The Lady Who Drew Me In. Thomasine Rappold
to the streams of water trickling down the rutty trail.
When they reached the wagon, Cuffy assessed the situation, then wedged a few strong branches under the mired wheel. With a few deep grunts, he and Jackson pushed the wagon free. Daisy couldn’t be more grateful to the gentle giant who stood with mud up to his thighs.
“Thank you so much, Cuffy,” she said.
Cuffy wiped his forehead with his flannel sleeve. “It wasn’t nothing,” he replied. “Not for me,” he added with the candor of a child.
Jackson struggled to catch his breath. “We’d appreciate it, Cuffy, if you wouldn’t mention to anyone that you helped us today,” he said between breaths. He placed some coins in Cuffy’s large hand.
Cuffy’s eyes widened with gratitude. “No, sir, I won’t.”
Daisy smiled in relief. “Thank you again, Cuffy,” she said as he helped her board the wagon.
The long ride back to town was slow and awkwardly quiet. Jackson stared straight ahead, his concentration fixed on the challenge of driving. Oh, why had she kissed him? Her embarrassment came in second only to her fear she’d not make it home undetected—though it would serve her right after her shameful behavior.
She pushed away thoughts of her folly. “Do you think Andy is safe?” she asked.
“I believe he is. For the time being, anyway. His future safety will depend on the authorities and their willingness to consider my new evidence.”
Daisy nodded, hoping Jackson could convince them. “Please let me know if I can do anything else.”
“You’ve done more than enough,” he said. “I owe you my thanks.”
She accepted his gratitude with a smile, then turned back to the road ahead.
They finally emerged from the woods, and a mix of relief and disappointment greeted her at the end of the trail. The warmth of the sun intensified as they clattered down the main road back to town.
Jackson stopped the wagon when they reached the fork in the road where they’d met yesterday. “I’d drive you home but—”
He turned toward the sound of rambling wheels around the bend.
“This is fine,” she said, standing. Her heart pounded. “If anyone stops me, I’ll tell them I was out sketching ferns.”
He helped her down as the sound of the distant carriage grew louder.
“Have a safe trip to Troy,” she said, turning.
He reached for her arm. “Thank you again for your help.”
His gentle touch held her in place, as did the gratitude in his eyes. A tentative smile curled his lips, and Heaven help her, she wanted to kiss him again. “Of course,” she uttered, wanting so much to say more. “Good-bye.” She walked as quickly as she could. He snapped the reins, and the wagon rolled past her, ambling down the road toward the livery. Clumps of mud still trailed in its wake.
A few minutes later, a purple carriage buzzed by. Felice Pettington and her maid, Myrtle, gave haughty waves. Daisy’s relief at their timing helped divert her focus from the aching sadness that lingered when she thought about Jackson on his way back to Troy. And how this perfect stranger had affected her more in one single day than her late husband had during six years of marriage.
* * * *
The meeting was about to come to order. The loud chatter waned to a quiet din as the members of Misty Lake’s Overseers of the Poor began to take their seats in the stuffy meeting room in the town hall.
Daisy settled in her seat, pleased by the turnout. Attendance was better than she’d expected after last night’s storm. Last night’s storm… She exhaled a long breath, but the memory of kissing Jackson remained.
She forced her thoughts to the present and the matter at hand. This meeting was important to her future, and she had to focus on securing support. Straightening her shoulders, she recited in her mind the presentation she’d prepared about her plans for the day home.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Lansing.”
Daisy spun toward the familiar voice, her pulse pounding.
“I see her. There she is over there!” Cuffy’s booming voice echoed through the room as he stooped through the entranceway. Heads turned, all eyes following the giant man as he zigzagged through the rows of chairs, antlered cap and all, looking as proud as Lucifer.
She shot to her feet. From the corner of her eye, she saw Felice Pettington and the equally snide Gertrude Hogle creeping closer. Daisy’s heart pounded faster in the room’s sudden silence as Cuffy charged toward her. He reached into his tattered coat.
“I found this in my bed after you and Mr. Jackson left this morning.” He whipped out Daisy’s stocking. The filthy thing dangled from his fist as he flaunted his find like a bagged goose. He leaned close. “And I didn’t tell no one I helped ya’ll with the wagon.”
Daisy stared stunned. The deathly silence of the room lapsed into gasps, which quickly droned into murmurs. The buzz of the crowd intensified, growing louder, but the only words Daisy heard were the ones in her head.
She was ruined.
Chapter 4
Daisy’s dream for the day home was as dead as her reputation. No one would entrust her with the care of their children now. Tears welled in her tired eyes, but she brushed them away. She had to fix this.
During the long ride to Troy, she’d convinced herself she could. Her head swam with the memory of the stunned faces of those who’d witnessed Cuffy’s surprise appearance at the meeting yesterday—her ears buzzed with their gasps and hushed innuendos. Her stomach lurched. Those not present for the scene were sure to hear all. Felice Pettington would see to the task. Daisy uttered a curse at the loss of all she’d hoped so hard to attain.
The memory of the Palmers, the couple who’d taken her in and then tossed her away, incited her anger. To be rid of her in the wake of that horrible night, they’d shamed her into marrying a man more than twice her age. She’d had little choice in the matter, but she’d paid her penance for the scandal she’d caused by using her entranced drawing so frivolously.
And now here she was, being punished for using it to help a child. It was all so unfair… She glanced out the carriage window, felt the crush of her past all around her. Memories crowded the sidewalks and streets, surrounding her like an angry mob. Every familiar sight and sound was a reminder of the fire and all she strived so hard to forget. The lost lives, the guilt. Her life had been spared, but surviving the tragedy had changed her forever.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and she lifted her chin. The street lamps lining Troy’s Washington Square glowed softly in the early evening dusk as Daisy climbed from the carriage and made her way to the impressive brownstone. Inhaling a breath, she trudged up the stairs as though facing the gallows, and then rang the bell.
“Good evening,” she said to the elderly housekeeper who’d answered the door. “I wish to see Mr. Gallway.”
“I’m sorry, miss…”
“Mrs.” Daisy snapped. She forced a smile, reclaiming her manners. “Mrs. Lansing,” she said, calmly.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lansing, but Mr. Gallway is…” She glanced over her shoulder at the wide parlor doors. “Presently engaged.”
“But he’s home?”
The woman blinked. “Well, yes, but—”
“I must see him immediately,” Daisy said as she brushed past the sputtering woman and into the wide foyer.
“But he has instructed me not to disturb him.”
“Then you shan’t,” Daisy said. She tossed her wrap to a chair by the