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by Patricia Reding

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much ab—” He stopped short. Mara had indeed told him about Jo, but that was a very long time ago. Would she catch his error? “I’ve heard so much about Mara’s family since arriving,” he then said. “It’s nice to put a face to your name.”

  Jo smiled. “Oh, it’s all my pleasure, I’m sure.” She turned to her sister. “Where have you been keeping him? Why, you should have come home long ago!” She put her arm through Dixon’s. “Well, I’m sure we’ll be fast friends.” She leaned in closer, brushing her breast against him.

  “Let me get you a chair.” He artfully extricated himself from her grasp, pulled out for her the chair he previously had occupied, and then started collecting dishes from the table.

  “Oh, lunch! Good, I am hungry!” she exclaimed.

  “Let me get something for you, Jo.” Mara proceeded to put food together for her sister.

  “Well, I guess we’ll be on our way then,” Dixon said when she was through. “You two enjoy your visit.”

  Mara turned to him with apparent, but silent, gratitude, as she placed a lunch plate before her sister.

  “Where are we going?” Jo asked.

  “I’ll get my shawl,” Mara said as she stepped out of the room.

  “Oh, Mara barely arrives—after all this time—and already, she’s taking off for the afternoon,” Hedda said with a huff.

  “Where to?” Jo asked.

  “We’re headed to sanctuary,” Dixon said. Then, “It’ll be good for her to get out, Hedda,” he added.

  “Well,” Jo said, as her sister returned, “I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh, no, Jo, you should stay. Visit with Mama. We’ll be back soon.”

  Jo dropped her napkin down on her untouched food. “Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t seen you for . . . since—”

  “We won’t be gone long,” Dixon cut in. “We’ll be back in a few hours. It would be nice if you’d keep Hedda company while we’re out.”

  Mara’s eyes narrowed as, once again, Dixon had interrupted someone about to reference the time that had passed since she was last home.

  She turned to her sister. “He’s right, Jo. Mama’s missed you.”

  “Well, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you two were trying to arrange a secret tryst or something.”

  Mara’s face reddened. “That’s not it.”

  The corner of Jo’s mouth rose. “Well, that’s good. You won’t mind my coming along then. I haven’t been to sanctuary for . . . some time.”

  Mara looked to the floor. “Very well then, Jo. Do, join us.”

  Hedda’s home sat at the farthest outskirts of Barton Lake. Mara, Dixon, and Jo, rode around the water’s southern leg.

  Reveling in the cool, crisp air coming in off the lake, Mara lifted her face toward the sun and soaked in its warmth, even as a constant dribble from Jo’s mouth went unabated. She was confused to find that her sister’s presence frustrated her so deeply. The feeling had come upon her almost the moment the woman had arrived. She watched as Dixon merely nodded at Jo from time to time, and she noticed that every time he tried to speak to her, Jo interrupted.

  Mara wished her sister hadn’t come along. She’d looked forward to having Dixon to herself for a time. So busy for so long cleaning Hedda’s place, and so exhausted at the end of each day, they’d had little opportunity for reflection or camaraderie—other than the few minutes they walked together each evening. She missed terribly their easy days of traveling together and the comfort of his presence, though she worried what she’d do when he finally left her—as he most certainly would do, in time. Finding the thought painful, she fought to dispel what she knew in the recesses of her heart and mind: she loved this man.

  When they arrived at the village center, Mara led the way past the general store, blacksmith shop, bookstore, and butcher shop. Few people roamed the streets, and those who did appeared to have a destination in mind, stopping only long enough to nod their greetings at passers-by. Fallen leaves danced and scattered away before them.

  Sanctuary stood at the end of the village’s main street. Though small and plain, well kept green lawns, and herb and floral gardens, surrounded it. The smell of basil, a complicated mixture of anise, lemon, pepper, and of course, of that certain element—that scent unlike any other that the herb possesses—filled the air. No doubt it soon would die away, as before long, nighttime temperatures would dip below freezing.

  Upon arrival, Mara dismounted. Though there was a hitching rail nearby, she chose not to use it. She dropped her reins.

  Dixon followed suit.

  Jo waited until he was on his feet before requesting his assistance. Ever the gentleman, he grasped her at her waist. As her feet touched the ground, she leaned in, allowing the shawl wrapped around her shoulders to fall away, exposing a great deal of skin.

  “Thank you, Dixon,” she purred, her breath heavy, her bosom heaving. Licking her lips, her eyes never strayed from him.

  She plies her breasts like merchandise for sale, Mara thought. Perhaps she is available for purchase. It would explain how she supports herself. She wanted to avert her eyes, but they remained fixed on her sister.

  Jo took Dixon’s arm and moved to his side in a manner Mara found excessively familiar. As out of nowhere, an intense anger consumed her. What was her sister doing, moving in on Dixon? How like her! Then, a memory flashed through her mind. It came and went so quickly that it left her floundering, grasping at its threads, her hands shaking.

  “What is it?” Dixon asked her, attempting to free himself from Jo’s grasp.

  “Nothing.” She waved her hand in dismissal.

  “Are you remembering something?”

  “Remembering something!” Jo exclaimed. She looked at her, then at Dixon, as she moved closer to him. “What are you talking about?”

  Mara watched on. It was just like Jo to pursue whatever, or whomever, belonged to her.

  “Well?” Jo asked, not having taken her eyes from Dixon.

  He turned to Mara as he extricated himself from Jo’s grip. “You should probably tell her,” he said, a hand to the small of Mara’s back.

  “Tell me what?”

  Mara sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” She turned to her sister. “It’s nothing, Jo. It’s just that I had a little . . . accident.”

  “You look fine to me.”

  “She suffered a concussion,” Dixon said as he and Mara turned toward the building.

  “So? She’s fine now.”

  “Not entirely. She lost her memory.”

  Once again, Jo took Dixon’s arm. “Lost her memory!”

  “That’s right, Jo. I don’t remember some things,” Mara said.

  “Well, you remember me.”

  “Yes, well, you’re hard to forget.” Suddenly, Mara went still, her eyes on her sister. Memories exploded in upon her. There was a man. He looked so familiar. What was his name? What was his name? She concentrated harder. Jack. Yes, that’s right, Jack. And what is Jo doing with him? And what of that infant? She trembled.

  “What is it?” Dixon took her elbow. “Is something wrong?”

  She put her hands to the sides of her head. For a moment, she felt she might pass out. She took several short breaths. When the feeling passed, she glanced at him, then looked down again. She kicked her foot in the gravel.

  “Mara?” he asked.

  She turned to Jo, her eyes unfocused. “Jo,” she said, “who is Jack?”

  The woman tilted her head, pursed her lips. “Jack?”

  “Yes. Who is Jack?”

  Jo threw her head back. “I— I’ve no idea who you’re talking about.”

  Dixon scowled at her.

  Mara turned his way. Her eyes darted right to left, then back again, as she studied his expression. “You know, don’t you?”

  “I . . . ahhh, I . . . don’t know a Jack.” That much was true.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask if you knew Jack. But from you
r response, it seems clear you know of Jack.”

  “Ahhh . . . weeeellllll,” he stammered.

  She turned back her sister’s way. For the first time in days, she didn’t act subservient, willing to please. She was angry.

  “I know you know, Jo, so tell me. Who is Jack?”

  The woman squirmed. “Jack was . . . an old friend of yours.” She lifted her chin.

  “Of mine?” Mara’s eyes bore into her sister. “Or of yours?”

  “Well, of both of us, of course. We are family.” Jo stared, as though daring her to object.

  Mara bit her lip. “Oh, I get it,” she finally said. “We’re family—so what’s mine is yours, huh?” Her eyes glared, then flitted toward Dixon momentarily, as though her subconscious conceded that she considered that he belonged to her.

  Jo, watching closely, grinned. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she finally said. “Jack made his decision and it just didn’t happen to be . . . you.” She turned to Dixon. “Come on now, let’s go inside.”

  “I think I need to shoot something,” Mara muttered.

  “What’s that?” Dixon asked, once again trying to free himself from Jo’s grip.

  Looking at him, Mara’s eyes traveled down to where her sister held tightly to his arm. “I said, ‘I think I need to shoot something,’” she repeated, emphatically. She stood tall. “Enjoy your visit,” she then added, waving her hand, dismissing them both. “I’m going hunting.”

  “Well, I’m going with you then.” He tore Jo’s hand from his arm.

  “No, Dixon, leave me be.”

  Mara turned back to the horses, swung herself into the saddle of one of them, and rode off without looking back—and before realizing she’d taken Dixon’s mount.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  She rode with incredible speed. Anger, frustration, and not a little guilt, spurred her on. She had no reason to blame Dixon for Jo’s outrageous behavior. Still, her sister always got what she wanted, did she not?

  So, now Jo would get Dixon.

  Well, Mara thought, I’ve no claim on him. How could I? He was just a kind man who agreed to help me in my time of need. She berated herself for having allowed her emotions, her desires, to get the better of her. She wasn’t even sure exactly when the change had occurred along the way. Fool. Fool!

  She fought back tears as she approached a wooded area near the lake. Aspen leaves glistened and rustled in the breeze, filling the air with their chattering.

  Almost too late, she raised her arm to dodge a branch that otherwise would have met her at eye level. Once beyond it, she slowed her mount. She examined the scratches on her forearm. They stung.

  She had to calm down. It was dangerous to ride this way. All types of obstacles littered the pathway, and she didn’t want to risk her mount’s safety. For the moment, sadly, she cared little for her own.

  Fallen leaves blew upward, as she passed by. Bird chirping filled the air.

  She rode on, nearly oblivious to her surroundings.

  Some time later, she approached a clearing. In its midst, a hare of an indiscriminate color basked in the sunlight. It went rigid as she approached, then seconds later, scampered away. The birds momentarily quieted, then resumed their chorus, as though under the direction of an all knowing, all seeing, conductor.

  She knew this place. Local hunters had nicknamed it The Meadow. She dismounted, grabbed the reins of her horse, and walked on.

  Hot tears burned her eyes. Oh, dear Ehyeh, how could this have happened? How could I have fallen for him? And why did I come back here to Barton Lake? For that matter, why did I come here, to The Meadow?

  She sat on the ground in the center of the clearing and cried. Memories barreled down on her. It was right here where she and Jack had picnicked one very early spring day. Sleepy from lunch and luxuriating in the fresh air and warm sunshine, she’d lain back on the ground. Moments later, he hovered over her, leaned in, and kissed her.

  She smiled. “Good lunch.”

  “Mmmm,” he moaned. Then leaning on one side, he caressed her arm with his free hand. “Time for dessert.” He kissed her long and thoroughly. His hand slipped down to her thigh, then slowly moved upwards.

  She jolted upright. “Stop it, Jack.”

  He dropped back, with a huff. “Come on, Mara, no one will know. It’ll be our little secret.” Again, he pulled her toward himself.

  Frustrated to be going through the same motions, to have the same discussion, yet again, she resisted. “Jack, you agreed we’d wait.”

  “I agreed to no such thing.” His lips caressed her neck, then approached her mouth.

  “Jack, stop it,” she scolded, pulling back.

  “I just love you so.” He held her firmly. “Let me show you how much.” He moved her hair back and nuzzled her neck.

  “Jack, I’m not . . . protected.” Again, she pulled away.

  “So?”

  “So, we can’t do this.”

  “Don’t worry so much. I’ll take care of you.”

  “That’s what they always say,” she scolded, as she tried to free herself.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, leaning back to rest on one elbow.

  She sighed. “It’s just that I don’t want to be one of those women who . . . are left. Women always end up on the poor end of these things. Always,” she repeated.

  “What are you talking about?” He scowled.

  Great, Mara thought, now he’s angry . . . again. “It’s just that I’ve never seen a man burdened with an unplanned child, or left poor or unable to sufficiently care for it.”

  “Don’t you trust me?” He snuggled up closer. “Come on, Mara.”

  She looked at him long and hard. “Jack, we’ve talked about this. I’m just . . . not ready.”

  “That’s no problem. I’ll help you get there.” He pressed his weight against her.

  “I said ‘stop it.’” She pushed him away and then got to her feet. “Why does it always have to come to this?” She paced for a minute. Finally, she looked back. “Come on, Jack, let’s not argue.”

  He sat up slowly. “Fine.”

  The memory faded into the background as a new one took its place.

  She headed for home, following an afternoon helping at sanctuary. The day was warm, perfect for planting and pruning. With the smell of the earth in the air, Mara had enjoyed working with Channer, the Oathtaker who cared for the local sanctuary. She smiled as she thought about how good a warm bath would feel. Her legs and back ached from all the lifting and carrying.

  As she reached for the door handle, she noticed scratches on her arms left behind from the rose bushes she’d pruned. Stinging blisters covered her hands. She scowled at her nails, broken and filled with black dirt. Yes, it certainly would feel good to clean up.

  She stepped inside and then, dropping her pack on the table, sighed with the pleasure of having spent a good, long, hard day at work.

  Unexpected sounds coming from Jo’s room startled her. But no one is supposed to be home. Still, she could hear her sister. What’s going on in there? Is that a man’s voice? Dear Ehyeh, is she all right? Yes . . . she’s . . . laughing! But . . . with whom? What’s going on?

  Silently, Mara approached her sister’s room. She put her fingers to the door, which was cracked open. It was then that she recognized the voice of the other person inside.

  “She’s such a prude,” Jo said.

  “She’s all right, I guess,” Jack said, “but she’s no you.” He laughed.

  There was no mistaking what was going on inside. Hurt and disgusted, Mara pressed the door open fully. Its hinges squeaked as it eased inward, revealing the two intertwined.

  Jack looked up at the sound.

  “I see you got your dessert,” Mara said. She turned her attention to her sister, who smiled. The witch!

  In retrospect, she surmised that she shouldn’t have been surprised. Jo had been sniffing around Jack for weeks, and he seemed to get angrier with Mara every
time she refused to give in to him. Likely, Jo had intended for her to discover the two of them together. Why else would she have brought him home? Why else would she have left her bedroom door open for anyone to witness what transpired within?

  She struggled to dispel the memory, only to have another replace it.

  Early winter, the weather had been tumultuous as, over the past days, the skies dumped more than a foot of snow in the area. Many tree branches had snapped and fallen to the ground. The roof of one of the village homes, unable to withstand the snow’s weight, caved in. The local store, empty now of shovels and common foodstuffs, was closed. Yet a sort of festive mood reigned amongst the villagers.

  While the elders worked to clear the common road, children built snowmen and made snow angels. Black eyes, from snowballs thrown too hard, decorated the faces of more than a few of them.

  Mara had taken a room in the home of an elderly couple. She couldn’t bear to watch Jo grow ever larger with child. She might have known that Jack would leave town under the circumstances. He had, after all, proven himself to be a thorough cad. Even so, her sister was of no help to Hedda, so Mara made regular trips to her mother’s to assist her. She kept the walkway to the house clear, showing up at regular intervals throughout the storm to shovel the newly fallen snow.

  Standing on the front step, she stomped the snow from her feet, then opened the door and stepped inside.

  “The pathway is clear,” she called out. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll—” She stopped short. What is that? Jo? Is she crying? What’s going on?

  Hedda stepped into the kitchen. “Take those wet things off,” she ordered. “Warm your hands up quickly, and come help me.”

  Mara pulled her hood down and untied her scarf. “What’s going on? Why is Jo crying?”

  “Why?” Hedda asked, her hands on her hips. “Why do you think?” she scolded. “She’s in labor.”

  Mara blinked hard. She exhaled slowly, then put her scarf back on. “I’ll go get Lizbeth.”

  “No, there’s no time. Come on now.”

  “Mama . . .”

  “Stop arguing, Mara. Get in here.”