Josh stared at Felicity. Even he could plainly see she wanted that material. Was she still trying to do penance for what had happened by denying herself something she really wanted? The thought sliced into him, lacerating his already sensitive conscience. He simply could not allow her to make any more sacrifices. "Cut her twenty yards of that yellow stuff and then show us what else you've got," he ordered, contradicting Felicity's instructions.
Smiling victoriously, Mrs. Hankins began to measure out the material.
Felicity stared at him in utter amazement. He actually seemed annoyed that she didn't want to squander his money. "I don't need a dress that expensive," she whispered to him.
No, perhaps she didn't, Josh thought, but he needed to give it to her. "Yes, you do," he said with finality.
"I have some brown velvet that will trim this beautifully," Mrs. Hankins reported, still smiling happily.
"Fine, measure it out," Josh said, pleased to be able to do something special for Felicity to prove how much he thought of her.
Felicity continued to stare at him. His gray eyes seemed to challenge her to argue with him. Fortunately, she was too flabbergasted to do any such thing. After the way they had argued earlier, she would not have been surprised if he had refused to buy her anything at all. Instead he was…
"And I want you to pick out enough material to make yourself three… no, four more dresses. Then you'll have one for every day of the week," Josh continued, determined that she would endure no more self-inflicted deprivations.
Felicity gasped. A dress for every day of the week! Nobody needed that many dresses! He was being outrageous. The spark of acquisitiveness she had felt upon entering the store was smothered under this avalanche of extravagance. "Mr. Logan, I don't want-"
"Get her everything she needs, and put it on my account," Josh told Mrs. Hankins, annoyed over the way Felicity had addressed him. She knew he did not want her to call him "Mr. Logan," especially in front of other people. What would Mrs. Hankins think?
Mrs. Hankins thought the whole thing was rather amusing, he noticed, glancing over in her direction. Well, he had provided.her with enough entertainment for one day. "I'll be back later," he said, and strolled purposefully out of the store.
Resisting with difficulty the urge to call him back and demand he countermand his orders, Felicity tried to remember to remain calm and unruffled in front of the storekeeper's wife. She didn't want to cause talk, and after all, she would get to choose fabric for four more new dresses. Since she had never owned more than two dresses at any one time in her entire life, such an opportunity should have thrilled her. It would have, too, if she had thought for one minute Mr. Logan's generosity was prompted by his affection for her. Instead he was buying the clothes just to be ornery, just because she had objected. And maybe just to prove his dominance over her. Sighing with resignation, she focused her attention on the violet-sprigged calico Mrs. Hankins was showing her.
Josh leaned against the barn wall and watched Felicity's bedroom window fade from light to dark. He tried not to think about the fact that she would, at that very moment, be climbing into bed clad in nothing but a thin nightdress. Sighing wearily, he reached into his vest pocket for the makings to roll himself a smoke.
"You sure did fix that girl up good and proper with clothes," Candace said from beside him.
He whirled, surprised to find she had come so close without his realizing it and annoyed that she had seen him staring at Felicity's window like some love-struck swain. "Not that she appreciates it," he replied, unable to keep the edge from his voice.
"You mean she didn't thank you for all those things you bought her?" Candace said in disbelief.
"Oh, she thanked me, all right. You would've thought somebody was holding a gun to her head to make her do it, though." The memory of her stilted "Thank you, Mr. Logan" still rankled. He had bought her the clothes to overcome the feelings of shame he knew still tormented her. He wanted to prove to her that he did not believe she had done anything to be ashamed of. He had even been stupid enough to expect her to be pleased. If he had remembered her reaction to the first clothes he had given her, he could have spared himself the disappointment. The girl simply did not know how to accept a gift.
"She's gonna look mighty pretty on her wedding day," Candace said, hoping to tease him out of his dark mood.
But Josh did not want to discuss his wedding day, certainly not with Candace. Casting about for a change of topic, he remembered that he had something important to discuss with her. "There was a man in town looking for you the other day."
Candace's dark eyes glittered in the moonlight as she pretended to simper. "Was there now?" she asked playfully.
"A colored man, and Hankins said he looked like you," Josh said, watching her reaction carefully.
"Looked like me?" Candace echoed, puzzled.
"Yeah, I figured he might be some kin of yours. Hankins said he was asking if you still worked for me and where my place was located."
Candace frowned thoughtfully. "Might be. I got lots of kinfolk, brothers and cousins and…" She paused. "How old a man was he?" she asked sharply.
"Hankins wasn't sure," Josh said, catching the change in Candace's tone but uncertain as to what it meant.
"Was he around my age or older or… younger?" Candace asked, her voice strange in the darkness.
"I really don't know. Is anything wrong?" he asked with growing concern.
"Wrong?" she said distractedly. "No, nothing's wrong." Then she smiled, her teeth a white slash in her dark face, but Josh knew the smile was forced. "Well, if he's kin of mine, I reckon he'll show up here sooner or later. Good night, Mr. Josh."
Josh frowned as he watched her hurry away. When Hankins first told him about the stranger, Josh had been certain the man could not possibly mean Candace any harm. He knew Candace could not have an enemy in the world. But for the first time in his life Josh considered the fact that he knew very little about Candace's past, a past that might possibly include someone of whom she would be afraid. But Candace was not afraid, not exactly. Her emotion had been something different, something he could not quite identify. He stood there in the dark, puzzling over it for a long time and trying not to look up at Felicity's darkened window.
"How long will you be gone?"
Asa Gordon looked up to where his landlady stood in the open doorway, and smiled. "Don't know exactly. This is a tough case and I might be gone several months," he reported, and returned to his packing. The task would not take long. His few changes of clothing would fit easily into the carpetbag sitting on his bed.
"Should I hold the room for you?" Mrs. Cruthers asked.
She was being professionally polite, in case someone happened to overhear, but Asa heard the petulant undertone in her voice. For the past several months, the buxom widow had been much more than his landlady. Sacrificing the cozy comfort of her bed was his only regret at leaving Philadelphia. But it was a tiny regret. He suspected that Mrs. Cruthers was beginning to imagine wedding bells in their future. Better to make the break a clean one.
"I reckon you can let the room go to someone else, since I don't know when I'll get back," he said, allowing just the proper note of apology to tinge his voice.
He had not expected a tearful scene, but he was equally surprised by her cold hauteur. "I should have figured as much from the likes of you," she sniffed, turning on her heel and stalking angrily away.
Asa paused in his packing, marveling over her reaction. Women, God love them, never ceased to amaze him. With a philosophical shrug, he resumed his chore. There would be other buxom widows. There were plenty of them in Texas.
Chapter Six