The Bride of Willow Creek

by Maggie Osborne

  “Was there music?” Lucy asked. “And pretty dresses? Did Papa dance with you? I wish I knew how to dance.”

  Angie cupped her hands around the coffee mug, gave Molly a long look, then told the details that were fit to tell.

  Chapter 14

  Walking away from a soapy pan of breakfast dishes, Angie dried her hands, then sat at the kitchen table and pulled Peter’s letter out of her apron pocket.

  My dearest Angelina,

  I’ve delayed a reply to your last letter in hope of receiving further news that your appalling circumstances have changed. As I’ve heard nothing, I assume the worst: that you are still forced to live with Mr. Holland and his illegitimate children.

  My dear, this situation cannot be allowed to continue.

  Your compassionate nature is to your credit and I wouldn’t wish you otherwise. Truly I understand why you would agree to delay the divorce and make the child’s surgery the primary financial priority. However, your letters seem to suggest the surgery will not occur anytime soon and therefore the divorce is indefinitely postponed.

  I’ve given our situation careful thought, seeking a solution that will permit us to be together sooner than Mr. Holland’s circumstances allow. As both you and Mr. Holland have agreed to dissolve your marriage, and the only impediment is monetary, I wish to offer you the financial wherewithal to accomplish the dissolution sought by everyone involved.

  I want you to return to Chicago, Angelina. I’ll lease a house where you can live comfortably during the waiting period until the divorce is final. Naturally, I will handle all legal matters. I foresee no difficulty with your case.

  My darling, I beg you not to let pride or propriety stand in the way of accepting assistance. Remember, what matters is our future.

  Now I must chide you. Surely you can guess the torment and questions that arise between your letters. Take pity on one who loves you and write more frequently, I beg of you.

  I miss you more than I can express and long to see your dear face and press you in my arms.

  Faithfully yours,

  Peter Markam De Groot

  Oh, the guilt. Guilt for not writing more frequently. Guilt for being too busy to think of Peter as often as she should. Guilt, guilt and more guilt for giving herself to Sam. Angie pressed her fingertips to her temples. Each time she read the letter her agitation and confusion increased.

  What should she do? If she accepted Peter’s generous and astonishing offer, her life could begin much sooner than she had dreamed.

  But of course she couldn’t accept. No decent woman would take money from one man while married to another. She couldn’t ignore a lifetime of proper behavior, no matter what Peter advised.

  Her gaze lifted to the row of jars above the stove and settled on the last jar, the empty jar. A sigh dropped her shoulders. If, and it was a big if, she and Sam saved enough to pay for Daisy’s surgery before the court’s deadline, then afterward they could start saving for the divorce. They would need enough money to support Angie in a separate residence for a year, plus attorney’s fees.

  Even if she lived as frugally as possible, the amount they needed to save was equal to or greater than the amount required for Daisy’s surgery. Assuming everything went smoothly with no setbacks, she might be free to begin her life with Peter two years from the time of Daisy’s surgery.

  Or . . . she could accept Peter’s generosity and begin her life a year sooner. She could leave Willow Creek almost immediately and spend the year of waiting in Chicago being courted and fussed over.

  Her conscience twisted sharply, and she covered her eyes. How could she even think of letting Peter spend well over a thousand dollars on her behalf after she had betrayed him?

  No, she couldn’t accept his offer. Such a thing just wasn’t done. But there was no harm in daydreaming, in pretending that she had a choice.

  “Angie?” Lucy’s blond head leaned into the back door. “We’re through snapping the beans. Are you ready to pick up our new dresses?”

  Hastily she stuffed Peter’s letter back into her apron pocket and returned to the pan in the sink. “Let me finish up here, then I’ll find my hat and gloves. Ask Daisy if she is absolutely sure her new shoes fit. We could drop them off at the cobbler’s while we’re in town.”

  “They fit,” Daisy said, bringing the bowl of string beans inside. “Where shall I put these?”

  “In the ice chest. Mr. Kravitz agreed to work on your shoes again.” The process was slow, but gradually the fit was improving.

  “My shoes are just right.” A small silence opened behind Angie then Daisy said in a small voice, “Do you want to see?”

  Angie’s head jerked up and she bit down on her back teeth. Please, please, she thought. Don’t let me mess this up. “I believe I would feel reassured if I saw for myself. Sit down. I’ll be there as soon as I wipe out the dishpan. Lucy? Here’s a towel; will you dry the dishes, please?”

  “Why do I always have to dry the dishes?”

  “Because you’re good at it. You do a thorough job, and you’re careful not to chip or break anything.”

  “Oh.”

  After drying her hands, Angie knelt in front of Daisy and gazed into her steady eyes. Since the girls were having lunch with the Govenors today, Angie had insisted on baths last night. Daisy had worn her stockings as she had since Angie arrived, but she’d taken them off in the washtub, which she hadn’t done before. Angie had made a point of not looking when Daisy climbed out of the water.

  Now Daisy regarded her with uneasiness, but Angie also saw the beginnings of trust in those large gray eyes. She drew a deep breath, then rested Daisy’s clubfoot in her lap and pressed the everyday shoes above Daisy’s twisted toes. “There’s room, but not too much.” Mr. Kravitz had reinforced the heel so Angie couldn’t pinch the leather to check for fit. “The heel isn’t too tight, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Already the outer leather and the area of the ankle bone showed wear because Daisy walked on the side of her foot. But now that Angie could examine the fit up close, she realized Mr. Kravitz had built this shoe taller than the other to protect Daisy’s ankle and had added padding where Daisy walked on the bone. Bless the man. She would take Mr. Kravitz a jar of noodles and gravy next week, and she’d pay him first thing when she next paid bills.

  She held Daisy’s small twisted foot between her hands, and raged in her heart at a fate that had let this happen. Tears lay close to the surface and she felt like weeping.

  Instead she blinked hard and reached deep for a smile. “Do your good Sunday shoes fit as well as these?”

  Daisy nodded, studying Angie’s expression for any hint of revulsion or pity.

  And in that moment Angie knew she had to be present for Daisy’s operation whether Sam arranged the surgery or the Govenors did.

  When she answered Peter’s letter, she would tell him that she couldn’t accept his money. He would protest and attempt to persuade her. Then she would answer that she couldn’t make any decisions about the divorce until after Daisy’s operation. If she explained carefully, surely he would understand.

  “Excellent. I’m glad they fit.” Standing, Angie removed her apron and hung it on the hook beside the back door, hoping nothing in her demeanor suggested that something momentous had just occurred. “If we don’t dawdle, we have just enough time to pick up this batch of new dresses, then hurry back and get you dressed before your grandparents arrive to fetch you.”

  While the girls were having lunch with the Govenors, she would do her baking for Sunday, return a cup of cornmeal she’d borrowed from Molly, and scrub the floors. If she had any extra time, she’d pull the weeds in the front yard around her struggling columbines before she started supper. As she worked through her list of chores, she’d think about what to say when she answered Peter’s letter.

  But something else lay heavy on her mind. After they married—would Peter be shocked to discover that she wasn’t a virgin? Or would he ass
ume that she and Sam had consummated their marriage all those years ago? She decided Peter most likely believed the marriage had been consummated. Therefore she could stop worrying about not being virginal when she married him.

  That didn’t make her betrayal any less reprehensible, she told herself sternly.

  Nevertheless, her mood improved and her conscience relaxed, as consciences often did when assured that a wrongdoing would not be found out.

  “Come along, girls,” she said briskly. “It’s a grand day. School is out for the summer, you have new dresses, and you’re going someplace nice for lunch.”

  They skipped down the road in front of her, kicking up puffs of dust that made Angie sneeze. But nothing could spoil the day.

  She had waited ten long years for her life to begin. Now Peter had appeared like a fairy godfather to grant her fondest wish. It was a lovely gesture even if she couldn’t accept.

  An odd thought occurred while Mrs. Hooten folded the girls’ new dresses into packages. Was obtaining a divorce truly her fondest wish? Well, of course it was.

  Except for having to leave Sam. And the girls.

  After Sam walked through the new parsonage with the Reverend and Mrs. Dryfus, accepting their compliments, he presented them with the house keys, then headed downtown to spread the word that the job was finished. With a little luck, the information would reach Herb Govenor before the Govenors caught the train for Colorado Springs. As far as the Dryfus project was concerned, the fire danger would end and Sam could relax.

  “Sam Holland. You’re just the man I’m looking for.” The mayor slid onto the barstool next to Sam and signaled Maxie for a beer.

  “I’ve been looking for you too. It’s time we discussed building the school.”

  “There’s been some developments.”

  Sam turned his head. “I’m ready to start work as soon as you and the council decide on the land and start soliciting the donations we need.”

  “We’ve decided on the lot, but there’s a problem with the current owner. He wants twice what the ground is worth. We’ll handle things, but it’s going to take a few weeks.” The mayor slid Sam a look, then concentrated on his beer mug. “As for donations, it turns out that a single donor has stepped forward. He’ll pay for everything.”

  Marcus Applebee, it had to be. Sam nodded. “The delay on the lot will give me time to work my claims and put aside a little money to tide me over.”

  The mayor wiped a hand across his mouth after a long swallow of beer. “I’m glad the Dryfus place went up with no incident. People are saying all that talk about you and the fires was just talk. Nothing to it.”

  Any niggling leftover doubt would vanish when the word got out that the mayor and town council had approved Sam to build the new school.

  “But we have a problem.” Lifting his head, the mayor met Sam’s gaze in the mirror above the back bar. “Herb Govenor is the man who’s paying for the new school. It won’t cost the town a red cent. Govenor will pay for the building lot, hell, he’ll pay for everything right down to chalk for the blackboard and enough firewood to get through next winter. He’ll even furnish housing for a new teacher.”

  Sam’s mouth thinned and his eyes went flat. He could guess what was coming.

  “The condition is, he doesn’t want you as the builder. If you’re the builder, the deal’s off.”

  “The new school was my idea.”

  “It’s a good idea, and it’s going to happen. Isn’t that the important thing?” The mayor slid off the stool. “We can spend the next few months soliciting donations, hoping we get what we need. Or we can accept Govenor’s offer and start immediately.”

  “You already agreed, didn’t you?”

  “Taking Govenor’s offer makes sense.” He shrugged. “There was no way to justify turning him down.” The mayor placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Come fall, your girls won’t have to walk past the Old Homestead to get to school. That’s what matters, Sam.”

  After the mayor left the saloon, Sam frowned at his beer mug and told himself the mayor was right. It didn’t matter who built the new school. If Herb Govenor wanted to pay for the entire package just to deny Sam the pleasure of being the builder, he couldn’t blame the town for accepting the offer. The project would go faster and smoother with only one donor to deal with instead of dozens.

  But he had wanted to build the school.

  Well, hell. There were a lot of things he wanted that he would never have. And now nothing stood in the way of doing what he wanted to do, which was devote all his effort to his best claim. Building the school would have required at least a month. That was a month he desperately needed up on his claim. Maybe losing the school project was a good thing. He flipped some coins on the bar and left the saloon.

  He spent the afternoon digging in his mine shaft and thinking about Herb Govenor. He didn’t fault Govenor for hating him. Sam figured he’d hate any man who took advantage of Lucy or Daisy, and that’s how Govenor saw the situation. It was easier for Govenor to believe that Sam had seduced his daughter rather than to accept that Laura was willing. And now Govenor believed that Sam was trying to steal his granddaughters.

  For those reasons, Govenor had promised to destroy Sam, and he was doing his best to accomplish that goal. The thought returned Sam’s mind to the fires.

  He didn’t kid himself that he’d prevented Herb Govenor from burning down the Dryfus place. A determined arsonist would have gotten the job done no matter how many men Sam posted on watch. What he didn’t understand was why such a feeble attempt had been made instead of an all-out effort. What was different about the Dryfus project?

  The only answer that sprang to mind was that Whittier and the union could afford a loss, but Reverend Dryfus could not. Sam frowned. He didn’t like attributing a conscience to Herb Govenor. Didn’t like thinking that Govenor might set aside his personal agenda out of consideration for the reverend’s sparse pocketbook. He didn’t like thinking about Herb Govenor at all. He would far rather have devoted his thoughts to Angie.

  She wouldn’t discuss the night of the grand opening. If Sam alluded to the amazing conclusion of the evening, Angie would blush violently and a little smile would play around her lips, but she wouldn’t acknowledge his comment or offer any response of her own. Last night, when they were sitting outside on the kitchen steps, he’d told her that he’d thought about everything, and she was right. Enormous complications would have resulted if Molly and the girls had caught them in bed together.

  And he’d meant what he said. His daughters shouldn’t see him taking advantage of a woman he planned to send packing as soon as he could afford to do so.

  Throwing down his pick, he pushed back his hat and wiped his forehead. The sun was sweating out the beer he’d had earlier.

  What if he didn’t send Angie packing? Or, to phrase it more realistically, what if he somehow managed to convince her not to walk out on him again? This was a new idea and it surprised him. Maybe it shouldn’t have.

  Most of the time they got on well. His daughters were gradually accepting her. And she was good with the girls. She was a wonderful cook, appeared to manage money well. She was settling into the community. He enjoyed her company. And Lordy, he wanted to take her to bed again, wanted that in the worst way.

  On the downside . . . he couldn’t offer her any more than he’d been able to offer her ten years ago. It hadn’t been good enough then; why would it be good enough now? Moreover, she intended to marry that bastard De Groot. Worse, he had an idea that De Groot could give Angie all the comforts she deserved. Sam couldn’t compete unless he found his jackpot.

  Keeping his daughters and possibly keeping his wife depended on finding gold. Frowning, he peered into the pit he was digging. This was a hell of a way to live—depending on luck to solve his problems.

  Angie stood in the front doorway while the Govenors’ driver escorted Lucy and Daisy from the house to a polished black vis-à-vis. The Govenors faced forward. Neither gav
e her a glance.

  But when the carriage returned, the only occupants were Winnie and the girls. The girls jumped to the ground and ran to the bed of columbines, their eyes bright with excitement.

  “We could order anything we wanted to eat,” Lucy said. “I had clam chowder and I liked it, and baked chicken that I didn’t like as much as fried like we do it here at home.”

  “We had ice cream for dessert!” Daisy’s eyes widened in thrilled amazement. “And the ice cream had strawberries in it, and strawberry jam on top!”

  “I want to hear every detail,” Angie said, standing and pulling off her gardening gloves. “But first, run inside and put on your everyday dresses and shoes.” Her gaze flicked to the vis-à-vis. “Is your grandmother waiting for something?”

  “Oh, she wants to talk to you,” Lucy called over her shoulder before she and Daisy banged into the house.

  Angie’s heart sank. She couldn’t imagine what she and Winnie Govenor might have to say to each other. Resisting an urge to remove her apron and smooth back her hair, she reluctantly approached the carriage.

  “Step inside, if you please,” Winnie said, skimming an eye over Angie’s everyday work dress and utilitarian hairstyle.

  “Yes?” Angie asked warily once she was seated across from Winnie Govenor. Winnie wore a dark summer-weight traveling suit trimmed with blue and cream.

  “I’ll come straight to the point. Mr. Govenor and I would like Lucy and Daisy to spend the summer with us in Colorado Springs. This request should more properly be put to Mr. Holland or his attorney, but Mr. Holland has shown no inclination to listen to reason. It is my hope that by making the approach through you, Mr. Holland will consider our wishes.”

  Angie stared in disbelief. “Mrs. Govenor, Sam will never give up his girls. He’ll never agree to this proposal.”

  “Mr. Holland will lose the girls in any case. It’s obvious to all that he won’t be able to arrange for Daisy’s surgery before October. When he defaults on his commitment, custody will revert to Mr. Govenor and me. All parties have agreed to this resolution.”