Dreaming on Daisies: A Novel (Love Blossoms in Oregon Series Book 3)

by Miralee Ferrell

  Tom pushed back his chair with a scrape of the legs against the wood floor. “What do you know about family? You drove Ma off and didn’t care if I left or not. All you cared about was your ranch.”

  Charlie stared at his son, and Steven could see beads of sweat break out across the man’s forehead. “Your mother is dead.”

  Steven shifted in his seat at the table. He didn’t belong here. Going back to the hotel would be preferable to living on the ranch and being caught in the middle of this family war. He chanced a look at Leah. Her lips were firm, but tears shimmered on the edge of her lashes. His heart softened. Maybe, for Leah’s sake, he could tolerate the situation for a few more days, anyway.

  Leah’s stare slid from her father to her brother, wanting to throttle them both. If what Tom claimed was true, she’d heard too many lies over the years, and she wanted it to end. “Pa, Tom told me about Ma, and it’s different from what you’ve said.”

  Tom nodded. “She’s dead now, but Ma was very much alive when she left this ranch nine years ago. You lied to Leah and everyone in town. You lied to Buddy and Millie. Ma left and you didn’t care enough to stop her—for sure you didn’t care enough to change.”

  Millie gasped and placed her fingers over her mouth, and Buddy muttered low under his breath.

  Charlie sprang to his feet, then winced and grabbed his arm resting in the sling. “Enough! I refuse to discuss your mother.” Red spread from his neck into his cheeks, leaving them splotched.

  “Pa?” Leah touched his sleeve as dread roiled in her stomach, making her wish she hadn’t eaten that piece of gingerbread. Still reeling from the revelations about her mother, she couldn’t stand the thought that her father had lied to her. If only Pa would refute it all. Take them up to the knoll and somehow prove Ma was buried there.

  Somehow, dealing with Tom telling untruths seemed easier than facing her mother’s abandonment and her father’s deception. “Please tell me the truth. I want to believe what you’ve told me for the past nine years. But what Tom said makes me wonder. Is it true that Ma didn’t die, and she’s not buried up on the knoll?”

  He backed away, his eyes darting from Leah to Tom and back but refusing to meet Leah’s gaze. “I ain’t answerin’ no more fool questions.” He pointed Tom toward the door. “Now git on out of here! You didn’t care to stay and help run this ranch, and I don’t intend to give you a part of it now just because you decide to come crawlin’ back home.”

  Tom stood and picked up his bag, but Leah dashed around the table and grabbed him. There had been too much loss—too much pain. As hard as it was to hear the things Tom had shared, she knew in her heart they must be true.

  Leah still didn’t understand his coldness toward her or why he’d chosen to return, but it didn’t matter. He was her brother—her only blood relative still living. “I’m not going to lose you again. I don’t care how hateful you’re being to us, I still want you to stay.” She didn’t care that defiance toward her father’s wishes oozed out of every word she’d spoken.

  Tom studied her for a minute, then gave a slow nod.

  Pa rocked on his heels. His eyes narrowed, and all Leah could hear was the ticking of the clock in the living room. “Fine, but he sleeps in the bunkhouse.”

  Millie shook her head. “We’ll move out of his old room. He should be in the house where he belongs.”

  “I said the bunkhouse or nothin’ at all.” Charlie spit the words. “Don’t you stand against me on this one, Millicent. I won’t have it. You and Buddy belong in that room, and you will not give it up. Is that understood?”

  “It is.” She eyed Tom. “I’ll take some clean beddin’ out to the bunkhouse and make up a bed. There are plenty of towels and extra covers.”

  “Thanks, Millie,” Tom murmured.

  Leah looked from one to the other, not sure exactly how she felt about the arrangement. She’d blurted out that she wanted her brother to stay, then almost immediately regretted the words. He’d been cold and ornery, and she was certain he was keeping a secret.

  She wasn’t sure she could tolerate more poor treatment, but maybe having him stay wouldn’t be such a bad idea, after all. She might be able to discover more about Ma’s disappearance and why she’d left without saying a word.

  “I think I’ll go to my room now, if you’ll all excuse me.” She dipped her head toward Steven and barely acknowledged her brother or father. “Millie, call me if you need help, will you?” Turning, she worked to control her steps to keep from dashing up the stairs. She couldn’t allow Pa or Tom to see the pain that was ripping her heart in two.

  Charlie stood his ground, his eyes swiveling from his daughter disappearing up the steps to the son he’d given up as lost or dead—until some months ago when he’d gotten the letter from Tom. Mary was sick, and Tom wanted his help.

  Charlie had grabbed a sheet of paper and dunked the pen in the ink pot so fast he’d almost spilled it, as cold fury gripped his innards. Help the woman who’d run off and left him, then lured his son to follow? His body ached, and sweat poured off his forehead as he penned the words. She could find someone else to nurse her. She’d made it clear it was no longer his job.

  How was he to know she was dying? The boy hadn’t told him. He’d never said how bad it was until after she’d died. Charlie had figured Mary was trying to work him, hoping to get back in his good graces and worm her way home. He wouldn’t allow that, no sir. Not after the way she’d treated him.

  Now a flood of remorse hit him that he’d not known how sick she’d been. If Tom had told him, things might have been different. He would have gone to her, tried to set things right. But the boy had waited until she’d died to send him another letter. Charlie straightened his shoulders and tried to shake off the guilt. He hadn’t done anything wrong—at least, not knowingly. If he could go back and change the past, he would, in several places along the way, but that wasn’t possible.

  He pivoted toward his son, who’d stood silent these several long minutes. “You goin’ to take a bed in the bunkhouse, boy? Or maybe you’d rather head back where you been livin’. You don’t look fit to work a ranch. You’re plumb soft.”

  Tom bristled as red suffused his face. “I worked to pay for my keep—and Ma’s—for the past two years. When she took sick, she had to quit waiting tables at the restaurant, so I stepped in and took over her care.” He reached for the doorknob. “As much as I’d love to go back to Portland, I think it might bring more satisfaction to stay right here.” He turned his gaze on Buddy. “You mind going out with me?”

  Steven stepped forward. “I need to head that way. I’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind. Of course, Buddy’s more than welcome.”

  Buddy gave a curt nod. “Don’t mind if I do. Millie, you might as well stay here and get your work done. Me and the fellas can make up the bunk for Tom.” He waited while Millie handed him a stack of linens, grabbed his hat off a peg behind the door, and shoved it onto his head. He swung open the door and stalked out, the other two men on his heels.

  The click of the door echoed in the quiet entry as Millie’s footsteps receded down the hall. Had this whole blasted family turned against him? What had he done to deserve this kind of treatment? He was the one who’d been wronged. Mary had deserted their family. It wasn’t any fault of his.

  Sure, she hadn’t been happy here, and she’d admitted she wasn’t in love with him when he’d offered his hand in marriage. She’d been open about the fact that she still loved her dead husband, Leah’s daddy, but that didn’t give her the right to disappear out of their lives, did it? ’Course not. No good woman would do a thing like that.

  But he’d spun a tale to the children, even to Buddy and Millie, hoping to spare them all the gossip and pain of her betrayal. No one in town knew Mary hadn’t died and been buried in the family plot, and he was happy to let them keep thinking as much.

  And if he�
�d had his way, they still wouldn’t know. His pride had smarted enough when Mary informed him she wanted to leave—had never loved him, even when he’d tried so hard to please her over the years.

  He’d worked to keep his temper and never to drink, knowing it worried her. Why, he’d even attended church with her when the children were young, before the ranch kept him so busy. A man who worked hard to provide for his family had earned the right to a bit of pride. But nothing he’d done seemed to soften her heart or draw her closer. Not even the birth of their son.

  Charlie’s arm throbbed as he walked into the sitting room and settled into a chair. Tom. He loved the boy. Always had. But he could tell Tom didn’t feel the same. A man deserved to hold on to his pride, didn’t he? Why should it be his job to make things right between them? The boy had chosen to traipse off after his mother, not once caring that his pa might need him, might want him, might even love him.

  Charlie leaned his head against the chair and closed his eyes. Maybe it was too late for happiness. Too late for forgiveness or making things right. He’d tried so many times to say the right words to Leah, but they always got stuck in his throat.

  Vaguely he recalled things the preacher had said in church so many years ago. He’d talked a lot about forgiveness and the necessity to repent, but Charlie had never felt like much of a sinner with a need for God. Wasn’t it mostly people who stole or cheated or killed who required forgiveness? He was like most men, from what he could tell—decent, hardworking, and honest, with a few things he’d done wrong over the years, but not what he’d call sins.

  Would the hurt he’d caused his children qualify as a sin in God’s sight? He hadn’t intended to hurt them; it just seemed to happen. Surely God wouldn’t fault him for that, would He, when it was Mary who deserted the family and left them all in a bad way? Tom had gone his own way, but Leah … he’d seen the confusion and pain in his girl’s face.

  Charlie maneuvered himself to his feet and paced across the room, the unhappiness within making it hard to settle. He didn’t know what God thought or if He’d fault him or not. In fact, Charlie guessed he didn’t rightly know much about God, one way or the other.

  Charlie shivered, thinking about how close he’d come to meeting his Maker when that bull was about to charge. If it hadn’t been for Leah, Buddy, and Harding, he’d be making his excuses to the Almighty before he was ready.

  He gritted his teeth and rubbed his injured arm, wishing the throbbing would subside, but thankful he was alive and able to feel pain. Maybe he’d best think this repentance-and-forgiveness business through a little more. That is, if God or Leah were at all interested in hearing about it.

  Steven walked beside Buddy but kept an eye on Tom Pape as he trudged ahead of them toward the bunkhouse, every inch of his frame exuding anger and frustration. Steven’s emotions were divided where the young man was concerned. Part of him felt sorry for Tom after he’d seen the way Charlie had treated him, but another part wanted to shake some sense into him for upsetting Leah.

  Buddy leaned close and dropped his voice. “You going to be all right rooming with the boy? He’s lugging around a mighty big pile of anger and hurt right now. Might not make it too pleasant for you.”

  Steven shrugged. “I’ve dealt with worse. I’d like to see if I can help him, although I’m not sure he’d listen to me.”

  “I reckon that would make Leah happy.” He wagged his head. “She’s had a lot to deal with the past few months, what with Charlie’s drinking and then him getting hurt.” He shot a sly glance at Steven. “I’ve noticed she perks up right smart when you’re around.”

  Steven wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the notion. Perks up? Not hardly. More like she found reasons to bristle or run whenever he came around.

  But there was no point in belaboring the point. “I’ll tell you, Buddy. I’d do about anything in my power to make Leah’s life easier and take some of the stress off her shoulders, but I’m not certain she’d welcome my interference. Of course I’ll be kind to Tom and help if I can, but I doubt Leah will notice.”

  “If you think that, you’re not as smart as I figured you for.” Buddy picked up the pace as Tom stepped onto the porch of the bunkhouse and opened the door. “Come on, let’s see if we can calm the boy down and mend some fences.”

  He tossed a grin at Steven. “I’d also suggest you open your eyes and ears when you’re around Leah. Sometimes you got to wade through her redheaded stubbornness, but once you do, you’ll find a treasure trove of caring beneath her prickly exterior.”

  Steven stifled a laugh, not wanting to hurt the older man’s feelings. Prickly he could attest to, but caring? Sure, where her family was concerned. He’d keep his eyes open, but as much as he might long for it, somehow he doubted that the affection Buddy alluded to would spill over to include him anytime soon.

  Chapter Eighteen

  May 3, 1881

  Frances pulled Katherine’s buggy to a stop in front of the Pape homestead. She had not spoken idly when she’d threatened to visit the man again after he’d broken his arm, but she hadn’t planned on letting a week pass before returning. She set the brake on the buggy and stepped down, thankful her feet and ankles were doing so much better today.

  She reached inside the buggy for the covered dish of apple dumplings she’d baked that morning. It was the least she could do to help lighten the load for Millie. No doubt Charles Pape kept her scurrying from one thing to another, trying to keep up with his demands, leaving her little time for baking. Of course, she didn’t really know the man, but from what she had seen of his testy personality, she surmised he’d be a difficult patient.

  Frances knocked on the door and waited, then rapped again, harder this time. No answering footsteps inside, and the door remained closed. Surely Millie was home, or Leah would be about? It would be a shame to waste this fresh-baked dessert, and Katherine had plenty at home.

  Frances twisted the knob and poked her head inside as she pushed the door open. “Hello? Is anyone at home?”

  She stepped in and looked around. Everything was as neat and tidy as she’d expected. Not a speck of dust rested on the floor or furnishings in the entry or the living area beyond. Everything glowed.

  What a nice, roomy house. The parlor opened from the entry, and Frances glimpsed a colorful rug at the far end of the room. Comfortable furnishings were tastefully placed, and artwork adorned the walls. She’d been so irritated with Charles Pape the last time she’d visited that she’d barely noticed her surroundings. She hadn’t realized Leah had such an eye for color and design, although the girl had shown evidence of her cleverness when working on the quilts at the church.

  If memory served her right, the kitchen was at the back of the house. She’d tiptoe back there in case Millie were resting and leave the dish for her to find. Moving past the staircase and down the short hall, she glimpsed two closed doors that must be bedrooms, then stepped into an attractive dining room with the kitchen beyond. “Millie? Leah?”

  Frances waited a minute before slowly crossing the wood floor to stop beside the workspace next to the stove.

  She placed the covered dish on the table, then scanned the room again. No fire burned in the kitchen stove, and there didn’t appear to be any food waiting to be prepared for the evening meal. Where had everyone gone?

  A deep-throated growl somewhere behind her made her heart jump nearly into her throat, and she whirled, wishing she’d brought her parasol to defend her from whatever beast might be ready to attack.

  Charles Pape stood in the doorway, his good hand clinging to the door frame, and his eyes staring from his ashen face as though she’d walked straight out of the graveyard. “Where’s my gun when I need it?” His roar ricocheted in the room.

  Frances narrowed her eyes at the man. “Now, there is a nice welcome for you. Is that how you greet all of your guests?”

  “You ain’t a
guest. You’re an intruder come without permission or an invite.” He drew back a half step. “What are you doin’ here again?”

  She smirked. “So you have your wits about you, I see—at least enough to remember me from my last visit. I must say I am gratified. As to what I am doing here, I brought Millie a pan of fresh apple dumplings. I might even allow you to have a serving if you behave yourself and stop shouting. I know Steven is visiting his family in town, but where are Millie and Leah, Mr. Pape?”

  His nose wrinkled, and he shook his head. “It’s Millie and Buddy’s day off, but I’ll be hanged if I know why Leah’s not back.”

  “Mr. Pape! You will control your vulgar tongue in my presence, if you please. I do not hold with that kind of talk.”

  He scratched the patch of thinning hair above his ear. “What vulgar talk? I didn’t say anything sinful. Besides, it’s my house, and I’ll say what I blasted—” He gave a deep sigh. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am. My arm’s been hurtin’ somethin’ fierce today. I didn’t sleep much last night, either. I think Leah’s takin’ a walk.” He glanced out the window above the sink. “How’d you get here, anyway, and how’d you get in the house without Rusty barkin’?”

  “I assume Rusty is your dog? I did not see any animals other than the cattle and horses in the pasture when I arrived.”

  “Well, tarnation!” He shot her a glare. “And that ain’t a bad word, neither. My pa used to say it all the time.”

  She tapped her foot on the floor. It had been a long time since she’d met a man with such ill manners as well as a poor vocabulary, but she would not dignify his remark with a reply.

  He grunted. “Fine. It might not be the best word to use around a lady, but Leah and Millie don’t complain. Why should you?”

  “More than likely they have both given up trying to reform you. Would you stop speaking that way if they complained?”