Home to Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 3) (13 page)

Chapter Forty-One

    
 
A
hard chill permeated the barn, pale slivers of frost settling on the hard packed floor through the open cracks in the boards. Mark watched his breath billow out into the cold air as he listened to Colleen talk about her rounds of delivering milk. He knew it would be a long night without the warmth of her beside him, but he feared that if she spent another night in the barn they might not wake in time. He had decided that he would find a way to meet Colleen’s father and try to explain to the man who he was and make him understand how he felt about his daughter.

      “Are you thinking of Stavewood?” She looked up at him, her appearance exhausted and her soft blue eyes filled with sadness. She had seen that faraway look in his eyes before and decided that he would never be happy until he was once again home. Colleen began to accept that she could not keep him in Missouri and expect him to be happy.

      “I was thinking about your father actually. I was contemplating how I might tell him about us.”

      “Oh, Mark, you mustn’t!” She turned to face him.

      “If I plan to take you home with me I will have to.” He looked into her eyes seriously.

      “We won’t talk about this tonight!” she scolded. She returned to the warmth of his arms and felt the edge of his scarf.

      “Tell me a story about Stavewood.” Colleen knew her asking about his home never failed to distract him.

      Mark looked off into the shadows of the barn and his eyes grew misty.

      “In the spring I remember tapping the trees for maple syrup. The best are the sugar maples. Their syrup is rich and sweet.

      “You have to wait until the days get warm, but it’s best if the nights are still cold. I have some favorite trees, out behind the newer mills, on the edge of the woodland there.

      “You have to drill the hole just right, a little bit of an angle so the sap runs easy into the bucket.” He could remember the sticky, sweet sap would stick to his fingers as he drilled.

      “Then the tap goes in. It’s like a tube and you run it into a bucket, one that has a lid to keep out the rain and leaves. You have to go back every day. Sometimes, when the sap runs just right, the bucket can fill up quickly.

      “We’d gather up all of the heavy pails and take them to the smoke house. While it’s boiling down you can smell the syrup for miles, rich and sweet in the spring air.

      “Then that first morning you’d pour it over your flapjacks or a nice pile of sausage and there’s nothing like it in the world.”

      Colleen watched him run the very tip of his tongue along his lips and she sighed.

      He looked down into her eyes and she kissed him tenderly.

      He tried to speak, but she knew he only wanted to tell her that she was going with him. She hushed him with another kiss and he pulled her close to him. She leaned her head against his chest. She didn’t want any promises for the future, she wanted only now.

      When he began to feel her start to fall asleep in his arms he roused her gently.

      “Go to bed, Colleen.”

      She nodded silently and wearily gathered the dishes she had brought out, stacking them on the overturned box.

      He stood beside her and pulled her to him. He remembered a time he had watched his father when Rebecca had only been at Stavewood for a few weeks. He had watched the two of them together, falling in love, through fear and complications, both struggling to put aside their pride and admitting they wanted only each other. He had laughed at them then, thinking it was so silly that they were plainly in love, and yet they did not just surrender to it. He thought it was so easy then, to just fall in love.

      Mark took Colleen by the shoulders and held her in front of him. Her face was the picture of sadness and the weary expression of her difficult world. He wanted to protect her, spoil her, to love her with no complications. He bent and kissed her passionately and she leaned into him.

      “Merry Christmas,” he whispered and helped her fill her arms with the dishes, then closed the door behind her slowly and sank down into the straw. He held up one end of the soft scarf and inhaled deeply. He could smell her sweet scent in the wool and he closed his eyes and lay back in the hay.

Chapter Forty-Two

    
 
C
olleen slipped into the house and saw that her father was still in bed, sleeping silently. She set the dimmed lantern down and placed the dishes as quietly as she could in the big tub.

      She stood exhausted, gazing at the dirty dishes for several moments and when she turned she was certain she saw some kind of movement in the corner. Uncertain of what she had perceived she slowly pulled the pistol from under the bowl on the table and held it at her side.

      “I see you there,” she stated clearly, her voice piercing the silence of the room. “I will shoot, make no mistake about it.” Colleen thought perhaps an animal had gotten inside, as had happened before. But there was no disturbance in the room. She held her breath realizing that it must be a person and hoped her father would wake.

      “I don’t believe you’ll shoot,” a voice responded and Colleen froze.

      “Show yourself.” She struggled to keep her voice clear and strong.

      Lem McHerlong stepped out into the circle of light and Colleen reached over slowly and turned up the wick.

      “You need to leave now before I put a hole through you.” She stepped aside, giving the man room to exit.

      Lem could see that she did indeed hold a pistol, but could not imagine that she would ever pull the trigger.

      “You’re even prettier up close.” He took a small step towards her.

      “Leave now!” she shouted. Colleen could not imagine why her father was not at least rousing the littlest bit. She knew he had another pistol under his pillow and he would not hesitate to use it.

      “Now you just take it easy there,” Lem moved closer.

      Colleen wrapped her finger around the trigger and frowned. If she were to shoot this man, every lawman for miles around would be here, and all of this boy’s relatives as well. She knew he was part of the families with the vendetta. “Please leave!” she barked.

      When he leapt towards her she squeezed the trigger and fell back from the recoil.

      “Son of a bitch!” Lem struggled back as the bullet grazed his shoulder and he lunged at her again.

      Colleen squeezed the trigger yet again, and her bullet tore into Lem’s upper arm.

      “The next shot goes through your heart!” Colleen stood up and held the big gun with both hands, training the barrel on the man’s chest.

      Lem McHerlong stumbled towards the door, swearing under his breath.

      “Leave!” Colleen screamed.

      Mark awoke to what sounded like the crack of a gunshot and sat upright suddenly.

      He wondered if he were only dreaming until the second shot rang out. He jumped to his feet certain that the sound came from the house. He ran across the hard packed floor and pulled open the heavy door.

      As he leapt outside he stopped, briefly. He had not been out in the open for weeks and he hurried to the side of the barn. If he were seen by whoever had fired the gun he would be an easy target in the open barnyard. He ran along the outer walls of the barn and sprinted across the yard to the house and flung himself up against the building, panting hard. He had not moved so quickly in too long a time and he could feel it in every muscle in his body.

      As he stood, pressed against the outer wall of the house, he saw Lem McHerlong, staggering away from the house, towards the woodland.

      Mark ran to the open doorway of the house and as he stepped up the wood of the doorjamb exploded from Colleen’s next shot.

      Mark fell to the ground outside of the house.

      “Stop shooting!” he called out.

      “Mark?” Colleen let her arm fall to her side and rushed to him.

      “Are you alright?” she whispered.

      “I think so,” Mark scowled and pulled himself upright.

      “Hush, you’ll wake my father. I think that hill man is gone, there.” Colleen pointed the gun in the direction of the woods.

      “Give me that,” Mark took the revolver from the girl and tried to lead her into the house.

      “No. My father!” she protested.

      “It’s time, Colleen.” Mark figured that as soon as her father had heard the gunshots it had all begun to unravel.

      He took Colleen’s arm and led her into the tiny house.

      The girl pulled her arm free angrily. “Father?” she called out with her jaw set firmly. The man had not moved.

      Colleen ran to the side of the bed and stopped suddenly. Her hand flew to her face and she wailed loudly, falling to her knees beside the bed. “No!”

      Mark picked up the lantern and crossed the room. The man was clearly dead. He showed no signs of trauma, and Mark gently pulled back the threadbare blanket.

      Shane Muldoon lay in his worn nightclothes and he gripped his gown over his chest.

      “He did this to him!” Colleen spat and ran to the door crying and consumed with anger.

      “I don’t think so.” Mark went to her.

      “He killed my father!” Colleen looked up at him, her face red with rage.

      “No, Colleen. I think your father may have had a bad heart. I don’t think Lem killed him.”

      Colleen began to sob uncontrollably and Mark pulled her to his chest.

      He looked around as he listened to her heartbreaking cries. The room was freezing. The stove seemed to give off some warmth though it was extremely small. But it certainly was not big enough to heat even the small space. There were two rickety cots on one end of the room and no running water inside that he could make out, not even a pump of any kind.

      The dirt floor was swept clean, the one window boarded closed to keep out the weather. It became obvious that the conditions in the house were not much better than in the barn.

      Colleen went to her father’s side and continued to weep pathetically and Mark walked slowly around the room. Beside the stove were a few slivers of timber and he opened the stove door and tossed in the wood.

      “No, no.” Colleen hurried to him. “If you burn that there’ll be none for tomorrow.”

      “It’s okay,” he assured her.

      Colleen looked up at him, her eyes red and filled with pain. Mark put his arm around her shoulder and continued to survey the room. He saw three potatoes in a bowl on the roughhewn table in the center of the room and a few loaves of bread, but it was clear there was barely any food in the house. Now he understood why he never saw her eat.

      “Colleen,” he said, looking down at her and lifting her chin with his fingertip. “What have you eaten today?”

      The young woman frowned. “I’ll eat when I’m hungry.” She looked away from him angrily.

      It occurred to him that there was more than her fear of her father that was keeping Colleen from bringing him to the house. He looked down at the girl and it was clear she was extremely embarrassed.

      He led her to the one chair in the house and indicated that she sit down.

      Colleen plunked into the chair and buried her face in her hands.

      Mark tore open one of the loaves of bread and handed her a piece. “Don’t argue with me. Eat this.”

      Colleen glared at him and took the bread angrily.

      “Stop being stubborn,” he scolded.

      Colleen bit into the bread and sighed. Her father had often told her to curb her willfulness in a similar tone and she took a bite reluctantly.

      Mark could see by the way she chewed the bread that she had to be starving.

      “I’m sorry, Colleen. I’m sorry about your father.”

      “You’re right,” she furrowed her brow. “His heart was very bad. I was going to take over everything right after the holidays. I was going to make all of the deliveries myself, just a little while longer,” she sighed. “If he were alive a little longer, everything would have gotten better. I would have gotten more customers.”

      “That doesn’t matter now,” Mark’s mind raced. He doubted that Lem would tell anyone the girl had shot him, but he likely would return. With Colleen’s father dead he could see more than ever now that he had to take the girl away, home to Stavewood, with him.

      When she had eaten a full loaf of bread and cried herself into exhaustion, Mark led her to the empty cot and covered her gently, kneeling on the floor beside her until she drifted off. Then he sat in the chair in the center of the room and formulated his plan.

Chapter Forty-Three

    
B
ernadette Shofield stood outside of the variety store, clutching the newspaper in her hand. The snow fell onto her woolen cape and she could feel the cold through her laced boots. She walked home, as if in a trance, stopping once to unfold the paper and read the obituary once again.

      Bernadette kept to herself most of the time now. Jude had made her so many promises, but had left her with nothing but her unborn child and shame. At one time she had Mark to talk to, and Jude to buy her pretty things, but all the time what she had really wanted was Sam Evens. Sam was the one who made her heart skip a beat and who set her imagination soaring. She tried so hard to get his attention, but it never seemed to work. She began to date Mark because she thought Sam might see her as being more worthwhile and not just a plain simple girl from school.

      Now Bernadette understood that Jude Thomas had only used her to hurt the Elgerson family. She knew he never really loved her. And Mark probably hated her now, since she had told everyone he was the father of her child. Both her and Mark knew all along that it was impossible.

      Those realizations left her feeling lonely and depressed. But what broke her heart were the plain black and white lines in the Billington Bugle, the simply printed words that said that Sam Evens was dead. They said he had died in Missouri where she knew he had gone with Mark. They said his body was returned home. They said he had been buried.

      Bernadette changed direction and crossed the street to the station and waited for the next train to Elgerson Mills. If Sam had died while he and Mark were on their trip, Mark would be home now and he could tell her what happened. Maybe the newspaper was wrong, somehow, and her Sam was still alive.

      She had been waiting for his return. She had decided that when he came home she would tell him all the things she had felt all along. She would tell him that he was the one she really loved and that she needed him now more than ever. Bernadette was certain he would understand how she felt and he’d want to be with her. He’d even want to be a father to her baby and she wouldn’t have to live in shame any more.

      If he was alive and he just came home, she was certain it would all work out. The paper just had to be wrong.

      The snow drifted down around her as she left the train and thought of Sam’s pleasant face and she smiled.

      Bernadette stepped from the platform and stood looking up at the mill. She had not returned since that day, the day her lies were all revealed. Now she was back sewing at the dressmaker’s and waiting for her baby to be born. When that happened she would make her final decision. If Sam was alive she might not have to consider the orphanage at all.

      Bernadette squared her shoulders and climbed the stairs to the mill offices.

      Roland looked up from where he stood behind the desk and saw Bernadette standing in the doorway, her cape covered in snow.

      Seeing the look of surprise on the foreman’s face, Bernadette took a deep breath and forced a stiff smile.

      “Hello, Mr. Vancouver. I would like to speak to Mark if I could.” Bernadette was not sure why, but she found herself choking back tears.

      Roland’s face darkened and he studied the girl’s face. “Mark is not here, Bernadette.”

      “Is he at the house?”

      “No.” Roland pointed to the chair and walked across the office, closing the door.

      Bernadette sat down slowly and pulled out the newspaper, spreading it open on the desk. “I saw this and…” Her voice trailed off.

      Roland read the obituary and handed her back the paper. “We don’t know where Mark is. They found Sam’s body, but we haven’t found Mark yet.”

      “He’s dead too?” Bernadette sat up in shock.

      “We don’t know.” Roland tried to be kind to the girl.

      “But, he went away because of me, they both did!” Bernadette gasped. She could feel the room closing in around her and she felt faint.

      Roland knelt down beside her and patted her cheek until her eyes fluttered open.

      “Thank you Mr. Vancouver. I’m sorry I got so upset before.” Bernadette sat beside the man in the wagon as he drove her home.

      “When is your baby due?” he asked boldly.

      “In the spring,” Bernadette looked down at her hands.

      “My wife is expecting about the same time.” He nodded to her.

      “Mr. Vancouver, can I ask you a question?”

      Roland faced her frankly.

      “Have you ever been to the orphanage in Billington?”

      “Yes,” he replied and furrowed his brow.

      “I think maybe my baby would be best off there. They said the new babies get adopted sometimes.” Bernadette sighed.

      Roland pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the girl’s home and walked around the wagon to help her to the ground.

      Bernadette nodded and hurried inside.

      Roland Vancouver climbed back into the wagon and sat silently, shaking his head.