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

by Miralee Ferrell

  So Harding had kept his own counsel. Fine. He didn’t need anyone in his life interfering. No sir, he’d gotten along fine and dandy for six years, and he’d continue no matter where he landed. He clenched his jaws to keep them from quivering. If only Ma were still alive, he’d go back home.

  He sat up straight. He wasn’t a baby; he was a man. Maybe he’d find a good paying job in a mine, or better yet, he’d do some prospecting and strike it rich. Dust rolled in through the open window and Tom coughed, then hitched over to the middle of the seat. If he struck gold or even a good vein of silver, he could go back and show them all how successful he’d become. He wouldn’t be the son or brother who’d been forgotten by his mother when she deeded the ranch to her daughter.

  He couldn’t believe Ma did that. Even if the land belonged to Leah’s real pa, his mother could have given him a share. The ranch was left to her by her husband, and it would only be fair for her to divide it between her children. He remembered the look on his father’s face when Leah made the announcement. At least Tom had the satisfaction that Ma didn’t leave it to Pa, either.

  Settling back against the seat, he tried not to draw in deep breaths of the dust-laden air. He pulled his hat over his eyes and his bandana up over his nose. Time to sleep and forget the pain of the past. Today was a new day, and if all went well, tomorrow might be even better.

  Frances slipped into the door of the café situated inside the Arlington Hotel and surveyed the room, wondering why in the world Charles Pape had sent her word to meet him here. Couldn’t the man have simply come to the house like any decent person if he wanted to talk? She touched the hair that framed her face and straightened her hat, wondering again if she appeared presentable. The last time she’d looked in the mirror she was certain she’d found another half dozen wrinkles scattered across her face. Before long she’d be a shriveled-up mess that no man would care to spend time with. She’d better enjoy this outing while she could.

  She snorted a half laugh, annoyed at her penchant for vanity. She’d not battled that in the past, so why it reared its troublesome head for Charles Pape, she couldn’t understand. A twinge of guilt smote her at her dishonesty. She knew exactly why vanity plagued her now, but she simply did not care to face it.

  A waiter stopped and bowed. “Good morning, ma’am. A table for one?”

  She straightened to her full height. “Do I look like someone who dines alone, young man? Of course not. I am meeting a friend, if he is not here already.” Her gaze swept the room again, but she didn’t spot Charles. She nodded toward a table on the far side of the dining area but directly across from the entrance. “Is that table reserved?”

  “No, ma’am. If you will follow me, I will be happy to seat you.” The waiter led the way to the table and held her chair.

  “Thank you, young man. And I am sorry if I spoke sharply earlier.” She sank into the seat and leaned back, closing her eyes and feeling her age more than she had in some time.

  A step near her table alerted Frances, and she opened her eyes. “Charles. How are you today?” She peered at the man and started. He looked worse than she did, if that were possible. He appeared to have aged considerably from the last time she’d seen him. She motioned toward the chair across the round table. “Sit. You look terrible. Whatever is the matter?”

  He pulled out the chair and plopped into it. “As blunt as always, I see.”

  She waved in dismissal. “I am not blind, and I am certainly not in the habit of prevaricating when the truth will do as well. Set your pride aside and tell me why you asked me here. I am guessing it has to do with the trouble carved all over your face.”

  He fiddled with the spoon that lay next to the cup and saucer.

  The waiter glided up to their table holding a pot of coffee. “Would either of you care for a cup?”

  Both of them nodded. They waited until he’d filled their cups and went on his way before Charles picked up the conversation. “Some terrible things have happened, Frances.”

  A little shock coursed through her at the familiar use of her Christian name, but she decided to let it go. She had formed a liking for this man even though he irritated her at times. Maybe it was all right to allow him this small familiarity, especially in light of his troubled tone. “Tell me all about it. Do not leave a single thing out if you expect to feel better. Talking often cleanses the soul.” She laced her hands in her lap and waited.

  Charlie took a sip of the hot coffee, allowing the heat to trickle its way down his throat and land in his belly. He’d wondered if Frances would come or if she’d add to the disappointment that weighed like a boulder on his soul. One more boulder would most likely smash him flat and leave him to dry in the sun where the buzzards could pick his bones.

  He shook himself free of the gloomy thoughts. Frances had said that talking often helped cleanse the soul. If that were the case, she should be high up on God’s list of saints. Now, that weren’t at all nice, Charlie Pape. This lovely lady had agreed to give him some of her time, and he’d do well to show his appreciation by answering her question.

  He leaned forward, his fingers tightly grasping his cup. “I sure do hate to spoil the afternoon. Shouldn’t we talk about somethin’ pleasant instead?”

  “Certainly not.” She shook her head quite emphatically. “I am here to help in whatever capacity possible. The least I can do is listen, and then we shall decide if there is anything more to be done. You talk, and I will try not to interrupt.”

  Charlie relaxed his grip and rotated his head, hoping to ease the kinks out of his neck. “All right, then. It’s my children. I’m afraid I’ve done somethin’ terrible to them.”

  Her eyes widened, and she sat upright. “Oh dear. You have not harmed them, have you?”

  He stared at her, unsure what to reply. Harmed them? In so many ways he didn’t know where to start. “I’m afraid so. And I think I’ve done sent Tom packin’.”

  Her brows drew together. “I beg your pardon? Sent him … packing?”

  “He skedaddled out of town two days ago on the stage. We didn’t find out until he’d been gone a few hours, and it was too late to bring him back.”

  Frances held up her hand. “Maybe you should start at the beginning. I know I said I would not interrupt, but I am afraid I have no idea what you are talking about, Charles. If you would humor me, please, and explain why Tom would leave and what you did to expedite his departure, I would greatly appreciate it.”

  Charlie nodded. “I guess I’d best start with Leah, then, or you won’t understand about Tom.”

  “Leah? Oh my. You sent her packing? Oh dear!” She placed her hand over her heart.

  “No, no. She’s still at the ranch. Although I ain’t sure how long I’ll be there, at the rate things are goin’.”

  Frances shook her head, the confusion evident on her face. “This is all a big muddle. You are leaving the ranch as well? Who will care for it? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  “I think I might have, Frances, for sure and for certain. Hard to tell, since it seems I’ve been makin’ mistakes right along for some time now.” He scratched the stubble on his chin and winced. He’d been so preoccupied this morning he’d forgotten to shave.

  “Charles.” She reached across and touched him, her fingertips light and soft. “Slow down and try to speak clearly. I have no idea what you are saying.”

  “I know, I know. I’m makin’ a mess of this, too.” He clutched her hand, not caring one whit what others might think. Right now he needed hope to cling to.

  Frances didn’t pull away, so maybe he hadn’t scared her too bad. “I thought I owned the ranch. I always believed it would be mine, anyway, since Mary told me she planned on puttin’ the deed in my name. I’ve worked it for years, cared for it, and planned that Tom and Leah would share in it if they wanted to make a home there permanent like.”

 
She squeezed his fingers. “That makes complete sense. Go on.”

  “Mary left Leah a letter, and she found it a few days ago. She left the ranch to Leah, not to me. I don’t care so much about that anymore, not after what I done. Tom, he’s been talkin’ all angry and hateful since he came home. Said I drove his ma off, and he hated me for it. She died, you know.”

  Frances looked at him without moving. “Yes. From what I understood, that happened a number of years ago when the children were young. But you said Tom thinks you drove his mother off?”

  Misery spread through Charlie’s chest like one of those twisters he’d seen when crossing the plains. Huge, swirling, and angry, consuming everything in its path. “No, ma’am. I let them think that she died then.”

  He grimaced, ashamed that once again he’d slanted the truth to make himself look better. “That’s not exactly true, either. I outright lied to them, Frances. I told them their ma died. But all the time Tom was home, he knew the truth. Mary told him she was leavin’ before she walked away. I made her promise not to tell Leah she was alive. I hurt my children, Frances. Hurt them bad, and now I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

  He shook his head, ashamed to continue. “The girl loved the ranch so much, but she loved her ma, too. I knew Tom would hate me, and place the blame on me, and he did. I couldn’t stand to lose both of those children.

  “I begged Mary to wait two years until Leah turned sixteen before she told her she was alive and livin’ in Portland. Tom came home after bein’ gone for six years and told Leah what I’d done. He threw it all in my face, then walked out again. I got no idea where he went this time, or if he’ll ever come back.” A part of him felt like wailing the words, while another part deep down simmered with an anger he couldn’t explain.

  Frances slowly withdrew and slumped into her chair, the color fading from her cheeks. “And Mary did that? She did not tell Leah? She allowed her daughter to think her dead all those years, and you encouraged that lie?”

  Charlie sagged and hung his head, shame flooding him as it had never done before. The look on Frances’s face was nearly his undoing. She must hate him too. “I’m ashamed to admit that’s the awful truth.”

  “But why, Charles? Why did you choose to tell your children a lie? Why hurt them by allowing them to think their mother died? And Tom? He knew and never told his sister?”

  She shook her head. “I do not understand that at all. It makes no sense. Then to come home and blame you for his mother’s death.”

  “She passed last year. Doctor told Tom it was some kind of disease. I didn’t know about it until it was too late. Tom sent me a letter sayin’ she was sick. Then a few months later I got another letter sayin’ she died.” He worked to hold in his roiling emotions. “I didn’t want my children to leave me alone.”

  “No, I do not believe that, Charles.” She peered at him closely, her intent gaze unwavering. “There must have been another reason. I cannot perceive of any man telling his children their mother was dead simply because he hoped they wouldn’t leave him.”

  Charles squirmed under her scrutiny and shrugged.

  “You are a man with an overabundance of pride, from what I can make out since meeting you.” She cocked her head to the side. “I would guess that you had a difficult time admitting your wife would leave you for any reason, and you did not want your children—or your neighbors or friends—to know the truth, as it might cast you in a poor light.”

  He groaned and placed his face in his hand, leaning his good elbow on the table and rocking back and forth. More than anything, he wanted to bolt from this table and sprint for the saloon—to drown the pain and loss in whiskey until it didn’t hurt anymore. “I need a drink.”

  Frances desired nothing more than to take the man by the ear and slap him, good and hard. First he’d held her hand and acted all humble and sorry; then he’d admitted to a bald-faced lie that must have broken his children’s hearts. And now he planned to run to the saloon and get drunk. Maybe a hard shake until his teeth rattled would be a better idea. If only the café wasn’t filling with patrons, she’d do it.

  She leaned across the table and hissed between pursed lips, although at this point she didn’t really care who overheard. “Stop your blubbering, Mr. Pape, and act like a man.”

  He dropped his hands from his face and scowled. “I am not blubberin’, Mrs. Cooper. I will have you know I’m full of sorrow for what I done to my children.”

  “Ha.” She allowed one lip to curl in disgust. “So full of sorrow that a trip to the saloon seems in order?”

  His face reddened, and his cheeks hollowed. He looked as though all the air had oozed from his body. “I reckon that wasn’t the best idea, huh?”

  “Not in the least, Mr. Pape. Not … in … the … least. In fact, I would have to say it might be one of the worst ideas I have had the misfortune to hear in a long time. Why in the world do you think drowning yourself in alcohol is going to solve your problems at home? Can you not see that doing so will only further grieve your daughter, if not your son?”

  He lowered his head and refused to meet her eyes. “They’ve already been grieved so much I can’t imagine seein’ their pa drunk one more time will make much difference. ’Course, Tom’s long gone, so he won’t care.”

  She rapped her knuckles on the table, and his head snapped up. “I beg to differ with you, sir. Your daughter has been hurt enough and does not deserve any more ill treatment. I was going to tell you that I was proud of you. I will admit that I had heard a portion of this from Leah some time ago. Not the part about the deed or much detail about you or your wife, but Leah mentioned the allegation from Tom that his mother had been alive all this time.

  “I had hoped you would come to me and share the truth. That you would trust me enough to help you. I appreciate that you finally did so now. I am very pleased you have told the truth, even at your own expense.

  “But I am quite disappointed. I must emphasize quite disappointed that you would regress in such a manner, and at the first sign of trouble, assume that drinking would solve your problems.”

  She fingered her napkin in her lap. “I had thought, hoped, imagined that you had given up the evils of drink after we had started talking and formed a friendship of sorts.”

  His eyes widened. “I did. Truly I did. I don’t know why, but I didn’t feel the need for it anymore. Until now, that is.” His gaze fell, but not before she’d spotted the raw pain and confusion.

  “How will whiskey solve your problems, Charles?” She softened her voice. “Will drink bring Tom back or earn Leah’s love? Will it give you back your self-respect or your standing in the community?”

  “I suppose not, but I don’t know anythin’ else that will, either.” He mumbled the words, but Frances caught each one as they tumbled from his lips.

  “You remind me of someone. More than I care to admit, I’m afraid.”

  A tiny shred of interest lit his eyes. “Who might that be?”

  “Myself a few months ago.”

  His jaw slackened. “You used to drink?”

  A chuckle escaped before Frances could stop it. “Hardly. But I am afraid I had the same problem with pride as plagues you. I believed I had all the answers and everyone needed to fall into line the way I demanded. What I did not understand was that my actions were driving those I loved farther and farther away every day.”

  “Who said anythin’ about pride, woman?” Charles reared back in his chair.

  “You did, by your response right now. You admit you hurt your children one minute, then fight against anyone trying to help you see the error of your ways the next. You are not God, Charles. He is the only perfect One in His creation, as much as you might disagree with that fact. And He is the only One able to turn this situation around before it grows worse.”

  Stubbornness firmed the lines of his jaw. “God don’t want
nothin’ to do with me. Him and me parted ways when Mary left. I wasn’t good enough to keep her love, and I’m not good enough for Him, neither.”

  “Hogwash. If your wife did not love you, that was her loss. She was a fool to leave you and your children, no matter what her excuse. I assume you were not beating her or the children?”

  “Of course not! I never laid a hand on any of them, and I done my best to show her how much I loved her, every day.” He wagged his head. “She still had feelin’s for her dead husband, Leah’s pa. I think she couldn’t stand bein’ on the ranch anymore, with everythin’ remindin’ her of him. It was too hard, I suppose.”

  Charles rubbed his chin. “But I got to admit, it stung somethin’ fierce when she left me.”

  Frances nodded, her heart filled with sympathy toward this man and ire at his wife. “I can only imagine. But you spoke correctly when you said you were not good enough to keep God’s love.”

  Charles gaped. “Huh?”

  “None of us are, although I tried to tell myself that I was a good person and others did not understand me. I suppose I still feel that way at times, but it is not true, you know. We aren’t good enough to earn God’s love. He gives it to us as a gift of grace, not because we did anything to earn it. He loves us as much as He loves His Son, Jesus. When you understand that, you will have a different outlook on love.”

  He hung his head. “I’m a low-down polecat who’s done little good in this life, so that’s hard for me to accept, but I’ll have to take your word for it. I never knowed you to lie, Frances.”

  His eyes looked up, and he reached across the table, palm up. “I’d like to know more about that kind of love, truly I would. You make it sound like somethin’ worth havin’. But I’m not sure I can do it all alone. Would you make an old man happy and be my friend while I try to figure all this out?”

  She slipped her hand into his and gave his fingers a soft squeeze, her mind returning to the offer of friendship given to her by Wilma a few months before. Gratitude welled in her heart like a spring of clean water rinsing out the grime and grit of the world.