Daughter of Joy (15 page)

December 6, 1895

Dearest Nelly
,

I must admit I anguished over how I should reply to your last letter. Though I know I may have sounded a trifle naive in my feelings about Conor MacKay, your demand as to how could I, as a good Christian woman, allow myself to be attracted much less tempted by such a worldly, unprincipled man was rather harsh. Things have markedly changed between us, and especially so in the past week. Though I won’t go into the details, suffice it to say that he begged my forgiveness for his cynicism and mistrust of me. Begged my forgiveness as a good Christian, Nelly. What else could I do but forgive him?

Though my forgiveness was initially hard to give, I admit now I’m glad I gave it. Since then the change in both Conor and Beth has been downright shocking. Pleasantly shocking, but shocking nonetheless. Beth has become shyly friendly, surprisingly polite, and utterly cooperative. And Conor—he now insists we go on a first name basis—isn’t at all the same man you first met.

True, he hasn’t taken to attending church or opened the family heirloom Bible (it was brought here all the way from Scotland! I found it shoved behind a row of books when I was dusting the parlor). But truly, truly there is a mutual respect growing between us now. Conor is a good man in so many ways, Nelly. I see that more and more each day, and it fills me with such wonder and thanksgiving. The Lord’s hand is in this, and I increasingly grow convinced I was always meant to play a part here.

That doesn’t mean, however, that I think the Lord necessarily intends for our relationship to progress past friendship—or at least not until Conor finally reconciles himself with the Lord. I’m content with how things are right now. Indeed, I’m not at all certain I would wish for it to be any different. But I also cannot discount that God may yet have a plan that includes both Conor and me. All that can be done, I believe, is to wait with patient trust and see where God will lead.

I just glanced at the clock, and it’s time for Beth’s lessons. I’ll continue this letter later this evening …

Abby continued to marvel over the change in Conor and Beth. A week later, she was still shaking her head as she shared a cup of tea at Ella’s late one morning.

“In his own way,” she explained, “it’s almost as if Conor truly
is
trying to begin anew.” Abby stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her tea. “It’s almost as if I’m meeting him again for the first time.”

Ella passed a plate of pumpkin nutbread slices across the table and smiled. “What do you think of this ‘new man’? Is he at all to your liking?”

“Well, of course—” Abby’s hand froze in mid air over the fragrant nutbread. “Now, Ella, don’t you dare start matchmaking again.”

The red-haired woman laughed. “Oh, Abby, Abby. Sometimes you get as rattled as a new mother mare with her first foal. All I wanted to know was what you thought about Conor, and if you finally felt comfortable here at Culdee Creek. He was, wasn’t he, the primary sticking point in your decision to stay?”

“I suppose he was.” Abby took a sip of her tea, then picked up a slice of nutbread. “I do find his new behavior quite pleasant,” she said, finally feeling calmer.

The subject of their conversation stuck his head in the door. “Oh, there you are.” Conor whipped off his Stetson and leaned in. “Some of the stall door hinges are just about worried clear through. I need to ride to Grand View to get Simon Nealy, the smithy, to fix them for me. If you want to come along, we might as well shop for supplies, too.”

Doing her best to ignore Ella’s delighted grin, Abby laid down her nutbread. They
were
getting low on flour and other kitchen staples, and she did want to do a bit of Christmas shopping.

Abby nodded. “I’d love to go. When do you want to leave?”

“Would a half hour be enough time?”

“More than enough.” She paused, a sudden thought assailing her. “Should I ask Beth if she’d like to come, too?”

Conor shook his head. “No, not this time. Let’s just make it you and me.”

Ella choked back a giggle. Abby didn’t like the sound of that. Had she been set up, or were Conor’s motives innocently separate from Ella’s machinations?

Well, Abby decided, there wasn’t much to be done for it anyway. She had already accepted.

“Fine.” Abby shot Ella a quelling glance. “Just you and me.”

Conor shoved his Stetson back on his head and grinned. “See you out front of the house in a half hour then.”

With that, he departed as swiftly as he had arrived, leaving the two women to sit there, staring after him. Finally, Ella broke the silence. “I do declare, but the man’s acting as chipper as a boy at his last day of school. Wonder what’s gotten into him?”

Abby wheeled around in her chair, opened her mouth to deliver another lecture, then thought better of it. What was the use? Conor
was
acting … well, almost lighthearted, of late. Besides, the only thing that would put an end to Ella’s romantic efforts was when she finally faced the fact that Abby and Conor MacKay were ill suited for each other.

“It’s amazing what letting go of a load of anger and resentment can do for a person. It heals so many wounds.” Abby took one last swallow of her tea, then set down her cup and rose. “I hate to cut short our little visit, but I need to go and prepare for the trip to Grand View.”

Ella made a playful, shooing motion toward the door. “By all means, go and get ready.” Then her expression sobered. “You’re the balm for his wounds, you know? Conor’s beginning to heal.”

Though her friend’s words sent an unexpected surge of joy through Abby, she quickly squelched the unsettling emotion. “No, Ella,” Abby gently corrected her. “I’m not the balm, only the instrument. It’s the Lord who heals, and heal He will, if only Conor asks.”

The ride to Grand View began pleasantly. When he wasn’t occupied handling the team of two spirited horses pulling the buckboard, Conor busied himself pointing out the local landmarks. Abby eagerly studied anything he found of interest, but, after a time, they both lapsed into silence. To Abby’s surprise, it was a silence that was not at all uncomfortable. It was almost … almost as if they were becoming friends.

As if the thought were some interesting pebble she had picked up along the wayside, Abby turned it over and over in her mind until it took on a beauteous shape, and a luster that it had not possessed before. Friends … She almost laughed aloud. Who would’ve thought it?

Abby decided she liked the idea, and liked it very much.

“What are you smiling about?” Conor broke into her reverie. “You look like a contented kitten just finishing her bowl of cream.”

“It was nothing.” She pretended to find sudden interest in a pair of red-tailed hawks circling an expanse of tall, dried grass. “It’s just such a beautiful day for the middle of December.” Abby glanced back at him. “Do you think we’ll have a white Christmas this year?”

At her abrupt change of topic, Conor’s mouth quirked in wry puzzlement. He shrugged. “If this Christmas is like most, I’d say no. Most times, we don’t get any real snow until January. Then look out for the next three to four months!”

“Well, perhaps you’re right.” An errant breeze whipped by, ruffling Abby’s thick brown hair and brushing icy fingers across the back of her neck. She shivered, and hunched her shoulders until the breeze died away. “I’m rather partial, though, to a white Christmas.”

“Beth likes them, too.” He shot her a sidling glance. “She’s really taken to you, you know? Says you’re teaching her to sew on that machine of yours.”

Suddenly unsure of herself, Abby shifted on the buckboard seat more fully to face him. “It’s all right, isn’t it? My teaching her to sew?”

Conor must have caught the edge in her voice. He laughed. “Of course. I’ve never seen her so proud of anything as she was of that dress you helped her make. It’s the first dress, you know, that she’s worn in a long while. I only hope she’s taking to her schooling as avidly as she has to that sewing machine.”

“Oh, she has,” Abby hastened to assure him. “She has a quick wit and prodigious memory.”

“Yeah,” Conor growled, his mood appearing to shift direction as swiftly as the Front Range weather. “Sometimes, though, I wish her memory wasn’t as good as it is.” His grip tightened about the reins until his fingers turned knuckle-white. “She still has occasional nightmares about her days at school.”

The seconds ticked by. When he said no more, Abby felt the tension tauten her until she was strung as tight as a bow. Yet still she sat there, silent, forcing herself to wait until he was ready to go on.

“You asked me once to tell you more about Beth,” Conor finally rasped. “I’d like to tell you now, if you’re still of a mind to hear it.”

Abby nodded. “Yes,” she said softly, “I’m still of a mind to hear it.”

He shot her a fleeting glance, then turned his gaze back to the road ahead. “Squirrel Woman—Beth’s mother—died of smallpox a little over two years after the birth. Soon after, I hired my first housekeeper. She lasted three years before she quit to marry the local parson. She was decent if a bit stern at times. After that the pickings took a drastic, downhill turn. The women were either lazy slatterns, judgmental old biddies, or husband-hunting opportunists.”

He slapped the reins over the horses’ backs to urge them to quicken their pace. “Then Maudie came to work for me. She was young, pretty, and a lot smarter than the rest. But she, too, wanted something, and that something turned out to be me. I’ll admit I succumbed to her physical charms. Why not? She offered them freely, and I’m still a healthy, virile man. When it became apparent, though, that I’d no intention of wedding her, she devised a scheme to win my heart through my daughter.”

“She pretended to care for Beth, didn’t she?” Abby offered, guessing where this particular tale was leading.

“Yes.” Conor grimaced. “Maudie treated her so sugar sweet, even I began to suspect something. Beth, however, was so starved for a mother’s love that she gobbled up all the hugs and syrupy words like a child let loose in a candy shop. By the time I finally had enough of it Beth was attached to Maudie. It nearly broke her heart when I told her I was sending Maudie away.

“Maudie was none too happy with me, either,” he continued. “She knew, though, there was one sure way to punish me for rejecting her. She used that knowledge without remorse or hesitation.”

“Beth?”

Conor nodded slowly. “On that cold spring day in March when she was to leave Culdee Creek, Maudie waited until I rode out to feed the pastured cattle. Then she sweet-talked the hand who was to drive her back to the Springs into taking her along with Beth to school first. Claimed she wanted a chance for a last good-bye. Maudie made him stop a short ways from the schoolhouse, so she and Beth could walk the last part together.”

Abby listened quietly.

“Somehow, Maudie managed to slip around to the back door of the schoolhouse while the children and their teacher, Peter Sullivan, were outside at recess. She stole the big gold pocket watch Sullivan always kept on his desk during the day. Beth entered from the front door to put away her books and lunch pail, before joining the other children outside. She was the one accused of taking the watch, when Sullivan finally discovered it was missing.”

“Did Beth see Maudie take the watch?”

“Yes, but I didn’t find that out until much later.”

“She was protecting Maudie, wasn’t she?”

He turned an anguished gaze to Abby, his smoky blue eyes boring into hers. “She loved and trusted Maudie. She was just a little over eight, and didn’t understand how deep cruelty could go. But she learned about it that day in spades.”

With a flurry of pounding hooves a herd of pronghorn antelope ran pell-mell across the rolling hills before them, momentarily drawing both Conor’s and Abby’s attention. The sun broke through the thick clouds, gilding both the graceful beasts and winter-browned land in dazzling brightness. And, off in the distance, the ebony behemoth that was the Union Pacific, Denver, and Gulf locomotive whistled stridently, chugging and puffing its way toward Grand View.

For an instant longer, Abby allowed her gaze to linger on the unpretentious yet surprising beauty of this land, then she turned back to Conor. “Go on,” she urged.