The Darkest Winter

by William W. Johnstone

  Henry gestured toward Thomas and Jeremiah and said, “I always thought one of these two would be the first to get married and settle down. They’ve already got the personality of tree stumps, roots and all.” He grinned mischievously as he spoke.

  Thomas swung a lazy hand at Henry’s head and missed deliberately. “Hush up your foolishness, lad,” he said.

  Another step sounded in the doorway, and they all turned to look at Robert Wallace, the current patriarch of the family. He was smaller than any of his sons but filled with a vitality that belied his age.

  “What’s this, then?” he asked. A trace of a Scottish burr remained in his voice.

  “Your youngest son has brought his intended bride home, Robert,” Samantha said.

  “Aye?” Robert turned a stern gaze toward Dulcy. “This would be th’ lady?”

  Breckinridge said, “Pa, this is Dulcy. Uh, Dulcy Harris.”

  “Mrs. Harris,” Samantha added. “She’s a widow, the poor dear.”

  Robert stepped forward and extended his hand. “Welcome to our home, ma’am. Are ye sure you’re in yer right mind?”

  “Excuse me?” Dulcy said.

  “I mean, to be marryin’ this great lout of a boy—”

  Dulcy had been about to take his hand, but now she drew herself up straighter and gave him a cold frown.

  “Your son happens to be one of the finest men I’ve ever known, Mr. Wallace, and I don’t think you should insult him.”

  “That’s so, is it?”

  “Yes, it most certainly is.”

  Robert smiled and said, “Then some of it must be because of yer influence, Missus Harris, and I thank ye for it.” He reached out, took the hand she still held out in both of his, and told Breckinridge, “Ye’ve done well for yerself, boy, if ye convinced such a fine lady to hitch her wagon to yours.”

  Breckinridge grinned in relief and said, “Thanks, Pa. I’m glad you like her.”

  “Like her? I think she’s splendid!” Robert kept hold of Dulcy’s hand and led her to the table. “Sit yerself down, ma’am.”

  Samantha poured a cup of tea and set it in front of her. “Here you go. You’ll be staying for supper, won’t you? In fact, I hope you’ll stay here with us. You can have Jeremiah and Henry’s room. They won’t mind sleeping in the barn, will you, boys?”

  Dulcy said, “I won’t want to put anyone out—”

  “Nonsense,” Robert said. “’Twould be our honor to have you stay with us. We’re all pleased that Breckinridge has made such a fine match for himself.”

  This time Dulcy couldn’t help it. A tear ran down each cheek. With a visible effort, she controlled the emotions that gripped her and said, “I’ll be happy to stay, Mr. Wallace. You don’t know how . . . how happy I am to be welcomed like this by all of you.”

  “Now, dear, we just want what’s best for Breckinridge,” Samantha said. “His rambunctious ways can take some getting used to, but he does grow on you after a while.”

  “Yeah,” Henry said, “like a weed you can’t get rid of.”

  Breckinridge pantomimed a sweeping blow at his head. Henry ducked and laughed. He was used to his gibes getting responses like that.

  Robert took hold of Breckinridge’s arm and asked, “Have ye come home for good, son?”

  Breckinridge had been expecting that question, and in truth it worried him more than how his family would react to Dulcy. He had figured they would be as taken with her as he’d been.

  With a shake of his head, he said, “No, Pa, we’re just here for a visit, and to get married. But after we’re hitched, Dulcy and me are headin’ west again. I’ve been out there trappin’ beaver, and I plan to go back to the mountains next spring.”

  “Fur trapping?” Samantha said. “That’s no life for a woman!”

  “It will be,” Breckinridge insisted. “I’ve got a partner to help me with the trappin’, and I’m gonna build a nice sturdy cabin for Dulcy. We’re gonna make a life for ourselves out there, Ma. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

  “Ye could take up a farm somewhere around here—” Robert began, then stopped himself before he could finish. “Nay, that’s not th’ sort o’ thing ye’d ever want to do, is it?”

  Breckinridge shook his head. “No, Pa, it ain’t. I’m just too different from you and the other boys.”

  “Don’t include me in that,” Henry said. “I’d like to go adventuring one of these days, too.”

  Robert ignored that and said to Breckinridge, “A peddler came through these parts once. He had a cage attached to the back of his wagon, and in that cage was a bear somebody had captured. A sorrier sight you never saw. The bear just sat there. The man would try to get it to roar at folks and act ferocious, you know, like a show. But the bear wouldn’t do it, no matter how much that damn peddler poked at him. ’Twasn’t even a bear anymore, to my way o’ thinkin’. Just a great mound o’ fur and sadness. I don’t want that for you, lad.” Robert surprised Breck by hugging him and slapping him on the back. “Go on back to the mountains when you’re ready, son. Go be a bear.”

  Breckinridge had to swallow hard. He wasn’t quite sure why his throat was trying to close up, nor why Dulcy was crying again or why even his ma had to wipe away a tear. He just pounded Robert on the back and said, “Thanks, Pa. It sure is good to be home, even if it’s just for a little spell.”

  Chapter 21

  Although Breckinridge didn’t care much for farming, it was different now that he and Dulcy were just visiting. He was more than willing to pitch in and help with the plowing and the other chores around the place. It actually felt good to be working with his father and brothers again, even though he had avoided that as much as possible when he was younger.

  Dulcy spent her days with Samantha, and as she told Breckinridge when she got a chance to be alone with him, “It’s wonderful to be around another woman again who’s not . . . well, one who’s interested in home and family, I mean. But it kind of makes me sad, too, because it makes me remember my husband and my little girl . . .”

  Breckinridge put his arms around her and said, “You don’t want to forget about them, not ever. I know that was a mighty good part of your life, and I hate that you got it taken away from you. That just weren’t fair. Dang it, if there was any way I could, I’d go back and put that right, even if it meant you and me never would’ve met.”

  “I wouldn’t want that,” she whispered as she rested her head against his chest. “Everything we go through . . . good and bad . . . it makes us who we are. I guess, in the end . . . we just have to hope that the good more than balances out the bad.”

  “I reckon the scales are still pretty much even when it comes to the things I done in my life.”

  “I wouldn’t say that, Breck,” she told him softly. “I wouldn’t say that at all.”

  One morning at breakfast a few days later, Samantha put a piece of paper on the table in front of Breckinridge. He frowned at it and asked, “What’s this?”

  “I know you can read well enough to make out what’s written there,” she said. “Those are the supplies I need for you to pick up at the store for me when you and Dulcy go into town this morning.”

  “I didn’t know we was goin’ into town.” Breckinridge looked over at Dulcy. “You know anything about this?”

  “Listen to me,” Samantha said, drawing his attention back to her. “You said that the two of you are going to get married while you’re visiting here.”

  “That’s the plan,” Breckinridge said with an emphatic nod.

  “Well, then, hadn’t you better get started working on it? You need to go talk to Gavin Balfour, the minister at the kirk. You’ll be having the ceremony there, I expect?”

  Breckinridge saw the look of worry that sprang up in Dulcy’s eyes. They hadn’t really discussed the details of their impending marriage. Breck had assumed that the justice of the peace in Knoxville would perform the ceremony. He realized now, though, that his mother, a devout Presbyterian
, would expect them to get married in the church.

  “I, uh, reckon we could do that,” he said, mostly to placate Samantha until he had a chance to talk to Dulcy about it. He didn’t really care how they went about it as long as they got hitched, but he supposed the bride ought to have the biggest say in something like that. He glanced at Dulcy again. She didn’t look particularly happy, but she nodded.

  “Very good,” Samantha said. “You’ll be going to fetch those supplies this morning, so after you’re finished at the mercantile, you can stop and talk to Reverend Balfour.”

  “Sure,” Breckinridge said. At this point he would have agreed to almost anything to end the uncomfortable discussion.

  Later, he went out to the barn to hitch the mule team to the wagon that had brought him and Dulcy to the farm. She surprised him by following him.

  “Breckinridge, we have to talk about this,” she said.

  “Talk about what?” he asked. He didn’t figure acting innocent would do any good, but he supposed it was worth a try.

  It wasn’t. Dulcy said flatly, “This business about us getting married in church.”

  “Well, that’s, uh, where most folks get married, I reckon,” he said with a shrug. “And my ma, she’s a real spiritual person, I guess you could say. Her family, back where they came from, were all Church of Scotland. The kirk, they called it. She still does, even though it’s a Presbyterian church in Knoxville.”

  “I’m a Baptist, so I don’t know anything about that.” She lowered her voice. “But I do know that most churches don’t look kindly on whores.”

  He tightened the harness on one of the mules and said, “Now, just hold on a minute. I want you to stop talkin’ about yourself like that. Best thing you can do is just forget about everything that happened between the time your family passed on and the time we started back here. Forget about everything except meetin’ me, that is.”

  “But it did happen and I can’t forget about it,” she insisted. “It just wouldn’t be right for a . . . a sinner like me to be married in a church.”

  “I admit I don’t know a whole heap about the Bible, but I don’t recollect any rules in it sayin’ that a widow can’t get married again. And as far as bein’ a sinner goes . . . ain’t nobody ever set foot in a church who ain’t a sinner. That much I know for damn sure.”

  She put a hand on his arm and told him, “I appreciate everything you’re saying, Breck. I really do. But just because you have such a good heart, that doesn’t mean everyone else does. I . . . I’m sure that if your family knew the truth about me, they’d be horrified. Your mother would never allow you to marry me, let alone have the ceremony take place in a church!”

  “It ain’t up to her,” Breckinridge said. “You and me decided to get hitched, and we’re the only ones who count.”

  Dulcy shook her head. “I wish that was actually true, Breck. But I don’t want you turning your back on your family for my sake. That’s not fair.” She started to turn toward the barn’s entrance. “And it’s not fair to lie to people who have been so nice and hospitable to me. I’m going to tell your mother the truth.”

  “Dang it!” Breckinridge grabbed hold of her arm to stop her. With his incredible strength, she couldn’t move. When she winced a little, he realized he was hurting her and hastily let go. But he rested his hands gently on her shoulders to keep her from doing anything foolish. “You don’t need to do that. We’ve done talked about this, over and over. What you’ve done in the past ain’t who you are. My ma’s a mighty smart woman. She sees the real Dulcy Harris—and so do I.”

  “Breck . . .”

  “You’re just worryin’ about nothin’,” he went on. “The most important thing in this world, Dulcy . . . well, other than bein’ out in the fresh air and seein’ what’s on the other side of the next hill . . . the most important thing in the world is love. Shoot, come to think of it, maybe that’s even more important than them other things I mentioned. Now, I love you and you love me, or at least that’s what we’ve done told each other, and I sure as blazes meant it. Did you?”

  “You know I did,” she whispered.

  “Then there ain’t nothin’ else that amounts to a hill o’ beans.” He cupped his hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. His lips brushed gently over hers. She reached up and encircled his neck with her arms, her movements a little jerky because of the emotions within her.

  A moment later, as they moved apart, he went on, “Now, let’s head for town, pick up them supplies Ma wanted, and go talk to the preacher.”

  * * *

  Being at the confluence of three rivers, Knoxville had served as a major jumping-off point for westward migration during its earlier days, and with so many people of all kinds passing through, it had had a reputation as a rough and rowdy settlement during that era.

  In the past decade it had calmed down considerably and now was a growing city full of fine frame homes and redbrick business buildings. Emerson’s Mercantile was one of those establishments. A number of wagon teams and buggy horses were tied up in front of it when Breckinridge brought his vehicle to a halt at one of the hitch racks. Customers went in and out of the big double doors in a steady stream.

  On the way here, they had passed the impressive structure known as the Brick Meeting House, where the First Presbyterian Church held services. Dulcy had looked at the building nervously as Breckinridge drove past. She had asked, “Do you know this Reverend Balfour your mother mentioned?”

  “Nope,” Breckinridge had replied. “He must’ve come to be the pastor after I pulled up stakes and headed west. But Ma sounded like she likes him, so he must be all right.”

  “Maybe he’s not too strict.”

  “He’s a preacher. Bein’ strict is sorta his job, ain’t it? But you don’t have anything to worry about. He can’t help but like you.”

  Obviously, Dulcy wasn’t so sure about that. As Breckinridge parked the wagon and hopped down from the seat, she still wore a worried frown. He reached up to help her climb down from the seat.

  They went into the crowded store. Dulcy looked around anxiously as if she didn’t care for being somewhere with this many people. Breckinridge could understand that. He didn’t consider himself antisocial, but he liked being in places where he could get his breath and didn’t have to worry about running into people or stepping on their toes. There had been times out West when he had felt like he was the only human being within a hundred miles, and that had suited him just fine.

  Or rather, it had suited him until he met and fell in love with Dulcy. Now he couldn’t imagine being that far away from her.

  He put a hand under her elbow and steered her past the shelves full of merchandise, toward the long counter in the rear of the store. A stocky, balding man with enormous muttonchop whiskers stood there. He wore a canvas apron and had the sleeves of his woolen shirt rolled up so his hairy, muscular forearms were visible as he crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t seem surprised to see Breckinridge, but he did say, “Breck Wallace, as I live and breathe. I would have figured that you’d be hanged by now, lad.”

  “Naw, that murder charge against me was dropped, Mr. Emerson,” Breckinridge said.

  “I was speaking more on general principles.” Emerson looked curiously at Dulcy. “Who’s this?”

  “The lady I’m gonna marry. Dulcy Harris.”

  “How did you trick an intelligent-looking woman into a mistake like that?”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Dulcy said, sounding a little annoyed. “I happen to have a very high opinion of Breckinridge. He’s a fine young man.”

  “Aw, Mr. Emerson’s just joshin’,” Breckinridge said. “He’s an old friend of the family.” He placed the list his mother had given him on the counter and smoothed it out. “My ma sent me to pick up these things. You’ll put ’em on her bill?”

  “Of course.” Emerson picked up the list. “Give me half an hour.”

  “Sure thing.” Breckinridge turned to Dulcy. “You want t
o walk around town?”

  “I suppose we could do that. Do you think there’s time to go talk to the minister?”

  Breckinridge rubbed his jaw and frowned in thought. “We might ought to wait until after we’ve got the supplies to do that. You never know how long a preacher’s gonna talk.”

  They started toward the front of the building, taking their time and looking at some of the goods on the shelves along the way. A counter to one side with some pistols in it caught Breckinridge’s attention. He lingered there, admiring the fine craftsmanship of the weapons. The same was true of some knives that were also displayed for sale. He found those things a lot more interesting than the shovels, hoes, scythes, and other farming tools hung on the walls.

  Dulcy stopped and looked at several bolts of colorful cloth and some spools of lace. “I need to start thinking about a wedding dress,” she said.

  “I figured you’d just wear one of the dresses you’ve already got,” Breckinridge said.

  “I suppose I will, but I think I could fancy it up a bit with some lace.”

  “That’d be mighty pretty,” he assured her. “I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Oh yes, you will,” she said with a laugh. “It’s bad luck for the groom to see his bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony.”

  “Yeah, I seem to remember hearin’ somethin’ about that. But I never put much stock in it.”

  “Don’t you believe in luck?” she asked.

  “I darn sure do. If I hadn’t been lucky, I never would’ve met you.”

  She smiled, linked her arm with his, and said, “That’s a nice thing to say. You’ve made me feel a lot better about things, Breckinridge—”

  They were almost to the front doors. One of them swung inward before they could get to it. A tall, broad-shouldered man filled the opening. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, homespun shirt, canvas trousers, and heavy boots. Breckinridge didn’t know him but thought he had the look of a riverman. There was a considerable amount of traffic on the Tennessee River between here and Kentucky, where the Tennessee flowed into the Ohio River. Keelboats and other vessels carried immigrants, supplies, and trade goods westward and had done so for many years.