Holidays with the Weavers

by Kit Morgan

  Except George, who stared at her, eyes full of concern.

  She looked back, and the pain struck her like a punch in the throat. Oh, Lord, she was falling in love with this man! And what good would it do her once he was gone? Heartache and torture would be all that was left behind.

  Olivia looked away and poked at her vegetables.

  “Biscuit?” Grandpa offered her the plate.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, took one and passed it to Bella

  “You know, Albert was just telling me about a couple he knew once,” he continued softly. “It didn’t look like they were gonna make it – hardly knew each other, in fact. But they pulled through. You know what brought them together?”

  Olivia reluctantly turned to him. “What?”

  “One bad man. Not to say a villain will help, but sometimes we all need something to give things a nudge.”

  “Grandpa,” she sighed, “please don’t talk in riddles.”

  “But it’s true. Albert and Bob have been telling me all sorts of stories.” He glanced around. “They like matchmaking, you know. They don’t usually work around these parts – they spend most of their time in Colorado …”

  “Grandpa, please …,” she groaned.

  “Albert says he knows your brother. In fact, he knows your whole family – met the lot of you a long time ago.”

  Olivia froze, a single tear streaming down her face. “What did you say?”

  Grandpa nodded and leaned toward her. “He told me not to tell you, but I thought you should know,” he whispered.

  Her brow furrowed with worry for the old man. He was talking gibberish. Didn’t he say on their walk that Albert and Bob were angels? And now he was teasing her with unconfirmable tales about a family she couldn’t remember – how could he be so cruel? She shook, trying to keep from weeping or yelling.

  “Don’t tell him I told you,” Grandpa finished and happily went back to eating.

  Olivia tried to do the same, but her appetite was gone. Her emotions were exploding and her head was starting to pound. If she were smart, she’d excuse herself, go upstairs and lie down. But instead she glanced at George – and found him looking right at her. He smiled as he buttered a biscuit, bit into it and chewed, never once taking his eyes off her.

  Olivia’s heart leaped in her chest, only to plummet to the pit of her stomach. Her emotions were caught in a tug-of-war, and for the first time since she’d arrived she wished she was somewhere else.

  Soon the meal was mercifully over. Olivia sighed, wishing she could retire for the evening with a clear conscience. But she really felt she should help with the clean-up – it was the least she could do after playing with the children all afternoon while the other women cooked. She stood and began to clear the dishes along with George and Daniel, while the other men went into the parlor to play games with the children.

  “Did you enjoy dinner?” George asked softly.

  Olivia closed her eyes against the pain in her head.

  “Something’s wrong, I can tell.”

  “Yes.”

  “What is it, Olivia? Can I help?”

  “No.”

  He stopped what he was doing and studied her. “Are you … remembering?”

  She sighed and looked at him, wishing he’d just leave her alone this once. “No.”

  He studied her face. “Oh, Olivia, I so wish there was something I could do for you. I hate to see you in such pain.”

  Her eyes watered. “Please, just …” She wanted him to comfort her. She wanted him to leave her be. She wanted her head to stop pounding.

  “Just what?” He set the stack of plates he was holding on the table. She realized Daniel had already taken a load into the kitchen as George closed the distance between them. No, no, no … “Olivia,” he said, and kissed her.

  The kiss was gentle yet strong. Olivia had never felt anything like it. She knew it for certain – if she’d ever been kissed before, the kisses were shallow and empty, with nothing behind them but selfishness and greed. How she knew was beyond her, but there it was.

  George broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t regret that.” Then after a long pause: “Do you?”

  Olivia’s mouth wouldn’t form words, and she didn’t know what she’d say if it could. All she could do was set down the empty mashed potato bowl, leave the dining room, go upstairs and shut herself in her room. Without thinking she wedged a chair back under the doorknob to keep the world out, then fell onto her bed and let the racking sobs come unhindered.

  * * *

  George stood at the bottom of the stairs and gazed upward, feeling snake-belly low. “You fool,” he chastised himself. “Why’d you have to move so fast?”

  “George?”

  He turned to find Arlan, Benjamin, Calvin and Daniel behind him. “What is it?”

  “Can we have a word?”

  “Certainly,” he said dourly. He figured he was about to get the chewing out he so surely deserved – might as well get it over with. He followed Arlan and his brothers down a side hall and into a sewing workroom – half-made hats and dresses, jars of ribbons, lace, buttons and stacks of fabric were everywhere. He moved a pile of cloth off a chair and sat. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

  “We need to have a chat,” Calvin said.

  “’Bout Olivia,” Benjamin added.

  Daniel plopped himself into an empty chair. “She ain’t what ya think.”

  George looked at each of them in turn. “What do you mean?”

  “Probably best to start at the beginnin’,” Arlan suggested. He, Benjamin and Calvin leaned against their mother’s huge sewing table, their arms crossed

  “Yes, that’s usually a good place,” George agreed cautiously.

  Arlan rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Olivia Bridger was the name we knew her by.”

  “Until she married Samijo’s uncle,” Calvin added.

  George couldn’t feel anything. Had his heart stopped beating? It took him a moment to start breathing again. “Excuse me?”

  Daniel stood and joined the others at their mother’s sewing table. “She almost got the bunch of us killed.”

  George also stood. “That can’t be. It can’t.”

  “It was,” Arlan said.

  “But … she … how …?”

  “We didn’t recognize her when we first pulled her out of that ditch,” Arlan went on. “Not until we got her to the stage stop. Of course, even if we had, we would have helped her. But …”

  And the four brothers told George the whole story: Olivia’s attempts to get her hooks into Arlan right after he’d married Samijo, her teaming up with Samijo’s Uncle Burr so he could get Samijo’s inheritance and she would have Arlan for herself, how in the midst of it, the Weaver men and their mother had almost been killed. There were plenty of other reports about Olivia and the Bridgers that they’d heard from Tom Turner and other reliable sources, and they shared them all.

  George was silent for over a minute when they were done. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “I don’t believe it. That … the woman you’re describing doesn’t sound anything like the Olivia I know.”

  “No, she don’t,” Arlan agreed. “We’d much rather keep the one we have now. And we gather ya’d like to as well – permanently.”

  “I won’t hide that, no. I … I’ve never met a woman like her. I never really thought about taking another wife until …” He shook his head. “I can’t explain what it is about her. She’s so different.”

  “Ya can say that again,” Daniel put in. “Different like night and day. Right now we got the day. Ya don’t wanna see the night.”

  George stared at him, mouth half-open. “I just can’t believe it.”

  “Best you do – it might save both of ya a lot of heartache,” Arlan said. “Soon as she remembers everythin’, ya could have a whole different woman on yer hands.”

  George slumped back into the chair. “I …” He shook his
head in lieu of saying I can’t believe it again.

  “Yeah?” Calvin said. “What about us? ‘Member, we’ve seen the other Olivia.”

  George stared off into space. “Have you tried to contact her family?”

  “I’ve spoken with Spencer Riley,” Arlan said. “He’s the sheriff in town – he’s tryin’ to track down Burr or her folks.”

  “Sheriff Riley from the Christmas dance?” George said. “Yes, he and his family are Warren’s neighbors. They’re looking after the farm while we’re here.”

  “He’ll find out if Burr was released from prison or transferred to another.” Arlan said. “We think Olivia might’ve been on her way to meet him.”

  George ran his hand through his hair. “Great Scott.”

  “Be glad we told ya,” Daniel said.

  “Before ya did something you’d regret,” Benjamin added, slapping George on the back. “Anyone can see ya got it bad for her.”

  George stared up at him. “I admit it. I …” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Great Scott.”

  “He keeps sayin’ that,” Calvin commented.

  “It’s the shock,” Daniel said. “I’d be sayin’ a lot worse’n that, myself.”

  “Poor Olivia,” George said, ignoring him. “How tormented she must be.”

  “Tormented?” Benjamin said. “How so?”

  “You didn’t see it at dinner?” George asked. “She looked so lost all of a sudden.”

  “I didn’t see it,” Arlan admitted, then looked at his brothers. “Did you?”

  “I was too busy eatin’,” Daniel admitted.

  “Me too,” Calvin said. Benjamin just nodded.

  “How do ya know how she feels?” Arlan asked George.

  “I just … do?” He sighed and slumped further. “That poor woman.”

  “Maybe,” Arlan said. “Ya might not feel that way if she gets her memory back and turns into the old Olivia.”

  “Who says she will?” George stood. “You don’t know that.”

  Arlan looked at his brothers before turning back. “True. But we cain’t rule it out neither.”

  “Yes, I get that.” All the fight had gone out of George.

  “We just thought we better warn ya,” Arlan said. “Yer scalin’ a slippery slope, Mr. Johnson. Ya might wanna climb down before ya fall.”

  George took a deep breath. The problem was, he’d already fallen – in love. But he didn’t dare tell the Weavers that. They might even ask him to leave. He glanced at the window, could see the snow falling outside, and realized he couldn’t leave if he wanted to. He was stuck in a house with a woman who, if he listened to these four, was the harpiest of harpies. Worse, he was in love with her – and if his guess was right, she with him. A half hour ago he couldn’t have been happier. Now …

  … now he was angry. He didn’t know the woman they were describing. But he knew the Olivia Bridger he’d met – and she was as close to perfect as he could imagine. If they wouldn’t stand up for her, someone had to. And he was more than willing.

  “I’m sorry we had to tell ya,” Arlan said. “But we cain’t stand by and watch ya get in any deeper than ya already are.”

  “I’m deep enough, thanks,” George said. For illustration, he held his hand level, about a foot above his head. “Deep enough to fight for the woman I love.”

  “Love?!” the brothers yelped.

  “Are ya out of yer mind?” Arlan asked in shock.

  “Maybe. But so is she. We make a good pair.” George stood and marched out of the room.

  Fifteen

  George grabbed his coat and hat and stormed out of the house, not caring care where he went so long as he went. How could the Weavers say such things about sweet, frightened Olivia? Anyone could see her confusion and fear at her situation. He could see her pain. That was enough for him. “I don’t believe it!” he grumbled as he marched through the snow. “I don’t!”

  But he couldn’t deny the possibility either. After all, they’d apparently known her way back when, and they had no reason to lie. They seemed genuinely concerned for his welfare. Still, he couldn’t reconcile their stories of a manipulative man-eater with the frail, timid woman he’d met and come to love. He stopped at the edge of the orchard where he and Olivia had walked with Grandpa. He stared at their footprints, half filled in by snow, and sighed.

  Then he saw something else – two more sets of tracks beside Grandpa’s. One belonged to a man, but the other … “What the …?” He got on his hands and knees and peered at them more closely, and sure enough – chicken scratchings! Yet he’d seen no other men – or poultry – on their trip, just himself and Olivia, and Grandpa talking to …

  George stood and absently brushed snow from his pants, eyes still glued to the two extra pairs of tracks. They weren’t filled in as much as the others. “I’m going around the bend like Grandpa.” He rubbed his eyes, blinked a few times, looked at the ground again. The tracks were still there. He backed up a step, turned and looked at the house. Hadn’t the girl Ottilie from Nowhere say she saw Albert with a rooster?

  George wasn’t a drinking man, but whiskey suddenly had some appeal. Between the tracks and the talk with the Weaver men, he wouldn’t mind a shot or two of brain eraser. “Am I mad?” He shook his head a few times. “Or just upset?”

  He headed for the barn, studying the huge structure a moment before stepping inside. Was this where it happened, Olivia’s scheme to get Arlan for herself and be rid of Samijo? Thank Heaven Arlan hadn’t said that Olivia wanted Samijo dead. No, the creepy uncle wanted her and her money. Arlan never mentioned how much his wife had inherited, but it had to be substantial to explain all the land the Weavers owned and some of the gifts the children received.

  He pushed that thought aside. Samijo’s uncle had wanted Arlan out of the picture and didn’t care how he did it. “Olivia, married to that monster?” he asked aloud. He walked to one of the large beams and tried to imagine the Weaver family trussed up and awaiting their fate at the hands of Burr and some outlaw named “Red Ned.” At this point he couldn’t remember what the Weavers had said about him. Other than he was plumb loco and more than happy to burn the barn down for Burr, with the Weavers inside.

  “Dear Lord, what do I do? What if it’s true and Olivia really is the person they say?” He glanced up. “I can’t lose her. I won’t!”

  He spun on his heel and marched out of the barn. Before he knew it, he was back at the edge of the orchard, staring at the ground again. All four sets of tracks had disappeared beneath the new snow. George stared at where they’d been and shook his head. “Hmph, just as I thought – I imagined them. Must be the shock.” He turned – and saw a rooster dart across the barnyard!

  It took him a moment to start breathing again. “Don’t be silly, George, it’s just a chicken,” he scolded himself. “This is a farm, for Pete’s sake.” He exhaled, brushed snow from his hair and headed toward the house, but didn’t go inside. Instead he walked past it and down the lane toward the main road.

  This was the sort of life he wanted: a farm (albeit a smaller one), a wife, a family. Maybe he was too old to think about having more children – Clarence was old enough to marry and give him grandkids – but he wanted to have another family. Maybe he should’ve taken a wife years ago, but losing Victoria had been devastating. He never thought he could love anyone else again until …

  “And now I’m told she’s not the woman I think she is.” He stopped in the middle of the road a few hundred yards from the house and turned. The place looked so inviting. He’d thought so the first time he saw it. The orchards, meadows and woods were beautiful. The Weavers were truly blessed to live here.

  He turned again and looked down the lane to where it disappeared over a rise a half-mile away. If he kept walking he’d have to climb that hill, and he didn’t want to do that in the snow. If it kept up, Warren and the rest of them would be stuck here quite a while. Thank Heaven the Rileys were taking care of Warren’s
stock while they were here. Clayton and Spencer would understand why their return was delayed.

  George sighed and looked at the farm again. He should get back. It was growing dark, and the others were probably having pie and coffee by now. But before he left … “Lord, I can’t picture Olivia as such an evil, conniving woman. I know that’s how Arlan and his brothers described her. But I don’t see it.” He looked up at the darkening sky. Snow fell onto his face and in his eyes but he didn’t care. “I’ll fight for her, Lord. If the woman I’m falling in love with is here now, there’s no reason for her to go away. Is there?”

  He got no answer. Just the howl of a lone coyote.

  George brushed snow from his face and started back. No wonder Olivia felt so confused. If her old nature was so horrid, it must be warring with her new one. But if everything Arlan and his brothers said was true, where did this Olivia come from? A person could get bonked on the head and lose their memory – he’d heard of that happening. A complete change in personality, though … he’d never heard of such a thing, and he was pretty well read. In this case, could she simply have forgotten she was such a harridan?

  All he could do now was wait and see what happened if or when her memory came back. But how long was he willing to wait? He had a business back in Oregon City to take care of, after all.

  George trudged back to the house, his mind reeling with possibilities. Would she still have feelings for him when she got her memory back? Would she remember to be mean? Would she get her memories back with her new-found kindness and gentleness intact? Who knew? It was a risk loving her.

  But maybe, just maybe, that was what she needed. After all, who could love a woman like the Weaver brothers described – selfish, cunning, greedy, spoiled and without compassion? He couldn’t, he knew, except in the most clinical sense. The only one he knew capable of loving someone like that was …