Conor's Way (38 page)

Olivia watched the vicar's carriage drive
away with the Chubb sisters inside. Kate's wagon followed, with her
girls in the back. They looked back at her as the wagon bumped down
the lane, taking them away. Becky, anguished and silent, Carrie
voicing indignant wails of protest, and Miranda sobbing for her
mama.

Olivia listened to her youngest daughter's
sobs, and they threatened to rip her apart. She bit down on her
trembling lip, and a tear rolled down her cheek as she watched the
wagon disappear into the night. She wrapped her arms tightly around
one of the columns of the veranda to keep herself from chasing
after the wagon.

She tried to tell herself it was only
temporary. She had agreed to the compromise suggested by Reverend
Allen—that the girls would stay at the Johnson farm until things
were worked out—only because Martha had threatened to bring the
sheriff out here to take them away and transport them immediately
to the orphanage in Monroe.

She did not know how long she stood there,
but she could not seem to find the will to move, to force herself
to turn away and go back into her empty house. Moving meant
thinking, deciding, finding a way to go on, and she could not. She
remained standing on the veranda, staring down the lane long after
the wagon had disappeared into the night, and Miranda's sobs echoed
only in her mind.

In any tragedy of her life, she had always
turned to her faith; she talked to God and got the answers she
needed. But the only prayer she made now was that He would do to
her what He had done to Lot's sinful wife—she wanted to be turned
to a pillar of salt right here on her own front porch, and cease to
exist.

She heard a sound behind her, the opening and
closing of her front door and a squeaking step on the plank floor
of the veranda. She let go her death grip on the column and turned
around. "That spot always did squeak," she said, staring down at
Conor's boots. "I always meant to do something about it, but
I—"

She faltered, unable to remember what she was
saying. She lifted her face and stared at his chest as if she were
staring through him to the doorway beyond.

"They've taken my girls," she whispered,
looking like a bewildered, lost child. "They've taken my girls
away."

Conor sucked in his breath, then lashed out
at her with deliberate cruelty, desperate to hide the panic and
guilt that churned beneath. "I can't stay here. I can't marry
you."

She didn't seem to hear him. Dazed, she
continued to stare straight through him as if he weren't there.

"I can't do it, Olivia. Be a husband, a
father...hell, I can't." He held out his hands, clenching and
unclenching his fists in front of her. "This is what I am! This is
what I'm good at!"

He slammed his fist into his palm with a
savagery that made her flinch. "I told you I'll not be tied down to
a piece of land or a way of life or a woman. I've been to prison. I
won't go back into one. I have to be free, damn it. Free. Do you
understand?"

She didn't answer. She didn't look at him.
She simply stared at his hands. A tear rolled down her cheek. He
hated her for that suddenly; he hated himself more. He grabbed her
shoulders as if to shake her, as if she were to blame for all the
self-loathing that darkened his soul. "Do you?"

"Yes," she choked. "I understand."

She lifted her face, and he saw those dark
eyes glazed with pain and tears, her long lashes spiky and clinging
together. His carefully welded indifference crumbled into pieces.
He was like a china cup that had been broken, glued back together,
and shattered again with the slightest pressure.

"Olivia. Oh, Christ, don't look at me like
that. Damn you."

He let go of her as if she burned him. He
felt the chains of her anguish wrapping around him, binding him to
her with inexorable force, growing stronger with each step he took
away from her. His back hit the door.

He wanted to crush something, strike out at
the fate that had brought him to this. But her tears defeated him,
they brought him to his knees, a mightier opponent than any he had
ever faced before, and he knew he could not leave her. He
straightened with an abrupt move and walked past her, down the
steps, and across the weedy, graveled drive. His voice resonated
back to her as he disappeared into the darkness. "You win. We'll go
into town tomorrow and get married."

Olivia watched him go. She heard his words.
But she also heard the lifetime of bitterness carried with them on
the still night air, and she knew she'd won nothing at all.

***

It rained on her wedding day. Olivia followed
Conor into the church just as the storm broke, and she wondered
gloomily if the hard summer rain that pelted the roof was some sort
of omen. She withdrew to the small alcove beside the door, dismally
watching Conor's rigid back as he left her there to go in search of
Reverend Allen. He disappeared through the archway that led into
the church without a word, and she decided the rain was appropriate
to the occasion.

He hadn't spoken to her at all this morning,
and his silence told her more clearly than any words how he felt.
He was being trapped into marriage, trapped into fatherhood, and
she found herself dreading all the days of cold silence that would
follow this one. Even if he did not blame her, she would blame
herself.

She turned to the mirror. Many Callersville
brides had smiled joyfully into their reflections here. As a young
girl filled with romantic daydreams, she had once hoped to do the
same.

Tears threatened, the tears she had been
keeping back through a long, sleepless night, and Olivia closed her
eyes to prevent them from falling now. She feared, if she started
to cry, she would not be able to stop.

At the sound of footsteps, she blinked the
tears back hastily and turned to find both Conor and Reverend Allen
standing in the archway. Only one of them smiled at her.

"I'm afraid I'll have to find witnesses," the
reverend said. "So—"

The opening of the church door interrupted
him, bringing in a rush of rain and Olivia's three soaking-wet
daughters, followed by Kate and Oren Johnson, dressed in their
Sunday best and equally drenched. In one hand, Kate carried a huge
bouquet of gardenias.

"Mama!" the girls cried in unison as they
caught sight of her in the alcove. They rushed to her, and Olivia
fell to her knees with a sob of relief, striving to hold all three
at once.

"We missed you, Mama," Miranda whispered,
throwing her arms around her mother's neck.

"I missed you, too, sweetheart." She kissed
Miranda's cheek and wrapped an arm around Carrie.

"Are you and Mr. Conor really going to get
married?" Carrie asked. "Really?"

She glanced past the nine-year-old to the
grim, silent figure watching from the archway. "Yes," she answered.
Rising to her feet, she tore her gaze from his and turned to
Becky.

The girl looked contrite and miserable. "I'm
sorry, Mama. I tried to explain what happened. But Martha Chubb was
so awful, she kept twisting around everything I said, and—"

Olivia pressed her fingers to the girl's
lips. "It's all right, honey," she said. "Everything's going to be
all right."

The reverend gave a slight cough to get
everyone's attention. "Now that we have witnesses, we can
begin."

Kate Johnson stepped forward. "Reverend, I
think the bride needs a minute to freshen up." She glanced down at
her rain-soaked skirt. "And so does the matron of honor. Why don't
you all go in? We'll be along shortly."

"Of course. We'll begin whenever you're
ready. Come along, girls."

The reverend led Olivia's daughters out of
the room. Oren walked over to Conor and introduced himself. "We're
Olivia's neighbors," he said, holding out his hand.

Conor shook the offered hand. "Conor
Branigan."

Oren nodded. "I know. I saw that boxing
match. It was something to see, when you swung that punch and sent
old Elroy flying. I've never seen anything like it, and that's a
fact. Lost a dollar," he added. "But it was worth it."

"Oren!" Kate's voice censured him. "We are in
church," she reminded. "You all quit that talk about gambling this
instant." She gestured to the archway behind them. "Go. We'll be
along."

Oren shook his head. "Women. They get all
riled up about the oddest things."

"Indeed," Conor answered, as the two men
walked away. "I know just what you mean."

Olivia watched Conor follow Oren out of the
room. It would be nice if he and Oren could become friends. It
might make settling down easier for him. If he settled down. She
wasn't fool enough to think that a wedding vow would be enough to
hold him if he decided to move on.

But that did not matter. He was doing this
because she would lose her girls if he did not. Because of that,
she would be the best wife to him that she could be, for as long as
it lasted. And because she loved him.

Kate laid a hand on her arm. "I like your
man," she said, and thrust the bouquet of gardenias tied with a
blue muslin bow into Olivia's hand. "Thought you'd need something
blue."

Olivia stared down at the gardenias. "He's
not mine," she said quietly. "At least, he doesn't want to be." She
felt Kate's hand tighten on her arm, and the tears threatened
again. She blinked them back and lifted her head. "How did you know
we were going to be here?"

The other woman smiled. "Oren just happened
to be in the south pasture this morning and saw the two of you
drive past on your way to town. Wasn't that lucky?"

"Very lucky," Olivia choked.

"We figured you'd need witnesses," Kate went
on cheerfully. "Oren will stand with your man, and I'll be your
matron of honor."

"Oh, Kate." Overcome by a rush of feeling,
she couldn't say more, but she gave her friend a shaky smile of
gratitude.

Kate smiled back at her. "You didn't think
we'd let you go through this alone, did you?"

"Thank you."

"Honey, there's nothing to thank me for. You
brought my baby into this world. Without you, I don't think I could
have done it. Nothing Oren and I could ever do will be able to
repay you for that."

She removed the small gold cross from around
her neck and fastened it around Olivia's. "That's your 'something
borrowed,'" she said, and frowned down at Olivia's gray dress. "I
suppose the dress will have to be the 'something old,'" she added
with a sigh. "Why didn't you wear your mother's wedding gown?"

The tears threatened again, and Olivia
blinked, trying to force them away. When she'd been a young girl,
filled with dreams of her wedding day, she had always envisioned
herself wearing her mother's wedding gown; but when she had taken
it out of the cedar chest last night and unwrapped it from its
protective layers of paper, she'd known she could not wear her
mother's dress. Virginal white satin would have only heightened the
hypocrisy of it all. "I couldn't," she mumbled, lowering her head
to stare down at the bouquet in her hand. "I just couldn't."

Kate grasped her shoulders and gave her a
little shake, forcing her to look up. "Now, you listen to me,
Olivia Louise Maitland. You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

Olivia started to deny that, but Kate
interrupted her. "I know what's been said. I was at that sewing
party, remember? And I don't care if that man's been living in your
house. I don't care if you went to Monroe with him on an
unchaperoned overnight trip. I don't care if you slept with him or
danced the seven veils of Salome for him. I saw the way you looked
at him a minute ago. You're in love with him—it's written all over
your face. Nothing's wrong if it's done with love. You hold your
head up when you say those vows, you hear me?"

Olivia was dismayed to learn that her
feelings were so transparent, but she forced herself to nod.

"Good girl." Kate started toward the archway
that led out of the alcove and into the church. "We'd better get
started."

Olivia glanced down at herself then back up
as she moved to follow her friend. "What about the 'something
new'?"

Kate glanced back at her over one shoulder.
"The gardenias," she answered. "They opened this morning."

Olivia choked back the hysterical bubble of
laughter that rose in her throat as she followed Kate down the
aisle to the man who waited for her at the front of the church.

She did not look at him. She kept her gaze
fixed on Reverend Allen and followed Kate's advice, keeping her
chin high.

But when she saw her girls smile at her as
she passed, her tightly reined emotions almost overcame her, and
her steps faltered. They looked so happy, as if this wedding were a
celebration instead of a sham.

Everything began to blur as the hot tears
welled up again, as she struggled again to hold them back.

She had prayed for a man to help her, and a
man had been provided. She had fallen in love with the man and
prayed for a way to make him stay, and now the man was staying. At
least for now. All her prayers had been answered. God had given her
everything she had asked for. She ought to be thankful.

But when Kate took the bouquet of gardenias
from her stiff fingers and stepped back, when Olivia was forced to
turn and face Conor, she looked into the ice-blue eyes of a
stranger, and she could not find it within herself to be thankful.
She heard him vow to love, honor, and keep her, and she could find
no happiness in his promise, for it was a false one. He did not
love her, and all the prayers and wishes in the world could not
make it so.

But she loved him, and when the moment came
to say the vows that bound her to him for the rest of her days, she
said them with conviction, for they were true and came from her
heart.