Dreaming on Daisies: A Novel (Love Blossoms in Oregon Series Book 3)

by Miralee Ferrell

Steven stared for a minute, fascinated by the movements of her hands, then raised his eyes and met hers. “I suppose not.”

  She gave a lopsided grimace. “The girl’s been hurt too many times. First her ma dying.” Her eyes darkened. “Runnin’ off, is more like it. I still find that hard to believe. Her pa takin’ to drink and lyin’ to Leah all these years. He might as well have left her when her ma did, as much good he’s been as a pa. Then Tom disappearin’. The girl is scared to let anyone get close. I reckon she figures they’ll up and walk off if’n she does.”

  The truth of her words sank in. Of course. Why hadn’t he realized all this on his own? Leah was an amazing woman to have stayed as strong as she had and not crumble under the pain.

  He breathed a quick prayer for wisdom. “I promise you that I’m not going to do or say anything to upset her, Millie. I believe I am coming to care for Leah, but I have things to sort out. I’m not ready to tell her that yet. I do want to talk and spend some time with her, if you’re willing to share where she might be.”

  “All right. Guess you’ll do.” She jerked her chin toward the kitchen window. “She has a favorite place on top of that hill, yonder. Hasn’t gone up there in years but I saw her trudging up there maybe an hour ago. Surprised me she hasn’t come home yet.”

  A shadow passed over her face. “Leah and her ma used to go up there together and talk. I’m not sure what all they done up there, but Leah always came back happy. Hope she will this time too, but I’m afraid it might stir up hurtful memories. Maybe you can help. I surely do hope someone can, and that’s a fact.”

  Steven tipped his head. “Thank you for trusting me, Millie. I can’t promise, but I’ll do my best. At least I’ll listen, if she wants to talk. That is, if she doesn’t send me packing.”

  “You go on and give it a try, son. My ma always used to say, nothin’ ventured, nothin’ gained.” She flashed him a saucy smile. “You never know, she might decide to take a shine to you.”

  Heat seeped into his face, and he backed toward the door, not wanting to prolong this conversation until he sorted out his own turbulent thoughts. But as he drew the door shut behind him and headed toward the pasture, hope for the future surged in his heart.

  Leah sat perfectly still, her hands clasped on top of the box still resting in her lap. The sight of her mother’s handwriting had prompted warm recollections for several minutes. She hadn’t yet opened the missive to see what it contained.

  Now, with trembling fingers, she plucked at the wax seal and pried the pages apart. She smoothed the deep fold and saw what appeared to be a letter, then took a deep breath before she read.

  My dearest Leah,

  My heart is breaking as I sit here in the meadow and write this, knowing you might not read it for a year or two. I pray you’ll remember my wish that you return to our special place on your sixteenth birthday.

  You are a woman now and entering a time when you’ll make your own decisions. I don’t know what your pa has told you about my departure, but I hope he spoke the truth—that staying here with him any longer wasn’t working.

  I wanted to come to you, to ask you to leave with me, but Charles begged me not to. I agreed that you were too young to be put in a position to choose between your mother and the ranch you loved and where you wanted to live the rest of your life. I will never put you in that position, my darling.

  But I want you to know how much I love you. Should you decide to do so, I’d love to have you join me in Portland. If not to live there permanently, then at least I hope you might visit once a year or so. I’ve agreed not to put pressure on you. It shall be up to you to write to me, but my heart will be longing to hear from you.

  Leah’s shaking fingers could no longer retain their tentative grip on the paper, and it fluttered to the ground beside her. Ma wanted her to come live with her in Portland? She hadn’t forgotten her or totally abandoned her? Sorrow mixed with rage at her father and brother threatened to choke her, and she tried to stem the tears.

  What would her life have been like if she’d been given a choice? She raised her eyes and stared across the expanse of meadow rolling down the hill toward the ranch house in the distance. Could she have left this for more than a visit, even if she’d known? Or would she have traveled to Portland, unwavering in her youthful eagerness to convince her mother and brother to return, only to have her heart break anew if they refused?

  She plucked the letter from the grass, determined to somehow finish this disturbing and revealing missive.

  I’m so sorry that I couldn’t stay with Charles on the ranch. To be brutally honest, I never loved him the way he loved me. I was a very young widow with a baby when we met, and I agreed to marry to protect you from a life of poverty and possibly worse. In short order, I realized I’d made a mistake.

  Then Tom came along, and I decided to stay. But as the years continued, my unhappiness grew. I missed the city. I missed the companionship I’d known by having people close by. I saw myself growing old and bent, and never having the life I’d dreamed of.

  And even more than that, living on the ranch was a constant, painful reminder of Aaron, your father, the only man I’ve ever loved. I saw him everywhere, in everything—the house he built with such love and care before we married, which I now live in with a man I don’t love—and it cut me to the quick.

  It is horribly selfish, I know that, and that troubles me more than I can say. A part of me is selfish, I suppose, or I wouldn’t be running away. I would force myself to continue in this life that I hate (or I should say, dislike, for you and Tom have made it endurable, even joyous at times), but it is no longer enough. At this point all I can do is hope you will forgive me, and that someday soon you and Tom will come to live with me.

  Your brother doesn’t care for the ranch as you do, and I’m considering telling him my plan. He is a child, but he has the same love of adventure and hunger for companionship as I do. Please don’t blame him for not telling you anything beyond what your father tells you, for I will swear him to secrecy.

  One more thing you must know. When I pledged to marry Charles, I told him he must promise to care for you like his own, no matter what might befall me in the future. One thing I’ll say, he fell in love with you when you were a baby, and that love has endured to this day. He might be gruff at times, and rough around the edges, but he truly adores you. He would have cared for you even without his promise.

  But I wanted to be sure. And in exchange, I told him I would consider giving him the deed to the ranch someday. I didn’t change your name to Pape, out of respect for your real father, and because I wanted the ranch to remain in the Carlson family.

  We’ve never told you, but the ranch belonged to Aaron, your father. I loved him, and that made living so far from others bearable. Baker City is so tiny, so dirty, so quiet. Now that I’m leaving, I’m not certain it’s the right thing to put the deed in Charles’s name. I’m sorry for him, and I know I’m not doing right by him by leaving. He married me and has taken care of his family, the best way he knew how. But it’s not enough.

  I must make a decision, even though I know it will hurt and possibly anger Charles. Your father lived long enough to see you, and he wanted the ranch to be your inheritance. So I’ve put the deed in your name. It’s enclosed in this box. When you’re old enough, you will need to make the decision to keep the ranch or sell it.

  When Aaron died, a part of me died as well. I want to take you and Tom with me, but I’ve promised Charles two years with you both, before you decide whether to join me or not. It is the least I can do. Please write to me, Leah. Tell me you forgive me for leaving you and that you’ll visit. And, please, promise you won’t hate me.

  Your loving mother,

  Mary Carlson Pape

  Leah dropped the letter into her lap, her fingers numb and cold, her heart unable to take in all that she’d read. She picked it up again, f
umbling with the pages, her eyes blurred. Fighting to keep the tears from falling, she rubbed her sleeve across her eyes, then forced herself to focus on the flowing script once again.

  Hope, fear, joy, pain, anger, and, finally incredulity, all dipped and soared, each taking their turn raging through her heart. At times the sorrow was so deep she thought she’d be ill. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking and crying.

  Her mother hadn’t hated her. She hadn’t walked away without caring or thinking of her. Ma had left a letter, had left the ranch to her, had wanted Leah to come live with her. She hadn’t told her of the decision to leave to be fair to Pa—to give him time with her and Tom, to allow Leah to grow up and make decisions for herself. But she’d still chosen to leave. Couldn’t she have stayed a few more years, until Tom and she were both grown?

  Pa had never told her the truth. The pain of that fact was almost her undoing, and a fierce anger grew. It had been bad enough when she’d heard the facts from Tom. But to hear that same truth from her mother—that cut deep.

  Pa was supposed to tell her that Ma wanted her to visit or live with her in Portland. Ma thought he would tell her. Why had he lied? Why had he allowed her to think her mother had died? And once Tom returned and revealed the truth, why hadn’t Pa explained? Didn’t he know she’d figure it out?

  He had to know she’d despise him for letting her think Ma died when she could have been in touch with her all these years. Leah could have visited her, been there for her when she took sick, maybe cared for her and kept her from dying.

  Sobs racked her body, and her shoulders shook. Her fists clenched, and the paper crumpled within her grasp. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Since Tom’s return, she’d believed her mother a liar—believed she hadn’t loved her, and Pa let her continue to think that. But it wasn’t true.

  Well, maybe a little bit. Ma admitted she was selfish to leave, and Leah had to agree. What could be so awful that she couldn’t stay a few more years? She’d never seen her mother as shallow or self-centered, and it hurt to do so now, but the truth was there, all the same. But better that than to believe Ma didn’t care.

  Leah scrubbed at her tears again, hot and wet beneath her fingers. A hiccup took the place of the sobs. She pulled a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and blew her nose, then folded it and tucked it back. It was time to look at the situation squarely. She was an adult now.

  A pang hit her. An adult. She hadn’t kept her word to Ma when she’d asked her to come back here on her sixteenth birthday. The pain of her mother’s loss had been too deep even then. This field where the daisies bloomed had been their special place. After Ma left, and Leah believed she’d died, keeping her promise no longer seemed important.

  If only she had. She’d have found the letter, confronted her father, and written to her mother. At the least, Leah would have gone to see Ma. Maybe a trip to Portland with Tom would have kept him from running away.

  Leah glanced down at the open box and tentatively reached in, setting aside the dried daisy chain Ma had made for her hair. She pulled out another paper, her heart pounding, and her mouth going dry. It had to be the deed.

  What would Pa say when he discovered Ma put it in Leah’s name instead of his? Should she tell him, or let him go on thinking Ma had kept her word? Would that be any worse than what he’d done? But Ma said she hadn’t promised. She’d only said she’d consider it, and Pa probably assumed she’d follow through.

  A twig snapped in the distance, faint but distinct in the calm air, and Leah’s hands stilled. Animals rarely made noise while traveling, unless pursued and not paying attention to where they were running.

  A sense of dread pushed aside all her other tumultuous emotions. The last person she wanted to see right now was Pa. Or Tom. She hadn’t come close to sorting through the feelings stirred by her mother’s revelation. She didn’t care to face either of them and have to explain her swollen eyes, red nose, or the letter strewn across her skirt.

  She shuffled the pages back into a neat pile and folded them, then turned her head, peering over her shoulder. Steven Harding stood a dozen yards away, warm eyes pinned on her. Concern shone clearly on his handsome face.

  Steven stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, indecision rooting him to the spot. Leah sat at the base of a tree, her skirts spread around her and clutching a sheaf of papers. He’d have made his way forward with a cheerful word but for her red-rimmed eyes and sad countenance. From all appearances she’d been crying. The last thing he wanted to do was impose on a woman dealing with some kind of grief, but he longed to rush forward, gather her in his arms, and comfort her.

  Millie’s warning echoed in his mind. Leah had enough to deal with. She didn’t need anything more. He hadn’t planned on bringing unhappiness or anxiety, but it was very possible that intruding would do so, even if he wasn’t delivering bad tidings.

  He could face down a charging bull in a pasture or a grumpy boss at the bank, but the prospect of facing Leah’s tears unnerved him. Not that he hadn’t dealt with plenty of his mother’s tears over the years, but this situation was different. He’d worked to accept Ma’s sorrow—he had his own to deal with after his sister’s disappearance—and somehow learned to comfort her.

  But his mother wasn’t this young woman who made his heart rate increase each time he was around her and at other times raised his ire and made him want to stomp back to town. He had yet to figure out how he could be attracted to someone who could so easily frustrate him.

  He started to swing away when Leah beckoned. All indecision disappeared. Steven strode toward her, his heart lifting at her slight smile. She had to be grieving the passing of her mother, but after her initial start at seeing him here, she’d offered a welcome. He couldn’t ask any more.

  Steven stopped a stride from the edge of Leah’s skirt and bowed his head in a brief greeting. “I’m sorry to intrude. I planned to return to the ranch as soon as I realized …” He wanted to kick himself for calling attention to her tears. “That is, I didn’t mean to imply …”

  Leah shook her head. “It’s all right. I’m sure I look a sight, so there’s no need to pretend you didn’t notice. Has something happened at home to bring you out here?”

  He removed his hat, ran his hand over his hair, then stuffed it back on, jamming it hard over his forehead, all thoughts fleeing of why he’d come. Why did her eyes have that effect on him? “Everything is fine.”

  “Oh? So you were out for a walk and stumbled across me?” She gave a pointed look at his boots. “I thought cowboys—or bankers, for that matter—didn’t much care for walking.”

  Steven grimaced. “Millie mentioned you might be up here, and it wasn’t far enough to merit saddling my horse.”

  Leah leaned back, her hands braced in the deep grass near the base of the tree. “You asked Millie where I’d gone? If everything is fine at the ranch, why would you?”

  He held a tight rein on his emotions. She wasn’t making this easy.

  A hawk flew over, then folded its wings and dived toward a spot on the knoll a hundred feet or so away. Quick as a flash his talons extended and he snatched a field mouse from the grass, then winged his way back into the sky.

  Steven stared after the magnificent creature. “What would it be like to soar on the wind, without any cares?”

  Leah smiled. “He has plenty of cares. More than likely a full nest of babies and a wife that chases him away every time he tries to land and relax. You might also ask, what would it be like to be the field mouse?”

  She cocked her head to the side. “What kind of cares do you have, Steven?” She patted the grass beside her. “You’re here. You might as well rest those feet and sit awhile.”

  He looked askance at the spot Leah indicated, then back at her. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “I wouldn’t have invited you if I did.” The words had a
hint of sadness, but the curve of her mouth softened it. “Please.”

  He lowered himself onto the springy grass. “Thanks. I should be asking you that question, as you appear troubled.” He glanced at the box in her lap and the folded paper now tucked beneath it. “Not bad news, I hope?”

  “A ghost from the past.” The words escaped on a sigh. “One that might better have stayed buried.”

  He hesitated, uncertain how to respond, and not sure she’d want him to speak, even if he knew what to say. The statement didn’t seem to require a response, and her sad expression didn’t invite more questions. He sat quietly and silently prayed, asking the Lord to heal her heart and give her peace.

  They had both lost a sibling for a number of years—had both experienced the pain of a mother who was no longer there to meet their needs. He’d gotten his sister and mother back, only to feel as though he’d lost his mother again. Leah’s brother had returned, to disclose that Leah’s mother had deserted her years ago, then died before they could make peace.

  Pain rippled through Steven’s heart. The minutes stretched on and he heard her gentle sigh. He clasped her hand, drawing it toward him. Somehow he needed to help this wonderful woman find a way to deal with her pain and forgive those who had hurt her, as he realized he must do in his own life.

  He’d waited too long and allowed resentment to build in his heart toward his mother—and even his sister—and now he understood what God wanted him to do.

  Forgive. Let it go.

  Understand that his mother had given all she had to give while he was growing up, and Beth wasn’t at fault for disappearing and holding his mother’s heart captive.

  Finally, Leah bowed her head and squeezed his hand.

  He returned the gesture, then slowly released her, not certain how much liberty was appropriate. She was obviously hurting, and he hoped to bring comfort, but the last thing he wanted was to take unfair advantage.

  During these few minutes, he’d never felt closer to a person, never felt such a flood of peace and … love. But this wasn’t the proper time to speak. Leah needed to walk through whatever was troubling her, whatever had brought her to this place and etched the sadness in her face.