by Lyn Cote
Brennan stared at her. He knew why she said this. She was insisting he act as father to this boy. He nodded, looking her full in the face and then away as her sweetness broke over him afresh. “No trouble. We’ll walk over after breakfast and then I’m headin’ out to Levi’s place. Your cousin is going to help me do some more logging out the clearing. And plowing up rocks for the foundation.”
She nodded. “I’m glad to hear that Noah is helping.”
“Yeah, the sooner I get Levi set up, the sooner I can head north.”
Jacque looked up quickly. “We still gonna leave?”
Brennan didn’t like the strain in the boy’s voice. And it prompted him to be honest. “I’ve always planned on going north to Canada.”
“But it’s terrible cold up there,” the boy whined.
Brennan shrugged and Miss Rachel pressed her lips together.
They finished the meal in silence and then Jacque went outside to play with the cat and a bit of string.
Miss Rachel didn’t mince words, as usual, but spoke in an undertone. “I don’t understand why thee fights settling down and being a father. Why isn’t thee happy having a son and friends here? What’s stopping thee from staking a homestead claim here?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just can’t be free till I leave this country.”
“If thee believes that, thee is fooling thyself. Thee will take the war with thee wherever thee tries to settle. The past is a part of us, not a coat one can shed.”
He rose abruptly. Words of denial jammed in his throat. “Thanks for the meal,” he managed to say. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He walked out and told the boy to come to the forge when he finished the dishes for Miss Rachel.
Jacque pouted and Brennan walked away. But with every step, he felt the pull, the unseen bond connecting him and the lady who stood in her doorway watching him leave. She was right, of course, about the past, and that made it all worse.
*
The first Monday of September the two of them walked Jacque to the schoolyard and Mr. Merriday enrolled him in school. Though the boy was ten, he would work with the first graders but be allowed to sit beside his friend, Johann. Rachel was intensely grateful to Mrs. Lang for her understanding.
Rachel and Mr. Merriday barely reached the main street and he was off, heading toward Levi’s homestead. She watched him go. Not for the first time, she wished she could get inside his mind. Or maybe his heart. He’d suffered so and insisted on carrying it forward into the present. Why?
Christ had said, Let the dead bury their dead. Why couldn’t Brennan bury the past, not let it control him? Slavery had been a bondage to everyone it touched.
But who was she to think she could solve this problem or any other? Shaking her head at her own pride and praying for Brennan, she walked home to set her cinnamon rolls in the oven to bake. She expected boats today and was not disappointed.
Later, as she sold the last of her wares, she watched Mr. Ashford accept the mailbag. For some reason she slowed her steps homeward.
“Miss Rachel!” the storekeeper-postmaster called out. “There is a letter for Mr. Merriday. From Louisiana!”
Suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, Rachel turned and accepted the letter, then slipped it into her pocket. “I’ll make sure he gets it. He’s working on Levi’s homestead today.”
Mr. Ashford nodded, but she could tell he was curious about the letter from Louisiana, too.
She trundled the cart homeward, intensely aware of the letter in her pocket. Now she must wait hours for Mr. Merriday to come and open it. She would have to keep very busy so she didn’t rip it open herself.
*
Brennan tried to keep the pace of the work steady enough to reduce the chance for talk. Brennan respected Noah and still owed him for saving his life, but he didn’t want any advice. And couldn’t preachers always be counted on to give advice?
Noah had brought his horse and plow to turn over the ground where the cabin would be and where a future garden would sit. They turned up a fresh crop of Wisconsin rocks. Brennan had never seen soil like this. Every furrow was clogged with stones.
Noah had brought over a wheelbarrow the night before. After they had dug out and piled up all the rocks from the cabin site, the two men filled the wheelbarrow with them. Then they rolled the rocks with strenuous effort to where the two-room cabin would stand.
Then Mrs. Whitmore brought over a fresh pot of steaming coffee and lunch. She left them with a friendly wave.
“I’m a lucky man,” Noah said when the two of them were alone again.
Brennan nodded.
“I know you plan on leaving, but have you considered staying at all?”
Brennan concentrated on chewing the sandwich and damped down his ire at the meddling. “I just want to get away from the war, from anybody who fought in it.”
“I understand. I came to Wisconsin for just that reason.”
Brennan looked up. “Then you understand.”
“I came to Wisconsin to live but to keep myself separate from the folk here. Sort of live like a hermit.”
The idea appealed to Brennan.
“But ‘no man is an island,’” Noah quoted. “I found myself sucked into the community and couldn’t keep apart. I’m glad now because I’ve been healing. I used to have nightmares and spells where I’d be back to that awful waiting time just before a battle. You know what I mean.” Noah shook his head.
Brennan looked at him then. Noah had nightmares, too? And that dreaded feeling of being dragged back into the living nightmare of waiting to charge into battle? “I’ve had a few spells myself,” Brennan admitted, not meeting Noah’s gaze. “You still have ’em?”
“Not often anymore. Having my wife and children and living in this fresh new place. I got a new start. And letting God in, not holding Him off. All that is healing me.”
Brennan didn’t know what to say to this. He and God were not on speaking terms. Noah understood, but he hadn’t lost everything, everyone in the war. Noah was a lucky man, luckier than he was.
“I’ll say no more.” Noah sipped his coffee. “But you could do worse than settle here. You’ve made friends and…there’s Rachel.”
Noah’s mention of his cousin in connection with Brennan came completely unexpectedly. He ignored it, merely nodded once curtly to acknowledge that he’d heard Noah. But no matter what anybody said, he wasn’t settling in Pepin. Miss Rachel would be better off without him.
*
Dry-mouthed, Brennan stared at the letter on Miss Rachel’s mantel. Earlier she’d told him it had come at last, but quietly so that the boy wouldn’t hear. Jacque didn’t know about the letter and what it might mean for him. Supper had ended and now Jacque played outside with the striped cat, leaving the two of them alone in the cabin.
Brennan reached for the letter. Part of him strained to head out and read it alone. But Miss Rachel had written his letter and he could imagine how much self-control she’d used to keep from tearing it open this morning.
She handed him a clean butter knife and he slit open the envelope.
Saint Joseph’s Church
Parish of Alexandria
Alexandria, Louisiana
August 16, 1871
Dear Mr. Merriday,
I write to inform you that Jacque Louis Charpentier Merriday was born on November 13, 1861, son of Lorena Charpentier Merriday and was baptized. You are listed as the father. Lorena’s death is recorded on December 24, 1864, and she is buried in the churchyard.
May God bless you and young Jacque.
The Right Reverend August Joseph Martin
Brennan read the brief letter twice and then handed it to Miss Rachel.
“So we have the answer to the question,” she murmured. “Jacque is thy son.”
He couldn’t speak. His face felt frozen.
“What now?”
He stared at her. Finally, he said, “I don’t know.”
“Jacque must be told.”
He rose and shook his head. “Not yet.”
She gazed at him a long time. “Soon.”
The woman was relentless. “All right.”
He left then, memories of his few years with Lorena spinning through his mind. He waved to the boy and the two walked through the dying light to Levi’s.
This boy is my son. He repeated the words silently. Some part of him had known that Jacque belonged to him, but he’d resisted it. And it had nothing to do with the boy.
*
The evening before, Rachel had watched Brennan walk out of her clearing and then she’d barely slept all night. Now she tried to go through her morning routine, mixing batter for muffins to sell today and waiting for Brennan and Jacque to arrive for breakfast. Had Brennan told Jacque? That didn’t seem possible. But he must.
Finally Jacque arrived—alone. “Mornin’, Miss Rachel!” The boy stopped and washed his hands outside.
“Where is Mr. Merriday?” she asked, hiding her sharp reaction to his absence.
“He went straight out to Levi’s place. I asked him, didn’t he want breakfast, and he said Mrs. Whitmore would give him something.”
Rachel held in all the aggravation and disappointment and words that wanted to be released. Did the man think avoiding her would let him avoid the truth?
Soon Jacque had eaten and he set off for school. She watched him go and finished her baking. A boat whistled and she hurried into town to sell her muffins.
Then she parked her cart in the shade near the schoolyard and headed up the road. She could not wait till this evening to hear what Mr. Merriday was going to do now.
It was just like him to pull back instead of talking matters over. The man nearly drove her insane and yet she dreaded the day he might act upon what he’d said since the beginning. I can’t bear to have him leave.
The miles under the relentless sun passed quickly and she was drawn by the sound of someone cutting down a tree. She turned toward the sound and saw Mr. Merriday ahead, working alone. That bothered her, too. A man should never cut tall trees by himself. It was too dangerous.
She waited till the tree trembled and then fell, bouncing and rolling to a halt against the surrounding trees. “Brennan!” she called and then halted abruptly. Why had she called him by his given name?
He turned to her and scowled. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head at him, disappointed, exasperated. “Surely thee can guess why I have come?”
He motioned for her to come closer while he mopped his forehead with a kerchief. He waved her to sit on a stump and he sat down on one across from her. “The letter.”
“Yes, the letter. What does thee plan to do about the fact that Jacque is thy son?”
He covered his face with the kerchief for a moment and then lowered it. “I’ve decided to ask you to marry me.”
His words were so unexpected that she thought she’d imagined them. “What?”
He repeated the proposal or something that might be deemed a proposal. A sorry one.
“Marry? Me?” She stared at him, her heart suddenly bounding with hope. “Has thee fallen in love with me?”
He wrinkled his face. “Love? What’s that got to do with us?”
She drew in air so sharply she nearly choked. “Indeed.” Her word could have frozen water.
“You’re not one of those foolish women,” he said with disdain. “You’re a good woman and you have good sense.” He said the words fiercely, as if someone were arguing with him.
Rachel was not complimented. Her heart began beating in a sluggish kind of funeral rhythm. “And that’s why thee wants to marry me?” She mocked him with her words.
He didn’t hear her sarcasm or ignored it. “No, of course not. It’s the boy. He needs a home and family. And you’re right. If I want to shed the past, going to Canada won’t help. I’ll have to find a way not to remember the war, root it out of my memory—though how that’s possible, I don’t know.”
Being valued for only the services she could provide, not because she was worthy of love. It was happening to her again. “I see.”
“It makes sense for you and me to wed. Jacque likes you. You’re a good cook and a good woman. I’d do my part. We could be content.”
She had told Brennan in all honesty about the previous proposal she had received. Obviously he had forgotten or ignored her. “Content?” she asked icily.
He eyed her. “You’re not going to get all fluttery and feminine on me, are you? It could be strictly a business arrangement. If you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t.”
The final insult was too much. She rose—ice gone—molten lava rolling through her. “Brennan Merriday, as a spinster, I have been insulted many times in my life. But I don’t think anyone—not even the man who needed a mother for his six young children and who asked me to marry him a week after he buried his wife—insulted me quite as thoroughly as thee has done today. Do not darken my door again.”
She turned on her heel, ignoring his protestations.
Noah was coming up the trail toward them. She nodded at her cousin and went on without looking back.
Strictly business—the words twisted inside her like red-hot iron. And she knew the hurt was not Brennan’s fault. She’d allowed her heart to overrule her head. She’d let herself have feelings for a man, incapable or unwilling to admit he could love or that she was a woman worthy of love.
She would marry no man for sensible reasons. Or for his convenience. Or to be content. Not even Brennan Merriday, the man she loved with all her heart.
Chapter Thirteen
Brennan’s stomach growled as he notched a log, preparing to set it in place when Noah arrived at Levi’s claim. He’d started a day’s work with only a cup of Levi’s bad coffee and a scorched egg for breakfast. Levi hadn’t questioned why he’d sent Jacque alone again to Miss Rachel’s this morning. But he would soon.
Feeling mauled inside, Brennan couldn’t face Miss Rachel. He’d clean forgotten she’d already turned down one marriage proposed by a man who wanted only a mother for his children. Of all the people in Pepin he hadn’t wanted to hurt, it was Miss Rachel. But the words could not be unspoken.
A phrase from her response to his proposal of marriage repeated over and over in his mind—Brennan Merriday, I have been insulted many times in my life.
I should have known better, done better.
Whistling, Noah walked up the trail and hailed him with the smile of a contented man. Soon the two were wrestling a log into the notches Brennan had carved. Brennan concentrated on the work, wishing he and Noah could work faster because as soon as this cabin was up, he would leave Pepin and take Jacque with him. He couldn’t stay after what he’d said to Miss Rachel. He’d ruined everything by thinking of himself, not her. And now Jacque would have to leave the place where he’d just begun to feel at home. It looked like the stray cat had more sense than Brennan did.
It was past time to go. He blocked out Miss Rachel’s sweet smile and gentle gray eyes and how they’d revealed the hurt he’d caused her. His leaving was for the best or that’s what he tried to make himself believe.
*
From her doorway, Rachel waved Jacque off to school as naturally as she could. She had never ached so in her life. At the edge of her clearing, Jacque turned back, looking troubled. She tried to smile for him, her lips quivering.
Then he disappeared around the bend and she looked down at herself. Why did she look the same? Feeling this mangled and clawed within, she should have been covered with bruises and bloodstains.
She went inside and sank into her rocker. She must not just sit here, but she could not move. She’d told Brennan not to darken her door again and he hadn’t. Jacque had looked confused and troubled at coming alone for breakfast. What had Brennan told him? Jacque had not mentioned the letter so Brennan must not have told him yet.
She pressed a hand to her heart and rubbed at the sharp and insistent pa
in there. She hadn’t been completely aware that Brennan had won a place in her heart—an understatement. But she could have given him no different reply.
The hurt she now felt was beyond anything she had experienced for a very long time, nearly as great as losing her mother when a child.
Rachel realized now that when she’d lost her mother, she felt she’d lost the only person who loved her for herself, not for what she could do. She’d told Brennan about the proposal she’d received and rejected in Pennsylvania. I thought better of him. “Oh, Father in heaven, why has this happened?” she whispered, pressing her hand to her throbbing forehead.
“Why did Brennan Merriday come into my life and so misunderstand me that he would say those words?” The offer not to touch her… “I know I’m not pretty,” she whispered, tears budding in her eyes, “but…”
She rocked and wept into her hand, wishing she could forget the hurt that offer caused.
“Hello the house!”
Rachel groaned. Company, and it sounded like Amanda Ashford. Rachel’s door stood open and she couldn’t hide. She rose swiftly, wiping away her tears. She splashed cool water on her face and stood very still for a moment, as if regaining her balance, before walking to the door. This might prove to be the longest day of her life.
“Hello, Amanda. And Posey.” She cleared her thick throat. “What can I do for thee?”
“We thought we’d come to help you today,” Amanda said cautiously. “Thought you might want to show us how to work with you in case you decide to make a business arrangement with that Mr. Benson.”
“A good idea.” Rachel couldn’t bring up any enthusiasm for work, but having someone with her would be better than sitting alone and crying all day, wouldn’t it? “Come in.”
Both girls eyed her as if they sensed her distress but thankfully neither asked what had upset her. Soon Rachel was showing the girls the ingredients for cinnamon rolls.
“But my handful is smaller than your handful,” Amanda pointed out.
Rachel considered this, trying to gather her wits. “Let’s use a teacup to see the difference.” All three of them filled one palm full of flour and then poured it into a tea cup. Indeed the girls’ cups were not as full as hers or each other’s.