Bittersweet (25 page)

“I don’t want you there alone until he’s cleared out and long gone.”

The wagon hit a rut, and Ivy let out a low moan. Ma cast a look back at her. “She’s wide awake now, she is.”

Galen didn’t bother to glance back. Instead, he sat ramrod straight and stared ahead.

No one said another word the rest of the way home. Whilst he helped his Ma alight, Ivy gathered up her skirts and jumped down.

“Nay!” Ma curled her hand around Ivy’s arm. “You cannot be doing such things. It could cost you the babe.”

“But I gotta go pee real bad.” Ivy pulled free and rushed off to the outhouse.

Crude. She’s crude. And a nonbeliever. And a liar. And pregnant
. Wrath pounded through his veins.
And she’s my wife
.

“She’s many a rough edge, Galen-mine. I’ll do my best to smooth them out.” Ma bowed her head and went to the house.

Galen unharnessed the horse but left the wagon in the yard. He didn’t know what arrangements Ma had made regarding the boys. In a while he’d use the excuse of needing to go fetch his brothers as a way to go to Laney. The shattered look on her face this morning haunted him.

I’ll discover who fathered Ivy’s babe and break free from her
. He strode into the house and climbed the ladder to the loft. A plan formed in his mind: He’d move to the tack room. Aye, he would. During the day he’d pressure Ivy until she confessed the truth; by night, he’d keep such a distance between them, no one could mistake the fact that they’d never shared a bed.

“I’ll holp you, ma’am,” he heard Ivy say.

Galen tensed at the very first word out of her mouth. He glared down as Ma and that liar stripped Ma’s bed. They put a clean sheet on and Ivy pulled one end up to the top of the bed. Ma went to the bottom of the bed and did some kind of fancy moves and folds with the sheets. The liar’s side turned into a wadded mess. A thick wool blanket the color of summer grass, then a heavy, colorful quilt topped the bed.

Ma didn’t say a word. She just took an embroidered white flour sack and stuffed a pillow into it.

Ivy grabbed the other pillowcase and stared down at it. A daintily embroidered collection of leaves and vines trailed along the opening on one side. “Shore is purdy.”

Galen’s hands clenched around the loft rail. He could only think of one reason Ma would change the sheets. Under no circumstance would he ever share a bed with Ivy. His words came out as if he were dropping large stones one at a time down onto the floor. “What … are … you … doing?”

The girl didn’t even bother to look up at him. “Holpin’ yore ma.”

The muscles in Galen’s jaw twitched. He stomped down the ladder and turned his attention to his mother. Jabbing his forefinger toward the bed, he growled, “That bed is yours. Yours alone. I’ll bring in the cot.” He cast a hostile glance at Ivy. “
She’ll
sleep on it.”

His mother nodded. She briefly pressed her hand to his chest, then left.

Galen waited until Ma was out of earshot. In those moments, he couldn’t suppress gut-wrenching worry.
What is Laney doing now?
Today was to have been so special, and my beloved lass is suffering because of
this liar
.

His boots made a solid hammering noise as he paced into the center of the cabin. Folding his arms across his chest, he felt the ring in his pocket. Suddenly the slender circle of gold weighed an unspeakable burden and measured a distance that was incalculable. It branded through the pocket, clear into his heart and soul. The cost of Ivy’s lie burned there. “Who is it?” Galen demanded in a harsh tone.

Ivy continued stuffing the pillow into the case.

“Who’s the father?”

Cramming one last fistful of pillow into the now lumpy case, she stated, “Yore the baby’s pa.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

Ivy dared to look into his blazing eyes. “Yore my husband. Yore the baby’s pa.”

“I’ve never even touched you.” His gaze raked over her. “And I never will. You’ll sleep on the cot—alone. When I bring you to your senses, this so-called sham of a marriage will be annulled.”

“What’s nulled?”

“Erased. Canceled.”

Ivy shook her head. “You cain’t do that. I’m yore swore-in-front-of-God-and-man wife.”

“Don’t you ever invoke the name of God when you don’t believe in Him. I’ll not have you profane the sacred just to suit your needs.”

She hitched her shoulder and brushed her callused thumb back and forth over the embroidered pillowcase. “You done went and give yore word in front of all them folks. Cain’t back out now.”

Her casual, matter-of-fact assertion galled him. Her name and the embroidery matched: Ivy—something that looked harmless and ordinary but clung to whatever was handy and caused its ruination. Galen yanked the pillow from her arms and pitched it onto the bed.

“We both know I’ve not wronged you.” He glared at her. “That babe you carry couldn’t possibly be mine. Who’s the father? Who?”

Ivy pretended she didn’t hear a word.

Galen crowded closer until he was inches from her face. “Who?”

“I’m yore wife. I—”

“Wife?” His anger blazed brighter. “Make no mistake: You might carry my name temporarily, but you’ll never be my wife. Rightfully some other man out there should claim his child. Who is he?”

Ivy’s gaze dropped, and she compressed her lips.

“So this is how you repay my kindness? Not once, but twice I allowed you to remain on my land even though you were squatters. I’ve given you food, provided your brother with a job, and the clothes you wear were made in this very home. Never once have I touched you. Why did you lie?”

She kept her focus down.

Galen took her chin in his hand to force her to look him in the eyes, but she jerked back and turned to the side.

Her reaction took him by surprise. Someone wouldn’t flinch and evade that reflexively unless they’d been struck on other occasions—several other occasions.

Wrath twisted to horror. Galen rasped, “I assumed you got yourself into this fix. Am I wrong? Did someone hurt you?”

He curled his hand around her upper arm and squeezed. “Is that it? A man forced himself upon you?”

Eyes cold and nearly as colorless as the ice that once dripped from the thatched roof of their Irish farmhouse stared back at him. No remorse, no shame, no sorrow shone in them. “Don’t make no nivermind how I got me a babe. Yore my man.”

Her words scorched away the only possible excuse he might have understood for a desperate action.

“’Tisn’t just your soul that belongs to the devil; he owns your heart, too.” Galen didn’t merely release his hold of her, he yanked his hand away in a move of sheer disgust. “Make no mistake. I’ll find out who the father is. Best you come clean now and confess who he is.”

“Thar’s a hole in the elbow of that shirt of yourn. I cain stitch it up right quick.”

Galen stared at her. She’d stolen his future with Laney and destroyed his reputation, yet she thought mending his shirt would mollify him?

“We—” a low, breathless shout came through the still-open door—“had … a … deal!”

“Ishy!” Ivy ran toward the door.

Galen got there first. He blocked her way out and glowered at Ishmael. “Get off my land.”

Ivy stood on tiptoe to peek over his shoulder. Her brother was sweat-soaked and out of breath. She tried to shove Galen out of the way. “He run all the way from town!”

Galen didn’t budge.

“We … had … a … deal!” Ishy roared again. He bent forward and rested his hands on his knees. “No moonshine. I’d work for you. Me and Ivy could live on yore land. We ain’t trucked in likker. I been a-workin’ hard for you.”

“You betray me and then you expect me to keep you around? No.”

Ishmael’s whole body heaved from the effort he’d spent running. Had he been a horse, Galen would have cooled him, walked him, then watered and fed him. But horses were loyal; Ishmael proved himself to be a traitor. Refusing to show any pity, Galen demanded, “Get your gear and clear out.”

“Don’t you pay him no mind, Ishy. Yore my brother. You getta stay.”

“Absolutely not,” Galen snapped. He continued to block the doorway. Ivy’s attempts to make him budge had no effect. “You and your sister came up with this scheme, but it’s the last one you’ll ever cook up together. You stuck me with Ivy, but I’m not stuck with you. Get out of here.”

“Ishy, don’t you go nowhar.” Ivy repeatedly poked her finger into the thick muscles of Galen’s broad back. “My brother done proved he’ll protect his kin. Yore kin now. You ain’t got no reason to be a-scairt.”

“I’m not afraid.” He’d deal with that insult later. “I’m just not a fool.”

A loud sound and a sharp cry came from the barn.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

C
olin sat in the buckboard with his arm curled protectively around Sean. Dale huddled into Laney’s side. Laney wasn’t sure—was he shaking or was she?

Hilda patted Sean’s knee. “Wait till you see my German tree.

It’s beautiful. Isn’t it, Ruth?”

Ruth sat sideways on the seat and nodded back at them. “I’d never seen one before. Have you boys?”

“No,” Colin mumbled.

“I have pretty little trinkets hanging from it. You boys are welcome to look, but no touching.” Hilda shook her finger at Dale. “And no taking a cookie off of it until after Christmas dinner!” Mind awhirl and her world falling apart, Laney let the others try to distract the boys. What she wanted more than anything was to be Galen’s wife, but that could never be now. That realization left her wanting to weep for the rest of her life.

“Ruth, I need your help in the kitchen,” Hilda ordered. “The boys can help Josh unhitch the team and put the wagon up.”

Hilda never wanted help in the kitchen. It was her domain; she chased Ruth and Laney out of it whenever they dared to venture in there. Laney understood Hilda was giving her a chance to have some privacy, and she gratefully accepted the gesture.

Laney kept her emotions under control until she got into the house. Once there, she lifted her skirts, ran up the stairs, and slammed the door to her room. Sobs wracked her as she flung herself across her bed.

Anguish swept through her again and again. Hopes and dreams slid into her mind, each to be obliterated by the devastating knowledge that she’d lost the man she loved. He’d never again murmur things to her in that low lilt. They’d not have a houseful of redheaded children together. She wouldn’t awaken early to brew him the strong black coffee he relished and feel the sun shine down on them as they walked through the fields of their farm.

Other girls wanted to marry rich and important men. But Galen was rich in what truly mattered—he loved the Lord. He didn’t strive to be noticed; he gladly worked hard because he regarded those he loved as the most important priority he held.

But he’s married to Ivy
.

She cried until her breaths were ugly, jagged hiccoughs. Turning onto her side, Laney opened her eyes and let out a small cry.

There on her bureau rested a small frame. On a walk they’d taken together, Galen had picked a few wildflowers for her. Deep in her heart, Laney had known that day that he had come to see her as a woman—and he wanted her to be his own. She had come home and pressed those flowers, then carefully placed them in a frame. They were the first symbol of a love that would last a lifetime.

Only he’d married Ivy.

Unable to look at that reminder any longer, Laney pushed off of the bed and bit her lip to keep from crying out as she lifted the frame. The drawer she pulled out to hide the pressed flowers in was filled with more reminders of a future she’d never claim. Lengths of fine lawn, linen, the softest cotton, and myriad ribbons as well as yards of lace lay folded there—every last piece carefully selected so she could start sewing a trousseau.

The second-place ribbon she’d won for her grape jelly taunted her. Galen had praised her for winning it—that was the first time he’d shown interest in her instead of going out of his way to avoid her.

The door to her bedchamber shut. Startled, Laney spun around. Ruth rushed across the room, arms open, and Laney fell into her hold. “Tell me it’s a bad dream.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ruth whispered thickly.

“I love him. I thought he was starting to care for me, too.”

“We all did.” Ruth stroked her back. “But you can’t do this to yourself. You can’t love him anymore, Laney. He’s a married man now.”

It wasn’t until Hilda pried her from Ruth’s hold and mopped Laney’s face that she realized the housekeeper had let herself in, too.

“That brother of yours.” Hilda shook her head. “I’m not sure whether to hug him or slug him. Bringing the O’Sullivan boys here—” “They couldn’t go home. Not after they’d been looking forward to having Christmas here.” Ruth clasped Laney’s hand tightly. “And they’re too young—they shouldn’t be in the middle of whatever’s going on over there right now.”

“All that’s true, but our Laney’s heart is breaking.” Hilda yanked out the dishcloth she’d tucked in her apron and dabbed at Laney’s cheeks again.

“Mr. Josh”—Dale’s little boy voice filtered up to them—“I’m wondering if they got lost up there. Your house is so very big!”