knelt down and laid the bouquet of yellow mums, that despite the cooler weather, were still blooming in her mother’s garden, on top of the large mound of dirt. Beneath were two coffins, side by side, in one grave. As soon as the stone arrived from Denver, there would be one granite marker, bearing the names of Winston and Suzanne Parks, describing them as loving husband and wife.
Years from now, looking upon the headstone, people wouldn’t know both Winston and Suzanne had been married before. No one would know the anguish and loss they’d each suffered prior to finding one another. Or the strength of the love they’d shared.
Fresh tears formed. Winston had not only loved her mother, he’d loved her, too. He’d treated her as a daughter from the day she’d moved into his home, and in many ways, he’d transformed her from a pauper to a princess. That’s how her mother had described the changes that had happened because of Winston, and why they needed to behave properly—to be women he could be proud of—and the importance of remaining grateful for everything he’d done at all times. The only way she could return his love now was to assure his dream came true.
After adjusting the white ribbon tying the flower stems together, Sara rose, and with a nod in Reverend Borman’s direction, stepped back to stand amongst the few townsfolk who’d traveled up the steep mountainside from the church in town to the grave site on the homestead Winston had settled upon years ago. The service had been beautiful, and the pews packed with people, but Bugsley had suggested this part of the service should be private, that the last thing Sara needed was a house full of mourners. She’d agreed with him, even though it had left a knot in her stomach. The townsfolk had loved her mother and Winston as deeply as she.
Once the final prayer was recited, Sara turned and started walking down the hill toward the house, pausing now and again to accept a hug or word of comfort as people meandered toward their buggies and saddled mounts.
Hilda Austin’s heavy sobbing forced her to remain in the woman’s embrace a bit longer than most, and offer comforting words of her own.
“Hush, now,” Sara whispered, recalling how her mother had responded to such situations over the years. “They are at peace, and together.”
“I’m just going to miss her so much,” Hilda sobbed. “I’ll never have another friend like her.”
“We’ve both suffered great losses.” Sara’s gaze went to the three-story brick house that still had the ability to awe her as it had the first day she’d seen it. From that day onward, she’d never wanted for anything. Her throat threatened to close up, and she had to swallow in order to say, “Keeping happy memories close these next few weeks is what we must do. It’ll help.”
Hilda sniffled and stepped back to wipe her nose with an embroidered hanky. “Look at me. I’m blubbering away when you’re the one’s who’s lost her momma. You poor child—you’re all alone now.”
Sara’s throat swelled shut. Blinking back tears, she nodded and started for the house again. Bugsley was right. She didn’t need a house full of people. There wasn’t time to dwell on the fact that she was completely alone. She wasn’t. Mrs. Long wouldn’t leave. Amelia Long had been managing Winston’s house for decades and this morning promised to continue working here until she was too old to knead bread. Bugsley was here, too. He’d worked for Winston for years, and promised he’d help her with everything. She’d forever be grateful to him for being at her side the past few days. He’d kept her strong, and she’d needed that.
It was Bugsley who appeared at her elbow before she was all the way down the hill. Sara didn’t have to offer him a smile. He wouldn’t expect it, and that felt good.
“Come,” he said softly while tucking her arm through his. “You’ve had a rough day.”
His wool suit was as black as her gabardine dress and his boots recently shined. Something that probably hadn’t happened since the last funeral he’d attended.
Sara took a deep breath, drawing strength and resolve in understanding that she wasn’t the only person who’d experienced such devastating pain. The Williams children had lost their father just last week. Bugsley hadn’t gone to the funeral, but she and her mother had, and Winston, who had slipped into the recent widow’s hand an envelope containing a sum of money to help the family through their hard time. Sara was grateful that part wasn’t an issue for her. Just the opposite in fact. She had more money than she knew how to handle. That would soon change. She’d learn how to handle the money, and invest it for the future of Royalton.
Not entirely sure how she’d complete that daunting task, she said, “It was a lovely service.”
“Yes, it was,” Bugsley said. “I’ll have a donation sent to the church tomorrow.”
“I already made a donation for the services,” she said. “Yesterday, when I gave Reverend Borman the selection of songs for today.”
“I told you I’d take care of things for you,” Bugsley said.
“I know,” she answered. “And I appreciate your help, but there were some things I wanted to do myself. Needed to do.”
“All right,” he said, patting her arm. “But I’m here to handle everything else.”
There was no doubt she’d need his help. She didn’t have the knowledge it would take to run the lumber mill and negotiate the contracts with the railroad, but she was astute and a fast learner, and wasn’t going to shy away from any part of her duties. She’d stayed up late the last two nights, studying maps and contracts, and a plethora of other paperwork in Winston’s office, but she now felt she knew less about what to do rather than more. She wasn’t about to give up, though, or ask for help. Not yet. One couldn’t ask for help until one knew what help was needed. “You’ll be the first person I seek when I need assistance,” she said. “I promise.”
He stiffened slightly but held his silence until they arrived at the house and she looked up. His cheeks were ruddy from shaving off his scruffy whiskers for the day. He’d gotten a haircut, too. White skin showed where his brown hair had been snipped short around his ears. He wasn’t what most would call handsome, but he was dedicated and that was what she needed above all else.
“You need some rest,” he said with a gentle smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Unless you want me to stay—maybe you don’t want to be alone?”
Her gaze roamed to the house. To the flower bushes beside the steps, the set of white wicker furniture situated in the corner of the massive front porch and the wide front door complete with a screen door to let the air in on warm days. It could be warm today. She couldn’t tell. The chill that had settled inside her, clear to her bones, was too encompassing, even wearing the heavy black dress and cape. Fighting off a shiver, Sara answered, “I won’t be alone. Mrs. Long is here.”
“She’s still up the hill,” he said. “Talking.”
“But will be along shortly.” Pulling her hand out of the crook of his elbow, Sara drew a fortifying breath. Mrs. Long had been upset about not hosting a gathering after the funeral, giving people the opportunity to mourn and share memories. Looking at the empty house, Sara had to wonder if she should have sided with Amelia rather than Bugsley. Perhaps entering the front door would be easier with others nearby. The decision had been made, though, and she had no choice but to abide by it. To go forward. Alone. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she told Bugsley.
She entered the house without looking back. It would be
