Abiding Love

by Melody Morgan

  She charged ahead, anxious to see her daughter, barely aware of the boy and man who passed her, nodding a greeting.

  Jonathan stared at the woman in the wrinkled dress with a frown etched deeply between her brows. After she hurried past them going in the opposite direction, he nudged Ross.

  "She looks meaner than old Mrs. Wilson," he said. A few moments of silence passed, then he continued thoughtfully. "They're probably sisters."

  Ross laughed. "Just so she isn't old Miss Barrett's sister, right?"

  Jonathan stared at Ross. He didn't see any humor at all in those words. With his luck, she could very well be.

  Ross laughed again and tousled his hair. "Cheer up. She's too old to be Miss Barrett's sister, and not nearly good-looking enough."

  Ross was teasing him, he decided, and he returned the smile. He really liked Ross, especially the way he made a little boy feel good inside. And Jonathan hadn't felt this good inside for a long time.

  Chapter Four

  Winnie Barrett crossed Irene's porch and pushed the door open, tsk-tsking aloud about her daughter's habit of never locking it. This might be a small town, she thought, stepping inside and crossing to the parlor, but even so, one could never be too careful. She made a mental note to say so, again.

  "Irene?" she called, poking her head inside the empty parlor. "Are you here?"

  "Yes, ma'am, she is."

  Winnie whirled, her hand braced against her chest where her heart gave one great thump before evening out again.

  "Oh! Goodness gracious!" Winnie frowned. "Child, you oughten to frighten an old woman that way."

  "I'm sorry. I thought you heard me."

  "No. I most certainly did not." Winnie eyed the girl with an assessing glance, starting with the neatly braided hair on down the well-starched apron to the sturdy black shoes. "And who might you be?"

  "I'm Lydia," she answered, smiling. "Who are you?"

  Winnie's head moved a notch back on her spine while her eyes rounded in surprise at the girl's forwardness. "I'mI'm Irene's mother."

  "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Barrett."

  Somewhat mollified by the correctness of Lydia's manners, although still puzzled by her presence, Winnie halfheartedly returned the girl's smile. "Well, where is she?"

  "In the kitchen," Lydia said, pointing in that direction.

  Winnie held up her hand as if to say she didn't need directions and marched to the back of the house with Lydia right behind her.

  Irene stood with her back to the door, working at the table.

  "Who was it, Lydia?" she called over her shoulder.

  "See for yourself," Winnie said.

  Irene spun around, her hand to her heart. "Mother!"

  "Yes, and a little worse for wear, I do declare," she said, brushing at the wrinkles in her clothing. "Don't just stand there with your mouth open wide enough to catch flies, give me a hug. And I don't want to hear anything about why didn't I write first. A mother has a right to show up unexpectedly now and then."

  Irene embraced her mother and kissed her cheek. Winnie returned the hug, noticing that her daughter hadn't put on one ounce of weight. If anything, she was a little thinner.

  "How did you get here? And why didn't you"

  "No, no. I told you not to ask me that."

  Still in shock, Irene watched while her mother pulled the pearl-tipped hatpins from her hat. She wasn't sure if she was glad to see her or not. The timing certainly couldn't have been worse.

  "I'll take your hat, Mrs. Barrett." Lydia extended her hand.

  Winnie handed her the hat with the pins inserted, then patiently waited until Lydia left the room. With a look aimed directly at her daughter, she raised both eyebrows, obviously awaiting an explanation.

  ''It's a long story, Mother," Irene said, familiar with every unspoken word implied by the tilt of her mother's head or the lift of an eyebrow.

  "Well, I've got plenty of time," Winnie returned, pulling out a chair and seating herself.

  "I really don't think now is the"

  "I do." Her small chin jutted stubbornly.

  With only a slight hesitation, Irene gave in and sat opposite her mother.

  "The children are orphans. They're only staying here until I can locate a relative," Irene said calmly, hoping to allay Winnie's concerns.

  "Children?" Winnie's eyes widened until Irene could almost count each eyelash surrounding the vivid blue eyes. "There are more?"

  "Yes. Lydia's brother, Jonathan."

  A silence filled the room and the familiar unspoken word, disapproval, hung like a frown.

  "Irene, whatever are you doing taking in orphans?"

  That uncomfortable and irritating feeling of inadequacy descended. Irene replied, "I didn't exactly go in search of orphans, Mother. They simply appeared."

  "Appeared." Winnie looked skeptical. Once more silence settled on Irene. "Well, that does sound simple enough."

  "I could hardly send them out into the night with no place to go, could I?" Irene went on defensively, wishing she didn't have to explain her every action and motive.

  "Hardly." Then with an apparent change of heart, Winnie reached out for Irene's hand and held it gently. "I'm afraid we've gotten off to a bad start. What do you say we talk about this later, after I've rested and gotten settled in?"

  Irene gladly conceded, although she knew that with a little more time her mother would probably have marshaled more tactics and strategies than a general going into battle.

  Setting aside her preparations for supper, Irene and Lydia helped Winnie get the small traveling trunk and two sturdy valises upstairs, where a decision had to be made concerning who would sleep where. Finally, it was agreed upon that Winnie would take the front bedroom now occupied by Jonathan, and he would sleep on a cot in Lydia's room. The whole episode was so exhausting, on top of that tiring canal trip, that Winnie simply had to lie down before having tea.

  Back in the kitchen, Irene made herself a pot of chamomile tea, which she was sure couldn't calm her nerves even if she drank the entire pot.

  "I like your mother," Lydia said, lifting a lid and adding more wood to the cookstove. "I think she's funny."

  Irene finished cutting up the potatoes and added them to the barely simmering beef soup. "I can assure you, she doesn't intend to be humorous."

  Lydia glanced up. "I'm glad you told me. I wouldn't want to laugh and make her angry. I almost did when she called herself an old woman. She isn't at all an old woman, not like Mrs. Wilson is."

  "Lydia," Irene scolded gently.

  "Well, it's true. But I wouldn't say that to anyone but you. And Jonathan. He's terrified of Mrs. Wilson."

  "She means well." Irene spoke aloud the words she'd been saying to herself for the last several years.

  For the next few moments, they worked side by side with only the clink of dishes interrupting the silence as Lydia placed them on the table. Irene stirred the soup, thinking about her mother and feeling uneasy with her sudden appearance. Lydia lit a lamp to dispel the lengthening shadows, although outdoors the darkness had yet to come. Then the quiet was broken as the back door burst open.

  "Lydia!" Jonathan yelled, rushing inside. "See what I caught!"

  With the spoon poised over the cooking pot, Irene's thoughts were jolted from her. Standing there proudly in front of Lydia, Jonathan held up a fish on the end of his fishing line. Behind him Ross Hollister stepped through the doorway like an exaggerated shadow.

  "Evening, Miss Barrett. I hope he isn't too late for supper, but I didn't have the heart to make him quit until he'd caught his fish." Ross tousled Jonathan's hair. "And he sure got a fine one."

  Staring at the occasional wiggle of the dying fish, Irene restrained herself from wrinkling her nose at the smell surrounding it.

  "Yes, he did," she said at last. "And it's a big one, too."

  "Big enough to eat!" Jonathan said with enthusiasm.

  Lydia stepped forward. "Well, you'd better get it cleaned before it spo
ils."

  Jonathan lifted suddenly somber eyes. "Could Ross eat it with us?" he asked quietly. "He helped me catch it."

  Glancing up, Irene caught the surprise registered on Ross's face as he raised a hand, shaking his head. "Wait a minute, pal. You caught that fish all by yourself."

  "But it's your pole."

  "That doesn't mean I'd have caught that fish if I'd been holding it. Besides," he added with a wink, "I don't think it's polite to ask myself for dinner."

  "You didn't. I did."

  From the moment Ross Hollister stepped through her door, Irene had forced herself to respond calmly to his presence. She reminded herself that not once, but twice, he had gone out of his way to offer friendship to a small boy. And now that she saw him in a different environment and under different circumstances, she was surprised that he seemed so much less forbidding than when they'd first met. But how open-minded dared she be? After all, a man in his line of work could hardly expect his life to be an example for any child.

  Yet it was easy to see that Jonathan had allowed Ross Hollister access to a part of himself reserved for no one but Lydia. In spite of all the reassuring things Irene had tried to do, she could not reach him.

  In a fraction of a second, she weighed the consequences of having the saloon owner stay for dinner and Jonathan's disappointment if he didn't. And with a touch of defiance, she quelled the nagging worry over what her mother would undoubtedly say.

  "I think Jonathan's right, Mr. Hollister. It's only fair that you should share Jonathan's fish."

  Ross glanced from her to Jonathan and back at her again until she became uncomfortable and had to look away.

  "She said it's all right," Jonathan appealed.

  "Set another place, Lydia," Irene said, turning back to the now boiling soup. She pushed it to a cooler spot on the range, glad to have something that needed doing. If she allowed her mind to dwell on her decision too long, she would begin to regret it.

  "Let's clean it, Ross. I'll bet it's gonna taste good."

  "Sure thing," Ross answered.

  After Lydia supplied them with the necessary pan and knife, the two disappeared out the back door. Irene brought out a heavy skillet and prepared to fry the fish. Within minutes they were back, and the smell of fish soon permeated the room.

  Irene turned the fish in the hot skillet when one side had browned, all the while being fully aware of the presence of a man in her kitchen. Before tonight she hadn't noticed how small the room actually was, but now it felt confining and threatened to close in on her.

  When Ross and Jonathan washed up at the basin and dried their hands, Irene walked around the other side of the table to avoid bumping into Ross when she hung up her apron. Unaware of her trip around the table, he stepped sideways away from the basin right into her path.

  Quickly, Irene raised her hand to push at his shoulder in order to prevent him from treading on her toes. His head turned and their gazes collided.

  "Excuse me," they each said at once.

  "I was just trying to get out of your way," he went on apologetically.

  At that moment, Winnie Barrett walked in, exclaiming, "What is that dreadful smell?"

  A sinking sensation, not unlike what that unwitting fish must have felt when he took the bait on Jonathan's line, grabbed at Irene's stomach.

  The lift of one eyebrow on her mother's face and the tilt of her head had the effect of a shouted word, and Irene hastily removed her hand from Ross's shoulder, then stepped behind the chair where Jonathan sat.

  "Mother, this is Jonathan, Lydia's brother. And this is Ross Hollister. He was kind enough to take Jonathan fishing." Irene knew she'd left a lot unsaid, but she was sure saying more wouldn't improve the situation at all.

  "I see." Winnie glanced apprehensively at the stove. "And we're all to share the bounty of this expedition? How nice."

  The small table had a fifth chair crowded at one corner, which Jonathan quickly occupied in hopes that Ross would sit beside him. With a feeling of impending doom, he stared at the woman Miss Barrett said was her mother. He glanced at Ross, but Ross was looking at Miss Barrett.

  Lydia saved Irene some embarrassment by taking the other seat next to Ross, which was normally Irene's.

  When all were seated, the soup bowls filled, and a small portion of the single fish lay upon each dish, Winnie fastened a disbelieving stare on Jonathan's plate.

  "Is something wrong, Mother?" Irene asked, almost fearful of the answer.

  "Irene, you're not going to allow that child to eat that, are you? Those bones are extremely hazardous."

  "I know how to eat fish," Jonathan said, his old defiance surfacing.

  "Indeed," Winnie said, obviously taken aback.

  Ross cleared his throat and everyone's attention riveted on his smiling face. "Ole Jonathan here is a veteran fisherman. You should have seen him cleaning this fish. Anyone who can clean a fish like that sure hadn't ought to have any trouble eating it." He winked at the boy and Jonathan smiled back.

  Some of the tension in the air cleared, at least for Irene, and the meal proceeded on a less strained note. Everyone ate their fish, except for Winnie, who carefully pushed the dish aside and opted for the beef soup instead, unaware that her selection had been noticed by each of the others at the table.

  When the meal was finished, Ross pushed his chair back.

  "That's the best fish, and soup, I've had in a long time. And the first I've had sitting in someone's kitchen," he said, smiling at Irene.

  "Really?" Winnie asked, her undivided attention resting on Ross.

  "Yes, ma'am. The restaurant folks don't care too much to have their patrons underfoot while they're cooking," he replied, grinning.

  "Then you don't have a home of your own?" Winnie continued.

  "No. I live up at the old inn. At least for now."

  "For now?"

  Irene recognized when her mother was settling in for a long siege of questioning. She had done the same to Andrew and been well satisfiedor more truthfully, charmed. But Irene knew that these questions could only lead to disaster.

  "Mother, I don't think we should detain Mr. Hollister. He's a busy man."

  "Oh?" Winnie's gaze shifted from Irene back to Ross. "What do you do, sir?"

  Irene held her breath.

  "He unloads the barges," Jonathan piped in proudly before Ross could answer. "I watched him."

  With a grateful heart, Irene released the breath held in her lungs.

  "Actually, I own the Broken Keg Saloon in town," Ross answered. "But I unload barges, too," he said with a grin for Jonathan.

  Winnie's back visibly stiffened, and her cool blue eyes suddenly froze over as she fixed him with a glacial stare across the crowded table.

  "Saloon?" she croaked.

  The embarrassment Irene experienced at that moment was close to actual physical pain. Not only for herself but, surprisingly, for Ross Hollister too. It was not easy to withstand Winnie Barrett's haughtiness when she brought the full impact of it down upon one's head, deserving or not.

  "Yes, ma'am. But that's only been a recent occurrence. Actually, I'm a miner."

  "Coal?" she asked, her voice brittle.

  Ross shook his head. "Gold."

  Irene slid a glance at her mother's profile. Even Lucy Wainwright's tight corsets couldn't improve Winnie's posture.

  "Then are you here to stay, Mr. Hollister?" Winnie went on icily.

  "Mother." Irene spoke softly, but the edge in her voice dropped the last syllable noticeably lower than the first.

  Ross shrugged, appearing nonplussed by the verbal barrage. "I like Grand Rapids, but I haven't really decided."

  He rose from his seat. "Well, your daughter is right, I do have to be going." To Irene he said, "Thank you for inviting me."

  She nodded her head and politely answered, "You're welcome."

  Jonathan jumped from his chair, grabbing Ross's coat. "Can we go fishing again?"

  "Sure. I'll be kind of busy f
or a while but you can come down and watch me unload barges if you want."

  "Okay." A mild disappointment sounded in Jonathan's voice.

  Ross patted the boy's shoulder. "Well, I'd better be going. Thanks again."

  When the door closed behind Ross, Irene self-consciously prepared the dishwater while Lydia quietly scraped plates and Jonathan escaped out the back door, voluntarily bringing in water and wood for the morning.

  Winnie stood vigorously rolling up her sleeves.

  "We'll do the dishes, Mother. Why don't you sit down and have a cup of tea? It's been a long day for you." Irene sent up a silent prayer, hoping to avoid a discussion of Ross Hollister.

  "Thank you, dear, that does sound very nice," Winnie said, seating herself at the now cleared table. She took the offered cup of tea and smiled perceptively at her daughter, then lowered her voice, saying, "We'll talk about things later."

  Cringing, Irene resigned herself to what was sure to come, then gave her attention to the dishes.

  "Those canal boats might be wonderful means of transportation," Winnie went on, "if you're a crate of goods that is, but I don't believe I'll ever willingly set foot on one again. My backside will never be the same."

  "You should have taken a train, Mother."

  "If I'd known you had a . . . friend who could pick me up at the station in Toledo, I would have."

  In exasperation, Irene turned around slowly. "He's not my friend, Mother, and you could have taken the train from Toledo to here."

  Winnie noncommittally sipped her tea.

  "And if you had written" Irene began, annoyance creeping into her voice..

  "Now, we've already discussed that," Winnie interrupted, setting her daughter straight once more.

  Turning her back, Irene washed the last of the dishes with a little more splashing than was necessary. Never before had she been so truly irritated with her mother. She couldn't help thinking that if it had been Andrew sitting there, the conversationnot to mention the atmospherewould have been entirely different. Everyone loved Andrew. But, she reminded herself, not everyone knew Andrew as well as she did.

  Lydia hung her towel on a peg to dry. "I guess I'd better go find Jonathan and tell him he'll be sleeping in my room." And she disappeared through the back door just as her brother had twenty minutes earlier.