that’s not it. Not it at all.”
Growing frustrated, she asked, “Then what is?”
“Well, I...uh...well...uh...I’ve come to offer you my—my hand in marriage.”
He’d spit the last four words out so quickly it took her a second to decipher what he’d said. Once she did, a rattling shock raced through her so fast she didn’t have time to engage her brain before repeating, “Marriage?”
Samuel seemed to remember his hat at that moment and with a jolt, pulled it off his head to hold over his chest. “Yes, m-m-marriage.”
She recalled what Winston had told her about marriage—that any man trekking up that hill to ask for her hand had better be the best of the best. Samuel was not that—not at any stretch of the imagination. Except of course his mother’s. All Sara could think to say was, “Why?”
“Well, b-because folks are t-talking. Now that M-Mr. Parks is dead, y-you’ll n-need a husband.”
Winston’s statement about the best of the best had not been a guarded secret, and steam replaced her shock. “Folks are talking, are they?”
Tall and gangly, Samuel’s entire body seemed to nod, not just his head.
Although he was a couple years older than her, she’d always looked upon him as being much younger. Plenty of folks did. Therefore, she willed her nerves to remain calm. Drawing a deep breath helped. Gossipers had been talking since the accident, but she hadn’t imagined their topics would turn to her. Not in the sense of marriage. “Thank you, Samuel, but I can’t marry you. And...” She let the word stretch out while reminding herself to remain in check. People would naturally wonder what was to happen with the lumberyard and the railroad upon Winston’s death. The entire community depended upon them for their livelihoods. She couldn’t blame anyone for being anxious, or curious, however, her material status was not of their concern. “If you hear people talking, feel free to mention that I do not need a husband, and assure them they have no need to worry.”
“But you can’t—”
“I assure you I can.” Although she had no idea of what he’d been about to say she was unable to do, she was perfectly capable of many things. “And most certainly have no need for a husband.”
The way his shoulders slumped, she wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved.
“I—I’ll let you get back to your supper, then,” he said with barely a stutter. “B-but if you change your mind, I’d be obliged if you’d consider my offer.”
She bit the end of her tongue to stifle a promise she’d not be considering his offer now or ever. The fact Winston’s son sat at the dining room table did cross her mind. Briefly, for if by some cruel act of fate, Crofton did end up inheriting everything, she would not remain in Royalton. Watching him blunder Winston’s dream would be as devastating as the deaths she’d just experienced. A shudder made her tense her shoulder muscles. She had not considered that aspect—of what might happen to her if Crofton got what he came after. Where would she go? What would she do?
She hadn’t considered it, because it would not happen. “Goodbye, Samuel,” she said, spinning around to return to the dining room with the momentum of urgency. She would need to find a way to appease the townsfolk until she got herself on solid footing with the lumber mill, and despite Bugsley’s assurance that there was no need for her to speak with Winston’s lawyer, Ralph Wainwright, she would set up an appointment with him. Of course Bugsley hadn’t known about Crofton when he’d told Mr. Wainwright all was under control when the lawyer had come to the house to offer his condolences. None of them had known about Crofton.
Word traveled fast, and by morning she had no doubt everyone would know about Crofton. He had, after all, gone into town.
“Who was it?” Amelia asked as Sara entered the dining room.
“Just Samuel,” she said, taking her seat and waiting until Crofton sat back down before lifting her fork. His manners shouldn’t surprise her—he was Winston’s son. Maybe they irritated her more than surprised her. For that exact reason. That he was Winston’s son.
“What did he need? Had you ordered something?” Amelia asked.
Not answering, Sara turned a cold stare to their guest. “Where did you go this afternoon?”
He finished chewing and swallowed, before stating, “I told you, to see a man about a horse.”
This time around, hearing him use the line Winston often did lit a fireball in her stomach. Although she knew neither was the case, she asked, “What man? What horse?”
His stare remained steady. “The owner of the livery. I had to pay for my accommodations the past few days.”
“Your accommodations?” Amelia asked. “Surely you haven’t been staying at the livery stable.”
He offered Amelia a smile along with a glance. “I didn’t want to intrude, considering the circumstances.”
“Intrude?” Sara spat. “Circumstances?” Anger rarely got the best of her, but today was far from normal. She’d just buried her parents. “Do you think you aren’t intruding now? Do you think the circumstances have changed?”
“Sara!”
She didn’t so much as blink at Amelia’s admonishment. His eyes were locked on hers and she would not be the one to look away first.
“The circumstances changed the moment I rode into town and heard about Winston’s death,” he said.
Fully prepared to get to the bottom of his arrival, she asked, “Oh? Were you coming to see him?”
Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms and eyed her quizzically before eventually saying, “I was sure our paths would cross once I arrived.”
“Your paths would have crossed?” She repeated his answer as a question to let it roll around in her head for a moment. If he hadn’t been coming to see Winston, what had he come here for?
Amelia was more straightforward. “If it wasn’t to see your father, why did you come here?”
A smile tugged at Sara’s lips. It was about time Amelia questioned something about him. Sara lifted a brow, as he had earlier, and waited to hear his response.
His silence lingered so long she was just about to concede he wouldn’t answer when he opened his mouth.
“I came here to discover who murdered my friend.”
Regardless of the anger still fueling her system, the stone-coldness of his eyes and the gravel in his voice sent a chill up Sara’s spine.
“Murdered?” Amelia asked. “Here in Royalton? When? Who?”
The naturalness of how he laid a hand over the top of Amelia’s made Sara’s stomach churn. There was a clear connection between Amelia and Crofton. It might have lain sleeping beneath the surface for years, but had returned the moment the two had seen one another. Expecting anything less from Amelia would be impossible. She cared about people, even those she didn’t know, and inside Sara’s troubled mind, she knew Amelia more than cared for Crofton.
