Tobias made a noise of disgust in his throat. “That’s a load of hogwash. You put a lot of store in ‘shoulds,’ Alvira.” He met her disgruntled stare, when she paused to glare back at him. “Why are all of your ‘shoulds’ restrictive and deny you pleasure? Why aren’t your ‘shoulds’ about what brings you joy?”
“I deserve no joy,” she snapped, turning on her heel to continue their walk. She gasped when he gently gripped her shoulder.
“Vera,” he murmured, earning a startled stare for the use of a nickname, “everyone deserves joy.” His eyes shone with sadness. “What would ever make you believe yourself unworthy?”
She stared deeply into his eyes. “You understand,” she whispered, her annoyance fading, as her heart now raced at the possibility that Tobias could comprehend her. She feared that would be more terrifying than remaining misunderstood. “Somehow you do.”
He nodded and urged her to the side of the path to perch on a fallen log. “I do, for reasons I don’t care to share today. I understand what it is to feel bereft of joy. To believe I would always watch others exult at life, while I watched, clinging to my bitterness, as though it were a life raft.”
She sat on the log, gazing down at the town, as an amicable quiet settled between them. All around them, the sounds of the forest could be heard. Squirrels called; a woodpecker tapped at a tree, and the wind ruffled the tree branches.
Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “I know what it is to yearn for friendship. To desire more. To find it and to rejoice in it.” Her breath hitched. “You have no idea what it’s like to find friendship and those who are like family, after being alone for so long.”
She paused, as she stared at the town. “And then the absolute agony of losing it all, realizing I was only ever meant to be alone.” Her fingers played together on her lap. “I have no desire to be offered the illusion again, only to have it snatched away. I wouldn’t survive.”
Tobias frowned, as he studied her. “You believe we’ll offer you friendship, find you lacking in some way, and no longer desire to know you?” He made an incredulous sound. “Not very flattering toward any of us.”
“It isn’t about you,” she snapped, her head jerking up, as she met his gaze.
“Of course it isn’t. Everything is about you and how you feel and how you might be harmed. You never consider that your cold dismissal of the MacKinnons’ friendship is hurtful to them.”
“They’ll survive,” she said in a small defiant voice. “There are plenty of them …” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head. “They won’t miss me.”
Tobias sighed and slapped his hands onto the bark of the tree. “If you truly believe that, we might as well head back now, and I’ll have nothing more to do with you. For you won’t miss me either.”
“No,” she gasped, reaching out to grab his hand. “I … No. Please.” Her eyes were wide and filled with despair at the thought of him departing. “Forgive me for being cantankerous.”
Squeezing her hand, he nodded and remained seated beside her. “I know what it is to lash out at those who would offer me friendship. I know what it is to worry I’ll be spurned again. I know what it is to fight that fear.” He let out a deep breath. “And I know, with utter surety, it’s worth every moment of doubt to overcome the worry and the fear to have people like the MacKinnons in my life.”
She took a deep breath to calm her racing emotions, closing her eyes, as she tilted her head up to the brilliant rays of the sun. Her black hair glinted in the bright light, and her expression was one of forced tranquility. Sitting in absolute silence for a long moment, it was as though she had not heard what he’d admitted.
Finally she whispered, “Thank you.” She turned her head to meet his gaze, hers luminous and unguarded. “Thank you for sharing that with me.” Her cornflower-blue eyes shone with chagrin. “I fear I would not have been as generous with you.”
Tobias smiled. “I’ve had more practice, and I have overcome my fear of losing some of those I love.”
“How?” Alvira whispered. “They could still die.”
His hand spasmed in hers, and he let out a ragged breath. “Yes, they could,” he admitted, his voice weak. “However, I refuse to envision such pain, when the option instead is to embrace the joy I have every day with them.” He gazed at her in sorrow, as understanding dawned. “You lost those you love.”
She gasped at his insightfulness and nodded, her eyes tear brightened, although no tears fell. “Yes. More than once. I don’t have the strength to love and to lose again, Mr. Sutton.”
“Tobias,” he murmured. “I like to believe we are friends, Vera.”
She shivered at the use of his nickname for her. “Vera,” she breathed. “It’s been so long since I’ve been more than Miss Damon. I’ve rarely been Alvira.”
Tobias chuckled. “Well, we know one man in town who’d love for you to be something other than Miss Damon.” He smiled at her and winked, adding levity to the previous heavy emotions. When she giggled, his smile broadened.
“I don’t know what to make of you,” she whispered, her eyes widening in surprise at her unintended admission, as she bit her lip to prevent any other secrets from emerging. Somehow she always seemed to blurt out her true thoughts and feelings to this man.
He leaned toward her and nudged her shoulder with his. “I don’t know what to make of you either,” he teased. He sighed, as the smile continued to flirt with his lips, and he stared at the town a short distance below them. “I haven’t met anyone like you in many years.”
She pursed her lips in an attempt to bite back her question, before blurting out, “Is that a good or a bad thing?”
“Good.” He rose. “Come. Let’s not waste the rest of this beautiful afternoon. I believe you will appreciate the view from the promontory.”
Alvira rose, resisting the urge to grab his hand. It had been so long since she’d felt such a kinship with anyone. She knew she had to combat the temptation to form a bond with him or with any of his family. The pain of being alone again would only be more acute for having known them.
* * *
The following week, Alvira turned the bakery door handle, grunting with displeasure to find it locked. Glancing at the Closed sign, she frowned. Had they forgotten she was to come by after school for her purchases?
Just as she was about to trudge home on this windy gray overcast day, a man called out, “Ye go around the back, lass.”
Glancing in the direction of the voice, she shook her head in confusion, as he didn’t look anything like the dour Alistair MacKinnon from the livery, but he sounded like him. Rather than brown hair and an almost preacher-like countenance, this man had too-long blond hair and brown eyes lit with impish delight. He reminded her of her schoolboys, who were always looking for mischief, but had the charm to talk their way out of every misadventure. “It’s Ewan MacKinnon, isn’t it?” she asked, flushing at her impertinent question.
“Aye,” he said, with a smile and a half nod. “They sold out a few hours ago, but, if ye were expectin’ them to hold somethin’ for ye, they’ll have it in the back.”
“I’d never want to impose,” she stammered.
“Ach, ’tis no imposition, when they’ve been eager to acquaint themselves with ye.” He smiled, although there was a hint of warning in his gaze and voice. “Ye’ve been as slippery as an eel, avoidin’ our gatherin’s.”
Now her flush was beet red, and Alvira clutched her small basket to her. “I fear you are misinformed. If you’ll excuse me?”
Ewan reached forward and softly tapped her arm. “They’re friendly, carin’ women, aye?” His gaze bore into her. “If ye dinna want friendship, tell them, for they dinna ken any other way of bein’.”
“Ken?” she asked, her mind spinning.
“Know,” he said, as he dropped his hand and took his leave.
Alvira heaved out a relieved breath and nodded her understanding, although she was uncertain what she was expressing her understand
ing of: Ewan’s warning? Or his explanation of words she didn’t understand? With a wave over her shoulder, she spun and walked down a narrow alley to the rear of the bakery.
Taking a deep breath, she attempted to compose herself, although she couldn’t hide her agitated flush. Hopefully they would believe it was from her brisk walk to the bakery from the school. She rapped on the door, smiling impersonally, as Jane flung open the door.
“Oh, you’ve finally arrived!” Jane said, as she gave a small hop of delight, before giving Alvira a quick hug. “Come in! We’ve been hoping you’d have time for a chat, before we close for the day.”
“I’m sorry for being so late. I lost track of time, as I prepared for tomorrow’s lesson.” She glanced around the room at the small gathering of women, her basket clutched to her chest, as though providing a protective space between her and those present. Annabelle MacKinnon, whom Alvira had briefly met during a previous visit to the bakery, scrubbed down a table, while a striking woman with chestnut-brown hair murmured something to her. Another woman with brilliant red hair languished in a rocking chair, as a child sat on a blanket nearby, babbling to herself. “Forgive me for interrupting.”
“Interrupting?” the redhead asked, a wry lift to her eyebrow. “We’ve gathered to finally meet you.” She smiled with wicked delight at seeing the discomfort her statement provoked. “I’m Jessamine, and this is my daughter, Aileana.”
“The reporter,” Alvira whispered, taking an instinctual step backward.
Jessamine’s gaze sharpened at her action. “Yes. It seems I was correct in my desire to meet you.”
“Jessie, leave her be,” the chestnut-haired woman said, with a roll of her eyes. “I’m Fidelia, and you’re teaching my daughter, Mildred. Annabelle and I are sisters.”
“Bright Fawn, yes,” Alvira said, as she put to memory the ways everyone was related, pausing as every woman gazed at her curiously. “Although I’ve learned she prefers Mildred in school.”
“Hmm,” Fidelia said, although Alvira couldn’t determine if that were a sound of approval or not. “Bears was intrigued by you.”
Alvira shrugged, uncertain what she could add. Jane approached, and the other women continued their conversations, although Alvira noted they glanced in her direction often.
Speaking in a low voice, Jane squeezed one of Alvira’s hands and smiled gently. Although not as startlingly pretty as the other women in the room, Jane had an alluring beauty that shone through when she spoke or interacted with those around her. “I was delighted to hear of your walk with my father.”
Paling, Alvira took another step backward. She heard Jessamine mutter that, if Alvira walked back any farther, she’d end up in the alley, and she stilled her motion. Focusing on Jane, she saw only friendliness in the other woman’s gaze. “We had a nice outing. It was very generous of him to take time out of his busy day to walk with me to such a beautiful place.”
For a moment, Alvira was lost to the memory of standing at the promontory, as she gazed toward the valley in the distance. Miles and miles of rolling hills dotted by houses. Some parcels of land were used for farming, some for grazing, and it lent a patchwork quilt feel, as she saw it from such a distance. In that moment, she had felt a sense of harmony with this wild place and also gratitude that Tobias had insisted they go on a walk.
Focusing again on the present, she looked at Tobias’s daughter. “I never realized the valley was so beautiful.”
Jane laughed. “I’m sure Father pointed out the ranch. It’s a pity you didn’t travel to the ranch for the roundup festivities last month.”
Alvira stiffened and shook her head. “I had no reason to, Mrs. Metcalf. I’m not affiliated with the family or the ranch.”
“Affiliated?” Fidelia asked, with a raised brow. “What does that mean?” She shared a look with her sister and then Jessamine.
Jessamine raised an eyebrow. “Friendship is not dependent upon an affiliation, Miss Damon.”
Flushing, Alvira’s knuckles had turned white, where they clutched her basket. “I fear I do not excel at friendship and would only prove a disappointment to all.” Her weak smile did little to ease the tension in the room. “I presume you enjoyed your gathering at the ranch.”
“We always do,” Annabelle said, her black hair tied back in a loose bun. “But then we have a weakness for gatherings, for family, and for enjoying ourselves.”
Alvira flinched, as though she had been found wanting.
Jane extracted the small bundle of items Alvira had ordered and set them in her basket. After paying, Alvira scurried the few steps to the door, pausing only when Jane rested a hand on her arm.
“I understand Father asked you to dinner.” She waited for Alvira to reply, getting barely a nod in response. “If you’re not interested in him, could you please tell him?” Jane asked in a whisper-soft voice. At Alvira’s blank stare, Jane blushed but forged on. “He’s a sensitive man, who deserves much more than a life lived alone at his store, but, if you don’t envision anything with him, if you can feel no affection for him, please tell him.” Jane paused, frowning, as Alvira remained quiet.
“I will,” Alvira finally whispered, slipping out the back door to walk home in utter confusion, as her mind spun about all that had been said and inferred during her visit to the bakery. Although she had felt like an outsider among their tight-knit group, she yearned to be considered worthy enough to be a member. With a shake of her head, she reminded herself that it was better to avoid entanglements, although her heart ached at the prospect of a never-ending loneliness.
Chapter 7
The days were shorter as November neared its end, and Alvira had to ensure the boys kept the woodbox stocked, so the small stove could pump out enough heat to keep the schoolhouse warm during the day. Today, Tommy had complained about that basic chore, and his two friends had bellyached along with him, after he had started his insolent chatter.
“Tommy, Joey, and Jimmy,” Alvira said, after the other children had been released for the day. “You are the older boys here, and you have responsibilities.”
Tommy snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma’am. Like ensuring you don’t last longer than a month or two.”
Alvira took a deep breath, her hands crossed over her belly, as she stared at them. “Your parents agreed that you would help with stocking the wood.”
“If they’re so keen, they should do it,” Joey said, looking to his friends for confirmation that what he said was correct. When Tommy grunted his agreement, Joey puffed out his chest.
“I’d be careful who I considered a friend, Joey,” Alvira said, as she pursed her lips and stared at the three unrepentant boys, who were quickly to become young men. She feared for them if they didn’t change their attitudes soon. “Now I expect you to have the woodbox filled before you leave for the day.”
Tommy flushed red and fisted his hands. “I don’t care what you expect, Miss Damon. Just ’cause they tell us to respect you don’t mean we have to.”
Alvira fought a flash of panic, as he had stood to his full height, already a little taller than she was. He had the broad lumbering shoulders of his father and the mean glint in his eyes that his father had. How was a boy, barely eleven, already proficient in the ways of intimidation? “Tommy,” she said, standing tall and refusing to back down.
He turned away and then swung back, attempting to strike her across her cheek. However, at the last moment, she ducked, and he spun himself in a circle, landing on his bottom. He sat in stunned silence, staring up at her.
“How dare you have the audacity to believe you may strike me?” she hissed, reaching behind her, her hands seeking and finally clasping her ruler. She held it in her hand, as her eyes flashed with warning. However, all the piss and vinegar had seeped out of the three boys, and, once Tommy got to his feet again, they stood in front of her, quaking.
“Pa always said we was to fight those who looked down on us,” Tommy said.
With a sigh, Alvira s
tared at the boys, as she attempted to regain a tiny portion of her compassion. However, a simmering rage bubbled underneath the surface. “Having to do a chore you don’t like is not being looked down on. Listening to someone who is older than you and obeying what they say, when it’s not abusive, is not being exploited.” She motioned to the door. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“What, Miss Damon?” Joey asked, his voice quivering.
“Fill the woodbox.” At their relieved looks, she gave them a quelling stare. “Then we shall visit your parents. And see what they have to say.”
* * *
Tobias paced the small kitchen area behind his store, staring at the back door as the evening grew long. He studied the tiny table he’d covered in fine white linen, before blowing out the red candle, careful not to spread the wax on the tablecloth. “Idiot,” he muttered to himself. “I should have known better than to believe a woman as fine as Vera would truly accept an invitation to have dinner with me.”
He sat with a huff, no longer interested in the meal he’d prepared for tonight and that warmed in his oven. With a groan, he’d have to find some way to explain to Peter that she hadn’t come for supper. He hated the thought of appearing pathetic to his nephew. Why had he shared with him that Alvira had accepted his dinner invitation? Now he’d only look a fool.
At the soft tap on his back door, he rose with a relieved breath and strode to the door, flinging it open. When he saw his daughter, Jane, he sighed before pulling her inside. “Hello, sweetheart,” he murmured, as he hugged her, before holding her at arm’s length. “Are you well?” He frowned when he saw her bite her lip. “What’s the matter?”
“Peter mentioned you were to have a romantic supper tonight,” she said, as she looked at the finely set table, “but you’re alone.” At his nod, she murmured, “I promise I wasn’t prying. I wasn’t being nosy.” She shrugged. “I like Alvira, and I wanted to ensure she was comfortable in her home, as we’re renting it to her.”
Substitute Montana Bride: Bear Grass Springs, Book Thirteen Page 7