“Yes, speaking of your daughter . . .”
Glancing around he realized they were being watched by a number of neighbors and passersby. Placing a hand on her back, he urged her thus to hurry her steps and ushered her inside.
CHAPTER ELEVEN -- Explanations
The house was comfortably furnished in a style she had not seen before, solid pieces with carved wood and leather, and spotlessly clean despite the apparently ever-present dust outside.
“You go la sala. I bring el café,” Sra. Suarez announced as she headed off for the kitchen with Camellia.
There was a banging noise as the trunk was dragged into the house. Evidently Miguel had acquired some assistance, as the sound of young voices speaking rapid Spanish carried from down the hall.
“It always seems like chaos, but everything seems to get taken care of,” Mr. Bristol shook his head in wonder.
He escorted Megan into the parlor and invited her to sit. She would rather have been pacing about to burn off some of the nervous energy which seemed to fill her, but that would have meant he’d have to stand, too, and would be most rude of her.
“You must know I cannot possibly stay here with you,” Megan stated as she sat on a delicate settee. “We are not married. I’m afraid I rather assumed you were taking me to a hotel.”
“Actually, I expected to see the preacher waiting here for us. I had arranged for him to be here today for that very reason, as he rides a circuit locally and is not always in town.”
“But clearly you cannot wish to marry me now, having decided I'm a soiled dove,” she replied, rather sharply.
He sighed. “Upon sober reflection, I cannot imagine your brother playing such a shabby trick on me, and your letters did not reveal a person of ill repute but rather a kind, warm-hearted, and generous soul. Therefore, now that I am over the initial shock I felt at seeing an unexpected infant, I am convinced you have an explanation to share.”
She gave him a level gaze, then reached into her reticule, withdrew Sonia's letter, and passed it to him.
He looked at the letter and then at her.
“With your permission?”
She nodded gracefully and he opened the envelope and read its contents, going back a few times to reread certain passages, before looking up at her.
“I . . . see,” he said slowly. “This does put rather a different complexion on the matter. And she hadn't heard from him since he told her of his strike? How long ago was that?”
“Perhaps six months. She had written to him of their coming child and he responded with delight. She wrote again to let him know they had a daughter, but she never heard back.
“Sonia sent her journal along with her husband’s letters and some jewelry included in the valise with the baby’s things, as her daughter’s legacy. Little Camellia was well loved by both her parents even though she has not yet met her father. His disappearance is of grave concern.”
He studied her face thoughtfully. “I think perhaps a visit to Tombstone would be in order, since that's where his mine is located. I may find someone who knows him or how to contact him.”
“Actually, I just met a miner who knows him and has agreed to check for me.”
“Miss Maddux, you continue to astound and confuse me. How would you have had the opportunity to meet a miner?”
“Are you getting back on your high horse, sir?” she replied wistfully. “The Ted in your letters seemed a much less imposing and far more thoughtful and caring individual.” She sighed. “The miner, Mr. O’Henry, is the fiancé of my traveling companion, Flora Kemble.”
His face crumpled slightly. “You are rather different from your letters, too, Miss Maddux. The Megan I got to know was a very lighthearted romp and here you are now, acting the matron with a child in tow. I am not quite sure what to believe.”
“You must know,” she whispered, “that I fell in love with you from your letters. They were so full of poetry and awareness of the beauty around you that I felt you must have a sensitive soul.”
“And you were a breath of fresh air from home,” he replied somberly. “You reminded me of everything I was missing and that I wanted here with me, conversations, and plays, and entertainments. Or at least someone who enjoyed those things and could appreciate the strangeness of life here and, perhaps, help me rediscover myself in these new and rather foreign circumstances.”
Megan seemed to relax her posture just a tiny bit, although it was as erect as her deportment teacher could have required. Her forefinger was tapping lightly on her lower lip as she gazed at him thoughtfully.
That . . . lovely, succulent lower lip. Startled at where his thoughts were leading him, he straightened his own posture to the awkwardly over-erect demeanor he’d shown when he first approached her at the train station. Surely it hadn’t been above half an hour ago?
“Could, errhmmm, could we sort of start over?” he pleaded?
She smiled over at him brilliantly. “Yes, let’s do.”
CHAPTER TWELVE – Starting Over
Ted arose and, reaching for her hand, bowed formally. “How do you do, Miss Maddux; you look as enchanting as your picture!”
Confusion filled her face. “I never sent you a picture!”
“No, your brother did. He said it was his favorite one of you and showed your true personality.”
She knew instantly which one it was. The photographer had posed her sitting primly, ankles properly crossed, hands folded just so across her bible, chin at just the right angle, and then her brother, Paul, had made a naughty gesture from behind the photographer and she had been laughing with her head
