The Baby Bequest. Lyn Cote

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter Two

      “Why weren’t you at the river to meet me?”

      Ellen grasped her cousin’s hand desperately as Mr. Lang drove down the track away from them. She had managed to pull herself together enough to bid Mr. Lang goodbye and thank him for the ride, but she was glad to see him leave—his presence had pushed her over the edge emotionally. The man had only been kind to her, but being alone with him had nearly been more than she could bear.

      “Why weren’t you at the river to meet me?” Ellen repeated.

      Ophelia pulled a well-worn letter from her pocket. “You said your boat would dock tomorrow. ‘I will arrive on the sixteenth of August,’” she read.

      “But that’s today.”

      “No, dear, that’s tomorrow. It’s easy to lose track of days when traveling. I know I did.”

      Ellen thought her own mental state must be the explanation. As Ophelia guided her to a chair just outside the log cabin and disappeared inside, Ellen tried to appear merely homesick and travel-weary, not heartsick. She must master herself or this thing would defeat her. She stiffened her spine.

      Soon Ophelia bustled into the daylight again and offered her a cup of tea. “This will help. I know when I arrived I...” Her cousin paused, frowning. “I cried a lot. It’s a shock leaving family, leaving home.” She sat down beside Ellen and began nursing her little boy.

      Ophelia had thoughtfully offered her an excuse for her tears and she would not contradict her. Yet the invisible band around her heart squeezed tighter. Ellen took a sip of the tea, which tasted like peppermint. “I’ll adjust.”

      “Of course you will. You’ve done right coming here. Pepin has the nicest people, and those with children are so happy to have a teacher. They can’t wait to meet you.”

      A weight like a stone pressed down on Ellen’s lungs. She’d never taught before. Would she be good at it? “I’m glad to hear that.”

      “The schoolhouse with your quarters isn’t finished yet, but Martin and I will love having you spend a few weeks with us.”

      That long? How could she keep her misery hidden that long, and from Ophelia, who knew her so well? “I’m sorry for arriving early and putting you out—”

      “You’re not putting me out,” Ophelia said emphatically. “Having family here—” the young mother paused as if fighting tears “—means a great deal to me.”

      Touched, Ellen reached out and pressed her hand to Ophelia’s shoulder. “I’m glad to have family here, too.” Family that loves me, she thought.

      Her cousin rested her cheek on Ellen’s hand for a moment. “I’m sorry I missed Cissy’s wedding.”

      The image of Holton kissing her sister, Cissy, in their parlor, sealing their life vows, was a knife piercing Ellen’s heart. What had happened had not been her naive younger sister’s fault, she reminded herself. “Cissy was a beautiful bride,” she said bravely.

      “Oh, I wish I could have been there, but we couldn’t justify the expense of the riverboat fare and the time away from our crops. It seems every varmint in Wisconsin wants to eat our garden and corn.” Ophelia sounded indignant. “You’d think our farm was surrounded by a desolate desert without a green shoot, the way everything tries to gobble up our food.”

      Ellen couldn’t help herself; a chuckle escaped her. Oh, it felt good to laugh again.

      “It’s not funny.”

      “I know, but you are. Oh, Ophelia, I’ve missed you.”

      And it was the truth. Ophelia had been a friend from childhood, slipping through the back fence to Ellen’s house, escaping her own overbearing, scene-making mother.

      “I miss your parents. They were always so good to me,” Ophelia said in a voice rich with emotion, rich with love and sympathy.

      The cousins linked hands in a silent moment of remembrance.

      “They were good to me, too,” Ellen murmured. Strengthened, she released Ophelia’s hand. “But they are with God and I am here with you. To start a new life, just like you have.”

      “Ellen, about Holton.” Her cousin paused, biting her lower lip.

      Ellen froze, her cup in midair. What about Holton? What could Ophelia possibly know? And how?

      “I wondered... My mother wrote me that when he first came to town, he was making up to you...”

      Ellen suffered the words as a blow. She should have foreseen this. Ophelia’s mother, Prudence, completely misnamed, was also one of the worst gossips in Galena. Of course Aunt Prudence would have told Ophelia how, when he first came to town, Holton had buzzed around Ellen, only to switch his attentions when her prettier, younger and easier-to-manage sister came home from boarding school in Chicago.

      Ellen tried to keep breathing through the pain of remembering.

      At that moment, Ophelia’s husband, Martin, walked out of the woods, a hoe over his shoulder and a dog at his side, saving her from having to speak about Holton and his deception of her. She had gotten through mention of the awful day of Cissy’s wedding without revealing anything. No doubt it would come up again, but perhaps every day that passed would distance the pain.

      This move would work out. It had to.

      As she thought of her future in Pepin, the handsome but troubled face of Kurt Lang popped into her mind. What was wrong with her? Did she have no defense at all against a handsome face? A handsome face belonging to a man that might mislead and lie just as Holton did?

      She vowed she would never again make the mistake she’d made with Holton. Never.

      * * *

      Kurt found Gunther sitting beside the creek, fishing. The lanky boy was too thin and his blond hair needed cutting. A pang of sympathy swept through Kurt. His brother was so young to carry their family shame.

      Gunther looked up, already spoiling for an argument. “I did my chores and Johann did his.”

      And just like that, Kurt’s sympathy turned to frustration. He knew why Gunther simmered all the time, ready to boil over. But the lad was old enough to learn to carry what had happened to them like a man.

      Upstream, Johann, who had been wading in the cooling water, looked up at the sound of Gunther’s voice. He waved. “Hello, Onkel Kurt!” The barefoot boy splashed over the rocks and ran up the grassy bank to Kurt.

      Kurt pulled down the brim of the boy’s hat, teasing. Johann favored his late father’s coloring with black hair and brown eyes. СКАЧАТЬ