The Bride of Willow Creek

by Maggie Osborne

  “I would have welcomed some support myself. Your father accused me of seducing you, of destroying your innocence. He told me I wasn’t good enough for his daughter and I would never amount to anything . . . and where were you through all that? Maybe he would have believed that I hadn’t seduced you if you’d been the one to deny it.”

  “All you had to say was Don’t go! That’s all it would have taken!”

  “How was I supposed to know that? You burst into tears and ran out of the room.” He shrugged. “I expected you to come back. Why wouldn’t I? We were married. We’d agreed to leave together and begin our lives. Instead, you disappeared and your father ordered me out of his house.” He leaned forward. “I waited outside for three hours. I thought for sure you would come.”

  “I wanted you to rescue me before you left the house. You should have,” she said, her voice tight.

  “Push past your father in his own house and invade his daughter’s bedroom? That sounds reasonable to you?” Making a sound deep in his throat, Sam shook his head and dropped backward in his chair.

  They sat in steely silence, too angry to talk. What surprised Angie was how immediate the emotions felt. As if he’d abandoned her yesterday, not ten years ago. The shock and hurt and devastation were right here, right now, aching behind her chest. She’d been crazy to believe she could be indifferent to him. Being with him again triggered all the bitterness and pain that she had felt on that terrible night when she realized he had left without her.

  Striving for calm, she willed her hands to stop shaking, irritated that she was only partially successful.

  “There’s no point discussing that night.” All this time she had assumed that of course he knew the outcome was his fault. Not once had it occurred to her that he might blame her. She had a few hundred things to say about that, now that she knew, but good sense warned nothing would come of it. She hadn’t traveled all this distance to trade accusations. “I came to Willow Creek because I had just enough money to get here, meaning I had no choice. But it’s time. We made a mistake by not divorcing years ago. We need to correct that mistake.”

  She waited for him to assure her that he would support her financially during the divorce waiting period. But he met her gaze and asked, “Why didn’t you file years ago? I’ve been curious about that.” When she didn’t answer, he frowned and said, “Angie?”

  “I heard you.” Well, what difference did the reason make? “I thought my father would let me go west with you if he thought that we . . .” She hesitated, annoyed by how hard the words came. She wasn’t a foolishly modest girl anymore. “I thought he’d accept the marriage if he believed I might be with child.” In other words, without knowing what she’d done, she had let her father believe that Sam had indeed seduced her.

  Nodding silently, Sam turned his gaze back to the valley.

  “After a few months passed and it became obvious that I wasn’t pregnant, my father wanted the marriage annulled. But by then people knew I was married.” She might as well have worn a noose all these years instead of a simple gold ring. That’s how the ring felt, like a rope around her neck instead of a band around her finger. “My mother was horrified by the idea of a divorce and the scandal that would result. It was easier to explain your absence by saying that I was waiting for you to send for me. Eventually people stopped asking about my husband.” She placed another ball of rolled croissant on the rim of her plate. “Why didn’t you file for divorce? Every time an envelope arrived with your name on it, I prayed it would contain divorce papers.”

  “A gentleman never files to dissolve a marriage. No matter what the circumstances, he allows his wife to request the divorce.” Sam pushed a hand through his hair. “That’s why I kept sending your father my address over the years. So he’d know where to mail the papers if I had to sign anything.”

  Once Angie had lived in fear that he would humiliate her by being the one to instigate a divorce. But as she began to understand that her life would be one of loneliness and boredom, of watching other people enjoy their lives while the years passed her by, humiliation and scandal had seemed a small price to pay for freedom and another chance at living.

  “Well,” she said finally. “So here we are, ten wasted years later.” When he didn’t say anything, she dropped the ball of croissant she was rolling between her fingers and wiped her hands on a napkin. “I imagine you’re as eager as I am to get on with your life.”

  Sam looked toward the French doors. “This place would fare better if Mrs. Finn sold spirits.” He cleared his throat. “All right. Just so we’re clear, I want this divorce as badly as you do. In fact, I’m angry that you didn’t file years ago.” Finally he met her eyes. “We’ll get a divorce, Angie, but it may take a while. I wish to hell I could prove your father wrong by telling you that I’ve succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. But that’s not the case.”

  Sunlight struck him full in the face, etching golden lines on his forehead and at the corner of his eyes. It startled Angie to realize that for a fleeting second, she was as attracted to him as she had been ten years ago. The boy she had fallen in love with had been replaced by a man she didn’t know, but this handsome stranger was hard enough, slightly dangerous enough, that something in her responded to his direct gaze.

  Exasperated, she pulled her attention back to his voice and realized he was saying that he couldn’t afford to support her and pay for a divorce. Turning her head, she gazed at the mountainsides and evidence of working mines.

  “In ten years of trying, you haven’t found any gold?”

  “I wasn’t looking. I’ve only been in Willow Creek for two years. Before that I prospected for silver, with only minimal success. And in between times I worked construction in Colorado Springs.”

  Try as she might, Angie couldn’t help thinking that in the end, her father had been correct. Sam hadn’t amounted to much.

  His face colored slightly as if he’d guessed her thoughts. “I’ll hit the jackpot and someday soon. I feel it in my bones. Meanwhile, I manage to put food on the table and a roof over my head.”

  “You don’t need to sound so defensive. I didn’t say anything.” But she wanted to, because she wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. Which was stupid after all this time. She drew a deep breath. “So when do you think you can afford a divorce?”

  “I don’t know. Even if I hit the jackpot tomorrow, there’s another obligation that has to come first. Getting a divorce is not my first priority. In fact, you could say it’s far down the list. I have other responsibilities, Angie. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”

  Every small speech seemed to be followed by a lengthy silence. During this one, Angie thought about all the years of waiting for her life to begin. She’d been unrealistic to hope the waiting would end when she saw him again, to hope he’d readily agree and she could leave here tomorrow with enough money to start over.

  Covering her eyes so he wouldn’t see the tears of frustration and disappointment, she asked, “What am I supposed to do while I wait for you to find gold?” Gold that he’d already failed to find in two years of searching. “Where will I live? Where can I go?”

  After another silence, he swore softly. And he avoided most of her questions. “I can’t afford to set you up in a separate residence.” Before she could protest or express the alarm she felt, he raised a hand. “Believe me, I wish I could. But I’m saving every cent I can. So—and I hate this as much as you’re going to—I guess you’ll have to live with me until I can afford to correct our mistake.”

  “That’s appalling. Completely unacceptable.”

  “If you have a better solution, just say so.”

  She didn’t. Neither of them had any money, and money was what they needed. The result was that she would have to delay beginning her new life. Battling tears, she struck the table with her fist, knocking the little balls of croissant off the rim of her plate. Angrily, she brushed them away from her lap.

  “Do you know what it’s like
to be married but not a wife? To sit by and watch friends marry and have children and be happy?” Her eyes burned and her voice trembled. “Other women ran households and raised children while I sat in the parlor and embroidered endless numbers of pillowcases and napkins. I used to linger by the front window in late afternoon and watch the carriages drive past, carrying ladies home to their families and husbands home to dinner. I envied them so much it hurt. And it hurt to end an evening out by watching husbands and wives go home together while I left with my parents. I’ve waited so long, Sam. How much longer do I have to wait for a life worth living?”

  “I can’t answer that,” he said, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “I’m sorry how things worked out. If I could change everything I would.”

  Not for the first time, Angie wanted to twist the gold ring off her finger and fling it as far from her as possible. Her wedding ring had brought her one hour of happiness and ten years of misery.

  “There’s no other solution? None at all?” Despair trembled in her voice. “We have to live together for some unknown length of time, and there’s no alternative whatsoever?”

  Standing abruptly, he tossed some coins on the table. “I’ll stay out of your way as much as possible. And don’t worry. Your honor is safe with me.”

  That concern hadn’t entered her mind. Now that he’d raised the subject, a rush of pink colored her cheeks. She didn’t know whether to thank him for reassuring her or take offense that he thought it necessary to state something she trusted was a given.

  He looked down at her while settling his hat. “I’m no happier about this than you are. I’d hoped you would arrive, announce you were seeking a divorce, then leave before anyone in town knew who you were. Instead I now have another mouth to feed, another person to support. I know that doesn’t sound gentlemanly. I know you think I owe you, and maybe you’re right. But your timing is off by several years and I can’t help resenting that. It’s also hard not to resent that I wasn’t good enough ten years ago, but now when you need someone to feed and support you, you show up here expecting me to do it. Suddenly I’m good enough.”

  “I never said you weren’t good enough! That was my father.”

  “But you believed him, or you would have come west with me.”

  There was no easy answer to his accusation, so she didn’t attempt to offer one. She had plenty to cope with merely handling today’s problems. Yesterday’s unanswered questions would have to wait. She suspected the questions would come up again and again.

  Not giving him a chance to hold her chair, she rose quickly and walked to the door, leaving him to follow. Mrs. Finn watched them curiously as they passed the pastry counter. Mrs. Finn couldn’t have overheard anything they said, but she had lingered by the windows, observing angry expressions and gestures.

  “Which way?” Angie asked, pausing in the street.

  “Downhill.”

  All the streets ran downhill from the depot, she had already noticed that. And she had noticed this was Carr Street, one block off Bennet, which appeared to be the main thoroughfare. None of the streets were paved. There were no lamps at the corners of the side streets. And if Willow Creek had a street crew, they should be reprimanded. Flies buzzed around mounds of horse droppings that appeared to have accumulated over a long period. Someone nearby was burning trash, and the pungent fruity odor pinched Angie’s nostrils.

  Suddenly she missed Chicago with an intensity that was sharp and visceral. The small wooden houses on either side of Carr were shacks compared to the neat brick homes on the street where she’d grown to womanhood. Weeds and wildflowers ran rampant in yards where she was accustomed to seeing neatly trimmed grass and beds of cultivated flowers. In Chicago men didn’t wear long hair that made them resemble pirates from a bygone era. Bakery shops carried a larger selection than only croissants and frosted buns. Chicago was civilized and it was home. Tears of homesickness glistened in her eyes, and she decided she hated it here.

  “This is it,” Sam announced in a flat voice.

  They halted before a one-story structure smaller than the carriage house behind her home in Chicago. The only thing in the house’s favor was that it looked sturdy and didn’t appear quite as thrown together as the houses on either side. But the size dismayed her. They would be bumping into each other every time they turned around.

  Slowly, she walked around the pile of luggage Albie Morris had dumped in the dirt yard and stood silently while Sam opened the door.

  Outside, the planks ran vertically from ground to roof. Inside, the planks were placed horizontally. A pitched ceiling had been finished with canvas for weatherproofing.

  A glance identified two bedrooms—thank heaven—opening off one main room that served as kitchen, dining room, and parlor. Leaving Sam to bring her things inside, Angie stood in the center of the room and looked around.

  Flowered curtains at the window over the sink surprised her. As did a cloth on the table and the vase of dandelions. And the braided rug. These efforts to soften the bleak lines of stark necessity were unexpected, particularly in the residence of a bachelor as ruggedly male as Sam. Dust she would have expected; the tidiness she had not.

  After fetching the last of her trunks, Sam walked past her to the sink. “This place isn’t a tenth of what you’re used to, but there’s inside water.” He indicated the pump handle at the sink. “And the walls are tight. There isn’t a square foot that isn’t insulated with newspaper this thick.” He indicated half an inch. “The stove burns evenly, and there’s a root cellar out back.”

  His expression indicated that he expected her to say something. But what? What could she say about a three-room house that had little more to offer than shelter from the elements? Where did one bathe? Where did one sit in the evenings? How did the occupants get away from each other to enjoy a little privacy? She doubted he wanted to hear that if she had to live in this tiny primitive place very long, she’d go crazy.

  The back door slammed open and two small girls spun into the room like miniature whirlwinds, their soiled and shapeless dresses flying around dirty, sagging stockings. They flung themselves at Sam.

  “You’re home early!”

  “A man left a pile of baggage outside but Mrs. Molly said we couldn’t touch anything.”

  “Girls?” Sam smiled at them, made an awkward attempt to smooth down their flyaway tangled hair. “Girls! We have a guest.”

  Now they spotted Angie and instantly went silent and shy, standing on either side of Sam, leaning against his legs. They inspected her with twin sets of gray eyes that had turned curious and wary.

  “This is Angie. She’ll be staying with us for a while.” He lifted his head and met Angie’s wide eyes. “These are my daughters.”

  Chapter 2

  “This is Lucy. She’s seven.” Sam covered her golden head with his hand. “And this is Daisy, who is five.”

  Angie’s mouth opened and closed, and she pressed a hand to her breast as if she couldn’t breathe. Sam guessed her breathlessness would pass in about a minute and she would start to fizz like a geyser building steam. Kneeling, he gazed at his girls, wishing they didn’t look so ragtag and flyaway today.

  “What have you been doing since school let out?”

  After sliding a look toward Angie, Lucy brushed at a stain on her dress, then whispered, “We had a rolling contest down Golden Avenue.”

  “Lucy won,” Daisy solemnly announced.

  “I rolled the fastest.”

  These were the moments that perplexed him and pointed up the difficulty of a man trying to raise daughters. Did he praise her for rolling down a hill faster than anyone else? Or chastise her for behaving like a young hoyden and getting her dress dirty?

  “I’m glad you won,” he said finally. “I need to speak to Angie a bit, so you two go back to Mrs. Molly’s and ask if you can have supper there. I’ll come for you after you’ve eaten and we’ll talk then.”

  Lucy cupped her hand around her mouth and l
eaned to his ear. “How long is that lady going to stay with us?”

  “We’ll talk about it later. Off you go.”

  Before they banged out the door, they looked back at Angie, not sure what to make of her. Sam waited a beat then leaned outside and found them lingering beside the stoop. “Go,” he commanded in a stern voice. “No eavesdropping.” Giggling, they ran toward the house next door, but Sam didn’t step back inside until he saw them talking to Molly Johnson.

  Molly called across the yards. “Supper’s fine. You come for them when you’re ready.” Her dark eyes gleamed with curiosity.

  “Thank you.”

  Already Angie’s presence was causing problems that radiated like circles spreading from a rock tossed in a pond. He’d have to tell the girls about her, and he guessed he’d have to explain things to Molly. Sure as sunset, someone had seen Angie sock him at the depot, and Mrs. Finn was undoubtedly out there right now spreading the word that Sam Holland had a wife and he’d had one for ten years.

  When he returned inside, Angie was seated at the kitchen table staring at him with large shocked eyes and a white face.

  “I can’t believe this. I just cannot believe it! I guess the first question has to be, where is your daughters’ mother?” Her cold gaze swept the curtains and other feminine touches. “Is that the next shock? A woman walks in here and announces that she’s living with my husband?”

  “Laura died of pneumonia over a year ago.” Stepping to the stove, Sam stoked the coals and then slid the coffeepot over the heat.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Her hands lifted, then fell back into her lap. “How could you do such a thing?”

  There were a dozen answers, all of which would sidetrack the issue and lead to accusations and justifications. “Whatever you want to ask, do it now,” he said, clenching his teeth. “I don’t want to discuss Laura in front of my daughters, and they’re usually here when I am. So let’s finish the questions while the girls are next door.”

  “Did you love her?”