“No,” Bill said. Then, reluctantly, he admitted, “But I suppose they might have overheard me sayin’ that you’d be a fool not to.”
“Why would you say such a thing?”
Because it’s true,” Bill said, staring down at the chopping block. “I know you must have been disappointed when you got here. You’re accustomed to a kind of life that I don’t have the means to give you. What right do I have to ask you to give all that up on my account?”
Maddie breathed heavily, wrapping her arms around her chest to stop herself from shivering involuntarily in the cold.
“You’re going to freeze yourself half to death out here,” Bill muttered, eyeing her shivering. He stripped off his cowhide coat and brought it over to her, draping it over her shoulders. She immediately felt his warmth on the leather, and her shivering subsided.
“You listen here, Bill Wiley,” she said. It wasn’t a manner she was used to speaking in, but she assumed it was the only way that she could get through to him. “You seem to have made up your mind about me before you’ve even tried to get to know me. I’ve traveled all this way, and I did it with the intention of marrying you.”
Bill just blinked at her.
“So,” she finished, losing a bit of the persistence in her voice, “I think we both ought to give each other a fighting chance.”
Bill sighed heavily, then finally he spoke, “You’re right,” he said. “Just because you were born with a silver spoon in one hand and a trunk full of fancy dresses in the other, don’t mean you can’t be a good mother to my children.”
Maddie huffed, her anger revived. “And equally,” she said, “I suppose I shouldn’t make the rash assumption that your uncanny resemblance to a grizzly bear is any indication of your merits as a father and husband.”
“A grizzly bear!” Bill scowled, his hand reaching up to clutch the rugged fur of his beard.
Maddie felt the bitterness of her words swell in her mouth. She couldn’t fathom where this sudden outspokenness had come from, but it certainly wasn’t the sort of ladylike behavior that she knew was expected of her.
“I apologize, Mr. Wiley,” she said, staring at the snowy ground. “That was uncalled for.”
“Well, I’m sorry for what I said about your dresses,” Bill said, sounding equally ashamed of himself. “They’re real nice, you know that?”
Maddie’s brow furrowed and she glanced up.
“Your dresses, I mean,” Bill said. “I’m just sorry I can’t give you a reason to wear them.”
“I should be thanking you for that,” Maddie said with the soft hint of a smile. “They might be beautiful dresses, but I can assure you, Mr. Wiley, I’d gladly give every last one up if it meant I would never again have to attend the sort of event where such formal attire is expected.”
“Well, Miss Henson,” Bill said, “I think I can help you there.”
They shared a smile, at least Maddie thought that’s what she saw twitching beneath Bill’s beard.
She couldn’t be sure, but she did know one thing. She liked Bill Wiley a little bit more than she had before, and she wanted to mail that letter to her parents a little less.
As she walked back to the log cabin with his coat still draped over her shoulders, she couldn’t help but feel that hopeful skip return to her step.
Maybe life in Livingston wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
SIX
“I’ve never made Christmas cookies before!” Bessie declared gleefully as she used the palms of her tiny hands to pat the flat sheet of dough that was stretched over the kitchen table.
“Never with your mother?” Maddie asked, then immediately regretted it. She had been so careful to avoid mentioning the late Mrs. Wiley, for fear that it would revive painful memories for the children or their father. And she had done such a good job of avoiding the subject entirely, until now… until the question slipped from her lips, before she could stop it.
Bessie’s face instantly flooded with sadness, and her eyes grew heavy with fat tears as she nodded slowly.
“Oh, Bess, I’m so sorry,” Maddie said gently. She ran her hand over the child’s head, tracing the braids she had woven earlier that morning. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it…”
“Don’t be sorry,” William said.
He had been sitting so quietly at the head of the table that Maddie had almost forgotten that he was there.
“Mama died Christmas day,” William said. Then, with an almost sympathetic tone in his voice, he added, “How were you meant to know, if we never told you?”
Maddie nodded, appreciating the boy’s gentle honestly. William was only twelve, but in so many ways, he already possessed the wisdom of a grown man.
“Pa doesn’t like Christmas much,” Bess sniffled, still patting the gingerbread dough with her palms. “He usually spends it by himself, in the dairy barn.”
The dairy barn. Maddie nodded, understanding. That place had been quite the source of solitude and solace for Mr. Wiley, at least since she had arrived. He had readily abdicated the bed in the cabin and exiled himself to sleeping in the soft bed of hay in the loft over the dairy barn.
Of course Maddie felt bad for letting him sleep out in the cold, but they weren’t married yet. It wouldn’t be right by anyone’s standards for them to sleep beneath the same roof. And while Maddie was willing to compromise on many things as she acclimated to her new life in Montana, sharing a home with a man she wasn’t married to was one compromise that she wasn’t willing to make.
“Wait here,” Maddie told the children, leaving them in the kitchen. She bundled herself up in a heavy coat and boots, then she slipped out the door of the log cabin and trudged across the clearing towards the dairy barn.
Dusk was coming soon, and she expected that there was a reason Bill hadn’t come in for supper yet. She opened the barn door and slipped inside, immediately feeling the welcome relief of warmth.
“What are you doing here?” a voice asked, and Maddie whipped her head around to see Bill Wiley sitting on the loft over her head, legs swinging over the edge and a handle of brown whiskey in one hand.
Maddie was astonished, but more than that, she was angry.
“Bill Wiley!” she cried. “I sure hope you have an explanation for why you’re seated up there on your lonesome drinking that devil water, while your children are inside worried about you.”
Bill looked down shamefully. He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Laura died on Christmas day,” he said finally. “It’s been three years, but it never gets any easier.”
“And I suspect it won’t,” Maddie said firmly, “if you continue to torment yourself like this.”
Bill’s eyes suddenly flashed up, and she saw a dark anger brew beneath his furrowed brow. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. He started to raise the bottle, but Maddie swept forward. She climbed up the stairs to the loft and swung out her arm, grabbing the bottle in one swipe. Then she hugged it to her chest and hopped back to the ground.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Bill demanded.
“The same thing Mrs. Wiley would do, if she were here,” Maddie said. She threw open the barn door and stomped out into the snow, then without a flicker of hesitation she turned over the bottle and watched as the syrupy brown liquid poured out into the snowbank.
“Listen here, Miss Henson!” Bill bellowed, following after her. “You have no right!”
“No, you listen, Bill,” Maddie snapped. Her tongue felt as if it were on fire, and she had never spoken to anyone—let alone a man—like this. She wasn’t sure what had brought out this resilient, fearless streak in her, but she didn’t stop herself. “There are two children inside that log cabin who are mourning the loss of their mother. You have to be strong for them, because they have no one else in the world.”
“They have you,” Bill said.
“Children should have a mother and a father,” Maddie said. “That’s why I’m here, is it not?”
Bill b
linked at her, his breath forming in soft tufts of steam that dissolved in the winter air.
“Listen, Bill,” Maddie said. “When you wrote me those letters, you told me about a woman who had faith in you. You told me about a woman who saw beyond your past, and believed that you could be a better person. Don’t prove Laura wrong now, Bill.”
Bill’s eyes became foggy with tears and he looked down at his feet. The bits of his face that could be seen above the dense hedge of beard burned red with shame, and he bowed his head solemnly in a nod.
Then, without saying another word, he began walking towards the log cabin. Maddie stood still for a few seconds, watching uncertainly. Then she followed him back towards the house.
The house was warm and smelled of baking gingerbread. Bessie had finished forming the cookies, and William had helped her put them in the oven. When the children saw their father, they both squealed and ran for him—even William, who often prided himself on being too grown up for such displays of childish emotions.
Maddie smiled from the doorframe, watching as Bill wrapped his arms around his children.
And for the first time in three years, the family spent the night before Christmas together. The only thing Bill Wiley got drunk on that night was pride and love, the pride he felt for the children he and Laura had raised together, and the love he felt for the kind and strong man and woman that William and Bessie were becoming.
But there was something else Bill felt that night, something that burned so hot within his chest that at first he confused it for the embers simmering on the hearth. It was only later, after he had retired to the dairy barn and gone to sleep on the bed of hay, that he realized the heat in his chest wasn’t from the fire. Rather, it was from the strange and unfamiliar bliss he felt when he was around Maddie.
SEVEN
Spring came early that year, a just reward after a particularly bitter winter. The thaw spread quickly over the valley. The frozen earth softened and became muddy, and the slopes of ice and snow melted and poured down the riverbanks. The Yellowstone swelled and flooded, and the smell of new life hung in the air.
Spring was bittersweet for Bill Wiley. It meant that the time had come to leave his family and go to work in the mines, hoping to strike good fortune. He had both dreaded and anticipated this moment all winter long. He had dreaded the fruitless days he would spend toiling in the mines, and he had anticipated the moment he struck gold and finally found relief for the monetary woes that had plagued the Wiley family for years.
What he hadn’t anticipated was how hard it’d be to say goodbye to Maddie. Over the long winter, they had forged a strange kind of friendship. She wasn’t like anyone he had met before. She was fearless when it came to challenging his stubbornness, and she was quick to remind him of what mattered most—the children, his family. He supposed Laura would approve of her, in that regard.
But she could be a mighty pain to contend with, too. She had her own stubborn streak, her own quirks that riled Bill up and made him wonder if they ever could be man and wife.
For a start, she hadn’t taken naturally to the housekeeping. She was wonderful when it came to tutoring the children, but the woman couldn’t wash laundry or cook a proper stew to save her life. William and Bessie had done their best to teach Miss Henson the ropes, but Bill knew it was hard adjusting to such a simple life, especially after growing up with riches and wealth.
Still, Bill had grown a bit fond of her, and there had even been times when he felt a tickle of something in his stomach. Like when he saw her rocking Bessie to sleep in the chair by the fire, the same way Laura had done when Bess was just a babe. Or like when he had come in from the barn with a nasty gash on his hand, and she had done her best to mend him with a bandage and ointment.
There was a tenderness to Maddie that Bill found endearing, and even though it made him feel disloyal to Laura, he couldn’t help but notice that his bride was beautiful, too. Still, they hadn’t agreed upon a date to marry yet, and Bill wondered if it was because Maddie still had half a mind to take a train back to Boston and leave him.
Those suspicions were reignited as he dressed himself in a raggedy pair of overalls one spring morning and prepared to head to the mines.
He’d be gone for a week, and he was looking for a fresh change of clothes to last him the duration of his time at the mines when he stumbled upon it… a letter. It was in the same ivory envelope that Maddie had used during their correspondence, and for that reason, Bill felt naturally curious about it. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help but take a peek inside the envelope. Once he had, he sure wished he hadn’t.
Inside the envelope he found a letter, written in Maddie’s elegant hand, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Henson. Maddie hadn’t made much mention of her parents since she arrived, and Bill figured it was because they hadn’t approved of their union. When Bill started reading the letter, he assumed that Maddie had been writing to seek her parent’s blessing. He felt a flood of relief—perhaps that was why she was delaying their nuptials.
But as he continued reading, his relief waned. She wasn’t begging for forgiveness because she was intending to marry Billy Wiley, she was begging her parents to welcome her back into their home, because she wanted to leave Bill Wiley!
Bill was crushed. He hadn’t realized just how much he had started to care about Maddie until he read that letter. He dropped the paper, letting it fall to the floor, and he felt the void in his chest swell where his heart was meant to be.
He stepped out of the log cabin. In the distance, he could see Maddie playing with the children in the field, picking wildflowers to place on Laura’s grave. Bill took a step towards them to say goodbye, but then he decided otherwise. He had too much on his mind, too much to make sense of.
So instead, he turned on his heel. Some time later, Maddie and the children returned to the log cabin, only to discover that Bill had left for the mines without saying goodbye.
And some time after that, Maddie understood why. She found the letter to her parents, crumpled on the floor. She had forgotten all about the letter she had written back in winter, back when she felt a little more desperate and a little less keen on Bill. She should have destroyed the letter before Bill had a chance to find it. She wanted so desperately to explain the truth, to tell him that she might just love him after all, and that she didn’t mean the things she had said in that letter.
But Bill was already gone. All Maddie could do was wait for him to return, Wait, and pray that he would understand.
EIGHT
The children had never been apart from their father, and Maddie could tell that his absence didn’t sit well with either of them. She was doing her best to put their minds at ease and to make the week pass by quickly. The truth was she was just as eager for Bill Wiley to return home as his children were. She felt desperate to tell him the truth. And if she was being completely honest, she didn’t feel entirely safe at the log cabin by herself.
The woods seemed massive and haunting at night, and strange sounds blew threw the cracks of the log cabin’s walls. She longed for the sense of security she felt, knowing that Bill was close by in the dairy barn.
There was a saying Maddie had read in a book once, and it came to mind the night Bill left—absence makes the heart grow fonder. Maddie might not have been sure before, but now she was certain, she loved Bill Wiley, and she had no intention of leaving him. Not now and not ever. She just prayed to the Lord that she’d have the chance to tell him that.
The tension in Maddie’s mind got worse with each night, and by the fifth evening of Bill’s absence, she was quite flustered and on edge.
That’s when the knock came at the door.
Bessie was just tidying up after supper while William tended to the chickens outside. Maddie had settled by the fire to do some sewing. The knock on the door startled her.
“Is that Pa?” Bessie’s little voice squeaked, as her big eyes peered up at the door.
“It must be,” Maddie s
aid. Bill wasn’t due for another day or so, but who else could be knocking at the door? It never occurred to her that the knock on the door could have been made by anyone but Bill Wiley. In all of her time at the log cabin, there had never once been a stray visitor or guest.
Maddie went to answer the door, already feeling the flood of relief that Bill had returned. She was eager to talk to him about the letter and to tell him the truth about her feelings, to tell him that she loved him, and wanted to marry him.
The words had already formed on the tip of her tongue when she threw open the door, but it wasn’t Bill Wiley who stood on the opposite side of the threshold. Instead, she found herself staring straight down the barrel of a shotgun. Down the barrel, squinting menacingly, there was a pair of yellow-green eyes with a jagged smile.
“Help!” Maddie screeched. It was the last thing she managed, before everything around her faded to black.
***
William saw it all from the chicken coop. He saw the man clad in all black wielding a shotgun. He saw Maddie open the door. He heard Maddie scream for help. He saw the intruder butt the shotgun against Maddie’s face, and he saw the woman collapse.
William saw it all, yet he was helpless to stop it. His mind was racing as he watched the log cabin from the safety of the hen house. He wished more than anything that he could see through the log walls of the cabin. But he couldn’t. All he knew was that he was supposed to be protecting Maddie and Bessie in his father’s absence, and right now Maddie and Bessie were in the log cabin with a strange man.
Panic gripped William’s heart, and he realized what he had to do. He knew he had to get this right. He was Maddie and Bessie’s only home.
Without another moment of hesitation, the young boy crept out of the hen house and made a dash for the stable. Buttercup, the cart horse, was inside enjoying her supper of hay. She wasn’t William’s first choice, but she was the only choice he had.
The Outlaw’s Bride (Mail Order Bride Adventures) Page 4