by Linda Ford
Mattie blinked and shifted away from her father. Her gaze found Isabelle and, with a cry, she raced to her.
Isabelle opened her arms and folded the sobbing child into her embrace. “Shh, shh, shh,” she crooned. Not because she thought Mattie shouldn’t cry but because she wanted to offer comfort the only way she knew how.
Mattie drew in a shuddering breath and lifted her face to look into Isabelle’s eyes. “Mama said bad things to Papa. Angry, loud things.” She buried her head against Isabelle’s shoulder and clung to her. Isabelle felt her fear clear through.
Dawson reached for Mattie, his hand suspended inches from his daughter’s back, and then he dropped his arm to his side and ground about on his heel to stalk to the edge of the embankment and stare out at the raging waters.
Her heart ached for him…for them both…but she was at a loss. What could she do other than hold Mattie and long for a way to offer comfort to Dawson?
*
Dawson’s insides felt like the tossing waters before him. In turmoil. Raging. He should never have come here. But he’d brought Mattie many times. It was one of their favorite places for an outing. Never before had she recalled that day, though it was blazoned in his memory. He’d brought Violet and Mattie when Mattie was barely three…talking enough to make herself understood. She’d been fascinated with the rushing water.
His hope and prayer had been that Violet would enjoy the time together and begin to see how they could be a family, enjoying each other’s company, sharing dreams for their little girl.
Instead, Violet had paced back and forth on the rocks, scolding him for bringing her out in the wilds, as she called the place. “Wild and untamed. Not at all what I expect in the way of amusement.”
Even at the time, he had wondered if the words also applied to him. He’d brought her to this same rock and tried to reason with her, make her see the beauty of the place, make her understand all that family had to offer. Her protests had grown more vehement until she’d shouted insults at him. “Boorish. Interested only in cows.” Her final words had shriveled the last of his hope. “I should never have married you. I’m not interested in cows, family or life in this forsaken place.” He knew then it would be only a matter of weeks before she left. Instead, she had died in her reckless race.
Mattie had cried when Violet yelled at him, and he’d scooped her into his arms and tried to comfort her.
He’d never thought Mattie would remember. Why now? His fists curled and uncurled. Was it because of Isabelle? Had her similarity to Violet triggered that horrible memory? He slammed his fist into his palm. He had only himself to blame. He’d known from the beginning the risks involved with friendship with another city woman. He hadn’t expected Mattie to recognize the similarities. He’d hoped she’d see only the differences. Isabelle’s dark hair and dark eyes. Her calmness. Calmness? Dawson blinked. Yes, she’d seemed content to sit and watch the waterfalls.
What difference did it make? Coming here with Isabelle had triggered Mattie’s memory. Now what was he to do? Slowly he turned to study his daughter, clutched in Isabelle’s arms. He could not rob his daughter of this small comfort. Not here. Not now. But from now on, he meant to keep a goodly distance between the two. He should have stuck to his intention in the first place—then this wouldn’t have happened.
Even as he decided his course of action, he acknowledged how difficult it would be in a small town like Bella Creek. And what was he to do with Mattie after school? He accepted the only solution. He would take her home as soon as classes were out. Grandfather would object but Dawson would deal with that.
Or perhaps he should forget his family, his cows, his dreams of his own home and take his daughter and go elsewhere.
A groan pressed against his teeth. He would not release it. Would not give Isabelle any reason to pity him.
Her gaze met his, full of—
What did he think he saw? Compassion or accusation? He shrugged. Her opinion of him simply didn’t matter.
The wind picked up, carrying with it a cold mist.
Isabelle wiped at her face and looked upward, as if surprised at the moisture. That hardly made sense. The spray from the falls had dampened their skin from the minute they arrived.
He turned into the wind, welcoming the sting of the cold spray. He licked the moisture from his lips, puzzled that it seemed to come from above rather than from the waterfall.
From above! The thought jolted through him. It didn’t come from the river. It came from the sky. “It’s raining. Hurry. We have to get off the mountain before the trail ices up.” Or worse, the rain turned to snow. He’d lived in Montana long enough to know a snowstorm could engulf them in a matter of minutes.
He hoisted Mattie to his hip, took Isabelle with his other hand and hurried across the embankment. At the narrow trail, he had to go ahead of Isabelle but he didn’t release her hand. They couldn’t take their time. Several times, Isabelle slipped on the icy trail and his hold prevented her from falling. He struggled onward, breathing hard as he climbed the hill back to the wagon. The trees on the trail had protected them from the full force of the rain, but as they stepped into the clearing where they’d left the wagon, rain slashed increasingly at them.
He released Mattie to the buggy seat and lifted Isabelle aboard, not waiting for her to grab at a handhold. He jumped up beside them. A rolled-up fur robe rested under the seat and he took it out, flipped it open and draped it around Isabelle and Mattie.
Isabelle looked at him sitting exposed. “You’ll freeze to death.”
“I’ve been in worse weather and survived.”
“Nevertheless.” She pulled Mattie to her knee and opened the robe to invite him to share the warmth.
He knew he should refuse but he had no desire to be wet and cold, and he slipped the heavy fur across his shoulders, shutting out the elements. Isabelle and Mattie pressed against him on the other side. He adjusted the robe, pulling it up to form a hood over their heads. Isabelle had opened her coat so Mattie could burrow into its protection.
They rode down the mountain toward town. Before they reached the wider trail, both the wind and the rain increased and he was grateful for the shared protection of the robe.
“How much longer?” Mattie’s voice was muffled against Isabelle.
“Soon.” Please, God, let us get back before this turns to snow.
“Papa?”
“Yes? What is it?”
“I didn’t mean to make you angry.” Her uncertain tone stung worse than the icy pellets striking his face.
Did he imagine Isabelle pressing closer to him? That couldn’t be so. He would expect her to stiffen in judgment for how Mattie perceived that day and for today’s reaction.
“I wasn’t angry, little one. I’m still not. I’m only sad that you have such a bad memory.”
“Okay.” Her tiny voice was almost lost in the wind.
They drove onward. He welcomed the stinging cold. Like whipcords slashing his face. He blamed himself for Mattie’s fears every bit as much as he blamed Violet. He should have known better than to expect Violet to change her mind.
They reached town. He stopped at the doctor’s residence and rushed Isabelle and Mattie indoors. The stove radiated warmth and he set Mattie on her feet before it, kneeling to look in her face. “Are you cold?” He longed to ask more important questions. Was she happy? Did she worry about the future? All things that were his responsibility to ensure.
“Not much.” She held her hands out to the heat.
He rose and slowly brought his attention to Isabelle. Her cheeks were rosy. Drops of water clung to her lashes and the hair about her face. Almost like a halo, he thought, shoving away the foolish idea before he even finished thinking it. Then the truth hit him. She’d sheltered his child, protecting her from the cold at the expense of her own comfort. He lifted a hand, meaning to wipe the moisture from her face, caught himself in time and waved her toward the stove. “Get warmed up while I return the buggy.
”
Mattie turned big eyes toward him. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”
His heart twisted cruelly. When Violet first left, Mattie had feared every time he went out of her sight. But he thought that was in the past. Now, because of an unfortunate trip to a place they’d visited many times, it appeared the fear had returned.
Kneeling before her again, he took her hands and waited until she looked directly into his eyes. “Mattie, I won’t leave you.”
“Unless something bad happens to you. Like it did Mama.”
“In that case, you can know that my last thought would be about you. And you know there are lots of people who will love you and take care of you.”
“I know,” she said with resignation. “You told me before.”
“Then maybe you should believe me.”
She shrugged. “I do, but my heart doesn’t always remember.”
He chuckled softly. “We all have that problem from time to time.” And before his heart could forget the lessons learned from Violet, he hurried outside, into the cold rain.
Chapter Seven
Isabelle stared at the closed door. He’d certainly left in a hurry before she could ask what his heart needed to forget. But he was right. She, too, had a heart that didn’t always remember the lessons engraved on her brain.
She turned back to Mattie. “Would you like some hot cocoa?”
Mattie’s eyes brightened. “Yes, I would, please.”
Isabelle put water in the kettle and set it over the heat to boil then found cocoa, sugar and evaporated milk in the pantry. She paused as she prepared the mixture. How did she know to make it?
The memory washed over her and through her and filled her heart and soul. “My mama made me hot cocoa every Sunday at bedtime.” The ritual had made her feel loved and secure. “I can still see her choosing our favorite cups.”
“What was your favorite?”
“It was a china cup. The saucer had long since been broken but I didn’t care. It had bright orange flowers on the cup and a yellow band around the top. My mama said it had belonged to my Spanish grandmother and she would tell me stories about her family.” The water boiled and she poured it into the cocoa mixture and added the milk. She put the two cups on the table and Mattie sat across from her.
The girl sipped carefully of the hot drink and sighed her pleasure. “This is good.”
“Thank you.” Isabelle sipped her own, closing her eyes as warmth from the drink and a deeper warmth from her memories eased away the coldness from their trip back to town.
Sitting pressed to Dawson’s side, she’d felt his hurt at Mattie’s fear echoing in her heart at the thought of the poor child recalling such a frightful memory and the poor father feeling he was responsible. So much sadness to bear.
“What sort of stories?” Mattie’s question brought Isabelle’s thoughts back to her own situation.
“She said my abuela—”
Mattie frowned, not understanding.
“That’s Spanish for grandmother.”
“Abuela. That’s pretty.”
“Yes, it is. My abuela was a horsewoman. She raised fine black horses that were famous all over Europe and then America.”
“My papa wants to raise his own cattle. He bought a herd of cows from England. Is that where your grandmother lived?”
“Close. She lived in Spain. Both of them are far across the ocean.”
Kate stepped from the examining room area. “Hi, Mattie. I wondered who Isabelle was talking to.” She glanced toward her father’s bedroom door. “I thought my father might be up but it didn’t sound like his voice.”
Isabelle rose. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“Yes, for a couple of hours.”
“Do you want a cup of hot cocoa?”
“Sounds wonderful.” Kate watched as Isabelle expertly made another cupful. “You learn quickly.”
“I always knew this. My mother taught me. I just haven’t thought of it in a long time. Not until Mattie and I came home cold.”
“Where’s Dawson?”
“Papa took the buggy to the livery barn.” Mattie looked anxiously at the door. “He said he was coming back.”
Isabelle put the full cup in front of Kate then covered Mattie’s hands. “He’ll be back.”
She nodded. “I know.” She grew thoughtful. “Do you remember lots of stories about your mama?”
“Lots and lots.” Half a lifetime of them.
Mattie studied her half-empty cup. “I don’t hardly remember my mama. Sometimes I think I didn’t have one.”
Kate and Isabelle shared quick smiles, and then Isabelle turned back to Mattie. “Honey, we all have mamas.”
“But what if I don’t know who she was?”
The child’s worry burrowed deep into Isabelle’s heart. If she forgot her mother it would be like…well, like she never existed. No wonder the child was concerned. “Do you know her name?”
“Violet. But Papa doesn’t like me to say it.”
“I see.” Except she didn’t. “Do you have a picture of her?”
Mattie shook her head. “See what I mean? I don’t think she was real.”
A knock sounded on the door.
“I’ll get it,” Kate said and opened the door to let Dawson step inside.
He brushed off the moisture clinging to his face. “It’s time to go home, Mattie.”
“Can I finish my cocoa first?”
Dawson looked from Kate to Isabelle.
Isabelle went to the stove. “Why don’t I make some for you, too? Hang your wet things on those hooks.” She indicated the spot by the door.
Dawson took off his hat and coat and hung them. Water dripped to the mat below.
Kate paused at Isabelle’s side to murmur, “Someone ought to tell him how his daughter feels.”
Isabelle nodded then saw Kate’s insistent look. “Me?”
“You’re the one Mattie talks to.” Kate returned to the table.
Isabelle took the cup of cocoa and set it before Dawson.
“Miss Isabelle says her mama used to make her cocoa every Sunday night. And now she’s making us some,” Mattie said.
Dawson nodded. “That’s nice.” He cradled his cup in his hands. “Sure hope it doesn’t snow,” he said.
Isabelle wondered why he worried so much about snow that surely wouldn’t last long this time of year but she wasn’t sure how to voice her curiosity.
Kate did, though. “Why is snow so bad?”
“Snowstorms always carry a risk to the cattle. They can be trapped, buried, and unable to get feed. But this time of year, they could have calves at their sides and the calves don’t fare well. On top of that, spring storms are often heavy, wet snow that can really play havoc on the herds.” He rubbed his chin with his fist. A furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “We’ve had significant losses this winter already.”
Mattie leaned forward. “Isabelle knows Spanish. Her grandmother lived in Spain. That’s kind of close to England.”
Isabelle stayed expressionless. She did not want him to ask about her family. Thankfully, he had no reason to connect the Redfield name with her Castellano ancestors and likely wouldn’t be aware of their prominence.
“That’s interesting.” He clearly didn’t think so but meant to be polite. “How are you settling in here?”
Isabelle let Kate answer.
“The place suits very well, though Father is still tired from the journey. He’ll recover soon.”
Isabelle knew her friend well enough to catch the little note of concern that Kate tried to hide.
Kate drained her cup. “Mattie, do you want to see the doctor’s office?”
“Is it scary?”
Kate chuckled. “Not at all. In fact, he has some books he keeps for children to look at. Do you want to see them?”
“Okay.” Mattie followed Kate into the sitting room.
Kate paused at the doorway to glance back at Isabelle with a quick d
art of her eyes in Dawson’s direction. Isabelle couldn’t mistake her friend’s intention of providing her a chance to talk to Dawson about Mattie.
She filled her lungs and let her air push out the words she wanted to say before she could lose her courage. “Mattie says she can’t remember her mother.”
His jaw muscles bunched. “I don’t want her to. She was an unsuitable woman.”
“Unsuitable?” A dozen possibilities as to what he meant flitted through her mind. “But you married her.” How unsuitable could she have been?
“She didn’t fit in. Didn’t even try. She neglected the home and after Mattie was born, neglected her. If my mother hadn’t lived close by I shudder to think what would have become of Mattie. I don’t know how many times I came home to find Violet missing and the baby next door. After Ma died, Annie was doing her best to care for the others but most of Mattie’s care fell on her. She was only sixteen.”
He looked at her, anger, despair and regret racing across his face.
“Did you not realize what she was like before you married her?” Isabelle’s words came out in agonized slowness. To think of such a marriage. And then to have a child in a home where she knew no security. How awful.
“Of course not.” His shoulders rose and fell. “Or perhaps I let myself be blind to the facts. I was a nineteen-year-old pleased by her attention. I fancied myself deeply in love.” He turned his cup round and round. “I don’t want Mattie to know anything about her.”
Isabelle breathed a silent prayer for guidance. Even if it would bring his wrath down around her shoulders, she would do her best to make Dawson understand Mattie’s need to know about her mother. “May I have permission to say something?”
His gaze came to her, full of warning and something more. Likely only her imagination suggested she saw a longing for understanding. “Permission granted.”
“Have you considered that by not allowing Mattie to remember her mother, she’s lost her twice over?”
Eyes of blue turned stormy. “She’s better off that way.”
She forged on with what she wanted to say. “Like it or not, her mother is part of her. Don’t you realize that if you teach her to hate her mother, you teach her to hate part of herself?”
