Refining Fire

by Tracie Peterson

  Wade wanted to scream but remained silent. Lord, what do I do?

  Abrianna wasn’t sidetracked, however. “Did you have any idea my father might be alive?”

  “No, none at all,” Mrs. Madison assured her. “We were quite certain he had died. Why would a man otherwise not be in touch with his family?”

  “Especially a man with such an expanded name,” Miss Poisie added, looking to Mrs. Gibson for her approval. The old lady nodded and Miss Poisie looked back to Abrianna and Mrs. Madison with a satisfied smile.

  Abrianna didn’t seem to notice or care. “He said he was falsely accused of murder and thrown into prison for twenty years.”

  Miss Poisie sat down hard, as if the news were too much. “Murder? How very awful.”

  “I thought so, as well,” Abrianna continued, “but was determined to consider that matter another day. After all, the issue of whether or not he’s my father is the one foremost in my mind.”

  “We will have to have him here to tea,” Mrs. Madison said.

  “Oh, Sister, is that wise?” Miss Poisie looked to Abrianna. “Was he falsely accused of murdering a man or a woman?”

  Wade rolled his eyes. Once the snowball started rolling with these women, it could only grow.

  Without waiting for Abrianna to reply, Mrs. Gibson offered a suggestion. “There is one way we might be able to ascertain the truth. Your mother’s pin.”

  “God rest her soul,” Miss Poisie murmured.

  “Amen. I had all but forgotten it,” Mrs. Madison said without pause. “That might shed some light on his identity. He gave the pin to your mother on their first anniversary. Your mother told us it was something he had saved up for and surprised her with. He was quite proud of that gift.”

  “Indeed. According to your mother it was the only thing he ever gave her. They couldn’t afford a ring when they married.”

  “I will wear it when we have him to tea.”

  “A murderer to tea,” Mrs. Gibson murmured. “My, we are quite the sophisticates.”

  “Falsely accused,” Abrianna added. “Although I have no proof of that, either.”

  “I suppose we should host him outside,” Mrs. Madison said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t want him to worry about his attire. He’s obviously without means if he comes to have soup with the others.”

  “And he did shorten his name,” Miss Poisie offered.

  “Yes, that would suggest he thinks as we do.” Mrs. Gibson got to her feet. “The shorter name is more befitting his lowly position in life.”

  “I have no idea of his financial condition. He could be as wealthy as Mr. Welby, for all I know. After all, he managed to keep his identity a secret all this time.” Abrianna sat up with a start. “Goodness. We left Militine and Thane to run the food house. We should get back and help them.”

  Wade shook his head. “No, you stay and rest. I’ll head back and see to the cleanup. I think you’ve dealt with quite enough for one day. Possibly for one month.”

  “It’s true. Our Abrianna has been full of shocking information this month,” Miss Poisie agreed. “It’s a wonder we have been able to properly digest our meals given all this uproar.”

  Wade said nothing more, feeling his own stomach sour. If he opened his mouth, he very well might say the wrong thing. For now, he would hold his peace and deal with the entire Welby matter at a later time. But if he had his way about it, Welby would never have an opportunity to pursue Abrianna.

  With the last of the men finally shuffling out the door, Militine felt her resolve give way. Without warning she burst into tears and hid her face in the folds of her apron. The shock of Abrianna’s father and the realization that anyone, but anyone, could walk in at any given moment left her feeling completely exposed to the past. What if her father appeared?

  Thane came to her almost immediately and took her in his arms. She had no strength to fight him off, nor did she want to. He held her close and whispered in her ear, but the words didn’t make sense in her head. Her thoughts were overwhelmed with visions of a life lived before Seattle. A hopelessly ugly life that Militine hoped never to experience again.

  “Please don’t cry so. I don’t know what’s troubling you, but you must surely know that I love you, Militine.”

  His words broke through her tortured memories. She looked up, tears still streaming. “You what?”

  “I love you. You have to know that. I realize there are a great many things about me that you don’t know, but I want to make certain that you hear this one thing. I love you.”

  “Stop saying that.” She pulled away, hating the look of hurt on his face. “You’re right about not knowing things, but it’s equally a problem on my part. There is so much of me you have no knowledge of, and believe me, you won’t feel the same once you do.”

  “I don’t believe you. Nothing could make me stop loving you.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Oh really? Well, I can think of at least a handful that will. I suppose I should have been honest from the beginning, but I came here hoping I could forget the past and everything associated with my life back then.” The tears yielded to her anger. “God knows there is nothing but pain to remember.”

  “You aren’t the only one who feels that way about their life. I’ve been trying to tell you that for months.” He moved a few steps to the right and took up a chair. Setting it backward he waved his hand. “So shock me. I suppose you will tell me that your father used to beat you. I’ve already guessed that part. Mine did likewise. I suppose you might also tell me that he punished you in other cruel fashions—starvation, isolation, humiliation. So did mine.”

  “I ran away,” she threw back at him. “I knew I could never get away from him without a good head start, so I drugged his coffee. Then I took all the money I could find and I ran. I’m a poisoner and thief.”

  She turned away, not willing to see Thane’s face. If his expression held a look of disgust or even pity, she would never be able to face him again. Why did this have to happen? Why had Abrianna’s father ever come back? Just his very presence stole any sense of peace that Militine might have known. There was nothing left to do but move on. She’d have to leave Seattle and the friends she’d made. She’d have to go on the run once again.

  Thane touched her shoulders and turned her to face him. “It doesn’t change my heart, Militine. Like I said, there is nothing you can say that will make me feel otherwise. As much as I love you, I hate your father for hurting you. You only did what you had to in order to survive.”

  Forcing herself to look up, Militine saw only love and acceptance in his expression. He tenderly touched her cheek, and she tried to pull away. Tenderness was perhaps the cruelest thing he could offer. To experience such an emotion only to lose it would no doubt be the death of her.

  “Tell me anything else you need me to know, and then I will tell you my story. After that, we will bury it away and have nothing more to do with it.”

  “It’s not that simple, Thane.” She shook her head. “By all of society’s beliefs and rules, I am unacceptable.”

  “I don’t care about their beliefs or rules. I only care about you.”

  She bit her lower lip. There was no way around this. She would have to tell him everything. “My mother and father never married. My mother was his kept woman, a heathen by the standards of this world. She was Crow Indian. That makes me a half-breed. My skin is lighter, more like my father’s, and I even share some of his facial features, but my eyes and dark hair are gifts from my mother.”

  “And I love them, just as I love you.” He took her by the hands and led her to a chair. “Sit.” He pressed his hands gently against her shoulders. “Sit, and I will tell you why none of this matters.”

  He drew his chair up and sat directly in front of her. “The world can have its prejudices and social mores. God knows I’ve suffered at the hands of such people. None of that matters, Militine. The only thing that matters to me is whether you can love a man who is the son of a
murderer. A man who saw his father kill countless times and said nothing. A man who, as a boy, saw his father kill for nothing more than sport.” Thane drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “A boy who watched his mother be killed because she happened to be nice to a farmhand.”

  “You had said she was murdered.”

  “But I never explained that my father did the deed. She had taken pity on our farmhand and allowed him to come into the house and warm himself by the fire. It was a vicious winter day. A blizzard had been raging for hours. They were sharing a cup of coffee and laughing when my father found them. He believed the worst, and without allowing either of them to explain, he drew his gun and shot them both.”

  “And you were forced to witness this?”

  “Yes. I was home from school sick. I was just across the room when my father stormed into the house. He didn’t care about the truth. I tried to tell him after he’d killed them, and he still didn’t care. He was never remorseful. Never. Not even when the townspeople hanged him.”

  It was Militine’s turn to reach out. She touched his cheek. “I’m so sorry. It would seem we both know what it is to have violence in our lives.”

  Thane shook his head. “I blame myself. If I’d just had the guts to confront my father or turn him over to the law for all those other murders he committed . . . but I didn’t.”

  “And who is to say that anyone would have listened if you had?” Militine asked. Hadn’t she herself tried to elicit help from others? It either served to get her into worse situations or the person didn’t care. After a time, she stopped trying. “But to answer your question, yes. I can and do love you. Your past . . . the things done to you . . . do not keep me from feeling what I feel.”

  “Then you can believe me when I say that your past doesn’t matter where my heart is concerned?”

  She nodded. “For the first time in my life, I think I can.”

  “We’re both going to need help, however,” he said. “Wade has gotten me to thinking on God quite a bit lately. I’m afraid I’ve not given God much of a chance in my life.”

  “Abrianna has gotten me thinking, as well. I’ve tried to see God as my mother taught me, as a loving Father who wants only good for all of His children.” The memory of her mother’s tender words brought her image to mind, something Militine hadn’t allowed for in years. “I wanted so much to hold on to her view of God. When I first came here, I pretended I believed so that I would be accepted at the school. No matter how hard I tried, I just kept coming back to the fact that if He loved me so much, He sure had a poor of way of showing it.”

  Thane’s expression told her that he completely understood. “Maybe together we can try again. Maybe together we can find the strength to bury our anger and learn to trust Him. I think He is a good and loving God. I don’t think He liked what happened to either of us any more than we did. But most of all, I don’t think He wants either of us to give up and spend the rest of our lives in the past. Maybe that’s why He’s brought us together. He knew we’d need each other in order to learn to forgive.”

  “And to forget,” she added. Especially to forget.

  17

  Priam Welby lost little time in pinning Abrianna down to a specific day and time. A card came for her only a week after she’d agreed to court. She had thought to deny him. After all, it was the end of May, and the ball would be in a little over a week. Surely he could wait until after that. But no. The invitation was for a night at the theatre and late supper with the inclusion of the chaperone of her choice. Aunt Poisie was the logical one to accompany them and was delighted when she heard that the theatre was involved. It seemed a pity that Mr. Welby couldn’t court Aunt Poisie instead.

  Abrianna dressed in a gown chosen for her by Aunt Miriam. For her first outing with Mr. Welby she would wear a watered silk print, white with sprigs of lilacs. The gown, Lenore had told her, had cost a small fortune but had never fit her right. It seemed as though the piece had been made for Abrianna, however.

  “This should be appropriate and modest,” her aunt declared, giving her a critical inspection

  The sprigged silk bodice was overlaid in a V, with several rows of white lace and lavender tulle. White lace trimmed the top all the way to Abrianna’s slender throat. The last thing either of them wanted was a gown that would have men ogling, as Aunt Selma pointed out. Abrianna seriously doubted Mr. Welby needed any encouragement in that department.

  “I still don’t quite understand this sudden willingness to court Mr. Welby,” Aunt Miriam declared.

  Abrianna wasn’t at all certain she understood it herself. “I just feel like this is something God brought to me. I don’t really believe romance or marriage will come out of it.”

  “Then why court him?”

  Her aunt made a good point, but to try to explain the promises Mr. Welby had made would only cause her aunt to worry. She had never liked Abrianna getting involved in risky ventures, and this was perhaps one of the biggest she’d participated in to date.

  “I’m trying,” Abrianna said, choosing her words carefully, “to be open to whatever God’s will is for my life. I don’t want to be so stiff-necked that I turn aside . . . something . . . clearly in His plan.”

  “Well, at least you are properly attired,” Aunt Poisie said.

  Turning to view herself from every angle in the mirror, Abrianna shook her head. “Goodness, but I do not understand the fascination with bustled backsides. Why would a woman want to draw attention to such an area of her person?” She studied the lavender fringe that trimmed the material covering the bustle. It was lovely, but she would have preferred it be on the front of the gown, if at all.

  “Do wear the long white gloves,” Aunt Selma instructed. “And clasp this silver bracelet around your right wrist. I have read that this is a most sophisticated way to decorate the glove.”

  She nodded and took the bracelet from Aunt Selma. It was a beautifully etched piece of polished silver and would make a lovely accessory for her attire.

  “Will you wear a hat?” Aunt Poisie asked.

  “No,” Abrianna replied. “Lenore said it isn’t a necessary fashion for an unmarried woman of my age. Instead she suggested I wear that lovely lavender ribbon on the dresser with a tiny spray of white baby’s breath.”

  Aunt Poisie bobbed her head. “That will look wonderful in your honey-auburn hair.”

  “Speaking of which, you should hurry to arrange it,” Aunt Miriam said, pointing to the clock on the mantel. “Mr. Welby will be here soon.”

  With her aunts satisfied that her attire was acceptable, they left her to finish her hair with Militine’s help and went downstairs to await Mr. Welby’s arrival.

  Moving away from the mirror, Abrianna picked up a brush and tried to form some kind of order out of the tangled curls of her hair. “I cannot make my hair do as I want. There’s just too much of it, and it will not obey my direction. Although, I do thank God that it isn’t frizzy like Mrs. Bunker’s.” That poor matron often arrived at church on Sunday mornings with her entire head swathed in a turban-style hat to hide her terrible hair.

  Militine took the brush from her and carefully fashioned Abrianna’s hair into ringlets. “You are just nervous. I really don’t know why you ever agreed to this in the first place.” She pinned a knot of hair on the top Abrianna’s head and left the remaining ringlets to fall in an orderly fashion around her shoulders. “That man positively makes me shudder.”

  “Actually, I am given to second thoughts myself.” Abrianna twisted to see the result of Militine’s work. “You make me look like a Grecian goddess. I should have you around me always, but you would tire of attending this mess. I still wonder why it is so acceptable for a man to wear his hair either long or short, but a woman must leave hers to grow and grow.”

  “Long hair on men is hardly the fashion at this time. I think you would find more than one person offended should any such man appear on the street, just as they would if you were to cut yours short.”<
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  “I’m certain you are right, but it grieves me nevertheless. Will you secure the ribbon and flowers?”

  “Of course.” Militine gathered both and went to work. She drew the ribbon around Abrianna’s head and pinned it and the sprig of dainty white blossoms with two concealed hairpins. “That should complete your hair.”

  “It’s quite amazing,” Abrianna said of the results. “I don’t think even Aunt Miriam can fault my appearance tonight.”

  Militine took hold of Abrianna’s arm. “But why are you going with him?”

  “I have my reasons.” She frowned. “I have never cared for Mr. Welby, but I suppose I have also never really given him a chance. Now he has put before me a proposition that I find difficult to ignore.”

  “What proposition?”

  Abrianna felt it would be best to keep the details to herself. “It’s just a proposition that involves Mr. Welby wanting the chance to woo me. He’s convinced he can make me fall in love with him.”

  “Make you? Should anyone ever have to be made to fall in love?”

  “That was exactly my thought. But despite that, I thought perhaps it was God’s direction for me, and I don’t want to be so caught up in my own will that I miss His.”

  Militine appeared to consider this for a moment and then, to Abrianna’s relief, she dropped the subject. “You should probably get your gloves on and go downstairs. I’m sure Mr. Welby is already waiting. I thought I heard the door knocker nearly twenty minutes ago.”

  “Then he was twenty minutes early. The height of rudeness, if you ask me. I shall have to tell him so once we are seated for dinner.” Abrianna laughed at her comment. “There, do I sound like a proper young woman of society?”

  “How would I know? Life in this school is as social as I’ve ever lived.”

  Abrianna looked at her for a moment, then reached for her gloves. “You’ve never said much about where you grew up or what your father did for a living.”

  “He ran a trading post north of Vancouver. It was a very remote place, and I had little schooling. It was why I was such a mess when I came here. My mother taught me to read, only because missionaries had taught her.” Militine frowned and immediately changed the subject. “I think maybe you need more flowers. I can go pick another spray.”