Sister's Choice

by Judith Pella

  She surprised herself by being the first to push away. “Colby, I don’t know . . .” she murmured.

  “I’m sorry, Mags. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you,” he said. “It was even more wrong because—”

  “Now, you mustn’t worry that you were betraying your father,” she offered.

  “Yes . . . yes, that’s it. You must think me terrible.”

  “You just needed comforting.”

  “I’m really confused, Maggie,” he said, almost as if it were a confession.

  “Let’s not think anything of what happened, okay?” But she was certain she would think of nothing else, even if she knew her heart hadn’t been in that kiss as much as she had hoped it would be. Perhaps especially since it hadn’t.

  “I best get back to work,” he said at length. “Would you mind finishing here in the orchard? I have some things to do out in the field.”

  “Your wish is my command,” she replied, then felt silly for the glib words.

  Colby smiled. “You better watch out. I can think of some pretty outrageous commands.”

  She laughed, trying to infuse some real mirth into the act, but the entire exchange with Colby was disturbing her more and more.

  She watched him walk away and, when he was out of sight, gave a frustrated kick at the apple basket. Why did everything have to be so complicated? A kiss was a kiss, and it was dumb to analyze it so much. Colby had kissed her! That’s all that mattered. Maybe he was falling in love with her at last. And maybe she was falling in love with him.

  Maybe?

  Of course she loved him. She had loved him for years. But a vague unease assailed her. She kicked the basket again when her grandmother’s words about getting to know Colby invaded her mind. She was beginning to think that was the worst advice ever because she was getting to know him, and it wasn’t helping at all!

  To get her mind off all this, she threw herself into the work in the orchard. She enjoyed climbing into the trees to pick the last of the apples. Everyone always accused her of being a tomboy and enjoying climbing trees more than doing housework. Who cared? She was starting to enjoy stitching but still preferred what she was doing now.

  That was something, wasn’t it? Colby had given her this job. He didn’t mind her preference for this kind of work over the usual womanly pursuits.

  She picked as many apples as she could reach, filling six baskets, which she began hauling back to the house, one by one. She was bringing in the last basket, sweat dripping down her face from carrying the heavy basket of apples all the way to the house, when she saw Tamara hanging clothes on the line. Tamara saw her, as well.

  “You look like you have been working hard,” Tamara said.

  “I think I got all the ripe apples picked.” Maggie felt awkward, as if Tamara would be able to tell that the man she was falling in love with had just kissed Maggie. She set down the basket by the back door of the house beside the others, then ambled over to the clothesline. She supposed a conversation with Tamara was preferable, despite the awkwardness, to facing the mother of the fellow she’d kissed.

  Tamara clipped a shirt to the line and then swiped a hand across her brow to push back a curl that had fallen into her eyes. “It amazes me how the work on a farm never seems to cease.”

  “You must be getting pretty tired of it,” Maggie said. “I mean, you didn’t come here to work yourself to death, did you?”

  “I don’t mind it. I told Mrs. Stoddard right at the beginning that I wanted to help, that I didn’t want to be treated like a guest.”

  “Well, she took you at your word!”

  Tamara chuckled. “I was growing so bored and discontented with my life in Portland. I like it here. It’s refreshing and, I don’t know . . . healthy.”

  Maggie thought of poor Mr. Stoddard. Maybe working a farm wasn’t what was killing him, though most farmers would agree it was backbreaking, and often even soul-crushing, labor. And the rewards were often poor crops and empty larders, with still no letup in the work.

  “You sound just like Evan. Believe me, farm life isn’t as idyllic as you city folks think.”

  “Neither is having servants do it all for you,” Tamara replied. “I fear turning out like my mother, whose life consists of one garden party after another. Here, I have had so much more purpose to my existence.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t picture you as a farm wife. You seem more like one who should be married to . . . perhaps a lawyer with a big-city practice. Say, like Evan.” Even as she said this last, she realized it was nearly as halfhearted as the kiss with Colby had been. But she had promised Evan she would put in a good word for him, and this seemed the perfect opportunity.

  “Evan is a dear, isn’t he? But I realized long ago he wasn’t for me.”

  “Not even if he got back into farming?” Maggie prompted. “He told me he was disenchanted with the law and the city and that he liked being here in the backwoods.”

  “That wasn’t the real problem,” Tamara said. “When I was with him, I didn’t feel any passion. And he was always talking about things that, frankly, I find boring—books and philosophy, politics and geography. It was like being in school.”

  “Really? I think he’s the most interesting person I know.” Maggie’s voice rose defensively. How could Tamara say Evan was boring? Maggie hoped Tamara had never said that to his face. It angered her that anyone should hurt him like that.

  “Now, calm down, Maggie,” Tamara said soothingly, “or rumors will fly that you like Evan, just as they are circulating about you and that boy who is in jail.”

  “Tommy? What rumors?” But she already knew the answer to that.

  Tamara replied, “They—”

  “Who are they?” Maggie demanded.

  “I—uh—can’t really say. But they’ve said you go into the jail to visit him and bring him gifts. They say you are in love with a half-wit and a murderer!” Seeing the obviously stricken look on Maggie’s face, Tamara hurriedly added, “I don’t mean to be hurtful, Maggie, I truly don’t. I just thought you ought to know what is being said. Perhaps it might be easier to take from an outsider.”

  Her words sounded truly sincere, and that made it hard for Maggie to direct her anger at a seemingly innocent person. But she did anyway. “You are an outsider, so shut up about it! You don’t know anything!”

  Maggie was about to storm away when Tamara laid a gently restraining hand on her arm.

  “Please, Maggie. I just thought it might help for you to know,” Tamara beseeched. “I so want us still to be friends.”

  “Well . . .” Maggie relented a little. It was hard to be angry at Tamara, with her innately kind and gentle spirit. “You shouldn’t speak of things you know nothing about. You don’t even know Tommy.”

  “Is it true, then, what they say?”

  Maggie stamped her foot. “No! It’s not true! But I’d sure like to know who is spreading such rubbish.”

  “I wish I could tell you—”

  “You know, then?”

  “Oh no. I meant I wish I knew. That’s all.”

  Maggie tried to calm down, but everything that had been said still seethed inside her. She knew more than ever that she didn’t want to face Mrs. Stoddard just now. She had done a good morning’s labor, so there was no shame in leaving early. “Look, I have to go home. Tell Mrs. Stoddard I’ll try to come back tomorrow.”

  “All right.” Tamara paused, then added hesitantly, “Can I still come to your house for sewing lessons? I have so enjoyed them.”

  “Come tomorrow morning if you want.”

  Maggie turned around, got her horse from the barn, mounted, and rode away, thankful that Mrs. Stoddard had not caught her.

  NINETEEN

  Maggie continued to fume as she rode home, working herself into a lather all over again. She just couldn’t help being furious. How dare her friends and neighbors say such things about her! She imagined it was probably even worse than Tamara had said because, as an outsid
er, she wouldn’t have heard everything. And even if she had, she wouldn’t have told Maggie everything, in order to spare her feelings.

  How could they think she was in love with Tommy? That made her angrier than anything. It actually embarrassed her that they would think she could love someone like that. Oh, she’d heard vague rumblings of this before, but she had been able to ignore them. But now—what if Colby had heard these things and believed them? She thought he was joking about it at the picnic. What if he wasn’t? What he must think of her!

  She reminded herself that he had just kissed her. That must mean something. Or had it merely been a pity kiss?

  Tears welled up in her eyes.

  That’s all it was, then. He felt sorry for her. He thought all she could get was a fellow like Tommy and had kissed her out of pity.

  Who was spreading these rumors and ruining her life?

  Dad had told her to be careful in her friendship with Tommy, but she had ignored him, as well. But she and Tommy were just friends! She felt sorry for him!

  Then the most horrible thought of all assailed her. Maybe Tommy was all she could get. Maybe she was the fool for aspiring to snag someone like Colby. Look what happened when she had believed she could get Zack, the next best catch in the county. He had rejected her, too. Maybe she had too high an opinion of herself.

  Tears now dripped from her eyes. She swiped a sleeve across them and sniffed. She was not paying attention to where she was going, letting the horse follow his natural instincts to carry her home. Thus her surprise when she glanced up and saw a rider within a few feet of her. It was Evan, of all people!

  Too late to hide her emotion, she stared at him starkly and silently.

  “Maggie, what’s wrong?” he asked, riding up beside her.

  “N-nothing,” she replied, stifling a rising sob. When he responded with a skeptical look, she continued, her voice breaking over the words, the emotion only becoming worse as she tried to explain it. “I hate the people around here! They are nosy, stupid busybodies!” She sniffed loudly and was about to draw her sleeve across her eyes once more when Evan took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out for her.

  She wiped it across her eyes, then blew her nose into it.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked gently.

  She was about to refuse. It was too humiliating to reveal to anyone. Then she realized that, of everyone she knew, Evan would be the one person to truly understand.

  “Let’s find a place to talk,” he said.

  He turned off the road, and she followed him down a broken path until they came to an oak tree in a pasture. This was still the Stoddards’ place, but Colby was nowhere around. They dismounted, tied their mounts to a low branch, and sat in the grass under the tree. Maggie used the handkerchief once more. Her tears were abating. She knew God had sent Evan along at the perfect time.

  “I was just helping out at the Stoddards’,” she began. “I was alone with Tamara for a few minutes, and she told me something that made me angry. Mind you, I don’t think she was being malicious. She really thought it would be helpful. But it makes me so mad—” The emotion she thought had slowed now seized her again. A sob broke through her lips, and she covered her eyes with her hands.

  “There, there,” he consoled.

  She thought she would like him to comfort her with an embrace, as she had comforted Colby. In fact, she thought she would like it a lot, but he made no move toward her. Instead, he fumbled with his spectacles, and then, rather awkwardly, he reached out and patted her hand. She found she appreciated this gesture more than an embrace. Because of his shyness, even this was probably quite a stretch for him. She offered him a tentative smile in return.

  Dabbing her eyes with Evan’s handkerchief, she went on, “Tamara was repeating gossip, that people are s-saying I-I’m in love with Tommy.”

  “Who is saying such things?” he asked.

  “Tamara said she didn’t know, but I think she just didn’t want to say. It doesn’t really matter, does it? I don’t know what is worse, that people are saying these things or that it angers me so. It isn’t the first time I’ve heard people joke about me and Tommy, but I was always able to ignore it. It isn’t true. You know that, don’t you?” she implored, realizing it meant a great deal to her that he believed her.

  “Of course I know it.”

  “What if Colby hears it? And just when I thought I might have a chance with him!”

  “He probably has heard, Maggie.”

  Evan’s hand had slipped around hers now and felt strong and comforting.

  “But he should know better than to believe rumors, don’t you think? Can’t you just talk to him, make sure he knows the truth?”

  “What would I say?” she probed. “ ‘Oh, Colby, I don’t like Tommy, so it’s okay for you to like me.’ That just sounds silly and forward. What if he just laughs in my face?”

  “If he did that—” Evan stopped abruptly. The tenderness momentarily left his voice, and it became uncharacteristically hard-edged. After a swallow and another fiddle with his spectacles, he added, “Would you like for me to talk to him?”

  “I don’t know . . . you wouldn’t tell him about my feelings toward him, would you? That would be so embarrassing.”

  “I definitely would say nothing about that,” Evan replied firmly.

  “You two aren’t the best of friends. I don’t know if it would work.”

  “I’ll be sure to be casual about it. In fact, my mother mentioned taking supper over to them tomorrow. I’ll go along with her.”

  “That’s so kind of you, Evan.”

  “I told you I would help you.”

  “I simply don’t feel right making denials myself,” she went on. “And I don’t think I could say anything without getting all emotional again. The worst of it, Evan, is that when I deny it, it always comes out in my mind as, ‘How could they think I’d love someone like Tommy?’ And that is an insult to Tommy and a betrayal of our friendship. It would hurt him, too. Yet I do think it—and I hate myself for it! It’s just as bad as actually saying it.”

  “What you think and what you say are different,” he said. “And the fact that it tortures you so only proves the quality of your character.”

  “Thank you for saying so.”

  They were silent for a few moments. Then suddenly, as if he’d just realized he was still holding her hand when the need had passed, he quickly removed it. In that nervous way of his, he removed his spectacles and wiped them on a corner of his jacket.

  Because she wasn’t ready to ride home, she said, “I appreciate your stopping to talk with me. It really helped. I hope I haven’t kept you from something important.”

  “I was just returning from St. Helens,” he replied. “I went to see Tommy.”

  “Oh, I thought I would be helping you.” She was a little hurt that he hadn’t asked her to accompany him, but mostly she was disappointed she had missed another trip with him. The last time had been so very enjoyable, despite the mishap with the carriage, perhaps even because of it.

  “I did stop by your house to see if you wanted to come, but your mother said you had gone to the Stoddards’. There really isn’t a need for you to come every time I see Tommy. In fact, it is probably a good idea for me to see him alone occasionally so that he can build trust in me.”

  “I can understand that. How is he?”

  “He’s growing very restless. We talked for quite a while this time, and he opened up more to me. He began to tell me some things about his father—I never realized what a scoundrel that Tom Donnelly was. I believe if I can gather enough witnesses to Donnelly’s bad character and to his physical abuse of Tommy, I can build a substantial case for self-defense.”

  “There’ll be plenty of folks around here who can attest to Mr. Donnelly’s lack of character,” Maggie affirmed.

  “I wonder if there are any, besides Mrs. Donnelly, who actually saw the man beat Tommy.”

  “I s
aw him backhand Tommy once.”

  “I don’t want to put you on the stand. I don’t know how much of our last conversation that deputy heard, but if any of it got back to the prosecutor, his cross-examination of you could be very damaging.”

  “That’s too bad, because I could be a very good witness for Tommy.”

  “We’ll find a way around it.” He paused, then added with more optimism, “I did find out that Earl Cranston will be representing the county as prosecutor. I think he feigned illness before, simply not wanting to defend Tommy. I believe it is an open-and-shut case to him, and he didn’t like the idea of losing.”

  “Humph!” Maggie grunted disdainfully. “He is still going to lose. But it’s also good news that Mr. Cranston is the prosecutor, because he is the worst lawyer around.”

  “It would be a mistake to underestimate him. He may spend an inordinate amount of time in the taverns, but he will likely be sober for the trial. And he has tried a criminal case or two, while I have never litigated a real case. My previous experiences in courtrooms have been . . . well, not spectacular.”

  “Oh, you’ll do cartwheels around him.” A giggle slipped out from Maggie’s lips.

  “What?” He frowned, perhaps thinking she was making fun of him.

  “I’m not laughing at you, Evan. But I did just get a picture in my mind of you doing just that. Old drunk Cranston standing there gaping as you turn one cartwheel after another.”

  He laughed with her. “So you think I’d look funny doing a cartwheel?” he said with mock offense.

  “You are not exactly the cartwheel kind of person.”