Karen Kirst - The Engagement Charade

Ellie pushed her chair in, took one step toward the door and swayed on her feet. Alexander caught her around the waist. Her palms found his chest to balance against. Her mouth slack, her big doe eyes blinked up at him.

“I’m sorry. I got a tad light-headed.”

The scent of vanilla surrounded him like a warm hug. “Can you stand on your own?”

She nodded. Her hands fell away, and he released her.

“I’m fine,” she said, smoothing her hands along her skirt. Then she gasped. “What time is it?”

“A quarter until ten.”

“I have to hurry.” Brushing past him, she selected a kerosene lamp from an upper shelf and quickly lit it. “My in-laws aren’t thrilled about my working. They’ll pitch a fit if I come home late.”

Alexander realized he had no idea where she lived. “How far is it?”

“About a twenty-minute walk,” she said matter-of-factly.

He hid his consternation. In a bustling city with lots of people around and gas streetlamps, that might not be a problem. In mountainous, sparsely populated terrain, a single woman walking alone at night courted trouble.

“Do you have a horse? Or mule?”

She opened the door, giving him a glimpse of the star-studded navy sky. “No. I don’t mind walking, though. Helps clear my head.”

No wonder she was exhausted. Walking that distance after a good night’s sleep wouldn’t be a burden. However, after a full day of slaving over a hot stove, her feet had to be sore and her body begging for rest.

“I’ll take you.”

She twirled the reticule dangling from her wrist in endless circles. “I don’t want to trouble you. I’m accustomed to walking.”

“No trouble.” Waving her onto the stoop, he locked the door behind him. The cooler air hinted that autumn was around the corner. “I’ll just be a moment.”

He had the team hitched and ready in a matter of minutes. Once Ellie was settled on the high seat, he climbed aboard and listened to her instructions. They rode along the back lane past darkened businesses. His passenger fell silent. Considering her typically chatty nature, Alexander attributed it to fatigue.

Glancing at her profile, he noted the weary slump of her shoulders and the tight clasp of her hands in her lap. He’d bent the truth a bit. Giving her a ride home was inconvenient and awkward. Outside of the café, he hadn’t been alone with a woman since before leaving Texas. In fact, he’d had limited interaction with anyone. Alexander had always been one to enjoy his own company, but his hermit-like existence would shock his brother and sister.

Grimacing, he absently rubbed his midsection. What had stirred these thoughts of Thomas and Margaret? Nothing good could come of dwelling on everything he was missing.

“Are you in pain?”

“What?”

She pointed to his middle. “You do that a lot.”

Resting his forearm on his thigh, he shook his head. “Force of habit.”

“How long have you suffered stomach troubles?”

Since my wife and son were murdered.

Curling his fingers into a fist, he said aloud, “A couple of years.”

“That must be difficult.”

“My flare-ups happen when I’m not careful with my diet. Or when I go long stretches without sleeping.” He clamped his lips shut. Why had he told her that?

Thankfully, she didn’t pepper him with questions, and his tension ebbed. The clop of the horses’ hooves competed with whirring wheels. When the distant yowl of coyotes echoed through the mountains, she didn’t react.

“I had a great-aunt who suffered from ulcers. She was adamant that cabbage juice was the only true remedy.”

Stifling his curiosity about her background, he kept his focus on the dark lane as they entered a thick-growth cove. The avenue was barely passable. More than once, his black bowler was nearly lost to overhanging branches. She apologized.

“Howard, my father-in-law, has been promising to trim this for weeks. As you’ve surely heard, the list of farm chores is endless.”

Images of his family’s vast ranch surged unbidden in his mind. Farm or ranch, living off the land took energy, determination and raw grit. Homesickness rose up so fast he felt robbed of breath. What he wouldn’t give to see those rolling green pastures dotted with cattle, the ranch house and stables framed by boundless cerulean skies. And his siblings... His throat became clogged with emotion as he imagined how they’d changed. They exchanged letters every now and then, but it wasn’t the same as seeing them in person.

Memories of the fire that had stolen his home and his wife and child threatened, and, in order to stave them off, he sought conversation he normally wouldn’t have.

“I heard you arrived in the area in May. Where are you from?”

If she was startled by his interest, she didn’t show it. “Originally Lexington, Kentucky. Beautiful country. My parents died when I was ten, so I went to live with my grandparents in a different part of the state. Their farm abutted the Jamesons’ property. That’s how I met Nolan. My husband.”

Like him, she was no stranger to loss. “My mother died giving birth to my youngest sister,” he said. “I was eight.”

“I’m sorry. Is your father still alive?”

“His heart gave out on him the year I turned twenty.”

Lionel Copeland had seemingly enjoyed good health. His death had blindsided everyone. Thomas and Margaret, their cook and mother-figure Rosa and even the ranch hands had turned to Alexander for reassurance that their way of life would continue as it always had. While it had been an immense burden for one so young, he’d embraced his duty without complaint.

“Loss like that stays with you, doesn’t it?” she sighed. “The normal days are hard enough, but the momentous occasions are worse. Those are the days you really grieve their absence.”

Again his thoughts turned to a painful place. His wedding day had taken place four years after his father’s passing, and yet he’d craved his steadfast presence. He would’ve given anything for his father to have had the opportunity to meet Sarah. Then there was the day Levi was born...

He must’ve gasped aloud, because Ellie angled toward him. “Is something wrong? Are you hurting?”

Alexander glanced into her liquid brown gaze. The wagon lanterns swinging from their hooks had light patterns playing across her face. He felt suddenly like a man who’d been encased in ice, his mind and body numb, and now the ice was thawing and he was beginning to sense every pinprick of discomfort. He gritted his teeth. I’m not ready. I can’t relive the nightmare. Not yet.

“I’m perfectly well, thank you,” he told her in stilted tones.

With a skill born of practice, he locked away his past and concentrated on his surroundings, soaking in details he could transfer to paper later. He’d taken to sketching in his free time, mostly nature scenes and animals. He didn’t possess natural talent, but his work no longer resembled a child’s scribbles.

Unfortunately, Ellie did not sense his need for retreat.

“Nolan was excited about this move. Everyone was, including me. I had hoped it would provide us with a fresh start. We couldn’t have known what lay ahead.” Her voice hitched, and she cleared her throat. “The men started on Howard and Gladys’s cabin first. Nadine, Nolan’s sister, was insistent that she and her husband, Ralph, would have theirs built next. Within a month, they had both cabins finished. And then they started on ours. They were felling trees one drizzly June day, and Nolan was standing in the wrong spot. I wasn’t there... I didn’t see what happened. I was dressing a rabbit for stew I’d planned to serve that evening.”

Up ahead, lights shone in the windows of two dwellings situated on opposite sides of a stamp-sized yard. Relief coursed through him. He hadn’t asked to travel memory lane with her. Getting sucked into other people’s problems was a sure way to lose his hard-won control. Living their pain brought his own rushing to the surface.