by Leah Atwood
“Thank you.” Taking the curtains, he looked around the tiny cabin that would be his and Candace’s home until spring, at least. Candace hadn’t stepped foot in it since the day of Burl’s visit, and over the last month, he’d enlisted Liza and Maeve’s help in making the place seem more like a home.
“This cabin has really transformed.” Maeve’s gaze circled the one room house. “Candace will be pleased.”
“I owe it all to you and Liza.” He chuckled. “You saw my attempt at making it home.”
Maeve also laughed. “You tried.”
A sudden silence fell between them. He’d formed a friendship of sorts with his sister-in-law, but there were still awkward moments when one of them would remember she’d come to Weatherton to marry him, not Sam, even though everything worked out for the best—Maeve married Sam, and he was going to marry Candace.
“I should go.” Maeve looked back toward her and Sam’s cabin. “Dinner is almost ready.”
“You’re not joining everyone in the family house?”
“Not tonight.”
He held up the curtains still in his hand. “Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.”
Closing the door behind her, he took a deep breath. He hoped Candace was pleased with the changes. There was a braided rug near the fireplace, and another by the bed. Liza had taken the old quilt and fixed the rips and tears. They’d never bothered him, but his sister had kindly informed him a girl wants a pretty covering. When she’d returned it, the quilt looked brand new. The best addition was a small stove in the corner.
After the frigid start to December, Harold Kennedy’s wife went crazy and insisted she couldn’t spend another winter in this forsaken place. Mid-December they’d pulled up roots and moved, but not before selling off much of their belongings. Patrick had been fortunate to purchase their cook stove at an affordable price vastly lower than that of a new one. Now, Candace and he could have their own dinners alone in the cabin.
Which reminded him, he had to leave soon. First, he hung the curtains from rods he’d secured to the wall yesterday. They were a sheer material, of what specifically, he didn’t know, but they had tiny yellow and blue flowers embroidered along the bottom. He’d specifically wanted that fabric because it reminded him of the dress he’d purchased for Candace when they’d married the first time. If his home was going to have feminine touches, he wanted them to remind him of Candace.
He glimpsed around. Everything was perfectly in place. He quickly washed up, pulled on his coat and then left for the main house. The smell of stew reached his nostrils before a view of the house did. If he was lucky, Candace had baked her bread that morning. Not that Ma’s wasn’t good—it was—but Candace had a way of making hers rise higher. Slather a healthy dose of freshly churned butter on top of a thick slice and he didn’t need anything else to fill his stomach.
Except that stew did smell awfully good. He walked directly into the house, not bothering to knock on the door.
“You’re making quite a habit of being late.” Ma shook a rag at him.
“Sorry.” He leaned down, winking before he landed a kiss on her cheek. “I had important business to take care of.”
She swatted his arm. “As long as you had a good reason, I guess you’re forgiven.”
“Where’s Candace?” He held his breath, praying Ma wouldn’t say she was out somewhere.
“In the kitchen.”
His legs automatically carried him to the kitchen. He leaned against the doorframe, observing her for several moments. She stood over the stove, stirring the stew. Her cheeks were flushed, presumably from the stove’s heat. She hummed while she worked, and he wondered if she was aware that she did.
The serviceable gray calico dress she wore shouldn’t have done much to accentuate her beauty, but she was breathtaking. As she stirred, her other hand occasionally went to her throat. Squinting his eyes, he saw she wore the ruby necklace. Knowing she was thinking of him brought a slow grin to his face.
“Good evening,” he said, finally announcing his presence.
She spun around. “When did you get here?”
“A few minutes ago.” He didn’t mention he’d been watching her.
“Your ma said you stopped by twice today. I’m sorry I missed you.” She laid down the spoon and approached him.
“Just don’t miss me tomorrow.” It was a jocular command, but he’d still feel much better once the wedding was over and they were married for real. He was ready to settle down, begin a new life with her.
Candace sighed contentedly. “I’m happy it will finally be here.”
“Me too.” When he thought about it, he’d only known Candace four months, but so much had happened in that time frame that it seemed like a lifetime. In a way it was because the life he lived now was not that of the one he’d lived even last summer. He’d grown up and become a better person.
“Patrick, are you expecting anyone?” Entering the kitchen, Ma gave him a curious look.
“No, why?”
“There’s a rider coming in, all by himself.” Ma’s eyebrows furrowed. “Neither he nor the mount, look familiar.”
An instant protectiveness came over him. He patted his firearm secure in its holster. “Where are Jeanette and the others?”
“In their rooms.”
“Go to yours and stay there until I say to leave.” His jaw clenched.
Ma and Candace scurried to the rear of the house where the bedrooms were. Visitors weren’t uncommon, but unrecognized ones were. With any luck, there wouldn’t be any trouble, just someone lost or looking for work, but a man couldn’t be too careful. Especially not when those he loved were in the house.
He took his gun from the holster, just in case—better to be prepared than caught unaware. Bending his neck, he tried to get a glimpse of the visitor through the window but couldn’t. He opened the front door and waited on the porch. The rider slid off his mount and had his back to the house.
“Who are you?” Patrick called out.
“Patrick Holden, is that you?” The man turned around, showing his face.
Only sheer willpower kept Patrick from allowing his shock to show. “You’ve found me, now what do you want Roscoe, or are you still passing yourself off as a judge?”
Roscoe blanched. “How’d you find out?”
“Does it matter? Are you going to tell me why you’re here? I think you’ve disrupted my life enough.” Nerves swished in his belly, but he didn’t allow it to show. Roscoe’s sudden appearance could mean no good.
“Pardon, my intrusion.” Something akin to grief passed over Roscoe’s ill-kempt features. “I know I took a risk coming here, but I needed to know Candace is doing well. I know she’s here, someone in town told me so.”
“Her welfare is none of your concern or is your conscience eating you with guilt for the lies and fake marriage you officiated?” Anger seethed through Patrick.
“I had my reasons.” The older man’s voice shook, and Patrick realized how frail he was. “If you’d allow me to explain, it will all make sense.”
I doubt that. “Lay down your weapons and walk over with your hands in the air.”
Hands lowered, Roscoe removed his belt with a holster on each side. He tossed it on the snow-covered ground. He bent over and retrieved a knife from his boots and threw it on top the belt. Then he raised both arms and walked to the porch.
Patrick was vaguely convinced the old man meant no harm, but he refused to let down his guard.
“There’s something in my vest pocket that I wish to show you.” Roscoe looked at him for permission.
“Go ahead and pull it out.”
Seconds later, Roscoe handed Patrick a photograph.
A sense of alarm rang through him. “Where did you get this?”
“It was in my Ma’s belongings when she died.”
Staring at the portrait, Patrick couldn’t rid himself of the unease multiplying in his stomach. The girl in the photograph l
ooked exactly like Candace, a younger version of the tintype she’d found in her Pa’s belongings. He already knew the answer but asked anyway. “Who is this?”
“Nancy. Candace’s mother.”
A headache formed behind his right temple. “Who were you to her?”
“Nancy was my baby sister.” Unabashed sadness filled the man’s words.
“Which makes Candace your niece?” Patrick asked, putting the pieces together.
“Yes.”
Disgust struck him, thinking of all the things Candace had been put through. “What kind of uncle are you?”
“Not a very good one, but I did my best by her.”
“How do you figure? For years, Candace put up with abuse from her Pa, and you show up, joining forces with her pa to manipulate her and me into a marriage.” He shook a fist, and the tintype waved precariously in his hand. “One that wasn’t even legitimate, I might add.”
Roscoe frowned. “I didn’t know about Candace. Her ma ran away with Burl when she was only sixteen. For a few years, my other sister and I tried to track her down but never succeeded.”
“Then how do you know Candace is your niece?” Patrick holstered his gun, confused still, but convinced there was no immediate danger.
“On my last trip to Pine Prairie I recognized Burl. He was older, sloppier, but recognizable nonetheless.” He reached for the picture and Patrick handed it back. “When I saw Candace I knew at last I had found them—she’s the mirror image of Nancy. Except it was too late for my sister.”
Patrick tugged on his hat. The news was too unbelievable, and he was still skeptical. “Did Burl recognize you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea what Candace suffered from that loathsome man?” Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to remain calm.
“I saw a glimpse.” A raspy cough came from Roscoe. “I knew I had to get her away from him, and you were the perfect way.”
“Me?” Arched eyebrows questioned Roscoe’s statement.
“It was my idea to force you young ones into a marriage.” He coughed again.
“Do you have any idea the problems that fake marriage caused?” Patrick felt his ire grow again.
“Burl promised he’d never tell anyone it was fake. I need you to trust me when I said I did it for Candace’s sake.”
“That’s asking a lot of a man.” His mouth set in a straight line. “Especially when anyone who knew me at the time knew I was a good-for-nothing scoundrel.”
“You’ve never been that. Deep down, you have a noble heart.”
A loud snort came out. “And how would you know anything about me?”
“I stop in Pine Prairie a few times a year. About two years ago, I passed through and was awoken by a commotion in the hallway.” Another cough and this time blood came from the man’s mouth. “I remember going into the hall and seeing you beating a man with bright red hair. Told him if he ever hurt Sissy or any other female, you’d kill him. I thought it was some love triangle squabble and went back to my room. The next day, I learned you saved a woman from being raped.”
The man knew too many details to be making it up, but Patrick didn’t recall ever seeing him. Then again, in those days Patrick had a habit of only noticing the females. “Suppose you’re telling the truth, it still doesn’t answer the false marriage business.”
Roscoe sighed. “I kept my distance from Burl for a day, didn’t let him know I was there. I saw how horribly he treated Candace. When I saw him strike her for no good reason, I knew I had to do something.”
Patrick’s fist clenched. He couldn’t stomach the idea of anyone hurting Candace.
“I didn’t know what, so I chummed up with him while formulating a plan.” A deep breath produced another round of hacking coughs. “When I saw Candace at the dance and recognized you with her, I knew a higher power had intervened. Burl wanted the girl off his hands, so I convinced him you and Candace would marry. Otherwise, her reputation would be marred and no one would ever want to marry her.”
“He was a fool.” The words spat from his mouth and landed on the ground. If Burl wasn’t already dead, Patrick had a mind to kill him with his own bare hands.
“Yes, he was.” Roscoe hobbled up the steps and leaned against the house. “I’m dying, Patrick. I haven’t got much time left on this earth, but I had to come and see that Candace is in good hands.”
“She’s well taken care of. We’re to be officially wed tomorrow.” Despite all the unexpected news, a small smile curled his lips. He looked at the old man, staring into his differently colored eyes. His heart softened toward Roscoe, and he knew, however, bizarre it sounded, the man told the truth and cared for Candace. “It’s cold out. Why don’t you come in and join us for dinner, see for yourself how Candace is faring.”
Tired eyes brightened. “I’d be honored.”
Opening the door, Patrick gestured for Roscoe to enter first. He stepped into the house and secured the door against the elements. “Ma, Candace, there’s someone you should meet.”
A flurry of footsteps sounded through the house, as Ma, Candace, Liza, Jeanette, Lucas and Benjamin hurried to see their visitor.
Candace’s jaw dropped open when she saw the man she knew only as the fake Judge Thomas. She shot Patrick a questioning look but didn’t say anything alluding to the man’s identity.
He put a hand to Roscoe’s shoulder. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Roscoe Dalkin, Candace’s uncle.”
“Hello.” Roscoe’s voice was considerably weaker than fifteen minutes ago.
Mouths gaped open as the name surfaced in their memories. Candace’s eyes remain fixed on Patrick, imploring him for answers. He second-guessed his rash decision. Ideally, he should have spoken with Candace first before announcing it in front of most everyone. Sam and Maeve would be in for a shock later.
Ma came to the rescue. “We’re about to eat our dinner. Liza and Jeanette, come help me set the table. Boys, bring some firewood inside.”
Patrick, Candace, and Roscoe were all who remained standing by the door.
“Is it true?” Candace asked, her expression impassive. “Are you truly my uncle?”
“Yes.” Roscoe nodded feebly. “Your mother, Nancy, was my sister.”
“Where have you been all this time?” She didn’t falter, and Patrick was proud of her gumption.
He also noticed Roscoe’s subtle sway. Pointing to the parlor, he suggested they sit for a few minutes until Ma called them for dinner. Which he knew was already finished, but Ma was being polite and giving them this time to talk with Roscoe.
Roscoe gave him an embarrassed but grateful look. Unwanted sympathy settled into Patrick. The man was but a shell of what he’d been four months ago, or maybe he’d been too startled by the circumstances to notice how sickly Roscoe had appeared as Judge Thomas.
They sat close to the fire. Patrick pulled the two rocking chairs closer to each other so he could be near Candace. Her hands shook in her lap, and he reached over and covered them with his left hand.
Watching Candace listen carefully as Roscoe retold his tale, Patrick also paid close attention for any inconsistencies from the version he’d been told. There were none.
When Roscoe finished, Candace looked at him, tears coming down her cheeks. “Did my Ma love my Pa?”
“She must have to run away with him.” Roscoe’s shoulders slumped. “Once she left, I never heard from her again, but I have to believe she did.”
“What was Ma like?”
A distant smile reached Roscoe’s eyes. “Nancy was an angel on earth. She was sweet as honey and everyone loved her. There wasn’t a person alive, she couldn’t find good in and put everyone she met at ease. She was also impetuous and impatient, thus her running away with Burl, but we never could figure out why she never wrote.”
“Did he love her?” Her hand gripped his with a mighty strength.
“Yes.” Patrick could tell how hard it was for Roscoe to admit that. “Your Pa had many
flaws, but back then, the little we knew about him, he was a good man, for the most part. During their brief courtship, he showered Nancy with love and attention.”
“Then why didn’t they stay and get married?” Her features twisted with confusion.
“Burl treated your ma well, but he was an irresponsible man. We worried he wouldn’t take good care of her. Plus she was so young, only sixteen.” Covering his mouth, Roscoe erupted in a fit of coughs.
Candace turned to Patrick. “Ma’s death changed Pa. I knew it. I wish I could have been enough to keep him happy, but it helps to know he loved Ma.”
He cupped her chin. “You should have been enough, Candace. You are enough. Don’t ever doubt that.”
It took several moments for her to regain composure, and she turned to Roscoe again. “During your two days at Pine Prairie, did Pa ever mention someone named Betty, possibly from Cheyenne?”
“Not that I can recall.” He hooked a finger under his chin. “Just a second. He didn’t say anything, but one night around the poker table, some men were talking about a new brothel in Cheyenne and about one girl in particular. I believe her name was Betty.”
A dull pain immediately settled in Patrick’s heart when he saw the crestfallen expression on Candace’s face. He might not have wanted to go chasing Betty down, but he didn’t want the truth to hurt Candace as it had.
He watched her swallow, then take several deep breaths. “You mentioned another sister. Is she still alive?”
“Yes. Your Aunt Diana lives in Nebraska.” Pausing to catch his breath, Roscoe closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he continued. “I wrote a letter to her when I found out about you but haven’t been back to South Dakota yet. That’s where I live most the year.”
“I’d like to write to her.”
“She would like that.” A single tear hung at the corner of Roscoe’s left eye. “Forgive me, Candace. I wish for everything I would have known about you and done something sooner.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Uncle Roscoe. You did what you could, and the marriage, though humiliating at the time, has worked out for the best.”
Patrick had never felt as fortunate as when she turned to him and smiled, nor had he ever been so proud of someone. Candace had accepted and forgiven Roscoe with the grace of a true lady.
