Renee Ryan - Heartland Wedding

Clearly unaware of her troubled thoughts, Emmeline moved her hand across the fabric and stopped it beside Rebecca’s. “I told Will I didn’t need another set of curtains, but he wanted me to make my own mark on the new house. I mean, our new house. He liked this material best, said the color reminded him of the blue in my eyes.”

“He’s right.” Rebecca held on to her sigh. Barely. “This will look lovely in your new home.”

“I hope so,” she whispered. “For Will’s sake. I want to make my husband as happy as he’s made me.”

How Rebecca wanted a love like Will and Emmeline shared. Unfortunately, the one person who’d captured her attention was Pete Benjamin, a man whose devotion still belonged to his deceased wife.

If only Pete hadn’t been so kind to her after the tornado, she might have been able to put her feelings for him into perspective. But each night as she drifted off to sleep, Rebecca remembered every second of their time together after the storm.

He’d refused to abandon her as she’d searched for her brother. With a gentle hand on her arm, he had guided her past dangerous debris until they’d found Edward helping with cleanup on the edge of town. Pete had made sure she was in good hands before he’d joined the efforts himself.

At the memory of his kindness, she sucked in a shaky breath. Why was there such pain in her heart every time she thought of that day?

Clicking her tongue, Emmeline set the material on the table. “You’re not thinking about what Matilda Johnson said, are you?”

“Not at all.” Rebecca wiped her forehead with her fingertips. “Other than my reputation suffering a little, I’ve been very fortunate. I made it through the storm without a single loss or injury.”

Emmeline’s smile faded, and she sighed as she lowered herself into her chair again. “You’re right, of course. We need to focus on what we have, not what we’ve lost.”

In spite of her words, a stormy expression gathered in Emmeline’s gaze. It was the same faraway look Rebecca had seen in Bess’s eyes whenever someone asked her about the unaccounted time she’d gone missing after the tornado. The girl had been the last to see Mikey and Missy. If only Bess would talk.

It was Rebecca’s turn to squeeze Emmeline’s hand in sympathy. “How is your sister? Any developments?”

“None.” Emmeline’s eyebrows pulled into a frown. “She hasn’t made a sound, not a single peep.”

“What does Dr. Dempsey say?”

Emmeline lifted her shoulders in a helpless gesture. “That he can’t find anything wrong with her. That in time she’ll recover completely. But it’s been a month and she still isn’t talking. And between you and me, Dr. Dempsey is…rather…” Her gaze darted around the room. “Old.”

Holding her friend’s gaze, Rebecca nodded slowly, unsure if she wanted to admit the sad truth aloud. But the facts were undeniable. Dr. Dempsey had just celebrated his eighty-second birthday. And ever since the tornado, he’d been overwhelmed with a workload a man half his age would find daunting. He’d had neither the time nor the energy to devote to Bess’s treatment.

“If only Bess would make a sound, a sigh…anything,” Emmeline said. “I’d feel more hopeful. But ever since we found her under that bush where she’d been thrown by the tornado, she just goes about her business without speaking. And every so often, I catch her staring into the distance as though she knows things the rest of us don’t. I’m afraid whatever is keeping her silent is too terrifying to contemplate.”

“You think she knows what happened to Mikey and Missy?”

“Yes. And I fear the news is dismal.” She shuddered. “After all, she was the last person to see them after I sent them all off together to find shelter from the storm. Suppose the memory of what happened to the children is too painful for her to face and that’s why she won’t speak? Oh, Rebecca, what if…what if…the twins are dead? Or worse. What if they’ve been kidnapped by Kansa Indians and turned into slaves?”

The hopelessness in Emmeline’s voice had Rebecca squeezing her hand again. “I pray you’re wrong on both counts.” Unfortunately, they both knew either scenario was possible.

“Me, too. But at least if they were kidnapped they’d still be alive.”

“True.”

As silence fell between them, Rebecca eyed her friend a moment, trying to decide if this was a good time to broach an idea she’d been mulling over for a while. “I’ve been thinking about something that might help Bess,” she began cautiously.

Emmeline raised an eyebrow in question. “Oh?”

“Maybe if you found something for her to focus on other than her painful memories she might relax enough to speak again.”

“I’ve thought of that already,” Emmeline said. “She helps me and our mother around the Circle-L ranch without protest, but whenever we start asking her questions about the storm, she either shakes her head or simply walks away.”

“Why don’t you let me try?”

An intrigued expression flitted across Emmeline’s face. “What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s see if Bess will agree to help me here in the boardinghouse kitchen.” She rose and went to check her pies. They still had a while to go. “I could use another set of hands since the storm displaced so many people, most of whom she knows from the wagon train. Maybe the change of scenery will nudge her recovery along.”

Emmeline tapped a finger against her chin. “Hmm, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try. Maybe I’ll…”

Her words trailed off, and she tilted her head at a slight angle. “Oh, Pete. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you standing there.”

“Not to worry, Emmeline.” There was an exaggerated pause. “I only just arrived.”

“Well, then, that explains it.” Smiling, Emmeline rose to her feet.

Rebecca followed suit, but she didn’t turn around right away. She needed a moment to swallow back the lump of emotion clogging her throat. Despite what she’d told Emmeline earlier, she’d expected Pete to seek her out once he heard the gossip. Expected it, and dreaded it. But now that he was here, in her kitchen, so soon after her altercation with Matilda Johnson, she had to fight back a wave of hysteria.

He’d heard the gossip; nothing else explained his presence here now.

But, glory, what was she going to say to him? How was she going to say it? Should she talk with him openly about their time together in his cellar? Should she pretend she hadn’t told Matilda Johnson the truth, innocent as her actions had been?

Should she run?

“Rebecca, we need to talk,” Pete said from behind her. His urgent tone could not be ignored. Her options had dwindled to one.

“Please,” he said in a much softer pitch.

A chill navigated along Rebecca’s spine. The sound of that deep, gravelly voice lowered to a mere whisper reminded her of the last time they’d been alone together and how gentle his words had become when she’d been in a state of panic over Edward’s safety.

When she still didn’t move, Emmeline gave her a nudge. “Go on,” she mouthed. “Talk to him.”

Rebecca slowly pivoted around. It took considerable fortitude to hold Pete’s gaze. She’d seen that look on his face before. It was the same intense expression he’d had when he’d practically dragged her into the storm cellar.

He remained silent, unmoving, holding her stare with unwavering concentration. A sure sign he was trying to hide his emotions behind an unreadable mask. But it was a mask. She’d seen glimpses of the real man behind the facade, the one who had put her fears ahead of his own in the storm cellar. Today, however, there was no softness in him, no warmth.