Around her, she could hear people talking, could hear them but could not take in what they were saying. They buzzed like flies on the windowsills of her mind, unimportant, unnoticed. Until a small warm hand grasped the hand she'd pressed against her cheek. She was pulled into a tight hug.
Opening swollen eyes, she took in the wavery, undulating form of her sister.
“Becky?”
“Yes, love. Come on, let's go home.”
For such a small person, Becky seemed surprisingly strong. She wrapped Allison's arm around her shoulder and supported the larger woman as they stumbled over the uneven street the last few blocks to their house. Becky wrestled her up the stairs and through the door. Their mother met them inside.
“Good heavens!” Mrs. Spencer exclaimed. “What is going on here? Allison, where have you been?”
“She's been with Wesley,” Becky answered for her sister.
“With Wesley? For Heaven's sake, why? Allison, don't you know how unseemly it is for you to be alone with a married man? I want you to stop doing that.”
“We weren't alone,” Allison choked. “Reverend Williams and Kristina were there.”
“Allison,” her mother said, gentling her voice. “Wesley has a wife. You need to stop spending so much time with him. It does you no good.”
“Actually, mother,” Becky interjected, “he doesn't.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Haven't you been anywhere today?” Becky asked. At least that's what Allison thought she'd asked. She'd sunk down on the sofa, face in her hands, and was trying not to succumb to hysterics again.
“No, I've been working on a quilt all day.” That made sense. She rarely did anything else while their father was away on his twice-weekly Wichita run. “It seemed too blustery to go outside. Why?”
“Mother,” Becky rolled her eyes. As though they had any other weather. When she spoke her voice dropped to almost inaudible. “Samantha Fulton died. She fell through the ice on the river and drowned.”
“Died!” Mrs. Spencer shrieked, and Allison gasped at the sudden noise. “Well, it must have been suicide. Everyone knows she was crazy.”
Allison squeezed her burning eyes shut. A little part of her mind, the last bit that was still coherent, whispered to her. “Perhaps, Mother,” she rasped, her throat hurting as much as her eyes, as much as her heart, “she didn't know what she was doing. We're all going to assume it was an accident, for Wesley's sake.”
The sofa sagged as her mother sat beside her, taking her hand.
“All right,” she said gently, at last. “We can assume that. But why does this upset you so very much, Allison? You weren't her friend. She…”
“You don't have to remind me what she did. I don't want to think about it now,” Allison hissed.
“Mother,” Becky said, coming to sit on her sister's other side, “I think Allison is hurting because Wesley is hurting. Those two still have a deep connection.”
“Bah,” Mrs. Spencer scoffed unsympathetically, “that connection should have been cut years ago, the first time Fulton lowered his trousers for another woman.”
“Mother!” Becky exclaimed, aghast at Mrs. Spencer's insensitivity.
A flood of images tumbled through Allison's mind; Wesley kissing Samantha at their wedding, stretching out in bed with Samantha, holding Samantha. All the years that should have gone to her, had gone to that woman. And now, in her death, Samantha had dealt yet another blow to her rival by breaking Wesley's heart.
Sickened, Allison wrenched herself from the sofa and stumbled up the stairs.
“Well, Mother,” Becky said, sarcasm dripping from her normally gentle voice. “You certainly handled that well. Why can't you stop going on about Wesley? He's certainly more than paid for his mistake.”
“But has he learned from it?” Mrs. Spencer asked, turning to her older daughter, undaunted by the disapproving tone. “Will he expect Allison to fall into his arms now that he's free? I don't want her to do that.”
“You'd rather she remain a spinster, then?” Becky asked. “It's a blessing to them both that Samantha is gone. I know that's a terrible thing to say, but it's true. She should have been in an institution, not married. It's only by the grace of God their daughter is normal.”
“If she's even his daughter,” Mrs. Spencer pointed out. “I think she must not be. Mrs. Fulton is more than half-crazy herself. A baby from her son and that woman would not have been so healthy.”
“Mother!” Becky protested, though in the back of her mind she acknowledged there was a lot of truth in what Mrs. Spencer was saying. “That's enough. Don't say anything else about Wesley or Samantha. You're going to hurt your daughter even worse.”
“You know, I don't understand you,” her mother said, her mouth turning down into a sneer. “How can you forgive Wesley so easily, after what he did?”
“I don't know, Mother,” Rebecca replied. “He has always seemed like such a little boy to me. I'm not surprised he's made some mistakes. You know he's only twenty-four, same as Allison. When he did… what he did, he was barely nineteen. That's the age for making foolish decisions.”
Becky glanced at her mother's face. As always, the question lingered, unasked, in Mrs. Spencer's narrowed eyes, the tension around her mouth. But Becky wouldn't answer. She never had.
“I'm going to go upstairs now too. I need to be sure Allison is all right. And it's late. Good night, Mother.”
“Good night, Rebecca,” Mrs. Spencer replied, her gaze still sharp as a razor on her daughter's retreating back.
Wesley passed the rest of the week in a daze. On Sunday, he somehow found clothes and pulled them on. He'd managed to give Melissa a bath and dress her, though her hair was a mess. He knew nothing about long hair. That was one thing Samantha had handled well. They'd eaten oatmeal again and now were walking hand in hand to church. He'd been there earlier in the week for the funeral. Samantha, wearing her favorite pink dress, her hair spread around her, surrounded by golden mums, had been laid to rest in a service which was breathtaking in its tender beauty. Poor Samantha had been treated to more kindness in death than she'd ever received in life. And then, after the funeral, the heavens had unleashed a torrent of snow, which had buried the whole town. He'd held and rocked Melissa as the storm raged, and then tried to put her down in her own bed again, only to be awakened by her crying over and over throughout the night. About three in the morning, he'd given up and taken her back to his bed. And there they'd succumbed to utter exhaustion until dawn woke them, light sparkling on the surface of the three foot snow drifts piled against the sides of buildings.
He carried Melissa through the messy streets to the church, noting how even the sparkling of the sun on the crusty surface of the snow failed to lighten his mood. Each day had been harder than the one before, and he hadn't been back to work yet. He knew Melissa would be content to color in the corner of his office for a day or two, but he couldn't bring her there every day until she was old enough to start school. He needed help. But where would he find it?
Seated on the red cushion that covered his usual pew, Melissa perched on his lap, he noticed for the first time that the church was decorated for Christmas. A large tree had been adorned with candles and gilded ornaments. The communion rail sported a cheerful garland of evergreen boughs and bright red bows. How lovely it was. A new thought occurred to Wesley. Christmas had nearly arrived, and Melissa would have to face the holiday with no mother to care for her.
Wesley shook his head as the organ began to play the opening hymn. He sang, a little raggedly, and couldn't help but smile as Melissa fumbled through the semi-familiar lyrics.
Then Cody stepped into the pulpit and began the morning announcements. At the end of the usual committee meetings and prayer requests, he dropped a bombshell, which left the congregation gasping.
“Friends, in the short time I've been here, you've made me feel welcome, and I thank you. But no one has done more to facilitate my integration than
Miss Kristina Heitschmidt. Therefore, I have decided to make her a permanent part of my life by marrying her. To my very great surprise, she has agreed. More details will be provided later,” Cody continued, “and I sincerely hope all of you will wish us well. And now, if you would take your Bibles and turn to Psalm 57. We will read responsively, whole verse by whole verse.”
Wesley was still trying to close his gaping jaws, even as his finger fumbled by rote to the center of the pew Bible. He'd known from the beginning that Cody and Kristina belonged together, but to become engaged, just like that? Then he smiled. They would be so good together. As good as he and Allison would have been, if only…
If only he'd married her, instead of Samantha. But he hadn't. Now everything was different. And to be honest, he needed a woman in his life, someone to do all the womanly things around the house, someone to take care of Melissa. She already liked and trusted Allison, and so did he. If Allie would agree… Oh, Lord. If she would agree he could finally marry her. Finally have the perfect life he'd dreamed of for so long. But would she agree? He didn't know, but suddenly he knew he would have to find out. Tradition dictated he wait a year, but he didn't know if he would be able to manage. He would have to think on this carefully.
Chapter 5
Allison Spencer and her sister sat at the most level of the little uneven tables at Lydia's café, with the proprietress and Kristina Heitschmidt. The restaurant had closed a couple of hours ago and now the four ladies had gathered in the large, empty room. Outside the rows of massive windows, the early December afternoon was bleak and gray, and a stiff wind sent the twigs on the naked, stunted trees whipping. Though the heat of the kitchen warmed the dining room, the chill outside seeped in. Allison was grateful for the hot drinks and warm gingerbread cake.
“I still just can't believe it,” Lydia said, taking a sip of her tea. “How long have you two been courting in secret?”
“We haven't been,” Kristina insisted. “We've been fighting for the longest time, almost since he first arrived.”
“Well then, what happened?” Lydia asked.
Allison met Kristina's eyes briefly. Should she mention the shocking sight she'd seen at church the other morning? Kristina, half-dressed, sound asleep in Cody's arms on a pew cushion, which had been laid out beside the fire. She supposed they'd behaved, but it had looked bad, and they'd been talking of marriage ever since. Kristina had asked them all to meet here to help her plan the event, which was scheduled for the following Friday, only one week from today, and just a few days before Christmas.
She decided not to speak. Let everyone think Cody and Kristina were marrying because they wanted to, not because they'd compromised each other. From the way the two of them now looked at each other, not to mention the sweet kisses they'd been caught sharing more than once, it seemed that was the case anyway.
On one hand, Allison was truly delighted for her friend. Since her teenage years, Kristina had been convinced that no one would marry a red-haired, freckle-faced woman. Allison had never agreed with her assessment. And now Kristina, pink-cheeked and smiling a silly, woman-in-love smile, was engaged to quite a startlingly handsome man. A man who treated her like the priceless treasure she was. There was no part of it that was bad. Not even the quick pace. A wintertime wedding would be lovely. And Kristina's dramatic coloring would be gorgeous against the snow.
But in her most secret thoughts, Allison was desperately jealous. Not of Cody. No, handsome though he was, Reverend Williams did not make her heart beat faster. He would make a perfect husband for Kristina, but Allison didn't want him. She wanted Wesley. All these years after he betrayed her and crushed her spirit, she still loved him with all her heart, with every fiber of her being. She was suffering pangs of horrible guilt, had been ever since Samantha's death. She'd never liked the woman, never wished her well. And now she was dead, and Wesley destroyed. He must have loved his wife after all, and not Allison anymore.
“You know,” Becky said, forcing Allison's attention back to the conversation, “it's quite fashionable to wear all white for a wedding these days. And you would look marvelous in it, Kristina.”
“Oh,” Kristina said, blushing furiously at the compliment, “is there really time to make a dress? The wedding is only a week away, but I do like things simple…”
“No, there's no time for a whole dress,” Becky told her bluntly. “But I know you have white shirtwaists. If you wore one of those, I would have time to make you a white skirt to go with it.”
Kristina beamed. “Perfect. I love the idea. I can look like myself, only a little more… dressed up.”
“Do you have white shoes?” Becky asked.
“Oh…” Kristina pondered for a moment. “No. I have light grey ones. They'll have to do.”
Becky shrugged. It was much too late to order new shoes.
“I like the statement all white makes,” Allison commented.
“So do I,” Kristina replied. “I mean, you all know what happened, right?”
Becky and Lydia shook their heads.
“There's been some gossip,” the chef said, “but I don't believe a word of it. As if the pastor would behave in such a way, or you would.”
“Here's the unvarnished truth,” Kristina replied. “I was caught outside in the blizzard and barely made it to the church. I think I nearly froze to death. It was really bad. I was getting sleepy.” The ladies shuddered. Everyone knew what that meant. “Cody was inside, and we were trapped there alone together until morning. So yes, we were `compromised' but we didn't do anything wrong. We talked, worked out our problems, and agreed that since we would have to get married anyway, we might as well be happy about it.”
“Did he kiss you?” Lydia asked, wide-eyed.
“Yes,” Kristina replied, cheeks flaming again. “More than once. But nothing more, I swear.”
“Oh, well that's fine then. Certainly not worth gossiping about,” Lydia said.
“I agree,” Kristina replied firmly. “And that makes the white wedding even more meaningful, since there is gossip. I want to make a statement that I have nothing to feel guilty about.”
“Yes,” Becky agreed, “I think you should. And I have just the skirt in mind. You'll be stunning.”
“And what about the reception. Will you be wanting dinner? Do you have a location in mind?” Lydia asked.
Kristina shook her head. “My house has small rooms. I don't think the reception can take place there. It would be awfully crowded.”
“Then have it here. I can provide some food and the cake. It will be my gift to you.”
“Oh, no. I can't let you do that. I'll pay for the food,” Kristina said.
The two women looked at each other, stubborn Italian against equally stubborn German. Then Lydia laughed. “All right, Kristina. Pay for the food. I'll gift you with the cake.”
Kristina grinned. “Perfect.” Allison couldn't help but smile, despite her anguish. The joy of her friend's happiness was more important than her own dashed hopes. She looked around the table. Kristina was smiling the same, silly smile, her short nose wrinkled with cheer. Lydia's round pink cheeks showed deep dimples as she grinned broadly. Then she met her sister's eyes. For a just a moment deep misery shone like tears in the azure depths. Becky looked as though she might burst into sobs at any moment. Then the sad look disappeared, replaced by the serene smile.
What on earth had that look been? Allison couldn't imagine. So she forced her attention back to the wedding discussion again.
“Allison?” Kristina addressed her directly. “You will stand up with me, won't you?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied. “I'm honored. What should I wear?”
“Something to coordinate with the Christmas decorations, I suppose. Wear what you want, Allison.”
She mentally scanned her wardrobe. A vibrant burgundy skirt and pelisse would do the trick nicely. With black boots and her cameo pin.
Wesley had always said she looked best in rich colors, to c
ontrast with her pale hair and fair skin. She was all set for the wedding, except her heart, which was aching that her friend's dreams were coming true, while hers never would.
That evening, Allison sprawled in the chair in Becky's bedroom, the older sister brushing the younger's hair again. Hmmm, what would look best for the wedding? A twist? A knot? A coronet?
As Becky contemplated the styles, Allison chattered on, half-heard. Becky admitted to herself that she wasn't paying attention. As usual, her silly mind had slipped away to thoughts of James Heitschmidt. She couldn't help but wonder how her friend was coping with his daughter's forced marriage. She hoped to have time to talk to him soon. She'd been so busy lately with her shop, and he with his, it was hard to get together. Particularly as she didn't want to appear to be mooning over him. It wouldn't do to give away that particular tidbit.
“Becky,” Allison's hand closed around her sister's wrist, startling her back to reality.
“What is it, Allie?” she asked.
“I've been trying to get your attention for a while. Where were you just now?”
Heat pricked across Becky's cheeks and she knew she was blushing. “Nowhere interesting,” she mumbled, lying.
“Ha,” Allison replied, “I think it was somewhere very interesting. C'mon sis, tell me. You know I won't tell. What makes you go so far away… or should I say who?”
Allison saw too much.
“I'm being silly,” Becky replied. “There's no reason why I should be dreaming about any man. Especially not this one…”
“Ah, so it is a man?”
“Yes,” Becky admitted. “I'm human. Even though it's hopeless, he's so special I couldn't help falling…” She sputtered to a halt.
“Falling in love with him?” Allison guessed.
Becky nodded stiffly.
Allison shook her head. “Why is that bad, sis? You deserve it, too.”
High Plains Promise (Love on the High Plains Book 2) Page 5
