An Inconvenient Bride

by Blythe Carver

  How she managed to say so much while using so few words was a mystery. As were so many other things.

  He did not have the chance to apologize before she was inside the shack again, closing the door quietly behind her. He had the feeling that were it not for his sleeping sister and nephew, she would have slammed with all her might.

  And he would have deserved it.

  11

  One good thing about caring for a sick person was what little time it gave her to bemoan her own situation.

  Were it not for the nearly constant care Lenore required, to say nothing of the work it took to feed and clothe and entertain a child, Holly might find herself sinking into despair. Wondering about Molly, about how she progressed with her condition. Hoping Cate had not spent the last several days doing nothing but weeping. Though, in her heart of hearts, Holly knew she more than likely had.

  Instead, the few minutes she got to herself in the several days after Lenore’s arrival were filled with nothing but sleep. Silent, dreamless sleep. This sort of sleep which followed utter exhaustion.

  Edward was a charming baby, sweet and good-natured. Even when she was at her most fatigued, or at her most angry with his uncle, he managed to brighten her day and give her a reason to smile.

  He gave Lenore a reason to smile, as well. And she needed to smile. For she was not getting better.

  In fact, it seemed to Holly that her condition grew worse as the days went on. Her coughing deepened, causing her to convulse at times. She sometimes coughed up phlegm, but mostly whimpered in misery after a particularly strong fit.

  She had not much of an appetite, either. On the second day, Roan had captured several squirrels and made a stew of their flesh and bones. While Holly had never eaten stewed squirrel, she knew better than to turn up her nose at the food offered by her host.

  As it turned out, the stew was delicious, aided by the presence of potatoes and carrots. Even Edward had enjoyed a bowl of mashed-up potatoes and carrots with a bit of meat mixed in. In fact, he’d eaten quite heartily.

  Yet Lenore could barely muster the strength to sip the broth.

  “She needs to eat,” Holly had whispered to Roan after Lenore’s rejection of the stew.

  He’d looked to his sister over Holly’s shoulder. “I am aware of that,” he’d muttered. “Yet short of forcing the food down her throat, I know not what to do.”

  Holly had settled for brewing plenty of tea with sugar and coaxing her to at least manage a bit of the cornbread she’d baked. She had slathered plenty of pork fat on top, hoping to add a bit of sustenance to the otherwise meager meal.

  It was not enough. Lenore’s strength, what little was left of it, lessened every day. Just as her coughing also worsened.

  By the fourth day, Holly began to wonder if she would make it through this. She was not feverish, and did not sweat or vomit. She simply could not breathe without coughing, her body giving up after days of hard effort.

  Before she had walked the three days to the shack, she’d ridden on horseback another two days. Someone had stolen the horse while she slept with Edward at her side.

  “I thank the ancestors that it was not my baby the thief chose to steal,” she had explained.

  Holly understood this and agreed with her, though she believed it might have been better had the thief not stolen anything at all.

  The poor woman. It seemed her life had been a series of misfortunes.

  Starting with her parentage.

  “Roan does not know.” Lenore looked up at Holly as Holly sponged her arms, then her legs.

  Edward was asleep on the floor, after Holly had built a small nest of blankets for him close to the hearth.

  “What doesn’t he know?” Holly whispered.

  “I am not his full sister.”

  Her mouth fell open, and she forgot about the sponge bath in light of this development. “He believes you are.”

  “I know. You see, we have the same father. A Scottish trapper who fell in with the tribe.”

  “Yes, he told me that much.”

  “I did not know until I came of age that we do not share a mother. His mother went on to the next world with the ancestors before I was born. My mother is still alive, and she told me of how she fell in love with my father after Roan’s mother died. They kept it a secret, and she was then married to another of the tribe. He died in an accident. She believed this was a gift. She could now be with my father, as she had always wanted to be. When she learned she was with child, she believed she could pretend the child belonged to her deceased husband. And she did, for a short time. Yet when my hair began to show the red color of Angus’s, the truth came out. The tribe had allowed my father and my brother to live among them, but when the chief found out that his daughter’s husband had conducted himself in such a manner, he ordered him to leave. Along with Roan.”

  Holly reeled from this. She finally understood why Lenore had been allowed to stay while Roan had been forced to leave. “Why not allow Roan to stay, as well?”

  “I cannot say. Just as I cannot say why they would turn me away when I arrived with my child. I don’t understand what goes through the minds of men.”

  Holly could agree with this, at least. She went on with the sponge bath, turning the conversation to more pleasant things. She told Lenore of Baltimore, of the long train journey to Carson City. Of the ranch she longed to return to, and how it struck her as surprising that she had ever developed such strong feelings for the place when she’d been so miserable upon first arriving.

  “The land is in your blood,” Lenore explained. “You were born there. It is the place your heart would always tell you to return to were you not already forced to do so. You belong there. You belong to the land. You and all of your sisters.”

  “I can’t imagine that we will all be able to share the house for much longer,” Holly chuckled. “My sister is with child. My other two sisters are married. Someday, perhaps, the time will come for Cate and myself. How will we all fit there?”

  Lenore offered a weak smile. “You will find a way. Your heart will always find a way.”

  It was a nice thought, she supposed. Her heart tying her to the land. Perhaps there was something to be said for that ancient wisdom. It would explain the attachment she had developed to the ranch, at least.

  Edward awoke then, and Holly changed his damp diaper with an already practiced hand. It seemed to come naturally to her, the understanding of his rhythms and his needs. She supposed it was purely feminine instinct, and she was glad to possess it because Roan certainly did not.

  How would he have managed if she were not there? He might have been able to catch and stew squirrel, but he still could not mention Edward’s diapers without stammering or averting his gaze.

  Were all men like this? Would Lewis behave that way when his child was born? Perhaps so. After all, he had more than enough to turn his attention to on the ranch.

  She placed Edward on the bed alongside his mother, and he gurgled and babbled and told her of his day. He simply did so in another language, one only he could understand.

  How he adored her, and how his mother adored him. Holly could not help but think of Molly and her child. Would it be this way for them? And Holly be able to enjoy moments like this with them?

  And would this young woman, too weak even to lift her child, see him grow up? Would she guide him through the difficult moments of his life?

  Would he ever know her?

  She had no choice but to turn away, emotion tightening her throat and bringing tears to her eyes which she did not dare shed. The way her luck tended to go as of late, Roan would enter at exactly the wrong moment and find her crying, and would then be indiscreet enough to make mention of it.

  “What do you think of my brother?” Lenore asked, her voice soft as ever yet wise. There was more to the question then what appeared on the surface.

  “I try not to think of him, if possible,” Holly admitted after taking a deep breath to steady herself
. She turned back to mother and child, shrugging as if to show her lack of concern on the subject. “I do owe him my life, of that I am well aware. I would have died in the snow if it were not for him.”

  “Yes, you have told me of that. Yet you have not spoken of the way you rarely look at each other. Rather, you do not look at each other while the other is aware.”

  Holly stared at her. “That is true.”

  “It is. I have seen this before.”

  When Holly’s mouth fell open, Lenore giggled softly.

  “What? Do you believe yourself to be the only person who has ever behaved in such a way in the presence of a man?”

  “He makes me uncomfortable,” Holly admitted. “I do not know what to say or what to do. I have little experience with men, you see.”

  Lenore chuckled, but this turned into a coughing fit.

  Little Edward pouted, close to tears, but Lenore patted his cheek and stroked his hair to comfort him.

  Once she’d calmed him, she said, “I did not expect he would. But the way you look at each other when your eyes do meet… I have seen that before. And I hope that my brother does not need to be alone much longer.”

  “Of course he won’t. You will be here, and Edward. This will be the best for all of you.”

  Lenore offered no reply, though she did smile while gazing lovingly at her son.

  It was then that Holly noticed the spots of blood on the sheet. Blood which Lenore had just expelled from her mouth.

  12

  Roan had never so desired the pleasure of returning to his mother’s tribe and soundly thrashing his grandfather.

  He would never have behaved in such a way on his own behalf. He would never have given the old man—Roan assumed him to be old by now—the satisfaction of knowing he’d made such an impact on his life.

  No, his life was his own, and he had made the best with what he’d been given.

  His sister on the other hand? She was a different matter entirely.

  As was the child.

  No matter what he’d said to Holly, he did not agree with the tribe sending her away. Not when she’d arrived with a helpless child on her back. Not when she was more than likely ill even then.

  Had they not seen it? Had their hearts not been stirred in the least?

  And did any of them wonder what had become of her? Of Edward?

  Lenore had spent most of her life with the tribe, he reasoned as he tended the horses one morning. There was snow in the air, much to his chagrin. It had barely been five days since the blizzard and what had fallen hadn’t melted in the least, thanks to the ever-present frigid air.

  He walked Merlyn and the gelding, who he had named Grey for lack of anything better, around the shack to exercise them and reflected on his sister’s need for the tribe, to feel as though she were part of something. A family.

  He supposed he was fortunate in that he had never come to need his tribe the way she had. Angus had taught him the value of relying on oneself, and those lessons have served him well in the years since his father’s passing.

  Lenore had never learned this lesson. Roan knew enough from simply questioning his father as a child that to the tribe, there was no notion of living alone. They relied on each other, working together to create something bigger and stronger than one single man or woman on their own could ever possibly create.

  Without them—and without her child’s father, for whom she had given up the only security she’d ever known—she would be lost.

  The pain of rejection was fresh enough to rob her of the will to live. That was the only way he could imagine describing her ever-worsening condition.

  She’d lost what little strength she’d ever possessed. Even her son was not enough.

  The rejection the child’s father had delivered, followed by rejection from the tribe, was too much for one who had always been sickly and weak.

  Yet she had made it to him. Perhaps that was all she could do for her child, and no more. Perhaps she had struggled so hard to survive the harsh weather and the many miles that there was nothing left of her.

  If she died, what would he do? How could he raise a child when he had not the first idea of how to do so?

  Yes, it was enough to make him want to hunt down his grandfather and make him pay. Yet that would mean leaving Lenore and Edward.

  And Holly.

  She continually surprised him, with her stamina and her devotion to his family. There was no call for her to dedicate so much of her energy to them. She had no shared blood or shared history. She only happened to be in the same place at the same time.

  Yet her growing closeness with the child surprised and even humbled him. She took so well to the boy, who he supposed anyone would take well to. He was charming, with winning ways and a sunny smile.

  He brought out a side of Holly which would otherwise have remained hidden. A lightness, laughter. She laughed quite a bit while playing with him, even while feeding him. And this lifted Lenore’s spirits. When she was awake and aware, at least.

  It seemed those times were fewer and farther between every day.

  They were all his responsibility now, and he could ill afford to leave them with no one to hunt or set the traps or dress the meat. To say nothing of the protection he provided, just because the snow fell did not mean men of poor character had ceased roaming the mountain, searching for shelter and more.

  He and Angus had once crossed paths with such a man, and after the man had died in the fight he had been foolish enough to start, they’d found numerous trinkets on his person. Wallets, gold rings. Much more than could possibly have belonged to him by rights.

  He’d stolen from many people and would’ve stolen from them if given a chance.

  Angus had taught his young son that day that while it was never preferable to take a life, the life of a thief who would just as soon take their lives was hardly anything to weigh on his conscience.

  By the time he’d finished giving the horses their exercise and tending to feeding and watering, the wind had picked up to a familiar pitch. He sighed heavily as he led them into the lean-to and secured them for the rest of the day.

  Perhaps longer, depending upon the storm they were about to encounter.

  The sound of racking coughs chilled his blood worse than wind. It was becoming more and more difficult to pretend all was well before entering the shack. It was difficult to erase the care and worry from his face when he looked upon his sister.

  He knew it was better if he did, better to keep her spirits up. Then again, Lenore did not strike him as a foolish woman. She would know all too well without having to tell her just how bad her cough sounded and how distressed he was for her. Along with Holly.

  It was enough to make him question what they would do when she died. Not if, but when.

  Holly had said something shortly after Lenore’s arrival which had stayed with him. She said women managed situations, coming up with ways to best move forward.

  Men, he knew, did the same, but when they did, it was during situations which women would rather not face. Such as the question of where to bury his sister’s body, and what would be done for the child after she had died.

  With all of this weighing on him, he still managed a smile upon entering the shack. Holly was on the floor with Edward, dangling a doll made of woven bits of straw in front of him to encourage him to crawl to her. Where she had learned to make such things, he had not thought to ask. Just one of the many ways she had managed to surprise him.

  He turned to his sister, who appeared to have wasted even further away since he’d seen her only hours ago. When he had awoken on the floor, across from where Holly had made her bed near Lenore that she might instantly be able to assist her should the need arise.

  Lenore’s eyes fluttered open at the touch of his hand on her forehead. She searched his face as if looking for the answer to a question she had not asked, rather than waiting for her to give voice to her fears and concerns, he sat by her side and took her sm
all, fragile hand.

  Now was the time for comfort. To assure her that yes, things would be well even after she was gone. He could imagine that she was afraid for the child, though she had no reason to be.

  “All is well,” he assured her, sweeping her hair from her forehead as he murmured. “There is nothing to fear. You can rest easy.” Blood was blood, and Edward was his. His father might not have wanted him, but Roan would see to his being raised as a fine, honorable man. The way his father had done for him.

  A look of sheer relief washed over her, and she did appear to relax against the pillows. He’d granted her a measure of peace.

  “Can I bring you anything?” he asked, leaning down that she would not have to raise her voice to answer.

  “Tea?” she whispered before coughing weakly. A good thing he had purchased plenty of it, along with the very dear, very fine sugar he had traded for. Why he had made certain of there being sugar in the larder, he couldn’t say. It had struck him at the time as being a necessity, though he was not one for using it often.

  As if he somehow knew he’d need it later. She enjoyed her tea sweet, and he would provide her this small bit of pleasure.

  Holly stood, wiping her hands on her skirts. “I can brew it,” she offered. “Too much time on the floor is doing no great service to my knees and my back.”

  Roan picked up the crude doll from the floor, its arms and legs sticking straight out, a small stump in place of a head. “How did you learn to do this?” he asked before holding it out to his nephew.

  Edward took it with a wide smile, pleased to have his toy at last.

  Holly merely shrugged. “My sisters and I used to do that when we were children. My mother taught us. I made a doll for Cate once, when she was younger than Edward. Isn’t it strange how memories such as that come back to us when we least expect it? I had entirely forgotten that ever happened until now. I suppose there was no reason to remember it really.”

  “I always wondered what it would be like to have many brothers or sisters,” he admitted as he watched Edward speak to his precious doll. He had quite a lot to say. It was a shame that no one could understand him. Perhaps he would have a way out of this situation, since Roan certainly could not imagine anything at the present moment.