Gingham Bride (17 page)

The wind stirred the tendrils that had escaped from her braids as she leaned her forehead against the horse’s neck. He wished he knew what would become of them all—a used-up horseman, an old gelding and a Cinderella girl with no prince to save her.

“You should bring her here.” She broke the silence between them. “You worry about her disappointment, but from what you have told me, she could never be disappointed in you. She loves you, and she is family. That is what matters.”

“True.” He wondered at the sorrow on her face, but there was no hint of it in her voice or in the way she dropped from the fence post with a hop. Her skirts swirled around her and her braids thumped against her back. He resisted the urge to draw her into his arms and hold her close, to keep her safe and snug against his chest.

Instead he watched her take the empty plate and utensils, the cloth and his dreams.

“Good night,” she said, but it felt like goodbye.

She took the starlight with her. The night deepened, the shadows took over and the first flakes of snow tumbled from an unforgiving sky. A blast of brutal wind razored through his coat as if it were nothing; he was glad when the flash of light of a door opening told him Fiona had reached the warmth of the shanty.

The snowfall tumbled like a blanket from heaven, stealing away all sight of her.

She wrung the last drops of water from the fine wool fabric. The splashes and plunks of the droplets made a pleasant melody as she worked. She could not return cut fabric, and she didn’t want to. There was nothing to be done but to continue on with the coat. The storm gusted against the eaves, echoing in the rafters inches above her head. Her attic bedroom might be small, but the heat radiating off the chimney stones kept her warm enough. But what of Ian? Was he still out there struggling to rebuild what he had lost?

She wanted to hate him for his deception, for the omission he had kept from her about buying the land anyway. She wanted a great many things as she hung the thick wool over a makeshift line. The fabric would be dry by morning and tomorrow she would work out a pattern for it. Maybe when she stopped by Miss Sims’s store, she could ask the seamstress’s advice.

You are a fool of the first water, Fiona O’Rourke. She wiped her damp hands on her apron. She had only herself to blame if her heart was broken. She had started to believe in stories and in schoolgirl fancies that had no place in a life like hers. She was not Meredith from a fine family or Lila with dreams to spare. She did not have Kate’s optimism or Scarlet’s indomitable ways. Stories did not fill her heart like they did Earlee’s. She did not believe in storing away treasures in a hope chest or placing her trust in a man’s love.

But hadn’t she done that anyway—just a bit—without noticing it? She hefted the small buckets of rinse water and suds and carried them down the ladder. The splash of water and clink of the metal emphasized the emptiness of the kitchen, the barrenness of the home.

As she padded by the doorway, she caught sight of Da asleep in his chair. The empty bottle of whiskey reflected the single lamp’s glow. Ma’s rocking chair was empty. It was late; likely she had gone off to bed, but her hard words about men came alive in the kitchen again. Try as she might, she could not silence them. The memory kept rolling through her as if without end. All the kindness Ian had shown her, the promises he had made, the happiness he had given her.

He had not lied, not really. She was at fault, reading more into his goodness toward her and in wishing for what was out of her reach. Her friends, dear as they were to her, were wrong. God did not mean for her to have the kind of love and family that had always eluded her. God was surely watching over her, but what He wanted for her was a mystery, one she did not understand.

I’m trusting You, Lord. There has to be some good to come from this.

She unlatched the door and eased the buckets into the lean-to, to be dealt with during her morning chores. The storm blasted her with snow so that she was dusted white and her teeth chattered by the time she shut the door.

“Is that you, girl?” Da’s shout was rusty with sleep and slurred from his drinking.

“Yes, sir.” She crept into the fall of lamplight, stomach knotting over what he might say.

“Put some more coal on the fire. I’m gettin’ cold.” He rose from his chair, like an old man, one far past his prime. Sad it was he had wasted whatever had once been good in him, but that had been his choice. “I don’t want you goin’ to school in the morning, you hear? There’s no sense to it anymore. You will be helping your ma with the housework from now on.”

An angry gust slammed against the north wall of the room, shaking the window glass in its panes. Smoke puffed down the pipe and rattled the door. Without a word she knelt before the old potbelly, filled the scoop from the hod and opened the door handle with the hem of her apron. Heat and smoke made her eyes burn as she poured coal into the glowing embers.

Da said nothing more as he cracked open the seal on a new bottle. “What are you lookin’ at?” he snarled.

“Good night.” She closed the door, and it was like her fate sealing. When she stood, she felt light-headed and her knees were unsteady as she crossed the room. The cold deepened and the storm worsened. The howling wind filled the kitchen like a wild animal on the loose.

Ian was surely tucked in the barn by now. But that was little comfort as she climbed the ladder. Never before had she been so torn between what was right and what she wanted. She’d never known there were so many shades of gray between right and wrong. For if she ran with the few dollars that would be left in her savings after paying for Ian’s coat, she would be without a job or anywhere to go. If she did not marry him, Ian would lose all he had and his grandmother’s dreams—she did not fool herself by thinking her father would fairly return an old woman’s money.

But how could she agree to marry a man who did not love her? A man who would marry her only because she came with a farm he wanted? Ian would always be kind to her, because that was the brand of man he was, but she could not be happy living her mother’s life. At what cost did she refuse? Would the cost be greater if she accepted?

Worse, she did not want to spend twenty years of her life secretly in love with a man whose kindness to her was not affection, whose thoughtfulness was not devotion, whose heart would not be hers. It would be no happy ending, just a compromise, a business to gain land. Worse, she could not blame Ian, for he had the best excuse.

He had done it out of love.

Chapter Seventeen

A
t the toll of the schoolhouse bell, Fiona lifted her skirts higher and broke into a run. Snow blinded her, the icy flakes needled her face and the chilly air burned like fire in her chest. A hitch bit into her side, but she kept going. While she had been hurrying as fast as she could, it hadn’t been quick enough. School had let out, and that meant in a few minutes’ time, if she didn’t reach the streets of town first, she would meet schoolchildren on their way home. She shut out images of kids asking her where she had been this morning and why she’d missed class. The notion of meeting Earlee on the road and having to explain, of seeing pity on her friend’s face, made her miss a step.

She pushed harder until the houses on the edge of town appeared through the shroud of white. She didn’t slow to a walk until her shoes hit the boardwalk and she was just another person hurrying about her errands. Safe in the crowds of Christmas shoppers, she wove her way to the bank, where wreaths hung festively from the impressive wood awning, and garlands added holiday cheer to the front windows. Cheer that was at odds with her.

“Fiona? Is that you?” A familiar voice broke above the rush and bustle of the busy street.

Earlee. Fiona stopped in her tracks, dread filling her. What was she going to say to her friend? Some things were too painful to speak of.

“I was so worried about you.” Earlee tapped closer, all friendly concern. “Are you all right?”

“I am fine.”
Fine
was a relative term, but it was all she could manage.

“What are you doing here in town, and not at school?” Earlee looked her over carefully and appeared relieved, perhaps that there were no fresh bruises. “Is everything okay at home?”

“Fine.” There was that word again. It was
not
fine, but it was all she seemed able to say. “What are you doing in town?”

“Bea is ailing.” Good-natured, Earlee rolled her eyes. “I have to stop and pick up some medicine. You haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m running errands for Ma.”

“Is she feeling poorly?”

“No.” Somehow she had to put a smile on her face and keep pretending she wasn’t hurting. Maybe then she could convince herself. After all, falling in love with Ian wasn’t the first foolish mistake she’d made, and life went on. Right?

“You
are
having trouble at home again.” Earlee wrapped her in a brief hug, all sympathy, all caring. That was Earlee. A good friend through and through. “Is there something I can do?”

“No, I—” Her smile was faltering, no matter how she fought. “There’s nothing. Really.”

“I have today’s homework assignments. Tomorrow we might have a quiz.”

“I don’t need them,” she interrupted, too abruptly, too harshly, hating that she made her friend stare at her in surprise. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s okay. Tell me what is hurting you so.”

I thought Ian was in love with me. I thought he was different from the men I know. I believed what he told me. I fell in love with him, and he only wanted the farm. Just like what happened to my Ma. I’m afraid I will have the same life and as much unhappiness. She wanted to say all of that, but too many people were hurrying by with their Christmas shopping packages and seasonal cheer. Singing erupted down the street—the church caroling group. How could she speak of her private heartbreak where anyone could overhear?

“My parents think I don’t need to finish school. That I need to stay home and learn how to be a wife.” She sounded wooden to her ears, but at least her emotions did not show.

“Oh, Fee. I’m sorry.” Earlee understood. “Being able to graduate meant so much to you.”

“Yes, but there are other things to consider.” Duty. What was right. What was merely being selfish. Once, she had been sure about those things. But her heart was involved now; she could not say Ian’s dreams were more important than hers. She could not say her dreams were expendable, either.

“Is it Ian?”

“It’s complicated.” Fiona caught sight of a familiar face across the street. The sheriff must be keeping an eye on her for Da. Dismayed, she turned her back to him. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Ma will be waiting for me.”

“I have to make haste, too. Where are you heading to next? I’ll meet you there, and we can hurry home together. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks. I really need a friend right now.” She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Those pesky emotions were troubling her again.

“I will always be here for you, Fee. You can count on me, right?”

“I know.” What would she do without her friends? She let Earlee hug her one more time. With the closing verse of “O Come All Ye Faithful” accompanying them, Earlee broke off toward the dry-goods store. With one last wave goodbye, Fiona disappeared into the bank.

His thigh bone felt as if it had been hit by dynamite. He slid from Flannigan’s broad back in the shadow of the barn, doing his level best to ignore the burning pain. Teeth gritted, he hauled the door open and led the horse inside. The day had been long, the work hard, but he was thankful for it. He had not expected to find a job so easily.

“I’m sorry it was a hard walk home, boy.” He patted Flannigan’s neck. The gelding lipped his hand, tired too. “I’ll give you a good rubdown and treat you to some of Duchess’s oats. You like warm mash?”

Horse ears flicked forward, pricked and eager. Answer enough.

“That’s a good boy.” He swiped off the snow gathered on the animal’s mane and flanks. “I will make your bed up nice and thick for a good night’s sleep. We must get up and do the same thing tomorrow.”

A meow cried out from the beam overhead. Riley poked his nose over his gate. Duchess nickered low in her throat from some comfortable place inside her stall. The cow, chewing her cud, placidly leaned against her gate to see what all was going on. A welcoming committee of sorts and fine it was, but short one important person.

“It’s late, sorry to bother you all.” He half expected to see Fiona lean down from the haymow with bits of grass in her hair, or to scowl at him for disturbing her in her secluded spot in that far stall. Aye, he knew it was late, she would most likely be abed, but that didn’t stop his hope. He wanted to speak with her.

You should bring her here.
Her advice about Nana had preoccupied him the day through.
From what you have told me, she could never be disappointed in you. She loves you, and she is family. That is what matters.

Aye, family was what mattered to him. He had always remained fiercely loyal to the grandparents who had raised him when his own father had refused. Now was his time to take care of them, to repay them for all the wise lessons in horses and life he had learned at his grandfather’s side and for the gentler teachings of his strong, ever kind nana. He unbuckled Flannigan’s halter, removing the bit with care.

“And how am I to do that?” He voiced his concern to the horse, who swiveled his ears as if to listen intently. “If I do not marry Fiona, then I have failed, good and truly. I cannot bring my mares out here if I have no land for them. I cannot make my grandmother happy in her last days without knowing their legacy lives on. If I make the lass marry me, then I have my chance to rebuild. I know I can do it. I am not afraid of the work it will take.”

Flannigan must have sensed his turmoil, because the big horse leaned into him, pressing his face against Ian’s chest. An intimate, comforting gesture. Touched by the fellow’s concern, he leaned his cheek against the horse’s forehead, savoring the coarse scratchiness of the animal’s forelock.

Perhaps it was the long hard day of physical work or that he was infinitely tired of fighting for someone else’s dreams, but his defenses were down, his soul weary. He had failed Fiona, too. He wanted to blame his grandmother for interfering again, but what good could come of that? Every mistake he had made along the way smarted like deep, unhealed wounds. He had pushed himself to the limit, working to make things right and following where he thought the Lord was guiding him, but he was at a dead end. There would be no good solution, whatever he chose to do. He would lose his grandmother’s faith in him, or he would ruin Fiona’s chance for happiness.

How did he choose?

The past was good and truly gone. Maybe that was what God has been trying to tell him, closing all doors but this one and bringing him here to Fiona’s sad life, the girl he had been destined to marry in his grandparents’ dreams. Maybe, if the good Lord had led him here, then it was not the past he needed to build on, but a different future.

“I feel as if I am letting down those I have loved the most.” He released Flannigan, but the horse didn’t move away. With his liquid brown eyes and intent stare, he seemed to care a great deal about the outcome, too. “Maybe the best way to repay my grandparents’ legacy of love is to do what I think is right.”

Flannigan stomped his front hoof as if in agreement, as if to say it was truly time to let go, that no one should hold on to the past so tightly that he destroyed what is good in life and in his future. Sometimes a man had to follow the hardest path, no matter its cost.

“What a good friend you are, boy.” He stroked the animal’s feather-soft nose, warm with affection for the old boy. “You have not had an easy time. I know O’Rourke is a hard master to you, and you have not deserved it. A truer heart I have never met. You’ve the spirit of a champion, my friend.”

In appreciation, the draft horse lipped Ian’s hat brim, earning a chuckle. “Let’s get you rubbed down, so I can fetch the mash I promised. How does that sound?”

Flannigan nodded enthusiastically and took off for his stall. His tail flicked, waiting while Ian hurried to open the gate. The cat pranced along the rafters overhead, and Riley leaned out for attention and perhaps to ask for mash, too.

This would be a good life, he decided, glancing around at the small barn, the handful of livestock and the memories of Fiona lingering here. Aye, the lass had changed him. His love for her drove him now as he clenched his jaw against the ever-present pain in his leg and kept his voice gentle as he rubbed down Flannigan until he was dry and warm. She was the reason he had the strength to make the hardest decision, the one best for them both.

The evenings were the worst, Fiona decided as she guided her needle through the thick fabric with a click of her thimble. Her chores were done, and with the weather taking an unusually brutal turn, her fingers went numb every time she tried sewing in the barn. She missed her animal friends and the sanctuary she once had found there, but it was gone now and the place a reminder of the cost she was to pay. She had not run; she had paid Miss Sims what she owed her, although she was sure if she explained the situation, the fair lady would have gladly taken back the fabric. No, sewing this coat was the right thing. Ian had sacrificed Duchess’s foal for her, a foal Ian surely loved and wanted.

He should have his dreams. She pressed the seam flat with her fingers, careful of the pins holding the fabric, and memories of him filled her mind. How thrilling it had felt to gallop with him through the snow in the sled, and the joy that filled her when he had given her Flannigan’s reins. Every smile, every chuckle, and the afternoon he had given her at the church. Even his promises that for a moment she feared were false—that he had come back to help her, that he cared about her dreams, all of it she knew he had meant.

The trouble was, some things mattered to him more. That was simply the way life was. She had fallen in love with him, and that love made her wish for what could never be. She was not going to marry Ian, but neither was she going to run from her problems.

The candle on her bureau chose that moment to flicker. The wind gusted again, blowing through the cracks in the wall, nearly dousing it. The flame writhed as if in pain, and she squinted, trying to see enough for her next stitch. Iciness crept through the floor and roof above, and the next gust extinguished the candle.

The night closed in on her, and the hopelessness that always chased her caught up. Without her dreams of running away to escape into, without her brother who had always lent a kind word of understanding, with only the present and this life stretching ahead of her forever, she had nothing to console her. She put down her work, pressed her face in her hands and breathed deep, fighting not to give in to it.

A rush of wind howled through the house, rattling the glass chimney of the lamp in the kitchen and ghosting up the ladder. She shivered, realizing she wasn’t alone. An uneven gait padded on squeaky floorboards. The oven door creaked open.

Ian, home for the night. How was he? She had not seen him for days. She crept off the foot of the bed and along the floor, knowing which boards to avoid so she could move in silence. She stretched out on her stomach, easing up to peer over the edge of the doorway. The kitchen stretched out before her, black as a void except for the glow of orange lapping from the open oven door and onto the man seated before it.

He had drawn one of the chairs over to the heat, and, still coated in snow and ice, held his hands out to the warmth, rubbing to thaw them. The building fire tossed ever brighter light over the man, who remained in silhouette as he hunched toward the warmth. Cold radiated from him, but so did his strength and his goodness. He made no sound of discomfort, although he had to be frozen clean through.

More affection dawned within her, as wonderful and as blessed as Christmas morning. She eased into the safe shadows, hidden from his sight. Love for him bloomed fully, like grace falling into her life. It was a love never meant to be returned, she feared, but one that would always live inside her heart.