A Bargain Struck (Choc Lit)

by Liz Harris

  For someone who’d shied away from people for the past two years, to meet as many as she had in the one day, and so soon after reaching the homestead, had been hard to cope with.

  In the back of her mind, she’d known that she’d meet Bridget soon after her arrival, but she hadn’t given any thought to the actual meeting, nor to how Bridget might react when she saw her. Prior to leaving Omaha, all of her thoughts had been focused on the effect of her appearance on Connor and whether he’d turn away from her.

  The degree of Bridget’s relentless hostility had thrown her, and her discomfort had further deepened upon meeting Oonagh, who was beautiful, and who was so clearly admired by Bridget. She’d done her best to hide the increasing strain she was feeling, but she was pretty sure that Connor had sensed it and made sure that Aaron and the hired men didn’t go near the house that day. Certainly there’d been no sign of anyone when he’d shown her the horses late in the afternoon and had given her a quick tour of the barns.

  But she wasn’t the only person to have been put out by Oonagh’s unexpected arrival: Connor, too, had seemed unsettled, and it wasn’t hard to work out why.

  Bridget must be wrong in thinking that he hadn’t proposed to Oonagh. His explanations to Bridget seemed too quick to hand. More likely, he’d been one of the men who’d offered for her and been turned down. Seeing the woman he’d wished to be Mrs Maguire next to the damaged woman he’d married in her stead must have brutally reminded him of what might have been.

  While it was hard to believe that any young woman would turn down an offer of marriage while living in a small town where there were unlikely to be many unmarried men, and few of them as ruggedly handsome as Connor, that must be what had happened. There was no other possible explanation.

  Connor must have been so devastated by her refusal that he hadn’t cared whom he married. And that was why he’d gone through with the wedding after he’d met her.

  The fleeting anger she’d glimpsed in Oonagh’s eyes when they’d first been introduced must have been on Bridget’s behalf. Oonagh would know better than anyone else the cruelty of children, and she would have realised at once that Bridget would suffer because her father had wed a woman with a damaged appearance; that Bridget, too, would become the object of jeers and stares every time they went out together. She may not have wanted to share Connor’s life, but she still cared about him and Bridget. That much was obvious.

  And what, she wondered, were Connor’s feelings for Oonagh.

  Did he blame Oonagh for the position he now found himself in? If he did, had his resentment killed his desire for her? Or did he still feel as strongly about her as he had when he’d proposed to her? If that was so, she hoped very much that his feelings would lessen with the passage of time and would allow some room for her.

  She didn’t expect to be loved by him. She’d known from the start that that would never be possible. And for her part, she would never be able to love another man in the way she’d loved Robert. Only once in a lifetime could a woman feel a love like that. But although Connor would never replace Robert in her heart, any more than she would Alice in his, she would like to feel that they could be some company for each other.

  A high-pitched yelp pierced the night air.

  Startled, she sat upright. Coyotes, she thought, and she shivered. She stood up and pulled the shawl more tightly around her as she walked quickly back to the house. They’d need to keep an eye on the chickens, just like they’d had to do in Omaha.

  Once inside the house, she leaned back against the bolted door, shut her eyes and let Robert’s face fill her mind.

  They hadn’t had long enough together. They’d married when she was twenty, a few months after they’d met at the church she’d just started attending in Omaha, and they’d had little more than a year together before the accident. In that time, though, she’d known a degree of happiness that she wouldn’t have believed possible, and in the dreadful two years since he’d died, she’d found herself drawing repeatedly upon the strength that his love had given her.

  Opening her eyes, she looked around the cold, empty room, and she knew she was going to have to rely on that strength a whole lot longer if she was going to cope with the situation she’d got herself into.

  She went over to the lamp on the wall, turned down the wick and extinguished the flame. Then she picked up the lighted lamp from the centre of the table and went across to the bedroom where Connor would be waiting for her. As she put her hand on the door handle, she wondered fleetingly if he’d summon the image of Oonagh’s face to his mind as he raised himself above her and prepared to enter her.

  Shaking the thought from her head, she opened the bedroom door. She mustn’t let herself think like that. To allow such thoughts to enter her mind could destroy any chance of happiness she might have, and that would be folly indeed. She closed the door firmly behind her.

  Chapter Six

  Connor glanced across at the lean, weather-lined man who was working on the fence alongside him.

  ‘Take a break, Aaron,’ he said. ‘I’ll just finish fixing this beam and then I’ll stop a moment, too.’ And he turned back to the fence.

  ‘Sure thing, Conn.’ Aaron threw the hammer to the ground, went over to his horse and pulled a canteen from the leather bag that hung from the saddle. He walked across to a nearby cluster of rocks, sat down, unscrewed the top of the canteen and took a swig of water. ‘It sure is hot,’ he said, wiping his forehead with the red bandanna he wore around his neck. ‘Mind you, it may still be hot in the day, but it’s beginnin’ to get colder mornings and nights. It’s my guess we’ll soon be seein’ yellow leaves on the trees.’

  Connor nodded. ‘Yup, I reckon you could be right.’ He paused and glanced over his shoulder at Aaron. ‘You and the men didn’t need to start eating in the bunkhouse, you know. You’ve always eaten in the main house or in the fields. You did with Ma and Pa, and you did with Alice. No need to change now just because I’ve gotten me a new wife.’

  ‘I know we don’t have to, but we want to. You and Bridget have gotta get used to bein’ with her, and that’ll be easier without us there. Besides’—he gave a sudden grin—‘the men like to be able to speak their minds when relaxin’, maybe cuss a bit, too. They don’t want to have to think about what they’re sayin’, like you have to do when you’re with a lady. And I guess I feel the same.’

  ‘It wasn’t a problem with Alice.’

  ‘You and Alice were already together when your ma and pa took me in. I’ve always known Alice. You could say anything in front of her and she wouldn’t take amiss. We don’t know your new woman.’ He took another drink of water. ‘You know, that’s about the first thing you’ve said all morning. You bin mighty quiet since we set off. In fact, you bin mighty quiet all week. If I’m not out of place to ask, are you and the new wife gettin’ on all right?’

  Connor turned away from him and stared across the stretch of yellowing grassland to the line of hills on the far horizon. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Only, we don’t normally ride the fences till nearer the fall, not when there’s things to do in the fields.’

  Connor pulled himself up on to the fence and sat on the top beam, facing Aaron. ‘Well, if I’m honest, things aren’t right peaceful at the house. I knew it’d take some getting used to, having another woman around the place, but I guess I hadn’t realised quite how difficult it’d be. Bridget’s taken it real hard.’

  ‘She would. She still remembers her dear departed ma.’

  ‘It’s not just that. It’s Ellen being like she is. You know, her face.’

  Aaron nodded.

  ‘I’ve never known Bridget like this, and I’ve gotta say, it’s trying my patience. I feel real bad about that, with her being so young, but the girl snaps at the woman every time she speaks. And at me, too,’ Connor went on.

  ‘Bridget sure don’t look too happy of late.’

  ‘You should’ve seen her this morning when Ellen was getting ready to go ou
t to do the morning milking. That’s one of the chores that Bridget likes best. I took one look at Bridget’s face – it was the image of Alice’s face when she was mad. She opened her mouth, and it hit me real hard that we oughta be making a start on fixing any broken fences. As a matter of urgency,’ he added with a grin.

  Aaron nodded. ‘Good thinkin’. I ain’t complainin’. We’ve almost gotten the hay in so they don’t need us in the fields today. And the fences have gotta be checked before the end of fall anyway, so we might as well make a start on them now.’

  ‘I figured we both needed a change from lookin’ at cut grass,’ Connor said, and he jumped down, collected his canteen and went and sat down near Aaron. He took a drink, then leaned back against a rock, linked his hands behind his head and stared across at the hills, which were taking on a rose-pink blush in the late morning light.

  How much longer before things eased up at home? His red-haired Alice had shown at times that she could be mighty stubborn, and Bridget had got the same red hair and stubbornness as her ma. Alice had always known when to stop, though; but not Bridget. And that didn’t make for an easy life.

  He felt a momentary anger with himself. He shouldn’t really be blaming Bridget – she was only eight. He was partly to blame for not better preparing her before he took a wife. And some of the fault, too, lay with the woman he’d married. A lot of the fault, in fact, and maybe he’d been too easy on her.

  He’d always seen himself as a man of his word, and when he’d first met her, he’d instinctively done what he’d felt to be right, which was to honour their agreement to wed. But now that he could see the effect of his decision on Bridget, he’d been wondering if maybe his instinct had let him down for once, and as he’d lain in bed the last few nights, he’d started to ask himself if he’d done the right thing in going through with the wedding after he’d seen her face.

  It was no wonder that he couldn’t sleep at night.

  And it clearly wasn’t much easier for Ellen.

  She’d taken to going out to the front of the house and sitting in the dark while he was walking around the homestead, checking that all the gates and barn doors had been bolted for the night, but even after she must have heard him return to the house, she’d remain out there in the shadows.

  On the first couple of occasions that he’d seen her out there, he’d wondered whether he ought to join her. But each time he’d decided against it, figuring that they’d both had a long day and that she probably needed some peace and quiet as much as he did, and he’d gone to bed.

  Later on, when she’d get into bed beside him, he’d turn to her as her husband and she’d never shy from him. She would raise her nightdress to her hips to make it easier for him, and then when he’d finished, she’d turn on to her side and lie there, her back to him. Increasingly, he’d found himself watching her as she lay there, caught in the white moonlight that seeped in around the curtains, and he’d wondered what she thought about the situation.

  She certainly thought something, that was for sure.

  Once or twice in the past few days, he’d seen a flash of anger come into her eyes when Bridget had been rude to her, and he’d half expected her to talk real sharp to Bridget. But she hadn’t. She’d just sat there, very still, accepting everything, and the spark within her eyes had died away. It was as if she was waiting for Bridget to wear herself out. But that wasn’t happening, and it wouldn’t. He knew his Bridget. It was pretty clear that she wanted Ellen out of their lives, and she wasn’t going to stop till she had her way.

  What did Ellen think about him? Not as a man, of course – theirs wasn’t a marriage like that – but the way in which he ran the homestead and the way he was raising Bridget. Maybe she blamed him for Bridget’s rudeness. He felt a momentary irritation. If she did, she shouldn’t do. He was doing all he could to make things easier for Ellen.

  That first day – the day that Peggy brought Bridget back – he’d gone out to Aaron and asked him to keep the men well away from the house, and to finish early in the barns and corrals so that he could show Ellen around that evening without her having to face anyone else that day.

  And he’d told Aaron about Ellen’s face.

  He was sure she’d be dreading what the men would say when they saw her, and the look on their faces, so he’d asked Aaron to tell the hands about her injury, hoping they wouldn’t make anything of it when they finally met at lunchtime the next day. He figured she’d heard enough on the subject from Bridget without the hired hands starting on her, too.

  He sat up, had another drink of water, settled back against the rock again and stared up at the wide, cloudless blue sky.

  With luck, it wouldn’t be too many weeks before Ellen had news for him about a baby. That would give everyone something else to think about and discuss, and that would be no bad thing. A fleeting image ran through his mind of Ellen’s back turned towards him as they lay alongside each other at night, and he felt sure that she was hoping the same.

  ‘I saw the churning’s been done,’ Connor said as Ellen put a plate in front of him and Bridget, then went across to the stove, came back with a plate for herself and sat down. ‘Was that you or Bridget?’

  ‘It was her,’ Bridget said. ‘That’s why she’s here, isn’t it?’

  Ellen wanted to sigh, but didn’t. ‘Bridget’s right. I did it. Your cows give a lot of milk. I’ll need to do the churning twice a week.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s what Alice did.’ They ate in silence for a few minutes. ‘You obviously know farm work,’ he said suddenly, ‘but you don’t sound like a woman who was brought up on a farm. Were you?’

  ‘No, I was born and brought up in Omaha itself. But when I got married, I went to live on the farm owned by Robert’s parents. It was just outside the town. We were going to take it over from them when they couldn’t run it any longer. I didn’t know the first thing about farming, and they all had to teach me what to do, but it was one of the best years of my life, if not the best. And then there was the accident.’

  ‘You weren’t tempted to stay on with them afterwards?’

  ‘I didn’t have the chance. Robert’s parents didn’t want me around. They said I reminded them too much of what had happened, and I understood that. So I went back to Omaha and moved in with my brother and his family. My father was already living there. He’d gone to live with my brother after my mother died of influenza.’

  ‘You should have stayed there,’ Bridget said bluntly.

  ‘That’s enough, Bridget,’ Connor said tersely. ‘We’re gonna eat this meal in peace. But if you want to do something helpful, you can get me the catchup,’ he added.

  ‘I don’t.’ Bridget scowled at her plate and picked up her knife and fork.

  Ellen stood up.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, getting up. ‘I’ll get it myself. I like it with meat.’ He went across to the pantry, returned to the table with a jar in his hand and sat down. ‘Peggy gave us this. She brings us a few jars whenever she makes it.’

  ‘I can make you some. Robert liked it, too.’

  He nodded. ‘Don’t forget to take a look at what’s in the pantry and kitchen, and also the vegetable garden, such as it is, and make a note of anything you need from town. We’ll be going there tomorrow. And put down anything you need for yourself. You, too, Bridget.’

  Bridget leaned across the table, picked up the jar of catchup, put a large spoon of it on to her corn and stirred it in. Scooping up as much of the red mixture as she could, she raised the spoon to her mouth. Just before it reached her mouth, the spoon twisted in her fingers and the mixture of corn and catchup fell on to the front of her pale-green cotton dress.

  ‘Shucks!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve spilt it, and I reckon it’ll take a mighty lot of washing to get it clean. Catchup’s like that.’ Clear green eyes turned towards Ellen, a challenge in their depths. The green eyes returned to the dress and to the red mass sliding slowly down to her waist.

  Ellen ran for a cloth
, dampened it, and with a clean knife, scraped off the mixture as best she could. Then she gave the cloth to Bridget and asked her to wipe the dress down.

  ‘If you take it off when you’ve finished eating, I’ll put it into the tub to soak,’ she said, sitting back down.

  ‘Good job there’s someone here to do the chores, isn’t it, Pa?’ Lightly flicking the cloth across the widening red and orange stain, Bridget turned to Ellen and smiled, her eyes ice-cold.

  Ellen’s eyes met Connor’s across the table. Then she glanced at Bridget, at the slight smile of satisfaction on Bridget’s face, and she opened her mouth to speak. She closed it again. Both she and Connor looked down at their plates and continued eating.

  Connor hovered by the dinner table. He stared across the room at the empty chair at the end of the small table by the window. Sitting at the other end of the table, Ellen was bent over one of Bridget’s muslin petticoats which had a tiny hole in it.

  He hesitated a moment, then came forward. ‘May I?’ he asked, indicating the empty chair.

  She threw him a quick glance. ‘Of course,’ she said, and looked back at the petticoat.

  He sat down, leaned back against the chair and looked around the room.

  ‘It’s a while since I’ve sat at this table in the evenings,’ he remarked after a short silence.

  ‘Indeed,’ Ellen said. She pulled the kerosene lamp closer to her, held her needle up to the flickering halo of orange light and slotted a piece of thread through the eye.

  ‘Have you put Bridget’s dress in to soak?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. I did it as soon as we’d finished. I fear the catchup will have stained it, though.’

  ‘It sure is hard to know what to do about her. It’s getting to be a relief when she’s gone to bed, and I feel real bad about that.’