Bid for a Bride

by Nordin, Ruth Ann

  “How did this happen?” he demanded, his speech slurred.

  “Carl, I can take care of it. It’ll be as if nothing happened,” his mother said, her voice shaking. “This is a simple fix.”

  A loud slap made Brian wince. He clung to the side of the house and listened beneath the open window, wondering what was happening and wishing for once he could see. However, in retrospect, he concluded it was best he didn’t see anything. It was bad enough hearing it.

  “Did the boy do this?” his father screamed. When she didn’t answer, something heavy hit the floor. “Well? Who did it, Fran? You or the boy?”

  “I…it was me,” she replied, and Brian could hear the tears in her voice.

  That was a lie. Brian had been drinking some water and tripped over something in the parlor. He hadn’t realized they were his father’s boots until he felt the wet leather and told her. She put them back to where they belonged and told Brian as soon as they could get to town, she’d find something to take the stains out. She said she’d see about going the next day once his father gave her the money she needed. Then she warned Brian against mentioning the boots or the glass of water.

  But his father found the boots anyway, and he wasn’t buying her lie any more than Brian thought he would. “Where’s the boy?” his father shouted, making Brian shrink closer to the ground.

  Footsteps thundered in the house, and it took a moment for Brian to realize his father was searching for him. His mother’s lighter footsteps followed him.

  “Please, Carl. He’s only eight!”

  “Stop hiding him from me! You’re always protecting him. I’m your husband, damn it! Tell me where he is!”

  “Please don’t. You’re hurting me,” she cried.

  “Tell me where he is and I’ll let you go!”

  She didn’t answer him. She only sobbed louder, and then came several resounding slaps that made Brian realize that his father was hitting his mother. That was why she told him to hide and cover his ears. She didn’t want him to find out.

  Scared, Brian did the only thing a child would think to do: he went to his hiding spot under the porch. He put his hands over his ears and drew his knees up to his chest. As he struggled not to cry aloud, he sensed the vibrations coming from above him and knew someone was on the porch. And that someone was furious, if the strength of the vibrations was to be believed.

  “Brian!” his father yelled. “Brian!”

  Startled, he put his hands down and crawled further into the small space under the porch.

  “Damn you, Fran! Where is he?”

  His mother cried out and Brian heard a series of footsteps before something fell to the porch.

  “I got your ma, boy! Get over here or I’ll hurt her!”

  “No, Brian! Don’t come out!”

  Another harsh slap and stomping on the porch, what sounded like a body rolling, and his mother begging his father to stop were all Brian could understand.

  Then footsteps pounded down the steps, and Brian squeezed his eyes shut tight, fully expecting his father to find him. He held his breath and clasped his arms around his legs. He bit his lower lip so he wouldn’t cry and give away his location. He kept waiting for his father to find him, but he never did.

  It wasn’t until Brian heard the horse neighing that he crept closer to the hole under the porch. He waited and listened. The horse’s hoofs dug into the dirt. Once the sound faded, Brian tentatively emerged from his hiding place and felt along the wood frame of the porch until he found the steps and climbed them.

  “Ma?” he whispered and reached out his shaky hands. She was out here. He knew she was. His heart raced with certain dread. He heard labored breathing and moved in that direction. “Ma?”

  She groaned and swallowed.

  He found her and grasped her hand, feeling something sticky and wet. “What is this?”

  “Never mind that.” She gasped.

  He brought his hands up to her face, but her hands closed around his.

  “No.” Then she brought his hands back down. “Don’t.”

  His lower lip trembled. “Why?”

  She moaned, her breathing still irregular.

  “It’s chilly,” he whispered. “Come inside.”

  She didn’t answer, and that scared him. She’d always been able to talk to him in the past after his father came home and then left.

  “Ma?”

  “I…I can’t move.”

  He hurried into the house, stumbling over objects littered about the parlor, until he found the blanket she kept on the couch and brought it out to her. Blinking as his tears fell down his cheeks, he tucked the blanket around her.

  “Is that better?” he asked.

  He heard her swallow and try to speak but there was a slight gurgle that he knew wasn’t right. “Ma?” He reached up to touch her face, and though she turned her head from him, he found her nose which felt out of place. His hands went lower to her mouth, and he felt the same sticky wet substance coming from her lips. He brought his fingers to his nose and inhaled the strange odor. He’d smelled it before but couldn’t place where.

  “Brian,” she whispered.

  He waited for her to continue. He dropped his hand and focused on her but didn’t hear anything. The absence of her breathing didn’t dawn on him right away. “Ma?” He waited, perfectly still as he silently urged her to answer him.

  But she never did.

  He stayed with her on the porch into the evening, aware something was wrong but not grasping what. His mother wasn’t answering him, and she wasn’t breathing. No one explained death to him. How was he to know what just happened?

  Looking back he understood it, and even as he sat there in Sioux Falls at twenty, he felt a tear slide down his cheek. His father returned from doing who knew what, but even knowing how bad his father’s anger could get, he refused to leave his mother. His father finally pushed him away and took her from him. “The wolves got your ma, boy. That’s what happened.” Brian could still hear the echo of his father’s footsteps as he carried his mother’s body down the porch and out…somewhere.

  The townspeople had to have known it wasn’t the wolves. But no one wanted to do anything. They acted like nothing was wrong. Brian brushed back his tear and forced any other thoughts of crying aside as he stood to his feet. Now he understood the whispers when his mother took him to town. They commented on her bruises, but they didn’t do anything to help her. If they had, she might have lived.

  Why didn’t they do anything?

  His father got away with it. And now his father was carousing through Sioux Falls, laughing as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Brian grabbed his walking stick and followed the sound of his father’s voice. With each step, years of suppressed fury rose to the surface. Blood. That’d been blood on his mother’s hand and dribbling out of her mouth. Her nose had been broken. Her face was swollen. He wasn’t sure exactly what killed her, but his father had done something to her to cause internal bleeding.

  Gritting his teeth, Brian hurried down the sidewalk, bumping into people but not caring. His heart pounded loudly in his ears but he kept his focus on the voice of his father as it carried on the wind. Then his father’s voice veered off to the left, and Brian reached out to feel what was on that side. A wall. He rushed forward, feeling his way along and then felt the swinging door.

  Going through it, he smelled the alcohol and smoke in the room. A bar. Even after all these years, his father was still drinking. A round of laughter came from his right. Then he heard a man order a shot of whiskey and knew it was his father. He approached him and tapped on his father’s shoulder.

  The chair squeaked as his father turned around. “May I help you?”

  Brian stood there for a moment, his hands slightly shaking. It was unreal. Standing here, before his father, after all this time. And all he could smell was blood and hear the sound of labored breathing. Gulping, he asked, “Are you Carl Reeves?”

  “Yes,” the man rep
lied, sounding uncertain. “Do I know you?”

  “You were married to Francine and had a son named Brian?”

  “Who the hell— Wait a minute.”

  Brian took a step back, as the chair squeaked again. He balled his hand into a tight fist, adrenaline pumping through him. He recalled his mother begging for his father to stop hurting her.

  “Are you—?” his father began.

  But Brian didn’t let him finish the sentence. He dropped his walking stick and touched his father’s face before he punched his father. Crashing and shouts of surprise were things Brian hardly noticed above the pounding in his ears. He reached forward and grabbed his father’s shirt.

  “You bastard!” Brian shouted. “You killed her! You killed her!” Then he flung his father back onto the chair and punched him over and over, recalling each time he heard his father hitting his mother. “You killed her!”

  Someone seized Brian from behind and pushed him into something. It took Brian a second to realize it was a chair.

  “Let me go! He killed my mother!”

  Brian struggled against the man holding him down while some of the men cheered for both sides. The man grabbed his hand, but Brian shoved him away and stood back up. He lurched for the spot his father had been sitting, but the chair was empty.

  “Carl Reeves!” Brian shouted and stumbled to the next few chairs, his hands stretched out but not feeling anyone.

  Someone grabbed his hand and placed his hand under it. Stop it!

  Brian shoved him away again and ran for the entrance. His father must have bolted out of there. Before he could get to the door, the man behind him took hold of the back of his shirt and pulled him back. Brian fell and crashed into the man. The world tilted around Brian and he landed on a table which toppled over. His head struck one hard surface and then another before his back slammed against the floor.

  Someone put his hand under Brian’s and signed, Stop! Don’t!

  It took Brian a moment to realize it was John. “That was my father! The bastard deserves to die!”

  No. I’m your father. You listen to me.

  He snatched his hand away and tried to get up but John held him in place. His father was getting away. Once again, he was getting away with murder.

  John grabbed Brian’s hand and forced his hand under it. I am your father. I raised you. I work with you. I gave you my name. You are Brian Evans. Now, listen to me.

  Brian cried and shook his head. “He beat her until she died. My mother’s dead because of him.” It was the first time he’d ever said the words aloud, and he hated the tears that fell from his eyes for they exposed too much of the pain he’d buried long ago.

  I’m sorry. What he did was wrong.

  “He needs to be brought to justice. He needs to pay for what he did.”

  He’s sick, Brian. He’s not going to live much longer. You couldn’t see him, but I could. His face is too pale. He’s too thin. He can’t stand up straight. He’s weak. His eyes are sunken in. He’s dying. He doesn’t have more than a few months. Judgment’s already been made. It doesn’t have to come through you.

  Brian shook his head and wiped his eyes. “I hate him. I hate him for what he did to her. How can you expect me to let him go?”

  After a moment, John signed, You have a wife and a child on the way. They need you. If you kill him, then you’ll go to prison or hang.

  “It’s not fair. He killed my mother, and no one put him in prison.”

  Life is not always fair. Bad things happen. All we can do is forgive and move on.

  Brian let out a bitter laugh. “You expect me to forgive him?”

  Not for his sake but for yours. You won’t be free until you let the past go. God will take care of it.

  “But I can’t love him.”

  I didn’t tell you to love him. I told you to forgive.

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  Time. Give it time.

  All the fight departed from Brian and he turned his face to the ceiling. For a moment, he remembered resting his head on Lucy’s lap as she read to him. He remembered wishing he could see her, wondering how she looked as she read the book. He closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. No. Carl Reeves wasn’t worth giving up his life with Lucy and their child.

  Come. I’ll get your stick and we’ll go have supper at your uncle’s house. John reached under Brian’s shoulders and helped him to his feet.

  Brian stood still when John let go of him. He flexed his hand and realized it was sore. He should have felt better, at least, because he’d been able to punch Carl Reeves, but oddly enough, he didn’t. In some ways, he only felt worse.

  A gentle tap from his walking stick alerted him to the fact that John had returned. He took the stick and waited for John to take his elbow before walking forward. They’d finish up their business in Sioux Falls over the next couple of days and then return home. And if Brian never came to Sioux Falls again, it’d be too soon.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lucy went to the window in Eliza’s kitchen and drew back the curtain. She sighed. Brian and John had yet to return.

  Eliza chuckled. “They’ll be here before supper. Believe me, men make it a point to be home at supper time.”

  Lucy turned from the window and glanced at the clock. Perhaps she should start supper then, even if it was one in the afternoon. The week had been a long one, and though her time with Eliza made it bearable, she was more than ready to be with Brian again. Her hands cupped the slight mound in her abdomen. She was four months along. By this time next year, she’d be holding Brian’s child in her arms. She smiled and returned to the table where Eliza dug out the pumpkin seeds.

  “I’m glad you’re here to help me make the pie,” Eliza said. “There’s nothing like a nice warm slice of pumpkin pie to get you ready for fall, but between you and me, removing the insides of a pumpkin is a real pain.”

  Lucy laughed. “I could do that for you.”

  “No. You’ll be doing just about everything else. I need to do something useful to say I helped make the pie.”

  As she walked toward the shelf to grab the container of sugar, she heard a horse neigh. Excited, she hurried to the window and pulled back the curtain to see John and Brian sitting in an empty wagon as the horses trotted onto the property. “They’re here!” She pulled off her apron and ran to the door. Glancing at Eliza, she asked, “Aren’t you coming?”

  “Not with these messy hands,” Eliza replied. “Go on. Brian will be glad to see you.”

  Lucy hurried out the door and anxiously waited as the men came closer. When John reached the house, he pulled back the reins and slipped his hand under Brian’s. Then he waved a greeting to Lucy.

  “Hi, John,” she replied as she approached them. “It sure is good to see you two again.” She retrieved Brian’s walking stick and stepped back as Brian got down from the wagon.

  John nodded and then slapped the reins so the horses moved forward.

  Still holding the stick, she embraced Brian. “I’m glad you’re home.”

  He put his arms around her and buried his face in the nape of her neck. “You feel so good.”

  Before she could respond, he kissed her. Clinging to him, she returned his kiss, surprised by the desperation she sensed from him. When his lips left hers, he kissed her cheeks and forehead before he held her tightly to him. Something in the welcome bothered her. “Brian, what’s wrong?”

  He exhaled. “It’s been a long week. I’ll tell you about it when we’re home.”

  She pulled away from him so she could see his face and determine what he might be feeling. His expression denoted a man who was weary, and she suspected more was to blame than the traveling. “Do you want to go home?”

  “I think Ma wants to see me.”

  “We can come back for supper.”

  He traced her arm until he found her hand and took the walking stick. “No. Ma and Pa did a lot for me. They gave me a good home. No one could ask for better p
arents.”

  “Alright then. I’m helping your ma make pumpkin pie.”

  He smiled. “I’d be hard pressed to say no to pumpkin pie.”

  She wrapped an arm around his waist and led him to the house. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too.”

  When they reached the door, she stopped and opened it so he could follow her into the house. “Guess who’s here?” she asked Eliza who was washing her hands in the sink.

  Eliza stopped pumping the water and called out, “Hi there, stranger.”

  Brian stepped into the house and set the walking stick aside. “Afternoon, Ma.” He went over to the sink and gave her a long hug.

  Eliza laughed. “One would think you were gone for a whole year instead of a week.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Sit down and rest. You’ve had a long journey.”

  “Yes,” he agreed as he reached out until he found the kitchen chair and sat down. “I’m glad to be home.”

  “Well, it certainly isn’t the same without you and your pa.” Eliza returned to the table. “Fortunately, Lucy was here to keep me company. I didn’t realize how quiet this house is when you and your pa aren’t here.”

  John entered the house and set aside Brian’s carpetbag by the door before he carried his own carpetbag to the bedroom. When he returned to the kitchen, he smiled at Eliza and kissed her.

  “Nice to see you too,” Eliza said. “So how did it go?”

  John signed to her, and as he did, Lucy caught the flicker of concern on Eliza’s face. Lucy glanced at Brian who remained silent. Not seeing either John or Eliza, he didn’t know the silent exchange that passed between them, but watching it herself made her feel excluded from something important.

  Eliza glanced at Brian and then turned her gaze back to John. “So that Michael Taggart paid you in full?”

  John snapped his fingers and rushed back to the bedroom.

  Lucy wanted to ask Eliza what made for a big concern if John and Brian got paid but didn’t know how to without the situation seeming more awkward than it already was.