The Road Back

by Liz Harris

  Chapter Three

  Tying her blue and white checked apron behind her back, Ellen hurried out of the house into the white intensity of the morning sun. Momentarily blinded, she stopped abruptly and blinked a few times, then she pulled her white cotton day bonnet further forward and made her way across the worn-down grass to the fence that enclosed the house and yard. Leaning against the wooden post at the side of a small gate that opened out on to the meadow, she stared at the view.

  An expanse of grass sloped gently down to the edge of the creek which cut across the verdant landscape, a deep-blue ribbon of water bordered with scattered rocks and pebbles that shone white in the sunlight. On the far side of the river, clusters of spreading cottonwoods, tall pine trees and sage-green aspens with silvery trunks dotted the low undulating hills that stretched back to meet the distant blue mountains.

  Coming from somewhere behind the house, she heard the lowing of cows and the occasional whinny of a horse. The watery call of a meadowlark rippled the air above her, and she looked up in time to see the solitary bird outlined against the endless wide sky. Catching the clean, spicy scent of the pines in the air, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

  The thud of an axe hitting wood made her jump. Her eyes flew open and she turned sharply in the direction of the noise. Connor was further along from her, naked to the waist, just inside the fence. He had his back to her and was lifting a section of log on to the sawn-off stump of a tree.

  She stood still for a moment and watched him lift his broad axe high above his head and swing it down hard, splitting the log in two.

  He must have started working long before she got up, she thought with a twinge of guilt as she saw the pile of chopped wood beside him and the glistening rivulets of sweat that were running down his bare skin. She remembered how considerate he’d been with her the night before, and her guilt deepened. Tightening the ribbon of her bonnet, she went over to talk to him.

  ‘I’m sorry to be so late in rising,’ she said, walking around the back of the stump to stand facing him. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise you.’

  He stopped in the act of bending down to pick up another log from the pile and straightened up. Resting his booted foot on his axe head, he leaned against the handle and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his arm.

  ‘You had a long journey,’ he said, ‘and not an easy one. I didn’t think to see you before now.’

  ‘As you say, it was a long journey, but I’m revived now and you can be sure that I’ll be up early tomorrow.’

  ‘If you need to sleep late tomorrow, you sleep late. I reckon it’ll take a few days to get over your journey.’ He glanced at her day dress and bonnet. ‘I’m guessing you found the jug of water I stood in the bowl, you being dressed.’

  ‘Yes, I did. Thank you.’ She glanced towards the house. ‘Either Bridget isn’t back yet or she’s extremely quiet.’

  ‘You got it right with your first shot.’ He grinned at her. ‘As you’ll find out soon enough, your second couldn’t be more wrong.’

  ‘When do you expect her back?’

  ‘Any time now.’ He glanced at the pile of logs waiting to be chopped and frowned slightly. ‘I guess I should show you around the place before she gets here.’

  She followed his gaze. ‘You’ve a lot to do, and I ought to get to know the inside of the house before I see the outside. To begin with, I must see what there is to eat in the kitchen. You’ll be wanting food soon, and your daughter and Mrs Thomas will have an appetite when they arrive. You can show me around another time, when you’re not so busy.’

  ‘That’s mighty understanding of you. Winter can come unexpectedly upon us, so at this time of year, we’re racing against the weather. It could turn cold very soon and we’ll want this wood when it does. I need to finish what I’m doing and get it into the woodshed.’

  She nodded.

  ‘And we’ve gotta get the rest of the grass cut and baled before the autumn rains,’ he added. ‘Aaron’s taken on extra men to help with that. Because of the drought, much of the grass has dried out and we can’t risk losing what’s left – we’ll need it for the animals in winter. Winter can last a long time in these parts. I’ve known it to snow as late as June.’

  She straightened her bonnet. ‘Will I meet Aaron today?’

  ‘Maybe later. He and the men have taken their food to the fields. Most working days you’ll fix them lunch here, but not today. They’re staying out there so’s not to break off getting the hay in, which means it’ll be just us. I mean Bridget and Peggy, too, of course.’

  ‘I’ll go and see what I can find in the kitchen. And I want to look at the wood-burning stove. I’ve never cooked on one before – we fed coal to the black iron stove we had in Omaha.’

  ‘There are folks around here who’ve got those, too. But since we’ve got our own trees, why buy coal? There were trees on the homestead when my folks started out, but they planted more and now we’ve got a better supply of wood than most of our neighbours. I’ll be giving Peggy a pile of cut logs to take back with her.’

  ‘That’s kind of you.’

  ‘Not really. It’s me being neighbourly to someone who’s been more than neighbourly to me.’ He took his foot off the axe. ‘You’ll have seen the pump by the kitchen sink. It connects to a narrow well right next to the kitchen wall so you can pump water into a bowl in the sink. But you might also want to use the well in the backyard. It’s the other way from the outhouse, going towards the bunkhouse – it’s the one the men use. Filling pails is quicker at that well. If there’s anything else you wanna know, just holler.’

  ‘And the vegetable garden will be back there, too, I suppose?’

  ‘Yup, it’s behind the house before you get to East Barn. That’s the barn that’s just past the woodshed. The corrals are on the other side of the vegetable patch, and beyond them you’ve got West Barn. The wheat and hay fields, and the corn fields, they’re all behind the barns. Everything’s ripening well, though of course the corn’s still yellow-green. But as for the garden, you’ll not find much there now. Bridget’s been looking after it since her ma died, and she’s done the best she can, but there’s a limit to what a child of her age can do on her own.’

  ‘I can see that. It must have been difficult for her. For you both.’

  ‘It was.’ He grasped the haft of his axe with both hands and started to raise it. She turned away, went a few steps towards the house, stopped and turned back to him.

  ‘There’s just one thing I’d like to ask before you start chopping wood again,’ she said.

  He stopped mid-action, lowered the axe and looked at her. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I was just wondering.’ A trace of awkwardness crept into her voice. ‘Should I call you Mr Maguire? I remember what you said yesterday about us not yet knowing each other, and when you called me Ellen last night, I think you were just being kind. Before your daughter returns, I’d like to know what to call you.’

  He gave her a dry smile. ‘I guess that having lain together, we’ve gotten to know each other a whole lot better since yesterday morning, and that’s good enough for you to be Ellen, and me to be Connor. Or Conn, as folks around here often call me. If that suits.’

  She smiled up at him. ‘It does. It suits very well. Thank you. I’ll get off to the kitchen now before …’

  ‘And since we’re kinda getting to know each other’s ways,’ he cut in. ‘If I may say one thing, ma’am … Ellen. Maybe folks in Omaha, Nebraska, put on a bonnet every time they step out of the house, but folks in Liberty, Wyoming, don’t. It can be hot work, running a homestead, and it’s hard work, hot or cold. If you want, you leave off your bonnet and your corset – if you’ll forgive me mentioning a lady’s undergarment – and all those petticoats and you be comfortable when doing your chores.’ He glanced down at his bare chest. ‘Like I am.’

  She followed his eyes to the taut muscle that rippled beneath the golden skin, and she flushed.
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  ‘I’m thinking that if I wear a bonnet, it will be easier for your daughter,’ she said, swiftly looking back up at his face. ‘Don’t you think that is so?’

  ‘Alice never wore a bonnet like that, exceptin’ when we went into town for something special. Bridget will find it a mite strange, you being in a hat all the time.’

  ‘But my scar.’ Her hand went to her cheek.

  He shrugged. ‘She’s gonna see that, bonnet or no bonnet. Might be better to let her say her piece when she meets you. Get it over with.’

  ‘If you think that’s best.’

  ‘I do.’ He lifted the axe, brought it down with a powerful swing, and clove the wood in two. ‘Yes, ma’am, I do.’

  By the time Connor had finished piling the wood for Peggy in front of the house and stacking the rest of the chopped logs in the woodshed, the sun was at its height. He closed the door, bolted it, and stood staring towards the house as he wiped the back of his neck with the grey flannel shirt he was holding.

  He saw the kitchen door open and Ellen come out, a pail in each hand. He ought to go across and offer to give her a hand, he thought, this being her first day, and he hurriedly put on his shirt, pulled his braces up over his shoulders, and took a step forward.

  Then he paused. No, he wouldn’t; he’d let her be. She was obviously busy, and it’d surely be easier for her to get on with what she was doing if he wasn’t around. And it wasn’t as if she’d had any problems that morning. She hadn’t needed to bother him at all about anything. Thinking about it, she’d probably be glad to have as much time as possible by herself while she was finding her way around the place. Instead of interrupting her, he’d do better to go and see if there was any sign of Peggy and Bridget.

  He thrust his hands into his pockets, turned to the right and made his way along the narrow path at the foot of the fields of ripening grain in the direction of the track they’d be coming down. It felt good to be out in the open. Having been working in the same place since the break of day, he’d needed to stretch his legs more than he’d realised.

  The clank of the pump arm being lowered and raised reached him from behind, and he began to walk more quickly.

  Yes, he was definitely doing the right thing by giving her more time to herself. And it suited him, too, if he was perfectly honest. After chopping logs all morning, the last thing he’d felt like doing was making polite conversation with a lady. There’d be plenty of time for that later. First there’d be lunch, and then he’d sit down with her that evening and run through the daily routine. The quicker she settled into Alice’s way of doing things, the quicker they’d all adjust to the new situation. Above all, the less disruption there’d be for Bridget.

  Bridget. He felt a sudden surge of anxiety about her, and about whether she’d still be as angry with him as she’d been when he’d set off for Baggs. Never before had she drawn away from him when he’d tried to hug her.

  And it had been entirely his fault.

  He should have listened to Peggy when she’d told him to tell Bridget as soon as possible what was going on. Learning that he’d found a woman and was gonna marry her was certain to be a mighty shock for her, Peggy had repeatedly told him, and he should give Bridget sufficient time to get used to the idea before he brought the woman into the house.

  But he hadn’t listened to her. He’d been pig-headed and ignored her advice, persuading himself that he had to wait for the right moment to bring up the subject. But there hadn’t been a right moment, and he’d ended up telling her just before he left for Baggs. That had been a big mistake on his part. His mishandling of the situation meant that it would now take Bridget a mite longer to get used to Ellen O’Sullivan being around the house.

  In his own defence, however, he could never have imagined that she’d be quite as stunned as she was. It was the moment he’d seen the anger and hurt on her face that he’d realised how badly he’d got it wrong. And unfortunately, he’d had no choice but to leave her in that state of mind. He’d had to get to Baggs before the evening so that he’d be there the following day when the stagecoach arrived.

  Of course, there was always a chance that in the two days since he’d left for Baggs, Peggy might have been able to help Bridget to understand the situation a little more clearly, and might have been able to soften her towards him. He certainly hoped that she’d been able to do so, for both his and for Ellen O’Sullivan’s sake.

  But even if Bridget were still hostile, that was sure to pass as soon as she saw how much easier her day had become. When that happened, she’d completely forgive him and be glad that he’d got someone in to do the chores, and to teach her sewing and things, and to answer the questions she would have asked her mother.

  And there was that one unforeseen thing that had helped him, and it might just help Bridget, too.

  If a part of her anger at him was fear that his new wife might try to take the place of her mother in his affections, the moment she saw Ellen’s face she’d know that that would never happen. The scar would be the first thing that she’d see, that anyone would see – it was even bigger and redder in the bright light of day, and looked more raw. And when she saw the ugliness of his new wife’s face, she’d know that this was a business deal and nothing else, and that it would never be anything more than that.

  He felt a sudden impatience to get the introductions over with so that their life could start running smoothly again in the way that it hadn’t since Alice’s death, despite the efforts they’d all made to get it back on track. He shaded his eyes with his hands and stared across the fields to the track to see if there was any sign of Peggy’s wagon, but the hayracks blocked his view, so he walked on.

  They’d be back very soon, he was sure. Peggy had already kept Bridget longer than he’d expected, but that was her being considerate, knowing that he had a new wife and thinking that he’d want time to get used to her without his daughter being around.

  But had he started to get used to his new wife? He reached the fence that ran alongside the track, climbed up on to it, settled himself on the top beam and stared in the direction that they’d be coming from. It was hard to say if he had. It was early days, and most of the time that they’d been together, they’d been travelling, and that had made it impossible to talk.

  Not that he’d wanted to talk to her.

  After his first sight of her, he’d been in too much of a turmoil to want to make any attempt to get to know her. But conversing with her after they’d eaten their meal the night before had helped him to clear his head, and although he was still angry with her, he understood why she hadn’t told him and he’d lost some of his fury.

  And that had helped him to lie down in the bed beside her.

  Being close like that with anyone other than Alice was something that he’d held back from thinking about when advertising for a wife, but if he had thought about it, what had happened last night was just what he would have sought – a straightforward sealing of their bargain, but no more than that. Nothing that was in any way a betrayal of Alice. He’d wanted a woman in his bed who could give him a son, but he would never want any more from her than that.

  Maybe it meant that he was getting used to her. It was hard to know.

  Not that it really mattered much. She had her work to do, and he had his. Apart from in bed, they’d probably only meet at meals, and in the evening Bridget would be with them. And when Bridget was asleep, he’d have the sorts of things to do that he wouldn’t do in the day, such as repairing any worn out bridles or mending the cinches, and she’d probably have some sewing or reading to do. He’d noticed that she’d brought some books with her. So no, he couldn’t see their lack of familiarity with each other causing any problems.

  And he didn’t anticipate any real difficulty with his daughter. Or not for long, anyway.

  Bridget had a good heart. She loved Peggy, and she loved Oonagh Quinn. Oonagh having been in her life since she was born, a friend of both his and Alice’s, it was natural tha
t Bridget would care for her. Of course, whether that warmth would survive Oonagh becoming her schoolteacher, it was too soon to know, but he was pretty sure that it would.

  Whatever he might think of her, Oonagh had been good to both him and Bridget since Alice had passed on. She’d supported them throughout that terrible year, she and Peggy. He didn’t know how they’d have got through it without their help.

  The sound of horses’ hooves reached him, and vibrations rattled the fence. He glanced along the track and saw the wagon, a distant speck half hidden by a cloud of dust. A sudden wave of anxiety shot through him. Bridget would be home very soon. If he was still out in the fields, the first person she’d see would be Ellen O’Sullivan.

  He had to get back to the house before the wagon reached it. He jumped off the wooden bar, spun around and started to run back along the path. He had to stop Bridget from speaking too plain when she saw the woman’s face. Whatever she’d done or not done, the woman he’d wed didn’t deserve the hurt that would cause.

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