Love Amid a Family Feud (Preview)

Chapter One

Hope’s End, Texas, 1880

The silence was getting too loud, so Tia set her coffee cup back in the saucer with an unladylike clatter and racked her brains for something to say.

“So, did you enjoy your trip to New York, Mr. Molyneaux?” she managed at last.

That was exactly the right thing to say. Mr.  Charles Molyneaux, a somewhat weaselly-looking young man who’d recently gone to New York on business (Tia could not remember what this business was, only that the man’s mother had swanned all over town boasting about her son in New York), and it was pretty clear he was keen to talk about it.

“Well, Miss Tia, I sure did. First of all, I noticed that the roads were very different. The infrastructure …”

Tia stopped listening. She’d long since developed the knack of nodding and smiling politely, eyes fixed on whoever was talking, without actually listening. It came in handy more often than she could remember.

Her mother wasn’t quite so easily fooled, though. Faith Frost was nearly forty-nine years old, older than all the other mothers in town. Petite, pretty, gray-haired, and always neatly dressed, Faith was well-known and well-liked. She knew her daughter inside and out and knew well when she wasn’t listening. On cue, Tia received a gentle nudge in the ribs, just a hint to listen more closely.

Mr. Molyneaux had stopped talking, completely unaware that his audience wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention.

He’s got such a boring voice, Tia thought, with a twinge of guilt. It’s not his fault, of course, but if he’d talk about more interesting things …

“Well, it’s a pleasure to sit down and talk with such a well-travelled gentleman,” Faith said smoothly. “Tia’s quite the homebody herself.”

“Yes, that’s what I heard in town,” Mr. Molyneaux said, gaze sliding over to Tia. She stiffened before she could stop herself and bit down on her lower lip to prevent herself from demanding just what else he’d heard about her.

Ignorance is bliss, as the saying goes.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve got a great deal to do now that you’re home,” Tia said lightly, replacing her coffee cup. “I’m sure your family can’t wait to see more of you. Six months is a long time.”

“Actually, my mama wants me to think of marrying,” Mr. Molyneaux said carefully. “Pa’s gone, of course, and Mama says it’s time. I’m twenty-five, after all. How old are you again, Miss Tia?”

Her smile tightened. “Nineteen, nearly twenty.”

He nodded. “I suppose you’ll be on the lookout for someone, then, too.”

Now they were getting to the crux of the matter – why Faith had cornered Mr. Molyneaux the first Sunday he was back in town and invited him to their house for coffee and cake.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Tia responded, carefully not meeting his or her mother’s eyes. “My work at the orphanage keeps me busy. Pastor Fredericks says he doesn’t know what he’d do without me.”

Mr. Molyneaux pouted. Really pouted – an odd expression to see on a young man’s face.

“I’m sure they’d manage. There’s plenty of enterprising young women in town, you know.”

Tia’s temper flared. “Well, perhaps you ought to go and take tea with them, then.”

Mr. Molyneaux went red, and Faith sucked in a breath through her teeth.

 

 

The door slammed behind Mr. Molyneaux, making the whole house rattle. Tia didn’t need to peer out to know that he was stamping angrily down the garden path, shoulders high in the way of offended men.

Faith Frost stood facing the closed door momentarily, shoulders sagging in defeat. She turned slowly, and looked so tired that Tia really did feel guilty.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” she said quietly, hoping to forestall a lecture. “I don’t like him.”

Faith passed a hand over her face. “He’s a nice young man. He’s looking to settle down, and what with their family’s business doing so well, he’s going to be a rich man soon enough and the head of his family. You’ve got to settle down sooner or later, Tia.”

“But the orphanage …”

“The orphanage will keep going without you. You work hard, sweetheart, but you’re not thinking about the future. Pa and I won’t be here always, you know.”

Tia bit her lip. “I know, Mama.”

“And you won’t always be young and pretty, either. You’re beautiful now, and the men come flocking, but I can tell you from experience that it won’t last.”

“I’d rather they left me alone.”

“You have to marry and settle down, Tia. You know it, and I know it. In fact, everybody knows it. Women don’t last like men do. Do you think you’ll still have suitors when you’re thirty or even twenty-five?”

“That’s not fair.”

Faith sighed again. “I know it isn’t fair, but that’s the way the world is.”

“Somebody ought to change it.”

“And I’m sure somebody will, one day. But right now, we … where do you think you’re going?”

Tia glanced up guiltily. She was pulling on her boots, her bonnet already hanging around her neck.

“I promised Pastor Fredericks I’d do one of the reading and writing classes at the orphanage. I’m already a little late.”

She turned to the hallway mirror, adjusting her bonnet. Tia would need it today to keep the dust off her face and the sun. She had pale skin, a shade too pale for comfort in the Texan summers. If she went out without a proper bonnet or parasol, her face would quickly redden and then start to peel and chafe. Faith believed firmly that pale skin was beautiful, and ladies ought not to go out in the sun lest they started to tan.

Tia knew she looked exactly like her mother when she was the same age – dainty, heart-shaped faces, slanted doe-like eyes, the clearest blue in town, and rich golden-brown tresses which needed hardly any encouragement to curl. A family of beauties, that was what was said about the Frost family – Jeremiah Frost was a handsome man, even now, with thick black hair and a matching beard, tall, broad-shouldered, and square-jawed.

Good looks were all very well, but they were just luck at the end of the day. Good luck and good-looking parents. Nobody had any control over their faces, the color of their eyes, or the size of their nose. It was stupid, really.

“You are wasting time,” Faith said quietly, advancing until she was standing directly behind Tia, staring at her daughter through the mirror. “Do you want to end up a ridiculous old maid, lonely and miserable, with nobody to look after you? Do you?”

Tia pressed her lips together. “No.”

“Then try and be a little more sociable, won’t you? Smile a little at the gentlemen we introduce you to. Don’t look so wretchedly bored. Try and look interested in what they have to say.”

“They’re not interested in what I have to say,” Tia snapped. “They think my work at the orphanage is holding babies and arranging flowers. I make a real difference, Mama. I do the accounts now, and I got the town council to approve extra classes for the children. The ones who aren’t adopted are going to leave here with real, tangible skills, talents that will take them far in the world, and …”

“Yes, yes, very nice,” Faith interrupted hastily, eyes glazing over. “But gentlemen don’t like to hear about that. It’s not very ladylike, is it? Do you think I got your father to marry me by telling him how much I liked to play cricket?”

“He would have been impressed,” Tia muttered. “The right man would be interested in the things that interest his future wife.”

Faith pretended not to hear.

“Next time Mr. Molyneaux visits – if I can coax him back, that is – I want you to be smiling and sociable. Do you understand?”

Tia wondered, momentarily, what would happen if she said no. If she said no, Mama, I don’t want to marry Mr. Molyneaux, or anyone at all. I’ve never ever met a man I could contemplate marrying or even spending a lot of time with, and I don’t believe I ever will.

There’d be an outcry, of course. Anyone who knew Tia knew she always meant what she said, so such a declaration would mean trouble. The volunteering at the Hope End’s Orphanage would be stopped, of course.

“I know why you spend so much time there,” Faith said quietly after a long pause.

Tia stiffened. “Mama …”

“It’s because they all remind you of her,” Faith persisted, her face bone-white and grim. “Of Abigail.”

“Mama, don’t.”

“I’m not angry, darling, I just …”

“I’m going to be late,” Tia said desperately, suddenly sure that she would scream if she couldn’t get out of the house now. Her mother held her gaze in the mirror for a long moment, then let out a long, weary sigh, dredged right up from her feet.

“Okay, but be back for supper, you hear?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Good. And be careful. Don’t take the east road.”

“I never do,” Tia turned, pressing a kiss to her mother’s cheek, hurrying out before Faith could change her mind.

 

Hope’s End was a sprawling town, and Frost House was at the edge of it. Everybody knew that the Frosts had the biggest house in town and the finest-looking one. Tia had long since stopped noticing the smaller, shabbier houses she passed on her way to the orphanage. Their house was fine, but they’d worked for their money. Her great-grandfather was one of the men who’d built      Hope’s End from the ground up.

There was some debate on where the town had gotten its name. A popular story was that the original settlers, exhausted, miserable, and fast running out of supplies, had climbed the craggy, unnamed hill expecting to see smooth, verdant plains beyond. Instead, they’d gotten to the summit and seen nothing but deep valleys and soaring hills as far as the eye could see, and their strength gave out. They settled right there, unable to travel a step further, and miserably named their town Hope’s End to signify the end of their hope of traveling further.

Another story was that somebody’s wife, daughter, sister, or mother had died on this hill and was so mourned they named the town after her.

Tia liked that story better. Obviously, it was tragic, but it was nicer to think of their town’s miserable name as a monument to love rather than a bunch of exhausted travelers who were sick of traveling.

She reached the crossroads nearest her house, where the road split into three – the east and west roads and southern-bound road, which led into the main part of town. Tia always walked briskly past the eastern road even though the troublemakers’ houses were a good few miles away.

Another mile, or maybe two, and the sharp, pointed eaves of the orphanage came into view, silhouetted against the bright blue sky. Orphanages in many places were awful and cruel, but Tia was proud of the Hope’s End orphanage. The children were looked after properly, and there’d be no mistreatment or cruelty under the watchful eye of Pastor Fredericks.

The man himself was laboring in the front garden, where the raised herb beds jutted out of the ground. Pastor Fredericks – called Freddie by his friends when nobody was around – was a tubby, cheerful man in his thirties who could easily have been taken for ten years younger. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and his soft stomach was trying to escape over his waistband. He straightened up as Tia approached and wiped away sweat from his brow, beaming.

“Afternoon, Miss Tia. I thought you weren’t coming. Jimmy and Clara are sitting in the classroom with that book you gave them, miserable as sin that you’re not here yet.”

Tia laughed. “I’m sorry I’m late. Mama organized a guest to drink coffee with us, and I had to stay for a while.”

Freddie nodded. He understood the situation between Tia and her mother and did not intend to worsen matters.

“Who was the guest?”

“Mr. Molyneaux, freshly home from New York.”

Freddie pressed his lips together. “Oh. He was asking about Lily earlier. Asked if she could come work as a maid in his home when she left the orphanage. I didn’t like the way he looked at her, even after I told him she was only sixteen.”

Tia felt the last vestiges of her regard for Mr. Molyneaux shrivel away.

“I didn’t like him,” she said tartly. “I hope you told him that Lily’s got bigger plans than being a maid.”

“Oh, I made vague noises and escaped. But I can’t say I like the man, either. You can do better than him, Tia.”

Freddie turned back to the herb beds, but Tia hesitated. She knew she should get into the orphanage and start her work, but there was still something weighing on her mind, pressing down her shoulders. It was a persistent worry that sometimes kept her lying awake at night, eyes burning, unable to sleep.

“Freddie?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think I should get married?”

The pastor hesitated, glancing shrewdly at her. “Does this have something to do with Mr. Molyneaux and your mother’s well-meaning efforts? Because if you’re asking me, I’m afraid I’m already married.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Tia said mirthlessly. “I never thought of myself as getting older, but I suppose it’s just a blink away. Mama worries that I’ll end up sad and alone if I miss my chance to settle down, but I don’t want to sacrifice everything I have just because I think I must.”

Freddie leaned on his shovel, eyeing her thoughtfully. “The right match won’t mean sacrificing things you love. When I married Elise, we were a perfect fit. We still are.”

“I keep saying that to Mama, but she insists I’m running out of time.”

He snorted. “If there’s one thing Hope’s End has in spadefuls, it’s time. In all the years I’ve been here, nothing has ever really changed. No danger, no adventure, nothing ground-breaking. Every day is like the one before it. You’ll have plenty of time to work it out, Tia. Plenty of time.”

A superstitious shiver rolled down Tia’s spine, but now she really was late. Smiling weakly, she left Freddie to his gardening and hurried toward the orphanage.

Chapter Two

A hammering on the door woke Jacob Lane with a jolt. He sat bolt upright, eyes gritty and sore with sleep, and blinked around him, waiting for the room to resolve itself into something familiar.

“Jakey, what are you still doing abed?” somebody hollered. Judging by the creaky sound of his voice, it was Fenton, the odd high-low tones of a fourteen-year-old boy whose voice was just starting to break. “We’re sitting down to lunch, let alone breakfast.”

Jacob dragged the back of his hand across his eyes. He noticed belatedly that the sunlight streaming through his un-curtained windows was full and golden, midday light rather than the tentative, pale yellow of early morning.

Had he really slept till noon?

“Jakey?” Fenton tried again, sounding a little worried now. “Are you okay?”

The doorknob jiggled, but Jacob had wedged a chair underneath the handle, and so it didn’t budge.

“I’m up, I’m up,” he called back before Fenton could panic and try to break down the door or some fool thing like that. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Okay,” Fenton said after a pause. “Mama said not to disturb you. Said you’ve had a long journey, and you’re still resting. Papa said you should do some work that’ll take your mind off it all.”

Jacob smiled tightly. “Like I said, Fenton, I’ll be down soon.”

There was a long-suffering sigh, and he heard his younger brother’s footsteps retreating down the wooden hallway and climbing down the ladder. Jacob breathed out and let himself flop backward into the pillows.

The Lane house had started off as nothing more than a simple, one-story cabin. The story was old – the founders of Hope’s End had each chosen one section of land for their own home and spread out from there. Great-Grandpa Lane had taken the east section, and the east road still led to Lane Ranch.

As time passed and the Lane family grew, bits and pieces were added onto the original house. An extension here, an extra room there, a porch, a second story, and on it went, until now the house resembled a lopsided, many-tiered cake, all its parts mismatched and wonky, if deceptively sturdy.

It was home, and memories of this place had kept Jacob going through the past three years, while he went looking for gold that wasn’t there anymore.

And now he was home, and it wasn’t how he’d expected.

Voices drifted up from the kitchen, three stories below, where the hardwood floor of the original cabin still stretched out in a firm and timeless square.

I’d better get down, or else they’ll send out a search party, he thought aimlessly.

Jacob rolled out of bed, carelessly splashed water on his face, and pulled on clean clothes. He eyed his own reflection in the mirror, brushing his fingers through a messy, dark-brown beard. He really ought to shave. Jacob had once been considered one of the most handsome boys in town – if not the most handsome – but hard work and disappointment in California had stripped him of his bloom. His skin was tanned, burned in places, and he’d lost more weight than he could afford to lose. His height and strength were still there, mostly, and he’d look tidier once he trimmed his dark hair and beard. His eyes were the same – forest green, peeping out from under thick smudgy brows.

Even so, it looked like Michael was now the most handsome boy in town.

Not that Michael’s a boy anymore, Jacob thought soberly. Twenty-five is a man. Just like twenty-three is too old to come back from California without a single gold nugget to show.

Pointedly cutting off the maudlin thoughts, Jacob turned away from his disappointing reflection and headed downstairs.

 

They were all crowded around the kitchen table, which was really not big enough for five growing boys and their parents. Fenton glanced up from his bread and cheese when Jacob came in and beamed.

Fenton had always been Jacob’s favorite. The youngest was their mama’s favorite – Leon, the only blond out of the family, twelve years old with big blue eyes like a little cupid. After Fenton came Alden, who at seventeen was now almost as tall as Jacob. He’d been much shorter when Jacob left, and it was still a shock to find himself on eye level with his little brother. Alden was the image of his father, with dark brown hair and muddy green eyes, and tended toward sullenness lately.

Last of all was Michael, who eyed Jacob narrowly, inching up to allow him space to sit on the bench beside him. Michael and Jacob had been so alike that they almost looked like twins, but that was three years ago. Now they were all too different, and not just in looks.

Maria Lane, the esteemed matriarch, beamed down at her second son.

“There you are, honey. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, Mama, thank you.” Jacob slid in beside Michael, and a plate was pushed toward him. “It sure was better than sleeping out in the open. I still count my blessings every time I wake up on a mattress instead of the dirt floor.”

That earned him a chuckle.

“You’ve been home a week now. Still struggling to adjust?”

That was Forrest Lane, a hulking bear of a man whose green eyes were almost swallowed up between graying whiskers and heavy eyebrows. He sat silently at the head of the table, generally preferring to let his wife do the talking.

Jacob cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “Three years is a long time to be gone, Pa.”

“Yes,” Forrest said levelly. “It is.”

There was a taut silence after that. As usual, Maria saved the day by flinging herself into her own seat – the place of honor at the head of the table, opposite her husband – and began to talk at full speed.

“So, Michael, is Amy Beth coming for supper tonight? She’s very welcome. We’d all love to see her, and Jacob would love to get to know her more.”

Jacob said nothing. Amy Beth was fine enough as his brother’s fiancé, but she was a little too talkative and bubbly with no real substance underneath to interest him. She seemed a little too desperate to be liked.

Isn’t the darnedest thing, he thought idly, drawing patterns in the crumbs on his plate, that wanting people to like us makes us seem less likable to them?

“I’d like her to come,” Jacob heard himself say, forcing him to meet Michael’s eye. “She seems real nice, Michael.”

Michael only gave a short nod, and then there was an uncomfortable silence before conversation started up again.

 

After lunch, Fenton and Leon got up to clear the plates like clockwork. Forrest, Alden, and Michael also rose to their feet, heading toward the door where their muddy boots were piled. Jacob sat nearby, feeling as if he were at a loose end. Why didn’t he have a chore to do? Everybody knew what they were doing except him.

Forrest paused by his wife’s chair, resting one meaty hand on her shoulder.

“You feeling okay, Maria?”

“I’m fine,” she said, voice hushed. “I’ll take a nap this afternoon. Don’t bother the kids about it.”

“I can stay if you want. Michael’s doing chores around the house today.”

“Yeah, and Jacob will be here, too. I’ll be fine, Forrest. Don’t fuss so.”

Forrest grunted and went lumbering out the door after his sons.

“Watch your mama, boy,” he said heavily to Jacob as he passed by. Not waiting for a response, Forrest pulled on his boots and went out into the early afternoon sunlight. Soon all the boys were gone – Leon and Fenton back to school, and the rest to their chores.

Jacob stood on the porch and watched them go, arms folded.

“You could give the porch a sweep if you’ve got time,” Michael said, abruptly appearing beside him. “Mama used to do it every day. She can’t now, of course.”

Jacob nodded. “I will.”

He expected his older brother to step off the porch right after, striding away to finish his chores. There’d been no discussion on what needed to be done – they all just knew.

At one time, Jacob had been among them. He’d known exactly how each day would be filled, what chores had to be done, and when. He’d known the ranch like the back of his hand.

Now, though, he was at a loose end, with not much to do all day but knock around the house until his father saw fit to give him work again.

“She’s worse than you said in your letters,” Jacob said abruptly.

That was the wrong thing to say. Michael glowered at him, bristling. “You’ve got a damn cheek.”

“Don’t swear. Mama don’t like it.”

“No, no, this ain’t fair. You go moseying off to California, chasing gold, and leaving the rest of us to pick up the slack. You write occasional letters, and you don’t come back to visit. Now you come back, and what? You expect us to be all over you? You left, Jacob.”

“I was going to make my fortune,” Jacob said bleakly. “Going to come back with enough gold to buy my own place and ranch.”

“Show Maggie Sinclair what she’s missing, eh?”

Jacob flinched. “It had nothing to do with her.”

“Sure.”

“Look, why are you so angry at me? You’re the one whose life is all falling into place. You’ve got the fiancée, the good reputation – you got the looks, now – and you’re the one who’ll inherit this whole place, anyway.”

Michael sagged forward, resting his elbows against the porch railings.

“Not everything is about you, Jacob,” he said bitterly. “You ought to have come back a long time ago. The winter was bad. Real bad. We … we didn’t think Mama was going to make it. We’re dreading the next winter.”

A nasty, cold feeling swept through Jacob’s limbs. He didn’t think he’d ever get past the shock of seeing his mother standing in the doorway after three years, her dress swamping her, limbs spindly, hair dull and brittle. Her eyes, large and blue, had sunk into her head, and her once-golden hair was almost completely white, turned in the three years he’d been gone.

It was clear that her illness had taken hold, digging in its claws. Jacob wasn’t entirely sure what it was, only that it was some sort of lung complaint, draining her strength and making her breathing ragged and raspy. In winter, he’d been told, her lungs gurgled with phlegm, no matter how much of the vile stuff she coughed up. The warm months were better, summer best of all, and there’d been no further heart-dropping declines.

Jacob squeezed his eyes shut.

“I came back because of Mama, Michael, believe me.”

“Really? Because I can’t help thinking that you came back on account of all the Californian gold being gone, and you decided to cut your losses.”

Jacob turned, rounding on his brother to make him look him in the eye.

“That’s what you think of me? Really?”

Michael had the grace to blush, looking away.

“Honestly, I don’t know. It’s been so long. I don’t know you anymore.”

“I’m still the same Jacob.”

Michael eyed him for a long time. “No, I don’t think you are.”

Jacob flinched at that. There didn’t seem to be much else to say, so they stood in silence for a while.

At least we’re getting to the bottom of it, Jacob thought miserably. Maybe I can find my place here again.

“I want to help on the ranch,” he said after a while. “I know Mama thinks I need rest, but I want to be doing something. That’s what I want. I want to be useful.”

Michael sighed. “You been gone a good while, Jakey. We replaced you. We have our own chores and plenty of ranch hands. I’m not sure there’s much for you to do.”

Jacob’s heart sank. It was stupid to imagine that his old jobs would be waiting for him, that his old place would just be there waiting for him after three whole years, but hearing it put so badly hurt, even so.

“There must be something for me to do.”

“Watch Mama,” Michael said at once. “Do some housework. She forces herself up when she should be resting because the house ain’t clean, and we don’t have so much time to get it done. You’ll find something to do. If we can buy the old Whites Ranch like Papa plans, there’ll be more work to do.”

“We’re buying old Whites?”

Michael snorted. “We’re trying. That damned Jeremiah Frost wants it too. It doesn’t even border his land; he just doesn’t want us to have it.”

He stepped to the railing and spat delicately over the side, glancing briefly at the kitchen window to make sure his mama wasn’t watching.

Jacob didn’t spit. It wasn’t a surprise to know that the Frost family was throwing a spanner in their works again; that was what they were like. Dogs in the manger, not wanting to eat the feed but not wanting anybody else to have it.

“I suppose you heard that the Molyneaux boy came home, too?” Michael said after a pause. “Old Mrs. Frost was on him right away, dragging him up to her house. She probably wants to push her spoiled brat of a daughter off on him, get all that Molyneaux money in the family.”

“Probably,” Jacob said without much interest.

They stood in silence for a few more minutes. Privately, Jacob thought it was a good sign that Michael was willing to stand here and talk a little longer. The younger boys had been too young to fully understand the way things were when Jacob left, although he remembered Fenton – who’d only been eleven – crying his eyes out when Jacob got on the train.

He wasn’t even sure that Leon remembered him properly. Three years was a long time when a kid was twelve.

He heard shuffling behind and peered through the half-open door.

“Michael, I got to go. Looks like Mama is trying to scrub the kitchen table. Hold on a moment, Mama, I’ll do that for you! Have you thought about getting some help in, by the way?”

“Mama won’t hear of it. And …  and Jacob?”

Jacob paused on the threshold, about to step inside, and lifted his eyebrows.

Michael cleared his throat. “You might not guess it, but I am glad you’re home, Jakey. Better late than never, as Mama says.”

Jacob smiled wryly. “Believe it or not, coming home was the best feeling I got since I left. I was even happy to see your ugly face.”

Michael gave that spluttering laugh, aiming a weak punch at Jacob’s arm.

“You scrub that table good, you hear?”

“I didn’t take orders from you when we were kids, and I’m not going to start now.”

Chuckling, Michael stepped off the porch and strode away, shaking his head. Jacob watched him go, one hand on the doorknob.

Maybe, by some miracle, it would be okay after all.

Maybe he hadn’t ruined his life.

Maybe there was a chance.

Maybe.

---

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