Holidays with the Weavers

by Kit Morgan

  “Last fried egg – who wants it?” George called out. He looked at Olivia and smiled. “How about you?”

  She caught herself smiling back, too late to stop it. Well, just because she was keeping a careful distance didn’t mean she had to be a cold fish. But she hoped this didn’t happen all day. “All right.”

  He shoveled it onto her plate. She watched him eat as she did, noted the friendly smiles he gave everyone and his cheerful demeanor. This was the man she met at the Christmas dance, much less stoic than the one she spoke with this morning. Maybe he was working to keep a careful distance too. She hoped he was having better luck than she was.

  She finished her egg and cleared the dishes as everyone left to start their day. Everyone except George, still hanging around the kitchen. “I can help with the dishes,” he offered.

  “No need. Why don’t you read a book like Ma suggested?”

  “I could do that. I could also stay.”

  She stared at him. Was he leaving it up to her? Oh, please, no. Her heart wanted him to stay, to enjoy his company, but her head knew the danger of spending too much time with him. Her heart won the last battle. Her head had better win this one. She swallowed hard. “Thank you, George, but I can manage on my own,” she said as cheerfully as she could manage.

  “Well … all right.” He scowled and walked out of the room.

  Olivia sighed. Well, no one said exercising wisdom would be easy.

  After the dishes were done, she watched out the window as the Weavers built snowmen in front of the house. And in the barnyard, and the orchards, and between the main house and Calvin’s. With all those Weavers, the work naturally spread far and wide. It really was becoming a snow army outside. She held two-year-old Truly in her arms so she could see out too.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Charity asked.

  “Please.” Olivia kept watching the fun outside. “Does your family do this every time it snows?”

  Charity joined her at the window. “Oh yes – with this many children, we can’t deny them their fun. But I must say, this is the most snowmen I’ve ever seen. Calvin and Benjamin must have made six between here and the barn.”

  Olivia laughed. “Do you like living here?”

  Charity glanced at her. “Yes, very much. I come from back east, from a family of some means – not like the Vanderbilts, but we were well-off. I became a mail-order bride to avoid a scandal.”

  “Oh! What, um … what kind of … no, it’s none of my …”

  But Charity just shrugged. “The kind of scandal that produced Sebastian.”

  Olivia looked out the window again. Sebastian and Benjamin were laughing as they placed rocks onto the face of the snowman they’d just built. She would never have known they weren’t blood relations. “Benjamin loves you very much. I’ve seen it time and again since I’ve been here.”

  “I’m sure you’ve seen a lot of love. This family is … well, I can’t begin to describe them. I just thank the Lord He brought me here.”

  Olivia released the curtain. “Do you think He brought me here?”

  Charity put her arm around Olivia. “I really couldn’t say, but I can tell you this: there’s no better place to be in times of trouble.”

  Olivia smiled. “Thank you, Charity. I needed to hear that.”

  Charity hugged her, then went to the kitchen for more coffee.

  Olivia kept watching the family play outside. Even Ma and Harlan were building a snowman, though it looked more like a giant snowball with a face. She shifted Truly in her arms and turned away. “Why don’t you play with your new blocks? Would you like that?” She set Truly on the floor, and the child grabbed two wooden blocks and started clacking them together.

  “Here we are.” Charity re-entered the parlor, carrying a tray with coffee for two. “Sometimes I like being inside while everyone is outside. Gives me a moment of quiet.”

  Olivia smiled. “That’s understandable.” She took a cup and saucer from the tray, sat and took a slow sip. She examined the pretty blue and white pattern of the cup and saucer and wondered if she owned anything so pretty. She wasn’t sure she owned anything now, not after being robbed.

  The word “loss” had taken on so much meaning for her in the last few weeks. She’d lost her possessions, lost her memory, found and possibly lost the man of her dreams. Perhaps he was never meant to be. The best she could do was let George be on his way with no argument or protest from her. If God willed it, He could bring him back.

  “There you are,” Bella said as she entered the parlor. “Coffee! Wonderful, I could use some.” She disappeared, returning with a cup and saucer in her hands, sat in the chair opposite Olivia and smiled at her. “Are you having a good day?”

  “I’m having a quiet day.” She glanced between the two women. “I’ve been meaning to ask – would the two of you mind giving me a few cooking lessons?”

  “Lessons?” Bella was clearly surprised. “But your polenti this morning were delicious.”

  Olivia shook her head. “I’d seen Charity make them, and I got lucky this time – I really don’t know many dishes.”

  “We’d love to,” Charity told her.

  Olivia smiled in relief. “Thank you so much.”

  Bella smiled. “Perhaps you want to learn to cook because you are to be married soon?”

  Olivia blanched.

  “Bella,” Charity said, “I don’t think Olivia and George have come to any such understanding …”

  “Senza senso! Anyone can see they are perfect for each other!’

  Olivia took another sip of coffee. So much for a quiet day. “Charity’s right, Bella. There can be nothing between George and me.”

  “Nothing?” Bella said as her eyebrows shot up. “No, no, no. I have seen there is not nothing between you.” She waved her hand back and forth. “I am not blind.”

  Olivia sighed. What could she say to convince anyone? The Weavers would have to see for themselves when George and his family left and she never heard from him again. Only then would they be convinced.

  “Olivia?” Bella pressed. “You are not going to let him get away, are you?”

  “Bella,” Charity cut in. “She’s in no position to …”

  “Of course she is!” Bella protested. “I do not believe she is in no position. Why should she be? What is stopping them?”

  Olivia was getting agitated. “What’s stopping us? He lives in another state, and I can’t remember who I am!”

  Bella was unconvinced. “Basta. You can move there, or he can move here. You will remember, or you can make new memories. L'amore conquista tutto, or do you not know?”

  Olivia blinked. Whatever her past had comprised of, it didn’t include fluency in Italian. “Lemorey … what?”

  Bella finally noticed Charity glaring at her. “It means ‘love conquers all.’ Scusi, sometimes I cannot keep my mouth shut.” She gave her coffee – black, no sugar – a vigorous stir. “I do not want you to suffer the breaking heart, is all.”

  Charity nodded. “I think that’s how we all feel. I know there are …certain difficulties in building a relationship with George, as Bella seems to have forgotten. But we just want you both to be happy. And we know you …” She abruptly cut herself off. “Forgive me. Now I’m talking too much.”

  But Olivia picked up on the change in the tone – she’d heard it too many times while staying with the Weavers. “Is there something you and the rest of the family aren’t telling me?”

  Bella gulped.

  Aha, Olivia thought. Suspicion confirmed. “What is it?”

  Charity and Bella exchanged a glance. “What would you like us to teach you?” Charity asked hastily.

  So now they were changing the subject? Olivia sighed. Fine. She’d discover what they were keeping from her soon enough, now that she was sure there was something. Bad enough she had to get through the rest of the day and possibly several more before she was free of George. Now she had things being kept from her, probably
involving the past she couldn’t recall. Just what did the Weavers know that she didn’t? Whatever it was, she was determined to find out.

  Seventeen

  It was New Year’s Eve before the roads were clear enough for travel. The Weavers were preparing a small celebration to begin 1879, tidying up the house, baking special desserts and hanging up paper snowflakes the children made.

  “I like doing something special for New Year’s,” Ma told Olivia as they hung snowflakes in the parlor windows. “The children like it too. This is a special house, child, full of special people. Sometimes family is all you have – at least around here. We have friends, but we’re so far from anywhere we have to be each other’s friends too.”

  Olivia let her eyes wander around the parlor. The Christmas tree had been taken down a few days before, and the room looked like a cozy, magical winter wonderland. She realized she had no recollection of ever having friends. Did that, like so many other little things she’d been discovering, mean she had none?

  With each passing day she became more aware of things that were absent from her forgotten life. Though she still lacked specifics, it was becoming clear she must have been miserable. But why? She was experiencing emotions, but no memory was attached to them. The only things real in her life at the moment were the Weavers and the Johnsons – one Johnson in particular.

  Speaking of which … “Olivia,” George called as he entered the parlor. “Can I speak to you?”

  She nodded, finished hanging the partially mangled snowflake Sebastian had made and followed George into the hall. “What is it?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve hardly been able to speak to you these last few days. I know you’ve been avoiding me.” He shrugged.

  She looked away and sighed. It was true, she had been – and he knew why.

  He put his hand under her chin and brought her face around. “Olivia,” he said softly. “Let’s not part this way.”

  She shut her eyes tight as her throat grew thick. “George …”

  He stepped closer. “I don’t want to part as enemies.”

  “You’re not my enemy.”

  “Am I your friend?”

  She looked at him. “Of course.”

  “Then why the silent treatment? You’ve hardly spoken a word to me this week.”

  She shook her head, unable to speak. He knew they didn’t have a future. So long as she didn’t know her past, it was too much of a risk to move forward. She could be married for all she knew. Not that she thought she was – that was another thing she felt missing from her life. A husband, children, love, friends, joy … the list was growing long and despairing.

  “Please, talk to me,” he said gently. “If we must part, let us part as friends.”

  She looked into his eyes, dark as fine chocolate. “Oh, George. If only I wasn’t so … damaged.”

  “You’re not damaged, my dear, just not yourself, that’s all.” He cupped her face in his hand and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I would love to get to know you better. If you’ll let me.”

  She shook her head again. “George, there’s no point. You’re leaving – you have a life to go back to. I have nothing, not even my memories.” She hugged herself and turned away. “At this point I’m not sure I want them.”

  “You should come to town.”

  She turned back. “Town?”

  “We’re leaving tomorrow. We’ll stay at the stage stop tomorrow night, then head into Nowhere the next. Arlan said he and Samijo are going to town for supplies. You could come with them.”

  Olivia stepped away. “I don’t see the point.”

  George let his hand drop. “The point is …” He stopped, looked at her, then stared at the floor. “The point is that I’ve fallen in love with a woman I can’t have.” He looked at her again. “Yet.”

  Olivia’s tears flowed. “Oh George, why tell me this now?”

  “So you know. You deserve to know. Just as you deserve to know your past.”

  She shut her eyes against the tears and put her hand over her mouth. Sobbing in front of him wasn’t something she wanted to do, but he wasn’t making it easy.

  “Olivia, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just …”

  “Please,” she said into her hand before moving it. “Please just go, George. You’re not helping.”

  He stared at her as a single tear trickled down his cheek. “I was wrong to tell you. I’m sorry if I’ve caused you pain.”

  Olivia took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry too. But please, just go.”

  George glanced at the parlor, where Ma was watching them, tight-lipped. “All right, I’m going. But you still should go to town with Arlan and Samijo. Who knows what you’ll discover.” He headed for the stairs, ran up them and disappeared.

  Olivia saw Ma’s expression too, and shrugged. What else could she do right now?

  * * *

  George packed his satchel, tossed it on the bed and waited for the inevitable. Would it come in the form of one of the Weaver brothers’ fists to his jaw? Or perhaps Ma or Harlan with “words of wisdom” and a quick “Nice knowing you”? Whatever it was, if he was going to be blamed for Olivia’s rejection, he wanted to get it over with.

  “Well, now you’ve done it!” Grandpa said as he burst in. “Made the poor woman cry, I see!”

  George sank onto the bed. “You, Grandpa?” Well, it could be worse. “What do you want?”

  “What did you say to Olivia that made her so upset? She ran past me up the stairs like her skirt was on fire, her eyes full of tears. And Ma told me she’d just spoken to you!”

  George nodded. “That’s true.”

  “Well, what in tarnation did you say to her?”

  George looked at him and sighed. “I told her I was in love with her.”

  Grandpa’s jaw dropped. “Well, why all the tears?”

  “Because she just wants me to go away.”

  Grandpa smacked himself in the forehead. “What? Why?”

  “Because she says she doesn’t know who she is. But the Weavers seem to.”

  Grandpa stared at him, slack-jawed. “But Albert said … no, he promised …”

  George had had enough. “Grandpa, there is no Albert! There is no Bob! They haven’t told you anything – because they don’t exist!”

  Grandpa gasped. “They certainly do”

  “No, they don’t. They’re in your head. You’re imagining them!”

  Grandpa’s entire body shook. “No …”

  “Yes.” George backed away. Had he hurt his grandfather? The man looked like he was in pain. “Are you all right?”

  “No, I’m not all right!” he snapped. “And I haven’t gone loopy either like you think!”

  George sank onto the bed. “Grandpa, we’ll talk about this later. And please don’t say anything to anyone.”

  “About what? That the woman you love is married to someone else?”

  George sprang up again. “Shhhh! Someone will hear you. Besides, we don’t even know if she still is.”

  “I’d like to know how you heard it!”

  “Arlan and his brothers told me.”

  “How do they know?”

  “Because Olivia …” He swallowed, still unable to believe that she could be as awful as they’d said. “… wasn’t always the person she is now. According to them she was … not good.”

  Grandpa squinted at him. “So?”

  George wasn’t sure how to explain it to the old man. After all, he wasn’t all there. “Maybe you should go lie down.”

  “I don’t need to lie down – I need to speak with Albert!”

  George stared at him. “Oh, Grandpa, please don’t do this.”

  “Do what, speak with my friend? All of this can be cleared up in no time. Did any of you fellows think to get hold of her brother?”

  “What?” George said, confused. “What brother?”

  “She’s got a brother. Albert told me – or was it Bob?”

>   “Grandpa …” George began pacing. “What are you talking about?”

  “If you listened you’d know!”

  George stared at him blankly. Did any of the Weavers mention Olivia had a brother? He couldn’t recall, which meant that his grandfather was talking nonsense again. “All right, why don’t you go lie down or read a book or something? I have things to sort out.”

  “Fine, I will. Albert, Bob and me need to have an emergency meeting!”

  George nodded wearily. “You do that.” He shouldn’t encourage him, but was too drained to deal with him further. He did have things to figure out, lots of them, if he was going to do as he planned.

  Grandpa sighed. “Love can be hard on a body, a mind, a heart. But don’t worry – Albert will know what to do.” He turned and was out the door before George could reply.

  He stared after him. “Oh, Grandpa, what are we going to do with you?” But that could wait – dealing with Olivia couldn’t. He didn’t want to break his word to the Weavers anymore than he already had – by rights he shouldn’t have said anything to his grandfather. He hoped Grandpa didn’t say anything to anyone, but in his current state of mind, who knew?

  George went to the window. The children were still building snowmen, everywhere. He saw Olivia toss a snowball at Arturo and his younger brother Leonardo, or was it Alfonzo? Finally he went to the writing desk in the corner and sat to make a plan, listing all the things he needed to do to make it work.

  * * *

  “I understand you and Arlan are going to Nowhere in the morning with the Johnsons,” Olivia said to Samijo as they piled up snowballs. They’d found a defensible location and were preparing an all-out barrage against Arturo and Alfonzo. “Do you mind if I tag along?”

  “Not at all. In fact I’d like the company – and the help. With the extra mouths to feed this week, we’re low on some things, and we need to stock up in case it snows like this again.”

  “Your husband isn’t company enough? Or help enough.”

  Samijo smiled. “He’s plenty of both, but it’s nice to have another woman along. And an extra pair of hands – grown-up hands – is always useful. You can help me make a list of things we’ll need too.”