Bleak Landing

by Terrie Todd

  “God has shown me that he spared me for a purpose. He’s got work for me here; he wants me doing good—leaving this world a better place somehow.” He pushed his cap back on his head. “And when I get frustrated with my limp, I remind myself that if I didn’t have it, I’d probably forget what’s important and go back to being the same arrogant reprobate I was before. In a way, the war saved me from myself.”

  “Well, I don’t know whether or not you’re a reprobate,” I said. “But you are still a little arrogant.” Though I teased him, the idea of returning to Winnipeg and not seeing him anymore was becoming less appealing every minute.

  He grinned. “God’s still workin’ on me.” He reached his hand across the seat and took mine. I didn’t pull away. When he raised my hand to his lips and gently kissed it, it was all I could do to keep from grinning like a fool.

  At the lumberyard, Victor ran inside and I sat contemplating what it would be like to be with him for always. I tried to tell myself it made no sense, but deep down, I had to admit that it was what I wanted more than anything.

  My thoughts were interrupted when he quickly returned with some long rolls of paper. “Got ’em,” he said, tossing them behind his seat. “Now, can I buy the lovely Miss O’Sullivan a cup of coffee?”

  “I thought you’d never ask!”

  At the cafe, we sat across from each other with steaming cups of coffee and apple fritters. Victor unrolled his blueprints on the table, eager to see them. As he pointed out the rooms of his house and explained what would go where, the joy on his face reminded me of Maxine when she opened her Christmas presents.

  “How do you even know how to build a house?” I asked. The process boggled my mind.

  “I helped Uncle Bud build two of them before I joined the army. He’s a really good carpenter. He’s going to help me out on mine. Pa will, too, of course.”

  “Is Bud your pa’s brother or your ma’s?” I’d seen the man in their home and around the yard a few times, but with his brown skin and black hair, he didn’t fit the family mold. I’d assumed he was a hired hand from the Indian reserve down the road.

  Victor thought about it a second. “Neither.”

  “Well then—how is he your uncle?” As someone with no relatives, I might not have much understanding of family relationships, but at least I knew what uncles were.

  Victor shrugged. “Uncle Bud’s just a close friend of my parents. We’ve called him Uncle Bud for as long as I can remember.” He continued to describe his plans for the house as if having an uncle who wasn’t really an uncle was the most ordinary thing in the world.

  “See this right here?” He tapped his finger on one square on his blueprint. “This is the bathroom.” He reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out two full-color pages he’d torn from a magazine. He unfolded them and showed me photographs of the fanciest bathrooms I’d ever seen. “Which one’s your favorite?”

  I looked at the pictures and laughed. Marble tiles, glittery vanity tables with dressing-room lights, plush drapery, brass fixtures, and deep claw-foot bathtubs were all displayed in a colorful array.

  “Are you serious? These are fancier than Caroline Weinberger’s en suite in her family’s swanky mansion!”

  “Good! Which do you like best?”

  I shrugged and randomly pointed at the one with more shades of green than pink. A huge grin covered Victor’s face as he tucked the pages back into his pocket and rolled up the blueprints. What a strange man.

  On the ride back to Bleak Landing, Victor asked me questions about my years in Winnipeg, and I found it easy to tell him all the things I’d learned—the things I was proud of and the things I wasn’t so proud of, like abandoning Maxine.

  “I won’t blame her if she never forgives me,” I said. “Except—she’s not the unforgiving type. She might already have my letter. I hope to receive one back by the end of the week. If I’m still here, that is.”

  Victor grew quiet. We drove back through Bleak Landing, and at the end of town he stopped at his property and turned off the truck. He got out, came around to my side, and opened the door. He took my right hand. “C’mere. There’s something I want to show you.”

  I stepped down onto the snow and followed him. Victor didn’t let go of my hand, and I didn’t pull away. In fact, I squeezed his hand tightly, wishing I’d never have to let go. When he squeezed back, I felt a surge of joy. The handsome Victor Harrison—war hero, devoted Christian, community leader—cared for me! How could it be true?

  He led me over to the area where construction would soon begin on his. He stopped and seemed to be calculating something in his head for a moment. He moved a few more feet.

  “Right . . . here.” He stopped abruptly, turned, and placed both hands on my shoulders. “Stand right here.”

  I stood there, feeling more than a little silly. Then this strange man did something even stranger. He knelt at my feet.

  “What on earth are you doing?” I asked.

  “Bridget Mary O’Sullivan.” He took both my hands in his. “Many years ago, I locked you in an outhouse just to impress my pals. I knew I was doing wrong and I’ve hated myself for it—especially now that I’ve gotten to know you.” I felt his fingers trembling and clutched his hands more tightly, though I knew mine were shaking as well. “You have little reason to trust me. But I love you, Bridget. I want you to be my wife. And I promise, if you’ll agree, this spot on which you stand will be your own private luxurious bathroom with every modern convenience ever invented. Because you deserve it. And I owe it to you. Will you marry me?”

  My knees felt rubbery. I looked around, half expecting Bruce Nilsen to jump out from behind an oak tree to join his buddy in a rowdy laugh at my expense. My eyes began to sting. If this was only a cruel prank, my heart would never mend, because Victor Harrison had tunneled his way through its crusty shell and would stay inside it forever.

  I could barely whisper. “Are you serious?”

  “You bet I am,” he said. “But is it all right if I stand while you think it over? The snow under my knee is melting through my trousers.”

  I laughed and pulled him to his feet. A few snowflakes had begun to fall.

  “Listen, Bridget. This must feel awfully soon. I know it seems as though we don’t know each other well. But in reality, we do. And I know you’ve hated me, for good reason.” Victor looked down at his shoes, then lifted his blue eyes to mine again. In them, I saw utter sincerity and a love I desperately wanted to believe in. “But honestly? I’ve admired you for a long time, since before you ever left. I know we have a lot of things to work out. But I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, Bridget. I want to make Bleak Landing a better place, and I need you to help me do that. I don’t want to let you get away.”

  Stay here? My head was spinning.

  “And there’s one more thing,” Victor continued. “If you say yes, it might be a while before I can get you a proper engagement ring. But whether you say yes or no, I’ve got something to give you that’s rightfully yours.”

  He reached deep inside his coat and pulled out a green velvet jewelry case. My heart pounded. Slowly, Victor opened the lid.

  Inside, resting regally on the soft fabric, was my mother’s locket.

  Chapter 45

  Surely I’ll wake up any moment.

  That was the only thought crossing my mind as I stood there in the exact spot of Victor’s future bathroom with snowflakes twirling around me. But where would I find myself when I awoke? Back in Nancy’s bedroom at the Harrison farm? In my sad little third-floor room in Winnipeg? In the apartment with Maxine? Just how much of all this was a dream, I wasn’t sure, but one thing was certain: I could not possibly be staring at my mother’s locket, having just received a marriage proposal from Victor Harrison.

  The really strange part was, I didn’t want to wake up. I desperately wanted it all to be true, and not just the part about the necklace.

  “Bridget?”

  I didn’t want
to take my eyes off the locket in case it disappeared.

  “Are you all right?”

  Slowly, I raised my eyes to Victor’s face. He was smiling. He was real.

  “It’s snowing,” I said stupidly.

  He smiled wider. “You’re right; it is. I should get you home. I’d love to put this locket on you first, though. May I?”

  I nodded. Victor took the locket out and handed the box to me. “The box is Ma’s,” he said. “She doesn’t know I borrowed it.” With fumbling fingers, he opened the locket to reveal the faded likeness of my great-grandmother inside. “The locket is yours—am I right?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  He closed it, stepped behind me, and fastened the locket around my neck. My hand immediately went to it, fingering the old familiar intricate etchings surrounding the emerald shamrock. I could still see it on my mother’s slender neck. Victor moved back around and admired it.

  “You look like royalty,” he said. It reminded me of Maxine calling me ‘Princess Bridget’ and telling me I was a daughter of the King.

  “Victor, however did you get this? When did you get this? Where—?” I wasn’t sure which question to ask first. Instead of answering, he wrapped one arm around me tightly. The snow was falling in earnest now.

  “C’mon, I’ll explain on the way home.” He walked me to the truck and opened the door for me. But in the time it took him to walk around to the driver’s side and start the engine, it came to me. I knew. I knew.

  “The election,” I said. “You made a bargain with Bruce, didn’t you? He had my necklace all along.”

  Victor turned to me with a grin. “I’ve been so busy planning how I could propose to the prettiest creature in Bleak Landing that I plumb forgot she was the cleverest, too. I should have remembered.”

  My eyes began to sting. “Victor! I can’t believe you bargained with Bruce! Did you know people would elect you anyway?”

  “Never crossed my mind.”

  I didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but my eyes were too filled with tears to see the expression on his face. Why would he agree to such a deal—for me?

  “I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “No need to say anything. You’ve got back what is rightfully yours. That’s all.” He put the truck in gear and turned onto the road toward home. I sat in stunned silence, my hand fingering the locket.

  Victor’s family must have been anticipating our arrival, because when we pulled into their yard, they all tumbled out onto the porch, smiling and waving at us to hurry. Anna and Bobby jumped up and down like a pair of jackrabbits. What was going on? I looked over at Victor, but he appeared as puzzled as I felt.

  “Do they know about any of this?” I asked, indicating the necklace.

  He shrugged. “I never said a word.”

  As soon as we climbed out of the truck Anna was by my side, tugging on my arm. “C’mon, Bridget! Come see!”

  “Hurry, Bridget!” Bobby hollered before his mother succeeded in shushing him.

  All of them were grinning like idiots, and they ushered me across the porch so urgently, you’d have thought I was bringing them a lifetime supply of chocolate cake.

  “What’s going on?” Victor asked.

  “You’ll see,” his pa answered, smiling as much as the rest of the family.

  I stepped into the kitchen and, for the third time in a single day, felt sure I must be dreaming. There, in front of the table with her hands clasped together, stood Maxine.

  “Hello, Bridge.”

  Somehow I managed to sputter a weak “Max?” before I was caught up in her embrace.

  “Oh, Bridge, I’ve missed you so much,” she said, holding me tight.

  I was too stunned to respond with words, but I hugged her back. The room swirled with people and color and noise. Someone removed my coat. Someone else guided me into a chair. Over the next half hour, the full story was sorted out. Maxine had received my letter and dropped everything to catch the first train she could. At the platform in Bleak Landing, someone directed her to the general store, where she explained that she was looking for me. The Harrisons’ neighbor, Mr. Berg, happened to be in the store and offered her a ride. She’d been waiting for an hour, and, by all indications, had already made herself part of the family in typical Maxine fashion.

  After a noisy lunch together, Mrs. Harrison settled Max and me in front of the living-room fire with cups of tea. “You girls need to catch up,” she said firmly. I truly did feel like royalty when she put her daughters to work in the kitchen and shooed the menfolk out to the barn. Victor gave me an intense stare over his shoulder. I winked, and he half grinned as he disappeared out the door.

  “Thank you for your letter, Bridge,” Maxine began. “You have no idea how many letters I started to write to you. I didn’t know where you’d gone, but I figured I could find you at Weinberger’s. Once, I was this close to dropping a letter in the mailbox.” She pinched together her thumb and pointer finger and held them up. “Somehow, though, every time I tried . . . it seemed . . . I just knew that the Lord was guiding me to give you more time. More space. That my leaving you alone was a necessary part of your journey somehow. I second-guessed myself so many times.”

  I nodded slowly. “You heard him right, Max.” I felt awed by the reality that God cared enough about me to guide my friend in this way. “I was being so stubborn, and my stubbornness made me become desperate enough to finally come back here. It needed to happen.”

  I filled her in on the land claim, the town hall meeting, the poem, the election results . . . which brought me up to the present. I reached for the locket, but it had worked its way under my collar where no one could see it. I pulled it out.

  “Look, Max.”

  She gasped. “That’s it? That’s the one?”

  I nodded and told her the whole story, including Victor’s proposal in “the bathroom.” By the time I got to that bit, Maxine was bouncing up and down like a kangaroo and I thought she’d break the springs on Mr. Harrison’s favorite armchair.

  “Oh my gosh, Bridge! How romantic!” She grasped both my hands in hers. “Of course you said yes?”

  I blinked back at her. Had I said yes? I thought I had, but I couldn’t remember. The locket had stolen my attention, and I couldn’t remember having given Victor a response.

  “Oh for land’s sake, Bridget. Tell me you gave the poor man an answer!” Maxine was on her feet.

  “I . . . I guess I forgot.”

  “Forgot! Do you have any idea how insane you sound right now?” She pulled me up. “You want to marry him, right?”

  Somewhere just below the surface, my twelve-year-old self was throwing a pigheaded tantrum at the very idea. But in my heart of hearts, I knew without a doubt that I yearned for nothing more than to become Victor Harrison’s wife. I nodded, and that was all the confirmation Maxine needed. She led me through the kitchen, found my coat on a hook, and held it up. While I pulled it on, she opened the door and literally shoved me outside.

  “Go! Go give him your answer right this minute, and don’t come back until you’ve done it.”

  Oh, how I’d missed that girl bossing me around! I ran toward the barn, but before I reached it, I saw Victor looking down from the open loft above.

  “What’s going on?” he called.

  “I didn’t give you an answer!” I hollered back. “Can you come down?”

  “That depends! What’s your answer?”

  I stopped where I was, praying he hadn’t already changed his mind. “Yes! My answer is yes!”

  Victor grinned. “Just so we’re clear,” he yelled, “what was the question again?”

  I began to stammer. “Well—um—you—but—”

  “Oh! You mean the one where I asked you to marry me?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Victor leaned on his pitchfork. “So that’s a yes, then?”

  I nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “And I can build you a house? With the fanciest b
athroom you ever saw?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Get up here, girl.”

  I ran inside the barn and climbed the ladder to the hayloft, where he waited with a ridiculously huge smile. Without stopping to brush the strands of hay from my coat, I rushed straight into his open arms and the tightest, most welcoming hug I’d ever received. Eventually, he untangled himself and placed both hands on my shoulders.

  “You sure about this, Bridget?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s not just about the necklace?”

  I shook my head.

  “Kind of at a loss for words, aren’t ya?”

  I swallowed and gazed into his blue eyes. “I love you, Victor Harrison. Necklace or no necklace, I want to be your wife.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and our lips met, softly. Victor ran one hand over my hair, brushing loose a stray piece of straw. Then he kissed me again, more intensely, and it felt as though some kind of delightfully hot blizzard was swirling around inside me.

  “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go tell everybody we’re getting married.”

  When we walked back into the house hand in hand, Maxine was quivering with excitement like the Chihuahua we once saw at a pet store. She had managed to round up the whole family and they stood waiting, a stupid grin on every face.

  “Bridget and I have an announcement,” Victor began. But he didn’t get to finish. A cheer went up, his sisters danced around me, his mother hugged me, his father patted him on the back, and Maxine beamed as if she’d just single-handedly negotiated an end to the war.

  In a way, I suppose she had.

  She wrapped her arms around me tightly. “Congratulations, Bridge. I can’t wait to see you as a bride. You’ll let me do your hair for the wedding . . .” She paused, biting her bottom lip. “Right?”

  I hugged her back.

  “Yes, Max. I’ll let you—I need you—to do my hair for the wedding.”

  I felt a cold blast of air. Victor had opened the door and was heading back outside.

  “Victor, where are you going?” his mother asked.

  “Come on, Pa,” he said. “Hurry up. We’ve got a house to build.”