by Kit Morgan
“Yes?”
“I forgive you.”
Now that really got the waterworks going. Abigail quickly rushed into the bedroom, returned with a handkerchief and handed it to Mrs. Woodhouse. “Oh, Maisie!” her mother cried. “I’ve been so awful, so horrible!”
Maisie nodded. “I wish I could understand why. But just so long as I have my mama back, it doesn’t matter.”
Her mother pulled her in for a fierce hug. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, my darling. You stayed by my side this whole time when I was such a wretch. I didn’t see it until I got out of that awful house.”
“That ‘awful house’ has kept us warm and dry.” Maisie sighed. “But I understand why you were afraid.”
Her mother stepped back, eyes wide. “Yes,” she said weakly. “And I fear I still am.”
THEIR SECOND OUTING was to attend Sunday service the next day. Once again, Jonathan escorted Maisie and her mother from the boarding house to their destination, but this time Mrs. Woodhouse was less timid and more excited.
It wasn’t that novel for Jack Carlson to preach – he and Rev. Latsch shared the pulpit – but he was a very different preacher. Despite being completely blind, he walked around rather than staying in the pulpit – to watch him move about without tripping or falling seemed miraculous. One would never know he couldn’t see ... until he got a little off track and his wife Willow had to steer him in the right direction.
“Everyone’s looking at us,” Mrs. Woodhouse said to Jonathan on her left and Maisie on her right.
Jonathan leaned toward her. “They’re happy to see you. It’s been a long time.”
“Too long,” she said. “I feel like the Prodigal Son.”
“Things turned out all right for him, Mrs. Woodhouse,” he said gently.
Her breathing was shaky. “I’m not used to being around people. There are so many ...”
He put a reassuring hand on hers. “It’s all right, ma’am. I’m right here and so’s Maisie.”
She looked into his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Bridger. You’re most kind.”
He gave her hand another gentle pat, then watched Jack ascend to the pulpit. He motioned everyone to stand and the hymns began, followed by prayer, a few announcements, then his sermon, which centered on the 23rd Psalm.
Jonathan watched out the corner of his eye as Mrs. Woodhouse hung on every word. She needed the peace and stillness Jack talked about, needed it something fierce. An ugly fear had managed to get the woman in its tight grip and threatened to tear her apart.
After the message, a few more hymns and the benediction, Jonathan stood and ushered his charges from the pew. He stuck close to Maisie’s mother to make sure people didn’t crowd her.
“Sarah?” Mrs. Petroff asked from behind them. “Sarah Woodhouse?”
Jonathan smiled at Mrs. Petroff, then at Maisie’s mother. “You’re very popular today.”
“Who would have thought?” she whispered back.
“Sarah!” Mrs. Petroff took her hands and squeezed them. “It’s so nice to see you. How are ... I mean ...?”
“She’s very well, thank you, Mrs. Petroff,” Jonathan said. “And you?”
Mrs. Petroff’s eyes darted between them. “Oh, me? I’m well, thank you.” She turned back to Mrs. Woodhouse. “Would you and Maisie like to join my family and me for supper next week?”
“We’d love to,” Maisie said before her mother could demur.
“Wonderful!” Mrs. Petroff beamed. She looked at Jonathan. “And how about you, young Mr. Bridger – would you like to come?”
“Me?” he said. He wasn’t expecting an invitation, but as he seemed to have made himself guardian of Maisie and her mother, perhaps people were taking notice.
“Of course, we’d love to have you,” Mrs. Petroff said. “Merritt remembers you – she’s married now, you know.”
“Yes, I know, Jasper and Abigail told me.”
“You must come – she and her husband are moving soon.”
“Then I’ll be sure to attend.”
“How lovely – I can’t wait to tell James. Oh, but he’s so hard of hearing now – that’s one of the reasons he isn’t in church this morning.”
Jonathan remembered Mr. Petroff – a nice person, as all the Petroffs were. Merritt, their granddaughter, was only a few years older than him. He tried not to sigh – he should be married by now. From the sound of it, Merritt had been for quite awhile.
He glanced at Maisie, still chatting away with Mrs. Petroff. Even her mother was paying attention, listening to the matron tell stories of Merritt’s children, a boy and a girl. Both women smiled, and he noticed Mrs. Woodhouse was more relaxed than she’d been at the start of the service. Fear was lessening its ugly grip. Now if he and Maisie could just get it to let go completely, they might be able to move on with their own lives.
Maybe ... maybe even together?
Thirteen
October rolled into November, and Jonathan felt he and Maisie were getting somewhere in more ways than one. He had to guard his heart, though, in case her mother relapsed into the woman he’d first met. She still had the occasional outburst, but now they only happened in their room in the boarding house, and she was spending less time there each week. Still, he worried for the woman – and Maisie, who had that exhausted, sad look after each disagreement that she’d had when he’d first returned to Cutter’s Creek.
“How are they?” his boss Mr. Simpson asked when his shift was over.
“Better,” he said. It was well-known around town how Sarah Woodhouse had gone a little mad after her husband’s death. To see her out and about a few times a week, not to mention at Sunday services, was being chalked up as a minor miracle.
“Glad to hear it, my boy. You, ah ... thinking of taking care of them proper?”
Jonathan stared at his employer, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean by ‘proper,’ sir?”
Mr. Simpson chuckled. “I mean, putting a ring on the little lady’s finger one day. If her mother is much improved, there’s nothing stopping you, lad.”
Jonathan gulped. “You mean marriage?” Of course that was what he meant. But Jonathan wasn’t sure he could handle being in a situation too close to what he’d lived with all his life.
“Naturally. Maisie’s a pretty girl. She’s kind, patient and sweet. And tough – I’ve seen folks put a family member away for far less than what her mother did, but she hung in there.”
Jonathan had to agree. “That’s not pleasant to think about.”
“No, it’s not. But I’m sure folks wondered if Maisie would send her mother to the new hospital in Deer Lodge Valley. It’s for, um ... folks with problems like poor Mrs. Woodhouse has.”
“Had,” Jonathan quickly corrected.
“Glad to hear it.” His employer rocked toe-to-heel a few times. “I’ve been watching you, Bridger. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders and you’re a hard worker.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said, wondering where this was going.
“So I’d like to make you a little proposition.”
Jonathan’s eyebrows shot skyward at that. “Oh?”
“John Swank’s leaving – heading to California. I’d like you to take his place.”
Jonathan felt a twinge of excitement. Mr. Swank operated the heavier equipment and had been with the mill for years. “I appreciate your offer, Mr. Simpson, but ... I’m so new here.”
“I realize that. But I need someone to run that part of things who’s not easily rattled. Someone with a cool head.”
Jonathan nodded. He’d certainly earned that over the years. “Thank you, Mr. Simpson.”
“It comes with a pay increase,” his employer added with a smile.
Jonathan grinned. More money meant he could be out of the boarding house and into his own place all the sooner. “Thank you, sir!”
“Then I’ll consider it done. Tomorrow, report to John and he’ll start training you on those machines.” Mr. Sim
pson nodded in satisfaction and headed back to his office.
Jonathan left the mill and was headed home when an image of Maisie in a warm and inviting kitchen – their kitchen – flashed through his mind. He swallowed hard. “No.” He couldn’t. He wasn’t ready. Or was he?
Jonathan contemplated the question all the way home. Why was he holding back? He was certainly attracted to her. Every morning when he saw her at breakfast, it was all he could do not to sit there like a dolt and gawk at her across the table. Her mother had been eating breakfast downstairs more, and had stopped glaring at him like before. And Maisie did have all the virtues Mr. Simpson had listed, and many more.
Yet there was a barrier that stood between him and thoughts of matrimony. He wasn’t sure what it was other than plain old self-preservation. Years of listening to his parents scream and yell at each other, (not to mention at his sister and him) had taken their toll. He wanted nothing to do with anything similar.
But Maisie was nothing like Ma or Olivia. And her mother was much improved ...
“Hello.”
Jonathan jumped. Maisie was sitting on the porch swing. “Hello. What are you doing there?”
“I finished early, so I came home.”
He joined her on the swing. “That’s nice. You can have supper with us.”
“That was my thought too.”
Jonathan licked his lips as their eyes locked. They were alone, which didn’t happen often. He could feel his palms begin to sweat and his heart take off like a runaway horse. By Heaven, she had to be the prettiest thing he ever did see. But it wasn’t so much her looks that got him as her perseverance and her care of her mother. Maisie loved her, honored her the best way she knew how, even when it was obviously hard to. To have someone love him like that – why, it would be a dream come true.
“Jonathan?”
He jerked out of his thoughts. “Sorry. I have news.”
“Really? Tell me.”
“Mr. Simpson promoted me at the mill. It comes with a raise in pay too. I start learning the new job tomorrow, and take over when the man who’s there right now leaves for California.”
“You must mean Mr. Swank. I heard down at the mercantile that he has family out there – a brother owns an orchard, I believe.”
“Could be. I never had much chance to talk with him at work. We’re always too busy.” Jonathan took a deep breath to still his heart. Good grief, he felt nervous – what brought that on? He studied Maisie as she played with a loose thread on her sleeve. Her dark hair glistened in the late afternoon sun and the coat she wore showed off the color of her eyes. “How’s your mother?” he asked, his voice cracking.
She smiled at him. “She came downstairs and knitted with Mrs. Whitehall this afternoon.”
“That’s great!”
She nodded, then frowned. “She ... she spoke about leaving.”
His smile faded. “Leaving?”
She nodded. “Yes, to go back to Virginia.”
“What?!” He abruptly stood. “But she can’t ... you ... I mean ...” He shut his mouth. He was overreacting. Of course they could go back east if they wanted. What say did he have? But his heart sank like a rock to his gut as he sat down again.
“I admit, Cutter’s Creek has grown on me.” She clasped her hands together in her lap. “I like it here. But after our supper with the Petroffs a few weeks ago, and Merritt and her husband Rafe telling us about their plans to move to Seattle ... well, that must have put the idea in her head.”
“I see,” he said. And saw a lot more – that she would honor her mother’s wishes and go back east with her if that’s what the woman wanted. His heart was somewhere between his knees and toes and still sinking. A cold bleakness over took him, as if not having Maisie in his life would make the sun disappear forever.
“She’s mentioned it a few times since, but then she told Mrs. Whitehall this afternoon that ...”
“Maisie, you can’t go.”
She looked at his hands, now locked on her arms. He didn’t remember sliding across the swing to reach her, but he must have. She looked helpless. “But if it makes her happy ...”
What common sense he still possessed disappeared. He pulled her close, cutting her off in mid-sentence with a kiss. What he couldn’t think to do, his heart took over and did for him. His arms wrapped around her even as his mind spun. This wasn’t his first kiss per se, but he’d never kissed a girl like this. He’d never kissed a woman before. And he’d never had a kiss that meant so much.
The nagging voice of propriety in the back of his head finally got loud enough that he pulled away, leaving them both gasping.
“Jonathan!”
“I know, I shouldn’t have done that ... Maisie, I’m so –”
Then she kissed him! He wasn’t sure what to do, other than the obvious – enjoy it. Had she kissed a man before? Why did such a thought make him feel jealous even as Maisie’s lips melded with his? And what would her mother think? He mustered what restraint was left and gently pushed them apart. “Maisie ...?”
“Jonathan, don’t you see? I can’t leave Cutter’s Creek!”
His heart leaped in his chest. But of course, she’d made a home here, even if it was just a room in a boarding house. “I understand. Cutter’s Creek’s a fine town and growing ...”
“No,” she said with a laugh. “You don’t understand. I can’t leave because you’re here. And ... I love you.”
He stared at her as a string of thoughts raced through his head like cars on a locomotive. He kissed her. Then she kissed him. Then she said ... she just said ... “Maisie ... I ...” He shook his head, momentarily speechless as fear and elation battled for position. “You ... l-love me?”
He caught the glisten of tears in her eyes as her words tumbled out. “I don’t know how it happened. But it did and I do and now I’m going to have to leave and I can’t!”
He was still in shock. Jonathan, you idjit, do something! She just professed her love for you! But he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t answer the call of the voice in his head – and it wasn’t doing anything to help.
“Jonathan?” she said, her voice strained. “Please, say something.”
He closed his eyes – good, at least he could do that, but still, nothing else worked. He just sat there like a poleaxed steer, staring at the floorboards of the porch once he opened his eyes. Was he breathing? Yes ... barely.
And then the unthinkable happened. Maisie stood up, wiped away her tears and marched into the house.
MAISIE GLANCED INTO the parlor as she headed for the stairs. Her mother had come down again to knit and was sitting in a chair in front of the fire. Thank Heaven – Mama loved to knit, but had stopped after Papa died. She waved to Mama before hurrying upstairs to their room.
She felt like a fool, a complete and utter fool. Jonathan didn’t love her, it was obvious, but Maisie felt she had to say something, anything, before Mama packed them up and took her away. Not that it would be tomorrow or anything – they’d have to save up money for the journey – but she had to know how he felt.
She went to the window and gazed out. Was he still sitting on the porch? Had he come inside? Would he soon be banging on her door, professing his love for her as she’d just done to him?
Maisie put a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. Time with Jonathan Bridger the last few weeks had been a healing balm to her weary soul. He was a steady rock in the midst of sinking sand, something solid to hold onto. Even Mama had felt it, had enjoyed his company. He wasn’t the threat she’d first envisioned, but a godsend.
Maybe that’s what had reminded Mama of her family back east – what little was left of it. Maisie’s Aunt Penny wasn’t much better off than they were, but she was a relative with lots of friends and got along well. Mama probably figured the three of them would do better than well.
She wiped her tears and sat in her mother’s chair. How long would it take them to make enough money for stage and train fare? They could
do it if they both worked hard ...
“Maisie? Is everything all right?” her mother asked as she came into the room.
Maisie stared open-mouthed at the door. She’d been so upset she hadn’t bothered to close it. “Yes, fine.” She licked her lips and took a deep breath.
Mama came over and put a hand on her shoulder. “No, it’s not. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Maisie reached up and covered her mother’s hand with her own. “It’s nothing.”
“Maisie, I know I’ve been ... gone ... for a long time. Too long. But I’m back now, thanks to you and Jonathan.”
Maisie smiled at her use of his Christian name – Mama had started doing it about a week ago. “I’m glad you’re back, Mama.”
“I can’t thank you enough, my dear. Sometimes I’m so grateful I cry while you’re at work.” She sniffled. “And I want to do what I can to make you happy.”
Maisie looked up at her. “Oh, Mama.” She stood and pulled her mother into her arms. “You do make me happy, just being your old self again.”
“That’s just it, my darling. I’m not my old self. I don’t want to be my old self.”
Maisie let go and took a step back. “What do you mean?”
“I depended far too much on your father, to the point I let him think for me. When he died, I felt as if I’d died too. I was helpless, I couldn’t function, and ...” She hung her head. “... and I tried to force you to take his place. To think for me.”
Maisie looked away as her mother’s words sunk in. She’d become their source of income, her mother’s provider and protector. She nodded, but said nothing.
“But we’re better now. I’m better, and I want to work again. Between the two of us ...”
“Yes, I know,” she interjected. “We’ll have stage and train fare in no time.”
Her mother was taken aback. “We? No, my dear, just me.”
Maisie eyes widened. “What?”