Beauty for Ashes Page 0,111
“I have coffee in the back. Want some?”
Deborah was right. Nate needed her. Mr. Gilman—and Wat Stevens—would wait. “All right.”
He filled their cups and they sat by the window, she in the chair, he perched on the corner of the desk. She couldn’t help noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes. He’d lost weight too.
He glanced at her basket. “Still baking bread for Mrs. Whitcomb?”
“Yes. I delivered an order this morning.”
“I’m sorry about Henry. I should have paid you a call.” He gulped his coffee. “I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“That’s all right. Deborah Patterson delivered the ham you sent. I appreciate it, Nate.”
He nodded. “I should have done more to help you. Not that I have any money, but there are other things—”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
He toyed with his empty cup. “Do you ever regret the way things turned out? Between us, I mean.”
She scooped India into her lap. “The night you brought Rosaleen to the Verandah—”
“I made a mess of telling you about the marriage. I’ve regretted it ever since.”
“It was a shock. But then I realized that the plans we made grew out of other people’s expectations rather than our own.”
“I thought that too, at first. But now I realize how deeply I cared for you. I reckon I made a mess of telling you that too.”
“Yes, you did.” She smiled. “But really, it’s all right. I suppose I took you for granted too.”
He nodded. “It’s dreadful, isn’t it? Being without the person you love. I never understood just how much you missed Frank, but now—”
He took her hand, and alarm bells sounded in her head. Was he about to kiss her? She set India onto the floor and stood. “Nate, you mustn’t—”
“Carrie?”
“You’re married now. And I—”
“I know. You’re in love with Rutledge. I saw it in your face the day Henry and Mary got married. Whatever chance I might have had with you disappeared the day he got off the train.”
“I was going to say that I hope you won’t let Rosaleen’s absence ruin the good life you built here. That I treasure you as the good and dear friend you’ve always been. As I hope you will continue to be.”
“I see.” He blinked as if waking from a dream and picked up their cups. “Well. Just . . . look at this place, will you? I reckon I’d best get to work. Get the ledger sorted out.”
“I wish I had time to help.”
“Nope. You saved my bacon once, and I let all your hard work go to waste. It’s time to stop feeling sorry for myself and get on with things.” He smiled, looking more like the old Nate. “Friends?”
“Always.” She kissed his cheek and picked up her basket. “I should go.”
Five minutes later she was seated across from Mr. Gilman. He listened intently while she outlined her plan to sell off some land.
“I need some advice on what to charge.”
He rubbed one hand across his face. “That’s a hard question. Bea Goldston sold off her land in Two Creeks for six dollars an acre. But that was before this depression got so bad. These days there are plenty of folks who already have more land than they know what to do with. No sense in farming it with prices as low as they are.”
“I see.” She opened the jewel case and set it on his desk. “Then I need to sell these. We—Mary and I—thought they’d make a nice present for Mrs. Gilman.”
He picked up the bracelet and turned it toward the light coming through his office window. “It’s a nice little trinket.”
“A trinket? These have been in Mary Stanhope’s family for three generations.”
He fingered one of the earbobs. “That doesn’t make them worth anything.”
“But they’re rubies. Set in gold. They must be worth something.”
He fished a pair of spectacles from his pocket and put them on. He placed the necklace on his white handkerchief, unfastened the clasp, and turned it over. He picked up his letter opener and made a tiny mark on the clasp. A sliver of the metal curled onto the handkerchief. He pointed. “See, underneath this gold plate is plain old tin.”
“But the rubies—”
“Are made of colored paste. I’m sorry. These are worthless.”
Fakes. She swallowed. “Are you sure?”
He returned the jewels to the case. “Over the years I’ve bought more than a few baubles for my missus. I’ve learned how to tell imitations from the real thing.”
She rose. “I won’t keep you any longer.”
“There’s one thing you might consider