To Have and To Hold (18 page)

Chapter Fifteen

By the time Mary, Dave and Grace left the restaurant, Mary was feeling better. Before she

made another attempt to talk to her mother, she needed to talk to Dave. She was about to ask

Grace if she could be alone with him, but Grace beat her to it.

“I think I’l head on to the house and see if Calvin and the children are back,” Grace said, turning

to them. “Mary, why don’t you show Dave the path we used to walk as children?”

“I’d like to show it to you,” Mary told him.

When he nodded, they headed toward the wooded area, away from the town. Even if they had

a bedroom where they could talk privately in the house, it was better to get away from

everyone else.

“You’re not stil mad at me, are you?” she asked as they passed the last house on the street

where the path began.

He sighed. “Mary, I wasn’t upset with you. I just wanted to know what your mother said to

make you cry. I don’t like it when you cry. I was upset with your mother for hurting you.

You’re such a gentle person, and people have a tendency to take advantage of it.” Dave

reached out to hold her by the elbow, but recal ing her mother’s words earlier that day, she

pul ed away. He frowned. “Why did you pul away from me? I told you I’m not upset with you.”

She tried to think of the right words to explain why without having to give away her mother’s

stinging remarks. Wiping her hands on her dress, she ventured, “I don’t think it’s appropriate to

touch unless we’re in the bedroom.”

“I was only going to hold you by the arm.”

“I know but you don’t know who’s watching.”

His steps slowed and he gave her a good look. “That’s ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong if I

touch your arm. I did that al the time back home.”

“But we aren’t home. We’re in Maine, and they do things differently here.”

“Things can’t be that strict here.”

She glanced over her shoulder and didn’t see anyone behind them, and around them on the

path were trees lining their way. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Alright. I suppose it’s

fine to do that here, but when we leave the path, I don’t think we should. My mother was

adamant about it.”

He stopped. She hesitated to stop and look his way since she knew he didn’t like hearing that,

but it was as close to the truth as she was going to say. She owed him an explanation. She

just hoped this would suffice. Reluctant, she halted her steps and turned to face him, noting the

slight scowl on his face.

“Dave—”

“She has no right to tel you what we should or shouldn’t do. I’m going to tel her that, too, and

if she has anything to say about it, she can tel that to my face.”

This was exactly what she was afraid would happen if she told him what her mother said. “It

doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. What you and I do is not her concern. Besides, we’re married. It’s perfectly

fine for me to touch and kiss my own wife on the porch.”

“But we can’t be that familiar with each other here. My parents’ house is in the middle of town

where other people could see us.”

“It was too early in the morning for anyone to be up.”

“We don’t know that. Maybe someone saw us from a window.”

“Wel , then that’s what they get for looking outside.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, for the comment struck her as utterly preposterous.

He groaned. “You know what I’m saying. Look, we both know this isn’t about someone who

might or might not have seen us. It’s about your mother not approving of something you’re

doing.”

“It seems to me if I please you, I’l upset her and if I please her, I’l upset you. I don’t think I

can win, no matter what I do.”

He released his breath and waited for a moment before speaking. “What do you want to do,

Mary?”

“I want to go home. I don’t like being here in Maine even if Grace is here. I miss our children

and our house. I miss your sisters and sisters-in-law. But since I can’t go home right now, I

just want to cause as little trouble as possible. If that means I have to appease my mother by

not touching you in public, is that real y too much to ask, especial y since it’s for two weeks?”

“No, no it’s not too much to ask,” he softly replied. “Is there anything else we shouldn’t do while

we’re here?”

“I don’t think so.” At least her mother hadn’t given her an indication of something else she might

do to upset her.

They started walking again, and this time he didn’t take her by the arm. She missed his touch

and immediately regretted asking him to keep his distance. He was right. Back home, he’d

often take her by the arm or place his hand on the smal of her back while they walked. She

didn’t even think anything of it. She wondered how she responded to his touching her in public

when they first married. Did she fear what others might be thinking? Or did she welcome it?

After a long moment of silence, she glanced at him. “Do you think I’l remember everything or

just bits and pieces of the past?”

“I have no idea what to expect. In the end, I reckon it doesn’t matter. What matters is that

you’re my wife and I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered.

He smiled. “As long as we stay together, we can handle anything.”

She returned his smile. “You’re right. What matters is where we go from here.”

Both of them were quiet as they traveled the rest of the way to her parents’ house where a

group of people were sitting on the porch while children played in the front yard.

One of the men looked over at them and waved them over. “Why, if it isn’t Mary! Come and

introduce us to your husband.”

The men and women turned in their direction, al of them looking expectantly as Mary led Dave

up the steps. She knew they were more brothers and sisters, but except for Katie—or was it

Leah this time?—Chet, and Grace, she didn’t recognize them.

“This is Dave Larson,” she said. Scanning the unfamiliar faces, she added, “I’m sorry, but I

don’t recognize any of you.”

“We know,” one of the men replied as he made his way over to them. “Grace told us what

happened.” He held his hand out to Dave and smiled. “So you’re the farmer out in Nebraska.

We heard a lot about you.”

Dave shook his hand and returned his smile. “Al good, I hope.”

“Of course. Mary has only good things to say about you. I’m Stan, Mary’s brother.”

As some of her brothers, sisters, and their spouses introduced themselves, Mary had trouble

remembering their names. At one point, someone came out of the house—probably another

brother—and told her that her father asked to see her.

Excusing herself from the group, she went into the house, noting that three unfamiliar women

were talking to her mother in the parlor. Her mother glanced her way but didn’t indicate that

she recognized her. She just turned back to the other women and continued talking.

Sighing, Mary headed up the stairs. If only her mother was as forgiving as Dave. She made it

to the top of the stairs and decided to put the matter behind her for the moment. She could

deal with her mother later, and maybe by then, her mother would be in a better mood.

After she made it to her father’s bedroom, she knocked on the door. “Father? It’s Mary.”

He coughed from inside the room then told her to come in.

She obeyed and glanced around the room lit by a single candle. “Would you like me to open

the curtains? It’s a lovely day.”

“The light hurts my eyes,” he said and motioned to the chair by his bed. “I wanted to talk to

you.”

She nodded and sat down, waiting for him to continue.

“I wanted to tel you I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive of you while you were growing up. At

the time, I was busy with work and didn’t take much heed to what you or your brothers or

sisters were doing. It’s easy to let the smal things become bigger than they are. You can’t let

the smal things take over the things that real y matter.” His eyes met hers. “You have to focus

on the big things and let the smal things go.”

Not sure where he was going with this, she decided to say the only thing she could think of.

“Alright.”

After a moment of silence, he said, “I heard you crying earlier. What happened?”

Mary shifted in her chair. How could he hear her with his door closed? And wasn’t he

supposed to be asleep?

“Mary?”

Shrugging, she lowered her gaze. “It was nothing. I’m fine now.”

“You’ve never been a good liar.”

“It wasn’t anything. Not real y. It’s nothing that wil matter when I leave. It’s one of those smal

things I shouldn’t dwel on.”

His lips turned up into a smile. “You were always smarter than you let on. Just because you

tend to be quiet, people assume you don’t pay attention.”

“Do they?” She didn’t think that was true of the people in Nebraska, but maybe here that was

the case.

“They might think your mind is on other things when the truth is, you’re listening. I bet you

thought because I’m old, I can’t hear wel .”

Her cheeks warmed. “Wel , yes.”

“My eyes might have dimmed, but I hear as wel as I always did. So what troubled you this

morning? You were happy yesterday. When you came in here, your face was glowing. But

today, your countenance has fal en.”

Realizing he wasn’t going to let the matter drop, she gave in. “I upset Mother. I didn’t mean to,

but I did. I’m not sure she’l forgive me.”

“Mary, you can’t keep worrying about what she thinks. I wrote you twice after you married

Dave. Usual y, she was the one who wrote the letters, but I felt it necessary to intervene when

I saw what she was writing you. You don’t remember any of her letters?”

“No, I don’t. I don’t even remember yours.”

“I can’t remember when exactly, but I believe it was right after your son was born I wrote you

the first time. I thought it might be nice to take your mother out to Nebraska to put her mind at

ease about how wel you were doing out there. I could tel from your letters that you were

happy, but your mother wasn’t convinced. So I told her we’d go out there for Thanksgiving and

she could see the proof for herself.” He shook his head and sighed. “She didn’t want you to

leave. At first, I thought it’d be best if you stayed as wel , but then you talked of wanting a

husband and children. It was the first time you ever talked about those things, and it was the

day you came home with the ad you found in the paper from a man out west who wanted a

wife.”

“I remember finding the ad,” she softly said, “and I remember how much I wanted a new life.

But I don’t remember tel ing you or Mother.”

“Your mother wasn’t happy but she relented. She thought once you got to Nebraska, you’d see

how uncivilized it was and come running back.”

“But I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t. You married that fine, young man who met you at the train station even though

he wasn’t the one you went there for. Your mother thought such a marriage wouldn’t last. You

wrote al about the sod house and the long hours Dave spent tending to the land. In her letters,

she tried to discourage you. Oh, she didn’t do it outright, but she slipped in comments here and

there. When I realized what was happening, I told her to stop, but she continued anyway.

Grace was the one who told me. So, I thought she’d have to go to Omaha and see it al for

herself. I wrote and told you to expect us, but your mother saw it as a chance to bring you and

Isaac back here. That’s when I wrote you again and told you we couldn’t make it after al . I

suggested you stop reading her letters. Just throw them out as soon as they came in and act

like nothing was wrong.”

“That’s why I don’t have any of her letters?”

“You agreed with me. You saw what was happening. Being out there, you got a chance to

see things as they truly were here. I wish I’d understood it before you left. Perhaps I could

have intervened and made things better for you.”

He closed his eyes, and when he didn’t open them, she studied his chest to make sure he was

stil breathing. Assured by the steady rise and fal of his chest, she relaxed. She waited for

him to continue. She was learning things she needed to know in order to make sense of the

animosity she felt from her mother. There was a good reason she experienced the feeling of

dread at the thought of coming to Maine. Even if she couldn’t remember it, her mind had been

warning her. Her mistake was not listening to what her instinct was tel ing her.

Her father opened his eyes and let out a long sigh. “You kept writing because of me, because

you knew I’d read your letters and enjoyed knowing you found a good man and final y got those

children you wanted. That meant a lot to me, Mary.”

His eyes fil ed with tears, so she picked up the clean handkerchief by his bed and wiped them

away. “Are you prone to tears?”

He chuckled. “An old man on his deathbed tears up often as he examines his life and the lives

of the ones he loves. But no, I haven’t been prone to tears in the past.”

Smiling, she clasped his hand in hers. “Thank you for explaining about the letters. Now it

makes sense why I didn’t have any from Mother.”

“You can’t let her rob you of your joy. This is your life, Mary. Not hers. You owe it to your

husband and children to be with them and to love them, and when the day comes when they

have to make their own decisions, you’l give them that freedom.”