by Peterson, Tracie; Davis, Mary; Hake, Kelly Eileen; Stengl, Jill; Warren, Susan May
Reece’s mischievous smile sent tingles through her.
“If you came just to bring this” —she tapped her wonderful new hat— “then I guess you can go now.”
She turned to pretend to walk away, but Reece stopped her and drew her into his arms. “Not so fast. I’m not letting you get away again.”
He kept his arms around her and looked deep into her eyes a moment before explaining. “I’ve been corresponding with Lucas. We had a long talk in town before riding out here.”
She looked around, but Lucas was gone. That’s why he had taken the mysterious trip into town this morning and wouldn’t let anyone go with him. Marty raised her eyebrows with hope and delight. “So you and Lucas are friends?”
“Not exactly.” With love in his eyes, he caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Let’s just say we have a mutual interest.”
She put her hand on his and held it against her cheek.
“Marty.” He held her face in both his hands. “I came here for one reason.”
“To give me a hat.”
He squeezed her face gently. “No. I came for you. I love you and want to marry you.”
Her insides twisted. “You know I can’t.”
“Lucas has consented, with great reservation, but he has consented.”
“Nothing has changed. I can’t leave here.” Her heart ached.
“I’m not asking you to. I’m staying here. It looks like you’re stuck with me. Again.” He smiled.
Marty’s eyes brightened. “What about your lawyering and Mrs. Atwater?”
“I turned over the law practice to my partner. There are too many nasty bears in that forest. Milly and I converted my house into a nice little boardinghouse. She wouldn’t let me give it to her outright, but I convinced her to run it. Everything’s taken care of—my affairs back in Seattle, Milly, Lucas.” He looked deep into her blue eyes. “I’m here to stay. The only thing left is for you to say yes.”
She no longer fought the feelings he stirred in her. “Yes.” It came out as a cross between a breath and a whisper.
He leaned down slowly and kissed her lips.
A TIME TO KEEP
by Kelly Eileen Hake
Dedication
To God, first and foremost, and to my critique partners and editors, without whom this book would not be what it is today.
Prologue
Ireland 1874
Fifteen-year-old Ewan Gailbraith sidestepped yet another muddy puddle in an Irish thoroughfare. “Be my braw lad and take good care of your mama for me, son.” His father’s words echoed through his mind. “I’ll find good work and send ye the fare to come join me in America.” Ewan stubbornly trudged on in the face of the unseasonable downpour.
“Da left us nigh on a year ago.” The lad aimed a fierce kick at a hapless rock as he neared his destination. “Surely this week we’ll hae another letter.” He drew up short at the old tavern banged together from a motley lot of old boards and prayed that old Ferguson would have an envelope for him.
He swung open the lopsided door. For once his arrival was unannounced by the creaky old hinges, now too waterlogged to protest. Ewan stomped his worn boots on the threshold to dislodge the worst of the mud and then bypassed the hearty welcome of the roaring fire in favor of approaching the tavern owner at the bar.
“Mr. Ferguson,” he addressed, drawing up to his full height, “hae you any word from my da this day?” He clenched his teeth as the barkeep looked him over, as much to stop them from chattering as from biting back angry words at the miserable man who drew out his answers as long as the voyage to America.
“Aye.” The man reached beneath his scraggly beard, into the pocket of his coat, and drew out a much-handled brown packet. He placed it on the weathered face of the bar and slid it toward the youth.
“Thankee.” Ewan manfully resisted the urge to pounce upon the package, instead calmly nudging it off the bar and into the safety of his own threadbare pocket. His hand lingered over the small coin inside before drawing it out, placing it carefully on the bar, and turning away.
“You should warm yoursel’ by the fire afore ye step outside again!” the barkeep’s wife called to him.
Ewan hesitated, reluctant to waste even a moment before bringing his mam the news from his father, but saw the wisdom of the woman’s words. He’d be no good to Mam if he caught a chill and couldn’t work. He grudgingly moved toward the warmth of the flames, holding his hands toward the heat. He kept ignoring the curious gazes of the old-timers who probably hoped he’d open the envelope before them all and give the town some new gossip to chew over.
He waited until he felt reasonably warmed, if not dry, and headed back into the gray rain. His long stride covered the soggy ground quickly in a bid to stave off the cold on his journey. With each step he took, the packet thumped against his side—a weight that would either ease his burden or add to it. Which would be the case, he knew not. ’Twas not his place to open the envelope before bringing it to his mother. His restless hands clenched at his sides as he neared their small, well-thatched cottage.
“Ewan!” Ma swung open the door and pulled him inside, clucking like a hen as she drew off his jacket and wrapped his hands around a warm mug of water. “I couldn’t believe you’d taken off in this weather! What was so important it could not wait a day or two?”
Ewan jerked his chin toward the sopping wet jacket she started to hang on a peg by the door. “It has come, Ma.” He watched her blue eyes widen in hope and surprise before her fingers deftly searched his pockets and withdrew the packet.
“Do ye ken what it holds, son?” She turned the envelope over in her hands as though loath to open it.
“Nay. I thought ’twas best we open it together.” He put down the mug and walked over to his mother, placing his arm around her shoulders as he towered over her.
At his silent nod, she tore open one side of the envelope and drew two smaller ones from the packet. She opened the thinner of the envelopes first. They stood in silence as they each drank in the strong, sure strokes of his father’s hand.
Ewan let loose the breath he hadn’t known he’d held. Da was fine and well in America, and he sent his love and hopes that they’d all be together soon. Ewan gave his mother’s shoulder a firm squeeze. She then slit open the other envelope to find a significant amount of money. “Oh, Ewan!” Tears of joy ran down his mother’s tired face as she looked up at him. “He’s well, and we’re that much closer to joining him! Why, in another six months or so, we’ll have enough to pay both our passages to America.”
Ewan looked at his mother’s smile and saw the lingering sadness in her eyes. Fine lines had sprung up around her eyes over the last few months and now gave away the disappointment she tried to hide. With each month her husband had been gone, Imogene Gailbraith had lost a bit more of her joy. In another six months, or even an entire year, Da would not recognize this slight woman as the beloved wife he’d left in his son’s care.
Now’s the time. ’Tis the right thing to do.
“Ma,” Ewan began, taking her chilled hands in his own, “I’ve given the matter much thought, and I’ve come to a decision…”
Chapter 1
Montana Territory, Autumn 1886
Look out!” Brent Freimont practically shoved Rosalind MacLean off the path as he rushed to plunge a bucket into the stream.
Rosalind gasped to see the normally fastidious young man’s clothes all askew. “What’s wrong?”
“No time.” He hurried past her with the now-brimming bucket. Rosalind turned. Whorls of smoke were rising atop the maple trees.
“Fire!” Quickly she filled the unscrubbed pot, still dirty from the morning meal, with water and raced up the path after Brent. Water sloshed over her skirts and bare feet as she went, but she paid no heed. When she reached the line of trees, her suspicions—fueled by the acrid scent of smoke tinged with something even more unpleasant—were confirmed. Someone had set fire to the outhouse.
When she reached t
he site, several men were already fighting the flames. Dustin Freimont and Isaac and Jakob Albright had obviously rushed over at the first sign of trouble. She handed over the heavy pot with relief. It hadn’t been easy hauling it up the hill. She drew in a deep breath and promptly began sputtering. Not the smartest idea I’ve ever had, she admitted to herself when she rushed once again to the stream. Before long, they’d managed to douse the flames. All that was left was a heap of sodden, smoldering wood—and a lingering stench.
“What on earth happened?” Isaac turned to Brent, outrage written plainly across his handsome features.
“I…er…” Brent avoided his uncle’s gaze only to find Rosalind staring at him in befuddlement. The young man blushed bright red and mumbled something almost incoherent. “What?” Isaac had plainly missed the whispered confession.
“I was trying to smoke a cigar.” Brent spoke more loudly this time, though he seemed no less embarrassed.
“You were smoking?!” Dustin Freimont roared, having just come upon the scene in time to hear his son’s confession.
“In the privy?” Isaac’s disbelief more closely mirrored Rosalind’s.
“Yes.” Brent stared at the wreckage in misery. “I knew better than to try it at home, Pa.”
“You would’ve done well to take that caution a step or two further.” Isaac grimaced. “Smoking near anything made of wood is foolish.”
Rosalind stepped in. “I think he’s learned his lesson.” When she caught Brent’s adoring gaze, she wished she’d remained silent.
Brent Freimont, a little less than two years her junior, had taken to giving her cow eyes whenever she so much as glanced in his direction. Since she was one of the few single girls in the area who wasn’t his younger sister, Rosalind couldn’t really blame him for his notice. Then again, she really couldn’t encourage him either.
Dustin doled out the punishment. “He’ll have learned his lesson once he cleans up this mess and builds a new outhouse.”
“What happened?” Rosalind’s dad stared at the charred mess. Mam, followed by Brent’s mother, came hard on his heels.
Most days, Rosalind considered the proximity of their homes to be a blessing. When her mother and father had settled this land with the Freimonts and Albrights, they’d agreed to build their homes and barns on the strip of earth joining their properties. She’d grown up with Brent and, later, Marlene. Their parents, Delana and Dustin, lived within spitting distance of her family home. Two generations’ worth of each family, all with homes on the same three acres of land.
Not too long ago, it had been three generations on each side. Rosalind looked toward the small cemetery where they’d buried Bernadine, Rawhide, and her Grandda Cade. The only one left was Rosalind’s grandmother, Gilda Banning, who’d moved in with the MacLeans when Grandda passed on.
Any way Rose looked on it, she couldn’t help but feel all of them were one big family. She knew that her family and Brent’s hoped for a match to officially unite them. Try as she might, she couldn’t fathom it. Brent seemed as much the scapegrace younger brother to her today as he had when he’d slipped wriggly tadpoles down the back of her dress on his sixth birthday.
Marlene ran up. “Oh, Brent. Now what did you do?”
By this point, it seemed as though everyone had gathered at the scene of the crime. Rosalind looked at the familiar faces with fondness, and a part of her wished she could make their dream of a marriage come true. However, that part was drowned out by the loud, insistent voice demanding that she be true to her own heart. Marriage was a lifetime commitment—a commitment she simply couldn’t make to the young man who’d just burned down an outhouse.
“Clean it up and build a new one?” Brent’s voice jerked her back to the current problem. “Maybe I should take the opportunity to dig a new one altogether.” Anyone who knew Brent could see that the idea of touching the filthy, smelly heap in front of him was enough to make him turn green.
“Good idea.” Rosalind’s da clapped him on the shoulder. “Clean up this mess and create an entirely new outhouse. Nice to see a man take responsibility for his mistakes and make amends.”
Brent rubbed his shoulder sullenly, obviously unwilling to utter another word that might land him more work. One by one, all slipped away to tend to their own chores until Brent was left alone with Rosalind and his sister.
“I’m sorry, Brent.” Marlene gave him a commiserating glance even as she looped an arm around Rosalind’s shoulders and began to walk away. She bit back a snicker before she added, “This whole thing really stinks!”
She and Rosalind hurried away, failing to hold their giggles. They stopped when they were out of Brent’s sight to talk about the contretemps.
“That wasn’t very nice, making fun of your brother,” Rosalind pointed out.
“There are worse things.” Marlene gave a meaningful glance backward before wrinkling her nose. “I just don’t understand what goes through his head sometimes.”
“Nor do I. Though I wonder”—Rosalind plucked a late-blooming wildflower and twirled it between her fingers—“if others say the same about us.”
“Who knows?” Marlene stretched and thought for a moment. “I’d probably say everybody reads us like we’re open books.”
“Surely not.” Rosalind dropped the tiny flower and looked at the wide blue Montana sky that stretched ahead of them, broken only by the mountain peaks in the distance. “Human beings, like life, are never that simple.”
“This life is simple,” Ewan Gailbraith announced to the young man he’d be showing around that day and training for the remainder of the week. “You work hard, keep your mouth shut, an’ help others when you can. Don’t waste money or flash it around, stay away from Hank’s chili, and don’t start anything. Only other advice I can give you is to take care o’ your tools and they’ll take care o’ you.”
“Yes, sir.” The wiry lad twisted his hat in his hands. “I don’t mind honest work, so long as it’s for honest pay.”
“As a wheelwright, you’ll be paid well for your skill.” Ewan smiled. “In a couple of years, you’ll hae enough saved to start a life anywhere you like. That’s what most men do.”
“Is that what you’re planning to do, Mr. Gailbraith?”
Ewan gestured toward a freight car. “That’s where we keep the raw materials.” When and where will I leave the railroad and begin my own life? He kept talking business in an effort to distract himself from the question he refused to answer. “We build makeshift forges when and where we need them as the railroad builds from town to town. For the first week, you’ll be transporting finished items and presized strips down to where the track is being laid. It won’t be too much longer before we hae to set up the forge farther down.”
“I thought there was a small town a little ways farther down.”
“There is. Saddleback is where we’ll set up our next base. We’ll be continuing the main line an’ beginning an offshoot running through there, so you can count on staying there awhile. You’ll end up trying your hand as farrier before long, I’d warrant.”
“I apprenticed with a farrier for the last year.” The young man sounded a bit more confident now.
“All to the good. I do both jobs myself.” Ewan stopped for a moment and spoke more carefully. “Now, if you were apprenticing, why didn’t you see it through?”
“My master drank too much one night and fell in the horse trough. I found him the next morning.”
“Overfond o’ t’ bottle, eh?” Ewan gave the youth a measuring look. “There are some here who share that weakness. You seem a bright lad, but I’ll offer you this warning: Don’t indulge in drink, gaming, or some o’ the loose women who follow the railroad. Any one of those vices will take your money and leave you feeling ill. I don’t tolerate that sort of behavior from my men. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” The fellow stood a little taller. “I never held much stock by those ways myself.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Ewan
turned and continued walking. “Honest values and hard work will take you further than the railroad itself ever can.”
Chapter 2
The railroad will take this town and build it into a city.” Rosalind could practically have danced upon the words she spoke to her father. He didn’t respond while he ate the mid-morning snack she’d brought to his smithy. “Think of it—the workers who lay the rails are not so far off. I heard that they’ll have reached us before the week is out.”
“I’m thinkin’ on it more an’ more wi’ each passing day, Rosey-mine.” Da wore an expression she’d seen before only when he looked at his son. Pride tinged with regret for what could have been.
She and Luke were the joys of her father’s life, but Da had hoped to pass on his trade to his son. With Luke’s weak lungs, he would never stand at his father’s forge, carrying on an age-old family tradition. Yes, she knew well the wistful gleam that crept into Da’s eyes as he spoke of the progress of the “iron horse.” But what could he possibly regret when they’d be linked at long last to the world beyond Saddleback? What opportunities lay at the other end of those rails?
“Da? What is it, exactly, you’ve been thinking on?”
“Sit down wi’ me for a moment, lass.” He gestured to a bench in the corner and sat down heavily. “ ’Tis time and past for us to speak on a few matters.”
“Da?” Worry sparked in her heart at the lines on her father’s brow.
“Don’t fret so, Rosey-mine. ’Tis nothing so dire as you may imagine.” Her father drew a deep breath. “It seems to me as though ’twas only yesterday your ma came out here to join me. Her showing up wi’ you in her arms was the sweetest moment of my life. I remember it so clearly. But I look on the memories that filled the passing years, and I know better. I see the stamp of time on your lovely face, Rosey, and can’t deny that you’ve become a woman grown. If I were honest, I would say that I’ve known it for quite some time now.”
