But...at what cost?
For once, the little clearing was not having its soothing effect. There was too much anger inside her, and another dark emotion that she would rather not deal with. Anger, and a sense of betrayal.
It wasn’t fair. She had accepted that she and Matthew were nothing but friends, that he was going to move on as soon as the harvest was finished. Then he had charmed her, making her smile, making her incline toward him like a plant seeking the warmth of the sun. He had warmed her life, brought humor and playfulness back to her. And now it turned out that he had been free all this time, he had known it and said nothing to her. He could not have been any plainer if he had shouted his intentions from the top of the ridge. He was not interested in her.
The growing friendship between them had planted a seed of hope in the back of her mind, that perhaps one day he would rediscover his feelings for her. Even though it was hopeless, part of her still wanted him to want her, even that morning when he stood in the middle of the dry goods store and announced that he was leaving as soon as he was able.
For a man with such a glib tongue, he could be downright awkward at some moments—and oddly tongue-tied at others. Maybe he just hadn’t known how to tell her about the miner. She could give him the benefit of the doubt.
Tears gathered in her eyes again, blurring her vision. She blinked them away, tracing her fingertip across his signature at the bottom of the page. She was still clinging to the memory of a man who didn’t even remember loving her.
He had been quiet when she’d first seen him on the trail, but once they met and started talking, his stiff formality had relaxed. He had been open and friendly, at least with her. She’d thought they had no secrets between them. He’d been eager to tell her all about himself and wanted to know everything about her. What must his life down in the goldfields have been like to have changed him so much? She could not begin to imagine. Sadly, he probably did not even remember the details himself. But clearly, he had more scars than the ones on his hands. He had been hurt, deep down. Lord, I know You sent him this burden for a reason, but please let him find himself again.
He had crept back into her heart despite her best efforts. Or perhaps he had always been there, and wounded pride and fear had blinded her from seeing the truth until it was too late. She felt complete when he was around. And there was no barricade she could build that could prevent her being hurt when he left.
Slowly, the tears began to trickle down her cheeks. They felt hot against her skin.
Liza put her head down on her knees and cried as she had not cried since her mother died. She cried out years of pent-up frustration, loneliness and rage. She cried until there were no more tears left and she was reduced to little, hiccuping breaths.
Eventually, her breathing began to calm, and she looked up. The clearing did not look any different. The sun was a little lower in the sky, perhaps, but otherwise it was unchanged.
She dried her tears, wiping her face with her sleeve. Oddly, she felt better after that outburst, lighter, somehow, as if she had finally put down a burden she had been carrying for months. It was only my stubborn pride that kept me holding on to all that anger. Matthew was right. I should have said something.
Not that forgiveness would be easy. It was something she would have to struggle with. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me. She folded the letter again and placed it back in the Bible.
“Good afternoon, Miss Fitzpatrick.”
Liza jumped. Mr. Brown stood before her, removing his hat, as respectful as any gentleman in church.
She scrambled to stand, her Bible falling to the moss at her feet. Mr. Brown bent to retrieve it. “I apologize if I startled you,” he said. He handed her the Bible, giving her that oily little smile that made the hair rise on the back of her neck.
“What are you doing here?” Anger ran through her veins, warming her and driving off the fear. “I thought I made it clear that you were not welcome anywhere on our land.”
Disregarding this, he said, “Your eyes are red. I take it you are feeling lonely, now that your swain has left you again.” He took a step closer to her.
“My swain? If you are referring to Mr. Dean, he has not gone anywhere.” Not yet, a voice in the back of her mind whispered.
Mr. Brown had been reaching out to take her hand in his. At her words, he stopped with his hand still outstretched. Then he let it fall. “I understood that the sheriff came to take him down to his wife.”
She lifted her chin. “I know of no wife, sir. Mr. Dean is staying on until we can finish the harvest.”
A red flush stained his cheeks. He took a step back, practically stuttering his words. “It is completely improper to have that man living under the same roof as his former intended.”
“I do not see that it is any concern of yours, sir, but he sleeps in the barn loft. You need not fear for any impropriety. Good day to you.”
Mr. Brown took a step closer to her. “What on earth will it take to persuade you that having this man hanging around you is a bad idea?” His eyes searched her face.
His intense scrutiny felt like ants crawling over her skin. She concentrated on putting the matter in terms that Mr. Brown could understand. “We need him to get the harvest in.”
“You don’t need him.” If anything, Mr. Brown was becoming even more intense. He was practically quivering as he stared at her. “If you agree to sell the claim, I can help you with the harvest. I can get you anything you need. I can supply you with a dozen men who could help you.” The look in his eyes was disquieting, but she kept her gaze level as she looked back at him. He went on, “And you wouldn’t have them cluttering up your barn, either. You know what I want. Come now, Miss Fitzpatrick—Liza—surely you can see that this is the simplest, most efficient solution?”
“I thank you, but we’ll manage. We’ve almost finished harvesting the crops. I appreciate your concern.” Well, no, actually, she didn’t, but she was being polite. “We will survive.”
He narrowed his eyes in anger. “Miss Fitzpatrick, you have to listen to me!” The man actually sounded desperate. “We can help each other. I can make you happy. It would be the perfect solution to both our problems if we got married. You will come to appreciate me as time goes by. Many couples do not begin with a grand romance, yet they are still perfectly happy with each other. We could be like that.” Somehow, he had taken a ring from his pocket, without her noticing, and was offering it to her.
She shrank back as if she had encountered a rattlesnake. “Mr. Brown, let us be honest with each other.” Or at least, she would be honest with him. “I am not interested in any sort of relationship with you.”
There, that was plain enough. And this had gotten through his preoccupation. She could see the red flush fade from his cheeks, leaving his narrow face pale and wan, like curdled whey. “I think you might want to reconsider this position. You need me.”
“I do not need your help with the harvest and I most certainly do not need you for a husband.”
“We are perfect for each other,” Mr. Brown repeated stubbornly. “You will see that, eventually. Our marriage would unite the two adjoining claims. There would be no more strife with the Baron regarding access. If I marry you, the Baron would never think of replacing me with some college-educated dandy. He values loyalty. And when I’ve proven my loyalty, he will value me.”
The man talked as if this were the dynastic union of two great houses. Except that the Baron was not Mr. Brown’s father. It looked as if Mr. Brown preferred to gloss over that fact. Perhaps he thought of the Baron as a father figure. She strongly doubted that the Baron had ever thought of Mr. Brown as anything except an employee. Mr. Brown had no family out here, or anywhere else, as far as Liza had heard. All he had was his dependence on the Baron’s good favor.
Unexpectedly, pity welled up inside her. In a horrible way, though, feeling
sorry for Mr. Brown did not make him any less repulsive. Liza shook her head, unable to find a way to express her feelings. “No. Good day, sir. Do not come onto my claim again.”
She turned then and walked back down the path. She could feel his eyes on her back until she had crossed the stream and was out of sight. Only then did she look back, to be sure that he was not following her. All she could hear was the sound of the water as it rushed over the stones in its bed. The thought that he might still be watching, unseen, hidden by bushes, was unsettling. She hurried on down the path, practically running, until she had passed from the trees and could feel the sun out in the open fields warming her through her thin calico dress. She stopped and drew in a deep breath, looking down at her Bible.
The letter was no longer sticking out. She opened the Bible and fanned the pages, but the letter was gone. It must have fallen out when she dropped the Bible on the ground. Well, it was too late tonight to go look for it. It would keep.
Besides, there were other things she needed to do. Before she lost her courage.
When she got back to the cabin, Pa was sitting outside on the bench, gutting fish for supper. Little Elijah lurked a few paces away, keeping an eye on the pile of fish guts that Pa tossed into a pail at his feet. Pa nodded at her.
She asked, “Is Matthew in the cabin?”
“Nope. He’s down by the woodpile, chopping up wood for the fire. Chopping half the forest, at the rate he was goin’.”
She sat down on the bench next to him. Suddenly, it was the most natural thing in the world to lean against his shoulder. “I love you, Pa.”
He put down his knife and turned his head to her in surprise. “Why, I love you, too, me darlin’.” His arm came around her, heavy and comforting. “Always have, since the day you were born and I held you in my arms.” The arm tightened around her in a quick hug. “Always will, to the day I draw my last breath and beyond.” He slanted a quick glance down at her. “And you were feeling a sudden need to come tell me that out of the blue for no reason at all?”
She smiled, just a little. “No. It’s something I thought I should have told you before. I love you, but—” she took in a deep breath “—it really hurt me when you left me behind and came out here on your own. I know you thought it was no life for a woman—” which was exactly what Matthew said in his note when he left me behind “—but it’s no life at all if I have to live separated from the people I love. So don’t leave me behind again, not for anything.”
“No, me darlin’.” He leaned his head down next to hers. “I’ll not be leaving you. But I’m thinking that you might be leaving me.”
“What?” She sat upright, loosening his hold so that she could twist around and stare at him. “I’m not leaving you! I never want to leave you.”
“It’s the natural way of things, dear girl,” her father said gently. “I’m thinking you were thinking of settling down with that young man of yours after all.”
She was silent for a moment, looking down at the ground. “I was awful to him earlier. I yelled at him. Probably hurt his feelings, like as not. I am not so sure he’ll want anything to do with me after that.”
“Oh, he will. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way a man wandering in the desert would look at an oasis.”
“I’ve been so angry with him for leaving me. I don’t know if I can ever forgive him completely.”
“You can,” Pa said. “I am sure of it. Your mother forgave me all the times I let her down, and you have her loving spirit.”
She paused, and then simply said it out loud. “I do not know what I would do if he left me again.” She hoped she could forgive him, but a part of her still wondered. The sheer intensity of the pain she had felt before, as if part of her had been ripped away—what if she was not strong enough to go through that again?
Pa heaved himself to his feet, using his crutch as a lever until he was standing. Then he picked up the plank with the gutted fish. He nodded at a stack of empty moonshine jars. “I emptied those behind the woodshed this afternoon.”
She picked up one jar, wondering. “I could always find a use for them. But what—” She swallowed the question.
But he answered it anyway. “That pastor made a good point on Sunday about sharing your problems with the Lord and not hugging them to yourself. I thought I might try it.” She stared at him, and he cleared his throat, looking away. “Well, looks like I’ve got this fish ready to cook for supper. While I’m doing that, maybe you should go have a word with that young man.” He nodded toward the woodshed.
“Yes,” Liza murmured. Because, really, it was past time that she spoke to Matthew. She had to decide what to do about him.
If he never learned how important he was to her, then she did not have to run the risk that he would reject her. If she didn’t tell him that she loved him, she could keep his friendship. That was something, wasn’t it? This was real. He had been honest with her about planning to leave. She would be content with his friendship for as long as he stayed.
If she repeated that to herself enough, perhaps she would believe it. Eventually.
Chapter Eleven
Liza made her way around the cabin to the woodpile in the back. Even if she had not known he was there, she could have found Matthew by the repeated thwack of the ax into wood. He stood with his back to her, surrounded by split logs, raising the ax high above his head and preparing to swing it down.
“You’ve been busy.”
Matthew stopped in midswing. He froze for a moment, then lowered the ax and twisted around to face her. Sweat ran down his forehead. He had rolled up his sleeves, and the veins stood out on his forearms. “I beg your pardon?”
“It looks like you’ve chopped enough wood for the whole winter.”
“Oh.” He looked around at all the wood as if seeing it for the first time. “I got into the rhythm of the work and lost track of how much I had done.” He leaned the ax against a nearby stump. “I should start stacking this.”
She took a moment to look him over. He still looked like a little boy when that one stubborn lock of hair fell over his face, but he had filled out since he came to stay on the claim. He looked healthy now, no longer gaunt but strong. If she had accomplished nothing else, she had at least helped him recover.
“I’m not quite sure how to say this,” she began. “So I’ll just say it plain. I am sorry that I lost my temper with you.”
“I’m not.” He bent over and began stacking the split logs into neat piles in the shelter. She suspected he was using this as an excuse not to look at her. His face was flushed. Maybe this was as awkward for him as it was for her.
“You’re not sorry I lost my temper?”
“You needed to let go of all that anger. You held on to it so long that the only way it was going to get jolted loose was with an explosion.”
“It was rude. You were only trying to help.”
“I’m not much good at helping,” Matthew said. “But I want to help you. If you want me to.”
He was still keeping his head down, avoiding her gaze. She groped for a way to ease the tension. Maybe if she distracted him, he would relax. “I ran into Mr. Brown up at the clearing.”
He raised his head, startled into giving her a direct look. “I thought your pa had forbidden him to set foot on your claim again?”
“Maybe he thought, the clearing being right on the boundary, it wouldn’t count.”
“What did he want?” Matthew was intent, focused on her now.
“He wanted...well...he would consider it a merger.”
“He wanted to marry you,” Matthew said flatly.
“It was more of a business proposal, not a romantic offer. He also as good as admitted that he had told Frank about that woman in Salem as an excuse to get you off the claim.”
She waited, nervously, for him to say something. Do somethi
ng. Perhaps speak of his own feelings?
Matthew picked up the ax. In one fluid movement, he raised it up and brought it down onto a log with such force that the log split in two. Wood chips flew in all directions. “I don’t like the idea of that man coming onto your claim anytime he thinks he can. Maybe if I stayed on here to help, he might stay away.”
“Stayed on to help?”
“After the harvest, I mean. Do you think you might need some additional help on the claim after that?” He kept his eyes on the ax, frowning at it.
“Pa’s legs aren’t healing as fast as they should,” Liza admitted. Was Matthew offering to stay out of pity or was it because he wanted to stay with her? “He might need help after the harvest is done.”
“Just your pa?” The words were spoken so softly, she almost missed them.
This conversation was venturing onto dangerous ground. She wasn’t ready to risk telling him how she felt about him. Not yet. She needed time. “Let’s get through the harvest before we decide anything else.”
“All right.” He still did not look at her.
“You don’t sound as if it is all right. Do you not want to help with the harvesting any longer?”
“It’s not that. Of course it’s a good idea. I want to stay here on the claim. You need me. And I like the work. It’s just—” Restlessly, he began stacking the wood again. “I should have been there with you.” The words burst out of him. “I should have been there, protected you from him. I do not like the idea of that man alone with you.”
“Well, I can’t say that I like it, either. He makes my skin crawl. But if he thinks I’m already engaged, he can’t expect me to marry him.” This conversation was going all wrong again, and she wasn’t sure how to make it right. She sighed, feeling suddenly very tired. “Look, that’s more than enough wood for tonight, all right? I’ll help you carry it.”
His Forgotten Fiancée Page 14
