by Linda Ford
“Tell me what happened.”
“I remember my mother. Before she died, she made me promise to take care of the twins. I remember a man. I guess he was my father. I am no longer sure of my memories, but in my mind I think I see a man lift us from a wagon to the dusty ground and then drive away. I do remember staring after the wagon until it disappeared. And standing on tiptoe watching for its return. We waited and waited. Lilly started crying and then Rose. They always cried at the same time. I assured them Papa would come back. After a few hours I quit saying it and told them I’d take care of them. I don’t know how long we were there. I know we fell asleep holding each other. We woke with the sun on our faces and resumed our post watching for Papa. The Bells found us and took us home and adopted us.”
Though her words were spoken with cold precision, his heart threatened to burst from the pain he knew she tried to disguise.
“I was five. The twins were three.” She shivered.
He pressed close, offering his strength.
She leaned into him, accepting it and reached for his hand.
“I refused to go with them at first. Said our papa would come back and find us gone and he wouldn’t like it. But they persuaded us we could wait at their place. They lived in Bar Crossing at the time. For months, years in fact, I looked for Papa. One day I thought I saw him, and my heart almost leaped from my chest. I raced over to him and threw my arms about him, but when the man looked at me I knew it wasn’t my father. I was eight years old by then, and that’s when I knew he was never coming back. From then on, the Bells were my only family. I owe them my life and the twins’ lives. They have been ideal parents.”
The final words came out strong and bold, yet she held his hand with such force he knew fears and uncertainties lay beneath the surface.
He recalled how she’d said some hurts take a long time to heal. Maybe there were some hurts that never healed.
She let out a breath that seemed to come from her very depths. “There are people who think less of us because of our background.”
“Why, that’s plain stupid. It wasn’t as if you were in any way responsible.” Maybe the community wasn’t as accepting as he hoped.
She nodded. “Pastor Rawley said exactly that in one sermon. Oh, he didn’t mention us by name, but I’m pretty sure he had us in mind. ‘Friends,’ he said in his gentle way. ‘Judge not that ye be not judged.’ Then he told a story about a missionary who did such wonderful work and said many a society had rejected him because his father was in jail for beating a man.”
Wyatt’s insides tensed, though he gave no outward appearance. Had she guessed his secret? Reason prevailed. Of course she hadn’t. But her words offered him hope.
Impossible hope, all things considered.
She chuckled. “I’ll never forget his words. ‘Do not judge a man by his past but by his future, not by his failures but by his dreams and possibilities.’”
Wyatt breathed in each word. “It’s idealistic.”
“Yes, it is, but it’s far better to reach for the ideal than to wallow in the unchangeable. Our pasts cannot be changed. Our future is a blank slate. We choose what goes on it.”
“So you’re saying to forget the past and move forward?”
She shifted to face him squarely, their hands still entwined. “Maybe I can’t forget the past. It hurts to think my real father would abandon us. But I’m determined to put it behind me and press on.”
The intensity of her gaze burned through his resistance and threw open the locked doors of his heart. He longed to be able to live without the burden of his past weighing him down.
Was it possible?
He touched her cheek and smiled. “You make the future look bright and free.”
She trailed her finger down his cheek. “It can be.”
Could it? Could he face his past here, in this family, church and community? Could he find acceptance?
Or would such a choice invite more of what he’d experienced and worse, in that it would affect the Bell family?
He could not risk that.
Seemed he had no choice but to stick to his plans.
He got to his feet and pulled her up. She clung to his hand as they retraced their steps, and he didn’t even try to slip from her grasp. He told himself it was only to comfort her after learning about how she and the twins were abandoned.
But how could he deny himself the same comfort?
He couldn’t stay, but how would he make himself go? Dare he allow himself to hope his past would never catch up with him?
Chapter Fifteen
After breakfast the next morning, Ma said, “Mrs. Rawley informed me the chokecherries and serviceberries are plentiful in the hills.”
“We’re going berry picking?” The twins grinned.
Cora smiled at them. “It’s work, you know.”
“But fun work,” Rose said.
They crowded for the door and pushed through in their hurry to prepare for the outing. And crashed right into Wyatt.
“Whoa.” He steadied them. His hands felt warm and firm on Cora’s shoulders, reminding her of the emotional upheaval she’d been through yesterday. She’d found such comfort and strength in his arms that she’d almost turned to his chest for more.
Even now, her heart ached to feel his arms around her. Instead, she struggled to keep her reaction hidden.
She’d never confessed to anyone how it hurt to be left by their papa, but yesterday, when he’d talked about leaving the past behind, the words had tumbled out as if she’d been waiting all her life to tell someone. When he’d offered his comfort and strength she knew this was the person she’d been waiting to tell.
His sympathy had helped her realize how little it mattered that her real father had proved untrustworthy. She had a wonderful life here with her sisters and Ma and Pa. The past had no claim on her.
Now all she could hope for was that he’d also choose to put his past behind him—whatever it was—and be willing to—
What?
She closed her eyes and admitted what she hoped for.
She wanted him to be willing to start over right here in the Bar Crossing area.
“What’s all the excitement?” he asked, bringing her back to the present moment.
“We’re going berry picking,” the twins chorused. “And you and Lonnie are coming with us.”
Cora could have hugged Rose for saying what she hesitated to say.
Lonnie grinned. “I ain’t never been berry picking.”
“You’ll like it,” Rose promised.
“I guess I will,” Lonnie said.
Wyatt had looked ready to refuse the expedition, but at Lonnie’s eagerness he relaxed. “It sounds like fun.”
Pa brought the wagon to the house and the girls helped Ma bring out a box of food, jugs of water and every bucket and basket they could lay their hands on.
Lonnie looked doubtful. “You expect to pick a lot of berries.”
“It’s fun,” Lilly assured him.
Grub wriggled about, begging to accompany them.
Lilly patted his head. “You stay here and guard the place.”
Cora and Rose laughed.
“He’s not a very good guard dog,” Cora explained to Wyatt. “But we hope when people see him they think twice before causing trouble.”
At that, she glanced about the farm and searched every inch of the horizon. No sign of any Caldwell cowboys. Maybe they were too busy to bother the place today while the Bells were away.
Dismissing the concern, she took the hand Wyatt offered and stepped into the wagon box. The others climbed aboard, pushing aside baskets to make room for a place to sit.
She sat with Wyatt pressed to her side. “It’s a perfect day for picking berries,” she said.
“Sunshine, a little breeze and no sign of rain.”
They trekked west toward the hills, following a faint trail left by others. They passed some berry bushes, but Pa said there’d be better picking further along. A few minutes later he pulled the wagon into a little clearing.
Before the wheels stopped turning everyone grabbed a bucket and scrambled from the wagon.
“Come along,” Rose said to Lonnie. “I’ll show you what to do.”
Lilly followed them.
Wyatt grinned at Cora. “Guess you’ll have to give me berry-picking lessons.”
“I don’t mind. Not in the least.” She realized she just stood there smiling at him and told her feet to start walking. In a few minutes she found a place where the serviceberries were big and plentiful. “Pick the purple ones. I try to keep from putting leaves or other garbage in the pail. Makes it so much easier to sort and clean the berries for canning.”
He started picking berries at her side. As they worked, she moved left and he moved right.
“I love canned serviceberries,” she said.
“I haven’t had any in a long time, but I remember having them with thick cream. I liked the nutty taste.”
“It’s an almond flavor.”
He didn’t reply. The only sound was the plink of berries in the bottom of her bucket, which ended as she added more and more berries.
“Did your ma can berries?” Would he tell her more about his past?
“She did some.” A beat of silence. “But then she got pretty frail.”
Cora moved to where she could see Wyatt’s face and detected tension around his mouth. A horrible thought surfaced. “Did your pa beat her, too?”
Wyatt’s hands grew still and he slowly brought his gaze to her.
At the dark despair she saw in his eyes, she grabbed a branch full of ripe berries to steady herself.
He swallowed hard. “He didn’t beat her physically as far as I know. But she feared him and he used that to control her.” He shrugged, but the gesture wasn’t dismissive so much as it indicated how helpless he felt.
“I’m so sorry.” How many times had she said that to him? “I’m sure you did everything you could to make it easier for her.”
He jerked his attention to the berries on the branches before him and picked with a decided urgency. “I tried.” The words rang with failure.
He’d left for a time. A year, had he said? He’d left both his mother and Lonnie to cope with an angry man. Why had he done so? Where had he gone? “Where did you go when you left them alone?”
His hands grew still. The air pulsed with hope and possibility. Then he shuddered. “I wish I could tell you, but it involves other people who would be hurt if I told you the whole truth.”
“I see.” But she didn’t. How could she trust him if he harbored secrets? She closed the distance between them and waited for him to meet her gaze. She hoped she conveyed both trust and a desire to help.
“Wyatt, don’t you know you can trust me? You can tell me without fear of it going further.”
Every heartbeat pounded behind her eyes as she looked deeply into his gaze.
She could almost hear his pulse beat, too, as he considered her words.
Hope flicked through his eyes. He opened his mouth. Then he snapped it shut and shook his head. “I’d like to tell you everything, but it’s better if I don’t.”
“Better for who?” She wanted to shake her hands at the sky and demand answers.
“For Lonnie.” His voice thickened. “For you.”
“For me?”
He nodded, all misery and regret.
“How can that be?”
“Trust me. It’s better you don’t know.” He sucked in a shuddering breath. “Do you still believe it’s possible to start fresh? Put the past behind and forget it?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again without saying anything. She wanted to say yes. But he had a past full of secrets. That was different. At least it was different for her. She didn’t know if it was possible to build a future on the unknown.
“Maybe what I’m asking is—can you trust me without knowing the answer to your question?”
She could tell he tried to keep his voice neutral, as if her answer didn’t matter, but she heard the yearning and knew he longed for her to say yes. The seconds rushed by as she considered her response. Would knowing the past change what she knew about him? She’d seen him being tender, gentle, noble, kind and comforting. He’d held her and made her past less hurtful.
Could she not do the same for him?
All she had to do was speak the words. All doubts fled as she realized how much she wanted to give him the gift of her trust.
She rested her hand on his arm, warm from the sunshine and as strong as the man himself. “Knowing your secret will not change who you are or how I feel about you.”
He rested his hand on hers. “Thank you.” His eyes filled with brightness.
They stood smiling at each other a moment as the distant voices of her sisters and Lonnie reached them. Birds chattered in the trees. A juvenile robin swooped in to enjoy the berries.
“The birds are going to eat them before we get our share,” he observed.
They pulled apart and returned to picking.
The air shimmered with hope and trust and possibility.
They picked steadily. Twice they returned to the wagon to dump their buckets in a basket. The third time they got there along with Lonnie and Rose.
“The baskets are filling up fast.” Cora’s satisfaction came from more-than-successful berry picking.
Ma and Pa arrived with their buckets of berries, and all of them quickly grabbed a sandwich and a handful of cookies and ate before they returned to work.
Cora and Wyatt moved deeper into the bush where they found a patch with extralarge serviceberries and set to work. She moved quickly, wandering farther to her left, knowing that whatever they got today would provide a welcome addition to their meals during the winter months.
Her thoughts sang a happy song as she worked. Wyatt had asked her to trust him. Had asked if it was possible to start over. If he meant to stay in the area they could get to know each other better. There’d be time and opportunity for attending socials together. She wrinkled her nose. Nancy and Mary Ann would surely hover around seeking his attention. She grunted. But they wouldn’t accompany Cora and Wyatt on long solitary walks or little picnics. Soon the summer busy season would end and she’d have time for such things. Wyatt and Lonnie could visit and play board games with Cora and her sisters. They could read to each other.
Her heart thrilled with what the future offered.
The leaves rustled to her right. “Wyatt?” She stepped around to see him. Perhaps she’d tell him all the things she hoped for.
Whoof.
A black bear rose up on his hind legs, as startled to see Cora as she was to see him, though she’d guarantee he wasn’t a fraction as afraid.
“Wyatt!” She called his name without thinking whether or not it would anger or frighten the bear.
* * *
Whoof.
Wyatt stopped to listen. It sounded as though someone exhaled really hard. Had Cora fallen and had her breath knocked out of her? His heart kicked into a gallop. She might be hurt.
“Wyatt!” Her voice sounded strangled.
He dropped his pail to the ground and rushed toward the sound. But there were so many bushes in the way. How far had she gone?
“Cora, where are you?”
She didn’t answer.
He met a wall of bushes. What direction to go? “Cora?” Still no answer.
He flung about to the right and the left. Where was she? He sucked in air and forced himself to slow down and think. The sound had come from
the left. He held still, hoping to hear her. He didn’t, but through the bushes he saw a bit of her straw hat and pushed past the berry-laden branches.
There she was. She was edging backward toward him.
He looked past her and saw a bear on his hind legs sniffing the air. His heart lunged to his throat and refused to work.
Cora was doing the right thing, retreating as quietly as possible, letting the bear know she was no threat and the animal was welcome to the area.
He held his breath and prayed as never before. Two more steps and he could pull her to safety.
Cora edged her foot back, caught it on a clump of wiry grass and started to go down. Her hat fell to her back and hung by its ribbons.
A silent scream tore at his throat. Clamping his teeth closed to keep from crying out, Wyatt forced himself to remain motionless. If the bear thought it was outnumbered, it would feel more threatened.
She caught herself, took one more step, and he grabbed her and pulled her out of sight into the bushes. He didn’t stop moving until they were a safe distance away, then he turned her into his arms and held her tight. He buried his face in her hair and struggled to regulate his breathing.
She clung to him, her arms around his waist as shuddering breath followed shuddering breath.
Slowly his heartbeat calmed and his lungs remembered how to work. He plunged his fingers into her hair and pressed her head to his chest, close to his heart where he could keep her safe.
“You gave me an awful fright.” He didn’t even try to hide the croak in his voice.
She shuddered and her arms tightened about him.
“You’re okay now,” he soothed. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Would she be so willing to come into his arms if she knew the truth?
He closed his eyes and wished he could tell her everything, but first he must talk to Lonnie. But how could he be certain of her reaction? He did not want to lose this connection with her. Couldn’t bear to see scorn and rejection in her eyes.
He’d asked her to trust him enough to not ask to know his secrets.
Did he trust her enough to tell them to her?
