The Bride of Willow Creek

by Maggie Osborne

  “Yes.”

  “You son of a bitch!” Her voice was low and shaking. “While I was wasting away in Chicago growing older and lonelier, you were living your life!” She reached for the vase of dandelions with a quick movement as if she intended to throw it at him, but she stopped, squeezed her eyes shut, then brought her fist back to her lap and drew a deep breath. “Did she know about me?”

  “Yes,” he said, staring at her.

  All of his life he would regret that he hadn’t been able to offer Laura marriage.

  Because Mrs. Bertoli shrank from scandal and because Angie hadn’t stood up to her parents, Angie had wasted a miserable ten years. And he hadn’t done right by Laura. She’d become further estranged from her parents. Laura had deserved better. For as long as he lived, he would bitterly resent that he’d been unable to place a wedding ring on her finger.

  “Laura didn’t mind living in adultery with a married man? She just shrugged off the fact that you had a wife?” Angie spat the questions in a scathing tone hot with condemnation.

  Reaching behind, Sam gripped the edges of the sink until he felt his knuckles whiten.

  “Laura Govenor was a decent and good woman. Don’t judge her because you didn’t know her. Of course she minded that I couldn’t marry her. And of course she would have preferred that my situation was resolved. But she also had the courage to follow her heart,” he said, his gaze burning on a woman who had lacked that courage. “She said if we couldn’t be happy with a ring, we’d be happy without one. She said she didn’t care.” But he had.

  “Did you ever once think that I might care?” Her eyes flamed and snapped. “For that matter, did you ever think of me at all?”

  “During the week after your father threw me out of his house, I wrote you six letters begging you to come west with me. And I know you received them. I gave those letters to Mrs. Dom, your mother’s cleaning lady, and she promised that she delivered them to you. You wrote back once. You said your father would never permit you to leave Chicago. You made your choice, Angie. So, no. I didn’t think you’d care what I did out here. Why would you? You’d made it clear as glass that you didn’t care about me or us.”

  His anger surprised him. It reached beyond not doing right by Laura, reached back into the realm of first love and first betrayal and the first pain of the heart. Grinding his teeth, he turned his back to her and fetched two coffee cups from the shelf above the stove. After filling and placing them on the table, he took a seat across from her.

  She was so different from Laura. Where Laura had been pale and delicate, Angie was vivid and strong featured. Laura had been a tiny wisp of a thing. Angie was tall and threw a punch like a man, as he had cause to know, he thought, feeling his jaw.

  “I never believed I would ever hate anyone,” Angie said in a whisper. “But I think I hate you.” She shook her head and gazed at a point in space. “All those years . . . I was as chaste and unwanted as a spinster, and all the while you were—”

  “What do you want me to say? That I was wrong? All right, I was wrong about everything. I should have walked away when your father refused me permission to court you. I should have talked you out of seeing me on the sly. I shouldn’t have asked you to marry me. I shouldn’t have suggested we elope that Sunday afternoon. I should have dragged you out of your father’s house. Is that what you want to hear?”

  Accusation glittered in her eyes. “You lived with someone as man and wife and had children.”

  “I won’t apologize for that. The one thing in this whole mess that I don’t regret is Laura. I do regret that I couldn’t marry her. I do regret that I couldn’t give her more. But Laura brought sunshine to this house and to me. She gave me Lucy and Daisy and they’re the best things that ever happened in my life. If I had it to do again, Angie, I’d do it the same way. I’d take the good years with Laura.”

  In the ensuing silence he fought the anger clenching his jaw and watched Angie slowly withdraw her hat pins, then remove her hat. She placed the hat and pins in a row on the table.

  “I suppose you already know how selfish and wrong you are, so there’s no need for me to point it out,” she said, pointing it out. “More important, a thought occurred while you were trying to justify your unforgivable behavior.”

  Sam stared at her.

  “Are you expecting me to care for your daughters while I have to be here?”

  Until this minute he hadn’t thought ahead to consider their everyday arrangements. “That seems reasonable,” he said finally. “It doesn’t make sense to continue paying Molly Johnson to watch the girls, do the laundry, and cook an occasional meal while you’re living here. God knows I can use the money I’d save by not having to pay Molly.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said unhappily. “Well, there’s something you need to know. Unlike you, I haven’t had children and I don’t know anything about them. It’s a good thing our situation is only temporary because I’m sure to make mistakes.”

  “If you have questions, Molly Johnson is right next door.”

  Angie lifted an eyebrow. “Does the woman who watches after your children know about me? What kind of person is she? Does she care that you and Laura lived together without benefit of marriage?”

  “Molly Johnson is the salt of the earth.” His eyes narrowed, but he managed to keep his voice level. “I’ll explain who you are to Molly.”

  Every other word set a torch to his anger. Laura’s parents knew why Sam hadn’t been free to marry their daughter, and that’s why they hated him. He supposed everyone else had assumed that he and Laura were married. For Laura’s sake, that’s what he had hoped. Now Mrs. Finn knew that he and Laura had lived in sin. He’d have to admit the same to Molly. Soon everyone who had known Laura would decide she wasn’t the respectable woman they had believed she was. Laura didn’t deserve that. Her only crime had been loving him.

  And as much as he disliked Laura’s parents, they, too, didn’t deserve the shame they would experience when Angie’s identity became known and it was publicly obvious that their daughter had involved herself in an adulterous liaison. Fortunately, once the initial gossip died down, most of Willow Creek wouldn’t give a damn. The basic philosophy in mining towns was live and let live. But the Govenors cared about such things. They already believed he had corrupted their daughter; now they would blame him for shaming Laura and them and for heaping disgrace on their family name. They would use Angie against him.

  “I wish to Christ that you had never come,” he said, staring at her as if she was a devil who had popped out of the floor. He didn’t spare himself. He was absolutely to blame for all of his difficulties and for what would happen to Laura’s reputation. Angie’s part was a small one. Or had been until she showed up on his doorstep. In a day or so he’d calm down and put the blame back where it belonged, on himself. But right now he detested the fact that Angie’s appearance would tarnish a good woman’s memory.

  They finished their coffee in rocky silence, watching the sun fade to pink and orange against the window glass.

  Eventually Sam cleared his throat and focused his mind on the present. “Are you hungry? I could go to town and buy something to eat.”

  And maybe take a minute to find out if the fight had started. He’d wagered five dollars that he couldn’t afford to lose on Mad Morgan. But if he won, the return would be well worth the risk. He was always looking for ways to make extra money. For one crazy minute, he considered leaving the girls with Molly tonight, as he’d planned. But no, that wouldn’t be right. This situation was getting off to a bad enough beginning without adding to the problems. He needed to talk to Lucy and Daisy, and there was still a lot of ground he hadn’t covered with Angie.

  “I couldn’t swallow a bite.” She hesitated, then removed her cape and folded it across Lucy’s chair, as if she’d finally accepted the inevitable: that she had to stay. A long sigh collapsed her shoulders. “Tell me about her. What was she like?”

  “Laura?�
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  “Of course, Laura. Who else?” Muttering, she raised a hand and pressed her palm to her forehead.

  Sam wasn’t good at grasping situations from another person’s viewpoint, but he could understand that she’d undergone a few shocks today. Maybe that accounted for her consistent bad temper. He could hope.

  “Laura wasn’t especially pretty like you are, but she had a natural sweetness that made her lovely,” he said, after thinking about the question for a minute. “She was always smiling, always finding joy in little things no matter how hard life got.” His gaze touched the dandelions wilting in the vase. Daisy had put them there, but it was something Laura might have done. She would have seen beauty in the weeds just as she’d seen goodness in him.

  “She was a tiny thing. Looked like the wind could blow her away. But she had courage. She stood up to her parents and went her own way.” He gave Angie what he hoped was a meaningful look. “She was not argumentative, she was always supportive.

  “I never heard a cross word pass her lips. I never heard her swear or throw a temper. God knows I gave her reason to complain, but she never did.”

  “In short,” Angie said with another sigh when he stopped talking, “she was everything that I’m not.”

  The gallant response would have been to remain silent. But too many resentments simmered on his tongue. “You could say that.” His answer didn’t seem to surprise her, and that made him angry, too.

  “There was a time, way back when, when I might have tried to be a gentle, compliant wife,” she said after a moment, studying her empty coffee cup. “But that time is gone. I grew up. I learned men aren’t the infallible creatures you’d like us to believe you are. Plus, I’m Italian.”

  “What does being Italian have to do with anything?”

  “Mama came from English stock, like you.” She glanced at him and then away, as if looking at him offended her. “She always said that Italians wore their emotions on their sleeves. Italians get as volatile and crazy over a worm in an apple as they would at finding an assassin at the door. Every upset is major. Papa was like that. Maybe I am, too. At least sometimes.” She glanced at him. “I’ve never been to the old country, I don’t know a word of Italian. But I’ve got the blood. That means I’m not likely to be gentle or compliant.”

  He hadn’t guessed this ten years ago, but he certainly knew it now.

  She watched him touch his sore jaw. “Maybe I’m a little sorry that I hit you, Sam, but you deserved it. To my way of thinking, you’d deserve it if I shot you.”

  “The way I see it, there’s blame on both sides. More blame on your side than mine if you want my whole entire opinion.”

  Her nostrils flared before she closed her eyes for a long moment. “And that’s a problem, but I’m too tired to discuss it anymore tonight.” Suddenly she straightened and looked toward the bedroom doors with an expression of alarm. “One of the bedrooms must belong to the girls.”

  Instantly he saw the reason for her anxiety. “You take my bedroom. I’ll set up my old tent in the backyard.” When she agreed that his solution sounded reasonable, he stared at her. Being displaced from his own house didn’t strike him as anywhere close to reasonable. Necessary. Expedient. Considerate. But it wasn’t reasonable to sleep outside on the ground when he had a house and a bed a few feet away. Already he could see another thing that he’d overlooked. His life was going to change, rapidly and not for the better.

  “Well, since this has to be.” Placing her palms flat on the table, she stood and looked down at him, her face carefully expressionless. “Get what you need out of your bedroom. I’ll unpack what I require for tonight, then I’ll put everything else away tomorrow.” She shook her head. “I cannot tell you how much I hate this.”

  So did he. Ten years ago he had wanted her with all his heart and soul, but he couldn’t have her. Now he didn’t want her anywhere near, but he was stuck with her.

  Angie felt small-minded and childish about eavesdropping on Sam’s conversation with his daughters, but she managed to overcome the feeling enough to do it anyway. They sat on the steps just outside the kitchen door, and she could overhear by standing unseen near the big black stove.

  “She’s your wife?” Lucy asked in surprise.

  Daisy’s lighter tone followed. “Did you have a real wedding? Why didn’t we get to go?”

  “The wedding took place a long time ago,” Sam explained in a grim voice.

  He was telling them in a roundabout way that he and their mother had not been married. When the implication made no impression, Sam must have realized at the same time as Angie that the girls were too young to understand that he’d just blackened their mother’s reputation and exposed them as illegitimate.

  Lucy had concerns more in keeping with the moment. “If she’s your wife, does that mean she’s our new mama?”

  “Do we have to call her Mama?” Daisy sounded worried.

  Sam cleared his throat. “I don’t think she’d mind if you call her Angie. The thing is, I don’t know how long Angie will stay with us. I suspect it could be for quite a while, until we can afford to get a divorce. Do you know what a divorce is?”

  “No.”

  “It’s when a husband and wife decide they don’t want to be married anymore. They go before a court judge and ask the judge to set aside the marriage. Then they go their separate ways. Angie and I don’t want to be married, so eventually we’ll get divorced.”

  “Good,” Lucy said firmly. “We don’t need a wife or a new mama. But I don’t think we should wait for eventually. We should get our divorce right now.”

  “It takes a lot of money to get a divorce. Right now we’re saving our money to fix Daisy’s foot. Daisy’s operation has to come first, before a divorce or anything else.”

  Daisy’s foot? Angie blinked. Seeing the girls rush inside and throw themselves on Sam had been such a shock that she hadn’t concentrated on details. Now she reviewed the scene in her mind and she did seem to recall that the smaller one had appeared to stumble. In retrospect, maybe Daisy hadn’t stumbled. Maybe one leg was shorter than the other. Could that be the problem?

  “I don’t mind waiting for the operation, Papa. We could get the divorce first.”

  “No, honey, you’ve waited too long already. In fact, I feel a lucky strike coming, and we’ll use the money to fix your foot. So. Are there any more questions about Angie?”

  “Is she going to boss us around?” Lucy again.

  “Probably no more than Mrs. Molly. I want both of you to behave yourselves. No sass. It would be nice if you did your chores without being asked.” The girls giggled. “I want you to help me make this situation as easy as possible.”

  A stretch of silence ensued during which Angie heard cheers and shouts from the distance. The crowd noise puzzled her until she recalled the fight of the decade. Which Sam had undoubtedly wanted to attend.

  Grudgingly, she granted him a thimbleful of credit for not dumping her and the girls on one another and leaving for the fight.

  “She’s pretty,” Daisy remarked, yawning audibly.

  “I suppose she is.” No hint of expression betrayed Sam’s feelings one way or another.

  “She’s not as pretty as Mama!”

  Hearing Lucy’s tone, Angie wondered if Lucy would be a problem. What was she thinking? Definitely Lucy would be a problem. Daisy, too. They didn’t want her here, and she didn’t want to be here. Of course there would be problems.

  “I didn’t say Angie was prettier than Mama!”

  “Well, she’s not!”

  “Stop bickering. Your mama was pretty in her way, and Angie is pretty in her way,” Sam said, surprising Angie with his diplomacy. “Just as you’re pretty in your way, and you are pretty in your way. There’s no rule that says there can’t be a lot of pretty ladies in this world.”

  “Mrs. Molly isn’t pretty,” Lucy said in a low voice. “But I don’t care. She’s nice.”

  “I like Mrs. Molly, too.” />
  Angie heard Sam plant his boots on the step and stand. “That’s because Mrs. Molly is pretty on the inside. That’s the best kind of pretty there is. Now in you go. It’s time for bed.”

  Hastily Angie returned to the box she’d set on the table and began sorting her toiletries. When the girls came inside, she straightened her shoulders and pasted a bright smile on her lips.

  “Hello there.”

  They said hello, but neither of them smiled. Thanks to Mrs. Molly no doubt, their faces were scrubbed and shiny clean, their hair brushed, and the dust had been sponged from their dresses.

  Angie drew a breath and reminded herself they were just children; there was no reason to feel intimidated by their silence or solemn stares. “It’s been a long day full of surprises,” she said pleasantly, aware that Sam watched. “If it’s agreeable to you, we could wait until tomorrow to get acquainted.”

  They didn’t indicate one way or another whether her suggestion was agreeable. They simply stared with unabashed curiosity and suspicion, as if she were an interesting novelty whose nature couldn’t be discerned at a glance. She might turn out to be good or bad. They would wait and see.

  Sam stepped into the breach. “No dawdling. Wash your faces—”

  “We washed our faces at Mrs. Molly’s.”

  “And clean your teeth. Then into your nightgowns.” The pump handle squealed as he filled a basin, then hooked his boot around a small wooden step and pulled it close so they could climb up to reach the water and the soap he laid out.

  Lucy was first. “Aren’t you going to heat the water?”

  “Not tonight.” Sam glanced at Angie. “A splash will do,” he said, handing Lucy a towel. “Daisy? Your turn.”

  Pretending not to, Angie observed the routine from beneath her lashes while she sorted her hairbrushes. Both girls were the spitting image of their mother, that was easy to guess. They certainly hadn’t inherited their whitish gold hair or gray eyes from Sam. Already she could tell that Lucy would be tall like Sam, while Daisy would probably be petite as Sam had said Laura was.