To Have and To Hold

by Ruth Ann Nordin

them. Mary wasn’t sure if he was stil upset with her, so she studied his face for an indication

  of how he felt and was relieved when he smiled at her. Good. He wasn’t stil mad at her. She

  didn’t know if he’d insist she tel him what happened with her mother. Hopeful y, he’d let the

  matter drop. She didn’t want to think of it anymore. She just wanted to pretend it never

  happened and move on with her life. She hoped he could understand that.

  Grace made the introductions as he sat next to Mary, and afterwards, Mrs. Jones asked,

  “Would you like something to eat? I told Mary not to worry about the bil , and I extend the

  same invitation to you.”

  “That’s nice of you, ma’am,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind some eggs and bacon.”

  “I’l be right back,” she promised before she went to check on the other customers then headed

  for the kitchen.

  “She’s going to want to know al about you,” Grace warned Dave with a twinkle in her eye.

  “The whole town’s been talking about the man Mary married.”

  The two men who’d been reading the paper stood up from their table and set some coins on

  the table. When their gazes went from her to Dave, she imagined they were wondering what a

  good looking man like Dave was doing with someone plain like her. She shook the thought

  away. Of course, they weren’t thinking that. Maybe the men in the past would have, but these

  weren’t the same men and they’d offered a smile at her and Dave as they’d passed by, not a

  critical smirk.

  Mrs. Jones returned with Dave’s food and sat down to join them for a brief chat. Forcing her

  mind off how things real y were versus how she imagined them to be, Mary picked up her

  muffin and ate it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  By the time Mary, Dave and Grace left the restaurant, Mary was feeling better. Before she

  made another attempt to talk to her mother, she needed to talk to Dave. She was about to ask

  Grace if she could be alone with him, but Grace beat her to it.

  “I think I’l head on to the house and see if Calvin and the children are back,” Grace said, turning

  to them. “Mary, why don’t you show Dave the path we used to walk as children?”

  “I’d like to show it to you,” Mary told him.

  When he nodded, they headed toward the wooded area, away from the town. Even if they had

  a bedroom where they could talk privately in the house, it was better to get away from

  everyone else.

  “You’re not stil mad at me, are you?” she asked as they passed the last house on the street

  where the path began.

  He sighed. “Mary, I wasn’t upset with you. I just wanted to know what your mother said to

  make you cry. I don’t like it when you cry. I was upset with your mother for hurting you.

  You’re such a gentle person, and people have a tendency to take advantage of it.” Dave

  reached out to hold her by the elbow, but recal ing her mother’s words earlier that day, she

  pul ed away. He frowned. “Why did you pul away from me? I told you I’m not upset with you.”

  She tried to think of the right words to explain why without having to give away her mother’s

  stinging remarks. Wiping her hands on her dress, she ventured, “I don’t think it’s appropriate to

  touch unless we’re in the bedroom.”

  “I was only going to hold you by the arm.”

  “I know but you don’t know who’s watching.”

  His steps slowed and he gave her a good look. “That’s ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong if I

  touch your arm. I did that al the time back home.”

  “But we aren’t home. We’re in Maine, and they do things differently here.”

  “Things can’t be that strict here.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and didn’t see anyone behind them, and around them on the

  path were trees lining their way. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Alright. I suppose it’s

  fine to do that here, but when we leave the path, I don’t think we should. My mother was

  adamant about it.”

  He stopped. She hesitated to stop and look his way since she knew he didn’t like hearing that,

  but it was as close to the truth as she was going to say. She owed him an explanation. She

  just hoped this would suffice. Reluctant, she halted her steps and turned to face him, noting the

  slight scowl on his face.

  “Dave—”

  “She has no right to tel you what we should or shouldn’t do. I’m going to tel her that, too, and

  if she has anything to say about it, she can tel that to my face.”

  This was exactly what she was afraid would happen if she told him what her mother said. “It

  doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does. What you and I do is not her concern. Besides, we’re married. It’s perfectly

  fine for me to touch and kiss my own wife on the porch.”

  “But we can’t be that familiar with each other here. My parents’ house is in the middle of town

  where other people could see us.”

  “It was too early in the morning for anyone to be up.”

  “We don’t know that. Maybe someone saw us from a window.”

  “Wel , then that’s what they get for looking outside.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that, for the comment struck her as utterly preposterous.

  He groaned. “You know what I’m saying. Look, we both know this isn’t about someone who

  might or might not have seen us. It’s about your mother not approving of something you’re

  doing.”

  “It seems to me if I please you, I’l upset her and if I please her, I’l upset you. I don’t think I

  can win, no matter what I do.”

  He released his breath and waited for a moment before speaking. “What do you want to do,

  Mary?”

  “I want to go home. I don’t like being here in Maine even if Grace is here. I miss our children

  and our house. I miss your sisters and sisters-in-law. But since I can’t go home right now, I

  just want to cause as little trouble as possible. If that means I have to appease my mother by

  not touching you in public, is that real y too much to ask, especial y since it’s for two weeks?”

  “No, no it’s not too much to ask,” he softly replied. “Is there anything else we shouldn’t do while

  we’re here?”

  “I don’t think so.” At least her mother hadn’t given her an indication of something else she might

  do to upset her.

  They started walking again, and this time he didn’t take her by the arm. She missed his touch

  and immediately regretted asking him to keep his distance. He was right. Back home, he’d

  often take her by the arm or place his hand on the smal of her back while they walked. She

  didn’t even think anything of it. She wondered how she responded to his touching her in public

  when they first married. Did she fear what others might be thinking? Or did she welcome it?

  After a long moment of silence, she glanced at him. “Do you think I’l remember everything or

  just bits and pieces of the past?”

  “I have no idea what to expect. In the end, I reckon it doesn’t matter. What matters is that

  you’re my wife and I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  He smiled. “As long as we stay together, we can handle anything.”

  She returned his smile. “You’re right. What matters is where we go from here.”

  Both of them were quiet as they traveled the rest of the way to her pa
rents’ house where a

  group of people were sitting on the porch while children played in the front yard.

  One of the men looked over at them and waved them over. “Why, if it isn’t Mary! Come and

  introduce us to your husband.”

  The men and women turned in their direction, al of them looking expectantly as Mary led Dave

  up the steps. She knew they were more brothers and sisters, but except for Katie—or was it

  Leah this time?—Chet, and Grace, she didn’t recognize them.

  “This is Dave Larson,” she said. Scanning the unfamiliar faces, she added, “I’m sorry, but I

  don’t recognize any of you.”

  “We know,” one of the men replied as he made his way over to them. “Grace told us what

  happened.” He held his hand out to Dave and smiled. “So you’re the farmer out in Nebraska.

  We heard a lot about you.”

  Dave shook his hand and returned his smile. “Al good, I hope.”

  “Of course. Mary has only good things to say about you. I’m Stan, Mary’s brother.”

  As some of her brothers, sisters, and their spouses introduced themselves, Mary had trouble

  remembering their names. At one point, someone came out of the house—probably another

  brother—and told her that her father asked to see her.

  Excusing herself from the group, she went into the house, noting that three unfamiliar women

  were talking to her mother in the parlor. Her mother glanced her way but didn’t indicate that

  she recognized her. She just turned back to the other women and continued talking.

  Sighing, Mary headed up the stairs. If only her mother was as forgiving as Dave. She made it

  to the top of the stairs and decided to put the matter behind her for the moment. She could

  deal with her mother later, and maybe by then, her mother would be in a better mood.

  After she made it to her father’s bedroom, she knocked on the door. “Father? It’s Mary.”

  He coughed from inside the room then told her to come in.

  She obeyed and glanced around the room lit by a single candle. “Would you like me to open

  the curtains? It’s a lovely day.”

  “The light hurts my eyes,” he said and motioned to the chair by his bed. “I wanted to talk to

  you.”

  She nodded and sat down, waiting for him to continue.

  “I wanted to tel you I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive of you while you were growing up. At

  the time, I was busy with work and didn’t take much heed to what you or your brothers or

  sisters were doing. It’s easy to let the smal things become bigger than they are. You can’t let

  the smal things take over the things that real y matter.” His eyes met hers. “You have to focus

  on the big things and let the smal things go.”

  Not sure where he was going with this, she decided to say the only thing she could think of.

  “Alright.”

  After a moment of silence, he said, “I heard you crying earlier. What happened?”

  Mary shifted in her chair. How could he hear her with his door closed? And wasn’t he

  supposed to be asleep?

  “Mary?”

  Shrugging, she lowered her gaze. “It was nothing. I’m fine now.”

  “You’ve never been a good liar.”

  “It wasn’t anything. Not real y. It’s nothing that wil matter when I leave. It’s one of those smal

  things I shouldn’t dwel on.”

  His lips turned up into a smile. “You were always smarter than you let on. Just because you

  tend to be quiet, people assume you don’t pay attention.”

  “Do they?” She didn’t think that was true of the people in Nebraska, but maybe here that was

  the case.

  “They might think your mind is on other things when the truth is, you’re listening. I bet you

  thought because I’m old, I can’t hear wel .”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Wel , yes.”

  “My eyes might have dimmed, but I hear as wel as I always did. So what troubled you this

  morning? You were happy yesterday. When you came in here, your face was glowing. But

  today, your countenance has fal en.”

  Realizing he wasn’t going to let the matter drop, she gave in. “I upset Mother. I didn’t mean to,

  but I did. I’m not sure she’l forgive me.”

  “Mary, you can’t keep worrying about what she thinks. I wrote you twice after you married

  Dave. Usual y, she was the one who wrote the letters, but I felt it necessary to intervene when

  I saw what she was writing you. You don’t remember any of her letters?”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t even remember yours.”

  “I can’t remember when exactly, but I believe it was right after your son was born I wrote you

  the first time. I thought it might be nice to take your mother out to Nebraska to put her mind at

  ease about how wel you were doing out there. I could tel from your letters that you were

  happy, but your mother wasn’t convinced. So I told her we’d go out there for Thanksgiving and

  she could see the proof for herself.” He shook his head and sighed. “She didn’t want you to

  leave. At first, I thought it’d be best if you stayed as wel , but then you talked of wanting a

  husband and children. It was the first time you ever talked about those things, and it was the

  day you came home with the ad you found in the paper from a man out west who wanted a

  wife.”

  “I remember finding the ad,” she softly said, “and I remember how much I wanted a new life.

  But I don’t remember tel ing you or Mother.”

  “Your mother wasn’t happy but she relented. She thought once you got to Nebraska, you’d see

  how uncivilized it was and come running back.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “No, you didn’t. You married that fine, young man who met you at the train station even though

  he wasn’t the one you went there for. Your mother thought such a marriage wouldn’t last. You

  wrote al about the sod house and the long hours Dave spent tending to the land. In her letters,

  she tried to discourage you. Oh, she didn’t do it outright, but she slipped in comments here and

  there. When I realized what was happening, I told her to stop, but she continued anyway.

  Grace was the one who told me. So, I thought she’d have to go to Omaha and see it al for

  herself. I wrote and told you to expect us, but your mother saw it as a chance to bring you and

  Isaac back here. That’s when I wrote you again and told you we couldn’t make it after al . I

  suggested you stop reading her letters. Just throw them out as soon as they came in and act

  like nothing was wrong.”

  “That’s why I don’t have any of her letters?”

  “You agreed with me. You saw what was happening. Being out there, you got a chance to

  see things as they truly were here. I wish I’d understood it before you left. Perhaps I could

  have intervened and made things better for you.”

  He closed his eyes, and when he didn’t open them, she studied his chest to make sure he was

  stil breathing. Assured by the steady rise and fal of his chest, she relaxed. She waited for

  him to continue. She was learning things she needed to know in order to make sense of the

  animosity she felt from her mother. There was a good reason she experienced the feeling of

  dread at the thought of coming to Maine. Even if she couldn’t remember it, her mind had been

  warning her. Her mistake was not listening to what her instinct was tel ing her.

  Her father opened his eyes and let
out a long sigh. “You kept writing because of me, because

  you knew I’d read your letters and enjoyed knowing you found a good man and final y got those

  children you wanted. That meant a lot to me, Mary.”

  His eyes fil ed with tears, so she picked up the clean handkerchief by his bed and wiped them

  away. “Are you prone to tears?”

  He chuckled. “An old man on his deathbed tears up often as he examines his life and the lives

  of the ones he loves. But no, I haven’t been prone to tears in the past.”

  Smiling, she clasped his hand in hers. “Thank you for explaining about the letters. Now it

  makes sense why I didn’t have any from Mother.”

  “You can’t let her rob you of your joy. This is your life, Mary. Not hers. You owe it to your

  husband and children to be with them and to love them, and when the day comes when they

  have to make their own decisions, you’l give them that freedom.”

  “Yes, of course, I wil .”

  He nodded and squeezed her hand. “I know you wil . Now, I want you to do something for

  me.”

  “Anything.”

  “Take that husband of yours to the lighthouse.”

  “The lighthouse?” she asked, surprised he should ask such an odd request. “Wouldn’t you

  rather I take you there?”

  “No. I’ve been there already. I think he ought to see the lighthouse and the Atlantic before you

  return. It’s always been my favorite spot. You go out there and al your problems seem to

  melt away. It gives you an appreciation for the things that matter. When you see how large

  the ocean is, you realize how fleeting life is and you can’t help but want to live each day as if it’s

  your last. When you experience that, you learn to let go of the smal things and focus on what

  matters. You’l take Dave there for me, won’t you?”

  Noting how happy he seemed by the idea, she nodded. “Yes, I wil .”

  “Good. And don’t you let your mother make you feel guilty for going to Nebraska. Focus on

  your husband and children. Your mother is fine here with your brothers and sisters. She has

  plenty of people to take care of her.”

  “Alright.”

  “I need to rest. We’l talk later.”

  Mary stood up and kissed him on the forehead. “Thank you.”

  He’d fil ed in some of the missing pieces of the puzzle that bothered her. Perhaps things