Abiding Love

by Melody Morgan

  Winnie had the presence of mind not to allow her mouth to hang open in astonishment, but just barely.

  "Well," Emma went on, "all I've got to say is, thank the good Lord that Irene had sense enough not to marry him.

  And leaving him standing at the altar was certainly what he deserved."

  Unable to gather her wits about her, Winnie decided she'd best take her leave. "Yes. Uh, I guess I'll be going. . . ." She turned to leave.

  "Ahem. That will be two dollars."

  "Oh, of course." She dug in her purse for the proper coins and paid for her merchandise.

  "Tell Irene hello for me," Emma said.

  With no more than a slight wave of her hand, Winnie hurried out the door and dashed up the street.

  Irene had used her inheritance to cover up Andrew's shortcomings. And all these years, Winnie had been berating her daughter for passing up the most wonderful man a woman could want! Posh! What an old fool she was for not being able to see the truth. As for Andrewwell, he was a smooth-talking, good-for-nothing dandy! And if he knew what was good for him, he'd not darken her daughter's doorstep any too soon. Now that she had the facts straight, she would send him merrilyor maybe not so merrilyon his way.

  Ross had wrestled with his thoughts all morning, thoughts about Irene, his past, and even his future. And this wasn't the only morning he'd struggled with them. He'd barely gotten a wink of sleep for several nights, not since that fateful day of the picnic.

  Securing a chain to the small stump for removal, he figured his disposition was suitable for the job at hand. Standing beside the horse, he coaxed the animal to ease into the tension, pulling, pulling until the stump slid free of the ground. His own muscles strained with the urge to help.

  He had gained little in his attempts to come to a conclusion about his situation with Irene. Physical labor relieved the need to do something but accomplished nothing in his search for answers.

  Once more his mind traveled over the alternatives. He could try to explain the truth by telling the whole story and letting her decide. But he'd seen the expression on her face, felt her distancing herself from him. Hadn't she already decided? Perhaps he should leave town and go back to mining. No, he would rather stay and torture himself with being close to her even though she would never be his. The torture could only be worse if he never saw her at all. So what choice did he really have? Even though it was undoubtedly too late for explanations, he guessed he'd never know for sure unless he tried. Having made that decision, he put his mind and muscle into finishing the work he'd begun. On his way back to the saloon, he'd stop at Irene's and talk with herthat was, if she'd even allow him in the door.

  Andrew waited in the late afternoon sunshine for Irene to answer her back door. He'd hoped to talk with her privately; there was so much to say.

  When she finally opened the door, he could only stare. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.

  "Hello, Irene."

  "Hello, Andrew."

  She stepped outside, closing the door behind her. "Mother told me you were in town."

  He smiled, remembering Winnie Barrett. "How is she?"

  She nodded. "Unchanged, I'd say."

  "And you?"

  Irene studied him. There was something different about the way he watched her, about the way he waited for her to speak. It was almost as though he really cared.

  "I'm well."

  "You look" He stopped. Then he looked down at his feet with an embarrassed grin on his face before glancing up again. "I was about to say, you look as lovely as ever. But I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I didn't come here just to flatter you. I'm a changed man, Irene."

  She held her silence.

  "I came to apologize. And to thank you."

  With a quizzical frown, she waited for him to go on.

  "To apologize for my behavior and the hurt I caused you. And to thank you for setting us free. Both of us." He paused, then gently took her hand. "You were right not to marry me." He turned her hand over, then clasped it warmly between both of his. "I won't say my pride wasn't wounded. It was. But I learned a lesson that's served me well."

  Seeing him like this, earnest and honest, she realized that she harbored no ill will toward him. As a matter of fact, she felt nothing at all. Somewhere along the line she'd left the pain and hurt of his betrayal behind. How had that happened? she wondered. Then Ross's face came to her, and she knew it was because of her love for him that she had released that long-ago love for Andrew. Perhaps she'd never really loved him at all.

  "My life has changed and for the better. I hope it has for you, too." He let her hand go. "I'm getting married next month." He smiled. "This time it's for real."

  "Congratulations," she replied, and she meant it. If he was releasing her from the past, then she could release him.

  "I only came back to make things right with the folks in town. I'll be leaving in the morning. But I had to see you and tell you how I felt." Quickly, he leaned toward her and kissed her cheek.

  The myriad of feelings that swarmed over her had nothing to do with what might have been. There were no regrets for the way it all turned out. It would have been wrong for them to marry. She'd known it then, and he knew it now. She was glad to be able to put this part of her life in a proper perspective. It was truly over for both of them.

  Ross halted the horses alongside the bridge, feeling like a Peeping Tom although it was broad daylight.

  ''Whoa," he called softly as he caught sight of Irene with a stranger in the back yard. Then the hair on the back of his neck rose when he saw the stranger kiss her. His first thought was that the man looked a lot like what he suspected Andrew must look like. The thought didn't set well, and he knew instinctively that he was fight.

  Andrew was back in town. But why? And what could he have to say to Irene that she would be willing to listen to?

  Icicles of fear coursed through his veins in spite of the warmth of the day. Whatever it was that had brought Andrew to Grand Rapids couldn't have come at a worse time. The scene he was witnessing told him that the former fiance wanted his old position back, and he, Ross, had just left that area wide open. Anger rose within him at the unfairness of it all.

  With a shake of the reins, he slapped the backs of the horses and set them in motion.

  As if she'd felt his eyes on her, Irene turned to catch him staring her way. She stood waiting, and he was not going to pass up the opportunity to talk with her, whether Andrew was there or not. He pulled the team around to the shed and climbed down.

  The smoke from the chimney told him they were preparing supper. How many times before had he stopped by and been invited to stay? And what would his reception be this time? He whacked his dusty hat against his thigh. Only one way to find out, he told himself.

  Irene's heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. It was good to see him again, so very good to see him, and they did need to talk. But her thoughts were incoherent, and she hardly knew where to begin. Andrew's visit had triggered a landslide of emotions, all of them freed at once.

  Unable to ignore what he had witnessed, Ross skipped the amenities and asked straightforwardly, with only a glance for the other man, "An old friend?"

  She nodded. "Ross, this is Andrew."

  His body stiffened. He was fight. What else was he right about? That maybe Andrew wanted her back and she figured he was a better choice than himself?.

  "He just came to say good-bye." She kept smiling, staring up into those summer-blue eyes and seeing the concern he felt over Andrew's visit.

  Andrew offered his hand. "Hello," he said, smiling.

  Ross stared at it, not moving, unwilling to give this man even a modicum of friendliness until he knew for sure what he was up to.

  The moment became awkward.

  With an apologetic shake of his head, Andrew withdrew his hand. "I guess my reputation has preceded me," he said.

  Ross's silence, as well as his stiff bearing, said that it had.

 
"If it's of any value to you, I've already given my apologies to Irene," Andrew went on. Turning to Irene, he said, "Well, I've got a few more calls to make, then I'll be on my way."

  "Thank you for stopping," Irene replied sincerely.

  He nodded, gave a small salute, and placed his hat upon his head before turning away.

  When he had rounded the comer, she reached out and laid her hand on Ross's arm. "I'm glad you came by. I've been wanting to talk to you."

  "About him?" he replied, his voice unyielding.

  "No," she answered. "I'm sorry for doubting you," she replied softly. She needed to say more, but she had to take her time and sort through her thoughts before she spoke. "It was simply an old hurt that got in the way. I reacted without thinking. I let the pain of the past take over." She shook her head as though to erase her words. "I mean the fear of that pain. It had little to do with you and everything to do with me. Do you understand?"

  His first impulse was to pull her into his arms and tell her how much he loved her, and wanted her, and to hell with Andrew. But he held his peace, sensing her need to speak first, so he settled for simply laying his hand on top of her small one.

  With her gaze unwavering, she said, "When a person withholds forgiveness for a past mistake, it grows and festers until the whole body becomes ill. So I'm asking you to forgive me for not trusting in the love I have for you."

  This time he did pull her into his arms, savoring the feel of her soft woman's body, the smell of her sweet hair, and the knowledge that she did indeed love him. He buried his face in the tender spot of her neck and shoulder.

  "I love you, Irene Barrett. And I'm the one who should be asking you to forgive me."

  Warmed through and through, Irene clasped him to her. This was where she belonged. She'd known for some time, but she'd fought it, struggled with it, until, at last, she welcomed it with her heart and soul.

  Lifting his head, he met her gaze. "I want to tell you about it now."

  She laid a finger on his lips. "Only if you want to."

  He nodded, taking a deep breath before plunging in.

  "I was in a saloon playing poker when one of the girls who worked there walked by and the fellow across from me grabbed her by the wrist. She sort of screamed and tried to hit him. Little did I know he was the sheriffs son when I told him to let her go. In no uncertain words, he told me where to go. Then, for spite, he twisted her arm until a bone cracked, and that's when I jumped him.

  "When we fell to the floor, we rolled around trying to get the other one pinned. Somehow he grabbed my gun. I tried to take it, but it went off. He was killed."

  Wide-eyed, Irene stared at him. "That isn't murder! How could they send you to prison for self-defense?"

  "He was the sheriffs son, and I was just passing through."

  "It was self-defense. In more ways than one." He was a kind and compassionate man, and that was what had gotten him into this trouble.

  "No, it was my anger. I killed a man."

  She reached a hand toward him, remorse filling her for believing the worst, for not giving him a chance to explain, and for being guilty of the very thing she'd accused him of: betrayal. She loved him with all her heart and yet she'd betrayed that love by not trusting him to be honest with her.

  "I love you," she said softly, trying to erase his pain with her words.

  He shrugged. "It's over now. I did my time instead of hanging, thanks to the saloon girl, who testified." He gave a half smile and a slight shake of his head, then spoke as if to himself, "I suspected that some of the jurors knew her personally and believed her. Otherwise . . ."

  Irene stayed close, leaning against him, her hands upon his chest as a cool breeze off the river brought with it a scent of lilacs.

  "I love you, Irene Barrett," he said again into the depths of her hair. "I guess I have since the night you ran your heel into my toe."

  She raised her head and gazed into his beautiful blue eyes. "I love you, too, Ross Hollister," she returned. Then, with a puzzled frown, she asked, "Is that the reason you were so against me being in the saloon? Because of what happened to that woman?"

  He kissed the tip of her nose. "Partly. And because a saloon is no place for a woman."

  "Or a man, for that matter."

  With a slight nod of his head and another kiss on her nose, he said, "I agree."

  Surprised, she leaned away from him to get a better look at his face. "You do?"

  "Yep. That's why I traded it to Howard."

  "Howard!"

  "It wasn't easy, but I did it."

  With a sly grin, she replied, "Emma must be devastated! No wonder I haven't seen her for so long."

  "She doesn't know. If she did, I suspect the whole town would."

  Irene laughed softly. "You're right. Clara has always counted on Emma."

  "Hmmm. I thought so."

  She nestled her head beneath his chin, relishing the steady sound of his heart beneath her ear.

  "So you made a trade. And what did you get for your part of this trade?" she asked.

  "I don't think I'll tell you just yet."

  Lifting her head, she asked, "And why not?"

  "I think I'll just show you. As a matter of fact, that's what I'd planned the day of the picnic, but you had to go and fall in the water and pull me in too," he teased.

  "Wait a minute," she defended herself. "I believe"

  She didn't get the opportunity to finish. His lips, warm and inviting, came to rest gently on hers, suffusing her entire body with a happy glow.

  When at last it ended, she went on, "I believe I like that very much."

  "I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that," he said, nibbling her ear.

  "Hmmm. I like that, too."

  He followed the line of her neck, and her head tilted to give him better access.

  "That, too," she said a little breathlessly, beginning to wilt around the knees.

  At that moment the back door opened, but neither of them was in a position to notice.

  Lydia watched while the two people she cared so much about embraced and kissed in the plain light of day. She hated to interrupt them, but her concern over Jonathan's disappearance forced to her to get their attention.

  "Ahem!" She cleared her throat as loudly as she could. "Excuse me," she said. Stepping away from the door, she pulled it closed.

  Jumping guiltily away from Ross, Irene pressed two fingers to her swollen lips as if to hide them from view. Ross kept his arm around her waist, drawing her close to his side, unwilling to relinquish his hold on her for even a minute.

  "I hate to bother you," Lydia began, "but I'm worried about Jonathan. He never misses two meals in a row."

  "She's right," Irene said, worry creeping into her voice too. In her concern over Sarah's arrival and its significance, she'd set aside her concern about Jonathan's whereabouts. But with the evening pressing in, she knew something was wrong or he would be home by now.

  "When did you last see him?" Ross asked.

  "This morning when we met Aunt Sarah's train. He was pretty upset. I guess he knew we'd have to leave here and go with her."

  "Leave here?" Ross asked. "Why?"

  Turning to him, Irene answered quietly, "I haven't told you. Last fall I began searching for their Aunt Sarah. Well, she's here now. I thought they'd want to be with their family."

  "No!" Lydia rushed toward her. "No, we don't want to leave you. You are our family. I think she's nice, but we don't really even know her and she already has such a big family . . . How would we fit in?" Practically out of breath, she paused, her eyes begging.

  "We don't love her. We love you!" Lydia threw herself into Irene's arms. "Please don't send us away."

  Irene caught her and held tight. She could never do it, she told herself. She could never allow anyone to take these two from her. Over Lydia's head, Ross's eyes met hers, and she found agreement in them. He would stand with her in this decision.

  With her voice unsteady, Irene sai
d, "I would never send you away if you didn't want to go. I want you to stay with me."

  "With us," Ross added. Sheepishly he went on, "I didn't intend to say it like this. I wish it was a little more romanticlike a boat ride or a carriage ride in the country." Then as he gazed long into her eyes, he searched for the answer he hoped she'd give him. "Will you marry me?" he asked softly. "All three of you?"

  It didn't matter to Irene that they weren't on a boat ride or in a carriage in the country. The only thing she cared about was that he'd asked her to spend her life with him.

  "Yes," she said, her voice barely capable of whispering. She raised one hand to lay it on his unshaven cheek.

  Careful not to squeeze the girl between them, he leaned down and kissed Irene, trying to put all of his feelings into that one touch. But he could not. Not if he kissed her for a hundred years.

  Jonathan sulked along the banks of the Miami and Erie Canal. He'd tried sneaking aboard one of the canal boats, only to be caught by the captain. And wouldn't luck have it that it turned out to be the same mean captain who had thrown them off last fall. Kicking a stone, Jonathan wondered how a boy was supposed to run away if he didn't have any way to travel. Without Lydia, he was afraid to go on foot, since his days of hunting with Ross had taught him that there was plenty to be afraid of.

  He walked away from the canal toward the river, looking out across to the town of Grand Rapids and the backside of the saloon. If ever he needed a friend, it was now. But would Ross still be his friend? He'd heard the things Mrs. Wilson had said, and he knew that Miss Barrett's feelings for Ross had changed. Maybe Ross wouldn't want him hanging around anymore since Miss Barrett didn't like him now. Whatever Ross had done, it wouldn't matter one bit to him. They were friends. Or at least they had been.

  He made his way toward the railroad bridge and found a large rock to sit on. He wasn't exactly hidden, but nobody seemed to pay much attention to him so he guessed this would do until he could make a decision.