Winds of Change (7 page)

“Are you busy?” Candace asked, walking into the kitchen.

Patrick peeked down at his clothes, smeared with soot and ash from the stove. Two days after they’d planned to, Sam and he finally moved the old contraption back to Sam’s cabin and installed the new one in Ma’s kitchen. He still had horses to feed, a barn repair to take care of, and a trip to town to make. Busy didn’t begin to describe his day.

Glancing Candace’s way, he saw she wore the blue dress he’d bought her, and seeing her wear it always did strange things to his insides. His gut twisted, and he felt powerless to deny her anything.

“No. Did you need something?” He brushed his hands against his brown cotton pants, thinking the dirt wouldn’t show up on the dark fabric. It was fruitless—his hands were too dirty for a quick brush against his trousers to do any good.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you. I meant to do it a couple days ago but got distracted.” An apron was tied around her waist, and she twisted the lacy edge.

“Can you give me a minute to clean up? I’ll have to use the wash station outside.” He held up his hands, showing her their filth. “Ma would skin me if I dirtied the wash basin in here with this much grime.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Candace pointed out the door, toward the parlor. “While you and Sam moved the stoves, we made some the old way, over the fire in the hearth.”

“Coffee would be wonderful. Thank you.”

A blast of cold air pushed against him when he opened the door. The ride into Weatherton later would be bitter. Unfortunately, the nature of his business required that he take the wagon. Otherwise, he’d take Sally Sue and shave precious time off the trip. He didn’t linger in cleaning up. Hot coffee sure sounded good.

He returned inside, and Candace already had a white mug with steam floating out sitting on the table. Sliding between the bench and table, he lifted the mug to his lips before he fully sat. The heat from the liquid warmed his body.

Candace sat across from him, tapping her fingers on the table’s edge. Stretching his arm over the table, he put a hand on hers to still her nerves. She smiled at him—it had become a routine between them, becoming each other’s calming force.

“I opened the box of Pa’s belongings.”

“Oh.” He released her hand but scooted forward on the bench. “When?”

“On my birthday.” A faraway look entered her eyes, causing him to wonder if she remembered the tears of that day or was thinking of something in the box.

“Did you find anything of note?” Of course she did, or she wouldn’t have made a point to tell him about it. When it came to Candace, he didn’t always think rationally.

“There was a picture of my mother, at least I think it was her.” She reached into her dress pocket and withdrew a portrait, then handed it to him.

“She looks just like you.” The similarities were uncanny. He held the picture in front of him, focusing on it then Candace. They could have been twins. “Beautiful.”

An endearing blush crept up Candace’s neck. “Until two days ago, I never knew what she looked like.”

“And now you do. I’m glad you were able to see her, but I admit, Burl doesn’t strike me as a sentimental man that would save her portrait.”

“That’s what I thought, but then I started considering some things.” Her fingers started dancing again until she stilled them on her own. “I remember Pa as a hateful man, full of meanness and anger.”

“As do many people.” He immediately regretted his unwise words and speaking ill of the dead, even if it was true.

Candace frowned. “There’s no denying that, but do you think he could have been a good person at some point? That maybe it was some event, like my Ma’s death that turned him ugly?”

His breath whooshed out of him. How could he answer that? He supposed it could be true, but that didn’t negate the horrible way Burl had treated his daughter. At the same time, maybe Candace needed that hope needed to believe it for the sake of healing.

“I know that if ever something were to happen to you, I wouldn’t be the same man anymore and a part of me would die with you, so maybe Burl did change after your ma’s death.” He spun the mug between his fingers, contemplating what else, if anything, he should say. “A part of him lives in you, so he must have had good hiding somewhere within him.”

“It very well might be wrong and foolish, but believing it to be true helps me to grieve. I tried not even thinking about him as a way to move forward, but that didn’t work.”

“Everyone grieves differently. Look at Sam and me after my pa’s death. Sam stepped up and took the reins while I indulged in self-satisfaction at every turn.” It struck him then, and he smiled. “You know, Candace, I don’t think you’re foolish at all. I just realized that it was Pa’s death that set me down a wayward path. We’ll never know the truth, but I don’t think it’s too far of a stretch to imagine a broken heart transformed him.”

“Thank you for hearing me out.” A partial smile appeared on her closed lips. “I found something else, a piece of paper with only
Betty
and
Cheyenne
written on it.”

That was quite curious, considering he’d said he wanted to take Candace to Cheyenne. “Do you know any Bettys?”

“Other than an old lady I once knew, no.” She laced her fingers. “If we can track this Betty down, maybe she’ll know something about my family. Do you think we could?”

If only that were a possibility. “Sweetheart, I’d find a way to wrangle the moon if you wanted it, but I don’t know how we could track this Betty down.”

“Cheyenne isn’t that big.” What her voice lacked in conviction, it made up for in hope.

Patrick swallowed. It just wasn’t feasible. That would take time and money, neither of which he had in abundance. The only thing he had of value, he was hoping to unload. Would it be better to use it to finance a trip? He gave it thought but decided no. There wasn’t enough information to warrant the expense. As much as he wanted to make Candace happy, there had to be a modicum of logic. They couldn’t afford what would likely turn out to be a wild goose chase. For all they knew, Betty and Cheyenne could be a pair of horses, not a woman and a city.

He hated to crush her hope. “There’s no way we can make that trip now, and there’s no guarantee, but maybe in the spring we can find a way to go.”

Forgive him, but he prayed by then she’d lose her desire to search out Betty.

“Thank you.” She rose from the table and collected the empty coffee mugs. “I should get back to my chores.”

“I’ll be leaving for town shortly.” He stood as well. “Do you know where Ma is? This morning she said she’d have a list of supplies for me.”

“Check in her room. She’s been there all morning working on a secret project.”

His shoulder grazed hers when he crossed the room, leaving a warm spot on his sleeve. “Thank you.”

Approaching the mercantile two hours later, Patrick clenched his teeth and tossed a quick glance to the saddle in the wagon. It was beautiful, carefully tooled, and of exceptional quality—the original owner had commissioned it as a custom piece. Patrick had no way to verify his story, but the workmanship spoke for itself. He’d won it in a game of poker last year and loved the saddle. Parting with it wouldn’t be easy.

He parked the wagon and jumped down. A bell above the door rang when Patrick walked inside. Just in time—Glen was sweeping the floor inside, one of his final chores before closing the store for the day.

Glen stopped and looked up. “Good afternoon. What brings you out midweek?”

“A secret mission.” He smiled and winked.

“Ah, yes. It is that time of year.” Glen chuckled. “Who are you shopping for today?”

His lips curled upward. “Candace.”

“Of course.” After returning to the counter, Glen leaned the broom in a corner. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate yet. First, he needed to lower his pride and ask a favor. “Is that ruby necklace with the matching ring still here?”

“Sure is.” Taking a rag from his pocket, Glen proceeded to dust the countertop. “Rand McCade was in earlier and almost purchased it for Lettie, but chose the emerald set instead.”

“Candace would love it.”

“Shall I pull it from the case then?” Glen took a step.

“Not yet.” Pride twisted his gut. He hated not having the funds to buy the set outright, but he would not resort to old means—gambling or conning—to get it. “Under different circumstances, I’d never ask, but would you be willing to make a deal?”

Eyebrows raised, curiosity shone in Glen’s eyes. “Depends on what the deal is.”

“My saddle for the set.”

“I don’t know. Trading isn’t something I like to get involved with.” Glen gave him an apologetic look.

“At least take a look at it.” Standing rigid, he wasn’t going to give up easily.

“Bring it in.”

Patrick left the store, retrieved the saddle and rushed back inside. Since he knew Glen was about to close, he wanted to be considerate of his time. Hoisting the saddle, he placed it on the counter.

A low whistle came from Glen and he ran his hand over the horn. “This is a fine saddle, unlike any I’ve seen in these parts. Where’d you get it?”

“Won it in a poker game last March.” Forcing back a cringe when Glen’s brows crinkled, he quickly added, “It was a straight game, no cheating.”

Most of Weatherton’s citizens had forgiven him his past deeds, but forgetting them was more difficult.

“Fair enough.” Glen rubbed his chin. “But I can’t do a straight trade.”

“Partial then?” It was the sound of his pride vanishing into the air.

“I’ll be honest, this saddle would bring me in a great deal more than what that ring and necklace cost. If we did an even trade, I’d be cheating you.” Passing his hand from the seat to cantle, Glen looked at Patrick. “Are you sure you want to part with it?”

“Yes.” There was no doubt, no matter how much he loved the saddle. He could revert to using the old one, which would suit him and Sally Sue just fine.

“In that case, here’s what I can do.” Glen pushed the saddle to the side. “We’ll make the trade, plus I’ll give you the difference of the jewelry and what I can get for the saddle.”

It was more than Patrick had expected, but there was one minor stipulation. “Let’s do it, but put the difference on my family’s account, please.”

Glen gave an approving nod before a nostalgic smile crept to his mouth. “It seems like yesterday, Rosie and I were celebrating our first Christmas together, with nary a penny to our names.” He moved to a glass case where they jewelry was displayed. “The years go fast. Treasure them.”

The ring’s gold band caught a glimpse of the early evening sun and sparkled. It was beautiful without being ornate, and when Patrick had seen it last week, it called out to him.

Soon he would slip the ring on Candace’s finger and make her his indisputable wife. The first time he’d said the vows, it seemed like a jail sentence. This time, he couldn’t wait for the promise of a life with her forever.

A broad smile played on Candace’s lips as she sat up in bed and stretched her arms. Not only was it Christmas morning, but one week from today, she and Patrick would marry. She wasn’t sure which prospect excited her more.

Christmas was a joyful experience in the Holden family, and she’d been included in every step. Last night they’d sat around the hearth, singing carols and recounting Christmases past. She hadn’t had much to offer in that part of the evening, but she’d enjoyed hearing everyone else’s stories.

Before they’d gone to bed, Maeve had recited a poem called “A Visit from St. Nicholas.” Everyone else seemed familiar with it, but Candace had never heard it. She’d listened, enraptured as Maeve made the words spring to life. After that, they’d all hung a stocking on the mantle.

A movement to her side caught her attention. She looked over and saw Liza beginning to stir. “Merry Christmas.”

Still in a reclining position, Liza laughed. “You are worse than a young child. I’m surprised we haven’t heard Jeanette yet.”

“I can’t help it.” She threw her legs over the bed’s edge. “This Christmas has been magical. I can’t wait to see what today brings.”

“This has been the best Christmas since Pa died, I admit.” Liza rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat upright. “It’s like our family has found their joy again.”

Chilly air hit Candace when she tossed the blankets aside. The fires probably needed attention. She dressed for the day then headed to the kitchen. On her way, she spotted Lucas stoking the fire in the parlor. Soon, the entire house should be warm again. Her gaze traveled from the fire, upward to the stockings. The bottoms bulged, and the fabric pulled.

“Merry Christmas, Candace,” Lucas said, standing from his stooped position.

“To you as well.” She looked around. “Is everyone else still asleep?”

“Ma and Jeanette haven’t been out of their room yet. Benjamin left an hour ago and said he’d be back for breakfast.”

“You didn’t go with him?” To see one without the other surprised her. The two youngest Holden boys did everything together.

“Too cold out there for me this morning.” Lucas grinned. “Besides, I’m not going to risk missing Christmas breakfast.”

“Your stomach would never forgive you,” Candace teased. The boys were known for their hefty appetites.

“Did St. Nicholas come?” Jeanette came running into the room, still in her nightclothes.

“Patience, dear child,” Ma Holden called out, following shortly behind her youngest daughter. “But I believe I did hear him in the middle of the night.”

Candace made eye contact with her, and Ma Holden winked. For the first time, Candace noticed the small stack of gifts in the corner of the room. Jeanette also spotted them and ran toward the pile.

“Don’t touch them.” Ma Holden lowered her voice and gave Jeanette a warning glare.

“Look, Ma. There’s something in my stocking.” Jeanette pointed to the mantel. “Can I look now?”

“Not until after breakfast. We’ll all look like a family.” Stepping forward, Ma Holden leaned forward and whispered in Candace’s ear. “Let’s hurry. I won’t be able to hold her off much longer.”

Nor would you want to
. Candace held back a laugh. It was common knowledge in the Holden household that Jeannette, as the youngest, received special treatment the others hadn’t been privy to as youngsters. None of the other siblings seemed to mind though, as they were guilty also of spoiling their sister.

They went into the kitchen where Liza joined them a minute later. Ma Holden put coffee going before beginning a batch of biscuits. Liza lit the stove, then began slicing bacon to fry. Candace went to the bowl of potatoes she’d grabbed from the cellar last evening. She took a knife and started peeling them. Once they were all cleared of their skins, she cubed them into small pieces. By then the smell of bacon filled the air. Candace sniffed, her stomach rumbling in anticipation.

“Are you done with these?” Ma Holden inclined her head toward the bowl.

“Yes. What can I do now?” She couldn’t fry the potatoes until Liza finished with the bacon.

“Keep an eye on the biscuits for me, please, while I get Jeanette dressed.”

Ma Holden hadn’t returned when there was a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it.” Liza left the kitchen and returned a minute later with Sam and Maeve.

They all exchanged holiday greetings and then Sam held up a venison roast. “Ma said to bring this from the smokehouse. Where do you want it?”

“Give it here.” Liza took it from her brother and plopped it into a Dutch oven.

“Where is Patrick?” Candace craned her neck and peered behind Sam and Maeve, expecting that Patrick would have come with them.

“He’s not here?” Sam glanced around. “We stopped by his cabin, and when we saw he was already gone, we thought he had come over already.”

“No.” Pushing pack a tendril of fallen hair, Candace wondered where he was, but didn’t worry. She was sure he’d be there soon.

“Patrick is with Benjamin.” Lucas entered the room with a wide smirk.

“And where would that be?” Sam arched his eyebrows.

“I promised not to tell.” Smugness spread across Lucas’s face and he obviously enjoyed having a secret.

Candace shook her head, amused. She could only imagine what the men, minus Sam, had planned. Returning to her cooking, she folded a rag in her hand and grabbed the biscuits from the oven. Then she set aside some of the bacon grease to make a gravy and dumped the potatoes in the remaining lard.

Ma Holden returned with Jeanette. She shooed everyone out of the kitchen who wasn’t participating in making breakfast. “For the first time in our lives, we have separate rooms to eat in and cook in. Don’t crowd my cooking space.”

A short time later, breakfast was on the table, but Patrick and Benjamin still hadn’t returned.

“We’ll wait a few more minutes.” From her spot at the table’s head, Ma Holden crossed her arms. “Sam, while we wait, can you recite the verses from Matthew about the birth of Jesus.” She turned to Candace. “Our tradition is to read them from the Bible before we eat our breakfast on Christmas morning, but the family Bible hasn’t been replaced yet.”

“I think I remember most of them.” Sam looked around the table, his gaze lingering on Maeve.

Halfway through, there was a commotion at the door.

“What is going on now?” Ma uttered, leaving the table to see what was happening. “Oh.” Her happy gasp reached into the dining room where Candace was still with the others.

They all ran to the door to see.

Patrick and Benjamin proudly held a fir tree between them. “Merry Christmas.”

“A Christmas tree.” Maeve stared at it in awe. “I’ve always wanted one, but living in the city, only the well-off families had one.”

“Can we decorate it?” Jeanette stuck her nose among the needles and breathed it. “It smells so good.”

“In a bit.” Ma Holden put a hand on her youngest daughter’s shoulder but looked at Patrick. “Where ever did you find that? There aren’t any fir trees for miles.”

“Grant’s spread had a few. I saw them last month when some of our cattle got through the broken fence line.” Patrick grinned. “Earlier in the week, I asked if I could chop one down.”

Candace thought and then she remembered. The Grants were the Holden’s neighbors to the west. “It’s beautiful.”

“Lean it against the wall. We’ll eat before the food gets cold, then we’ll find a way to stand it up and decorate it.”

The others returned to the table, but Candace dawdled, hoping for seconds alone with Patrick.

“I got it, Benjamin. Go eat.” Patrick flashed Candace a smile. He must have read her thoughts.

There was no hesitation from Benjamin, whose fifteen-year-old stomach growled loudly.

“Do you like it?” Patrick asked her as he carried the tree to the parlor.

“I love it. It was a lovely surprise.”

He situated the evergreen, so it was propped in a corner. “That should be good for now.”

“What will we decorate it with?” She couldn’t resist inhaling a deep whiff of the tree’s fragrance.

“Ma will think of something. She’s always been good at improvising.” Patrick drew her to him. “Merry Christmas.”

His coat was still cold, but she barely noticed. “Merry Christmas.” Reluctantly, she stepped back from his embrace. “Let’s go before your Ma sends someone in.”

“A week from today and we won’t have to worry about the chaperones.” He grinned at her before his mouth went in a straight line. “You’ve been great about all of this. I hope you never regret meeting me.”

Feeling brave, she stepped forward on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I love you. Anything that happened before doesn’t matter because it got us to this point.” She tugged his hand. “Come on, someone is going to barge through the doorway any second.”

“Wait. I wanted to give you your present first.” Patrick reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box. He handed it to her. “For you.”

She looked at him, then the box. When she opened it, she saw a delicate gold chain with a ruby hanging from it. “It’s beautiful.”

Patrick’s voice became husky when he spoke. “When I saw it, I thought of something I heard Pastor Gibbons say once, about a virtuous woman being worth more than rubies. You are worth far more than this necklace, but I wanted to give you something to show that I value and appreciate you.”

His tender words brought her to tears. She blinked them away. “Thank you.”

“There’s a matching piece, but you will get that in a week.”

“Will you put it on me?” Overwhelmed by his consideration, she stumbled on her words.

He nodded. His hands appeared larger as they handled the frail chain. Wide, masculine fingers were clumsy with the clasp, but he soon had the necklace secured around her neck.

Tracing the chain with her finger, she couldn’t tear her gaze from him. The way he stared back at her, she did believe she was worth more than rubies. He made her feel cherished and loved—everything she’d ever wanted.