His brown eyes shone with anger and disappointment. “Ye sneak into yer own home, at God kens what hour, as though ye were a thief or ye believed ye didna belong here. Ye’re never home for dinner. Ye avoid family gatherin’s. An’ when ye do go to a gatherin’, ye ensure ye stay far away from me. God forbid I ever touch ye.”
“Ewan, it’s not like that.”
“No? Then tell me what it’s like,” he demanded, moving to sit with his feet underneath him and leaning forward on his knees. He shook his head in disgust when she remained quiet. “Even now, when there’s only the two of us, ye canna tell me the truth.”
“And what would that be?” she asked in a whisper-soft voice.
His strong hands gripped his thighs.
She watched his hands, canting unconsciously toward him as, up to a few months ago, those same hands would have stroked her, caressed her, brought her comfort in her distress. Now they remained separate from her when she needed the greatest comfort.
“Ye wish ye’d never married me. An’ ye’ve found another.”
At her gasp, he nodded and waited nearly a minute for her to speak.
Finally he said, “I ken ye’re shocked a feeble-minded carpenter could discover the truth.”
“Ewan, I was angry and never meant what I said,” she cried out as she reached for him.
He eluded her grasp, throwing off the covers and moving from their bed to pick up the lamp.
“Ewan, don’t walk out of here. Stay and talk with me.”
Tears coursed down her cheeks as he shook his head. “Nae, I will no’.” He clamped his jaw shut a moment before rasping, “For ye didna deny it,” and silently left their room.
“Ewan!” She sat in the dark, listening for sounds in the house, but all she heard was the wind rattling outside. “Ewan!” When she realized he would not return to her, she collapsed onto their bed, tugging the pillow that smelled like him to her chest, and sobbed herself to sleep.
Chapter 2
Ben Metcalf took a sip of coffee and watched Ewan with the wariness of a mouse about to be pounced on by a cat. His boss had been edgy in recent months, but today he stormed around the worksite as though looking for a fight. When Ewan slammed down a level, nearly cracking the wood underneath it, Ben sighed. “Ewan.” When his boss and best friend glared at him, Ben shook his head in silent warning.
“Do ye think ye can tell me what I can and canno’ do on my own worksite, Ben Metcalf?” Ewan growled.
“Yes,” Ben said, taking another sip of coffee before setting aside the metal cup. He hoped he had it in a secure place where it wouldn’t be overturned. “I’m the foreman, and I have the right to tell even you that you’re acting like an ass.”
“Dinna test me today,” Ewan snapped. He roamed around the small space that held the tacked-up plans for the business they were finishing, a new restaurant. Ewan considered Irene and Harold Tompkins as family and had, at first, declined to build the new owner a competing business to their Sunflower Café. Yet Harold had convinced Ewan to construct the new establishment near the new General Store beside the Stumble-Out Saloon. Harold had argued that the town was growing, and he and Irene couldn’t keep up with the demand. The new diner would be on the other side of town, and Harold believed there would be plenty of business for both establishments.
Ben crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back and forth from toes to heels, watching Ewan pace. Lately Ben had spent too much time watching Ewan bluster and roam the workspace rather than work. “Did you and Jessie fight again?”
All the bravado seemed to seep from Ewan, and he leaned against a wall as though slowly losing strength, like one does when bleeding internally. “I think things are truly over between my … between Jessie an’ me,” he said in such a low voice that Ben had to cant forward to hear him.
Ben shook his head, either in disagreement or to quiet Ewan, and moved to a door that stood ajar, which would one day separate the kitchen from the seating area for patrons. He looked into the main workspace, where three of their most trusted carpenters labored, and gave them a stern stare to encourage them to continue working before shutting the door. He spun to face Ewan. “Now you know you are speaking complete nonsense. Jessie has been prickly, but nothing more than other times in your marriage.”
Ben moved to a corner where two stools had been set aside to make room for Ewan’s incessant pacing, pulling them out now. He pushed on Ewan’s shoulders until he sat, picked up his cup of coffee again and then settled on one across from him.
“I know ye ken how it is in a marriage,” Ewan said. “Or ye will, as ye an’ Jane are just married an’ still sick with love.” His smile filled with wistfulness. “Somewhere ye start to have fights. I always kent Jessie an’ I would make up, but, these past few months when we fight, we dinnae. The hurts fester, an’ the words are never taken back.” He sat in silence a long moment.
“So they are allowed to have more significance than they truly have,” Ben murmured as he took a sip of coffee.
“Aye,” Ewan said in a soft voice. “We fought, a few months ago, when Jessie became prickly and did no’ want me to touch her. She still doesna want me to touch her.” His voice sounded lost at that statement.
Ben frowned as he had noted that Ewan and Jessamine were an affectionate couple. He had been so involved with his joy over his wife, Jane, that he had not seen the growing distance between Ewan and Jessamine. “That’s not like her.”
“Nae,” Ewan agreed. “We fought again, a month ago. I dinna even ken how or why we started fightin’. That’s the nature of it, aye? I called her an uptight, frigid woman, an’ she slapped me across the face.” He bowed his head in shame. “She threw a verbal thesaurus at me.” He raised eyes filled with pride and a hint of amusement. “An’ I canna recall all she said. But I do ken she said how she was a fool to ever believe she’d be happy with a feeble-minded, poorly trained laborer who would never amount to anything and would always be a disappointment.”
Ben swore softly. “And you’ve never spoken about that fight?”
“Nae,” Ewan whispered. “She’s rarely home an’ avoids me whenever possible.” His bleak stare met his friend’s concerned gaze. “I asked her last night if she had another man, and she did no’ deny it,” Ewan said in a low voice. He knowingly nodded as he saw the shock his friend attempted to conceal in his expression. “Aye, even ye, the perpetual optimist since ye married Jane, canna find a way to make that no’ be significant.”
Ben leaned forward, swearing as he sloshed coffee onto his pants. He swiped at his pants leg and set his coffee cup on the floor. “Did you give her time to answer your accusation?”
“How much time would ye need were Jane to accuse ye?” Ewan asked. “Five seconds? Three?” He raised an eyebrow. “I waited, an’ she responded … but did no’ deny what I said.”
Ben rose and began a slow circuit around the room, ignoring Ewan’s amused look as he acted like him. “I can’t believe Jessie would treat you false. That’s not like her.”
Ewan held his head in his hands, his fingers running through his hair over and over again until it stood on end. “It’s no’ like the Jessie I married. But I fear ’tis like the Jessie I ken now.”
A brilliant sunlight shone on the high mountain peaks on one side of the town, the fresh snow sparkling, while the rolling hills on the other side of town had dun-colored areas where the snow had been stripped bare from the recent winds. Jessamine crossed the main street of Bear Grass Springs, slipping on icy patches and stumbling on crevices in the snow formed by wagon wheels and sleighs. She caught herself just before she took a tumble, flushing beet red as she saw a few of the patrons of the Stumble-Out Saloon watching her with blatant curiosity.
Rather than veering toward the building her husband worked on, she turned toward the center of town. She glanced down the boardwalk to see many townsfolk out, enjoying the respite from the cloudy, snowy weather. Although well-below freezing, the bright sunlight made the day
seem much warmer than it was.
On the opposite side of the boardwalk, she saw the hustle and bustle of people entering and leaving her sister-in-law’s bakery, Annabelle’s Sweet Shop. It was one of the most popular businesses in town. Jessamine paused but couldn’t remember if today Annabelle was baking or if it was Leena Johansen’s turn. Leena was Annabelle’s partner, and she baked specialty treats from Norway. Not far from the bakery, the Sunflower Café, owned by Harold and Irene Tompkins, did a brisk business. The Watering Hole Saloon, the Odd Fellows Hall, and the largest store in town, the Mercantile, or more commonly called the Merc, were farther down the boardwalk.
Jessamine turned her attention from the opposite side of the street to focus on her destination. She slipped between the jail and the lawyer, Warren Clark’s, office to the row of homes behind the main street. When she arrived at Helen and Warren’s house, she stomped her boots to rid them of snow and knocked.
Glancing furtively at the house next door, Jessamine waited impatiently for Helen to answer. She had no desire for Fidelia Renfrew to see her visiting Helen and then expect a visit too. Although she had always been friendly with Fidelia, Annabelle’s sister, Jessamine had no wish to see Fidelia’s delight in her baby or to hear about his latest accomplishments. Finally the door opened, and Helen welcomed her inside with a warm hug.
“Please, sit by the fire and warm yourself,” Helen said as she moved to the kitchen. Helen, the town midwife and healer when the doctor was out of town, had married the town lawyer, Warren Clark, a few years ago. Her wheat-colored hair hung loose over her shoulders, while her evergreen dress enhanced the beauty of her hazel eyes and highlighted the curves her husband adored.
Jessamine hung her coat and scarf on a peg by the door, entering the living room. A comfortable settee faced the fire, while a chair on either side of it encouraged people resting here to stretch out their legs and relax. A desk on the wall behind the settee was covered in books, and Jessamine knew Helen spent the majority of her time—when not attending patients—studying the latest medical practices. Jessamine sat with an appreciative sigh on a chair beside the settee, hopeful the fire would warm her feet and dry her boots a little. “Oh, you didn’t have to,” she protested when Helen entered with a tea tray.
“Nonsense,” Helen said with a friendly smile. “I was making a pot anyway.” Her sharp gaze roved over Jessamine, and she frowned. “You’re still quite weak, Jessamine. You shouldn’t be working as much as you are. Are you eating the sardines, as I recommended?”
“I tried, but they tasted horrible,” she said, ducking her head. “And Ewan was suspicious.” At Helen’s frown, Jessamine lifted her shoulders, as though nothing more needed to be said on that subject.
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell him,” Helen murmured.
Jessamine looked at the tea, hoping it would provide some form of distraction, but Helen waited for it to steep and did not pour her a cup. “I’ve burdened him enough times with my disappointments. He didn’t need another one.”
Helen rolled her eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong, J.P. You must allow him to support you, as you would wish to support him. You dishonor your marriage when you deny him the right to care for you.”
Jessamine rolled her shoulders. “I’ll tell him when I’m ready,” she whispered, as she fought tears. “I’m not ready yet.”
Helen gripped her hand. “I can’t imagine how hard this is on you, J.P. But you know this has no bearing on who you are.” She waited for J.P. to agree, and, when she didn’t, Helen frowned. “Tell me you understand that.”
“Logically I do. In every other way, I don’t. I will always feel less.” She ducked her head.
After squeezing her hand, Helen said in a gentle voice, “You know you shouldn’t be working the long hours you’ve been putting in at the print shop. You aren’t recovered yet.”
Jessamine looked at her with exasperation. “You know I’m not working,” she whispered.
Helen frowned and then nodded her understanding. “I’m surprised Ewan doesn’t ensure you rest more. He’s always been very attentive to your well-being.”
Fidgeting with a teaspoon, she shrugged. “He is unaware of my recent pursuit.”
Helen raised an eyebrow. “Pursuit? Is that what you’ve chosen to call it?” She poured Jessamine a cup of tea and then fixed her own cup before settling into one corner of the settee, curling her legs underneath her in a comfortable manner as she considered Jessamine a friend and also family, although she was also a patient. “I would have chosen a different term.” Her eyes flashed a warning. “And, if you think that your husband will remain content with how your relationship is right now, you are a fool.” She paused as she sipped her tea.
Jessamine sat, staring into the flames, as though mesmerized. “He’s irate with me.”
Helen waited long moments, until Jessamine looked at her. “If you believe I am going to agree with what you are doing, with your secrecy, you are wrong. I’ve never agreed with it, but I am bound by my oath as your healer to hold my tongue. I’m also bound by the promise I’ve given another not to barrel into that workspace between the Stumble-Out and the new Merc to tell your husband what an idiot he’s being.” She took a deep breath.
“Do you know what it is to hate yourself?” Jessamine whispered. Her tormented cognac-colored eyes glowed from the fire’s soft flames and from the lamp on a nearby table. At Helen’s nod, Jessamine let out a stuttering breath. “I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t despise me too.”
Helen grunted her disagreement and set down her teacup and saucer with such force that they rattled. “You know Ewan better than that, Jessamine. You know he would never hate you.”
“I can’t see my way through it,” she whispered. She ran a hand over her thighs clad in a dark blue wool that highlighted the beauty of her red hair. “Why would he ever want to touch me, when my body is so weak? Such a, … a …” She broke off as tears coursed down her cheeks.
“Why do you torment yourself like this, J.P.?” Helen whispered. “It’s as though you feed these fears so they fester, rather than face them so they’ll heal.” She sighed when Jessamine stared at her with unutterable desolation. “You must speak with Ewan.”
“I’m so tired of everyone’s pity,” she rasped.
Helen reached out a hand, grasping her friend’s and giving it a firm squeeze. “He would never pity you. He’d comfort you. Console you. Love you.” She frowned as her words caused more tears to fall from Jessamine’s eyes and to form silver streaks down her cheeks. “You’re denying him his right as your husband to share these difficult times with you and to shoulder your heartache as he eased your pain. And you’re playing with your marriage, Jessamine, something I don’t understand.”
“Ewan always said you should never bet what you weren’t willing to lose,” Jessamine whispered, referring to her husband’s past as a gambler in town. She refused to acknowledge what else Helen had said.
“And he’s right,” Helen said with an emphatic nod. “Can you honestly tell me that you will be happy if, at the end of all this secrecy, you’ve lost Ewan?” She let out a frustrated breath as Jessamine stared at her in defiance.
“I can’t give up this dream. Not yet,” Jessamine whispered.
“There are dreams, and then there are fantasies. Don’t let a fantasy destroy the reality of what you have.”
“Jessamine,” Ewan said as he stormed into her print shop. He stilled when he saw her raise her hand as she always did when she was writing and in the middle of a thought. His breath caught at her beauty. At her fiery-red hair with pencils sticking out of the knot tied in a haphazard way at her nape. At the green wool of her dress that highlighted her beautiful skin and hair. At the ease with which she interacted with him in this moment before she remembered she wanted nothing to do with him.
A yearning filled his chest for an earlier time when he knew without a doubt she loved him. When she set down her pencil, he took another
step into the print shop. “Are ye ready?” he asked. “I’ve been waitin’ at home for ye for nearly half an hour.”
She turned to look at him with a confused furrow between her brows, annoyance in her gaze at his presence. “Ready? For what?”
He stiffened at her gaze, and his tone became more brusque. “We are expected for dinner at Fidelia and Bears’s.” He watched as her shoulders slumped at his words. “Please, Jessie.” He grimaced at the entreaty in his voice and hardened his gaze, although there was no need, as she no longer looked in his direction.
She rubbed at the bridge of her nose as she bowed her head. Finally she firmed her shoulders and stood with a resoluteness and solemnity he did not understand. He felt as though he’d asked her to face a firing squad.
“I dinna understand ye, Jessie. They are our friends. Our family. I dinna ken why ye have no wish to spend time with them.” He paused, his gaze focusing on her a long moment. “Are ye jealous of their bairn?”
She jerked as though he had slapped her and spun away, as though to study something on her printing press. Her breaths emerged as though labored, and she quivered with a subtle shaking.
“’Tis no’ like ye, Jessie,” he said, a note of reproach in his voice.
“Of course not,” she whispered. “Why should I be affected by the fact that I’m the only barren woman in Bear Grass Springs? I should rejoice and never wish for what I can never have.”
“Jessie,” Ewan murmured as he took a step toward her. “I dinna …”
She spun to face him, her face devoid of any expression or emotion, her eyes cold. “Of course you did. You see no reason for me to continue to yearn. As long as I’m there to warm your bed and to stand by your side, with a vapid smile on my face to show the town we’re a happy couple, then you’re content.”
He flushed with indignation and strode to her, standing toe-to-toe but not touching her. “Dammit, ye ken that’s no’ true!” he roared. “My life’s been miserable these past weeks. An I dinna ken why.”
Exultant Montana Christmas: Bear Grass Springs, Book Nine Page 2
