Hero Of The Flint Hills. Cassandra Austin

      She meant to be a good wife to Arlen, but she couldn’t help wishing something she wrote would sell. She would be bringing something to the marriage that way. It occurred to her that if she could sell her writing she wouldn’t need a husband.

      She mentioned none of this to Amanda, who considered her ambition to be a writer foolishness. As far as Amanda knew, nothing Lynnette had ever written had earned her a penny. Praise, occasionally, but no money. Lynnette’s one success she hadn’t shared with anyone. The dime novel, Passion’s Secret, by Silver Nightingale had paid a great many bills and helped her keep her home nearly a year longer than she would have otherwise.

      Lynnette lifted the rest of the stack of books onto her lap, but Amanda took them and moved them back to the floor. “Does his touch make your blood sing? Does his voice speak to your very soul? Do you look into his eyes and feel yourself floating up to heaven?”

      Lynnette couldn’t resist laughing. “You should be the writer.”

      Amanda squeezed her hands. “I’m serious, Lynn. If that’s not what you feel, you shouldn’t marry him. I’m afraid you’re going to be miserable.”

      “You’re afraid I’m going to argue with him until he’s miserable.” Amanda didn’t laugh. Lynnette rose to her feet pulling her friend up with her. “If that’s what you and Bill have, I’m thrilled for you, but I suspect that kind of joy only comes to a lucky few who believe the moon makes plans for young girls.”

      “I quit believing that years ago,” Amanda said, pulling Lynnette into her arms. When she let her go, she continued. “But I still believe in love.”

      Lynnette stepped away. “I believe in love as well, Amanda, but perhaps most of us have a different kind of love.”

      Lynnette listened to Amanda’s deep sigh and knew her friend had given up. “Just remember, if there’s anything I can do…”

      “You’re already helping me so much. I can’t thank you enough for letting me store some things at your house. Now, you’d better hurry home to Bill before he starts to think you’ve decided to run away with me.”

      Lynnette saw her friend to the door, then returned to her father’s study. It seemed too soon to be going through his books, deciding what to save, sell or take to the country for the summer. Several volumes had made the rounds to all the piles. If she couldn’t decide what to do with a book, how could she decide what to do with her life?

      With a sigh, Lynnette sat on the step stool, placing a stack of books in her lap. Her decision had already been made, and she would honor it. And the books had to be sorted. She vowed to be ready when Mrs. Prescott and her daughter came to take her to the train station.

      

      Early Wednesday morning, Lynnette stood in her nearly empty front room beside the large trunk and two small valises that were to make the trip to the ranch. More of her belongings were stored away in Amanda’s attic. She tried not to look at the things she was leaving behind forever.

      Amanda had come to see her off. “Write me every day like you did when you were in college,” she said, pulling the curtain aside to look out the front window.

      “I won’t be able to post a letter every day,” Lynnette reminded her.

      Amanda dropped the curtain and turned toward her. The sorrow on her face told Lynnette the carriage had arrived. Amanda gave her a quick hug before letting Mrs. Prescott’s servants in and directing them to the trunk.

      Amanda sniffed into a white handkerchief as the two women followed the men out the door. Lynnette tried for a brave smile. “I’ll send you all my stories.”

      Amanda’s laugh was a choked sob. Lynnette gave her friend a parting hug before climbing into the coach with Mrs. Prescott and her daughter, Emily. One last look at her home and a wave to Amanda, and Lynnette was on her way.

      “I’m sure you’ll have a lovely summer, both of you,” Felicia Prescott said, reaching across to pat Lynnette’s hand. “I feel certain that you’re perfect for my son. I’m so happy for you, I almost wish I were going, too.”

      Emily’s head snapped up. “Do come, Mama!”

      “No, dear.”

      The older woman’s attention turned to the buildings visible through the window. Emily watched her a moment and shrugged. Lynnette smiled sympathetically at the child. Of course she would want her parents together. It must be confusing to shuttle back and forth. From Arlen’s conversation she knew the breakup had come a long time before.

      At the station, Felicia sent the driver to see to the trunks and turned to say goodbye to her daughter. Lynnette looked away to give them some privacy. In a moment, Emily stepped to Lynnette’s side, and they walked to the train together. Just before they boarded, Felicia called, “Give Christian an extra hug from me.”

      “I will, Mama.” Emily climbed to the platform and turned to blow her mother a kiss.

      Lynnette waved as the whistle blared. “We’d better find some seats,” she said.

      The car wasn’t crowded. They were able to find an empty pair of seats, and Lynnette flipped the back of one so they were facing each other. It wasn’t until they were settled in and their valises stowed on the floor between the seats, that Lynnette gave any thought to Felicia’s last request. She knew that Christian was the older brother, who ran the ranch with their father. Was he so openly the favorite that Felicia didn’t care if her other children knew about it? Poor Arlen. It seemed strange, since Lynnette was sure this was the first she had heard Felicia mention him.

      She had known Felicia socially since she, at sixteen, had begun attending functions at her father’s side, her mother having died when she was a baby. She had, in fact, met Arlen a time or two in the past, though she was sure he didn’t remember.

      Emily’s voice brought her out of her speculation. “Do you like to ride horses, Miss Sterling?”

      “I’ve never ridden.” She smiled at the girl. “Please, call me Lynnette.”

      “Lynnette.” Emily seemed pleased. “Riding used to be my favorite thing, but I’d rather go to dances now. They hardly ever have any in the country, though. Do you like games—checkers and cards, I mean?”

      “I haven’t played much. I suppose because I had no brothers or sisters growing up.”

      Emily seemed disappointed. “Do you like books?”

      “I love books.”

      The girl’s face didn’t brighten. “Then you’ll love Papa’s library. I bet he’ll let you read anything you want.”

      “Are you afraid I won’t find enough to keep me busy?”

      Emily screwed up her face. “Arlen says I’m supposed to keep you company, but I’m bored often enough myself. I was hoping we could do some things together.”

      Lynnette laughed. “You can teach me all your favorite games, and we can take turns reading while the other sews.”

      Emily cringed. “Sews? Like embroidery and needlepoint? You like that?”

      “Only if there’s a good story to listen to.” Lynnette reached across to pat the young girl’s knee. “Don’t worry, Emily. I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful summer.”

      “I know. I didn’t mean to make it sound so dreary. I always have fun, especially with Christian.”

      This was the second time he had been announced as the favorite. Emily didn’t seem to notice anything unusual about her statement. Perhaps this was common among siblings.

      Emily blithely removed her hat and placed it on the pile of valises, claiming one of her bags to serve as a pillow, and curled up to sleep.

      Lynnette closed her eyes and tried to follow Emily’s example, but two young girls across