Gavin sat up on the cot and leaned his head in his hands. He didn’t want to think about his parents. He didn’t want to remember the cool way his mother had rebuffed his childish attempts to win her affection — or even just her attention. He didn’t want to remember his father — unshaven, unwashed, eyes blurry, a bottle of cheap liquor nearby. He’d put it all behind him years ago. Or at least he thought he had. But he’d obviously failed, for those feelings had all come rushing back, thanks to Miss Emily Harris.
Would he become as pathetic as his father because of a woman? God help him if the answer to that question was in the affirmative.
Twenty-Five
The O’Donnell sleigh slid silently over the snow as the pair of horses pulled their passengers toward Challis. Emily and the girls were glad beyond words to be out of the house. They’d been cooped up much too long by bad weather and Petula’s broken arm. To make matters worse, Gavin hadn’t returned yet with the last of the cattle, and his absence was keenly felt in the household. Although the girls seemed to have forgotten that for the moment. Sabrina and Petula chattered and giggled and reveled in their escape from lessons and chores.
“Someday,” Patrick said to Emily, speaking low enough that only she could hear, “we’ll be taking children of our own for a ride in the sleigh. Sure and I look forward to the day.”
There were so many reasons that she should love Patrick with her whole heart. He was a wonderful storyteller and could captivate his listeners for hours. He was generous to a fault, and he had a surprising patience. And most important of all, he loved God.
Lest she think too highly of him, his brothers had made a point of warning her that Patrick had the infamous O’Donnell temper that could flare in an instant but be gone just as quickly. If that was true, she’d seen no sign of it. He’d never been angry with her. Not even when he should have been.
He’s so good to me, and he loves me.
“The stage will be up from Boise City today,” Patrick said, “trusting the roads are passable between here and there. Perhaps there’ll be a letter in it from your sister. That would lift your spirits.”
She pulled her left hand from her muff and took hold of his. “Do I look sad, Patrick?”
“Aye, Emily, you do.”
“Well, I’m not. Just lost in thought, I suppose.”
“When we’ve done our shopping, what say we have a piece of Mrs. Benson’s famous chocolate cake at the restaurant before we start back to the ranch?”
“Yes!” came simultaneous cries from the backseat of the sleigh.
Patrick laughed, and the sound brought a real smile to Emily’s lips.
What was she worried about? She cared for this man, and if she didn’t love him passionately now, that would come. Their wedding wouldn’t take place for another five months. Much could happen in that brief span of time.
In Challis, Patrick drew the horses to a halt in front of the mercantile. He hopped out of the sleigh, then helped Emily disembark and step to the boardwalk outside the store entrance. Moments later, the girls had joined her there.
“How about a nickel to spend as you like?” Patrick reached into his pocket.
“You’ll spoil them,” Emily said with a shake of her head.
“Not so very much. It’s only a nickel.”
Emily looked into Sabrina’s and Petula’s expectant faces and knew she’d lost the battle already. Once Patrick had made the offer, she hadn’t the heart to take it back. And perhaps he was right. It wouldn’t spoil them so very much.
She leaned down to look each of them in the eye. “One piece of candy at most. You can buy whatever else you can afford, but not a lot of candy. Agreed?”
They nodded.
She straightened and looked at Patrick. “All right then.”
“I’ll take the lasses inside, and you can check the post for letters from your sister.”
“Thank you, Patrick. I won’t be long.”
“Take as long as you like. We’ve a store to explore.”
A small chime sounded above the door as she entered the Post Office. The man behind the counter, spectacles perched on the tip of his bulbous nose, looked up at the alert.
“Good day, Miss Harris.”
“Good day, Mr. Hutchens. I’ve come to see if I have any letters.”
“You’re in luck. The coach arrived yesterday. You’ve got two letters awaiting you. I’ll get them. And there’s a bit of mail for the Lucky Strike as well.”
Moments later, Emily sat on a bench in the Post Office, opened the first of her letters — this one from her friend Fiona Whittier — and began to read.
December 31, 1883
Dear Emily,
I regret my poor correspondence. You put me to shame because I have already received two letters from you this month.
I cannot believe how much time it takes to care for an infant. Maggie told me she sent news of the safe arrival of our daughter, Myrna Joy Whittier. She is already eight weeks old.Can you believe that? It seems all I have done since her birth is change her diapers and give her baths and nurse her and rock her. I look forward to an uninterrupted night of sleep, which everyone has promised will happen soon. Oh, how careless I was of those long, leisurely nights before Myrna was born. But I am not complaining. I think she is wonderful, and I am blissfully happy. James is a doting father (if a bit clumsy). I fear he will spoil her terribly before she is even a year old.
James’s mother stayed with us for several weeks to help with the baby, and it made us realize that we shall very soon need a larger house. This one will not be big enough as our family grows. (My husband wants half a dozen children at least.) James thinks we will be able to afford a larger house in another year. His business is doing so well. His mother says all the men in the Whittier family are successful by nature.
I must close this letter, as Myrna is demanding my attention. Perhaps the next time I write, I will have something more of interest to tell you. Do write again soon.
Your devoted friend,
Fiona
Cheered by the letter, Emily folded the stationery and returned it to the envelope. Half a dozen children? She wouldn’t be surprised to learn Fiona wanted twice that many. She’d been created to nurture.
Still smiling, Emily opened the second letter, this one from Maggie.
January 1, 1884
My dearest Emily,
Another new year has dawned, and my thoughts today are sentimental ones, thinking back over the years and pondering all of God’s blessings that my family has enjoyed. I hope that this day finds you and the Blakes well.
We went too long without receiving a letter from you, but Tucker told me that the high country roads aren’t always passable this time of year and not to worry. I was so relieved when I heard from you at last. I loved knowing you were in such a beautiful setting and was thankful to hear that you were happy. Then came your letter about the death of Mrs. Blake.How my heart broke for those two girls. You and I know only too well what it means to grow up without a mother. I’m sure you are of great comfort to them.
As you requested, I am indeed praying that God will give you wisdom, and I pray that Mr. Blake will have his eyes opened to the Savior’s love.
But Emily dearest, are you quite certain you want to stay with the Blakes until spring? There must be another capable woman living in the area, someone who could love and tend the children and allow you to return to your family.
Your nieces and nephews miss you, Sheridan most of all.And Matthew Foreman has asked about you several times since you left Boise. That poor young man is completely besotted with you, and I don’t believe he has given up hope, despite your refusal of him.
The weather here in the valley has been mild this winter.A number of storms have blown through, but the snow hasn’t lingered more than a few days at a time. However, the mountains are coated in white and look quite lovely.
I will close now and hope that this letter will reach you without great delay. I se
nd my love along with Tucker’s and the children’s. We are counting the weeks until you are home again.
Your loving sister,
Maggie
The last words were difficult for Emily to read through the tears welling in her eyes. After setting the letter aside, she dried her cheeks with her handkerchief.
“Bad news, Miss Harris?” the postmaster asked.
“No, Mr. Hutchens. I’m just a little homesick is all.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “My sister wrote the letter less than three weeks ago. The roads must be much better than they were.”
“That they are. That they are.”
Emily put the mail into her pocketbook and rose from the bench. “Good day to you, sir.”
“And to you, Miss Harris. Tell Gavin that me and the missus are thinking of him and how sorry we are for his loss.”
“I’ll do that.”
The chime sounded above her head again as she left the post office.
Gavin rode into the yard at the Lucky Strike in the afternoon, eight days after he’d departed. He hadn’t accomplished much after Jess drove the herd toward home. In the remaining days, Gavin had found only a half dozen stragglers hiding in the draws and gullies of the foothills. The rest of the time he’d spent wrestling with memories of his mother and father and trying to figure out what to do about his feelings for Emily Harris, now that she was engaged to another man. Should he talk to her, tell her he was falling in love with her, that he couldn’t stop thinking of her? Or was the better thing to leave her be? If she loved Patrick, why complicate things for her? Staying silent, keeping his distance seemed the honorable thing to do. If he’d ever had a chance to earn Emily’s affections, he was too late now.
He was in the barn, loosening the cinch on his gelding, when Stubs joined him there.
“Right good to see you back, Gavin. The girls missed you.”
He grunted an acknowledgment that he’d heard the cowpoke’s words but didn’t look up.
“Reckon they’d have been out here already, but they’ve gone to town with Miss Harris.”
He yanked the saddle off the horse’s back and turned toward Stubs. “Did Patrick take them?”
“Yep. Went in that fancy sleigh of his. About an hour or so ago. Maybe more.”
“Has he been over here a lot while I was gone?” He dropped the saddle onto a rack.
“Every couple days or so.” Stubs cocked an eyebrow. “Problem with that?”
Gavin shook his head. “Just wondering.”
“I expect him and Miss Harris have lots to talk about, what with planning a wedding come the spring.”
“I expect so.” He ran a brush over the gelding’s back.
Stubs cleared his throat. “You know, Gavin. I think you oughta — ”
“I know what you think, Stubs. It isn’t going to happen.”
“Are you — ”
“Just leave it be, old friend.”
Silence, then, “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” Gavin tossed the brush into a bucket and led the horse into a stall where he could be watered and fed.
“Sure but you’re looking more sad now, love, than before you went into the Post Office.” Patrick put his index finger beneath Emily’s chin and tilted her head up so their gazes would meet. “Was there bad news in your letter?”
“No.” She shook her head, at the same time drawing a step away from her fiancé. “No bad news. I just miss my sister.”
“Of course you do. Have you thought of taking a trip to Boise when the roads are better? We could go together. Introduce me to the family.”
“I couldn’t possibly do that, Patrick. I can’t leave Brina and Pet.”
“Gavin could spare you for a couple of weeks.”
She shook her head again. “No. I promised Mrs. Blake that I wouldn’t leave until the cattle are taken back into the basin.”
Patrick studied her awhile in silence, a silence that made her squirm on the inside, uncomfortable with what he might read on her face, see in her eyes. But she didn’t look away, no matter how much she wished to.
It was Petula who rescued Emily, stepping in between the two adults. “Look what I bought, Miss Harris.” She held up a box. “It’s a set of checkers for Pa. He’s got a board but some of the checkers got lost so he couldn’t play no more.”
“That’s ’cause you were playing with the checkers outside when you weren’t supposed to,” Sabrina said. “You’re the one who lost them.”
Emily gave the older girl a warning glance, then bent down to look Petula in the eyes. “That’s very nice of you to spend your nickel on your pa.”
“It wasn’t the whole nickel. I got a peppermint stick too. But just one, like you told us.”
“Good girl.” Emily ran a hand over Petula’s hair before turning toward Sabrina. “And what did you buy with your nickel?”
“A Scholar’s box, to keep my pencils and eraser in.” Like her sister before her, she held up her purchase for inspection. “It’s almost exactly like the one you’ve got at home, Miss Harris.”
“Very nice. It is a lot like mine. Only yours has a lock. Mine doesn’t.”
Patrick laid a hand on her shoulder. “Your supplies are already in the sleigh. Shall we have that cake now?”
“Yes!” the girls cried together.
“It will spoil all of our suppers.” Emily smiled despite herself. Who could not respond in kind when looking at the joy written on Sabrina and Petula’s happy faces?
And besides, what did it matter if they spoiled their supper this once? It wasn’t as if she needed to do much cooking with Gavin away.
Twenty-Six
“Pa’s home!” Sabrina cried as the sleigh pulled into the yard.
Emily’s heart thundered in her chest, and she wondered if Patrick would guess she was as excited as the children to know Gavin was home again.
Sabrina and Petula were out of the sleigh the instant it stopped. They dashed across the yard to the barn where their father stood in the open doorway. He lifted them both, one in each arm, holding them close to his sides.
Somehow, Emily forced herself to do nothing more than wave at him, acknowledging his return. Then she allowed Patrick to help her from the sleigh and the two of them carried the purchases into the house.
“Sure and the lasses are glad to have their da at home.”
Emily set her basket on the kitchen table. “Yes, they’ve missed him a lot. A week is a long time when you’re their ages.”
“Dru knew they would be in good hands with Gavin after she was gone.”
“Yes.”
Patrick turned her to face him. “They’ll not lack for anything when you’re no longer their governess.”
Tears burned her eyes but she fought them back, swallowing hard. “Of course not. He loved them long before my arrival.”
“It won’t be as if you can’t see them whenever you wish, Emily, once you’re living at the hall as my wife. It’s not all that far to the Lucky Strike.”
That’s where Patrick was wrong. She wouldn’t be able to see the children whenever she wanted, because seeing them would mean seeing Gavin too. And she didn’t think her heart would be able to bear that. Perhaps, in time . . .
Patrick shook his head as he chuckled softly. “It is clear there’ll be no cheering you up, my girl, no matter what I say. So I will take my leave of you and you can read your sister’s letter a second time.” He drew her close and kissed her.
When their lips parted, Emily put her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For being so kind and understanding.” She drew away from him. “You’re the kindest of men, Patrick O’Donnell.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you all along.” He grinned, a look that brought a smile to her own lips. Who could resist the famous O’Donnell charm? Even when she knew Patrick was talking blarney. “Ah, there’s your smile,” he said
— and leaned down to kiss her again.
Cold air swirled into the room, and Emily took a step back to look in the direction of the kitchen door.
Gavin locked gazes with her for a fraction of a second before closing the door, turning, and shrugging out of his coat. When he faced them again, he said, “The girls tell me I’m indebted to you, Patrick.”
The Irishman waved off Gavin’s thanks. “Next time I come over, I’ll have to challenge you to a game of checkers.”
“You’ll lose if you do.”
Patrick chuckled again. “We’ll see.” He looked at Emily. “I’ll see you soon.”
She walked with him to the front door and remained on the stoop, hugging herself against the cold, until he was back in the sleigh and driving from the yard. After a quick wave farewell, she reentered the house.
“You shouldn’t have let Patrick give them money,” Gavin said, standing in the kitchen doorway.
She stiffened at his gentle but definite reprimand. “It was only a nickel apiece.”
“Nickels can be hard to come by around here, depending on the price of beef on the hoof.”
She could have told him that she had tried to dissuade Patrick, albeit not very hard. Instead she said, “I hadn’t the heart to deny them. I’m sorry. I’ll know better next time.”
Silence stretched between them. Not that Emily’s head wasn’t filled with things she would like to say. Words she wanted to say but couldn’t. Words she had no right to speak aloud.
“I’d better gather my things and take them to my cabin. Now that you’re back, I’m not needed in the girls’ room at night. Pet is sleeping peacefully again.”
“I appreciate the care you’ve given the girls, Miss Harris.”
How formal they were with each other. How distant. Whatever they might have had seemed irrevocably lost.
Robin Lee Hatcher Page 17
