The Bride of Willow Creek

by Maggie Osborne

  Furious tears spilled down Lucy’s cheeks. She stamped her foot then her gaze settled on the table. Snatching up the teacup and saucer, she hurled them to the floor. “I hate you!” Sobbing, she ran into the bedroom and slammed the door.

  Shocked, Angie blinked down at the shattered pieces of her mother’s teacup and saucer, then, throat tight, she sank to a chair and covered her eyes.

  There was no escape. She couldn’t run away. As she had known she would, she had refused Peter’s proposition in no uncertain terms. Peter would not repeat his offer of financial assistance.

  “Me and Papa want you here.” Daisy knelt on the floor, collecting the broken pieces of china into the lap of her apron. “This was your mama’s cup.”

  Angie nodded dully. “Be careful. Don’t cut yourself.”

  “Maybe we can glue it back together.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Daisy wiped a hand across her eyes. “Lucy didn’t mean what she said.” She blinked up at Angie. “She thinks Mama is watching us.”

  “Hello, hello.” Sam came in the back door, smiling and as cheerful as if ten days of silence had not occurred.

  Angie’s eyebrows rose. “What are you doing home in the middle of the day?”

  “Get your hats and gloves, ladies. We’re going to town for ice cream.” Sam looked at the material bunched on the table, then at Daisy kneeling on the floor with the broken cup and saucer in her lap. “Where’s Lucy?”

  To her disgust and embarrassment, Angie burst into tears.

  The ice cream excursion was not a success.

  First Sam had to deal with Lucy, who wept in his arms and sobbed that she wished Angie had never come to live with them. Angie made her feel bad, and Angie ordered her around. She wanted her real mother. The best Sam could do was hold her, pat her small back, and murmur, “I know, I know.”

  He let that storm pass then approached the apology, which he agreed had to be made.

  “Angie doesn’t deserve the hurtful things you said. And I think you know it was mean and wrong to break Angie’s mother’s teacup.”

  “I do feel bad about the teacup,” Lucy whispered miserably.

  Sam dabbed at the tears on her cheeks with his handkerchief. “Angie’s tried hard to take care of you and Daisy and do right by you both. Why won’t you let her be your friend?”

  Something in what he’d said must have been wrong because the result was a fresh onslaught of tears. In the end he resorted to a tactic he didn’t like, but he couldn’t think of anything else.

  “Lucy, you were wrong in what you said and did, and you owe Angie an apology.” He drew a breath and held out the bribe. “If you want ice cream, you’ll have to apologize.”

  The apology was sullen and sounded a long way from sincere, but Lucy offered and Angie stiffly accepted.

  No one said much during the walk to Stetson’s Ice Cream Shoppe. Lucy was red-eyed and angry. Daisy didn’t have anything to say. And Angie seemed mad at the world. Certainly she was mad at him. Two wash days had come and gone, and she’d let Sam’s laundry pile up in his tent.

  He was beginning to understand that the state of his underwear was a barometer of his wife’s moods. At the moment most of his underwear was at Su Yung’s Laundry, which meant that she was mad and ignoring him.

  “Well,” he said brightly when they were seated at a ridiculously small table glumly inspecting dishes of melting ice cream. “What have my favorite girls been doing since I saw you all at breakfast?” His favorite girls gave him venomous glances.

  As he might have predicted, it was Daisy who finally answered. “We did the morning dishes, then helped clean up the mess from the icebox. Then we shelled some peas. And I started a sampler. Angie’s showing me how to sew different stitches.”

  Usually Angie wore her summer straw hat slightly tilted at a stylish angle. Today her hat sat squarely on top of her head giving her a severe look. She also seemed tired. Maybe she wasn’t sleeping any better than he was.

  “Why did you come home in the middle of a workday, Sam?” she asked quietly.

  “I’m putting in a lot of hours now that the days are long, and I miss all of you. It occurred to me that you three haven’t really been anywhere since the Fourth of July parade. So I thought we all deserved a nice family outing.”

  Lucy pushed her empty dish forward. “Can we go now?”

  Sam’s small fantasy crumbled. He had imagined passersby glancing in the shop’s window and admiring his fine-looking family. The admirers would see his beautiful daughters smartly turned out in their little hats and gloves, and his beautiful wife with bright dark eyes and smiling dimples. And there he would be with his hair slicked down and tied back, beaming proudly.

  “You may go,” Angie said. “Don’t forget. You promised to help Mrs. Molly weed her kitchen garden.”

  The girls slid off their tall chairs and ran out of the shop, leaving Sam alone with Angie. He cleared his throat and tugged at his collar.

  “I guess I owe you an apology, too.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Angie had her gracious moments, he’d be the first to say so. But this wasn’t one of them. The look in her eye reminded him of the day she’d arrived, right before she hit him. She had that fizzy look, like she was spoiling for a fight.

  “The thing is, De Groot sticks in my craw. What kind of man courts another man’s wife?” Talking about it made him feel fizzy himself. “How could the bastard talk to you about marriage when you’re wearing my ring? That isn’t decent.”

  Her gaze was frosty. “Is this your idea of an apology?”

  She had a point. “Well, surely you can see why I wouldn’t want him writing to you, can’t you? And what do you say when you write to him?” It drove him crazy wondering what they said to each other. Did De Groot call her darling? Did she call him dearest? Did they long for each other on paper?

  “I’m going home.”

  He caught her arm. “Angie, wait. I’m sorry, all right?” She stared at him with those bottomless dark eyes, and he wished he were an eloquent man. Since he wasn’t, he longed to kiss her and let his mouth and hands speak for him. “When I said I didn’t care who you wrote to, that wasn’t true. You’ll say this isn’t fair and you’ll be right, but I hate it that De Groot is out there waiting for you. I hate it that you think about him and write to him. Call it pride, call it pettiness, call it selfishness. But I can’t stand to think of you with another man, especially after . . .”

  She looked around hastily, then lowered her gaze and blushed bright red.

  “You know what I’m saying.” And he was saying it badly. “Anyway. I apologize for . . .” Frowning, he tried to think of the right words.

  “For trying to deny me my own postal box.”

  “Did I do that?” He recalled asking why they had two boxes. He didn’t remember telling her that she couldn’t have her own postal box.

  “And for attempting to control and ruin my future.”

  “I just think you should wait until we’re divorced before you get engaged to someone else.” No matter what she said, he didn’t think that was an unreasonable point of view.

  “And for being sulky and childish.”

  “On that one I plead guilty, damn it.” Ignoring propriety, he took her gloved hand in his and squeezed gently. “I’m sorry, Angie. I’ve missed you. I particularly miss talking to you at the end of the day.”

  He’d missed the light rose scent of her and the wink of dimples when she smiled. He’d missed the way her skirt crackled with purpose when she walked. And the pleasure in her eyes when he complimented her cooking or noticed a freshly scrubbed floor. He’d missed the undercurrent of tension between them and the possibility, even if remote, that she might step forward and into his arms, that she might hunger for him as he hungered for her.

  The chill in her eyes gradually thawed, and she sighed. “I’ve missed you, too, Sam.”

  Well, that was something. It gave him an absurd burst
of pleasure to hear her admit it.

  “This probably isn’t a good time to mention this, but there’s never going to be a good time. I get so anxious and worried about everything.” Closing her eyes, she withdrew her hand and raised it to her throat. “I worry that the high grade will play out and we won’t be able to pay the grocer or the iceman or buy lamp oil or wood for the stove. I worry that we’ll never have money in all the jars at the same time. And I worry most that you’ll lose the girls and the Govenors will win. Then they’ll be sent off to Miss Washington’s school and they’ll be lonely and unhappy, and—”

  “I promise you, Angie. None of that will happen.”

  She stared. “How can you sound so certain? Did you find your jackpot?”

  “No. But I’m following a solid vein and it isn’t going to play out. Someday the L&D Mine is going to be as famous as the Moose Jaw.”

  She looked away and he knew that she didn’t believe him. She thought he was presenting dreams and hope as fact. That had always been the problem. She hadn’t believed in him ten years ago, and she didn’t believe in him now.

  But he suddenly knew why he kept delaying doing what he knew he had to do. It wasn’t just the hope of finding a vug and marvelous riches. It was knowing that the joy of arranging Daisy’s surgery would be balanced by the devastation of losing Angie.

  She stood on the boardwalk in front of Stetson’s Ice Cream Shoppe and watched Sam walk away from her. Thank heaven the period of silence had ended. The days had seemed so long when she didn’t have their time together to look forward to. She didn’t remember ever feeling that way about Peter.

  She had never wondered where Peter was or what he was doing. Had never asked herself what Peter might be thinking. She had never gazed into Peter’s eyes and felt as if she were drowning in heat and light, and she had never longed to stroke Peter’s skin or drink a hundred kisses from his mouth. But she had thought all those things in regard to Sam Holland.

  Frowning and feeling confused, she lifted her hem off the dusty street and climbed Fourth Avenue to the Carr Street crossway where she halted abruptly.

  Half a block ahead three boys circled Daisy, chanting, “Gimp along, gimp along, look at Miss Limp-Along.”

  Horror filled Angie’s eyes. She couldn’t see Daisy’s face, but she saw her small rigid back and the way she struggled to stand up straight. She saw the handfuls of skirt gripped in Daisy’s shaking hands.

  And she spotted Lucy farther up the block walking away from Daisy and the jeering boys.

  “Gimp along, gimp along, look at—”

  Angie charged forward and cuffed the boy’s ear hard enough to knock the rest of the taunt out of his head.

  “You should be ashamed of yourselves, all of you! What kind of low-down bully would ridicule a little girl for a condition she can’t help?” The boys stared at Angie, then glanced toward Daisy and lowered their eyes to the ground. “What if it was you with the crippled foot?” Fury snapped in her gaze. “What if you were the one who was different?” None of the boys would look at her. “Is this how your parents taught you to treat girls? Is this how you treat people with afflictions? If I hear of any of you doing something like this again, I’ll call on your parents and ask if they’re proud of you for bullying and taunting defenseless little girls.”

  All three boys looked up with dread and alarm.

  “Oh yes, I’ll do it,” she promised, letting them see her disgust. She grabbed the nearest boy by the collar and dragged him forward. “You apologize to her, you nasty little ruffian!”

  One by one they muttered apologies while Daisy stood silently, tears running down her face.

  The last boy threw a quick look at Angie, then shyly touched Daisy’s sleeve. “I really am sorry,” he said again. “You have pretty hair.”

  Angie gripped Daisy’s hand. “Get out of our way,” she said to the boys. Lifting her chin, she stepped forward. “Hold your head up, Daisy. It’s them who bear the shame, not you.” And there was someone else who should be ashamed, she thought, narrowing her gaze on the small figure ahead who walked into their house.

  By the time Angie and Daisy arrived, Lucy had already put away her straw hat and white gloves. She waited beside the kitchen door.

  Angie took Daisy’s hat and gloves, then knelt and washed the tears from Daisy’s cheeks with a cool, damp cloth. “I don’t think they’ll bother you again. But if they do, ignore them. Believe me, three boys like that aren’t worth one little girl like you.”

  Daisy threw her arms around Angie’s neck and held on so tightly that Angie couldn’t breathe. Finally she drew back and looked into Angie’s eyes and a faint smile brushed her lips.

  “You really smacked Billy hard.”

  Immediately she thought about setting a good example, about teaching young girls the gentler, softer side of life. Undoubtedly a real mother would have handled this situation very differently and much better.

  Angie stood and smoothed down her skirts. “A woman should never resort to violence,” she said self-consciously. “It’s unladylike and absolutely wrong to strike anyone.” She gave each girl a long, sober look to show that she meant what she was saying. And she hoped they hadn’t heard about her smacking Sam when she got off the train. “But . . . if you ever find yourself in an unusual circumstance—such as we just experienced—and violence is the only sensible recourse . . . and unfortunately, sometimes it is . . .” She threw up both hands and prayed her Italian temper wouldn’t ruin them for life. “Then hit the bastard as hard as you can.”

  They gaped at her. “You said a bad word,” Lucy gasped.

  “I know and I apologize.” Today was certainly the day for apologies. “Now then. Daisy, you run over to Mrs. Molly’s and ask her which part of her garden she wants you to weed. Tell her that Lucy will be along in a few minutes.” She looked at Lucy over Daisy’s head. “You and I need a few words.”

  Lucy dragged her feet to the table and sat down. A sulky pout stole across her eyes and mouth.

  Angie pushed aside the green material and folded her hands on the table. “I’m disappointed in you,” she said finally.

  “I said I was sorry for breaking your mama’s cup and saucer.”

  “If someone had asked, I would have sworn that you would never abandon your sister to a gang of bullies.”

  At once Angie saw that her instinct had been correct. A stricken expression erased any trace of a sulk, and Lucy looked down at her lap. “Daisy doesn’t stick up for me.”

  “She sides with you whenever she can. Daisy idolizes you, Lucy. She tries to do everything just like you. She brushes her hair a hundred strokes because you do. She wants to go where you go and do what you do. Her new school dresses might be different colors than yours, but the pattern must be the same. I could give you a dozen other examples. When Daisy honestly cannot agree with something you say, it upsets her terribly. She loves you and looks up to you.”

  A tear welled over Lucy’s lashes and plopped on her clasped hands. “She sticks up for you!”

  “Is that a reason to punish her?” Angie asked gently. “Those boys frightened and humiliated her. Don’t you think you should have helped her?”

  “She doesn’t think about Mama anymore.” Lucy’s tears came faster and she wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “But Mama’s watching from heaven and Mama feels bad because Daisy loves you!”

  Angie blinked. Had she heard correctly? Leaning forward, she put a hand on Lucy’s shoulder and bent to see the child’s streaming face. “Lucy . . . do you think that you and Daisy betray your mother if you love someone else?” Oh my heavens. She dropped to her knees beside Lucy’s chair.

  “She’s our mama and we should love her!”

  “Of course you should. And I know you do.”

  “We shouldn’t love anyone else!”

  “Darling, you can love two people at the same time. If Daisy loves me, and I hope she does, that doesn’t mean that Daisy no longer loves her mama. She can
love us both.” Gently, she pulled a tear-damp strand from Lucy’s cheek and tucked it behind her ear, then she framed Lucy’s face between her hands and gazed into wet gray eyes. “Think about all the people you love. Daisy, your papa, Mrs. Molly, your teacher, maybe even Miss Lily.”

  Lucy stared at her.

  “Wouldn’t it be a shame if we could only love one person? But my darling girl, we don’t have to love someone at the expense of someone else.” She peered into Lucy’s eyes. “We have an endless supply of love, and isn’t that wonderful? We don’t have to stop loving one person in order to love another.”

  “Are you sure?” Lucy whispered.

  “Oh yes. Daisy isn’t betraying your mother if she loves me, too. There’s room in Daisy’s heart to love many people. That’s true for you, too. I think of your mother a lot, did you know that? I didn’t know her, but I think she and I would have liked each other because we have something important in common. We love the same people. I wish I could sit down with your mother over a cup of coffee and tell her how fast you’re growing and ask her about your grandparents. There are so many things I’d like to tell her and ask her. I imagine you feel that way, too.”

  Lucy threw herself into Angie’s arms. “I’m mad that she died! Then I feel bad for being mad at her! And sometimes I like you a lot, and then I feel bad about that, too.”

  “I know.” Angie patted her back, felt Lucy’s tears on her neck. “Sometimes I get mad at my mother for dying.”

  “Then do you feel bad?”

  “Sometimes. But sometimes I think it’s all right to be angry. Because that means I miss her and I’m sorry that she died.” Gently she guided Lucy backward so she could look into her eyes. “We don’t ever want to forget our mothers. But there’s something else we shouldn’t forget.”

  Lucy wiped her nose. “What?”

  “Our mothers loved us, Lucy. And our mothers wouldn’t want us to be unhappy. Our mothers would want us to go forward and to open our hearts and love and laugh and live our lives. Our mothers wouldn’t want us to stop loving. Don’t you agree?”