by Renee Ryan
“Praise God you’re all right,” she said to the boy.
Mrs. Fitzwilliam echoed the sentiment. She’d been studying Gavin with equal parts fear and frustration. “This just makes my point. School is where you belong.”
Moaning, Gavin lifted to his elbows, swallowed hard, then collapsed back to the ground a second time. “I’m not talking about that now.”
“Fine.” The widow relented, for now, but her tense shoulders and pursed lips said the conversation was long from over.
Will predicted Gavin was in for an earful on the ride back to Boston.
Seemingly unconcerned with his fate, Gavin sighed. “Did you see her?” He blinked up to the sky. “That marvelous face, all that gorgeous long curly hair, I’ve never seen anything, or anyone, so beautiful.”
“Long curly hair?” Bridget glanced at Will in confusion.
“The horse thief was a girl,” he said.
“A beautiful girl,” Gavin corrected, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth but making no attempt to sit up a third time.
Moving to her left, Mrs. Fitzwilliam stared off into the distance, as if she could see horse and rider through the dense forest. “My stepgranddaughter had long curly hair.” She shook her head almost wistfully. “All that beauty wasted on a ruffian.”
Will wasn’t sure what the woman’s stepgranddaughter had to do with the situation. He dismissed the thought, deciding she was still thinking about the girl because of the earlier discussion at the table. He turned back to Gavin, who was still mooning over the female horse thief. He’d gone into a litany of her fine attributes.
Maybe the boy wouldn’t be a good lawman, after all. He seemed entirely too distracted by a pretty face.
“Right.” Will shared a look with Bridget. “Let’s see if we can get him to stand.”
With Bridget’s help they had Gavin on his feet a few moments later. He took four full steps before his knees buckled. Will ducked under his right arm. Bridget did the same under his left.
Leaning heavily on them both, Gavin half stumbled, half dragged himself back to the house. Whereby he was surrounded by fussing women and a myriad of questions from the children.
The boy took the whole incident in stride. Now that he’d had a taste of adventure he seemed more committed than ever to begin work as Cam’s apprentice.
Less than fifteen minutes later Cam returned with both horses in tow and no thief.
“I found Fletch, unharmed, grazing in a patch of grass halfway down the lane.” His lips tightened along the edges, the only outward sign of his true reaction to the incident. “I wanted to return your horse before I continued searching for the girl.”
“I’m coming with you.” Gavin rose to his feet, winced, but then righted himself.
Cam eyed him a moment, then nodded. “Not a bad idea. Might as well get you started as my apprentice.”
“You’re still going to hire me, even after I let the girl get away?”
“We all lose a few.” Cam clapped him on the back. “From what I saw you have the instincts and speed necessary for the job, but we’re going to have to work on your discipline. You’re far too impulsive for your own good.”
Gavin let out a whoop. “I’m going to be a sheriff one day.”
Mrs. Fitzwilliam had a few things to say about that. “Not so fast, young man. I haven’t given my approval.”
A litany of reasons for the job—these from Gavin—and just as many against the job—these from the widow—ensued.
Moments into the argument Will had no doubt Gavin would win, eventually.
Wanting to focus on his own unfinished business, he went in search of Bridget. He found her with the twins, sitting on the ground in the backyard. Digger was spread out beside her, his head lulling in her lap. As Will drew closer he had to set his jaw against a quiver of emotion.
The children were listening intently to whatever tale she was spinning for them.
Will was enthralled himself by the tranquil picture his family made. By the way the sunlight spread fingers of burnished fire through Bridget’s hair. By the gut-wrenching desire to join them on that blanket and get lost in the moment.
He felt a lot of other things, as well—hope, longing and a fierce need to ask Bridget to become a permanent part of his life.
* * *
Bridget’s mouth went dry. Will was approaching her and the children with his gaze full of intense emotion. He was a sight to behold. She felt time slow to a crawl, and then certainty took hold. This was the man for her, the one the Lord had brought into her life at this perfect time.
“Hello,” she said, proud of the fact that she kept her voice even. Somehow, she managed a smile.
He did not smile back. In fact, his eyes were very serious. Was he about to say the words she’d been waiting to hear? Was he going to declare his feelings for her now? In front of the children?
“Bridget,” he said, his voice giving nothing away. “Would you come home with me?” He looked down at the children, “I mean, us. Would you come home with us today?”
That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. “But the day is already half over.”
“The children are tired, they need their naps and I’d like you to come with us.” He crouched in front of her, took her hand and kissed her knuckles. Right there in front of his children.
“I have something I want to say to you,” he continued, “and I’d like us to be alone when I do. I’ll get you home before dark, if that’s what concerns you.”
Oh. Oh, my. He was going to propose again, and this time for all the right reasons, she saw the truth in his eyes.
How could she possibly say no, when she loved him so much and wanted nothing more than to be his wife? “Yes, of course I’ll come home with you. I just need to let Nora know where I’m going and when I’ll be back. I—”
“But, Papa.” Caleb jutted out his bottom lip. “Do we have to go now?”
Will’s eyes never left hers as he rose and stretched out his hand. “Yes, son, we have to go home now. It’s time.”
Why did she sense his words had a double meaning?
“But I want to play with Emmett and Sean some more.”
“They’ll be leaving soon, too.” He helped Bridget stand, and didn’t let go of her hand once she was firmly on her feet.
Mesmerized by what she saw in Will’s eyes, she couldn’t look away. “Don’t worry, Caleb,” she said without looking at him. “You’ll see the boys again.”
“Promise?”
She smiled. “Promise.”
“Papa?” Olivia pulled on his pant leg. “How come you’re holding Miss Bridget’s hand?”
“Because I like her.”
“I like her, too.”
He chuckled. “Then take her other hand.”
Olivia did as her father suggested. Hand in hand in hand, they walked back toward the house. Caleb and Digger meandered behind them in a crisscross pattern.
The next half hour passed in a blur. Bridget barely remembered saying goodbye to Mrs. Fitzwilliam and the two youngest McCorkle brothers, or the many promises she’d uttered to see them all again before too long. The parting was very anticlimactic after the dramatic events of the previous hour.
A moment before Will helped her into his carriage Bridget flatly denied Nora’s request to speak with her a moment, alone. She refused to allow anything to dampen the rest of her afternoon, especially not a well-meaning lecture from her overprotective big sister.
The ride back to town was filled with effortless camaraderie. It was as if the children sensed something exciting was about to happen. Will seemed remarkably relaxed.
How could anyone think him severe? He was one of the most calm, tender, compassionate men
she knew. It would be a joy to spend the rest of her life by his side.
A thread of doubt tried to braid through her excitement and a renewed sense of foreboding took hold of her heart.
Where was this reservation coming from? Will cared about her, Bridget saw it in his eyes and in the way he reached out to touch her hand.
When they turned onto the road leading to his house, Will’s hand closed over hers again. His thumb moved in a gentle sweep across her knuckles. The touch caused her to take in a quick, disjointed breath.
“We’re nearly home,” he said.
Home. With Will and the twins. Her pulse went wild, thrumming hard against her ribs. Bridget lowered her head and clutched Will’s hand tighter. She’d journeyed to America with hope bursting in her heart. At every turn she’d clung to the Lord, knowing He was leading her to a new life and a new home. She never dreamed her destiny would include this incredible man and his adorable children.
God’s plan for her life had been larger, grander and far richer than anything Bridget could have imagined for herself.
She sighed. They were a few hundred yards away from Will’s home when she noticed Ben coming toward them on his horse. His face was scrunched in a grave expression, his eyes filled with urgency.
Bridget had never seen Ben look so grim. He must have heard about the horse thief and was on his way to meet the sheriff. But then he came to a stop alongside their carriage.
Will let go of Bridget’s hand and pulled his horse to a halt, as well. Apparently recognizing the older man’s unusual shift in mood, he leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “Ben? Has something happened?”
The deputy whipped off his hat and wasted no time with pleasantries. “Your mother sent me to find you.”
Motionless, Will glanced briefly at Bridget. She saw the barely concealed panic in his eyes. Hoping to calm his worries, she closed her hand over his arm and asked the question they both feared most. “Is Esther unwell?”
“No, nothing like that, it’s…” He shot Bridget an apologetic grimace then made a specific point of speaking directly to Will. “You have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” Will echoed, sounding as confused as Bridget felt.
“That’s right. It’s a—” Ben glanced at Bridget again “—a woman.”
Why was the man looking at her like that, as though he pitied her? Apprehension dug deep, all the way to the depths of her soul.
Ben placed his hat back on his head and heaved a sigh. “You’ll understand once you get to the house.”
He rode off toward the center of town without another word.
Esther met them at the door, her hands wringing over one another, her gaze darting over her shoulder every few seconds.
Digger raced for the kitchen, probably in search of his water bowl. In their attempt to tell their grandmother about their day, the twins started talking over one another.
“…and then Papa talked Miss Bridget into coming home with us today. They’ve been holding hands the whole way,” Caleb announced, proving nothing got past his little-boy eyes.
“Oh, Bridget, my dear girl.” Unease rang in Esther’s voice while her hand wringing increased. “I didn’t realize you were coming home with Will and the children this afternoon. This makes everything all the more awkward.”
It wasn’t the actual words the older woman spoke but the quiver in her voice that sent panic shuffling through Bridget. Her hands coiled and flexed.
“Mother, what’s going on? Ben mentioned something about a visitor.” Will lifted a dark eyebrow. “Perhaps you would care to explain.”
Esther looked pointedly at the children, who were staring up at her, mouths gaping open. She cleared her expression and smiled down at them. “Olivia, Caleb, I made you a very special treat while you were gone. Run along into the kitchen and wait for me there. I’ll be right behind you.”
Her voice was low and strained but the children didn’t seem to notice. They rushed to the kitchen as quickly as Digger had, loudly speculating over what their treat might be.
“William, son, I…” She drew in a tight breath. “I put your visitor in your study.”
Will straightened his waistcoat with a hard snap, a sure sign of his agitation. “Who is this visitor? Why the secrecy?”
“Her name is Bridget.” Esther glanced at him with chagrin. “Bridget Collins.”
“Collins?” He sputtered out the name. “No. Impossible.”
“It can’t be true,” Bridget whispered, her mouth dry with the tinny taste of fear. “It just can’t be.”
Yet deep down in the part of her filling with despair, she knew Esther spoke the truth. Bridget Collins was alive.
And she was here, in Will’s home.
Bridget glanced at him, her heart beating as though it would leap out of her chest. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at his mother in stunned silence.
“I’m sorry, son.” Esther touched his arm, then turned to Bridget. “I’m sorry for you both.”
“No, Mother.” Will wrenched his arm free of her grip. “Bridget Collins is dead. Flynn Gallagher verified it himself.”
“I’m afraid the doctor was mistaken.” A thin, dark-haired girl wearing a shabby dress and a tortured expression ambled down the hallway. She kept her hand flat against the wall, looking as though she would fall without the added support. “I am very much alive.”
Will swung around to face the newcomer. “Who are you?”
The girl stumbled under his angry glare. Cloaked in shadow, she looked frail, defeated even, and Bridget’s heart went out to her. Clearly something horrible had happened to her in recent days.
“I asked you a question.”
A shudder was her only response.
Couldn’t Will see he was scaring the poor girl? Bridget touched his arm, hoping to calm his anger. After a few tight breaths, he visibly relaxed.
“Who are you?” he asked again, this time in a softer tone.
“My—my friends call me Birdie. But my real name is Bridget.” She lifted a shaky hand to her forehead, brushed the hair away to reveal a stricken expression. “Bridget Collins.”
“You cannot be her.” Will’s voice was full of shocked grief, the same emotion Bridget felt herself.
“Oh, but…but I am Bridget Collins. And I—” she raised her trembling chin a fraction higher “—I can prove it.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Will escorted Bridget Collins—Birdie—into his study and shut the door behind them. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against the warm wood and desperately tried to gather his thoughts. The last image of Bridget, his Bridget, played in his mind. Her eyes had been filled with grief, mortification and sheer unhappiness. The same painful mix of emotions he struggled with now.
He’d planned to tell her he loved her this afternoon.
How could he declare himself now—when he was, apparently, still engaged to be married to another woman?
Perhaps there was still a way to fix this debacle. He and Bridget were meant to be together. With love and the Lord on their side no problem would be too big for them to conquer.
But if this young woman was truly Bridget Collins, they weren’t facing a problem. They were facing a quandary. There were no solutions to quandaries, only strategies to manage the worst of the consequences. Until he knew what he was dealing with, there was no reason to despair.
Determined to uncover the truth, Will shoved away from the door and turned to face Bridget, Birdie. She would never be Bridget to him. “Show me your proof.”
His words came out hard and unforgiving. Without the calming influence of the woman he loved by his side, without her comforting touch, he was unable to temper his emotions. He regretted that, regretted that he couldn’t
try harder to listen without judgment. This girl was both ragged and miserable, that much was clear. Wherever she’d been in the weeks since departing the Annie McGee, she’d not had an easy time of it.
He tried to remember that as he spoke again. “Birdie.” He kept his voice soft. “You said you have proof of your identity.”
Dropping her gaze, the young woman nodded. “I—I have all the letters you sent me.”
“Show me.”
She reached into a tattered reticule, pulled out a handful of papers and set them on his desk.
He recognized his own handwriting, but didn’t reach for the letters. “You could have stolen those.”
“I may have done terrible things of late, unforgivable things—” her lips quivered “—but I am not a thief.”
Will said nothing. He’d sent her considerable funds to make the journey to America, yet she hadn’t fulfilled her end of the bargain. What was that sort of behavior, if not stealing?
As though reading his mind, Birdie looked away. Bottom lip stuck between her teeth, her gaze darted around the room, then locked onto the battered suitcase the ship’s authorities had given him, proof of the dead girl’s identity. Or so they’d all thought.
“That’s my luggage.” She turned to face him. “I can describe its contents.”
“Perhaps you better.” He retrieved the case, set it on his desk and then opened the lid, making sure she couldn’t see inside. “Proceed.”
In a halting voice she gave an accurate accounting of every item, all the way down to a pair of scuffed slippers.
Will lowered the lid and secured the latch, closing off his emotions as firmly as he shut the case. She might look remorseful, but looks could be deceiving.
“All right, Miss Collins. You have convinced me. But the question still remains. Where have you been these past two weeks?”
“I…met a man aboard the Annie McGee.” A tiny, almost imperceptible shudder revealed far more than her words had.
Just like Fanny, this girl had turned to another man instead of trusting Will to understand her plight.