Fire and Ice

by Leah Atwood

Should he tell her he was going in search of Patrick? What if he didn’t find him? She might be even more disappointed if he came home empty-handed. Still thinking, he took a seat in the rocking chair with faded white paint. Another task to add to the ever growing, never decreasing, list.

  Maeve returned, carrying a tray that had a pitcher and two glasses on it. “If it’s too sour, let me know. Sugar was usually in short demand back home, so on the rare occasion we bought lemons, I never made our lemonade very sweet.” She set the tray down on the table, which was actually a barrel with a thin sheet of wood over it.

  “I’m sure it is fine,” he told her, reaching for a cup of the cold beverage after she’d poured it. He took a sip. Goodness, it was tart. Restraint against spitting it out took all of his efforts. Maeve looked so vulnerable, he hated to tell her the truth. He swallowed quickly before the bitterness had a chance to burn off his tongue.

  “It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Utter dejection etched itself into her features, a complete change in her countenance taking over.

  “No, it’s not.” Forgive him this one lie, but that look on her face—he had a feeling the reality of her situation had chosen this time to strike her because she seemed far too level-headed of a person to become so despondent over a glass of sour lemonade. “It’s wonderful, see,” he said, bringing the cup to his mouth and then gulped the remainder of the refreshment.

  His eyes watered and he grimaced. No matter how much he willed himself to swallow the liquid, his body had other ideas. His throat wouldn’t open and let it into his body. Unable to stop himself, he jumped up and leaned over the porch railing, spitting out the offending drink. Using the back of his hand, he wiped the errant drops of lemonade from the corners of his mouth.

  The sound of sniffles made him turn around. Oh no. Now he’d gone and made her cry. What was he to do? Despite having two sisters, he didn’t know what to do with a crying woman. On the rare occasion Liza cried, Ma would tend to her. Jeanette only cried as a child would when she didn’t get her way or was physically hurt. Those were the tears he could do something about, but these… these emotional tears, he didn’t know how to handle.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Benetton. Truly, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Please forgive my ill manners.”

  Her body was wracked with full sobs now, and he felt increasingly uncomfortable. This was so far out of his known territory. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. The red cloth was dusty, but it was all he had to offer. Shaky hands reached out and took it from him. Maeve dabbed her eyes and then wiped her nose. Somehow, she made the action seem delicate, something he hadn’t thought possible.

  He reached out and patted her shoulder in awkward, jerky movements. That seemed to be what people did to others when they were upset. She looked up to him and something in her eyes threw him off kilter. The best way he could think to describe it was an awareness, but of what, he didn’t know.

  “Your brother is not a good man, is he?” Her reddened eyes held questions to which she already knew the answers, of that he had no doubt.

  There was no good way to respond to her point-blank inquiry. “My brother is not without his flaws, but no one is perfect.”

  “I’ve come to realize much of what he’s told me has been a lie, which makes me question everything he’s said. This house has been in your family for some time, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he doesn’t own this ranch?”

  “If Ma were to pass, ownership would transfer equally to each of the children, including Patrick.” He answered her question indirectly, his loyalties unable to betray his brother.

  By now, Maeve’s tears had subsided, and she was once again composed. “Did you speak the truth of his absence?”

  A deep sigh of weariness came from the core of his chest. He was caught in the middle of an ugly situation, of which he couldn’t fathom a happy ending. “All I can say for certain is that I am unaware of my brother’s whereabouts. In fact, my purpose for going to town is to track him down, one way or another.”

  Her bottom lip protruded and trembled. He thought she might begin to cry again, but she pulled herself together. “What am I to do?” Her eyes said more than her whispered plea. “How can I marry a man so dishonest? Yet, I have no way to go home.”

  “Perhaps this conversation would be more appropriate to have with Ma,” he suggested, taking the coward’s way out.

  She startled—her eyes widened, and she jumped from her seat. “Of course,” she spoke hurriedly. “Forgive my overstepped bounds.” Her apron must have had many wrinkles, judging by the way she was feverishly brushing at it.

  “I’d best be on my way.” He tipped his hat.

  “I’ll let your Ma know when you plan to be home.”

  “Much obliged.” Nodding, he turned on a heel and walked away.

  The back of his neck and palms felt clammy, and it had nothing to do with the heat. Goodness, he needed the peace a ride on Bolt would bring. The entire Maeve situation was wreaking havoc on him. He was living in turmoil, trying to do what was best for everyone and failing at it all.

  The best thing to do was remove himself from it. Once he located Patrick, he would insist his brother return home immediately. All bets were off—he’d gone too far this time. He would come back and marry Maeve, or not. There would be no six-month wait. Maeve deserved so much better.

  If she decided not to marry Patrick, which he secretly hoped she would break the engagement, he would find a way to send her back to Chicago. He had a small sum of money that might cover the cost. Whatever he couldn’t cover, maybe the new fund at the bank, set up to help anyone in need, would. If he petitioned on Maeve’s behalf and explained what happened, perhaps they would approve an allocation of funds in order for her to return home.

  Then things could get back to normal.

  If only his heart didn’t feel little pangs at the thought of Maeve leaving Weatherton.

  Chapter 5

  Two weeks had passed since she’d arrived in Wyoming. Stuck in limbo, Maeve didn’t know what to do. Patrick still hadn’t made an appearance. Was she a jilted bride or had something happened to him? Sam had made three trips into town to make inquiries, but no one had seen hide nor hair of the elusive Holden brother.

  If she was completely honest with herself, she’d have to admit a large part of her was relieved that Patrick had not shown up yet. With absolute clarity, she’d come to realize that she could not marry him. Not just from her own conclusions she’d drawn, but also from overheard whispers and the dreadfully embarrassing conversation with Sam last week, she knew without a doubt that Patrick was not the man he’d made himself out to be.

  The problem was, she didn’t know where to go from there. She thought of finding a job in town, but when she casually mentioned something in general terms to Liza, the eldest Holden sister had informed her that jobs were scarce, especially those for a single woman. All she could do for now was pray and do lots of it. She was leaning heavily on everything she’d learned from her father about trusting in faith and staying positive.

  There were times, nights especially, when shame tried to take hold. Shame for letting herself get caught up in Patrick’s lie, shame for abandoning her family, shame for being dependent on the goodwill of Patrick’s family. Her trip west was nothing as she’d expected. How could something that had seemed so right, lead her down such a wrong path? She couldn’t figure out why instinct told her Weatherton was where she needed to go, yet had sent warning bells upon her arrival. It didn’t make sense.

  If there was a silver-lining, it was that all members of the Holden family, except Patrick, were good, genuine people. They’d been surprised by her appearance in their lives, having only been informed of her arrival several days prior to its occurrence—another lie from Patrick—but had welcomed her with open arms. Though no one verbally acknowledged it, everyone in the household seemed to understand that she’d come to Wyoming with the wrong impressi
on that Patrick was good and honorable. However, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that Maeve was welcome in their home, even in Patrick’s absence. What would happen once he returned, and she officially called off the wedding, she didn’t know.

  To repay the Holden’s kindness and generosity, she kept busy with household chores. Ma Holden was a dear lady, who sometimes came off as crotchety. Maeve looked beyond that and saw a widow who was tired and worn out. Sometimes, a person just needed a break, and she was happy to step in and provide that for her. She’d never forget the light in her eyes last week when she’d come back from splashing in the stream with Jeanette.

  When Maeve had first met her, she’d thought the woman to be close to sixty years of age, but then she saw a glimpse of the woman beneath the layers of hard work and exhaustion. She saw a woman who finally took the time simply to relax and enjoy time alone with her youngest child. And that day, Maeve realized Ma Holden was probably closer to fifty, or maybe even a few years younger.

  Memories of that day made her cheeks flush. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever recover from her embarrassment over how she’d acted in front of Sam. He must think she was completely ridiculous to have such a breakdown over lemonade. Of course, it wasn’t really the drink that caused her hysterics, but the realization she was in a very dire situation.

  Never in her life had she acted like that, so out of control of her emotions. And in front of a man, at that. How silly and foolish she’d been. That’s what she got for being fanciful. Had she stuck to her practical side and never answered that fated letter from Patrick, she’d still be in Chicago.

  She’d learned a valuable lesson—dreams are just that—dreams. If it came to following her heart or head, she would choose her head every time from now on and not let emotions rule her actions. She would keep her mind clear and unclouded from the trappings romance laid out.

  A small breeze blew through the house, which was abnormally quiet. Ma Holden, Liza, and Jeanette were out back doing laundry. Although she’d attempted to help them, she found she was crowding their well-rehearsed routine, so she’d come inside to sweep the floors while no one would be traipsing in and out. After she had finished the final room, she set the broom aside and stepped out on the porch, enjoying the hint of coolness the light wind brought.

  Now would be the perfect time to gather some vegetables from the garden. Yesterday, she’d noticed the potato vines were dead. She wanted to get all the tubers from the ground before they began to rot. The root cellar’s entrance was on the side of the house. She walked around to it, opened the angled door and rested it against the raised earth. Stepping down into the cellar, she glanced around for an empty crate. There was one right by her feet. Bending down, she grabbed it and made a quick exit, grateful she didn’t have to go further in. Something about the darkness deep inside the cellar roused feelings of eeriness.

  She hurried to the garden. It was a small plot of land, fenced off to bar larger creatures from entry, though it didn’t stop the smaller ones such as rabbits and squirrels from finding their way to the crops. Maeve unlatched the gate and walked to the rows of potatoes. Stooping down, she began to dig them up using the long pronged fork she’d also carried out from the house. She made her way down the rows, finding the work laborious but satisfying. How much more would she enjoy the reaping had she seen them grow from the day the seeds were planted? The science and miracle of it amazed her.

  Back in Chicago, she’d never given much thought to the growth process since she’d never had any experience with it. Growing a garden in a tiny apartment wasn’t feasible if it were even possible. She lamented that she wouldn’t be marrying Patrick. How lovely it would be, to stay here and help plant the garden next year.

  A thought occurred to her. Why not find another potential husband? She’d seen how many advertisements there were in the newspaper back home. Maybe she could put one in the local paper. Since she was already here, the entire process would be much simpler. She could investigate each potential suitor before agreeing to advance the process.

  No, she would save that as a last resort. As much as she enjoyed the Holden family, if her illusions of love were shattered, she’d rather return home to Chicago if at all possible. An inkling of guilt set in her conscience. She’d yet to write home and let her family know she’d arrived safely. They would only worry if she told them the man she’d come to marry was nowhere to be found and not the man he’d portrayed through his letters. She vowed to write her family just as soon as she had some form of good news to send, something to share that wouldn’t cause them alarm.

  When the crate was half full of potatoes, she called an end to her harvesting. She took them back to the house and into the kitchen, where she set the container on the table. Earlier in the day, she’d already volunteered to make supper tonight. Fried potatoes, sliced thin with some onion tossed in, sounded good. She’d also fry some ham and whip up a batch of biscuits, maybe even some milk gravy.

  In the two weeks since she’d arrived, she’d learned that was a favorite meal of the menfolk, especially Sam and Benjamin. Truth be told, it was a touch of vanity making her want to fix that meal, not the fact she’d just dug up fresh potatoes. Her pride still smarted about the batch of lemonade from the previous week.

  She’d tasted it after she’d taken it back inside. Sam’s reaction hadn’t been overdone. The lemonade had been tart, even to her taste that was accustomed to a hint of sourness. That’s when she saw the scoop she’d used to measure out the sugar was still sitting on the counter and hadn’t had its contents dumped. Her daftness that day could only be explained by her worry over Patrick.

  Doubts about his true character had begun the day she arrived, but that morning of the lemonade incident was when she knew for certain he’d been lying all along. She’d been dusting the furniture while Ma Holden and Liza sat on the porch shelling peas, unaware their whispers carried into the house, their words clear as a drop of water. They’d mutually agreed that Patrick was probably out consorting with a woman of loose morals.

  That even his family thought him capable of such actions spoke volumes. The only thing she couldn’t figure out is why he’d even sent for her. If he didn’t want a wife, it didn’t make sense to spend all that money on a train ticket to bring her here. Unfortunately, until he came home, there’d be no answers.

  The front door opened, followed by the giggles of a young girl.

  “Miss Maeve, Miss Maeve, I found you something.” The pitter-patter of little feet bounded through the house until they ran into the kitchen. Jeanette came to a screeching halt when she found the person for whom she’d been searching. A wide smile spread across her face and her hands were held behind her back.

  “What is it?” Maeve asked, injecting excitement into her tone for the child’s sake.

  “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.” Jeanette’s grin grew.

  Following directions, Maeve pinched her eyes shut and laid out an opened palm. Moments later, she felt something soft and slimy in her hand. She took a deep breath and swallowed before opening her eyes. There was little doubt in her mind she wouldn’t like what she was holding, but was determined not to let Jeanette see her dismay. Before fully looking, she peeked through her right eye.

  Oh dear.

  In her hand was a frog. A real, live frog. This was the first time she’d ever touched one. She peeked through her other eye. Ignoring the pricks of queasiness, she focused on the delight brought to Jeanette from the creature.

  “His name is Fred. I found him outside.” The pride in Jeanette’s voice was evident.

  Finally bringing herself to look fully at the tiny creature in her hand, Maeve was surprised that the little thing was actually rather cute. Even so, she extended her arm, holding the frog out a distance. “What do you plan to do with him?”

  “Keep him in my room,” the youngest Holden child answered without batting an eyelash.

  “Jeanette Lucille Holden,” Ma Holden shouted from t
he front door. “If you took that frog in the house, you’ll be going to bed with no supper.”

  Someone nudged Maeve’s shoulder. She turned to see Sam at her side. When had he come in?

  “Give me the frog. I’ll take care of it.”

  Maeve gladly turned the creature over to him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Don’t take Fred.” Maeve and Sam both looked to see tears coasting down Jeanette’s cheeks.

  “Go distract Ma for a few minutes.” Sam inclined his head toward the door. “I’ll calm her down.”

  She hesitated a few seconds, then left, but not before she saw Sam crouching down in front of his youngest sister and heard him talk to her with calm, understanding words. The man was an enigma. He was so serious and reserved most of the time, but then she would spot him in an act of compassion and love—even rarer were the times he’d smile and laugh.

  Deep down, beneath the austere demeanor, was a genuinely good man and she couldn’t help wishing Patrick would have turned out to be like his brother.

  Chapter 6

  Sam walked from the bank to the mercantile with a smile on his face. He’d just paid the final note on a loan he’d had to take out last year during an exceptionally rough spot. The ranch wasn’t in the clear, by far, but a small weight had lifted from his shoulders when he’d handed over the money. A few coins jingled in his pocket and he decided to take a treat home to his family. Each sibling would get a small portion of their favorite candy and he’d buy Ma a larger portion of the licorice she enjoyed so much.

  Glen Simpson, the mercantile owner, stood at the counter, deep in conversation with Rand McCade, who had a baby in each arm. He’d heard that Rand’s wife, Lettie, had given birth to twins, but he hadn’t seen the babies yet. The Holden family wasn’t always welcome to the town’s celebrations and newsworthy events, largely in part for fear Patrick would somehow cause a scene. Which he managed to do anyway, even when he wasn’t invited. A lone member of the family had single-handedly tarnished the Holden’s good name.