His Forgotten Fiancée (Love Inspired Historical)

by Evelyn M. Hill

  She could not remain silent. “You had a proper marriage? With a pastor and everything? Including a license?”

  The woman did not even bother looking in Liza’s direction; neither did she respond.

  Matthew repeated, “You have a marriage license?”

  “Of course.” The woman smiled at him. “I brought it with me.” From her reticule, the woman withdrew a piece of stiff paper that crackled as she unfolded it. Liza could see the fancy scrollwork across the top that proclaimed, Marriage License.

  “Adeline Beaumont.” Matthew pronounced the name in a doubtful tone. “I see.”

  Mr. Brown appeared at her side. Startled, Liza jumped back, and Matthew turned, his hand sliding under her elbow to support her. “Are you all right?” She nodded, and he let his hand drop. She missed his touch as soon as he released her.

  Mr. Brown beamed at her. “So sorry to startle you, Miss Fitzpatrick. I note that the marriage license has Mr. Dean’s signature on it. It matches perfectly with that letter he wrote you.” He flourished the letter.

  “What letter?” Matthew asked. He examined the signature on his letter, comparing it to the signature on the license. “It could be an imitation,” he said finally. “A very good one.”

  “I dropped that letter in the clearing,” Liza said in a small voice. “I did not think that he would stoop to stealing it from me. I would like it back now, please.”

  “Of course.” Matthew handed it to her. He went back to the license. “This was signed in Salem.”

  Mr. Brown’s smile faded slightly. “What of it?”

  “That means there will be a record of the marriage there, if anyone bothered to go down to Salem.”

  “Come now,” Mr. Brown said in the lordly tone of a man enjoying the moral high ground. “Quit stalling. Admit your responsibilities, man.”

  The woman lowered her eyes, twisting the ring on her finger. “I can’t believe you’re doubting my word, after all we’ve been to each other.”

  Matthew shifted, uncomfortable. “Perhaps you might be more comfortable with the ring off, ma’am,” he said gently.

  “Call me Addy,” the woman said. She tugged the ring until it came off her finger, but when he reached out his hand, she dropped it in her reticule. “I just need to have the size adjusted. I’ll find someone who can do the work.”

  He frowned at her. “You have a place to stay? Enough money to live on?”

  “You gave me enough to live on for a while. You said you were just going up to Oregon City to take care of some trivial business and then you’d come back to me. I know you’d never leave me permanently, but—” the woman lowered her lashes for a moment “—it gets a bit lonely.”

  “I’m just concerned that you are not destitute,” he said crisply.

  Pa came over to join them. He cast a glance around at the circle of interested faces who had gathered to listen. “Maybe we should be having this discussion somewhere a little less...crowded.”

  Liza could not have agreed more. The woman had timed her attack perfectly. With that interested audience all around, Matthew was being put on trial in the court of public opinion.

  “There is no need for any further discussion,” Matthew said. He raised his head, pitching his voice so that it carried to the interested spectators. “For the record, and in front of these witnesses, I promise all of you that I have no recollection of marrying this woman.”

  “Oh, darling.” From her reticule, Addy produced a handkerchief and began dabbing at her perfectly dry eyes. “It breaks my heart to hear you talk like that.”

  “Now, now.” Frank looked alarmed. “No need to cry. You’re feeling a bit tired. Maybe you should go to the hotel and get a cup of tea.” He looked even more alarmed when the woman clutched his arm, still holding the handkerchief up to her eyes, but he bravely shepherded her off in the direction of the hotel. Matthew stared after them.

  Mr. Brown said to Liza, “Perhaps we should leave your hired hand to deal with his own affairs. It is a private matter between the two of them.”

  Liza raised her chin as she faced Mr. Brown. “I rather think it concerns me, as well.”

  “Of course.” Matthew roused from his thoughts. “I promised you that I would get the harvest in. That job is not yet done.”

  “Almost done,” Pa conceded.

  “And once he’s gone,” Mr. Brown said to Liza, “we may discuss our future.”

  “We have no future,” Liza said. “With the crops safe in the barn, Pa and I will be able to stay on the claim all winter. And Matthew can stay as long as he likes.”

  Mr. Brown stared, the amusement fading from his expression. “I don’t believe this. You can’t still want him to stay. What will it take for you to come to your senses? Addy is going to spread that tale to everyone who will listen. Are you so blind...” He stopped, and began again, his voice soft and implacable. “Miss Fitzpatrick, I think you might want to reconsider your position. It is obvious that your hired hand has been, shall we say, carrying on with other women. He’s not the sort of man you want on your claim. I, on the other hand, can ensure that you and your father are comfortably situated after the Baron has taken over your claim.”

  Matthew stepped between Mr. Brown and Liza. Pa didn’t move, his body tense, eyes flickering between Mr. Brown and Matthew. One of his fists clenched and unclenched.

  Mr. Brown’s hand twitched as though he too were about to make a fist. Softly, he said, “We will conclude this discussion another time.”

  “You say one more word,” Pa said calmly, “and I’ll swear out a complaint against you. Hughes won’t stand by you then, I can assure you. The last thing he wants is a public scandal.”

  This threat struck home. Mr. Brown went very pale. He opened his mouth to say something, then he shut it again. He stared at Pa, then Matthew. He stared at Liza the longest of all. Then he turned on his heel and moved off, so fast that it was almost a run.

  “Let him go,” Pa said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  It was a relief to get away. The last thing she remembered seeing was Mavis Boone, watching round eyed as they rode out of town. Liza could just imagine the gossip they had started that day.

  * * *

  The wagon ride back home was noticeably quiet, though to Liza the silence was without any sense of peace. Matthew sat with his shoulders hunched. He could have been a thousand miles away rather than sitting right next to her. His eyes kept going back to frown at the gold band that shone so brightly on his finger.

  It wasn’t until they were almost home that Liza finally broke the silence. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered. “We need to go down to Salem, look at whatever records they have there, question people. We should leave tomorrow.”

  “No,” Matthew said. “We need to finish getting the crops into the barn. That cannot wait. The rains are going to start any day now.”

  “By tomorrow night, I’d say.” Pa angled his head up to look at the dark clouds on the western ridge, tinged with red.

  “I cannot stand wearing this bonnet a moment longer. It makes me feel trapped.” Liza tugged impatiently at the ribbon and removed her bonnet, letting the wind ruffle her hair. “We have to do something about this woman.”

  “What would you suggest? She has evidence to back up her story.” Matthew touched the ring on his finger, turning it so that the sunlight glinted off the gold band. “That fact alone makes her story all the more likely to be true.”

  Liza could not deny that, but she wanted to. “You’ve been on this claim for weeks now, and you said that miner could back up your statement that you were unmarried two months ago. So there’s only a small window of time in which you could’ve married her. Someone, somewhere might remember you.”

  “This woman, Addy, has apparently been staying in Salem. Perhaps if I went down there after the harvest, I might find evidenc
e to disprove her story.”

  On the surface, his words sounded positive. Even though she had wanted both of them to go, and he plainly intended to go on his own. But Liza could not shake off the feeling that he did not really believe what he was saying. It was as if he were trying to say what she wanted to hear. Her suspicions deepened into conviction. Liza had doubts about the woman’s story, but clearly Matthew did not. She had to find a way to get him to listen to her.

  She thought she might have a chance to talk with him privately later on, but after supper, when she suggested a walk, Matthew shook his head. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  “We could sit out on the bench, watch the stars come out,” Liza offered.

  “It’s getting too cold at night to sit out there. No, I think I’ll just turn in. Good night.” And he was off to the barn without a glance in her direction. She had seen him in dark moods before, but he had never shut her out like this. This was bad. And she had a feeling it was going to get worse.

  * * *

  The next day, Matthew and Liza started at dawn. They only had one more field to harvest. Mr. Fitzpatrick hobbled outside and eyed the gathering clouds with a worried frown. “Work fast,” was his advice. “I’ll bring the wagon down at noon to start hauling the wheat back to the barn. We’ll spread it out on the barn floor to dry.”

  There was a definite chill in the air this morning. Liza shivered as she and Matthew walked down to the wheat field. When they got to the field, Matthew leaned the scythe up against the fence and shrugged out of his jacket. “Here.” He placed it around Liza’s shoulders. “I’ll be warm soon enough.”

  “Thank you,” Liza said. “That’s kind of you.”

  Matthew turned away. He could feel her looking at him, but he refused to meet her gaze. “It’s not much,” he said harshly. There was little he could do for her now. Addy had changed everything.

  Mr. Fitzpatrick came down at noon, and Liza helped him load up the wagon with grain while Matthew kept cutting. He refused any offer of food, sweeping the scythe down the rows relentlessly. He worked so fast that Liza could barely keep up. When at last he finished and Mr. Fitzpatrick had driven the wagon off toward the barn one last time, he allowed himself a moment’s satisfaction at a job well done. But that did not lighten his mood. This was an ending.

  They were all quiet as they gathered around the supper table that evening. After supper, Liza got up. “Wait here,” she told Matthew. She returned with a cake, which she placed on the table in front of him. “I made it last night. I had just enough of the apples and honey left,” she said. “I’d planned this to be a celebration.”

  “We can still celebrate,” her pa said. “The harvest is done.”

  “Oh, the cake isn’t for that.” She gave Matthew a curious look. “You don’t remember, do you? Today is your birthday.”

  “I had forgotten.” He gave a half laugh. “I still have a lot to remember. Thank you.”

  With an effort, he managed to eat the cake. It was perfectly baked, light and fluffy, and the apples were sweetly tart. But he might as well have been swallowing sawdust. He could no longer use the harvest as an excuse for staying here. It was tempting to put off talking to Liza, to savor their last moments of peace together. But he owed her the truth. He put down the fork. “That was delicious.”

  Liza nodded and got up to start stacking the dishes. Matthew stopped her. “Could I talk to you outside for a moment?”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick said, “You two have done enough work for the day. I’ll take care of cleaning up. Go out and have your talk.”

  Outside, the gray clouds were tinged with the last reds and golds of the setting sun. He could no longer see the peak of Mount Hood. The mountain was invisible, swathed in a mantle of rain clouds. It would be raining here soon enough. It was growing dark, but not as dark as the gloom he felt inside.

  Liza led the way until they were out of earshot of the cabin. “I’ve been thinking. This marriage...that story the woman told...” She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

  He looked down at Liza, this petite stranger he had apparently promised to marry on the Oregon Trail. She was a delicate little thing, dainty as a china doll, but with a stubborn streak as wide as the Mississippi. “How can you be so sure?” He was sure of nothing now, not even the ground under his feet. “We hadn’t seen each other in almost a year.”

  “People don’t change, not deep down. I trust you.”

  He clenched his fists. “Don’t say that.” He had let down everyone he had cared for. He had even let her down. This was just the pattern repeating itself again.

  “No,” she repeated. “I am not merely being stubborn. I know you better than you know yourself, apparently.” She took his hand in hers. He stilled, watching her intently without moving. She went on, earnestly, “You will have to take my word for this. You are not a man who would break a promise.”

  He withdrew his hand, gently but decisively. “I don’t know another way to interpret the evidence. It’s a pretty convincing case. And I have no way of proving otherwise. For all I know, I could have married that woman.”

  “You’re a fool if you believe that woman’s story.” She sighed. “But then, I’m a fool, as well. I honestly thought that this time, you might stay. One day, you are going to regain your memory and find out the truth. Until then, you need to have faith.”

  How could she be so trusting? It was growing dark, but that was nothing compared to the gloom he felt inside. “I have no faith. Not in myself.”

  “Well, then, I’ll have faith enough for both of us.”

  She looked up at him, pretty as a prairie wildflower, but he could see the effort it took her to smile. Her lips trembled. Her distress stirred up feelings he didn’t dare contemplate. Not any longer. He took refuge behind a scowl. “It’s getting late. You should go to bed.”

  He could not tell her tonight that he was leaving. It hurt too much to watch the pain he was causing. If she stayed, he was going to lose his resolve and take her in his arms. His defenses crumbled whenever she came near him. Tomorrow. He would tell her tomorrow.

  He walked back to the barn, hands in his pockets. The loft was stuffed full of hay now, and most of the barn floor was taken up with wheat spread out to dry. He had folded up Liza’s quilt just inside the door, with a bucket of water next to it for washing. The little kitten, Elijah, lay curled up in the middle of the quilt. He purred when Matthew stroked his head but did not open his eyes.

  Matthew could not unfold the quilt without rousing the kitten. It was just as well. He felt too restless to sleep or even to sit still. The barn felt too stuffy. He needed air.

  The clouds moving overhead were thicker now, but in the gaps between the clouds, the full moon shone so brightly that he could see to make his way down to the stream. He seated himself on a stump by the pool, where the moonlight reflected on the placid water.

  When that woman, Addy, had slipped that ring on his finger, he’d had a clear flash of memory. He had been standing in the sunlight, holding his left hand up to look at the shining gold band. He had not seen Addy in that memory, but she was familiar. He had seen her before. And her story fit the facts with all the finality of a key turning in a lock. He should have known he would make a mess of his relationship with Liza. It was the pattern of his life, just as he had made a mess of things in the past, with his mother, with Vince.

  He could not imagine why he would have offered another woman marriage. Possibly she had been caught in some compromising situation and honorable marriage was the only way to preserve her reputation. The details didn’t matter. At least he had kept this one last promise he had made to Liza. He had finished the harvest, made sure she and her father were taken care of.

  The irony of his situation was not lost on him. He had repudiated Liza back in the dry goods store, because he had felt as if he were being trapped by an unsc
rupulous woman who wanted to use him to further her own ends. And he had ended up in exactly the same position with another woman.

  A voice in the back of his mind whispered that it might all still be some kind of elaborate scheme to keep him away from Liza and the claim. But based on his past history, the preponderance of evidence seemed to add up to the fact that, once again, he had let down someone he loved.

  What really shook him was not Addy’s story. It was the clear memory he had of putting on that wedding ring. He could picture it still. He had held the ring up, looking at the sunshine sparkling off the smooth gold. He remembered with perfect clarity the certainty he had felt. He had promised to wear that ring until the day he died. Regardless of whatever story Addy and Mr. Brown had cooked up between them, he really had gotten married.

  He could not stay on the claim any longer. He could not bear to see Liza every day and know she would never be his wife. It was best to make a clean break of it. He couldn’t ever come back here again. Liza would go on with her life, maybe marry someone else. He flinched away from that thought. No, he could not watch that happen. Once he left, he would not come back.

  Finally, he got to his feet and headed back up the trail. As he started to cross the fields toward the house, he smelled smoke. A rosy glow flared up in the barn. Matthew began to run.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the time Matthew reached the barn, the grain on the dirt floor had begun to catch fire. In the doorway, he collided with a shadowy figure running out. Not Mr. Fitzpatrick—a smaller man, of slight build. He grasped hold of the man to keep from falling over, and the other man swung around to get away. As he turned, Matthew caught sight of his face. He should have known.

  Mr. Brown wrenched free and dashed off toward the road that led back to town. Matthew caught the faint sound of a horse stamping, bridle jingling as if the horse were agitated, then the sound of hoofbeats fading. There wasn’t time to chase after him—smoke was beginning to seep under the barn door. He slipped inside, trying not to open the door any more than he had to.