His Forgotten Fiancée (Love Inspired Historical)

by Evelyn M. Hill

  In the light of the flames, he could see Mr. Fitzpatrick lying sprawled on the floor; blood trickled down his face. Even as Matthew started toward him, however, Mr. Fitzpatrick began to move, clambering to his feet and wiping blood away from his eyes. Grabbing the bucket of water, Matthew threw it on the flames. The water diminished the flames but did not extinguish the fire.

  Mr. Fitzpatrick brushed past Matthew to the water trough outside. As he flung the barn door open, the inrush of air caused the flames to leap up again.

  Matthew grabbed the heavy wedding quilt that was folded up by the door, swirling it out so that it was fully open when he flung it across the burning grain. Coughing, Mr. Fitzpatrick threw another bucket of water over the quilt. Clouds of steam mingled with the dark smoke, making it harder to see. The water dampened the fabric, and he and Matthew stomped down on the quilt again and again. Matthew grabbed the bucket and fetched more water while Mr. Fitzpatrick went on stamping until no more smoke came out from under the quilt. Even then, he continued to pour water until the quilt was waterlogged and rivulets of mud ran down the packed dirt floor.

  “Right.” Matthew took a deep breath. “I think it’s out.”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick did not reply. He was bent over, coughing. When he could not stop coughing, Matthew grasped him by the arm. “Come on,” he grunted, and headed for the door.

  * * *

  Liza woke suddenly. Lifting her head from the pillow, she listened intently. Had she dreamed the shouting? The fire in the fireplace had died down almost to nothing, but she climbed down the ladder and used one of the embers to light the lantern. She looked around. The cabin was quiet, but she had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. Lantern in hand, she went to the door and peered outside.

  The barn was dark—no, not completely dark. The door was ajar. Inside, she could see orange sparks flaring to life. Not a lantern, not a candle. Wildfire. A breeze blew the scent of smoke up the path toward her, heady, overpoweringly strong. From the paddock, the horse neighed wildly.

  She ran down the path as her heart thudded in a rhythm of terror. Matthew had been in the barn. Her mind fixated on that point. She could not think of what that might mean. She would not think of it.

  By the time she reached the barn, clouds of gray billowed out, making it impossible to see inside clearly. The lantern was no help, so she set it down. “Matthew!” she called, coughing as the smoke entered her lungs. “Are you there?”

  In response came an indignant meow. Even as she moved forward, a tiny bundle of fur streaked out of the darkness toward her. She caught the kitten up and held him close to her. He squirmed, still complaining, but she did not care. She held him close and choked out the words, “Oh, Elijah. Was he with you? Is he safe?”

  The kitten wriggled his way into a more comfortable position and did not make any further complaints. Liza could feel how fast the little creature’s heart was racing. It was beating no faster than her own heart.

  Matthew came out of the smoke-filled doorway. He had his arm around Pa and helped him over to the stump to sit down. Half laughing, half sobbing, Liza threw her arms around Matthew as he straightened up. “I thought I’d lost you,” was all she managed to get out.

  She held onto him as if he were her lifeline and she were lost in a pathless wilderness. He was still breathing heavily. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, and she became aware of how closely she was wrapped around him. She took a step back but still kept her hands on his chest, unwilling to part from him completely.

  “No,” he said. “That’s too far away. I need you closer.”

  Very carefully, as if she were fragile as spun glass, he put his arms around her and pulled her close again. He was warm, his arms around her strong as if they could shut out the night and all the terror and fear she had felt. He still smelled of smoke, but she did not care. She laid her head down against his shoulder. She had never felt so safe or protected in her life. He bent his head so that his lips were by her ear, his breath warm against her neck. “Even if I never do this again, I need to hold you one last time.” His arms tightened around her.

  Liza closed her eyes, listening to the beat of his heart, the rhythm of his breath as his chest rose and fell. His shirt was linen, thin from frequent washing, and smelled of wood smoke and sweat. She clung to him so tightly that there came a tiny mew of protest. Little Elijah popped his head up between them, urgently butting his head against Matthew’s chest. Matthew sighed, letting go of Liza to take the kitten from her. He smiled down at her. “Well. I know I said the barn was toasty warm, but I didn’t mean this warm.”

  She tried to smile but failed. “He knew you slept in the barn. Mr. Brown. I told him. He wanted to...” She couldn’t complete the sentence.

  Pa’s coughing broke the moment. Matthew tilted his head, regarding him sitting on the stump. “You feeling all right? You don’t look good.”

  Liza twisted around in fresh worry. “Pa? Can I get you some water?”

  Pa nodded, still bent over. “I heard something outside. When I looked out, I saw someone light a lantern, so I went to see what was going on. Whoever he was, he was in the barn with his back to me. He was trying to toss the lantern up into the hayloft. I shouted at him, but when I went to stop him, he swung the lantern at me. Must have knocked me out for a moment; he was gone when I came to. I couldn’t follow him—the grain was starting to smoke. I knew if a fire got started there’d be no stopping it.”

  “You’re bleeding!” Liza smoothed back his hair to see the gash on his temple. “It looks horrible.”

  He patted her shoulder gently. “Not to worry, m’darling. Head wounds always bleed a lot.”

  “I’d feel better if we could get Doc Graham to look at you.”

  “It would be dawn before he got out here,” Matthew pointed out. “We would do better to head into town as soon as it’s light. We need to speak to the sheriff about this incident.”

  “It was Mr. Brown,” Liza said.

  “Of course it was.” Pa coughed harder, bent over with his hands braced on his knees. He straightened, red faced and wheezing. “But we can’t prove it.”

  “I can,” Matthew said. “I saw him leaving the barn.”

  Pa started to get to his feet, then he swayed a bit and sat back down on the stump. “Maybe I’ll just sit here for a bit.”

  “I think we all need a moment or two to recover from all the excitement,” Matthew said wryly.

  Liza looked at them both and was shaken with an almost physical pain at the intensity of the love coursing through her body. She opened her mouth to tell Matthew something of what she felt, but he had turned away to speak to Pa. “I think we’ll have to risk leaving the claim unprotected. You need to see the doctor, and Liza needs to come with us.”

  “I suppose.” Pa’s mouth curved in a wry expression. “We can keep an eye on the barn for the next hour or two, make sure the fire’s completely out, at any rate.”

  Liza held her tongue. There would be time enough for her to talk with Matthew later, after the doctor had had a chance to treat Pa.

  They set out as soon as there was light enough in the eastern sky to see the ruts in the road. Matthew harnessed the horse while Liza milked the cows. Then she spread hay in the back of the wagon so Pa could lie down comfortably. It worried her that her independent pa did not protest that he could drive instead. A bad sign.

  The trip to town seemed interminable. Liza sat huddled close to Matthew but turned around frequently to check on Pa. Pa rode with his eyes closed most of the way, but he did not seem rested. His face was flushed, and he could not stop the coughs that shook his body. Matthew drove carefully in the half-light, trying to avoid the worst of the ruts so he wouldn’t jostle Pa. Liza appreciated his thoughtfulness, yet at the same time she had to suppress the urge to tell him to hurry.

  Pa wasn’t doing any better when they pulled up in f
ront of Doc Graham’s house. As Matthew helped him out of the wagon, Pa bent over almost double, his whole body racked with a fit of coughing. Liza put her hand on his shoulder. She had never felt so helpless.

  Mrs. Graham came out onto the porch, evidently having heard their wagon rattle up. She checked the cut on Pa’s head swiftly and nodded. “It’s not too bad. Ben is away at the moment, but I can help.” Matthew put his arm around Pa and helped him inside the house. Mrs. Graham directed him to lay Pa down on a narrow bed in a back room. “Give me a moment to wash his wound and evaluate the damage to his lungs.”

  Liza went into the front room, followed by Matthew. The neat little room was comfortably furnished, with cane chairs and a sofa upholstered in fashionable plum-colored velvet. She sat down on the chair nearest the door. Matthew stood, his back against the wall, watching her. He said nothing. The only sound came from the clock on the mantelpiece, ticking away slices of eternity. Liza tried to form a prayer, but all she could think was, Please. Please. Please let him live.

  It felt like years but was probably only a few minutes before Mrs. Graham came out into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. Liza sprang to her feet, and Matthew came to stand by her side. Mrs. Graham smiled at her. “I think he’s going to be all right. The wound bled a lot, but the cut is superficial. The damage to his lungs is a bit more worrying. I don’t think there’s long-term damage, but I’d like him to rest here until Ben can see him. I don’t think you need to worry.”

  “Oh, thank the Lord.” The relief that filled her was so raw, it did not feel real.

  “I’ve put a compress on his head, but I need to bandage the wound properly and then I’ll see if I can help with that cough.”

  “Can I see him?” Liza asked hopefully.

  “Yes, of course.” Mrs. Graham looked at Matthew, who had not moved. Something in his expression seemed to convey a message to her, for she turned back to Liza. “Come back when you are ready.” Then she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

  Liza hung back, looking at Matthew. “You’re not coming in?”

  “I’m going now,” Matthew said.

  “Going?” She said slowly. “You mean to Frank, to have him arrest Mr. Brown.”

  Matthew met her eyes. He did not reply. In that moment, she knew. “No,” she said. “Don’t go. Not now. Wait until Pa is better. We need to work together to find out what this Addy woman is really up to.”

  He shook his head. “A clean break is best,” he said. “I’ll go to the sheriff first, tell him about Mr. Brown. I can bear witness, say that I saw him with my own eyes. That’s enough to get him put in jail. He won’t bother you any longer.”

  “If you stay, maybe we can find a way to—”

  “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t marry you. Addy has seen to that. For whatever reason, I remember putting that ring on my finger. And I can’t be close to you, see you every day and not touch you ever again.” He raised his hand, gently cupped her cheek. “Just this one last time.” Then he turned away. He did not look back.

  There was nothing she could do to stop him. She had never felt so helpless. Blinking back tears, she clenched her hand around the door frame and watched his back until he turned the corner that led to the jail. Then she went inside and closed the door. Matthew was gone. She had always known he was going to leave. He had left her before, after all. And she knew she could survive without him. She just had forgotten how cold the world could feel when you had been abandoned.

  * * *

  Dawson wasn’t in his little office by the jail. To Matthew’s surprise, Petey was there, stretched out on the narrow cot in the cell. The miner was fast asleep, snoring faintly.

  “I think he’s starting to see it as his new home,” Dawson said from the doorway. He hung his battered old hat on the hook by the door.

  “Mr. Brown tried to burn down the Fitzpatricks’ barn last night.” Matthew wasted no time. “He injured Liza’s pa. The man’s at Doc Graham’s now.”

  “That so.” Dawson shrugged off his weather-beaten jacket.

  Dawson went through a doorway in the back that Matthew hadn’t noticed before. He caught a glimpse of a bed and a dresser, the sheriff’s personal room, evidently.

  “I am going to go over to the hotel to confront him,” Matthew added, raising his voice to carry to the next room.

  Dawson came out again, wearing his Sunday best coat and carrying a spruced-up hat.

  “Well?” Matthew prompted. “I saw Mr. Brown running out of the barn after it had caught fire. There’s no question that he set it. Liza will attest that she told him I sleep in the barn loft. That’s not only arson, it’s attempted murder.”

  “Yep,” Dawson said placidly. He stood in front of the little window, looking at his reflection as he straightened his tie. “Just came back from a trip over to the hotel, as a matter of fact. Seems our Mr. Brown done skipped out this morning, cleared out his room and left without paying his bill. Manager’s mad as a wet hen, wanted to file a complaint. But I can’t arrest the man until I find him. If I do.”

  “You think he’s hiding up at the Baron’s mansion?” Matthew began to understand. The Baron lived in a grand new house set up on the bluff overlooking Oregon City. Lots of room to hide a fugitive, if the Baron were so inclined.

  Dawson shook his head. “I doubt it. I can’t see the Baron putting up with that kind of nonsense, not now that he’s going in for politics. The man’s not a fool. But he might know where Mr. Brown went. I better go and make sure.”

  The sheriff picked up his hat and turned for the door.

  “One more thing,” Matthew said.

  Dawson stopped, his head cocked to one side and his eyes fixed on Matthew.

  A deep breath. “I’m leaving town.”

  Dawson said nothing.

  “So I’m hoping you’ll keep an eye on—that is, if she needs any help—not that she isn’t perfectly competent, but everyone can use a friend at times—oh, you know what I’m trying to say,” Matthew snarled.

  “Ay, I reckon I do.” Dawson nodded. “I’m not going to stop being her friend just ’cause she’s in love with a fool.”

  “What do you expect me to do? I have to clean up this mess with that Addy woman. I am not going to involve Liza in that!”

  Dawson opened his mouth to speak and then stopped as a grizzled older man entered. “I heard my friend Petey’s been causing trouble again.” Wearing disreputable-looking clothing and a red bandanna, the man had the ingrained dirt that Matthew had come to recognize from his time in the mines. He stopped dead when he caught sight of Matthew. “Well, I’ll be—Dean! What are you doing here? If that don’t beat all. Here I’ve been acting as postman for you, and you right here.”

  Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Do I know—” he stopped. “Carter,” he said slowly. “That’s your name. I remember. You helped Vince when he first came to Dutch Flat. What do you mean, acting postman for me?”

  The man looked embarrassed. “When I left Dutch Flat, I know I told you I meant to come straight up here. But I heard a rumor about gold in Jacksonville, and then I got sick, and, well, you got here before I did.” The man put down his knapsack and knelt to rummage around in it. “I still got the letter you gave me. Ah, here it is.” The man handed Matthew an envelope. It was dirty and crumpled, but he could still read the direction written on it.

  “What is it?” Dawson asked.

  “I sent a letter to Liza, it seems.” The elegant, slanted copperplate handwriting looked vaguely familiar. He weighed the letter in his hand. Would it be snooping to read a letter from himself? He didn’t have time, in any case. “Thanks, Carter. I’ll send this letter on to its recipient.”

  Carter slung the knapsack over his shoulder again. He looked at the sleeping figure in the cell. “Guess I’ll let Petey sleep his fill. I’ll come back later.”

  “Wa
it.” Matthew held up his hand. “A moment. How did you get here?”

  “There’s a boat.” Carter blinked at him, seemingly surprised by the question. “I caught it in Salem.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Matthew nodded his thanks. The miner moved off, and he turned to Dawson. “This is my chance to get to Salem.”

  “Now?” Dawson frowned.

  “Mr. Brown’s gone,” Matthew said impatiently. “But if he forged some kind of paperwork down in Salem about me marrying that woman, I need to be the one to put a stop to it. A marriage has to have witnesses to be legal. If I can’t remember not marrying her, I need to prove that I’m not the man the witnesses saw during the ceremony—if there really was a ceremony at all. No one else can do that for me.” And I need to find out whom I really did marry, what led me to put that wedding ring on and vow never to take it off again.

  That was the problem, really. He had put that ring on his hand. The truth twisted inside him like a knife to his gut. He had made a lifelong promise to another woman. He could never return to Liza. He had already said goodbye. This was his chance to make the break as cleanly as possible.

  Dawson sighed. “Canemah is a whole mile upriver. The Multnomah only stays there long enough to refill the wood lot for the boiler. Then it’s off to Salem again. If you want to catch the boat before it leaves, you’ll need a horse. My Beau is the fastest thing round these parts. Come on.” He headed toward the door.

  Matthew followed. “You’ll loan me your horse?”

  “The Fitzpatricks’ nag is too old, too slow. My Beau is fresh. He’ll get you there in time.” Behind the jail, the black gelding was housed in a little stable. Dawson swapped out its halter for the bridle that was hanging on the post. Then he hoisted up the saddle, eyeing Matthew’s legs. “You might want to lengthen the stirrups a bit. Leave Beau at Taylor’s livery stables. They’ll take care of him till I can send a boy out to fetch him.”

  “And if you do track down Mr. Brown, you are going to arrest him, right?” Matthew swung himself up into the saddle with a creaking of leather.