Winds of Change (6 page)

“Do you think Ma will be surprised?” Patrick jerked his head backward, to the freight they carried in the wagon.

Sam guffawed. “Seeing as how I was surprised, I think Ma will be as well.”

“I never thought I’d see the day when The Ladies’ Auxiliary of Weatherton bought the Holden family a new stove.” Patrick gripped the reins before they slipped off his lap. “It’s amazing how much can change in such a short time.”

“It truly is. Our lives have changed completely since the summer.” Sam glanced at his watch. “I hope Maeve isn’t upset. She’ll have expected us an hour ago.”

“All will be forgiven when she sees what we’re bringing.”

“That’s right, we’ll get our little stove back. Maeve has missed cooking our meals in the cabin.” Sam’s mouth curled in a half smile.

“Something tells me you’ve missed her cooking among other things.” Patrick elbowed Sam’s ribs.

A long sigh came from Sam’s throat. “Evenings were a special time for just her and me. Don’t misunderstand me—I love our family, but this past week has seen a tad too much togetherness.”

“It’s not been so bad.”

“You just haven’t noticed because Ma won’t give you and Candace time alone anyway.” Crossing his arms, Sam also winked.

“Not for much longer.” The wagon hit a rut and Patrick bounced.

“January first still the day?”

“Yes.” Less than a month to go before he and Candace recited wedding vows for the second time, legally, for the first. “What better day to symbolize our new beginning?”

Sam placed the back of his hand against Patrick’s forehead. “Are you sick, brother?”

“No.” His eyebrows wrinkled with confusion. “Why?”

“Because you don’t sound like the brother I know.” Sam laughed.

Patrick rolled his eyes. “The brother you constantly complained about?”

“I’m just giving you a hard time.” Sam gave his shoulder a quick pat. “I like the new Patrick though and hope he decides to stick around.”

“He’s not going anywhere.”

“Good.”

A few seconds later, Patrick groaned. “I thought of something.”

Sam looked at him. “What?”

“Remember what a difficult time we had getting the stove out of your cabin?”

“Oh no,” Sam grumbled. “How are we going to get it back in?”

Rubbing his jaw, Patrick contemplated. Too bad Sam’s cabin didn’t have a nice double door for the entry like the new house did. “We’ll figure it out. It’s obviously gotten in once, and then out, so we can do it, but tell Maeve to remove all breakables in the path.”

“Glen told me the new stove was supposed to be here last week,” Sam said. “It’s a shame it didn’t come on that freight train. Ma could have moved in with it already there and saved us the trouble of double moving mine.”

“Be glad it made it at all, with the constant snowfall.” Speaking of, Patrick wiped a stray flurry from cheek. “Think it will be like this all winter?”

“I sure hope not.” Sam frowned. “We’ve already lost a few cattle and can’t afford to lose many more.”

“Tell me the truth. How bad is it?” Patrick didn’t mess with the books even in his newly participative state. Sam had always had the better head for numbers.

“We’ve been worse, but we’ve also been much better.” Scratching his cheek, Sam looked out at the landscape. They’d crossed into their own land. “Paying off the note last fall helps because that isn’t hanging over our heads.”

“But?”

“All it would take is another winter like that of eighty six-seven.” Worry lines appeared on the outside of Sam’s eyes.

“Even so, we’re better prepared. We have plenty of winter-feed stored in the barn.” Another reason the entire family was grateful the fire hadn’t reached beyond the house.

“That’s true. Sometimes my faith isn’t as strong as it should be.” Changing the subject, Sam asked, “Have you given any more thought to where you and Candace will live?”

“Come spring, we’re going to add on to the living quarters of the new home. From our wedding until then, we’ll live in my little cabin as before.” He’d have preferred their own home, slightly away from the others, but Candace had never had a family so wished to live with his, not away from them.

Placing Candace’s needs and desires first didn’t faze him. If it made her happy, he’d gladly forsake his own desires. His lack of selfishness when it came to her surprised him—self-interest always had been an attribute he’d held in high esteem, but not so much anymore.

“That will be good.” Sam’s acknowledgment brought an end to the conversation and as they crossing their land, they rode in comfortable silence. They came to the old home site, passed the ruins, what was left of them, and continued to the house farther on the Holden spread.

When they arrived, Patrick jumped down to the ground and grinned at Sam. “Shall we find Ma and show her the town’s latest surprise?”

Sam rubbed his stomach and winked. “Personally, I’ve been hoping she’s recently made use of the one in there. That, and regretting declining Rosie’s offer of a slice of the pie.”

“Me too.” Patrick’s stomach rumbled. “But I didn’t want to risk getting caught in another storm.” So far, only a few flakes had fallen, but the sky held a precarious darkness.

The newly constructed house rose from the frozen land. It was one-story high, like the old house, but spread out with more living area. A porch on the front stretched the entire length of the home. In the spring months, Sam and he planned to build a chair high railing around it. The double entry doors were the eye drawing feature. They lent the house a stately stature, and would allow for a great deal of airflow through the house during the non-winter months. There was a large rectangular window on each side of the door. One gave a view into a dining room, and the other, a parlor.

Before Sam and he reached the door, it opened and Candace walked out. She offered a shy smile as she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.

“I’ll see you inside.” Sam flashed a knowing grin before sauntering into the house.

A few minutes alone with Candace was a treat, even if it was outside, in frigid weather. With Sam in the house, Candace’s smile widened. Much of her timidity had left her in the last several weeks, but she was still reserved, especially around other men. Only with him did she seem truly uninhibited, and he was honored that he’d earned her trust.

“How was your trip?” She hovered close to the door, where he knew it was warmest.

“Good.” He took the three steps in one stride. “What is everyone doing?”

“Preparing supper and your brothers are at the barn, not expected back for another half hour.” When a hint of red touched her cheeks, he knew it was an invitation.

He took a final step to reach her. “Are you cold?”

“Yes.”

“Allow me to remedy that.” His arm circled around her, and she laid her head against his chest.

Other than a brief kiss, they were content to stand in each other’s arms, ignoring the frosty temperature and content to share a rare moment to be alone.

“How are the wedding plans coming along?” he asked.

“Your Ma is helping me sew a dress. That’s really all there is to do since it will be a small affair.”

“Are you certain you don’t want more?”

Candace lifted her head and looked at him. “More isn’t always a better option. I don’t want anything fancy or big. That’s not who I am.”

“I know, but I want this to be special for you.”

“It will be special.” She took a step backward and put a hand on his chest where her head had rested. “Because I’ll be marrying you.”

His breathing stopped. He didn’t deserve her, but he’d be forever grateful for her. “I love you.”

“I love—”

A loud rapping against the window pane interrupted Candace. They both turned toward the noise. Ma stood at the window, giving him a steely stare.

“Behave yourself, Patrick, and get it in here now.” The corners of Ma’s mouth twitched, belying her stern look and words.

Blushing profusely now, Candace erupted in a nervous fit of giggles. “We should listen to her.”

“Wait,” he said, touching her shoulder when she turned to go inside. “I brought you something.” He pulled the small bag from his pocket and handed it to Candace.

“Should I look now?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t much, but he knew she’d like it.

“Oh.” Her delighted exclamation said it all. “Lemon drops, my favorite. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.”

Out of nowhere, her lips trembled, and she started to cry. “Thank you, again,” she muttered before spinning around and running inside.

Perplexed, he watched the door close and decided to remain on the porch for a few more minutes. Her child-like exuberance at the small gift touched him, but he couldn’t figure out what had made her suddenly upset to the point of tears. Was it something from her past? It made him sad, and angry that she’d lived such a hard life and never experienced the simple joys of life. Yet his parents had showered him with affection and he’d carelessly tossed it aside, took their love for granted. Life wasn’t fair that way—that someone as pure as Candace should have struggled for so long while he’d suffered little.

Vowing anew, he promised himself to always look for ways, big and small, to make her life better.

Candace closed the bedroom door behind her. Leaning against a wall, she took four deep breaths until she calmed down.

If that wasn’t a fine spectacle, she’d made. Why couldn’t she have taken the candy like a normal person—smiled, given thanks and moved on with her day? She refused to give herself any more pity. Her reaction was a mere setback that could be overcome.

Under her bed was a small box. She couldn’t see it, but it called out to her, taunted her.

“No.” She didn’t want to look in the box, see what was left of her Pa’s life.

There probably wasn’t much of anything since Pa drank or gambled away anything he’d ever owned.

Look at it and then put it behind you.

The voice was so loud and clear, Candace looked around her but saw nothing. Who had spoken? Was it her conscience? No one was in the room—she must have imagined it. Regardless, she walked to the bed and slowly crouched down.

She reached under the frame and felt blindly for the box. It had to be there, they’d only moved in last week.

“Ouch.” In the process of finding the box, she’d also gained a splinter. She grasped hold of the container and slid it out from under the bed. Raising her middle finger, she saw a tiny pool of blood. She wiped it on her apron, then examined the skin for the sight of the splinter underneath.

Fortuitously, it hadn’t gone all the way in and a small sliver stuck out. Closing her thumb and index finger, she attempted to pinch the unveiled portion of razor-thin wood. Her luck, it broke off in her fingers, the remainder still embedded in her skin. Frustrated, the tears came again though she knew they were a manifestation of something other than annoyance with the splinter.

She’d have to use tweezers to remove the wood from her finger. The only problem was that they were in her sewing basket, which was in the parlor. Where everyone was gathered. Her face was sure to be blotchy after crying and she couldn’t handle the attention it would draw to her.

A heavy sigh came from deep within her chest. She glanced sideways at the box that still beckoned her to open it and examine its contents. Tapping her fingers against each other, she stared at it. Finally, she removed the lid. There were a few coins—she was surprised by that—and a flask. Out of sheer curiosity, she picked it up and shook it. The liquid inside splashed. Around two-thirds empty she surmised.

All that was left in the box was a small stack of papers. She pulled them out and examined them. On top was a certificate of marriage between him and her mother. Peculiar. Pa hadn’t struck her as the type to hold onto something like that, but she would save it. It would help her feel close to the Ma she never knew, who died giving birth to her.

Beneath the certificate was a sheet of paper folded into an envelope. It was yellowed and fragile, but Candace gingerly lifted the flap. An old tintype fell out. Reaching over, she grabbed it. The image startled her—it was like looking into a mirror.

Was it Ma? It had to be. Pa never talked her, wouldn’t tell her anything about Ma. By the time she was old enough to attend school, she’d quit asking Pa questions regarding Ma, as it always exacerbated his moods and made him drink more. She fingered the image, tracing the outline of the face. Why had Pa hid it all those years?

Longing shot through her, grieving for the woman she’d never had the chance to know. The woman who’d died twenty years ago today.

How would her life have been different had Ma lived? Could Ma have curtailed Pa’s reckless ways? Maybe Pa hadn’t always been the way Candace remembered him. Perhaps her mother’s death had changed him. She’d seen it happen to other people. In a way, she felt better knowing there was a chance that Pa loved Ma. It gave her hope that there was good in him after all, and maybe, just maybe, in the moments before he died, he’d found that goodness.

She looked at the final paper. It was blank, save for two words.
Betty. Cheyenne.

Another mystery to solve. Who was Betty? She wracked her brain for any memories the name might conjure. Nothing. In all her life, she couldn’t remember meeting a Betty, except for a kind lady she’d met in church a few years ago. Candace doubted that Betty had anything to do with the one whose name was scrawled in Pa’s handwriting.

The second word drew her attention. One could easily assume a connection between Betty and Cheyenne, but what? Is that where Betty lived? It was a fair assumption. Was Pa going to see her? She’d never imagined her Pa’s few remaining things could invite so many questions.

Picking up the portrait, her gazed remained fixed on the woman she believed to be her mother. She stood from the floor and sat down on the bed, grabbing her small mirror off the nightstand. Juxtaposing the image in the mirror and the photograph, there were few differences, except the woman in the portrait had a small mark above one corner of her mouth. In her heart, she knew it was Ma.

“I wish you were here, Ma.” Cries caught in her throat and she wouldn’t let them out. “What were you like? Would you have kept Pa from neglecting me? Hitting me?”

The solemn expression of the woman seemed to bore through her.

“It wasn’t an easy life for me, but it is getting better. In several weeks, I’m to marry a wonderful man.” Her eyes traveled to a window, and she glimpsed outside at the gray sky. “We had a rocky start, but I love him, and he loves me.”

Still looking at the picture, she shifted and tucked one leg under her. “He brought home a present for me today, a bagful of lemon drops. It’s the first time I’ve ever received a gift on my birthday though he doesn’t know that it’s today.”

The thought struck her as funny in a mocking way. “Sounds silly, doesn’t it? We haven’t had a normal courtship, and I guess the subject never came up.”

Someone rapped on the door. “Candace, are you in there?”

It was Liza. Candace wasn’t sure she was ready to face anyone, but she shared this room with Liza and couldn’t deny her entrance. “Yes. You can come in.”

The door creaked open, and Liza walked through, surveying the room. “Were you talking to someone? I thought I heard voices.”

“Only me.” She set the portrait down, covering it with her palm.

Liza regarded her with concern, lingered on her reddened face. “Are you okay? Patrick asked if I would check in on you.”

She took a deep breath. “I owe him an apology. He did something kind for me and I ran off blubbering.”

“He’s worried about you.” The bed creaked when Liza sat next to her. “Did you know he still feels guilty for all that you’ve suffered? He’s afraid he’s offended you and is behind the house, furiously pacing, wearing a path clear down to the soil.”

“It’s nothing he did, not in a bad way at least.”

“Do you need to talk?” Liza’s gentle offer was inviting and tempting.

“Yes.” She bit her bottom lip before saying more. “But I think I should speak with Patrick. I don’t want him under the wrong impression.”

Smiling, Liza patted her hand. “Go talk to him. Supper will keep.”

Her hands flew to her face. “Oh goodness, I’m making such a mess of things today. I completely abandoned my part of the meal preparation.”

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Liza assured her. “There are advantages to having multiple women around. Maeve and I finished everything.” She stood and walked to the door. “Take your time. If you ever need a friend, you know where to find me.”

After she had left, Candace walked to the window and peered out. She spotted Patrick, who was standing still, hands clasped, and head looking upward. Was he praying? Grabbing her shawl from where it had slid off onto the floor, she shivered. She wrapped the garment snugly around her shoulders, then slipped through the house and out the rear door.

If Patrick heard her approach, he showed no signs of it, his gaze still Heavenward. She approached him and tapped his shoulder. He jumped and his hand automatically went to the firearm holstered on his hip.

When he saw her, he immediately relaxed and gave her a half smile. “You can’t sneak up on a man.”

“I’ll remember that.” She hugged herself, warding off the cold.

He eyed her, and she imagined he was trying to figure out what happened earlier. “I was worried about you when you’d been in your room for an hour. Did Liza find you?”

“Yes.” An hour had passed while she was in her room? It hadn’t seemed that long.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you.” Patrick had one hand folded behind his back. His expression showed a vulnerability contrary to the extreme confidence he’d displayed when they’d first met.

“Don’t be. You did nothing wrong.” She shivered. “Is there somewhere we can talk alone, but that’s warmer than outside?”

“Everyone else is probably eating, so the parlor should be clear.” He placed a hand on her back and guided her inside.

The room felt empty, with little furniture inside. In time, the furnishing would be built up, but for now there was a bench, one upholstered chair, and two rocking chairs, which were by the fireplace.

They sat down in the seat nearest the heat source. Patrick leaned back in his chair, but Candace kept her back rigid.

“What’s going on?” Patrick broke the silence after a minute of her staring into the fire.

“Remember when I told you my ma died giving birth to me?”

“Yes.”

She tucked a fist under her chin. “I don’t know if Pa blamed me, or plumb didn’t believe in them, but I’ve never celebrated my birthday.”

“Never?”

Shaking her head, she lowered her arm and crossed it in her lap. “Not even a mention of it.”

“Ma’s always tried to make ours special, even the years there wasn’t money for a gift.” Patrick pushed his feet against the ground, sending the chair rocking in slow motion.

“You’re lucky.” The tears wanted to return, but she blocked them. “When you gave me the lemon drops, it was the first time I’ve ever been given a gift on my birthday. It probably doesn’t sound like much, but it meant a lot to me.”

“But those were just something special, not a birthday…” He trailed off, recognition dawning in his features. “Today is your birthday?”

Looking at him, she nodded. “I’m so accustomed to nothing special happening that I didn’t even think about it until you gave me the lemon drops.”

“I’m sorry. Had I known...” Patrick ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “That’s something I should have asked about before now.”

She shrugged. “I don’t go out of my way to tell people.”

A slow smile spread his mouth. “Wait here a minute.”

He was gone before she could say anything. While she was alone, she rocked in the chair, again grateful for the changes in her life. The forced
marriage
hadn’t seemed such a good thing at the time, but that had changed.

“Close your eyes,” she heard Patrick say a few minutes later.

Obliging, she squeezed them shut and listened to his approaching footsteps.

“You can open them now.”

When she opened her eyes, they took a second to adjust to the light. Once they did, she saw Patrick standing in front of her, holding a biscuit with jam on top and a candle stuck in the middle.

“Happy birthday.” Handing her the biscuit, he gave her an uncertain smile.

It was, perhaps, the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her, but it also greatly amused her. A full laugh erupted until tears flowed down her cheek. “Thank you.”

“There was no cake, so the biscuit was the best I could do.” Leaning over, he kissed her forehead. “Tomorrow is another day. Even if it’s a day late, you will have a proper birthday celebration.”

“There’s no need for that.” She wished to dodge attention.

“Indulge us.” Patrick ran a hand through her hair. “Let us do this for you.”

Reluctantly, she agreed, but even still, a small part of her was thrilled to be so welcomed into this family. No matter how long she was blessed to have them in her life, she’d never take this family for granted.