Robin Lee Hatcher (25 page)

Emily was seated by the fire, reading one of the children’s schoolbooks, planning for her next week of lessons, when Joker rose to his feet and trotted toward the kitchen door. She saw his ears cock forward and heard him whimper.

Her pulse quickened.
Gavin’s back.

She rose and followed the dog into the kitchen where she brushed aside the curtain at the window. Although the sun had long since set, the full moon and cloudless sky made the snowy landscape almost as bright as day. No sign of horse and rider in the yard. Disappointment sluiced through her.

Joker whimpered again, this time scratching the door with his paw.

“All right. Go chase a rabbit if you want.” She opened the door. “Don’t get lost.”

The wolfhound was off in a flash, but before he reached the barn, Duke and Duchess galloped into view.

He
is
back
.

Emily grabbed her coat from the peg and slipped it on as she stepped outside into the cold night air. In the stillness, she heard the sounds of cattle. It was all she could do not to run out to meet him.

Only Gavin wasn’t to be met. It was Jess Chamberlain who rode his horse into the yard moments later. And no one followed him.

“Mr. Chamberlain?”

He looked her way, nodded, then dismounted and walked across the yard. “You shouldn’t be standin’ out in the cold, Miss Harris.” He removed his hat as he spoke.

“Isn’t Mr. Blake with you?”

“No, ma’am. He’s looking for any strays. From my count, I don’t think he’ll find many, but he was set on looking anyway.”

Emily did her best to control her tone of voice, hiding her disappointment. “I see. How long do you suppose he’ll be?”

“Few days, I imagine.”

“Oh.” She gave him a fleeting smile. “Well, I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’re tired and cold and would like to go to the bunkhouse. Good night, Mr. Chamberlain.”

He put his hat back on and bent the brim at her. “Evenin’, Miss Harris.” He strode back across the yard and led his horse into the barn.

Emily drew a slow, deep breath as she turned and reentered the house. Warm air from the parlor invited her to return to the fireside, which she did as soon as she’d removed her coat. She sat in the same chair, but she didn’t take up the schoolbook again.

Why hadn’t he returned when he’d said he would? Couldn’t he have let Jess look for strays?

She folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head.
God,
I’m so selfish. I want Gavin here. I want him with me. I would even
send Jess back into the cold and snow in order to have my way. That’s
unkind. Besides, Gavin doesn’t feel the same about me. He’ ll never feel
the same, and I must face that truth. Father, help me learn to love the
man I’m to marry and stop longing for something I will never have.

Gavin thought about his childhood as he lay on the cot in the line shack, listening to the wind whistle around the corners of the shelter. There hadn’t been much to his father’s farm in Ohio — a few hardscrabble acres, a pigsty, a broken-down team of mules, and a three-room house complete with field mice. His father hadn’t enjoyed much success as a farmer, even before he’d taken to drink. He’d never had success in his marriage either, but he’d loved his wife anyway.

Gavin grew up hearing stories of how his father, Timothy Blake, met Christina Cowell while visiting cousins in Pittsburgh. Timothy was a young man and handsome, in a rugged sort of way. Christina was a great beauty but from a poor immigrant family. Somehow Timothy managed to woo and win her, and they married quickly. Soon thereafter, Timothy took his new bride back to his farm, a place Christina hated on sight — hated almost as much as she grew to hate the man she’d married.

Gavin was born nine months after their wedding day. That was perhaps the last happy day of his father’s life. After that, Christina made it clear she would bear no more children. She said she refused to become a mousy farmer’s wife with a passel of children hanging onto her skirts, her looks gone and her life over.

When Gavin was a young boy, he tried almost as hard as his father to make Christina Blake love him. But he’d wised up sooner than the old man. His mother had married to escape her poor beginnings. She hadn’t expected to still be poor once she had a husband, and she’d made certain she wouldn’t stay that way.

Gavin sat up on the cot and leaned his head in his hands. He didn’t want to think about his parents. He didn’t want to remember the cool way his mother had rebuffed his childish attempts to win her affection — or even just her attention. He didn’t want to remember his father — unshaven, unwashed, eyes blurry, a bottle of cheap liquor nearby. He’d put it all behind him years ago. Or at least he thought he had. But he’d obviously failed, for those feelings had all come rushing back, thanks to Miss Emily Harris.

Would he become as pathetic as his father because of a woman? God help him if the answer to that question was in the affirmative.

Twenty-Five

The O’Donnell sleigh slid silently over the snow as the pair of horses pulled their passengers toward Challis. Emily and the girls were glad beyond words to be out of the house. They’d been cooped up much too long by bad weather and Petula’s broken arm. To make matters worse, Gavin hadn’t returned yet with the last of the cattle, and his absence was keenly felt in the household. Although the girls seemed to have forgotten that for the moment. Sabrina and Petula chattered and giggled and reveled in their escape from lessons and chores.

“Someday,” Patrick said to Emily, speaking low enough that only she could hear, “we’ll be taking children of our own for a ride in the sleigh. Sure and I look forward to the day.”

There were so many reasons that she should love Patrick with her whole heart. He was a wonderful storyteller and could captivate his listeners for hours. He was generous to a fault, and he had a surprising patience. And most important of all, he loved God.

Lest she think too highly of him, his brothers had made a point of warning her that Patrick had the infamous O’Donnell temper that could flare in an instant but be gone just as quickly. If that was true, she’d seen no sign of it. He’d never been angry with her. Not even when he should have been.

He’s so good to me, and he loves me.

“The stage will be up from Boise City today,” Patrick said, “trusting the roads are passable between here and there. Perhaps there’ll be a letter in it from your sister. That would lift your spirits.”

She pulled her left hand from her muff and took hold of his. “Do I look sad, Patrick?”

“Aye, Emily, you do.”

“Well, I’m not. Just lost in thought, I suppose.”

“When we’ve done our shopping, what say we have a piece of Mrs. Benson’s famous chocolate cake at the restaurant before we start back to the ranch?”

“Yes!” came simultaneous cries from the backseat of the sleigh.

Patrick laughed, and the sound brought a real smile to Emily’s lips.

What was she worried about? She cared for this man, and if she didn’t love him passionately now, that would come. Their wedding wouldn’t take place for another five months. Much could happen in that brief span of time.

In Challis, Patrick drew the horses to a halt in front of the mercantile. He hopped out of the sleigh, then helped Emily disembark and step to the boardwalk outside the store entrance. Moments later, the girls had joined her there.

“How about a nickel to spend as you like?” Patrick reached into his pocket.

“You’ll spoil them,” Emily said with a shake of her head.

“Not so very much. It’s only a nickel.”

Emily looked into Sabrina’s and Petula’s expectant faces and knew she’d lost the battle already. Once Patrick had made the offer, she hadn’t the heart to take it back. And perhaps he was right. It wouldn’t spoil them so very much.

She leaned down to look each of them in the eye. “One piece of candy at most. You can buy whatever else you can afford, but not a lot of candy. Agreed?”

They nodded.

She straightened and looked at Patrick. “All right then.”

“I’ll take the lasses inside, and you can check the post for letters from your sister.”

“Thank you, Patrick. I won’t be long.”

“Take as long as you like. We’ve a store to explore.”

A small chime sounded above the door as she entered the Post Office. The man behind the counter, spectacles perched on the tip of his bulbous nose, looked up at the alert.

“Good day, Miss Harris.”

“Good day, Mr. Hutchens. I’ve come to see if I have any letters.”

“You’re in luck. The coach arrived yesterday. You’ve got two letters awaiting you. I’ll get them. And there’s a bit of mail for the Lucky Strike as well.”

Moments later, Emily sat on a bench in the Post Office, opened the first of her letters — this one from her friend Fiona Whittier — and began to read.

December 31, 1883

Dear Emily,

I regret my poor correspondence. You put me to shame
because I have already received two letters from you this
month.

I cannot believe how much time it takes to care for an
infant. Maggie told me she sent news of the safe arrival of our
daughter, Myrna Joy Whittier. She is already eight weeks old.
Can you believe that? It seems all I have done since her birth is
change her diapers and give her baths and nurse her and rock
her. I look forward to an uninterrupted night of sleep, which
everyone has promised will happen soon. Oh, how careless I
was of those long, leisurely nights before Myrna was born. But
I am not complaining. I think she is wonderful, and I am
blissfully happy. James is a doting father (if a bit clumsy). I
fear he will spoil her terribly before she is even a year old.

James’s mother stayed with us for several weeks to help
with the baby, and it made us realize that we shall very soon
need a larger house. This one will not be big enough as our
family grows. (My husband wants half a dozen children at
least.) James thinks we will be able to afford a larger house in
another year. His business is doing so well. His mother says all
the men in the Whittier family are successful by nature.

I must close this letter, as Myrna is demanding my attention.
Perhaps the next time I write, I will have something
more of interest to tell you. Do write again soon.

Your devoted friend,

Fiona

Cheered by the letter, Emily folded the stationery and returned it to the envelope. Half a dozen children? She wouldn’t be surprised to learn Fiona wanted twice that many. She’d been created to nurture.

Still smiling, Emily opened the second letter, this one from Maggie.

January 1, 1884

My dearest Emily,

Another new year has dawned, and my thoughts today
are sentimental ones, thinking back over the years and pondering
all of God’s blessings that my family has enjoyed. I hope
that this day finds you and the Blakes well.

We went too long without receiving a letter from you, but
Tucker told me that the high country roads aren’t always passable
this time of year and not to worry. I was so relieved when
I heard from you at last. I loved knowing you were in such
a beautiful setting and was thankful to hear that you were
happy. Then came your letter about the death of Mrs. Blake.
How my heart broke for those two girls. You and I know only
too well what it means to grow up without a mother. I’m sure
you are of great comfort to them.

As you requested, I am indeed praying that God will give
you wisdom, and I pray that Mr. Blake will have his eyes
opened to the Savior’s love.

But Emily dearest, are you quite certain you want to stay
with the Blakes until spring? There must be another capable
woman living in the area, someone who could love and tend
the children and allow you to return to your family.