Holidays with the Weavers

by Kit Morgan

  She pointed at a small group of women across the room, each with a child in their arms. “Over there. Little Charlie has the sniffles!”

  Doc forced a smile and nodded. “I’ll get on it right away, Nellie. Say hello to Mr. Davis for me.”

  “Oh, do it yourself. He’s around here somewhere. Just check out those children!” She spun on her heel and marched away.

  “Who was that?” George asked.

  “That was Nellie Davis, the town gossip. She used to be far worse, but she’s calmed down a lot. Now she just annoys me and the sheriff by informing us about possible epidemics and criminal activity – most of it imagined. Sheriff Riley gets it much worse than I do.”

  Olivia giggled. “Does that mean you’re checking on the Sheriff’s children? The name is the same.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact it does,” he sighed. “Nellie will pester me until I do.”

  George laughed. “Warren told me about Mrs. Davis. But my mind’s been on Grandpa.”

  “Speaking of which,” the doc said, “bring him by tomorrow and I’ll speak with him. Bring Warren and Bernice too, if ya can manage it. There are things ya can do.”

  “Thank you, Doctor, I will.” George watched the doctor head across the town hall to the group of women, shaking his head all the way.

  “My goodness,” Olivia said. “I’ve never heard of a reformed gossip.”

  “Me neither,” he replied. “Though I can’t say I really know any personally. But Warren told me about Mrs. Davis and her daughter, who also changed her ways and far more dramatically.”

  She shook her head. “It still surprises me. People don’t change, do they?”

  “Of course they do. Some, anyway.” The music started, and George smiled and took her hand. “Miss Bridger, would you do me the honor of this dance?”

  Olivia smiled shyly back. “Of course.”

  With a grin, George led her toward the dance floor.

  * * *

  Olivia was having such a good time. George Johnson was handsome, charming and attentive, and a good dancer besides. They fit together like a hand in a glove, and she wished the evening could go on forever. The music, the dancing and the friendly people of the little town of Nowhere made everything so special. And it was all so new, as if she was experiencing it for the first time. Though surely she’d attended dances before – she seemed to know all the steps. If only she could remember how she learned.

  They took a break, and George went to fetch them more punch while he waited next to the Christmas tree in the far corner from the stage. She smoothed her skirt and thought of the next dance.

  “You look happy,” Samijo said as she joined her. “Where’s Mr. Johnson?”

  Olivia opened her eyes, only then realizing she’d closed them. “He went to the refreshment table.”

  “That color looks good on you,” Samijo said.

  Olivia smiled. Like most of the other Weavers, Samijo was pleasant enough, but gave the impression that something was brewing beneath the surface, as if they were all waiting for Olivia to do something. But what? She had no idea. “It was nice of Charity to loan this to me. It’s a lovely dress.” She glanced at the refreshment table. George was still getting their drinks.

  “Mr. Johnson looks like he’s having a good time,” Samijo commented as she admired the tree.”

  “Yes, he does. He’s a wonderful dancer.”

  “Are you?”

  Olivia stared at her. “I suppose. But then, most everyone knows how to dance.”

  “Well, that’s one more thing you know now. Can you cook?”

  Olivia smiled. “I have no idea.”

  “We should find out this week. You’ve rested enough. Would you mind helping out around the house?”

  “Not at all, I’d be glad to help. It’s the least I can do.”

  Samijo smiled and nodded. “Good. I’ll tell Ma.” She left without another word.

  “Huh,” Olivia muttered in her wake. “How strange.”

  “What is?” George asked, handing her a glass of punch.

  “Samijo. She was …” Olivia shrugged. “… just here and gone.” Like she doesn’t want to be around me if she doesn’t have to be. Am I too much a burden on the family? Are they going through rough times? But from what she’d seen so far, the Weavers did quite well for themselves. They were almost completely self-sufficient.

  “Don’t let it bother you,” George assured her. “You have to remember, you, uh, don’t remember.” He chuckled. “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “It’s all right – I see your point.” She spotted Samijo talking to the Riley women – Doc Brown must have already finished with them. “I can’t help but feel like they know something I don’t. I couldn’t begin to tell you what.”

  “Then don’t. It’s probably nothing.” He pointed at his head. “It’s probably all up here.”

  “I hope you don’t mean like your grandfather.”

  “Mercy, no. Grandpa is another matter entirely.” He glanced around. “Where is he, I wonder?”

  “I haven’t seen him for a time. Not since the dancing started.”

  “Well, he’ll turn up.” He studied her a moment. “I must say, this has been a lovely evening. Thank you for allowing me to keep you entertained thus far.”

  “Thus far? Are you planning on stopping?”

  “No, not at all. But I also don’t want to keep you from, um … anyone else.”

  She smiled. “You’re not.”

  George grinned. “Well then, shall we have another dance?”

  “Why, Mr. Johnson, that’s four. What will people think?”

  His grin broadened. “They’ll think that I must be an admirer of yours.”

  She blushed head to toe. Neither of them had danced with anyone else, which made clear his intentions toward her. What would people say? Did she care? Her main concern was finding out her past, remembering who she was. Maybe she should care more? What if she was ... oh dear, a loose woman!

  “What’s the matter?” he asked with concern.

  Olivia took a breath. “Nothing!”

  He cocked his head to one side. “You’re an odd one at times, Olivia Bridger.” He set his glass on a nearby tray. “But I like you. Shall we have another go?” He motioned to the dance floor.

  She shuddered. She had no idea what her morals were in the past. She had a sense of propriety now, but …

  “Olivia,” he said gently. “We don’t have to.”

  She met his concerned gaze. He was looking out for her. “Perhaps we should sit this one out.”

  He smiled. “Of course, if that’s what you want. Hungry?”

  She put her hand on her belly. “Yes. Something to eat, then.”

  He offered her his arm and they headed for the food tables. Daniel and Ebba were there, filling their plates – or in Daniel’s case, refilling. “Hello again,” George said happily. He looked at the sumptuous platters of food and sighed. “If only I could find a woman who could cook like this for me.”

  Ebba looked up from spooning potatoes onto her plate. “In smaller portions I hope.”

  “Yes, of course.” He winked at Olivia. “Do you cook?”

  “Funny, Samijo asked me the same thing earlier. I guess I’ll find out this week.”

  “We’ll help you,” Ebba promised.

  “I remembered how to dance,” she said. “I’m sure cooking will be no different.” While she hadn’t offered to help with the cooking the last few days, she had volunteered to clean up after meals. But Ma would have none of it and insisted she rest. The next few days would be telling.

  “Isn’t it wonderful to know that cooking can be learned?” George asked. “Maybe I ought to take a few lessons. I could do with a little improvement.”

  “You cook?” Olivia said in surprise. “Oh, but of course you do. I’m sorry.”

  “By necessity. Clarence can cook too. Though neither of us are very good at it.”

&nbs
p; Olivia smiled nervously. “That’s all right. I have a feeling I’m not very good at it either.” But it still rankled that she didn’t know one way or the other.

  * * *

  “Looks like George Johnson and Olivia are getting along,” Harlan commented to Ma. “In fact, it looks like they’re more than getting along.”

  “Yes, I noticed it too. We should put a stop to it, at least until we find out if she’s looking for that no-good husband of hers.”

  “Mary,” Harlan replied. “I hadn’t noticed any displays of animosity from you toward her until now.”

  Ma took a sip of coffee. “I was busy nursing the poor woman back to health. She’s much better. But her memory … who knows when it’ll come back?”

  Harlan sighed. “I hate to say it, but I like her just the way she is. Maybe it could stay away a while longer?”

  “We don’t have control over such things and you know it.”

  “True. But I’ve seen this before, now that I’ve had time to think about it.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You have?”

  “Yeah, must have been twenty years ago. Logan Kincaid – foreman for the Triple-C Ranch? – his wife Susara lost her memory for weeks. Got hit hard on the head by some lecher, as I recall. Some Indians found her and Logan happen to run across them. They gave her to him and the rest is history.”

  “What history? Did she ever get her memory back?”

  “Yep. By some miracle a woman in town happen to know Susara from years before. She called her by her full name and it all came back. Of course, by then Susara had at least remembered her Christian name, but not much else.”

  Ma stared at him in wonder. “So Olivia could remember everything just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “Yep.”

  “Land sakes, I hope not.”

  “But wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

  “I doubt it – she might be mad as a rattler when she does. She was so unpleasant years ago – who knows what she’s turned into since? Poor Mr. Johnson. Someone really ought to warn him.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t. He seems to be having a good time. And it’s only one night.”

  “You forget he’s spending Christmas with us?”

  “Oh, that’s right. This is a pickle.” Harlan munched on a cookie. “Should we tell him she’s married?”

  “We don’t know she is. What if that Burr fellow passed away in the pokey?”

  “Hmmm, good Point. Maybe I should talk with Sheriff Riley – he was in charge back then, wasn’t he? And didn’t Tom Turner arrest him?”

  “Yes, Tom was a deputy back then.” She sighed. “I miss Tom and Rose. Nice couple.”

  “I miss him too,” Harlan confessed. “I’ve known Tom since his was just a little shaver.” He took another bite. “Tell you what, I’ll go speak with Sheriff Riley while you figure out a way to tell Warren’s cousin he might not want to take too much of a shine to Olivia.”

  “How am I going to do that?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll think of something.”

  She nodded in resignation. “You’re right. I always do. Harlan?”

  “Yes?”

  Mary turned to him. “What if Olivia and George … I mean, if they really set their caps for each other and he finds out she’s married, or she does … oh, this has trouble written all over it.” She frowned and went to break the pair up.

  Eight

  Along with Ebba and Daniel, Olivia laughed at George’s stories about his son Clarence’s antics while growing up. They were quite amusing. If she wasn’t such a lady, she’d be guffawing.

  Wait a minute – if I wasn’t such a lady? she thought, and smiled anew. So I must be a lady! Why else would I think such a thing? Another hint as to who she was …

  “Ma!” Daniel called between chuckles. “Come on over – George’s tellin’ a great yarn!”

  Olivia smoothed her skirt – obviously a nervous habit; another hint? – as George grinned at her. She caught herself giggling like a loon as Ma Hughes joined them. “What’s so funny?” the older woman asked.

  George – I mean, Mr. Johnson – tells the most humorous stories about his son.”

  “It didn’t involve a well, Ma, but it did involve a pond,” Daniel elaborated.

  “I’m not sure which is worse,” Ma replied.

  Daniel started laughing so hard he couldn’t talk. George followed suit, and soon the two men were slapping each other on the back, drawing some curious looks.

  “Men,” Charlotte Quinn drawled as she arrived. “Get them giggling and they’re worthless.”

  “What’s going on?” her husband Matthew wondered as he watched the two men bent over in hysterics.

  “George told a funny story and those two are beside themselves,” Charlotte said. “Maybe one day I’ll get to hear it.”

  “That makes two of us.” Ma looked at Olivia. “Care to fetch some punch with me?”

  Olivia glanced at George, who was still laughing and didn’t look like he’d stop anytime soon. She shrugged and said, “why not?” She followed Ma to the refreshment table, got a fresh glass of punch and reached for a cookie. She’d eaten far too much already, but everything was so delicious she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t know what was worse, the main tables laden with hearty dishes, or the refreshment table with the punch, cookies and other goodies. Either way, she didn’t want to burst the seams of Charity’s nice dress.

  “Are you having a good time?” Ma asked.

  Olivia munched her cookie and smiled. “I didn’t want to come tonight, I felt so self-conscious. But now that I’m here, I’m having a wonderful time.”

  “Yes, it looks like you have been,” Ma stated.

  Olivia stopped chewing and stared at Ma Hughes. Had she been watching her all evening with George? Oh dear, did she think her behavior was untoward? “Mr. Johnson is a very nice man.”

  “Yes, from what I’ve observed, he’s a nice gentleman. He also lives a good distance away.” Ma took a cookie and bit into it. “It’s a shame he’ll be going back to Oregon City soon.”

  Olivia put her hand to her head. It would start to hurt at the most inopportune times – sometimes just a sharp pain, sometimes an ache that didn’t go away for hours.

  “Something wrong, child?” Ma asked.

  “I’ll be fine. You were saying?”

  “It’s a shame George Johnson has to leave in a few days.”

  Olivia slowly looked at George, who was still laughing with Daniel and now Calvin. “Everyone seems to enjoy him. He’s so easy to be around and talk to. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like him.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that I would remember.”

  Ma laughed at her remark. “I have to say, child, you certainly do have a good sense of humor.” Then she just stared at Olivia.

  “Ma, is something wrong?” Olivia asked, suddenly nervous. She’d caught the woman looking at her like that before and wondered what it meant.

  “Oh, never mind me. Just take a little advice, will you?”

  Olivia’s face twisted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “Child, I can see you’re having a wonderful time, but it’s going to end in a few days. You can’t let yourself get too attached to George Johnson.”

  Olivia took a deep breath and let it out. The woman was right, of course – she’d thought the same thing herself, but … she looked at the ground. “I understand.” She met Ma’s eyes. “And it’s good advice. Thank you.”

  Ma smiled in satisfaction. “I’m glad, child. There’s enough heartbreak in this world. I don’t want to see yours broken too.”

  “Or George’s?”

  “Or George’s. No matter how much you admire the man, there’s nothing you can do about it as things stand. He lives too far away. And you … well, for all we know you’re married.”

  Olivia gasped. No one had suggested that yet, not even her, but she’d wondered about it ever since the Weavers found her in that ditch. She wasn’t we
aring a wedding ring, so she assumed she was single, but maybe she’d had a ring and the robbers stole it. The problem was, how could she find out?

  “I’m sorry to be the one to have to bring it up, child, but it had to be said,” Ma concluded.

  Olivia nodded. “I understand. Thank you for reminding me. It was very gracious of you.”

  Ma gave her that funny look again – wary surprise, as if she couldn’t believe Olivia would say such a thing. Did people not take kindly to Ma’s advice? Was she like Nellie Davis, and Olivia just hadn’t spotted it? “What a nice thing to say. “Now I’d best go check on the rest of the family and make sure everyone’s having a good time.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Olivia glanced at George and the others again. The laughter had stopped but they were still smiling themselves silly.

  Ma left as Charlotte approached. “That man is going to be the death of all the other men at this dance if he keeps telling stories like he has been.”

  “He is a good storyteller,” Olivia agreed.

  “He is, though I wouldn’t rank him ahead of our old sheriff, Tom Turner. But he moved away to Clear Creek.”

  “Clear Creek,” Olivia said, her brow knitting. The name was familiar, but not because she’d heard Mr. Hughes speak about it. She knew he was from there, had talked about it over the last few days. But there was something else about the town she couldn’t put her finger on. Had she been there? But why would she? She put her hand to her forehead and pressed hard as another sharp pain struck.

  “Olivia?”

  “I’m fine, it’s nothing. Tom Turner was sheriff here …” Another familiar name, another one she couldn’t place but which was hiding in her elusive memories. Another sharp pain to her temples.

  “Tom and Rose Turner – now there’s a story.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Oh, I don’t have time to tell you the whole story here. Besides, there’s too much noise. You’re better off asking the Weavers.” Charlotte smiled. “I have to say, you and George look well dancing together. You’re a very good dancer.”

  Olivia smiled despite herself. She’d have to remember how well she could dance when she had to try to cook – maybe it would bolster her courage. The thought of cooking made her nervous – she must not be very good at it. “Thank you. You and your husband are good dancers too.”