by Liz Harris
‘I know Conn’s a mighty busy man, but is he trying to help with Bridget?’
‘I guess he’s doing what he can, but we can both see that if he keeps punishing her, she’ll turn against me even more. But as I said, she’s not as rude as she was, and I expect she’ll get even better as more time passes.’
‘At least you seem to be getting on with Conn.’
She nodded. ‘I think we’re doing well together. He’s always very polite, very considerate; maybe too much so. It’s hard to know what’s going on inside his head. I just hope he isn’t still hurting too much over Oonagh.’
‘Over Oonagh? Oonagh Quinn?’ There was a note of surprise in Peggy’s voice. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘Oonagh was a frequent visitor to the house before Bridget started school, and now that Bridget’s at school, she’s always telling us over dinner what Oonagh’s done to help her that day. I can’t believe that Oonagh makes the same effort to impress all of her pupils as she does Bridget. With never a day going by without her name coming up at some point, it can’t be easy for Connor to put her behind him.’
‘Oonagh and Conn have been friends since they were real little. But what makes you think he’s hurtin’ over her?’
‘It’s just that I’ve noticed that he always behaves differently when she’s here. He’s quieter, more distant, maybe. With her being so beautiful, he must have been very keen to marry her, and very hurt when she refused him.’
Peggy sat up straight. ‘Well I never! You sure do surprise me. I never knew he’d even offered for her. All the town thought he would, and they thought she’d say yes, her folks included. But then when you arrived …’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, I sure am knocked flat that she turned him down. There were those in town who used to think she’d been sweet on him from far back when they were young’uns, even though everyone always knew that he’d marry Alice.’
‘Did he never show an interest in Oonagh?’
‘Nope, never as we could see. We thought Oonagh would marry Niall, and if not Niall, Jeb Barnes. Not that she loved Jeb – she didn’t – but Jeb’s pa had several thousand head of cattle, and Oonagh Quinn has liked fine clothes since she was knee-high to a grasshopper. She’d want a husband who could provide for her as well as her pa has done, or even better. Jeb’s money; her looks. It would have been a fair bargain on both sides.’
‘Why didn’t she marry one or the other of them?’
‘I don’t rightly know. There was some talk that Jeb asked her to marry him and she turned him down, but whether that’s what happened, I couldn’t say. In the end, he went and married a woman whose father also had a lot of cattle. I reckon it was the fathers did the deal. Mind you, things aren’t so good for either family after the last winter, or so I hear. Anyway, Oonagh didn’t seem to mind that Jeb was no longer hangin’ around her – she’d always been closer to Niall, anyway. But nothing came of that, either, as Niall left Liberty not long before Connor married Alice.’
‘Did Niall live in the town?’
Peggy glanced swiftly at her, then looked down at her coffee. ‘I reckon you could say he did,’ she said, and she leaned across to the plate and took a seed cake. ‘He and Jeb used to spend a lot of time together. They had hideaways all over the place, usin’ them as bases for their huntin’ and fishin’. Or they’d be off drivin’ cattle for one or other of the stockmen in the area, and hangin’ around the cowboys, playin’ cards with them. But not Connor. Niall was a very different boy from Connor. Conn never had any time for Jeb.’
‘To go back to Oonagh, having heard what Connor said to Bridget, I’m wondering if the reason she turned Connor down was because she didn’t want to be a homesteader’s wife. She obviously likes living in the town, and with a bank manager for a pa, she must live in greater comfort and ease than she would on a homestead. Or maybe she realised that Connor was still in love with Alice and always would be, and being a beautiful woman she’d feel she could do better than take second place to a dead wife.’
‘And what do you feel about being in second place?’ Peggy asked.
‘If I still looked as I did before the accident, I think that I, too, might have found it difficult to accept. But after the accident … well, I’m grateful for what I have.’
‘I reckon what you say about Oonagh does make sense. I can’t see her churning the butter or rolling up her sleeves and getting down to the weekly wash, and Conn still has strong feelings for Alice – that’s natural as she’s only been gone for little more than a year. But Oonagh’s not the sort of woman who would find that easy to live with. She’ll know that he’ll not forget Alice. And he couldn’t if he wanted to: Bridget looks just like her.’
Ellen nodded. ‘He’s told me that. It must make it even harder for him.’
Peggy shook her head. ‘They’d have made a good-lookin’ couple, Connor and Oonagh, but I think he’ll have a better life with you, my dear.’
Ellen smiled warmly at Peggy. ‘Thank you. I hope you’re right.’ She leaned forward a little. ‘Would you mind me asking you how Alice died, Peggy? In all the weeks I’ve been here, Connor’s not told me what happened, and I’ve not liked to ask.’
‘She died in childbirth. She’d lost two babies since Bridget was born. They hadn’t even lived long enough to come into the world. And then she found herself with child again. This time she went real careful. Connor wouldn’t let her do a thing in the house, he so wanted this child. She went to the end of her time, bless her, but the baby was born dead. It was a boy. Alice caught the fever and died a few days later.’
‘How awful for him to lose them both at once. And for Bridget, too. No wonder they’re still suffering.’
‘But that’s something you have in common with them, isn’t it? You probably still hurt when you think of your Omaha husband, just like Connor does when he thinks of Alice and his son.’
‘Yes, I do. I understand Connor because I know that I, too, could never feel about anyone else as I did about Robert. But I also know that if Connor was ever able to love someone else again, it wouldn’t be someone who looked like me. I don’t hope for anything more than kindness from him, and I’ve told him that. And for my part, I intend to do my best to make him happy. I know the kind of life I’d have had if he’d rejected me, and I’ll always be grateful to him for letting me have a home here.’
‘You’re right about him bein’ a kind man. I’ve a lot of time for Connor. He’s one of the best.’ She stood up. ‘If I’m gonna be home before sundown, I oughta be goin’ now.’
Ellen rose from her chair. ‘It was real nice talking to you, Peggy. Thank you for visiting.’
‘You’re welcome, my dear. You must come over to us soon. Come with Connor and Bridget once the harvest’s in. We can take a picnic with us and go berrying. There’s a spot near the mountains where more wild huckleberries and blueberries grow than we’d ever be able to pick. William knows where to find it. We’ll fill every pail and basket we’ve got, and then you’ll be able to make huckleberry pie and blueberry pudding, as well as jams and jellies. Bridget’s real keen on huckleberry pie.’
‘I’d like that,’ Ellen said, following Peggy out of the house.
Peggy unlooped the reins from the rail and went around the side of the wagon. She made a move to climb up to her seat, but she paused and turned to Ellen. ‘You don’t need to apologise for the way you look, ya know. You’re doin’ fine. And Connor, he looks to me to be doin’ pretty good, too.’
Pleasure welled up in her. ‘Don’t be a stranger, Peggy,’ she said, and she gathered up her skirts and ran to open the gate.
Chapter Nine
‘We’ll start on the corn on Monday,’ Connor told Aaron as they walked through the rows of ripening corn, pushing aside the long, yellow-green leaves as they went.
‘You agree that it’s ready, then?’
‘Sure do. It’s going to be a fine crop this year – nearly every stalk’s got two ears, and some have got three. But I told yo
u it’d be good. It always is when it’s knee high by the Fourth of July.’ He stopped walking, ran his fingers down the thick green silky tuft of hair that hung from the tip of the green cornstalk next to him, and parted the husk. ‘Yup, we’ll definitely make a start tomorrow,’ Conn said, studying the kernels. ‘The ears are full and the tufts are about to turn brown. We’ll do the wheat immediately afterwards.’
‘Right you are. I’ve let a couple of men go now that we’ve done the baling, but I’ve kept on enough for the corn and the wheat. You think your wife will be able to help with husking the cobs and cutting the kernels? We’ll need as much help as we can get for that.’
‘I reckon so. I’ll sharpen the knives tonight, ready for the cutting, and then I’ll have a word with her.’
Aaron nodded. They walked along in silence for a few minutes. ‘Your wife knows about farming, I can tell,’ he said.
‘She lived on a farm with her husband before the accident.’
‘Thought it might be something like that. Shame about the accident – she’d have been a good-lookin’ woman before it. But a scar don’t stop her from bein’ mighty pleasant,’ he added quickly. ‘She’s a fine woman.’
‘I guess she is. I don’t ever think about her. She’s got her work to do, I’ve got mine, and that’s the way it is.’
The last light of day was fading away, losing itself in the mellow dusk of twilight that was silently falling around them.
‘Bridget!’ Ellen called, walking towards East Barn. ‘Bridget, where are you?’
‘She’s over here,’ she heard Aaron call out from some distance away to her left.
Glancing around, she saw him standing on the far side of the corrals, just in front of West Barn, a pitchfork in his hand.
She waved an acknowledgement at him, and he went back inside the barn as she started to retrace her steps. Making her way along the back of the house, she went past the corrals to West Barn, and through the open barn door.
A pungent smell of rotting hay and damp manure hit her as soon as she entered the cool, dark interior, and she saw a heap of steaming, dirt-filled hay behind the barn door. Putting her hand in front of her nose and mouth, she went across to Aaron, who’d just started to drag the hay from inside a stall towards a pile of sodden hay outside the neighbouring stall. He caught sight of her and straightened up.
‘I guess it does stink when you’re not used to it,’ he said with a grin. ‘She’s down there.’ He nodded towards the far end of the barn, and Ellen saw the back of Bridget’s head sticking out from above the wooden side of the stall. ‘She’s been helpin’ me. Soon as I’ve changed the hay and put in fresh, she waters the cows and fills their buckets.’
She removed her hand from her mouth. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I take her, but I need her back at the house now.’
He nodded. ‘We done the worst of it, anyway.’ He looked towards the end of the barn. ‘Bridget!’ he called. ‘You’re wanted.’
Bridget turned, put her face above the side of the stall, saw Ellen, and ducked down out of sight.
Ellen gave Aaron a rueful smile, then walked along to the end of the barn and stood in the opening to the stall. ‘I want you to come back to the house now, Bridget. I know your pa’s already told you that we’re going to church tomorrow, and that means that you’ll need to have a bath before you go to bed. I’ve filled the tub with hot water and you can have the first bath. I’ve put the screen up ready.’
Bridget shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m busy. I’m helping Aaron. If the water gets cold, you can add some hot.’
‘If the water gets cold, you’ll have a cold bath. But that’ll be your choice. I’ll not be heating up any more drums of water for you.’ She turned and started to walk towards the barn door.
‘You’re here to look after Pa and me,’ Bridget called after her.
Ellen paused and looked back at her. ‘You need not be afeared on your pa’s behalf. I’ll heat up the water for him, just like I’ve done for you. Hot or cold bath, Bridget? It’s up to you.’ She continued to walk away, nodded at Aaron as she passed him, and went out of the barn.
A moment or two later, she heard footsteps behind her, and she smiled to herself.
By the time she’d reached the kitchen door, Bridget had let herself catch up. Ellen went into the kitchen and turned back to Bridget. ‘I’ll be in the bedroom, sweeping. If you want me to scrub your back, give me a call.’
‘I won’t.’
‘As you wish. I’ve left soap and a towel next to the tub, and your nightdress is on the chair. Let me know when you’re done.’
She finished sweeping the bedroom floor, rested the willow-twig broom against the wall and sat down heavily on the bed.
The sounds coming from the kitchen told her that Bridget was still in the bath tub, splashing. At regular intervals, she heard water washing over the side of the tub on to the kitchen floor. Despite it being a small tub, with little space inside it in which to move, Bridget was clearly doing her best to make as much mess as she possibly could.
She was filled with a sudden lassitude.
For a time she’d thought that she and Bridget were drawing closer to each other, with Bridget not being quite as rude to her as she’d originally been, but she had been mistaken. The girl still resented her every bit as much as when she’d first arrived. She could sense the well of loneliness deep within Bridget and she desperately wanted to help her, but Bridget wouldn’t let her near enough to do so, and her antagonism went on.
It wasn’t that Bridget commented about her face any longer – she rarely did. It was more that she took every opportunity she could to backtalk or to make things difficult. Just as Oonagh could do nothing wrong, she could do nothing right. And it was wearing her out to be continually on the receiving end of Bridget’s hostile attitude.
On several occasions she had come close to speaking her mind and telling Bridget what she thought of her attitude. But then she’d remembered Bridget’s age, and how she was obviously still grieving for the loss of her mother and for what she saw as the loss of her father, and she’d remembered that if she’d been honest with Conn from the start, none of them would have been in the position in which they now found themselves, and she’d bitten back her words.
Did she regret not being more honest with Connor when she’d answered his advertisement? In the early days, when she’d seen the expression on the faces of everyone who met her, and the anguish her appearance had caused Bridget, and the discomfort felt by Connor, too, she’d thought that she did. But now?
She glanced down at the place on the bed where she lay with Connor, night after night. Leaning across to his pillow, she ran her hand slowly over the place where he rested his head. A wave of intense longing shot through her and pooled in the pit of her stomach.
Her heart racing, she lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
That night, they’d lie there again, side by side, and as with every other night, she’d hide her hunger for the moment when he raised himself above her, for the moment when she felt his body hard against hers, for the moment when he slid deep inside her. And that night, as with every other night, she’d allow herself to imagine what it would be like to be kissed by Connor, and she’d hold back her burning desire for more … so much more …
A shiver ran through her.
The light hairs on her forearms stood up, and she knew that if she were truly honest with herself, she no longer felt any sense of regret. None at all.
Connor placed the sharpened knives on the shelf next to a heap of husking pegs, went out of East Barn, swung the door shut behind him and bolted it. He glanced up at the sky. The pale moon was milky white against the black sky. Just as well we’re beginning the harvest soon, he thought; we’ll be seeing frost before long.
He started to walk slowly back to the house.
Bridget would be in bed, and Ellen would have cleared away their meal by now and would be sitting at the window table, mending something o
r reading one of the books she’d brought with her. He’d go and join her, he decided, and they could talk some more. In fact, when he thought about it, he’d rather become accustomed to sitting with her in the evenings now. He’d found that she was quite pleasant to talk to, and joining her after he’d finished his evening tasks, or bringing his work into the living room and sitting with it opposite her, seemed to have become a part of his routine without him realising it.
She was still a little formal with him, a little too polite, and much too apologetic. But once or twice recently, he’d seen a spark of fire within her, and a liveliness in her eyes, and for a moment he’d thought that he was about to see the woman she’d been before she’d been made to feel that she had to make herself as invisible as possible. But the spark had died away, leaving him feeling strangely disappointed, and increasingly he’d found himself looking forward to seeing that burst of fire again.
So why had he been so dismissive about her when he’d spoken to Aaron as they’d been walking through the ripe corn that morning?
His steps slowed and he came to a halt, frowning.
It was true that he never thought about her as a woman; that he never paused in the day as he used to do when he thought about Alice, and with a burning ache in his groin, find himself longing for the night ahead, for the touch of her soft skin against his body.
However, he did enjoy his conversations with Ellen in the evening. And he knew that later, when they went into their bedroom and extinguished the light, he didn’t recoil from doing what he had to do in order to get a son. Although he’d never be able to love her as a woman, he was finding her a pleasant companion for when he’d done his day’s work, and he shouldn’t have been ashamed to tell Aaron that.
Ashamed?
Yes, if he was truly honest with himself, he felt ashamed that he enjoyed being with her, but he didn’t quite know why he should.
Had he felt obliged to distance himself from Ellen because Aaron, like the whole of the town, had expected him to marry Oonagh, and had been shocked when instead of Oonagh, he’d wed a woman with a badly damaged face? Was it that he was embarrassed deep down to admit that he was able to find enjoyment in the company of a woman who looked like that? Or did he feel that in some way he’d be betraying Alice’s memory if he let himself admit that he was looking forward to spending any sort of time with another woman?