Daughter of Joy (24 page)

“I think so.” Abby straightened. “At least let Hannah stay until her baby’s born and she’s recovered from the birth. Give her six months.”

Conor grimaced. “
Three
months, and that’s tops. I don’t want her getting the idea she’s got a permanent home here.”

Three months wasn’t much time but, for now, it was a reasonable compromise. Abby nodded. “Three months. Then we reconsider if she can stay longer or must leave. Deal?”

He cocked a dark brow, then sighed his acquiescence, and defeat. “Deal.”

Abby waited until the next afternoon for Ella to stop by. When she did not, Abby decided to take the matter in hand. Her excuse for a visit, she decided as she trudged up the hill to Ella’s house, would be the announcement of her and Conor’s engagement.

She found her friend behind her house, hanging laundry on the clothesline. At her greeting Ella turned, a wooden clothespin in her mouth, a wet nightshirt in her hand.

“Hello,” she mumbled without much enthusiasm. “Give me a moment to finish hanging this, will you?” Abby nodded, and waited patiently until Ella was done hanging the nightshirt. Then she strode over and took up her friend’s hands. “I’ve some wonderful news to tell you.”

Ella eyed her warily. “You do?”

“Yes.” Abby couldn’t hide her grin of delight. “Conor proposed again last night, and I accepted. We’re to be married on July 4th.”

Ella’s eyes grew wide. “I’m so happy for you and Conor. I kept hoping and praying …” She paused, cocking her head. “Did you just say Conor proposed
again?
“

Abby blushed. “Yes, I did. The first time was the morning after the bunkhouse burned down. I wouldn’t say yes then, but I did agree to a courtship.”

“A courtship that obviously was known only to the two of you.” Ella didn’t look very happy.

“Oh, Ella, don’t be mad.” Abby squeezed her hand. “We just didn’t want to disappoint anyone, in case we discovered we weren’t suited. Perhaps it was wrong or selfish, but we meant well.”

“I suppose you did.” As Ella pulled her hand free, she gave a dismissing wave. “Just like you meant well in bringing that woman to Culdee Creek.”

Abby’s heart sank. So, her fears about Ella’s sudden distancing of herself had not been far off the mark. She motioned to the crude, log bench standing beside the back door. “Why don’t we sit for a spell and talk this out? Okay, Ella?”

“Don’t see as how it’ll make much difference,” the redhaired woman muttered, heading toward the bench.

Gathering her skirts, Abby followed her. For a long while, the two women sat there, silently watching the wind-whipped ponderosas covering the hills behind them, and the beautiful, bright blue sky. Finally, Abby couldn’t keep quiet a moment longer.

“I gather Devlin told you about Hannah’s arrival,” she began, choosing her words carefully.

“Yes, he did. He’s none too pleased about having a woman like her around the children.” Ella’s face took on a pinched, distressed look. “He said Conor wasn’t much help, though. Seems he promised you three months with this woman or some fool thing like that.”

Abby squelched her twinge of irritation at Ella’s tactless assessment. She was upset and frightened, fearful of where all this might lead. Perhaps the best course of action was to bring those fears to light and name them. “Do you think that’s Devlin’s only reason for not wanting Hannah here, Ella?” she prodded gently.

“You know it isn’t.”

“What are the others, then?”

“He doesn’t want to be reminded of what he did.” Ella swiped away a tear. “I’d imagine he’s also afraid that this Hannah might recognize him, and let it slip where she’s seen him before.”

“So he’s told you not to come near her, hasn’t he?” Abby scooted closer and put her arm about Ella’s shoulders. “Perhaps he even imagined that if I discovered you weren’t coming to visit because of Hannah, that I might send her away.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” her friend said with a sniffle. “Right about now, I’d reckon Devlin’s mighty scared.”

“But is that what
you
want, Ella?” She began to stroke Ella’s arm. “Do you think my bringing Hannah here, because she begged me to help her and had no one else, is reason enough to destroy our friendship?”

“N-no.” Ella began to weep. “But Devlin won’t understand. He’ll be angry.”

“His anger is but a mask for his fear.” Abby clutched Ella close. “His fear of losing you, if you discover his unfaithfulness.”

“But I already know,” she wailed. “And I’ve forgiven him.”

“Devlin doesn’t know that, Ella.” Taking her by the shoulders, Abby gazed into her friend’s tear-reddened eyes.

“Should I tell him I know?”

“It might bring about a much needed healing for the both of you.”

“Yes,” Ella agreed softly. “It just might. Perhaps I’ve been a mite uncharitable toward my husband, in allowing him to suffer so long over this. Perhaps I enjoyed his guilt and torment, and wasn’t all that eager to ease his burden. After all, he hurt me deeply.”

“It was a very human reaction, to be hurt and want to hurt in return.”

Ella nodded, her gaze thoughtful. “Yes. But it was also as damaging as the unfaithful act that set it all into motion. As Christians, we’re not only called to imitate Christ in deed but to react like He would, too.”

“Yes, we are. It’s not always easy, though, is it?”

“No, it’s not.” Ella’s smile broadened until a look of joyous understanding filled her eyes. “The truth has been there all along, hasn’t it, Abby? If only I’d had the courage to face it.”

“And now you do.”

“Yes,” Ella agreed with a nod, “now I do.”

May 3, 1896

Dearest Nelly
,

So much has happened of late. A young woman named Hannah has come to live with me in the bunkhouse. She’s a reformed prostitute and will soon deliver her first child. Though it’s not quite the same scale as Thomas’s mission for outcasts and indigents, I’d imagine he’ll look down kindly on my efforts nonetheless.

I am also beginning to make plans for a July 4th wedding to Conor. Yes, your direst fears have come true. But I love him, Nelly, and he loves me. More than anything I’ve wanted in a very long time, I want to be a wife to him and a mother to Beth. Please be happy for me, and wish me the best.

Everything is at last falling into place as I feel certain the Lord always intended it to. I think back now to that day you and I first came to Culdee Creek. I recall how angry I became when you accused me of running away and shirking my duty to myself, others, and even to God. Well, perhaps you struck closer to the truth than I cared to admit.

I’m not running away anymore, Nelly. I’m facing life, embracing it willingly, joyously now. I have so very, very much to live for, and so much still left to give. The Lord has opened my eyes, and Conor and Beth have opened my heart.

We plan to wed in Grand View’s Episcopal Church. I’ve sent word to my parents and brothers, inviting them to come. Won’t you please consider coming, too? I do so want you and your dear husband to be there with me on the happy day.

Well, I must close for now. Time for Beth’s lessons. Did I mention in my last letter that we’re now including Scripture in her reading assignments? She tells me she wants to be baptized on our wedding day. I’m praying with all my might that it won’t be long now before Conor, too, returns to the Lord.

Fondly,
Abby

Five days later, in the middle of the night, Hannah went into labor. With help from Abby and Ella, she had delivered a healthy baby boy by dawn. After cleaning up mother and son, Abby sent an exhausted Ella on her way. Then, pulling up the rocking chair beside the bed Conor had hastily built for Hannah’s room, she sat back to watch.

Jackson Cutler—for Cutler was Hannah’s given name—nursed hungrily at his mother’s breast. His pink little lips encircled the plump tissue, his cheeks pumping furiously. One tiny fist, perfectly formed, curled about a pale lock of his mother’s hair that had tumbled down near his face. His own hair, though, was dark brown, already thick and, now that it was dry, even possessed a hint of a wave.

“So, what do you think of my precious little boy?” Abby lifted her gaze from the infant to its mother. “He’s beautiful, Hannah. Absolutely beautiful.”

She smiled in sleepy satisfaction. “Thank you. I think so, too.”

“Would you like for me to leave the two of you alone for a while? I don’t wish to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding, ma’am. It makes me feel safe when you’re near. I’m certain my little boy will feel the same way about you, when he’s old enough to know.”

If he’s even fortunate to still be here, Abby thought glumly, remembering her bargain with Conor. But Hannah didn’t need to know that now. Now was a time of rest and contentment, a time to savor the triumph of accomplishment. She’d come through one of the greatest trials of a woman’s life safely and well.

“I’d like very much to share in his care and upbringing,” Abby said instead. “He’s a very special child.”

“Yes.” Tenderly, she stroked his cheek. “He is.”

Abby closed her eyes against a sudden swell of tears. Babies. Oh, how they now always brought back the bittersweet memories. They were memories, though, no longer as hard to bear.

She wondered if she and Conor would someday have a baby of their own. If they did the child would never fill the aching hole in her heart left by her beloved Joshua. That child, like little Jackson, would just make a new place all its very own.

Slowly, thoughtfully, Abby began to rock. The morning came and went. In time, she slept the deep, restful sleep of the weary but contented. She dreamt of sunshine, flowers, and children playing in the spring grass. Dreamt of her and Conor watching those children, full of love and pride. The dream was like an answer to some prayer.

“Abby! Abby, wake up!”

A hand, shaking her, jerked Abby from her dream. Her eyes snapped open. Ella stood there, a look of grave concern on her face.

“What’s wrong?” She bolted upright in her chair. “Is Hannah all right?”

“I’m just fine, ma’am.” A sweet voice rose from the bed beside her. “So’s Jackson.”

“It’s not Hannah, Abby.” Ella grasped her arm. “It’s Conor.”

“Conor?” Freshened terror filled her. “What’s happened to Conor?”

“Nothing yet,” her friend muttered. “But Evan’s come home, Abby, and unless I miss my guess, there’s a fight brewing.”

18

Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.

Luke 15:6

Heart pounding, Conor stormed out of the house and headed for his son who was, even then, dismounting from a mangy, brown mule. At the sound of his footsteps on the front porch, the visitor paused and looked up. For a long moment, their gazes met.

A wild mix of emotions stampeded through Conor. Relief, at seeing Evan alive and well, if now thin to the point of gauntness and dressed in little more than rags, warred with anger for the pain and heartache his leaving had caused. The overriding impulse to take his son in his arms and forgive all, however, was quickly squelched by the memory of his theft. A theft, Conor reminded himself bitterly, that had put Culdee Creek seriously in debt, forcing the sale of over five hundred prime grazing acres and cutting the ranch’s original size nearly in half.

So, instead of walking down the steps to greet his son, Conor stood on the porch, his hands gripping the railing. “Before you get too comfortable there,” he growled, purposely leaning on the railing in order to tower over Evan, “why don’t you just state your business, then mount up and ride on out? You’re not welcome here anymore.”

Anguish flared in the depths of Evan’s smoky-blue eyes, then was gone. “I know.” He sighed. “I did wrong, Pa, in leaving like I did. I’ve grown up this past year, though. It’s time we talked. Really talked, I mean. Manto-man.”

Conor gave a harsh laugh. “Man-to-man? Does that mean you plan to pay back all the money you stole? A
man
makes good on his debts.”

“Yeah, and I would, if I still had any of it.” Evan lowered his shaggy head, and began to roll the tattered brim of his sweat-stained, dusty brown hat in his hands. A lock of blue-black hair tumbled down onto his forehead. “I lost most of your money in a gold mine in Irwin. The rest, I reckon,” he added with a sheepish grin as he glanced back up at Conor, “went for the liquor and fancy ladies in Irwin’s bawdy houses.”

No wonder I couldn’t find you, Conor thought, holed up in some gold mine all the way down in the Gunnison area. “Well, if your clothes are any indication,” he observed with a disgusted snort, “I’d say your dream of striking it rich was far from fulfilled.”

“The two miners I grubstaked were liars and cheats. I was a fool to believe their promises.”

“Yeah, you sure were.”

With great effort, Conor restrained the urge to rush down off the porch and beat the living tar out of Evan. He would have, too, if he had thought it would do any good. But it wouldn’t. The sooner Evan was gone from Culdee Creek, the sooner he could forget he even had such a blamed fool son.

Conor motioned toward Evan’s mule. “I reckon we’ve visited long enough. Time you were heading back.”

“Pa, I’m sorry. So very, very sorry,” Evan cried out. He strode up to the base of the steps, his eyes full of tears. He lifted his hands in the air. “Please, Pa. Don’t send me away. No matter how long it takes, I’ll work for you to pay off my debt. You don’t have to show me any special favors just ’cause I’m your son. I can live in the bunkhouse with the other hands. Let me make it up to you. Please, Pa!”

At his son’s impassioned plea, something snapped in Conor. He’d wanted to keep their meeting civil, if cold, and quickly send Evan on his way. Any other response might have laid bare the depth of his grievous pain—a pain Evan had so callously inflicted when he’d ridden off that day last March. A pain he couldn’t bear to endure again. But it apparently wasn’t to be. Evan just wouldn’t let it be.

With a foul curse, Conor rushed down off the porch. He grabbed his son by the collar of his frayed and threadbare woolen shirt and jerked him up. “There’s nothing you can do to make it up to me!” he snarled, his voice gone low and deadly. “
Nothing!
Do you hear me? Get your sorry carcass off my—”

“Conor, don’t!”

A voice, belovedly familiar and urgently entreating, pierced the mists of his fury. Still holding Evan in his grip, Conor half-turned. Abby stood there, her face flushed, her chest heaving.

“Please, Conor,” she said softly, extending her hand to him. “Don’t do this. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

“I doubt that.” Conor released his son and shoved him back. “This low life, no account”—he gestured disgustedly toward his son—“stole from me, then squandered all the money. Now he has the gall to come crawling back.”

“And how much better are you?” Evan snapped. His lip curled in disdain as he turned and looked Abby up and down. “You treat women like I treat money. I see you’ve already traded in Maudie for another one. Can’t say as how this one’s any better looking, though, than most of the fancy ladies I’ve had a taste of.”

“Insolent pup!” Conor whirled around and struck out, his fist smashing into Evan’s face. Like a felled tree, his son toppled backward. He struck the ground hard, blood spurting from his nose and split lip.

With a cry, Abby rushed forward. She knelt beside Evan, pulled out a handkerchief, and applied it to his nose. “Lie still,” she ordered when Evan struggled to rise. “Let me staunch the bleeding first.”

“I don’t need your help,” he muttered, even as he allowed her ministrations. “Just get out of my way, and I’ll move on. No sense hanging around where I’m not wanted.”

Conor moved to stand beside Abby. He grasped her arm and tugged. “He’s right. Let him go. He’s a thief and liar. I can’t stand the sight of him.”

To his surprise, Abby twisted free of his hold. Over her shoulder, she shot him an outraged glance. “How dare you speak like that of your own flesh and blood? Are you so free of sin that you can judge him?”

Conor released Abby’s arm, and stepped back. “You don’t understand, Abby. You can’t. You weren’t here.”

“I understand a lot more than you think.” She turned back to minister to Evan. “I understand that your anger right now stems from the pain Evan caused you when he left. I also understand that you’re a proud man, and it’s hard for you to forgive, much less ask for forgiveness. But you must, Conor. You must!”

Heat flooded his face. Freshened anger filled him. “This isn’t the time or place, Abby. He’s nothing to you. Get up and let him go.”

Evan shoved her hand away. “I told you. I don’t need your help. And I certainly don’t want his! I’m not staying where I’m not wanted.”

She looked from him to Conor. “Well, I see bull-headed pride runs in the family. Guess it shouldn’t surprise me.” Abby climbed to her feet, and met her fiancé’s still scowling gaze. “Don’t know as how I’m all that eager to marry into it.”

Conor sighed.
Here we go again!
“And what is
that
supposed to mean?”

Abby shrugged. “It’s one thing to wed a man who no longer claims to be a practicing Christian. It’s quite another to wed one who refuses to act like one.”

Evan shoved to his feet. “Well, well,” he said with a muffled chuckle, still clutching Abby’s bloodstained handkerchief to his nose, “what’s this? Has my pa finally decided to take another wife? And a devout one, at that? May the ground open up and swallow me!”

“Don’t start, Evan!” Conor shot his son a murderous look, then turned back to Abby and took her by the arms. “What’s between Evan and me has nothing to do with you, or how I plan to live my life with you. Don’t get into the middle of this, Abby. Let me clean it up right here and now so we can go on with our lives.”

“As if nothing has happened?” she swiftly supplied. “As if this rejection of your own son doesn’t matter? No.” She gave a firm shake of her head. “I can’t marry you if you do this, Conor. I just can’t.”

Utter frustration flooded him. Blast Evan for coming home when he did. A few more months, and it would not have mattered. Leastwise not between him and Abby. But now it did matter, and matter greatly. He’d just have to deal with Evan later. The boy wasn’t worth losing Abby over.

“Fine.” Conor released her and stepped back. “Evan can stay on a while.”

“You need to ask for your father’s forgiveness, Evan.” Abby turned to the younger man. “And you, Conor,” she added, glancing at him as Evan huffed in protest, “need to forgive your son.”

Conor’s heart sank. He shook his head. “I can’t, Abby. Too much has happened. Too much time has passed.”

“You know you want to, Conor. Deep down in your heart of hearts, you want your son back.”

Her eyes were luminous and loving and knowing. In their depths Conor saw his own secret yearning, a yearning to have his son back. He had lost so much, and he longed to regain it all. A wife and a family that would never truly seem complete without both of his children …

“Yes, I suppose I do,” he whispered hoarsely. “I suppose I do.”

With that admission, Conor offered his hand to his son. “Welcome home, Evan. I’ve missed you.”

Eyes wide, mouth half-open, Evan looked from his father to Abby, then back again to his father. “And I’ve missed you, Pa.” He hesitated, then clasped his father’s hand. “I’ve really, really missed you.”

Two weeks later Abby dug happily in the rich, dark earth of her new flower beds along the front porch. Soon the soil would be spaded free of the invasive clumps of grass. Then, after some aged horse manure had been worked in to enrich the plot, she would be ready to plant the flower seeds she had accepted from several of the ladies of the Episcopal Church quilting society she had recently joined.

By late summer hollyhocks, delphiniums, bachelor buttons and daisies would be blooming. And next year she would see about purchasing some rosebushes to flank the walkway up to the front porch. Nothing, absolutely nothing, set off a garden like roses.

She leaned back, brushed an errant strand of hair from her face, and gazed up at the gloriously blue sky. Her whole being sang with happiness. It felt so good to belong somewhere again, to be able to make longterm plans and eagerly anticipate them. It felt good to be needed and to take care of loved ones again. She felt alive, vibrant, and so very full of joy.

The crazy quilt patchwork of her life was finally filling in again, scrap by colorful scrap. Since Evan’s return, father and son had made their peace. Slowly but surely, they appeared to be forming a new bond.

Abby smiled to herself. She had never seen Conor so content and at peace with himself, either. But then he had both of his children back at last, and soon he would have a new wife, too.

With renewed vigor, she resumed her digging, working her way around a particularly stubborn patch of grass. The bed was almost ready. After lunch, she would get one of the hands to bring over a couple of wheelbarrow loads of well-aged manure. Then—

The sound of angry male voices floated by her on the breeze. She paused, listening hard. It sounded like Evan, and some other man whose voice she couldn’t quite make out. Abby laid aside her spade, and rose.

Gathering her long skirts, she hurried around to the back of the house. There stood Evan, his fists clenched at his side, his body stiff with outrage, facing down Devlin MacKay. Not far away on the small bunkhouse porch stood a pale, teary-eyed Hannah, clutching her infant son.

“You take back what you said to Hannah,” Evan was saying, anger roughening his voice. “Family or not, no man talks that way to a lady in my presence and gets away with it!”

Devlin gave a harsh laugh. “And I’d be the first to agree with you, sonny, if there was a lady present. But this woman”—he gestured disparagingly toward Hannah—“is nothing more than an immoral, self-serving slut. It makes me sick to see her, not two weeks from her childbed, already plying her wiles on the likes of you. Leave her be, Evan. Leave her be.”

“You’ve no call to tell me what to do,” Evan snarled. “No more than you’ve got any right to insult Hannah like you do.”

“Blast it all!” Devlin mottled in frustrated rage. “I knew you when you were in diapers and short pants. I care about you. Do you want to ruin everything you’re beginning to rebuild with your father? You will, I promise you, if you persist in sniffing around this piece of—”

Evan didn’t wait to hear another word. He took a swing at Devlin, and only the quickest of reflexes, as the older man leaped aside, kept fist from making contact with face. In his anger Evan lunged forward, nearly losing his balance before catching himself and wheeling back around. He advanced again on Devlin.