Ophelia

by Charlene Raddon

  “Are you going to tell me?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

  “Tell you what?”

  “You've remembered me, haven't you? That's why you've been avoiding me.”

  The bubble popped, and Ophelia shook her head to clear it. Spinning about, she sat on the edge of the bed. Brody shut the door and sat beside her.

  The moment she'd dreaded had come. She could lie, but why? It would only put off the inevitable.

  Looking him in the eye, she said, “Yes, Deuce, of course, I know you.”

  “I thought so. Is that all you have to say?”

  “What would you have me say?” She jerked to her feet and flounced over to the washstand. Filling the basin with cool water from the pitcher, she bent and splashed her face to awaken her brain. She needed to think clearly.

  Finally, she turned to him. “Where did you disappear to all those years ago? Why did you go? Why—” She halted. The last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself. She had sworn she wouldn't mention his vanishing act in Creede, and certainly not let him see how it had hurt her.

  “Didn't Mortimer explain my absence?” Brody stood and paced in front of her. “No, of course he didn't. What made me think he would?”

  “What are you talking about? What did Mortimer have to do with you going away without so much as a goodbye?”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “Mortimer arranged my little surprise departure.”

  His voice had grown hard, almost cruel. He grabbed her upper arms, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Tell me you knew nothing about it. Tell me the two of you didn't laugh about his little prank after I was hauled away.”

  Prank? Hauled away? What was he talking about?

  “Deuce, I knew nothing about what happened to you. Until now, I believed you were dead somewhere.”

  His fingers gentled, and his thumbs caressed the indentations where he'd held her too tightly a moment before. She studied his face. Anger narrowed his eyes and intensified their color, making the gold sparkles pop out even more. Only a sense of betrayal would cause that much fury. “You had no choice, did you?”

  Dropping his hands to his sides, he backed away. “That bastard. That two-faced, lying devil.”

  “Who? You're not making sense. Mortimer?” She gasped as realization hit. “Mortimer forced you to leave somehow.”

  Another bitter chuckle. “He told me you wanted me gone, that you were sick of me and my constant visits. This, as I was being tied up and dragged off by two men big enough and strong enough to carry an elephant.”

  “Where did they take you?” The words Barbary Coast flashed into her brain, but Creede, Colorado, was no Barbary Coast.

  “To a mine in New Mexico so isolated they couldn't get anyone to work there except Indians they captured, or men like me who were shanghaied.” He began to pace again. “We worked in that hell-hole fourteen hours a day and received only one meal of watery gruel each evening. A whip discouraged complaints. They never lashed me, though, and I escaped five months later. It took several weeks to regain my health and find the strength to travel.”

  He faced her. “When I returned to Creede, they told me you had married Mortimer and moved away. I felt so much bitterness. I tried to forget you, forget what Mortimer had done to me. I worked as a marshal for a short time, but mostly, I gambled and drank up my profits. Five months ago, I thought I saw you in a crowd and made a fool of myself grabbing a strange woman. After that disappointment, I decided I'd wasted enough time. I had things to say to you and Mortimer, so I roamed from mining town to mining town until I found someone who knew where to find Mortimer. That's when I came here.”

  “And yet, after all he did, you work for him? He didn't recognize you?”

  “He hasn't seen me. Owen hired me on his behalf. But one of these days, he'll show up and I'll be waiting.”

  “You must have learned where I was before you came here.”

  “Yes, but I wanted to deal with Mortimer first. Owen recommended I give the whole thing some time, try to simmer down and avoid doing something else stupid. When he told me you were coming here, I knew my time had come. But you didn't know me. You have any idea how that felt, Ophelia?”

  Before she could answer, he had her in his arms, clamped tightly to his chest. “I thought I would die when they hauled me away. Ophelia, Ophelia, I missed you so much I couldn't bear it. Didn't you look for me? Ask after me?”

  Being in his arms felt so good, so right. Her brain told her to push him away. Her heart wanted him there forever. It struck her what she'd missed all these years— this feeling of closeness, of being needed, desired. Only Deuce had ever made her feel this way. Why hadn't she seen it before?

  Because twenty years ago, when he'd vanished without a word, she'd done her best to put all thoughts of him from her mind.

  Apparently, the need remained, forever elusive, forever calling out to her. She simply hadn't known what to call it.

  Love? She'd thought Mortimer loved her. At first.

  She'd also thought she knew Mortimer, knew to what depths he'd sink to get what he wanted.

  She eased away from Deuce. “Mortimer told you I wanted you gone and had you shanghaied to a mine. Because of me?”

  “Because he knew we loved each other. He wanted you for himself.” He voice grew bitter. “And he got you.” With each word, his voice hardened more.

  “How could he have known I loved you?” she spat back at him. “I hadn't even realized it myself.”

  “I knew how you felt about me. Everyone did. It showed on your face every time I came in the door.”

  Her mouth fell open. She quickly closed it. To think everyone had been able to see through her so easily left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. She turned away.

  “Ophelia…”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, then turned. “Why are you smiling? Have you forgiven him? You hold no grudge against him?” She stalked across the room and back, poking him in the chest when she reached him. “Well, I feel no forgiveness for him.”

  “Neither do I, but the pain of losing you, the anger, and the need for revenge…they don't seem to matter anymore. I've found you. That's what matters.” He took hold of her hand and drew her against him again. “Tell me to leave, Queenie. If you aren't happy to see me, if you truly want me gone, tell me. Otherwise, you may never get rid of me.”

  “Slow down, Deuce. Brody. Damn, I can't keep it straight in my mind who you are.” She peered up at him. “Is Brody your real name? All I ever knew was Deuce.”

  “Brody Duvall is my real name. I never purposely hid it. By the time I hit Creede, I'd already gained the nickname and it followed me. No one ever asked for my surname.”

  He had locked his hands at the small of her back. She rested hers on his arms. “What now? What do we do now?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  She gave a shivery little shrug as if struck with a chill. “I don't know. That's the truth. I feel a little numb. I'm not sure what to think or feel.”

  “You shouldn't need to think about what you feel. You just feel it. Act on it.”

  “Twenty years ago I fought to put you out of my mind, to erase everything I ever felt for you. Now, I'm at a loss, confused, uncertain. I'm floundering, Brody.”

  He released her and stepped back. “Then I'll give you time to figure it out. I'm not leaving. I have a score to settle with Mortimer. And you and I? We have matters to settle between us.”

  “I have a score to settle with my husband as well.” She went to move around him, exhausted and eager for her bed—alone.

  He blocked her path. “Don't turn away from me. Please don't do that.”

  She gazed up at him. “I'm not. I simply want to sit down. I need time to take this all in. There's been so much to deal with lately. So much change. I always knew I'd married a greedy man, and I suspected him of being a womanizer, a cheat and a liar. Now, to learn he could send you to a fate he knew would likely kill you…. I've fil
ed for divorce. I have so much to deal with, so much to face. I feel overwhelmed, and overriding all that, I worry about my children. They don't know about their father or the divorce yet. I'm not sure what to tell them.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Dominick is in Pittsburgh at the Theological Seminary. He wants to be a preacher.”

  Brody chuckled.

  “What are you laughing about?”

  “Mortimer's son becoming a preacher. It's a bit to wrap your mind around.”

  She smiled. “That's because you don't know Dom. And neither does his father.”

  “And your daughter? Where is she?”

  “Salt Lake City. She married five months ago and is carrying her first child. I only received word of the baby yesterday, in a letter.”

  “Then they know you're here.”

  “Yes, but not that it's a permanent move.” She stepped away and fingered the fringe on a pillow. “Mortimer knows nothing about her marriage or the baby. The children hold some resentment against him for not being around much in the last ten years. When he was home, he ignored them, so I can't blame them for feeling as they do.”

  “No, they have cause for their resentment. I'd love to meet them someday.”

  Yawning, she sat down, overcome with exhaustion. “I have a feeling you will.”

  “Go to bed, Ophelia. I'll see you tomorrow.” Brody walked over and kissed her on the forehead. “Neither of us is going anywhere. We have time to get to know each other again. We have a women's shelter to open. Have I mentioned how proud I am of you for that? You are one hell of a woman, one I—”

  She put a finger over his mouth. “Please, don't declare any emotions. Not now. There's too much going on. Let's deal with one thing at a time.”

  He kissed her finger. “As long as you don't forget me again.”

  “Oh, Brody, I could never do that.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Ladies!” Angie Dobbs called out to quiet the townswomen who had come to the hotel dining room for a meeting about the women's shelter. “Ladies, please. We're here to discuss jams and jellies, not babies.”

  She gave Ophelia an apologetic shrug and sat back down. Ophelia smiled. She couldn't get used to the change that had come over the women since the town meeting a lifetime ago. One might think she had been friends with them forever instead of a newcomer married to a man they hated. Standing, she walked to the front of the room. Angie sat down with the others.

  “Thank you, Angie. As I was saying before the discussion went off-track, for Safe Haven to work it must be self-supporting. That's why I need jam recipes. Have any of you had experience bottling jams and jellies made from the local berries?”

  Brody peeked in from the parlor. She flapped a hand at him to go. He threw her a kiss and disappeared.

  “Shoot, girl,” Olive Winterhalter, the town butcher, was saying. “We've about all done that. I like elderberry jam the best, and it's good for you. Have to use the blue ones though. Don't ever eat the red ones.”

  “Oh, I love chokecherry jam.” Mrs. Spense, the doctor's wife, stood up. “I have an excellent recipe if you'd like a copy, Mrs. Crane.”

  “Please, call me Ophelia. As soon as my divorce goes through I'll be taking back my maiden name, Corrigan. Thank you, Mrs. Spense. I'd love to have that recipe. Any other suggestions?”

  “I always add thimbleberries to my jam,” Hester Vaile said.

  From there, the discussion went downhill again, everyone trying to talk at the same time. It was so noisy and lively; all Ophelia could do was grin. She loved it. The loneliness she'd suffered for years seemed to have cracked and begun peeling away, like egg shells.

  Although she had received several good suggestions and a few recipes, she suspected she'd get more as time went along. The women also discussed quilting as a means of making money for the women's shelter.

  At the back of the room sat Amethyst, Pearl and Emerald. Ruby refused to come since she would be leaving. The other girls claimed they had a right to attend the meeting and know what they'd be getting into if they stayed. Several ladies had looked shocked at seeing them there but said nothing. Now, Ophelia noticed Amethyst saying something to Mrs. Spense and the woman answered in a friendly manner.

  Smiling, Ophelia was about to close the meeting when Marzda jumped up and hurried to the door where Ruby stood. She whispered something to Marzda and hurried away.

  “What did she want?” She asked when the girl came to her.

  “She said bees have gotten into an upstairs storeroom and built a hive. Some escaped when she opened the door and, now, they're flying all over inside the building.”

  “Oh, no. We'd better find Brody and see if he can suggest how to get rid of them.”

  “I can whistle them out,” Marzda said. “Then we can get the honey.”

  Ophelia could only stare at her. Who ever heard of whistling to bees?

  “Did someone say honey?” Hester asked, joining them.

  “Yes, one of the girls from the salon just came to tell us bees have built a hive inside one of the rooms there. We'll have to get rid of them somehow.”

  “Don't get rid of them,” Marzda said.

  “Why not, child?” Hester asked.

  “'Cause we can get honey from them.”

  “Yes,” Hester said. “Honey is a valuable commodity. You might be able to support your women's home with honey alone.”

  “But we can't leave the hive where it is,” Ophelia said. “In Colorado, I knew a man who died after being stung. He was allergic to them. “

  “Back home when I was little, my pa had honey hives. I know how to handle them,” Marzda said.

  “Oh, I don't know.” Ophelia shook her head. “It sounds dangerous to me.”

  The girl grinned. “You just have to know how to treat them and wear the right clothes. Me and Brody can take care of it.”

  Hester turned to the other women. “Ladies, did you hear that? The salon has been invaded by bees. They built a hive in a storeroom. Anybody else here know anything about beekeeping and what to do with the honey?”

  Justine Ditzler raised her hand. “I do. My father raised bees back in Ohio.”

  Ophelia listened to her chatter about how much she enjoyed working with the bees. Marzda had joined the woman and the two of them seemed to have a world of information about the pests. As one of the widows of Wildcat Ridge, Justine had yet to find a husband, which Ophelia found surprising. The woman was quite lovely and easy to get along with.

  More women joined the discussion and the noise level climbed.

  Brody appeared in the doorway. “What's all the excitement about? I could hear you clear outside.”

  Marzda ran to him. “Oh, Brody, we're going to raise bees and sell honey.”

  He glanced at Ophelia who shrugged. “The ladies seem to think we could support Safe Haven selling honey.”

  “That's a great idea, if we can get enough bees to nest in hand-built hives,” he said. “Or do you plan to tramp through the forests searching for bee hives?”

  “There's a hive in the salon. I can get them out and into wooden boxes, if you'll help me,” Marzda said.

  He shrugged, appearing amused. “All right. We'll give it a try.”

  “You need a place for the bees to store their honey before you try to move the swarm,” Marzda explained to Brody a few days later. The mercantile didn't have the appropriate fabric for shielding them from the bees and had to order it from Curdy's Crossing. Ophelia paid extra for it to be rushed to them.

  Wearing loose gauzy sheets over their heads that draped down their bodies, the two of them stood in the storeroom at the salon where the bees had built their hive.

  “So, how do I do that?” He flapped his hand at a too-curious bee hovering in his face.

  “We could use an Indian basket that's tightly woven or a hollow log, but I think we should build a bee-box.”

  “You know how to do that?”

  “It's not hard. Are ther
e any white pine trees here?”

  Brody screwed up his face at that. “Why? What do white pines have to do with bees?”

  “That's the best wood for beehives. At least, that's what my pa used.”

  “Let's get out of this oversized beehive and we can talk about it more.” Brody headed for the door. They were careful to avoid releasing more bees into the building. He had grave doubts about this whole project. It seemed an awful lot of trouble to go to just for a little honey. To earn money from it, they'd need a lot of honey.

  As they walked downstairs, Brody asked, “So, you remember how your pa made his beehives?”

  “Yes. I used to help him. He was going to make new ones when we got to California.” Sadness filled her eyes. “But we didn't make it there.”

  Brody took her hand in his, sensing her grief. “I know. You miss him, don't you?”

  “Yeah.” Emotion filled her voice.

  Realizing she was about to cry, Brody changed the subject. “How do we get the little stingers to use our hive?”

  “We could see if the pharmacy has any lemongrass oil. That would draw them in. And then I whistle to them. It seems to mesmerize them, and they'll do what I want.”

  “Amazing.” This was beginning to seem like a circus show. Controlling bees by whistling sounded a bit insane.

  “Ok,” he said. ''Let's go talk to Andy about white pinewood. Maybe he'll make the boxes for us.”

  “I can tell him how.” Marzda looked up at him. “You're nice, Brody. I wish you could be my new pa and Ophelia my ma.”

  Brody laughed, but a secret part inside of him choked up with emotion. He had the same wish as Marzda. His life would be full then. Ophelia as his wife and Marzda for a daughter. He'd never want for more.

  They walked to the pharmacy near Dr. Spense's office. Mr. Leyshon, the pharmacist, didn't have lemongrass oil but said he'd order it for them. The undertaker was a few doors over, working on a coffin. “Hey, you two. What are you doing here?”

  Brody shook Andy's hand. “We're wondering if you have any white pine.”