Refining Fire (17 page)

Thane touched her shoulders and turned her to face him. “It doesn't change my heart, Militine. Like I said, there is nothing you can say that will make me feel otherwise. As much as I love you, I hate your father for hurting you. You only did what you had to in order to survive.”

Forcing herself to look up, Militine saw only love and acceptance in his expression. He tenderly touched her cheek, and she tried to pull away. Tenderness was perhaps the cruelest thing he could offer. To experience such an emotion only to lose it would no doubt be the death of her.

“Tell me anything else you need me to know, and then I will tell you my story. After that, we will bury it away and have nothing more to do with it.”

“It's not that simple, Thane.” She shook her head. “By all of society's beliefs and rules, I am unacceptable.”

“I don't care about their beliefs or rules. I only care about you.”

She bit her lower lip. There was no way around this. She would have to tell him everything. “My mother and father never married. My mother was his kept woman, a heathen by the standards of this world. She was Crow Indian. That makes me a half-breed. My skin is lighter, more like my father's, and I even share some of his facial features, but my eyes and dark hair are gifts from my mother.”

“And I love them, just as I love you.” He took her by the hands and led her to a chair. “Sit.” He pressed his hands gently against her shoulders. “Sit, and I will tell you why none of this matters.”

He drew his chair up and sat directly in front of her. “The world can have its prejudices and social mores. God knows I've suffered at the hands of such people. None of that matters, Militine. The only thing that matters to me is whether you can love a man who is the son of a murderer. A man who saw his father kill countless times and said nothing. A man who, as a boy, saw his father kill for nothing more than sport.” Thane drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “A boy who watched his mother be killed because she happened to be nice to a farmhand.”

“You had said she was murdered.”

“But I never explained that my father did the deed. She had taken pity on our farmhand and allowed him to come into the house and warm himself by the fire. It was a vicious winter day. A blizzard had been raging for hours. They were sharing a cup of coffee and laughing when my father found them. He believed the worst, and without allowing either of them to explain, he drew his gun and shot them both.”

“And you were forced to witness this?”

“Yes. I was home from school sick. I was just across the room when my father stormed into the house. He didn't care about the truth. I tried to tell him after he'd killed them, and he still didn't care. He was never remorseful. Never. Not even when the townspeople hanged him.”

It was Militine's turn to reach out. She touched his cheek. “I'm so sorry. It would seem we both know what it is to have violence in our lives.”

Thane shook his head. “I blame myself. If I'd just had the guts to confront my father or turn him over to the law for all those other murders he committed . . . but I didn't.”

“And who is to say that anyone would have listened if you
had?” Militine asked. Hadn't she herself tried to elicit help from others? It either served to get her into worse situations or the person didn't care. After a time, she stopped trying. “But to answer your question, yes. I can and do love you. Your past . . . the things done to you . . . do not keep me from feeling what I feel.”

“Then you can believe me when I say that your past doesn't matter where my heart is concerned?”

She nodded. “For the first time in my life, I think I can.”

“We're both going to need help, however,” he said. “Wade has gotten me to thinking on God quite a bit lately. I'm afraid I've not given God much of a chance in my life.”

“Abrianna has gotten me thinking, as well. I've tried to see God as my mother taught me, as a loving Father who wants only good for all of His children.” The memory of her mother's tender words brought her image to mind, something Militine hadn't allowed for in years. “I wanted so much to hold on to her view of God. When I first came here, I pretended I believed so that I would be accepted at the school. No matter how hard I tried, I just kept coming back to the fact that if He loved me so much, He sure had a poor of way of showing it.”

Thane's expression told her that he completely understood. “Maybe together we can try again. Maybe together we can find the strength to bury our anger and learn to trust Him. I think He is a good and loving God. I don't think He liked what happened to either of us any more than we did. But most of all, I don't think He wants either of us to give up and spend the rest of our lives in the past. Maybe that's why He's brought us together. He knew we'd need each other in order to learn to forgive.”

“And to forget,” she added. Especially to forget.

P
riam Welby lost little time in pinning Abrianna down to a specific day and time. A card came for her only a week after she'd agreed to court. She had thought to deny him. After all, it was the end of May, and the ball would be in a little over a week. Surely he could wait until after that. But no. The invitation was for a night at the theatre and late supper with the inclusion of the chaperone of her choice. Aunt Poisie was the logical one to accompany them and was delighted when she heard that the theatre was involved. It seemed a pity that Mr. Welby couldn't court Aunt Poisie instead.

Abrianna dressed in a gown chosen for her by Aunt Miriam. For her first outing with Mr. Welby she would wear a watered silk print, white with sprigs of lilacs. The gown, Lenore had told her, had cost a small fortune but had never fit her right. It seemed as though the piece had been made for Abrianna, however.

“This should be appropriate and modest,” her aunt declared, giving her a critical inspection

The sprigged silk bodice was overlaid in a V, with several rows of white lace and lavender tulle. White lace trimmed the top all the way to Abrianna's slender throat. The last thing either
of them wanted was a gown that would have men ogling, as Aunt Selma pointed out. Abrianna seriously doubted Mr. Welby needed any encouragement in that department.

“I still don't quite understand this sudden willingness to court Mr. Welby,” Aunt Miriam declared.

Abrianna wasn't at all certain she understood it herself. “I just feel like this is something God brought to me. I don't really believe romance or marriage will come out of it.”

“Then why court him?”

Her aunt made a good point, but to try to explain the promises Mr. Welby had made would only cause her aunt to worry. She had never liked Abrianna getting involved in risky ventures, and this was perhaps one of the biggest she'd participated in to date.

“I'm trying,” Abrianna said, choosing her words carefully, “to be open to whatever God's will is for my life. I don't want to be so stiff-necked that I turn aside . . . something . . . clearly in His plan.”

“Well, at least you are properly attired,” Aunt Poisie said.

Turning to view herself from every angle in the mirror, Abrianna shook her head. “Goodness, but I do not understand the fascination with bustled backsides. Why would a woman want to draw attention to such an area of her person?” She studied the lavender fringe that trimmed the material covering the bustle. It was lovely, but she would have preferred it be on the front of the gown, if at all.

“Do wear the long white gloves,” Aunt Selma instructed. “And clasp this silver bracelet around your right wrist. I have read that this is a most sophisticated way to decorate the glove.”

She nodded and took the bracelet from Aunt Selma. It was a beautifully etched piece of polished silver and would make a lovely accessory for her attire.

“Will you wear a hat?” Aunt Poisie asked.

“No,” Abrianna replied. “Lenore said it isn't a necessary fashion for an unmarried woman of my age. Instead she suggested I wear that lovely lavender ribbon on the dresser with a tiny spray of white baby's breath.”

Aunt Poisie bobbed her head. “That will look wonderful in your honey-auburn hair.”

“Speaking of which, you should hurry to arrange it,” Aunt Miriam said, pointing to the clock on the mantel. “Mr. Welby will be here soon.”

With her aunts satisfied that her attire was acceptable, they left her to finish her hair with Militine's help and went downstairs to await Mr. Welby's arrival.

Moving away from the mirror, Abrianna picked up a brush and tried to form some kind of order out of the tangled curls of her hair. “I cannot make my hair do as I want. There's just too much of it, and it will not obey my direction. Although, I do thank God that it isn't frizzy like Mrs. Bunker's.” That poor matron often arrived at church on Sunday mornings with her entire head swathed in a turban-style hat to hide her terrible hair.

Militine took the brush from her and carefully fashioned Abrianna's hair into ringlets. “You are just nervous. I really don't know why you ever agreed to this in the first place.” She pinned a knot of hair on the top Abrianna's head and left the remaining ringlets to fall in an orderly fashion around her shoulders. “That man positively makes me shudder.”

“Actually, I am given to second thoughts myself.” Abrianna twisted to see the result of Militine's work. “You make me look like a Grecian goddess. I should have you around me always, but you would tire of attending this mess. I still wonder why it is so acceptable for a man to wear his hair either long or short, but a woman must leave hers to grow and grow.”

“Long hair on men is hardly the fashion at this time. I think you would find more than one person offended should any such
man appear on the street, just as they would if you were to cut yours short.”

“I'm certain you are right, but it grieves me nevertheless. Will you secure the ribbon and flowers?”

“Of course.” Militine gathered both and went to work. She drew the ribbon around Abrianna's head and pinned it and the sprig of dainty white blossoms with two concealed hairpins. “That should complete your hair.”

“It's quite amazing,” Abrianna said of the results. “I don't think even Aunt Miriam can fault my appearance tonight.”

Militine took hold of Abrianna's arm. “But why are you going with him?”

“I have my reasons.” She frowned. “I have never cared for Mr. Welby, but I suppose I have also never really given him a chance. Now he has put before me a proposition that I find difficult to ignore.”

“What proposition?”

Abrianna felt it would be best to keep the details to herself. “It's just a proposition that involves Mr. Welby wanting the chance to woo me. He's convinced he can make me fall in love with him.”

“
Make
you? Should anyone ever have to be made to fall in love?”

“That was exactly my thought. But despite that, I thought perhaps it was God's direction for me, and I don't want to be so caught up in my own will that I miss His.”

Militine appeared to consider this for a moment and then, to Abrianna's relief, she dropped the subject. “You should probably get your gloves on and go downstairs. I'm sure Mr. Welby is already waiting. I thought I heard the door knocker nearly twenty minutes ago.”

“Then he was twenty minutes early. The height of rudeness, if you ask me. I shall have to tell him so once we are seated for
dinner.” Abrianna laughed at her comment. “There, do I sound like a proper young woman of society?”

“How would I know? Life in this school is as social as I've ever lived.”

Abrianna looked at her for a moment, then reached for her gloves. “You've never said much about where you grew up or what your father did for a living.”

“He ran a trading post north of Vancouver. It was a very remote place, and I had little schooling. It was why I was such a mess when I came here. My mother taught me to read, only because missionaries had taught her.” Militine frowned and immediately changed the subject. “I think maybe you need more flowers. I can go pick another spray.”

“No, don't bother. We needn't let Mr. Welby think he's so important as to merit an abundance of flowers. After all, I am wearing this massive bustle. That should hold his attention. Not that I want it to. Land sakes, I do not understand this fashion at all.” She tried to crane her head around to reevaluate the beast. “Does it look all right?”

“It looks perfectly fine. Now stop fretting. You look quite beautiful, freckles and all.”

“Oh, I'd nearly forgotten about the freckles. Aunt Miriam wanted me to powder them out as best I could, but honestly, the man knows I have freckles. Although I will say he's been good enough not to mention that fault of mine.” Militine handed her a fan, and Abrianna shook her head. “I would only lose it. I'll do well not to lose the bustle.”

This sent Militine into a peal of laughter that did Abrianna's heart good. Her friend had been far too serious of late, despite Thane's courtship and obvious adoration.

Making her way to the stairs, Abrianna licked her lips and tried to calm her nerves. She had no idea what to expect from the evening. This was truly her first escorted affair with a man
as far as courtship was concerned. There were far more rules to this type of outing than simply working at the food house to feed the poor. She was bound to forget everything she'd been taught, especially if Mr. Welby irritated her by saying something controversial.

She paused at the top of the stairs and only then noticed that Priam Welby and her aunts were awaiting her at the bottom. The man had the audacity to look her over as if she were a prized pig, and truly that was what she felt like. He grinned, no doubt satisfied with his accomplishment. Why was it that men could be so smug when they got their own way? Even Wade was guilty of that flaw.

You're getting something out of this, too.

Abrianna tried to push that thought aside as she descended the stairs. Of course this was benefiting her, otherwise she would never have submitted to courting anyone. Welby stepped forward to take hold of her hand as she reached the final step.

“My dear Miss Cunningham, you are ravishing.”

“Mr. Welby, that seems a rather vulgar statement,” Aunt Miriam said. “Perhaps you could simply say she looks lovely.”

“But that would be far too simple. Look at her. She's is more beautiful than any other woman in the world.”

Abrianna sighed. “If we are to start the evening with lies and exaggeration, I know this courtship is doomed. You will not induce me to fall in love by using such comments. The fact that I am a woman with red hair and freckles has been a burden I've had to bear all of my life, but you needn't suggest them an asset.”

“But my dear Miss Cunningham—if I may call you dear?” he said, looking to the older ladies. Aunt Miriam nodded but looked dubious. “I happen to like red hair and freckles. You must surely allow for my perception of beauty. Can you not concede that one man enjoys the pastel colors and fashion of
a Monet painting, while another abhors it and would favor the darker tones of a Rembrandt? Isn't it possible that not everyone sees beauty the same way?”

Her aunts moved to the door en masse in preparation of seeing the couple off. Abrianna sighed. She had to accept his logic or otherwise listen to him further try to persuade. “Very well. I yield. Your compliment was sincere.”

He smiled and lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “Thank you.” He bent over her hand but didn't kiss it. Instead, he glanced up and whispered, “I hope you will yield on many occasions.”

She felt her face go scarlet but knew better than to rebuke him, for her aunts would then demand to know what he'd so inappropriately said.

He straightened and smiled, as if understanding her dilemma. “My carriage awaits.”

Abrianna took a fine silk shawl offered her by Aunt Selma. The day had been warm, almost hot, and she doubted seriously she would have such a need, but it was always wise to have one just in case. Mr. Welby in turn took the piece and draped it over his arm.

“If you are chilled, you have but to tell me.”

Abrianna nodded, knowing there was no need to remind him that she'd been seeing to that need for many a year. Surely this was just more of the game to be played. Goodness, but when she thought about all the bread she could be helping Militine to make for the poor, this outing seemed such a waste. Of course, she had made the deal, and there was nothing to be done but accept her fate.

Please, God, don't let me get stuck anywhere with this bustle, and please let the evening pass quickly. Amen.

Mr. Welby retrieved his top hat and gloves. He made a dashing figure, Abrianna had to admit that much. She watched his
gentle care as he helped Aunt Poisie into the carriage. She could find no fault there, either. He then turned to her.

“Milady.” He made a quick bow and then handed Abrianna up, as well.

She struggled a bit to sit just right so the bustle would properly collapse. How much easier to be her aunt's age. No one forced such contraptions on the elderly. The old women could even wear their corsets loose and eat whatever they wanted. She sighed.

Mr. Welby climbed in and took the seat opposite her and Aunt Poisie. It was difficult to see him now that they were enclosed, but Abrianna imagined him sitting there quite content, rather like the cat who managed to steal the cream. He tapped the ceiling twice, and the driver put the carriage into motion.

They were very quickly delivered to the theatre, where Abrianna noted dozens of elegant patrons lingering in the lobby. While it was a nice diversion to attend the theatre, it was even more important for one to be seen enjoying such a social event. The newspapers would report on the more esteemed guests, while lesser knowns hoped to be commented on merely by association. It was all a lot of stuff and nonsense.