The Kissing Tree (7 page)

“Good-bye, Sammy,” Georgiana whispered, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. She was sorely disappointed to be ending their conversation so soon.

Samantha walked over to Cordelia, who quickly grabbed her arm and led her across the street toward the café.

Georgiana sighed and walked up the steps to the mercantile. Before she walked through the door, she glanced back just as the two women disappeared through the café’s entrance. Though still disappointed, she was content. Despite the long empty years between them, she and Samantha were still friends. It was more than she’d hoped for so soon.
Thank you,
she prayed silently before pushing through the mercantile door.

Angus watched as Ridge took his hat off and got a drink of water from the pump. Walking over to the porch, the lad tossed his hat onto the steps and sat down next to it. It was an uncommonly hot day, and Angus couldn’t blame him for needing a break. However, Angus suspected that it wasn’t the heat getting to Ridge, but rather the vision of his granddaughter in that fancy dress. Angus chuckled. The look on the lad’s face when she’d come prancing in the kitchen all dolled up reminded him of the first time he’d seen his Shannon sporting her Sunday best. Bet Ridge was wishing he was the one driving his granddaughter to town instead of Jimmy. Not for his sake, of course, but for Jimmy’s. Angus chuckled again. Either way, both Jimmy and Ridge were sure to be impossible to live with now.

After a while, Angus walked over to Ridge and leaned against the porch railing. He removed his hat and laid it on the step next to Ridge’s. For a few minutes, both men remained silent. Shortly, Angus pulled a pocketknife out and began chipping away at some worn paint. “Been thinkin’ the house could do with a new coat of paint,” he observed.

“Might could,” Ridge answered, his mind obviously elsewhere.

“But I suppose it can wait ’til spring,” Angus added.

“Yep,” Ridge replied.

“Heard the old Clayton ranch might be goin’ up fer sale this next year,” Angus said offhandedly.

“Mm-hmm.”

“All three hundred and fifty acres, prime cattle land,” Angus bated Ridge. “Hear they be askin’ only twenty dollars for the whole of it,” he teased, hoping to get a reaction.

“That’s nice,” Ridge mumbled.

“Awk!”

“What?” Ridge looked up, noticing Angus for the first time.

“Lad, ye are a million miles away,” Angus accused as Ridge ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “ ’Tis me granddaughter again, ain’t it?”

By the look on his face, Ridge didn’t need to answer.

“Well, now, I canna be blamin’ ye for that. She sure did a bit o’ growin’ up since I’d last laid me eyes on her. And that dress she be wearin’ today.” Angus shook his head. “She’s a sure to be turnin’ heads in town.”

Angus saw Ridge tighten his fists, but the lad didn’t comment.

“Well then,” Angus said, putting his hat back on. “Best we be finishin’ up our work so I can fetch me shillelagh.”

“Your what?” Ridge asked, looking puzzled.

“Me stick, lad . . . me fightin’ stick,” Angus explained. “I’ll be needin’ it fer certain to be beatin’ off all them young fellas that’ll be comin’ around, now.”

“Don’t count on it with that temper of hers,” Ridge huffed, shoving his hat back on his head and stalking angrily to where the other men were still working in the heat.

Angus chuckled softly to himself as he watched Ridge storm off. The lad had it bad, far worse than Jimmy, even.

He was a good sort, Ridge Carson, and truly Angus wouldn’t mind having him steal the heart of his girl. He came from a good family too. Angus was sorely disappointed when Ridge’s father, William, had given up cattle ranching, sold his land, and moved back to Wisconsin to help his brother run a dairy farm. He thought Ridge would be leaving too.

Ridge was a cowboy though, through and through, and cattle ranching was in his blood. When Ridge had told him he was planning on staying behind, Angus had offered him a permanent position as his right-hand man. Ridge had accepted, and hiring the lad had turned out to be the best decision Angus had made in a long time. The lad had a true talent for the work. Not only was he cattle smart, but he also worked harder than any cowboy he had ever known. Angus remembered the day when the lad left a note on the doorstep for his Georgiana, sadly a little too late.

It was the day Charlotte left with his precious grandchildren to New York to live with her sister. They weren’t supposed to leave for two more days, but that morning Charlotte had received a telegram from Cecelia saying she had changed their tickets from the Friday noon train to the Thursday train leaving at five a.m. from the Castle Rock Station. There were no explanations as to why there was a change.

The earlier departing train meant they would have to ride to Castle Rock that night. He could see the stress on his daughter-in-law’s face as she read the telegram. Not only would they have to rush to finish packing, but she dreaded telling the children, especially her daughter. He knew she wouldn’t dispute her sister’s change of plans, even for the sake of the children. She no longer held any of the strength and conviction that had given her the courage to love Angus’s son so powerfully to forsake her family and follow him here.

He and Shannon worried about their grandchildren living in the same house as that vixen. Charlotte told them they were only going for a visit and would be back in a month. When he had looked in her eyes though, he knew they would not be returning.

Charlotte was still grieving terribly over the death of her husband. They all grieved sorely, but his daughter-in-law could not find even a measure of peace. At that time it had been almost a year since Michael’s passing, and, sadly, he knew that even his own manner of speech—because it so resembled his son’s—grieved her sorely.

Charlotte had found Michael that terrible day. What the girl had truly suffered he figured he would never really know. But he would remember that day well, for good or for ill.

There was a barn raising happening over at the Claytons’. Charlotte needed to check on their neighbor, Mrs. Thompson, who was expecting a wee one any day. Michael told the rest of the family to go on ahead. He’d stay behind and finish tending the horses until Charlotte returned. They would ride on over together later.

Angus, Shannon, and the grandchildren had gone on up to the Clayton’s, and Charlotte had headed over to the Thompsons’. When two hours had gone by and neither Michael nor Charlotte ever arrived, Angus started to worry and decided to ride home to see what was keeping them.

As soon as he drove the wagon up to the house, he knew something was wrong. The gate to the corral stood open, and the horses were out. Looking at the ground, he saw a trail of blood leading away from the gate. His heart beat savagely against his chest when he figured out what he would find at the end of the trail. There was just too much blood.

Setting the brake, he’d hopped down from the wagon and quickly followed the trail, which led him to the side of the house.

When he turned the corner, the scene before him immediately stopped him in his tracks. His son lay on the ground, his head in Charlotte’s lap. She had ripped a large piece of cloth from her petticoat and was repeatedly dipping it in the water barrel, trying frantically to wash the blood from his body. She’d looked up at him when she heard him approach. Her eyes were swollen and hollow, her pale face streaked with blood and tears.

He knew his son was dead. He could see by his wounds he had been trampled to death. How Charlotte had been able to drag him this far, he would never know.

“Father McLaughlin,” she’d pled with him as he came forward and stood next to her, “help . . . me . . . help me wash away the blood . . . the children . . . they must not see him like this. It will frighten them, and that would make him sad.”

So with a bleeding heart of his own, he had helped her clean the blood from his son’s body and also wiped the tear-stained dirt and blood from her face. Charlotte had never again spoken of what had happened that terrible day, but she had been changed forever. And so she had run away. Away from the painful memories that surrounded her.

Angus thought again about the night his daughter-in-law and grandchildren left.

It was late, and he had only returned from Castle Rock a half hour before. He was in the kitchen making some herbal tea for his Shannon. She’d been crying all day, and he was hoping a warm drink might help her to relax and fall asleep.

He was surprised when he heard a knock at the door. Walking to the window, he peered out just in time to catch a glimpse of a young lad running around the corner of the barn. He walked to the door and opened it, anxious to know what the young prankster was up to. He stopped short when he saw a note tied to a sunflower lying on the steps. He bent down, picked it up, and brought it in the house, closing the door behind him.

The note had Georgie’s name written on it. Since he knew she wouldn’t be coming back, he decided he ought to see what the boy had wanted. The note simply read,

I have something that belongs to you. Meet me under the old oak in middle of town tomorrow at noon so I can give it to ya.

Ridge

P.S. I think you know which tree I’m talking about.

What is that boy plannin’ on givin’ my granddaughter under the old tree?
Angus had thought. He knew the old oak was affectionately nicknamed “the kissing tree” by the young’uns and had been for years. Its branches hung low like a canopy, and at night you could hardly see anyone standing beneath it. There was no other tree like it anywhere around these parts. How it came to grow there, no one knew. During town socials and picnics, many a lad and girl would hide under its cover to steal kisses.
Well, no matter what the lad is planning, ’tis not going to happen, because my darling girl has already left.

Out of kindness, he decided to ride into town tomorrow and explain to the lad his Georgie had gone and probably would never return.

And that’s what he had done.

After tying up his horse in front of the mercantile, he walked over to the old oak. The lad was sitting under the tree, holding something in his hand, but when he saw Angus approaching, he quickly shoved it in his pocket.

“Good day to you, lad,” he called to the boy. “What ye be doin’ sittin’ under this tree for, now?”

“Just sittin’,” the lad answered.

“ ’Tis a fine day to be sittin’ in the shade, I suppose. Mind if I join ye?

The boy looked around a little nervously before replying.

“I’m kinda waitin’ for someone.”

“Well then, I won’t be stayin’ long,” Angus replied, and he eased himself down and looked at the boy. “What was that ye was fussin’ with when I walked up, now?”

The boy fidgeted a bit before answering.

“Nothin’,” he fibbed. With a hopeful look on his young face, he asked, “Did Georgie come to town with ya?”

Angus stared straight ahead, knowin’ he was about to break the lad’s heart.

“Well now, I’m afraid she’s gone and left town already.” He felt the boy stiffen beside him. “Aye, ’twas a surprise for her grandmother and meself too, them havin’ to leave so sudden like.” Angus looked over at the lad. “I came by to tell ye she’ll not be comin’ back.” The look on the lad’s face saddened him even more than he was hurting already. “I am real sorry for ye, lad. I know ye and Georgie were mates.” They sat for several minutes in silence, and then Angus stood up. “Well then, best be makin’ me way home, now. Me Shannon will be wonderin’ where I’ve got off to. If yer wantin’ to be sendin’ her a letter or two, I’ll give ya the address when I be receivin’ it.”

A few weeks later, the lad had come over to his home asking for the address. He never knew whether his granddaughter and Ridge had ever corresponded.

He looked over at Ridge now hammering at nails with a force ten times more than necessary. He had seen the woman folk batting their eyes at him each time they went to town for supplies. He’d been wondering why Ridge hadn’t taken much of a notice to any of them.
Most of the other lads around these parts have taken wives already and have a wee one or two under foot. Could it be Ridge has never gotten over me granddaughter?
he thought. Angus shook his head in wonderment.
If that be the case, the lad deserves his girl. Just maybe he could be helping things along. Angus bent down, picked up his hat, and plunked it onto his head before heading back over to the boys. Hopefully, his granddaughter would return from town in a better mood than Ridge. Already he was having to cook lunch and supper. He didn’t want to be fixing breakfast too. Even he didn’t care for his own cooking!

Georgiana pulled the piping hot pies from the oven and set them on the windowsill to cool. The men had finally come back from bringing the cattle off the mountain last night and had been forced to endure Grandpa’s cooking for lunch again today. She wanted to reward them with her cinnamon berry apple pie for dessert tonight. She had spent the afternoon visiting with Samantha at her house, and just before Georgiana headed home, Mrs. Wallace had given her a basket of ripe apples from their small orchard out back. Tiny had also, that very morning, brought her fresh blackberries he had picked down by the creek. Her mouth watered, remembering the last time she had baked the delectable dessert. The men would be pleased.

She could hardly believe she had already been there three weeks. Since renewing her friendship with Samantha, the time seemed to be flying by. They had yet to figure what happened to the missing letters. Georgiana had mentioned the subject to her grandfather, but he was just as puzzled as they were. Despite the unsolved mystery, their friendship amazingly seemed to pick up right where it had left off so many years ago. They had spent hours catching each other up on the things they’d been doing since parting last.

After Samantha had finished thoroughly questioning her about Dawson, Georgiana learned Samantha had once been engaged to a man named Mitch Tyler. He had come over from Denver to work on his uncle’s farm for the summer. Samantha and he had met at a barn raising, and they had instantly been drawn to one another. After announcing their engagement a few short months later, Mitch had gone home to tell his family about his plans to marry and gather the rest of his belongings. Samantha’s father had offered him a job at the bank, so they would continue living at her parents’ home until they could save enough to purchase a piece of land on which they could build a house of their own. That was two years ago. Mitch had never returned.

Two of Samantha’s brothers, Theodore and Caleb, had ridden to Denver that first fall after Mitch’s disappearance, their confidence in Mitch’s good character assuring them the man would never profess undying love and devotion to their sister and then for no reason abandon her. Mitch’s family was devastated when Theodore and Caleb finally located them and explained the reason for their visit. Apparently, Mitch had sent a letter sharing the news of his engagement and informing them he would return home for a brief visit to gather his belongings. But he hadn’t told them exactly when he would be returning. When a few months passed and they hadn’t seen or heard from him, they naturally assumed his plans had been changed or delayed somehow. They’d never even considered writing a letter to find out if he might be in peril or have come to some harm. Mitch’s father spent the next two weeks making inquiries and searching the outlying lands with Theodore and Caleb in hopes he might discover the fate of his son. Their searching unearthed no answers, but Mitch’s father wouldn’t give up.

Theodore solemnly returned home to his sister with no hope to soothe her aching heart. She continued to be tormented with unanswered questions. In fact, her anguish and misery seemed to increase for a time.

They finally concluded that Mitch must have been injured while traveling and died from his wounds, or if his fate wasn’t an accident, he was most likely killed by either hostile Indians or outlaws. That summer, there had been more than one reported incident between their town and Denver.

Georgiana could see Samantha still grieved for him terribly but was well practiced at hiding it most of the time. She wished she had been around to comfort her dear friend. They had missed out on so much together. It all seemed so unfair.

After dusting the tops of the pies with sugar, Georgiana stood at the window and looked at the Colorado Mountains in the distance. She’d stolen away to paint almost every day the men were gone and had finished two paintings completely. A third was more than halfway done. She planned to send one to her mother in New York for her birthday the following month. She knew her mother would appreciate seeing the mountains again. It would remind her of the land she and her father had loved so dearly.

The most recent letter her mother sent came to mind. Her mother sounded particularly lonely, and guilt washed over her. Aunt Cecelia was probably wearing on her mother’s nerves. With the boys at school most of the time, and the fact that her mother didn’t venture out much, the only one to keep Charlotte company was her sister. The two were so very different. It was hard to believe they were even related. Aunt Cecelia was brash and demanding, selfish and haughty, whereas her mother was warm and kind, most often putting others’ needs before her own wants and desires. Georgiana sometimes wished she had known her mother’s parents so she could compare their personalities to those of their offspring. Sadly though, both of her mother’s parents had died during a cholera outbreak shortly after her mother had married and moved to Colorado. Aunt Cecelia had been left the house and the estate since her mother had been disowned. Georgiana sighed heavily. How tragic it must have been—her mother so far away, missing her parents and hoping they would one day reconcile all that had come between them. What unimaginable devastation she must have felt when they both succumbed to a terrible disease before that reconciliation could happen. Georgiana placed a hand over her heart as she continued staring into the distance, pondering what her mother had suffered.

She was startled when the kitchen door slammed shut, surprised that she had been so deep in thought she hadn’t even heard anyone come in or go out until then. She was equally surprised to see the wagon in front of the barn. She hadn’t heard or seen it drive up.

When she caught a glimpse of Ridge walking across the yard to the barn, she deduced he must have been elected to go into town today. Georgiana watched him open the barn door and go back and forth from the wagon to the barn, unloading supplies. Before he’d begun, he’d stopped and rolled up the sleeves of his beige cotton shirt. She admired the way the muscles in his forearms flexed as he easily picked up the heavy bags of horse feed and carried them inside the barn. Indeed, the very sight of him was breathtaking. As a boy he’d been cute . . . as a man he was rugged and handsome.

A satisfied smile crept across Georgiana’s face. They had somehow found themselves left in each other’s company often over the past few weeks, especially the few nights before the men had gone to the mountains to bring the cattle down. She suspected it was her grandfather’s doing, but, truthfully, she hadn’t minded. He had somehow managed to keep from teasing her—well, enough that she could handle anyway—and she had kept her temper in check. It had actually been quite pleasant, feeling some of the familiarity returning as they reminisced about old times and the more unforgettable adventures from their youth. It was also a bit unnerving, the way his nearness seemed to constantly affect her so.

Watching him work now, she admitted to herself she had been thinking of him more than she ought to, especially these last two weeks, since she had found his letter.

After the men left for the mountains, besides painting each day, Georgiana was taking the time to catch up on the rest of the housework, cleaning what had been ignored since her grandmother’s passing. She marveled at the amount of dirty clothing her grandfather had accumulated and wondered if he had taken to purchasing more than a few new items in order to avoid doing the laundry. It had indeed taken her a whole afternoon to wash his things.

After the clothes had dried and been folded, she took them into his room to put them away in his bureau. That was how she’d found the note. It was sitting in his top drawer. A yellowed, folded piece of parchment bearing her name, tied up with what appeared to be an old, dried up sunflower. Figuring it wasn’t a breach of privacy because the letter clearly had been intended for her, Georgiana sat down on his bed, laying the clothes down beside her, and began reading.

The letter turned out to be from Ridge, probably written the same day she’d stolen a kiss under the old oak. It mentioned he wanted to return something to her. She puzzled as to what it could be.

Apparently, he must have delivered the letter after she had already left town, for she had never received it. The same as Samantha, she had never received any letters from Ridge. As a result, she had spent many nights crying herself to sleep, her young and tender heart broken.

She really couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t his fault she had nurtured a crush on him, loved him even, as much as a girl could love at such a tender age. But still, they were friends and had actually become quite close after she had forgiven him for the mean prank. She had been almost closer to him than she had been with Samantha. That was the reason it had hurt so badly when he hadn’t written. She should never have taken that kissing dare. It had ruined their friendship, and living in her aunt’s house, she had needed her friends so much.

Now, as she watched him work, she wondered just how deep those feelings for him ran. She had been so young, and it was so long ago. Was it possible that this boy, grown to be a man, could still have a hold on her heart? And was that hold growing stronger with each passing day, with each look he gave her or each time he accidentally brushed past her, causing her senses to thrill?

Shaking her head, Georgiana turned back from the window, walked to the cupboard, and began retrieving the old earthenware plates, setting them out for dinner. She then noticed the pile of letters sitting on the corner of the table.
That must have been what Ridge was doing in the house,
she thought. Georgiana picked them up and quickly shuffled through them. There was a letter from her mother, one from her younger brother William, and five from Dawson! Last week there had been three from him . . . but five? When he had said he would write daily, she hadn’t really believed he would. She had only written him three letters, one the morning after she had first arrived, and two since.

What was she going to do about him? Georgiana buried her face in her hands in exasperation. It wasn’t that his letters weren’t sweet, but he constantly wanted to know when she would be returning home. She did miss him, truly she did. However, as far as she was concerned, she’d just barely arrived and was quite far from being ready to leave. Especially since, from the moment she’d come, she had felt a peace she had not known in a long time. The constant longing for something else no longer nipped and tugged at her. If it weren’t for the sake of her mother and brothers, she would send a letter tomorrow announcing she planned to stay in Colorado permanently.

Suddenly Georgiana was shocked at her own admission. She cared for Dawson more than that . . . didn’t she? Of course she did. He was everything she could want in a man
and
in a husband. She would be foolish not to recognize her good fortune. Yet . . . she was painfully too conscious of the knowledge that when he’d held her hand, she didn’t feel any special impulse or awareness other than complacency. Additionally, when he had put his arms around her and pulled her close at their parting . . . her heart had not sped up with frenzied and delightful titillations. Finally, when she had allowed him to kiss her, an allowance she did not consider trivial, his lips had not awakened any fervent or burning desires.

Still, the kiss had been nice, hadn’t it? Even though she had not returned it? True, there had been no fireworks, no heated passion—but so what? What was wrong with being comfortable and content with a man? Not all lovers shared rapturous kisses and spellbound moments of euphoria. It would be a good life with Dawson. Didn’t he adore and love her enough for the both of them?

Georgiana turned back to the window where she could still see Ridge working. Her heart warmed at the sight of him, but it also caused a sense of guilt to overcome her. She had not come back for Ridge. She had returned to help her grandfather in his time of need, hoping to free her heart for Dawson. She must stop thinking about Ridge or at least pondering anything other than friendship.

Georgiana quickly slipped the letters into her apron pocket and continued setting the table. The men would be in shortly, and they were sure to be hungry.

She had been right. In less than thirty minutes, the men were all seated around the table, cleaned up and as hungry as a pack of wolves in the winter. All her dawdling at the window earlier had made it necessary for her to scramble a bit in order to have dinner ready on time.

She had cooked roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy, along with sweet fresh corn and biscuits. Again, she was awed at how much food a few men could consume in such a short period of time. When she placed the two pies and a bowl of fresh whipped cream in the center of the table, the men began to whoop and holler like a bunch of schoolboys who discovered their lunch pails contained nothing but fresh baked cookies and cinnamon rolls. The evening had been perfect—that is, until she stood up to clear the table.

Noticing she had neglected to hang up her apron, Georgiana picked it up from the sideboard, proceeding to vigorously shake off the crumbs before hanging it on the wall peg. The forgotten letters she had placed in the pocket started flying about the room in every direction.

All conversation at the table ceased as the men caught the letters in mid air or retrieved them from off the ground. Georgiana froze.

“Who’s all this mail for?” Jonas remarked, looking at one of the letters. Suddenly, everyone was holding a letter in front of him, looking at the inscription—everyone except Ridge, that is. He just laid the one he had caught on the table before him. Try as she might, Georgiana still could not will herself to speak.

“This one’s for you, Miss Georgiana. It’s from your mother,” Jimmy remarked with a smile and handed her the letter. She numbly took it from him, mumbling a polite thanks.

“This one’s fer ye too, Miss,” Roddy spoke up. “It be from yar brother William.” He handed her the letter he held.

“Well, this one . . . ,” Georgiana instinctively cringed as Jonas began his remark, “ain’t from someone related at all, but rather, I would bet, someone who wants ta be.” He snickered softly, and she could tell he was trying hard not to laugh heartily at his own cleverness.

“And what would be the name on that letter ya have there, Brother Jonas?” Jeremiah asked, his voice laced with the same poorly controlled humor. “Would it perchance be from a Mr. Dawson . . . ?”

“. . . Alexander?” Jonas finished.

“Why yes, Brother Jonas,” Jeremiah said dramatically. “I do believe we have a match.”