by West, Everly
Next, she slapped the handheld fan to her palm. Some looked, but then the conversation about Daniel’s family status continued.
“I say,” Earlene finally interrupted, “that boy is not mature enough yet. Although I’m sure he thinks he’s ready to marry, he hasn’t quite sowed his oats. In a manner of speaking.”
Emboldened by everyone’s attention, she continued. “As a matter of fact, I don’t suggest you leave any young girl alone with him.”
Josephine Carlson looked at her with horror. “Do you know something you’re not sharing, Earlene?”
Now she’d done it. She couldn’t very well share what happened to Jane. Rumors would spread that, perhaps, her daughter had been compromised.
“I heard from a trusted friend, whom I can’t name that he took untoward liberties.”
“Unfortunate,” Wesley and Thomas’ mother, Josephine, said fanning her face. “I am afraid I must go. Eugene hasn’t been feeling well at all. I wrote Wesley and asked that he consider returning earlier than planned. If Eugene continues to feel poorly, I will need him home.”
Thankfully, Earlene’s announcement diverted the attention away from Daniel and Jane’s slip.
When leaving the building, her daughters walked from the general store. Sybil and Beth, followed by Jane who walked beside Michael O’Leary, were just leaving the mercantile. It was wonderful to see the way Jane slid glances from under her lashes to her beau.
Earlene had no doubts whatsoever they’d be married soon. That would leave Beth. If Wesley returned soon, she’d ensure he called upon Beth promptly.
They caught up to Josephine who stood nearby with Thomas. “Dear, please tell your husband I hope he recovers soon. I’d love to bring over some of my shortbread. He does love it.”
“That would be wonderful. Please do. I can use with a visit.”
The girls approached and hugged Josephine. Earlene was about to introduce Michael, but when he greeted her, it was obvious they’d met.
“We best be on our way,” Earlene said. “I have much to get done. I will be calling on you in a couple days, Josephine.” She hugged the woman.
“I have the most interesting tidbit,” Earlene told Beth. “Since Eugene Carlson is feeling poorly, Wesley may be returning earlier than scheduled. I’m sure the boy will be disappointed, but it serves our purposes.”
Beth frowned. “Mother, really? The poor man is not well and you’re thinking how it can benefit us? You should be ashamed.” By the way the corners of Beth’s mouth twitched, it was obvious she fought to keep from smiling.
“Mother is incorrigible about finding us husbands,” Sybil said with a chuckle. “Men in the area don’t stand a chance.”
Earlene pretended to be offended. “You, young lady, still have a year or two before I’ll begin to worry. It is my duty to ensure good and proper matches for you.”
Sybil pouted. “I’m going to marry Thomas.”
“You are not marrying someone just because you’ve got it in your head to do so. Let nature take its course and see where it guides you.” Earlene gave her youngest a stern look. “I agree that Thomas is a good prospect, but you’re much too young to know your heart yet.”
“I’m almost twenty, Mother, old enough to know... things.” Sybil’s hesitation, along with a questioning expression, made her statement less than believable.
She whispered to Beth, “What exactly does your heart tell you?”
Earlene pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Her youngest would be a handful for any man. As much as she liked the young man, Thomas, he didn’t seem the type who’d be able to keep Sybil in check.
When they arrived at their carriage, Beth and Sybil climbed in and Earlene followed, leaving Jane time to bid Michael farewell in private. Moments later, a flushed Jane settled next to her mother.
“How soon before he proposes, I wonder?” Earlene asked with a smile.
* * *
A summer storm accompanied by thunder woke Michael and he went to the window to peer out. It was still dark outside, so it was impossible to see more than a couple of inches into the darkness. Memories of rainstorms in Ireland were never happy ones.
When he’d lived on the streets, he’d spent plenty of nights huddling wherever he and his friends could find shelter. Cold and shivering, it had been impossible to sleep. More times than not, he’d fought to keep from crying.
How he hated those memories. It didn’t matter what changes he’d made in life, that poor, cold Irish boy remained inside. Absently, he walked to the kitchen and shoved wood into the stove. He was awake, so he may as well do something. After lighting a lantern, he went to a side cabinet and took out the bag of money.
He hadn’t had the will to look inside. It was guilt money. The sort of payment a dying man gives. It was a fruitless effort to rid himself of the heaviness that comes from being responsible for men’s deaths. In Michael’s opinion, forgiveness would be worth more than the money.
Letting out a slow breath, he considered why he’d not told the man he’d forgiven him already. It was the only way to move forward. After several long talks with the local preacher, the man had convinced him it was the only way. The past is better left there, and the one way to let it go was forgiveness.
After boiling water and making coffee, he sat with the cup to his right and pulled the bag closer. In between sips, he counted through the neatly arranged stacks. It was a lot more than he’d expected. Twelve hundred dollars.
Along with the amount he’d saved over the years, he could be considered a wealthy man. Michael laid his head on the table and wept.
The tears were not for the dead. He didn’t cry because of his good fortune. It was the young boy Michael who’d huddled in the cold, tears mixing with the rain that he cried for.
* * *
When Hank, his assistant, walked into the shop later that morning, Michael greeted him and picked up his hat. “I have something important to do today. If I’m not back by six, go ahead and lock it up.”
Hank nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
It didn’t take long to find the small shack just outside town. The doctor had informed him of it. Unable to approach just yet, Michael dismounted and allowed his horse to graze. The storm had passed by just before sunrise allowing for the sun to shine between puffs of clouds. The breeze blew, sending tall grass to sway side to side and, around him, birds chirped loudly from high branches.
If not for what he planned, it would have been a perfect day. It wasn’t easy to face the past, not one like his anyway. And yet, this was the first step to moving forward.
He pulled on the horse’s reins and tugged it closer to the shack. It was then he noticed a thin man hunched over in a dilapidated rocker. The poor excuse for a porch sagged on one side, the weathered boards having barely survived a few seasons too many.
He pulled bundles of sundries from the saddlebags and headed toward the house, wondering if the man was alive.
As he approached, the bearded man’s head lifted. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Rex Buchanan rasped out.
“I’ll make some coffee.” Michael walked past him and into the dim interior. It took a few trips to gather wood and start the fire in the rusted stove before he produced coffee. He’d brought along food and supplies for the man to feed himself.
When he walked out, he slid a small stool next to where Buchanan sat and placed a plate of eggs, bacon and toast on it. The cup of coffee wouldn’t fit on the small surface so he put it on the floor next to Buchanan’s chair. “Eat.”
The man devoured the food. He didn’t speak until every crumb was gone. “Thank you.”
Michael lifted the cup and handed it to him. “You’re welcome.”
After he’d drawn water, he brought a paid filled with warm water and washcloths to Buchanan. “If you wash up, I brought you a change of clothes. I’ll go wash the dishes. Since its obvious you can’t care for yourself, I’ll be sending someone from town to come see about you weekl
y.”
The man hunched over, sobbing into his dirty hands. “Why-why are you doing this?”
“Because I forgive you. And because no one deserves to die dirty and hungry.”
After cleaning up the dishes and helping the man dress, Michael lowered to sit on the top step. “Why did you stay here?”
Buchanan produced a dingy handkerchief and wiped his face. “Didn’t have the strength to go much farther. Doc in town offered this place.”
They sat in silence for a long time, each in their own thoughts. There wasn’t much to be said between them.
“You married?” Buchanan asked.
“Not yet.”
“I wish you happiness. You deserve it.”
Michael looked over his shoulder at the man. “Do you have a wife? Someone I should send word to?” He left the rest unsaid, but they both knew he meant once Buchanan died.
“Had a wife. She died a long time ago. No one else.”
Michael nodded. So it would be just him when the man was buried.
“I’ll be on my way then.” He stood and looked down at the sick man. By his dull gray coloring and unfocused gaze, he wouldn’t live much longer. “I forgive you, Rex Buchanan.”
The man nodded and hung his head. “You’re a good man, Michael O’Leary.”
It was almost suppertime by the time Michael arrived back at his shop. Hank looked up from his workbench. “I am just finishing up.”
Michael hung his hat on a peg and retrieved a worn leather apron. “I’ll be working for a few hours. A bit behind, aren’t we?”
“Yes, we are,” Hank replied with a lopsided grin. “And we got a few things dropped off and a request for you to come to a ranch.”
“I best get to it then.” With a renewed sense of well-being, Michael got to work. It was hours later and dark outside before he stopped.
The bell over the door rang as the local errand boy rushed in. “Got some mail for you, Mr. O’Leary.” The boy’s wide gaze moved across the guns, which were spread, on a tabletop. “One day, I’m going to buy one of these,” he said, pointing to a revolver.
Michael shook his head, imagining the large piece in the boy’s hand. “Mail? Kind of late to be bringing it by.” He held out a hand.
The boy produced a crinkled letter not meeting his gaze. “I had to go help Mama with something.”
The return address was from Boston.
The only people he knew from Massachusetts were a couple of men he’d served with during the war. Imagining one of them was writing to let him know he planned to move west, Michael tore the envelope open.
It was a letter from his brother, John. John O’Leary was five years older than him. His brother informed that he’d come to America to live. Life was becoming unbearably hard in Ireland and he’d decided to come and try his luck out west. The problem was he’d run out of money and couldn’t afford the cost of travel to Wyoming.
Michael’s lips curved. He let out a happy yell. The small boy jumped. “What’s the matter, Mr. O’Leary?”
“Got some good news. What time does the telegraph office open?”
Chapter 13
Jane let out a long sigh and peered out the window. The gray, cloudy sky and light drizzle did little to bring her out of the gloomy mood she’d woken up with. If the weather continued, there would be no traveling to and from town. At almost a week since last seeing Michael, she wondered what he was doing at the moment. It amazed her how deciding to allow the man to court her instantly made him the focus of her thoughts. He was an ever-present distraction during all activities.
It was no wonder people married. Living with the person one cared for made it easier to exist.
The way Michael had managed a rather heated kiss at their last parting had left Jane wanting more of his touch and definitely more of his kisses.
Just then, movement outside caught her attention. What looked to be a lone rider came into view.
Jane jumped to her feet and raced through the parlor, ignoring her sisters’ questioning looks. Not caring whose cloak hung by the door, she threw it over her shoulders and hurried out to the porch and down the steps.
Michael had released his mount to the corral by the time she reached him. He opened his arms in welcome and she flew into his embrace with a cry of happiness.
“Even the threat of a storm could not keep me from seeing you. I missed you,” he murmured against her ear. Tingles of delight raced down her spine.
As unseemly as it was to continue to allow him to hug her, Jane didn’t care. Finally, he took a step back. “Your father is heading toward us.”
From the stables, her father walked at a leisurely pace, not seeming to notice the rain. What was it with men and the rain? It was as if their sex savored the opportunity to prove something.
“I won’t ask what brings you, young man,” her father said as greeting. Michael held out his hand and they shook.
“I wish to speak to you, Sir,” Michael said, sliding a glance to Jane. “In private.”
Jane blinked at the obvious dismissal. “Why can’t I hear what you have to say?”
“Now, Jane, go on to the house. We’ll be along in a few moments,” her father said, giving her a light push.
Michael’s warm smile reassured her. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
Along with her sisters and mother, they were all perched at the front window, peering out at the duo that continued to talk. At one point, her father shook his head and grinned, seeming to find humor in whatever they spoke about.
“It doesn’t seem as if he’s asking for your hand in marriage,” her mother quipped. “They are motioning to the horses now.”
Sybil huffed. “And it certainly does not seem like a conversation they needed privacy for.”
“I agree,” Jane added. “What could be so private that I couldn’t overhear?”
“Perhaps,” Beth started, “it has to do with a private medical matter.”
The other three turned to her and she looked back to where the men continued to speak. “Michael may need advice that only a man can give.”
“Of course,” Earlene said with a triumphant look. “But it must not be serious. Oh, look, here they come now.”
“We should ask Maribel to bring coffee or something,” Sybil said, but didn’t move. None of them wished to miss whatever would be said upon the men entering.
When her father and Michael walked in, they stopped midsentence upon noticing the silent group of women watching them closely.
“Dear? Is something wrong?” Jane’s father, bless him, asked. Men could be without deep thought at times.
Her mother straightened in her chair. “We are wondering why you stood in the rain for so long. You will both require dry clothing and hot tea or you will catch a chill.”
In unison, both shook their heads.
But her mother was insistent. “Michael, come with me. I’ll get you both out of those sopping wet clothes. Otherwise, you won’t sit on any chair.”
Her father walked behind his wife and Michael, who gave Jane a quick wink. “Jane, Michael will speak to you momentarily about a... matter.”
“A matter?” Jane looked to Michael, but he’d already gone up the stairs. “What matter?”
Her father scowled up to where his wife had gone. “I’d best hurry before your mother overwhelms the young man.”
“He’s going to propose,” Sybil said with a grin.
“Nonsense,” Beth replied. “A marriage proposal is not called a ‘matter’.”
Her stomach tumbled and her breathing became labored as Jane considered what Michael would want to discuss. She stood and smoothed her skirts. “I’d best run a comb through my hair and wait in the sitting room.”
There was a doorway in the sitting room that would allow her sisters to hide and listen in so both nodded enthusiastically.
Moments later, she sat in the rather cozy sitting room that consisted of four chairs, a writing desk, several shelves with books and a rug
in front of a fireplace. She sat in a chair where she could see out through a window and had a clear view of the entrance.
Jane distracted herself by attempting to gain control of her nerves. Fact number one, Michael had been eager and glad to see her. Fact number two, both her father and Michael had been in good humor. And fact number three, Michael had winked. Whatever Michael wished to speak about was good news. It had to be good news.
If it were to be a marriage proposal, which she hoped it was, then she’d agree without hesitation. She was eager to be his wife and to start a new life with Michael O’Leary as her husband.
Finally, footsteps sounded and Michael appeared. He’d changed into one of her father’s shirts and by the looseness of his pants, they were her father’s as well.
Seeming suddenly shy, he looked down at his apparel. “I didn’t picture I’d speak to you today wearing your father’s clothing.”
Jane laughed. “You certainly cut an interesting picture.” She motioned to the seat next to her. “What do you wish to speak to me about? I can’t stop my imagination from going in all directions.”
He didn’t sit, but took both of her hands in his. The entire time, he locked gazes with her. “I wish to ask you a question.”
When he lowered to his knees, Jane almost pulled him back to stand, a reflex more than not wishing for him to speak.
Jane’s lips parted as her breath caught in her throat and she was sure it was impossible for her eyes to go wider.
“Jane Elizabeth Farnsworth, I am in love with you and ask that you accept me and become my wife.”
The words penetrated past a fog of happiness and shock. Somehow, she managed to nod as, ever so slowly, the reality of the moment brought Jane to her senses. She squealed in delight, throwing her arms around Michael’s neck. “Yes! A thousand times yes!”
Within seconds, Sybil and Beth rushed in from the corridor, both crying out in delight.
