Hefty? Why, she was no such thing. She was slender, and if not delicate, exactly, she was by no means strapping.
“You may go to your room now.”
There were many things that she would do to keep peace with her aunt. After all, she did owe her a great deal. A widow after only five years of marriage, she had managed to raise four girls all on her own. She truly did deserve respect for that.
But showing her aunt respect stopped a good deal short of marrying the butcher.
“Rebecca.” Her aunt’s voice caught her just as she made the turn from the parlor to the hall. “As horrified as I am at how you behaved tonight, I’m glad that you did not let that pitiful Randall make improper advances. Once you are under the butcher’s care, you’ll be safe from that sort of conduct.”
“Yes, Aunt Eunice,” she said, but it was the last thing she meant.
* * *
A footpath crossed the backyard then sloped downhill toward the creek behind the house. Rebecca followed the trail of daffodils growing beside it, watching them nod their pretty yellow heads in the glow of the low-hung moon.
It was dark in the wee hours, but that didn’t mean the flowers did not continue to flash their color. She decided to be like those bold little beauties...shine even during the dark hours.
Sitting on a bench that she had placed beside the creek three years ago, she drew her violin from its case and began to play.
As the sound filtered through the cottonwoods, her nerves began to settle. With each draw of the bow across the strings, despair melted...hope took its place.
After a few moments she was smiling. The instrument always had this effect upon her. Learning to play it had come naturally.
“Do not, under any circumstances, marry the butcher.” Melinda plopped down beside her, out of breath. She must have run all the way from the house. “I’m certain his first two wives were perfectly miserable.”
Melinda, her fair hair loose and tumbling, her nightshift a soft white glow in the dark, was everything lovely. Her lively, engaging spirit had a way of drawing people to her. If she decided to postpone marriage for years, she would still be snatched up in a heartbeat. Her cousin might live to be a hundred years old and still not be considered an old maid.
“Your mother can be very determined.”
“But not as determined as us... You wouldn’t consider it? Please say you wouldn’t!”
Rebecca placed her violin in its case then cradled it across her knees.
“I would not, not in a million years.”
What was she going to do, though? Become a lifelong burden to her aunt? Eventually, when they were both old, become her caregiver?
A few hours ago, any slim hope of finding a decent man had slid across the floor of the social room with Randall Pile. No doubt the gentlemen of Kansas City were shaking their heads in astonishment. Perhaps even the butcher was having second thoughts.
“But there is something I’ve been considering for some time now.” She paused and drew a breath. “I’ll go to my grandfather.”
“You can’t do that, Becca! He lives in the wilderness with bears and wolves! Your home is here with us.”
“I only live here. This is your home, your sisters’ and your mother’s. There’s no future for me here.”
“When I marry, you’ll live with me. My home will be your home.”
“I won’t be any better off then than I am now. I’ll still be a burden.”
“I won’t treat you like Mama does. You know I would never.”
“I know, but, Melinda, don’t you see? I’ve got to go. If I don’t I’ll just shrivel up.”
“I’ll shrivel without you. My sisters and Mama will stifle me as sure as I’m breathing.”
“You are not the stifling kind. You’ll do fine without me.”
“You can’t go, Becca. Your grandfather lives in Montana. Not to mention that he’s a... I hate to say so, but he’s a Moreland, and a stranger.”
“We can’t judge all Morelands by my father. In his letters, Grandfather sounds congenial. I believe he is just a sweet, little old man who wants to meet his only grandchild. No doubt at his age he’s helpless and feeble. I’m sure he needs me.”
“But Montana is so far away! How will you even get there?”
How indeed? She’d spent countless hours lying awake, or playing her violin, thinking it over.
“By paddleboat. It leaves here and goes right to Coulson. That’s not far from my grandfather in Big Timber.”
“What’s not far?”
“Only about eighty miles.” She shrugged and stared down at her violin case.
“Of wilderness!”
“It’s not as though it’s uninhabited.”
“Mama will forbid it.” Melinda tapped her finger to her lips. “Paddleboats are dangerous. It will involve months of travel. Then there’s the Morelands. Demons and that side of your family are one and the same to her.”
“Whether they are or not, that’s something I need to know for myself...before it’s too late.”
She stood up, pressing the violin case to her chest. Looking down at Melinda, she felt her heart thrum against it. Her need of this instrument went as deep as her need for food...deeper than her need for sleep.
The first time she had touched the gift from her grandfather, something shifted inside her. The instrument had belonged to her grandmother. According to Grandfather’s letter, Catherine Moreland had a talent that could only be described as a gift.
By George, she knew this to be true even though she had never met her. There were times when she felt that her late grandmother stood behind her guiding the bow across the strings.
It was a fanciful notion, but not one that she had ever been able to rid herself of...nor did she want to. If a Moreland could possess such an exquisite gift, then just maybe they were not the reprobates that Aunt Eunice painted them to be.
“Melinda, I don’t know who I am. Your mother has tried to make me into one of her own, but I just don’t fit. I’ve got to see if it’s the Moreland in me that made me kick a man in the pants.”
“You know, our Grandmother Lane would have done the same. Maybe it’s her you take after and not a Moreland.”
“I’ll never know that unless I meet my grandfather.”
Melinda sighed and shook her head. “If you’re set on this, you have my blessing. And don’t worry about Screech. I’ll take good care of him.”
“I would not ask that of a saint.” Screech was a green parrot with a pretty yellow-and-blue head. The bird, she had been assured, would outlive most men. Screech had been a point of stress to her aunt for as long as Rebecca had. They had been abandoned by her mother as a pair. “I’d live in constant fear that your mother might serve him up for dinner.”
“That might not be the worst thing ever,” Melinda declared. They laughed together. This was something that Rebecca would miss down to her bones. “We’ll tell Mama first thing in the morning. You can be on your way when the next paddleboat comes through.”
Melinda stood up. Arm in arm they walked slowly back to the house.
“I’m going to miss you dreadfully, cousin,” Rebecca said past the lump in her throat.
Maybe it was beyond foolish to leave the only person who had ever truly loved her. But she’d gone over and over it in her head. This was something she had to do.
“Not if I go with you!” Melinda’s eyes flashed up at her, sparkling blue mischief in the moonlight.
Having her cousin at her side would be wonderful. The temptation to encourage her to do so was strong...but wrong. Melinda was right about Montana being a rugged place teeming with bears, wolves and who knew what other dangers.
“You know you can’t.”
Melinda shrugged. “I might turn up one day, if Mama tries to give me to the butcher in your place. You’ll answer your door one day and there I’ll be, trailed by a wolf pack and half eaten by a bear.”
Climbing the path toward the house she wat
ched the moon dip closer to the horizon and felt the warmth of her petite cousin beside her.
She prayed that she was not making a giant mistake in leaving the familiar for the unknown.
Copyright © 2015 by Carol Arens
ISBN-13: 9781460382929
Summer of the Viking
Copyright © 2015 by Michelle Styles
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