Winds of Change
Authors: Leah Atwood
Winds of Change
Brides of Weatherton Three
Leah Atwood
Copyright © 2015 by Leah Atwood
Cover Design © Covers by Ramona
Cover Image © Novelexpression.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Early September- 1893
The heavy door to his hotel room slammed shut with a loud thud, causing the vase of flowers on his bedside table to shake with precarious movements. He rushed to steady the white porcelain before it tumbled sideways and spilled water over his only other pair of clothes, which remained where he’d taken them off the previous evening.
He sank down onto the feather mattress and rubbed his temples.
What a night.
Why had he come to Pine Prairie? If he were a better man, he’d have stayed in Weatherton, met Maeve at the depot and married her as planned. But no, he’d made the wrong decision—it’s what he did. Sam was the good twin, not him.
Sam was responsible, good hearted, and everything a man should be. Patrick, well, he was handsome and very aware of the fact. He’d yet to find a woman who could resist his charm and swarthy features. However, despite his actions, he wasn’t completely void of morals. Lately, thoughts nudged his conscience—convictions, some called them. His family needed him, and it was time to own those responsibilities, find a nice woman and settle down. Thus, he’d sent away for a mail-order bride. A complete slip of character for him.
The very idea of marriage scared him and brought a cold sweat from his pores. He was going to follow through though, really he was. Just as soon as he had this final trip and got all the fun out of his system.
His fingers combed his hair, and he emitted a loud sigh. Guilt precluded him from enjoying his last days of
freedom
. When a girl as pretty as Candace couldn’t fully distract him from the uncomfortable feelings eating their way through him, something was wrong. Even setting aside tonight’s events, he recognized it was time to go home and face his future.
He pulled off his boots and lined them neatly against the bedframe. Who knew? The new Patrick might be tidy as well as morally aligned. Everyone had to start somewhere. Lowering his upper body, he swung his legs up onto the mattress. He rested his head against the pillow and crossed his arms over his chest.
The night replayed itself in his mind, like the middle act of a play he’d seen several years ago. There’d been a barn dance. He shouldn’t have gone, should have gone home as planned. But sweet Candace invited him, and he couldn’t find the strength to turn her down. Halfway through, he’d talked her into going outside with him. He thought if he could only kiss her once, he could return to Weatherton, a content man.
It was a lie. Bad enough, kissing her made him almost ill with guilt, but just as he was ending the kiss—the shamefulness he felt was too much for him to continue—Candace’s pa ran up and ripped her from his arms. All sorts of vile things came from the man’s mouth, none of which the girl deserved. With his mouth gaping, half surprised he hadn’t been punched in the jaw, he watched Candace’s pa drag her away.
If he’d had any doubts prior, at the moment they cleared. His life needed drastic changes. First thing in the morning he’d leave Pine Prairie and return home to Weatherton. He’d marry Maeve, be a faithful husband, and put those days behind him. The images and thoughts faded as slumber took over and claimed his tired body.
A raucous bang on the door roused him sometime later. He barely registered that the sun coming through the window was the dawn of morning. Before he could process the commotion, cold metal chilled his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, which he’d fallen asleep wearing.
“Get up, boy.”
Rapid alertness took over and instinct kicked in. Patrick jumped from the bed, the rifle falling to the side. A second later, it was trained on his chest again. He swallowed a curse.
“What are you doing?” Patrick gritted his teeth and stared into the yellowed eyes of Candace’s pa, Burl Tibbet.
Brown spit drooled from the corners of Burl’s mouth, finding a home on his tar-stained beard. “You ruined my daughter’s reputation. Now you’re going to marry her.”
A stunned laugh rumbled from Patrick’s chest. “I don’t think so.”
“Wrong answer.” Burl cocked the Winchester.
His arms flew up. “Let’s calm down and talk about this.”
“We can talk on the way to the judge’s room down the hall.” An evil gleam flashed in Burl’s eyes as he pressed the rifle harder against Patrick’s chest. “Candace is already waiting for you there.”
Patrick gulped. This couldn’t be happening.
November 1893
Heavily lidded eyes strained to open. Every sort of pain imaginable seared her right arm. She tried to move it, but the hurt was too fierce. It hadn’t been a dream after all. Ceding the fight to open her eyes, she squeezed them and willed herself back into slumber for the second time that day.
“Shh.” Her husband’s low tones reached into her half-conscious state. “Stay resting. I’m only changing your bandages.”
Candace turned her head and squinted. Patrick knelt beside the bed, unwrapping her arm. Opening her eyes fully, she caught a glimpse of her damaged limb. Bile rose from her stomach at the sight. She turned her head.
Why?
For once in her life she’d been on a path to happiness. Her marriage hadn’t started out with bliss, but she and Patrick were making strides to improve their situation. Day-by-day they were becoming friends. She’d thought they weren’t too far from being a real husband and wife.
But the fire—her injuries, rather—changed their course, of that she was certain. Her husband was an attractive man, who could have had his choice of women. Instead, he’d been forced to marry her when Pa held a gun to him. He hadn’t wanted her to begin with for anything more than an evening of fun. With her arm disfigured, he surely wouldn’t want her now.
Who would? She’d seen decade old burn scars on other people. They never healed completely but left ugly marks, no one would find attractive. A man like Patrick would want more from his wife. If only they’d been in love prior to the fire then perhaps…
She tried to speak, but her throat was dry and scratchy. Patrick reached to his side and lifted a metal cup of water to her mouth. With his other hand, he cradled the back of her neck and helped her lift her head to take a drink.
“Thank you.” The croaky words sounded foreign, so distant from how her voice normally carried.
“You’re welcome.” After she had taken two sips, he lowered his hand until her head rested on the pillow again. “How do you feel?”
“Better than this morning.” It was the only answer she thought of that didn’t complain, but didn’t lie either.
“Maeve will be here soon, so you won’t be alone while I take care of some things.” He frowned but held her gaze.
Candace looked forward to Maeve’s company. They’d talked briefly this morning and her sister-in-law had a way of bringing calm to even the direst of circumstances.
“How’s the house?” She hadn’t had a chance to ask. The fire still burned when she’d been brought to the cabin last night, and this morning the pain had been too excruciating to think beyond survival.
The events were still surreal. It was supposed to be a night of rejoicing to celebrate Sam and Maeve’s marriage, and to make a step toward restoring the Holden family’s relationship with the town of Weatherton, which had been damaged because of Patrick’s past behavior.
Regardless of the wintry weather, the party had been a great success until Rosalie Beard, one of Patrick’s conquests, showed up and caused a scene. The party had culminated with Rosalie swinging her arm and knocking over a lantern which had struck Candace, causing severe damage to her arm, and ultimately caught the Holden’s house on fire.
“It’s destroyed.” Patrick, now finished with her arm, balled his hand to make a fist.
“I’m sorry.”
His jaw clenched, tightening his facial muscles. Dark eyes looked at her, filled with shame. “I’m the one who is sorry. This is all my fault.”
Using the elbow of her good arm, she adjusted her position on the mattress. She kept the blanket tucked under her chin and chest as she moved so that it wouldn’t fall and expose her chemise. “You didn’t start the fire.”
“Didn’t I?” Patrick looked away, staring absently at the door for many seconds before returning his gaze. “I thought changing my ways would make everything better, but I was wrong. The fire was my punishment for everything I’ve done wrong.”
“It was an accident, Patrick.” She spoke the words with such strong belief, it drained her of what little energy she had mustered. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.
“Nothing in life is an accident. Rosalie’s appearance at last night’s party was a direct effect of how I treated her.” So much guilt was tangled with his words.
She couldn’t think what else to tell him that could convince him, and she was weary. So very weary. Eyes still closed, sleepiness took hold again, but she fought to stay awake.
“I’ve ruined your life, Candace.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m so very sorry.”
The last sound she heard before crying herself to sleep of a broken heart was the hard thud of Patrick’s boots hitting the floor as he hurried outside.
When she awoke some time later, Maeve sat in a chair beside the bed.
“Good afternoon.” Maeve offered her a gentle smile.
Candace couldn’t find it in her to return the greeting. She could feel the puffiness of her eyes from the tears she’d shed. Patrick’s words confirmed what she feared. He found her arm to be so repulsive that he didn’t think she wouldn’t live a normal life anymore. Anything he’d feel for her would only be out of pity or obligation. Her dream of someone loving her was gone.
Maeve inclined her head toward a basket. “I brought some broth. Would you like some?”
“No, thank you.” She had to pull herself out of this pool of pity, but how?
“Will you try a few sips? You need the nourishment to heal.”
“Okay.” Attempting the one-arm maneuvers again, she failed.
“Stay still. I’ll help you.” Maeve slipped her hands in the crook where Candace’s chest and arm met then lifted her up into a sitting position. “Have you been crying? Is it the pain?”
Shaking her head, a torrent of nausea hit her stomach when Maeve removed the bowl of broth. She jerked her finger, pointing to a metal pail. “Bucket, please.”
Maeve set the broth back in the basket and held the bucket for her. Candace heaved several times before her stomach quelled. A small basin of water sat on the table next to the bed. Maeve removed a napkin from the basket she’d brought, dipped it into the water and brushed it against Candace’s forehead.
The coolness was a relief against her flushed skin. “Thank you. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Shh, now. Are you feeling better?” Maeve looked at her with concern.
“A little. My stomach’s been so queasy. I think from the pain.”
Maeve’s lips twisted and her eyes squinted with an inquisitive expression. “Forgive me if I’m intruding too far into a business that’s not mine, but could you be expecting?”
“Expecting? What do you mean?” Perhaps her thinking was fuzzy, but she didn’t understand what Maeve asked.
“I thought there was a chance you could be with child. At the party last night you weren’t feeling well, and then just now.” Maeve stopped and put her hands to her cheeks. “Oh dear, I’ve embarrassed you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Sure enough, Candace could feel the heat rushing to her face. She swallowed and shook her head. “There’s no chance. Patrick and I, we, uh, we don’t have that kind of relationship.”
And now they probably never would. She’d never have a real marriage. The confession brought her to tears again. With the way she was acting, Maeve would soon think her a ninny.
Her sweet sister-in-law and new friend walked to the other side of the bed and gave her a hug from the side that wasn’t injured. “It’s going to be all right. I realize things look bleak now because you’re in such pain and overwhelmed by last night’s events, but soon your arm will heal, and life will continue on.”
“Patrick will never love me now that I’m disfigured.” The vehement words were bitter on her lips.
Releasing her, Maeve stared at her with widened eyes. “That’s not true, Candace. Patrick cares for you a great deal. Just this morning, Sam and I were discussing how taken he is with you.”
Candace sighed. “Even if that were true, he won’t want me with my imperfections.”
“You are not disfigured nor do you have imperfections.” Maeve frowned. “I can’t imagine how difficult this must be, but you must stop thinking about yourself in those terms. You have an injury that will heal. Even if there are scars, so what? True love wouldn’t think twice about letting something so superficial stand in its way.”
Maeve spoke with such conviction, Candace almost believed her.
Almost.
“He said he ruined my life.”
“Oh, sweetheart, Patrick must be feelings mounds of guilt right now, thinking that you wouldn’t be injured if not for him. I feel positive he didn’t mean what he said in the terms you imagine.”
“I wish I had your faith in him.” Unused to the self-pity, Candace looked away, ashamed. All her life she’d been beaten down, but never had succumbed to feeling sorry for herself. Why now, had she given in to it?
Brushing the cool cloth against her forehead again, Maeve exhaled. “Several weeks ago, you told me that you and Patrick want to make the best of your marriage. Whatever you do, don’t forget that promise you made to each other. You’ll need each other now, more than ever.”
“You think I’m overreacting, don’t you?” she braved asking.
“I think you are exhausted and overwhelmed.” Maeve softened her words with a smile. “You’re not just Patrick’s wife—you’re my friend and sister-through-marriage. I’m here to help any way I can. You know that, right?”
“Yes, I do and thank you.” She knew if anyone could breathe peace into her today, it would be Maeve. Her comforting words were a soothing balm to her soul.
Maybe her future didn’t have to be desolate. Maybe she and Patrick could recapture the beginnings of love that had blossomed over the last few weeks. She still wasn’t convinced, but if there was the smallest hope, she had to grip it and not let go, or she would face utter despair.