A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “What made your mama leave?” Emma asked when Thatcher paused. Her heart broke further as she heard the story unravel. How a mother could do that to her children and husband was beyond her. The thought made her sick, but she pushed aside the feelings and listened intently to Thatcher.

  He shook his head, looking up into the darkening sky at the first star that had appeared. “I heard her screamin’ at my father late one night. James was sleepin’, but I couldn’t get the yellin’ out of my head. I remember curlin’ up in a ball, squeezin’ my pillow over my head to shut her voice out, but nothin’ worked. I heard her say that she wasn’t ready to give up her life yet, that she had a whole lot more to do ’fore she could be bothered stayin’ at home with a family.”

  “How hard it must’ve been for your father,” Emma said, trying not to let her emotion show in her voice as she pictured a small Thatcher quivering in his bed. “What happened to him?”

  “He’s with another woman now and has been married to her five years or so. They moved up to New York where her daughters lived, so I assume he’s happy now.”

  Emma nodded. “I’m glad he’s found someone to love him like I’m sure he deserves.”

  Thatcher didn’t respond, so she continued. “Did you hear from your mother after she left?”

  “No, not once,” he said, pursing his lips. “When I was sixteen, we got a letter from her mama, one we ain’t never met, sayin’ she died of some kind of sickness.”

  “I’m sorry that you never got to see her again.”

  “I ain’t,” he said. “I know that sounds bad, but I really ain’t. I wouldn’t have been too nice to her if I ever saw her again, so it was good she stayed away.”

  Emma nodded. “I can’t even imagine. I’m sorry, Thatcher.”

  He looked up to the lone star that was brightening. “It doesn’t matter now. She did what she did, and now she’s gone. And we’re stuck down here livin’ with the consequences of her actions.” He smiled sadly. “Ain’t really fair, if you ask me.”

  “What consequences, Thatcher?” she asked. She wanted him to know that she understood what he was saying but also that there was happiness still. “Look at James. He’s happy, ’bout to get hitched to the girl of his dreams. And you’re not so bad off either.”

  He laughed bitterly. “You don’t know nothin’ ’bout me, then.”

  His comment cut deep, and tears formed in her blue eyes. “You’re right, Thatcher. So why do I even bother tryin’ to find out more?”

  She turned around and walked quickly away, wiping angry tears from her cheeks.

  “Now hold on there just a darn minute, Emma,” he said, jogging up to her, his hand reaching out to her arm to stay her. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by what I said.”

  “’Course you did, Thatcher Deakon,” she shouted, whirling around to face him. She didn’t know where all the emotion was coming from, but it seemed to rush out like a raging river.

  “All I meant was that you didn’t know what I’m like now ’cause of what my mama did,” he tried to explain, keeping a hold of her arm.

  “I know what you’re like, Thatcher,” she said, more tears spilling down her cheeks. “You’re alone, hurt, and scared of bein’ further hurt by those ’round you!”

  His eyes hardened, and Emma warned herself to be careful. She didn’t want to hurt him.

  “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout.” He let go of her arm and turned away.

  “I do know, Thatcher!” she called after him, but she stayed where she was. “And if you just let that hurt go and learn to trust again, you’ll be happier!”

  He whirled around, pointing a finger in her direction. “You have no idea what I’ve been through, so don’t tell me the way I feel ain’t justified.”

  She shook her head. “’Course the way you feel is justified. I’d be the same way if it happened to me. I’m only sayin’ that if you let go of the fear you can finally live again!”

  He looked past her, and she watched as he tried to steady his breathing, his chest rising and falling with each breath in and out. “Thatcher—”

  “You just don’t know how it feels, Emma,” he said, still looking away from her, his eyes hard as stone, “to have a parent leave you.”

  New tears came to her eyes as she felt a pain stab in her chest. Her chin quivered, but she clenched her teeth together to stop it. She watched him as he finally realized what he had said, and his face immediately turned contrite. “Emma, I’m sorry, I…”

  He took a step closer, reaching out to touch her, but she backed away.

  “Emma, please,” he said, eyes no longer hard. “I didn’t mean it. I was just…”

  She watched as he stood silent, unsure of what to say. She shook her head. “Just thinkin’ of your own pain and how much worse off you are than anyone else.” She knew it wasn’t the nicest thing to say, but she couldn’t really stop herself at that point.

  “That ain’t true, Emma,” he said, his voice deep and commanding.

  “It is!” Her voice cracked. “You’re just so focused on what happened to you that you can’t forget it and move on with your life. Look at all the things around you! You have so much to be happy ’bout!”

  He shook his head, so she continued. “Yes, you do! I don’t claim to be perfect, and I know I have a lot of things left to change in my life but look at what Seth and I have done. Our parents died within days of each other, and we’re still happy. We focused on what a blessing it was to have each other still, even if we no longer had our parents. Yes, it was hard, and yes, it took years to live normally again, but we’re still movin’ on. We’re still livin’ life!”

  Thatcher looked down to the grass, his hat covering his face so Emma couldn’t see him. “Well, I’m sorry that I can’t forgive and forget as easily as you both,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “I told you, Thatcher,” she said, walking up to him and wiping stray tears away. “It was hard, but it is possible. And you can overcome anything if you just try. Just try and you’ll see that you can get past this, that you can live your life happily.”

  She tried to look at his face, bending down past his hat, but he turned away. “I tried before. It just doesn’t work.” He tipped his hat and took a step away. “Forgive me, Emma,” he said, and he turned around and walked towards town.

  “Thatcher?” she called after him. “Thatcher!”

  No matter how hard she tried, he wouldn’t turn around. “Please,” she whispered as she watched him walk away from her, his handsome strut and hanging head breaking her heart in two. “Please, Thatcher. I love you.”

  She stood there, the darkness getting closer to her body and soul, the wind turning cold. She remained in the fields until all the tears were gone from her eyes and the aching in her heart stopped long enough for her to breathe.

  ***

  Thatcher jumped onto his stallion and urged him madly into a gallop, cursing his stupid pride and fear. Why couldn’t he have just stayed there like a man, willing to face his fears?

  He was simply too afraid. So he took off, leaving Emma standing there, tears streaming down her beautiful, soft cheeks. He thought of the dimples he had seen earlier that night and cursed himself again for being the cause of their disappearance.

  “Gidd’up!” he yelled, pushing his horse to run faster.

  The black stallion did as his master wished, and Thatcher tried to force out his thoughts by feeling the wind pressing against the brim of his hat and then moving down into his face. Why did he have to be so cruel? So cowardly?

  His horse ran faster across the darkening trail, his tail and main blowing ferociously. Soon, however, his speed and vigor lessened, and Thatcher slowed him. At least I have enough sense for that, he thought bitterly, the sight of Emma’s blue eyes overflowing with tears occupying his memory still.

  He shook his head. How foolish he had been to say that she didn’t know how he felt. She lost both parents, for crying out loud. Why did he even ha
ve to open his big mouth?

  Eventually, Thatcher made it to James’s house, miraculously in one piece. After putting his horse in the paddock at the side of the barn, he made his way to his temporary room. Removing his boots and tossing them aside, he thought of what Emma had said to him.

  He had been thinking about himself, and for a long time, too. He’d pitied himself and his situation for so long now that it had become a habit. A bad one and not that easy to break.

  He sat on the edge of the uncomfortable bed and rubbed his eyes, a headache already forming. What had he gotten himself into? If only he would’ve just stayed, not been so stubborn when she spoke the truth, not been so hard-hearted and so scared.

  He shouted as loud as he could, trying to release some of his pent-up aggression. Not feeling any better, he resorted to silence again, his thoughts being the only things he could hear pounding in his mind, beating his conscience mercilessly.

  Yes, he’d been a fool. A fool, indeed. He cursed his mother for leaving him so long ago, for causing his life to be so full of turmoil, but deep down inside he knew it wasn’t her that had caused his pain. It was his own doing. He alone had done this to himself, and he was the one who had to get himself out of it. But did he have the strength to do it?

  He pictured Emma, sweet, darling Emma, with her inviting, blue eyes, her smile soft and comforting. What if he could do it? What if he could get past his fears of betrayal and abandonment? And what if she could help him?

  His thoughts were dashed away, however, as he thought of the way he had hurt her by closing off his feelings and creating a barrier between them, telling her he didn’t care about their relationship. He stood, pacing as he thought of the pain he must’ve caused her by walking away and giving up. He should’ve stayed! He should’ve shown her that he was willing!

  But it was too late. He was sure she wanted nothing to do with him, the man who had let her think that he had feelings for her, only to dump her when he’d had enough. He did have feelings, strong feelings for the woman, but he had just thrown them all aside for fear of getting hurt. What a foolish coward he was.

  Chapter Ten

  “James and Thatcher are gone.”

  Confusion filled Emma’s mind. Gone? She looked to Eliza who sat next to her on the back porch, shelling peas in the cool evening breeze.

  “What do you mean, Seth?” Eliza asked.

  “I mean they’re not at their house, not in town,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “They’re nowhere to be found. I asked ’round, but nobody’s seen them.”

  Guilt tugged at Emma’s heart, and she ducked her head when Seth looked to her. She focused intently on the green pod as she struggled to open it. When she did, the peas popped out and rolled across her hand, falling to the floor beneath her chair.

  “I hope there isn’t anythin’ wrong,” Eliza said, looking to Emma, too. “Have you heard from them, Em?”

  Emma shook her head. “I haven’t seen them since they came for supper last week.” She was afraid to say more, afraid that her emotions would get a hold of her and that Seth and Eliza would think that she had something to do with their disappearance. Did she? Had what she said to Thatcher offended him so badly that neither of them wanted to live there any longer?

  She knew it was ridiculous, but she couldn’t push the thought from her mind.

  “It’s strange,” Seth continued. “I wonder why they would’ve left without sayin’ nothin’.”

  The tips of her ears burned red, and Emma tried to ignore the feeling of despair that caused her breathing to weaken.

  She saw Eliza shake her head subtly at Seth to stop talking and was grateful for the wise sister she had. “I’m sure they’re just fine, though, and will be back soon enough,” Eliza said, placing a comforting hand on Emma’s knee.

  Emma nodded, feeling only slightly better. It was her fault for their leaving, she knew it. If only she could take back what she had said to Thatcher! But it was too late. Far too late.

  ***

  “Well, yes, Mrs. Abney told me.”

  Emma heard Mrs. Reilly speaking with Eliza as she walked in on the mother and daughter.

  Mrs. Reilly was holding Mae, bouncing her up and down when Emma opened the door. “Emma, it is so good to see you!” she said, a smile on her face. “I was wonderin’ if you were ever goin’ to come out of that kitchen.”

  Emma smiled at the woman’s wink. “I just had to finish a few things.”

  Eliza motioned for her to sit down. “Come on in, Emma, Mama says she’s come with some scuttlebutt of the Deakon boys!”

  At the mention of James and Thatcher, Emma felt sick. She knew she should’ve stayed in the kitchen, even if she hadn’t been doing anything. “Oh?” she said politely, hoping her pale skin wasn’t too noticeable.

  She had been thinking about Thatcher constantly for over a week and a half, ever since he had left her in the field so many nights ago and had not seen him since. The only thing they’d heard of the brothers was that they had made a mad rush out of town. Yet, no one knew why or if they’d ever even come back. That was Emma’s true fear, that Thatcher was so upset for what she had said that he wouldn’t return. She knew she had been calling him out, forcing him to see things as they were, but maybe it hadn’t been any of her business.

  Trying to hide the worry on her face, she moved to sit on the rocking chair by the window, listening to Mrs. Reilly.

  “Well, I was talkin’ with Mrs. Abney this mornin’ when I went to gather the post,” she began, still bouncing the baby, “and I found out why they left in such a hurry.”

  They waited patiently for her to continue as she shifted Mae in her arms, and Emma braced herself for the worst. “Mrs. Abney said her husband left the telegrams out, so she looked through them like she’s always done.”

  Eliza rolled her eyes. “What a little snoop,” she said. “I sure hope no one ever sends me a private telegram.”

  “Oh, Eliza,” her mother said, waving a hand in front of her face, “don’t even try to tell us you wouldn’t do the same as she done, ’cause we know you would in a heartbeat.”

  “Mama!” Eliza said, her mouth widening in shock. “’Course I wouldn’t!”

  It was silent as both Emma and Mrs. Reilly looked to her, dubious expressions etched on their faces. “Alright,” Eliza said after a few seconds, raising her chin slightly higher in the air, “maybe I would, but I wouldn’t tell the whole town ’bout what I read!”

  Emma laughed, and Mrs. Reilly continued. “Anyway, it turns out James received a telegram all the way from Illinois tellin’ him that his fiancée, Lucy somethin’-or-other, came down with a real bad fever. They told him to come as soon as he could make it.”

  Emma’s brows pulled together in concern as she exchanged glances with Eliza. Miss Martin was sick? James’s beloved Lucy? Emma sent a silent prayer to heaven in their behalf.

  “So naturally,” Mrs. Reilly went on, “James rode out, as any great lover would, to meet his fiancée, and Thatcher went with him.”

  Emma’s heart was calmed only slightly, grateful she wasn’t the cause of their sudden disappearance, but she still worried for Lucy and James. She wondered if Lucy’s fever had broken yet.

  “I hope James’s bein’ there will help her get better,” Eliza said, her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t imagine somethin’ like that ever happenin’ to Seth.”

  They all agreed, concerned about the well-being of their friend and his lover. Their conversation turned, but Emma could only think of them. She hoped they would be alright and that Thatcher was okay, too. She missed him so very much and longed to be held in his arms again, to see his handsome rugged face smiling down at her, and to have him happy, not scared but completely trusting.

  ***

  Thatcher sat in his chair and watched James pacing back and forth in the hallway of the Martin home. “James,” he said, tossing his head towards the wooden chair next to his own, “sit down for a minute.”

 
James shook his head. “Naw.”

  Deciding to just let him walk off his anxiety, Thatcher left him alone. He knew his brother was like him when he worried, preferred to think rather than talk, preferred to walk rather than sit.

  They waited outside Lucy’s room, expecting her parents and the doctor to come out of the room any minute to tell them how she was doing. They had arrived there only days before, the long ride there lasting forever for James. He had rushed directly into Lucy’s room the minute they’d arrived, not bothering to even acknowledge her parents because he was so concerned. Lucy had shown some improvement since he’d arrived, but the fever had altered her health greatly, and she was very weak. James had been worried sick for her, and Thatcher was concerned for James and Lucy both, as well as for Emma.

  He scowled as he thought of the way he had treated Emma the last time he had seen her. He’d thought about it even more since that day and realized how absurd his behavior had been. There was no excuse for the way he’d acted, even if he had been scared.

  Yes, scared, he thought. He had grown to acknowledge his faults and learned to look at things truthfully. Emma had been right, he did need to stop pitying himself by thinking how hard his life was.

  The door opened, and James’s head spun around to hear the news. The doctor came out with Mr. and Mrs. Martin following behind.

  “How’s she doin’?” James asked instantly.

  The doctor smiled. “She’s doing much better. Her fever has finally broken. Just needs much more rest and time to heal, but she’ll be alright. She’s a strong woman.”

  Thatcher smiled as James sighed with relief. “Can I go in and see her?” he asked, looking to the Martins for permission.

  “Sure thing, honey,” Mrs. Martin said. He walked past her, nodding, but she stayed him with her hand on his arm before he could go into the room. “I just want to thank you, James. You coming here saved her life,” she said quietly.