His Forgotten Fiancée

by Evelyn M. Hill

  It maddened him to see her blush at some tender memory she had shared with that other man who was himself. He was going to drive himself insane. What was it he had said to her, that other man who was his past, that even the memory of it made her blush so sweetly? If he only had the key, perhaps he could win her for himself. Memories tickled at the back of his mind, like an itch he could not scratch.

  He really wished he knew what had been behind that smile.

  * * *

  The next morning, Liza came to breakfast with a present for Matthew. “I went down at first light to the pool to pick these rushes.” Liza put the woven hat down on the table, half proud and half shy. “I never tried weaving a hat before, but I’ve seen it done. What do you think?”

  Matthew picked it up, turning the hat over in his hands. “It looks very...unique. I suspect the squirrels would approve.” He settled little Elijah into the crook of his elbow, where the kitten amused itself by attacking a loose thread on the cuff of his shirt. Matthew plopped the hat on his head. “Tell the truth. Exactly how ridiculous do I look?”

  She fought back the urge to smile. “I think there’s a time and place for telling the truth, and this isn’t it.”

  “Well, at least I won’t have to worry about freckles. I shall make a point to wear it when I’m out in the fields, I promise.”

  Pa hobbled in from the back room. He took one look at Matthew and said flat out, “That is the ugliest hat I ever laid eyes on.”

  “I promised to wear it,” Matthew said with dignity.

  “And we all know how you are about keeping promises.”

  “Pa!” Just for once, she and Matthew were not fighting. Would they never have peace in this house?

  Pa merely glowered at Matthew and then stumped over to poke at the fire. Matthew looked at Liza. She grimaced, but his playful mood had vanished and his stiff frown was back.

  When they walked down to the fields, she tried to explain how it was with Pa. “He wasn’t like that before. Growing up, he was the best father you could imagine. Back when my mother was alive. He was full of hope. Too much so, perhaps. Kept moving us to the next town, the next opportunity. We never settled anywhere. I got so tired of moving every year or so. But he loved Mama and she loved him and they were so happy that we just kept going. Until she died. Then, he...slumped. Wouldn’t do anything. Stopped going to church. Started to drink. Then he took off for the Oregon Territory, leaving me with my aunt in Iowa.”

  He frowned thoughtfully. It was odd to see such a serious look under that silly hat. The combination was oddly charming. She had made the hat because she had to prove to him—and more importantly, to herself—that she expected him to treat them both as equals. If she had to wear a foolish hat, then he could, as well.

  She was an independent woman; she could survive on her own. She had survived Pa abandoning her. If Matthew left her again, as Pa had left, she could survive.

  And he was going to leave her. She had to be prepared for that.

  “What did he mean when he said I broke my promise?”

  Startled out of her thoughts, Liza said simply, “You were supposed to come back within six months. You stayed away a whole year. No word. No reason why.”

  He frowned. “I must have written a letter, surely?”

  “This isn’t like back east. No regular mail service here. Ships drop off mail when they come or the occasional trapper travels up the Siskiyou Trail with a letter. There’s talk of getting a regular mail service on the river between here and Salem, but so far I haven’t seen any sign of it.” She sighed. “Don’t mind Pa. I’ll have a word with him later.”

  “No,” Matthew said. “I think that he and I need to talk this out between us.” He took the scythe from Liza. “You should not have to carry that. It’s heavy.”

  “I am capable, you know. I’m not a frail thing that needs to be protected all the time.”

  “I don’t doubt that you can carry it. It just goes against the grain that you should have to. A lady should not have to scrimp and save and suffer—” He stopped walking, and then finished slowly, “As my mother had to.”

  “Is that another memory come back?”

  He nodded. “I remember now. After my father died, she had to go to work to support the two of us. My father hadn’t left any money, and she had to take in laundry and clean houses to make enough money for us to get by. I did odd jobs after school, of course, but it was always a struggle to put food on the table and keep a roof over our heads. I got a scholarship and went off to college. She was so proud the day I left. She went with me to the train station and waved her handkerchief until I was out of sight. I was going to come back home right after I graduated, but I got that offer to go to Europe. She insisted that I take it. Said it would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. But...that meant when she got sick, I wasn’t there to take care of her. She had to rely on others to help her. They were good people,” he added hastily, “neighbors she’d known for a long time. But they weren’t family.” He looked down at the scythe, not seeing it. “I got the telegram that she was ill, that I needed to come quickly.” His hand clenched around the scythe. “But I wasn’t quick enough. I came too late.”

  She waited a moment, but he did not say anything further. A light breeze bent the tops of the grain stalks, creating a faint rustling sound. Finally, she reached out and put her hand on his arm. “You know that you aren’t responsible for her passing.”

  “That’s not the point. She had to scrimp and save and work hard all her life, and the one time she needed me, I was off enjoying myself.” He shook his head, as if to wake himself from his reverie, and his eyes came up to meet hers. “I cannot undo the past, but I can make it a point to help you carry heavy burdens.”

  “All right,” she said. “If it means so much, I will share my burden with you.” Spoken out loud, the words seemed to take on an added significance, as if she were making a solemn pledge. This was dangerous ground, and she was not prepared to cross it. She walked on, faster than before.

  He caught up with her easily. “It feels as if all we ever do is talk about me. Tell me something about you instead. Where are you from? You don’t have your father’s accent.”

  “No, I was born in Missouri,” she said, glad for the change of subject. “Mama and Pa came from Ireland, but they couldn’t settle down. Every time Pa heard of a new opportunity, a new dream, a new chance to prove himself, we’d pack up and be off again. There was always a new opportunity on the horizon, and this one was going to ‘make our fortune.’ He would say that each time, and each time Mama would smile at him and say, ‘Of course.’ They were so happy together, it did not matter to her where they lived.”

  “But it mattered to you,” he guessed.

  “Of course! I got tired of uprooting myself on a whim. None of his great opportunities ever came to anything. I don’t think it mattered to him. He wanted the dream, not the reality. Then after Mama died, he had nothing to root himself any longer. I think he felt he failed her somehow, so he wanted to make it right even though she was no longer there to see it. So when he heard about land for the taking, he got the idea to come out here and stake a claim. I was glad when he decided to head out west. I just thought that he would take me with him. He needs to cultivate this land for one more year, and then he’ll get the title to the claim, free and clear.”

  “He did all this because of guilt?” Matthew considered this, and shook his head. “You know your father better than I do, of course. But all the same, the man I met—I don’t see him coming out here, cutting down trees, wrestling stumps out of the ground and plowing fields just out of a sense of guilt. I think he did it out of love. Have you tried telling him how it made you feel?”

  She tossed her head. “There is no need to bring it up again. He knows how I feel.”

  “I am not sure that he does, actually. If you don’t mention it, he migh
t think that you have gotten over your feelings. I don’t think you can make feelings go away by trying to bury them or pretending they don’t exist. The hurt festers if you don’t expose it to the open air and then move on.” He stopped. “Sorry. I should leave the sermons to the preacher. He does a better job.”

  * * *

  True to his word, Matthew did not bring up the subject again. Over the next few weeks, they fell into a pattern, working from sunup to late afternoon. Then they would walk around the claim while she told him details about his life out on the trail or growing up in Illinois. She liked spending time alone with him, walking by his side in an easy rhythm that felt natural.

  Mr. Brown did not come by the claim, and that helped her to relax. Even when they attended church, Mr. Brown stayed in the background and did not join in the socializing after the service.

  Her walks with Matthew became a habit that she did not want to break. Liza still insisted on those daily walks, even with the need to get the harvest in as soon as possible. Out loud, she justified the walks for Matthew’s health and to give her a chance to remind him of all the events in his past that she could remember. Secretly, she cherished this time with him. It was just an hour before supper. That wasn’t too much, was it?

  They had managed to bring in most of the crops by now. The grain lay bundled on the barn floor, ready to be threshed and taken to the mill for grinding. The hay was stacked in the loft; the cows would be well fed during the winter. Matthew’s once spacious sleeping arrangements had now narrowed down to a small section of the loft. Elijah mewed at the lack of room before he discovered the fun he could have burrowing into the straw. He hadn’t returned with a mouse, not yet, but Matthew insisted that he would soon.

  Since the harvest had been going so well, she had decided they could start coming back to the cabin for a cooked lunch rather than eating something cold out in the field.

  Perhaps she was being selfish—they should be using that extra hours of daylight to finish the harvest. But the sooner the crops were safe in the barn, the sooner he’d be on his way, as he wished.

  He was going to leave her again. It was inevitable. She was clinging on to him, even though she knew that she could never let down her guard against him, never let herself love him freely and openly. Any feelings she might have for him would have to stay hidden in her heart and never be spoken out loud. That was the only way to keep from being hurt. So long as she kept her walls up, it did no harm to spend time with him while she could.

  “What an amazing font of information you are,” he said one noon as they strolled back to the barn to put the scythe away before lunch. “I must have spent the whole time on the trail talking about myself.”

  “I liked it,” Liza said. “You used to tell the most marvelous stories.”

  “What an odious man I must have been.” Matthew shifted Elijah to his other shoulder. The kitten had adopted a habit of riding on Matthew’s shoulder as he walked. Elijah braced his front paws on Matthew’s shoulder, and his tail draped around Matthew’s neck. “Sounds like I never stopped telling you things. Did I ever bother to listen to you?”

  “Of course,” she began, indignantly, before she noticed the upward curve of his mouth. He was actually smiling. When had he stopped scowling all the time? She could not recall when the change occurred. She could not stop herself from smiling back at him. It seemed so natural.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a mouse scurry by. The kitten, now busily cleaning his fur, did not notice. Liza opened her mouth to make a remark about Elijah’s hunting skills but stopped when she heard the sound of hoofbeats.

  Matthew straightened up, pushing back his hat and looking around. Gently, he picked up Elijah and placed him on the ground. The kitten scampered off a few paces to hide behind the bench in front of the cabin.

  A horseman came up over the eastern ridge, on the road that led from town. As the man rode closer, she recognized Frank Dawson. Her stomach tightened into a knot. Frank wouldn’t come by this late in the day without a good reason.

  Matthew placed himself squarely at her shoulder. Whatever was coming, she would not have to face it alone, which was a comfort.

  “Ah, Dawson,” Matthew drawled. “I mentioned to Liza that you might be stopping by.” He gave Liza a significant look.

  She ignored it, concentrating on the sheriff. “Frank. This is a surprise. You don’t usually stop by to make social calls.”

  “And I’m not making one now.” Frank met Liza’s eyes squarely. “I’m here on business. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to take this man with me.”

  Chapter Ten

  Matthew raised one eyebrow. “Am I under arrest?” Whatever the sheriff had in mind, Matthew wasn’t going anywhere if that meant leaving Liza at the mercy of him and all the other single men in the Oregon Territory.

  “What are you talking about, Frank?” Mr. Fitzpatrick appeared in the cabin doorway. He swung his crutches down to join them. “We need the boy to get the harvest in. You charging him with a crime or something?”

  “Of course not.” Dawson led his horse, a fine black gelding, over to the water trough. The animal plunged its muzzle in the water, scattering drops in all directions.

  Mr. Fitzpatrick hobbled over to seat himself on the stump, all the while glaring at the sheriff. “He’s not guilty of any crime, so far as I know,” Frank said.

  “Then to what do I owe the honor of this invitation to accompany you? And where do you wish to take me?”

  Dawson looked him over. “I’ve heard tell of a woman down in Salem claims you’re her husband.”

  Matthew relaxed. This wasn’t anything to worry about. According to that miner in town, he hadn’t been married a few months ago. “Is that all? She must be mistaken. Or she’s trying to take advantage of the fact that I can’t remember her. Should be easy enough to disprove.”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick nodded his head in agreement. “Does she have any proof to back that statement up?”

  “That’s kinda what I was thinking a trip to Salem might achieve. Find out if she recognizes you, for one thing.”

  “But if she’s lying, she’d lie about that too.” This came from Liza, of all people.

  Dawson went on, “And if seeing her sparks your memory. Maybe see if she has any kind of marriage license or proof like that.”

  “Licenses can be forged.” Liza was glaring at the sheriff with an impressive scowl on her pretty features. “And how is it exactly that you came to hear of this women? She just decided to stay upriver and complain that her man’s gone missing? She should be down here looking for him if she has half a care for him.”

  Dawson held up a hand as if to stop the attack of words. “All I’m concerned with here is my duty. If there’s some woman out there who can lay claim to him, then I’m bound to assist as best I can.”

  Liza still looked angry. Her face was flushed and more wisps than usual trailed down around her face. It didn’t make her look one whit less beautiful. Matthew didn’t think anything could make her look less beautiful in his eyes. He turned back to the sheriff. “And how did you come to hear of this woman’s plight, then?”

  Dawson looked away, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “I heard about her from Mr. Brown. I know—” he interrupted Liza as she started to speak. “I know what you’re going to say. I’m not saying I trust the man all that much, either. But don’t you see, that doesn’t affect the matter. I have to try to get to the bottom of this. And that means taking this man down to Salem with me.”

  “But there’s no call to say you have to take him right away, is there?” Mr. Fitzpatrick had come to stand beside his daughter, aligned in one common purpose. It was touching, Matthew supposed, that both of them wanted him to stay. Even if it was only to get the harvest in, he felt a bit of warmth at the thought that he was not unwelcome.

  “That’s r
ight!” Liza caught up the idea eagerly. “We can finish getting the harvest in, at least, before you go upriver. Or why not have the woman come here? Truly, Frank, it is odd that the woman would just stay there tamely. If I heard my man was wounded and needed my help, I’d—” She stopped, flushing red.

  Matthew hated to say it, but it needed to be said. “Unless the woman were not able to travel? If she were, let us say, in an ‘interesting condition,’ then she’d want to stay put.” He couldn’t think of another reason why a strange woman would suddenly decide to claim him as her husband.

  Dawson eyed him. “That’s more than I know. Could be that she’s mistaken you for another man.”

  “I wasn’t married down in California,” Matthew said. “You heard that miner. And it’s not likely I’d come all this way only to turn aside in Salem and marry someone else.”

  “What are you talking about? What miner?” Liza said.

  “A man I met in town.” Matthew looked at her. “I was going to tell you about him, but—” He spread out his hands in apology. “It seemed more important to discuss Mr. Brown.” She still looked at him, brows drawn together. Puzzled and a little hurt. “Please. Let us discuss this later,” he said, his voice low.

  She gave a jerky nod, and he knew she was upset. He dreaded the interview with her later. To the sheriff, she said, “You know rumors are unreliable.”

  “All I know,” Dawson said, inflexible as iron, “is that there’s some woman in Salem who might be calling this man husband.” He jerked his head at Matthew. “And since he doesn’t remember different, it might be true.”

  “There is no need for you to make him stop harvesting the crops. It’d take a week to ride there and back.”

  “I could write to the lawmen in Salem,” Dawson said doubtfully. “Assuming I can find someone to carry it, and assuming there’s someone down there who can read it.” His expression cleared. “I forgot. They’re starting up that new steamship, the Multnomah, to travel upriver to Salem. I can use that.” He turned back to Liza and her pa. “All right. I’ll send word to Salem that if she can, she should travel here with any proof she might have that she has the right to claim this man.”