“Mr. Cullen?” Laddie walked in to his shop and looked around. The pretty woman’s dark eyes met his. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
The woman rarely left the house where she worked for Mrs. Wilkes. No one knew much about her as she kept to herself. Although she was a mixed race, it was not a good reason, in his opinion, for her to ostracize herself.
“What can I do for you, Miss Laddie?”
“Thomas. He asked that I check on the status of the building and let him know how it’s going.” Once again, she studied the space as if trying to memorize every part. “Did any of his belongings survive?”
Gerard shook his head. “No. But tell him Big Joe is all right.” As if on cue, the large, black dog strolled in, its big tail wagging.
“I will.” Laddie went toward the doorway and turned back to him. “It’s not going to help any, you know?”
Gerard blinked, confused at what she was saying. “What won’t help?”
“I recognize that look. The look of someone trying to bring things back, of not wanting to go to the past and yet scared of the future.”
He looked to the ground. “What do you suggest I do about it?”
With a soft smile, she lifted one shoulder in a light shrug. “You’re missing today. Every moment that passes is gone, never to be.” It was as if she considered what to say next. “Tragedy is just that. Part of life. But some of us choose to cling to it. Not sure why. But that look...” she pointed at his face. “I see it on Thomas and I see it when I look in the mirror.”
Almost as if struck by a realization she’d said too much, Laddie gasped and rushed away.
Gerard went after her. “Laddie.”
She stopped and turned, uncertainty in her gaze.
“Thank you. You are right. Tell Thomas...tell him the stables look great.” He spread his arms. “Better than before. Tell him, we’re almost finished and that Big Joe misses him.”
Laddie nodded. “I will.” This time, her smile was genuine. “I’m sorry about your horse.”
As she walked away, Gerard followed her with his gaze until she disappeared around the corner. He then turned toward the music and sighed.
Amelia looked astonished when he arrived. It was as if she couldn’t believe he was there. Had he been so absent that he’d not considered her feelings at all? Gerard considered how long it had been since they walked together or spent time just talking.
How had he allowed things to interfere with his marriage so soon? He took her hand and led her to the dance floor while she protested that her stand would be left unmanned.
Soon, she gave up and relaxed into his arms as he swayed side-to-side attempting his best to keep in time to the music. Amelia laughed when he stumbled and stepped on her toes.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” Gerard admitted, “but it’s worth it to have you in my arms.”
Amelia’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, they continued dancing until the song ended. And when a happy jig commenced, Gerard had to guide her away. It was best not to make a fool out of himself.
When they arrived back at their booth, his mother smiled warmly at him and pulled him aside. “I will stay and man the booth. Why don’t you take your wife for some time alone?”
A lump formed in his throat at how absent he’d obviously been. “Thank you, I will.”
After being reassured his mother had things under control, Gerard was finally able to convince Amelia to go for a walk.
They walked to the next street over and one past the charred remains of the stables. Amelia stopped just past and looked back. “It’s so sad. I hate that Daisy died. I try not to think about it you know?”
He nodded. “She was a good horse.”
“I didn’t say anything about her because you were going through so much, but I remember when she got spooked by the thunder. If it wasn’t for her, we’d probably not be married right now.”
He chuckled. “She sure didn’t like thunder.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I’m sorry about the last few days. I didn’t take losing her and the shop well and didn’t want to burden you.”
When Amelia hit him, Gerard’s mouth fell open. Her swat at his shoulder was not hard, but enough to get his attention.
“Don’t you ever do that again, Gerard Cullen. You had me so worried. I thought you’d changed your mind about marrying me.”
“Of course not.” He tried to hug her, but she pushed him away so hard he had to take a step back.
“You listen to me.” She placed both hands on her hips and leaned forward. The normally quiet woman was furious. “Don’t you ever do that again. Marriage means we work through things together. I was sad for Daisy as well. The loss of your shop hurt me because I knew it was sad for you.”
By remaining absent, he’d hoped to keep her from knowing how he felt and, instead, he’d made things worse. “I’m sorry.”
“Yes well...” she narrowed her eyes for a moment and then softened. “Now you owe me walks, kisses and conversation.” She weaved her arm through his. “Start talking.”
They walked their usual route down the next street over. Gerard told her about Laddie’s visit and about Thomas’ injuries. They discussed the timeline for turning over the shop to Jessup and Gerard spending most of his time helping to build their new house. By the time they turned and headed back to the festival, the crowd had grown larger and they joined in the celebration.
That night, Amelia lay across Gerard’s chest. They’d made love, spending most of the time giggling when trying to keep any sounds low to avoid being overheard by the others in the house. In a way, it had enhanced the experience, in Amelia’s opinion.
“I’m hungry,” Gerard mumbled. “Want to go to the kitchen without clothes on and see if we can get there and back without getting caught?” He nuzzled her neck. “Mmm?”
“No. I am not sure your mother can handle seeing you nude again.” Amelia tried to slip out of the bed, but he caught her around the waist.
The boards creaked under their feet as they snuck to the kitchen. That and Amelia’s inability to keep from giggling made the trek less than silent.
They sat at the table with bread and cheese and ate while keeping an eye on the doorway. Gerard wore a drying cloth wrapped around his waist and Amelia a light robe.
“It’s much too cold,” Amelia shivered. “What were we thinking?”
There was coughing in another room and both froze. Gerard stood, grabbed a piece of bread and hunk of cheese. “Let’s go back to bed.”
This time, Amelia had to cover her mouth with both hands. “Shhh.”
“Hold these.” Gerard pushed the items into her hands and then picked her up.
When they got back to the bedroom, both fell into the bed laughing.
Amelia rolled to her side and cupped Gerard’s face. “I’m so happy you’re back. I have missed you so.”
“Not as much as I did you.” Gerard kissed the tip of her nose. “I think we crushed the bread.”
When they fell asleep, neither cared about the crumbs or the fact they’d left a trail of them from the kitchen.
The End.
Excerpt from Patrick’s Proposal
1875, New Dawns Spring, Oregon
“What the hell do you want?” Her father’s slurred words made Emma Davis take a step backward. She was hungry and the only way to the kitchen was to walk past where he sat.
“I’m going to get something to eat. I’m very hungry.” She walked toward the kitchen only to stop when he grabbed her left wrist.
“Yer turnin’ out to be a pretty good lookin’ woman,” he sneered. “Too bad yer so stupid.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d alluded to noticing her physically and her stomach tightened. Emma stole a look to where her mother was, but the woman didn’t bother to look up.
Pain shot up her arm when her father tightened his hold. “Aren’t you goin’ to say thank you?” The chuckle made him cough and release
her wrist.
Emma hurried to the kitchen only to find an empty pot and two dirty plates.
Her mother sat on a tattered chair next to the fireplace. “There’s nothing left. You’ll have to cook some beans if you want to eat.”
Earlier, she’d smelled food. Whatever had been cooked, they’d obviously eaten all of it. Beans would take forever to cook, but she had little choice. It was almost better to not eat than be in the same room with them. With a small pot in hand, she headed out to the well to get water for the beans.
Across the dirt patch surrounding the shack where she lived was a barn and several corrals with animals. Her father had arranged some sort of deal with Mr. Banks, the owner of the property and they were allowed to live there in exchange for doing chores.
Emma tended after the chickens and helped with the garden, as she was sure her father rarely did enough work to earn their keep. Truth be told, it was mostly due to the Banks’ kindness that they were not evicted.
A young woman on horseback waved at her, Amelia Banks was barely sixteen, but already knew more about life than Emma ever would. Unlike Emma, Amelia went to town regularly with her parents to attend church service and other times to collect sundries from the mercantile. Whenever Emma could steal away, she’d spend time with Amelia. The girl would entertain her with stories about people in town, who married whom and other interesting tidbits.
Emma rarely went to town. The times she’d gone, it had been embarrassing when people noticed her ill-fitting clothes and lack of proper shoes. Not to mention her father’s likeliness of drinking too much and having to be practically dragged back to the wagon.
“How are you today?” Amelia rode closer.
“Well, thank you,” Emma lied.
Her friend’s warm gaze took her in. “I have some things for you.” Amelia looked past her to the shack where Emma lived. “When can you get them?” Amelia was aware that if her parents found the new items, they’d either sell them or her mother would keep them for herself.
“Thank you so much. Please leave them in the barn. I’ll find a way to get them in the house without them seeing,” Emma replied. “I’ll fetch the things when I check on the chickens later this evening.”
“I’ll put a bundle up on the shelf next to the cot.” Amelia looked up at the sky. “I heard Papa say the animals need to be penned up. It’s going to storm.”
“I will inform my father.”
A few hours later, clouds gathered overhead and the sky darkened ominously as Emma went to fetch the feed for the chickens to lure them into the henhouse.
She smiled in amusement at the birds following her with noisy clucks as she carried the bucket of feed to the small enclosure where they’d be safe for the night. Thunder in the distance made her look up at the sky. She hated storms. Not only because of the loud sounds, but also because the roof in her bedroom leaked horribly.
When she returned to the barn to replace the bucket, she gathered the bundle of clothes Amelia had left and rushed home.
Her father, who’d returned earlier from penning the livestock, now continued drinking at the small kitchen table. Thankfully, he ignored her when she hurried past him to her bedroom. The room was barely big enough to house her narrow bed and a wooden table where she kept a lantern. At the foot of the bed was a cheap pine chest she used as her wardrobe.
She unfolded the bundle carefully and smiled at Amelia’s generosity. A shawl and a newly-made chemise had been wrapped in one of her used frocks. Excited to wear something new, Emma removed her clothing to try on the chemise.
“What are you doin’?” Her father stood in the doorway. Emma yanked the dress she’d just taken off to cover her body.
“I’m preparing for bed.”
He looked to the clothes on the bed. “Where’d you get that dress?”
“I’m mending it for Amelia. She’s going to pay me.” She’d already practiced what to say in case he caught her before she had a chance to come up with a way to explain her newly-acquired clothes.
He walked closer and Emma cringed. “Why you actin’ scared?”
It was no use to tell him it was because he would often backhand her for no obvious reason. It would only infuriate him.
When his fingers dug into her jaw, Emma whimpered. She braced for the blow that would come. Instead, he didn’t hit her. What he did was worse than any strike.
His other hand cupped her breast and squeezed it until she gasped. “No.”
Emma took a step backward and he relinquished his hold on her breast, only to yank her forward.
His breathing became labored as Emma called out. “Mama!”
This time, he did slap her. “Shut up.”
She fell across the bed and scurried to sit with her back against the wall and her legs pulled up against her chest. “Leave me be. Pl-please.”
His chuckle sent chills up her spine. “No. I think it’s time you and I get to know each other better. I’ve waited long enough.”
He leaned forward with his index finger out. He trailed it from her jawline down the center of her chest until her legs kept him from going further. “Soon. Very soon,” he whispered.
Emma’s eyes were squeezed shut as tears streamed down her face. When she finally dared to open them, he was gone.
She couldn’t stand it any longer. This living hell had to end.
From the wooden chest at the foot of her bed, she pulled out a flour sack and shoved her only other dress and the one Amelia had given her into it. A brush and new chemise followed. She’d left her shoes by the back door. That fact was unfortunate, since she had to climb out the bedroom window to leave.
Nothing would stop her, not any more. If she had to run barefoot, so be it.
Thunder sounded overhead propelling Emma to run faster. The rain pelted down like small stones against her face and arms as she ran across the open fields near her home of New Dawn Springs, Oregon. A bolt of lightning crisscrossed overhead and she screamed when thunder sounded once again, the loud boom much closer than the last.
Her bare feet sunk into muddy puddles as she weaved through the neighboring Langleys’ field. She cried out when something sharp pierced her left foot.
Although she hobbled for a bit, the pain did not stop her. It was too dangerous. If her father caught her, he would beat her or worse. After the last time he’d done so, she wasn’t sure she’d survive.
Just once, she wished her mother would stand up for her and not sit idly by as he did whatever he wished to her.
No, instead she would ignore what happened, her face pinched without saying a word in Emma’s defense.
A building came into view. It was the barn. She hurried closer, only to stop and drop to crawl behind it. Through the rain in the distance her father came into view.
How had he figured out she’d left so soon? Obviously, he’d gone to her room to continue what he’d begun earlier.
“Where are you? Emma!” His gruff voice held an ominous tone. “Git out here now or I swear, ‘imma beat the tar out of you.”
“There’s no one here but me, Mr. Davis.” Emma wasn’t sure who spoke to her father. The man had to yell to be heard over the storm. “You should get out of the rain. Do you want to come in the barn to dry off?”
Shivering from the cold and fear, Emma’s teeth rattled so hard she couldn’t hear her father’s response. Unable to stop from shaking, she curled into a ball with her back against the wooden rear wall of the barn.
The heavy raindrops continued to pelt her already tender skin as she was unable to avoid the falling rain. However, the barn did provide some shelter from the wind at least.
It was quiet. If the men continued talking, she couldn’t hear it. Time seemed to stretch on forever. The cold temperature penetrated her worn dress until she wanted to cry.
For a long while, there was only the storm. She wondered if, perhaps, her father had gone inside either the barn or the Langleys’ home. Emma doubted the latter, as her parents had never be
en particularly friendly with the Irish family.
“You still there?” A man neared. “Emma, that’s you, right?”
She peeked around the side of the barn to find the red-haired man with a pitchfork in his hand. “Come on now, let’s get you inside. You’ll get sick out here.”
It was too dark to see his features clearly. But it could only be Patrick Langley, the only son of the couple who lived there.
Having to push the sodden hair out of her face, Emma stood and hobbled toward him. “You knew I was here the entire time?”
“Yep.” His gaze swept over her before meeting hers. “Saw you running up.”
Trembling, she attempted to keep her teeth from chattering. It was embarrassing enough to be seen like this without adding the look of being pitifully cold and hungry.
Sure she looked as horrible as she felt, Emma squared her shoulders. “I will come in for a bit. Then I’ll be on my way.”
After waiting for her, he opened the barn door and guided Emma to the right corner where there was a cot, a table and a small stove. “You can undress there after I start a fire in the stove and go fetch you something to wear from the house.”
Emma began to protest, but her bundle was soaked through. Everything in it was as wet as she was.
He grabbed a couple of small logs and placed them into the stove along with kindling and lit it. Soon, heat emanated from the stove and Emma moved closer, holding her shaky hands out. She shook her head. “I don’t need to go undressing. Just give me time to warm up some. Got any coffee?”
“Suit yourself.” He hesitated. “I’m Patrick by the way. I’ll see about your coffee.”
People weren’t about helping unless they got something in return. The one truth her father had ingrained in her. The fella there probably wanted to take advantage of her; thought her an easy target being she was alone out in the rain and all.
Emma hunched over the stove hoping the heat would dry some of the wetness. She had no idea where she’d go now. Her plan had been to hide there in the barn for a couple days and then figure out a way to get to town. From there, she’d use the money she’d earned from the Banks’ to get as far away as possible.
Amelia, An Autumn Bride (Brides for All Seasons Book 7) Page 13