by Ginny Aiken
Parallel lines appeared between Mama’s brows. “Asking a question is far from becoming involved, child. You could always point that out to him.”
Olivia tightened her grip on her Bible. What more could she say, since she couldn’t describe the true situation, all Eli had suffered at the hands of his late wife? The betrayal he feared might happen again. She knew it would distress Mama to learn the state of Olivia’s marriage.
“I understand, Mama, but I would ask that you also understand that Eli isn’t Papa. I understand you’ve always felt free to discuss anything and in any fashion you desire with Papa. But… well, Eli’s a different man. I promise to speak to him, but it will have to be when he’s receptive to my questions. Otherwise, I’m afraid I might make matters worse.”
Her mother shook her head, a sad expression on her still youthful features. “What, dear one, could be worse than being turned out of our home when the weather starts to change? Snow is a possibility, and not a good one.”
“I understand, Mama. I will speak with him. Soon.”
Even to her, the answer came across as weak, made her sound mealy-mouthed. But it couldn’t be helped.
Olivia knew she had to put her plan into action—or rather, to further the action she’d earlier put in place. She’d already asked Cooky to make enough to serve company at their midday table.
“Have you and Papa accepted a luncheon invitation?”
“For today?”
“Of course.”
Mama gave her a weak smile. “No, dear. We’re free.”
“Wonderful! I’d like to have all of you to our home for dinner. Cooky’s been making some lovely meals, and I’ve missed all of you an awful lot. Please tell me you’ll come.”
“I would love to.” She glanced at Papa, who stood with a pair of other local farmers. “But I can’t make the commitment without speaking to your father. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see what he has to say.”
Before Mama had taken more than a couple of steps, Papa turned and headed toward them. Olivia caught her breath. She knew that determined expression only too well. She would not escape his questions.
“Good morning, Olivia,” he said as he hugged and held her close. “You look quite some peaked. Are you ill?”
Ill? Didn’t he realize the strain his request put on her? Still, she couldn’t talk back to her father like that. He hadn’t asked her to do anything another woman, in a different marriage, would find impossible to do.
“I’m well. Just a mite tired. Cooky and I have begun to prepare for the holidays, and I most likely overdid. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”
He gave a single nod. “Then I’ll be brief so you can head home right away. Have you spoken to your husband about that matter—”
“No, Papa.” She couldn’t stand to hear more. It was enough to have to say no. “I—I did tell you it wouldn’t do to simply ask without giving any thought to the timing or what might be the best approach. I do give you my word—again. I’ll speak to Eli about the letter. But I won’t do it when it’s likely to bring about a bad outcome. That won’t help anyone.”
Her father’s jaw tightened. “Very well. I suppose there’s nothing else for me to say. You know what we face, and you know what I’ve asked you to do for us. But, yes, yes. I do accept your promise to do whatever you can.”
Hoping he would see her efforts as moving in the right direction, she went on. “I’ve come up with a plan, and even set it in motion this morning. But I will insist I cannot believe the man I married, the Eli Whitman I’m coming to know better each day, is capable of such cruelty. The man I know is generous, kind, and caring. He would never do this. Something about this letter isn’t right. It doesn’t fit Eli’s nature.”
“Olivia.” Exasperation sharpened his voice. “You saw the letter yourself. How can you doubt what you’ve seen?”
She shivered. “I don’t know, but I can’t see him doing something so inhumane to a group of people who’ve done nothing but suffer.
“Besides,” she said, “from the date I saw on that letter, Eli and I had already married. It’s very recent. He has to have known you’re my family. He must have realized that hurting you would hurt me, too. Something isn’t right.”
“I’m thankful you’re so confident of your husband’s affection for you.” Mama’s lips curved in a gentle smile. “I’ve worried, you know, what with that marriage as sudden as it was, and you hardly knowing Mr. Whitman to begin with. There was talk in town, Olivia. I know you, but I also had a number of difficult moments, there.”
She blushed. “I’m sorry, Mama. I… well, Addie told me about the gossips, and even Eli told me Reverend Alton spoke to him about the talk. He proposed right away.”
“I’m thankful he’s a decent, caring man,” her mother said. “His feelings for you are right, then, since he stepped up to protect you with his name. And his love.”
Olivia had to look away. She couldn’t meet those perceptive brown eyes. With only one glance, Mama would have known Eli did not love her.
“Eli’s a good man,” she said. “I understand he has good reasons to not discuss his business with others, even me. Many folks have tried to take advantage of him and his generous spirit. Some have succeeded. He’s cautious, is all.”
Stephen Moore ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied with your opinion of the state of affairs. You’re closest to Mr. Whitman, after all. I’ll wait for you to act.”
“Thank you, Papa.” She glanced at Eli, who was still involved in his conversation with the pastor. “Now, about that plan I mentioned. I have an invitation for you. I told Mama already, and she was on her way to ask you.”
Her father looked perplexed. “An invitation? Your plan?”
“I asked Cooky to make Sunday dinner for everyone—both families. I’d love to have all of you join us for the meal. I’ve missed you, and it would be a blessing to spend the time together.”
Papa’s lips tightened and thinned. “But—”
“It’s also the perfect opportunity for Eli to get to know you better. He needs to see you’re the upright and honest folks I know, how you’d never try to take advantage of him.”
Mama placed her hand over Papa’s clenched fist. “I think her idea’s a good one, Stephen. It can’t hurt anything for her young man to see we’re not anyone to fear.”
Papa thought for a moment. “I suppose that’s sensible enough. But I will admit it sticks in my craw to think of breaking bread and making regular conversation with a man set to take from me what I’ve worked for all these long years. He sure isn’t one bit like his father before him. Eli, Sr., would never send a letter like the one I got.” He shrugged. “I’ve heard tell of a railroad spur coming somewhere through here. There’s money to be made by selling them land. I suppose that explains why the son’s no longer the man his father raised. That’s why I want to talk to him, why I tried to go to the bank. But that Holtwood guards your husband’s office door as if it were a fort.”
“I’m sure there’s been a mistake,” Olivia repeated, ready to say the same thing over and over until her father came to share her opinion. “I will get the answers you need, but I will also respect Eli and his request—somehow. I don’t know yet how, but I do trust the Father to show me how to go through these challenging times.”
Her father sighed. “I have to admit, it’s only right. He is your husband. I only hope Mr. Whitman recognizes his responsibility toward you half as well as you have toward him.”
Olivia met Papa’s gaze full on this time. “Eli treats me very well. I have no complaints.”
Wishes? Dreams? Perhaps. But no complaints.
She glanced toward the church door and saw her husband approach. She caught her breath.
Once again it dawned on her what a fine figure of a man Eli was. Good-looking, built tall and lean, but with a muscular solidity that brought to mind the picture of strength. He also possessed an unmistakable
confidence, as he walked with a stride that made known to those around him how at ease he was with himself, how well he knew who he truly was.
More important, that outward assurance and strength were mere reflections of the inner man. Olivia considered it a privilege to find herself in a position where she was coming to know the true Eli Whitman. He was a man of character, decent, hardworking, devoted to his children, and a regular churchgoer. Everything about him attracted her.
A shiver of appreciation… of pleasure… of pure awareness ran through her. He was, after all, her husband. The handsome, powerful Eli Whitman had married her. Under irregular conditions, true, but he’d still chosen her.
Did she have any chance of changing his mind about those mortgages? Did she have any chance of making a difference, since his mind seemed made up?
Chapter 16
Eli’s stomach turned an unsettling flip when he saw Olivia stop to talk to her parents that Sunday morning. Standing next to the serious Stephen Moore, she faced her mother, all three lingering outside the church. He knew his wariness bordered on the unreasonable, since the Moores were his new wife’s parents, after all, and it was perfectly normal for her to want to speak with them. However, he had learned from his experience.
This time, he wasn’t about to let his wife spend a great deal of time alone with her family. Whatever contact the Moores had with their daughter, he would make sure it happened while he hovered in the vicinity. He had to protect everything he’d worked for all those long, lean years.
More to the point, he had to protect himself. And his children.
A thought sped through his mind—for what seemed the hundredth time in the past few months, more often in the last weeks. Olivia had nothing at all in common with Victoria. She didn’t resemble his late wife in the slightest way.
Still, his father-in-law’s serious expression made Eli uneasy. It didn’t look as though father and daughter were in the middle of a pleasant, Sunday morning chat about the sermon, about their family, about any of the normal things most folks he knew would talk about. Olivia’s father looked intense, as though he had a purpose to his speech. Had he made a request, a demand of his daughter?
Eli sped his footsteps enough to cut the distance between them down to nothing in seconds. He nodded toward Olivia’s mother, held out a hand to Mr. Moore. “Good morning.”
Out of the corner of his eye he noted the pretty blush on Olivia’s cheeks. Her forest-green jacket and skirt made her eyes appear to sparkle more than usual, and she seemed to glow in the cool, late autumn day.
It struck him again. His wife was an appealing woman, and not just because of her even features and simple elegance. Eli couldn’t believe his great good fortune. For one thing, she’d learned to love his children. Then, too, she’d shown herself quite gifted as she turned the Whitman home into a haven. Without any fuss, but with grace and skill and ease, she’d become the lady of the house in what felt like no time at all. Her results spoke for themselves.
That she was so easy on a man’s eyes didn’t hurt one bit.
As though from a distance, he heard her voice and realized she was speaking to him.
“… asked them to come to the house for dinner,” she said.
That wrenched his attention to the moment at hand.
Olivia continued. “I asked Cooky to prepare enough for company, hoping Mama and Papa hadn’t already made plans for this afternoon. And they haven’t. It’ll be splendid to have my two families become better acquainted.”
The vague sense of unease Eli had experienced earlier burst into full-bodied alarm. “I see…”
Olivia hooked her mother’s arm with hers. “Then let’s go home, shall we?”
Eli clamped his jaws to control his automatic reaction. It wouldn’t do to say something untoward when he had no justification. Under normal circumstances, a woman who’d just married would indeed want to have her family spend time getting to know her new husband and his children.
But his life hadn’t been normal for a long time.
“Yes.” He turned to leave. “Let’s go home. I see Luke over by the Griffiths’ buggy. I’ll go fetch him then catch up with you, probably at the house. I don’t suppose you know where Randy might be.”
“I’m not sure, but she did walk out of church with Audrina Metcalf. I wouldn’t be surprised one bit if they’re at the Mercantile, looking at the new shipment of belts and silk purses Mr. Metcalf has on display in the front window.”
He nodded. “That does sound like our Randy.” Olivia sent him a radiant smile that, to Eli’s irritation, shot straight to a cold and lonely, aching corner of his being. He steeled himself against the warmth it lodged there. “Why don’t I stop by the Mercantile to see if she’s there? I’ll see you at home, then.”
“I’ll have Cooky ready to serve when you get back.”
They parted ways, and he went to collar Luke. He hurried the boy home, which effort became especially easy after Eli reminded Luke a tasty dinner would be ready when they arrived. On their way down Main Street, he saw no sign of Randy outside the Mercantile, and when he spoke with Zebediah, the man said she’d only stopped for a moment. Once he walked through the front door of his home, however, he heard her chuckle in the parlor. A heartbeat later, Olivia’s husky laugh joined in.
Again, he fought the effect it had on him.
He took off his hat and hooked it on the hall tree. Then his coat. He stepped into the large, welcoming room where his wife and children had gathered with the Moore clan. They’d all spread out, some on the sofa, others on the armchairs, one girl on the piano bench, and the two Moore boys sprawled on the thick carpet in the center of the parlor.
“I see we’re the last ones—I’m the last one, since Luke ran ahead of me.” He looked around, taking in the two younger Moore girls’ animated chatter with Randy, as well as Luke’s guarded stare for the somewhat older Moore boys. “Let’s move into the dining room, if everyone’s ready. I’m eager to do justice to one of Cooky’s feasts.”
Once everyone was seated around the large dining room table, Eli asked the Lord’s blessing for the food. As though on cue, Cooky wheeled in the fancy cart Victoria had insisted he purchase for just such an occasion. He’d thought it silly at first, with its wrought-iron whorls and curlicues. Today, for the first time, it struck him as practical. Especially when the heady scents from the numerous platters and serving bowls it bore tickled his nostrils.
“Smells wonderful,” he told the plump lady at the cart’s handle.
“Ah… pshaw!” Cooky blushed with pleasure. “Do get on with you, Mr. Whitman, sir. Plain old hoping here you enjoy your food on this Lord’s day, is all.”
Moments later, everyone did just that. For a while, nothing much happened but the dishing up of delightful treats and polite requests for more.
Then Cooky removed the empty china and passed around pots of coffee and tea. Cups were filled, beverages stirred, drinks sipped. Into the silence, Eli began the process—awkward, in his opinion—of getting to know Olivia’s family.
He started with the man he knew from a number of business transactions at the bank. “So, Mr. Moore, how long have you been in the area?”
His father-in-law put down his cup. “Oh, we came out when Olivia was but a little thing, five years old, maybe? It was shortly after I came home once the war ended. The war left Maryland devastated, especially the Battle of Sharpsburg. I—I’d seen enough during the fighting.”
No one spoke. Respect for the man who’d fought for his country carried the moment. Eli nodded his recognition.
Stephen composed himself and continued. “We didn’t come straight to Oregon Territory. We stopped in Nebraska for a spell—two years—but the cruel weather didn’t suit. We were spoiled by the milder Baltimore winters. And you?”
Eli nodded. “My family came from Boston when my father decided to try his hand at mining. Mama, my sister, and I stayed in Iowa—Kanesville, they call it Council Bluffs now—while Pa
pa chased gold in barren places. His search didn’t last long, but long enough that he turned his findings here in Oregon, at the Jacksonville fields, into the beginnings of a successful bank. Mama died shortly after we settled here; she suffered a bad cut that never healed. Papa sent my sister to live with an aunt in Boston, since there was nothing where Bountiful has now grown. She’s still there, married with three little ones.”
“Ah… separated family. I understand. It’s never an easy thing to cross the country like that, and start all over from nothing.” A soft smile curved the older man’s lips. “Olivia didn’t do so well on the trip. Don’t know how any youngster would, seeing as they want to play and not sit in a small wagon, bouncing over rutted trails and all the rocks in the hard dirt, day after day after day.”
“I was eleven or twelve, so I remember our journey well. It was a trial for my mother, keeping my sister and me out of mischief. I can see how days in the confines of a wagon would have irritated Olivia.” Eli glanced at his wife, whose embarrassment showed in the pink circles on her cheekbones and the mild frown on her brow.
He smiled. “Perhaps that’s why she has such a way with children. She must have learned quite a bit on that trip.”
“I suspect,” Mrs. Moore said, “she learned what she knows from helping me with Jonah and Peter. They were a handful, I’ll say. What when I was with—well, ah… Martha Jean was on her way, why, I couldn’t do a thing, I felt so sick for so long—months, even. Olivia was a great help, even as young as she was.”
“Aw… we’re not so bad, Ma,” one of the Moore boys said. “ ’Sides, Marty’s worse.”
Olivia laughed. “Well, she has had a way of finding mischief, hasn’t she?”
“Hey!” the accused objected. “They’re crazy. I’m no worse’n the boys.”
“Now, now. No need for that bickering,” Mr. Moore said, his voice calm, gentle but firm and full of authority. “You’re all older now, and I hope you’ve outgrown such goings on. Certainly while we’re visiting.”
