His Forgotten Fiancée

by Evelyn M. Hill

  The little kitten followed him down to the stream, and delicately lapped up water while Matthew filled the bucket. Then he splashed cold water on himself, washing his hands and face.

  In a way, the older man’s anger helped dismiss his last lingering doubts. Her pa wouldn’t be so furious if this fiancé story had been invented. So he must really have gotten engaged to Liza. The idea of it still did not quite seem real to him. He had fallen in love with her, wanted to spend a lifetime loving her. And he could remember none of it.

  The situation was awkward—staying with a woman who kept expecting him to remember her, and a man who clearly expected him to fail at the first sign of difficulty. But even if Matthew couldn’t be Liza’s long-lost love, he could at least help her out of her current difficulty. He felt an unexpected determination to stay right where he was and prove that he could make a success of this harvesting. If her pa kept pushing at him, he would just have to push back. Respectfully, but firmly. Lacking a past, all he could do was take control of his present.

  By the time he got back to the cabin, Liza had already put on an apron and was busy cooking breakfast. Biscuits, with butter and blackberry jam, and eggs with wild herbs, and smoked salmon. She had pinned her hair up on her head, but dainty little wisps hung down around her face.

  She set a plate down for Matthew across the table from her pa rather than next to him. Small mercies. “May I help you with something?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll get the water boiling for tea. Other than that, it’s all ready.”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick grunted. “Good timing, boy.”

  “My name is Matthew, or Mr. Dean if you insist on being formal,” Matthew said pleasantly.

  Liza cut in, “Are you going to say grace, Pa?”

  After the blessing was said, Matthew set to eating with a will. Mr. Fitzpatrick flicked a glance at him. “You haven’t been eating much lately, have you?”

  “I do not recall,” Matthew said, his tone mild. “But this food is delicious. You are a good cook,” he told Liza.

  She flushed, ducking her head. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Mr. Fitzpatrick said sourly, “And do you feel up to doing some work today, or are you still too weak from your injuries?” He drawled that last word out.

  Matthew put down his fork. “I feel fine.”

  Liza sighed. “Pa, you mentioned something last night when we got home. Something about a gentleman’s agreement?”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick stabbed his fork down at his smoked salmon. “I don’t remember saying anything of the sort.”

  “Do you remember who it was came by last night? Was it the Baron?”

  “He doesn’t make social calls. Mr. Brown might have come by.”

  “Maybe it’ll come back to you later.” She did not sound hopeful.

  “Memories do come back, I’m told.” Matthew kept his attention focused on the biscuit he was buttering.

  Mr. Fitzpatrick darted him a suspicious glance, looking for flippancy. He turned back to Liza. “I’ll talk to Mr. Brown about it on Sunday while you’re at church.”

  “All right,” Liza said reluctantly. “Or you could come to the service and then talk to Mr. Brown afterward.”

  “Humph.” Mr. Fitzpatrick stabbed at his eggs as if they were his personal enemy.

  “I should like to attend the service,” Matthew interposed.

  Mr. Fitzpatrick put down his fork and wiped his mouth with his bandanna. “You ever worked on a farm, boy?”

  “The name is still Matthew. And I do not recall ever working on a farm, but I’m sure you can understand why I can’t promise that I haven’t.”

  “Your hands look like you’ve done some work.” Mr. Fitzpatrick conceded this almost grudgingly. “But you’re awfully pale. You look like a fine lady who sits around all day in her parlor, not a farmer.”

  “He was looking for gold.” Liza started clearing up the breakfast dishes. “Maybe he worked down in a mine. And he was a lawyer before he came out on the trail.”

  “That’s hardly fit work to get a man ready to harvest, hunched over chipping at a rock all day long or sitting at a desk reading a book. I probably could do the harvest without him.”

  Respectfully, as if speaking to a judge, Matthew said, “Yes, I imagine you could, were it not for your injuries. But I don’t think looking pale makes me unfit to work. As Plato said, ‘Appearance tyrannizes over truth.’”

  “You got a lot of fancy book learnin’, seemingly. But that don’t mean a thing when it comes to getting in the crops. I’m thinking you should just be on your way and leave us be.”

  “Pa! Honestly!”

  “Don’t ‘honestly’ me, my girl. Book learnin’ has no place on a farm. Cows don’t know Shakespeare from Sheridan.”

  “No, sir.” Matthew kept his tone polite and respectful. “But the beauty of the English language can support a man even in his struggles in the wilderness. As the poet said, ‘O brave new world, that has such people in’t!’”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick seemed to struggle between grudging respect and the stubborn habit of being ornery for nothing but the sake of it. Finally, he got to his feet. “Sitting here all day quoting the bard won’t get the crops in from the fields.”

  Matthew raised his eyebrows. “Am I helping with that endeavor? Or haven’t you decided yet?”

  Liza opened the door and looked over at Matthew. “Could you go on ahead? I’d like a word with Pa.”

  “I’ll, er, just go see how the kitten is faring.”

  She nodded her thanks. As he passed by, he said under his breath, “How did I do? Did I win that round?”

  * * *

  She could not keep from smiling, despite her irritation with Pa. “Yes, I think you did.”

  “Excellent.” He looked at her, sympathy in his glance. She felt his support almost as a tangible thing, a rope thrown out to anchor her in a storm. Then he left, and Liza shut the door behind him.

  She turned to face Pa and put her hands on her hips. “What were you thinking?”

  Pa brushed her concern aside with a wave of his hand. “Bah! A man who can’t handle a couple of questions isn’t worth fussing over. The question is, what were you thinking? What possessed you to bring him down here?”

  “Pa, you know I couldn’t just leave him. Alone in a strange town with no one who knew his name?”

  “What I know is that if you give him the chance, he’ll hurt you. I remember you last winter, your face getting more miserable with every passing month and no word from that so-called man of yours. I’d never have treated your ma like that, never.”

  No, you just dragged her—and me—from town to town until she couldn’t go any farther and lay down and died from exhaustion. And then you left me alone, abandoned me, so you could go build us a home out west without me to help you.

  Then she felt ashamed of herself. She could not stop the anger surging through her whenever she remembered those times, but that wasn’t being fair to Pa. He had done his best. It had not been easy for him. After her mother died, Pa stopped going to church. He apparently could not forgive the Lord for taking his beloved wife from him. She knew he had struggled with drink before she came out west to join him, but he had been fighting that battle. She had thought he was winning it, but after the sight that had met her eyes when she came home yesterday, she was not so sure.

  Pa went on. “I can hire more hands. People fresh off the trail are eager to work, earn some coin to tide them over the winter. I’ve been here long enough that I know most of the people for miles around. Even Hughes respects me and listens when I talk. Not too many people you can say that about.” Pa was one of the few men who called the Baron by his name. “And a lot of men have moved down river to that new town that’s sprung up, Portland. I can find someone there.”

  “We don’t have time, Pa. The good weather won’
t last much longer. We need to get the harvest in now. And you know no one around here would help us. They’re all afraid of what the Baron might do.”

  Pa shook his head. “Hughes is not a bad man, deep down. Greedy, not evil. I’ve known him since I came out here. He and I were some of the first people to settle this far west in the Twality region. He’s a hard man, true. Ruthless. But he has a code. There’s things he will do and things he won’t. He’d never lay a finger on me or mine. I promise you that.”

  You have made promises to me before. No, she had to stop thinking things like that. It didn’t help. She took a deep breath. “We need Matthew.”

  Pa’s eyes were fixed on her, inspecting her closely. It was an uncomfortable sensation, but she clasped her hands together and met his gaze steadily.

  “You’re not still thinking he’s fixin’ to marry you, are you?”

  “No.” Admitting that fact, even just to Pa, felt like ripping a scab off a barely healed wound. “He’s changed. He doesn’t remember me now. He doesn’t care for me any more than the next woman. I’m a stranger to him.”

  “Maybe he was never serious about marrying you at all.”

  She refused to admit that she might have been deluding herself about the love they had shared on the trail. She lifted her chin. “He loved me once. Even if he doesn’t any longer.”

  “Child,” her father said gruffly, “if he loved you at all, he loves you still. And if he doesn’t, he’ll break your heart all over again. You’re too softhearted, always have been.”

  “Not any longer,” she said fiercely. “I am not the same weak woman he left on the trail.”

  Pa looked at her with his head tilted to one side, as if weighing her words against the look on her face. To distract him, she added, “But at least he wants to come to church with me on Sunday.”

  “Humph. Well, if he breaks your heart again, he’ll have to deal with me.”

  “It will work out,” Liza said. She was not quite certain if she were trying to convince Pa or herself. They could do this. Between the two of them, she and Matthew could get the crops harvested before the rains set in.

  Assuming that Pa and his “gentleman’s agreement” hadn’t sold the claim out from under them.

  Chapter Six

  Liza left Pa sharpening the scythe and went to find Matthew. He wasn’t washing up down by the creek or anywhere in sight. She heard the rumble of his deep voice coming from the barn. Curious, she went to investigate.

  “Still hungry, even after all that milk? I really do not understand how you expect to get anywhere if you just crouch by that empty dish and cry. Go out there and find some mice! No, don’t look at me with those sad eyes. I am impervious to such maudlin sentiment.” A heavy sigh. “Here, look, I’ll show you. It’s simple. Pretend my hand is a mouse. You’re hungry. I’m right here. What do you do? You pounce. Yes! Just like that. Let your instinct guide you. No, my hand is not, in actual fact, edible.” Another sigh. “Oh, all right. I seem to have saved a bit of salmon from breakfast this morning. I will share it with you.”

  Slowly, she peeked in around the door. Matthew was crouched down, lecturing the kitten as seriously as if it were an entire jury. “This is not setting a precedent, do you understand? You need to learn how to hunt.”

  Round eyed and trusting, the kitten looked back at him just as seriously. It was impossible not to smile, but she hid her mouth behind her hand and coughed.

  The kitten scampered behind Matthew as he rose to his feet and dusted off stray bits of hay that clung to his trousers. With great dignity, he said, “He just needs a bit more training.”

  “Of course.”

  He nodded in the direction of the cabin. “Has the storm passed?”

  “Oh, yes. Pa just needs to let off steam, then he’s fine. He’ll accept your helping on the claim. I assured him that it was only a temporary arrangement.”

  Matthew cocked an eyebrow at her. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he was distracted by the kitten, who had evidently decided that Matthew’s leg was a tree that needed to be climbed. Matthew winced. Gently, he picked up the kitten and placed it on his shoulder. It splayed its paws for balance, then settled down. Matthew asked, “What next?”

  “Pa is sharpening the scythe. He insists on demonstrating how to use it. It’s going to take him a few moments to make it out to the wheat field.”

  “Can he walk that far?”

  “Not easily, but try telling him that. It hurts him, but I figure he needs to prove to himself that he can do it. Don’t look at him or pay any attention to him while he’s walking out there. He’s...very proud.”

  He nodded. “Independent. That must be where you get it.”

  She snorted. “Oh, he’s much worse than I am.” She felt obscurely better, knowing that he understood Pa and his prickly ways. “He hates to rely on others. But this gives me a chance to show you around a bit.”

  “A Grand Tour? I look forward to it.” With a flourish, he opened the barn door and gestured her to precede him.

  What was he thinking? It was impossible to tell, impossible not to want to know. As the two of them walked through the fields, she tried to see the claim as he would be seeing it. The valley floor itself was crisscrossed with fields, some fallow, some full of corn or wheat. Liza held her hand out just above the tips of the wheat, almost as tall as she was. The creek ran along in a half circle around the fields. Beyond the creek, the forested hills rose up to the ridge. The little valley was cradled by hills.

  She knew she was being foolish, but she still clung to the hope that she could make Matthew love the claim, even if he did not love her any longer. No matter how clear he had made it that there was nothing between them, no future and, as far as he was concerned, no past, a small part of her heart whispered that he might change his mind and decide to stay, but she thrust that thought away instantly. She was not about to get her hopes up when more than likely he would just dash them again. She’d had a few months with him, and then he’d walked away from her and from what they had. Hadn’t even sent her a letter. No, better just to accept what she had right now and not form any expectations regarding a future with him. She had her self-respect. It might be a cold comfort, but she hugged it to herself all the same. Safer not to hope.

  Even so, his opinion of the claim mattered to her. It mattered a lot.

  She gestured over the fields. “Pa claimed 640 acres when he came out here, this whole valley. That was a few years back, before folks got together and started making everything official. These days, a man can only claim 320 acres for himself, or twice that if he’s married.” She cast him a sidelong look. “Lots of men getting married this year so they can claim that extra land on their wife’s behalf.”

  She had thought—hoped?—that he might take this up, but instead he nodded to the creek that bordered the fields. “And the land on the other side there? That’s his, as well?”

  “Yes, he owns the land up to the top of the ridge.” She hesitated, then went on. “Everything on the other side of the ridge, the Baron owns. He hauls the trees on a road down to the river so he can ship the logs to his mill in Portland.” She ran her hand up a stalk of wheat, tracing the full outline of the ripened grain. “That’s part of what’s been causing the problem with Pa and the Baron. He used to use a road through the hills, but that got washed out by a landslide during the winter rains, and he’s having to take a longer route to get his lumber to the river. He keeps saying he needs this claim so he can get better access to the river, but Pa won’t sell. This is our home. I’ll take you on a walk around later, if you like.”

  Did he realize that a few years ago this was nothing but forest? They were building a home out here, all their own, with pretty much nothing but their own hands and determination. It took imagination to see what this place was going to look like in another five years.

  She l
ooked up to find him watching her closely. “You love it here.”

  “It’s what I’ve always wanted,” she said simply. “A place to settle down.”

  “Maybe I didn’t want that.” He looked uneasy. “And that was why I left.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Maybe. Your note said you would come back.” Her voice went flat, remembering.

  This time the silence went on for so long, she thought he wasn’t going to reply. Then he said, very low, “I am sorry. I wish I could explain what happened, but I am sorry for your pain.”

  Well, that was something. It wasn’t fair to blame him for something he couldn’t even remember doing, but it was hard to stop feeling the resentment, all the same. The apology made her feel a little better. Even though he was just going to leave her again when the harvest was over. She had to keep that in mind. She was prepared, this time, for him to leave.

  She led him through the fields down to the lower wheat field, which bordered the creek itself. The water ran slower here, widening into a pool of clear brown water, dappled with sunlight filtering through the oak trees that hung over the stream. Reeds grew in thick clumps here and there, mirrored in the water. The air was already warm, and the morning sunlight was just reaching over the ridge to the east to slant directly down into the valley.

  Pa came hobbling out with his two crutches tucked under one arm, leaning on the scythe with the other. His mouth was set in a firm line, and sweat poured down his reddened face. She knew better than to offer an arm. He loved her, but he never could accept help from her. Not now, and not when he’d abandoned her to build a new life out west.

  He sat on a stump and leaned forward to demonstrate the sweeping motion of the scythe. “You’re not using the arms to power the movement. Use your legs and your, er, backside.” Matthew tried it, and Pa watched him carefully, then nodded. “Try it with the wheat.”