by Diane Darcy
The widow scanned the area. “Come inside.”
Melissa hesitated, then followed, aware that the widow didn’t want anyone to overhear. Melissa had more power than the lady would like to acknowledge or she wouldn’t have called her back; she wouldn’t have invited her in. Unfortunately, Melissa no longer had the cutthroat desire to follow through and do anything about it.
She sighed. That cinched it. She’d definitely lost her edge and could only hope it was temporary, like being in the past. Unwillingly, she followed the widow into the house and into the parlor. Melissa just wanted to leave and forget she’d ever instigated this. If only she could rewind the last fifteen minutes and start the morning over.
Melissa sank onto the Victorian sofa.
The widow paced to the window, stiff and formal as always; not exactly the picture of a loose woman.
Curiosity gripped Melissa. “Why were you ever a prostitute? I just don’t see it.”
The widow turned to stare, her gaze diamond hard.
Melissa cringed inwardly. And why couldn’t she keep her big mouth shut? Apparently she didn’t know when to stop.
The widow sucked in a harsh breath. “But then you’ve never been desperate before, have you? Hungry? Without any prospects of any kind?”
Melissa thought to protest. She’d been desperate before, all right. She’d grown up in a trailer. Her mother was a drunk who died at age forty-two. She didn’t have a father; didn’t even know who he was. She’d been taunted, belittled and humiliated as a child.
Her brows furrowed. As poor as she’d been, there had always been food. Granted, it had often been a handout from welfare, but food nonetheless. And as an adult, she’d always been able to work hard and get what she wanted. No, she’d never really been in desperate circumstances. Even in this time and place, she’d had Richard to depend on.
“What happened to you?” She didn’t really expect an answer and was unsurprised by the long silence that followed.
The widow stared at Melissa. “I hate that dress more than I can say.”
Surprised, Melissa glanced down at the orange outfit. There was no question the dress was ugly, but the hostility in the widow’s voice surprised her.
“I hated Louisa Sullivan. Hated her! I hate her still. That’s why I gave you the material, so you could make yourself something else to wear. I couldn’t stand to so much as see her old dresses. Yet here you are, still wearing them. Every day you wear those dresses, like a ghost, sent to haunt me. You’re almost as contrary as that woman was.”
“Sully’s wife?” According to Sully, his wife was a paragon.
“I don’t understand. Why did you hate her? Didn’t she end up helping you? Did she turn you away when you came here?”
The widow stood and paced to the window. She crossed her arms, running her hands up and down her sleeves as if she were cold. “I married quite young, but we were never blessed with any children. My husband had such grand ambitions. He started out a dreamer, but as we got older and circumstances didn’t work to his favor, he became disillusioned and angry.” She paused and shook her head. “Oh, but he’d get so angry.”
Melissa wondered what this had to do with Louisa Sullivan, but went along with the change of subject, fascinated despite herself. “Some people think the world owes them a living. I used to see people like that at work all the time.”
The widow turned to stare at Melissa pointedly, her lip curling.
Melissa lifted her chin. Surely the widow wasn’t implying Melissa was such a person?
The woman lifted a shoulder and stared out the window. “Yes, well, then the war came. My husband was full of anticipation when he left. He thought he’d make his fortune and come back a rich man. He left me with two black eyes, a lame wrist and a strong hope that he wouldn’t return.”
Her gaze remained unfocused. “As the war continued, and the years went by, my situation became more wretched. I was a hard worker, but there was no more work to be had.” She paused. “Believe it or not, twenty-five years ago I was an attractive woman. And I was proud. I was so proud.”
Melissa glanced at the photo of young Janie Taggert on the table. She had to agree. She’d thought it before; the woman could have made a fortune as a runway model.
“I was thirty-two years old and starving; barely feeding myself. Other husbands returned from the war, but not mine. Most times I was glad, but I also felt desperate. There were a few men in town who would occasionally help me, but not without extracting a high price.”
Her crossed arms tightened as she seemed to hug herself. “Then one day I caught the eye of a Colonel from the nearby fort and my situation improved. He was married, his wife back east, but he treated me well and I loved him for it.”
She smiled humorlessly. “It was quite a scandal in our small town. I was with him for over a year before my husband returned. He was meaner than ever, and more destitute than ever. He beat me soundly, almost killing me. The Colonel deserted me. No one in town would offer aid. Then Sully came and helped me get away...to Louisa.”
Melissa swallowed, emotion boiling within her. “Didn’t she take you in? Was she cruel to you?”
“More cruel than you could ever imagine.”
From what Melissa had heard, everyone seemed to have liked Louisa. “But how? What could she do to you? It’s not like you were a young girl, unable to defend yourself. And since I’m the one wearing her clothes, she must have been a small woman. Surely there was no physical abuse. What happened?”
The widow’s lips tightened. She opened her mouth. Closed it again. She seemed to be having some sort of internal struggle.
Melissa realized the widow hadn’t had anyone to talk to about this; she probably never had. She wanted to tell Melissa, and Melissa was dying to know. “What? What happened?”
Suddenly, the widow’s eyes widened, she sucked in a breath, turned away and waved a hand in the air. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
Melissa’s mouth parted. The woman couldn’t stop there! Melissa wanted to know what happened! Perhaps if she set the widow’s mind at rest, she’d continue the story. “Look, you don’t need to worry that I’ll tell anyone, and it’s not like you’re the only one with secrets.”
Melissa took a deep breath. “My family is from the future. We traveled through time to get here. Sully is my husband’s ancestor; his grandfather, a few generations back.”
Melissa waved a hand in the air. “So you see? Now we’ve both got something on each other. You were once a woman who did what she needed to do to survive, and I’m as loony as a cuckoo bird. Now tell me what happened with Louisa?”
The widow stared at Melissa and slowly her expression turned to anger. “You traveled through time? What are you talking about? Are you mocking me?”
Melissa widened her eyes. “No! Not at all! We were outside during a blue moon and we got sent here to this time. That’s why we showed up here with no clothes other than what we were wearing. That’s why we had no possessions with us. We’re related to Sully; my husband and children are anyway.”
The widow stared at her blankly.
Melissa felt like an idiot. What had seemed like a good idea a moment ago seemed pretty stupid now. “I can see I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Since Sully only has one child, and the rumors are he’s dead, your story isn’t just unlikely, it’s impossible.”
Melissa took a deep breath. She might as well finish the tale. “No, it’s true. Sully’s son comes back to this area in the next few years with a wife and children. He ends up settling in town, going into business. He paints landscapes as a hobby. We have one hanging in our house back home. He keeps the land he inherited from his dad. It gets passed down for a few generations until we build a home on it.”
After a long pause the widow said, “I see. Forgive me if I have a hard time believing you.”
Melissa felt like a fool. What had possessed her to say anything? “That’s okay. I understand. I shouldn’t ha
ve mentioned it.”
“Convince me.”
Melissa blinked, unsure what the woman wanted from her. She was probably just giving her more rope to hang herself with. She lifted a shoulder. Perhaps she owed it to her. “You knew Sully when he was younger. Do Richard or the kids resemble him or Louisa? Or their son?”
The widow stared at Melissa. She slowly sank down onto the chair opposite and shook her head.
“No? Well, let me see. Do I seem like the type of person who would wear clothes like these? I’m thirty-five years old. Don’t you think I would have acquired a wardrobe by now?”
“Your clothes could have been stolen. I’ve always assumed they were,” she stated. But her voice was weak. Perhaps Melissa was convincing her after all.
“Doesn’t our speech seem strange to you? More informal?”
“You’re from back east.”
Melissa shook her head. “No, we’re not. We’re from right here, only we lived more than 100 years in the future; in a California so changed you can’t even imagine it. Cars, airplanes, inventions...”
Melissa sighed. “Well, forget it. You’ll just have to take my word for it. Sully’s son is not dead. He’s in Europe, learning how to paint or something. Richard is his long-lost relative, and I’m not as insane as you think I am.”
Tears welled in the widow’s eyes. She bent over, her hands to her face.
Melissa’s mouth fell open, and her stomach clenched. She couldn’t believe she’d driven this strong woman to tears. “You know, I’ll never tell a soul about your...past. Your secret is safe with me. Besides, if I said a word, you could tell everyone I’m certifiable, right?”
The widow started to weep, softly at first, then louder as the seconds passed and sobs jerked her body.
Guilt burned through Melissa and she pressed a fist to her mouth. She lowered her hand and inhaled sharply. “So you took a lover in your husband’s absence. Big deal. I congratulate you on your survival instincts. No one ever needs to know. Everything is fine. Your reputation is safe. I won’t tell a soul, I promise.”
The woman cried harder still.
Melissa reached out a trembling hand then pulled back again. Perhaps the widow needed some alone time? Melissa nodded. Yes, that was it. Good idea. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? Melissa stood. “Well, I’ll just let myself out.”
Melissa walked to the front door, wrenched it opened, closed it softly behind her and practically ran from the ranch house. When would she learn to keep her big mouth shut?
Chapter Twenty-Five
The kerosene lantern glowed brightly on the kitchen table, illuminating the small room, buzzing slightly and leaving a faintly acrid smell in the warm air.
Melissa lifted a hand to rub the back of her neck, trying to relieve some of the tension. The day had lasted forever and she was glad it was over; glad it was bedtime. If she had her way, she’d be asleep within the next twenty minutes, and would quickly forget this particular day ever happened.
She took a dry towel, pulled back one of the kitchen chairs and wiped it quickly, spilling a few breadcrumbs onto the darkness of the floor. She quickly wiped the other three chairs, straightened them, folded the towel and set it on the shelf beside the canned goods. She’d sweep in the morning when she could see better.
As much as she’d tried not to dwell on the earlier ugliness, at the end of the day, she still felt ashamed and stupid. Why had she ever tried to blackmail the widow? Why had she tried to convince her they were time travelers? What was the matter with her? She was glad they were leaving soon. Their departure from this place couldn’t come quickly enough.
She climbed the ladder to the loft and kissed a sleeping Jeremy and a groggy Jessica goodnight, then climbed down again to once more straighten the already clean cabin, before she went into the bedroom.
Richard came up behind her, put his arms around her and drew her against him. “You’ve been quiet tonight. Are you all right?”
She sighed. “Richard, how many days until we leave?”
He thought a moment. “Twenty-four. Did something happen today?”
Melissa lifted her hands to keep him where he was, closed her eyes and leaned against him, enjoying his embrace. “I just want to go home. I’m getting antsy.”
“Is there anything you want to talk about?”
Melissa gripped his arms, hugging him to her. Did she want to tell Richard about her stupidity? Probably not. “It’s nothing. I just spoke to the widow today and she told me a little about her life before she came to California. She was quite poor. I just feel sorry for her, I guess, for what she had to go through; being destitute and alone in the world. Maybe it reminded me of my childhood.”
She blinked. Where the heck had that come from? She bit her lip, considering that perhaps it was the truth. The widow’s story of destitution and her desperate situation had reminded Melissa of her childhood. It was one more thing she didn’t wanted to face on this day.
Richard’s arms tightened around her. “You’ve never said too much about when you were a kid, but from the little you have, I know you had a hard time.”
Suddenly, out of nowhere, tears burned her eyes and she turned and pressed her face into Richard’s chest and started to sob.
Richard handed her a folded handkerchief and simply held her.
She sobbed for the confused and helpless little girl she’d been. She sobbed for the widow and the pain she endured. She sobbed because she was ashamed of the way she’d tried to blackmail a woman who’d worked hard to overcome her own difficulties.
The storm lasted a good ten minutes before Melissa finally pulled away, worn out. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and settled back against Richard’s chest, exhausted.
Richard rubbed her back. “All right?”
Melissa nodded, feeling foolish.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Melissa shook her head, sucked in a shuddering breath, and nodded. “It was just hard today, you know? Talking to the widow. Hearing what she’d suffered. I guess it brought some of it back.” She took another breath. “The strange thing was, I walked away thinking I could really learn to respect the old bat.”
“I’m not surprised. You’re both strong women. It sounds like you’ve both had some rough times in your past and flourished despite it. Maybe that’s why the two of you don’t get along; you are too much alike.”
He paused. “Melissa, is our lack of money painful to you?”
She thought about it. Her first reaction was to say yes. It was very painful living here and being poor. With only the bare essentials, it reminded her very much of when she’d been a child. But the funny thing was she didn’t actually feel that way. She turned to look at Richard. “No. It’s not as bad this time.”
“What’s the difference?”
“I don’t know.” Maybe growing up poor hadn’t been the problem so much as growing up feeling unloved.
She winced inwardly, wishing she had some control over her thoughts. Intense sadness for the child she’d been welled within her. She felt grief, not only for herself, but for her mother who’d been unable to get her life together. She tightened her arms around Richard and placed her head on his chest. For a long while she simply stood in his arms while he rubbed her back.
Finally, he relaxed his grip and kissed her forehead. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” Taking her hand, he shut the drape over the bedroom door, helped her into her nightgown and tucked her into bed.
She didn’t want to feel this pain; she just wanted to get to work again. It was hard to think so much when her mind was occupied. She closed her eyes. Perhaps that was why she always moved so fast and kept her life so busy. So she wouldn’t feel anything. In the past, she’d been forced to slow down: to think, and finally to feel. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.
Richard took off his own clothes, blew out the light, slid into bed, and reached over to take her in his arms. The heat from his body warmed her. “No matter what happens, w
e’ll always face it together,” he said softly. “I love you,” he murmured against her temple, then kissed her, gently exploring her mouth.
She gave a brief thought to birth control as a pool of warmth spread through her insides and she wrapped her arms around Richard and returned his kiss. She just wanted to forget about today, forget about everything and lose herself in Richard’s strength.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Melissa reached down for another piece of wood and set it in the bucket at Jessica’s feet. “What do you think?” Melissa indicated the woodpile, “will two more big ones be enough for today?”
Jessica nodded. “Probably. For sure it’s enough to bake the bread anyway.”
That was true, but Melissa was more concerned about maintaining the heat in the stove throughout the day. Keeping the fire banked was easier than starting it cold, and she didn’t want to make another trip to the woodpile. Decisions, decisions. “Good morning, ladies. Let me help you with that.”
Melissa and Jessica both turned to see Jed Peterson approaching. Surprised to see him, Melissa glanced around for his two constant companions, but he was alone. “Thank you, Mr. Peterson.”
Melissa gave up the two large pieces of wood and Jed retrieved several more, loading up his bulky arms.
Melissa carried the bucket, Jessica gathered a few more chunks and the three of them started back to the cabin.
Jed glanced at her, then his gaze skittered away. He took a deep breath. “Sure is a nice day.”
Melissa nodded. “Yes, it is. I love October. So what brings you out this way?”
Jed swallowed audibly, and shrugged his big shoulders. “A few cows wandered out my way and I just thought I’d let the boys know.”
His deep voice broke on the last word and he swallowed again, obviously nervous.
Melissa stared at his profile, her brows raising. Was he eating the widow’s cows? Having a sudden attack of conscience? “That was nice of you.”
They reached the cabin.
Jed set the wood down beside the stove, carefully stacking it, taking more time and care than necessary. “Do you need more wood? ‘Cause I could go and get some more. I’d be glad to.” He seemed almost desperate.