As she made her way to the house, she internally battled the best way to tell Gray about Wendell’s demise. By the time she walked through the back door and set her basket down, her hands were trembling. Her knees felt weak and she sank onto a chair, unable to hold herself upright. She didn’t know how long she sat there with her coat on, feeling cold and clammy and oddly detached from her body, before a draft of frigid air blew around her. Gray hastened inside, his arms full of wood for the box by the stove.
“Vic? What’s going on?” he asked, dropping the wood in the box then brushing off the bark on his coat before turning to face her. “Are you sick? What’s wrong?”
“I received a telegram while I was in town. It’s um…Papa…” Her voice cracked and she lost her tenuous hold on her emotions. Sobs welled and burst out of her as she tried, and failed, to speak coherently around them.
“Dead… He’s dead… Papa…,” she said between tears and gulps of breath.
“Papa?” Gray questioned, plunking down on the chair beside her. “Not Papa.”
“Oh, Gray!” Victoria cried, doing her best to tug her thoughts together. “Papa is fine. It’s…it’s Wendell. He’s dead.”
“What a relief,” Gray said, sitting back and slumping against the chair. “For a moment, I thought you meant something had happened to Papa.”
Victoria shook her head, tugged her handkerchief from her reticule, and mopped at her tears.
“What on earth is going on in here?” Claire asked as she strode into the kitchen looking better than she had in several days. She glanced from Victoria’s pale, strained, tear-streaked face to her husband.
“Vic received some news this morning. I’m not sure yet if it is distressing or joyous,” Gray said with stark honesty. “Maybe a bit of both.”
“And?” Claire asked, clearly growing impatient.
“Wendell is dead.” Gray glanced at Victoria. “Although I’ve yet to hear the details.”
“Oh, Vic,” Claire said, wrapping her arms around her and giving her a hug. Before Victoria could blink, or so it seemed, Claire had helped her out of her coat, removed her hat, and set a cup of tea in front of her. “Now, tell us what happened.”
“The telegram was brief. I’d show it to you, but it was apparently lost when I fainted.”
“Fainted!” Gray leaned toward her. “Are you sure you don’t need me to fetch the doctor?”
“I’m perfectly well. The news just caught me by surprise,” Victoria said, scowling at her brother. “I left Maddie at school, stopped by the bakery for a cup of hot chocolate and one of those wonderful cream-filled rolls, then stepped outside. I’d barely taken two steps when Mr. Greenblum hurried over to me with the telegram. The message said Wendell escaped from prison a while ago, killed two guards, was caught, and was fatally wounded. Father said he was buried in disgrace. I’m sure he’ll send a letter with more details.”
“Most likely.” Gray nodded in agreement. “So, where does the fainting part come in?”
“Well…After I read the message, I was distraught, understandably so,” Victoria said.
“Understandably,” Gray repeated in a tone she found both irritating and mocking.
Claire must have noticed it because she frowned at Gray then offered Victoria an encouraging look.
“I remember scanning the message, then reading it through more slowly. After that, I felt lightheaded and started falling. When I awakened, I was in the bakery kitchen with Fred, Elsa, and Mr. Travers.”
“Mr. Travers?” Claire asked, staring at Victoria.
“It seems he’s the one who caught me and carried me into the bakery.” Heat warmed her cheeks as she thought of Trace picking her up and carrying her inside. She didn’t feel the need to elaborate that she was sitting on the man’s lap when she regained her senses. No, she’d keep that to herself. Claire, with her penchant for romance, would dream up something that simply didn’t exist.
Besides, even if something did exist, it was hardly proper considering the fact Victoria just received news her husband was dead.
Tears stung the backs of her eyes again and she fought to gain control of her emotions.
“It’s okay, Vic. It’s okay,” Claire said, slipping her arms around her shoulders again and giving her a comforting hug. “No one can imagine what you’ve been through, what this news means to you. Just take the time you need to work through it. We’re here for you, whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” Victoria said, rising from her chair and returning Claire’s hug. Gray embraced them both. “I’m relieved, and grateful, and angry, and hurt, and guilty and disappointed, and slightly happy all at the same time. Does it make me a horrible person because I’m glad Wendell can’t hurt anyone ever again?”
“Not at all, Vic. I’d hazard a guess that Papa danced a jig around his office when he received the news.” Gray offered her a teasing grin, causing her to release a half laugh, half sob.
Gray stepped back and executed a few dance steps. “Maybe we all should celebrate.”
Rather than laughing as she was sure her brother hoped she would, she brushed at the tears spilling from her eyes. “It’s just so sad he wasted his life, eaten up with hatred and anger and cruelty,” Victoria said, feeling maudlin.
“It is sad, but none of it is your fault. Nothing you did or didn’t do would have changed it. Wendell’s mind was warped. You can’t keep blaming yourself for the misery he visited upon our family.” Gray hugged her again. “Let’s sit down and eat the fine food I didn’t have to cook. I’m sure it will make us all feel better.”
“How did you know I brought home lunch?” Victoria asked as Claire began taking the meal out of the basket.
“I can smell Elsa’s yeasty rolls and pie.” Gray winked at her. “That soup will taste good once we warm it up. It is bitterly cold out there today.”
Gray slipped his arm around Claire’s waist and kissed her cheek as they worked together to heat the soup before letting the housekeepers know to join them for the meal.
Victoria went to her room and put away her things, tidied her hair, then stopped by the bathing room to splash her face with water and stare at herself in the mirror, wondering if she’d ever be able to forgive herself for marrying Wendell and him for doing his best to ruin their lives.
Chapter Eight
The wind, though not strong, caused the frigid air to swirl around Trace, sneaking icy blasts down the neck of his coat and making his fingers fumble as he worked to fasten glass insulators to the top of a telephone pole.
“Billy better watch out when I finish this job,” Trace mumbled to himself as he worked. He thought of a dozen torturous things he could do to his best friend to get him back for forcing him to climb poles every day for the past two months. Then again, Billy was his sister’s husband and father to his sweet niece and rascally nephew. He wouldn’t do anything to really hurt him, but Billy deserved a little suffering.
Trace shuddered as the breeze caused the pole to move slightly. He clenched his legs tighter around it, praying he wouldn’t lose his grip. The frozen ground below wouldn’t break his fall, but it was almost guaranteed to break his neck. How had he let Billy talk him into doing this stupid, horrible job?