While she played the piano in total concentration, one could admire her long, delicate fingers flying in a steady and knowing manner that only a virtuoso could possess. She moved her hands gracefully and the congregation followed her and sang the familiar tune in harmony.
I cannot believe my eyes. Could this angel be the little, awkward Olivia that I’ve known since we were children? I remember her as a timid child, always hiding behind a book, not as this beautiful angel! Could this really be Olivia Wagner?
* * *
The pastor was speaking, but Marc barely made out a single word. Olivia’s beauty was so captivating that he felt that only strong forces would be able to make him look away from her. She played the final psalm, and as the service finished, she disappeared from the church like a dream at daybreak. Marc got up, holding onto his hat, and began to shake peoples’ hand.
“Marc, I’m glad you came, my boy,” William Carter said, patting his shoulder paternally.
“Me too,” Marc said, his mind still full of the images of Olivia.
“You look better than the last time I saw you, I must say,” William said honestly.
“It is as if I’ve been touched by an angel,” Marc said. “Coming here proved more therapeutic than I ever could have imagined.”
“That’s remarkable,” William said as they walked out of the church together. “I didn’t know you were such a man of the church.”
“Neither did I,” Marc said thoughtfully. “Roy Wagner’s daughter sure has blossomed into a beautiful young woman,” he added.
“Oh, Olivia is like a gift sent to us down from heaven,” William said, smiling at his younger companion.
“She sure is,” Marc replied.
William’s reply was interrupted by the arrival of Sylvia Carter. “It’s wonderful to see you,” she said smiling warmly at him. “I’ve just been telling your darling sister that you should join us for supper tomorrow.”
“What a great idea, Sylvia dear!” William exclaimed.
“Thank you for the kind offer,” Marc said gratefully, “I would very much like that. My sister is many things, but a good cook she is not, unfortunately!”
William and Sylvia laughed, and Marc looked around for his sister. Since he’d been back, Clarissa had made many attempts to cook for them. But she seemed to have a unique ability to only cook either bland or burnt food — sometimes both. Marc sighed, seeing his sister clutching Sarah’s arm, the two whispering and giggling.
One of these days I really need to get serious and find a wife. The sooner, the better. I need a partner and Clarissa surely could use a role model. She seems so frivolous and still acts like a young girl. He wondered if Olivia was betrothed to someone…
Clarissa and Marc made their good-byes and walked back to the carriage. Marc untied the reins and helped his sister step up onto the carriage. Soon they were riding away from the town center, towards the road that led to their ranch.
They rode in silence. Clarissa looked out to the prairie deep in thought. Marc didn’t blame her, as it had been a painful time for him; he had been plagued by an avalanche of thoughts about the ranch, his parents, and his sister since he returned. But now, he realized his mind felt clearer than it had since he had come back.
* * *
As they rode towards the ranch, Seamus O’Leary, their old worker, greeted them. He had worked at the ranch almost all of Marc’s life. He was getting on in years, had bad knees, and his eyesight was rapidly getting worse.
O’Leary walked towards the carriage, helping Clarissa jump down. He then immediately began unfastening the horses from the carriage.
“I will start preparin’ dinner,” Clarissa said.
“Great,” Marc replied, trying to sound sincere for his sister’s sake.
Clarissa went inside the house, and Marc helped O’Leary, leading the horses into the stable.
As Marc guided his horse into the stall, he looked up at the roof of the stable. He would need to repair the roof soon, he mused, as he stared through the large hole through it. Right now he could let it be as the weather was still, but the summer was over now.
There is so still so much that I need to do to make up for the time lost. However will I manage?
“How was the service?” O’Leary asked, pulling Marc away from his reverie.
“It’s was… It was good,” Marc said, thinking of Olivia again. “I’m glad I went.”
“That’s nice,” Seamus replied, coughing but trying to cover it.
“That cough doesn’t sound too good,” Marc said, concerned.
“It’s nothing,” Seamus dismissed.
“Are you sure?” Marc asked as the man coughed again. “I think you should go see Doctor Bourne.”
“There’s no need,” O’Leary dismissed again. “This is just a head cold, that comes with the change of season, that’s all.”
“I think I’ll fetch another bale from the loft,” Marc said, noting that the horses would need more hay. He walked towards the wooden ladder that led to the stable loft. He put one foot on the first step and as he put his weight on it the step broke. He fell backward but managed to keep from hitting on the stable floor.
He sighed, looking at the wood splinters all around him. He bent down to pick them up. As he turned around to get the tools necessary to repair the stair, O’Leary walked towards him, holding plywood and the tool bucket.
“You go on in now, son,” he said to Marc. “I’ll finish this.”
“We’ll do it together,” Marc said. He didn’t want Seamus to have to spend his Sunday working on this, as he knew he had been too unwell to go to church, which bothered him more than he would ever tell Marc.
Seamus nodded his head, and Marc began pulling the remainders of the broken step off the ladder. Seamus handed him the wood and Marc positioned it so it aligned with the other steps. The wood was a different color but would have to do for now. Marc nailed the step to the ladder while Seamus held it tightly in place. In a short while, they had replaced the step. Marc put his weight on it to test it, and it held him. He climbed the rest of the steps, which didn’t break but were fragile.
He grabbed one of the hay bales and threw it down. He looked around the loft at the remaining hay. Haying season was almost over, and he would need to work hard to have enough for winter.
Marc climbed down the steps and sighed again as he looked at the mismatched ladder. “I will need to replace the entire ladder soon enough,” Marc said. “And the roof will need fixing soon.”
“All in good time, all in good time,” O’Leary said calmly.
“You’re right,” Marc replied.
Seamus coughed an ugly sounding cough again.
“I will have Clarissa bring you some tea,” Marc said.
“Oh, you shouldn’t be bothering with me,” he said.
“I insist,” Marc said firmly.
“Well, all right then,” Seamus thanked him.
I worry that O’Leary is wearing himself out. He cares as much about this ranch as I do, perhaps even more. Maybe finding some hands would make our life easier... Marc thought as he was entering his home. The first thing that greeted him was the smell of burning stew. He sighed and removed his Stetson, hanging it on the hook by the picture of his parents. He gently stroked over his mother’s face and gave the image of his father a small bow of the head.
As he was entering the kitchen, Marc saw Clarissa sitting at the kitchen table, completely immersed in a letter she was writing. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he peered into the pot on the large stove in the middle of the kitchen. There was the half-burnt concoction of his sister’s making.
Perhaps this will even taste better a little burnt, he chuckled. Marc loved his sister and was sure that one day she would get the hang of the cooking, but she wasn’t there yet. As he removed the pot from the fire, she finally looked up from her letter, with a comical look of guilt painting her face.
“I was just…” her voice trailed off.
&nbs
p; “Being distracted?” Marc asked her.
“Yes?” she replied guiltily. “Is it ruined?” she asked with a grimace.
“Nah, it’s fine,” he said grabbing bowls for them. “Will you go now and serve O’Leary some tea? He’s been coughin’ an awful lot.”
“Of course,” she said, grabbing the letter she had been writing and hurriedly shoving it in her pocket, then got up to prepare the tea.
Marc stood by the kitchen table. He and Clarissa were just starting to get a semblance of routine going. The house was quieter as the stream of guests had stopped after the funeral. People had brought food and supplies, but Marc was ready to begin taking control of the ranch, no—of his ranch.
Clarissa returned a short while later and they sat together and ate in amicable silence. The stew turned out to be quite bland and had a burnt aftertaste. She seemed distracted still, and with all those letters she had been writing Marc could not help but wonder what could possibly be occupying her mind so.
Chapter Two
Olivia Wagner stood in the kitchen, a sweet melody playing on her lips. She was preparing the pie that was for dessert tonight. Carefully, she poured the sweet peach filling into the rustic red pie dish. She then pulled the pie crust over, neatly tucking the ends together, closing the seams.
This is going to be a tasty pie, she mused happily as she popped the pie into the hot oven, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. She had a shy smile and would much rather disappear behind a book than attend a crowded function. Not that she attended many of those. She mostly stayed home, tending to the house, or playing the piano but, sometimes, she would take a book and sit by the river that marked the edges of Rosewood and the beginning of the neighbouring Blue Willow Ranch.
Time for mother’s braided bread, Olivia thought as she stretched the dough she had prepared that morning. She divided the dough into three sections and began gently braiding the parts into a neat ring. Next, she brushed the bread with butter.
This always made her smile. When she was a little girl her mother would make this bread every Sunday and Olivia had always wanted to help her. Her mother allowed her to use the brush.
“Careful, darling, careful,” she would say and gently guide her hand. Olivia had been so young when her mother died, and this was one of her most cherished memories. How wonderful would it be to do this with a daughter of my own…
Olivia could barely remember her mother anymore; the memories were few but precious. She had died in childbirth ten years ago, along with Olivia’s unborn sister. Roy Wagner, her father, had died five years ago, from old age, leaving Andy in charge of the home. The oldest son of Roy Wagner was firm and loyal to the memory of their father. With his large hands, wide chest, and strength, one would have thought he was made to be a rancher. He was adamant about keeping the running of the ranch the same as before. Andy was hard-pressed to make changes.
Olivia’s other brother, Frank, had accepted the changes so far. As Sundays were celebrated as days of contemplation and rest at the Wagner residence, the family sat together around the table. Olivia honored the family tradition of making a roast on the day. Her mother had always said that eating a good, hearty meal on Sunday would have a good influence on the coming work week.
That Sunday had begun like any other. Olivia woke early to prepare the day’s roast and had put on her powder blue dress for church. She rode with her brothers in their carriage, and they arrived early, like always. They took their seats in the third row from the altar. Olivia held her book of psalms close to her heart; it had been her mother’s and it was one of her most prized possessions.
Suddenly, the harried-looking Timothy Carlson came running down the aisle. He had scooted into the row in front of them, stopping in front of Olivia, Andy, and Frank, breathing heavily. Olivia played their conversation over in her mind.
“Olivia…” he had said, stopping to take a deep breath. “Old Graves is ill.” Timothy had said, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.
“Oh no, I hope it’s not serious,” Olivia had said concernedly.
Beside her, Andy had shaken his head disapprovingly, and Frank covered his chuckle with a cough.
“He’ll be fine. But we don’t have an organist,” Timothy had said, trying to ignore her brothers.
“Oh…” Olivia had said, feeling anxious.
“Would you, dear Olivia, play for us? We would be so ever grateful!” he had said pleadingly.
Olivia had looked nervously at Andy, who nodded his head. She looked back at the man and sighed.
“All right, I’ll do it!” she had said with a resoluteness that didn’t entirely convince him, or herself for that matter.
She had followed Timothy from the pews to the front of the church where the old organ was. Her fingers had been cold with nervousness, and she had taken a deep breath as she had sat at the carved pump organ. She had been much more comfortable playing the piano, although she could play the organ as well.
Olivia had leafed through the hymn-music book, finding the correct psalm. Her heart had beat rapidly in her chest, and she had taken a deep breath to calm her nerves. As the pastor began walking into the church aisle, he signaled that she had ought to start playing.
Everything was going smoothly, Olivia mused. She had continued playing, knowing the hymns very well, and the service continued. Her nerves had calmed, and she had even begun enjoying herself. During the pastor’s sermon, she had turned to see him speak and that’s when she noticed him... Her cheeks burned hot from the memory. She had looked back to the pews, and her heart jumped as she noticed a familiar face sitting in the back rows. It was Marc Payton, and he was staring at her intently.
Marc…
I wonder whether he remembered me? It has been so long since I last saw him. He has matured, and that has only served to enhance his good looks…She hadn’t seen him in years. She knew he was back in Eloy after the tragic passing of his parents, but she hadn’t seen him since he returned. She had been out of town, visiting her Aunt Mary during the funeral.
Why was Marc Payton staring at me, and with such intensity? He’s still just as handsome as ever. It had not been proper of her to blush inside a church, on a Sunday no less! But she could not stop the way her heart had beaten. For the remainder of the service, she had found it challenging to quell her curiosity, but she had persevered and managed to keep her attention on the music in front of her.
* * *
“Let us read together,” Andy said, standing up from the sitting room and walking to the kitchen table as Olivia finished preparing the bread. She took off her apron and sat at the table next to Frank. They took each other’s hands and prayed in silence before Andy began reading from the old family Bible. Andy had an excellent voice.
They were a devout family, and Andy truly had been blessed with his deep timbre and passion. He spoke with conviction and fervor and would have made an excellent preacher had his life gone in another direction.
The loss of their mother nearly ruined their father, who became cold and distant after her death. Andy had only been twenty years old at the time, but old enough to realize what he needed to do. He stepped up like a man ought to. Frank had been a teenager when their parents left them, but he tried his best to help the family.
But Olivia ended up being the force that guided them onwards. Her gentle laugh and sweet smile could melt ice, and whenever the house seemed to fill with sorrow, she would sit at the piano and play beautiful music. Olivia was the apple of Andy’s eye, and he regarded her as a mixture of a sister and daughter.
Andy took his role as the head of the house very seriously. He often said that Olivia and Frank needed more guidance, a firm yet gentle hand to guide them and keep them focused. Lately though, Frank had begun to speak up, making suggestions that Andy was usually against. A rift had begun erupting between the two brothers, pushing Olivia into the middle, as she tried to hold her two brothers together.
After reading, Andy and Frank sat in the sit
ting room again, Frank attending to the fire and Andy reading, while Olivia finished preparing dinner.
“Frank, where are you going?” Andy asked as his brother stood.
“I’m fetching more wood for the fire,” Frank said. “The fire is dying out.”
“The fire is fine,” Andy said sternly. “Let us not waste time.”
“If you say so,” Frank said; he was irked.
“Dinner is ready,” Olivia called to her brothers, stopping Andy from admonishing Frank. They joined her in the kitchen, standing around the kitchen table. They held hands and bowed their heads. “Lord, thank you for this bountiful meal. Bless us and bless our parents who remain with you, under your ever-loving embrace, amen.” Andy uttered the meal prayer while Frank and Olivia echoed: “Amen.”
They sat down, and Olivia began cutting the meat and doling out the vegetables. They ate in contemplative silence, enjoying the food.
* * *
“That was delicious,” Frank said sweetly to his sister after they had finished the dinner.
“You truly were blessed by an angel to be so good at cooking,” Andy said.
“Thank you,” Olivia smiled at them.
She gathered up the plates and put them into the kitchen sink. She brought the pie she’d made and placed on the table. She brought smaller plates, and the silver dessert forks that she’d always pretended were treasures when she was a child.
“We also should thank you for your role in today's service,” Frank added, as he took a bite of pie. Olivia looked shyly at her pie dish.
“You certainly were a more enjoyable organist than old Graves,” Frank added. “You ought to play every time.”
“Let us not get ahead of ourselves,” Andy warned. “Olivia has many responsibilities here that she cannot neglect. I am, also, not sure a woman ought to play in church, at least not too often,” he added.
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