Abiding Love

by Melody Morgan

Suffocating, she lifted her head from the pillow to see the room bathed once more in moonlight. Snuggling down into the warmth, she closed her eyes, inviting sleep while her thoughts lingered over the warm memory.

  But Ross's other words intruded into her brain: "I heard you were coming."

  With a gasp she sat up. He'd known all about it! He'd known she'd be there even though the meeting at Clara's had been a secret. How had he heard? Then she remembered the smug look on her mother's face and the I-told-you-so look she'd flung at Irene upon her return to the house tonight. She had almost overlooked both the statement and its implication.

  Ambushed by her own mother! Of all the insufferable things she'd been through, this was the most humiliating.

  Angrily, she flung back the covers and, mindless of the penetrating cold, stormed from her room on bare feet. Without a knock or even asking permission to enter, Irene burst in upon the sleeping Winnie.

  ''Mother." Irene stood over the bed, her body shaking more from anger than from cold. "Wake up," she said, none too gently.

  "What is it?" Winnie asked, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

  "Did you or did you not tell Ross Hollister that there would be a protest at the saloon tonight and that I would be there?"

  Winnie sat up, leaning back against the headboard and pulling the blankets around her. "Irene, you'll catch your death running around with nothing on but your gown."

  "Never mind that. Did you or didn't you?" She crossed her arms in irritation.

  "As a matter of"

  "Mother! How could you?" Irene cried, flopping her arms against her sides.

  "Well, I thought if he knew, then he"

  "Then he could haul me out bottom-up in front of the whole town just to humiliate me! Is that right?"

  "The whole town?" Winnie frowned in the moonlit room. "Really, dear, I think you're exag"

  "Why did you do it?" Irene paced the floor near the bed, stamping her foot once for emphasis.

  "I didn't tell him so he could . . . Did you say bottomup?" Winnie sat straighter. "Oh, Irene, the fix you've gotten yourself into this time."

  "Me? I didn't ask Clara Wilson to start protesting against the saloons or ask to be included. I don't need anyone to manage my life for me. Not even you!" She dropped into a chair in the shadows, cocooning her feet under her gown.

  "Irene, what has gotten into you?" Winnie swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "This just isn't like you."

  "This just isn't like me? Well, what is like me, Mother? How should I behave? What should I say?"

  Suddenly tired, Irene shook her head. Why did she feel so confused when it was all so very clear? Obviously,

  everyone wanted to control her life, but it was her life and she should make the decisions. What was so difficult about that?

  Everything.

  Curling her toes against the cold floor, Winnie walked to stand beside her daughter, laying a hand on the dark head. "You're tired. You need to get some rest. We can talk about this in the morning," she said gently.

  Looking up at her mother, Irene knew it would be useless to press the issue. Sighing, she replied, "I suppose you're right." When she rose from the chair, Winnie put an arm around her waist, ushering her to the door.

  "Good night, dear," she said softly.

  Without answering, Irene walked back to her room.

  Ross swept up a pile of glass, twinkling in the bright morning sun that spilled through the open door of the saloon.

  "Heard you had a ruckus in here last night."

  Glancing up, he saw Howard leaning against the door jamb.

  With a wry half-smile, Ross nodded. "I've seen vigilante parties that were friendlier." He propped the broom against the wall. "Come on in, Howard. How about some coffee?"

  "Sure." Howard stepped around the broken glass and followed Ross to one of the few tables with four legs. Then he searched for a chair stable enough to sit on while Ross brought out two mugs of steaming coffee.

  With a salute of his own mug, Ross sat gingerly on a nearby chair, testing it for strength. "Here's to women," he said with a frown.

  Howard lifted his cup in agreement, although he figured his toast was more sincere.

  "What brings you here?" Ross took a swallow of coffee. Right from the beginning, he'd liked Howard. He was honest, straightforward, and didn't mind having an opinion that differed from others.

  Howard set his cup down and looked around. "Curiosity."

  Ross nodded. "I suspect half the town will be by here today. That's why I left the door open. No sense making them miserable with wondering." Sarcasm crept into his every word, but he didn't care. "You think they've had their fill yet?"

  "I hope so. At least I know Emma won't be a part of it anymore."

  "She wasn't here last night if that's what you're wondering about."

  Howard shook his head. "No. She was home last night with me. She has no interest in vandalism for any reason. Especially now." He grinned proudly. "She's expecting."

  Setting his cup down first, Ross reached across the table and clapped him hard on the back. "Congratulations! You're a lucky man, Howard." And he meant that.

  "I know. Sometimes . . . well, I can hardly believe it myself."

  They sat in silence for a few moments, Howard contemplating the fullness of life ahead of him and Ross feeling the emptiness of the future stretch out before him.

  "Are you going to clean up and get back in business?" Howard asked.

  "I don't know." He took another swallow of coffee and wished he could ward off any more questions he didn't have answers for.

  "This isn't the best line of business, you know."

  Squinting one eye at his friend, Ross asked, "Did Clara send you here?"

  With a deep chuckle, Howard answered, "No."

  Finishing his coffee, Ross leaned back in the rickety chair.

  "I guess I was just thinking about your gold mine. It must be doing all right. How long have you been mining?"

  Ross glanced at Howard before answering. Should he tell the whole story or just skirt the issue? He'd hoped to get a fresh start and leave the past behind, but could he do that honestly? He guessed he'd have to try.

  "Jeff and I have been bustin' rock for about seven years." He shrugged. "It pays enough, but I doubt if we'll get rich. 'Course, don't tell Jeff I said that. He's damn sure we'll be stinking rich every time he swings that pick." Ross smiled. "I'm afraid he's got the fever. I suppose he'll be heading on to better places if this one doesn't pan out."

  "You sound as though you never caught the fever." Howard drained his cup then sat back with interest to wait for Ross's answer.

  Shaking his head, Ross said, "Not really."

  "So why are you wasting your time with mining?"

  Surprised at Howard's perception, Ross answered truthfully, "I don't know. I guess there hasn't been anything better come along."

  Changing the subject, Ross asked, "How well do you know my brother?"

  "In business only. Harry sold me that piece of ground with a cabin on it."

  "Tilly's place?"

  "I believe that's what Harry called it, too." Idly, Howard turned the mug in a circle on the table. "He sold it to buy this saloon. But I don't know what I'm going to do with it, since it's all grown to brush and the cabin needs repair."

  "Sure does. I was out there in the fall with Irene."

  Howard glanced up.

  "I didn't know it belonged to you. Or anyone for that matter."

  "Irene?" Howard asked, surprise in his voice.

  "Yes. Why, does that surprise you?" Ross asked.

  "It doesn't. Exactly."

  "Exactly?" Ross prodded.

  "Well, it's just that since Andrew left town, she's pretty much kept to her house."

  "Who the hell is Andrew?"

  "Her fiance and my ex-business partner," he replied drily.

  Leaning his arms on the table, Ross bent forward. "Fiance?"

  "Don't look so surprised. Irene'
s a good-looking woman, in case you hadn't noticed." He threw Ross a good-natured smile.

  "Why didn't they get married?"

  "That's a mystery that even Emma doesn't know the answer to."

  "Mystery?" Ross prodded again.

  Nodding, Howard went on. "Actually, they almost did get married. Got clear to the altar, then she said no and turned and ran. People haven't stopped talking about it yet."

  Ross couldn't picture it. Irene standing before the whole town and saying no. What could have made her do it?

  "That was five years ago. When he left, they must have agreed that she'd keep the house he'd bought for them. But that's pure speculation on my part. I only know that Andrew borrowed a great deal of money from me before Catching a train to who knows where. After that, Irene bought out his share of our business."

  "You mean, she's your business partner?"

  Howard nodded. "But it's an investment-type business for her, since she's not involved in the store. Not like Andrew was. Thank God."

  Sitting back in his seat, Ross stared vacantly at Howard. "Holy . . ." He'd wondered how she could afford a house like that on a teacher's salary. And the clothes she wore were always of a fine quality. "Well, I'll be."

  Stretching back in his own seat, Howard said, "She has everything she'll ever need. Almost."

  Not hearing the "almost," Ross spoke his thoughts. "It's a wonder Harry wasn't after her. He has a nose for money, especially where women are concerned."

  "Wouldn't have mattered if he was. Irene hasn't taken up with a man since Andrew. And, truthfully, I can't remember anyone before Andrew either." Watching Ross carefully, he added, "She's a lovely woman."

  "I know," he said thoughtfully, staring into his empty coffee mug. Then he looked up. "But she's pretty hard to understand."

  "Not really."

  "Then explain to me why she lets people like Clara Wilson talk her into doing things like this"he glanced around the broken saloon"when she doesn't want to."

  Shrugging, Howard replied, "Seems to me she's the kind of person who tries to avoid conflict. You know, the kind of conflict that goes on inside of you."

  He did know. From the beginning, he could see she only wanted life to run smoothly, bending when she needed to bend to make it so. He wondered if life had been smooth for her when Andrew was around.

  "What would Andrew have said about the saloon protests?"

  Howard replied, "He wouldn't have tolerated it. Andrew had a way of controlling situations. And particularly people, if he could. You know, in a charming sort of way," he added with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "It worked pretty well in business. Unfortunately, he didn't confine his charm to business only, if you catch my meaning."

  Ross did catch his meaning. Andrew had been twotiming Irene, and she'd found him out. That was all Ross needed to know to decide he didn't like Andrew and it would be best if they never met.

  "Then maybe giving her the house was his way of controlling Irene even after he'd gone?" Ross suggested.

  "That's very likely, knowing Andrew as I did." Then to be fair, Howard added, "I suppose he loved her. He just had a strange way of showing it."

  "And then," Howard went on, "there's Mrs. Barrett. Who, I'm sure, means just as well."

  "Sounds like too many well-meaning people to me."

  "Without a doubt."

  Pushing away from the table, Howard stood. "I'd better get back to the store. Emma will be wondering where I've gone." He walked to the doorway and turned. "Of course, when I tell her I was here, she'll be full of questions." He smiled and shook his head, lifting his hand in farewell. Then suddenly remembering his reason for coming, he stopped. "I almost forgot. That furniture you ordered should be in day after tomorrow. You know, for your . . ." He pointed a finger at the ceiling, grinning. "Brothel. And by the way, when do these women start arriving?"

  Perplexed, Ross only stared at him. Then it dawned.

  "Is that what this was all about?" he shouted angrily, his arm flung out to encompass the destruction surrounding him. "An upstairs whorehouse?"

  Still grinning, Howard said, "I'm afraid so."

  "Who started that rumor?"

  "That's the one thing I haven't heard." Once again he raised his hand in farewell. "I'd better be going."

  After Howard had gone, Ross sat staring at the open doorway and at the snow piled outside in the street. The fresh winter air crept in and settled around him in spite of the warm sunshine slanting over the threshold.

  So tongues were wagging because they thought he was planning a brothel. Had Irene heard the same thing? Undoubtedly. Clara would certainly have seen to it that she did. Well, let them worry. He didn't give a damn what they said or what they thought. Scraping back his chair, he strode to the doorway and grabbed the broom. He'd mind his business, and they could mind theirs. From now on, he'd hire someone to stand guard at both doors if necessary to keep the do-gooders out.

  Clenching his jaw, Ross pushed the broom harder, creating a dust storm.

  As for Irene, it was high time she looked them all in the eye and thumbed her nose. And he was just the man to help her do it, whether she knew it or not.

  For several days Irene avoided everyone. At school she avoided Clara as much as possible, speaking only when others were present. She avoided Emma entirely, feeling somehow that she'd been abandoned by her once-close friend. And of course, she refused to even talk to Winnie, the root of her embarrassment, if not her entire problem. Instead, she concentrated on preparing her lessons and devoted a good amount of time to planning the Christmas pageant.

  Staying busy soothed her. And it kept her thoughts from straying to Ross.

  With less than a week until Christmas, she immersed herself in the Christmas play. Mary and Joseph knew their parts well, as did the sheep, the cows, and the stars in the night sky. Even so, the dress rehearsal scheduled for that evening had Irene in a high state of anxiousness.

  She tugged her gloves snugly into place, going over in her mind for the thirtieth time the order in which the children would enter the stage. The stars first, then the angels. She wished they had a proper stage with a curtain, but there was no help for it but to use the raised platform where her desk sat. At least the classroom was bigger than the one she'd had before the new school was built, so she'd have plenty of seating for parents.

  "Are we ready to go?" she asked, looking at Lydia and Jonathan.

  Both faces smiled eagerly back. "Yes," they answered, costumes in their hands.

  Irene had been more than a little surprised at Jonathan's willing participation. She'd allowed the children to choose the minor parts they preferred to play, hoping that would infuse some enthusiasm. For the most part it had worked. Especially for Jonathan, who chose to be a star. Lightly, she brushed at his straight brown hair, an amused smile creeping to the corners of her lips when she remembered his reply to her question of why did he choose a star. Very seriously, he'd answered that he'd always wondered what it would be like to hang above the world and see everything happening at one time. And he figured the stars could see as much as an angel without having so much work to do.

  Smiling broadly, Jonathan said, "I'm ready."

  As usual, Jonathan was out the door first, leading the way through the frosty night. He raced down the hill, then up the other side, slipping and falling occasionally but enjoying every minute of it.

  Beside Irene, Lydia walked sedately, mindful of the slippery spots.

  "Are you nervous?" she asked Irene.

  "Yes. I suppose I am," she answered, tilting her head to look at the intuitive girl. "But I don't know why." She smiled and put an arm around Lydia's shoulder to give her a quick squeeze. "All of you have done such a fine job, and I'm sure it will go smoothly."

  "I think so too."

  And it did. The homemade gowns were short enough that the angels didn't trip and their wire halos didn't fall. The sheep were peacefully herded to the right side of the stage away from the cows without a
single scuffle, while the stars carefully stood on chairs looking over the wooden crate that served as a manger. And Mary and Joseph spoke their lines with almost no prompting from Irene.

  With a sigh of relief, Irene applauded to signal "the end." A few parents standing around the perimeter of the room, waiting to walk the children home, clapped in appreciation also.

  "You sure have a way with kids." Ross's hushed voice came from directly behind her.

  Before her eyes, the room suddenly reeled and the din from two dozen children held restrained for too long filled her ears. Dazed, she turned to see him, hat in hand, smiling with that same mischievous twinkle in his gray-blue eyes.

  "I heard you were having a rehearsal tonight, and I thought you might need some help moving chairs," he said, still grinning.

  "IIwell, no. But thank you, anyway." She felt the stares of several women searing her.

  "Well," he shrugged, "since I'm already here I might as well be useful." He scanned the small group of fathers in attendance, calling to one he knew. Not in the least embarrassed, the man nodded and ambled over to join Ross. "Give me a hand, Ira."

  "Sure thing, Ross."

  They hoisted the heavy desk up onto the platform, but Irene turned her attention to helping the children with difficult buttons and scarves that wouldn't stay tied. Her hands shook, and she bit her lip in an effort to concentrate on each small task before her. Why had he come? Her mind echoed the words until she was sure that everyone could hear them. Was he trying to humiliate her even further?

  In a blur, the faces of a few mothers passed near her, uttering their farewells while most of the others simply left without a word of good-bye.

  Then he was there beside her holding her coat.

  Awkwardly, she pushed her arm into the sleeve, trying not to get close to him. While avoiding looking at him, she glanced around the now empty room, once more restored to its original classroom arrangement. A sort of peace descended on her.

  "I'll walk you home."

  Turning to look at him now, she saw that the twinkle was gone, replaced by something else. A challenge. And she remembered her own words spoken to him and to her mother"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself . . . I don't need anyone to manage my life for me."