But she had been certain he wouldn't, and now that their journey had begun, she knew she was right. All the way from Prospect to San Antonio he had exerted himself to keep the conversation going and make sure of the women's comfort. Several times she had been hard-pressed not to throw her arms around him in pure gratitude when he skillfully covered an awkward moment between Blanche and Asa.
At first she had assumed he was simply making a noble sacrifice for her sake, but she soon realized that pleasing her brought him genuine pleasure in return. She had never imagined that the love she felt for Joshua could grow more intense, but so it did, with every passing mile. By the time they reached the train depot in San Antonio, she positively adored him.
Henry Maxwell's private car was everything Felicity had imagined and more. A smiling black man in a trim navy-blue uniform greeted them as they approached the siding where it was sitting. "Hello, Mr. Gordon. It's good to see you again, sir," he called. "And this must be Miss Storm."
"That's right, Simon, only her name is Mrs. Logan now, and this is her husband, Joshua Logan, and her friend, Mrs. Delano. Folks, this is Simon Duvalier. He will be looking after you on your trip," Asa explained.
"Pleased to meet you," Simon said, doffing his cap to reveal dark, curly hair liberally streaked with gray. "Mr. Gordon's right. I work for Mr. Maxwell, taking care of his private car, and anything you need, you just ask me. Come on inside. I've got some refreshments waiting for you."
Felicity had never dreamed that anyone would fix a railroad car up fancier than any house she had ever been in. They entered to discover a parlor paneled in lustrous mahogany and furnished with fashionable pieces upholstered in red velvet and made of the same wood as the walls. On a small, low table in front of the settee, Simon had laid a spread fit for a king. High tea, he called it, served in an ornate silver pot which rested among a lavish display of matching silver accessories, some of which Felicity could not even identify. Accompanying the tea was a tray full of freshly baked pastries that proved to be as delicious as they were beautiful. Another black man who identified himself as Simon's son William appeared and began to load their luggage onto the car.
"Simon, have you worked for my grandfather very long?" Felicity asked when she had sampled one of the flaky pastries and complimented him on it.
"Yes, ma'am, I've worked for Mr. Maxwell more than thirty years. He liked me so much that about ten years ago he put me in charge of this car," Simon explained, grinning even more broadly than before.
"Have you seen him lately? Do you know how he's feeling?" Felicity asked, eager to get an updated report on her grandfather's condition.
"Oh yes, ma'am, I saw him just before I left. He called me out to the house to tell me I'd better treat you extra special. He's been mighty poorly the last few months. I heard he'd taken to his bed, but when I saw him, he looked real fine. I think just knowing that you're coming to see him perked him right up." Simon's smile reassured her even more than his words, and for the first time Felicity began to believe she might actually have time to get to know her grandfather instead of arriving just in time for his funeral.
"Can I take this bag for you, sir?" William asked Joshua, indicating the small carpetbag Josh had carried in with him.
"Oh no!" Felicity objected before Josh could respond.
"Felicity," Blanche chastened. "He's not going to hurt it! He just wants to put it back in the bedroom; isn't that right, William?"
"Yes, ma'am," William confirmed, a little confused. His dark gaze darted from Blanche to Josh and back to Felicity.
"I'm sorry, William," Felicity apologized sheepishly. "It's just… there's a special present for my grandfather in there. I don't want anything to happen to it." Indeed, she had made Joshua carry the bag all the way from the ranch, not trusting it to the luggage boot of the stage.
"I'll be extra careful, Mrs. Logan," William promised with an understanding grin. He lifted the bag with such exaggerated care that he made Felicity smile.
"Nothing's going to happen to those pictures," Josh assured her indulgently. "The way you have them packed, they'd have to get caught under a stampede to even get bent!"
"I know," Felicity admitted, feeling more foolish by the minute. But she could not seem to help feeling protective. She had used the days they had spent waiting for the car to arrive to make prints of all her favorite photographs. Blanche had decorated a cigar box for her by gluing hundreds of tiny scraps of material to it in a beautiful mosaic pattern. The photographs now rested in that box, surrounded by wads of packing to ensure a safe arrival in Philadelphia. It was to be her way of sharing the first nineteen years of her life with her grandfather. The only one of her pictures she had not included was the one of tiny little Caleb Joshua lying in his cradle. That memory was too private and still to agonizing to share just yet.
"Excuse me, folks, but they're coming to hook us up to the rest of the train," Simon reported.
"Well then, I guess I'd better be going," Blanche said, rising from her chair. She was planning to spend a few days in town and had already checked into the hotel.
"May I walk you to the hotel, Mrs. Delano?" Asa asked, rising also.
"Well, I…" Blanche stammered, feeling absurdly flustered at the prospect. "Won't you miss your train?"
"It won't leave for a while yet," Asa replied confidently.
Felicity watched the silent struggle Blanche was enduring between her pride and her desire. "You really shouldn't be walking the street alone in this part of town, Blanche," Felicity ventured, hoping to tip the scales a bit in Mr. Gordon's favor. Maybe it wasn't too late, after all.
"Yes, of course," Blanche agreed brusquely. "I would appreciate your company, Mr. Gordon."
When she had made her farewells to Josh and Felicity, she allowed Asa to help her down the wrought-iron steps of the railroad car and onto the wooden sidewalk that ran beside the station. They walked a few steps. "It looks like they'll be traveling in style," Blanche remarked to fill the awkward silence that threatened, a silence she was afraid he would fill with something she did not want to hear.
"Henry Maxwell is a man of style," Asa replied.
That reminded Blanche of one of her most serious concerns. "What kind of a man is he?" she asked, not bothering to keep the concern from her voice.
Asa stopped, forcing Blanche to stop, too, and for a moment they just stood there looking at each other, oblivious to the people rushing past them on their way to this train or that. "He's the kind of a man who could carve out a place for himself in the world and make a fortune before he was thirty-five. And he's the kind of a man who could disown his own daughter, so I guess that makes him the kind of man you don't want Felicity exposed to. Is that right?"
Blanche nodded, her lips tight with suppressed anger. It was just as she had feared. Just as she knew Joshua feared, too, although they had never spoken of it. Asa Gordon was delivering her sweet friend up to a monster. "How can you do this to her?"
"She deserves to know him," Asa insisted. "He is her grandfather, after all. And don't underestimate her. She has his blood. She may be stronger than you think. She may even be stronger than he is."
"And what if she isn't?" Blanche challenged.
"Then she has Josh," he replied.
There seemed no argument for that, so Blanche resumed her journey to the hotel, no longer even caring if Asa Gordon accompanied her or not. She had been right. The man was a stubborn, overbearing, arrogant…
"I owe you an apology," he said at her elbow.
She almost missed a step but managed to otherwise control her surprise. "Do you?" she asked with apparent unconcern.
"You know I do," he continued, undaunted, increasing his pace to keep up with her.
Blanche could see the hotel just across the street. She hurried toward it, darting around a wagon and narrowly missing a collision with a buggy in her haste. She had to get away. She did not want to hear what he had to say, not when she was already having a hard enough time maintaining her dislike of him.