gave her gentle pats, probably thinking it would comfort Camellia. “Everything will be fine,” she said.

  Instead of comfort, it brought forth fresh tears. Nothing would be fine. She’d known that from her first glimpse of Lydia Walsh, Fritz’s fiancé or former fiancé from what she could gather.

  The woman was beautiful, fair of skin, with blonde curls and blue eyes. And yet Fritz had rejected Miss Walsh! If he had no use for such a beauty, how could she expect him to care for her, someone so plain? Especially when he found out who she was, what she was.

  Her sobs increased in volume, and she slumped forward. She’d seen herself enough times in a mirror to know she possessed no beauty. No man would ever want her. She’d known it from the beginning, had told herself not to expect Fritz...no, Mr. Brokken...to care for her. She had no one, would never have anyone. Maybe she could borrow enough money to leave Brokken, to travel back to the H & B. It wasn’t much but at least kept body and soul together. Deborah’s shushing began again.

  Camellia had to get ahold of herself. No man was worth such grief. She took a shuddering breath and swiped at her tear-stained face.

  She straightened her back and turned her head toward Deborah but could not fully face her. She only managed a sideways glance. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Deborah said, soothingly. “Let me fetch you a wet washrag to wipe your face.”

  Camellia nodded, leaned back against the settee, and only opened her eyes when voices sounded in the hall.

  A woman entered, a star pinned to the vest she wore. She carried a basket and set it on the table. “I sent Fritz on his way.” She glanced at Cam and grimaced. “More of Fritz’s handiwork, I presume? He certainly has a way with women.”

  Camellia licked her lips and managed a feeble smile. “It’s not his fault.”

  She had no idea why she defended him, after what Miss Walsh had told her. Fritz had not bothered denying her allegations.

  The sheriff smiled and chuckled softly. “No, it never is his fault. It wasn’t his fault the bank was robbed, or that half the town burned, or his own brothers were shot, or that Miss Edna was killed...”

  How long she would have continued, Camellia didn’t know. She put up a hand to stop her and focused on one part of the list. “Fritz is responsible for Miss Edna’s death?”

  The sheriff exchanged a glance with Deborah who entered with the washrag and a tray. She handed the washrag to Camellia with her eyes shooting daggers at the sheriff.

  The sheriff cleared her throat and gave Deborah an apologetic look before turning back to her. “I’m sorry, Miss Jenkins. Mr. Brokken has a way of getting under my skin, kinda like those darn chiggers in the summer.”

  Camellia nodded and patted her face, the coolness of the rag cooling her hot cheeks. She must look a mess. She gave a wavering smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  Deborah waved a hand from her to the sheriff. “I’m sorry, Miss Jenkins. I’ve forgotten my manners. This is Sheriff English.”

  “How do you do?” she asked, politely.

  The sheriff softly chuckled. “I’m very well, thank you. Now, would you like a cup of tea and a scone? They’re hot from the oven if they haven’t cooled too much.”

  Camellia nodded her assent and took the refreshment offered. “Thank you.”

  “No one makes scones like Molly although Abby comes close,” Deborah said.

  “Abby?” Camellia took a bite of the scone.

  “The doctor’s wife,” the sheriff answered after taking a sip of her tea.

  Deborah asked about Fritz, but Camellia did not listen to the sheriff’s answer. Her emotions still overwhelmed her, and she concentrated on calming down. She drank her tea and ate her scone in silence.

  After there was a lull in the conversation and Camellia felt sufficiently refreshed, she asked again. “How is Fritz responsible for the death of Miss Edna?”

  The sheriff leaned back in her chair and gave a nod for Deborah to answer. She tightened her lips, as if she was going to refuse.

  Then Mrs. Hale sighed. “It’s a long story. My other two brothers were being held captive. Fritz tried to rescue them on his own without discussing the matter with the sheriff.”

  Her lips clamped together, and Camellia knew she would not speak further.

  The sheriff cleared her throat. “Yes, and he and his pals led me and my posse on a wild goose chase when I could have been here to protect the town and its people. Maybe Miss Edna would not have died. Of course, there’s no guarantee—never is in this life.”

  This piqued her curiosity, but Camellia did not ask any more details. Fritz had indirectly caused Miss Edna’s death, and that was enough for her to know for now. What did it matter when she would be leaving soon?

  The sheriff set down her cup. “It seems you have recovered sufficiently to tell us who you are if you are not Sally Jane’s mother. Do you feel capable of answering some questions?”

  Camellia nodded, and Deborah stood. “I’ll get Chance and Fritz. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  When Deborah had left the room, Camellia leaned toward the sheriff. “Is Fritz really as bad as you make him sound?”

  The sheriff scoffed and shook her head. “You’ll have to decide for yourself.”

  They remained silent until Deborah returned with Chance and Fritz who shot her a covert look. Her cheeks warmed, and she had to remind herself she meant nothing to this man.

  When everyone had taken a seat, the sheriff nodded to Camellia. “What is your full name?”

  “Camellia Jenkins.”

  The sheriff exchanged a look with Fritz before addressing her again. “But you are not Sally Jane’s mother? And if you are not, who is?”

  “No, I am not the child’s mother. Pearl Morr... I mean, Birchfield, was her mother.”

  “Was?” Chance asked.

  Camellia looked down at her hands, struggling to keep her composure. “She passed from typhoid fever last year, two weeks before I brought Sally Jane to Miss Edna.”

  Deborah leaned back in the settee. “Oh” was her only response.

  The sheriff continued her interrogation. “And how did you come to be in charge of the child?”

  Camellia could not bring herself to tell the full truth, but she told as much as she could bear. “Pearl was my sister.”

  She glanced through her lashes and saw they accepted it at face value. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “And what of Sally Jane’s father?” the sheriff asked.

  “Mr. Birchfield sustained wounds during the War that had weakened him.”

  “And he is deceased?” Deborah asked.

  Camellia nodded, unwilling to tell more, and sensed everyone relaxed except Chance.

  He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, frowning. “You say Pearl was your sister, but you also say Miss Edna was not your mother?”

  Camellia nodded. “Pearl and I were half-sisters—we had the same father but different mothers. If you will allow me to explain?”

  They murmured their assent. Camellia thought through what she wanted to say without revealing too much. No one need know her past.

  “A few weeks after Pearl left with Sally Jane’s father, she wrote to me, and we stayed in touch. And then last year, her neighbor wrote and told me my sister was ill, perhaps dying. By the time I arrived, my sister had passed. I had seen Sally Jane only once, when she was still a baby. Pearl left instructions, more of a will, for me to bring her daughter to Miss Edna, and I did so.” She resisted the urge to shrug her shoulders.

  Fritz frowned, his eyes suspicious, but he did not speak.

  She ignored his look of disbelief. “And I am Sally Jane’s next of kin, I suppose, but I hardly know her.”

  The sheriff nodded. “That’s seems perfectly straightforward.” She leaned back in her
chair and crossed her arms. “That is except for the fact you pretended to be Sally Jane’s mother, that you dropped her off here and continued on to San Francisco instead of returning home, and that you had no communication with Miss Edna since you left.”

  Chance nodded and eyed Camellia suspiciously. “I agree. If you were Mrs. Birchfield’s half-sister, as you claim, that would make Miss Edna your stepmother, not to mention that Sally Jane is your niece. It seems odd you would not communicate with your stepmother and your niece.” He fell silent.

  All eyes were upon her, waiting for her to speak, and she bowed her head

  She sighed heavily before looking up. “I’m not sure how much explanation you need from me. Miss Edna gave up her daughter as I have said. Corresponding with her seemed pointless—Sally Jane would have a good upbringing—that I was sure of. I knew it would be difficult, if not impossible, to ever see them again so what was the point of staying in touch?”

  The sheriff stirred. “That explains your lack of correspondence but does not explain why you pretended to be Sally Jane’s mother.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “As I believe I have said, I did not pretend. Mr. Brokken made an assumption I did not correct.”

  Although she kept her gaze carefully averted from Fritz, heat rose to her cheeks.

  Fritz spoke although his words were directed toward the sheriff. “To be fair, Miss Jenkins wanted to speak to me, and it may have been about this very thing.”

  She chanced a look in his direction and caught his gaze but quickly bit her lip and forced herself to look at her hands in her lap.

  Fritz continued speaking. “I told her there was no need to explain although on further reflection, I should have allowed her to do so. I will bear the blame for not eliciting more information.”

  She cast him a grateful look through her lashes, praying the interrogation was over. The sheriff cleared her throat, and Camellia turned her attention to her.

  “Although it seems an odd family situation, I believe Miss Jenkins is being truthful. Of course, we will make inquiries.”

  “I understand,” she answered, keeping her voice properly submissive.

  The sheriff gave a nod, her eyes serious. “Miss Jenkins, while we are making inquiries, you will be confined to the house.”

  Camellia frowned, fear bubbling. “Do you mean house arrest? But I have done nothing wrong.”

  “As far as we know,” Sheriff English said. “As soon as my inquiries are complete and we discover that is indeed the case, you will be free to go.”

  Everyone nodded their assent, even Fritz, and they all stood.

  Camellia did also and squared her shoulders. “And how long will that take?”

  The sheriff spoke kindly enough. “I do not yet know. No longer than four or five weeks.”

  Camellia’s eyes widened. “But I have no money, no means of supporting myself.”

  “The town of Brokken, if the mayor agrees, will pay your expenses if no one else does so.” The sheriff gave Fritz a hard glare.

  He took the hint quickly. “I promise the Brokken family will supply Miss Jenkins with whatever she needs.”

  He gave Camellia a soft smile, his eyes warm. Perhaps he’d already forgiven her deception. But so what? Was he trustworthy after what Miss Walsh, and now the sheriff, had told her?

  Still, she inclined her head toward him. “Thank you.”

  Deborah moved to her and patted her hand. “Everything will be fine. We must be patient.”

  She nodded and smiled automatically as they took their leave. After seeing them off, Camellia sat down by the fireplace, pulling the quilt over her as if it would shelter her from harm.

  She wanted desperately to trust Fritz, but what if the sheriff’s words were true? How could she trust such a man? Besides, what must he think of her? Her kiss had practically invited him to elicit further favors.

  She longed to escape the situation, but she’d have to stay put, at least for the time being.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fritz followed the sheriff, Deborah, and Chance outside, and they huddled together in front of the house. The sun shone weakly, doing little to disperse the cold. Fritz did not remember such cold this early in December.

  “What should we do?” Deborah asked, rubbing her hands together briskly.

  “About what, exactly?” Chance frowned at her, his eyes puzzled.

  Fritz’s sister sighed and looked toward the house as if she could see Cam through the walls. “I don’t think she should be left alone. She’s so distraught.” She rounded on Fritz and gestured. “You did something to that poor girl.”

  “Exactly what I said,” the sheriff said coolly.

  He sighed in exasperation. “I did not...”

  The sheriff laughed and waved a hand toward Deborah. “Let’s leave Fritz alone. He looks like something the cat dragged in that the kittens wouldn’t have.”

  To his relief, this made everyone laugh. Fritz tried to join them although his laughter rang hollow. He stuck his cold hands in his pockets. “Deborah, perhaps you could send Missy over to keep Cam...Miss Jenkins company.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.” Deborah took her husband’s arm. “She’s babysitting for us, so we’ll see if she’s agreeable to the idea. But what if Miss Jenkins is dangerous?” She looked again to the house as if she could burn holes through the wall.

  Fritz tried to keep the irritation from his voice. “She’s not dangerous. Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Well, we really don’t know anything about her, do we?” Deborah asked. “Besides, she pulled the wool over your eyes, didn’t she?”

  Fritz did not answer but walked away, toward his house, without saying his goodbyes. He wanted to go back to Cam, to find out why she had not told the entire truth. But that would only make matters worse. More than likely, she would refuse to see him after Lydia’s display and then the sheriff’s.

  Fritz paused before going through the gate to his house. He could not simply walk away, not knowing what Cam was going through. He had to ensure she was well after those heart-rendering sobs. But she had not been crying when they’d left.

  What Deborah had said was true. Cam had deceived him, but he was sure she had a reasonable explanation. Despite what he’d said to the sheriff, Cam had yet to explain herself to his satisfaction. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his coat, pulled his hat low over his eyes, and walked at a brisk pace, away from his gate.

  No, he would not go directly to Cam. He needed time to think, to re-examine all that had been said, and he would go by and check with Curt at the bank, then he would see if anything was needed at the general store before he circled back. By that time, Missy should be there to help them cool their tempers if nothing else.

  He put his plan in motion and lingered with Curt longer than he intended. Curt had been brusque, and it made Fritz stubbornly overstay his welcome. Nevertheless, he was back at the gate to Cam’s house before an hour had passed. He had to see her, no matter the consequences.

  Fritz walked the path to the steps and climbed onto the porch. He tightened his jaw before he knocked loudly. A minute passed before the door opened. Cam cast her glance down and did not speak, giving him no indication if she was happy to see him or not. He brushed past her to hang up his coat, and she closed the door, still remaining silent although she raised her head.

  They stood there for a few minutes. Fritz cast around to find the words to say, something that would set things aright, but his mind remained blank. He gave up and went into the sitting room to add a log to the fire.

  She came and stood beside him. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

  He stood and straightened. “Isn’t Missy here?”

  “No, not yet.” She fell silent, but her gaze searched his.

  When he moved closer, she placed her flat palm against his chest. He could not, or did not, stop himself from pulling her closer. His lips brushed her lips that were as soft and enticing as her
whispered voice had been. His kiss deepened, and she did not resist. He tasted her lips, drank them in, lost in the moment, until she twisted away. He kept his arms around her, and she rested her head on his chest. His arms tightened around her.

  When she raised her eyes to his, they were glazed and cloudy but slowly cleared. She clung to him as if she had difficulty standing.

  Her voice was but a whisper when she spoke. “No decent man would have done that.” Despite her words, her head tilted upward a bit more, and her lips curled into a smile.

  “You heard the sheriff and Lydia. I am not a decent man.”

  She laughed softly, silvery, like a Christmas bell, and pulled away. “Perhaps I should sit down,” she said.

  He led her to the settee and fetched the quilt to drape over her. “It’s getting colder outside.”

  She cleared her throat and spoke in a normal voice. “Did you not say you would provide more wood for the fire?”

  He took her cue. “Yes, I took care of that a few minutes ago. I told Calvin Meyers to bring more in.”

  “He’s the boy who brought the supplies?”

  “Yes, that’s him.” She seemed intent on having a sensible conversation, and although difficult, he forced himself to focus on her words.

  Missy needed to get here soon. He walked to the fireplace and held out his hands as if to warm them. Truth be told, he had no need. He tried to remember what he had intended to discuss, but his mind remained blank. All he could think of was how he longed to kiss those lips again. He should leave, but his feet would not obey. Thankfully, a knock came at the door.

  “I’ll get it,” he said and hurried to answer it.

  To his relief, it was Chance with Missy. He took Missy’s coat and sent her to the sitting room. Chance eyed him with unabashed curiosity.

  Fritz held up a hand. “I know I shouldn’t be here, but I couldn’t leave Cam alone.”

  Chance crossed his arms and tilted his head. “What you do is your business. However, I suggest you consider the lady’s reputation.”

  Fritz could not meet Chance’s gaze. “No one saw me come in.”

  “Well, Missy has seen you here now.”