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“Don’t mind me,” Granny said brightly. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse.” She folded her hands, eyes bright with curiosity.
Liza went behind the counter, where she had her reticule waiting. “I have the money here.” She handed him the coins. It was almost all the money she had in the world, but giving it to him was worth the sacrifice if that meant keeping the claim. “There. That is the last payment. Now Pa does not owe you anything, and neither do I.”
Mr. Brown put his wallet away inside his jacket. He withdrew a piece of paper. “And here is the IOU. It was unfortunate that your pa needed to borrow money, but I’m glad at least that I was able to be the one to help you in your time of need.”
“Thank you.” She had to force the words out. “I am sure Pa thought he was doing the best he knew how, but I would prefer if he did not borrow money from anyone in the future. I can take care of him until he gets on his feet again.” And next time, he can tell me when he borrows money to keep the claim going.
“Can you?” The question was mild, but those pale green eyes were intent upon her. “Apparently, you have not heard. Your hired hands quit this afternoon.” His thin lips curved up into a faint smile. “They should be halfway to Astoria by now.”
The words settled into her like lead weights. “I expect we’ll manage.” She only wished she knew how. There was no way she could get the harvest in by herself.
“It looks like you’ve gotten some new supplies.” Mr. Brown scanned the bolts of fabric on the shelf behind her. “I’d like a few yards of that braided trim if you would be so kind.”
Liza measured out the yards of fabric and wrapped it up for him. He was playing with her, wasting her time. What use did a man have for trimming? None.
He never shifted his gaze from her. “You could sell the claim to the Baron, you know.” Mr. Brown’s boss, Barclay Hughes, had come out to the Oregon Territory a few years back. He had quickly made a fortune cutting down trees and shipping the wood down to San Francisco. To his face, everyone called him Mr. Hughes. Behind his back, he was known as the Baron. “He wants the land. He’ll be pleased if I can get it for him. I can make sure that he doesn’t cheat you on the deal. He listens to me. He will give you a good price for your claim, and you could find permanent work in town.”
“Sell the claim? And give up our independence? Thank you all the same, but no. My father is going to prove up his claim, and I am going to help him. No one is going to take it from us.” She finished wrapping up the fabric and pushed it across the counter to him.
Mr. Brown leaned forward, and she had to repress the urge to step back. “Frankly, Miss Fitzpatrick, you can’t do it. Not just you and your father.”
He thought she would give in. Thought she had no choice.
Since that tree had fallen on Pa’s legs, breaking them both, getting the crops in had become a major worry in her life. Without the harvest, she and Pa would not be able to afford to stay on the claim over the winter, which meant they would lose it. The law specified a man had to live on his claim if he wanted to prove it.
The wheat was ripe now. There was no time to hunt for new helpers. If she put off the harvest, the rains would come and the crops would rot in the fields.
Her thoughts flitted to the man in the back room. Mr. Brown had always acted possessive where she was concerned, no matter how often she’d made it clear that she had no interest in him. Dealing with him had been awkward enough when she had only been paying off Pa’s IOU. Once he learned that her fiancé was in town, it would be a thousand times worse.
She couldn’t face his reaction to the news. Not tonight, when she was still trying to come to terms with Matthew being back in her life. Perhaps by morning, Matthew would remember who he was, who she was. What they had meant to each other. All she knew for sure at this moment was that she needed to talk to him before she could decide how to handle Mr. Brown’s reaction to the news. She went to the front door and held it open. “Please don’t let me keep you.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, when you’ve had more time to consider. I know you’re a stubborn little lady, but I’m sure by morning you’ll understand that I only want what is best for you.”
From her place by the fire, Granny called out, “You’ll be wanting to go back to the hotel before you lose your chance of supper. I don’t know why you don’t just board with some respectable family instead of paying all that money to stay at that fancy new place, but that’s young men for you. Always have to present a good image to the world.”
Mr. Brown opened his mouth to speak, then he shut it again, pressing his lips together. Anger stained his cheeks with bright red patches. Abruptly, he turned and left.
Liza shut the door behind him and bolted it. She leaned against it, closing her eyes for a moment, and a sigh escaped her.
“There’s a man who dearly likes to get his own way.” Granny’s dry voice came from behind her. “Mr. Brown won’t be happy until he’s gotten your claim for the Baron.”
“That’s what I am afraid of.” Liza sat down in the other rocking chair and wrapped the quilt tightly around herself. “I don’t know what to do about the harvest.” There. She had said it out loud.
“Why is that man so set on your claim? He’s bought up most of the claims around. You’d think he’d be satisfied.”
She shook her head. “He wants to please the Baron. He thinks if he goes through me, Pa will agree to sell the claim.”
“That’s true enough. Whole town knows your pa would do anything for you.”
“For me, yes.” It never occurred to him to let her share the burden. That was part of the problem. Granny was looking at her, eyebrows raised, so Liza explained further. “After my mother’s death, Pa left me with my aunt in Iowa while he came out here and threw all his energy into building a new home for us on the claim. I think it helped him deal with his grief, as well as giving him a way to provide for me. It was his legacy, he always said.” She did not want to think of what losing the claim would do to him. He would feel a failure, not just as a farmer but as a father.
“Come sit by me and say your prayers, child.” Granny spoke gently, instead of in her usual acerbic tone. “Let the Lord carry your troubles for the rest of the night.”
It was good advice, but Liza found that she was not able to stop worrying. The fire was getting low—a log sank down into a bed of glowing embers. She settled into the other rocking chair, wrapped a thick quilt around herself and stared into the embers.
Why had Matthew taken so long to come to her as he’d promised? She had waited, first hopefully, preparing the loft in the cabin for two people. Then anxiously, wondering if something had happened to him. She had no way of knowing where he had gone, exactly. Just a hastily scribbled note saying he was going to find gold and that he would come to her in the spring. Months had gone by, and not a word from him.
She was familiar with the feeling of being left. After Pa had headed off west, she had waited back in Iowa for three years before he had sent for her. Even though his concern had been to make sure there was a proper home for her, he had left her. That awkwardness still lay between them. They never spoke of it, but she could tell sometimes, when he was in one of his moods, that the guilt weighed on him. She still struggled with her anger at being left behind.
She had traveled the Oregon Trail with a respectable family that her pastor had introduced her to. They had been kind enough, though preoccupied with their own affairs. She hadn’t realized how lonely she had felt until she met Matthew. He had been traveling without family, too, and somehow that had formed a bond that had quickly strengthened into something stronger. Or she thought it had. He’d asked her to marry him. He said he loved her. Had he changed?
The memory of those dark eyes, looking straight at her with no sign of recognition at all... She shivered, despite the quilts. One thought chased another through her mind until at last she fell back to reciting her favorite psalms to calm herself. Finally, she slept.
The next thing she noticed was sunlight falling warm on her face.
Granny bent over a kettle hanging by the fire. “Good morning. I just checked on your man. He’s still sleeping, but his color looks good. I’m thinking he’s not hurt that badly. Looks like he’s not been eating regularly, worn himself down.” She patted Liza on the shoulder. “The tea is almost ready. I’ll be back later, see how you’re getting on.” She must have read the apprehension on Liza’s face, because she added, “You’ll be fine. The Lord knows what He’s doing.”
It was quiet after Granny left. Liza stood in the middle of the room. She could hear early-morning noises outside: birds singing, the occasional rattle of wheels as a wagon rolled by. From the back room, nothing but silence. She had to face him. She was dreading it. To put off the inevitable, she whipped up a batch of biscuits. While they were baking, she combed out her hair, braided it and pinned it up into a crown around her head. Her mother had always told her that her light blond hair was pretty, but Liza found it annoying. It was too fine. Wisps slipped out of the braid despite her best efforts.
Dallying over her hair was only putting off the need to go in and talk to Matthew. She straightened up and put her shoulders back. She had walked the length of the Oregon Trail. She was not going to fail at the end.
Despite her resolution, it took an effort to knock on the door to the back room. When there was no response, she opened the door tentatively. No sound came from the blanket-covered mound on the bed. She pushed the door open wider.
She laid down his folded clothes at the foot of the bed, putting on top of the pile the comb and the newfangled harmonica that she’d found in his pockets. That was all he had had on him, no money or identification.
He didn’t move, so she took a couple steps closer. She studied him as if seeing him for the first time. He’d always been thin, but now he was downright skinny. His cheekbones stood out prominently, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
Under the quilt, his legs twitched as if he were about to run. He looked so like a boy, with that strand of dark hair across his forehead. A troubled boy. Whatever he’d been doing, he’d not had an easy time of it.
Unexpectedly, tenderness welled up inside her. She smoothed the hair away from his face. Very lightly, she trailed her fingertips across his warm skin. She smiled.
His eyes flew open. Dark eyes, fierce as a hawk, stared straight into hers. Then he moved swiftly.
She found herself flat on her back on the floor, with those fierce eyes intent upon her and his hand at her throat.
* * *
He was back at Dutch Flat. Vince was still alive, making silly jokes, walking backward down the alley and smiling at him without a care in the world. Without seeing the three men coming up behind him.
He struggled to call out, to warn Vince to look behind him, but as in the way of dreams sometimes, he could make no sound. There was nothing he could do to stop it. It was all going to happen again, just like it had before. He was too late.
A hand touched his face. Lost in his dream, he reacted instinctively.
Then he blinked, focused. He was looking straight down into the clear gray eyes of a young woman, a few inches away. She was a delicate little thing, skin like porcelain, wisps of golden hair framing her face.
“Good morning,” she said breathlessly. Even though he still had his hand on her throat, she was looking up at him as if she trusted him not to hurt her. He didn’t like it that she was looking at him like that. He removed his hand, but he did not know what to do next.
He was completely lost, no firm ground to stand on. He did not know where he was. He realized that he did not know who he was. He frowned down at the young woman. “Do I know you?”
For a moment, he thought he saw an expression of pain in her eyes. Then she blinked, and it was gone. “Well, you used to. Could you let me up, please?”
He suddenly realized that their respective positions were not exactly proper. He sat up, backing away from her until he reached the wall, and ran a hand through his hair. His fingers found the bandage, and his frown deepened. His head throbbed. So. He had been injured. Someone had bandaged him and put him to bed. He looked at the woman. “Who are you?”
She sat up, brushing herself off. She tried to smile, but it looked stiff, awkward. She stopped. “Good morning,” she started again. “I am Liza Fitzpatrick.” She looked at him, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction.
“You will pardon me if I do not introduce myself.” It was irritating to have to admit his ignorance. Gingerly, he got his feet under him and stood, extending a hand to help her up. “Are you hurt? Please accept my apologies, madam. I do not make a habit of accosting strange women first thing in the morning.”
“Do you usually wait until the afternoon before you accost women?” She evidently regretted the flippant impulse as soon as she saw him turning red. In more contrite tones, she added, “I should be the one apologizing. I’m sorry I startled you. Shall we sit?” She dragged a barrel chair over to the bedside. He looked around for another chair. When he saw there was none, he sat on the very edge of the bed, muscles tensed.
Tentatively, she began, “You must be as uncomfortable as I am.”
If that’s the case, then you must be uncomfortable indeed. Not that it showed. The young woman—Liza—spread the skirt of her blue dress out as she sat, then she folded her hands in her lap. With her light blond hair framing her lovely face, she looked like the picture of a modest young lady, poised and neat. He felt unsure of everything about himself, and he hated it. Then he noticed that the tip of her shoe just showed at the edge of her skirt. She was tapping her foot, where she thought he could not see. The discovery made him feel a bit better. He wasn’t the only one who was unsettled by this conversation.
“Your name is Matthew Dean.”
Not even a twinge of familiarity at the name. “You have the advantage of me. How is it you know my name and I do not?”
“I know you. Or at least,” she amended, “I used to. You came to see me last night. You were ill and fainted.”
He wrinkled his brow. “I think I remember...something about that. It’s rather vague. I hope I was polite.”
“What do you remember?”
He started to shake his head, then stopped, his fingers going to the bandage at his forehead again. “Nothing. Nothing that makes sense, at any rate. It was dark. Men jumped me. I think... I think there might have been a woman there as well, but that hardly seems likely.”
“What else?”
“There is nothing else!” He stopped. “I beg your pardon. This is extremely frustrating. It’s as if—it’s as if part of my mind is a locked room and I’m on the outside trying to break down the door. I don’t know the first thing about myself.”
“Well,” Liza said, “I can help with that, at any rate. Yes, you do know me. You come from Illinois. We traveled out west in the same wagon train, and we used to walk together. We started to talk and became friends. Then we became more than friends. You asked me to marry you. Then you left me to go to California to look for gold.”
A dry recital of words, sticking to the bare facts. He struggled to take it all in. “I recall none of those actions, madam.”
Without any memories, he felt like half a man. He was engaged to this woman? It was hard to imagine. She was so close to him that if he reached out his hand he could touch that lovely face, run his fingertip down the curve of her cheek. His fingers longed to do just that. It was as if he knew her on some level that ran deeper than rational thought. But his mind kept listing objections as if he were arguing a case in court. “You mean I just showed up in your doorway last night after not seeing you for months? It seems wildly coincidental.”
“Not if you were coming to see me.” The tapping foot accelerated its tempo. “Honestly, you are acting like I am offering you a nice, fresh rattlesnake for breakfast. I am not making this up.”
He didn’t know what to think. Nothing felt real; he could find no solid ground underfoot. He was blundering about, a man out of his depth trying to find his way. He had no way of knowing if she was telling the truth. Some part of him kept insisting that beautiful women were not trustworthy. At the same time, an instinct deeper than all reason urged him to trust this one.
He spread out his hands in a gesture of apology. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I do not mean to offend you. It’s just—I can’t begin to explain how unsettling it is not to remember such basic facts about oneself. Proposing marriage to a woman is the sort of thing that should stick in a man’s memory.” His smile was hesitant, but it seemed to put her at ease. The toe tapping stopped. She smiled back at him—not a polite, social smile but with the full force of her relief.
Matthew’s smile faded. For a moment, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take her in his arms. He had to stop himself from reaching out to her. This was hardly the sort of thought he should be entertaining in this situation. “Well.” He cleared his throat, turned aside, pulled the folded clothes onto his lap. “I should get properly dressed.”
She blushed and stood up. “I’ll see to breakfast.”
“Thank you.” He could feel his own face heating up under the beard.
* * *
In the front room, Liza folded up the quilts and started setting the table for breakfast. She could cope so long as she had something to do.
She was aware of every sound of movement she heard from the next room. Her nerves were stretched taut, like fiddle strings keyed up for a concert.
As she was sweeping the floor, she saw a mouse scurry past, keeping close to the wall. She reacted instantly, whacking the broom down fiercely. She missed and whacked again. Peered down at the crack between the wall and the cupboard. “Where are you? You better get out of here if you know what’s good for you.”
“I think you made your feelings clear,” came the dry voice from behind her. “He’s probably halfway to St. Joe by now.”
Matthew appeared in the doorway, dressed in his own clothes. He stood in the same position that he’d been in when he had walked through the front door last night, but one quick glance showed that he looked much better now. There was a healthy flush in his cheeks. He’d even introduced his hair to a comb, though it didn’t look like they’d had much of a conversation. It was oddly endearing.
“The whole of the Oregon Territory is plagued with these varmints.” She put the broom back in its place with a determined thump.
“It’s still a large reaction for such a small nuisance.”
She busied herself with putting food on the table. It was hard to meet his gaze directly. She needed to put some distance between the two of them, to come to terms with the reality of Matthew being back in her life. It was a relief to seize upon a neutral topic. “I can’t abide mice. Over the winter, vermin like that got into my father’s grain stores, ruined near half of it. I have no plans to buy wheat this winter.” No funds to do so, either, but there was no reason to mention this. Matthew nodded, and somehow she had the feeling that he understood what she hadn’t said out loud. She gestured at the table. “Sit. I’ve made biscuits, and there’s some smoked salmon. Granny Whitlow said she would stop at Doc Graham’s place, so the doc should be comin’ by soon to make sure you’re all right.”
He did not sit down. Instead, his hands curled around the back of the chair and gripped. “I don’t have any money.”
“I have coin. I can pay him.” See? You need my help. You need me, even if it’s only for a little while.
“You’ve already given me a bed to sleep in. Now food and medical attention. And I’ve got no way to pay you back. I don’t like accepting charity.”
That stopped her. She set the crock of butter down with a thump and turned to face him, one hand on her hip. “One thing you’re going to notice about life in this territory—people help each other. Especially when you’ve just arrived. The settlers who were already established helped my father when he came here, and they helped me, too, when I arrived. And now I’m helping you. We can talk about payment for the doctor later, if we must, but right now what you are going to do is eat.” She pointed at the chair.
His eyebrows rose, but all he said was, “Yes, ma’am.” He took his seat and unfolded the napkin she had provided. “It smells wonderful.” He spread butter on one biscuit and added a spoonful of honey. Liza took one as well, but she only toyed with it, crumbling the edge. She had no interest in food. Though she kept her head down, focusing on her mug of tea, her attention was concentrated on the man sitting opposite.
He was trying to remember his table manners, clearly, but it was equally clear that it had been some time since he had eaten. He wolfed down the salmon and biscuits and eagerly accepted more. Finally, he put down his fork. “I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. That was absolutely marvelous. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” At least he appreciated her cooking, even if he appreciated nothing else about her.
He hesitated. “I have to say something, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I’ve already thrown you to the floor and offended your notions of kindness. But it needs to be said. Even after that wonderful meal, and the tea.”
“Granny Whitlow made the tea before she left. She insisted on staying the night, to keep people from gossiping.” She wasn’t sure why she offered that, except that she was fairly sure she did not want to hear whatever unpleasant topic he was going to bring up.
It worked to divert him. “Wait—you mean you were staying here all by yourself? How trusting are you? You need to be more careful in the future. Whatever happened to me last night, it seems clear there are dangerous people about. And for all you know, I could have been some kind of...unscrupulous man.”
“You are the farthest thing from unscrupulous.”
“I might have changed from the man you remember.”
“People don’t change,” she said. “Not in essentials.”
“Far too trusting. I am amazed that you’ve made it this far without being hurt. Staying all alone in a place. Smiling at a man. The world is not always a kind and safe place.”
She was not going to budge him from his opinion of himself, that was plain. She got to her feet. “The McKays should be back today. I’ll tidy up, and we’ll be ready to go if the doc thinks you’ll be up for it.”
“Go? Go where?”
“Back to the claim.” She had been reaching for his plate, but she stopped, straightening to look at him. “You can’t stay here with the McKays. There’s no room, with the children and all. You can stay on our claim while you rest up and figure out what to do next.”
